ESCAPE FROM AMBERGRIS CAYE (14 page)

Staying
well behind the two men to avoid detection, Jackson followed them to a nearby
restaurant. That had to be the one Zac told him about. Deep in conversation as
they walked along, they didn’t notice him tailing them.

At least
he’d managed to find his brother and see for himself that he was all right. But
for how long would he be able to continue without Leon catching on?

While
Jackson’s instinct was to approach his brother and urge him to come back with
him, he knew Detective Anders was right. Zac was doing this out of the goodness
of his heart. He’d never met Izzie; all he knew about her was what Jackson told
him and none of it was flattering. He must be doing this to show Jackson he
wasn’t a total screw-up; that somewhere beneath that good-for-nothing exterior
was a heart of gold. That’s what Jackson chose to believe as he returned to his
car.

He didn’t
know where to go next. Back to the police station to report what he’d seen?
Back to work and try to act as though nothing was wrong? His only option was to
keep his eye on the place. He’d check on it at different times and days in
between working. If he was discovered, he’d say he was a reporter covering a
story. At least that way he’d have some idea what was going on—and that his
brother was still among the living.

Having
made a plan of sorts, Jackson headed home for the balance of the day. The last
thing he wanted was for his boss to find out what he was up to. That would
never do. Considering he’d been ordered to forget all about “that snotty little
bitch,”—as Morris put it, the man would take a dim view of what Jackson decided
to do. But really, what choice did he have?

Something
terrible happened to Izzie and now his brother was knee deep in it. From what
little he’d read about human trafficking, he knew these guys didn’t mess
around. Cross them and you’re dead, no two ways about it. For all he knew, Leon
may have already killed Izzie and fed her to the sharks. Zac may be risking his
life for nothing. Somehow, Jackson didn’t think so, but he wasn’t really sure.
In the meantime, he’d already lost a reporter, he wasn’t about to lose a
brother as well.

For the
next few days, Zac occupied himself doing badly neglected chores around the
place. It was clear Leon placed a low priority on such things. On the other
hand, he’d been alone in this endeavor and, no doubt, had more important things
on his mind than whether or not the toilet was clean.

Zac
didn’t like doing housework either, but he had to do something to make himself
useful and keep Leon from deciding he didn’t need him after all. So, he tried
to be as agreeable as possible, but it was a stretch. He wasn’t used to going
out of his way to be nice. For most of his life he’d done the exact
opposite—cultivating something of a bad-boy reputation around town.

“When’s
the next shipment coming in?” He looked up from the sink full of dirty dishes
as Leon came in the room.

“Don’t
know. They call when they’re about to come.”

“Doesn’t
that put a crimp in your social life? I mean, having to be on call at a moment’s
notice like that?”

Leon
nodded, “Sure does. With you here, maybe I can actually have a life.
Ya
’ think?”

“Absolutely,”
Zac said. “You tell me what to do, and I’ll take care of it, no problem.”

“Whoa, we’re
not there yet. You have a lot to learn and I have to make damned sure I can
trust you, know what I mean?”

“Of
course,” Zac said. He finished washing the dishes and began putting them away.
Leon appeared to be in a good mood for a change, so it might be a good time to
ask for some time off. “I’m done here. Think I could take off for a few hours?”
He gave Leon his most self-effacing look, the one that said he knew who was in
charge.

“Well,
things seem to be in good shape. You’ve been a big help. The place hasn’t
looked this good in a long time. Go on, but be back around five.”

Zac was
about to go out the front door when Leon came up behind him, causing him to
jump. “I scare you?” He laughed then said, “So, where’re you headed?”

“I’m
going to take the trolley and wander around downtown a bit.
Wanna
come?”

“Trolley?
You mean the s
treetcar
?”

“Trolley,
streetcar, what’s the difference?”

“I guess
a country bumpkin like you wouldn’t know, but if you’re gonna stick around Tampa,
you probably oughta find out what things here are called.”

Surprised
at Leon’s U-turn from being mellow to snarky, Zac masked his annoyance and
struggled to control himself. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve told the
sonofabitch where he could put his
streetcar
, but these were definitely
not normal circumstances and backtalk would only make things worse.

“You’re
right; I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned the doorknob, anxious to leave before
Leon found something else to bitch about. “See you around five.”

****

As he
waited for the streetcar, Zac glanced around before making the call to make
sure he wasn’t overheard.

“Detective
Anders? It’s Zac. I’m fine, well, as fine as you can be living with that
scumbag. You’re right. They’re running illegal immigrants through there. A
group came in last night. I’m not sure where they’re from, but they’re not
Mexicans, so I don’t know how they get in.”

Zac
listened as the detective suggested several possible points of entry, including
Tampa International Airport and the Port of Tampa.

“Really,
I never thought of that. I thought they came across the border or by boat from
places like Cuba. How do they do it? They don’t look like tourists and if
they’re illegal, I doubt they have passports.”

“Oh, but
that’s where you’re wrong. Trafficked victims are given forged documents that
are confiscated when they arrive at their final destination,” Detective Anders
said. “Most think they’ll be going to school or given jobs so they can earn
money to send back home.” He went on to explain that trafficking was
facilitated by corrupt border patrol agents and customs officials who were
bribed to look the other way.

“And get
this: while thousands of foreigners are trafficked into the U.S. each year—over
a hundred thousand Americans are trafficked within our
own
borders. Most
are underage girls.”

A car
horn beeped repeatedly. Someone was apparently on the verge of major road-rage.
Zac had trouble hearing Anders. Readjusting his cellphone, he said, “Seriously?
American citizens are being forced into slavery? Right here?”

“That’s
right.”

Just then
a very attractive blonde walked right in front of him. She was so close he
could smell her perfume. It was familiar—the kind his last girlfriend wore. For
a second, recalling their final romantic encounter, her face flashed before his
mind’s eye. He cleared his throat and struggled to pick up a thread of the
conversation.

“How can
that be?” He paused, then went on. “I mean, if people from poor countries are
duped into thinking they’re going to hit the jackpot coming here, really
what’ve they got to lose? But you’re saying Americans in
our own country
are also likely to get sucked in?”

“That’s
exactly what I’m saying.”

“Could
you have it wrong?” He hoped that was the case.

“Nope. I
have it on good authority and—get this: the numbers could be higher. We can’t
exactly survey these folks to get an accurate count, now can we?”

Zac
sighed. He had no words to express his disgust. All those people. It was
hopeless. “Oh yeah, by the way, I found what looked like a name and some kind
of number scratched on the windowsill in the bedroom.” He pulled the scrap of
paper from his wallet and read it off to Anders. “Maybe you can figure out what
it means.”

“I’ll
check it out. Anything else?”

“No, that’s
it. Hey, I gotta go. The ‘
streetcar
’” he emphasized the word to prove he
was hip to Tampa, “just pulled in.”

“Good
work. Stay in touch and—Zac, be careful.”

“Will
do.” 

Before
turning off his phone, Zac listened to Jackson’s message then deleted it. No
use getting him involved. It’d be better if he thought Zac was still angry.
He’d been hard on his brother, but it was the only way to get him out of the
picture. He just hoped Jackson didn’t get it in his head to go after Leon on
his own. That’d be a real disaster.

His hand
hovered over the “two” on his speed dial. Call him? Don’t call him. He dithered
a few moments then decided to let it go. After all, Jackson had a job to keep
him occupied and both his boss and the police had told him Izzie was most likely
off with some guy having the time of her life. Zac just hoped Jackson’s
overactive imagination didn’t land him in deep shit with those traffickers—in
which case, there was no way to save him.

That
night Jackson sat in his car in the alley several doors from Leon’s place. He
was scrunched down in the seat to avoid detection. It was dark out and he’d
worn black, so it was unlikely anyone would notice. Still he didn’t want to
take a chance.

From his
vantage point he had a clear shot past Leon’s backyard. With the tall fence, he
couldn’t see inside, but if people came or left he’d be able to spot them.
And
if so, what would he do about it?
That was the flaw in his plan. Should he
call the police? If he could see them arrive, that’d be his best shot at
catching Leon in the act.

He
glanced out the window. Only one light illuminated the alley. Still, if a truck
or van pulled up carrying its illegal cargo, he’d see the headlights.

Jackson’s
back and shoulder hurt like crazy. A photographer was on vacation, so his day
had been busier than usual. And sitting in the car in a cramped position didn’t
help. What he needed right now was a good session with a chiropractor.

It was
after ten and he had a hard time staying awake. He sat up just as a car caught
him in its headlights.

“Shit,”
he muttered and slumped down so his head was level with the dashboard. A few
seconds later, his car lit up like a Christmas tree and there was a tapping on
the window. Red and blue lights strobed across the alley reminding Jackson of a
carnival ride. The only things missing were music, screaming fans and, of
course—the ride. A beam of light flashed directly into his eyes temporarily
blinding him.

"Is
there a problem officer?" he said, lowering the window.

"License
and registration," a voice behind the flashlight said.

"Why?
Is it against the law to sit here?" Jackson wasn't accustomed to
challenging law enforcement officers, but it had been a long day and he was not
only tired, but grumpy.

"Let
me see your license and registration. Now," the voice repeated with
determination.

Jackson
knew he had to do as he was told or spend the night in jail. It was his choice.
He reached across the seat and pulled the documents from the glove compartment.
Making a concerted effort to keep the annoyance he felt out of his voice, he
said, "Here you go."

The cop
turned his flashlight on the driver's license, turned it on him and then went
back to the squad car. Jackson drummed his fingers on the dashboard while he waited.
Lights in apartments began to switch on as neighbors apparently noticed the
police car’s lights flashing against their buildings. Exposure was the last
thing Jackson needed.

A few
minutes later, the man returned. "So, why're you sitting all alone in the
dark?"

"No
reason. I’m just sitting here. Thinking. There a law against that?"

"You
a wise guy?"

"No
sir."

"Then
answer my question."

"All
right. I work for a TV station. We have reason to believe illegal activity is
going on inside that house." He pointed at Leon's place "I'm on a
stakeout."

"Seriously?
Let me see your press badge."

With some
trepidation, Jackson produced his credentials. If Morris Stone found out what
he was doing, he'd get canned for sure.

"What
kind of illegal activity you talking about?"

"Human
trafficking."

"Human
trafficking? Why not report it to the police and let them take care of
it?"

"I
already did. They said they suspected as much for some time, but haven't been
able to catch them in the act. Without proof, there’s nothing they can
do."

"And
you're trying to catch them in the act, that it?"

"Yes
sir."

"Leave
it to the police. They'll catch them eventually."

"But
by then it'll be too late," Jackson said.

"Too
late for what? Is there something you're not telling me?"

Jackson
hesitated. A train whistled in the distance, emphasizing his isolation. His dad
was dead, Izzie had gone missing and now Zac was in the process of making
himself a target.

"My
reporter's missing and I have good reason to believe the
dirtbag
that lives there knows something about it. I tried to get the police involved,
but they say she’s probably shacked up with her boyfriend somewhere. They won't
do anything till I can prove a law's been broken or that she met with foul play."
He didn’t add that his brother was inside that house and he was worried sick
about him. The cop didn’t have to know that.

"And
you can do neither, I assume?"

"Right"

"And
that's why you're sitting alone in a dark alley?"

The
policeman removed his hat, scratched his scalp and then replaced it.
"Well, you're right. You're not breaking the law sitting here, except
maybe loitering. I can't prevent you from doing that, but I urge you to leave
it to law enforcement. If your friend is really in danger, as you seem to
think, it'll do no good for you to get involved. What I'm saying is, it'd be
best if you went on home, but I guess that's up to you.

“On the
other hand, if we get complaints about you from concerned citizens, then you'll
have to leave. As things stand, no one’s called. As far as I'm concerned you
can sit here as long as you like. Just be careful. Sitting alone in a dark
alley isn't the safest thing you can do."

 With
that, the officer left Jackson to continue his lonely vigil. After noticing a
number of porch lights snap on and shades raised, he realized people had taken
notice. Fearing one of them might be Leon, he took the cop’s advice and went
home.