Isabel's Run (12 page)

“Sounds awesome,” I said. “A very noble cause.”

“Thanks,” Annie said. “It’s hard work, but I go home proud.”

“And thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice,” I said. “I think Nancy told you about our particular problem.”

“She did. Carla and I talked about it on the way over.”

Carla nodded. “Since I got to Angel House, I’ve talked to a lot of girls who got picked up at the Mall and the Alderwood Mall,” Carla said. “I’m pretty sure that there’s a gang working up there—they call themselves the North Side Street Boyz. That’s Boyz with a ‘z.’”

“Do you know anything about this gang?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No—only that they hang out at the north-side malls a lot.”

“And you think they’re basically recruiting these girls and pimping them out?” Toni said.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“How’s it work?” I asked. “After they get recruited, do the girls live with the pimps?”

“Some work it that way,” she said. “Sometimes, if it’s a gang of guys, they live somewhere else, and there’s like a house boss who lives with the girls. I think that’s the way it is with NSSB.”

“Would they at least live close together in that case?”

Carla thought about this. “I don’t know,” she said. “It makes sense, I guess.”

I nodded. “In our case, the only names we have to go by are a woman named Crystal, and two guys—one named Donnie and one named Mikey. Have you ever heard of these people?”

“I haven’t. But I’ll ask around when I get back home. Probably one of the other girls has.”

“I’m going to give you another name, too,” Annie said as she wrote something down on the back of her business card. “Reverend Arthur Jenkins. Reverend Art lives in the area where a lot of the gang members are from. He’s pretty close to a lot of the current gang members.”

“Where would we find him?” I asked.

“He’s the pastor at the Twenty-Third Street Baptist Church on Capitol Hill. If you’d like, I’d be happy to give him a call for you and introduce you.”

“Fantastic,” I said. “We could use all the help we can get.”

“Reverend Art might know these guys,” Annie said. “And he’s a wonderful, caring man. I think the guys in the gang respect him, but still he won’t protect one of them if they’re involved in running prostitutes.”

“That’d be great,” I said. “Meanwhile, let me ask another question. Apparently, Isabel’s been gone about a month—that is, she was recruited about a month ago. Carla, can you describe the process of what happens after someone gets recruited? Maybe the first month?”

“I’ll try,” she said. “First, they’ll try to make her comfortable—safe and secure. They’ll treat her nice and buy her things. She’ll start to feel special. Then, the pimp will probably have sex with her. Even if she’s scared, she’ll go along because he’s been so good to her. She won’t want to disappoint him. He’ll keep treating her nice, and then she’ll start to think she’s in love with him. He’ll even tell her he loves her.”

“And all this happens when?” Toni asked.

“I’d say the first couple of weeks,” Carla said.

“Wow, they move fast.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Then, not very long after, he’ll tell her he needs her to have sex with a friend of his. As a favor to him. She’ll do it because she wants to make him happy. Then it’ll be another. Next thing you know, she’ll have her picture taken, and he’ll tell her she has to start going out on dates. He’ll give her a quota. He’ll tell her that she can’t come home until she brings in her quota. And she’ll want to come home, believe me. When she does, he’ll make her turn over all the money. She can’t keep anything.”

“So she’ll be totally dependent on the pimp?” I asked.

She nodded. “She’ll love him, and she’ll think he loves her. She’ll do anything for him.”

“And what happens if she doesn’t?” Toni asked.

“Then he’ll get mean,” Carla said. “I’ve been punched. I’ve been burned with a cigarette. One time he made me stand naked in front of other girls while he beat me with a belt. Another time, when I complained, he called some of his friends over and they gang-raped me. He even threatened to sell me to another pimp in California.”

“Did you ever get to the point where you wanted to just leave?”

“Not really,” she said. “At least, not until I was a lot older. Once you’re in it, it’s kind of all you know. Besides—through it all, I felt like he cared about me. He was like, ‘you know I love you baby, but I need you to do this for us.’ I know now that he was lying—he didn’t love me. Well, maybe he did. I don’t know, even now. It’s weird, you know? But I know now that whatever he thought of me, he cared a lot more about himself. And he cared a lot more about using me to make himself money.”

“But still,” Toni said, “while you’re there, you do what he says.”

She nodded. “Yeah. You don’t feel like you have much of a choice. You don’t want to make him upset partly because you love him—or think you do. And partly because you’re afraid of him.”

“How many guys would you have to see?” Toni asked.

“Until I made my quota, which was usually $500,” Carla said. “If it was a good night, I could make that with two or three guys. If it was a bad night, it might take ten.”

“Did you have to walk the streets?”

“Sometimes. Not too often. Mostly we had dates with guys who called in from the Internet ads. We’d get our pictures taken in a sexy pose, and he’d put it up on Backpage. We’d get tons of calls. If we had a gap and weren’t close to making quota, then they’d drive us over, and we’d hit the streets.”

“Where?”

“Mostly a place we called the Track. It’s between Lake Union and downtown. Kind of by the Space Needle.”

“And you did this every night?”

“Pretty much. I figure in four years I was with four thousand guys.”

“What?” Toni asked, incredulously. “Did you say four thousand guys?”

“Yeah. Figure three to five guys a night—six days a week. Sometimes more.”

“Pretty mind-blowing, isn’t it?” Annie asked.

I shook my head. “It leaves you speechless.”

“We figured it out—we think I made my pimp probably a half million dollars,” Carla said.

“Half a million!” I said.

“That’s right. And I wasn’t his only girl.”

“How many girls did he have?” I asked.

“Most of the time, three or four,” she said.

“And they all worked the same way?”

She nodded. “Pretty much.”

“So that works out to what—” I calculated in my head, “—$1.5 million in four years—that’s almost $400,000 per year for the pimp! Wow. I guess that explains why they’re drawn to it.”

Annie nodded. “They make a lot of money off these girls.”

“And you didn’t get to keep any of the money?” I asked.

She shook her head. “We got an allowance—twenty-five dollars per week. If we did something really good—like bring in a really big night—we might get a bonus: fifty dollars or something. But mostly, we didn’t get anything.” She paused. “I mean, he bought food and clothes, but we didn’t get any money.”

“Carla,” Toni said, “let me get your opinion. In her last text message, Isabel says that it was ‘too good to be true.’ What do you think was happening?”

“This was like three weeks after she was recruited?” Carla said.

“Yeah. It was on May 28, and she was picked up sometime around May 7.”

“It sounds like they were telling her she was going to have to go to work, and she didn’t want to go.”

“Did you ever see that before?”

“Yeah, a few times. It happened to me. I was twelve. I didn’t want to have to start meeting other men.”

“What happened?”

“I got beat up. Usually, that’s what happens.”

“And you had to give in?”

She nodded. “Yeah. He beat me—said he’d kill me. He said he’d kill my family if I ran. So I did what he said. It’s not like I had much of a choice. This always happened when I pushed back. Later, he’d come and make up, and then things would be good for a while. As long as I did what I was supposed to.”

“And what about the men you were forced to see?” Toni asked.

“They were the worst,” Carla said with disdain. “I’ve been beaten by johns. I’ve been stabbed twice. I’ve been choked. I’ve been raped three times. I even got thrown out of a moving car once. We were just like garbage to them. Basically, they suck.”

“I’m so sorry someone put you through all that,” Toni said. “Thank God you made it through in one piece.”

Carla smiled. “I did,” she said. “I made it.” She reached her hand across the table. Annie took it and gave it a squeeze.

I watched them. Carla’s nightmare was over—at least the physical part. I suspected that the mental part might take longer to deal with. A young girl can’t be forced into sex with four thousand men in a four-year period and come out without serious emotional scars. These were going to take a while—maybe a whole lifetime—to overcome. Thank goodness for caring people like Annie Hooper—people who gave a damn and weren’t content to turn away and pretend the problem didn’t exist.

But Carla was safe now. For Isabel, though, it was different picture. Unless we could find her and pull her out—and do it fast—Isabel’s long nightmare was just about to begin.

WE WERE ON a roll. When Annie called Reverend Jenkins to see if he’d be willing to talk to us, his administrative secretary said that the Reverend would be in a bible study meeting until two thirty, but that he’d be free to see us afterward for a few minutes. The Twenty-Third Street Baptist Church is located right on Twenty-Third just a little south of Madison. We had just enough time to return to our office and make a few phone calls before we hit the road again, this time headed south. We arrived five minutes early and found a parking space down Twenty-Third and across the street on Howell. By the time we walked back across the street, the study meeting had apparently just adjourned because a small crowd was gathered on the steps in the small courtyard outside the church’s office. Reverend Arthur Jenkins was immediately recognizable. He was a tall, thin, very nice-looking black man in his fifties. His dark hair was short and touched with a brushing of silver. He was clean-shaven. He wore a white short-sleeved shirt with black slacks and a black tie. The Reverend was surrounded by a small throng of five or six mostly gray-haired ladies. Even as we approached, his ready smile and warm laugh made it easy to see why he appeared so well loved by the women.

“And you’d do well to remember that, sister Evelyn!” we overhead him say to one of the ladies as we approached. He had a deep, soothing voice. Evelyn and all the other women laughed like schoolgirls on a playground, clearly enjoying their time with this charismatic man. We watched them chat for a few minutes as the group dispersed.

Reverend Jenkins ignored us until the last woman turned to leave, preferring to give her his undivided attention. Only when they said good-bye did he seem to notice us—although he’d surely seen us standing to the side, waiting.

“Reverend Jenkins,” I said, as I approached. “My name is Danny Logan.” I nodded to Toni. “This is my partner, Toni Blair. We were hoping to speak to you for a couple of minutes.”

He nodded. “Luella slipped me a note saying you’d be coming by,” he said, as he stepped forward and shook our hands. “What can I do for you two?”

“Sir,” I began, “we’re private investigators. Toni’s sister came to us with the story of a classmate of hers who ran away from home last month on her sixteenth birthday, apparently because she was having problems with her stepfather. We were touched by—well, frankly, by the tragedy of the story, so we agreed to look into it. We’ve since come to believe that as bad as her home life was, she may have now gotten herself into even worse trouble. We think she’s been recruited into what appears to be a gang involved with the prostitution of under-aged girls. We’re hoping to find her and get her out of there before it’s too late.”

He studied me intently for a moment. Then he said, “That’s a worthwhile endeavor, isn’t it. And you’re hoping I might be able to shed some light on the gang members for you?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir. That’s it exactly.”

“What do you hope to do if you find them?” he asked.

“Well, naturally, we want to rescue the young woman.”

He studied us for a moment, and then he nodded. “Good. I’ll be happy to do what I can,” he said.

“Thank you very much,” I said. “We appreciate it.”

“I’m not sure how much help I can be,” he said, “but I’ll do what I can. Let’s go inside, shall we?”

We followed him inside the office and classroom area of the church. He led us down a hall that was nearly completely covered with photos.

“The church has been here a long time, hasn’t it?” I asked, as I noticed a picture of Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. on the wall.

“It certainly has,” he said, pausing while I studied the photo. “The church is eighty years old next year. Of course, this isn’t the original building. The first building actually burned down in 1934. Then, we outgrew the next one in the seventies. We built this one in 1975.”