Page 154 of One Minute Out

“He doesn’t look CIA to me.”

“Exactly.”

It’s a good thing I don’t need Kareem for his grasp of logic.

They are still sizing me up, despite the fact that Duvall vouched for me. Kareem says, “So you want to lead us into certain death?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. Probable death.”

“Oh... terrific.”

Rodney speaks up now. “Tell us about your target.”

“It’s called Rancho Esmerelda. It’s the end of the line of something called the pipeline, a sex trafficking network that brings women and girls over from Eastern Europe and Asia to serve wealthy men here in the States.”

Kareem says, “Women and... and girls. You mean underage girls?”

“Yeah.”

“How many?”

“I don’t know how many end up in SoCal, but this is a transcontinental organization that makes billions a year.”

Rodney speaks with a whisper. “Thousands of victims, then.”

I just nod.

“Americans do this?” A.J. seems surprised, but Rodney notices this and says what I’m thinking.

“You don’t think we can be just as big pieces of shit as people from other countries?”

Stu adds, “We can be worse if we put our minds to it.”

A.J. nods slowly now. “Yeah, guess so.”

The men look at one another, and A.J. says, “If you know women and girls are being abused right here, why don’t you just go to the cops?”

“Because the cops have been tainted everywhere I’ve been along the smuggling pipeline. I can all but guarantee there are some bad ones here, protecting this operation.” I hesitate, then say, “The guy who runs the whole thing... I don’t know his identity, but I have been told he enjoys some federal protection, as well.”

“Shit,” Kareem says; all four stare at me, and the scrutiny makes me uncomfortable. Finally Rodney declares what the others are obviously thinking. “I’m not killing a cop. Not even a dirty cop.”

A.J. adds, “That’s right. Doesn’t matter how dirty he is. The second he’s killed in the line he turns into Eliot Ness. A hero. White as the driven snow.”

“That’s right,” echo the others on the sofa.

“I’m not killing a cop, either.” This is bullshit, and I feel bad about lying to these guys, but I’m not going into detail about all the dirty cops I’ve fragged around this planet. They deserved what was coming to them, and my conscience, such as it is, is clear. I add, “But I’ll expose a dirty one, and we can bring these guys to justice. Shit, if we do this right, we might really make a difference.”

A.J. stares me down now. “I don’t know you, bro, but I know your type. Don’t start getting too rah-rah, there. You’re here because you want to hurt people and break shit. That you’re doing it for a good cause doesn’t change your underlying motivations.”

Hurting people and breaking things are both at the top of my to-do list, so there is no sense in arguing with the man, but I’m starting to wonder if either I’m wearing a T-shirt that says “Psycho Killer” or if I’m just that transparent to others, when I myself don’t see it.

I let it go.

We hear the sound of a car pulling to a stop out front, and all four men produce handguns from under their shirts. Rodney takes a moment to look down at his phone at a text message. “Papa’s here.”

Shep Duvall enters a minute later, along with a man who looks every minute of seventy-five years old. He’s short and wiry with a patchwork of silver hair and bald spots all over the top of his head, along with a deep-set tan. He moves surprisingly fast for a guy his age, and he steps around the mess in the filthy room and shakes everyone’s hands, introducing himself as Carl as he does so.

This is going to be our pilot, obviously, and I am worried that when the other guys here learn that, it will negatively impact the effect of the sales pitch I’m in the middle of delivering.

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