Page 15 of Beaches

Kids didn’t seem afraid of anything, running up and asking for food or money. Trak stopped at a food kiosk and paid for each of the children to receive a bowl of rice with vegetables. They thanked him, diving into the food, and his heart cracked, knowing that they would be back on the streets begging again in a few hours.

“We’re not getting anywhere,” said Rory. “I hate to say this, but we need to act like we’re clients. We have to want something special.”

Trak hated the idea of even pretending to want something so disgusting. But he also knew that it might be their only way of getting close to these places.

Spotting a bar across the street advertising strippers and other ‘favors,’ Rory crossed and spoke to the young man at the door. Waving over his friends, they entered the bar, looking around.

“What did he say?” asked Jean.

“He just said we could get what we wanted from this place. I don’t think this is it, though. There are televisions above the bar, there’s music, and too many people who would see these girls and kids. I don’t think the strippers are all eighteen and older, but it’s not what we want,” said Rory.

“Maybe I help,” said a sweet voice behind them. “I help you, big boys. Tell me what you want. I get you whatever you want. Boy? Girl? Both? What you want?”

“No thanks,” said Jean. “We want something unique.” It sickened him to say the words, but they had to act the part. What he did notice the entire time was Trak scanning the building and every man and woman inside.

“What you want?” asked the woman in broken English.

“We want whatever we want,” said Jean. She frowned at him, shaking her head.

“You want secret place. Not here.” Jean looked down at her as she took a step back in fear of his dark gaze.

“What secret place?”

“Not here. It’s few miles away. Costs lot of money,” she said, looking at the men. She saw the growling faces of Whiskey and Rory and then caught the hate-filled gaze of Trak. “He want to hurt women.”

Jean thought about his statement as he looked at his friend. The subtle nod of Trak told him that he knew what he was going to say.

“Yes. My friend wants to hurt women very bad.” The woman shook her head, giving a strange sound with her tongue.

“I give you directions. You have lots of money?”

“We have lots of money,” said Whiskey.

“Good. It costs lots of money for you. Don’t kill those girls. They don’t know better. They don’t know what’s happening.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jean.

She looked around the bar and pulled the men outside through the back door into a small courtyard. One of the strippers was giving someone a blow job in the corner, but she just ignored her.

“Girls at the place you go to are prisoners. Girls here at this place have homes. They come and go. They can quit. They can work. Their choice. Girls at that place can’t leave. Some born there and never leave.”

“Why don’t you help them?” asked Trak with a menacing glare.

“I like to live. Men who own the place are meanest men ever. Old men. Powerful men. They can’t be stopped.”

“Old men? Like us?” asked Rory. She laughed, looking up and down at the four men.

“You not old, baby. You experienced. These men old. Gray, hunched, big bellies. They like pain on others. They think it’s fun. They want to see blood and hurt but don’t like the girls to cry or scream. They die if they scream.”

“Does the house have guards?” asked Trak.

“House? No house. No buildings. Outside like tents. Girls hear other girls hurting. It’s sick,” she said, pointing to her head.

“What about the police?” asked Whiskey.

“You ask lot of questions for men who want fun,” she said, frowning at them. “You help these girls?”

“We won’t hurt them,” said Trak flatly. She nodded at him, looking around again. The stripper giving the blow job and her client were gone, leaving them alone in the courtyard to speak freely.

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