Page 84 of Only the Wicked
Ah. Okay.
“The case officially targets the Los Zetas cartel. We located twenty-two women in D.C. nail spas that were trafficked here by them.”
I haven’t read anything about that, but my news focus leans toward finance and international.
“Here’s the issue. The more I learn about their process, it becomes clear they aren’t doing it alone.”
“You have suspects?” That’s her list. People with leverage who could have customs officials or DEA look the other way. She’s probably right. The volume of drugs alone coming into the country each year is evidence in and of itself of crime on the inside.
“Some senators, congressmen.”
Hmm. She’s going up the chain.
“Where’s the list?”
She scans the restaurant.
Of course, now she’s concerned about someone watching.
She hands me a rumpled list torn from a cutesy notepad with a rainbow on the top corner.
“Does your boss know you’re looking into these people?” I scan the list of names. While some of the names are familiar, they don’t mean anything to me. I live in California and these individuals aren’t my representatives. None of them are on the Senate Intelligence Committee and they aren’t Pentagon players.
Her pupils are dilated. Fear.
“You think your boss is in on it?”
“I don’t know anything yet. But I know my searches are being monitored.”
Her father’s face flashes. He must hate that his daughter has been assigned to go after the lowest of the low.
About half of organized crime business these days is legit, but still, she’s hunting groups willing to traffic humans. You can’t sink much lower in the criminal food chain.
“Do you have a security detail?”
I didn’t see one outside, but it’s quite possible she’d insist a detail not follow her while she’s working.
“No, that’s not for the underlings,” she says with a smile. Although, an assistant DA in D.C. isn’t an underling. But I hear they work like dogs so maybe that’s how she feels.
“What about your father?”
“No. If you’re going to ask if he’s going to pay the bills,” she presses her lips together and shakes her head slightly, “he won’t be. We’re not really talking these days. I’m coming to you because my gut says you’re a good guy and that you aren’t obsessed with cutting deals for the sake of money.”
She flips her phone over and taps it, flicking over photos of women with dark hair and haunted eyes posed in mug shot style.
“The cartel trafficked these women in?”
“It’s a robust operation. It never stops. A bust here, there. It’s not working. They just regroup.”
“Does your father know what you’re working on?” If she were my daughter, I’d insist she move to a different division.
“That’s why we’re not talking.”
She’s defiant. Did he also cut her off? I’m not a fashion savvy guy, but I can tell she’s wearing an off-the-rack suit by the way the sleeves are slightly too short and the shoulder pads scrunch with extra material.
I fold the list and slip it into my trouser pocket. “I’ll look into it. But, you know, if these men are involved, it’s likely my systems aren’t going to come up with anything that will help you.”
“Could I possibly talk to someone who works for you? Brainstorm the kind of information that could be useful?”
