Obsession (12 page)

Chapter Eight

On the evening of Miriam and Sister Anne’s second day in El Paradisio, the little nun’s beaming countenance told them they’d been victorious in their quest for the Mothers of the Twenty-Four. Yes, all was in place, as predicted. And she, Miriam, would lead the virgins to their place in history. Father would be so pleased. Miriam sighed in anticipation of his praise.

Flushed and out of breath from her trek up the hill from the town square, the stocky nun led the way to her office.

“We’ve been so anxious since you left, praying for the Lord to guide the
ejiditarios
.”

Sister Anne translated for Sister Teresa.

“You must have believed when you prayed. They were very worried when I first introduced the idea. Thought you were yet another
evangelista
group set on converting the girls, taking away their customs.”

“We’re not missionaries. We’re not recruiting members. We need child care.”
We need those virgins to fulfill the prophesy, to create the children.

Sister Teresa held up her hand. “I told them that. And I told them the girls would be allowed to visit their families every month and attend the week-long Easter celebration.”

Miriam sat back in the chair, her spine pushed against the hard wood. This wouldn’t do. She had to be calm, but firm. “A week? I’m not sure we can let them go that long.”

The nun shook her head. “That was the only way the
ejiditarios
would agree.”

“We’ve been chatting with the girls,” Sister Anne interjected. “Several said they wanted to come with us whether the
ejiditarios
approved or not. They’re eighteen, adults really.”

Sister Teresa’s lips thinned. “Impudent girls. The
ejiditarios
have these foolish girls’ best interests at heart. Nothing of this magnitude is decided without their input.”

“My apologies. We were just trying to tell the girls about our community.”

The nun appeared mollified.

“Does the Easter break have to be that long?”

“The Tarahumara have made the holiday their own. The centerpiece of the weeklong preparations is a procession and a pageant. Hundreds of tourists come to see it. The girls wouldn’t miss it.”

A weeklong
party
. That’s what this “religious holiday” meant to these girls. Miriam nodded. “I see, of course.” Once they had them in the community, they weren’t going
anywhere
, much less to some idolatrous revelry.

“Good,” Sister Teresa said. “I’m glad you understand. Now, about payment for the girls’ work. How will that be done?”

“As members of the community, we have no personal possessions and no money is needed.” She waited as Sister Anne translated.

The nun frowned. “You said you had jobs. That means pay.”

“I just wanted you to understand, we have very little cash on hand. A foundation underwrites our expenses. They make our payments to outsiders. The money will be sent to you, Sister Teresa. That way you can be sure we are paying the girls.”

The nun’s expression went from annoyance to pleasure.
Money always had that effect.
From what Miriam had seen, the cash would come in handy.

Sister Teresa licked her lips. “How much money are we talking about?”

“What do you think would be fair wages that you would hold for the girls?”

The nun looked her straight in the eye. “Thirteen-thousand pesos each, upfront.”

Miriam’s breath came out in a whoosh, and Sister Anne gave an audible gasp. It seemed not all bandits wore masks. Sometimes they wore habits.

Two could play this game. “We don’t have that much money on us. I have five-thousand pesos, nothing more. But I can tell our foundation they should pay you as soon as possible. To whom should they make out the check?”
The one you’ll never receive.

The nun scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to Miriam. She carefully placed it her pocket and patted it. “My safe place.” She smiled.
So safe, it won’t ever be found again
. “Now, let’s talk about the girls. Which ones do you think would make the best mothers—I mean nannies?”

A list of eligible girls appeared in Sister Teresa’s hand. As the nun read the first name, a cheer went up in the hallway. She smiled and shook her head. “The girls have been eavesdropping again, I see. You are going to have your hands full.”

No, Miriam thought. Father will have his hands full. A disturbing thought snuck into her mind. What if Father casts me aside and takes one of these young women as his wife? What will happen to me then? Will he send me away, make me live in the women’s quarters? She flushed at the prospect of being humiliated that way, tossed aside like garbage. No. Father needed her to take care of the Chosen One. He had to know that the child was bonded to Miriam.
Silly woman
. Married over thirty years, there’d only been one occasion when a younger woman had come between them. That little harlot.

Miriam had opened her home to Janice. How did the girl repay her kindness? By trying to steal her husband. The girl was smitten with Father. Who wouldn’t be? But she had no right to act on her vile impulses. That day when Miriam came across them in the woods, she found Father struggling to get away from the girl. But the whore wouldn’t let go, just kept pulling him down on top of her, screaming like a cat in heat. Miriam had to save her husband and her marriage. She did what she had to do. If necessary, she’d do it all over again. Nothing, and no one, would ever come between Miriam and Father.

****

Six days after his unsettling conversation with Angie, Alejandro made his weekly Saturday night trip to the cartel boys’ favorite brothel, accompanied by Tio and Pepe
.

El
Harén
or The Harem, boasted an array of women from around the world. Festooned in swags of hot pink, orange, purple, and red gauzy materials, the parlor was designed to look as if the gentlemen had entered a Middle Eastern bazaar infused with layers of the local tastes in décor. Sponge painted in splashes of similar colors, the walls of the house of ill repute displayed a vast array of velvet paintings. Elvis, John Wayne, Michael Jackson, and George Bush stared across the room at clowns, Aztecs, bullfighters and lions, as if daring someone to question their presence. The first time he went there, it was all Alejandro could do not to burst out laughing. Where were the eunuchs, he wondered. Were they behind the door painted with the lady or the tiger?

Senora Roja, a woman well past her fifth decade bearing bottle-red hair that practically glowed in the dark, greeted the well-muscled body guards with hugs and squeals. “Where have you been? I’ve missed you!”

She threw herself on Pepe. He pawed at her bottom and pulled her skirt up. “Ready for me now?”

Senora Roja squealed and smacked Pepe’s hands away. “I’m old enough to be your mother. However, I had this lovely Thai flower flown in special for you boys,” Roja gushed.

The slender black-haired girl, dressed only in a short royal blue silk robe, swayed in her high-heels and stared at the floor. Senora Roja lifted the girl’s chin. “Siri’s a country girl. Very shy, never been with a man before. But she’ll warm up.”

A smile glued to his face, Alejandro bit back a string of curses. The girl couldn’t have been more than fourteen, fifteen tops. Her dilated pupils and glassy eyes told him how the madam was keeping her charge under control. Seething beneath his calm exterior, he wished he could close the place down, release these captives and arrest the madam right
now
. Roja must have paid a small fortune for that girl, not to mention the costs of legal fees, documents, and transportation. Somewhere in Thailand, a farmer sold his daughter to a broker looking for fresh meat, the younger the better.

Then, to get the girl out of the country, police, politicians, and lawyers had to have been paid off, each getting a cut of the deal to send this child into slavery. The madam would work the little thing to death to pay for her investment—if she didn’t overdose her with heroin first. Had it not been for the need to keep his cover, he’d have tried to pull the plug on this place long ago. Ever since he’d started coming to the brothel with his
compadres
, he’d been mindful of the constant parade of foreign women, almost none of whom spoke Spanish. In all certainty, their documents and passports were locked in Senora Roja’s bank safety deposit box, effectively rendering the women unable to travel, even if they could escape.

Roja licked her bright red lips. “She looks tasty. This one comes with a virgin premium, but you’re big men. You can afford this little one, easily.”

Bile rose in his throat, and he nearly gagged. Alejandro knew that, like most madams, Roja had been a working girl herself before opening her own bordello. Prostitution was the only occupation she knew. Nevertheless,
why
did she have to get involved in trafficking girls, kids really, from other countries? Weren’t there enough adult women around who would do this of their own accord? He knew the answer to that question. Demand. Customers wanted younger, more exotic flesh, not older, local women. If the madam didn’t keep up with the competition, she’d be out of business. The girls weren’t people to her; they were commodities to be sold like supermarket goods. He took a deep breath.
Stay calm. Think, man. You’re stuck. The girl’s trapped. What can you do?

He glanced at the Thai girl. A rivulet of sweat trickled from her pale brow, running down the side of her neck. He knew what he had to do. Alejandro stepped over, took the girl by the chin, tilted her head this way, then that, and dropped his hand as if stung.

“Has this girl been tested for HIV?”

The madam frowned and shook her head. “I told you she’s a virgin.”

“Even virgins can have HIV. What about TB? Was she tested for that?”

Roja glared at him and put her fists on her ample hips. “Why are you asking all these questions?”

“Are you blind? She’s pale and sweating profusely.” He shook his head. “I like sex with a sweet young thing just as much as the next guy, but I’m not willing to get sick and
die
for it.”

He glanced at his pals, Tio and Pepe. Both men wore expressions of disgust. Tio backed into an armchair in his haste to get away from the “little flower.” Good, Alejandro thought, he’d contaminated their party plans and planted the seeds of fear. For the moment, that was all he could do.

Senora Roja narrowed her eyes at him, grabbed the girl by the arm and pushed her toward the back corridor. “I suppose you want your
usual
girl?”

Alejandro nodded.

“She’s been waiting for you.” The madam tapped on the door with the lady painted on it, and a tall, reserved looking blonde in red thong underwear, crimson patent-leather six inch heels, and nothing else strolled in. She avoided eye contact with the two other men, staring straight at Alejandro.

“Hola, Ally-handro.”

“Natasha, you finally learned how to say my name right, I’m impressed.” A collective gasp of lust from the strong-arms sucked all the air out of the room. When they could breathe again, Tio and Pepe could only babble “Jesús, Maria, José.”

As she grabbed his hand and sashayed out of the parlor, Tio and Pepe blew kisses and catcalls after them.

Ever mindful of surveillance cameras, Alejandro looped his arm around her waist, nuzzled her neck, and whispered, “Got anything for me?”

She threw her head back, laughed and gave an Academy Award winning performance for anyone watching on closed circuit TV. “Naughty boy. You get spanking right now.”

Natasha took his hand and led him down a dark hallway lit by flickering candles and scented with musky incense. She dragged him past velvet paintings of naked women with huge breasts and men with impossible sized erections. He suppressed a guffaw and restrained himself from commenting that these depictions were
truly
not to scale.

She led him into a private room, closed the door, and locked it. He turned the radio on full blast. Norteño music filled the room, the bass and drums making him feel as if he was inside the boom box. Now they could talk. Grateful not to have to maintain the mask of his swaggering macho persona, he gave a huge sigh of relief and dropped onto the edge of the bed.

“I get names, countries of other girls, make note.” Natasha unscrewed the base of the lamp and extracted a piece of paper. “So many.”

Alejandro glanced at the long list. The countries represented a virtual United Nations of sex workers. A couple of the girls were from the USA. Good. Human trafficking was a huge transnational business and a big priority for the US State Department. Even more reason for them to get involved. Someone, somewhere had to be looking for those girls. “Are they all still here?”

She shook her head. “Weekdays, they put us on bus, take us to big marijuana farms for workers. Farm boss likes me. He keeps some girls up there for his, how you say? Employee bonus.” A lone tear streaked down her cheek, and she wrapped her arms across her chest. “Some never come back. I ask Roja where my friend Martina go, she tell me mind my business.”

“I’m working on getting you out of here. I swear.” He tucked the paper into his boot. Twenty-two year old Natasha’s little girl had been taken away from her by the Russian mob. They shipped Natasha to Senora Roja to work off the two million dollar ransom. If she didn’t pay up, they told her they’d kill the four year old. “I have good news for you. We found your daughter. She’s okay.”

The cloak of sadness that had shrouded Natasha gave way to tears of joy. She threw herself on Alejandro, kissing his eyes, cheeks, ear, and neck. “
Spasiba, gracias
, thank you.”