The Protector (2 page)

The little man released the girl. “Oh yah. Pay inside. Then take room,” he said, all businesslike and polite now that he saw cash was available. He placed the girl’s hand in Jazz’s. “Rose, you be good to GI, or no money!”

The girl had been looking at the wads of cash with wide eyes. She blinked and nodded dazedly, not taking her eyes off the money. Jazz could see she was already imagining all the things she could afford, and his heart sank a little.

“Hey, man, you sure you know what you’re doing?” Hawk asked.

Jazz glanced at him sideways. “I’m doing nothing,” he said.

“I know that, but where are you taking her? You can’t keep her. We’re going as soon as our ride is here. What’ll happen to her then?”

“I’m going to go in there, pay for her and leave her in that room. Then I’ll wait outside.” Jazz didn’t want to be in the bar anymore. His smile softened when he turned back to the waiting girl, who stood passively beside him. “I promise, no one is going to hurt you for a while, okay?”

She frowned, not really understanding. Her brown eyes were still frightened, but her mouth pursed determinedly, as if she was trying to be brave. Jazz sighed inwardly. It was always the same dilemma for him. Coming to the aid of women in distress was his weakness. He would leave her in that room with the rest of the money, or tell her to go home, if she had one. Hawk would be mocking him after this. He always did.

“You can marry every one of them and send them back to your mama,” he would deadpan. “With the way we travel, no one would be able to keep up with your polygamy habit. This way, you get to save all of the women, and I get to save my money.”

Jazz’s lips twisted. Oh yeah. Sending home an underage bride once a week to Louisiana. He could just see his maman’s expression now.

“Pay inside,” the girl said, pointing at the door.

Jazz followed her and had to bend his head to clear the doorway. He was about to step across the threshold when a leg, resting against the doorjamb, effectively blocked his path. He couldn’t straighten up without risking hitting the back of his head against the frame.

“GI go home,” a weak female voice said from the shadows.

She was sitting right inside the doorway, hidden from view. From his angle, Jazz could see only the top of her head, which
had streaks of white in it. A cash box lay on the floor by her feet. There was a large ring with keys by the box.

“I paid,” he said, thinking that the woman hadn’t seen the girl. He thumbed behind his shoulder. “I paid for the girl.”

The girl peeked over his side. There was a pause, then the reedy voice said again, this time more firmly. “GI go home.”

The leg barring his entrance didn’t budge. Not sure what the usual procedure was, Jazz waved his cash at the old woman. “Here, take this and let me pass, old lady.”

There was another short pause. “You not drunk, so listen. The young should always listen to the old,” she said.

Oh great. He had Grandma Confucius advising him. Maybe she was related to this girl? “It’s okay, Grandmamasan,” he said, trying to keep things simple. “I’m just going to pay and then make sure Rose is safe in the room and I’ll be right out. See here? I’m paying for her to be in there for two days with food. You make sure she gets fed, okay? Now where is the room?”

“I take her. You go now,” the old woman insisted.

She had gotten his curiosity up now. He hadn’t noticed the other two soldiers before him having any problems getting inside this place. What was back there? “No, I’ll take Rose myself.” He climbed over the extended leg, bent down, and took the woman’s hand in his. Opening her palms, he placed the dollar bills in her hand and closed it. “Now, which room?”

The bad lighting revealed a wizened face staring back at him, but he was surprised by the charged anger in her eyes. The woman didn’t like him.

“The young is stupid,” she told him. “Go back to bad singing, GI.”

Bad singing? This old lady just called him stupid and insulted his singing. Jazz didn’t quite know whether to be amused or pissed. All he wanted to do was to see this girl safely into her room and get out of there, and he couldn’t even get past some pain-in-the-butt old lady.

“Room number,” he said firmly. He repeated, “Room number, Grandmamasan.”

The old lady bent, revealing osteoporosis in her humped back, and retrieved the big ring of keys. With trembling fingers, she pulled out one and handed it over. “GI number ten,” she said loudly, “so room number ten.”

Jazz shook his head in disbelief. He could hear Hawk’s laughter from outside the room, which meant he had heard every word of the exchange. He took the key and walked past the old woman. She must be mad at him because she knew the girl was a virgin. That was the only reason he could think why she was angry. He sought to soothe her fears again.

“Don’t worry,” he said, as he followed Rose down the corridor. “I’m not going to do anything. I’ll be out before you know it, Grandmamasan.”

Room number ten was easy to find. It was in back, and as he passed each doorway, he heard sounds and grunts coming from inside. There were no doors, Jazz noted in disgust. He clenched his hand, resisting the urge to punch something, as he continued until he reached the one with a big red number ten painted on the plastic curtain. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to leave Rose here without a door between her and the outside.

He pushed aside the curtain, and Rose went inside first. The room was a little brighter, barely furnished, and musty smelling. She seemed to know what to do because she immediately sat on the mattress and began to unbutton her blouse.

“Oh no,” Jazz said, coming forward. “No, no, don’t do that.”

She stopped, confusion in her eyes. Her blouse was open partway, revealing her young bosom. Jazz coughed and bent down to pull together the gap.

Suddenly the curtain behind him swished opened. Jazz pulled the girl behind him, protecting her from the intruders. There were two men, and their weapons were pointed at him. One of them flashed a badge at him.

“Interpol.” The French accent was strong. “Please come with us, soldier.”

“Why?” Jazz asked politely.

“We’re under orders to seize all military personnel in the act of committing a sex crime against a child, per the UN directive. You will be placed under arrest until your commander or someone from your base comes for you.”

“And if I say that I wasn’t doing what you thought I was doing?” Jazz asked.

“You can say everything to your commander. This is a sting operation. The UN directive mandates all military personnel caught with underage prostitutes be returned to their base of command and face the appropriate laws pertaining to their own countries. Would you come with us peacefully, please?”

They were the most courteous captors Jazz had ever had. He might as well let them take him in. A fight, especially with Interpol soldiers, would get him into more trouble than he was already in.

Jazz lifted his hands in surrender. He hadn’t wanted to stay in the bar anyway.

The old woman cocked her head, listening intently. The music stopped out in the bar. A lot of arguing in between sounds of chairs and tables being knocked about. It should be over in five, four, three, two…now. Interpol had done this exercise enough times to have it down to the exact second—confusion, badges, explanation of rights. Most of the time it was a bloodless affair. The soldiers treated it as a joke because most of the authorities didn’t enforce it, shipping out suspects to avoid prosecution or embarrassment to their respective countries. The mercenaries just disappeared.

The old woman by the door sniffed angrily as she bent to pick up the cash box at her feet. Before she could retrieve it, a big pair of army boots appeared beside it. She froze, then looked up slowly. It was a long way up for a little woman. The man before her was tall and commanding. He stayed silent as he waited for her to respond.

The old woman squinted her eyes, trying to make his face
out in the dim light. “What you want?” she asked in broken English.

“Where’s my friend?” He sounded calm, unhurried. He was the one who didn’t sing along with the others.

“GI number ten?” she asked, tilting her head sideways to get a better look at him. Like the other man, he looked as if he needed a long bath, but the dirt and leftover streaks of camouflage makeup didn’t hide the glitter in those strange golden eyes.

“That’s the one, Grandmamasan,” he said. “You tried to stop him from going in there. So save me some time. Where is he now?”

“Are you his big boss?” Her neck hurt from looking up. “You squat down, golden-eye GI. My back not good. I no like talk to big man’s shoes.”

He complied and went on his haunches so she could comfortably look down at him. Having seen so many men in this environment, she was good at judging faces. She leaned a little closer, blinking her eyes. “GI gonna listen to old woman? Not like GI number ten?”

The man nodded. “You tell me, Grandmamasan. I’ll listen.”

She cackled, showing her rotted teeth. “You GI number one.” She bent even closer. “They have big lorry out back for all bad GIs. Take them away.”

“Where will they take them?”

She shook her head. “If I tell you, you go play cowboy, right? Bang, bang, take him out of prison.”

She smiled knowingly as Hawk settled back on his haunches and studied her for a moment. “You seem to know a lot, Grandmamasan.” He cocked his head. “How much they pay you to do this?”

Her smile widened, pleased that she had been right. This young man was smarter than most of them. “Me old lady. No GI want old lady. Got to eat. Got to pay government.” She counted off her obligations, her fingers trembling as she folded them into her hand. “Got to pay landowner. Got to
pay doctor for medicine. This old back…it hurt when rain outside—”

She stopped when he grabbed one of her hands. “Grandmamasan,” he said quietly, calmly. “My friend is not a bad guy. I know you know this because you tried to stop him from going in there. Those Interpol men won’t tell me anything, and I need him back very quickly.”

She wasn’t afraid of him, though he could easily crush her hand. She sensed he was a dangerous man, but then there were plenty of dangerous men in these parts. “Do not interrupt,” she scolded. “I keep you waiting because you GI number one. You go after your friend, those others outside go with you. You stay here with me, they wait out in bar like good boys, yes?”

He drew in his breath sharply. “Why keep me and my men here?”

“Because you don’t want to be all in prison, yes? Those guys outside powerful. Big guns. You are five, six men?” She shook her head. “They have more. They take you all in easy, and then you all in prison many days. You don’t want, no?”

The young man was cocky. He grinned at her as she told him her fears. He shook his head. “No, you’re right, wouldn’t want that, Grandmamasan, but they won’t be taking us that easily, so don’t you worry about us. Tell me where they took Jazz.”

“Jazz?” She frowned. “Oh, GI number ten.”

“Yes.”

She pointed to the cash box at her feet. “Open that.” He picked it up and flipped open the lid. “See card? They give me phone number to call them.”

He drew the card out and studied it. “Why did they give you the number?”

She smiled. “Young man, we all do business. Old lady not tell everything. But you call that number and you ask them where GI number ten is. I know they let go many, many GIs after phone call.” Her smile turned unpleasant. “But only if
they have friends who have number. No number, long long time inside waiting for their big boss.”

“How do you know this?” His eyes were curious. He put the card back into the box.

She shrugged. “Old lady listen. Old lady see. You listen to old lady and so you get number. You don’t listen, you go with GI number ten.”

He grinned again. “Very good, Grandmamasan. I’ll remember your advice. I’ll call this number and if I get my friend back, I’ll come back here and give you money.”

“Not a kiss?” She showed him her mouth full of bad teeth, then cackled at her own humor. “Long time since old lady got kiss.”

He laughed softly. “Grandmamasan, you wicked lady.” He gave her the cash box, then stood up. “Tell you what. When I get Jazz out, I’ll tell him he owes you a kiss.”

“Two,” she told him firmly.

“Two?”

“One for your thank-you. One for his thank-you.”

He shook his head. “You drive a hard bargain.”

She nodded in agreement. “Old lady not same with those young girls. You tell Jazz that. Now go. Old lady go bathroom.”

She watched as he saluted her and walked out of the dim hallway, back into the bar to his waiting men. She knew they were a group when she first saw them wandering in. Something about them was different from the others around.

Peering out from between the curtain flaps, she waited as she watched him speak briefly to those men. They got up and left. Aha. She had been right again. That young man was the big boss. She frowned. So was GI number ten. She remembered the way he’d talked to this one, who paid attention to an old lady. Very like friends and equals.

“Jazz,” she repeated in the dark. Stupid name for stupid GI.

She slowly got on her feet, and carrying the box and keys in her hands, she shuffled into the back, past all the cubicles
with the ugly numbers painted on the plastic curtains. When she turned the corner, her steps lengthened. Her back straightened. By the time she reached the back room where the owner of the bar waited with an Interpol agent, she had gained several inches in height, her stoop was gone, and her movements were unhurriedly assured.

She bared her ugly teeth at the angry little man who started calling her obscenities. “You shouldn’t make me angrier than I am already,” she replied in his language. She came forward and backhanded him before the Interpol operative could do anything. “That’s for hitting Rose.”

“Got some rest?”

Jazz grinned at Hawk’s question. This was his first time being confined in an Interpol facility. He knew his friend would get him out of there sooner or later. He had been surprised that the team hadn’t stormed the army truck that transported him here and rescued him, but he’d guessed that was probably a bad idea. If this whole thing was a UN directive, it was better to have one SEAL in prison, rather than eight. Anyhow, if they’d taken down the Interpol team, there would have been more charges.