Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
He drew blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a side business.”
“You’re stocking two-million-dollar whiskey from the unpaid tabs and five-dollar tips from guys stumbling in after a shift in the factory?” He tsked. “Why would you insult my intelligence, Verlice? How is that the wise move?”
Arsenio slipped under my shirt again, drawing circles on the small of my back. It was a highly distracting, intimate gesture that popped goose bumps on my flesh.
“I’m not insulting you, Mr. Creed. I’m simply suggesting there’s been a mistake. I assure you my business is completely aboveboard.” He gestured to the mess. “I had a wealthy uncle who passed. He willed those bottles to me. I sold a few. Put the rest on the shelf.”
Arsenio bobbed his head. “A reasonable explanation.”
“See.” His relief was palpable. “Just a misunderstanding. Please, don’t worry about the bottles. I’m insured. I—”
“Verlice, let me stop you while the hole is half dug. I know,” Arsenio stated. “Everything. I know why you close this bar down every Tuesday. I know who’s coming through that door after midnight, and why. If you stop playing games, we can skip the stuff we already know and move on to how you’ll fix the problem. If so, I won’t have to do what I came here to do.
“But you open your mouth and lie to me one more time, I’ll be forced to spell out the entire horrible truth, and sully my girl’s ears. This will upset her—which will upset me. I cannot be held responsible for my actions then.”
“But I—”
“Think very carefully about what you say next.”
Verlice’s Adam’s apple visibly bobbed. “Mr. Creed,” he began, “I assure you I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a side business. The party coming tonight are just a few friends of mine. We— We play poker, drink, and mess around in the basement.” A strained, shaky laugh burst out of him. “Oh, I see. You’re here because I haven’t included my poker winnings in the payments. That was my mistake. I’ll write you a check right now.”
He crossed to the bar, pulling out a checkbook and pen. “Would two thousand cover it?”
I flicked to the pen. It shook on the paper.
Arsenio gave him a long look, stretching the silence till it pressed on us, and Verlice’s hand shook harder under its weight.
“Three thousand?” he croaked, skin paling. “Or four— five thousand. Five thousand dollars is what I owe you.” Verlice wrote the check and held it out. Arsenio didn’t look at it.
“Shall I tell you the truth of the Tuesday Nighters, de Souza?”
I looked from him to Verlice. If this was about poker games and goofing off with his buddies, he wouldn’t be shitting his pants. This is not the look of an innocent man.
“Yes,” I said. “What really goes on tonight?”
“Axel Verlice and his precious bar are what some in the business call a way station.”
“No. No, it’s not true!”
“What’s a way station?” I asked, ignoring him.
“Not all human traffickers have the benefit of owning docks and shipping yards to receive under cover. Those out here who are landlocked with the rest of us, rely on trucks, back roads, cabins, and safe places to stop—or way stations.
“Verlice here works for a particularly paranoid trafficker who demands his drivers make no stops other than gas and the one trip here on Tuesday nights to stock up on food and crash. The trafficker in question allows this, because Verlice is his brother.”
“Lies,” Verlice barked. “All lies! I have nothing to do with this!”
“It’s a three-day drive from the pickup location to the drop-off, and his brother times it. If they’re late, the driver is killed,” Arsenio finished. “That’s why they arrive at this bar and leave at the same time—”
“Every Tuesday,” I finished.
“You must be wondering what Axel’s stake is in this racket—besides the money.” Arsenio dropped his hand, moving away from me. “While the driver is passed out, Axel takes a girl or two out of the truck, brings them down to his basement, and invites a few of his buddies to have a little fun.”
“Oh my goodness.” My stomach heaved. “Are there— Are there woman trapped down there right now?!”
I took off running. Arsenio stopped me.
“No. There’s no one down there, or a truck parked in the back,” he said. “It’s still a few hours out.”
Sense returned to me, calming my heart rate. Of course, we came in the back. No one was there and the sun was still up.
“But what Verlice doesn’t know is the truck isn’t going to make it.”
The disgusting old man’s jowls quivered. “What? What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the tip the FBI received about a rig full of trapped, terrified young girls and the heavily armed man driving them across state lines,” he said. “They’ll be rolling up on his ass with extreme prejudice soon enough, but knowing the reputation of hardened human smugglers, he’s not going to give up a detail about the operation without a fantastic deal.