Drawing the curtain slowly so it wouldn’t scrape on the rod, I was met by a sight that set my blood boiling. A girl, no older than fourteen, dressed only in a tank top and panties, lay drooped on her side, a look of utter hopelessness on her face. Upon seeing me, she jolted upright, her eyes soaked in misery and fear.
I held a finger across my lips and tapped my police badge withmy gun barrel. Speaking soft as cotton, I said, “Police. You’re safe now, I promise. How many girls are here?”
“Eight or nine now, I think,” she said in a shaky whisper. “It changes a lot.”
“What’s your name?”
“Rachel.”
“Rachel, I’m Detective Pierce. Is it just you girls down here?”
She shook her head and pointed in the direction of a sturdy-looking steel door on the far wall. “There’s a vampire. Stays in that office. Makes sure we stay here. Welcomes customers, gives us food and water.” She paused, tears brimming over her lower lashes. “But only when we… do things for him.”
I nodded, glaring at the door, keen to meet the vampire in question.
And seriously fuck up his day.
I took out my phone. “I’m calling this in. Rachel, can you get the other girls together and get up to the bar area? I left the door open. My partner’s up there. He’s a giant grizzly. He’ll protect you until the cavalry arrives.”
She nodded but stared at the office door with bulging eyes. “But… if he comes out…” Her whole body quaked.
“I’m more dangerous than any vamp, believe me. I’ll take care of him. You just get the girls out of here as quietly as you can.”
She got on the move and soon almost a dozen girls scampered up the stairs. I called it in once they were out of harm’s way, no longer giving a fuck if the scumbag in the office heard me.
“Pierce, badge number 8974. I need multiple ambulances and cruisers at Latona’s Bar on Buxton Avenue. Victims are young girls. Send as many female staff as you can. And bring plenty of blankets—”
The office door banged open, its chunky metal cracking the brickwork. Mexican Mariachi music blared from the office radio,its upbeat repetitive lyrics sung between joyful trumpet blasts and rampant guitar strums.
Mucha alegria!
Mucha alegria!
Mucha alegria!
And there, broad as the door frame, was the creep in charge. He had the classic V-shaped, professional bodybuilder look, all shown off in a tight, black T-shirt and jeans. He’d shaved and gelled his hair into a punk-rock mohawk.
Fuck him and his steroids. I could knock him out with one blow if I wanted. The little bug was over half a foot shorter than me. He could wear the handcuffs, or he could eat silver.
The vamp scanned the empty cubicles and scowled, circling his neck, and clenching his fists.
His voice was grating, his glare midnight black, as he asked, “What the fuck you think you’re doing, pig?”
“Arresting you.” I shrugged, training my Colt on his chest. “Or killing you. Choice is yours.”
He flashed a wild grin, tongue tracing the tip of one fang. “You! You’re the one from the news.” Cracking his knuckles, he bellowed a guttural laugh. “And I thought today was going to be dull. Now I get to kill the hero cop himself. Conrad will be pleased.”
“You do realize I’ve got a Colt 45 pointed at your chest?”
He stripped his T-shirt off in one well-rehearsed move and beat his granite pecs. “Then come, police man, take aim and fire. It’s not a difficult shot. And you know you want to.”
I couldn’t figure out if this guy was soft in the head or had a death wish.
Mucha alegria!
Mucha alegria!
Mucha alegria!
