She nods, so I begin.
“Known facts about Jack the Ripper.” So far so good. I continue to read, and by the time I get to Chapter two, Honey is asleep again. I ease my way out of the bed. I need to take advantage of the times when she’s asleep, ’cause each time she wakes, she will be worse than the time before. The melatonin is really helping her sleep, which is a good thing, but it won’t make all the detoxing side effects go away. Melatonin is a natural product, so I am not worried if it will be yet another thing she can get addicted to.
I pull out my laptop and place it on the desk in the corner of her room. I need to look into this so-called Tranquil Gardens Spa. I begin by checking the name, advertising, and its clientele, but everything appears squeaky clean. I jot down a few notes.
Established in 2015, has a steady clientele, quarterly report shows over two million… Nothing out of the ordinary, really; it’s the only spa of its kind around here, so the quarterly income is not alarming.
I shake my head. My hunches are normally right on, so there has to be more. That’s why I’m so good at what I do. It’s like a natural instinct I have. There’s something else here. I pull out my other laptop. This is the laptop not many know I have and rarely gets to see the light of day. This is the laptop where I search the dark web. This baby will give me the answers I need. It’s not always my first choice, however, because I like to find out as much legit information on the target as possible before I see their dark side.
Once it’s fired up and ready to go, I search. I find that there are more than nine thousand illicit massage businesses in the US alone, and it appears Tranquil Gardens is one of them. My hunch was right. These businesses are utilized to move women from state to state or, worse, country to country using ports-of-entry cities such as New York, Los Angeles, Miami, and so many more. Erie, although not strictly a port of entry like the others, is also a good location for transport into Canada. The one thing that doesn’t match the key indicators of these illicit massage businesses is that Tranquil Gardens isn’t hiding. They are out in plain sight, and they advertise as a legit business. Traffickers operate in the shadows, so why does this business pose itself as if it has nothing to hide?
I am surprised to read that trafficking related to massage parlors is second in prevalence only to trafficking in escort services. I think about how many people, men and women, who go to these types of businesses without even thinking about how they may never come out the same. Do they have any idea of the risks involved? Do parents worry when their daughters and sons attend these establishments? They have no clue until their loved one ends up missing and never to be found because they have been sold into slavery in some godforsaken country. It makes my stomach turn.
So who owns Tranquil Gardens?
I continue to search and find that a company called Jadco, Inc. owns our little Edinboro spa.Jadco? Where have I heard that name before?I think for a minute, but nothing comes to me.
It will eventually.
Just then, Honey stirs again. I look at my watch. She slept for almost a whole hour, which is a little longer than before. She whimpers and then I hear her teeth chattering.The cold stage.I go to the closet and pull out a couple blankets and lay them over the bed. She seems to settle a little as she warms up, but she’s still restless. I’m pleased, however, that she doesn’t wake. I wish I could make this all go away.
I walk back to the desk and continue my research. There are several businesses that Jadco, Inc. owns. In addition to Tranquil Gardens, there are three other massage parlors: in New York, Miami, and Los Angeles.Oh, no they are trafficking. Could they be more obvious?They also have two upper-class dating services, restaurants, bars, and strip joints scattered all over the US, all of which hover close to the major three port cities.
I continue to dig, trying to find anything I can on Jadco. And then I find the connection. Jadco is the incorporation affiliated with the Satans MC. That isn’t good. From what Ice has told me, he has brokered a piece with the Satans. Does he know about their side business? I think not. This could mean all kinds of shit for the Knights if this peace turns into an all-out war.Fuck!Ice will be anxious to hear about this. I look at my watch: 10:00 p.m. He’s probably home right now with Emma. I’ll talk to him in the morning.
I decide to call it a night, but before I close my laptop, I notice one more thing that actually makes me laugh. Looks like Jadco is an acronym for “just another dumb company.” Still chuckling to myself, I power down the laptop and slip my notes inside.
Just then, Honey jumps up from the bed and rushes to the bathroom.And so it continues.I get up and rush after her. She is on her knees in front of the toilet, hurling the contents of her stomach. I walk over and hold her hair back for her.
“Sainte, go away. I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I told you.”
She hurls some more, and when things begin to slow down, I walk to the sink, grab the washcloth, and run it under cold water. When it is completely saturated, I wring it out, fold it, and hand it to her. “Here, rub this on your face and then hold it to your forehead. It will help.”
She takes the washcloth from me and does as I ask.
I walk out into her room to grab a bottle of water and the Pepto and head back into the bathroom. She’s sitting on the floor, completely naked with the washcloth to her forehead.
“Sorry, I was hot.” Her clothes are scattered on the bathroom floor.
“Like I said before, ain’t nothing I haven’t seen.” I hand her the bottle of water. “Here, rinse your mouth out and then drink as much as you can.”
“I can’t. The thought of putting something back in my stomach makes me want to throw up again.”
“Do it. I promise you’ll feel better.”
Reluctantly, she takes the top off the bottle and does as I ask. Before long, half the bottle of water is gone. “See, you feel better already, don’t you?”
She nods. I pour Pepto into the cap and hand it to her.
“Oh God, Sainte, please no. That pink shit is nasty.”
“Sorry, but you gotta. Trust me.”
She reluctantly takes the cap, closes her eyes, and plugs her nose with her free hand and downs the capful of Pepto. I try to hold back my laugh, but I can’t. She looks like a toddler who doesn’t want to take their medicine.
“Good girl.” I reach for her hand and help her up. She shivers, her legs shaky. I swoop her up into my arms and carry her to the bed. She wraps her arms around me and lays her head on my chest. “You are so warm,” she murmurs.
