Page 104 of Rage

I hold his gaze, the fingertips of my right hand brushing the handcuff keeper on my belt.

He motions toward the young woman. She’s sitting on a barstool next to the bouncer. “Does she look preyed upon?” He waves his hand dismissively. “She’s free to go anytime she wishes.”

“She has no idea what she’s gotten herself into,” I say. “She’s young. Naïve.”

“And Amish.” He sips whiskey, thoughtful, then looks at me over the rim of the glass. “Those are exactly the traits that make her so special. She knows that. And she’s compensated handsomely.” He empties his glass, raises it, clinking the ice cubes inside, and calls out to her. “Lucy, tell us how your new life here with us compares to your old Amish life?”

The young woman crosses to him and takes his glass. “It beats washing dishes and shoveling chicken shit all day.”

Wingate throws his head back and laughs. “See?”

I speak to her in Deitsch. “They’re going to kill you.”

Tossing me a contemptuous stare, she returns to the island and refills his glass.

Wingate has the gall to look amused. “You see, Chief Burkholder, the moral dilemma doesn’t lie with those who supply the product. It lies with those who utilize it.”

I stare at him, apprehensive because I don’t think I can unseat the keep snap of the cuff compartment on my belt without him hearing it. “What product is that?” I ask.

“Innocence.”

“There’s nothing innocent about any of this.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. In fact, innocence abounds here.” He sits up straighter, leans closer, his expression intensifying. “That is the theme of everything we do. You see, Chief Burkholder, there exists a certain faction of men who will pay an exorbitant amount of money for innocence and the opportunity to sully it.”

I scoot forward as if trying to better hear him, and I use that moment to cover the noise when I thumb off the snap. “You’re a monster.”

“Wrong again, I’m afraid.” He motions toward the young woman. “Take Lucy, for example. She’s young and free and having the time of her life.”

I stare at him, my heart pounding as I slide my fingertips into the keep. “You don’t believe that. Neither does she.”

“Three months ago, she was a virgin. She’d never been touched by a man. Do you know how rare a find that is?”

Revulsion wells inside me, but I swallow it and jab my index and middle fingers into the keep. But my angle is bad. My shoulders are cockeyed. I’m an inch away from giving myself away. Come on …

“A doctor from Toronto paid ten thousand dollars to spend a few hours with her. It’s called lust. It’s been part of humanity for centuries and there’s an endless supply to this day. I simply connect lust to satisfaction. Believe me, it’s a booming market. Everyone wins.”

I keep my eyes on Wingate and feel the key slide between my index and middle fingers. I’m aware of Brooks and the woman walking into one of the rooms down the hall. The bouncer talking on his cell, his voice low. Wingate stares at me, unhurried, as if he’s waiting for something.

Keep him engaged.

“How do Yutzy and Shetler fit into this?” I ask.

“Samuel was a very interesting young man. He was Amish, of course, but he loved the fast lane. He loved women. Booze. Drugs. He understood the power of lust because he himself was a victim. He was valuable to me because he had all the right connections.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Now who’s being naïve?” Smiling, he shakes his head, a parent disappointed by a slow-witted child. “Samuel recruited dozens of young Amish women for us. Beautiful, pure young women. He knew which girls were coming of age. What do you call it? Rumspringa?”

He mispronounces the word, but I don’t correct him. Instead, I concentrate on easing the key from its nest.

“Once the girls came to us, we simply added a little polish, purged some of those old-fashioned inhibitions, and my clientele … let’s just say they couldn’t get enough.”

I bank a rise of disgust, steer the conversation back to Yutzy. “If Samuel was so valuable, why did you do away with him?” I shift as I ask the question, wincing as if the cuffs are bothering me, and I use that motion to free the key from the keep.

Wingate is so immersed in telling the story that he doesn’t notice. “Unfortunately for Sam, he got involved with the wrong woman. A woman he himself recruited and farmed out to the highest bidder.”

“Wilma Borntrager.”