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She rubs her face with both hands, but she’s not crying. She sounds resigned, like she’s gone over this story a million times and accepted it.
“Eventually she asked me for help. She worked up to it over a few months. I said yes, because of course I did. I thought we were friends and I wanted to get her out of there. I didn’t stop to think about the other girls, or what might happen to me. I didn’t think about my father or my brothers. I didn’t see what I was doing as a betrayal of my family. I just said yes, because Tianna was my friend and I wanted to help her get home. I know you don’t believe me, but it’s that simple. She gave me the name of the coyote she used to get across the border and told me what to do.
“I called him. I told him to smuggle her back to Mexico and I paid him. That was my first mistake. My dad found the call logs and the payment transaction. Once the coyote was on board, all I had to do was sneak Tianna out. I got her clothes and some cash, and I helped her sneak away. I told her where to meet the coyote, and she swore she’d go to him and never look back, and I trusted her. That was my second mistake.
“Instead of leaving, she went to the cops. I guess she wanted revenge for what my father and his guys did to her. I don’t really understand it. The cops raided the whorehouse and my father figured out what happened not long after that. I thought I was helping her, but Papa went and killed her anyway. She’s dead, all because I thought I could go against my family. And now here I am.”
She goes quiet. She stares at her fingers like they hold the secrets to all her misery. I let the story sit and I try to absorb it.
She wanted to help a friend. She never should’ve gone against her family—that’s the worst crime she could’ve committed—but she did it for a good reason. I understand and I almost agree with her actions. I don’t want to be involved in the flesh trade any more than she does, but I’d never betray my family no matter what. She did, and now she’s paying for her mistake.
“If it helps, her death isn’t on you,” I say and she shakes her head as I talk. “The girl knew going to the cops was a risk. She chose it anyway.”
“I know you’re right. But I still blame myself. How can I not? If I’d only made sure she went to the coyote, things would be different.”
“You don’t know that for sure.” I sigh and lean my head back. “Just tell me this. Are you going to do it again?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Why?”
She chews her lip and looks at me. “Because saving one life won’t change anything.”
“And you want to change things?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. There’s got to be a better way, right? These girls don’t need to be debt slaves. We can treat them with dignity, can’t we?”
I nod slightly and look at the house. Can we treat them well? I don’t know the answer, but I’ll find out, because my family’s going into this business and it’s on me to figure out how it’ll work.
“Come with me,” I say and open my door.
She follows. She doesn’t ask any more questions. I think she realizes what’s happening, or at least she suspects. We walk up the front lawn and I ring the bell. Siena hangs back, frowning at the blue sedan in the driveway.
“Hey, isn’t that—”
She’s cut off when the door opens.
Zita stands there wearing jeans, a light blue blouse, and an apron like she was in the middle of making dinner.
She stares at me. Her mouth hangs open. Her surprise deepens into fear when she sees Siena.
“Hello, Zita,” I say casually. “Is this a bad time?”
I glance at Siena. She’s gaping and she’s frozen with terror. She doesn’t understand yet, but she will.
“Maxim,” Zita says, gathering herself. “You’re here. At my home.”
“Yes, I’m at your house.” I smile kindly. I want her to stew in this a little bit. “I’ve been doing some research. I have a lot of resources in this city, and I’ll admit, I use them for selfish reasons from time to time.”
“Right, uh, that’s your right, isn’t it?” She smiles but she’s trembling. She’s terrified right now. I bask in her fear like it’s rain in the middle of a drought.
I love this. I love the power and control. There’s nothing sweeter than destroying a person without lifting a finger.
“I know a lot of things, Zita. For example, I know your brother lives in this neighborhood. I know he’s married, with three children. I know their names and what schools they go to. I know you have a mother back in Guatemala. I know you have a cousin in San Antonio. I know you have an ex-husband—”
