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“I’m thinking she’s on the fifth floor. It seems to be the hostage floor.”
“If she’s in one of those fifth-floor rooms you’ll need a key to get to her. It’s not like you’re gonna get her out through the airduct. She’ll never fit. And it’s not just those two idiot brothers,” Vinnie said. “There were supervisors in the room with the women workers. They were armed.”
“There were only three of them,” I said. “It’s not like there’s an army here.”
“Hello. You’re talking crazy. There are six of them. There are two of us. They got guns. We got nothing. We’re not even big and scary looking.”
Vinnie wasn’t very big, but he was definitely scary. His hair wasn’t slicked back anymore. It was sticking out like it belonged to a cartoon cat that had just been electrified. He had a four-day beard going, his clothes were stained and wrinkled, and he didn’t smell great.
“I’m going back to get her,” I said. “You don’t have to go with me.”
“This sucks,” Vinnie said. “I can’t let you go back alone. I’d look like a pussy. God will repossess my nuts.”
I nodded. “True.”
“If we’re going to do this, we need to even the playing field. We need guns. We’re gonna have to kill someone and get their gun.”
“I’d rather not kill anyone,” I said.
“You’re making this difficult.”
“Maybe you could just injure someone instead of killing them. And you could make sure it’s a really bad person.”
“I’m thinking if they’re in this building, they’re really bad,” Vinnie said. “Nice people don’t keep women locked up in cement bunkers.”
We stopped talking and turned toward the garage entrance. A truck was approaching. There weren’t a lot of places tohide but the lighting was dim and there were dark corners and stacks of wood pallets. We ran to a stack of pallets and crouched down.
The truck rolled in and parked. It was the second Acut truck with Texas plates. The freight elevator opened and Marcus and two men with assault weapons stepped out. One of the men grabbed a large pushcart dolly that was beside the elevator, and they all walked to the truck. A man and a woman swung down from the truck’s cab, stretched, and walked to the back of the trailer. The doors were unlocked and opened. The male driver climbed into the truck and offloaded about a dozen boxes that were stacked on the dolly. Women were offloaded after the boxes. Most were in their late teens and early twenties. There were three children with the women. I would guess ten to thirteen years old. Everyone looked exhausted. I couldn’t see much of their faces from that distance. They each carried a single bag that I assumed was filled with clothes and a few essentials.
“How long do you think they’ve been in that truck?” I asked Vinnie.
“If it came from Texas, they’ve probably been in there for about thirty-five hours. Two drivers could make a nonstop run in that time. Maybe a little longer if they were avoiding checkpoints. Most likely these women were picked up in Mexico and then the trip would be closer to two days.”
Nine women and the three children were put in the Sprinter van and driven out of the garage by the two truck drivers. The remaining women were put in the freight elevator with Marcus and one of the armed men. That left one man to unload the rest of the truck.
He lounged against the truck, smoked some weed, and surfed around on his cell phone. He was wearing a sidearm. His rifle was propped against one of the back wheels.
Vinnie looked pretty happy about all this. I knew Vinnie was thinking taking this guy would be a slam-dunk. At first glance Vinnie looks like a sneaky-eyed member of the weasel family. No bones. No muscle. A brain the size of a walnut. The reality is that Vinnie is a nasty street fighter. He’s smart. He’s stealthy. He’s fast. He’s surprisingly strong. And he has no problem going for the jugular.
The armed guard threw his butt on the ground, put his phone in his pocket, and climbed into the truck. As soon as he was out of sight, moving boxes around, I cut across the garage and Vinnie ran to the front of the truck. I was in deep shadow at the exit ramp, and I could partly see into the truck. He had a bunch of boxes lined up at the tailgate. He jumped down and started transferring the boxes to the pushcart.
I waited for him to get a few feet away from the truck and I stepped out in full view. “Hi,” I said. “My dog ran away. I thought he might have run in here.”
“There’s no dog in here,” he said. “This is private property. You have to leave.”
Vinnie was directly behind the guard. Vinnie tapped him on the shoulder, and when the man turned around, Vinnie sucker punched him in the throat and kicked him in the privates. The man doubled over, and Vinnie gave him a chop to the back of the head that sent him to the ground.
I ran to the truck and looked down at the guard. He wasn’t moving. “Omigod,” I said. “Is he dead?”
Vinnie toed him. “Nope,” Vinnie said. “I can see him breathing.”
Vinnie took the assault rifle, and I took the sidearm. It was a Glock. Much larger than mine, but I knew how to make it go bang. I searched the guard’s pockets, found a key ring, and slipped it into my back pocket.
“You’re sure Ranger is coming,” Vinnie said.
“Absolutely sure.”
We ran to the stairs and went one flight at a time, listening for footsteps or voices. I could see a bar of light shining under the third-floor door. I cracked the door and peeked inside. The new women were gathered in there. Luther was speaking to them in Spanish, and Marcus and two armed guards were standing watch. The room had long tables and folding chairs. Laundry carts were scattered around the room. Impossible to see what was in them. I carefully closed the door.
