Jillian Chantal

This week’s Tuesday Tale word is hideous. I like this word and I made it an adverb for my snippet!  🙂  I’m still working on my thriller with the former policeman looking for a runaway he’s afraid has been taken for human trafficking.

Be sure to check out the other tales here.

I glanced around for where to start. There were several groups of ladies. From across the space, I could tell the biggest grouping were all either passed out or seemed doped up.

Over in the dim area of the warehouse where eight women were resting on thin mattresses, I spent a few minutes trying to communicate with a woman who spoke broken English in a Russian accent but she didn’t understand what I was trying to say. She kept reciting prices for various sex acts. I couldn’t get her to realize I was there to help her.

Finally, another young lady called over to me. “Svetlana isn’t all there in the head. Come over here. I’ll talk to you.”

I patted Svetlana on the shoulder and excused myself.

Crouching down beside the hideously dirty mattress the new woman was lounging on, I asked, “What’s your name?”

“Does it matter?”

“I would hope it would matter.”

“I’ve been a piece of meat using a false name for so long, I don’t really remember who I was before.”

Her words turned my blood to ice. She looked to be under twenty years old. What kind of life had she had? Horrific for sure. “Hopefully, after today, your life will get back on track.”

She laughed. A raspy, harsh sound. “You think you’ve rescued us and we’ll now all be off the streets? You’re delusional.”

The girl was probably right but her words were like a kick in the gut. “I’m sure some of you don’t have the skills to find regular employment but my friend who mounted this operation has some ideas and the funding to aid those of you who want to try to come out of the life.”

“Good luck with that.” She spat on the floor. “Do-gooders. Bah.”

“Look, whether you love me or hate me, I could use your help.”

“What? So you and your friends can brag about all the poor, poor prostitutes who you saved? Spare me. People are always all about wanting us not to do the job but they soon lose interest and we’re back where we started, hungry, cold and homeless. There’s no magic solution to the end of women being used by men. It’s been like this forever. You’re spitting in the wind, dude. Spitting.In.The.Wind.”

Today’s word for the Tuesday Tales gang is greasy. I’m still working on my thriller set in New York. The hero and his partners have captured some men engaged in human trafficking and are trying to get information on any other women in distress.

Check out the other tales here.

Even though I felt like I was running out of time to save my friend’s granddaughter, I had no choice but to accept I wasn’t going to obtain any information until our troops returned and I could get one of them alone. There was just wasn’t enough man power at the moment.

Deciding to leave them guarded by Dawn while I spoke to one of the women who was being held, I called her over. “Can you watch these gorillas while I see if anyone of the women know where Shannon might be or if they know of any other places the girls are hidden?”

“It’d be my pleasure.” She shot an angry glare at the one I thought was the leader. “Maybe I’ll take this guy down a peg or two while I’m here.” She grinned at me. “You know, so as not to waste my time looking after a bunch of sissy-pants, greasy-haired excuses for real men.”

“Watch your mouth, lady, just because you have us tied up doesn’t mean we can’t hurt you,” the one closest to her said.

“Whatcha going to do? Call me names?” Dawn yawned. “I’m already bored.”

Laughing at her as I walked away, I couldn’t help but admire her guts. She was too much like me for my comfort. Hell, she could be me…except in a skirt.

The thought of those long legs in a skirt sent my mind in a direction it had no place going at the moment. Or maybe not at any moment. I had to place her firmly back in the position of a partner, not a woman. It wasn’t fun but it was necessary. For all our safety.

This week is a picture prompt week for the ladies of Tuesday Tales. We’ve each chosen a picture posted by our fearless leader and written under 300 words inspired by that photo. I am back to working on my thriller where the protagonist (a former NYPD officer) is seeking a runaway who he believes may have been kidnapped by a human trafficking ring. We pick up the story where he and his cohorts have found a secluded warehouse where some of the victims are being kept.

Be sure to check out the other tales here.

They left the last prisoner for me to handle and I tied his arms and feet. As soon as they were all taken care of, I tried to shake some intel from them. “Is this the only place you have for hiding the women you take?”

“Why should we tell you anything, Cop?” the biggest, meanest looking one asked.

I didn’t want him to know I wasn’t wearing a badge anymore, so I went along with his mistake. “I can see by the tats on your knuckles that you’re very familiar with prison. I’m quite sure you know the first to squeal gets the deal.”

He spat on the concrete floor. “Ain’t nobody in this crew gonna squeal.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “Yeah right. We’ve got you tied up all the way to Rikers and back—hell, maybe even a stint in the federal system based on where these ladies may hail from—you and I both know there’ll be a rat somewhere in the mix. May as well be you or one of these other three who get the deal.”

“Forger it man. You got nothing. All these ladies are here voluntary-like. Go on and ask them.”

I knew at this moment, he was probably right. They’d tell me anything they thought these guys wanted them to say but once we got them sobered up and away from here with a chance at freedom, at least one or two of them would talk. Some wouldn’t if this was the only life they had to return to. I wasn’t naïve about that at all.

“Oh, we intend to ask them.” I loomed over him. “Once we get them fed and off the drugs you’ve doped them up on.”

The man didn’t answer. He merely spat on the ground again.

This week the word prompt for Tuesday Tales is pitch. We’re all telling tales using this word. I’m sharing my Christmas sweater story again for the last time since the season will be over next week. It’ll be published sometime in 2018.

Check out the other tales here

“Fancy seeing you two here,” a male voice said.
Yvette turned to find Nordic Guy and Miguel standing beside them. She laughed and placed her hands on her hips. “Are you stalking me? I promise I don’t have a stash of Harlan Coben books stashed in my car.”
“If you did, then I would definitely be stalking but right now, we’re just interested in a couple of sweaters.” Nordic Guy winked.
He was kind of cute but he so wasn’t her type. “They have quite a few here. We’re going through them now. We’ll let you share if you promise not to take the best ones for yourself.”
Nordic Guy held his right hand up. “I hereby swear to allow—wait, what’s your name?”
“Yvette.”
“Okay. I hereby swear to allow Yvette to have the pick of the litter.”
“The pick of the litter?”
He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a dog person.”
“What about your friend? Will he make the same vow?” Yvette glanced around. Her eyes widened when she saw her friend was practically standing in the same spot as Miguel. Any closer and they would be as connected as Siamese twins. She was grateful they at least weren’t making out in the video tape aisle.
“I somehow don’t think either of them care.”
“That’s an understatement.” Yvette slid another hangar along the rail. “See any you like?”
“I’ve seen some things I like.”
Yvette whipped her head around, wondering what he meant by that comment since it came out kind of suggestive.
His face was bland and gave nothing away. She decided she must have misheard the sultry undertone she thought she heard. He did have that chocolately-smooth voice that would probably sound sexy reading the New York Times stock market column. He could be a pitch man for a cologne commercial with the way he spoke, all deep and sensual.
“Like which ones?” she asked to get the conversation back on an innocent level. At least in her mind.
here was a red one with a big green Christmas tree on it and there was a grey one with a llama wearing earrings and a Santa hat.”
“Oh, I didn’t see it. How did I miss that one?” Yvette thought he had to be making that up since that certainly would’ve stood out in her mind.
He winked. “Sorry, the llama one wasn’t true. But I sure wish it was. That would be cool.”
“You’re no help.” She shook her head. Making up sweater styles. What kind of crazy was he? If she weren’t so focused on impressing Mark, she might think this guy was funny but right now, she needed to find the perfect thing for the party on Saturday.
“You don’t like llamas?”
“It has nothing to do with my feelings for llamas or any other quadrupeds for that matter.” Yvette pushed another three sweaters past her on the rack, losing hope with each one she passed.
“Since you don’t discriminate against quadrupeds, how about this one with the most famous quad of this season?” Nordic Guy shook a navy-blue sweater with Rudolph on  the front. The red nose was covered in shiny pleather fabric.