Jillian Chantal

This week’s word for the group of authors from Tuesday Tales is cozy. It’s kind of hard to use such a word in this human trafficking novel I’m writing but I did it. It amused me to try to figure a way to work it in. Hope you like what I did.

Check out the other tales here.

Ben looked at me. “How do you want to play this?”
“It seems deserted, but we can’t be sure. Since we can’t take Bozo back there with us as he’d be a distraction, I propose you stay here with him and keep an eye out. I’ll sneak around back and see if I can scope it out. If it’s safe, I’ll radio you.”
“I’ll send Dawn our GPS coordinates and have her come along with some of our people for backup. Don’t go in until they arrive. Even if it looks clear. Someone could be hiding out ready to blow your head off.”
I wasn’t making any promises, but I knew I’d be careful. I was kind of attached to my head. It was cozy and snug right where it was. On my neck, between my shoulders. And there it would stay if I had anything to say about it.
“Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing, Kev.”
“What?” Even to me, my voice sounded falsely sincere.
“You didn’t respond to my order not to go in.” He stared into my eyes with a hard look. “It is an order, by the way, but I see where your heart is. Just try to stay alive, man.”
With that tacit approval, I opened the door of the SUV and stepped out on the cracked and pot-holed parking lot. The thing was a danger in and of itself. I bet it hadn’t been maintained in forty years. Loose pieces of broken tarmac were scattered around.
Hoping I wouldn’t trip in one of the crater-sized holes and break my ankle, I moved as swiftly as I could to the side of the building closest to the edge of the woods. It seemed a safer place to start as there would be no traffic coming from that direction. Not that we’d seen any coming from the other way either. It was strangely still and silent. Almost as if the whole place held its breath.

This week on Tuesday Tales it’s a picture prompt week. We’ve each chosen one of the pictures on offer to us as our inspiration. I’m still working on my thriller and have picked up where the hero is going to check out another place where some victims of human trafficking could be held.

We are each limited to 300 words.  Check out the other tales here and see what picture they chose and how they used it.

He called out to one of the men, an impossibly skinny guy who had the longest legs I’d ever seen. “Lou.”
The guy walked over, his gait reminiscent of a stork. “Bennett Harris. Should’ve known you’d have a hand in this. You’re like a one-man army on human trafficking.”
“More than one man, Lou. I have a great group I work with.” Ben turned to me. “This is an old Army buddy I’m trying to recruit as part of my team. Kevin Vickrey meet Lou Dodson.”
I gave a little wave. “Lou.”
Lou nodded and then tilted his head to the back. “Who’s your pal?”
“Name’s O’Keefe. We’re going for a little ride. No worries. I’ll have him back before you process this scene.”
“Not if we find another scene,” I said.
“My optimistic friend,” Ben said to Lou.
“Want me to send some men with you?” Lou asked.
“I’ll call if we find anything. I’m hoping O’Keefe isn’t just looking for a joyride.” Ben revved the engine. “Best be on our way.”
Lou stepped back and we turned left out of the clearing.
For a while it seemed as if O’Keefe was merely leading us on a merry chase but eventually, we made our way down a street in a sketchy area of a small town. Near the end of a street back behind some abandoned railroad tracks, there was a derelict building that was kind of cool looking as it had the old logo on the bricks still visible. It seemed as if the place was empty. Old plywood was in the windows and white paint that appeared to be years old was daubed on the outer part. There were no lights on and it was eerily dark and silent.

I took a deep breath and held it. Would I find Shannon in there?

This week’s word for Tuesday Tales is angry. We are a group of writer’s who use the same word once a week to tell our different tales. I am still working on my thriller.

Check out the other tales here.

“What would it take for you to tell me where I might find some younger girls who are being turned to the life?”
“You some kind of perv?” She shot me a look that would’ve frozen a lesser man, but I ignored it.

I didn’t especially want to tell her about the girl I was seeking because I could tell she might use that information against me. She couldn’t know I had a special interest in any of the victims. I made up a story.

“I’m not a pervert. It so happens I have a younger sister who we lost to the life when she ran away from home, so I’ve made it a goal to save as many younger girls as I can.”

“What happened to her in your family to make her want to run away?” the woman asked.

Great. Now I was going to have to make up more of the story. This was why I hated to lie. It was part of the job on occasion but I’d always hated trying to remember the story. But I went on. “She was in love with some guy who convinced her to go with him to the big city and she believed his tale of them having a wonderful life.”

“So some dude just came to middle America and stole your sister?” She spat om the floor again. “That’s some load of crap there, mister. Just tell me the truth and I’ll see what I can do for you.”

Before I could respond, Bennett Harris returned. I heard him address me as he approached. “Come on, Kev. We have another lead. The locals are on their way and we’re riding out again.”

I stood and turned to face him. A tall man, with a shock of red hair and an angry scar that ran from his left eyebrow to the right side of his chin, stood beside him. In cuffs.
The man’s eyes were hard and I could see no real sign of humanity in them.

Bennett nodded. “Kevin Vickrey. I’d like you to meet Duncan O’Keefe, otherwise known as Scumbag Extraordinaire. He’s going to lead us to another hidey-hole.”

When the man didn’t respond, Ben side-kicked him in the shin. “Aren’t you?”

“I don’t want to.” O’Keefe practically snarled the words.

“All right, then. You can go with the rest to the county jail until the formal charges are brought and you’ll not get the good word I promised to pass along to the prosecutor for your assistance.”

I knew Ben was right to threaten the man with that. Almost all criminals will turn on their buddies for a recommendation for a lesser sentence. I hoped this O’Keefe was one of those guys.

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.”