Sleep Don't Come Easy Page 12

  Goodwin spotted Bruce. “Baldwin!” He waved him over. A female officer was escorting a frightened Hispanic teenage girl to another squad car. The girl was trembling despite the blanket she’d been wrapped in.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Baldwin said dismayed.

  Goodwin shook his head. “I wish I was, man. This is some shit for sure.”

  “How old is that kid?”

  “Fifteen. Doesn’t speak English either. Her mother sent her here to live with relatives, only the girl never made it to any relatives.”

  “How the hell did he find her?”

  Goodwin looked shocked that Baldwin would be so naïve. “I told you, man. The World Wide Web—www.younghotchick.com. It’s all the rage among pedophiles. Or hadn’t you heard?”

  Bruce scratched his head. “Sounds like some fucked up eBay shit if you ask me.”

  “Not quite, but . . . our mayor here has been busy. Careful, but not careful enough. He’s a pompous sonofabitch, though, thought he was too slick to get caught.”

  “How long have you been on to him?”

  Dan chuckled. “Hell, we were never on to him. We just got lucky as hell. Went fishing for a good-sized trout and came out with a fucking shark.”

  “Who called the piranha?” Baldwin asked, referring to the media.

  Goodwin gave him a sly look. “He pissed me off.”

  Baldwin stared at him in disbelief. “Remind me never to get on your bad side, man.”

  Lucas was numb. The whole scene unraveled around him like a movie he was watching on late night television. News cameras surrounded him, flashing lights in his face, pointing fingers, shaking their heads, talking so fast, their tongues couldn’t keep up. He hadn’t known that girl was so young, but he knew she was young enough. He’d told himself that if she looked too young, he’d walk away, but deep down, he knew it was a lie. His wife had taken one of her sleeping pills so she’d get the news first thing in the morning like everyone else in the city. Lisa hated drama. She hated when things weren’t perfect and to be embarrassed in any way. He watched them put that child in the back of that patrol car and breathed a sigh of relief. If he had touched her, he would’ve never been able to forgive himself.

  Lucas had always dreamed big. He’d dreamed of becoming a national hero, a figurehead, respected, admired, loved by everyone who’d ever shaken his hand. The reality of what he’d become was a hell of a lot more frightening.

  Daily Bread

  Todd had left her a message on her cell phone at four in the morning:

  “Where the hell are you? One of the biggest scandals in the history of Denver just came to light and you’re no where to be found. When you finally peel your ass out from between those sheets, turn on the television to any damn channel you please. The story’s gonna be on every last one of them.”

  She sat in front of the television for hours, flipping channels, watching report after report, commentary after commentary on the incriminating acts of the city’s Mayor. He’d fallen like a star from heaven, and still managed to look like a rock star, even in his mug shot. The man’s smug expression dug deep down into the core of Fatema, and she cringed just thinking about the fact that she’d spent any time alone with him at all, and that Toni had actually been intimate with the creep.

  One woman outside the precinct where he’d been taken reported:

  “Inside sources say that the mayor has admitted to soliciting what he thought was an adult woman, and that he had no idea the girl was underage and being held against her will.”

  Of course, every so-called expert who’d ever taken a high school psychology class had to chime in with their opinions:

  “It’s highly unlikely that he didn’t know. Pedophiles are predators. They hunt for their prey and they know where to find it. I doubt his claim that this was his first encounter with a child.”

  “It’s a disease. And men like Lucas Shaw hide behind the order in their lives, and their success, covering up the truth of who they are and choosing to turn away from their transgressions rather than to face them head-on and take action to correct the behavior.”

  Toni knew. Somehow, she’d found out and that was the reason she’d left him. Fatema shuddered and tears unexpectedly stung her eyes.

  “Oh, dear God,” she gasped.

  In the e-mails she’d saved on her computer, Toni had called him disgusting and told him that he needed help. If a man like Lucas Shaw had felt threatened that his secret would get out, how far would he go to stop it?

  They flashed his photograph and images of him being escorted into the precinct in handcuffs. Fatema fixed on his face, particularly his eyes—cobalt, hard, and even after everything that had unfolded on national television, she saw in his eyes a man who was convinced that he was still untouchable.

  That afternoon, she hurried over to The Broadway knowing that Nelson would be there. It was relatively quiet at the shelter, except for the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen.

  A few of the volunteers were busy preparing dinner when she walked in. “Hello.” Fatema smiled. They looked as stunned as she felt. “Is Nelson here?”

  “He’s in his office,” one of them responded quietly.

  Nelson’s door was open. The man was like a stone, sitting with his back to her, staring out of the window at a brick wall on the building next door.

  “You heard?” she asked, trying not to startle him.

  He didn’t turn around.

  “We own that building,” he said, solemnly. “The plan is to make it livable to give people a place to stay until they can get back on their feet.” Nelson sounded so defeated.

  “I really believe Shaw killed her, Nelson.” Fatema walked up behind him and pressed her hands on his shoulders. Nelson reached up and touched one of them.

  “That’s some pretty messed up shit.” His voice cracked.

  Fatema sat down in the chair across from his desk. Neither one of them knew what to say exactly and so they sat reflectively not saying anything for some time.

  “I think Toni knew about him,” she said quietly. “I think she found out what he was doing.”

  “Maybe she did,” he said simply.

  “And,” she continued hesitantly, “I think he killed her because of it.”

  Nelson stared at her. “You think he’s a child molester and a murderer.”

  She shrugged. “Don’t you?” She waited for an answer, but Nelson’s answer came in the form of an averted gaze. “It’s the only thing that makes sense, Nelson. She didn’t stop seeing him because he was married. She stopped seeing him because he’s, for lack of a better term, perverted. The man solicits children on the Net. He’s mayor of a big city. His career is planned out all the way up to the Senate level. Not to mention the wife and kids. Who else would have a better reason for killing her?”

  “They say that kid was a sex slave, bought and paid for a hundred times by men like him. Do you think he knew?”

  “I don’t know. But Toni must have suspected something because she was obsessed with human trafficking. Maybe that’s why.”

  “Do you think the police suspect him?”

  “If they don’t, by the time I’m finished talking to them, they will.”

  “They need to solve her murder, Fatema.” Nelson looked like a man weighted down and tired. “I feel like someone’s left the door open on my life, and until it’s closed, I can’t move forward.”

  Fatema walked over to him, and held him. “I know, Nelson. I feel the same way.”

  “She was the one. Know what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  Fatema eventually left on a mission to see Bruce Baldwin. If he had any kind of common sense whatsoever, he’d have figured this out by now, and she’d be wasting a trip. Heading west on 14th Avenue, Fatema spotted Lazarus crossing in front of her half a block ahead on Delaware Street. Without even thinking, she turned abruptly onto Delaware and quickly pulled into an illegal parking spot on a side street a
few blocks behind him. Fatema jumped out of the car and hurried to catch up with him. For an old man, Lazarus moved fast, and for every two of her steps, he took one. She called after him, but he didn’t stop. The thought that Baldwin had suspected Lazarus for murdering Toni had been absurd, and she couldn’t wait to look him in the eyes and make sure he knew how out of line he’d been.

  “Lazarus!” she called again. The old man seemed to pick up the pace, until Fatema was practically running. He turned right onto Washington, and right again. By the time she caught up with him, Fatema was out of breath.

  “Hey, Lazarus,” she said, still struggling to keep up with him. “Where you going?”

  He ignored her and never said a word. There was something determined about him. She knew he’d heard her by the way he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but he seemed to be a man on a mission, and he didn’t deter her from coming along. Fatema followed without saying another word. He led her back to West 14th and they walked for another four blocks into an alleyway between Lincoln and Sherman. Fatema recognized the back of one building as being The Broadway Shelter. Suddenly, Lazarus stopped and stared down at a small window of the basement of an old brick townhouse. She realized she was standing right below Nelson’s office.

  Lazarus stared fixated on a small, dark window near the dumpster and he waited. Moments later, a ghost appeared. Red rimmed eyes, oily brown hair, a narrow face with sallow skin stared back at first him, and then Fatema. Tears streamed down her face as she mouthed slowly, Help me.

  “Is she real, Sweet Thang?” Lazarus asked, staring at the girl. “Or is this old man just seeing things?”

  “She’s real, Lazarus.”

  “She got some pretty lips,” Lazarus said.

  “Yes,” Fatema responded, stunned. “She certainly does.” She looked up and saw Nelson’s office.

  Redeeming Me

  “Is she ready to transport?” The little man couldn’t have been any taller than five-three. Nelson towered over him by almost a foot, and yet, he shrank into a shadow of a man as soon as the little man came into the room. Behind him stood another man, larger, who never said a word.

  Nelson sat hunched over one of the tables in the empty dining hall, with his hands in front of him. He was exhausted, mentally and physically drained. “What happened to the other girl?” he asked with his head lowered, talking into his chest.

  “What?” the man asked irritably.

  Nelson slowly raised his head. “The Russian girl? You didn’t have to kill her, man.”

  The little man looked annoyed, and the bigger man glared at Nelson. “You give me what I came here for. Nothing else is any of your business.”

  He’d been obedient, dependable, reliable in the past. He’d done everything he’d been told to do because that’s what they paid him for. Nelson fell into a trap of his own passion a year ago, believing he was helping people who couldn’t help themselves. Yes, they were illegals, but yes, they also deserved a chance at a better life and if that better life waited for them in America, then why shouldn’t he help them? In the beginning, it seemed to be the perfect arrangement. Nelson got paid good money to further his good cause that allowed him to do good things for good people down on their luck. The Broadway had been a labor of love, and it had nearly taken everything from him to keep it up and running. State and Federal aid helped, private donations came in when they came in, and they helped, but Nelson had bigger dreams for The Broadway than just a place for people to eat and spend the night. The Broadway was supposed to change lives, to provide a safe place for people to start over from scratch, and give them the resources to begin again. The money these people paid him helped him to accomplish so much. It wasn’t until a young girl was gang raped in the basement of one of his row homes that he realized what was truly going on, and by then, it was too late, and Nelson’s good intentions, naiveté, and self-absorbed ambition blinded him to the truth and made way for these people to be delivered straight into hell.

  “You stalling, Monroe?” the little man asked, sarcastically. “I’m taking my product with me, tonight. You can either take me to her, or we can use your head to bash in the door. How do you want to play it?”

  “She’s just a kid, man,” Monroe protested. “Look, I’ve done my part, and all I’m asking is just let me have this favor. Ivy doesn’t deserve this. None of them do. But can’t you just let her stay here a while longer? I swear, she’ll be here when you come back for her, if that’s what you decide to do.”

  The big man stepped towards Nelson, and he knew what his ultimatum was.

  He’d been working up the courage to save Ivy. Nelson should’ve just let her go, but he knew that if he did, when they came back for her, and if she was gone, they’d kill him. It was his ass he cared more about than hers, and at that moment, Nelson realized that he was a bigger hypocrite than anyone he’d ever known.

  He stood slowly. “I’ll get her,” he said quietly.

  Nelson left through the kitchen and through the back door of The Broadway that led into the alley. He didn’t have to turn around to know that the two men weren’t far behind.

  He was fumbling with the keys in his pocket, when he looked over at the small window and noticed it had been broken.

  “Hey!” the big man shouted.

  Nelson looked down the alley and recognized three people running away; Fatema, Ivy, and Lazarus. Tears filled his eyes, and he shouted out to them. “Run!”

  A shot was fired. Lazarus fell to the ground.

  Nelson turned to the two men behind him, and before he could say another word, the large man hit him in the face with a black, gloved hand, and Nelson crumpled to his knees.

  In an instant, both ends of the alley were blocked by police cars, and the two men tried to get inside the back door of The Broadway that locked automatically. Nelson still held the keys in his hand.

  “You all right?” Baldwin asked, rushing over to Fatema.

  She nodded. “Yes,” she said, out of breath, and that’s when she noticed Lazarus, lying face up on the ground.

  She started to hurry over to him, but Baldwin held her. “Let me go!” she screamed, struggling to get free. “Please!”

  Ivy stood shivering in the cold in her bare feet. One of the officers wrapped a blanket around her and put her in the back of a squad car.

  “Lazarus!” Fatema fell to her knees next to Lazarus. “Oh, God! Oh, dear God!”

  Blood seeped out from underneath where he lay. Lazarus stared up at the sky with a strange smile on his face, and then he looked at Fatema, and held up his hand to her. “Sweet Thang,” he said, and laughed out loud, then coughed uncontrollably.

  “Shhhhh,” she cried, squeezing her hand in his. “It’s going to be all right.”

  Baldwin radioed for an ambulance from behind her.

  “I know it is, girl.” Tears slid down the sides of his face, but he wasn’t crying. “It’s better already.”

  “We’re going to get you to a hospital,” she told him. “And you’re going to be fine.”

  Lazarus swallowed. “No, Sweet Thang.” He stared up at the sky again. The snow had just started to fall, and Lazarus breathed a deep sigh of relief. “I did the right thing,” he told her. “This time—I get to go to heaven, too,” Lazarus chuckled, and then he stopped.

  The police questioned Ivy for what seemed like hours, and then finally took her to the hospital for overnight observation.

  Fatema made sure to say goodbye to her before they took her away, though.

  “You’re safe now, Ivy.” She hugged her. “Nobody’s going to hurt you like that again.”

  “He kept coming back,” Ivy cried into Fatema’s shoulder. “I didn’t think he’d come back because I thought he might just be another crazy old bum, but he came back.”

  Fatema smiled. “He was a crazy old bum.”

  “I think the bastard called himself taking care of her,” Baldwin told Fatema, before he went in to the interrogation room to question
Nelson.

  She watched from the other side of the two-way mirror, still in shock that he would have anything to do with something like this. Nelson told Baldwin everything about how he got involved in the human trafficking ring. Money made him do it. That was a lame-ass excuse, she thought, listening to him try and justify this craziness. And he gave names, numbers, e-mail addresses. Nelson broke down the whole operation as it related to his part in it, and hearing it made Fatema’s skin crawl.

  “The Russian girl stayed for a few weeks before they took her away. They filmed her before they did.”

  “Filmed her?”

  “They—some men came into the basement, and they—they filmed what they did.”

  “Who killed Toni, Nelson?” Baldwin finally asked.

  Nelson’s handsome features melted into a pathetic lump of flesh in that room. And he sobbed like a baby. “It was an accident.”

  Fatema bit her bottom lip, and let the tears flow freely for her friend’s memory.

  “Tell me what happened,” Baldwin probed.

  Nelson tried to compose himself enough to explain the events of that night. “She left at her normal time. We were supposed to meet up later at her place, after I left.”

  “But what happened?”

  He shrugged. “She came back. I had gone to check on—them before I left. I went back to my office and she—she came back.”

  “She confronted you?”

  Nelson nodded. “I tried to talk to her, and get her to just listen. She wouldn’t listen to me, man, she just—”

  “She ran?”

  “We argued, and yeah. She ran. I just wanted her to calm down—to be still so that I could talk to her. To explain.”

  “Are you saying that you killed her, Nelson? Is that what you’re telling me?”