Читать книгу Trafficked - Lee Weeks - Страница 17

‘La La La. Love Love Love. Kiss Kiss Kiss Me.’ Eight-year-old Sophia sang along to the jukebox in the Tequila Station.

‘Love that one, sweetie. You coloured that real pretty.’

Sophia turned the pages of her book and showed her father her efforts. Terry ran his hand affectionately over Sophia’s soft brown curls, keeping one eye on her work and the other on the door. It was a quarter to eight. The meeting was scheduled for eight. The others would be arriving soon.

The Tequila Station was a large sprawling bar set out on three levels, the most popular bar on Fields Avenue. Just down the road on the same side as the Bordello and within spitting distance of all the best clubs, it was the perfect meeting place for whorists who, in between fucking and partying, came to play pool, relax and get something to eat. It was the favourite place for the younger of them—a home from home. Then, fed and watered, they partied solidly till three in the morning.

Terry and Sophia sat just past the main bar on the right, down two steps in a private seating area that was screened from prying eyes. It had a RESERVED sign permanently on it, although most of the time that wasn’t needed. Everyone understood it was not an area for the general public to sit in. Terry and Sophia were the first ones to arrive.

Sophia was still in her school uniform and was doing her homework whilst Terry talked on the phone beside her. His laptop was open. Terry had installed Wi-Fi so that he could connect with the world from anywhere in the bar.

Sophia sucked the end of her coloured pencils and paused frequently to survey her work. Occasionally she demanded her father’s attention. She didn’t speak—she pushed her face into his as he talked on the phone, and pointed to her work. He smiled and nodded, pretended to be interested.

‘Wait,’ he mouthed to Sophia. She tugged at his arm. He held the phone away from his mouth and covered the mouthpiece. ‘Wait, sweetie. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

She pulled a cross pouty face and went back to colouring, her tongue protruding just a little as she concentrated on keeping the colours inside the lines.

He continued his conversation, a smugly satisfied look on his face.

‘She took a lot of finding. It was thanks to our men in black…Yes…She’s being seasoned right now. Be ready in a week or two. I know, I know, ha ha, a nonstop fucking supply of baby whores—couldn’t ask for more. Yes…So far, so good…The deliveries should keep coming regularly. They are standing by their word. But this is the Philippines; they might always sell out to the highest bidder…. Yes, the Chinaman, is he still buying up everything? We need to show them we mean business…It’s in hand.’

Terry finished his phone call and gave his attention to Sophia, but she had lost interest in her colouring and had now got out Princess Pony to play with. She started combing its hair. The smell of raspberry-scented pink plastic nauseated her father as much as it delighted her, and he instinctively turned his back on her and watched the door. He knew that the others would all be on time. Only the main man would be late, as was his privilege.

Sophia was making clacking hoof noises and Princess Pony was trotting across the table when the door opened.

The security guard stepped aside to allow Reese through. He didn’t get frisked like everyone else, none of the Fields’ VIPS did. The strict ‘no weapons’ policy all around Angeles City did not apply to them. Brandon walked in behind Reese.

The four young black guys playing pool looked up and watched as the two men entered. One of them nodded in their direction. Laurence also worked for the Colonel and had the job of looking after four of the Colonel’s clubs. The Colonel had taken him under his wing as ex-US army; he had felt a bond with him.

Reese and Brandon picked themselves up a drink, and then went straight over to sit with Terry and Sophia. Sophia looked up from her colouring. She knew them both but she never bothered to talk to them because they did not acknowledge her. Only Reese talked to her sometimes, when her daddy wasn’t around.

Laurence finished up his game of pool and came over to join them. He sat down and checked his watch.

‘Five to eight…same old fuckin’ bullshit. We have to be early, but he rocks up when he fuckin’ feels like it. Then he’s gonna turn up with all that “time of reckoning” shit, spoutin’ stuff from the Bible.’ He looked at the others for support. Only Reese sniggered. The Colonel had a Bostonian accent that Laurence could mimic very well. Terry stared back, expressionless, and Brandon just looked around the bar. He could not afford the luxury of a gripe.

Terry looped his arm around the back of Sophia’s seat. At fifty-six he was the oldest member here. He had been in the Philippines for eighteen years. He’d come as a backpacker and an opportunist and stayed. He had married a local widow with several young children and he had fathered one of his own—Sophia. Terry knew how to keep everything low-profile. He went about doing his work unhindered. He bought houses and then offered them for tailor-made paedophile holidays to people from all around the world. Terry was the Internet king. People contacted him from all over the world and he got them what they wanted. He found them a house, he even arranged for a child to be waiting in their bed when they got there. Not just any old child: one to order, one handpicked and pre-seasoned. Now, with his new contacts, Terry was able to have a bigger hand in child recruitment. He had control of a new gang who were delivering on time and on target. No longer did he have to rely on the small-minded gangs of feuding triads to recruit the girls, he was now in control of a slick team that could locate and capture any number of young girls. Terry was a happy man.

Reese tapped away with his cigarette packet, turning it over and over. He did not have room to cross his legs so instead he jiggled his left foot incessantly. Reese was Terry’s ‘gofer’. He did all the day-to-day stuff. He kept the customers happy. Reese didn’t make a fortune from it, but it kept him in a lifestyle he loved. He got to lie on a beach, smoke weed and have lots of sex. Reese had spent his childhood in care. As the boy with the golden curls, Reese had had a lot of attention from the other boys and the wardens. Now he had finally found peace and tranquillity in the laid-back smiling arms of the Filipinos he didn’t want to lose it and he was worried that he would: tension was creeping in everywhere. The Teacher had brought it with him and Reese felt that panic inside him just like when he was a child in the orphanage. He felt he was about to get shafted.