Undercover Girl – Chapter Twenty 
By Katherine Day 

Chapter Twenty – Dinner Out

You’d hardly guess that Mariano’s was one of the city’s most renowned restaurants. It was tucked into a small warehouse-like building in an area that once had been buzzing with small manufacturing installations, most of which had closed or fled to other areas and even overseas. Weeds and debris filled many of the lots and empty gray and grimy buildings stood as decrepit sentinels, their windows either boarded up or broken out.

Cedar Street, the location of Mariano’s was lined with the parked cars, mostly late model SUVs or luxury sedans, of owners who were inside the restaurant. Miranda eased her aging Ford Focus into a spot between two well-polished sedans, her car a sorry sight in comparison. She would have been too embarrassed to have pulled her junker of a car up to the valet station. As she exited her car she saw a small security car patrolling the neighborhood, apparently to protect the fancy cars from possible theft.

“We’ll keep an eye out for your safety, miss,” the rent-a-cop yelled from the car. “You really should use our valet service, miss.”

Miranda waved back at the officer and yelled “thank you,” continuing her walk to Mariano’s.

She was already five minutes late and she was greeted by a large, well-dressed man, obviously a security person hired by the restaurant to assure finicky affluent and suburban customers of their safety in this nondescript urban neighborhood.

“Welcome to Mariano’s ma’am. Are you meeting someone here?” the large man asked, his voice kind and gentle. Yet, Miranda understood the question; the restaurant obviously was not interested in single women entering the place with designs to practice their street trades. Miranda was well aware the high-priced prostitutes dressed in fashionable good taste in hopes of snagging a well-heeled “john” for the night. She smiled that she must have fit such a description.

“Yes, I’m meeting Mr. Harrington,” she said quickly.

“He’s already here, ma’am. I believe you’ll find him just in the front, probably talking to Peter . . . er . . . Mr. Mariano,” he said, opening the door for her.

She entered and before she could focus her eyes, Miranda found herself engulfed in a quick hug.

“Miranda, so happy you could make it,” Emery gushed.

She turned her head to avoid a potential kiss; thankfully, he pulled away just as quickly, turning toward a tall, fiftyish, impeccably dressed man with a full head of dark hair, accented by graying at the temples.

“Miranda, this is Peter Mariano, a longtime friend of father’s and the owner of this joint,” Emery said, introducing the man.

Peter Mariano looked at her and smiled. “Welcome to Mariano’s, my dear. Didn’t know Emery had such good taste in women.”

Emery laughed. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Peter.”

Miranda looked at the older man and mouthed a “thank you,” giving him a smile. She wondered whether her actions might have been a bit flirtatious. She felt a bit shamed that she was exploiting her newly-found talents as a lovely young woman.

*****
Emery gently held onto Miranda’s arm as he guided her through the maze of tables, hoping to avoid bumping up against the chairs holding the diners. The hostess directed them to a banquette alongside a wall in which they’d be forced to sit next to each other, a setting made for couples, particularly those seeking intimacy. Miranda scowled, knowing full well this would be a sign that Emery was seeking a romantic evening, something she wasn’t ready for.

They settled into their seats, Miranda trying vainly to stay as far apart from her companion, but still she felt his warmth. She ordered a cosmopolitan while Emery ordered a “Jack” on the rocks, causing Miranda to muse that the young attorney had ordered a drink (Jack Daniels bourbon) she associated with “real men.”

There was an awkward silence while they awaited their drinks, both ostensibly studying their menus. Miranda’s mind was wandering, wondering about how to behave that evening, what to say or why was she there. She was uneasy.

When their drinks arrived and their meal orders taken, she decided it was time to be bold.

“Tell me Emery, why are you interested in taking me out. Certainly, you know about my status?” she asked.

“Why, Miranda? Why not? You’re an attractive, intelligent young woman,” he responded, as if he was surprised by the question.

“You know I really am Marcus, the caseworker from Opportunities, Inc., or should I say former caseworker.”

Emery smiled. “I know Marcus, a very hardworking young man, but I like Miranda better.”

He placed his hand on hers. “You know, I could see the woman in you even when you’re Marcus,” he added.

“But I’m not really a woman, am I? So why would you even want me?”

“I think you are a woman, Miranda,” Emery said.

Miranda reddened, not expecting such an answer. Certainly, the sharp-minded young man sitting next to her must know that her plumbing system was male and that a close look might show that even with her light facial hair she was forced to shave at least once every other day to keep her skin soft and smooth.

“Miranda, I understand about persons who are transgender,” he said, his tone serious. “I’ve tried several cases against men who have assaulted transwomen and I had to learn and understand the victims, to realize that while they may have male physical features they truly are female in their minds, in their psyches and in their behaviors. I presume you’re such a woman.”

Miranda didn’t answer right away, truly not knowing what to say. At the moment, she was unsure of what her future was. She had only recently discovered her feminine nature; while she had long exhibited effeminate behaviors, she had not considered that she might eventually live as a woman until her experiences in the recent weeks had made that a real possibility.

“I’m not sure what I am right now, Emery,” she said dropping her head, unwilling to meet his eyes. She knew he was sympathetic, yet she felt embarrassed about her gender, her failures as a man.

“I don’t mean to offend you, Miranda. Please believe that. Let me help you, if I can. As a friend, nothing more.”

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.

With a quick “excuse me,” Miranda fled to the ladies’ room, which was empty, entered a stall and cried. After a few moments, she fixed her makeup and returned to the table, offering Emery a smile.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“No, it’s me who owes you an apology. I brought this on. Let’s change the subject and enjoy our lasagna.”

The food was delicious and their conversation turned to movies and she was pleased to learn that Emery enjoyed watching old musicals, like “Guys and Dolls,” “South Pacific” and “The Bells Are Ringing.”

“I love those, too,” Miranda gushed.

Soon they found themselves comparing favorite songs and scenes from the movies, even finding moments of shared laughter. It soon became a comfortable dinner for both.

“Now for another reason I asked you out, Miranda,” Emery said then they had finished their meals and relaxed over after-dinner drinks.

“Hope you’re not going to ruin our lovely evening together,” she said. “I don’t know when I ever enjoyed a dinner more than tonight.”

“Me too, but I think I need to ask you a few things about the Jefferson Turner case,” he said.

*****
Miranda had hoped that she could discuss the case with Emery that evening and was surprised that he brought the topic up. Hadn’t he been reluctant to take the case, claiming he was precluded from doing so by “orders from the top,” obviously meaning the district attorney?

“What is it you want to know, Emery?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound too eager.

“First of all, Miranda, whatever we say tonight about this case is just between us, OK?”

“Yes, of course, but why the secrecy?”

“You know I’ve been ordered to have nothing to do with this case, right?” he queried.

“Yes, I know that,” she agreed.

“I’m still not to have nothing to do with this case. And, they’ve made that very clear, but this is Sunday night, right?”

She nodded.

“This is my own personal time so I figure I can talk about anything I want, right? Thus, the secrecy.”

She smiled. “I understand, Emery, but how can I help?”

“I want you to know that I feel you are a brave and courageous young woman,” he began. “You put yourself in terrible danger, Miranda. You should know that.”

Miranda thought back to those terrifying moments as she fled into the woods, away from her captors. She had never been so frightened at any time before in her young life.

Emery took her hand and looked sympathetically into her eyes and spoke. “I don’t want your pretty face to be damaged in any way and those people mean business. Get in their way and they’ll cut you up to make you worthless on the street. Besides, leave the police business to the police.”

She was angered by his comments.

“What was I to do when you and everyone else in law enforcement was looking the other way? I had to do something and I was desperate. Do you think I wanted to be a prostitute?”

“God no, I didn’t mean it that way, but when you posed as a street person those thugs would just treat you as they would any girl of the streets, cut her up so she can’t even earn a living on the streets.”

He asked her to relate what she was able to learn about Jefferson Turner’s actions and her own exploits at the estate in Madison Heights.

“Do you think there is any human trafficking going on there?” he asked when she finished.

“I couldn’t say,” she answered. “They’re obviously finding girls and young girly boys for sex, so I guess it’s human trafficking.”

He nodded, then asked, “Could you tell if any of the girls were brought in from out of state?”

She shook her head “no,” and commented, “But maybe Jefferson could tell you. Why is that important?”

“If they were bringing in girls from elsewhere, Miranda, then you could get the Feds involved.”

“Like the FBI?”

“Yes, ‘cause there is a federal campaign against trafficking and for the Feds to get into the case there has to be action across state lines,” he explained.

Miranda thought for a minute, finally realizing where Emery was headed in his questioning.

“Your hands are tied, right, Emery? And, you think there’s some sort of conspiracy going on and that it might include some key leaders of the community, maybe even your boss.”

“I don’t want to think that way, Miranda, but yes, I’m worried that it does.”

“You admire him, don’t you, Emery?”

He nodded: “Yes, very much. He’s always been a crusader against crime and he cares for the poor, always ensuring that our prosecutions are not discriminatory against the minorities or gay, lesbian or transgender individuals. If he’s involved in any kind of conspiracy, it’s very much against his character and there must be a special reason for it.”

Miranda realized the difficult position Emery was in. She was convinced he was a principled and idealistic person, committed to enforcing laws with a compassionate and effective manner. Yet, his hands were tied, likely by a boss who might have been compromised by an organized human trafficking ring, possibly because of the need for political campaign funds.

“I’d like to get to the bottom of all this,” she said. “Some of the girls in our office at Opportunities, Inc., are also concerned that Hector, our own boss, might also be involved.”

“This might go deeper than we all realize,” he added.

Miranda didn’t speak for a moment, her mind broiling with thoughts about how she could help. Didn’t Emery say that if kidnapping had occurred – particularly if it went across state lines – there’s be reason to involve the FBI and take the investigation out of the hands of local authorities whose efforts were stymied by the influence of Brownings and others.

“What are you thinking?” Emery said, impatiently.

“Maybe, I can find out a bit more about the girls I met in my last escapade, see if they’re from out of state, or how they got there,” she said, more as a random thought than any firm plan of action.

“No way,” Emery said. “I know what you’re thinking, but you’re not to endanger yourself any more. You hear me.”

“But it might be the only way, besides I need to get some better information for you, since Jefferson’s testimony isn’t enough.”

“Don’t even think about this, Miranda. Please,” he said, taking her hands in his. His eyes took on a pleading look.

“I can handle myself, Emery.”

He merely shook his head. He knew the young woman was headstrong, but he desperately didn’t want her taking any more chances. He tried a few more arguments, telling her that she was dealing with dangerous people who would think nothing of injuring her or even killing her.

In the end, Miranda answered that she’d consider everything he said.

“I like you very much, Miranda, and I’d like to continue seeing you, if you’d like,” Emery said, his grip on her hands growing firmer.

“And I enjoyed tonight, really this was so nice, Emery.”

Miranda looked at Emery, seeing him as the marvelous human being he was. She was aware, too, that this handsome man had moved closer to her and she felt a strange excitement grow within her. Emery had grasped her left hand that now felt tiny and soft in his larger hand. She looked down, admiring the sinews and veins that seemed to want to burst out of the taut skin on his thick wrist. She imagined the muscles that must be rippling under his loose-fitting shirt. No, no, no, she told herself: don’t let this happen. Don’t find yourself in love with this man. Her true love was Amy, wasn’t it?

*****
Back at Heddy’s apartment, Miranda readied herself for bed, wishing that she could be resting in the arms of Amy Dacosta. She needed the comfort of her friend to remind her of their warm love for each other. She was pleased that no further intimacy occurred that evening with Emery; he hadn’t even given her a “good night” kiss, content with a parting hug that could at best be described as brotherly.

Even so, Emery Harrington was very much in her thoughts as she tried to sleep, but sleep didn’t come easily. Her mind raced vigorously, jumping first to the attraction she seemed to have for Emery and then contrasting it with her feelings for Amy and then again moving to the discussion of how to proceed to learn whether there was a grand conspiracy that was fostering human trafficking in the city. She was still awake when she heard Heddy return from her evening out with her girlfriends. Miranda wondered as she looked at the digital clock, “9:18” it read. Usually, Heddy didn’t get home until well past ten o’clock.

Because it was early, Miranda wondered whether Heddy might have wanted to talk. She wondered whether Heddy might want to share something about her boyfriend in Afghanistan, but also Miranda wanted to discuss her night with Emery and some thoughts about the Jefferson Turner situation. She got out of bed, and wearing only her sheer nightgown over her dainty, slender body she padded out of her room.

“You’re home early. Anything wrong?” Miranda asked.

“Hi sweetie. Nothing’s wrong. Both Marie and Cindy have to be up at four in the morning. They’ve got some sort of special assignment tomorrow.” Heddy’s friends both were in law enforcement as well, working with the county sheriff’s department.

Miranda smiled. “Got time to talk, maybe?”

“Sure. let me change into something comfy. Why don’t you fix some tea and we can chat a while?”

Fifteen minutes later, Miranda began to summarize what she and Emery had discussed about the Turner case.

“You know, I think you two are on to something, Miranda,” Heddy said when Miranda finished. “You know Simbach, my sergeant, has stuck his neck out to let me continue on the case. He got orders from the chief’s office to lay off, you know.”

“Why would these guys, like your chief, Emery’s boss and my former boss all seem to want to look the other way?”

“It’s mighty suspicious, particularly since there have been threats against both Jefferson and you,” Heddy said.

“I agree, but Emery said that if we can prove they may be bringing in girls from out-of-state then maybe we can get the Feds involved,” Miranda explained.

“How do we do that?”

Miranda had an idea, but she hesitated to suggest it. It would mean putting herself in danger, exposing her to the guys who are trying to tail her and likely hurt her. Besides, she would think Heddy would only nix the plan; so would Amy. Yet, Miranda knew that it had a good chance of being able to provide the proof needed to bring in the Feds and crack the human trafficking conspiracy wide open.

Heddy looked at Miranda, wondering why her friend was in deep thought.

“You have an idea, don’t you Miranda?” she asked.

“I do,” Miranda admitted.

*****
Two nights later, Heddy Jelacic drove Miranda to the Grove Street area that was a known area of prostitution. She dropped Miranda off a block from the street along a barely-lit side street lined with vacant or darkened warehouse buildings.

“I still think you’re being stupid, Miranda,” Heddy said. “And I’m stupid for letting you do this. God, you could get cutup, raped or, damn, even killed.”

“Just give me two hours, OK?” Miranda said, opening the door.

“I’ll come by at eleven o’clock then, looking very much like a john and I’ll make it look like you’re my trick for the night,” Heddy said.

“I know. I know, Heddy. We’ve been over this a hundred times.”

At first, Heddy Jelacic had adamantly opposed Miranda’s idea to flush out those perpetrating the human trafficking cabal as not only being foolhardy but also being extremely dangerous. Miranda suggested that she head out onto the street of known prostitution and see if she could find any girls (or drag queens) who might indicate any out-of-state activity. Heddy’s objections were sensible ones, but Miranda’s constant conversation soon wore her down into agreeing with the adventure.

Miranda argued accurately that they couldn’t trust the city’s vice squad team to investigate. It was generally known that the squad had taken a hands-off view on prostitution with the not-so-unreasonable theory that if the police kept prostitution in one area and maintained contact with their pimps they could contain the practice of the “world’s oldest profession.” No other law enforcement agencies seemed interested in investigating the possible human trafficking conspiracy.

As she walked from Heddy’s car, Miranda began her flirtatious walk and mannerisms. Her heart pounded heavily. She shivered, probably as much out of fear as from the chill of the mid-autumn night. Despite the fortyish temperature, she wore a tight mini-skirt that exposed her crotch if she bent over too far and her legs were covered with flesh-colored tights. She wore a cream-colored blazer of faux fur that provided some protection against the chill. Her light brown hair was piled high on her head. Again, seeking to portray herself as a zaftig teenager, she wore ballet flats, realizing that she didn’t quite fill the image of a street worker and she hoped her apparent innocence might prove enticing.

She saw three women – all obvious street girls – hanging around a street light, taking turns hailing motorists as they passed slowly by. Miranda shuffled up to them.

“You one of Danny’s girls, hon?” asked one of them, a husky girl whose tiny skirt exposed heavy thighs and wide hips.

“Ah . . . Danny?” Miranda replied, her voice coming out weakly.

“She’s not, Autumn,” the other one, whose curvy figure was packed into a tight mini-dress, covered only by a grimy beige sweater.

“Get the hell outa here, kid,” said Autumn. “Danny’ll be by shortly and you’ll be toast.”

“Yeah, it’s slow tonight. We don’t need a teeny-bopper taking our tricks. Get, girl, before I scratch your eyes out.”

“Leave her alone, Melody,” said the third woman. She was older, perhaps in her forties, Miranda could see. She had a hard, lined face; yet, the woman had warm, friendly eyes.

“Aww, I was just scaring her, Annie,” the girl called Melody said.

Annie pulled Miranda away from the group, moving to an empty doorway.

“What’s your name, honey?”

“Miranda, but I like being called Randi.”

“Look Randi,” the older woman began. “You don’t want to do this, this street work, dear. Don’t start. You’ll end up like me, and you don’t want to do that.”

“But I don’t know what else to do. I need money,” Miranda said.

It was then Miranda spewed out her cover story, claiming she had come by bus after leaving her home in Iowa. She said her cousin who was only fifteen ran away from home and was apparently working the streets in the city.

“I don’t know what name she’s using. I need to find her. Do you know of any out-of-state girls working along here?” she asked.

“Yeah, there was a young one working her a few nights ago and I think she was from some place, maybe Indiana or Iowa. Don’t remember.”

“What happened to her?” Miranda asked.

“Don’t know for sure, but I saw her get picked up by some guy in a black SUV. This guy comes by every so often and seems to target the young ones. Then we never see them again. For all we know they’re dead by now.”

“I’ve heard of that,” Miranda said, basing her comment on her and Jefferson’s experiences of having been picked up by a guy in a black SUV.

Annie reached into her small purse and pulled out a business card. “Here’s a place you can go for help, Randi. They can give you a place to sleep, some food and maybe help you get settled. They’re good people.”

Miranda didn’t look at the card, but she took it.

“No, I just wanna find my cousin.”

“You dumb bitch! No use talking to you,” Annie said, walking away, shaking her head.

*****
Miranda stood for a while in the doorway, fairly well hidden from the eyes of the other girls and any passing johns in their cars. She considered what to do next, realizing that she couldn’t stand for long in the doorway and that she had to keep moving to keep from getting chilled. She wandered down into the next block, staying close to buildings so as to not encourage any pickups.

She carefully moved along the several blocks, using her same cover story and asking the girls she encountered if they had seen her fictional cousin from Iowa. Most grunted unintelligible replies and told her to move on; several asked her if she was a “Danny girl,” obviously, this Danny character had control of the streets. Judging from the heavy traffic and the repeated scenes of cars pulling to the curb, summoning one girl or the other and then driving off with the girl, this Danny guy must be cashing in big time. she thought.

One girl stood alone, apart from the others. She looked to be no more than fourteen, thin as a rail with dirty blonde hair, was shivering as Miranda approached. She wore the requisite tight, short skirt and black mesh stockings that exposed slim, almost formless legs. She wore a light tan jacket, hardly enough to ward off the cold.

“Going to be a cold one tonight,” Miranda said, seeking to develop a conversation with the girl.

“Better get a trick soon or I’ll freeze to death out here,” the girl replied. “Name’s Precious, what’s yours?”

Miranda was pleased to find a girl that seemed to want to talk.

“Call me Randi. Been here in town long?”

“Me? How did you know I was from out of town?” the girl asked, fear creeping into her voice.

Miranda sensed that the girl was becoming wary of her questions. She quickly replied, “Oh I was just hoping I’d meet another from out-of-town, like me.”

“Oh,” Precious said, apparently satisfied by Miranda’s response. “Yeah, got here from St. Louis last week. Saw you talking with Annie up the block. Met her at bus station, tried to get me into one of those shelters, but I couldn’t do that. Annie’s nice and doesn’t want girls like us to get into street work. But I thanked her. Wanted no part of those agency people. They’d just send me home.”

“I know, same here. Came in from Iowa, and heard I could pick up a few bucks here. Don’t wanna go back to that hick town in Iowa.”

“You’re just like me then. I’m fifteen.”

“Seventeen,” Miranda lied.

“But I tell the cop squad I’m nineteen and they leave me alone. These cops leave us all alone, as long as we’re one of Danny’s girls.”

Miranda eyed Precious carefully. She was skinny, almost anorexic in appearance. Already her mouth displayed empty sockets where she had lost teeth, a strange sight on a girl so young. Miranda wondered whether Precious lost the teeth due to physical abuse or malnutrition. Probably she was beaten.

“Danny’s trying to take care of me,” Precious continued. “He said if I clean up a bit, fix my hair and put on a few pounds he could put me in touch with a really neat place to live and service rich people. I don’t know whether to believe him.”

“You can’t trust these guys,” Miranda warned.

Just then and car with two occupants, a middle-aged man and a younger woman, pulled to the curb. The car was an aging Taurus and the woman who was in the passenger seat summoned Miranda and Precious to the car.

Miranda was hesitant to move, but Precious pulled her along, saying, “They’re just vice. They won’t bother us.”

Precious leaned into the car and said something to the woman, who nodded toward Miranda. Precious responded and the woman smiled back and the car moved on.

As the car moved away, Miranda took a quick note of the license number, hoping she’d remember it. When she could get to some place where she could pull out her smart phone and text Heddy, she would send her the car information. Certainly, that would lead to identifying the vice squad coppers who were obviously looking the other away to the obvious prostitution going in the streets.

“What was that all about?” Miranda asked Precious.

“They’re just looking for strays, newcomers. I told them you’re nineteen and that I’m hooking you up with Danny. That’s all.”

“They’re cops. Don’t they care what we’re doing here?”

“Nah, I think they’re on the take, but they leave us alone, except that one copper. He takes his liberty with some of the girls at times. Fortunately, I must be too ugly for him, or something.”

“You’re not ugly, Precious,” Miranda replied.

“Sweetie, I don’t kid myself. Now you, that’s a different story. My guess is that old Stinkpot will be asking Danny for you soon. You’re quite a doll.”

“Stinkpot?”

“Yeah, that copper in the squad. Apparently, he sweats and stinks,” Precious said. “At least that’s what Annie said.”

“I suppose Annie’s been with him?” Miranda asked.

“Oh yes. Annie’s like a mother to all of us her and I think she takes old Stinkpot just to spare him doing one of the other girls. Thank God, he’s never asked for me. I’m not good enough for him. I guess I’m just a bargain-basement lay,” she quipped.

“You’re better than that,” Miranda said.

Miranda was shocked at the girl’s assessment of herself; yet, she liked this girl, particularly for her apparent honesty and truly intelligent assessment of her own situation. “What a waste,” Miranda mused.

Precious smiled. “Take care of yourself, sweetie.”

Precious moved away from Miranda, heading to the curb, placing herself in a way that she was inviting passing motorists to stop. She truly offered a tempting figure to the passing johns and it was only when they looked at her face and saw her largely toothless smile that the poor girl lost her appeal . . . as well as the price should could charge for her services. She had confessed to Miranda that she had a few regulars who sought for her specifically because they knew she’d offer an exciting sexual experience. Yet, Precious said they probably wanted her because she was “cheap.”

Miranda moved deeper into the shadows and continued to watch the activity on the street. In less than five minutes a dust-covered older pickup pulled to the curve and Precious got in. Miranda heard her say, “Hey Dwayne,” as she hopped eagerly into the cab to greet a bearded man who wore a cowboy hat.

Miranda wanted to cry as she watched Precious being led off into the night.

“Hey you,” she heard a gruff voice.

A large man who wore a topcoat was next to Miranda. She was startled, having not heard or saw the man approach.

“What you doing here?” the man said, grabbing her arm roughly.

“Ah, what?”

“My, you’re a pretty one,” the man said, taking a prolonged look at her.

Miranda stumbled for an answer, but none came. She looked at the man more closely now. He was African-American and looked to be the size of one of the offensive linemen of the Detroit Lions. And strong, too.

“I think you need a friend, dearie,” he said more kindly. “Bet you need something to eat and a bed, right?”

“No, I’m OK, sir,” Miranda replied. Her voice was soft and hesitant and she hoped it would fool the man into thinking she’d be weak and compliant. Her belief was that if she appeared powerless that the man would be lenient and perhaps even careless, giving her an opening.

“You better come with me, honey. It’s for the best.” Again, his tone was gentle and kindly.

Miranda’s heart began racing and she shivered, her fear overcoming whatever confidence she had. She said nothing and the man took her by the arm and led her down a side street. She could see only one car parked on the otherwise deserted street: a waiting large black SUV. Realizing that the man was taking her toward the SUV and she’d likely be given another “ride,” Miranda decided to alert Heddy that she was likely in trouble. She punched a button on the cell phone she still had in her jacket pocket that opened the phone line to Heddy so that she could hear what was going on.

She tried to see the license plate of the vehicle, but due to the shadows was only able to see the first three digits, “735.”

“Let me go. I don’t want to get into that black SUV,” she said, hoping that Heddy could hear clearly enough. She began to cry, partly as an act to cover up her phone trick but also in true fright. The man opened the back door of the SUV.

“Now, get in, Honey,” he ordered. He gently, but firmly guided her into the backseat, shoving her to the center and up against another man. He piled in next to her, squeezing her in the middle.

After the chill of the night, the warmth of the car was welcoming as it was stifling. In the faint light, Miranda saw the man was fairly young, maybe in his thirties. He wore light tan slacks and a polo shirt, was neatly groomed and had a ponytail.

“You’re lovely, dear. What’s your name?” the man said.

“Randi,” she said, sniffling.

“Pretty name. We’re not going to hurt you, honey,” he said.

“OK,” she nodded. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Glad you believe that.”

The big man gave her a tissue and Miranda dried her eyes and brushed away the tears.

“Thank you. Maybe I’m in for some luck, finally,” she said.

“Why’s that?”

“My life has been rough, sir, and I saw your license plate number ‘7 – 3 -5’ and ‘7’ and ‘3’ are my lucky numbers,” she said. “Now maybe my luck is changing.”

“You like numbers, Randi?”

“Yes, sir. I’m good at math, smarter than all those dumb teachers,” she said, her voice assuming a teenager’s defiant tone.

The man said nothing, but rapped on the plastic shield that separated the front and back seats of the car, apparently signaling the man who was sitting stiffly in the driver’s seat.

Suddenly the car began moving, and Miranda took a deep breath, hoping that Heddy had heard the conversation through the questionable cell phone hook-up and would be alert to her situation. She knew that by now Heddy must have been furious with her. Miranda had said her only reason for carousing among the Grove Street prostitutes was to get information that would prove there was interstate human trafficking going on. Yet, she knew she had lied to Heddy because she hoped to get picked up again and taken to the mansion where she could get even more proof of the terrible crimes being committed against young boys and girls.