Undercover Girl – Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One – The Rescue

“I think we have an exceptional opportunity for you, my sweet little street urchin,” the man said.

The man sitting to Miranda’s left in the back seat of the black SUV was well-groomed and carried the faint scent of a tasteful cologne. He spoke in a crisp, articulate tone that was warm and welcoming. He placed his hand softly upon her left hand, using one finger to caress the inside of her wrist. His hand felt smooth and cool, but firm and hard. The man obviously was trying to portray a feeling of calm, that Miranda had nothing to fear.

Miranda smiled back at him, hoping she was hiding her tense, terrified feelings. “What shall I call you, sir?” she asked timidly, still hoping Heddy was hearing their exchanges.

“Just keep calling me sir, my dear Randi. My name is not important,” he said. The voice continued to be kindly and warm.

Miranda stirred up her courage and decided to have one more try at eliciting some information from the man. “Are you the man the girls say is Danny?”

Suddenly, Miranda was grabbed by the large man on the right, who put his hand under her chin and twisted it to look at her. He squeezed hard on her slim neck and she had difficulty breathing.

“You ask too many questions, girlie,” the man said.

“Please . . . I can’t . . . ah . . . breathe,” she gasped.

She began to squirm in an effort to escape his grasp, but he was too strong and the harder she tried the firmer his hand tightened and she began to panic, unable to get any air into her lungs.

Her mind began to grow blank and all she could sense was the spicy scent of the other man’s male cologne. She felt herself float away and everything ceased.

*****
Miranda awakened, confused, not quite certain where she was. She seemed to be floating and she sensed a brightness; yet it was foggy. Not quite awake, she heard some voices but they seemed far away, as if she was listening in on a bad telephone connection. She tried to move, but realized her hands and feet were tied down, giving her just enough freedom to move them several inches, but not enough to let her rise up. She felt nauseated and had a strange taste in her mouth.

She remembered being in the backseat of a car and smelling the well-dressed man’s cologne. And, that he wouldn’t give her his name, only that she must call him “sir.” He seemed nice, but she was sure that underneath that fancy façade must lie a nasty, creepy man.

“Where am I?” she said aloud, her words coming out garbled, likely due to her dry mouth. As she spoke, she felt pain coming from her neck and she remembered that she was being strangled. Am I dead? she wondered.

“She’s awake,” she heard a voice.

She turned her head to see two men seated nearby. She realized she was in a windowless room and the two men apparently were guarding her. They didn’t look like nurses. One of the men got up and approached her. He was the large man who had grabbed her on the street and had strangled her and then possibly drugged her into her blackout. She tensed.

“Thought you were being clever, bitch?” the man said gruffly. He grabbed her hair and forced her to look at him.

Miranda tried to avoid his eyes and terror mounted within her. She was still confused, her mind foggy with whatever they’d drugged her. Her mouth was dry and felt like it was full of cotton.

“Who were you hooked up to on the phone?” he demanded, pulling her hair so that she would concentrate on his face.

“Huh?” she responded, too scared now and confused to understand what he was asking her.

“You know. We found your cell phone and it was on, hooked up to somebody. Who was it?”

Miranda finally felt her mind clear a bit; she remembered she was in a car, crammed between this man and a man who smelled of cologne. The cell phone? For an instant, she was puzzled; then she remembered she was on the street, posing as a prostitute and Officer Heddy Jelacic was listening in on her cell phone.

The man shook her again, more roughly this time, demanding she answer.

“My boyfriend,” she answered, quickly forming an answer as she began to think and remember how she got into this situation.

“Your boyfriend? He vice?” the man asked. Miranda looked at the face of the man who spoke. As her eyes cleared, she saw the man’s small grey eyes set into a heavy round face with what appeared to be a nose that had been busted over and over. The man was bald.

Miranda laughed. “Hardly.”

“And he wants you out hustling johns?”

“We need rent money,” she said, hoping it didn’t seem too illogical to the man.

“What’s the matter with him working? The lazy lout.”

“Ellis is not lazy,” Miranda replied, creating a fictitious name. She put on a defensive tone, indicating she was offended by the man’s characterization of the boyfriend. “He just got out of Green Bay and can’t find a job,” she said, mentioning a Wisconsin prison.

The man laughed. “This girl’s a real winner, she is,” he said sarcastically. “Got an ex-con as a lover, she has. You can do better than that, sweetie.”

“Certainly not with you,” Miranda responded tartly.

He gave her hair a hard tug, making squeal out, “That hurts.”

“Stop that!” she heard a loud voice command. It came from the other man who had been in the room, still seated near the door.

“She’s a wise-ass bitch,” the man, said tugging her hair again.

The man by the door spoke again, “Mister D wants her cleaned up and made pretty. I hope you haven’t bruised her.”

Finally letting go of her hair, the man pushed her back down onto the narrow bed and walked away. Both men left the room without saying anything, and Miranda heard them lock the door from the outside. She was still tied down and left in a locked, windowless room. She wondered about shouting out for help, but knew it would be fruitless. She closed her eyes, pondering her fate, hoping that Heddy had sensed she was in trouble and was going to help.

Though she was tied down, she still had the ability for limited movement of her arms and legs. The bed was surprisingly comfortable and she had been covered with a warm comforter that kept her from freezing. She could see two grates in the ceiling and heard the whir of fans that likely brought warmth into the room. From what the other man had said, it sounded like they didn’t want to hurt her and apparently had plans for her as a participant in their prostitution ring.

Suddenly, it dawned on her. She wasn’t a young woman; she was still a guy. Miranda had become so comfortable in her female role she had lost any realization as to her original gender. And her captors still thought of her as female. What would happen if they learned differently, she wondered. She became sleepy, fatigued from the stress of her kidnap and assault upon her. She lay there, growing drowsy, awaiting her fate. But no one came. Soon she slept.

*****
“Come now, wake up, my sleeping beauty,” the words were whispered. Miranda saw a figure lurking over her. She was no longer frightened; the hushed tone of the speaker calmed her, comforted her and she knew she was safe.

The room was all fuzzy in her mind and the figure that was now leaning down, face to face. Miranda was not sure where she was and her thoughts turned back to sometime in the near past, a time when she was frightened as she awaited being attacked, being raped or even killed. The face moved into sharp focus.

“Emery?” she said.

“Shhh,” was the only response.

But it wasn’t Emery. He didn’t have long hair. But, the eyes were Emery’s, blue and bright. No, it wasn’t Emery, she realized. It was Amy. Miranda reached up and touched the soft, round face of her lover, Amy.

“Amy?” she asked.

“Shhh, we’re setting you free, but you must be quiet.”

Miranda was confused. “We” the figure said, but she could see only one person in the room. It was Emery’s face, slender, masculine and square-jawed. But she felt Amy’s firm, marvelous breasts and saw her sweet-smelling brunette hair.

“We love you, Miranda,” the figure said, as it set about freeing her from the straps that had tied her down.

Her arms finally freed from, she reached up to hug this benevolent creature, this thing that was either Amy or Emery, or both. But there was nothing to grasp. The creature was gone and Miranda realized she was floating upon a soft cloud, free as a bird.

*****
She suddenly awoke with a start; light flooded into her eyes as she opened them, bringing sharp pain. She shut them and then remembered she was locked into a room somewhere and she couldn’t get up. She felt someone was fumbling around with her restraints and she forced her eyes open.

"Ah, you're awake, my beauty," the voice was soft, kind.

Through the haziness of her eyes, Miranda saw a stern-faced woman apparently fumbling to open the restraint around her ankles.

"Just be patient; I'll get you out of these leg straps, dearie," the woman said. Miranda saw the woman was tall, husky and muscular. "Now, I'll be kind and gentle with you, but if you try anything, I guarantee you I'll be tougher on you than the guys. Understand?"

Miranda nodded, as if in agreement. Her mind was still a bit groggy, and she wondered why she wasn’t already free of her straps; hadn’t the creature freed her and placed her upon the clouds? No, no, she realized, the creature who had saved her was but a dreamy hallucination. She was still a captive who was headed into becoming a sex slave.

Yet, her dream troubled her. It was so real, even the Janus creature who could be Emery or Amy, but more likely was both. She loved both of them and they loved her equally.

She felt the straps around her ankles being tugged and pulled when reality set it. She was still a captive and she had to clear her mind and think of how she can save herself.

Miranda watched the woman as she struggled to remove the ankle restraints, and asked, "Who are you?"

"Dearie, call me Kerry if you'd like," she said. "Now I've got your legs free, let's get you up."

Miranda wanted to sit up, but felt dizzy and plopped back down. "Let's take it slow. You've been sleeping."

Trying to get herself orientated, Miranda asked, "How long have I been sleeping?"

"It's six in the morning and you've been here since about eleven last night."

It took a few minutes, but Miranda finally was able to sit up and dangle her legs off the side of the bed. It was then she noticed she was in a flimsy nightgown; she shivered a bit, not sure whether it was due to having the warm blanket removed or the sudden fear that filled her. Someone must have dressed her. That realization panicked her: whoever dressed her would have seen her penis and might have been angered over the fact that she wasn't a complete woman.

"Now, I can see you're scared, Randi, but don't be," Kerry said soothingly. "We know you're a guy, but darling, you're hot stuff and I'm going to clean you up and pretty you up for the boss. He'll worship you, my dainty one."

Miranda's hope for rescue dimmed. She had been in the custody of these strange people for more than eight hours; there appeared to be no way out for escape. There was nothing for her to do, she knew, but to play along with the program. It was obvious she would be treated as a sex slave; the prospect was frightening. She began to cry.

"They won't want you all red-eyed with tears, Randi, so pull yourself together," Kerry said.

“What do they want to do with me?” she asked. Miranda was confused; hadn’t the men found her cellphone and connected her with the police? Perhaps they had believed her story that she was hooked up with her fictitious pimp of a boyfriend, and they wanted her prettied up to be just another slave girl in their sex-trafficking ring.

*****
When freed of her bindings, Kerry led Miranda out of the room, up a flight of richly carpeted stairs and into a small pink bedroom that carried a sweet perfumed scent. It was smaller than the tiny dormitory room she had in college, but it was tastefully decorated in frilly curtains and a girlish duvet. A vanity, draped in pink, sat at one side, with a purple-cushioned vanity chair. She noticed the drapes, duvet and other parts of the room were accented in purple that concentrated with the blushing pink.

“Lovely,” Miranda couldn’t help but observe as she entered.

“We want all our girls to feel right at home,” Kerry observed.

“It’s small,” Miranda said.

“It’s all you need, dear, and you have your own bath and shower. Now take off all your clothes, you’re going to have a shower and shampoo and then we’ll get you ready for your debut. You’ll be a beauty, I’ll assure you.”

“Can I have some privacy?”

“No, dear. I’ve seen all of the girls naked before, and I’ve seen all shapes and sizes. I won’t hurt you.”

“But . . .”

“You’ve got a cock, I know that, so just go ahead and take off your clothes.”

*****
Kerry was good to her word. While she never let Miranda out of her sight, she never said anything hurtful nor did she embarrass her by laughing at her sorry, tiny penis. Several times, however, she commented how lovely Miranda’s body was and that she might become a favorite in the house.

It turned out, too, that Kerry was a trained cosmetologist and was skilled also in fixing her hair.

An hour later, Miranda emerged as a lovely teen girl in a pink play dress with a purple and teal floral design. Underneath she wore a training bra and panties that matched the play dress. Miranda rightly was afraid that if she were to bend over, the cute panties would show. She also was surprised that Kerry applied only light makeup, including a natural shade of lip gloss with a slight blackening of the eyebrows and lashes.

“You have lovely hair, Randi,” Kerry said as she brushed it, forming so that it hung straight to just below the collar line and creating a bang that flowed from the left to the right.

“But I look like I’m fourteen,” Miranda said when she finally saw herself in the mirror.

“And that’s what the men all like,” Kerry said.

“What men?”

“Have no fear, darling. They’ll be nice to you.”

“I don’t want any men?”

“Listen to me. Do what you’re told and you’ll be safe and protected, Randi. You’ll like it here,” Kerry said.

Miranda saw it was hopeless to argue. There seemed to be no escape. Where were Heddy and the police?

“And, you’re to tell everyone you’re nineteen,” she ordered.

“But, I’m really . . .,” Miranda began to protest.

“I peg you at about sixteen, honey, but now, if anyone asks, you’re nineteen. Don’t forget that.”

“OK, I’m nineteen,” Miranda agreed.

Kerry leaned over and hugged her. “You’re a sweet young thing, just what he needs.”

“Who?”

“You’ll see soon enough and if you act nice and sweet and innocent as I think you are, Randi, he’ll treat you like a princess. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“I don’t know,” Miranda replied, fear growing inside of her at wondering what lay in store for her.

Kerry led her out of the room and the pair headed up two flights of stairs. Given the bare, uncarpeted stairwell, Miranda surmised she was being taken up what might have been the back stairs for the servants and maids of the house.

The stairwell door opened into a luxurious hallway lined with decorative faux candle lights and ornate door frames that were heavily polished. Gilt inlays lining molding along the top of the walls brightened the image. She remembered visiting a 19th Century mansion of one of the robber barons during a motor trip to St. Paul with her mother.

“Here we are, Randi,” Kerry said when they appeared in front of a double door, heavily decorated in a rococo style.

Kerry opened the door and shoved Miranda inside, locking the door firmly behind her. Miranda was surprised to find two other girls seated in the room. Both were dressed in a slutty style, short dark skirts, mesh stockings, high heels and revealing blouses.

“Hi, I’m Randi,” Miranda said, hoping they could get into a conversation and one or both of the girls would tell more about why they were in the mansion.

“We’re not supposed to talk,” the taller girl said in a low voice.

“She can’t hear us. That door’s thick as a bank vault,” said the other who was short and buxom. “I’m called Pansy, and this here’s Prissy.”

Miranda noticed a distinct Southern accent in Pansy’s voice.

“Those aren’t your real names, I suppose?” Miranda asked.

“Nah. Who’d want names like that?” said the one called Prissy, her voice betraying a definite Eastern accent.

“Randi’s not my real name either, and they picked me off the streets here in this town. I think they drugged me,” Miranda said, hoping that if she volunteered her information, the others might also open up.

“Same with me,” said the girl who called herself Pansy. “They got me in Little Rock in boring, dumb ol’ Arkansaas.”

Miranda looked to the girl called Prissy, who said nothing. “She’s from Jersey,” the other girl volunteered.

“Shut up, Pansy, you talk too much,” Prissy said.

Their conversation was cut short by a clicking noise at the door that obviously signified it was being opened. Kerry appeared at the open door and looked at Miranda.

“Randi, come with me,” she beckoned.

She led Miranda out of the room and down the hallway past several doors, also ornate, until they came to a room near the end of the hall. She turned to Miranda and said, “Now, always address the man you’re going to meet as ‘sir’ or ‘Mister Deacon.’ Never any other name.”

“Who is he?”

“Never you mind. He’s ‘sir’ or ‘Mister Deacon.’”

Miranda nodded. Kerry rapped lightly on the door and then opened it without hearing a response. She held the door open and Miranda hesitated for a moment and then walked in, taking tiny steps, her heart pumping ferociously. Kerry closed the door and Miranda was in huge room.

*****
The room was dimly lit and Miranda noticed heavy drapes in brocade covering what likely were huge windows in the ballroom-sized room. A sweet, spicy scent filled the room and she puzzled briefly about the smell, concluding it must be a heavy dose of male cologne. She saw no one.

“Come over here, let me see you,” a high-pitched male voice said.

Finally, as her eyes became accustomed to the dark room, Miranda saw a man seated on a large, overstuffed couch. He beckoned her to walk over to him. She didn’t move immediately.

“I won’t bite, my sweet,” he said, his voice sounding girlish now.

Comforted by seeing a man who appeared to be soft and pudgy and with such a non-masculine voice, she walked over toward him. He told her to stop when she was about five feet away.

“Now just stand for a minute and let me see you,” the man said.

Miranda stopped in her tracks, feeling uneasy and not sure how she was to stand. Suddenly she was bathed in light and she found herself blinded by several stage lights that beamed down upon her.

“What’s your name, honey?”

“Randi.”

“A lovely name for such a deliciously tender girl. Now walk back and forth in the lights, just like you’re on a runway. You know how to do that?”

Miranda nodded. In the privacy of her home, she had often enacted the role of a fashion model, practicing how to walk a runway. She began her modeling for the man, growing comfortable in her feminine role as a model.

“Oh, you’re divine, Randi. Now come join me on the couch,” he said. Miranda noticed the man was breathing hard. Though she was unable to see the man who was in the dark, she was certain he was masturbating as he watched her.

“I’m scared, sir,” she said. She stood stiff and held her hands together in front of her, looking all the bit like a shy preteen girl.

“Oh my, you’re so sweet. You excite me just standing there, but please comes sit here,” he said, breathlessly. His panting became more audible.

She didn’t move.

“Now, be a good little girl,” he panted. “Do you want me to call the guys in to make you come here?”

“No, sir,” she said moving over slowly.

Before she reached the couch, she heard a loud squeal. It sounded like it came from a loud-speaker somewhere in the room.

“Damn,” the man said.

The door burst open and two black-suited huge men charged in, followed by Kerry.

“Come with us, sir. It’s a raid.”

The man on the couch quickly composed himself. One of the men pulled him from the couch, and the men, accompanied by the man, fled out of the room, leaving Miranda alone with Kerry.

“Come with me, sweetie. I’ll lead you out of here.”

“No,” Miranda said. She was certain it was a police raid and soon she’d be safe.

“Come, I’m going to free you. You’ll be safe with me.”

Kerry grabbed her arm and pulled Miranda, who tried in vain to resist.

“Listen, Randi, bite me here on the arm. Real hard, leaving marks,” she commanded.

Miranda was astounded. What was this, some kind of a sexual fetish?

“I’m serious, Randi. Bite me, hard. I need a mark. I’m releasing you, but I need to show that you forced me to let go of you. Please, bite me.”

Miranda could see the women was serious. She took a chance that Kerry was trying to help and bit on the woman’s forearm. She was reluctant to bite too hard, but Kerry pleaded, “Quick, bite hard, make me cry out with pain.”

Miranda clamped down as hard as she could and she heard Kerry scream.

“Good,” Kerry said. She led Miranda out the door and pointed to the right. “Randi, head that way. You’ll be safe. And take care of yourself and get the hell off the streets and get back to school.”

With that hurried advice, Kerry was off running in the opposite direction.

Miranda wanted to run after her, to thank her for her kindness. She wondered what made an obviously decent woman like Kerry to get involved with this human trafficking gang. She turned and ran as directed by Kerry and came to the top of stairs. She heard commotion before her and soon saw a phalanx of jacketed police headed up toward her. In their midst, she saw Heddy Jelacic. Miranda stood at the top of the stair and awaited their arrival.

As the police swat team members stormed up the stairs, Miranda broke into tears. Never was she so happy as to see her rescuers.

“Where are they, miss?” the first man to reach her yelled urgently.

“They went that way,” Miranda struggled to say, pointing toward what she believed was the rear of the house.

“Handcuff her,” the police officer instructed another officer as he instructed the other police to follow down the hallway in the direction that she had pointed.

Before the officer could apply the cuffs, Heddy was next to Miranda, instructing the officer to back off. The officer gave Heddy a puzzled look and protested, “But, I was ordered . . .”

“Never mind, she’s my CI,” Heddy yelled

“Your confidential informant?” the officer questioned.

“Yes, let’s see what she can tell us.”

*****
Miranda was taken by the police officer and Heddy Jelacic to the Madison Heights police station where she was led into an interview room and offered a drink.

She chose skim milk and something to eat. She was terribly hungry.

“Not coffee, dear?” asked the young officer who wore a Madison Heights uniform.

“No. I’m hungry.”

He returned with a Styrofoam cup, apologizing that they only had two percent milk, and a doughnut with maple frosting – her favorite! She devoured it, washing it down with the milk.

She endured nearly two hours of questioning by two detectives, who identified themselves as representing the County Sheriff’s Department organized crime unit; they asked several questions over and over, often changing the form of the question, apparently in the hope of tripping her up. After a while, Miranda broke down and began to cry, “I’m not a criminal.” Her body began to shake in frustration. All she knew was that she wanted to get out of this hated place.

In the midst of her sobbing, the door to the interview room burst open and Emery Harrington entered, “That’s enough detectives. We can leave it for now.”

“But, we’re getting lots out of her,” the detective who led the questioning protested. He was a large middle-aged man with a wide nose that must have been broken several times and Miranda had wondered whether he must have been a football lineman in his younger years.

“Go, I’ll take care of her,” Emery ordered.

The detectives left and Emery lifted Miranda to her feet and hugged her, letting her sob into his shoulder. He held her tenderly.

“When Heddy told me what you were doing, I was furious,” he said.

“I was trying to help,” she said through sobs. “No one was doing anything.”

“I was worried about you,” he said. “I know what these people are capable of. Dammit girl, you were in danger. God, you could’ve been killed.”

“Oh Emery,” she cried.

“You better not go to your own place, yet, Miranda,” Emery had warned her. “These people will go to great lengths to stop any prosecution.”

Miranda shivered. “I’m so scared, Emery.”

“I know, and we’re going to protect you. Soon this will be over.”

*****
Miranda spent a tearful night at Heddy’s apartment; even though she knew that Paul Browning Jr., the man she was told was “Mr. Deacon,” had been caught in the raid along with several of the men who had earlier kidnapped her. Certainly, they should no longer be a threat to her, but she also remembered Emery’s warning that “these people will go to great lengths to stop any prosecution.” She knew that the Brownings had nearly unlimited resources and could possibly pull enough strings to set free the whole bunch, loosing these perverts and pedophiles out into the public again, ready to victimize young girls.

Once she was at Heddy’s apartment, Miranda had no appetite and declined every suggestion made to get her to eat. “A nice bowl of chicken soup might be just what you need, Miranda,” Heddy pleaded.

“No thanks, Heddy. You’ve been so generous.”

“You’re my friend, Miranda,” Heddy replied with a warm smile. “We were all scared for you and I would have never forgiven myself for letting me talk you into that crazy exploit of yours.”

Both young women were sitting together on the couch in Heddy’s living room, Miranda having tucked her feet under her and leaned into Heddy. She found comfort there.

“Let me go to bed, Heddy,” Miranda said after a while.

Heddy led her into the bedroom, assisted in removing her clothes and putting her into her nightgown. She opened the covers and assisted getting Miranda into bed, just as you might a four-year-old.

“What took you so long to rescue me?” Miranda asked after she was settled into bed.

“We had to get a search warrant, and its seems most of the judges in the county must get donations from the Brownings,” Heddy replied. “Emery finally roused a judge he knew from his law school days to get the warrant. I’m so sorry, but if we’re going to nail these guys we have to be absolutely on a solid legal ground. You know they can hire the best defense lawyers in the country if they have to.”

“I guess you’re right. I was so scared.”

Miranda curled up in the fetal position and sobbed quietly. Heddy covered her with a blanket and kissed Miranda on the forehead. She left a small lamp burning on the vanity, since Miranda had long been afraid to sleep in the dark. After Heddy left, Miranda’s thoughts turned to the frightening events at the Browning mansion that still haunted her. She yearned to be comforted, to be hugged and kissed and protected. She remembered the warm hugs from Emery Harrington, his firm sinewy body. Would he put her at peace? No, she realized. She desperately needed the firm, commanding presence of Amy Dacosta. Her crying grew intense.