Two of Jalina's friends are murdered while she and Greeta, (her third hijra friend,) are kidnapped to be sold into prostitution.

The Rescue 7

Characters.
Beverly Taff. Transvestite
James or Jamie Transgendered kid.
Candice Jamie’s Younger Sister.
Sergeant Williams Hate crime police officer
David Evans Knife-boy. (Son of Dewi Evans.)
Margaret Beckinsale. Jamie and Candice’s mum. (AKA Madge.)
Sandie Beverly’s best Transvestite friend.
Elizabeth Todd Beverly’s next door neighbour.
Jennifer Todd Elizabeth Todd’s daughter. A barrister and Beverly’s best female friend through childhood.
Rastus Elizabeth Todd’s cat (Now owned by Beverly.)
Dewi Evans Bent politician and criminal.
Paul. Beverly’s transvestite Boss.
Calista Paul’s Transgendered girlfriend.
Stephanie Jenny and Beverly’s daughter.
Phoebe Paul’s Sister.
Rachel. Jennifer’s new girlfriend. (After Stephanie was born.)
Jalina Sha. Indian Engineering graduate (Now Hijra.)
Pradjit Salina’s father.
Sanji Sha. Salina’s younger brother.
Kansha Salina’s mother

When we pulled up at the police cordon surrounding Jalain'a little house Kansha became hysterical with fear. She dashed to the most senior ranking uniform and demanded to be allowed in. The sergeant just turned and shook his head telling her to go away. The police were waiting for a forensic team and even as Paul and I emerged, a van appeared. A woman and an inspector arrived and entered the house. Kansha became demented with distress and demanded to know what the situation was in the house. The officer just ignored her until he noticed two Europeans; Paul and I step out of the car. Suddenly he was a lot more amenable. He approached us and asked us in a much more civilised manner what we wanted. Paul explained that we were the people who had reported the missing person and we were simply here to learn as soon as possible if the woman we had reported missing was amongst the corpses reputed to be lying in the house. He nodded and agreed to check.
Another inspector emerged from the house to speak to us, he did not seem unduly concerned but I supposed he saw this sort of thing probably on a daily basis in Kolkata.

“There’s nothing to worry about; both of them were hijras.”

“Just two of them.” Paul reaffirmed.

“Yes. As soon as the forensics team have gathered some evidence we’ll be removing them to the morgue. I don’t suppose anybody will miss them.”

“What d’you mean? Nobody will miss them!”

“They’re hijra’s. They’ll probably have no next of kin. Sadly the poor bastards have usually lost all contact with their families because of the shame. We’ll keep the corpses for the required time in case somebody wants to identify the bodies.
Then we’ll burn them.”

“Just like that.” Paul gasped.

“They’re hijras." he replied almost apologetically as he explained further. "We find dead ones almost every week. Usually on the rubbish heaps.”

I shuddered. The man just seemed a bit insensitive. Tactfully I asked if we could check the identities of the bodies when they were being removed from the scene. He agreed and we waited a further half hour whilst all the time Kansha became more distressed. Paul and I took turns to hug her and we persuaded her not to tell Pradjit. He already had a heart condition and until we were certain one of the bodies was Jalina it would be premature to call him.

Eventually two men emerged carrying the bodies under white sheets. As the inspector had promised, they lowered the bodies to the ground and we checked them. A wave of relief surged over us. Neither of them was Jalina but they were two of our friends. I had to step behind a wall to be sick and Paul joined me. Kansha simply rejoiced that her child was not among the dead. After confirming where the bodies were being taken we spoke to the forensics officer.

“Have you any idea how many were living here?” She asked.

“Four normally.” I replied.

“That corresponds to our findings. There’s no blood on these two so they must not have put up any resistance. There is blood on the walls in two other rooms so the other two must have fought.”

“Any other ideas? I asked. “Where they might have been taken.”

“Well they were probably alive when they left here. There’s blood in the hall that appears to have been caused by more violence. Resistance probably. They were alive when they went out through the door.”

As she said this she spotted some more drops of blood on a stone and swabbed it as she spoke.

“This is fresh so they were probably alive when they left the scene. It looks as though they were taken away in a vehicle.”

“So they may still be alive.” The forensics girl finished.

“It’s possible." The inspector added. "I saw one of their passports in the main bedroom. One of them was very pretty. She might have been kidnapped for prostitution.”

“Have you still got that passport?” I asked the forensics officer.

“The evidence officer has got it but I’ll
go and get it.”

As good as her word, she sent a uniformed junior up to the front door and he returned bearing the passport in an evidence bag. After fumbling with the pages inside the bag, we confirmed it was Jalina’s passport. Kansha gave another cry of hope tempered with despair and the scene of crimes inspector appeared from the house.

“We think the other two have been kidnapped. Were they hijras as well?”
We all nodded and he frowned.

“They must have another reason for kidnapping them. They’ve stolen money but if they killed two of them why did they take the other two?”

We repeated the Forensic officer’s hypothesis and he nodded agreement as he studied the passport again.

“Yes. That’s very possible, she’s very pretty.”

We agreed to give them statements and reinforced the importance of finding Jalina. Paul, being much more sensitive to the cultural mores of Hindu India, suggested that if they found her alive, there might be a reward. Not money but perhaps a job or two for their relatives when the new factory opened. The scenes of crime inspector nodded agreeably. He was honest enough to refuse a direct bribe of cash but the more genteel offer of a possible job for one of his unemployed kin was an offer he could, he felt, legitimately contemplate.

‘Crikey,’ Thought Paul. ‘An honest cop, well sort of.’

Paul’s ‘suggestion had the desired effect and suddenly the radio was alive with instructions and orders as we settled down to give them as much background information as we could.

It was past noon before we were finished and excuses had already been passed to the government officials. When they learned of the situation things began to hot up. By the time we got to the police station, several high powered politicians were there full of apology and remorse that an esteemed business man should have had to endure such a traumatic experience.

Paul and I took it in our strides while Calista and the girls Jamie and Candice joined us.

“So what do we do now?” I wondered.

“Well we could go and visit their friends in the slums.” Calista replied. “They’ll have a better idea of what happens to kidnapped hijras than the police, they’ll also have a better idea of where they might have been taken if they’re not dead.”

We all agreed and soon we were deep in the maze of narrow streets as Calista guided the duk-duks unerringly to Jalina’s old home in the slums. When we got there the news had already arrived and about thirty hijra’s were gathered at the house.
We were glad they weren’t crying and wailing. They were inured to sudden death but this time they had powerful figures searching on their behalf. Calista, Paul, the two girls and I started taking down suggestions and ideas from the hijras and because they knew the girls, the hijra’s were very forthcoming. They told us stuff they would never have entrusted to the police. Locations of brothels, names of pimps, names of gang leaders, all sorts of priceless information. By the evening we had a search strategy in place and an army if hijras ready to go looking.

For a pound or a dollar a slum-dog child would search the rubbish tips all night and all day! That’s just what happened. A few hundred pounds sterling brought out a whole army of knowledgeable searchers to scour the whole city. By the following dawn we were fairly certain Jalina and her remaining friend were not lying dead on some tip or in some gutter. Somebody wanted her alive for some reason. Kansha and all of us had the same suspicions.

The slum kids did not give up their search. Jalina’s story had become folk-lore amongst the poor of Kolkata and everybody hoped against hope that they would find her alive. Their persistent efforts finally brought a result.

Jalina had been kidnapped by a gang who thought they knew a good deal when they saw one. When Sanji had discreetly made it known amongst the Kolkata underworld that there would be a substantial reward for Jalina’s removal, the murder gang had initially set out to simply kill her. Then they would kill any witnesses that might be able to turn evidence. However, when they finally located her they were impressed by her stunning looks. They decided it would be just as easy to kidnap her and sell her on as a prostitute. This they had done several times so the original reason for the kidnap had been garbled between the criminals. Now nobody knew exactly who Jalina was. To them she was just one more anonymous hijra ripe for kidnap into prostitution.

Her living in a suburb enabled them to drive a large car right up to the garden gates. On the poorly lit street at the dead of night it would be easy.

If she had still been living in her slum home, they would have been unable to drive a car into the three-foot-wide lane and they would have had to attack on foot. In the crowded slum there would have been countless witnesses to a kidnap and that would probably have meant killing her as per the contract. The gang became greedy when they realised they had a very marketable commodity. They captured the hijras easily then concluded they didn’t have enough room in the car to take all of them so they chose to kidnap the two prettiest and killed the other two in front of the survivors, Jalina and Greeta. The murder of their closest friends had completely traumatised the remaining survivors but they tried to put up a token resistance. This simply elicited a brutal pair of beatings and the girls quickly succumbed in terror. They were told their fate and it seemed infinitely better than the brutal fates their friends had suffered. Both Jalina and Greeta had concluded that while there was life there was hope.

Kolkata has a myriad brothels catering for just about every taste. They exist in just about all parts of the sprawling city and they are supplied by a veritable avalanche of girls kidnapped, sold, trafficked or trapped by drugs but they nearly all have one thing in common; - they are usually forced unwillingly into the trade. Thus it was for Jalina and Greeta.

They arrived at the auction site the following day after having been beaten and abused into total submission. Even Jalina’s indomitable will could not survive the battering her beautiful body suffered. However the kidnappers, ever alert to the marketability of their ‘goods’, had avoided leaving permanent marks on their faces. If further force might be needed at a later date, that would be down to the brothel owners who had purchased them.

Both girls had been drugged so at the ‘slave market’ they appeared compliant and willing. Such was the beauty of both girls, that the bidding quickly shot up to ridiculous heights, so much that the news of the prices quickly spread beyond the auction house. Within minutes it was travelling like wildfire through the back streets and then the slums of Kolkata. The slum children were alerted and within half an hour, Paul and I were on our way.

The auctioneers had made a blunder. They had auctioned off the beautiful Greeta as the very first sale to generate interest but they had held Jalina until last, the prize that every customer was slavering over.

A high class illegal slave auction can take all day. It is not like a cattle auction where the auctioneer streaks through the bidding in an almost unintelligible stream of babbling just to get through the sheer numbers.

There is much money to be made on each trade and the auctioneer’s tactic is to get the mood of the floor excited by the visions of flesh and temptation available for sale. Traders sit in groups discussing the merits of the victims and drinking tea or sometimes even something stronger, (But not often, it pays to have a clear head at an auction.) They watch each other like hawks trying to gauge the mood and work out which are the ‘best buys’.

It shouts volumes about the effectiveness of law enforcement in Kolkata that these auctions seem to take place with impunity.
However, little did the criminals know it but this auction was going to turn out differently. The traders had already worked out ‘the best buy’. A stunning beautiful hijra could command astronomical prices in a specialist brothel. No risk of pregnancy, and if the surgery was well performed there was less risk of diseases being transmitted. If the intercourse was confined to a blind, unlubricated vagina, there was less chance of fluids being exchanged. The hijra could be made to douche after every session and if no damage had occurred to her female parts there was a reduced possibility of infection.

All these observations of course allude to the perception that the hijra in question was little more than a slab of meat, a marketable commodity that had high value until or unless it was no longer sexually attractive. Then, when it no longer ‘earned its keep’ it was disposed of by the most cost efficient method possible. Usually a swift, brutal death and the remains dumped on one of the myriad rubbish tips. Both Greeta and Jalina knew this was their eventual fate and as they stood waiting for the auctioneer’s hammer to fall neither of them could see an escape. As the auction progressed, Greeta was forced to wait at the back of the stage while the auctioneer slowly progressed the sale. She could only hope and pray that the rich brothel owner who had bought her might also buy Jalina.

Paul and I finally found the nondescript building where the auction was being held. The slum kids had always known where it stood and known what days the auctions were usually held. On other days honest markets and auctions were held trading in legitimate commodities but this was just a blind to hide the most lucrative and inhumane trade. Ordinarily the slum kids would never have told the police when an illegal auction was being held because the kids viewed the police as the worst of enemies.

Fortunately, Paul’s munificence amongst the slum kids was now legendary.

A few months earlier, Paul had organised a free school with some of the educated hijra and now hundreds of slum kids could attend a free school with a single meal at noon. Now the beneficiaries of that school and it’s vital free meal were prepare to both show and tell! That meal, although just a simple cheap stew, was also a godsend to some of the less fortunate hijra. It had become a vital survival lifeline for hundreds of homeless kids.

Once the kids had told us of the place and that there was an auction planned that day; we had quickly decided that the event was worth investigating. We contacted the police and to our delight, the same ‘scenes-of-crime’ inspector took charge of the raid. Our efforts had been rewarded; we now had ‘back-up’. One of the slum kids had crawled under the stage in the auction hall and confirmed from a photograph we showed him that Jalina was indeed still being held as last for auction.

Our original plan had been to simply burst in with a police escort but the wiser young police inspector restrained us as we sat hidden in an unmarked police van.

“Patience Mr Whitworth. I have a plan that will bear better fruit.”

Paul turned to listen uncertainly. The inspector was the very same ‘scene of crime’ officer who we had met at Jalina’s house. We seemed at last to have found an honest policeman so he sat back as the young officer explained.

“I am new to these parts and unknown. I shall go and attend the auction as a new buyer and purchase some meat for my new brothel.”

“Go on.” Paul encouraged him. “How? If they don’t know you they may not allow you in.”

“They are greedy Mr Whitworth. If they see the colour of my money they’ll sure as hell let me in. First I have to dress the part, wait a moment.”

As we sat and waited in the back of the van, the inspector quickly changed in front of us and soon resembled a typical streetwise Kolkata spiv. He turned to us and grinned as his accompanying policewoman modestly crouched behind a small screen and soon emerged as his madam. They both slipped none regulation guns into their discreet shoulder holsters and he turned to Paul and me.

“We’ll need money to bribe our way in and prove our credibility. How much are you carrying?”

“Not much but I can get some more while you’re in there.”

“Good. Give Surala here your money and go and get some more.”

“Hold on a minute. How do I know this isn’t some sort of scam?” You could just bugger off with the money and I’m left looking stupid.”

The young inspector looked wounded and pointed out.

“You have a police van and a driver sitting here and four more police vans on the other side of the block. You saw me checking out the scene of crime yesterday, surely you trust me. What more proof do you need?”

“Let me take your photographs.”

The inspector shrugged and struck a pose. He wasn’t best pleased but he admitted to understanding our fears. We were after all strangers in a foreign land.

I took out my mobile phone and took several pictures of him and the police woman Surala. The inspector continued to frown as he asked.

“Are you happy now?”

Paul exchanged a nervous look with me and shrugged. There seemed to be no other plausible plan. He did however ask exactly what the plan was.

“I want to buy Jalina and then we have hard evidence of the slave auction. Also, if she’s unharmed, she will be able to give us a mountain of evidence. We might even be able to trace the kidnapper back to whoever planned it.”

Paul and I exchanged knowing glances as we chorused.

“Sanji!”

“I didn’t say that Mr Whitworth.” The inspector smiled knowingly.

We replied with wry smiles and the plan went ahead. The only reservations the inspector had was that he wished he had more undercover backup. The auction was obviously organised by a pretty powerful organisation. The inspector also wished he had more time to get his team into place.

Two police officers met us at the bank and the bank manager confirmed them as two of the regular patrol officers for that district. We drew out a large sum and hurried back to rendezvous with the police woman. To our surprise, Kansha was also waiting for us.

“What are you doing here?” Paul asked. “It’s dangerous around here.”

“I found out what you were doing.”

“How?” Paul pressed.

“I’m not totally living in an Ivory Tower Mr Whitworth. I have lived long enough in Kolkata to have my own contacts in the lower stratas of society as well. I know this young police woman. Surala is a daughter of a friend of mine. She told me what was going on; I decided to find out for myself. She told me what you said to the inspector about running off with the money. I can vouch for this girl, she is an honest, respectable girl and here is the proof.”

Kansha nudged the policewoman’s elbow and she dug into her purse. Surala actually gave Paul a receipt for the money and smiled gratefully.

“This is good Mr Whitworth, you have given the inspector and me more time to organise more back up.”

With these words she returned back into the auction house.

Kansha scolded us for being so suspicious but there was no venom in her censure. She eventually wagged her head and smiled as we clambered into the back of the van to await events.

As we twiddled our thumbs and waited I became impatient and I turned to Paul.

“D’you think we should try and go to this auction?”

“Don’t be daft Paul. They’ll never let Europeans in.”

“They might if you adopt the same disguise as the inspector did.” Kansha interrupted.

“How? We haven’t got a madam to pretend we own a brothel.”

“What do you mean?" Kansha demanded. "I can be your madam. "You could pretend you’ve heard the buzz that this very attractive hijra is up for auction and you’d like to try and bid for her. Tell them you want to traffic her back to Europe or something.”

“It’d never work.” Paul snorted.

“If you spread some story about having a huge sum of money I’ll bet they’ll become interested. They’re just greedy thieves at heart.”

“Funny. That’s exactly what the inspector said.” Paul replied.

“To them it’s just business Mr Whitworth. Now if you need a local representative, an agent as it were. I’m your girl. She is after all my daughter.” Kansha finished.

“It might muddy the waters of the inspector’s plan.” I interjected.

“No. The news is already flying thick and fast all around this neighbourhood. One more interested bidder will only add to the party as they see it. They think they’ve got the local police sown up but this young inspector is out to make a name for himself. Surala told me this and she's riding on his coat tails. Your plan will simply make him look more plausible and it will give him time for the back-up to be put in place.”

“Ah well, in for a penny, - in for a pound.” Paul sighed. “Beverly. Try and look hard, like your my minder or summat.”

“Oh yeah, - like!”

“Come on, we can only try, besides, I’m curious to see what a real slave auction is like.”

I wagged my head and followed the pair as they strode boldly up to the door. Kansha babbled away in Hindi and waved her arm at Paul and me. The two thugs on the door looked suspiciously at us then one of them went inside. He returned with another man who spoke briefly in Hindi to Kansha then he spoke English to us.

“I want to see the colour of your money.”

“I haven’t time. I’d have to go to the bank and get it.”

“I’ll make time. I can delay the auction. If you’re back here in forty minutes with at least fifty thousand pound sterling you can join the auction.”

Paul frowned then asked.

“Will you want it in Rupees or Pounds, or dollars?”

The suit’s law sagged. He had quoted such a huge sum to frighten the European off but when the idiot bluntly agreed to such a huge sum his eyes widened with pure greed. He was so greedy he didn’t even consider the possibility of something odd going down. Paul told Kansha to ‘hold the fort’ as he repeated the trip to the bank. He returned as agreed, ridding pillion with the cash in a strong shoulder bag and accompanied by two huge minders also on motor bikes that the bank had insisted he used.

I must confess I was shocked that the bank was prepared to release the money and I was glad of the minder’s company as well. Even Kansha’s jaw sagged when Paul opened the bag and showed her the crisp new notes. He told me later that he told the bank he needed the cash to lubricate a few political palms and they believed him. Some things never change.
After we were allowed in, a buzz of nervous anticipation hummed around the hall as the news spread. A rich European was going to bid for the beauty. We sat down next to the Police inspector as we took the remaining seats at the back of the hall. We did not acknowledge each other, we simply exchanged the normal courtesies and commenced sipping our tea as the auction for the lesser beauties resumed.

It shouted volumes for the basic lawlessness of Kolkata’s crime scene that such an event could continue, - but continue it did. The auction firm obviously still believed they had the police in their pocket. They were in for a rude awakening.