A story based in the real world. For some reason, a high school boy named J.J. went to sleep and didn't wake up for nearly 3 years. Someone else was awake in his place ...

<>		Sacrificial Alter Chapter 2 of 13 Hunted and Extracted by **Sigh** Copyright© 2017 plaintivesigh All Rights Reserved.

TWO WEEKS EARLIER

“Holy sheep-dip! Finny, come look at what the feed popped up!”

Marcus Finlandt smirked and rolled his eyes as he sat at his desk. “Sheep-dip? Tom, just say ‘shit’ like any other person not living in the 1800’s.” He then realized his assistant was trying to tell him about urgent information. “What feed are you talking about?”

“The parallel feed for Interpol. It’s a positive fingerprint match on a youth they processed as part of a roundup after a nightclub fight. Looks like they’ve found the Evarist kid … and he’s living in Rio.”

“Rio de Janeiro?” Marcus needed to know exactly. “And – are the authorities still holding him?”

Tom shook his head. “Doesn’t look like it. This info just – I mean just – came through this minute. And knowing the Policia Federal down there, this fugitive won’t be at the top of their ‘most wanted’ list. He’s not done anything to get in big trouble down there, that we know of. It’s just the U.S. that wants extradition. We may have 24 – 48 hours to get him before they do.”

“Do we have a positive photo ID?”

“No pic available right now on the feed. Got a name, though; Luisa Blanco.”

Marcus – “Finny”, to those who worked with him – raised an eyebrow. “But we’re looking for a boy named J.J. Are we sure it’s a match?”

His partner/employee shrugged. “The prints are perfect - I mean a completely exact duplicate. Age reported seems in the ballpark too. Finger analysis is not as foolproof as we used to believe, but these prints are the same on all fingers and in every detail. They compared them to the baseline ones we have here in the States.”

“Thank God for school safety and security programs; every kid in America ought to have prints on file.” Finny gave a low whistle. “Luisa, huh? Wow. This kid went to a lot of trouble to avoid justice.”

“Finny. We don’t know if the kid is guilty. He’s not convicted; he’s just a fugitive. His folks are sure he’s innocent. For all we know he got abducted instead of running away.”

“Yeah, sure. Innocent ‘til proven guilty. A bounty hunter like me has to reverse that thinking to do my job well.” Finny scowled as he looked at the computer. “I am stunned that he goes by a girl’s name. You know … Brazil IS the trans capital of South America; do you think he made any … physical changes? With help, he could have; he looked pretty sweet for a 14 year old boy ...”

Finny ceased talking and seemed lost in thought for a second, as if formulating a plan. He then looked up at Tom. “You’d best switch off this feed tap before we get traced. Interpol will look for any info leaks when they can’t find him. We’re gonna go and pick him up before they get a chance to. Do we have clear weather?”

“Checking …” Tom was now on his iPad. It was an essential flying tool, the tablet computer.

“Mr. Evarist?” Finny was on the phone. “Brace yourself for good and bad news. The good is, we think we found Jacob. Brazil. Bad news is, the police know where he is too; if we’re going to do an extraction, it has to be NOW. My partner’s jet is what we’ll take. So, just to confirm, you will owe your final amount immediately upon my return with your son. Cash, yes, just like the deposit. I need to hear you tell me the amount we agreed to. Now, please.”

Finny knew he had to be a hardass when it came to being paid in this case. This op was not technically legal, and no written contracts would be used; he had to be prepared to not deliver the kid if his father didn’t ante up.

“One last time, sir, to confirm: do you want us to go through with this? Because if you still do, we need to get in the air.”

Tom the pilot finished his flight plan online. He then turned to his boss/partner with a raised eyebrow that silently asked the obvious question.

Finny smiled. “He says he’s mobilizing the funds now. Can we be in the airborne in the next 45 minutes?”

12 hours later, Finny was walking through a very seedy part of Rio; a run down, red light district. This is where being a tough guy really paid off, especially looking the part. A big jet-black handlebar mustache framed his stubbled chin and square jaw; his thick, coarse mane was in a low ponytail. Letting it fly free would look more dangerous, but he wanted to blend in at least some with his surroundings. Dark sunglasses, steel toed boots, jeans, a gray sleeveless t-shirt with a leather vest and a “don’t mess with this” sneer mostly completed the look. What pushed it over the top was a slight noticeable bulge under his vest; he was packing heat.

All he’d been able to pin down before he left the States was a general neighborhood where his target lived. So he had taken the provided car and parked it just outside of the bad district he was about to enter; now he looked for a place to get information.

A dive bar. Cliché, but it will do, he thought as he approached a hole in the wall with a ‘cerveza’ painted sign to the side.

His Portuguese was rusty, but sufficient for the job at hand. He couldn’t believe his luck; the bartender pointed to a derelict figure in the corner of the bar, a man named Eusto, short for Eustaquio. And Eusto sang like a bird when presented with cash. Yes, he knew Luisa Blanco, the prettiest young travesti in the neighborhood, though there was speculation that she had recently become fully transexual. She mostly kept to herself; she lived with Sabio, an adult man in his 20’s.

Finny asked about Sabio’s status – boyfriend, or pimp?

Eusto shrugged. But then added he’d heard she would sleep with a man for enough “dollars – MUCHO dollars”, as he rubbed his fingers together. That gesture may have seemed to refer to ‘trick’ money, but Eusto was mainly eyeing the five $20 bills Finny was unrolling for his payment.

Shit, that went well. It’s barely noon and I’ve located her address. Let’s hope she’s home.

There were indeed people at home in the small shack Finny sought out. Voices were coming from inside, audible not because of yelling but due to the hut having multiple cracks and gaps. The hunter planted a tiny remote microphone into one of the cracks, and then sat down in an alley using a pile of rubbish for cover. His earpiece was in, and he hoped for just a little more info confirming he was indeed about to grab the right person. The voices spoke in a Portuguese a little, but mostly in English. Finny felt that was a good sign.

“Nova – I’m telling you, no one from your past knows you are here. They don’t even know to look for a chica. The policia let you go. Why are you so preacupado with this?” spoke a male voice.

“Sabio. They got my fingerprints. If those get out, I can be tracked down. And yes, even from North America,” said a young and unmistakeably female voice.

Nova? wondered Finny. I wonder if that’s another alias. I’m looking for a J.J. or a Luisa.

The male voice inside the shack sighed. “We can not run all of your life.”

Now the girl turned snappy. “I’m NOT going to keep running my whole life! When I turn 18, I can’t be forced to do anything! But I’m still just 16 right now. And I would rather die at age 16 than go back to the hell hole I lived in back in Kissimmee.”

JACKPOT! SHE’S GOT TO BE THE EVARIST KID! 16, KISSIMMEE, AND FINGERPRINTS VERIFIED ON INTERPOL! screamed Finny internally. He arose carefully and texted Tom – “arriving with target in 15 or less. Be ready for immediate takeoff.” He then began a jog back to his car.

Quietly parking in the back alley behind the shack, Finny exited leaving the engine off but the trunk and driver’s door slightly ajar. He moved silently to the front and knocked on the door. The voices inside went silent. Finny put his mouth near to the biggest crack in the door.

The English translation of what Finny said was this: He was looking for a pretty girl to have a good time with, preferably a tranny. Was Luisa in?

The door opened just wide enough to reveal the face of an angry young Brazilian man staring back. “She no longer does that! Go away!” he yelled in Portuguese. Stepping into view behind him was a young, pale girl with blonde hair … whose face went from disgust to suspicion, then suddenly to panic.

“Sabio – close the door! CLOSE IT!” The girl jumped back. Before Sabio could take half a breath, Finny had reached in with a Cobratek stun gun and shocked the young man into a moaning heap on the floor. As the girl turned to run, the bounty hunter lunged, grabbing her by the ankle. She began to scream, so he stunned her, and chased that with a quick shot of high dose valium into her upper thigh.

“For your own good, kid,” he mumbled.

She was still moaning but not fighting as he ran out the back door with his quarry carried over his shoulder. He dumped her unceremoniously into the trunk; Finny was in a hurry, as there were a few male neighbors running out into the alley to check out the fuss. One of them had a baseball bat. Finny jumped into the driver’s seat, started then gunned the engine, and threatened another type of gunning with his left hand – it held the Glock pistol he’d pulled out of his “belly band” concealed/carry garment covered by his shirt. As he pointed the weapon out of his window at the bat wielder, the latter suddenly lost interest and dropped the wood. The car kicked up dust as it left the alleyway.

“Last call for Bodysnatcher Airlines flight 101 from Rio to Orlando,” joked Tom as Finny pulled up the car to the edge of the jet. The off-the-grid airstrip they were at required no customs or passports, just lots of cash to the proprietor for the privilege of surreptitious arrival and departure, as well as a car to ‘borrow’ (it couldn’t rightly be called a formal ‘rental’).

Finney kept lookout as Tom carefully and nonchalantly loaded a sedated teenager into the jet. What a great team we make thought the bounty hunter; Tom was an airman and a tech whiz, but looked externally like a pasty-faced balding middle school math teacher. He certainly didn’t give off any vibe of being a jet pilot, much less a people smuggler. Which was great for staying inconspicuous.

“Are you up for another 10 hours of flying, buddy?” fretted Finny. “I found the kid so fast you didn’t get to nap at all, I’ll bet.”

Tom held up his thermos. “Brazilian coffee. Best drowsiness cure on the planet. Now buckle up,” he yelled as he taxied down the runway.

“Screw that,” replied his partner. “I thought I heard sirens in the distance, and I’m not through securing her yet. Get us out of here!”

Finny did the quickest restraint job he’d ever done, then slid into a seat just as the plane left the ground. He perused his catch, lying in the reclined seat next to him.

Got her on the foam overlay; head’s supported on 3 sides; arms to sides; legs at heart level. The girl’s safe, secure, and snoozing.

He looked at her through squinted eyes.

The girl. Girl. I’ve been looking for a male for the last year. But this is their kid, the Evarist kid. We’re sure of it. I’m sure of it.

DAMMIT. I DO HAVE THE RIGHT KID. RIGHT? RIGHT?? OH GOD.

Tom was still in the cockpit climbing the jet to cruising altitude when he noticed something in the corner of his vision – his partner’s hand dipping into the flight briefcase and snatching the IPad. “Hey, buddy – I’m going to need that in a few minutes!” yelled the pilot.

“Just need it for TWO DAMNED SECONDS, ASSHOLE.” Finny was stressed. He pulled up the file on J.J. Evarist, with the color portrait pic he’d had in the 8th grade. Finny’s left thumb carefully peeled back the child’s left eyelid.

“Yeah, same deep blue eyes …”

Then he saw the bridge of the nose. Two freckle like marks on the J.J. photo. This girl didn’t have them.

OH SHIT! Wait - is she wearing concealer there? She doesn’t have much of any face paint at all on, but maybe …

He pulled a wet wipe out of his own briefcase and began to rub the girl’s nose. It wasn’t the greatest of makeup remover tools, but it did uncover two marks – unmistakeably identical to the photo.

Finny put the IPad next to the girl’s face for a side-to-side comparison.

This is the same face. A little more rounded – feminine – now, but this is J.J. Evarist. WHEW!

He fell to his knees in sudden relief. After some deep breaths, he took in the total picture of the former boy.

Because she was definitely female now. The outfit she had on left nothing to the imagination - hip hugger shorts and a tank top, no bra - and disclosed no "falsies" anywhere of any kind.Her hair was blonde and hung down to collarbone level; it was in fairly good condition for someone living in a shack. The face - her eyes had gotten bigger and doe-like, but the chin had stayed small. The hips were definitely flared, and the waist naturally drew in.. The breasts - they looked B or C from his view - rippled with every bump of turbulence the plane encountered.

I've seen enough tits in my lifetime - natural, implants, and fake - to know these look like the real deal, he internally bragged.

Finny finally joined Tom up in the cockpit, dropping into the co-pilot’s seat – to talk, not to help operate the airship. That was definitely not his department.

“Got him/her all tied up?” asked Tom.

“Yep. She’s still asleep, thankfully. She was NOT a willing rescue. I sure hope I’m doing the right thing here, Tom. When I was confirming the ID I overheard her say that Kissimmee was a hellhole.”

Tom wrinkled his face. “What the hoo-hah does she mean by that? Kissimmee is a slice of paradise. Heck, the whole state of Florida is.”

“Unless the people you live with are devils; then, even paradise can be hell,” mused Finny. “What if her parents were abusing her? Shit, what if the father did the murder? They aren’t planning on notifying the law when we get her back there; we were told that was for the kid’s protection. What if it’s to protect daddy instead? I think we need to keep an eye on them after this return goes down.”

“Holy horse hockey, Finny. I’ve never ever seen you so conflicted about a case. This op went so smooth, I figured you’d be thrilled.”

“Well, this family reunion we’re about to enable is gonna be hairy. For one, they’re still expecting a teenage boy. And from all appearances, they’re getting a girl – or a transvestite with really impressive prosthetics.”

“Have you checked her thoroughly head to toe to see if they are prosthetics or not?”

Finny tilted his head at Tom. “NO. That would be disrespectful and perverted. How is it that you can’t use a curse word but can think of something that wrong?”

Tom took offense to that. “Hey, I wasn’t saying to undress the kid!”

“How do you propose I check for prosthetics then, Tom?”

“Well, you could touch her groin and squeeze her brea … er …”

Finny’s eyebrows raised high. He spoke slow and clear. “PER. VER. TED.”

“Yeah, yeah. Yes, it was. Sorry. Son of a biscuit-eater! Where in my head did those thoughts come from?”

Finny smirked once more. “Everybody produces mental shit. I expel mine by using foul language. You refuse to talk that way, so the shit constipates in your brain and produces evil babies. You keep this up and you’ll be a serial killer one day, with me having to hunt you down.”

“Ha ha ha, Finny. You’re so humorous. NOT.”

“Come on, Tom. You can do this. Let’s start with the mild stuff. Say ‘crap’. I know you can.”

To be continued tomorrow.

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**