The Trafficked (22 page)

55

 

Becky gave Mann a kiss on the cheek. ‘Better make it look convincing.’ She reached up on her tiptoes and pretended to whisper in his ear. ‘Text me when you’re done.’

‘Will do, babe. Take care of yourself.’ He winked at her and was about to step away when she caught his arm and pulled him down to her level to whisper in his ear. She started to say ‘Don’t call me…’, but she didn’t get through it all because Mann kissed her in the middle of it. He hadn’t meant to. It had been an instinctive reaction; the second her cheek touched his, his mouth had turned and sought hers. It wasn’t a long kiss but it was the first time they had kissed one another on the lips.

Shit
, thought Mann.
That’s all I need. She’s married
,
she’s a work colleague, and if she is the mole, she could
be about to get me killed.
He looked back at her as he walked away. She was smiling in that special sweet, shy way she had.
Yep…I’m in trouble…

He left her and made his way back along the beach. The small strip of sand was now crowded with
barcas
pulled up on the shoreline for the night. There was the sound of dance music banging out from the crammed strip of bars, and the coloured lights from their signs flickered on the water. Mann ignored several catcalls and continued walking until he saw what he was looking for, a bar called Pump It.

Once he got in range, the girls in their red hot-pants and silver boob tubes linked arms with him and led him inside the bar to find a table. It wasn’t a bad place, thought Mann. It would look filthy in the light of day but it did well on this litter-strewn end of paradise. Mann looked around. The clientele were younger than Angeles. This place wasn’t so much for the middle-aged lonely businessman but for the rowdy lads here to dive, sunbathe and have sex. The casual sex tourist—the man who just finds himself paying for it at the end of the night, without realising that it was always going to end like that.

Mann was looking for the owner. He didn’t think he would be difficult to spot and he was right. Fat Harry was holding court at one of the circular tables, papers in front of him, drinking a beer. He had a constant stream of girls coming to pay their respects to their ‘daddy’.

Dance music played whilst a girl in a cage, dressed in a bikini and fur boots, wound her athletic thighs around a pole. Mann found himself a space at the bar that ran around the elevated dance floor and watched the girl. She noticed him; he knew she would. He was dressed a lot smarter than everyone else in the place, who looked like they had come straight off the beach.
He smiled at her and she made her way over to him. From the corner of his eye he saw Fat Harry watching as she performed the next three minutes for Mann’s entertainment. When she had finished her number he tucked a large tip inside the rim of her boot. He ordered another drink and sat back on his stool. On his third drink a mamasan came over to him with a tray and a vodka on ice on it. She pointed to Fat Harry and said:

‘Fat Harry say would like you to join him.’

Mann nodded his thanks, picked up his drink and wandered over to Fat Harry’s table.

Mann looked Harry over. His shoulders were broad, his arms large, once muscled, and his neck was thick. He deserved his name now. He had several chins hanging beneath his babyish face and even more massive stomachs bursting the buttons of his plain calico shirt. His face was red, babyish. His silver hair was thinning and swept back by oil or by sweat, Mann couldn’t decide. Harry filled most of the circular seat meant for four people. His head came high above the others around him. He must be at least six three, thought Mann. He reminded him of Jabba the Hutt.

Fat Harry spoke to the girls who were sitting with him, all clad in matching white miniskirts and black strapless tops. They squeaked their goodbyes to ‘daddy’, giggled their girly hellos to Mann, and left to make room for him to sit.

Fat Harry did not stand as Mann approached, and Mann did not expect him to. This was not England or Hong Kong. Etiquette was not top of the list here; con geniality was. And Fat Harry was Mr Congenial. He smiled
non-stop. He waved to the party on a neighbouring table. They had a hostess lying on the table and were taking turns drinking vodka shots from her naval. He laughed so enthusiastically that his stomach reverberated.

‘Regulars…’ he said, raising his beer to them. ‘Come back here every year. Nice to see a new face, though. I am the proprietor of this den of feckin’ iniquity. What’s your name, fella?’ Fat Harry’s voice still had a hint of Ulster brawl to it.

‘John, John Black. I must congratulate you—you have a good business here, Harry.’

Fat Harry studied Mann. He obviously liked the cut of Mann’s clothes. He looked at Mann’s wrist to see what make of watch he had. It was one of several that Mann owned—a Pateek Philippe. He was obviously passing Fat Harry’s test. A fellow policeman was always going to keep an eye on small details.

‘You here on business, John?’

Mann shook his head. ‘My wife will kill me if I answer yes to that…I’m here on honeymoon. Why, is this club for sale?’

Fat Harry laughed. ‘I like you already—a straight-talker—a man after my own heart. And no, this club is not for sale, although I could probably point you in the direction of one that is.’

Mann picked up his glass. ‘Cheers to your good health.’

Fat Harry picked up his beer bottle and clicked it against Mann’s glass. ‘And yours.’

‘So, what business are you in, John?’

‘All sorts.’ Mann grinned. ‘This and that. I have a
few investments. I own a few language schools in London and Manchester. A couple of massage parlours and a few other things that I’d rather not admit to.’

Fat Harry laughed. ‘Language schools, huh? Who are your main clients?’

‘From Asia, mostly: China, Japan.’

‘What about the girls in your massage parlours?’

‘Well, not surprisingly, we have a fair few Filipinas but mainly Eastern Bloc girls. I recruit them through the school.’

‘Good business, huh?’

‘There will always be girls looking to make money and always men looking to spend it.’

The table next door had moved on to watching the girl perform a sex act with a specially designed ice-cream cone. There were loud appreciative hoots and claps. Fat Harry waited for the antics to be finished before he tried making himself heard again.

‘You don’t have any problem with the girls, they don’t mind working?’

‘A few of them do take a bit of persuading. Some of them owe money for their passage over, they’re working it off—you know the kind of thing, I am sure. The young ones need to be controlled, shown who’s boss.’

Fat Harry’s greedy eyes fixed on Mann’s face. Mann could see that he had taken the bait.

‘How long are you staying here in Puerto Galera, John?’

‘Just a couple of nights. We have friends in Manila; we’ll go there after here. We fly home to London in a week.’

‘Would you be interested in meeting one of my business partners? Bob English? We may have something you’d be interested in, and he’ll be very keen to know more about your UK businesses.’

‘Sure. Why not? I’m always open to offers.’

‘Give me tonight to organise it. I’ll call you in the morning; let you know what I’ve managed to set up.’

Mann hoped that Shrimp had done a good job on his and Becky’s new identities. Fat Harry would be scrutinising it tonight. And they would want Mann dead by the morning if Shrimp hadn’t.

56

 

‘Hurt, ma’am?’

The evening had come in fast. The sunset had arrived in smoky plumes of billowing purple cloud against a backdrop of turquoise. That was just a few minutes ago, now it was as dark as midnight and the first stars were appearing. Becky sat in the middle of a row of five chairs inside the Paradise foot spa. Her feet were in a wooden bowl of warm water, being soaked and washed whilst another woman massaged her shoulders. She was drinking sweet ginger tea. Outside there were a dozen open-air stations for massaging backs and feet.

She was thinking about what had happened with Mann. They had become such good friends in so few days that it felt like forever. They laughed at the same things and they cared about the same things—basically he was a soul mate. Becky shook her head at that revelation—her
soul mate!
That’s what she had thought Alex was at one time. But, more than that—Mann made her feel like a sexy woman again. Then there was the kiss.

‘A little,’ she replied, thinking to herself that these
women had developed incredibly strong fingers as they brought her back to reality and she felt the innermost muscles of her shoulders twang.

Becky had come into the spa, which seemed to be the largest women’s workplace on the beach, thinking that if anyone would know what was new, they would. The women were all wearing black shorts and pink T-shirts with
‘Paradise’
written on them. The masseuse who was washing Becky’s feet was pregnant. She squatted in front of Becky, resting her bottom on a short-legged stool, her round stomach protruding so far that Becky wondered that she could still see her customer’s feet in the bowl. She looked like one of Gauguin’s Tahitian women. She wore a red flower tucked behind her ear and her hair fell over her shoulders in a thick black glossy sheet. Her face was broad and flat, as was her nose. She had a calm, earthy beauty. When her hair fell in front of her busy hands, she flicked it away in a move that was slow, deliberate and elegant. She wore a name badge with
‘Rosario’
on it. Despite her beauty, she looked very sad, thought Becky.

‘Why you no grow you hair, ma’am? Colour like gold.’ Tina, the masseuse kneading Becky’s shoulders, spoke.

Two other masseuses came in to get their feet done whilst they were not busy outside. One sat on the end of the row, whilst the other fetched the bowl. They all nodded their agreement with Tina.

Becky had just come from the Internet café. She’d heard from the team back home. More of the victims’ identities were coming to light. Two of them had been
traced to this area. It seemed that they had been brought together and shipped over to Hong Kong, then on to the UK.

The evening was only just beginning to get busy. People were still passing by in purposeful mode, off either to eat or drink. They were not chilled enough to think about a foot massage yet. At midnight the spa would be packed. Then the girls would set up camp beds in the sand opposite and give massages to passers-by. For now, the half a dozen girls whose job it was to tout, took it in turns to come and get their nails done, whilst outside the masseuses with the leaflets joked with people passing, made idle conversation with those they knew along the sandy parade. Becky wondered how so many women managed to eke out any kind of living from the spa.

‘I like it better short,’ she said smiling so as not to sound offended.

The girls’ faces showed that the notion of short hair was way beyond their comprehension.

‘Is Puerto Galera your home?’ she asked Rosario, who was quieter than the rest. Becky felt sorry for her having to squat when she was so pregnant. She had begun rolling a smooth pebble along the underside of Becky’s foot. It was an almost pleasant sensation.

‘No, ma’am. Home far away from here.’

‘Did you come here for work?’ Becky knew she was making Rosario slightly uncomfortable by her questions, but she also knew that she would answer—it would be rude not to, and Filipinas were never rude if they could help it.

‘Yes, ma’am. Not in here, work in club first, then here.’

‘Is club work good here? Is this spa work better than the club?’

Rosario looked at the others who were listening to the conversation. There was a silence in the room.

‘Too old now for club. Have to be young girl, you know?’

Becky looked at her. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.

‘When is your baby due?’

‘Two months, ma’am.’

‘Is it your first baby?’

‘No, ma’am. The girl paused as she rubbed Becky’s feet with the hot stone, drawing it between Becky’s toes. She glanced at the masseuses and back at Becky. Have two more children, but…’ Her voice trailed off as the other women stopped their work momentarily and looked at her. Tina resumed massaging Becky’s neck and in a smiling voice that belied the contents of her words she spoke in Tagalog to her companion.

‘Don’t be stupid, Rosario, shut your mouth before it’s too late. They told you not to speak of it.’

Rosario looked up; Becky could see her eyes had filled as she looked fleetingly at Tina and the others, then at Becky. She went back to working on Becky’s feet.

Tina dug her fingers harder into Becky’s shoulders. Becky resisted the temptation to flinch. Rosario gave a massive sigh. It made her bump rise and fall. She
stopped her foot-washing and looked up at Becky. Her large brown eyes were wet.

‘My children, ma’am. They…’

Tina interrupted in Tagalog; there was a sharpness in her voice.

‘You were warned; say nothing and they will be
returned.’
Becky watched them as they looked from one to the other.

Rosario looked at her workmates. Her eyes were burning with injustice and misery.
‘You must wait,’
said Tina.

‘Wait? How long? It will be too late for waiting soon.’ Rosario’s voice had risen and she glared at Tina and the
others. She shook her head and with another sigh came
more tears. She sniffed and wiped her nose as she continued rubbing Becky’s feet. ‘They will be dead inside. The way we were. I don’t want it for my children. I did everything to stop it happening to them. My girls are going to be lawyers, not prostitutes!’

Rosario bowed her head again and a large sob heaved itself from her exhausted body. Her baby kicked inside. Becky saw Rosario’s belly grow tight and move and a tiny heel protruded as the baby listened to its mother’s sobbing. Becky looked at it in wonder. Rosario instinctively shifted on the stool to allow the baby to turn. Her voice rose.
‘I cannot bear it. I don’t want to give
birth to this baby to see it taken from me the way they were.’
She looked defiantly around the room. Becky watched the other girls in the shop look anxiously at one another, worried as Rosario cried openly.
‘I cannot
bear it.’
Rosario repeated.
‘They will be sick and scared
and they will never be the same if we don’t get them back
soon
…’ Rosario held her hand against her heart.
‘Inside
they will be dead…’

‘Don’t endanger all our children for the sake of yours.
They will kill us.’
Tina looked around anxiously. She was nervous of onlookers from outside.
‘Keep working
…’
she ordered the women in the salon. A false busyness started up.

The woman who was having her feet pumiced by her workmate spoke up.

‘But how do we know that our children won’t be next?’
she asked in a hushed voice.
‘We cannot trust them. We
need to tell someone else. She looks like she has a good
job, plenty of money, maybe she could help.’

Becky saw all eyes turn on her. She didn’t know what they were saying but she knew they were weighing up whether to tell her something, something difficult—this might be her chance.

‘Please listen.’ She looked around at them all, then her eyes settled last on Rosario. ‘I am a policewoman. I have come here because a child has been stolen in London. I am here to try to find that child. Maybe I can help you find yours too.’

Everyone turned to look at Tina, who was their spokeswoman. Tina always made the decisions.

Tina shook her head. She stared out of the window, her thoughts captured by the horror of losing her own children.

‘I have to
,
Tina,’
Rosario pleaded.
‘I cannot bear it.’

Tina ceased her neck massage. Her voice softened.

‘All right, all right, say it.’

‘I will make sure none of the others come in,’
said another girl as she signalled to her workmates outside that they were to keep out.

Becky waited, aware that something was about to happen.

‘My children are gone, ma’am.’ Rosario’s dark eyes blurred with tears and she spoke to Becky in English. ‘They were taken from me—two girls, thirteen and fifteen—good girls, pretty girls.’ At that statement her workmates muttered their agreement and shook their heads sadly. ‘I do not know where they are. Bad men have taken them.’

The women glanced nervously outside to the rest of the team who were staring in, perplexed at the serious nature of the talk inside the shop, but playing their part in pretending that nothing unusual was happening. Tina reassured them with an all-purpose smile. All the girls were jittery. All of them felt the pain and terror that Rosario was being forced to endure, and all of them knew that it could easily be their children next. None of them wanted it to happen to them, but they were powerless.

‘Here in Puerto Galera, many girls go missing now. Not come back.’

‘How long have they been gone?’

‘My girls gone three months now.’

‘Twelve girls gone, not come back,’ added Tina. ‘From here and from town nearby.’

‘Who has taken them? Do you know? Tell me about the girls, maybe I can help,’ said Becky.

The women looked nervously at one another. Tina
looked at Rosario and nodded permission for Rosario to speak.

‘Kanos. Bad white men.’ Rosario kept her eyes down, wiped away her tears and continued massaging Becky’s feet. ‘These Kanos know who took them. It is their friends.’

‘Do the Kanos live here in Puerto Galera?’

‘Yes. Very big men here. Very important.’

‘What are their names?’

A man had come to talk to the women outside. It had made them jittery. They turned one by one to discreetly attract their workmates’ attention to the fact. Becky looked at him. He was in his late fifties, with receding white-blonde hair caught in a ponytail that was streaked with grey. He had the deportment of a man unused to exercise and had a cigarette in one hand. The other was thrust deep into the pocket of his shorts. He was a man who had shrivelled inside his clothes. They looked out of place on his frame. He would have suited the dirty old biker look, thought Becky. ‘One name Fat Harry, and the other that man…’ Tina’s head gave a small incline towards the window, where the man with the ponytail had moved on to talk to a man selling pearls opposite the massage parlour. ‘That man—his name English Bob.’