that even in Caracas, God kept the lights on for you.
Brodie took out his smartphone and pulled up the satellite image of Petare, along with the GPS pin he had saved earlier. He thought he could see a more direct route to the brothel, and he instructed Luis to drive past the turnoff they had taken earlier into the barrios, and to take another road farther north. This time, Luis made no mention of hiding their weapons before entering the slums. They all understood that once the sun was down, the rules changed.
They passed their original turn, then took the next uphill road and entered the slums. No sign of National Guard soldiers, police, or anyone else on the desolate streets. Brodie made out a couple of silhouettes in a dark alley, and somewhere in the distance he heard the whine of a police siren followed by the unmistakable sound of an AK-47 doing business. Through the windows of many of the barrio houses, he noticed flickering candlelight. The slums looked better in the dark, but they felt worse.
Brodie referenced the satellite map, then instructed Luis to turn onto a narrower road that snaked up the hillside. After about ten minutes of following the twisting roads, they turned onto the road that ran along the ridgeline. Brodie looked out the window, down at the darkened city below. There were a few pockets of light, mostly clustered in the more affluent eastern districts they had come from. Farther west, toward downtown and the government center, he saw the lit-up gilded dome of the Legislative Palace, and the pink façade of Miraflores Palace, which was bathed in floodlights that were probably illuminating security barricades.
Luis continued along the road, and up ahead the Mitsubishi’s headlights revealed the white stucco brothel on the right. Brodie noted that there were about a dozen cars and SUVs parked haphazardly on the dark street near the Hen House, and there were a number of drivers standing around, smoking and joking while their passengers were inside getting laid.
Brodie had witnessed scenes like this around the globe—businessmen and tourists out slumming and fucking the poor, just as Al Simpson and his partner had done. Brodie had not indulged in this activity himself, but he didn’t begrudge a hardworking man an opportunity to relax and to put some money into a poor working girl’s G-string. What bothered him about the Hen House was the child prostitutes. And on a practical level, the “by introduction only” policy—which was necessary in a place that was beyond the pale even in Caracas—could be a problem at the door.
Taylor said, “This is disgusting.”
“Men are animals,” he agreed. He told Luis, “Go past the place,” then said to Taylor, “Get down,” which she did.
Luis continued, squeezing his car through the randomly parked vehicles, and up the ridgeline road.
Brodie pictured himself running out of the whorehouse and up the hill to the car with a posse on his tail. That was going to be difficult—especially if Captain Mercer was leading the posse. Also, he didn’t see how he could take Mercer on the street with all those cars and drivers around. On the other hand, he’d made arrests in public places in third world cities, and most citizens looked the other way, figuring it was just another criminal or lawful activity—or something in between—that had nothing to do with them. And they were always right.
Taylor said, “This is not going to work.”
“We’ll make it work.”
“Scott, we can’t stake out the place, and we can’t take him on the street with all those cars and people—”
“You overestimate the willingness of people in front of a whorehouse to get involved in a public kidnapping.” He added, “What could possibly go wrong?”
“Are you crazy?”
Before Brodie could think of an answer, Luis said, “Señor Brodie is correct. In Caracas, no one sees anything, no one hears anything, and no one does anything.” He added, “Unless this man who you are looking for has a driver who is also his security man.”
“Thanks for that,” said Brodie.
They continued up the hill on the dark road and Brodie said to Luis, “Make a U-turn, turn off your lights, and stop.”
Luis did as he was told, and Brodie said to Taylor, “Make yourself small on the floor here.” He told Luis, “Get a little closer to the Hen House, but not too close.”
Luis nodded and began driving slowly down the hill toward the Hen House, while Taylor reluctantly sat on the floor with her