it to Brodie.
Brodie noted that the rifle had two thirty-round banana clips duct-taped together. One was upright and loaded in the magazine well and the other was upside down, allowing for an easy flip and reload. He’d seen this makeshift configuration among militia guys before—double the fun without the hassle. Brodie pulled back the charging handle to see if a round was chambered, which it was. The rifle was on safety and Brodie moved the selector switch to full automatic. He now had the power.
Brodie stuck the silenced Beretta in his pants pocket, then motioned to Luis to stand behind him with his Beretta at the ready. Brodie opened the door and quickly scanned both ends of the corridor. A customer was exiting through the steel door near the baño, and Brodie stood motionless as the man left and the door swung shut.
He stepped into the corridor and motioned Luis to follow and to watch the rear as they headed toward the back of the building.
They turned the corner and entered the second corridor. Brodie looked at the steel door leading to the lounge and to the outside door and to escape.
Luis, who’d also figured out where that door led, whispered to Brodie, “There is a door in the lounge to the outside.”
Brodie nodded. But so far the only thing he’d accomplished in the Hen House was getting himself and Luis captured, and escaping by killing two guys who had nothing to do with his mission. A civilian would beat feet and call it a night. But the mission comes before avoiding capture. He needed to find a witness—a hooker—who could tell him about Kyle Mercer.
Luis was glancing between the steel door and Brodie, as if to say, “Let’s vamoose. Pronto, señor.”
Brodie said to him in a whisper, “I need to find a girl who could know about the man I’m looking for.”
Luis processed that, then reluctantly nodded. He hesitated, then went to a door, knocked, and said something in Spanish. An angry male voice—somewhat out of breath—came through the door.
Luis crossed the corridor and knocked on the opposite door, and again said something. No reply. This door had a closed bolt, which he quietly slid open. He then opened the door slowly, looked inside the room, and said softly, “Dios mío,” then made the sign of the cross.
Luis walked into the dimly lit room and Brodie followed, closing the door behind them. The room looked similar to the first one Brodie had been taken to—yellow cement-block walls, creepy kiddie décor.
A young girl, no older than twelve, sat on the bed with her back pressed against the wall, alone. She was balled up, gripping her legs tight. She wore a pink tank top and denim shorts and her face was speckled with glitter. She eyed Brodie and the AK-47 rifle, terrified.
Brodie propped the rifle against the wall and said to Luis, “Tell her we’re not here to hurt her.”
Luis communicated that. The girl nodded. Luis asked, “Cuál es tu nombre?”
The girl hesitated, then said in a quiet voice, “Julieta.”
Brodie said, “Ask Julieta if she knows Kyle Mercer. An American. He spends time here.” He added, “Snake tattoo on his arm.”
Luis asked, and she responded. Luis said to Brodie, “The American soldier. He was here.”
“Cuándo?” asked Brodie.
Julieta replied and Luis translated, “About three weeks ago.” Luis added, “She says he liked the older girls, so she only saw him one time in person.”
Brodie asked, “Dónde?”
Julieta pointed down at the bed. “Aquí.” Here.
Julieta kept speaking, and Luis translated: “He paid for her, for six hours. When he came in the room he brought her food and some money. He sat near the bed while she ate… just staring at the wall. He told her to rest. She fell asleep and when she woke up he was gone.”
Brodie processed that. It sounded like Señor Kyle had decided to give Julieta a break from her bleak profession. Brodie had known some truly vicious men who got moralistic and self-righteous when it came to protecting children and animals. It was a bright and easy moral line to draw, and guys who were otherwise up to their eyeballs in other people’s blood could at least hold something up as sacred. Maybe it kept them feeling human.
Brodie asked, “Did Señor Kyle have a favorite woman here?”
Luis asked, and then translated as she responded: “Sí. Carmen. She speaks good English and so she was one of his favorites. She is in Room Twenty-One.”
“Gracias,” said Brodie. He took five