American twenties out of his wallet and placed them on the table next to the bed. He said to Luis, “Tell her to hide that.”
Luis translated, and she took the money and looked at it before shoving it in the pocket of her shorts.
Luis said, “Maybe we can take her with us.”
Brodie considered that, but rescuing Julieta was not part of the mission. “If we have to shoot our way out of here, she’s likely to get hurt or killed.”
Luis nodded reluctantly. Being the father of a young daughter probably made this particularly painful, but he seemed to come to terms with the fact that there was not much they could do for Julieta—or the other girls like her behind every bolted door in this godforsaken place. Calling the police was not an option in a country where the vice squad ran the vice.
Brodie retrieved the AK-47 and looked at the girl. “Gracias, Julieta.”
She stared up at him and did not reply.
They left the room and closed the door, and Brodie slid back the bolt. He noted the door number marked in grease pencil—17. They continued down the hallway in the direction of the steel door leading to the lounge, and stopped at the door marked 21.
Brodie gestured to Luis, who knocked on the door and said, “Carmen, estás ahí?”
There was no response at first, then a female voice shouted, “Estoy ocupado!”
Luis turned to Brodie. “She’s busy.”
“Let’s interrupt.” He turned the knob, swung open the door, and quickly entered the room. Luis followed and closed it behind him.
The room was the same size as the others, but with a décor that skewed more adult—bondage gear hanging from hooks on the red-painted walls, a leopard-print rug, and a table draped in purple satin with some lit candles for a touch of romance.
“Hey! Qué mierda!”
An attractive, well-endowed, stark-naked brunette in her mid-twenties was standing over a full-size bed, leather paddle in hand. A middle-aged guy was bent over the bed, wearing only fuzzy pink handcuffs.
Carmen shouted again at them, gestured with the paddle. She did not seem very intimidated by two strange men bursting in with weapons. Maybe not an uncommon occurrence at the Hen House. The john, on the other hand, was looking back over his shoulder at them, wide-eyed, probably wondering if this was part of the role play as he tried to remember the safe word.
Brodie looked at the man. “Get up.” Luis translated. Carmen started to protest, but the man managed to stand up and almost lost his balance as he turned to face them, hands cuffed behind his back and his pene at full attention. He blubbered something in Spanish, and Carmen told him to shut up, which he probably liked.
Luis said to Brodie, “He says his wallet is in his pants, which is on that chair.”
Carmen, who was beginning to figure out that her visitors were not with the management, started to look a little more concerned. She asked in English, “What do you want?”
Brodie gestured to her client. “Tell him to get on the ground.”
Carmen hesitated, then communicated that to the guy, who lay face down on the leopard-print rug.
Brodie said to Carmen, “Tie his ankles.”
Carmen looked to the door. “Where is Carlo?”
“Getting an enema. Move.”
Carmen walked to the wall with the hooks and took down a piece of bondage rope, then crouched next to the guy and tied his ankles together.
Brodie said, “Roll him under the bed. And tell him if he makes a sound, I’ll kill him.” Carmen said something to the man in Spanish and then rolled him under the bed.
Brodie spotted a pink robe hanging on a nearby chair and tossed it to Carmen. She glared at him for a moment, then put it on and sat on the edge of the bed.
She asked, “Who are you with?”
Brodie thought that was an interesting question that told him something about Petare, and maybe the whole country. Not who are you, but who do you represent? What is your tribe? Brodie replied, “The United States Army.”
She didn’t respond to that.
“I’m looking for an old Army friend,” said Brodie. “Kyle Mercer. Someone told me that he is your friend also.”
“Who told you this?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Carmen shook her head. “I do not know this man.”
“Five hundred dollars to help you remember.”
She looked at him, then at his pockets. Show me.
He pulled out his wad of cash and peeled off ten fifty-dollar bills and held them up.
She looked at the cash, then said, “Maybe I do know