Page 76 of Alonzo

“Fuck, Tare. That’s horrible.”

“And then I was sent to another family. And they fell apart after a couple years. Teenage kids got into drugs, parents divorced. That kind of thing. So when I was nine I was sent to another family and they were good people, I guess. A little religious. But… OK, they were a cult.”

“Shut up.”

“I swear!”

“But they were good people?”

“I might not be the best judge of character.”

He laughs. “OK. I need more about this cult.”

“It was your standard End Times cult. But honestly, it was probably the most stable home I ever had. At least they were predictable.”

“Tara.”

“I’m kidding. They were weird. And I think they had some kind of doomsday suicide thing cooking. So, dodged a bullet there, right?”

“I can’t with you right now.”

“Anyway. They got caught. There was this raid on the house and the church. The mom went to prison, the dad disappeared, and the kids and I went into a foster home. But they were younger than me and we got separated soon after. I was twelve and that’s just too old for most people looking to adopt. I was in and out of about two dozen group homes after that. And then I turned eighteen and started working towards my PI license. And that’s me in a nutshell.”

“Not quite. How the hell did you get involved in PI work?”

“I starting looking for my real parents when I was about fourteen. Just… you know, simple internet searches. But then I stumbled on to this magazine article about a homeless woman who wrote a memoir and got it published.”

“It was her?”

“I don’t know. I read the book and she described dropping off her three-week-old daughter at a firehouse in LA. It was a long shot, but she still lived in Long Beach so I said screw it and followed up.”

“What happened?”

“She was mean to me when I knocked on her apartment door. Thought I was selling something, I guess. So I just apologized and left.”

“Hmm. Maybe she was just in a bad mood that day? Do you regret not saying anything when you had the chance?”

“Nope. I moved on to bigger puzzles.”

“Like what?”

“I started finding other kids’ parents. Kinda opened up a little business at the various group homes. Only a few of them were true orphans like me. But they all wanted my help.”

“They pay you?”

“If you count graham crackers and toilet paper allotments as payment, yeah. They did. And before you ask, no, I didn’t find anyone’s parents. There were no happy endings. At least ones provided by me. It was a little depressing. But then I just figured I needed more training. That was my problem. So…” I shrug my shoulders up to my ears. “I got more training.”

“So how did you meet Diablo? He was your boyfriend?”

“No. No, not at all. Just some guy I knew from my neighborhood in Long Beach. I was at the docks in the harbor looking for a woman I had heard other foster kids talk about over the years. I got a tip that she would be at a coffee shop near the docks that night. All I wanted to do was interview her. See if I could help in some way. It was a total accident that I saw what Diablo and his gang were doing.”

“What did you see, Tare? What was he doing?”

“Smuggling people, Lonnie. Sex slaves, I think.”

He makes a face at me. “You’re sure?”

I’m used to this face. Tell just about anyone that there’s sex slave smuggling going on nearby and they think you’re crazy. Phoebe, you’ve seen Eastern Promises too many times. No one is selling children for sex in this country. They either don’t want to believe it or actually think it doesn’t happen. And I get it. We all want to pretend things are good. I’m sure Lonnie is no different. But I’m not crazy. I know what I saw. “They were young, Lonnie. Little girls and boys. And the men were dangerous-looking. I mean, a dangerous criminal like Diablo isn’t smuggling in kids into the US using freight containers to give them a better life. I saw how scared those kids were. They were huddled together, trying not to cry because one of Diablo’s men would poke them with the end of a rifle if they made too much noise. It just made me sick. So when the FBI asked me to testify and made all these witness protection promises, I said yes. It felt like my duty. But he got off. Somehow. And here I am. Sitting in this deathtrap rowboat with a hot fisherman.”