Chapter 9: Trade Girls

Jose Hernandez had a pretty good thing going. He was 22 years old and had just finished a two-year sentence in jail for assaulting a minor in a public restroom, but lucky for him it was plead down to simple theft for taking her purse. What the police didn’t know was that his intention had been to kidnap the girl, then sell her to ‘some gang’ needing girls for Mexico whore houses. He’d heard that there was good money in that. Without hardly any education or work skills, it was this or trim yards for rich white people.

While in jail, Jose had come across an uncle of his, Ricardo, doing time for car theft. Jose had learned that he was doing it all wrong. He got his education alright- in the county jail. He learned that three gangs were the primary providers of young girls for Mexican whore houses, as well as a few other places in Latin America. These places south of the border had their own gangs they dealt with. The gangs down south would bargain with the three gangs in the US. Those three gangs used other, more local gangs to get their product: young girls between the ages of 11 and 19. Top of the list was young American girls, and even they had a pecking order. Redheads were top, for they were rare. Blondes were about the same as brunettes. Overweight and/or black or Latino girls brought in almost nothing. Oriental types were a little better. The younger they were, the more valuable they were. Bonuses for virgins, big tits, good make-up. Big deductions for bruises or marks, druggies or abused/homeless girls. The top dollars went to 12-14-year-old redheaded white virgins, unmarked, well-groomed. Cute little rich white girls.

Jose learned that these three US gangs also dealt with individuals on an intro basis; that is, you needed to know someone in the gang. Ricardo was a member of the 38th Street Latino gang, associated with various LA Crip groups. The LA Crips was one of the Big Three. All Ricardo had said was, “If you find something good, call me. But don’t waste my time. We kill people who waste our time.”

Jose tried to hook up with some old friends back in the hood. Nobody wanted anything to do with any kidnapping scheme, especially involving Crips. though. He decided the heck with it, he’d do it himself. How hard could it be?

Jose lived in south-central LA. Being a tattooed 38th Street gang member now, he stuck out like a sore thumb in any white neighborhood. You couldn’t hide from the police with dark tinted windows- suburban cops always stopped cars with dark tinted windows. No, he needed to blend. Yard worker. Jose’s father had an old 4-door pick-up truck that didn’t run in the backyard. He said Jose could have it if he could make it move. So, Jose worked day and night to get it running, filled it with junk so it looked like a yard work truck. Painted some false name on the door. With old clothes on, he blended. He got it registered in his father’s name, so the tag would be all legal. His brother at the gas station gave him a free inspection sticker. He was in business.

Jose had a bunch of construction cones in the back. He’d drive around neighborhoods slowly just after dark, pretending to be collecting any forgotten yard work cones. He trolled for a young girl for two weeks with no luck. He saw plenty; walking their dogs, walking with someone else, playing in a yard with others.

That Wednesday night he was feeling frustrated. He didn’t want to be a disappointment to his uncle Ricardo. He felt that would be an insult after what he had taught him so carefully in jail. He turned onto Lakewood Terrace and suddenly he saw two girls walking slowly together down the sidewalk. Right age maybe. White, girls. No dog to go bark crazy. He followed his basic outline. He passed them, stopped about half a block ahead where there was no streetlight, motor running. He got out, started fumbling with some cones in the back. As the two girls got close, he suddenly turned, all smiles, Mr. Friendly and concerned. “Careful, little ones, careful! The sidewalk, eet not safe right here...” As they paused, he moved close. He took his taser, a small one good for about six good zaps. He quickly put it to the head of the girl on his right; a quick, short zap to get her stunned and disoriented. As fast as he could, he put it to the brunette on the left, putting it to her temple and holding it there a long time as she quickly fell to the ground. He then turned back to the blonde girl, zapped her in the forehead for a long time. Both girls lay on the sidewalk by his truck, in the dark shadows.

Quickly, Jose opened the back passenger door of his truck and lifted the first girl inside. She wasn’t very heavy, just awkward being so limp. He stuffed her in, then grabbed the second girl. He shoved her in right on top of the other girl. He jumped behind the wheel, drove slowly away. He drove over to a closed store, paused in the parking lot. He’d had to zap each girl one more time on the way. His taser was almost dead now. Jose got out, climbed in the back seat and began taping the girls up. He already knew where they were going next.

Jose’s grandfather had left town, going out east somewhere to visit relatives. He could stay there so long as he kept the yard mowed until grandpa got back. He wasn’t expected back for another two weeks, at least. Jose got home, backed up to the garage, getting as much of the truck inside a he could. With the lights off, he dragged the two bound girls from the truck one at a time. They were becoming all alert again, so there was some struggling. He threw the one girl down on the floor in the bedroom. With her hands and feet taped, she wasn’t going anywhere. The second girl also put up a struggle, but she too ended up in the bedroom. Jose then parked the truck in the driveway, closed the garage door and went inside.

Kamela Martin was fourteen years old. Five foot three, just over a hundred pounds. Her long brown hair was straight and soft. She had the typical cute young-teen butt, highlighted by the tight shorts she had on. She had typical fourteen-year-old breasts, bigger than a training bra, but not much. She had a very cute face and color, showing her Italian heritage. Kamela and her friend Emily had been walking home together from poetry class at the library.