Chapter 4

Bulldog Bannerman said, “They came in the night, as they do.”

Walker was listening intently.

Bulldog wasn’t a frequent visitor to our loft, but it no longer surprised me when one of his Dragon Ladies announced he was on the way. The visits were intermittent and casual. But they always involved a conversation with Walker.

Who will admire Bulldog for eternity for taking him to a Royals’ World Series game.

Bulldog was telling my son about a raid three Kansas City pimps had made on an Admiral Boulevard motel / whorehouse in the Northeast. He was sharing an occasional war story. Which Walker lapped up.

Bulldog, crusty Bulldog, was becoming an adult male influence on Walker. My ex, Richie was less and less a factor. Walker had been spending so much time with Mindy, and now with Pilar, that Richie had been sort of eased to the sidelines.

Daddy was still a major factor, but he was so busy with the homicide desk.

And Phillip Montgomery had moved to New York.

So. Bulldog. The man could surprise you.

Walker hadn’t made Pilar a project, but I wasn’t sure she hadn’t made him one. She didn’t mask her fierce intelligence, but she didn’t show it off either.

Walker loved taking her out on city excursions, just as he had with Mindy. Showing her his city, introducing her to shopkeepers, gallery owners, bus drivers.

But more than that, showing off the beautiful young girl. Who walked along with a coltish energy, peppering our son with questions. So far as Vanessa and I could tell, she never asked the same one twice. Seemed to remember everything.

On the first Monday Vanessa and I went in to wake them for school, Pilar was sitting calmly, cross-legged beside Walker. She smiled and held up her palm, she’d do the waking up when she was here.

If his morning erection bothered her, or even interested her, she didn’t show it. I guess when you see your mother gang-raped the second day into a seven-month trip through alien territory, you have a different perspective on life.

Because I’m more decisive these days, or trying to be, I took Lina into Walker’s room early one Sunday morning. Vanessa understood what I was up to. I wanted Lina to see her daughter in bed with a naked boy. So there would be no question about the intimacy, no matter how innocent it may well be.

I needn’t have bothered. Pilar was in her usual white-pantied position, slender brown arm over Walker’s pale chest. He was out of it, his upper torso rising and falling rhythmically. Boner poking up, pulsing.

Lina winked at her daughter and held her giggle until we closed the door. “Boys. Is he usually like that?”

I nodded, “He’s at the age.”

“What shall we have for breakfast? My turn.”

Even back in my wild days, I never let anyone -- boy or girl -- make a sex video with me. Just some instinctual feeling I had.

Oh, there are a few nude photos floating around, but I don’t worry about them. I mean, I wouldn’t want Daddy to see them, but I’m not losing any sleep over it.

I probably have some native sympathy for those poor girls who get caught up in revenge porn. And that’s why I’m such a strong fighter against it.

Working with downloaded maps, Pilar and Walker traced the journey the little girl and her mother had made from Hondo, Colombia to Hidalgo, Texas. I imagine it was a pretty accurate reconstruction. Lina had had Pilar memorize the route in case ... in case they got separated. In case something happened to Lina. Just in case.

Pilar spoke in a calm, quiet voice as if she were describing some other family. Perhaps she was.

The entire journey had been fear-infused. The anxiety was lower when they were resting, hiding. But it was always there, low-level or high-terror, always there.

The trip through Panama and Costa Rica, mostly buses and trains, some walking, two different boats, was relatively uneventful. “We had to pay bribes, of course.” Shrug. “Two women alone.”

Pilar pointed to three different stops on the map, “Sex. Mama is attractive. No choice.”

Vanessa and I looked at each other. Somewhat similar to what her grandmother, Sasha, had been through in going from Ukraine to Milwaukee fucking Wisconsin.

Lina had prepared as carefully as she could. She had packed condoms, expecting sex. Not for pleasure. Practicality. Condoms didn’t do much good when you’re being raped though.

She left behind everything that wouldn’t fit in their two backpacks.

Lina rolled all of their cash, $6,200, inside small, stainless steel containers. Piled up her hair, and Pilar’s, into tight buns. Coal black hair, thick hair, buns. Four money containers were secreted there. Others, in body cavities.

Pilar spoke often of this in terms of practicality. “It was the best we could do.”

Nicaragua was taxing. The bribes were higher and more frequent. Lina had sex when she had to. Men had begun eyeing Pilar.

Honduras was relatively benign. Pilar said, “Sex of course. But not that many bribes. One boy was raped. Ten or twelve men. We couldn’t help him. But we held his mother back, they would have killed her.”

Lina and Pilar walked across the Guatemalan border, through dense swampland to Tenosique, their first stop in Mexico. It hadn’t been that far in terms of distance, but they had to keep hiding from the roaming gangs of bandits.

Even though they were far from the US border, reaching Mexico was a psychological boost. Just one more country, one more border to traverse.

Pilar pointed to the map, “Tenosique, that’s where we caught Le Bestia.” Freight train. Filled with migrants. And preyed upon by local gangs, drug cartel members, politicians. Bribes and pussy. Men continued to evaluate Pilar.

Pilar’s slender finger traced the train route from Tabasco to Coatzacoalcos in Veracruz. “Four times. Bribes. Two times. Sex.”

This was quite the education for sheltered Walker Jennings. Fuck, it was quite the education for me. All the more chilling coming from Pilar’s preternatural calm. Fourteen fucking years old and such a quietude, such composure.

She pointed to a town north of Mexico City, “Lecheria, that was nice. We stayed for two weeks, 14 days. Rested. Hid from the thieves. A lot of kidnappers too.”

Pilar, looking at the map, remembering, smiled angelically, “San Luis Potsi. The best. Three weeks, no fears.” A Catholic migrant shelter. About halfway through Mexico.

She pointed, “This was nice too. Saltillo.” A safe haven, relatively safe, less than three hours from the Rio Grande.

Pilar sighed, “Reymosa. We could see the river. But had to wait 10 days. Kidnappers were all over.”

She smiled at Walker, “We left everything behind. Our backpacks, everything except the money. Waded into the water. Three in the morning, no moon. We swam for Hidalgo, Texas. Made it.”

Then the Pimp Truck pulled up.

Walker waits to start dinner until he knows what time I’ll be home. Vanessa is usually working so it’s just me and my little bud. Now that Mindy is in Palo Alto.

Vanessa has us eating healthier these days. More veggies. Fresher ingredients.

But Walker does some mean French Fries. Skinny ones usually. It’s a three-step process. He boils them. Then fries over low heat. Finally, high heat. Yum! Crispy and salty.

Other nights he might soak them in buttermilk, batter them in some spicy concoction. Outstanding.

Phillip Montgomery had asked me to lunch. Back before he moved to New York. Ours was a complex relationship. Interesting. Warm. I had first met Phillip when his and Rebecca’s daughter, Mindy, had gone missing. It was a brief flirtation with an inefficient cult, the Creed of the Brotherhood.

Mindy grew close to Walker and me, then especially close to Walker.

Phillip hired me a second time when he was secretly taped having sex with a woman he had met in a New York hotel bar.

Today, I’m under contract with the hedge fund, Envoy Assets, that he runs in New York. This case involves a luxury floating seastead, a residential yacht called The Globe. Phillip is a straight-ahead guy, “We’ll pay you $1,000 a day for up to 30 days. Then we’ll see if you need more time. We pay all expenses, first class travel. If you’re successful, we’ll work out the bonus money. That’ll depend on the degree of difficulty. And success.”

“Deal.”

But more than the business connections, I like Phillip Montgomery. As a person, as a father, even as an under-faithful husband. As Rebecca told me in her only reference to that sex tape, “I didn’t fall in love with Phillip because he was perfect.”

There is more to Phillip than appears on the surface. He is a high level executive with OneBank. He runs their hedge fund as well. But he is connected, on some mysterious level, with the State Department. Which could mean a three-letter agency is involved too. Or maybe not. Maybe I’m smoking dope.

We met for lunch at one of my favorites, Brown & Loe, adjacent to the City Market. It’s a fairly new restaurant in an old building with soaring ceilings. It reminds me of New York City. A long bar along the left as you walk in, huge, Wrigley-sized windows on the right.

Phillip was dressed casually, a black single-breasted blazer, no tie, light grey summer slacks.

Hug, cheek kiss, he seemed genuinely glad to see me. And why not? I looked good, knew I looked good. Sleeveless boatsman’s top with pink horizontal stripes. Long enough to cover my butt and reach almost to the hem of my white pleated skirt.

He went with the turkey club while I ordered the blue corn trout. Only because my favorite Brown & Loe dish, meat loaf, isn’t on the summer menu. The sacrifices I make.

He smiled at me fondly. He is fond of me. Who isn’t? Well, let’s not go there.

“Winter, change of plans. As you know The Globe has a Board of Directors. Made up of condo owners.”

I nodded. Had the feeling my yachting gig was over before it began.

“They’re rich, all of them. Impulsive, a lot of them. Anyway, The Globe is looking ... not so top-of-the-line these days. Utopia.”

I nodded again. The Utopia had upped the ante, luxury yacht division.

Phillip said, “So they voted to dry-dock The Globe. In Freeport. Top to bottom redo.”

“Oh.”

He smiled, “Expensive, but they know that. Agreed to foot the bill.”

“I see.” What I saw was that Envoy and the other shareholders weren’t going to be out a dime of however many millions the upgrades would cost.

“However, Envoy still wants you to ... figure out what the hell is going on. So, please take a get-acquainted trip before they refurbish her. A week, two weeks, whatever is comfortable.”