Chapter 11

Looking at his watch at least two times for each minute that dragged by, Elliott limped nervously back and forth in the air- conditioned hotel room. She was fifteen minutes late and he was beginning to fear she wouldn't show up at all.

"Garza, maybe you'd better call again."

"Relax, Mr. Strickland. She'll be here any minute."

He felt like leaping at the private detective and shaking him into action. His professional calmness grated Elliott's on-edge nerves.

"It's sort of a custom down here in the Canal Zone. Call- girls are always a few minutes late, especially when they are assigned to an American gentleman. The procurer instructs them to do so, knowing the American habit of punctuality and wanting to heighten the suspense. They think it makes their merchandise more appealing when it finally arrives."

"She isn't merchandise!" Elliott bellowed. "Stop talking about her like that!"

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Strickland. I meant no disrespect, sir. My intention was merely to explain why she is late."

"I'm sorry," Elliott mumbled.

"For nothing. I understand your feelings very well. If it were --"

"That must be her," Elliott said, hurrying to answer the soft knock at the door but stopping halfway there, turning around and coming toward the couch. "I can't. I'm too nervous."

Garza got calmly to his feet. "Sit down, Mr. Strickland. I'll let her in."

"Are you sure it's her?" Elliott demanded, slumping to the couch, having trouble breathing because of the turmoil of emotions within him.

"No, sir," Garza answered, moving across the room. "I'm only sure it will be the girl I saw in the show. You will have to determine if she is your lady."

"Yes. Of course," Elliott said, recalling that Garza had only tentatively identified her from the snapshot he'd given him. "Let her in, please."

Garza opened the door and she walked sensually into the room, smiling seductively and laughing a throaty little laugh as her hand reached boldly to his crotch and gave his genitals a promising caress. For the first time since Elliott had hired him, Garza seemed ill at ease. He cleared his throat and pushed her hand away, motioning with his head to where Elliott was sitting.

She threw Elliott a puzzled glance, then turned back to Garza. "What are you guys trying to pull?" she demanded. "There was only supposed to be one. If I'm going to take you both on, the price is double."

Elliott still wasn't sure. As Garza closed the door and began explaining to her in his unhurried way why she was there, Elliott looked her up and down carefully. She was blonde, all right, but taller, and her body was much more shapely than he remembered. She looked older too, but it had been over a year and it was hard to guess her age because of the heavy make-up she wore. But she did resemble Paula, and when he heard her voice for the second time he knew.

"Paula," he called, unable to wait for Garza to finish his explanation. "Paula!"

Her head snapped around, her eyes growing large as she stared at him. "Who are you?" she asked fearfully. "How did you know my name?"

Elliott could see the partial recognition in her eyes, as if she realized she should know him but couldn't quite place him. He got to his feet, holding out his arms, limping toward her, fighting to see through the veil of tears forming over his eyes.

"It's your father," Garza said.

"No," she gasped. "He can't be. My father is dead! "

"Don't you recognize me, sweetie?"

"He was badly hurt when he jumped from the plane," Garza said. "He's had plastic surgery."

Her mouth hanging open, she stared unblinkingly as he came closer. His face was different, more youthful than she remembered it, and slightly misshapen, but finally she realized he was her father. She rushed into his arms, sobbing happily as she hugged him fiercely.

"Daddy... oh, Daddy!"

"It's all right, sweetie," he soothed, patting her back. "Everything's going to be all right now."

"Oh, my God," she moaned between sobs. "Oh, my God!"

Elliott held her until she stopped crying, talking soothingly to her and stroking her back. Then he led her to the couch and sat holding her hand, nervously patting it and squeezing it. "Your mother," he asked. "How is she?"

His innocent question brought a fresh flood of tears. Paula clenched her eyelids tightly shut and lowered her head.

"She's not dead?" Elliott gasped.

Paula shook her head.

"Then what? Is she sick? Tell me, Paula... I've got to know!"

"Oh, Daddy," she groaned mournfully. "You should have stayed away."

"I couldn't. For God's sake, sweetie! I couldn't just leave you and Ruth in that evil monster's clutches! I had to find you! And now that I have, I'm going to take you home. Tell me about your mother... how sick is she? Can she travel?"

Paula shook her head. "She isn't sick like you think. We're both sick, Daddy. Mother and I are addicts."

"What?"

"Pico forced us to take heroin. He had us held down to give it to us at first." She laughed, but it sounded more like a fit of sobbing. "He doesn't have to hold us down any more. We'll both do anything for it now... anything!"

"Oh, good Lord!"

"I was afraid of this," Garza said. "It complicates matters."

"You wouldn't believe some of the things, Daddy," Paula said in a tired voice--little more than a whisper.

"Let's go, Garza," Elliott urged. "Let's get the police and get my wife out of that awful place right now."

Paula glanced at her father, her young eyes showing surprise at his naivete. "Don't count on help from the police."

"She's right," Garza told him. "Too many of them profit from such establishments. Even if we were fortunate enough to tell our story to an honest police official, by the time any action was taken it would probably be too late. Word of the raid would have preceded us and your wife wouldn't be there."

"Then, what can we do? For God's sake, Garza, now that I know where she is, you don't think I'm going to let her stay there, do you?"

"No, Mr. Strickland. We will act tonight, you and I. I have a plan. But we can't do it alone. We will need your daughter's help. Will you help us, Miss Strickland?"

"Miss Strickland," she breathed. "Oh, it sounds good to be called that, after so long! Yes, Mr. Garza, I'll help you. What do you want me to do?"

"Can you get some heroin?" he asked hopefully. "Enough to hold you and your mother until you get home and under a doctor's care?"

"No. There's no way."

"Then I'd better see if I can find a pusher and get it that way. We can do nothing until we have enough to tide you over."

Paula nodded. "I wouldn't dare try to make the trip without it. Once, when I refused to do as Pico ordered, he withheld it from me until I was wishing for death. Oh, God... I never want to go through that again!"

"Methadone," Elliott said. "I read an article about methadone once. If I rememb --"

"Later, Mr. Strickland. We must act fast if we are to take your wife and daughter out tonight. Now, here is my plan. I know you're not going to like part of it, Mr. Strickland. But I've thought it out carefully and can see no other way to free your loved ones safely. Hear me through without interrupting, please."

Elliott nodded.

Garza turned his attention to Paula. "Do you and your mother have free run of the place?"

"I do," she said. "But not mother. She's tried to escape so often that Pico keeps her locked in her room upstairs except for her performances on stage." Paula looked uneasy as she mentioned her mother's stage performances.

"I feared as much," Garza said. "I got that impression when I watched her being led on and off the stage."

"You've seen the show?" Paula gasped, blushing as she glanced quickly at her father.

"I've seen a hundred such shows in at least a dozen cities while I was searching for you and your mother. What time is the place the quietest? When is everyone asleep? And I mean everyone!"

"Not until about five in the morning."

"Then that's when we'll take you out."

"That'll mean another performance for both Mother and myself," Paula said. "We're both on tonight. "

"There must be another way!" Elliott snapped. "I don't want Paula going back to that place."

"Hush, Daddy. I'm beginning to see what Mr. Garza has in mind."

"The windows in your mother's room?" Garza asked.

"There's just one, and it's got steel bars."

"The door?"

"Thick and sturdy, padlocked on the hall side."

Garza smiled. "I've yet to find a lock which could resist opening for me. Good. Do you sleep with your mother?"

Paula glanced at her father, "Sometimes."

"Can you arrange to sleep with her tonight?"

"I don't know. After my performance I have to..."

"I understand," Garza said. "But later?"

"I think I can manage."

"You must, Miss Strickland. When your father and I enter that room, you will have to be in it." He got up and went to his suitcase to get out a cigarette lighter. Handing the lighter to Paula, he asked, "Do you smoke?"

She nodded.

"Good. But be sure it's this lighter you take with you into your mother's room. It's more than a lighter. It gives off an FM signal. That's how we'll locate the room."

"All right," she said, gulping. "You'll come at five?"

"Precisely at five."

"What if I can't manage to be in the room? You could hide in the wine cellar and I could come down to the basement and take you to Mother's room a few minutes before five."

"There's a wine cellar?"

"Yes. A large one. It's a very old building."

"That's where your father and I will hide," Garza said, his voice becoming more and more confident. "We'll slip down to it while the show is in progress. Where are the stairs?"

"To the left of the bar," Paula answered, her face beaming with hope.

"Come for us at ten minutes to five, but only if you can't manage to be in the room with your mother. It'll be safer for all of us if you're in the room with her. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I'll try to sleep with her tonight. After the performance I'll pretend I'm sick. I'm rarely sick, so it should work."

"Damn the performance," Elliott hissed. "Be sick before it!"

"No, Mr. Strickland. They mustn't suspect anything. Your daughter will have to go on as planned. And Miss Strickland... don't tell your mother anything about all this. If for some reason we should fail, I think it best she not know of our attempt. "

"I agree," Paula answered quickly.

"Give your daughter a hundred dollars instead of fifty, Mr. Strickland. And Miss Strickland... when you give the money to this Pico animal, try to act very pleased and tell him the extra fifty was a tip because your customer was so delighted with you."

"Yes," she said, smiling. "That should put him off guard so far as I'm concerned."

Elliott gave her the money and she tucked it into her purse.

"I have to get busy," Garza sighed. "I must get the heroin or we might as well forget it for tonight. Stay with your father for the usual length of time. I don't want you to get back too early. It would arouse suspicions."

"We've got a million things to talk about," Elliott said, taking Paula's hand again as Garza put on his coat and walked toward the door.

"I'll be back as soon as I can, Mr. Strickland. You won't do anything foolish, will you?"

"I won't let him," Paula assured. "Your plan sounds like our only hope. We'll stick to it."

Garza allowed a grin to cross his face. "You've got a very intelligent daughter there, Mr. Strickland," he said as he went out the door.

Huddled in a corner of the dank wine cellar, Elliott sat trying to calm himself. Though his blood was racing through his veins, his mind was in a state of near shock from watching his wife and daughter go through their degrading performances on the stage. The vulgar shouts of the men, many of them American servicemen, still rang obscenely in his ears. He'd had to sit beside Garza, helpless as he watched the huge Negro fuck his daughter until they both shuddered through orgasm. It had looked like an actual rape, and Elliott couldn't really believe it was happening.