Little Guantanamo was an abandoned training facility that now served as a center of operations. It sat on several acres of relatively flat terrain at the base of the foothills just outside of Del Rio. It had one main road leading in from the east. The U shape building was block construction painted long ago with a now fading yellow. It had a small rundown basketball court centered in the courtyard. There were no longer any goals or seating, just a few cheap metal trash cans in random spots. Several tufts of various prairie grasses had managed to come up through unrepaired expansion cracks and dry sandy areas around the court.
The rooms of the compound housed The Alphabet King’s narcotics, guests, prisoners, and working women. The entrance to his tunnel system was also concealed inside. Little Guantanamo had become a hub, not just for drug trafficking but also for the flesh trade. Women were moved through the tunnels from Latin America under the guise of gaining American citizenship. Some were kidnapped outright. In most cases, the victims were forcefully addicted to drugs and then gaslit into serving men for money in sex houses throughout the southeast and west to Nevada. When they weren’t busy, they were required to clean and cook. ABCs kept the eventual fate of these women vague, preferring they fantasize about one day being free. Although he allowed them to believe this, few had escaped. Even fewer managed to bargain for eventual release. Most never saw any measure of freedom after their prime years and he had no compassion for them. In his eyes, they were just a revenue stream. However, he did have three favorites he’d kept for years at the compound. He called them his Prizes.
They pulled into the courtyard and parked side by side on the aging basketball court. Stationed at the compound were three more guards—one patrolling the courtyard and two more inside. Each held an AK47 at the ready. They all wore the same desert camo and sunglasses as the men driving. Not only did this collection of mercs serve as his personal protection detail, but they also busied themselves running errands, overseeing transports, and standing sentry within the grounds. Low profile and efficient, his stronghold had never been threatened. Because of this, he had recently reduced his guard down to a skeleton crew. Not only did he see it as a show of confidence, but it also cut his expenses in half.
The Alphabet King and the guards with him emerged from the pair of SUVs in near unison. ABCs motioned to the guard in the courtyard to help the other men pull Dewey and John from the Excursion. They led the prisoners to the right, disappearing through one of two entrances that led into the lobby. On both sides, a hall ran down each leg of the squared-off U-shaped building. The doors leading into the halls were kept locked at all times. Small rooms lined the outer sides save for two larger rooms on the inside at the end of each hall, giving the building a rectangular bulge at the inside end of each leg. Large windows ran along the inside of the legs ending at the bulges.
Once they were inside, an indoor guard unlocked and opened the right-side hallway door. Two of the men led Dewey and John to a room near the end of the hall. The rest remained in the lobby awaiting orders.
ABCs liked to comb through the compound before he got to work. He entered through the other door and walked into the lobby. It had floor-to-ceiling glass walls between the entrance doors and along the back. The large windows looked out over the barren hillsides behind the building. He’d furnished the space with a fold-out table near the back and more of his signature monobloc chairs scattered about. A cooler containing bottles of water rested on the table. A small room acting as a kitchen was set in the back left corner of the lobby, a bathroom with showers and toilets on the right. The guards stood near the cooler, looking at him expectantly. Without a word, he dismissed them with a wave of his hand. ABCs walked past the guard standing sentry and unlocked the door leading down the left hall.
ABCs wore a relaxed if not bored expression as he walked. There hadn’t been much activity as of late. His operations were running smoothly. He hadn’t had much reason to indulge in his violent proclivities during his frequent visits, so his Prizes had been receiving the bulk of his attention lately. He looked inside the two rooms at the end of the hall, which housed the three women he kept there. Disappointed to find not one of his Prizes in her room, ABCs headed into their bathroom to take a leak.
His office was next door to the bathroom. It served as a stark contrast to the spartan nature of the building. The only outdoor light came from a small window at the top of the outside wall. It had been finished with plush wall-to-wall carpeting, wood-paneled walls, and crown molding. An elegant glass light fixture hung from the center of the ceiling. Each wall had a mural painting of a different Latin American countryside. Four oversized leather chairs sat in a rough circle with a round table in the middle. A wooden humidor sat in the center of the table. Each chair had a free-standing ashtray. A drink service cart sat in a corner. He kept it stocked with high-end liquors and several glasses. A small ice maker hummed nervously beside it. ABCs stepped in and sat down in one of the fine leather chairs.
Here, The Alphabet King courted the recipients of his bribery by employing his bully-boy style of coercion to help grease the cogs of his operation. If they couldn’t be reasoned with, he had other tactics. When negotiation failed, ABCs would bind and then drag screaming victims through the hallways and lobby to the other side of the U. An overt journey into the depths of terror on display for anyone watching. The humiliation of otherwise respected members of society being seen or heard in a state of abject despair by indifferent guests, abused women, and stoic guards added to the horror of their experience. In a dim windowless room on the other side of the facility, he would fully demonstrate the meaning behind his moniker. Privately, he thought himself pretty clever, playing on the initials of his name so that people would never forget him. The Alphabet King would begin every dreadful session with an eerie recitation of the ABCs, which echoed through the rooms and hallways as he tormented his subjects into submission. The confirmation of his rumored brutality struck fear in anyone he sought to manipulate.
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After being dropped off by a covered truck in Northern Mexico, Armando and two women were led into the Chihuahuan desert by two armed men wearing wide-brim hats. Armando noticed these men also had scorpion tattoos, only different. Two days into the journey by foot, they met the man-in-the-middle. They were told this Coyote would lead them on a safe passage through the desert to a place they could cross the border. After a day with the man, who hardly spoke to them, Armando became uneasy. Trudging in the merciless afternoon sun, concern gripped him. All these men had the scorpion tattoo, only different. He knew something was wrong.
As dusk approached, they crested a small rise. In a valley on the other side, they caught their first glimpse of the tree. Long ago, the life had passed out of it, but the bones still remained standing like the last remaining fossil in a long-abandoned museum.
Led by the man-in-the-middle, with Armando following, a guard behind him, the two women and the second guard behind them, they made their way down the slope and into the valley. As they got nearer, they could make out bits of clothing hanging from the branches. From behind him, the two women that accompanied Armando whimpered, softly saying, “No, please no.” The escort behind them used his gun to push them along.
Nearer to the tree now, Armando could see what hung from the branches. He recognized a bra first. Then he saw faded panties, some with lace trim. But his eyes fixed on an article that struck a chord of fear in his soul. Boy’s underwear, torn on one side like they had been ripped off. He understood the desperation of the women now. The rape tree. He had heard of this place.
Armando stopped in his tracks, tensed, but before he could turn to run, a blow struck the back of his head and he fell to the ground unconscious.
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Martha had been standing at the door with her hand up for an extra couple of beats before Officer Michael Street turned, took a few steps back to her with an outstretched hand, and spoke in a hushed tone, “Are you coming in, Martha?”
She nodded, broke eye contact with the entity and stepped around so she could enter the room without passing through him. Everyone, besides Officer Street, was so engaged in what they were doing, they didn’t notice her bizarre entrance.
He watched as she paused again to study the room. A bedside lamp near the window lit the room with a soft golden glow, giving it a cozy, intimate feel. The bed nearest the door remained empty, the privacy curtain drawn. She crinkled her nose at the strong smell of antiseptic as she walked past it.
“What’s up?” Sean said as he looked up from the device he and Elena had been sharing.
Wiping a confused look off his face, Officer Street turned his attention from Martha to Sean. “Handlin’ business, how about you?”
“This little lady here is kicking my butt on this game.” Sean chuckled.
Elena paused the game and handed the device to Sean, then looked up at Officer Street. “Hello, I remember you from before. You helped my momma, right?”
He smiled. “I did my best.” He put out his fist to bump with Elena, but she grabbed it with both hands and shook it with a shy smile.
“I’m afraid she doesn’t know that greeting yet,” Jackie said. Elena gave her mother an embarrassed glance, then looked down at her shoes.
“We can fix that.” Sean tapped Elena on the shoulder, “Here, I’ll show you.”
“Hello again, Officer,” Jackie said.
“Please, call me Michael,” he said as he stepped over to Jackie’s side. “Glad to see you here.”
Jackie nodded. “Same to you.”
Michael looked over at Clay. “How you holdin’ up?” He said it in a deeper, more purposeful tone as if to check Clay’s man card was still active.
Clay held his gaze. “I’m good.” He looked over to Jackie and held out his hand. “Help me up?”
She rolled her eyes, smiled, and said, “Sure.” Clay slowly swung his legs one by one over the side of the bed and pushed his feet into the sneaker slippers. With Jackie’s leverage, he stood up and turned to face Michael and his guest.
“Ohhh, you’re really milkin’ this, aren’t you?” Michael said, chuckling a bit. Clay and Sean also laughed slightly. Jackie gave Michael a reproachful yet playful glance.
“We’ve done this a few times today, walking around the room and the hallway. I don’t know if it’s the pain meds, but I feel much better. A little stiff, that’s all,” Clay said.
“Glad for that.” Michael nodded, relieved to see Clay in good form. “I brought someone I want to introduce. Her name is Martha Klar. She is consulting with me on this case. Martha, this is Jackie and Clay.”
Martha nodded to them, “Hello.” Michael turned and introduced Elena and Sean.
Martha brightened at the sight of Elena. “What a sweet little dress you have there.”
Elena looked up and responded in a sing-song voice, “Thank you.”
Officer Street got back to business. “Jackie. Clay. I have video from Sally’s security camera. I think you might want to see it.”
“I’m not sure we want to relive it right now,” Jackie said.
