An Evil Woman - Part two

An Evil Woman – Part Two
To make sense of part two, you really do need to read the first part of the story.
This story is about a modern-day scourge. When many of us think about slavery, we have images of coloured people working the cotton fields in southern America, but it is as real today as it was back in the 1700s. This is part two of a very real slave trade, happening right under our noses.
The Modern-Day Slave Trade Takes Many Forms:
• Slavery – the conditioning of treating another person as if they were property.
• Forced Labour – work taken without consent by means of threat or coercion.
• Human Trafficking – the process in which people are bought and sold into some form of severe exploitation.

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I took a sip of their coffee and wondered on what planet would this be called coffee, but this late at night it was the only place that was open, and I needed something hot and wet inside of me. This will have to do.

I sat there quietly, weighing up the options. If I turned up at the house it would take the AFP all of 30 seconds to ID me from their watching post and that would start a chain reaction that wouldn’t end well for me. If I snuck in the backway, chances are I would be dead soon after I entered the house. I looked at the google map once again. Whoever had picked the house was smart, there was no way of sneaking up on it unseen. The houses on either side of it were being demolished, all that was left of them was the old footings. The block behind it was a church and well-lit. The back fence was torn down, which gave anyone in the house looking a clear view all the way back to the other side of the block. Thank god for google maps.

There was a small side street opposite the house, which rose up on a slight rise. Parked at the top of the hill, might be an advantage. I looked at the street map and found a way to get there without driving past the house and drawing attention to myself from the AFP or whoever was watching in the house. I was certain whoever was in the house was watching.

The rain had returned by the time I had finished my burger and the muck in a cup, which they called coffee. It wasn’t as heavy as earlier in the evening, more of a misty drizzle, which was good, it cut visibility down somewhat. I went to the boot and pulled out my original 1940s USAF bomber jacket, then took out some night vision goggles and my night binoculars, two cases of bullets and put them in a small carry-all bag and slammed the boot shut. I pulled the collar up on my dark leather flying jacket. At least I’ll be warm I thought to myself. I looked around and saw no one.

I took off slowly and headed up towards the street address remembering to cut in through the back streets. I would have gotten lost if not for the monotone voice on the phone, “turn left in 50 meters, then turn the next right.” I arrived, eventually, where I wanted to be. I reached under the seat and hunted around until I felt the handle of the Smith & Wesson model 340 and the smaller SIG Sauer P220 Combat. I put them both on the seat next to me, checked the magazine of the 340, made sure the safety was on and stuck it in the back of my jeans. The smaller SIG I did likewise but undid my jacket and found the small leather holster for it put the shoulder holster on, which was difficult in such a confined space, stretched my shoulders and tried to make it feel better than it did.

I looked out the window of the old Datsun again at the house I was watching. Then eased myself down a little further into the seat, to get as comfortable as a 5’10” woman could, which wasn’t very comfortable at all. I grabbed the binoculars from the bag on the back seat and focused them on the old 1960s cream brick house.

The windows were boarded up and covered on the inside with what looked like black plastic. There was no light escaping from any window. The front door was also boarded. The screen door was off its hinges at the top and it hung there. The driveway was concrete but broken up and there were the remnants of an old, corrugated iron garage there. It started at the back corner of the house, but it was all just frame now, apart from the doors. There was still a side gate between the house and garage, which looked sturdy and solid. Why I thought to myself. I sat there for an hour or two, trying my hardest not to fall asleep. Wondering what I was waiting for, and what I was going to do.

All I had was this address. That the AFP were watching it, with a ‘go in all guns blazing type of order, which is rare, to say the least. A list of girls’ names and phone numbers and a strange phone conversation. Even if I went to my old mate ‘Dirty Harry’ with all that I had, it still amounted to nothing.

My eyes started to close as my chin hit my chest, and I shook my head awake. I had to stay awake. I focused on the house again only to see a black ford transit reversed into the driveway. Shit, how long was I asleep? I grabbed the binoculars again and watched. No movement anywhere. I quickly looked on either side of the house, but nothing. I did a quick sweep back and forth as far as I could go and then around the church, the lights there blurred my vision.

Movement, at last, the side gate opened, and a solitary figure quickly moved to the van, they opened the side door and then waved their arm at someone around the back of the house. Then one, two, three small people were half carried, half pushed into the van, by a woman. The arm was waved again, and 3 more people came running from the house and disappeared into the black van. Then two large characters came rushing around the corner and jumped into the back, the door was closed. The first person jumped into the driver’s seat and moved off, with no lights.

I knew if I went chasing after them down the hill, I would be made by both the van and the AFP. I started the car and reversed up the hill and into someone’s driveway, their security light came on and I swore under my breath. I quickly took off; the street ran parallel to the van on Tapley's Hill Road. I turned the corner to head down onto Tapley’s Hill Road, I turned the lights on before I hit the corner and turned left and saw their red taillights in the distance. I grabbed the binoculars again to double-check, yep, it was the same black van. Even with the binoculars, I still couldn’t read their rego.

What had I just witnessed I thought to myself, 6 or 7 people get willingly into a black van at three o’clock in the morning, nothing illegal about any of that. There were no screams or yelling for help, I still had nothing. I kept checking my rear vision mirror, every two minutes or so, no one else was on the road so far. I kept my distance from the van, not wanting to create any suspicion. Just another car on the road at 3 o’clock in the morning.

The van braked at some traffic lights and then stopped. So, I slowed down and the van waited through a whole sequence of lights. A warning sign, so I turned right at the next side street, still a fair way behind the van. As soon as I was around the corner, I hit the accelerator and did a blocky. Thank god for Adelaide being built on the square. Quick left then left again brought me right back onto Tapley's Hill Road, the intersection was clear, and the van was nowhere to be seen. I waited. I eased out onto Taps, an affectionate name for this main throughfare and crawled long up to the intersection and looked up and down the Old Port Road, not a sign of the van anywhere.

It was then that I heard the roar of the semi braking behind me, cutting down through his gears, then the horn, behind me, his light now on high beam scaring the shit out of me. I shot through the double intersection not looking. Fortunately, there was no traffic, but that does mean the red-light cameras don’t work, those fuckers work all day every day. I saw the flash as I went through the intersection and cursed again. Looking in my rear vision mirror I watched as the semi turned towards the Port on Old Port Road, I headed towards the Port Road and turned left towards the Port. Cursing myself once again, another fucking 3 demerit points, how many was that now, 12 or 15?

I raced down towards the Port and wanted to shoot along the causeway to see if the van had taken that route. Plus I knew if I could get to the intersection where Semaphore Road met the Birkenhead Bridge, I could watch all the traffic both through the Port and those coming down from Tapley's Hill Road. I drove within the legal limit, just, so as not to draw attention from any half-asleep patrols. I didn’t.

I parked the car in front of an old red brick cottage, facing the intersection. I turned the lights off but left the engine running, I slipped down in the seat until my knees were jammed up under the dash, and I could see what I wanted to see all the while keeping my head down below the back of the seat. From anyone driving by, the car would look like any other car parked on the street. Unfortunately for me, I was the only one. The minutes ticked by, and I waited, patiently. I was always told I was a patient woman. No black transit van passed by, but the semi did, 15 minutes later loaded with a couple of containers. He turned onto Victoria Road heading down to the Outer Harbour and the container terminal.

I waited another ten minutes and thought to myself how on earth did that van disappear? Where did it go? There were of course any number of disused buildings in the port area these days from the old wool sheds, those giant empty magnificent-looking buildings from a bygone era when Australia lived on the back of the sheep and the Marino Rams, making fortunes for our colonial masters in Great Briton. Now they lie empty and rotting. A place artists go to paint and recapture a time from 150 years ago. Where teenagers come to tag any and everything. Where movie and TV producers come to shoot any scene requiring that old look be it from the 1850s or the 1930s. The buildings had that ageless look about them. But from where I lost sight of the van there are only possible two ways they could go.

I thought long and hard my mood getting darker and darker. From the intersection of Tapley's Hill Road and Old Port Road. Where oh where, I thought hard, it was something that Harry said that gave me a light bulb moment.

“Chances are you’ll wake up in some Chinese province working on your back 16 hours a day.”

That would mean a ship. A ship, the port wasn’t that busy these days, the container terminal at Outer Harbour was always busy 24/7 but the inner harbour along the Port River only had 3 or 4 smaller vessels a couple of which were bulk carriers for grain and some limestones for ABC or Adelaide Brighton Cement. Just local coastal ships.

If they were shipping girls in and out of the country by boat, that is a very slow and expensive way to get cheap labour. Most of the hookers who wanted to work in Asia were doing so on their own terms and making a decent quid at it. Fly into Singapore or Hong Kong, book a 5-star hotel room for a week, charge anywhere between 5 and 10 thousand dollars US for a night, and make a cool twenty-five to fifty thousand US dollars for a week’s work.

So, what were these blokes up to I thought to myself. These were local schoolgirls being nabbed off the street. Nothing made sense, high risk, low returns, even if they could get top dollar working them on their backs for 16-hour days, the girls wouldn’t last more than six months, even if they stayed disease free, which they won’t. Then they end up being fed to the pigs or worse. I stopped thinking about it. What on earth could be worse than being fed to pigs? So, what the fuck was going on?

I took a look over my right shoulder at the traffic on the Express Way, this time of day it was all heavy-duty stuff, trucks of all shapes and sizes, container trucks coming in from the Northern rail depot, some single loads, mainly B doubles and a few even bigger. The cars won’t start until six when the new Adelaide Submarine Yards start their day shift.

Trying to put it all together, made my tiny brain throb. I open the glove box and searched for the Prodeinextra, the prescription-only pain killers, I didn’t recognise the name on the box, Monica Seles, I needed to be more original I thought. I punched two out into my palm and threw them into my mouth. The taste was sickening, but I swallowed them. It was times like this I wish I had a flask of Fireball handy. If I had the Fireball, I wouldn’t need the painkillers I thought as I chuckled out loud.

I sat there trying to put things together when I heard the warning bells of a train crossing. I thought I was hearing things, there wasn’t a train crossing anywhere near here. Then it dawned on me, that the old Birkenhead Bridge, was being opened. What stupid rich prick from Newport Keys, or Ethelton as the locals still called it, would be heading out at this time of the morning? Who really knows why stupid people do stupid things? They just did.

I adjusted the rear vision mirror so I could catch the boat going up the river and out into the gulf. It was low tide, so all I saw was the top of the cabin and a solitary figure standing at the wheel. Someone getting some fishing in I suspect. The weather was for calm waters, but it was still heavily overcast, the gulf is not a place I would want to be if the weather blew up but then again, I am not a fisherperson. I’m more of the sitting back drinking and watching others fish kind of person.

The headache started to ease, as I stretched my neck. I was sure now the van wasn’t coming this way. I got out of the car and pushed my shoulders back and started to stretch my arms and legs. I was feeling the need for sleep. I walked around the car and over to the river bank watching the motor launch, not a fishing boat, head up the river.

Curious I thought.

Watching the boat, started me thinking. The penny dropped. You stupid bugger, I thought to myself. I jumped back into the car and kicked it into life. I punched the accelerator and went up to the intersection and waited patiently for the lights to change. They must be on the vehicle-activated mode, the green light appeared almost instantly. I shot across the intersection and up Semaphore Road, turning left and leading me back onto the Causway. I raced along to the entrance of Newport Keys and then followed the signs down to the marina.

BINGO, there was the van. I parked at the gate leading into the car park when I saw their brake lights flash on and off. The reversing light came on as the van rolled backwards and then in a screaming plumb of black tyre smoke, it took off. The sound of their tyres squealing echoed around the tall high-rise apartments. I followed in a less flamboyant take-off but just as fast. The difference between testosterone and hormones.

They shot past me and headed out of the gate, if I had stayed put, I could have blocked them in. But I hadn’t. I couldn’t see who was driving the blacked-out windows that kept their identities from me. So, I followed. I grabbed my phone and put a call into Harry, it went to his voice mail. I told him what I knew so far.

“Harry, I am following a blacked-out Ford Transit, heading East on Bower Road, there is someone from the party house I told you about driving, they had some human cargo on board and not sure who or what they have now. I’ll let you know where to send the cavalry mate. And don’t be fucking late this time!” I hung up.

I kept the van in sight this time even though they were shooting through red lights. They drove across Port Road like the madmen they were and kept going up Grand Junction Road. I slowed and hesitated, but fortunately, they must have activated the sequence and the lights turned green as soon as I approached so I screamed on through. They disappeared over the top of Red Hill Bridge. I got to the top of the bridge and saw them turning left at the bottom. They were heading towards the old wool stores. As I turned into the side street, I just caught their red taillights going around the roundabout. I smiled inwardly. I knew this neck of the Port and I knew they were heading to an area with narrow streets and very dim streetlights. Speeding wasn’t an option.

They twisted and turned down one side street after another. I went straight past the first turn, and the second, turning down the third which was longer and wider. I raced to the end and knowing I was in front of them, they took short and narrower streets, which were dark with the houses having no driveways, which meant cars were parked on the street. They would have to drive at a snail’s pace. Despite what you see in movies with cars screaming and sliding around corners, well reality isn’t anything like that. If you bang into one car in this area, chances are you’ll have to deal with half a dozen guys with cricket bats and other such weapons. I knew they had to come out onto the main backstreet thoroughfare known as the Sawtooth. It zig-zagged, in and around the woolshed, there was only one way out and they had to pass me.

I parked the car up on the footpath in the dark. And took a walk down to the corner. The only streetlight was right above me. I took the little SIG Combat out of my shoulder holster and shot the light out. Then waited in the dark. They had turned their headlights off but were using their driving lights only. I knew they couldn’t see me. I replaced the SIG and pulled out the S&W 340, flicking the safety off, and cocking it.

They were in no hurry and cruised slowly towards me. I stepped back around the corner, using as small of movements as I could. I heard a sound behind me and began to turn. I felt the cold feeling of steel on my neck, the barbs hit me at 120mph, and the electric shock went through me and throw me sideways onto the street. I lost consciousness. When I started to come around, I felt the pain, it wasn’t so much in my neck but in my shoulder joints. I was hanging my feet barely touching the ground, my toes were, my arms were handcuffed together behind my back, and I was lifted up onto my toes. Painful as fuck. What didn’t help was I was naked, freezing bloody cold, wet and feeling completely unloved.

I opened my eyes as I heard talking, Chinese I guessed, but it could have been Greek for all I knew. My head was still down on my chest. A brute of a man came past and hit me with what I thought was a cattle prod but in fact, it was only a cane. It stung when it hit my rump. My eyes opened and I lifted my head. His grin didn’t endear him to me, in fact, there was nothing about him that appealed to me.

“She’s awake,” he said in Cantonese.

There was some scuffling behind me and I felt a warm hand on her backside as a finger probed my rosebud. I heard that female voice in my ear. The one on the phone.

“I’m not sure what you think you are doing, Corrine Myers, Private Detective,” The voice began, “But you are not welcome here.” The voice had a distinctly Chinese accent, and her perfume had a very oriental scent about it. The warm hand never left my butt with a finger pushing gently against my entrance. “So, what am I going to do with you, Corrine Myers?” As she pushed her finger into my anus and held it in there. I refused to scream, even though it was more than uncomfortable. Normally it is me doing the probing on some poor young unsuspecting tight anal opening. I pushed my body away from the finger literally on my tippy toes. The cane came down with high pitch shrill and caught me high on my thigh and my body involuntary pushed backwards, impaling myself on her finger. I winced as it entered me, deeply, as her arm came around my waist to hold me as her finger ripped into me without pity. I wasn’t going to scream and give her that satisfaction I knew she wanted, all too well.

She grabbed a handful of hair and pulled my head back. My eyes tried to find her, but she was well out of sight. She started to whisper in my ear once again. “What you tell me next will determine what happens to you.”

The big thug with the cane spoke to the woman behind me. “Give the white bitch to the sailors, then when they are finished with her they can dump her over the side for the sharks,” he said with a wicked grin on his face.

There was laughter all around whatever he said in his Cantonese was funny for them, I was pretty convinced I wouldn’t be so amused if I could understand them. The female voice behind me, threw my head forward letting go of my hair. She walked around in front of me. Typically, Chinese is how I would have described her, not tall maybe 5’5”, slim to skinny, long back fair and dark eyes. No boobs to speak of but then again, I was no different. Sexy enough after a few drinks I thought. She was wearing high-waisted slacks, with a crisp crease down each leg, a full-flowing buttoned-up blouse a short coat matching the pants, silk no less.

“So private detective, Corrine Myers, why are you following us? As clumsily as you were?” She asked directly. My head hung down and I didn’t make any move to speak. The muscle with the cane brought it down quickly and made contact with my side just above my hip, it hurt but I didn’t let out a scream. I was close mind you. The woman once again grabbed me by the hair, my fringe now, or that place on the front top of my scalp. She pulled it upwards, I let out my first grunt. My eyes were pits of fire, glaring at her, my teeth clenched.

“OH, she does have something in her, more than just a cold slab of meat.” She told everyone, in Cantonese. Once again, they all laughed. Without any warning, she used a clenched fist and hit me hard in the stomach. My reaction was to bring my knees up which put extra strain on my shoulder joints, I screamed this time, cursing her calling her every name under the sun. She laughed, stepped back and slapped my face, not once but 3 times in quick succession.

Again, I glared at her, I clenched my teeth once again, I was struggling. She then grabs me by the pubic hair and pulled tight. I refused to let her see how it affected me. My toes were still just touching the ground, she pulled my hairy mound upwards, my toes left the ground and the pain in my shoulders and arms was excruciating. She slipped a finger in between my folds and rubbed, slowly.

“So, you like a little bit of pain to go with your sex do you, sweetie,” she said in her strong Chinese accent. As a finger penetrated me. I closed my eyes.

“You were the smart-ass woman on the phone earlier tonight I am guessing,” she told me as she took the finger from me suddenly and I missed it as soon as it was gone. She walked away from me, but my eyes were drawn to her cute small backside. She was sucking on her finger.

She looked at one of the men standing in front of a small office in the corner of the building. “Bring the skinny blonde one out,” she yelled across the empty woolshed. All in Cantonese. The goon disappeared and moments later a somewhat battered-looking white girl was half dragged, half pushed towards us, tears running down her face. The Chinese woman put an arm around her as she came close to her and brought her over to where I was hanging, very much like a cold slab of meat.

She stroked her blonde hair and pointed to me. “Do you know her?” She was asked. In between her sobbing, she shook her head. The woman took two steps away from her and in one movement sent the girl flying with the back of her hand making contact with the side of her head. The girl landed at the feet of the thug, who just put his foot on her body. The girl was now crying hysterically, screaming, more out of fear than pain. The pain of being hit and knocked down passes in a few moments, but the fear of it happening lasts with you forever. The young blonde girl was being conditioned.

The woman squatted down near the head of the young girl and pointed to me again, “Take a closer look this time,” She said to her, then slowly asked her again, accentuating each word, “Do You Know Her?” The young girl cowled and put her hands up to protect her face as she replied “No, I don’t,” The thug pushed down on the girl’s chest and she screamed. The woman looked up, shook her head and then spoke to him, “take her back, she is no good to us dead.”

She came back to me and took hold of the chain holding my arms up and shook it a little. The vibrations sent waves of pain. “That my dear Corrine Myers, Private Detective, was the one you called Erica and tried to speak to earlier, the question I have is why?” She said to me all the while running her hand over my body. Patting me on the welts where the cane had struck me. She wet her finger in her mouth and run it along the one above my hip, it still stung me, but I wouldn’t let on.

“She didn’t recognise you and you didn’t let on either. But I know you knew her; you had her picture on you. Plus, the one you call Evie who by the looks of the photos on your phone, is not averse to keeping older women happy. She will make me a lot of money. Then there is the third one Monica, who too will be welcomed by the elite classes in Shanghai. Now, what of you Corrine, who sent you and why?” she was more talking to herself or thinking out loud.

She turned to the thug, and quickly gave some orders, I know orders when I hear them, no matter what language they come in. There is a way you deliver them. He replied with a curt nod of his head and went to the black van I had been following for the past few hours. He brought back a small blow torch and an iron rod with something on the end of it.

She looked at me, raising my chin. “I am taking you with me, I rather like you and your spirit, Corrine Myers. I am guessing you are working for one of their families what surprises me is that the locals haven’t been informed yet. There is no need for us to worry, tonight we are gone from here. You will be branded and will work for me in China.” She said with a smile on her face, she kissed my lips, but it would have been more like kissing a cold fish than another human being.

The thug stood before me, the blow torch heating the iron, it was not yet glowing. The ugly thin slimy grin on his face told me all I wanted to know, he was going to enjoy this, he most certainly was.

I watched as the girls were hustled into the van, not watching the iron turn from the dark cold metal it was into a glowing red symbol, and then suddenly it was white hot. A noise behind me and soon a gag was put into my mouth, just a balled-up rag, tied behind my head. While I was fighting that the white-hot iron burnt into the flesh on my right buttock. I screamed but nothing was heard. It stayed there for what seemed like hours, but it was less than 2 minutes, the stench was horrifying and was the last sensation I took in as I passed out.