So I prepped him in advance and kept my phone in my lap while he went to the meeting, just in case he needed help answering any of the woman’s questions. Turns out, her English was probably better than my Spanish and she and Danny had all the details of the “surprise” for his buddies worked out in ten minutes.
Late Tuesday afternoon, Danny will meet her near the market, pay half her fee, and drop her off at The Seasons. From there, she’ll call up to J.D.’s and Jeremy’s rooms and guide them to the location of the private party, allegedly organized by their friend “Todd”, the name Danny gave her when they met. She assumes she’ll be meeting Todd and a couple of other prostitutes at the small house we’ve rented for the night, where they’ll party and she’ll receive the other half of her fee.
Instead, Danny and I will be waiting with masks on just inside the door.
I’m in charge of knocking the woman out with a choke hold and then dosing her with enough ketamine to keep her knocked out for an hour or so; Danny’s in charge of knocking the men out, administering their dose of the knockout drug, and getting them into the trunk of the rental car.
From there, our paths will diverge. Danny will take J.D. and Jeremy out to the pit he’s dug in the jungle, and I’ll take Rosa back to her apartment, where I’ll leave her with the other half of her money.
“That’s it,” Danny says, leaning forward to write down the number of Rosa’s apartment building. “Fourteen twenty-three.”
We’ve been following Rosa—or whatever her real name is—for over three hours. From the alley where she met with Danny, to a swanky hotel where she went upstairs with a man twice her age, to the market where she bought milk, fresh fruit, and tampons, and now to this crumbling apartment building near the southern edge of Liberia.
“This is good.” I study the entrance as Danny and I walk by, the hoods of our sweatshirts pulled up against the cool wind. The temperature dropped suddenly tonight and though it’s still in the high sixties, it feels cool after eighty-degree days. “There’s a lobby with a sofa in front of the mailboxes. She should be safe there until she wakes up, with two locked doors between her and the street.”
“Are you going to be able to carry her in?” Danny asks. “Even if you park close, there are ten steps up to the lobby.”
I make a scoffing noise. “She’s about as big around as my thigh. I think I’ll manage.”
“She is tiny.” He puts his arm around my waist with a sigh. “I feel bad for her. I know there’s nothing we can do, but…”
“I know.” I lean into him as we turn the corner, starting back toward the well-lit streets of the Centro where we parked the car. “I would say that maybe being drugged will give her a wake-up call that it’s time to find other work, but it’s not like prostitution is any woman’s first choice. I’m sure she doesn’t feel like she has other options or she wouldn’t be selling herself.”
“Is this fucked up?” Danny asks, his voice low. “Feeling bad for a prostitute when we’re planning to kill a man?”
I consider the question, a faint niggle of guilt tugging at the back of my mind. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I don’t think right and wrong are as simple as some people would have you believe.”
“Sounds like something my sister would say.”
“I wish I knew her better,” I say. “I remember what you said last summer, about her and Gabe still stealing things. Do you know why?”
He shrugs. “We’ve never talked about it, but I think it’s their way of feeling like they’re giving back. They both have a Robin Hood complex, always looking out for the underdog.”
“Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor?”
“Something like that,” he says, before continuing in a wry tone. “But it’s part entertainment, too. I think they get off on the rush of breaking the law and not getting caught.”
I blink, surprised. “Wow…that’s… I don’t know. I’d rather go surfing.”
“Me too,” he says with a laugh. “Or mountain-biking or cliff camping. That’s my idea of a rush.”
His smile fades as he shoves his hoodie off his head with one big hand. “I never thought I’d be like them. Not that I judge them or think I’m better than they are or anything. I just…didn’t see myself going that way.”
My throat tightens, but I don’t pull away. I’m learning not to run, even when being close scares me. “Do you think you’ll resent me someday? When it’s all over and you’ve had time to regret everything we’re doing?”
“Never,” he answers immediately.
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.” His fingers curl into my shoulder. “I’ve always known the world isn’t fair, but this goes so far beyond unfair. They’re criminals, and criminals shouldn’t be able to hurt people and walk away without a mark on them. That’s what I believe and I’m not going to regret standing up for it. Or for you.”