The Trade Off Read online

  The Trade Off

  Frank Zafiro

  Bonnie R. Paulson

  The Trade Off

  By Frank Zafiro and Bonnie R. Paulson

  Copyright 2014 Frank Scalise and Bonnie R. Paulson

  Cover Design by Redbird Designs

  I think the first duty of society is justice.

  Alexander Hamilton

  Duty is not collective; it is personal.

  Calvin Coolidge

  ONE

  Bull

  Evil people deserve evil endings.

  On a hunt not too far back, I witnessed the unnecessary death of a fawn. His mother stood by and watched as her child’s blood leaked from a hole in its abdomen. Poor shot on so many levels. Cruel. Wasteful.

  It pissed me off. I remember tracking that bastard to a truck on the side of the road. Inside the cab, he slept off the pile of empty beer cans crumpled by his rear tire. Let’s just say, his insurance wouldn’t be able to cover the damage I did to his rig while he jerked awake and then locked his door and watched.

  I hope he shit himself.

  Blinking, I brought myself back to the present. The stainless steel three-blade broadhead of my carbon fiber arrow would fit just right between the fifth and sixth rib of the small man in front of me. He might be a customer, but he reminded me of the idiot fawn killer huddled in his truck. If he didn’t stop blathering in his nasally whine, I was going to jab him with the broadhead.

  “My mother said I shouldn’t be hunting at all, so I offered to take up bow-and-arrowing instead. It’s statistically safer than rifle hunting and much more masculine. Don’t you think?” He roostered his chest in his pink-trimmed white polo. Skinny arms covered in freckles and reddish hair gave him more bulk than he actually had.

  Snapping his bones would take less effort than it took to blow my nose. I leaned my hip against the glass-encased counter and crossed my arms. “No. I don’t think.” I tilted my head. “I’m gonna shoot you straight, sir. I wouldn’t be protecting my customers or the public, if I sold you a crossbow or even a child’s bow and arrow set right now. If you want to start somewhere, I’d suggest you take one of our safety courses that highlights the different weapons used in the hunting field. Target practice, however, is completely different.”

  “You mean, I don’t have to go out in the woods to use a gun or bow?” True excitement sparked his eyes and he pushed at the combover slipping down his forehead.

  I clapped his shoulder and steered him toward the racked pamphlets on the side of the display. “You don’t have to ever go into the woods and you can still say you’re a firearm specialist.”

  Please, never go into the woods. He’d most likely shoot himself and scare away the good animals.

  “Hey, Bull, your brother’s in your office.” Tom, my manager, nodded his head toward the puny customer, rolling his eyes. “I got this.”

  “Sir, this is Tom. He’ll help you with any more questions.” Turning away, I headed toward the office, pausing here and there to straighten inventory and rearrange signs. Tom had amazing managerial sense but even he couldn’t maintain the busy sporting goods store alone. He had to stay on top of the store as well as babysit the damn fifteen employees.

  At the top of the steps behind the oversized stuffed mountain lion I pushed into my office, stopping abruptly at the sight of tears on my brother’s face. Literally, tears on a grown man’s face.

  Slamming the door shut, I strode into the room and jerked tissues from the box on my desk and thrust them his way. “Rick, what’s going on? Did somebody die?” The last time he’d cried had been at the musical Wicked when it’d come through Spokane, Washington. I’d had to hear about it from my niece. Even she’d been embarrassed.

  The bright flush from his cry disappeared, leaving a stark pallor in its wake. He gasped out, “Taylor’s gone.” The tears started anew.

  I scrunched my eyebrows together and handed over more tissues. “What do you mean ‘gone’?”

  “Gone! She went out to some party with some friends last night and we got a call this morning from her… from Becca.” He checked his watch. “Actually I left while the police were still explaining things to Marley. Something about waiting or something.”

  The hair stood on the back of my neck. My surroundings focused. “Tell me exactly what happened. Taylor has been gone how long? Where did she go missing? What was she wearing?” I reached inside my pant pocket and fingered the curve of my pocket knife. I needed something bigger, something with power, something that would blow multiple people into the outregions of wherever people needed to be blown.

  Between sobs, Rick got out what he could. “She was wearing…that cute skirt. The one with the white chevron design on the hem. Oh, God. We always… told her to never drive drunk. Never. But she… and she didn’t… so she tried walking home…” Hiccup. “And then… she didn’t… witnesses say she was picked up… by some low-riding green Impala. Old.” He pressed his fingers to the inner corners of his eyes, moving his hands to wipe his cheeks.

  “Low-riding Impala? That’s it? Rick, I need you to remember more. She’s a teenage girl. Was she with other kids?” Come on, man. Your daughter is missing. Balls up.

  He shrugged. “Yes? I’m not sure. Marley wouldn’t let me ask any questions…” He hiccupped and it was all I could do not to roll my eyes while shaking him to death.

  “What did the police say? Who called them?” Mentally noting each detail, even the crappy ones, I bounced on the balls of my feet, waiting. Patience was not a virtue of mine.

  Rick sighed and leaned away from me until his butt rested on the low back of the chair. “They can’t do anything until she’s been gone a certain amount of time.” He sighed again and ran his hands through his hair. The sudden calmness where there’d been fierce intensity struck me as unnerving. He pierced me with his gaze before looking down at his feet. His lowered voice chilled me. “Look, there’s nothing I can do. I’m not that guy, Bull, and you know it.”

  I stilled. He never asked me for anything. I always just did for him what I always took for granted I could do. But he lifted his gaze to mine once again, his bloodshot eyes bright blue and bordering on manic.

  “Find her. I need you to find her. She’s got to be scared and freaking out, wondering where I am, why I’m not there.” Rick swallowed. His emotions set me on edge and I shifted. He whispered into the unnaturally silent office. “Marley looked at me like it was my fault. I was the one who had let… I said Taylor could… go after her mom said no. I said she’d be fine. I…” He dropped his head into his hands and new cries shook his shoulders.

  Too many things were going on at once for Rick to be able to wallow in one of his princess moments. Crying about guilt when his daughter was only missing by hours did have me rolling my eyes. But at the same time, I didn’t have children, so I didn’t have an honest understanding of what he felt.

  Awkwardly, I ambled toward him, glancing out the blinds of my office window to make sure we didn’t have an audience. Wrapping my arms around him, I pulled him to my chest in a way only a brother would understand. Standing over him by a good three inches, I engulfed his leaner frame and squeezed softly, unsure where to keep my hands. I patted his upper back. “It’s okay, man, it’s okay. It’s not your fault.” One thing I’d learned from my multiple wives was my propensity to not empathize with people. Well, eat that, my empathy was all kinds of present. Witches.

  The moment for hugging dragged on past my comfort level, but I didn’t hug him for me. It was for him. He needed me.

  And he needed even more than a damn hug from me.

  I allowed the anger to mount, welling under my skin and up around my lungs, smashing and pushing my stomach tight. Spasms coiled
my muscles and for once I didn’t tamp the churning emotion down. I allowed it to swell within me.

  And damn if it didn’t feel good.

  TWO

  Gus

  Anton wasn’t in the mood to bargain with me.

  “You got to be kidding me with that shit. I can get way more for this young-ass pussy than the broke-dick offer you makin’.”

  “I’m dead serious,” I told him.

  He ran his hand over his tight afro and glanced around the Walmart parking lot, shaking his head. “Shee-it. Even the bikers will pay more than that.”

  “They probably would,” I conceded. “And then they put those girls out on the street to compete with your local product. Which eats into your profit margin.”

  “What is this, street college Econ class? You a professor or something now?”

  I shook my head. “You don’t need a college degree to do this math. I ship my girls out of town. No competition. You know I’m right.”

  “Shee-it, bitch. You really think you gonna educate me? I got my motherfuckin’ Pee Aitch Dee up in this shit.”

  “Then you know what I’m telling you is true.”

  Anton took a deep breath and heaved a sigh. “You be disappointing me, Heather.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You come here wearing those tight jeans all huggin’ your curves and shit, right? And don’t tell me that sweater ain’t a size smaller than it maybe ought to be. Makes your fine-ass titties poke right out at a man.”

  I shrugged. “So? I like to dress nice.”

  “You like to be dressing like half a whore, girl. And I know you be thinking those bouncing beauties or maybe that sway of your ass is gonna get into my head. Make me stupid, so I cut a dumb ass deal with you like the one you just offered up. Like I don’t hang around naked bitches all day long or something.”

  I didn’t reply. Instead, I sat back on the hood of my car, mirroring Anton’s pose. We were parked out in the far reaches of the Walmart lot. I wondered if the security cameras would capture us on video or not.

  “You not denying it,” Anton said. “Must be true.”

  “No.”

  “Sure it is.”

  “No, it’s not.” I shifted, leaning forward. “I dress the way I dress because I like to look nice. I take pride in my appearance. And if it’s a little bit provocative, well did you ever think that maybe I just want to connect a little bit with these girls I’m moving?”

  “Connect how? What, if you look like a pros, too, they gonna like you or something?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “The fuck you care?”

  “I’m investing in them. Or more to the point, my client is. If they trust me, things work more smoothly.”

  “That sounds like some bullshit you learned in college, right along with all that profit margin bit,” Anton said.

  “What does it matter? Let’s stick to business. I’m making you a fair offer for all three of them.”

  Anton shook his head. “Maybe for the two Russians, but not Sylvia.”

  “Why not her?”

  “You saw her. She’s got it going on. Plus, she’s not Russian. She’s Romanian.”

  “From where I sit, that lowers the price.”

  “Lowers it? Shee-it. You better crack open some of those college books again, H. Law of supply and demand and all that. She’s worth more. A whole lot more.”

  I thought about it for a minute. A Romanian girl could mean a new supply line, previously untapped. I didn’t want to lose that opportunity. But I couldn’t let Anton punk me, or he’d double down on our next deal.

  “I’ll go another four,” I said, “but no more than that.”

  Anton spread his hands in disgust. “That’s like thirty percent. I’m talking more like another ten here.”

  “No way.”

  He started to turn to go.

  “But…” I raised my finger, stopping him. “If this Sylvia pans out, we’ll pay a little more for Romanians over Russians.”

  Anton considered. “How much more?”

  “Depends on how good she is.”

  “Bitch be looking fine.”

  “Looks are a start,” I said. “But she’s got to finish.”

  Anton smiled. Leered, more like. “Oh, she can finish. Trust me on that one, H.”

  “We’ll see.” I reached out with my hand. “You’ll bring them by tomorrow morning?”

  Anton stared at my hand for second. He always seemed conflicted when it came to shaking hands with me. I don’t know if it was because I was a woman or if he just didn’t do business that way. But like he always did, he eventually gave in and took my hand for a perfunctory shake and drop.

  “You bet, H. See you then.”

  “See you.”

  I got into my Lexus and drove away.

  Anton was good to his word. He showed up at my office front the next morning around ten with three women in tow. The two blondes were too thin, and had a tired, skittish look to go along with their Russian features. The third was shorter and curvier. Her features weren’t cut at such harsh angles, but were gentler. She had a look to her that I didn’t have any other word for than what it was.

  Fresher.

  I escorted them into a waiting room, locked it, then went into my small office with Anton. I flipped on the light switch as I entered, activating the hidden cameras.

  “You see it, don’t you?”

  “See what?”

  “That girl. Sylvia. She got it going on, just like I said.”

  I reached into the right hand drawer. A manila envelope filled with a thick stack of cash sat perched on top of my Sig Sauer. I would have really enjoyed surprising him with the gun, paying him off in lead instead of cash. But I had the bigger picture to think about.

  When I removed the envelope, I held it up for him to see. He smiled and mimed that I should throw it to him.

  “What I see,” I said, “is that you brought me a couple of washouts from the Ukraine so that your Romanian girl would look like a prize.”

  He gave me look of surprise, along with some anger. “No way. They all fine.”

  “The blondes are well over a hundred thousand miles, Anton. That’s why the short one looks good. And she doesn’t look that good.”

  Anton took a step toward the desk. “What the fuck you talkin’ about? They all three fine bitches. And those Russian girls are prime earners. They got moves you ain’t even heard of. Drive a man crazy.”

  “Lucky I’m not a man.”

  “Too bad you ain’t. You could try them on for size, and you’d see what I mean. Throw some makeup and a tight ass dress on that shit, and those bitches sing.” He eyed me a little closer. “Maybe you should try them out, H. Sample the merchandise. Then you’ll see.”

  “Sorry, Anton. I don’t bat from that side of the plate.”

  “Shee-it. Every woman a little bit lesbian.”

  “You watch too much porn.”

  He laughed. “I don’t got to watch that shit. I live that shit.”

  I didn’t smile. I waited for him to stop laughing. When his chuckles tapered off, I said, “You remember we were talking about economics yesterday?”

  “Sure, professor. I remember.”

  “You ever hear of bait and switch?”

  He scowled. “Come on, now. I done told you these girls are fine product. Why you all up in my shit all of a sudden?”

  I scowled back, just a little. “Because I’m the one who has to justify the cost to my employers. And they’re tight about money. Down to the dollar.”

  “Sucks for you.”

  “I’ll take the Romanian,” I bluffed. “You can keep the Russians.”

  “No way. We had a deal.”

  “And now we have a new deal.”

  “No way,” Anton repeated. “It don’t work that way.”

  “You can sell them to the bikers. Or keep them for yourself.” I reached into the envelope and counted out a stack of bills.r />
  Anton stepped to the edge of my desk and clapped his hands down on top of the money. “We had a deal,” he repeated with a growl.

  I leaned back and looked at him.

  “Is there going to be a problem here?”

  “Looks that way,” he said, his voice low and mean. “‘Less you get smart.”

  I considered. Then, I said, “Look, I want us to keep working together. We make each other money.”

  Anton didn’t answer, only glared at me, breathing heavily. He didn’t move his hand.

  “The thing is, I can’t bring these girls to my employers at this price.”

  “You should’ve thought of that before you made the deal.”

  “I didn’t see the Russians first.”

  “Your problem, not mine.”

  “I trusted you.”

  “Also your problem.”

  I shook my head. “That’s where you’re wrong. If we’re going to keep doing business, we have to trust each other.”

  “How you figure we gonna do that now?”

  I gave it a long thirty seconds, pretending to mull it over. Then I acted like something had just occurred to me. “All right. How’s this? I’ll pay what we agreed. I’ll take these skinny bitches down south and get my ass reamed by my bosses. But you gotta give me something to sweeten the pot. Something I can use to get them off my back.”

  “Like what?”

  I smiled. “My bosses are thinking of moving into a new line of product.”

  He looked at me, confused.

  “The younger kind,” I told him.

  He stroked his goatee, and watched me. Then he asked, “How young?”

  “Just teens. No kids.”

  He didn’t react. That told me what I already suspected. He could get teens, and if he really wanted, he could probably get kids, too. My stomach roiled at the thought, but I kept my face placid and businesslike.

  “At least,” I added. “Not yet.”

  No reaction again.