1 - pilot
The large room was quiet; the warehouse was located somewhere not even a homeless person would venture to. There was hardly any light except for the bright bulb that was hanging by a cheap chord from the high ceiling. All else was dark in the room, but that was the point. In the middle of the room, a man’s upper body was hanging by its arms that were chained to the tall concrete block. His knees were bleeding through the fabric of his trousers from resting on the ground covered with stones and other minerals.
There were splatters of blood from past victims mixed with new splatters on the surface. The metal cuffs were rusted from years of use, digging into the man’s flesh. Small wheezes and moans of pain managed to slip past the man’s bloodied lips. Small droplets of blood would leak from his mouth, making little ’plip’ sounds every couple of minutes and forming a small puddle beneath him.
It was almost 3 o’clock in the morning; the torture session had started nearly six hours ago and it was nowhere near over. From his face to his torso, the man was covered in many cuts and bruises. Next to him was a small tin bowl with a couple of bloodied teeth that were yanked from his mouth; punishment for not cooperating earlier.
Some feet away, another figure dressed in black sat at a small table sipping on a cup of coffee. One leg was crossed over the other as he read a random old book; there was an electric kettle that was plugged in but no doubt that the pot had long cooled down. He was there to make sure the prisoner didn’t die from his injuries. Suddenly, they heard the door opening, prompting them to look up, though the prisoner struggled.
Two other men stepped into the room, one of them was clearly the boss, Mr. Moreno. The henchman set down his cup and book before standing up from the chair to acknowledge the older man respectfully. Behind Mr. Moreno stood his enforcer, Diego.
He shut the door behind them.
Mr. Moreno spoke up, “So, Mr. Bailey. Have you finally remembered why you’ve decided to make a deal with the others in New Jersey?”
The prisoner, Mr. Bailey, wheezed painfully, “I… I would never betray you!”
“But you did,” the boss said in a matter-of-fact voice. “You purchased drugs from us off the streets, bargaining for a lower price. Then you went on to sell to the dealers in another state for a much higher price, playing it off like you were the original manufacturer. What you failed to do was you did not remove our mark from the baggies. Surely, you must have known our blue tags were on those. Rookie move, Mr. Bailey.”
Mr. Bailey whimpered, “I-I needed the money!”
Mr. Moreno craned his head slightly to give Diego a knowing expression before scoffing, “You didn’t need the money, you just wanted more of it. You wanted it so badly that you tried to scam and steal from me. Greed doesn’t look pretty on you, Mr. Bailey.”
The boss then tapped on Diego’s forearm.
“Take care of him. Maybe pay a visit to his home; his wife and children should still be sleeping.” Hearing Mr. Bailey’s weak wails, Mr. Moreno smirked. He continued his taunt, “Have the men be quick and quiet about it. Can’t afford to let the neighborhood hear those little brats screaming this early in the morning.”
Mr. Bailey cried out, “No! No, no, no! No, Mr. Moreno! Please, no!”
Diego watched the mob boss lurch forward to grab the man by the jaw, yanking his head up. Mr. Moreno didn’t hide the look of disgust on his aging features. Mr. Bailey’s face was barely recognizable from the amount of damage Diego had done to his face and body earlier. His body was reeking of sweat, blood, piss, and feces.
Mr. Moreno’s henchman could not help the smug grin that formed when Mr. Bailey’s chained arms began shaking violently. Diego, on the other hand, barely tolerated the sight in front of him.
It was not because he was against violence. No, Diego was the definition of violence.
He just hated how pathetic the guy looked, begging for his life even though he willingly fucked up.
Mr. Moreno squeezed the man’s jaw hard enough to make him yell in pain. He seethed, “No one ever tells me ’no,’ and no one steals from me.”
He shoved Mr. Bailey’s face away before standing back up. He turned to Diego, “Get rid of him, and take out his family.”
Upon hearing the order, Diego reached behind him to pull out his switchblade. The sound of Mr. Moreno’s retreating footsteps echoed in the warehouse before the door opened and shut, confirming his exit. Slipping on a pair of black latex gloves, Diego signaled for the henchman to hold Mr. Bailey down.
The henchman nodded and grabbed Mr. Bailey’s bloodied arms, yanking them back and forcing him to look up at Diego. Ignoring the cries, screams, and pathetic pleas, Diego placed a hand on the man’s sweaty head before scrunching his hair tightly.
“Goodbye, Mr. Bailey,” Diego said lowly, before holding his blade to the man’s throat and slicing through the flesh quickly. He watched a red line grow thicker as blood leaked from Mr. Bailey’s wound. He coughed violently and gagged loudly before the henchman released him. The body hunched over, the arms still being held up by the old chains. Loud splatter noises were heard in the warehouse. Diego backed away an extra foot when he saw the pool of blood growing on the cement floor. He reached into his pocket again and pulled out a rag to wipe his switchblade clean. He then tossed the bloodied garment into the blood puddle and looked at the henchman to say, “Have someone help you wrap the body and clean up. Contact you in a few hours.”
The henchman nodded and began unchaining the body. Diego walked out of the warehouse; he was greeted with a cold breeze and spotted Mr. Moreno sitting in the back of the black car. It was unfortunate to have to kill a once-good business partner, but it was even more unfortunate that the once-good business partner had grown so money-hungry that he thought to betray the Moreno family.
On the drive back to the family compound, Mr. Moreno opened the window slightly. After lighting a cigarette, he spoke, “All this work and trouble, it makes me wonder if my son is able to handle all of it…should he take over.”
Diego looked at his boss through the rearview mirror, “Is he not bound to be in charge after you, sir?”
“He is, given he is my eldest boy. That’s not always the point, though. Perhaps it is for other families, but for me, I’m more concerned if he has a good head on his shoulders. I’ve been observing him lately and…” Mr. Moreno did not finish his confession. He only took another inhale of his cigarette and blew the smoke out the window. Diego did not press him to finish his statement; he did not need to know.
After a brief moment of silence, Mr. Moreno sighed, “No need to go after Bailey’s family.”
Diego questioned, “Sir?”
“I only said it to fucking scare him in his last moments,” the boss chuckled. “Why kill off a man’s innocent family for his fuck up? Plus, they’ll benefit from his death. They’ll get whatever insurance he has, and they’ll be rid of his stupidity. No need to go after them.”
Diego responded, “Yes, sir.”
After some time, they finally reached the compound. It was surrounded by more men patrolling the grounds in pairs inside and outside of the gate. The tall walls were made of brick and the gate was large. When the gate was opened, Diego proceeded to the round driveway in front of the house. He brought the vehicle to a stop once he made sure it was close to the front door. He got out and held the backseat door open for Mr. Moreno. The boss got out of the car and was greeted by Mrs. Moreno, who was already standing on the doorstep.
She wore a purple robe over her pajamas and her shoulder-length blonde-grey hair was pulled back in a braid. Her arms were crossed against her stomach as she shivered from the chilly air.
Mr. Moreno exclaimed and spoke in Spanish, “My love, it is too cold and too early for you to be out here in just your robe.”
She responded in a raspy voice, “I would not be out here at this hour if you had chosen to stay in bed with me.”
The boss let out an exaggerated sigh before turning to Diego, “You can go home, Diego. I will call you if anything comes up.”
The enforcer nodded and handed the car keys over to one of the henchmen. He bid goodnight to his boss and walked to his own vehicle that was parked by the gate. Getting in his vehicle, he watched Mr. Moreno escort his wife back into the house.
Such a family man for someone so fucking cruel and violent, he thought as he started the ignition.
He drove out of the compound and made his way to the city. When he got to his studio apartment, the first thing he did was strip himself of his clothing. He threw everything in the washer and went to take a shower. Diego always performed this ritual after completing a job for the boss; he preferred to not taint any of his furniture with any evidence. Although he did not have any of Mr. Bailey’s blood on his clothes or skin, Diego would rather be safe than sorry.
After changing into a fresh set of clothes, clipping his fingernails, and cleaning his switchblade thoroughly, he was finally able to settle down on his couch. He turned on the television as background noise and leaned back with an exhausted groan. He could not fall asleep easily. Not if there was a possibility of getting another phone call within the next few hours.
Diego had been in the mob game for over a decade. Civilian life after the military had not been easy for him. He had seen so much overseas that he needed to see it in the homeland. He needed to be given orders, and he needed to make use of his hands and skills. He realized he could fulfill both needs by offering his services to the Moreno family. One could say he pledged his allegiance to them, but he really did not. He only knew that through working for Mr. Moreno, he could continue to live as a soldier, in a way, and get paid more for it.
As far as Diego knew, he was okay with this lifestyle.
Clara readjusted her vest again, making it slightly tighter. It would be the third time she adjusted the gear as they arrived at the destination. She pressed her back against the side of the van. Next to her was her partner, Parker, who pulled his pistol out of the holster. The SWAT team stood in front of them, waiting for the order. The feds were parked across the street from an abandoned building that was used for drug trafficking and human trafficking. They had caught wind that an operation was being run in the building by a crime syndicate.
What got Clara and Parker assigned to the case was the anonymous tip-off that trafficked women were being held in the building. For weeks, Clara and Parker kept a surveillance team watching the abandoned property from around the corner. When they finally hit the jackpot, they were quick to acquire the warrant.
“Whenever you’re ready, Clara.” Parker whispered as he pulled his gun from his holster. She looked up and nodded her head.
“We can go ahead.”
She signaled for a couple members of the SWAT team to lead the way towards the building. She and Parker followed closely behind them with the other SWAT team members in tow. Once they were against the brick wall of the building, Clara watched them break down the door. She felt her heart rate pick up a little more once the raid started. She always hated the feeling. Throughout the dark halls and empty rooms, the feds yelled a series of commands to anyone who looked suspicious, telling them to put their hands up and get on the floor. She watched as they grabbed the suspects they had been watching; the SWAT members yelled at them to get on the ground only to shove them to the dirty floor before placing them in handcuffs. Clara and Parker rushed up the old staircase. When they got to the top, they heard muffled cries and screams from one of the rooms.
This must be where the girls and women are being held, Clara thought. She signaled for a SWAT member to come forward. He positioned himself in front of the old door and waited for her command. Once Clara gave a silent confirmation, the SWAT member lifted his leg and gave one swift kick to the door. It swung open, slamming against the wall inside the room. Clara heard frightened yelps and cries as they entered the room. She shouted, “FBI! Anyone with a weapon, get on the fucking ground!”
They shined their flashlights onto a group of young girls and older women huddling close together in the corner of the room. Clara watched Parker tackle a man to the ground, kicking his gun away from him. Clara’s eyes widened in horror at the sight in front of her. In the opposite corner, there was a small pile of bodies. They were the bodies of the women most likely kidnapped for trafficking. It looked as if they were tossed carelessly into the corner. Clara shifted her gaze back to the other captives. Some of them were shaking violently with fear; almost all of them had dark circles under their eyes, bruises along their arms and legs, and their clothes were ripped in places. One girl in particular caught Clara’s eye. She didn’t look older than a high school student.
Realizing that the captives were looking at Clara with wide eyes, she quickly put her gun away. She held up her hands but did not dare to move closer to the captives. The last thing she wanted to do was frighten them any more. She looked at Parker and the other SWAT members, “Clear the room for a second. They’re scared.”
Parker sighed but nodded. He dragged the suspect out of the room in handcuffs with the SWAT members following behind him. Once they were out, Clara slowly kneeled in front of the captives with her hands raised.
“My name is Agent Cho,” she said calmly. “I am with the FBI, and we’ve come to rescue you.” Her words seemed to have calmed some of the women and young girls in the room as they stopped shaking. “It’s time to go, and we need to have each of you treated for any wounds. Will you come with us?”
The captives looked at each other for a moment. One by one, they stood up from the floor, but they still huddled together. Clara gave them a reassuring smile as she led them out of the room. Pulling out her walkie-talkie, she gave an order, “Any male agents and SWAT, please exit the building first before I make my way out with the captives.”
She heard multiple footsteps moving throughout the building. She looked out the window to see all the male agents making their way out of the building. Clara turned back to the captives and nodded for them to follow her. Once they were outside of the building, multiple ambulance vehicles were parked nearby. She watched from a distance as the freed captives were tended to by the paramedics. On the other side of the building, the traffickers were handcuffed and shoved into police cars; they were made sure to be shielded from the captives.
She heard Parker’s steps approaching from the side. He stood next to her and pointed, “A young girl was amongst them.”
“I know.” Clara responded.
He sighed with a nod towards the police cars, “Those guys we caught – we’ll be taking them in. Question each of them on who’s running the trafficking operations. They’re not the real deal, just doing the dirty work.” He heard Clara hum and craned his head, “Who do you think is behind the ops?”
Clara remained silent for a moment before answering, “I can’t say who; I don’t like assuming without evidence.”
“If you really had to guess?”
She hummed, “Throwing in a bet that a mob has a playing hand in it.”
