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put
my hands under the faucet and splash cold water on my face. Then I look at myself
in the mirror.
    I don’t
like the man staring back at me.
    This
needs to change. My Self-Detonation plan has just been reactivated.
    But
if I do this, I’m going to have to nuke my life. The unfortunate truth is that,
with this knowledge, there’s no choice anymore. Human trafficking of minors is over
the line.
    Way over
the line.
    Jasper
van der Voort is going
down.

Chapter
6

 
 
    Sofia

 
    Alone in my car, I open the
Dunkin’ Donuts bag. Inside is a burner phone and a plastic clip of some sort.
    I’m
parked several blocks away from Tony’s Gym. It’s
2:43. Why did LaTashia tell me to park so far away?
I’m going to have to start walking soon.
    I’m
about to get out of the car when the burner phone rings.
    “Hello,”
I say.
    “Don’t
say my name,” says LaTashia .
    “Okay.”
    “Did
you get the clip?”
    “Yes.”
I pick up the piece of plastic.
    “It’s
a firefly for the Bentley.”
    “ Ohhh , I understand.”
    A firefly
is police slang for a transponder. She wants me to plant it in Colton Stark’s Bentley
so we can follow it. I’m guessing she wants me parked far away so maybe he’ll offer
me a ride to my car and I can clip this on something in his car.
    “Got
it,” I say.
    “The
firefly is set to a non-official frequency. Don’t want any eyes on this besides
you and me. I’ll text you the login address. Use your clean laptop.”
    “Okay.”
    “He
goes to an Asian spa for a massage every morning. Stays in there for about an hour-and-a-half.
Sometimes two hours.”
    Asian
spa? Every day? Happy ending massage? Colton Stark? Something doesn’t add up
there.
    “Not
his style,” I say.
    “Part
of our problem,” she says. “Work on that. Save this number. This is the only way
we’ll talk about this. Not one word in the office.”
    “Okay.”
    She clicks
off without saying goodbye.
    Shit,
this is serious. If she went to this much trouble, she really believes we have an
informant in OCS.
    Who?
    I
get out of my car, grab my gym bag, and start walking to Tony’s Gym.
    The wind
whips through the alleys. First cool day we’ve had in a while. It’s refreshing.
    As I
walk, I ponder who it could be. Not Mike, no way. Not Frank. How about Farrell?
No, can’t picture it. Sly? Wanda? Marshall? No, no, and no. Then there’s
Maldonado. Shit, I bet it’s Maldonado. Don’t know why. Something untrustworthy
about him sets off alarm bells with me.
    My cell
phone rings. It’s Jorge.
    “Hey,”
I say.
    “He’s
at it again. I can’t deal. It’s your turn tonight.”
    “Shit.
Okay, fine.”
    “Last
night I made him dinner and got the place cleaned up, then he started with the usual.
I had to go. I couldn’t take it. How many times can you have the same conversation?”
    “I
know the feeling. Fine. I’ll do tonight. Wish Mom would fucking come home.”
    “She ain’t coming home, girl, and you know it. This is
Puerto Rican-style divorce.”
    I’m
outside Tony’s Gym.
    “Yeah,
I know. Okay, gotta go.”
    I click
off.
    Tony’s Gym
is too fancy to be called Tony’s Gym. Bright and shiny.
Lots of white.
    I
usually work out at a small place downtown. This is a touch too upscale for me.
Big boxing ring in the front. Large rack of various-sized punching bags in the center.
Weights, machines, and a big wrestling mat area in the back. As far as I can
tell there are only three people here—a coach giving a private lesson to
a guy in his sixties who looks like he might pass out soon, and a young girl
working at the desk.
    The
girl looks up from her iPhone as I approach her. Blonde.
Probably eighteen. She’s wearing a bright pink tank top over large breasts with
striped Spandex shorts.
    “ Hiii ,” she says in a sing- songy voice.
    “Hello,
I’m not a member but I’m meeting one here.”
    “What’s
his name?”
    “Colton
Stark.”
    Her pupils
dilate and she blushes.
    “Oh yes,
Mr. Stark just called.