The parking lot has a few bums roaming around, but I ignore them as I walk into the lobby. To my surprise, Shelby is waiting for me, a long coat pulled tight across his large frame, the collar propped up.
He nods to me and then motions to the side door. I follow him out, and instead of going to a room, he takes me to the sidewalk and starts walking toward the outskirts of town. I get nervous—the farther from civilization, the more likely questionable things will happen—but I trust Shelby enough to give him the chance.
We pass an open field of grass lined by trees, and it’s a pleasant evening sight. We continue a few blocks, into residential areas, and the quaint houses ease my anxiety. Shelby is silent, and he walks with stiff, locked legs, like he’s hurting. Makes sense. He should be in the hospital. What little of his skin I see is paler than usual.
I wait.
Finally he says, “What have you found? Do you have any evidence yet?”
“It’s been a week, old man. Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t have this case solved.”
“I don’t have much time.”
“You said you were in danger,” I state, glancing over my shoulder and scanning the pleasant countryside. “What’s going on? Who’s on your trail? Why aren’t you in the hospital?”
Shelby lowers his voice. “I’ve made a lot of enemies, Pierce. Davis didn’t do me any favors when he got us caught. I’m running out of time.”
“What’s going on? Give it to me straight.”
He stops. I follow suit. For a moment we regard each other. “Did the cops send you?” he asks.
“Yeah. A cop asked me to speak with you about your sources. He thinks you’re helping the traffickers.”
“And you’re here for him?”
“Of course not. I don’t trust cops. I came here because things aren’t adding up. You said the cops are in on everything, but I don’t see much evidence. They look busy picking up other criminal offenders. Or are you saying they’re allowing it to happen?”
“That’s not it.”
He doesn’t offer any more information. I step back, frustration eating my thoughts, but the coolness of the night relaxes me. I like the darkness. It’s easier to think. Pulling my jacket close, I glance around for a second time. I can’t see right with a blind eye. Anyone could be hiding in the shadows for all I know.
“The police pick up people to sell,” Shelby states out of nowhere, drawing my attention back to him. “And then someone in the jails selects the right ones, and then someone else ships them out of the state for sale.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you, Pierce? The police pick them up. Prostitutes. Druggies. And then someone in the jails sets them up. They’re discharged straight into the human traffickers’ hands, before they reach the street again, and then they’re shipped out of town, ready for sale.”
I piece all of Shelby’s words together. “So who’s packing them and who’s shipping them?”
“I don’t know,” Shelby says through a forceful cough. “Some older organization has a hold on the jails. It’s been around for decades, but it was chased out of Chicago and Noimore until just recently. They came back, and they’re operating in full force now that they have shippers willing to run bodies for them.”
I hold my breath as my thoughts drift. Those prostitutes from Noimore, Kimmy and Nash, told us all about Jeremy’s new shipping operation. But when did that start?
“How long have they been back in operation?” I ask. “This older organization.”
“Six months, I’d say.”
The exact time Jeremy got out of custody and started his new business. I doubt that’s coincidence. I exhale and shake my head. “Do you know anything about the Vice family?” I didn’t think they would be involved, but Castor’s recognition of my tattoo and his comment about “betraying him” makes me think they definitely are.
Shelby grabs my arm and holds me close. He seems a little unstable, maybe desperate, and I feel the shake of his body through his grip. “What do you know about the Vice family mob?” he asks.
“I think they might be the ones doing all the shipping.”
This wouldn’t have happened if Big Man Vice was still in charge. He never would have engaged in human trafficking. It went against his principles. But then again, Jeremy isn’t his father. He barely knows how to run a proper syndicate.
“That would make sense,” Shelby whispers. “The police. The Vice family. And whoever is in charge of the jails. All three of them. An evil trifecta.”
Who runs the jails? With the police on their side and the Vice family mob doing their shipping, they hold all the aces. Whoever they are, they sure as fuck aren’t going to like a couple of private investigators snooping around their business. Is that who’s after Shelby?
“How do you know all this?” I ask.
Shelby releases his grip on me and sighs. “I worked for them before all this nonsense went down at the railway. For the deputy chief of police in Noimore. Deputy Chief Charleston. He’s got his men helping at every turn—under the guise of making the streets safe, of course.”
“You actually helped them?” I balk. How could he? After what happened to his son?
“Don’t look at me like that,” he snaps. “What was I supposed to do? I’m one man. I needed all the advantages I could get. Working with them allowed me to save a few kids—and to learn a lot of their secrets—but it’s not enough. I have to bring them all down, you understand me? Even if I turned in the officers I have info on, the traffickers will find others. And even if I help bring down the last of the Vice mob, the traffickers will find other means
