Bronnah studies the ledger she stole from her kidnappers and is surprised to find the names of each girl, country of origin, and the names of multiple people involved in the trafficking of each woman. From the U.S. Marshalls office, to police officers, to saloon owners. It's much bigger than she anticipated. Frowning, she puts the ledger down on the table, sipping her tea, and the New York Times paper catches her eye. Excitement flutters in her chest as a new idea takes root.
After hiding for the past five days, Bronnah is ready to act. She scans the paper for a few reporter names and chooses one who wrote an article titled, "Silent Sin," written by Augustus Duffy. It would seem he went undercover to expose a ring of doctors performing illegal abortions in the city.
"Very brave, Mr. Duffy but are ya brave enough for this?" she whispers as she rips out some paper and begins copying the information from the ledger down. Two hours later, after copying down the sections that pertain to the city of New York, she pens a letter to Mr. Duffy.
Dear Sir,
Your Sisters and Daughters are in peril. Will you stand by and do nothing, or will you step up and fight for the future of your Country and rescue them?
Right now, under the veiled promise of hope, innocent young women are being lured into those major cities like New York, San Francisco, Chicago and more. They are being kidnapped and drugged, dressed and sold to the highest bidders as prostitutes. Help free them!
Do not turn a blind eye, I beg of you! You know what drug I speak of. Opium. It hides in the backs of laundries, saloons, in all the dark places you are afraid to venture into, staining our souls with its temporary gift.
How can you hope to build a strong Nation if the word of your Men, the very fabric of your future families can no longer be trusted?
Search the railway heads, and you will find innocent women being violated. Senators, Marshalls, Police, and Doctors, your very stations are being raped by those who hide under the guise of morality.
Enclosed you will find the names of those who are convoluting. Don’t take my word for it. Investigate. Search and act now before it’s too late!
Sincerely,
Anonymous
When Aimee returns for lunch, she sits with her and shows her the package. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Bronnah? What if this reporter is involved somehow?"
“I’m not certain of anything. If something happens to me, no one will ever know about this, and those who have already been lost will never have justice." Bronnah rubs at the sore spot on her wrist and Aimee sighs, reaching for her hand.
"You're very brave. I will have a runner deliver it to the New York Times office this afternoon. I can pay him extra to hand-deliver it only to Mr. Duffy. Let us pray this Monsieur Duffy is an honorable man."
"Do they even exist anymore, Aimee?" Bronnah asks softly.
Chapter 15
Chase leaves the third train depot and returns to his office. Chief Mox and Neal have worked tirelessly by his side for the past few days. The Chief has been indispensable in directing the patrolmen in the search of the depots. It’s intense, dangerous work in a city that houses thousands and more arrive daily. Chicago is a hub of travel either, by train, sea or wagon and that means crime. The train yards and shipyards are crawling with pimps and prostitutes, some call them pigeons. Not to mention the pickpockets, and no one is talking.
It's not surprising that the temperament of the officers is short. Police brutality is a problem here, and Chief Mox is struggling to keep it under control. "What do you want," Neal growls at a pimp who approaches them. Neal stands out in his uniform, hat, and badge, but Chase looks like a simple cowboy.
The man grins at them revealing black and yellow teeth, greasy hair and he smells worse than he looks. “Heard you were looking for information?”
“What kind of information do you have?” Neal asked drawing his black club.
He grins at Neal and then at Chase. “Money talks,” he implies with a leer of hunger in his eyes.
“You’ll talk, pig!” Neal lunges at him with his club raised, but Chase moves quickly and grabs his arm.
“Easy, Neal. I need you to swing by the post office and check for messages after that you’re free to go.”
Anger and rage simmer beneath the surface, but he nods, “If you’re sure.” He spins and stomps away.
“That’s right, go on errand boy,” the man chortles. His laugh dies in his throat when he turns to look at Chase. He clears his throat and stammers. “I have information for you from an interested party. Meet me here tonight at ten o’clock.” He hands Chase a card with the name of a bar on it.
“You bring cash, I bring names.”
Chase watches the man stumble into the crowd and waits to the count of ten before following him. They're multiple ways to get answers, and Chase was never fond of waiting. Sounds too much like a setup for him to be comfortable.
The man is talking to himself and lighting a cigarette as he walks four blocks to the Dirty Dog pub near the docks. Chase stays out of sight and watches him enter the bar. He knows enough to wait and see if
