Stranded by Don Prichard & Stephanie Prichard

Author:Don Prichard & Stephanie Prichard [Prichard, Don & Prichard, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-10-20T04:00:00+00:00

The phone rang as Eve entered the District Attorney’s office. The receptionist’s desk was unattended. She punched the speakerphone button and peeled off her scarf and gloves, spattering the floor with specks of snow.

“Federal prosecutor’s office, Evedene Eriksson speaking.”

“Eve!” Debra Baker, her bud at the state attorney’s office, shrieked at her. “We’ve got a trafficking witness! Hurry! Cook County Hospital ER.”

“On my way!” She grabbed her purse, hustled outside, and hailed a cab.

The driver flew across Chicago at the promise of a doubled fare. Debra grabbed her by the arm in the emergency room and pulled her to a small room. A nurse nodded at Debra and left, closing the door.

A hospital bed, straddled by two chairs, took up most of the space. Its occupant, a slender teenage girl, was covered by a white sheet up to her chest. Arms, bare shoulders, and face bore a spectrum of black and blue bruises. Her left eye was swollen shut. Blood caked her lips, both ears, and a swathe of cuts across her cheeks. Although the girl’s hair was colored red, the slanted corners of her eyes identified her as Asian, and the honey color of the skin on her hands, as part Caucasian.

Eve’s chair crackled as she sank onto the plastic cushion.

“Alicia, this is Evedene Eriksson. She’s—”

“I know. I’ve seen her before. I want to testify.”

“Testify against whom?” Eve searched her memory, but the girl’s face was too messed up to recall.

“Romero.”

Eve’s heartbeat skyrocketed. “Danny Romero?”

“You told us at the jail you’d help us if we testified against him. I didn’t care then, but now he’s tried to kill me.”

“Danny Romero tried to kill you?”

“His men.”

Eve leaned forward. “I need hard facts, Alicia. Proof that will hold up in court.”

“I got them.”

“All right.” Eve fetched her notebook and pen from her purse. “Let’s begin with your name and birth date. The real ones, not what’s on your ID.”

“Marikit Santos Torres, August 23, 1965.”

Sixteen years old. Definitely underaged. Eve’s hand trembled at the thought of finally nailing Romero. “Where were you born?”’

“I don’t know. Here? I’ve always lived in Chicago.”

Eve slapped her pen onto the notebook and turned to Debra. “Why did you call me? If she hasn’t crossed state lines, federal has no jurisdiction.”

“Hear her out. Go on, Alicia . . . Mari. Start at the beginning.”

Eve waited two breaths before the girl finally opened her mouth.

“My mother’s pimp started me when I was twelve. A year ago he sold me to a club. We got rounded up one night by the cops, and that’s when I heard you at the jail. I didn’t know who Danny Romero was, but I asked around and found out stuff.”

With her good eye, Mari studied Eve. “You were pretty and smart and powerful, and for a while I wanted to be like you. I never went to school after sixth grade, but I read a lot.”

“I can help you—”

“No, you can’t. Nobody’d ever give me a job. Anyways, I liked the club. I had a bed and food and TV and pretty clothes.

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