Framing Felipe (4 page)

from
Dana
who’d
been
in
touch
with
the
agency
who’d
contracted
Sarah.
They
were
ready

to
act,
and
couldn’t
get
in
touch
with
Sarah.
So,
Dana
freaked,
thinking
perhaps
the
guy
had

dragged
Sarah
into
his
back
room
and
subjugated
her
like
all
the
rest.
And
that’s
what

Sarah
was
there
to
find
out—if
the
guy
was
trafficking
sex
workers
from
Central
America.

The
answer
was
yes.

“Any
luck
with
your
guy?”
Patrick
asked,
drawing
Sarah
out
of
her
reverie.

She
blew
some
air
through
her
lips,
and
turned
to
scan
the
the
temporary
arena
where

a
spotlight
shone
down
onto
an
open
podium.
Calliope
music
piped
through
the
speakers,

and
the
crowd
clapped
and
whistled
their
encouragement.
The
show
would
start
soon.

“I
couldn’t
get
in
until
this
evening.
Matinee
was
sold
out.
I
did,
though,
talk
to
a
couple

of
the
set-‐up
guys
outside.
Couldn’t
get
much
information
out
of
them.
They
didn’t
know

much
about
the
Castillos,
or
if
they
did,
they
didn’t
want
to
share
it
with
me.
I
got
a
program

and
I
see
now
that
the
Castillos
are
identical.
Fabian
is
around
here
somewhere,
according

to
a
clown
I
bumped
into.
She
was
so
bummed
they’re
not
performing
tonight.
When
I

asked
why
they
weren’t,
she
gave
me
this
exaggerated
shrug.
As
soon
as
the
show
starts,

I’m
going
to
slip
out
and
see
if
I
can
find
him.”

“Look,
in
Dana’s
absence,
I’ll
tell
you
what
she
would
tell
you.
Watch
your
back,
and

don’t
be
stupid.”

Yep.
That’s
exactly
what
Dana
would
say.
“Will
do.”
Sarah
disconnected
right
as
the

ringmaster—a
silver-‐haired
man
wearing
a
pearl
gray
suit
with
tails
and
a
top
hat—leapt

onto
the
podium
in
the
center
ring.
A
microphone
descended
from
the
overhead
grid
on
a

long
black
cord.
He
grabbed
it
handily
from
the
air
with
a
practiced
ease.

He
started
to
clap.
Slowly
at
first,
to
draw
the
crowd
into
his
rhythm,
and
then

gradually
more
quickly.
The
noise
in
the
tent
was
deafening
with
the
frantic
claps,
the

stomping
feet,
and
the
hoots
and
whistles
from
the
crowd.
All
eyes
were
on
Jacques.
All

except
for
Sarah’s,
that
is.

FRAMING FELIPE
–
12
–
Holley Trent

When
the
lights
in
the
stands
went
dark,
and
Jacques
turned
to
face
the
other
side
of

the
area,
Sarah
took
a
moment
to
let
her
eyes
adjust
to
the
pitch
blackness
of
the
aisle
and

crept
out.

In
the
deserted
back
lot,
she
scanned
for
witnesses,
and
seeing
none,
strode
with

purpose
toward
the
mobile
restrooms
she’d
sought
out
earlier.
Inside,
in
front
of
a
mirror,

she
opened
her
oversized
purse
and
extracted
dark
sunglasses,
a
hospital
mask,
and
a
knit

hat
which
she
stuffed
her
loose
hair
into.
Donning
the
glasses
and
the
mask,
she
looked
like

an
immune-‐compromised
patron
looking
for
a
cheap
local
thrill.

Before
closing
her
bag,
she
extracted
her
Glock
and
tucked
it
into
her
waistband.
Better

safe
than
sorry.
Next
from
the
bag
came
a
granny
cardigan,
which
would
not
only
cover
her

weapon,
but
age
her
a
few
years.

She
assessed
herself
in
the
dirty
mirror,
and
shrugged,
reasonably
satisfied
no
one

would
recognize
her,
or
at
least
find
none
of
her
features
particularly
memorable.
This
was

one
of
several
of
her
portable
costumes,
and
the
use
of
easy
disguises
was
an
encouraged

tool
in
the
Shrew
arsenal.
In
fact,
it’d
become
pretty
much
part
of
the
routine
when
the

ladies
were
due
to
meet
new
clients.

Dana,
a
former
police
detective,
didn’t
like
them
being
remembered
while
they
were

out
and
about,
figuring
someone
would
eventually
make
a
connection.
Already,
the
agency

had
a
reputation
for
taking
unusual
jobs.
They
didn’t
want
speculation
about
why
it
was

always
them
who
got
called
to
do
these
weird
and
tough
jobs
to
bloom
beyond
mere

supposition.
Few
people
knew
what
the
Shrews
were.
Few
people
knew
that
such
things
as

were-‐mountain
lions,
psychics,
and
witches
existed.
Seemed
wise
to
keep
it
that
way.

Pulling
the
door
open,
she
found
the
lot
as
empty
as
before,
and
strode
out,
putting
a

slump
in
her
shoulders
that
belied
her
health.

Before
entering
the
tent,
she’d
done
some
simple
reconnaissance
and
learned
all
the

performer
trailers
were
in
the
southwest
corner
of
the
lot
where
the
premises
abutted
a

six-‐foot
chain
link
fence.
That
was
all
she
knew.
The
performers’
names
weren’t

emblazoned
on
the
doors,
so
she
didn’t
know
who
lived
where.

She
walked
for
a
minute
before
spying
a
man
bent
over
a
large,
wooden
blue
box,
his

head
stuffed
deep
inside
as
he
rummaged.

FRAMING FELIPE
–
13
–
Holley Trent

Sarah
slumped
a
bit
more
and
wrung
the
strap
of
her
purse
between
her
hands.
She

cleared
her
throat.

The
man
startled,
bumping
his
head
on
the
box
lid,
and
swearing
an
oath
under
his

breath.
When
his
rheumy
eyes
tracked
up
to
her
figure
standing
there,
he
quickly
forced

the
lid
down.

Her
gaze
flitted
to
the
box,
then
away
before
he
noticed
her
concern.
There
had
to
be

something
that
was
either
illegal
or
a
trade
secret
in
there.
Sarah
hoped
it
was
the
latter.

Before
some
accusation
could
escape
his
thin
lips,
she
sent
out
a
torrent
of
calming

thoughts.

“Maybe
you
could
help
me.
Running
late
tonight.”
She
performed
a
dramatic
inhalation

of
breath,
followed
by
a
raspy
exhale
behind
her
mask.
“Sorry.
Get
winded
so
easily.
Was

supposed
to
meet
friends
for
the
show.
They
had
arranged
to
get
our
programs
signed—”

She
paused,
digging
into
her
much-‐lighter
purse
for
the
booklet.
“—by
the
Castillos.”

He
gave
her
a
long
blink,
stared,
then
finally
his
shoulders
relaxed
a
tick.
“Show’s

already
started.”

Something
about
the
man
incited
a
sense
of
familiarity
Sarah
couldn’t
get
a
read
on.

Déjà
vu,
perhaps.
She
shrugged
it
off.
There
wasn’t
anything
particularly
unique
about
him,

beyond
his
slightly
muddled
accent.
Eastern
European.
The
heavyset
worker
had
brown

hair,
brown
eyes,
and
nothing
particularly
interesting
about
his
face.
He
was
like
hundreds

of
men
she’d
encountered
in
the
past.

“I
know.
Maybe
I
could
wait
in
their
trailer.
I
hear
they’re
both
single.”

His
laugh
came
out
a
chesty
bark
as
he
doubled
over.
“Both
of
’em,
honey?
You
into

kink?
Not
sure
you
could
keep
up
with
those
two.”
Although
he
passed
a
wrench
from
hand

to
hand
like
some
kind
of
weapon,
the
wheezing
chuckle
still
erupting
from
his
broad
chest

said
he
was
benign…at
least
for
the
moment.
Most
men
underestimated
the
Shrews.
Always

a
mistake.

Her
teeth
clenched,
and
the
fingers
of
her
free
hand
itched
for
the
familiar
comfort
of

the
Glock
handle
inside
her
waistband,
but
instead
of
reaching
for
it,
she
giggled.
It
was
the

same
giggle
she’d
used
in
that
strip
club
all
those
nights
she’d
served
cocktails.
Waiting.

Watching.
The
same
giggle
that’d
earned
her
bigger
tips
than
the
chicks
wagging
their
tits

FRAMING FELIPE
–
14
–
Holley Trent

on-‐stage.
Even
when
she’d
wanted
to
punch
the
smarmy
motherfuckers
she
served
right
in

their
smug
mouths,
she’d
accepted
the
cash,
and
walked
off
grumbling
under
her
breath.

She
could
hedge,
but
this
guy
wanted
her
to
be
into
kink.
So
be
it.

“Two
is
rarely
enough,”
she
said,
punctuating
her
tease
with
a
phony
cough.

He
laughed
that
barking
laugh
again.
“If
you
say
so,
sweetness.”

Her
lips
peeled
away
from
her
teeth
into
a
sneer,
but
he
couldn’t
see
it
through
the

mask.

“Haven’t
seen
Felipe
in
a
couple,
three
days.
Fabian
should
be
in
his
trailer.
Thought
I

saw
the
light
on
when
I
walked
past.”
He
crooked
a
thumb
in
the
direction
of
one
dusty

lane.

She
offered
the
man
a
nod
and
strode
toward
the
row.

“Hey!”
He
called
back.

She
stopped
and
asked,
“Yes?”
without
turning,
her
eyes
darting
left
and
right
in
search

of
an
escape
route
just
in
case
.

“Don’t
I
know
you
from
somewhere?
You
look
mighty
familiar.”

She
whispered,
“
Shit.”
Maybe
her
gut
wasn’t
lying
and
this
guy
wasn’t
just
some

anonymous
slob.
No…she
would
have
pegged
him
by
now.
She
was
the
best
tracker
the

Shrews
had,
so
if
anyone
would
remember
a
face,
it’d
be
her.
Maybe
he
was
just
another

guy
who’d
seen
her
on
television
in
one
of
her
numerous
interviews.
She
started
walking

again.
“Nah.
I
probably
just
have
one
of
those
faces.”

“Maybe,
what
I
can
see
of
it.”
Again,
he
laughed.
“You
let
me
know
if
two
ain’t
enough

for
you.
I
got
a
pair
of
hands
I
can
add
to
the
mix.”

“You
sure
do,”
she
said
sweetly,
happy
to
turn
the
corner,
and
mumbled,
“Jerk,”
under

her
breath.

There
were
five
campers
in
the
row
nearest
the
fence.
Only
one
had
a
light
on,
so
Sarah

targeted
the
silver
vehicle
parked
second
from
the
end.
As
she
approached,
though
the