The Rosey Thorn

Chapter 18

I’ve never been to Paris, Kentucky before and I don’t care about sightseeing. I’m here to do one job and one job only — find Cielo and kill Lincoln. I went to three different bars on the seedier side of town, and none were suspicious enough to lead me to Lincoln.

I went to the fourth bar called Duncan’s to try my luck there. It looked rough from what I could see. The windows were cracked and dirty. The wooden stairs leading to the front door creaked and shook like it was about to give out. I’m pretty sure there were nails poking out. The N in Duncan’s flickered and motorcycles were parked in front of the entrance. Cars were parked on the side, but some were flashier than the others. Bikers either smoked or drank near their bikes, socializing with others that do not look like bikers. They all looked friendly, but they also looked like they would never socialize outside this bar.

Inside, the bar was dim with blue strobe lights above the bartender. Lanterns were on the table giving more lighting. Tables were not only occupied by bikers, but also men that wore suits and regular clothes. The men in suits seem like they don’t belong here, but they also do with the fierce expressions they wore.

Rock music is played in the background, although you can hear the squeaks of the floorboards. It was a crowded night for a Wednesday, and the crowd wasn’t just bikers. There were mobsters, gang members, and men like El Toro and Lincoln. I can differentiate now. The mobsters wear suits like it’s their armor. Gang members wore jeans and leather jackets, while some wore sunglasses even though they were inside. Bikers wear their cuts proudly showing their colors.

This bar was open to everyone, even regular people who have no idea who surrounds them. They do not know that a trafficking organization is going before their eyes. They are so oblivious and drunk. Those were easy days. To be oblivious and never have to look over my shoulder. Now, I’m in a world that I was forced into.

As they party, ignoring what’s really going on, the ones that I am paying attention to are here for one and one thing only, and if I’m correct, they are here for the high-priced women. These men here don’t go for cheap drugged-up women who stink. No, they want the ones who are clean, dressed up, and beautiful, and pure. They are here to spend top dollars on ones that are desirable.

There were women here walking around with black dresses that barely hit their thighs with black heels. They go around table to table talking to certain men, but strangely not flirting with them. They pass out paper that looks like brochures. The normal crowd that wasn’t involved was oblivious to what was going on and were being ignored by the women in black dresses. There were other waitresses that were not wearing black dresses, but the bar’s uniform that had their name on the shirt. They were dealing with the regular customers and ignoring the others.

The ones that were given brochures started to read it. I followed one of the girls to the bar where she put the brochures on the bar. She turned away to order a drink, and I quickly took a brochure and walked off to a dark corner to an empty table with a lantern that was barely lit. It flickered nonstop and began to dimmer.

The front cover only said HIGH QUALITY. I opened it and a list of names was revealed. The names make no sense. There was one line that says,

Tall, lanky, brown.

Another line read,

Green, medium, red, pale.

More lines continued all the way down the page.

At first, I didn’t get it until one of the lines caught my attention.

Sky blue, slim, brown, young.

Sky in Spanish was Cielo. I looked back at the list and realized that it was a description of Cielo. She’s slim, young with blue eyes and brown hair. Each description was for every girl they had. There were twenty. At the bottom of the list it said,

Each starts at $10,000.

It’s an auction Lincoln has. Does he actually sell them or sell them for one night? Group by group got up and left. Where are they going? No one knows where Lincoln lives because he keeps moving around to different properties he owns. It seems like they know. I look back at the paper and there’s no address. How do they know?

I searched the brochure again, touching and examining every corner. My fingers traced under the auction bid and I felt something. It faints, and I barely missed it if I wasn’t looking for it. There’s something there. I try to see if I could peel something off, but there’s nothing. It’s so frustrating that my head hurts. My head fell into my hands, rubbing my temple. Picking up the paper once more, I looked. I held it up, staring intently, ignoring the man that was standing up in front of my table talking to his friend. He pulled a cigarette out and flicked his lighter. The light faintly glowed over the paper and I gasped.

Slowly, letters were revealed. Moving the lantern to the middle of the table, I set the brochure against it while watching the letters appear. Letters that showed an address — Lincoln’s address. So, this was how they knew. Using secret messages just like my old job. This was how we sent secret messages to each other.

Leaving the bar quickly, I walked to my car. Hold on Cielo, I’m coming.