A holiday reading pleasure from my novel, “A Daughter for Sale” How Peter Abel Saved Nigerian Girl from US Congressman

WRITERS’ WORLD
with Bis Daniels
bisi.daniels@thisdaylive.com
Blog: www.bisidaniels.com, 08050220700

Even at one o’clock that afternoon, the breeze off the Potomac cut through the old windbreaker Abel had borrowed from Maxwell Elliot. He’d finished breakfast – not half bad he had to admit – then left Elliot behind. Again, he didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else. Abel huddled behind a shed on the pier and waited. He watched as crew members and service people scrambled about the gigantic yacht, clearly preparing it for important passengers. Abel had been stationed at his post about half an hour when a stretch limousine rolled up to the dock. The chauffer stepped out, walked to the back of the vehicle, and opened the door. Out stepped Congressman Jason Schroeder. A well-dressed man came down the gangway to greet the Congressman and escort him onto the vessel. During the next few minutes, Abel watched several other expensive cars pull up and expel equally expensive men and women, who also boarded the yacht. Finally, Abel got what he wanted. A Lincoln, very much like the one he had commandeered the night before. He watched, transfixed, as two men climbed out of the front. Abel recognized one as the thug he’d fought with the night before. Abel heard the other man call his thug, “Rudy”, so Abel now had a name to go with the unpleasant face. As Rudy opened the rear car door, out stepped two elegantly dressed women, or more precisely, young girls. The second one out was Alice. They wore expensive outfits that were designed to be flattering on women twice their age. To Abel, the young girls looked tawdry, inappropriate and exploited. Alice didn’t seem to know it the night before, though. She was too scared to fight for her freedom. Or too stoned. Or both.

After everyone had boarded the vessel, Abel inched his way closer to the gangway. Taking advantage of a short interval when it was unguarded, Abel quietly scurried onto the yacht. Once on deck, he slipped to the lower level where the serving crew was bustling around the kitchen. Abel knew he’d have to stay hidden. This wasn’t some huge hotel with a staff of hundreds. This was an intimate group and any stranger would stand out immediately. Abel felt the vibration of the giant diesel engines when they started up. As the guests socialised in the main cabin upstairs, the crew continued running up and down from the kitchen. Abel sneaked around and inspected the yacht. There were two smaller rooms at the back of the lower deck, and a bathroom on each floor. Abel slipped into one of the small rooms because the windows allowed him to see who was moving about. He noticed Rudy and the other thug walk by every few minutes as if patrolling the area. After a few minutes, Abel heard voices from the adjoining room. When he put his ear to the wall, he heard a female giggle followed by an older man’s voice. Abel guessed Schroeder was ready to have his way with at least one of the young ladies. Abel dreaded what he had to do next. Despite his bold act of sneaking on board, the next move was just plain crazy. Abel was counting on surprise and the Congressman’s basic unwillingness to become involved in anything that required murder. After glancing out the window to make sure nobody was in sight, he slipped out of his door into the adjacent one. What he walked in on might have been comical had it not been so pathetic. Sitting on the futon was Schroeder, shirtless, while Alice and the other young girl, both naked, rubbed his shoulders. “Excuse me, Congressman”, Abel said quietly, “but I believe these girls are underage.”

Schroeder jumped up startled and grabbed his shirt. “Who the hell are you?” he said, his voice a high-pitched screech. “Mr. Abel!” Alice cried. She threw a robe on to cover her naked body. Abel took her by the hand. “I promised your mother, back in Nigeria, I would take you home. Your mother! Alice, your mother! She has been crying all day, every day since you left. She may die!” Abel turned to Schroeder. “I’m not out to hurt you, Sir. I want this girl. I’m taking her home, and I’m asking you to help me.” Schroeder was dumbfounded. He just stared at Abel, mystified as if he couldn’t believe this was happening. Before the congressman could regain his power of speech, the door opened. Rudy stood in the passageway, gun in hand. He smiled at Abel. “You’re dead”, he said. “Now, just a minute. I can’t be involved …” the Congressman said, sputtering. But Rudy cut him off. “You won’t be. Go upstairs.” As they were talking, Abel reached into his pocket deftly and turned on his micro-tape recorder. He wasn’t sure how he would get out of this predicament, but he hoped that recording it might somehow help. The other thug arrived. He stepped into the room and grabbed Abel by the shoulders and tore off his jacket. He went through the pockets to make sure Abel wasn’t armed. The only thing he came up with was Abel’s cell phone, which he casually tossed across the room. Abel worried the man would find the recorder if he patted him down, so he spoke up. “I’m not armed. I’m a journalist. The only thing I carry are pens and note pads.” It worked, sort of. The second man smashed Abel across the face and dragged him out of the room. But he’d forgotten to pat down Abel’s trousers. “Wait!” Alice cried. “Please don’t hurt him! He’s not here to cause trouble. He’s a friend of my mother’s.” The men laughed. “Your mother is probably the only friend this guy has left”, Rudy said. “Now you go back inside, keep your mouth shut, and wait for us. If you get in our way, you’ll wind up like Marcy.” The men continued to manhandle Abel, but Alice tried to impede their path. Rudy grabbed her arm and flung her back into the room. She landed hard on the wooden floor, rubbing her sore shoulder. Rudy turned to Schroeder, who hadn’t moved a muscle this whole time. “Go on, Congressman. You don’t want to see this.” Schroeder finally left. The other girl put on a robe and ran out right behind him. Abel watched them go. So much for the Moral Majority. He was shoved into the adjoining room, and the door was shut. Left alone, Alice had a moment of panic. Her confused brain could not think what she should do. Fear gripped her. She remembered her mother, then she saw Abel’s cell phone where it had been dropped in the struggle. What was the number she should call? How could she call the police? Poor Alice, in a strange and foreign country, her minded clouded by drugs, could not remember that 911 was the magic number. She pressed a button on the phone and then waited in despair. The button was redial and Elliot answered, heard what was going on and called a contact at the FBI. He lied, telling the FBI agent that the yacht was full of gunrunners. The agent alerted the Coast Guard. The question was, would it arrive in time? “Who sent you here?” Rudy demanded of Abel. “Who told you about the yacht, and who else knows about it?” Abel knew that no matter what answer he gave, Rudy was determined to kill him, so he simply held his ground and stared. If he could find some way of disarming the man, he could put up a good fight. Once he did that, he’d find his way back to shore, swimming with Alice strapped to his back if necessary.

“Are you Dennis the supplier of girls?” Abel asked the second man, stalling for time. “No”, the man said. “Dennis wouldn’t waste his valuable time dealing with scum like you.” “Scum like me?” Abel remarked. “I’m not the one trafficking fifteen-year-old girls out as sex slaves to perverted politicians.” The man laughed. “It’s all just business, pal. There’s a demand, and Dennis is smart enough to fill it. Now if you want to save your ass, you’d better tell us who told you about the yacht and anything else you know.” “If I do, will you let Alice go?” Abel asked, hoping he could at least save her life. “Not our decision. She belongs to Dennis,” the man responded. “Then call and ask. If he agrees, I’ll tell you everything. He might even slip a murder charge.” “He didn’t kill Marcy”, Rudy said. “No. You did.” “What of it? You couldn’t prove that even if we let you live. Which we won’t.” “The girl for what I know. Otherwise, go fish.” Rudy slammed Abel’s head against the wall viciously. “You’re fucking dead. And so is the girl, once we’re done selling her.” Rudy stuck the barrel of his gun into Abel’s ear. Abel figured that was the ballgame. He was dead. At that moment, an ear-piercing siren blasted through the air. Startled, Rudy jumped back. “What the hell is that?” The second thug peered out the porthole. “Coast Guard cutters! Four of them.” Abel’s would-be murderer spun around, trying to catch sight of the boats. Abel seized the moment, picking up a heavy metal paperweight off a table. He smashed it over the first thug’s head. The man fell to the floor. Before Rudy could react, Abel grabbed his wrist and tried to wrench the gun from it. “Come out on the upper deck with your hands in the air!” A voice boomed from a loud speaker outside. As Coast Guard officers prepared to board the yacht, Abel and Rudy continued to wrestle. A shot rang out from the handgun, and the bullet lodged in the wall. Abel pounded his fist against Rudy’s already broken fingers, causing him to shriek out in pain. The gun fell to the floor with a loud rattle. The other man recovered from the blow to the head and made a lunge for the gun. Abel shoved him aside and grabbed the pistol. He was panting with exhaustion as he pointed the weapon at the two defeated men. “I guess we’d better go out on the upper deck”, he said. Once the Coast Guard and the local police had the situation under control, Abel approached the officer in charge. “My name is Peter Abel”, he stated. “The Washington D.C. Police Department wants to question me regarding the death of Marcy Tripps, my source. I believe I have all of your answers right here.” He handed the man his tape recorder. A crew of officers took the thugs into custody, and the Coast Guard and police boats escorted the yacht back to the dock.