Chapter 3

Julian got off the bus a couple of streets down from the bank he usually conducted his finances through. It would have been a more than manageable walk from his apartment, but having stepped out onto the street to see the bus ready to stop only a few steps away, it was hard to justify not getting a lift. He’d arrive a little earlier and save himself from getting sweaty along the way. It was a win-win situation.

As it was nearly eight in the morning, the working class was nervously running to and fro, some crowding miserably on busses to get to the tram stations, while others crossed the streets regardless of cross walks or signals. It seemed everyone either thought they owned the world and it should bow to them or that the world likened to toilet paper; simple, replaceable, and quickly disposed of. No middle ground seemed to exist.

The residence of Riley Smith was located in a tall building full of humble apartments for middle class families--the kind of building proud enough to house its own grocer and coffee shop on the ground floor. It had a cookie-cutter lobby, the same kind found in hundreds of other buildings like it: when one came, in there was the information terminal and next to it a teller machine that would charge an arm and leg if one wasn’t a member of its financial institution. The store would offer slightly marked up items, charging its customers for the convenience of shopping in their own building, and the price of a small coffee seemed ridiculous no matter where one went. There was heated competition by banks, grocers, coffee establishments, and others to have their services in the lobby of a residential building. The occupying bank, for instance, was almost guaranteed that every resident in the building would join it and if not, it still made money on the fees charged those who didn’t. It was the kind of situation that made companies richer and their customers’ budgets a little tighter. Still, for a family living in one of the thousands of residential buildings in Solace, there was a bit of pride in living in the kind that had these cookie-cutter lobbies.

Julian double-checked at the information terminal to be sure he knew the right floor to go to, then strode to the elevator and rode up to the forty-seventh floor. It was a quick, soundless journey and within a few seconds, the doors opened with a cheerful ding. Unit 4730 was unfortunately on the far end of the building, causing him to loop around the outer hallway until he came to the correct door. He knocked quickly, and it occurred to him at that moment that he should have called beforehand.

After only a slight pause, the door opened and Julian found himself being hugged tightly, while Riley’s hands patted his back with enthusiasm.

“You know what, I was just thinking to myself the other day, ‘fuck man, I ain’t seen Julian in ages!’ And what do you know, here you are!”

“Is this any way to treat your commanding officer?”

Riley pulled back and sloppily stood at attention. “This better, sir? Want me to salute too?” he asked, presenting his middle finger.

Julian rolled his eyes, but smiled. “That’ll do, Lieutenant. At ease.”

Riley ushered him inside, closing the door behind him. His home was sparsely furnished with assorted things he’d probably either gotten handed down through his family or that had been left by the previous tenants. It was easy to see where he spent his money, though: along one wall was a huge screen which several computer units fed information across. Most of them were news reels with a few security feeds from the building in one corner; a pop up in the middle promised to make his penis larger in just two weeks.

“That’s new,” Julian noted, pointing to the screen.

Riley smiled wide. “Yeah, beautiful, isn’t she? Mamma was worried I’d strain my eyes browsing the CommNet as much as I do. If you want bigger font though, you have to go with a bigger screen.”

“If you say so.”

Riley continued to smirk and sat back down in his computer chair. Lieutenant Riley Smith was a reserve information specialist wit the Military Police. He specialized in the black market, knowledgeable of all its ins and outs. If you wanted something found he could usually find it and tell you what it was going to cost you on the street. He knew every street name for every illegal substance and every type service that was available; his knowledge was a commodity that gave him certain freedoms inside his department. For one, rather than a regulation crew cut, he had a smart little Mohawk down the middle of his head. He had always remarked on how it made him feel cool and look tough. Julian thought it made him look like a punk teenager.

“So, what brings you to my swinging bachelor pad?”

“I’ve got a high priority mark I’m looking for. I was thinking maybe you could find him for me,” Julian explained. “Phineas Maxwell, youngest son of James Maxwell. Yeah, that Maxwell.”

Riley whistled, impressed. “No fucking way. That kid has got to be worth a fortune--his dad’s one of the most influential men in office. I can’t believe they’ve managed to keep it quiet. Why’d they hire you to do it, though? No offense, but this sounds like something the actual police force should handle, not just you.”

“Because the fewer people who know the truth, the better he can twist the situation to best fit his political platform,” Julian mused cynically. “You know how politicians are. Public image first, everything else second. It doesn’t bother me, though, I’ve got plenty of resources. Like you. So, can you help me out?”

“Sure thing, just let me get signed in.“ The Lieutenant began pulling up pages and files. “Any ideas who or why someone would take the kid?”

“Other than the obvious? No. No idea.”

Riley sighed. “Man, it’s a weird family if you think about it. I mean, whatever happened to the oldest son? James Jr.? He, like, fell off the face of the earth or something, but you never hear about that. Wonder if it’s the same with the youngest now. Just one guy looking for him while a cover up goes on everywhere else.”

Julian pinched the bridge of his nose is disdain. “This isn’t a conspiracy theory, it’s a missing person case. Let’s try not to get off topic.”

“You don’t think they’re related? The guy’s misplaced two sons. I mean, maybe the kid’s brother could be a suspect.”

Julian worried his bottom lip. He had no interest in divulging his relationship to Phineas or Maxwell to anyone, even if it was a friend. He’d spent over five years living outside the shadow of his former life; the mere mention of his birth name made bile rise in his throat and left a bad taste in his mouth. No, friend or not, he was not going to give up the security of being Julian Vaughn. It was best to leave James Maxwell Jr. to the grave. “See, Ri, this sort of thing is why I’m the detective and you’re the informant. It’s not the brother. Maxwell’s a smart guy, smarter than most, and you know how much I hate giving any elected officials credit. He would have had his personal guards find out if the brother knew anything before he ever asked for outside help. Just because you don’t know where his eldest son is, doesn’t mean Maxwell doesn’t.”

“Yeah, when you put it that way, I guess you’re right. My bad.”

Julian smiled, happy that the conversation could now turn away from that path. “So, what all do you need to know about Phineas to do a proper search?”

“Just a decent physical description. This is a private thread most people come to to do their kiddy shopping. It’s all in code, but I’m up to date.”

Julian blinked. “If the government knows about the thread and if you can decode the messages, why haven’t you brought down the system yet?”

“Tsk tsk tsk, Julian. See, that kind of thinking is why you’re the investigator and I’m the informant.” Riley seemed to take a great deal of satisfaction in the turn around. “This is the only avenue we have to keep tabs on the trade. We take down everyone in this ring, that means everyone we don’t get go somewhere else, adopt a new code, and it takes us months to track them down and figure it all out. In those months, hundreds of kids are lost forever in drug, labor or sex trades. This way, people like you can ask for a search and we have an eighty percent better chance of locating them. And the ones we don’t find, we can trace though this archive.”

“So you guys deem it as a necessary evil.” Julian shook his head. “Now I remember why I got out of the Military Police.”

Riley patted him on the lower back, smiling up at him a little from his seat. “And here I thought it was the conduct code.”

Julian pulled on the line of hair on his friend’s scalp. “Back to business.”

“Yes, sir.” Riley began inputting Phineas Maxwell’s physical description to his search criteria. It was fortunate for them that red hair and gold eyes were not a very common combination; the search took only a couple minutes to perform, searching every known bulletin in the thread.

The results blipped on the screen with a computerized sound.

Nothing.

There was no sign of Phineas on the black-market.

Julian smiled to himself a little, feeling relief pass over him. “Well, at least I can wipe that off my list of possibilities.”

“Not necessarily.”

Julian leaned back against the desk, facing his friend. “What do you mean?”

“Phineas Maxwell is a high profile mark. Whatever the outcome, the incentive was money. You might not advertise someone like him on a general forum. May be you only tell people at the show rooms.” Riley sat back. “If you want to be one hundred percent sure, you’re going to have to go undercover.”

“No.” Julian shook his head, long hair swishing back and forth. “I’m not going to some place where they parade kids for sale. There is no way I could leave and not help them out. I couldn’t keep my cover in a place like that.”

“Well you can’t go in guns blazing, either. These people are armed too and if they even for a moment thought you were a cop or something, you’d be dead in a matter of seconds.”

Julian pushed away from the desk. “All the more reason why I shouldn’t go.”

“What if the kid’s there, though? Phineas Maxwell gets sold at a show room auction and there’s no way I can trace him.”

Julian stopped, fists balled at his sides. “...Fine. You get me in. Tell me where and when.”

Riley nodded and set to work. “Okay, looks like the big guys are coming out tomorrow night, so you’re in luck. It’s invitation only, but I can get an extra pass if you go as my alter ego, Carlos Brinkley. Only thing you need to know about Carlos is that he’s a three-time sex offender with time served for attempted murder and assault.”

“Do I look like a Carlos to you?” Julian asked, motioning with his arms at his Caucasian body.

“Say it’s a family name. Just put in some black contact lenses and no one will question it, seriously. Don’t sweat those details, I can piece them together from here. You just figure out what you’re going to do once you’re in.”

Julian nodded, though his stomach felt knotted and empty. “Don’t suppose I can tempt you to accompany me.”

“The Government only gives me the one alias. If I could, I would. I don’t like the idea of you being alone in a place full of freaks and sickos any more than you do. Could be rather than kill you, you end up as an item for bid if they figure you out.”

“No really, don’t try and make me feel any better about this. Honestly. You’ve done enough.”

“Sorry.” Riley smiled sheepishly and stood up. “How about we go downstairs, get a coffee, and I walk you home. I should teach you some of the new slang they use so you’re not walking in deaf.”

“Oh, please, I know what you really want.” Julian smirked and leaned in closer, walking his fingers up Riley’s chest. “You want your cut.”

“Well...payment is always the more lasting aspect of helping you. High profile mark, I bet there’s quite a reward and, knowing you, there’s at least something sitting in your bank as an up front donation.”

Julian sighed and headed for the door. “Fine, but I’m paying you by the work, not the mark. This didn’t take you long at all. Couple hundred creds tops, just because it’s something I couldn’t do even if I wanted to.”

Riley smiled and wrapped his arm around the Captain to escort him out. “Sounds fine by me, seeing as I’m the one with a steady pay check here.”

With a rather sour expression, Julian followed him out of the room and out of the building. The words and expressions he was taught were misleading and plain. Somehow, he expected something more sinister from the black market kiddy pool. Then again, these people made a living off of making their jobs sound as inconspicuous as possible. No matter how simplistic, though, it felt vulgar to say them.

They spent a couple hours back at Julian’s apartment, printing out maps and blueprints of the facilities he’d be inside and familiarizing him with names and faces of the prominent bidders. It was the kind of work that wore down on Julian fast and within hours he’d zoned it all out.

That night was harder to sleep through then most. Julian’s dreams were haunted by visions of his brother. It started innocently enough: the two of them were playing on a back stairwell in their father’s estate, Julian only barely a teenager while his brother was quite a bit smaller. The stairwell didn't exist in reality, but Julian knew that was where it was supposed to be, as well as that they weren't supposed to be playing there. Suddenly, their ball bounced down the stairs, out of sight and before Julian could stand to retrieve it, Phineas had darted out of sight too, sprinting to get there first. He disappeared around the corner and while Julian waited, neither the sound of the ball nor Phineas’s footsteps could be heard anymore. Cautiously, Julian wandered down the steps, hand gripping the handrail as he tried to find his way through the dark. He was too afraid to call out his brother’s name. That was the one those people used. It was dangerous and if their father found out, they would be in a great deal of trouble. Even worse, if someone found them before their father found out. It was best to keep silent, and wade through the darkness hoping it was all a game and Phineas would pop out at any minute to scare him.

There was laughter at the bottom of the stairs. Julian put his hand over his mouth to keep himself from breathing too loudly. He stepped quietly, willing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. It wasn’t his brother’s joyful laughter but of several other voices, all much deeper. The bottom of the stairs was coming--he put out his foot to take another step only to find he was already at the base. The sickening fall of his stomach made shivers crawl over his body.

There was light spilling out from under the door beside him. The laughter was louder now and shadows periodically cut the sliver of light off. With a shaking hand he grasped the doorknob and put his ear to the door, trying to hear more clearly. There was whimpering, sad and pathetic whimpering from a scared and tiny voice. Julian threw open the door, body shaking in anger as he made his presence known. Phineas lay with blood flowing from his mouth, his tongue severed, his eyes sewn shut. He was naked with his legs scratched and cut while one man thrust between them and the others touched themselves with one hand as they watched and managed to hold their child prisoner down with the other.

Julian stood frozen, his mind unable to grasp what he saw. His eyes focused on the blood-covered lips as they mouthed, between chokes of blood and tears, “Julian”. He stepped forward, rage building inside him, and pushed his own fear far away. He screamed and began to run towards the assailants, but it was as though he were caught in a web. His legs seemed to hardly move; his arms were moving in slow motion and his voice had been swallowed by the air. He fought and fought against the invisible restraints, crying in frustration as the sounds of the men rang in his ears, louder and louder.

He continued to try until strong arms wrapped around him from behind and his eyes snapped open wide to see that the clock on his nightstand read 3:47am in blood red. He could hear his heartbeat in his head and let out the breath he had quickly drawn in when he had awoken. Lips kissed the back of his neck apologetically.

“Sorry. Were you having a bad dream?”

Julian turned his head slightly, forcing a smile. “It’s fine, Riley. Thanks. Sorry if I woke you.”

Riley shook his head a little, yawning loudly, then pulled him closer against his bare chest and rested his head against Julian’s shoulder.

Julian stared at the clock, trying to burn the images out of his mind along with the fear that accompanied them. He lay there until the nine flickered over into a zero and the clock showed 5:00am and began singing that same damn song it played every other morning. He felt Riley stir as he flicked it off and pulled himself from his companion’s arms to make a retreat to the shower. There, the warm water seemed to scald away the anger and grief of his dreams, leaving him numb. It was all just a dream, after all. Phineas was clever and bright; far too skinny for anyone to see any illegal use for. Bony and mentally fragmented, Julian didn’t really think he would be up for auction that night. It was just him being thorough in marking off possibilities. He told himself this over and over again as he washed himself. He was never really sure how much of it he believed.

Through breakfast he was quiet, obviously off in some other world that was not permitting visitors any time soon. Riley felt the time was right to leave and went about locating his socks. He paused at the door once he was all tucked and tied. “You’ll start coming around more now, right? Not just going to forget about me until you need me again. Right?” Julian looked up at him, not really sure how to answer that.

Riley sighed. He looked at the floor for a minute then shook his head. “That’s just how it goes I guess. You’ll at least call me, right? Tell me you got home alright tonight and if you found him?”

Julian nodded. “Yeah. I’ll call.”

Whether Riley really believed that or not, Julian couldn’t tell; he just smiled a little and walked back over for one last kiss then left, wishing Julian luck before the door closed behind him.

Julian spent the rest of the day studying his print-outs and taking short naps when the information started to muddle together. When the time came, he got dressed in something of moderate respectability--nothing so pretentious as a suit and tie, but a clean white shirt and tight jeans with a black jacket on top. It gave the impression of someone who had money but was not eager to demonstrate how much. The jacket did well to conceal the gun strapped to his shoulder, as well as the one tucked into the back of his pants. After forcing himself to eat something, he went down to the station and boarded the tram. From that point on, everything was a blur.

Somehow his feet knew the way from the station hours later. He was standing in front of a door, giving his password to the fat, balding man looking down at him through the camera before he was even aware he was at his destination. As the door pulled open, he made himself tuck all his personal feelings and fears behind him. He was Carlos Brinkley now.

Through the door was hell itself.

It was a large open room, a warehouse at one time or another. The loft was now a sitting area for the well-to-do, while the floor was divided into a stage area and a guest hall. It still had all its original surfaces: harsh metal scaffolding and riveted I-beams. It was lit more like a dance club, though, lights swirling around while smoke from cigarettes filled the room in a colored haze. People talked loudly, grunted and groaned in chairs while their servants worked hard to please their masters’ exhibitionist fantasies, while others found pleasure in glory holes along the back walls that fed into the holding pens for the items up for bid.

No, not servants or items. Children. Children, paraded like animals, leashed and chained, crawling across the floor at their master’s feet. There were vile acts being performed at every turn, though the adults seemed no more distracted by them than a person is by another on the tram. This was normal to them, this was another day in the office. And the children....

Julian bit his lip hard to keep himself together. If he did anything, they’d know he wasn’t one of them and then who was going to find Phineas? He tried to find something else to look at, something to draw his attention away from how useless he felt in his surroundings.

There was so much motion all around him, the first thing that caught his eye was a lone stationary man leaning against the wall. There was no child servant at his side and he was not dressed as though he were one to brag about his wealth or possessions. He was dark skinned, a sort of cream-and-sugar-coffee color, with darker hair flipping out around his head. The piercings in his lip, eyebrows and ears shone slightly as the lights swirled around the room; a tattoo of barbed wire crawled up across his cheek from his neck, where it wrapped around and disappeared under the collar of his brown bomber jacket. He looked like a rebel from a movie: a tough-talking loner looking for something to take away the humdrum of normal city life. Had Julian seen him anywhere other than an auction for children, he’d have been quick to start up a conversation, maybe even flirt a little, if he felt he wouldn’t get punched in the face. It was a shame someone so enigmatic was a pedophile.

“Carlos, was it?”

Julian turned and looked at an aging man dressed smartly in a newsboy hat. He recognized him from the photograph in his file. “Hm? Oh, yes, Carlos Brinkley. You must be Bob Harkins. It’s a pleasure to meet you finally.”

Bob smiled and shook his hand. “What do you think?”

Julian looked around, forcing a wide smile. “Quite a turn out. And such well-behaved slaves. I’m impressed. I’ve heard good things though--that’s the only reason I bothered coming. Last thing I need is to step into a sting operation.”

“Don’t we all.” Bob ushered him to follow. “Don’t worry, our security net is the best there is. We have up to date computer technologies that reference every person who comes in here with public record information. No one gets in who doesn’t fit the profile.”

Julian nodded, trying to look impressed. “So I heard. I was wondering, though, if there was anything special up for bid tonight. Something I should hold off for till the end, before spending all my money.”

“Everything we sell here is unbeatable by other standards.”

“I was talking more...high profile. I’ve gotten wind of kidnappings. Heard I might be in luck to purchase a young boy here who used to belong to some very important people.”

Bob looked at him hard for a minute, then chuckled coolly, his gaze frighteningly kind in a room full of sin. “I can see you are a well-learned man. Come this way. I’ll show you.”

Without a second thought, Julian followed Bob Harkins towards the back storage rooms.