“You going to take Tate on the real mission?” asked Riley.
“I don’t think so. You suppose your Cassie could look out for him for me?”
“Does he like kids?”
“I think so. I mean, if I talk to him a little bit, he’d be fine. It’s just that he’s never been around kids. He’ll chase anything that runs, and with your guys so small, you’re going to have to keep the kids away when they are playing. But I think he’d be all right. I know he’d be fine with Cassie. The one thing I’m concerned about is your cats. And that rooster. He may not make it if Tate’s there.”
“Well, that’s going to be on Tate’s conscience now, isn’t it? That’ll be between him and his maker.”
They both chuckled at Riley’s comment.
Tate sat in the second seat of Brady’s four-door king cab, stoically listening to their conversation. He had given up his normal perch, which was up front next to Brady. Today, that seat was taken by Riley.
They had left early in the morning, but by the time they reached the Central Valley, it was beginning to get dark and was near suppertime. They located a small motel that wouldn’t set them back too much, next to a Mexican restaurant. Brady made Tate’s food and left him in the motel room while they went next door for their dinner.
The small restaurant had a wonderful smell as soon as they walked in. A real mom-and-pop operation with homemade tamales, tortillas being cooked right in front of them on a big iron slab, and grilled fresh vegetables. Brady was in heaven. They passed on the margaritas and decided to each have one beer, remarking to the other how drastically things had changed.
“Riley, you’re—what?—thirty-eight? Thirty-nine?”
“Yep, I’m thirty-eight. Same as you.”
“Nope, I’ll be forty next year. I’m thirty-nine, one whole year older.”
“Well, Bones, I always knew you were an old man. You just keep getting better and better. Me? I’m going to stop aging next year. Or when I hit forty. That’s the last birthday I’ll ever have.”
The comment was odd because they were going to be in danger’s way soon. But he cleared his mind of any ill thoughts and decided to focus on the mission at hand.
“In the morning, I’d like to start asking some questions, carefully, see if we get any vibes as far as people who have noticed young girls missing. I’ve got some pictures I cut out of a couple of magazines we can be asking around about like we’re relatives or something.”
“That sounds good. Good cover anyway.”
“But tonight, I’d like to head over to the ranch. I had a name of El Padre Negro. I think that means the Black Priest Ranch. Do you know anything about it?” asked Brady.
“No. Never heard of it. But I’ll bet somebody in town has. We’ll find it.”
They walked through several bars in the outskirts on their way back to the motel, stopping to pretend to drink a beer but mostly trying to gather information. They showed the pictures around, sometimes going together, sometimes going separately, and eventually found a young Hispanic waitress who knew where the ranch was located. She gave instructions in part English and part Spanish, but Riley was able to cobble together enough of an instruction so they could head in that direction.
They came upon a compound bordered by chain link fence with razor wire on top, which to Brady was a dead giveaway. In the distance, lights shined on one long metal warehouse with its doors open, revealing several large vehicles inside, including a camper and a school bus. Nearby, several shipping containers were parked along with trucks and large farm equipment. A ranch style home sat in the middle of the compound, surrounded by large trees. It didn’t take them long to notice that the grounds were patrolled with men carrying automatic weapons.
“Are you feeling what I’m feeling?” asked Brady.
“Hell yes. I’m going to recommend that we get some drones, and we get some eyes on these folks. We’re going to have to watch the comings and goings, log that in. But you and I out here, we’re too exposed. We need more numbers. Don’t you think?” Riley answered.
“Yep. My thoughts exactly.”
Brady created a rough sketch of the layout of the compound. They were able to pace off two of the sides and estimated the whole area was roughly five acres. A small orchard to one side had seen better days. A filbert or walnut orchard of some kind and citrus trees were closer to the house. They noticed a large cornfield and several coops containing fowl, mostly chickens but other species as well. The whole compound was not very tidy, with broken pieces of equipment and vehicles allowed to rust in the hot sun of the Central Valley. Unlike some of the orchards and farms in the Fresno area, this one had fallen on hard times. But it did contain a large warehouse and have shipping containers, which was something they were particularly interested in, since it could transport their human trafficking cargo.
Back at the motel, they retired for the evening and planned to return North to meet the rest of their crew.
In the morning, Brady struck up a conversation with the desk clerk.
“Have you ever heard of a gentleman who lives down here named Esquivel Rojas?”
The young man was obviously affected by the name but shook his head mutely.
“How about your folks? You have more family staying here?”
“¡Sí! My family lives here. My grandfather owns this motel, and my parents run the restaurant next door. But I do not know this man.”
The young clerk appeared to be about twenty years of age with a light dusting of facial hair, barely out of high school. His eyes shifted from side to side as he spoke, giving Brady the distinct impression he was lying through his teeth.
“So the ranch in Selma, the Padre Negro, we understand this man owns the ranch?” asked Riley.
“I don’t know who owns the rancho, but they are from Mexico. I believe the owners have a nice house downtown in Fresno, in the Pruneyard area?”
“That’s a nice older neighborhood in Fresno, big houses, very expensive,” Riley said, nodding his head to Brady and the young man, who also indicated he agreed.
“Okay, thank you.” Brady handed the young man twenty dollars, and the boy pushed it back in Brady’s direction.
“No, Señor, I am just trying to be hospitable. I don’t know much about anything about the ranch, except that I have heard my parents talk about the owner living sometimes in that neighborhood. He never comes here. You will never see him here or at the restaurant. That’s my understanding anyway.”
Realizing he had probably said too much, the boy excused himself and left the desk unattended. Brady turned to Riley.
“We’ll do a little scouting, and then let’s head north. That suit you?”
“I can’t wait to get out of here.” Riley was the first to exit the door. Brady retrieved Tate from their room, left the keys inside, and loaded their gear. The three of them drove off.
Chapter 4
The short trip Brady and Riley made from Selma to Fresno was highlighted with increasing numbers of warehouses and business signs the closer they got to Fresno. The rural feel of the small Central Valley town was completely erased as they entered the outskirts of Fresno proper.