Charity

What you give is what you get.

Photo by Sean Mungur on Unsplash

The ad said she was nineteen. And like everything else in the ad, it was a lie. The eyes were a giveaway. They always were. It why was most of the ads on “MeetMeCute.com” didn’t show the faces of the girls that they called “models”. Usually shots of legs, rear-ends, and stomachs with just a hint of cleavage were the norm for photos in the ads. Few faces. Because with a shot of just a girls’ legs – paired with a turgid description of how Alexandra, 20, was just dying to meet you and “party” – any internet consumer could convince himself that the girl in the ad was a real-life consenting adult. And not a child.

Dale Parker was drawn to the ad with Charity’s picture because of her eyes. Despite her attempt to look sexy, tough, and over eighteen in the picture, her eyes gave her away. The way they always did.

“Sweet” Charity, 19, is always up for some fun play! Girlfriend experience guaranteed. Meet for a date and see what happens there! But be warned, she’s got a dirty mind!

The ad then gave a phone number to text. You were always to text. Never to call. Dale knew the rules. He had been doing this for a while.

Hi Charity, Dale texted, would love to see you. Any availability?

Dale used pre-paid burner phone to text over an internet-based phone number. The number wasn’t a land line or a cell phone line, it only existed through a website in the Philippines. The number was untraceable. After a month he’d get a new burner phone and destroy the old one. It paid to be careful. After sending his opening text to Charity, he put the phone down and waited. He made some coffee. May be a long night, he thought.

He was halfway through the cup when the burner phone buzzed on the table.

Sure babe!!!! Would love 2CU2!!! 2nite?

The word “love” was actually a heart emoji. Dale responded: Outcall ok?

On the other end of the text exchange Charity “hearted” his message about the outcall and texted him an address. She then texted him:

75/100

Dale considered the options for a moment. If he asked for an hour of Charity’s time at $100, it may attract unwanted attention. Customers with more cash usually did. He had set up this part of his life to avoid all attention. He decided to go with the lower price. It didn’t really matter because he had no intention of paying anyway. He texted back:

75.

Charity told him to come at 11:30 p.m., which was still two hours away and the waiting was terrible. Dale hated to wait. Especially for something like this. His mind ran to all sorts of places – dark places – and he wished he hadn’t drank the coffee earlier. His nerves jangled and he noticed his left knee was bouncing as he sat, considering and re-considering his plan of action. Finally, about an hour before he was supposed to meet Charity, he got his keys and got into his car. Before he left his home, he knelt down over the German shepherd who was sleeping on a bed near the fireplace. Dale rubbed the dog’s head who looked up at him with inquisitive eyes.

“I know, Hutch. I’ll be careful.” Hutch yawned in approval and laid his head back down on his bed.

Dale’s thoughts on the drive to the hotel were consumed with Charity. He considered all the angles. Her background. Her experiences. There were a lot of unknowns in this kind of work. A lot depended on the girl. It was something he’d had to accept when he started doing this. Whatever it was he was doing. Sometimes he didn’t even know himself. He drove a beige, ten-year-old Toyota Camry; it was the very definition of ‘non-descript’. The kind of car you saw every day and never remembered once it was gone. A few miles from the hotel he pulled into weathered strip center where an auto parts store, a low-end clothing shop, and a now-closed Chinese restaurant sat among several vacant storefronts. Dale circled the entire center once looking for external surveillance cameras. Seeing none, he parked, popped the trunk, and got out. He replaced the Camry’s license plate with a temporary tag that he had acquired from a buddy at a Ford dealership.

With the Camry’s new identity applied, Dale started his initial surveillance track around the motel where he would meet Charity. The Regal Inn was a squat, stuccoed, trash pile of a hotel. It was ringed by blazing mercury vapor lights that bathed the half-full parking lot in an industrial amber glow. Dale drove slowly around the Regal Inn, taking note of cars parked on the street and those in nearby business lots. He worked his way closer to the motel parking lot, only finally pulling in when he had satisfied himself that there were no undercover police cars lurking in the side streets or in the lot itself. Cops were to be avoided at all costs. He pulled the Camry into a spot at the far back corner of the parking lot and turned the ignition off. As the he listened to the tick tick of the engine cooling down – early October had brought a slight chill to the Nashville air – he continued to observe the parking lot.

The Regal Inn had two floors, each room had an exterior door, and there was a stairwell on either corner of the building. The motel’s office was at the far right corner as Dale looked at it. A bored desk clerk sat inside, looking at his phone. The room number Charity had given him, Room 206, was facing Brick Church Pike. This was both a positive and negative. It was a positive in that Dale could effectively scope out the room from his position in the parking lot; had her room been on the backside of the hotel that would have been far more difficult. It was a negative in that the room faced the street which raised the prospect of more potential witnesses; a room on the back side would have limited the possibilities of Dale being spotted going in or coming out of Room 206.  

A raggedly looking Cadillac Escalade was parked near the stairwell to the left, the stairwell closest to Charity’s room. It was cream colored and glazed with grime, somehow its gaudy gold trim still glinted in the artificial light. Dale watched the Escalade further. Someone was in the car. That would be a complication though not a wholly unexpected one for Dale. No matter how many times he did this, there was always a complication. He never knew what form the complication would take but it would rise with the same certainty as the sun rising in the East. It helped to know about it ahead of time. He looked at his watch and started the Camry. It was time.

Dale turned off the headlights and glided through the parking lot, barely touching the gas with his Wolverine work boot. Finally, when he was seven spots away from the Escalade in the motel parking lot, he turned off the ignition and got out of the Camry. He deliberately went to the stairwell furthest away from Room 206 and, as he walked the second floor landing from the stairwell to Charity’s room, he looked down through the windshield of the Escalade. A man sat in the driver’s seat. Cornrows and a goatee. Focused on his phone. Dale couldn’t tell if the man was White or Black. Not that it mattered. There was an opportunity that the man in the Escalade wouldn’t see him go into 206 and that would be a crucial advantage if he could capitalize on it.

Instead of knocking on the door to Room 206, Dale grabbed the knob and turned it, pushing it forward as he did so, half-waiting for the sensation of the door slamming against the safety catch that could alert the man the Escalade. To his relief the door opened easily, and he stepped inside, closing it behind him. Locking it. He could not be sure if the man in the Escalade had seen him.

“Hey! You’re supposed to knock!” Her voice was young but weatherbeaten and slightly scratchy. Getting over a cold, perhaps. No one to make her chicken soup. Dale’s eyes flicked towards her as he surveyed the room. She was dressed in a mini-skirt and tube top, her brown hair was down over her exposed shoulders. Her almost pretty face was caked in cheap makeup that he presumed was designed to make her look older. She was barefoot and Dale couldn’t see any shoes in the room. No shoes would make it harder for her to run, he knew. A small clutch leaned against an ancient television on the dresser. She was standing between the beds, one of which was made and one of which wasn’t. The clear reason why the bed was unmade made Dale’s stomach turn. He said nothing but walked past her to where the bathroom was at the back of the hotel room.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” She said, concern staring to rise in her voice. The bathroom door was open, and the light was on. Dale looked inside, saw no one, stepped inside to confirm it, and turned to face the girl. It was just the two of them.

Despite the heavy make-up job and the suggestive clothing, it was obvious she was around fifteen years old. Sixteen at the outside, but Dale doubted it.

“Are we gonna party or what baby?” The girl’s tone was uncertain, and her hand was poised over her phone. Nothing about this encounter had gone like she expected it to so far and if Dale had his way, it never would again. Dale sensed her unease and sat down slowly on the edge of the made bed. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled it.

“Please don’t call him.” His voice was gentle.

“What?”

“The man in the Escalade. Please don’t call him. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The girl was stunned but recovered quickly.

“If you’re a cop, I didn’t do anythin’—”

“I’m not a cop.”

“Look man, I don’t know what this is but—”

“Where are you from?”

“What?”

“You heard me.” His voice was even. Paternal. “Where are you from?”

“This is the most fucked up date I’ve ever had.” But her voice was less panicked. Even more encouraging, she tossed the phone on the unmade bed and sat down on it, still a few feet from him but letting her guard down a little.

“It’s not a hard question,” he pursued.

“Ohio,” she whispered.

“I’ve been to Ohio. Parts of it are nice. Where in Ohio?”

“You’ve never heard of it.”

“Try me.”

“Lakemore.”

He thought for a second, even rubbed his jaw melodramatically. Then he looked at her and smiled. “You’re right. I’ve never heard of it.”

“Told ya.” He sensed a hint of a smile in her voice.

“How long?”

“How long what?” Her voice was quiet, but her eyes glazed over for a moment.

“You know what I’m asking.” He said, simply.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said, crossing her arms. Defensive. “These sound like cop questions.”

“I’m just wondering where you met him. And how long he’s been doing this to you.”

“Who?”

“The man in the Escalade. I know what he is.” His voice was firm but warm. Without elaboration he conveyed that he knew who the man in the Escalade was in her life. But that he really had no idea of the hell she’d been through.

“That’s my boyfriend,” she said, still defensive. Even threw her shoulders back, just to show him. Always the boyfriend, Dale thought. Shit never changes.

“My daughter had a boyfriend once,” he began, reaching into his pocket for a phone. She tensed immediately and he put his other hand out in an effort to signal to her she was safe. From him, at least. He pushed the phone out to her so she could see his lock screen. It was the picture of a young girl, almost fifteen years old. She was wearing a Taylor Swift shirt and a dazzling smile under about ten pounds of blondish-brown curls.

“Hannah,” he said. As if that explained it. Though in a way it did. All of it. “She had a boyfriend. Derrick. He was older. One day she skipped school. When I called her, she just sent me a text.” His smile was wan. “Don’t worry, daddy.” He rubbed his jaw again. “Cops said that Derrick had been busted in Georgia for trafficking young girls. He was on the run from a parole officer.” He looked at the girl sitting on the bed across from him. He shrugged.

“She’s pretty.” The girl said. She didn’t know what else to say.

“She is pretty,” Dale agreed. “That’s from three years ago. I bet she’s prettier now.”

They sat in silence for a moment before the girl asked, in a soft voice: “Did she die?”

“I don’t know. I hope not. But I don’t know for sure. She stopped texting me four months after she left. I haven’t heard from her since.” Dale looked at her directly. “I was hoping you might help me find her.”

“Me?” Her voice incredulous, her hands reacting with surprise.  

“I know that girls who are…doing what you’re doing, meet other girls. See other girls. Travel together. That kind of thing.” He looked at her expectantly. “I ask girls like you if they’ve seen her.”

“I swear I’ve never seen her before,” the girl replied, her voice quivering. He could see tears start to well up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry I haven’t.” She started to cry.

Dale’s shoulders sagged. After all the times he’d done this, he knew he shouldn’t be disappointed. These approaches were always long shots. But the disappointments were the cost of his hope. That one day he’d find the right girl and that would lead him to his girl. Now, he turned to feed that hope by giving it to someone else.

“Listen, you can—” he started to say to the girl. He didn’t get any further. The pounding on the door sounded like an explosion that shook the room.

“Charity! The fuck going on in there?” The male voice on the other side of the door was loud. Hostile. The girl looked at him with fear.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Dale asked calmly, getting to his feet.

“What?”

“CHARITY!” The voice on the other side of the door was getting more agitated. “I ain’t playing with you, girl! Swear to god I’m not.” There was the sound of the person outside turning the doorknob.

“I said, do you want to get out of here?” There was a strength in his voice that she hadn’t heard in ages. If she’d ever really heard it. The pounding on the door continued. “Running out of time, kid,” he submitted. Finally, the girl nodded, a quick and frightened nod. Dale moved to the area behind the door, reached out and flipped the door lock. The door burst open, and tonight’s complication surged into the hotel room.

“Tha fuck goin’ on—”

The cold steel of the barrel of Dale’s .45 caliber Colt semi-automatic pistol was pressed roughly under the man’s left ear and pointed upwards towards his brain pan. On the grip of the gun was a carving of the Marine Corps emblem, marking it as a relic from another, earlier time in Dale’s life. But Mr. Complication couldn’t see that. Or Dale for that matter.

“Don’t.” Dale’s voice was an icy command given when Mr. Complication tried to turn his head and see who was holding him at gunpoint.  

“Who the fuck are you man?”

“Nobody.” Dale reached down and, with his gun pressed firmly against Mr. Complication’s skull, he patted him down and pulled a cheap 9mm pistol out of the man’s waistband. “I’ll take this.”

“You a cop? I know my rights man. This entrapment, man. We ain’t even doin’ nothin’ man.”

“If you’re not doing nothing, it’s not entrapment.”

“What?”

“Never mind. We’re leaving. Charity and me. Now.”

“Tha fuck you are.”

In one motion, Dale kicked one of the man’s legs out from under him and pushed them to the ground with his free hand. He kept the pistol pointed against Mr. Complication’s head and pressed it hard against his skull.

“Alright, alright, alright man. Okay, okay, easy…” Mr. Complication pleaded. Without taking his eyes of the man on the floor, Dale said:

“Charity there’s a brown car out there. A small one. Go get in it. Now.” He sensed her hesitation and repeated: “Now, please.” He felt her push past them and out the door.

“You don’t know who you fuckin’ with man.”

“That’s what they all say.”

A few minutes later, Dale and the girl were driving away from the Regal Inn.

“Did you…” she couldn’t finish her question. He shook his head anyway.

“Nope. Gun’s not loaded.”

He could feel her shocked eyes on him. After several minutes of silence, he asked:

“What’s your name? Your real name?”

“Anna.”

“Anna. That’s a pretty name.” A moment later he added: “Anyone safe you can stay with? If that’s not the home you grew up in,” their eyes met and he sensed it wasn’t, “then may be with a friend.” Anna considered that for a moment.

“My friend Marcie. I still text with her some. But she lives in Ohio.”

“That’s okay.” He tapped the dashboard gently and smiled. “This car will make it to Ohio.”

“Do you do this a lot?” Anna asked. “With young girls?”

“Too often.”

They fell silent for a long time as the car hurtled North. He texted his neighbor to check in on Hutch. She was used to it. So was Hutch. They knew that last two years of searching had been long ones for Dale.

For a moment Dale thought she was sleeping but when he looked over at her, he saw her looking out the window with something approaching wonderment. He had seen it before. Anna had a long road ahead of her, he knew. But her eyes held the prospect of a future that hadn’t been there an hour ago. He sighed.

Anna. It was close to Hannah. Maybe that was a sign. As the road stretched out before him, Dale decided that whatever it meant, he’d take it.