Ernesto dragged the younger girl out through the service exit and shoved her into the back of a waiting car. I followed on a bike I summoned from my inventory, keeping a safe distance.
He pulled up behind a posh bar and guided the girl out by hand.
"Wait!" she said suddenly. "I—I don't think I want to do this anymore."
Ernesto shot her a harsh look. "You agreed to this. Too late for second thoughts."
He dragged her through the club's back entrance, waved in by two burly men who didn't so much as flinch at the scene. I slipped in behind them, cloaking myself in the corridor's shadows. I resisted the urge to tranq the guards and placed a call to Artemis instead.
"Julius?" she sounded surprised. "You're calling... after Metropolis?"
"Let's sort out our drama another time," I said, briskly. "I'm sending over a recording now. Something big is going down in Laredo, and I need someone I can trust to blow it wide open."
"Laredo?" she repeated. "What are you doing at the border?"
"You want the tip or not?" I snapped. "There are basements full of undocumented migrants, underaged girls being trafficked, and corruption oozing from every corner of this over-developed cesspool."
"Oh…" she trailed off.
"Call me back when you get ahold of him."
When I caught up to Ernesto, he was in a back room with Maria. She inspected the girl like a prized horse at auction.
"She's underdeveloped, even for a fifteen-year-old."
"I thought that was the point?" Ernesto replied dryly.
Maria reached for the girl's jaw, but she jerked away. "I… I want to go back. I've changed my mind."
Maria raised a brow and glanced at Ernesto, who gave a small shrug. She slid closer, her long manicured nails resting lightly on the girl's shoulders. The girl flinched.
"You know," Maria said, circling her, "I started out when I was your age, in a place not so different from this. The men were rough. My boss was rougher. She didn't just buy our debt like I do—she owned us, body and soul. You can imagine what it took to crawl out of there alive."
She ran a finger across the girl's sleeve. "I'm fair to my girls. You earn your full fee the whole time you're here. A quarter goes to your debt, half to me, and the last quarter is yours. You can send it home, shoot it into your veins, or waste it on new clothes."
Her eyes drifted over the girl's worn clothing. She cupped the girl's face gently. "You won't have to fear ICE, or gangs, or the police. They all know you're mine. And I protect what's mine."
The girl's expression hardened. She pulled away.
"What happened to the last girl?" she asked, voice wavering.
"She left," Maria said with a sigh. "Paid off her debt and bolted from Laredo first chance she got. Can't say I blame her. Still, a shame to lose someone so talented."
"I—I still want to go back," the girl repeated.
Maria's face went cold, her voice flatter than ever. "What's your name, little girl?"
"Rose."
Maria gave a small, joyless smile.
"I thought you were smarter than that, Rose." She pulled a stack of bills from her pocket and handed them to Ernesto. Something flashed in Rose's eyes—betrayal, fear, and rage.
Maria whistled.
The door behind me clicked open. Two men entered—one heavyset, the other thin and wiry.
"You know what comes next," Maria said. "They don't have to hurt you."
The girl shrank back, panic in her eyes, tears brimming.
"You're monsters!"
"Survive long enough," Maria said, "and you'll become just like me."
"Not if I can help it," I said, materializing from the shadows with my fingers raised. Curtain unfurled like a wave, swallowing the room. Before it fully settled, the two enforcers were already fumbling for their guns. I tranqed them in the shoulder and neck.
I blurred forward and kicked Ernesto just as he reached for Rose. He slammed into the ceiling, cracking panelling, then collapsed in a heap.
I turned my gun on Maria before she could pull hers.
"You know," I said, "it takes a special kind of scum to trap underaged girls in the same nightmare she claims to have escaped. Or is that just another lie—like the one about the girl before Rose getting out?"
"You self-righteous fool," Maria spat. "She would've been safe. I would've made sure of it this time. Now she's dead to the only people who could've given her a life."
"I don't know if you heard her," I said, "but... she doesn't want to be you. Hell, I'm not sure you want to be you."
Ernesto groaned and moved, reaching for his gun. I stomped down on his neck, pinning him hard into the floor. He choked, and gurgled. I didn't ease up until he was blue in the face.
Rose and Maria looked pale.
"You're a dead man," Ernesto wheezed.
"Haven't you been paying attention?" I asked. "No one's coming. It's just the four of us in here, and I've got so many questions."
And the conversation? Enlightening.
Predictably, Maria didn't completely own the club—not in any way that mattered. The corporations backing her were just shell fronts, all tied to the same handful of cartels. They bought off locals, owned property up and down the coastline, and had the police running interference whenever they could get away with it.
I got names, locations, and the full picture of the operation. I recorded everything. Still, it took a few dangerous threats—specifically a syringe filled with a clear liquid I claimed was hemlock—to make Maria start talking. For someone pretending to be a boss, she folded fast.
Just as I wrapped up the interrogation, came a knock on the door—and Maria screamed. The knocking grew louder, but not for the reason she feared.
Ernesto and Maria had been in her office for nearly an hour by then, and not a sound had come from inside. Their phones had rung a dozen times, and I expected visitors.
I unlocked the door and cracked it open. Four men stood there. Only two had their guns drawn.
I lashed out, kicked the first one's weapon away, and sent him flying into the hallway with a strong palm to the chest. The crashed into the others and they tumbled like bowling pins. The second gunman recovered quickly and took aim, but I flicked a dagger straight through his hand. He dropped the weapon with a cry.
And I emptied my tranq gun into their bodies before they could react.
Surprisingly, one of them, despite taking three darts in his chest, staggered to his feet. He stumbled--clearly out of his mind with the quantity of chemicals flowing in his veins.
There was a flash of recognition in his eyes, and his eyes darted to the gun in the corner.
He took a dart to the throat before he even reached for the gun.
Then my phone rang.
Artemis.
She was calling again.
Batman was finally ready to talk.