fuonlyknew

Welcome to my stop on the tour for Battle Not With Monsters by Overton Scott.

The author has chosen a hot topic for his story. Human trafficking is going on as we speak. It’s in every corner of the world.

Stories like this are important. While it is fiction, it still gets the point across. It still opens our eyes to this horrible crime and the innocent, tragic victims.

Neen sounds up to the task of handling the creeps. They are lower than pond scum and I hope she gives them everything they have coming to them.

Monsters come in human form too.

Synopsis

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Check out this thrilling excerpt!

The first strip joint was called The Canyon and it occupied a large building designed to resemble a ranch house in the Texas hill country. The exterior was clad in faux limestone, with a stylized front porch crowned by fake dormer windows and supported by massive cedar logs. The double doors were made of faded wooden planks, with heavy iron horseshoes as handles.

Neen pulled the Toyota into a parking space, killed the engine and sat for a few minutes watching the action. The lot was crowded with cars. Groups of men in business suits, ties loosened and collars spread, ambled toward the door. Neen had never been in a strip joint, and didn’t know any women who had. What little she knew about clubs like this came from movies or books. The business seemed sordid and demeaning to women, which meant that Neen had never once considered that she would one day find herself in the parking lot of such a place.

Nor had she ever imagined she’d be asking whether a blonde-haired prostitute worked there.

She’d spent the drive debating just how to go about doing that. She could hardly walk in and ask to speak to the manager about a dead girl. Questioning employees would bring the manager in a hurry. And Neen didn’t even know if she’d be allowed in the club. Other women were going in, but they were part of a group. Would a single woman be admitted?

There was another reason to stay out of the building. The man who had killed Ray and the girl, who had tried to kill her, might be in one of these clubs. Or someone associated with him might be there. These were bad people, Jo Easterly had said. Neen didn’t want to run into them. Not yet.

She looked around the parking lot. Single guys walking hurriedly to the door. Groups of men headed in the same direction, moving at a more leisurely pace, laughing and joking. No pale, thin-faced assassin in sight.

Neen got out of the Toyota and walked briskly across the lot, angling toward the entrance. Two young women manned the door. One blonde. One redhead. Both attractive. They wore white lace tops, little more than a bra, and pale blue cowboy hats with white bands. Despite the ferocious heat, they were decked out in pale blue chaps and white cowboy boots. Both girls were sweating freely.

When Neen was ten yards from the door, the blonde beauty spotted her. Her smile faltered slightly.

“Hey,” said Neen, grinning.

The blonde returned the smile automatically, but Neen saw confusion in her eyes. She glanced at her co-worker with an imploring look.

The redhead reacted. Up close, in the lurid light, Neen could see the lines at the corner of her eyes, the wrinkles just starting to get a toe-hold around her mouth. She was clearly the leader of this two-woman unit. A little older than the blonde, and a lot more experienced at handling customers.

She slid two steps sideways and leaned casually against the door, blocking Neen’s access. Her smile was blinding, but brittle.

“Are you meeting someone here?” she asked.

“No.”

“I’m sorry. We don’t allow unescorted women inside.”

“That’s okay. I don’t want to go in. Can I ask you guys a question?”

Three men strolled up, arguing about the Cowboys’ chances this season. They broke off their conversation to stare at Neen, then shouldered past her. The redhead glided smoothly out of their way, opening the door with a flourish. White teeth gleamed.

“Welcome to The Canyon, gentlemen. Enjoy yourselves.”

The door swung shut behind the group. The redhead turned her attention to Neen.

“Are you a reporter? Because if you are, you’ve got to talk to the owner.”

“I’m not a reporter. I’m trying to find someone.”

“If you’re looking for your husband, you’ll have to wait outside.”

“I don’t have a husband. Or a boyfriend. I’m not here to make a scene, if that’s what worries you.”

“Good. So, who are you looking for?”

“A Russian girl I met at a party.”

The two girls exchanged sly smiles. No husband. No boyfriend. And looking for a hot Russian dancer. The implications were obvious.

Neen waved away their suspicions. “It’s nothing like that. Her purse was identical to mine. When I got home from the party, I found I had picked up hers by mistake. I assume she has mine. The guy who threw the party says she works at one of the clubs on Stemmons, but he can’t remember which one. So, here I am.”

Neen had run through a half-dozen scenarios that would justify her questions. The dead girl had been a friend and Neen had lost touch with her. Or the girl was a fellow student at a local community college who had dropped out of class. Neen could claim that she was worried about the girl and wanted to find her to see how she was doing. But Neen didn’t want to claim too close a relationship with the girl. A friend would know where the girl lived. A classmate would hardly be expected to be concerned about a casual acquaintance. Neen had thought the story about switching purses was the best option. She wouldn’t have to claim a familiarity with the girl that she didn’t have. The story wasn’t perfect, but none of the others had been either.

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Author Overton Scott

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