The American Beach - La Spiaggia Americana

One day, Bigfoot and two other members, Frank and Eddie, took Jerry to a large two-story house a mile and a half down a dirt road off Moson Road in Hereford. It was built on ten acres. Several cars, SUVs, trucks, and bikes were parked around it. Backing their bikes near some others, they sauntered in. Inside, it looked like a bordello out of some movie. Most of the girls were Hispanic. Seeing the look in Jerry’s eyes, Bigfoot said, “We make money off of some of this trash. When they don’t make money one way, we sell ’em to someone else. That don’t work, we haul ’em back over the border.”
A middle-aged Caucasian woman, more modestly dressed than the younger girls, approached deferentially. “The new girls came in last night. The six they’re replacing are ready for movement.”
Eddie said, “I can move them in two days. LA or Vegas?”
“Vegas. That new joint is paying better’n top dollar for Latinas who provide a special something more. We’ll get an extra five bucks (five hundred) for both of the specials.” Looking at Frank, he said, “Make sure their papers are in order.”
Jerry hoped his wire was transmitting all of this. Drugs are one thing. Forcing people into vans for a run to the border is another. Neither is good, but this sounds like human trafficking for sex work. Even worse, if “specials” means what I think it does, they’re prostituting underage girls. I absolutely draw the line there. I’ve got to get those girls out of here!
Clamping a beefy hand on Jerry’s shoulder, Bigfoot said, “Boy, ya eva been in a cathouse? We gonna get a couple of these girls to treat you right. First, that prospect tag’s comin’ off; ya earned yer cut.” As Bigfoot guided him up a staircase, Jerry saw Eddie and Frank take a seat in a couple of oversized chairs, pulling a pair of half-dressed, giggling girls onto their laps.
Opening a door, Bigfoot ushered him into a room. Inside, six Hispanic girls were chained in cages. Two of them were definitely younger than the others. Bigfoot encouraged him, and leering at one of the girls, he said, “Go on. Pick one of these beauties. Have fun. Meantime, I think I’m gonna get me a piece of this.” The very concept of a hulking man of his size molesting a much younger girl turned Jerry’s stomach.
He was about to do something foolhardy when one of the girls opened her eyes and saw Jerry. She stopped crying long enough to whimper, “Jerry, help me! Help us! I’m Tina. Pastor Carlos is my father. I’m Marisol’s sister. You’re an MP. Help me!”
Drawing a four-inch blade from a belt pouch, Bigfoot spun on his heal and lunged at Jerry, screaming obscenities. “Yer a cop? I can’t believe I let ya play me. Yer buddies won’t recognize ya when I’m done. Jerry just barely dodged the ox of a man who outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds. He was surprised how quickly the other guy could move. Now he understood why Bigfoot was known for his hands and knife work. The tae kwon do training from Jerry’s youth, unused, unpracticed for more than seven years, slowly kicked in. He didn’t go for his Beretta. While shooting might end the immediate problem, it would bring others, others with guns. Stray bullets might find one or more of the girls. During the struggle, he kept repeating the distress call and wondering how long until help would arrive.
Bigfoot connected more than once, but somehow Jerry managed to knock him out. He released Tina and then used her restraints to secure his prisoner. He then gagged him before freeing the other girls. He strictly warned them to silence before passing out.
Jerry struggled back to consciousness in the Tucson Medical Center’s ER. A flight-for-life crew had flown him to Tucson’s University Medical Center while EMTs worked on him. 1SG Barrington and SFC Booker arrived about a half hour after Jerry regained consciousness. Barrington told him how proud she was of him and thanked him for the job he had done. Jerry expressed concern for blowing his cover, only to have Booker stress, “You didn’t blow your cover. It isn’t your fault that young girl knew you and cried out for help from someone she trusted.”
His dad and Ingrid flew in the next day. During the two weeks he spent in the hospital, he was visited by those who knew his true identity. SSG Reyes’s visit was one Jerry looked forward to. When he came, Reyes barked playfully. “Get your lazy rear end out of that bed! Stop faking and get back to work, Soldier. I’m grilling up some steaks, and I have a large one with your name on it.”
For Jerry, the operation was over, his cover blown. He had learned a lot, and not just about the case. Debriefing the case with the CID agents who took over the investigation gave Jerry a sense of accomplishment. Approximately fifty soldiers involved in the nativist group, along with twenty who were riding with the FoD, were identified and disciplined. Fifteen girls, several of whom were underage, were rescued. While his quandary remained, “Was the deceit made necessary by working undercover a sin or not? Did the end justify the means?” he knew he could work as a UC should the need arise in the future.
Six weeks after the fight, Jerry returned to duty. In the intervening time, 1SG Barrington, assisted by recently promoted SSG Leroy Johnson, and SFC Booker compiled the paperwork for Jerry’s CID application and forwarded it through channels. Jerry was awarded the Soldier’s Medal, the highest military decoration for heroism not involving conflict with an enemy, for his actions in saving the girls.