Little Red

Human Trafficking is the worlds fastest growing criminal industry in the world today...

Malica Goran stirred in her sleep. It was another night of sweaty skin and sheets that clung desperately to the moisture. The particular environment didn't bother Goran, she had moved to Cleveland, Ohio from Serbia when she was eleven years old, and though it didn’t offer any considerable amount of humidity, when she was fifteen she moved with her family to Memphis, Tennessee. Goran remained in Memphis until she was 23, when she finally decided it was time to get away from home. She didn’t go far. Goran moved three hours north to Nashville, there, she joined the Tennessee Law Enforcement Academy and became a police officer.

 

When she was 25 she married, and divorced 4 years later when infidelity and abuse forced her away. After a few years of occasional and for the most part indistinguishable relationships Goran gave up and dedicated herself to the force, which eventually led her back to her first home. Or at least close to it.

 

Now at 1:24 am Goran slept soundly between her white 190 thread count sheets.  At 1:27 her phone began to ring, she opened her eyes slowly and tried to pretend the sound didn’t exist, or that the caller would change his or her mind, but after the fifth ring Goran forced herself up and over to the desk and picked up the phone.

        

         “Malica Goran,”

 

         “Malica, Imamo poprsje na otoku baru,” though she had begun to familiarize herself with what was, after Serbian, her native tongue the voice on the phone did not come naturally to Goran, and her brain buzzed for a moment, translating the words out, We have a bust at the island bar. The rough Croatian accent rang through the phone again, this time forcing out English words, “Goran, Did you get that? A bust, get your a*s down to the main offices, we’re leaving right now!” click.

 

         That was all Goran needed to wake herself up from her half-sleep, immediately she threw off her dirty t-shirt that listed off the Tennessee Peace Officer Standards and rushed to the closet to throw on her uniform. In seconds, she was ready and in the elevator down to the offices on the third floor. A bust. This is what Malica Goran had been waiting for since she arrived in Bosnia-Herzegovina. This was her chance to get the sick f*****g a******s that exploited and sold her people, the young girls that were her family and friends. This is what she had been waiting for.

 

         As soon as she arrived at the main offices five other men had gathered. This is a man’s sport. That is what she was often reminded since her arrival. You don’t belong here… but you are here.

        

         “Ready boys?” Goran’s head officer, Andelko Pavic, shoved Goran’s belt at her.

 

         “Hours ago, seems we're always waiting on the women,” Pavic winked at Goran and then returned to his harsh voice, speaking easily now in Croatian. “Let’s go,” He leads the group out of the offices. The elevator ride is quiet, and once the group exits the U.N building, Pavic’s voice breaks the silence, “Listen, this is the first bust we have had in a long time, and as for Goran and Jovanovic this is your first so I will take the time to brief you on the way there.” The black unmarked van sat on the curb waiting for its group, when they get to the doors they automatically slid open and Pavic showed his I.D.

 

         “I know who you are, “ says a smiling man that although in his late 30’s could pass for 23. On the way to the Island Bar Pavic began to brief Goran and Jovanovic on what is to be expected, “By the time we get there the police might already have the girls, we don’t want that. You know as well as I do that with them the girls will probably end right back in the bar tomorrow if they leave with the police. Our first objective is to get in there and check for any serious bodily harm; in that case we can take the girls without their consent. But remember this, if the girl does not give her consent, we can not, and I repeat cannot take them.”

 

         “Why in the hell not? We know what they are doing-“

 

         “Goran you know exactly why we can’t take them. Follow the rules, and don’t make me regret bringing you into my group.” Goran silenced herself, it was true, she knew why they couldn’t, but she couldn’t make herself believe it wasn’t just a bunch of bullshit. The only thing that kept her lips together was the fact that she knew that of all the men that surrounded her Pavic was the only one she could trust without a doubt, that he was one of the few that sincerely wanted to save these girls.

 

 

 

         The group of men arrived at the Island bar after 45 minutes of driving, and filed quickly out of the van. Instantly a flurry of Croatian, Serbian and even a few English words circulated through the air and met Goran’s eardrums. Pavic was right about the police, but fortunately, Goran thought, they must have just arrived. Or they are simply extremely inefficient. Likely. Only a few girls stood outside in tattered clothing, a few more were led out by men in solid blue uniform that didn’t match Goran’s and her team. Two men with uniforms with the green striped sleeves like her own argued with the police as they attempt to check the girls for any sign of injury. Pavic stood by car with a blazing siren speaking to a man in a suit that didn’t fit that of the police or the team Goran arrived with.

 

         “Goran. Malic Goran! Get over here.” Goran obediently rushed over to Pavic and shook hands with the man that stood a good twelve inches taller than she. Another man, closer to Goran’s height, rushed up beside her and gives her an arrogant smile.

 

         “This is Dr. Jozo Vukovic,” Pavic says motioning towards the taller man, “He is the doctor we have called to give us the legitimate legal authority we need to take any of the women that he deems in need of immediate medical care. The damned police have already taken two girls to the station and the man that that allegedly ran the place so I don’t have time to go into the bar and do any scene investigating with you. Goran, I’m giving you orders to go in with officer Nikola Blagojevic, this isn’t his first time and he knows what he’s doing. If there is anything to find Blagojevic will find it,” Pavic gave Blagojevic a nod and places his hand on Goran’s shoulder, “You understand this isn’t going to be the glory you have been dreaming of don’t you Malica?” Goran nods and looked towards Blagojevic.

 

         “I’m ready,” Pavic frowned and walked off with Dr. Vukovic.

 

 

         Goran knew it wouldn’t be the lap of luxury, but what she saw before her was nothing like what she had expected. The room was dimly lit, its wallpaper falling off the walls like unpinned fabric falling off a mannequin. Two Police officers eyed Goran and Blagojevic, both dressed in U.N uniforms, suspiciously. They pushed the four girls surrounding them into a line and around the toppled tables, and through broken bottles of beer. One of the girls was fortunate enough to have a pair of flip flops under her feet, the other three fair haired girls tip-toed through the maze of broken glass.

 

         “Premještanje kurve! Premjestiti!” Move w****s! Move! One of the men yelled, pushing a short timid girl through the mess. As the police officers passed Goran and Blagojevic one, that seemed obviously drunk to Goran, spat on Blagojevic’s shoes. The others laughed. Not a muscle on Blagojevic’s face made even the slightest movement towards contempt. Goran wanted to pounce on the man and beat him with the nightstick that he jabbed into one girl’s side before he hollered with laughter and resumed making his crude remarks with the others. Soon after the men left, the bar feel silent and only Goran and Blogojevic were left to fill the space.

 

         “Over here,” Blagojevic moves towards a board scattered with pictures of girls that look to be past out being held up by ropes and taunted by men. Without looking at any of them Blagojevic whips an accordion folder out of his bag and begins stripping the pictures off the board, putting them into one of the pockets. Goran attempted to catch a glimpse of the atrocities he stuffs into his folder by threes, but he is done in seconds.

 

         “Follow me,” Blagojevic again moves swiftly from the room and down a hallway towards a beaten green door.

 

         “Wait! We have barely finished looking in-“ Blagojevic turns around and peers at Goran.

 

         “Look if there is anything to find, I found it. We are a dozen to one in terms of experience and I know what and where there will be anything to find.” Blagojevic laughs in Gorans face, “You don’t get it do you Goran? This is all a game. It’s a game of cat and mouse where that cat will never catch that mouse, not because it can’t to catch it, but because it doesn’t want to. That what you need to get Goran, in this world the cat is really just another filthy mouse,” Blagojevic looks down at her with a self-rightous look in his eyes, “And another thing you haven’t seemed to get while you're here is the lying game that is played round the clock. That what we all do, we lie. We play a game where we tell a whole bunch of bullshit stories to the world, to ourselves, and the women we have come to save. We can't save any of them, they are trapped in this cycle and they wont get out unless their heart stops beating. In the end they will be either useless crack w****s, or dead.”

 

         “You Bas-“

 

         “Don’t f**k with yourself Goran. I am not going to pretend I didn’t come into this world with the same damn attitude you have now, with the idea we are going to catch the sick f***s that torture girls, but I learned fast, and so will you.” With that Blagojevic turned on his hills and walked back towards the end of the hall. Again, Goran’s lips were tied together, but this time she wasn’t sure why.

 

         Blagojevic opened the green door into a dark room, instantly the strong smell of urine and sex saturate inside their noses and made Goran cringe. The only light in the room came from a dimly lit light bulb that hung alone at the end of a wire at the far end of the room. Both the officers were forced to make use of their flashlights in order to make out anything in the room. Once they had, the conditions inside of the room became illuminated. What Goran saw silence even her thoughts, what she was seeing here could not compare to what she saw in the previous room. What she saw was not a place meant for a human being. Three mattresses lain strewn on the floor, each with stains of red and deep browns. Next to each were plastic bowls filled with dark urine, one was tipped over and its contents in a large puddle being soaked into the dust on the floor and absorbed into the corner of the mattress. The smell inside the room was overwhelmingly strong, and Goran gagged numerous times as she watched Blagojevic kick through the cuffs, ropes, and other devices of bondage scattered on the floor.

 

         Blagojevic grunted as lifted the mattresses and focused his flashlight on the ground they had covered. Once by one he walked around the room and kneeled down to examine something that Goran could not make out herself.

        

         “Why don’t you start on that side,” Blagojevic said as he walked trudged through the mess of glass and cigarette buds, motioning towards the wall. He began tearing off the paper, and Goran quickly picked up her feet and followed his example. She heard the lens of Blagojevic’s camera focus and snap a picture. Goran couldn’t understand why but pulled off piece by piece. Soon she saw what seemed to be multiple cat scratches on the wall, she shined her light on them and realized that the markings were in fact words.

 

 

I am fifteen. I was not even told a story like the others, just stolen from my only home by the people I thought I could trust.

 

                  I was going to be a teacher, the only thing I needed was a job to get started.

 

I wasn’t going to be anything. Maybe this is what had been planned for me?

 

Goran focuses her eyes further down on the wall and again copies Blagojevic’s motion of tearing off the wallpaper. Goran looked at the wall and noticed multiple entries that had been made in similar handwriting. She grazed her fingers along what marks in the wall, they were elegant, as much as they could be having been carved into the wall. The passages had been written like journal entries, only marked by date with dashes. Goran recognized the words were in Bosnian and forced herself slowly read the text.

 

 

                I

 

Today I saw a girl get shot in the face five times because she refused to give a man a blowjob. She kept shouting at him. I have a sickness! I have a sickness! And this wasn’t a lie, you could see the sickness on her face,. It was impossible not to see the blisters on the corners of her lips. But this wasn’t any excuse for the b*****d. He left, and just minutes later the boss came to the back and shot the girl in the face. Then two men dragged her away

 

II

     

      My father. Do you remember when we used to go to the playground when I was just your little one and I would go on the merry-go-round? You would spin me faster and faster. I would scream for you to stop but you would keep spinning. I hated you as much as a little girl could hate her best friend. But you always knew right when to stop it, and when you did I could never stop laughing. You always knew right when to stop. I feel like that now. The world is turning around me so fast around me and I need you more than ever. Its time for you to stop the spinning! IF ONLY YOU WERE HERE TO STOP THE SPINNING. Samo ako ste bili ovdje da se zaustavi sve vrti.

     

mala crvena

 

         “Little red,” Goran whispers to herself. She traces her fingers along the letters and holds back the tears. You are here. She says to herself in her mind. Goran looks around the four walls that surround her and wiped away a tear that had escaped. “Blagojevic, over here.” She says in a crackled voice. He looks up and takes his arm out of a hole in the wall that had been covered by the wallpaper. Out of it he brings a deep purple duffel bag the size of a backpack. He walks over to Goran with the bag and a handful of small booklets in his hands.

 

         “What is it?”

 

         “There entries from the girls, look there is even one about a girl who had been shot in the face. Wasn’t there " “ Blagojevic raises his hand and bends down beside Goran, shining his light on the passages. He reads the one about the murdered girl aloud and then skims through another passage written by the girl who called herself little red.

 

                III

     

      Today two men, Americans, a short blonde and a red head, shoved coins in another girl’s privates, then kicked a bowl of urine on to her. Her eye was swollen from the fist of the other. The man that kicked the urine turned to me and winked. He asked me if I had any change for a few fenings. I shook my head and laid my head back down on the floor and cried.

 

            IIII

 

      It’s about time for the spinning to stop. Only I think you have come to late this time. Signed sincerely. Your little red.

 

      “Couldn’t any of this help?” Goran speaks up, looking eagerly at the man next to her staring with a blank face at the engraved wall. He shook his head.

 

         “None of it. She doesn’t even address anyone by name, bunch of waste,” Blagojevic began to say something else and then turned his stare to Goran. He watched her silently for a moment and handed her the booklets in his hand, “These are passports, probably just fakes that can be thrown away but look at them anyway.” Goran opened up the first booklet in the stack and looked into the large brown eyes of a girl that must be no older than seventeen. Her expression was blank. Not frightened, expectant. Her face was void of any emotion as she looked back up into Goran’s eyes.

        

         “How can you be sure these are fakes? We could use them to identify the girls get them back to where they came from.” Blagojevic sighed.

 

         “You have a lot to learn Goran,” he took the book with the expressionless girl and looked at her too, letting out a heavy, exhausted sigh once again. “This girl is a one-hundred percent Bosnian-Croat with the last name Watson. It's a fake.” Blagojevic gave Goran one last over fatigued stare and walked away towards the door, “We're done here.”

 

         In Goran’s head all she could feel was spinning. All she could think about was how fast she was moving untill she peered back down at the girl in the passport with the most unknowing, innocent face she had ever seen, and time stood still. All the spinning stopped. Could this be you little red? Could this be you?

Reviews

[Gobinder Singh Dhindsa]

Well Done! Keep it up! Do u read mine 2 TIME and ANGUISH..if possible then gives ur review.. U can also add me on facebook

[Shep]

great story loved the length and the detail. The story drew me in and took my for a ride of a life time. I also felt this could easily be a novel. Again great writing.