“I have seen his evil house. Where he keeps the girls prisoner.”
Nesbitt glanced at the clock on the instrument cluster. It showed eight forty.
I’m going to be late. I’ve got that nine o’clock…
“And I have pictures,” Esteban added.
“Pictures? Of what?”
“Of the girls who El Gato forces to have sex for money.”
Nesbitt could not believe his ears.
This is getting worse by the moment.
How much of this is going to stick to me? “Where are you, Paco?”
“I am at my house. On Sears Street.”
“Over by the Mexican Market?”
“S?.”
That’s really not far from here, Nesbitt thought.
Nesbitt glanced at the clock again: eight forty-five.
He sighed, then reached for the pen and gasoline station receipt that were on the console near the hand brake.
“Give me your address,” he said, turning to the back of the receipt. “I’ll be right there.”
Ten minutes later, Nesbitt turned off South Eighth Street and pulled the shiny M3 to the curb across the street from 823 Sears Street. On the way, he’d just had time to call back Catherine and ask her to reschedule his nine o’clock with Feaster Scott and put anything else on hold.
He looked around.
Jesus, that wasn’t even a mile-but here it’s a world away from Society Hill.
He was well aware that the sports car and his clothing contrasted sharply with the neighborhood. He was more than a little worried about leaving the car unattended-at best it might get keyed, at worst it might disappear altogether.
He hit the master locking button on his car key, locking the doors with an audible click and arming the alarm with an electronic chirp.
He glanced up and down the street, and thought:
Thanks a lot, Skipper, ol’ pal.
What was it that Matt said? Right…
“No good deed goes unpunished.”
Nesbitt knocked on the painted metal front door of the row house. He heard footsteps on the other side of the door and, after a moment, the sounds of multiple locks being opened.
The door swung inward, and Paco Esteban greeted him with a warm smile.
Looking at the short, heavyset man with coarse coffee-colored skin, Chadwick Nesbitt would never have guessed they were the same age.
“Come in, please, Meester Nesbitt.”
Inside, Chad Nesbitt saw that there was a small gathering at the back of the house, four Hispanic women in what appeared to be a parlor. It was spar