Brett Battles - The Pull of Gravity

But Rudy didn’t show up that night, or the two nights that followed. I was beginning to think he had forgotten, and would return to the States without giving us a return visit.

I was both wrong and right.

It was Friday night and all hands were on deck. Our slow season was quickly approaching, but on this night we were full up. The liquor was flying off the bar, and the music was about as loud as I could stand it. As far as the crowd went, there wasn’t an empty chair. Over a dozen guys were standing around, drinking their beer and watching the show. We had over thirty-five girls working that night, not enough to go around, but enough to keep most of the customers happy.

That many people inside meant the temperature was making a fast path to boiling. I had the air conditioning cranked to full, but it wasn’t enough. On this occasion, outside was definitely cooler than in.

The girls started taking turns going out front to spend a few minutes with the door girls and cool off. I was tempted to do the same, but there was just too much crap for me to deal with. Everyone seemed to want to buy me a beer that night, which meant spending time talking and joking before moving on to the next group.

I think the last time I saw Isabel was around eleven thirty p.m. This wasn’t surprising; I hadn’t seen Cathy since about nine. It was just one of those nights when everyone was hustling-the waitresses constantly hauling drinks across the room, the dancers grinding to the full extent of their talents, and those sitting with the guys displaying as much affection and interest as money could buy-all of it in an effort to create that perfect experience for the customers, that aura of possibilities that drew them halfway around the world to the dirty streets of Angeles.

Around one a.m., I suddenly heard Cathy’s voice in my ear. “I need to talk to you.”

I was sitting with a group of businessmen from Hong Kong-displaced Brits, mostly-talking soccer. Not my favorite sport, but if you spent any time in Angeles, you couldn’t help learning more about it than you ever thought you would. I looked over my shoulder, and found Cathy standing there, grim-faced.

“Excuse me, guys. Back in a few.” I got up and followed Cathy into the back where the noise was several decibels lower.

Veta was there, but the moment she saw me, she looked down at the floor.

“What?” I asked, knowing something wasn’t right.

Cathy grabbed Veta by the arm, and said something to her in Tagalog. The harsh tone surprised me.

Veta cried out as Cathy’s fingers dug into her triceps. She mumbled something, then Cathy gave her a shake and told her in English, “Louder!”

“It’s my fault,” Veta said, still not meeting my eyes. I could see tears beginning to run down her cheeks and heard the fear in her voice.

“What’s your fault?” I had no idea what was going on. The worst I could conjure up was that Cathy had caught Veta trying to steal something, money maybe, or something that belonged to one of the girls.

“Isabel,” she said, then began sobbing uncontrollably.

The hair on the back of my neck began standing on end. “What about Isabel?”

“She’s with Rudy,” Veta managed.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

But Veta had slipped out of Cathy’s grasp and curled up on the floor. I looked at Cathy.

“Veta was outside getting some air,” Cathy explained. “Rudy came walking down the other side of the street, and when he see her, she say he call her over.” Cathy looked down at Veta, her face full of disgust. “Rudy tell her he just want to talk to Isabel, that he was sorry there was a misunderstanding. For five hundred pesos, Veta said she bring Isabel to him.”

Rage is an emotion I seldom feel, but it suddenly coursed through me so quickly it was all I could do to keep it from taking over. I reached down and pulled Veta to her feet. Through clenched teeth, I said, “You took her to him?”

“He only want to talk,” Veta said. “That’s what he tell me.”

“So you gave her to him?”

“I’m sorry,” she wailed. “I made a mistake.”

“No shit,” I said. “Where are they?”

“I don’t know. I just told her we were going for a walk. As soon as she saw him, she tried to run away, but he grabbed her. I ran away. I didn’t want him to hurt me, too.”

I looked over at Cathy. “Keep an eye on things,” I said.

I pushed Veta toward the bar. “Show me where you took her,” I said.

Though Fields Avenue was bright and lively and crowded, there were side streets and alleys where darkness took over. These were the places best avoided on those drunken walks back to the hotel. It was to one of these places that Veta led me.

“Here,” she said.

We had come down one of the less used side streets, but could still hear the cacophony of music blaring from a dozen bars only a block away. Veta had stopped beside the darkened entrance of an old building. At one time the place had been a bar called Tony’s Palace, but it had been closed over a year due to the lack of foot traffic.

There were a few scuff marks in the dirt sidewalk but other than that, there was no sign that anything had happened.

“You’re sure it was here?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Sure.”

“Did he say where he was taking her?”

“I tell you, I run,” she said. “I don’t know where he taking her.”

“Do you know what hotel he’s staying at?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t tell me.”

“Not even that first night when he was buying you all those drinks?”

She thought about it for a moment, then said, “No. He didn’t say.”

I felt a moment of overwhelming helplessness. They could have been anywhere. He could have done anything to her, even killed her, then gotten on a plane and been back in the States before we even found her. I realized in a hurry I needed help.

Dragging Veta behind me, I raced back to The Lounge. I had one of the door girls go inside and get Cathy. The girls who remained stared at the emotional wreck that was Veta, wondering, I was sure, what was going on. But there was no way they were going to ask me. I was kind, gentle Papa Jay, so my reasons must have been good.

Cathy soon joined us, and I gave control of Veta over to her. “Don’t let her leave. I want her here so the police can talk to her.”

Veta started to cry again.

“Stop it,” I told her. “You have to face what you started. I know I don’t have to tell you this, but you don’t have a job here anymore. And when I get finished telling everyone what you’ve done, you won’t be able to get a job anywhere.” To Cathy, I said, “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I have to find her.”

She nodded, then hauled Veta back inside. The door girls, still silent, stared at me as I turned and began running down the street.

It took almost two hours to figure out where Rudy was staying. I’d found Manfred and Nicky playing pool at The Eight Ball, so with their help and a couple of understanding Angeles regulars, we canvassed the district trying to discover where Rudy and Isabel might be.

I thought for sure he was staying at the Las Palmas Hotel, so I went there first. But it was a no-go. Ditto at the Royal Suites, the Vista and The Pit Stop. One of the things that worried me was that we’d find his hotel, but they wouldn’t be there. Angeles was a big place. For that matter, Luzon was a big island. Still, he wasn’t a native, so I held on to the belief that he had to take her somewhere familiar.

At three thirty a.m., Manfred called me on my cell phone. “He’s staying at the MacArthur Inn,” he said. “The receptionist said he came in awhile ago with a girl who was so drunk, he basically had to carry her.”