The Thrill Seekers II Mattox Is Missing

By Dan Weatherington

The Logans are back!

Lynn and David Logan spent millions without ever really enjoying the things their money bought. Then, in a small Mexican town they found exactly what they wanted.
They learned the joy of helping those who could not combat the evil of others. They learned they could take the blessings they possessed and use those gifts against those who would take advantage of the weakness of others.
These modern-day Robin Hoods discovered the thrill of helping others had another, greater reward: It was the ultimate sexual high.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Weatherington
• Release date: Mar 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476387406

Dan Weatherington

Dan Weatherington was born in Raleigh, North Carolina, the only son of Harry Rodman and Mary Weatherington. Much of his childhood was spent at his aunt's home on the Pamlico River, the influence of which is obvious in his novel Brandywine Bay. And, influences of which are shown in the novel The Seventh Gift of God. Dan attended grammar school in Raleigh and high school at Carlisle Military School in Bamberg, South Carolina. His college years were spread between The Citadel in Charleston, South Carolina, the University of South Carolina and North Carolina State University in Raleigh. He and Judy married in August 1969 and remain married today. She worked to allow him to complete school and together they have two children, Wendy and Leslie. At age 31, Dan was elected to join the Masons. By the time he was forty, he had found a niche in Masonic research and writing. Most of his work has been of a Masonic nature and has been published in Masonic publications throughout the United States and Canada. He is Dean Emeritus of Wilkerson College, North Carolina's College of Freemasonry, has been the Chair of the Committee on Masonic Education of the Grand Lodge of North Carolina for several years and writes quarterly columns for the Philalethes, a publication of an international Masonic research society. In addition, he publishes the Lodge Night Program, a quarterly educational booklet distributed to almost four hundred Masonic lodges across North Carolina. The novel Recognizing Prince Hall will hopefully be a tribute to the gallant men who have done much to erase racism in North Carolina Masonry and their efforts to accomplish this task. His novel Blemished Harvest documents his career in the Mortgage Banking industry and how he was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis in 1986. While many would have given up after such a diagnosis, Dan and Judy still continue to be active in their community and own and operate businesses in their hometown.

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THE THRILL SEEKERS

A NOVEL

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2011

Dan Weatherington

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual locales, events or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

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THE THRILL SEEKERS II

THE RETURN

Mattox Is Missing

by

Dan Weatherington

1Chapter 1 - The Indian Casino

Lynn watched the card drop . . . an Ace.

The dealer threw a five to the man sitting next to her and the lady at the far end of the table got a queen.

My queen, thought Lynn.

The next card would be hers.

Face card . . . face card . . . a ten.

Good enough . . . blackjack.

The dealer dropped two chips beside Lynn’s bet.

Fifteen dollars, she thought quietly smiling to herself.

Not much of a bet for a rich woman, Mrs. Logan, said a voice behind her.

I just want to give it away a little bit at a time, she said as she turned. David stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

You about ready to get something to eat? he asked.

Lynn looked at her new cards . . . a ten and a four.

Fourteen.

She motioned for another card . . . a king.

Twenty-four . . . busted.

In one silent move the dealer scooped up Lynn’s ten dollar chip.

Yes, I am definitely ready.

You want something nice, or do you want to try the buffet?

I’m not in the mood for the buffet. Let’s see what else there is around here.

Fine with me.

They walked from the tables, past the roulette wheels and down the rows of slot machines. There was a time when David Logan took offense at the way men gawked at his wife. But now, he was accustomed to it and actually found the way that men would lean to get a better look or step past their wives to stare at Lynn as a complement, both to Lynn and to him. After all, it was him that she married. And too, sometimes it was funny. Just in this short walk from the blackjack tables to the front of the casino, he saw two men run into each other trying to check Lynn out and watched one woman spill her cupful of quarters leaning over to get a better look.

I’ve asked you this before, he said, but does the people looking ever bother you?

Looking at what?

At what? Your face, your body, those unbelievable legs, what do you think I’m talking about? Logan thought shaking his head. Never mind.

Outside the casino, they crawled into one of the waiting cabs.

Know a good place for a real nice supper for two? Logan asked the driver.

There’s a couple of decent places, but if you want real nice, I would suggest Friedo’s. Like I say, it’s nice, but it ain’t cheap.

Ahhh, I think she’s worth it. Let’s try Friedo’s, said Logan smiling at Lynn.

The driver was right. Friedo’s was nice, much nicer than one would expect in a small town. It had the crystal, china and linens of a well-appointed city restaurant.

How much did you lose? asked Logan.

I don’t know, a few hundred I guess. But it doesn’t matter. I consider it a donation.

A donation to what?

To the Indians.

What do you mean by ‘to the Indians’?

Lynn placed her hand on Logan’s. Logan, you know why I didn’t want to go to Las Vegas or Atlantic City? You know you’re going to lose at those places. You know you’re going to lose at these Indian casinos too. But at least here, I feel like it’s going to a good cause. God knows we’ve been screwing the Indians ever since Plymouth Rock. Me losing a few hundred dollars may not be much, but at least it’s not going to the Mafia.

Logan was quiet for a moment then spoke. Lynn, why do you think the money from the Indian casinos goes to the Indians?

I guess, David, because the name . . . Indian casino. Where else would the money be going? They’ve got jobs and–

She called me David . . . oh lord. She’s serious.

Jobs? What jobs?

Working in the casino.

Lynn, were you looking at anything going on tonight or did you just see the flashing lights? Most of those people working in that casino aren’t Indians. The guy dealing at the table next to you was an Indian, but he wasn’t an American Indian. He was an Indian from India, the real India . . . You know in Asia.

I thought . . .

No, less than 25 percent of the people working in those Indian casinos are American Indians. All I know is from something that was on the Learning Channel or the Discovery Channel or one of those cable channels. They were reporting on the way the Indian casinos are not what people think they are.

I’ll be right back, Lynn said as she got up from the table. It may take a minute, go ahead and order for me. Get me the cracked crab.

Lynn got up and headed toward the front. From past experience, Logan knew that Lynn’s I’ll be right back could mean three minutes or thirty minutes. He also knew better than to go ahead and order. If she was back in three minutes, it wouldn’t matter. If it was a thirty minute be right back, her food would be cold and she would push it aside. He would wait.

In this case it was a twenty minute I’ll be right back. He saw Lynn heading for the table and motioned for the waiter. Two cracked crabs and legumes, he said. The waiter nodded and as Lynn arrived, the waiter held her chair.

Sorry about that. You are right.

Right about what?

I’ll bet there aren’t a dozen Indians working in that whole casino. They’re all either white or black or whatever, but they’re definitely not Indians.

You went back?

Yes, I had to see what you were telling me. I had to see for myself.

So, you saw?

I saw.

And, I hate to tell you, we’re not all that far from a large town. A lot of the Indian casinos are on reservations in the middle of nowhere and don’t have that much business. Especially not from the high rollers.

I would figure every casino would be busy. People love to gamble.

That’s what they assumed when they set the casinos up near the reservations. How did it go in the movie . . . ? ‘If you will build it, they will come?’ It didn’t work that way. They built it, but they didn’t come.

Logan held Lynn’s hand.

Do you want to stay here tonight, or do you want to go back to the city?

Let’s go home, she said. I don’t want to be here anymore.

They returned to the small airport that served the area. Their plane was waiting and within a few minutes they were in the air on their way back to Manhattan.

Lynn slid up against Logan.

What’s wrong? He asked. I can tell. Usually you would be bubbly and acting like the wife I’m used to.

It’s just what you told me, the thing about the Indians. I knew they had bad unemployment and the poverty stuff, but I assumed–

. . . That when the casinos started, everything got better?

She nodded.

That’s what everybody assumed . . . the ones who cared. Most people don’t care. Out of sight, out of mind.

Lynn slid her arm under Logan’s and put her head on his shoulder. Logan hated what had happened. He wished he hadn’t said anything about the Indians and their casinos. He knew Lynn. Up until then, the trip had been nice. Now, in Lynn Logan’s eyes, it was a disaster.

Normally, they wouldn’t have gone to a casino, any casino. Lynn didn’t care a thing about gambling. In her educated mind, anyone with one bit of sense didn’t play games that were designed for no other purpose than to take someone’s money. When she said she wanted to go gambling it was a surprise to Logan. She had never made such a statement before and it certainly wasn’t because she needed the money.

Now, Lynn was totally quiet and pressed tightly to him. Logan could only imagine what was going on in her mind.

Lynn said nothing the rest of the trip back to New York or on the ride from the airport. Logan had seen her in these moods before and had found the best thing to do was to let it pass.

The next morning the phone rang at 2:30.

That has got to be Mattox, moaned Lynn waking up.

Yes, who else? Logan said under his breath as he answered the phone.

Oh yes, it was Mattox. He’s on his way.

Mattox had a well-deserved reputation as the most disorganized human in history. He did nothing according to anyone’s logic but his. To anyone else, including his supervisors, the man’s methods and thoughts were unexplainable . . . by him or anyone else. Yet, the end result of every task he was assigned, every project he undertook, was perfection. And, for what the Logans wanted, Mattox was ideal. They did not ask the man for explanations, they only wanted results.

Lynn didn’t see any point in waking the servants, so she went to the kitchen and started the coffee. Soon, the doorbell rang.

He’s here, yelled Lynn.

Logan opened the door and walked with Mattox into the dining room. I always like it in here, Mattox said. It’s bright and a good place to start the day. Your den makes me sleepy.

Lynn came into the room carrying the coffee. Mattox jumped to his feet to help.

After the coffee was served and the ‘how have you been’s’ concluded, Mattox looked across the table at the Logans.

I think you’re going to like this one, he said. It’s something that’s needed and there’s a better than even chance you’ll get your brains blown out.

Logan looked at Lynn.

Isn’t that what you want? Something exciting? Mattox asked.

The two smiled.

What do you know about human trafficking?

Not much, answered Logan. Lynn shook her head. Me neither.

Worldwide, it’s more than a thirty billion dollar a year business.

Thirty million– started Logan.

"No, thirty billion with a ‘B’."

Are we talking like the slave trade? asked Logan. I thought every nation had outlawed slaver a hundred years ago.

They have just about. It is illegal. But it’s still very much alive.

Thirty billion dollars? What could we possibly do?

I’ve heard you both say it before . . . maybe we can’t stop it, but we can put a dent in it. Do you want to try and put a dent in it?

Russian mob again? asked Logan.

Nope, good old middle class America, South Florida.

Well, said Lynn, It is winter. It is cold here. Florida might be nice. You say it will be dangerous?

Very, answered Mattox. These people have a lot to lose. They’re not going to just fall over.

Obviously, you’ve got something picked out.

Mattox nodded. What do you think of when I say Boca Raton?

I think of boiler rooms, said Logan, with a bunch of high pressure salesmen sitting at desks trying to sell copier toner or collecting for some fake charity.

What if there were only four salesmen and the business was your fellow human beings?

If that’s the case, why haven’t the police done something? asked Logan.

This boiler room’s not exactly a room, it’s four people in four different cars each equipped with a bank of cell phones. And, business hours don’t last more than ten, fifteen minutes a day.

I’m confused then. Where are the people they are buying and selling? Where do they keep them?

"Let’s forget about Roots and Kunta Kinte. Now, there’s plenty of what you’re talking about . . . plenty of it. But these guys are brokers. Most of the people they buy and sell are children, more young girls, still quite a few boys. And when the deal is made the kids are probably at home eating breakfast or out going through some trash pile. The people I’m talking about are brokers. They never see their merchandise. In a way, they’re sort of like the Chicago Board of Trade. You’ve heard of futures . . . corn for December delivery?"

They both nodded.

The broker gets a call from some guy who wants four twelve year old girls, or two ten year old boys, or whatever and he wants them in Dallas at some particular time.

Okay.

He picks up the phone and calls two or three guys who will fill the order.

Fill the order? You mean kidnap the children? asked Lynn.

Kidnap them, buy them from their parents, pay some gang to steal what he needs . . . there’s dozens of ways these people get the children. Actually, it’s quite simple. In some places, homeless kids are thought of like rats. Nobody wants them. All one of these people or gangs has to do is go out and get them. Like I say, actually it’s quite simple. The hard part is delivering them.

Delivering them?

Yes, actually, the children . . . the commodity itself is not that important. It is the ability to smuggle the children into whatever country that’s important.

So they can be prostitutes?

Yes, mostly, but some are free labor, household help, farm labor, there is no end to what they will be purchased to do, but mostly, you are right, most are for prostitution.

You mean there are actually real slaves, today, in the United States?

Oh yes, thousands of them, maybe tens of thousands, I don’t really know.

What do you say, Logan, you want to try to make a dent? asked Lynn.

Would it matter if I said no?

No, Lynn smiled.

Okay, Mattox, from what you say, I would say the best way to get to these guys is when they’re bringing the people into the United States.

Yes, answered Mattox, that will be the only time they are vulnerable. The key is finding where and when. Actually, they can deliver their cargo anywhere from a back alley to a front lawn of the courthouse . . . and any time of day or night. If you’re going to do anything, you’re going to have to figure when the cargo is delivered and where. And, it only takes a few seconds for them to make their delivery. Then, they’re gone. It won’t be an easy job.

Once more, Logan looked at Lynn. Your decision.

I’ll need a new bathing suit, she said.

I take that as a ‘yes’.

As the Logan’s Lear Jet was flying over the North Carolina coast on its way to Florida, Logan looked out the window. You ever think about going home, back to where we were when we were kids?

Truthfully? Lynn asked.

Logan nodded.

Yes I do, every now and then.

Do you want to? We can stop when we finish up in Florida.

Not really. I had just rather remember it the way it was. Or, at least the way I remember it to be. Who was it . . . Thomas Wolfe, who said ‘you can never go home’?

You don’t think so?

Logan, try to remember when we were kids, there were a couple of people who got an education, moved to the city and did very well for themselves.

Yes.

And if you will remember, there was never a kind word said about those people after they left. One was that girl . . . what was her name, she was in our class?

You’re talking about Molly Parker.

Yes, Molly Parker. She went to college and when she got out took some job as a chemist for a pharmaceutical company. I remember when she came back to visit her mom. That bunch treated her like an outcast. They were cruel. I don’t want to be Molly Parker. If we go back, even for just a visit, I’ll be Molly.

You’re right, but you really can’t blame them. Molly was the one who changed. She pulled herself out of their poverty. She was no longer one of them.

Yes, that’s it, and I understand it, but still, I don’t want to be Molly.

As they went over Georgia, the pilot came into the cabin. Mr. Mattox just called. He can get you a suite in Boca Raton or one in Palm Beach. Palm Beach is nicer, but it’s twenty-four miles away. Which should I tell him?

Boca, answered Logan. A bed is a bed.

Lynn nodded.

As you say, we should be landing in Boca Raton shortly.

As the jet touched down in Boca Raton, Lynn could see a black Cadillac Escalade making its way toward them. How is it he always arrives before us and somehow always seems to have a black Cadillac Escalade?

That, my dear, is one of the great mysteries of Mattox. I can’t give you an answer.

Mattox picked the Logans up to take them to the hotel. But, on the way, he pulled off the highway onto a side street that skirted the main road. A block or so further up the road he pointed to a bunch of cardboard shacks and piles of junk under an overpass. Standing around were dozens of people.

"I just thought you would like