Chapter 4

"Hey Chen how's it hanging"? Benson said as pulled out a chair opposite Sonny Chen at the small tea house come bar where Chen could usually be found.

"Not as long as yours Au Ngau" Chen replied with a broad smile on his face. Au Ngau was Chinese for The Bull or so Chen had told him, but Benson had done a little research of his own and found out that it could also mean cow. He was never quite sure if the cocky little Chinese Australian sitting opposite him was pulling the piss or not.

"You want tea or maybe something a little stronger huh"? Chen asked. "Tea will be fine thanks Chen".

Chen signaled to a waitress and barked out a string of words in Cantonese. The waitress for her part nodded sharply twice and then hurried away to what Benson presumed was the kitchen as though her life depended on it. With Chen, who knew? Maybe it did.

"So what you want big guy"? Chen asked leadingly. For a chinese man Chen got down to business exceedingly quickly which is one of the reasons Benson used him, he hated doing the dance and the face saving thing you normally had to do with asians. He'd known Chen for years, true he didn't trust the sneaky little bastard as far as he could kick him but he did have a kind of grudging respect for the little fella.


Rather than screw around Benson got straight down to it. "I want to know who's big in people smuggling and people trafficking" he said matter of factly.

"You sure you wanna go there big guy? That some pretty heavy shit, those guys can fuck you over big time" Chen responded with narrowing eyes.

"Yeah give it to me" replied Benson casually as he could. "Why you wanna know? Big difference between smuggling and trafficking" Chen parried.  "Let's just say I have an interest in both" countered Benson "now out with it or I'll tell your mother what you do for a living" said Benson with all the humour he could muster, though in truth he was starting to get a little annoyed by Chen's evasiveness, this wasn't like Chen at all.

"Aw come on JB you know my mother thinks I'm a respectable business man" said Chen almost coyly. Now Bensons antennae were really quivering Chen only ever called him JB when he wanted something, never when Benson was after information.

"Why are you foxing Chen"? Asked Benson bluntly. "No not foxing big guy it's just that I don't know much about this stuff" replied Chen without making eye contact. "Bullshit!" Benson challenged. "You know I prefer to play nice but if you don't start sqwawking I might have to start playing a little rough" Benson let the threat hang. Benson had enough on Chen to put him away for years and Chen knew it.

"Hey look, ok no need to get nasty big guy but I really don't know much, the lebs pretty much control the smuggling bringing in illegals from Afghanistan, Iraq and Lebanon and the chinks have got the trafficking stitched up bringing in girls out of Indonesia, but I don't have any names, that's all I know, honest" said Chen starting to sweat a little. When a worm like Chen says "honest" they are definitely hiding something Benson knew, but he realised that to push Chen further would get him nowhere. Chen had effectively called his bluff that he would dob him in, clever bugger, so he changed tack.

"Ok Chen I believe ya mate but tell me, ever heard of a guy called Keppler Van Houster"? "Keppler who" said Chen a little vacantly. "Van Houster" Benson said. "Van Houster, Van Houster, no never heard that name big guy" Chen said looking about a foot over Bensons head.

Benson knew Chen was lying through his teeth but he'd pretty much got the answers he came for anyway. If Chen was being this evasive then there was definitely something big going on and Benson was going to have to find out what. "Ok mate, thanks for the tea, give my best to your mum" Benson said as he headed for the door.

Benson turned his back and was almost out onto the street when Chen called to him "hey Au Ngau". Benson turned back and said "yeah"? "Be careful big guy ok" said Chen, and this time Sonny Chen looked Benson right in the eye and held his gaze.

Chapter 3

Benson awoke to the buzz of the alarm and to the sour taste of last nights whisky in his mouth. Nothing new there, that's how he normally woke up. What was new was that today he had something that actually interested him to do.

He could never be arsed making a bed so if it was cold he climbed into a sleeping bag or if it was a bit warmer he just draped the bag over himself like a doona on the bare mattress. Benson rolled out from under the bag and flicked on the kettle. Over the years he'd taken to the habit of keeping the kettle, a jar of coffee and a mug on the bedside table. He didn't even use a spoon, Benson just tipped the amount of coffee he thought was about right into the mug and added water.

"People smuggling and human trafficking" he thought "what the hell do I know about people smuggling or people trafficking"? Benson said to himself as he looked at his reflection in the mirror.

There were dark bags under his wrinkled eyes and red and purple veins prominent on his nose due to the alcohol, but for fifty one he hadn't done too badly in the body department. Though technically an alcoholic Benson had a rule that he never drank till the sun went down and on most days he pushed himself through a rigorous physical workout of some kind. Today he needed to think and so this morning it would be a run.

Benson didn't know much about people smuggling or human trafficking but he did know enough to know they were two very different but related forms of crimes. As he ran he recalled that people smuggling was the facilitation of illegal border crossings by willing, usually paying customers and human or people trafficking was pretty much what amounted to modern day slavery. Similar in lots of respects but also very different too. He also knew that at an organised crime level it was mostly Middle Eastern and Asian syndicates that dominated operations in this neck of the woods. So what was a South African doing setting up shop here in Australia? He'd just have to file that question away for more thought later.

After about thirty minutes of running along the river Benson turned for home "an hour ought to do it" he thought. Already he could feel the excesses from the night before excised from his body and he put on a burst of speed to overtake another runner about 30 years his junior dressed in all the latest kit but going nowhere fast "wanker" Benson thought to himself as he accelerated past.

Being a Saturday there would be a limit to what he could achieve, but after showering and a breakfast of cold pizza Benson decided to pay a buddiy of his a visit in Chinatown.

Chapter 2

Choy Li was sick. Sicker than she ever thought possible, her stomach muscles cramped with the exertion of vomiting and her throat was raw yet still she continued to retch.

The smell of vomit, feces, blood, sweat and fear permeated the small and darkened hold where the seventeen girls were held. Choy couldn't believe how far over the boat rolled and still they didn't sink, well not yet anyway. What if they did sink she thought? Seeing as they were all chained to the hull at least the end should come quickly. Choy was past caring.

At first she had pined for her mother but even her mothers gentle touch and soft voice was now nothing more than a distant, long forgotten memory. In the here and now there was no time for remembering. Every horror filled moment demanded Choy's complete attention, there was no yesterday, there was no thinking of tomorrow, only the terrible, terrible, pain filled and frightening now.

But after one particularly huge wave had assaulted their craft something clicked inside Choy's head and she forced herself to remember, to keep alive the hope that once again she would feel her mothers warm embrace and hear her mothers happy laughter. Until recently her family had been the only world Choy had ever known.

Choy was only fifteen years old.

Surrounded by girls sobbing, girls that swore foully and girls that cried out for their parents or their god, Choy alone was quiet. Before she had felt only despair when she thought of home but now she felt a warm glow in her heart, a small smile slowly etched itself across her dirty but pretty face and her resolve to see them once again became the only thing that mattered.

Choy could tell by the thin rays of light filtering in from above that the dawn had come and with it the weather had calmed. The hold was suddenly flooded with light as the hatch was thrown open from the deck. "Hello my pretties" the smuggler said as he climbed down through the hatch into the hold "looks like you have been having a right party of it" he said as he made his way down the line of girls, his long rubber sea boots sloshing in the muck and filth that covered the floor. "You know you really should clean up after yourselves" he gaffawed out loud like it was an enormous joke.

As he made his way past the girls Jorgesson let his hands roam at random over the young bodies of the semi-clad and in some cases naked girls "just checking to see you are all still in good condition, wouldn't do to be delivering damaged goods now would it" he said between cackles.

On the deck Gunther Smidth turned to Nigel Davis the boats Australian born skipper "are you sure about zat nutter in the hold with zee girls"? he said in heavily accented English. "Jorgy"? replied Davis "he's harmless enough mate, mad as a cut snake of course but he's the only one of the crew prepared to go down into that muck" the skipper said as he pointed down into the hold.

Davis turned to one of the deck hands "lower the food and water" he commanded.

In the hold it was pandamonium, few of the girls could stomach food but all were madlingly thirsty and within the limits of their chains they all scrambled for the water. As nutty as he was Jorgesson still had a voice of authority bred from years at sea "pipe down there" he didn't yell but the voice that was used to making itself heard through hurricanes was strong and firm "settle down my pretties, there is enough to go round for all" and again he snickered as he poured some water for each girl in turn.

Choy took her water with a small nod but she was careful not to make eye contact. At first Choy had taken every opportunity to fight her captors, but with her new resolve to see her family again she instinctively knew that if she was ever to have a chance of escaping she would need to become less noticed. "Well you've certainly calmed down a bit my pretty" Jorgesson said "good for you, things will be easier for you now, just accept it that's the best way lass".

But Choy wasn't accepting anything, her mind was racing as she started to formulate a plan as she settled herself back into her position with her back against the hull being careful to pull her bare feet above the filth on the deck. After Jorgesson had left and the hatch once again had been battened down the small smile she had allowed herself before grew into a grin, "yes, there was a way" she thought and for the first time since her capture she willing allowed herself to drift off to sleep.

Chapter 1

It just doesn’t pay to be nice! Well I guess it does thought Benson, or so he kept telling himself. He usually wasn't this negative, but recent events had really rattled his cage.

For a Friday it actually hadn’t been that bad a day. Though he guessed he should have realised that was all about to change when she walked into his office. She was a diminutive redhead with blue eyes, dimples and a smile that would make parking police keep on walking. Compared to his usual clientele there was something bright and fresh about her that had him straightening in his chair and moving some of the more obvious mess on his desk to one side. Maybe it had been the way she could hold eye contact with him for more than two seconds without reaching for the Kleenex like most of his clients that he found so refreshing, who knew?

"Benson is my name" he had said, "John Benson, my friends call me J.B. but I haven’t been called that in years", the lame joke evoking the slightest smile from the beautiful face sitting across from him. "I make a living out of other people’s misery, tracking down people who don’t want to be found, taking pictures of people doing things they shouldn’t and pretending to look for kittens that even my clients seven year olds know have probably been run over. I wrote the book on the three I’s of being a private eye; insurance, infidelity and, I need you to clear my conscience. Usually the people I work for are tight-arsed insurance agents, scorned lovers or guilty parents, how can I help you"?

"My name is Arna, Arna Van Houster" said the girl with what he detected was a South African accent. The accent he found so grating and arrogant sounding in most South African men from her sounded absolutely enchanting, the words dripped off her tongue like honey from a spoon. Benson was smitten.

Turns out Arna had a problem she didn't exactly want to take to the police. Now mostly Benson a straight shooter, something seemed a bit shady, then he didn't touch it, well mostly anyway. Maybe it was the appeal in her voice, or perhaps the way she touched his forearm from across the table when she asked for his assistance, but the more she spoke the deeper he fell in.

Arna’s problem was Arna’s husband, a six foot four pig of a man with a bad temper named Keppler. Arna’s composure as she told him how her sweet loving husband was black mailing her only reinforced his impression that this gal was a cut above the rest. Apparently Keppler had convinced his new bride to agree to some mildly compromising photos that whilst revealing were quite tasteful and strictly for personal use or so Keppler had said.

What Arna didn’t know at the time, was that Keppler had the photos doctored to make it look, well shall we say, to look like Arna was a heck of a lot more brazen than the originals had depicted, something that wouldn’t go down too well if they fell into the wrong hands. You see Arna’s father is a leading politician in the South African government.

Good old Keppler was now threatening to release the photos if Arna didn’t cooperate with him and manipulate her father’s influence to assist him with his people smuggling and human trafficking business, Arna said Keppler called it his insurance and investment policy.

That was another thing Arna didn’t know when they had married, that Keppler was the head of one of the largest people smuggling and human trafficking operations the world had ever seen and what Arna wanted Benson to do was to collect enough evidence to nail the bastard without dropping her dear old dad in the proverbial.

Thinking about it later all of Benson's instincts had screamed at him to simply say “thank you dear but no, have a nice life anyway and please close the door on the way out”. It’s what he should have said. But partly because he was a sucker for a sweet smile, partly because he just couldn't understand how people could make a living out of trading in peoples lives, he'd said he'd look into it. "But mostly because I’m stupid" he said to himself under his breath. "That's the real reason" he said out loud in his now empty office "that just about sums me up, stupid with just enough ethics and ego to make sure I always end up getting crapped upon from a great height, good one Benson".