Choke Point Read Free Page B

blur, and there it is like a flag waving:
FIFTY-FOUR CENTS
. Her index finger skids the scroll to a stop. She has to back up a page to find the actual entry, but it’s there. A date that makes sense. The alcohol helps her to make a joke just for herself.
It makes cents.
She chuckles. She captures a screenshot almost automatically, saves it to the external drive and deletes it from the laptop. As a hunter she has raised her bow, but is far from firing. This smells of the game she pursues, but only time will tell. And the amount is small: forty-seven thousand, two hundred, eighty-three and
fifty-four cents
, leaving much more to find. Possibly much, much more.
    The LED on the external drive stops flashing, the cloning complete. She’s all efficiency of motion as she packs up, wipes down the desk and laptop and makes for the door. She can almost move herself to feel sorry for Mr. Smear-n-Off.
    Almost.

T he air in the room hangs heavy, snowflakes of wool lint mixed with tobacco smoke swirling beneath the rows of arched skylights. An occasional deep-chested cough interrupts the quiet. Four girls to a rug, sometimes six. Ten to twelve rugs. Feet tucked under the girls’ bottoms to ward off the cool concrete floor. Maja, a “local,” ties at station three with two “residents.”
    It is a joyless space. A place of deep concentration—mistakes are not tolerated. Furtive looks are exchanged between the girls; they share a language of minute gestures, undetected by the watchers. These messages and warnings travel from station to station as the girls attempt to protect one another. A team of nameless strangers, yet some have known each other for years. Some go back only a few months. Five of the girls arrived less than two weeks ago.
    A warning flashes across the room, carried by a dozen hands.
    “Inspection!” a watcher cries out sharply.
    The shop is a place of routine and schedule. Most of all, it is a secret place. No one leaves—not even the watchers—once the door is closed and locked. The sound of the door coming open means only one thing: Him.
    The girls continue their work, shoulders hunched with dread and anticipation.
    More frightening than the dog is the man who leashes him. The leader. His face looks like it’s been through a shredder. But it is his deliberateness that terrifies Maja. His calm covers a churning machine inside. He may not exactly enjoy punishing the girls, but he has no problem doing so. He makes the watchers look like nannies.
    The clicking of the dog’s nails on the concrete and the animal’s rapid panting send chills up her spine. The inspections are like Russian roulette. Sometimes the girls pass muster, sometimes not.
    The leader’s running shoes squeak as they flex. The timing of the inspections, every two to three weeks, is unpredictable. What the leader is searching for remains unclear. Electronics? Forbidden. A camera? Forbidden. Candy? Gum? Forbidden.
    The minutes stretch out interminably. Maja is restless. She works furiously at her rug. Even from a distance, she can hear a watcher take a drag on his cigarette and exhale. She hears a gob of dog drool splash on the floor next to her. She does not pause.
    The beast is upon her, its nose active. The dog snorts and huffs as it circles her head, her back and pauses at her bottom. Despite her being fully clothed, she’s embarrassed. The animal works around to her crossed legs and stuffs its nose into her crotch. Still, she cranes forward, continuing to tie.
    The dull rattle of its choke collar signals that this time she has passed. The dog is led to the girl to Maja’s left. The process begins again.
    The dog growls roughly.
    Why?
Maja wonders.
    “No, no! Please!” the girl cries. The leader coils the girl’s hair around his hand and lifts her straight off the floor. Maja doesn’t even know the girl’s name.
    “Too slow!” the leader calls out.
    But she is one of the most efficient of them all. Surely one of the watchers will