A/N: Sam has had the great idea of phoning Bobby for advice. Will Bobby help?
Bought And Sold (Chapter 14: We Shall Not Be Moved) by frostygossamer
Sam found a phone booth and dialled the operator. She eventually was able to locate for him the number of a Robert Singer who ran a men's shelter in Appalachia. Crammed into the small booth, he nervously called the number. He fought to calm down his breathing, as the call rang through.
"Hello," came a gruff voice from the other end of the line. "Singer speaking. What's your problem?"
"Bobby?" repeated Sam. "You the Bobby Singer who was a good friend to Dean Campbell?"
On hearing Dean's name Bobby was immediately suspicious.
"Hmm," grunted the voice. "Could be. Depends what your business is with him. Who'm I talking to, huh?"
Sam took a deep breath and started in with his explanation.
"My name is Sam and I'm-" he began.
"Samuel?" Bobby cut in, remembering Dean had told him he had a brother named Samuel. He had named his child after him. "You're Dean's cousin, right?"
"No, Bobby," Sam corrected the older guy, rightly suspecting it was a trick question. "I'm his brother. His younger brother." He paused for a second. "Bobby, I found him. Found him in a freakin' manhouse. And I need your help to get him out."
"Oh God," Bobby responded. "The poor kid."
Bobby was shocked by that news, but not as surprised as the average citizen not in his line of work would be.
"Yeah," agreed Sam. "They're holding him against his will, obviously. I been to the police and they all but laughed in my face. They're taking a kickback, I know it. I'm all alone here and I don't know what to do. You gotta help me, Bobby. You gotta help me get Dean outta there."
There was a long silence on the line. Sam was almost thinking he had been cut off before the older man spoke again, slowly and deliberately.
"Sam," he said. "For the longest time I been thinking that your brother was maybe dead. I been cursing myself for ever letting him walk outta the refuge with that lousy dame, Bela, damn her eyes. But never once did it occur to me that the poor kid could have wound up the way you say. I gotta blame myself and, son, I'm gonna make it right. Where you at now?"
Sam was wiping his eyes and nose on his sleeve, relief in finding someone to share his anguish with causing the tears to finally flow.
"Uh, I'm in a phone booth in the middle of town," he croaked.
"OK then. You stay safe," Bobby carried on, briskly. "I'm gonna call 'round and muster all the masculinist sympathizers I can reach. We're gonna have us a little demonstration. We're gonna march on that goddamn manhouse."
Sam's face broke into a wide grin. "Awesome," he chuckled, through his tears. "We're gonna wind up in the papers, Bobby."
The older guy snickered. "THAT," he said, "is the idea, son."
~o~
Bobby put down his phone and blew a little whistle as he took off his cap and slammed it on his desk. This was great news. Well, not exactly GREAT news, considering Dean's circumstances, but considerably better news than the alternative. At least Dean was alive someplace and there was a chance they could get him to a place of safety sometime soon. But he had to act fast. Time was a-wasting.
He grabbed his contact list from its nail on the wall and started to run through it for friends and sympathizers within easy reach of Sam. He would need to round up all the support he could get. He picked up his phone and dialled the first number of many.
A couple minutes later, Adam, who had been collecting dirty dishes, popped his head in Bobby's office.
"Something going down I should know about?" he asked in a whisper.
Bobby put his hand over the receiver.
"Dean's been found. Thank the BIG GAL upstairs," he hissed. "Just got me a call from his brother."
Adam almost dropped his burden of dishware.
"No," he gasped. "Where is Dean? He OK? You tell the brother about Samuel?"
Bobby shook his head. "Nuh-uh. They got the guy locked up in some freakin' casa de putos. I'm organizing something. Plenty time for family updates later."
"Organizing what?"
Bobby grinned gleefully. "I'm summoning a goddamn flash mob!"
~o~
Sam kept moving until the morning streets started to get a little busier, then he made his way back to the manhouse's alleyway. When he got there there was a sizeable crowd outside 'Plucky's House of Fun, Fitness and Fornication'.
When Sam appeared, he was greeted by a round of spontaneous applause, as was every subsequent supporter who rallied to the cause. Sam was impressed and, at the same time, slightly intimidated by the level of response to Bobby's call. Much to Sam's surprise, several people had even hastily improvised placards, daubed with slogans like "DOWN WITH FEMALE CHAUVINISM!", "EQUALITY FOR MEN!" and "STOP FEMALE OPPRESSION NOW!"
The primarily male crowd, together with a handful of female masculinist supporters, were excited and ready to go, waiting only for Sam to give them the word.
"Thanks a lot for coming," he told a guy who seemed to be organizing things. "I'm Sam."
The guy grinned. "These filthy places need shutting down," he replied. "Only too glad to help, man."
Sam marched up to the locked front door of the manhouse and hammered on it.
"Open up!" he yelled. "You may as well bring the guys out front. We're gonna close this goddamn place down today."
There was a muffled cry from within. Sam recognized the voice of the mister who ran the place for the owner Plucky Pennywhistle.
"Like hell you will," the guy shouted. "You really think it's gonna be that easy? We got friends. Friends in high places."
"I'm sure you do," agreed Sam. "But there's a lot of us and we're not afraid to make a stink. The press is on its way."
Mention of the media seemed to unnerve the guy inside.
"Press ain't gonna get no story today" he yelled, but his voice sounded much less assured.
Sam turned to the guy next to him and quietly asked, "Anyone actually called the press yet?"
The guy nodded.
~o~
Sex-worker Vic had been the first one to notice the mob of protesters arrive. His room overlooked the narrow street. He popped his head into the hallway and stopped Jay as he wandered back from the shower.
"Hey, anyone know what's going down outside?" he asked him.
Jay shook his head. "Beats me," he replied, "but my last trick sure booked it fast."
Dean came out of his room, wondering where his next jane had gotten herself to.
"What's with everyone?" he demanded. "And what in hell is that freakin' noise all about?"
They crowded into Vic's room, to look out the window, and were amazed to see an angry crowd stomping around outside.
"Looks like some kinda lynch mob," joked Jay. "Maybe it's the 'Christians Against Prostitution League' come to run us outta town ...again."
"But they're pretty much all guys," Dean pointed out, somewhat puzzled. "And look there. Is that a TV truck pulling into the alley?"
Dean was wondering if he could use this unexpected diversion to his advantage somehow, when the mister and a couple of his strong-arms grabbed him and his co-workers and started to shove them around. They were forced protesting back to their rooms, where the window shutters were closed up and they were locked in. Dean put up more of a fight than the others.
"Hey! Hey, hands off of the goods," he griped. "You ugly sack of-"
He received a punch on the jaw for his insolence and was knocked flat on his back. His world went black.
Dean was out cold.
~o~
Downstairs Missus Pennywhistle and her mister were occupied guiding their alarmed clientele out the building through a secret back door behind Pennywhistle's office.
"I really can NOT be seen here," bleated one customer. "Can't afford to get my face in the news."
"I know, Judge," Plucky assured her. "No chance of that. This way leads out through the back of a Chinese butcher's. Very discreet."
"There better be no mention of my name in the papers tomorrow, or I'll make sure you regret it," threatened another, a congresswoman.
"No, ma'am," agreed Missus P. "There'll be no trouble. I'll make sure of that."
After seeing the justice, the politician and the last of her customers off of the premises, Plucky watched the TV crew set up outside with growing dread.
"I want all this crap destroyed," she told her mister, waving a hand at her file cabinets. "All of these records have gotta go. I want nothing left for the cops when they get here."
They set about emptying the cabinets, piling their contents in the middle of the floor. Then Missus P. emptied a can of lighter fluid over the heap and put a match to it. Within a couple minutes, she and her staff had followed their clients' secret escape route.
But the fire continued to smoulder.
~o~
Cassie Robinson stepped down from the TV truck and smoothed her expensive suit. The vociferous crowd were now shuffling around in circles, chanting slogans and waving their placards.
"Gimme the microphone, honey," she told her assistant.
The assistant handed her the mic and Cassie found herself a place with a good shot of the crowd behind, for her camerawoman.
"This is Cassie Robinson reporting from down town... where a 'flash mob' has shown up outside THIS back-street address."
She turned to let the camera get a clear view of Missus Pennywhistle's establishment.
"'Plucky's House of Fun and Fitness'. But exactly what type of 'fun' goes on behind those closed doors?"
She made the 'cut' gesture and dropped her mic for a second.
"Lemme find someone who knows what's going on around here."
She collared a random guy from the crowd.
"Can you tell me anything about what's happening here?" she asked him.
"You wanna speak to Sam," he answered, pointing out the tall guy over the heads of nearby protesters.
Cassie pushed her way toward him.
"Hi," she began. "I understand you can tell me what's going on here," and she pushed her microphone under Sam's nose.
Taken by surprise Sam was speechless for a second before recovering himself. He was a little nervous about appearing on TV, even anonymously, but he knew they could use all the publicity they could get.
"What we have here is an impromptu gathering to protest against City Hall allowing an establishment like this one to blatantly flout the law," he explained. "They're running a- a bordello within the city limits and right under the noses of the local police. If that doesn't smell like corruption I don't know what does."
Cassie perked up. "What makes you believe that the business we're standing in front of is breaking the law? I've checked up on it and it's legally registered as a simple fitness facility."
"That's just it," agreed Sam. "It's been legally registered as a bona fide gym, when you only need to step through the doors to realize that it's nothing more than a damn whorehouse."
Cassie belatedly snatched away the mic.
"Sorry," Sam apologized for his language. "But I'm- We're all angry about this."
"It's OK," said Cassie, smiling. "We can bleep that out later."
"The reason we're here today," Sam went on, "is there are guys in there being held prisoner, held against their will and forced to work as hookers. It's medieval."
"You're talking False Imprisonment and Duress," Cassie suggested, getting more interested.
"Yeah, sure," Sam agreed. "It's gotta stop and stop right now. That's what this protest is about. Hang it, this is the 21st Century. It's time things changed."
"Well, I-" Cassie began, but she was cut off by a shout.
Hearing a yelp from behind, Sam looked over his shoulder and spotted one of the militant crowd pointing up at a second floor window.
"FIRE!" the guy yelled. "They've torched the freakin' place."
Sam's eyes widened. "No!" he gasped. "Dean's still in there. Someone call the Fire Department! NOW!"
TBC
A/N: Oh no! Looks like the fire got out of hand. And Dean is unconscious! More soon.