Once outside the cool breeze coming off the ocean helped sober Caroline as she walked in the direction of her scooter parked in the front of the building. Suddenly, she heard sobbing and a man’s voice cursing in Spanish. “Shut up bitch!” yelled the man. “You do as I say.”
“Yes Master,” replied a childlike voice. Caroline moved in for a closer look and what she saw boiled her blood. A half-naked boy lay on the ground with a small well-dressed man towering over him preparing to strike. Caroline knew Islanders do not dress well, unless they are criminals, or work for Parliament. Could this teenager be this man’s son, or ward, or a paid escort trying to coerce money? Although Caroline hated stumbling upon another persons’ confrontation, what she hated more was all forms of abuse.
“What is going on here?” she asked sickened by the entire scene. “Young man can I help you?”