by Chris Taylor
“Sorry, boss. It won’t take long.” Will picked up the newspaper and followed him into the cramped confines of his office. “Have you seen the story in today’s paper?”
“Haven’t had a chance. I’ve just come from the Police Minister’s Office and now I have to front up to the DPP. No doubt there will be a meeting with the Attorney General before the day is out.” He spared Will a glance as he searched distractedly under an avalanche of paperwork. “What’s the problem?”
“A journalist at the Daily Mirror has decided to poke his nose into the city’s brothels. The Black Opal, in particular.”
“Shit.” Pete groaned with irritation. “Just what we need.” He picked up a thick warrant book and looked underneath it. “How bad is it?”
“Yeah, pretty bad. There’s a shitload of detail about the place—the girls, the live shows, the drugs. It must have been written by someone who was there—or else their source was. There’s no other explanation.”
“Which means we have a problem.”
“I’m afraid it gets worse.”
Pete stared at him, his face grim. “Let me get this straight: An overeager journalist without a clue what he’s getting into is sniffing around a brothel owned by one of Sydney’s most notorious drug dealers, smack in the middle of a year-long covert police operation we’ve only just started to make headway through. How could it get any worse?”
Will grimaced, but forged on. “The journo also alludes to a human trafficking scheme. According to the article, the girls at the brothel are being brought over here from Thailand under false pretenses.”
“How would a journalist get information like that? Who the hell is it?”
“No idea. There’s no byline, but if the story’s true, we know two things: one, that the drug dealing isn’t the only criminal activity going on in the place and two, the journalist has got some balls getting hold of information like that and printing it.”
“Find out who that damn writer is and warn him off before he starts interfering with the investigation, or even worse, ends up in the harbor,” Pete growled. “Just make sure you’re discreet about it. The last thing we need is the media wising up to our investigation.”
Will nodded. “I’ll get onto it. Rutledge Advertising is about to run a considerable ad campaign in the Daily Mirror. I’m sure I can wangle a meeting with their editor.”
Curiosity sparked in Pete’s brown eyes. “I thought you didn’t have anything to do with the day to day running of your father’s company?”
“I don’t, but if Dear Old Dad feels the need to spend twenty-five thousand dollars on newspaper ads, who else but his only son and heir should attend the meeting? Don’t worry, that kind of money will bring the editor.” His smile widened. “I’ll ask him about the story.”
Pete looked dubious. “Will your father go along with it?”
“Sure he will. He still hasn’t given up hope I’ll get over my desire to dabble in law enforcement and join him in the boardroom.”
“Just don’t let the editor get suspicious about your motives. We don’t need him wondering about why we’re so interested in the Black Opal. It’s bad enough there’s a Rambo-style journo on the loose.”
“I’ll be the epitome of discretion.”
With a smile that turned into a triumphant yelp, Pete seized a slim file from beneath a pile of papers and brandished it in the air.
“Found it!” Stuffing the file into his briefcase, he made his way to the door. “Are you still going tonight?” He threw the question over his shoulder.
Will frowned, drawing a blank. “Tonight?”
“Yeah, the ball at the Hilton, remember?”
“Shit, that’s right. I forgot all about it. What time does it start?”
“Seven, I think.”
“Yeah, well, I guess so.”
“No need to sound so enthusiastic. These nights are fun. Are you bringing a date?”
“Nope, I couldn’t be bothered. If I ask someone I haven’t dated before, she’ll think I’m keen and if I ask someone I have dated before, she’ll think I’m really keen. Sometimes it’s easier to go solo. No hassles then, right?”
Pete chuckled. “You need to find yourself a nice girl and marry her, Will. That way, there’s no decision to make. The expectations are neutralized and you have a date whenever you need one.”
Shaking his head, Will sighed. “You might be right.”
Will’s dejected tone elicited another laugh. “You won’t get any sympathy from me, mate. Most guys would kill to have the kind of attention you receive.”
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be—believe me.”
“If you say so.” Pete shook his head, his smile still lingering. “I’ll catch up with you at the ball. My wife will be there. You’ll get to meet her. I’m sure once Lucy finds out you’re single, she’ll do what she can to fix you up with someone, so prepare yourself. In fact, I think a high school friend of hers will also be there. Savannah’s young and single. If you don’t watch out, Lucy will have the two of you hooking up in no time.”
Will swallowed a groan. The last thing he needed was a merry matchmaker. “Boss, I don’t need—”
Pete smiled and waved his concerns away. “I’m joking. Lucy’s seven months pregnant and counting down the weeks. Matchmaking is the last thing on her mind. Besides, a mate of mine from Canberra and his wife will also be coming. Declan Munro works for the Australian Federal Police now, along with a couple of his brothers, but before he abdicated to the AFP, he used to be one of us. I’ve known him for years. We even worked together for a while at the DEA. He and Chloe got married about six months ago. He’s a good bloke and from all accounts, Chloe is a gem. She’s also with the AFP. I’m sure you’ll enjoy their company.”
Pete opened the door to his office. “Anyway, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later. Let me know how you get on with that editor.”
“Yeah, sure thing.”
* * *
“Have you lost your mind?” Lucy Duncan’s words rose above the sound of the kettle whistling on the stove.
Suddenly regretting her impulse to confide in her best friend, Savannah leaped up from the table and reached for her handbag.
“Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll just go, okay?” She slung her bag over her shoulder and headed toward the front door.
“Savannah O’Neill, stop right there!”
Savannah halted midstride and slowly turned around to face Lucy. Her friend looked only mildly contrite.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m just in shock. You’ve done some pretty wild things before, but to spend a night in a brothel pretending to be a prostitute? How did you expect me to react?”
“I thought you’d understand,” Savannah muttered.
Lucy plowed her fingers through her short dark cap of hair. “Understand? Do you have any idea of the danger you put yourself in? What if one of the men had tried to have sex with you?”
A vivid image of her James Bond look-alike with his mouth on hers flashed through Savannah’s mind. A hot flush of embarrassment spread across her cheeks. “Th-they did,” she stammered and glanced away.
“What? Are you saying you and some stranger—?”
“No, not quite.” She attempted a strained laugh. “We didn’t really do anything and he probably isn’t a total stranger, I mean, you might even know him.”
Lucy gaped, stumbling backwards. Her eyes were wide with confusion and disbelief. Mindful of her protruding belly, she collapsed awkwardly into a chair that matched the cedar dining room table.
“Someone I know? What are you talking about? Who was it?”
Savannah shrugged. “I’m not sure, but he definitely had the presence of a man who had standing in the community and his clothes were straight out of a fashion magazine. You and Pete socialize with people from that set.” She shrugged again. “I thought you might know him.”
Lucy shook her head. “Did you find
out anything about him before you started making out? Like, maybe a first name even?”
Savannah’s shoulders slumped. She crossed back to the table. Dropping her handbag on top of the dark, polished surface, she sank into a nearby chair. It would be a relief to talk about what had happened with someone she could trust. She’d tried to ring Chloe Munro, a close friend left over from her old life in Canberra, but her call had gone straight to Chloe’s voicemail and she had yet to return Savannah’s call.
What she’d seen and heard at the brothel had kept her sleepless all weekend. The thought of what was happening there appalled her. Then there was the mystery man who continued to hover in the forefront of her mind.
She drew in a deep breath and glanced over at her friend.
“I-I saw this guy at the front of the crowd. It was impossible not to notice him. He was so tall and broad and exuded an air of wealth and authority. I was drawn to him right away, even while I was doing my best to keep up with the other dancers.”
Lucy looked shocked all over again. “You were dancing with the brothel workers? Please tell me you weren’t doing lap dances.”
Savannah grinned. “Of course not! What do you think I am?”
Lucy offered a reluctant smile. “Sometimes, I wonder. Now, are you going to tell me how you managed to get involved in being part of the live entertainment and why doing something like that would even occur to you?”
Remembering Malee’s fear and desperation, Savannah sobered.
“One of the girls from the brothel contacted me. Don’t ask me how she got hold of my number, but she called me at work late last week and told me about a string of criminal activities that were going on at the Black Opal in Darlinghurst. We agreed to meet. She told me she was unable to leave the brothel, so I agreed to talk to her there. She suggested we get together Saturday night.”
Lucy stared at her, transfixed. “Keep going.”
“When I got there, it was kind of scary. Malee, the girl I was to meet, had warned me to watch out for the security guards. Ostensibly, they’re there to keep out uninvited guests, but Malee told me they’re more about ensuring the girls don’t escape.”
“Escape? Surely, you don’t mean they’re being held there against their will?”
Savannah bit her lip and nodded. “I’m afraid so. I had to sneak down a side alley and come in through the back door. Malee told me she’d timed the departure of one of her regular clients with my arrival so that she could ensure the back door was unlocked.” Savannah shrugged. “Apparently he prefers to leave that way. Thankfully, I didn’t run into him on my way in.” She shuddered at the memory.
“What happened next?” Lucy asked.
“Malee met me at the door and we talked in one of the empty bedrooms. She told me she’d been there two years, servicing men against her will.”
“What do you mean “against her will”? This is Australia! Surely that’s illegal?”
“Of course it is, but it still happens. Vince Maranoa has ten girls there and according to Malee, all of them are prisoners.”
“Who’s Vince Maranoa?”
Savannah drew in another deep breath. To an outsider, her story sounded unbelievable. She wouldn’t believe it herself, if she hadn’t been there.
“Vince Maranoa is the owner of the brothel. Apparently, he brings girls over from Thailand with false promises to the girls and their families and then forces the girls to work at the Black Opal. They’re given drugs to keep them compliant. Of course, they have to pay for them. Maranoa takes it out of the money they earn. Before they know it, they’re hooked and barely earning enough to cover their habit.”
Her lips compressed. “Naturally, Maranoa charges a premium. Some of the girls have been there for years and don’t have a dollar to their name. They’re drug addicts selling their bodies to pay for their next fix.”
Lucy frowned. “Thank God one of them had the courage to reach out to you. Now you can do something about it.”
“Exactly! I knew you’d understand!”
“It still doesn’t explain how you came to be posing as a prostitute.”
Savannah averted her gaze and forged on. “After speaking with Malee, my heart was breaking. She’s little more than a child—sixteen, seventeen—somewhere around there. She asked me to take her place on the dance floor so she could escape. The guards would be less likely to notice if everyone was accounted for. I guess she saw it as an opportunity too good to miss.”
“But you don’t look anything like a young Thai girl!”
“I wore a wig and Malee found me some clothes. There was nothing I could do about my height, but we thought amongst the crowd of girls on the dance floor, I might get away with it. By then, I was willing to do anything to help her get away.”
Lucy shook her head in disbelief. “I still can’t believe you did it.” She pushed away from the table and headed back to the open-plan kitchen. Pulling the makings of coffee out of the cupboard, she went about filling two cups and handed one to Savannah who murmured her thanks and took a sip before continuing.
“This whole thing at the Black Opal—it’s just so wrong. Maranoa gets these girls started on drugs the day they arrive. He woos them with promises of a good life, but it’s all a lie. He has no intention of letting them go. Once they’re hooked, they don’t care about anything but their next fix!”
“You have to tell Pete.”
“I don’t want to get the police involved until I know a bit more about who’s who.”
“You mean, your mystery man.”
A blush stole up Savannah’s cheeks. “Well, yes—him for one. Once the police are involved, anyone with a public profile will be fodder for the tabloids. Who knows, maybe he has an innocent explanation for his presence?”
“But you think that’s unlikely.”
“Yes, I do. In fact, I think he’s Maranoa’s drug supplier.”
“I thought you said he looked like he was from old money?”
“A lot of wealthy people lost serious money when the stock market crashed back in 2008. Okay, a few of them are recovering, but times have been tough. Maybe our high flier isn’t flying quite so high, any more? Maybe it simply comes down to money?”
She shook her head. “Of course, I don’t have any evidence yet and that’s why I haven’t printed anything about him. That, and the fact I’m giving James the benefit of the doubt.”
“James?”
Savannah grinned. “Yeah, James. That’s what I’ve taken to calling him. He’s a living, breathing personification of James Bond. Pierce Brosnan, not Daniel Craig,” she added. “Actually, I think he’d even give Hugh Jackman a run for his money.”
“Wow, that’s some serious good looks. No wonder you’re keen to know more,” Lucy joked.
Savannah’s smile slowly faded. “I wish it was that easy.”
“What makes you think he’s a drug dealer?”
Savannah stood and leaned her hip against the pale granite island countertop which dominated the kitchen. Late afternoon sunlight glinted off the steel pots which hung galley-style above it. “I guess it was more what he said—”
“You mean he told you he was involved with this Maranoa guy?”
“Well, not exactly.” She squirmed under Lucy’s direct gaze. Heat crept up her neck. “He said he’d known Maranoa a long time. He said they went way back.”
Lucy shook her head in exasperation. “For heaven’s sake, that doesn’t mean he’s supplying the man with drugs.”
“But it’s possible.”
Lucy shook her head. “I’m sorry, you’re not convincing me.”
“Well, what do you think he meant? When I woke up in the bed, I was alone with him. He must have carried me.” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “How did he know where to go unless he was familiar with the place?”
Lucy gaped. “Whoa! Back up just a minute! What the hell are you talking about, when you woke up in the bed? What haven’t you told me?”
Savannah’s ch
eeks burned. She turned away and busied herself by taking another sip from her cup. Forcing a nonchalant tone she was far from feeling, she replied, “It’s not as bad as it sounds, Luce. It was hot and smoky and crowded. The men were so close—”
Lucy looked aghast. “Savannah! I can’t believe you’d put yourself in that situation. You’re damned lucky you weren’t hurt—or worse. What the hell were you thinking?”
Turning, Savannah held up her hands in an act of surrender. “Hey, don’t go getting upset again, especially in your condition. Pete will have my head if your blood pressure is up at your next prenatal visit.” With a sigh, she moved back to the table and lowered herself into her chair.
“I think I fainted from the heat. The next thing I knew, I woke up on a bed. James Bond was in the room.”
Ignoring Lucy’s disapproving frown, she hurried on. “It was a good opportunity to ask him a few questions, you know, find out why he was there.” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “But somehow we ended up kissing and before I knew it, we were rolling around on the bed.”
Lucy shook her head in disbelief, but amusement sparkled in her eyes.
“Savannah O’Neill, I don’t believe it! What happened to your Y-chromosome ban? Don’t tell me you finally decided to go for it? I’ve only been telling you since you split up with Jonathan to go out and enjoy some no-strings-attached sex. I never dreamed you’d take up my suggestion in the midst of such a seriously dangerous situation.” A grin tugged at her lips. “I have to hand it to you. I’m impressed!”
Savannah offered a sheepish smile. “Hey, what can I say? Whatever else he may be, there’s no denying this guy is hot.”
“Don’t think I don’t know you’re trying to deflect my attention from your little stunt with your oh-so-indifferent mention of a passionate encounter with a perfect stranger,” Lucy admonished with a smile that slowly faded. “What if he hadn’t been so trustworthy? You were in a brothel! Who would have listened to a lone voice calling rape from a bedroom?”
Savannah sobered. “I agree. It’s not the smartest thing I’ve done. But now that I know what’s going on, I can’t just ignore it. It’s like you said; we need to do something about it. Forget the story—those girls need help.” She took another deep breath and looked her friend squarely in the eyes. “I have to go back.”
