by Terry Toler
“Shut up Jamie. He doesn’t have a wife. There is a perfectly reasonable explanation.”
He did say he had lost his phone and had to get a new one. She didn’t know why he didn’t have a voicemail set up yet, but she didn’t have time to do an investigation.
One investigation at a time, Jamie.
She turned her thoughts to what she might find at the strip club. One glance behind her confirmed Moe was still on her tail. Jamie grinned, “You should thank me, Moe. We’re going to a strip club. Your surveillance just got more interesting.” She wondered if he would appreciate it. She’d noticed a ring on his finger and wondered what his wife would think about him going into a strip club. Of course, he would just say it was part of his job.
Jamie suddenly slowed her pace. She was about to walk by the place where the boys had attacked her. She glanced that way but didn’t see anything because it was across the street in a back alleyway. No yellow tape or any sign evidenced that anything had happened.
She made the first right and Moe was still following her. She needed to get away from that area as soon as possible. As dumb as he was, Moe might realize they were at the crime scene. She didn’t want him to associate it with her at all. She pulled out a map and pretended to be lost. A quick turn and she was facing Moe, walking toward him.
He looked into the window of a shop pretending not to be looking her way.
Jamie pretended to act confused. Like she was trying to get her bearings. She knew exactly where she was. From there, she took a left and went two blocks. She rounded a corner and came upon the entrance to the Splash nightclub. Cars were lined up waiting for the valet, and a line of men stretched around the corner with two bouncers guarding the entrance. Jamie knew from experience that a beautiful girl could go to the front of the line and get in right away. That was what she did and was motioned in.
“Poor Moe,” Jamie thought. “He’ll have to get in the back of the line.”
***
Splash was a theatre of sight and sound. The million-dollar sound system was topped only by the elaborate, over-the-top light display. The size of half a football field, the club was packed with men and about two hundred women wearing the same tight, extremely short, black dress, slightly off their shoulders. They were all wearing high heels, and bright-red stilettos. The only way someone could tell them apart was their different hair color, height, shape, and facial features.
All were gorgeous. Normally, when Jamie walked into a room, she was the prettiest by far. Not the case at Splash. Jamie was wearing her own LBD, so she hoped the men didn’t confuse her with the other girls.
The club had three large dance floors, but no one was dancing. Mirrors were everywhere, but no one was looking at themselves. Three large bar areas provided a constant supply of drinks. Just about everyone had a drink in their hand. The club wasn’t dark like strip clubs in America, where everyone seemed embarrassed and afraid to be seen.
Splash was the place where everyone wanted to be seen and seem important, wanted to be a high roller, even if they weren’t. The men wanted to impress a girl and make her believe she was fortunate he chose her, even though she wasn’t. The girls were a sure thing. Their job was to make a man think she chose him over the other guys and afterward, make him feel like he was the best she’d ever had.
No girls were dancing naked. No poles. Nothing to make anyone think it was even a strip club. Except for the look on the girl’s faces. Jamie had seen that look too many times. She could spot a working girl a mile away. Not that she could pinpoint what it was specifically. Maybe the eyes. Someone once said the eyes were the window to the soul. A woman who sold her body to men loses her soul almost immediately, the eyes reflecting the emptiness of a soul that’s dead inside.
The girls of Splash had the same look. A very high-end club, the conditions were ideal for the girls, if there was such a thing as ideal conditions for a prostitute. But the look was the same as the girls in the seediest brothels in Thailand. Selling one’s body for money felt the same everywhere, no matter how much money was made.
Jamie observed the girls mingling with the men until an obvious agreement occurred. Once a verbal agreement was reached, they would walk over to a roped area in front of curtains which undoubtedly led to VIP rooms. That was where the real action occurred. The look as the girl walked to the VIP room told Jamie how long she’d been working there. The veteran girls had a distant look of acceptance. Just another miserable day at the office. Another sick pervert who was going to get his kicks off on her and was willing to spend a good part of his paycheck for the thirty-minute thrill.
The newer girls felt the excitement of closing a sale, like a car salesman or door-to door vacuum cleaner salesman, now one step closer to quota. But then as they walked to the line for the VIP rooms, the look turned to fear, as they realized what they would have to do for that sale.
Jamie was propositioned by at least twenty men in the first five minutes. There were only a dozen non-working girls there. The guys weren’t there to meet girls; they were there to get some from a paid professional. The establishment didn’t want outside girls competing against their own girls. Jamie was surprised they even let her in.
She was thankful when one of the working girls sat down next to her and sent the line of men away. At first, Jamie was surprised she sat by her. Most places wanted the girls working, but it became apparent they were also tasked with recruiting other girls at this club.
That was why they let Jamie in. She would be a perfect recruit. Jamie played along.
“Hi. My name is Chastity,” the girl said.
Chastity was probably nineteen, brown hair, shoulder length, blue eyes. Beautiful facial features, although her teeth needed braces. When she talked, she often moved her hand in front of her smile to hide the only notable flaw in her appearance. When she smiled, her lips were closed tightly. Embarrassed. Jamie doubted the men even noticed. Her other features dominated her look.
Jamie found it ironic her name was Chastity. She figured the girl didn’t really know what it meant.
“Allie,” Jamie said shaking her hand.
“I haven’t seen you around here before,” Chastity said.
“No. Just visiting from America,” Jamie responded in a friendly manner. She wanted to earn her confidence.
“My sister is on her way to America.”
“Really.”
“Yes. She is marrying an American man.”
“Oh. Where did she meet him?”
Chastity got a sheepish look on her face and leaned in and whispered,
“Actually, she has never met him.”
“I’ve heard about that. Is she a mail order bride? What’s your sister’s name?”
“Olga. She just got chosen to go. We applied together. I had the chance to go, but I was too scared. I can’t imagine marrying someone without getting to know them. My sister has always been a wild child. She was determined. She leaves this Friday. They found me a job here. This is my first week.”
“How is it going so far?” Jamie asked.
“Really good.”
Jamie could tell that she was lying. Not really lying, just afraid to tell the truth. Afraid to admit she made a horrible mistake, that she was ashamed. Jamie had seen it thousands of times. It’s how they got trapped. They start out feeling empowered because they were so attractive that men wanted them.
By the second or third guy, they went from “I am doing a bad thing” to “I’m a bad person.” Then they were hooked. They thought they deserved the shame. The shame took control of them and became a chain around their neck. A badge of dishonor. For this reason, it was hard to get the girls out of it because they thought they deserved all the pain that came with it. The key was to get the girls to see that they deserved better. All hope was not lost yet for Chastity.
“Tell me about the club,” Jamie asked. Chastity was perfect. She liked to talk. She’d be a fountain of information.
Jamie learned the club ha
d more than one hundred VIP rooms behind the curtain. The line to the rooms was more than ten couples deep. That made sense. Someone sunk a lot of money into this club. There was no way he made enough on the cover charge and alcohol to pay the expenses. The big money was in the rooms.
It was called Splash because some of the rooms were showers, bathtubs, and hot tubs that they could share with the men. There were also rooms where the men could watch other girls behind glass windows taking showers, dancing provocatively, turning the men on, while girls like Chastity satisfied them while they watched. Some of the rooms were just behind curtains, some had beds. The guys paid more if they wanted more.
“The money is good,” Chastity said as if she needed to justify her actions.
“How much do you make?”
“I will make about 1600 BYN this month.” About $800.00 American dollars. “We are always looking for girls.”
“What was the name of the company that recruited you and your sister?”
“Belles of Belarus. See that man over there behind the ropes. He is the owner.”
She now had a connection between Asaf and the mail-order-bride business in Pinsk.
The pipeline?
Jamie looked to where Chastity pointed and discovered another roped off area guarded by two bouncers. This section was a private area. One table had an Arab looking man with two women on his arms, and his own guards standing only a short distance away. He looked important.
“His name is Omer Asaf,” Chastity said.
Jamie already knew his name. She recognized him from the picture.
Now she needed to figure out to get behind those ropes and meet him.
16
Jamie didn’t have to figure out a way to meet Omer Asaf. Within five minutes of talking to Chastity, one of the goons who’d been guarding Omer behind the ropes walked toward them.
“Looks like Mr. Asaf wants to meet you,” Chastity said, pointing out the man as he made his way across the empty dance floor.
Not necessary. Jamie had already noticed. She was analyzing the situation. The thought had already crossed her mind that she hoped she never had to fight the man. He stood six foot four or five and three hundred plus pounds. Lumbering was a better way to describe his walk. He looked like a linebacker on an NFL team. She would have the advantage of speed and quickness.
He’d have every other advantage including the one attached to his side under his suit jacket. A gun. Something Jamie had but threw into the river.
“I wonder what he wants,” Jamie said to herself not realizing she said it loud enough for Chastity to hear her.
“He talks to a lot of girls,” she explained. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I should warn you. I hear he’s kind of a playboy.”
“I’ll be fine. Thanks for the information,” Jamie said, reaching over and giving Chastity a hug. Almost a reflex reaction. She barely knew the girl and was already feeling terrible about her plight. Wondering if there was a way to rescue her. Rescue was a strange way to say it. Chastity probably didn’t think she needed rescuing even though Jamie knew she did.
How could she rescue Chastity without blowing her cover? Brad’s instructions were clear. Don’t try to help the girls! You are there for information gathering only.
Brad had another saying that echoed in her mind. You can’t save everyone.
Besides, she needed to focus on Asaf. He owned a nightclub that employed prostitutes. That much was clear. It didn’t mean he was involved in sex trafficking, but it was close enough to explore further.
“Mr. Asaf would like to meet you and welcome you personally to Splash,” the guard said.
“Who is Mr. Asaf?” Jamie asked, feigning ignorance.
“He is the owner of the nightclub.” The man pointed to Omer sitting behind the ropes. Two women were still at his side.
“I don’t know…” Jamie said pretending to be cautious. A normal response for a young woman alone in a nightclub in a foreign country.
“He just wants to buy you a drink. Introduce himself.” The man said assuredly but nervously. He was sent on a mission, and Jamie could imagine that Omer would not be happy if he wasn’t successful.
“Go ahead. You’ll be fine,” Chastity said reassuringly.
“Okay. I guess it won’t hurt to say hello,” Jamie said.
Olga stood and pulled the bottom of her dress down as if it could go down any further. A nervous habit most girls did. Didn’t matter where a girl was. In church or in a nightclub. Jamie had learned something from that. Women were instinctively modest. Protective of their figure and men gawking at it. Even prostitutes or girls in strip clubs instinctively tried to cover themselves.
Jamie had seen women in the scantiest outfits try to pull their top up or their skirt or shorts down. As if they knew. Down deep. They tried to cover themselves because they were instinctively ashamed. Embarrassed. When they crossed the line was when they accepted the shame. As if they deserved it. It became part of them. That’s why she needed to talk to Chastity alone. Maybe there was still hope for her.
Omer’s goon motioned for Jamie to lead the way. As she was walking, she suddenly felt eyes on her. There were hundreds of eyes on her as almost every man in the house stopped what he was doing to watch her walk across the room.
That’s not what she was feeling. The eyes were familiar.
Moe.
He was standing just inside the entrance.
He made it inside! A smile came on her face at the thought. Moe was scanning the room for her. A pained and panicked look on his face.
I’m right here, Moe.
She was walking across the floor in perfect view of the entire nightclub and Moe was the only man in the club who hadn’t seen her. He was looking in the booths. At the bar. His eyes going back and forth furtively. Jamie saw a look of relief come over his face when he finally spotted her. It was all she could do to keep from laughing out loud.
She turned her attention back to Asaf who now was looking her way with a friendly smile on his face. He sent the two girls next to him away and stood from a lush couch that seated three easily. In front of the couch was a table with a glass top. Several finished drinks were on the table along with a half empty bottle of chilled champagne in a bucket of ice. Jamie recognized from the label that it was an expensive brand of champagne.
“My name is Omer,” he said, extending his hand.
He was exactly like his picture only slightly grayer around the sides. A salt and pepper gray. Distinguished. The look created no doubt by a highly skilled hairdresser. His handshake was firm but inviting. He pulled her toward him slightly exerting control over her immediately. She let him. He took her hand and raised it to his lips and kissed the top of it. Smoothly. Gently. Releasing the hand slowly, at his pace. Romantically, even though they had just met.
Jamie pretended to blush. Curly had said faking blushing was something Jamie wasn’t good at it. He used to tease her and say she looked like she was constipated. He spent hours trying to help her perfect the proper technique. He finally gave up. He would’ve given up sooner if not for the amusement it was giving him. Something she didn’t appreciate. He told her to not even bother trying to do it in the field. “It’ll get you killed,” he warned.
She had practiced it in front of a mirror for hours and had become better at it. Enough that it wouldn’t get her killed.
Omer certainly didn’t notice. He invited her to sit next to him.
“Bring us some more champagne,” he commanded snapping his fingers in the air. A waiter standing in the corner immediately responded.
They took the half-opened bottle away. Jamie thought it was a waste of good champagne.
“Bring us some Armand de Brignac Brut Rose,” Asaf with a look of satisfaction. “Have them bring some strawberries with it.”
“That’s very expensive champagne,” Jamie said. “As I remember.” Omer waived his hand dismissively.
“I have some bottles in my collection worth over $
25,000 each. This one is about $1,000 a bottle.”
“French, I presume,” Jamie said.
“Of course. I would never drink any champagne that wasn’t from France. This bottle is less expensive, but very exquisite. Like you, my dear.”
“Merci,” Jamie replied.
“You speak French?”
“Not hardly,” Jamie said in more of a southern accent, shaking her head, chuckling. “I know a few words. That’s about it.”
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Allie.”
“Where are you from, Allie?”
“I’m from America. Omaha, Nebraska.”
Jamie saw a hint of anger flash across Asaf’s face. He couldn’t hide it. His eyes burned with hatred.
She remembered that he had no business investments in America. Being from the Middle East, he may have any number of reasons why he might hate America. He was trying hard not to show it.
Asaf looked away. So did Jamie. What she saw made her angry. Chastity was standing in the line for the VIP rooms with a man next to her. A paying customer.
She couldn’t bear the thought of what was about to happen. Unlike Omer, she was careful to make sure the anger inside didn’t make it to her face.
Fortunately for both of them, the bottle of champagne arrived. The smile returned to Omer’s face as he insisted on opening the bottle. Asaf expertly removed the cork. The loud popping noise echoed through the room as it opened. Sounded like a gunshot causing Jamie to catch herself so she didn’t jump. Then a crackling, fizzing sound as the champagne bubbled over the top and then swooshed into the glass. Jamie could hear the distinctive sound of hissing, chatter, bubbling that eventually faded away to a whisper.
Omer poured each of them a glass. He swirled the champagne in the glass and then placed it under his nose. Jamie had been taught the proper etiquette but decided to act naïve, unsure of herself. She just raised it to her lips as he gave a toast in French. Something about her beauty. She shuddered slightly as the alcohol permeated her body and senses. It rushed to her brain, instantly releasing tension. She felt herself relax slightly. He dipped a strawberry in brown sugar and handed it to her. The taste exploded in her mouth and she felt suddenly energized.
