The Ethan Galaal Series: Books 1 - 3

by Isaac Hooke

  The modern Chen Tang was reputed to be a formidable gangster who had enemies of the Triad cut up with cleaver knives. Usually these enemies were left alive so that their maimed bodies would serve as examples to others.

  "And how exactly are you going to get him to introduce you to Chen Tang?"

  She winked. "My womanly wiles. Enjoy your evening." She got up.

  Ethan watched her make her way toward the table. Her walk had completely transformed. She swayed her hips sensually with each step. She held her shoulders far back and stuck out her chest so that her breasts protruded.

  Watching her, Ethan wished he was at that table.

  Despite the women with him, the promoter gentleman noticed her, pivoting his head to watch her pass.

  Apparently realizing she had his attention, Bretta glanced at him and casually lowered the mask so that her entire face was revealed. She gave him a smoldering look that made even Ethan's blood boil, four tables away.

  The gentleman sat straighter, his attention riveted on her. He shoved one of the women aside to make room and urgently beckoned Bretta to join him.

  Smirking very slightly, she replaced the mask, squeezed past the other women, and sat down beside him.

  Ethan was distracted by the arrival of a mysterious woman at his own table. Green eyes peered from a face that was otherwise completely hidden behind a volto mask. The bottom portion of the porcelain depicted facial features: white nose and cheeks, golden lips. The upper portion was inlaid with an emerald-and-gold design that mimicked a half mask, making it seem as if she wore a mask atop a mask.

  Tiny black shorts revealed long, lithe legs. An elaborate rose tattooed her right thigh. A bright red corset squeezed her midsection. Sequins were glued in spiral patterns across the exposed skin of her bust and shoulders. Long, silky black hair tied into a ponytail reached to the small of her back.

  "You look all lost and lonely tonight." She said it with a flirty pout on her lips that added a hidden subtext: Aww, poor baby. "Maybe I can help you find your way."

  Her voice was mellifluous. Sensual. If she was even half as beautiful behind that mask as she sounded...

  "Maybe you can," Ethan agreed.

  She extended a hand, palm down. "I'm Jade."

  26

  Ethan ignored the hand. "Jade? Do you have a last name?"

  "Just Jade." She lowered her arm, a momentary gleam of disappointment in her eyes.

  "All right," Ethan said. "Just Jade. Tell me you're not a table girl."

  "I'm so much more than a table girl," she purred.

  "Good. Is there anywhere we can talk in private?"

  "There certainly is." She grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. She started forward but then paused and said: "Just to talk."

  "Of course," he agreed. He stepped forward a pace. "But you walk at my side, not in front."

  He beckoned toward the crook of his elbow and she wrapped her hand through it.

  "A gentleman, then," Jade said.

  "Only in the evenings."

  She guided him through the VIP section.

  When Ethan neared Bretta's table, he couldn't resist glancing her way. A part of him hoped to make her jealous, but then he realized she wasn't even there. Where—

  He spotted Bretta on the opposite side of the VIP section; the operative was climbing a series of steps guarded by two members of club security. The promoter was at her side.

  Ethan considered following her, but decided it was best to let her work. Even so, he transferred his phone from his jacket pocket to his pants so that if she sent a message he'd more easily feel the smartphone vibrate.

  Jade led him to the far corner of the VIP, where another club security member guarded a side hallway. The bouncer exchanged a nod with Jade as she passed.

  She took the lead, glancing over her shoulder at him. When she turned her head forward again, her ponytail swayed, momentarily revealing a hidden tattoo on the back of her neck. Something about that tattoo seemed wrong...

  Jade paused beside a small desk manned by a young, unmasked white girl.

  "How much time do you want?" the young girl asked him.

  Ethan perused the price list on the wall. "Five minutes, to start with."

  Jade squeezed his hand. "You want more time than that, I'm sure."

  "Maybe after I've seen the goods." To the cashier: "Five minutes."

  "Four thousand man," the cashier said. About five hundred U.S. dollars.

  Ethan paid with the last of his cash.

  Jade led him by the hand past a series of curtained booths. She entered the first unoccupied stall and closed the curtain behind him.

  Ethan sat on a plush bench and Jade planted herself beside him, pressing her body against his.

  "I was expecting a room with a bed," Ethan said. "Not a booth a stripper would use for a lap dance."

  Jade shrugged. "We agreed beforehand that we would simply talk."

  "I didn't pay four thousand man to talk. I'm owed a lap dance, at the very least."

  She placed a teasing hand underneath his jacket and twirled her fingers. She brought her lips close to his ear and whispered: "If you take care of me, I take care of you."

  She swiveled around in front of him, perching in his lap. She reached behind her head and removed the mask.

  Flawless skin, supple lips, exquisite jawline, penetrating green eyes. Eastern European, perhaps. Maybe Moldovan. Now that he could see her features, he realized her face indeed matched her voice; even so, she had a tired, disillusioned look to her, as if she were merely going through the motions demanded by social etiquette, and had long ago lost her joie de vivre.

  "I expected you to be Chinese," Ethan said.

  "I'm full of surprises," she said.

  He reached up and cupped her breast outside the corset. She shoved his hand away.

  "No touching," Jade said. "You haven't taken care of me yet."

  "Turn around," Ethan said.

  She smiled coyly. "Okay."

  She swiveled in his lap, tickling his face with her ponytail.

  He quickly lifted the hair from her nape to reveal the tattoo. Except it wasn't a tattoo: Chinese characters had been branded into the skin, like one would do to cattle. He recognized the symbols for the Sun Yee On triad in the dim light of the booth.

  Jade tore away as if stung. "What are you doing?" She stood in a huff.

  "You're property," Ethan said. "Chattel. This club is your pen. You're never allowed to leave, are you?"

  She spun around to go.

  "Wait," he said.

  "What!"

  He regarded her calmly. "I'll give you this watch if you do something for me."

  Her body rocked as if she were trying to decide whether to stay or go. Her green eyes flicked to the Rolex. "Is it real?"

  "A real man never wears fake."

  She scowled. "Whether you're a real man remains to be seen."

  Ethan shrugged. "Do you want it or not?"

  "It depends on what I have to do."

  "Well that, dear girl, is easy." Ethan said. "Introduce me to your pimp."

  "I don't have a pimp." She nearly spat the word.

  "Well take me to your owner, then."

  "I don't—" She lowered her gaze. Took a few deep breaths. Looked at the watch once more. "Why?"

  "I want to purchase something from him."

  She hesitated a moment longer. "You'll give me the watch?"

  "I'll give you the watch."

  She scooped up her mask and led him to another curtained booth. When she parted the curtain, Ethan realized it didn't conceal a booth, but another hallway entirely.

  Jade looked over her shoulder at him. "You think you're some rich badass?"

  "Not at all."

  "You're not the first man who's come in here, acting all tough and confident, demanding to meet with senior Triad members, only to leave in pieces."

  "And I won't be the last, I'm sure." He decided to try turning her. It was a long sho
t, but if he succeeded, she would be an invaluable ally. "Tell me something. If I could offer you your freedom, what would that be worth to you?"

  She laughed, not bothering to look back at him. "What makes you think I even want freedom? I'm happy here. I have my every whim catered for. Expensive clothing. Jewelry. Whatever I want."

  "Except you have to let ugly, oily old men mount you every night."

  "Maybe I like sex with old men," Jade said. "Sex is life."

  "It can also be death. Haven't you ever dreamed of seeing the world beyond the club? Lying on a white sand beach in the Mediterranean, maybe? Trying out custom shoes in a cobbler's shop in Istanbul? Sampling the food under the eaves of the Eiffel Tower?"

  She snorted. "You certainly paint an overly romantic, sugarcoated picture. I don't like traveling. First of all, there's the diarrhea. Second of all, I get extremely restless when I sit in a car for even an hour. I can't imagine being cooped up for eight hours on a plane. All to see crowded, overrated tourist attractions where you're charged ten dollars for a bottled water."

  He sensed her words were meant more for herself than him. Pimps sometimes planted agents among the clients. These agents would build up an emotional relationship with the girls—outside of the sexual one—and eventually they would offer to help them escape. If a girl agreed to go along with the plan, leaping over the fence of some back alley or ducking into a furtive car, she would only find her pimp waiting on the other side, and a beating she wouldn't forget. These plants trained the women to ignore any future knights in shining armor. They didn't trust a soul.

  "Look at me," Ethan said, stopping. "Look at me."

  She turned around, clearly annoyed.

  "I don't work for your owner," Ethan said. "Or the Triad. I'm real. I can get you out."

  "I can't trust you," she said. "I'm sorry, I can't." She dropped her eyes to the floor. "I almost died the last time."

  "What is your freedom worth to you?" Ethan pressed.

  Jade glanced up. She must have seen the earnestness in his eyes, because she said, in a voice little more than a whisper: "Everything."

  She abruptly stiffened, as if believing she had made some terrible mistake. "But you can't grant it." She turned around and continued walking.

  Well, he'd planted the seed. That was all he needed for now.

  Jade turned down a side hallway. At the far end two men stood guard in front of a door. The first was a tall, muscular black man, and the second a sumo wrestler in a suit.

  Jade halted a meter away.

  "I have a guest for Lo Leung," she said.

  The sumo wrestler glanced at Ethan contemptuously. "I don't know him."

  "I vouch for him," Jade said.

  The sumo's lips curled in a sneer. "Don't know him. Don't like him."

  "I said I vouch for him," Jade insisted.

  "And what good is your vouch, whore?" the sumo said.

  "That's enough," the black man scolded him. He stepped forward. "Arms up."

  Ethan complied and the man patted him down. The guard had him temporarily unbutton his dress shirt, probably to check for a wire. "He's good."

  The two men stepped aside.

  Jade pushed the door open and Ethan followed her.

  Into the lion's den, he thought, trying to ready himself for whatever awaited.

  27

  Ethan found himself inside a lounge of sorts. The air was foggy from the fumes of drug use. A cloying smell halfway between that of roasting nuts and burning flowers permeated the air, mixed with the stench of human sweat and urine.

  On either side of the room were several alcoves, partitioned by curtains. Inside them were men, mostly Chinese, lying on mattresses. White-robed women attended them.

  Most of the clientele were supine and barely awake, their faces ghostly, their breathing slow and labored. In their hands were either the meth pipes they had used to smoke freebase heroin—the refined version of opium—or the empty needles they'd injected it with.

  The imaginary world of Venetian balls was long gone.

  Glazed eyes watched Ethan and Jade make their way across the room.

  On the far side of the den, a plump Asian man sat in an office chair. He looked like another sumo in a suit—he could have been the twin to the man outside as far as Ethan was concerned.

  He was wearing a virtual reality headset wired to a microtower PC beside him. The armrests of the chair had been equipped with a HOTAS joystick: the throttle control was on a steel plate affixed beneath the left armrest, the stick control on a similar plate under the right. The man's hands gripped each one, and his body swayed as he participated in a virtual dogfight that only he could see.

  Virtual reality, Ethan thought. The drug of the new millennium.

  So much for the claim that the Triad didn't have any computer systems in the club. Then again, the microtower was probably the man's personal property, meant for gaming alone. The very fact he was allowed a computer spoke to his prominence in the Triad hierarchy.

  Chained to the floor, two fierce-looking mastiffs perched in front of the chair. Their lips formed a permanent snarl, long canines protruding menacingly. Both animals growled softly when Ethan neared, as if sensing the danger he posed.

  Two bored-looking Chinese guards stood on either side of the man. Both held H&K MP5 submachine guns.

  Ethan felt suddenly very vulnerable. He would have to tread carefully in the next few minutes.

  "My owner," Jade told him quietly.

  Ethan removed his Rolex and tossed it to her.

  Jade tightened the watch around her wrist. She approached the seated individual and paused before him, just beyond the mastiffs.

  "Lo Leung," she said.

  The plump man lifted his head slightly. "Jade? Not now." He returned to his virtual dogfight, fingers twitching on the HOTAS controls.

  "Lo Leung," Jade said more urgently.

  Lo Leung tore off his VR headset. "What!"

  Jade cringed, then nodded toward Ethan.

  Lo Leung crumpled his brow. "You bring me a new pet? You know I prefer them younger."

  Ethan realized he was still wearing the Phantom of the Opera mask. He could only imagine how ridiculously out of place he must have looked. He reached up and tore the mask off, flinching as dabs of dried glue ripped away skin.

  He tossed the mask at the man's feet. The dogs promptly tore into it, leaving shreds.

  "I'm not a pet," Ethan said.

  Lo Leung raised an eyebrow. "You are here for heroin?" He glanced at Jade. "You should not have interrupted me for a simple drug request!"

  He beckoned toward a woman who stood in front of an empty alcove. Ethan could see everything underneath her diaphanous white gown: the twin dots of her nipples, the dark triangle of her mons pubis.

  The woman stepped forward, holding a silver tray containing meth pipes and needles.

  "There you go." Lo Leung flashed a diamond-grilled smile. "Enjoy yourself." He lifted the headset, preparing to enter his VR escape once more.

  Ethan took a deep breath. It was time to begin the dance.

  "My name is Mr. Wellington," Ethan said. "CEO of Wellington Capital. And I'm here to buy Jade."

  Jade gasped, shooting him a look that was both hurt and shocked.

  Lo Leung froze, the VR headset halfway on his head. He stared at Ethan incredulously before erupting in uproarious laughter. His armed henchmen joined in.

  "You cannot afford her," Lo Leung said.

  "How much do you want?" Ethan said calmly.

  Lo Leung leaned forward. "Three point five million euros. Payment in cash or diamonds."

  "You don't accept American Express or Visa?" Ethan said, opening his wallet to reveal the Centurion and Palladium cards.

  Lo Leung grinned, revealing those diamond-studded teeth. "Funny man."

  "No girl is worth three point five million euros."

  Lo Leung's smile widened. "Tell that to the sheik who bought another woman from me last week. For three
million."

  Ethan folded his arms. "I want to talk to your boss. Let's see what he says."

  Lo Leung snarled. "I don't have a boss."

  "Sure you do," Ethan said. "Chen Tang."

  Lo Leung slammed his fist down on the armrest, breaking the steel plate that held up the HOTAS. "No random person off the street talks to Chen Tang. Especially not some fool wishing to purchase my property."

  "All right," Ethan said, raising his palms. "I'll negotiate directly with you." He looked Jade up and down. "Her face isn't perfectly symmetrical. She's got a small gap between her front teeth. And there, what are those? Cigarette-burn scars on her breasts? I'll give you fifty K for her."

  Lo Leung glanced at the armed guards to his right and left in disbelief.

  "Fifty K? Fifty K!" He snarled like his mastiffs. "Get out of here."

  "Make it a a hundred, then," Ethan said.

  Lo Leung glared at him fiercely, saying nothing.

  "Two hundred?" Ethan said. The scowl deepened. "Three?"

  Lo Leung stabbed an accusing finger at him. "You dare barge into my domain and insult my property in front of my guests? And then you insult me by bidding? Two hundred thousand. Three hundred! Bartering like I'm some lowly commoner?"

  The mastiffs growled madly, lunging at Ethan. Their chains stretched to the limit.

  "Do not haggle with me, you fool!" Lo Leung continued. "I'll tear off your testicles and make you eat them! I'll chop off your penis and shove it in your eye! I'll open you up and let my dogs tear your insides from alcove to alcove!" Spittle dribbled down his chin.

  The mastiffs yanked frantically at their chains, struggling to get at Ethan, who stood only a few inches in front of their frothing maws.

  Lo Leung abruptly pulled at the chains, reining the dogs in. Then he reclined in his chair and sat very still, panting as if all that yelling had exhausted him.