“What are you thinking, Noah?” asks Olivia.
“Too much to do, too little time, not enough personnel and not enough money.”
Coming from a guy who heads a foundation that started off with three billion dollars just a few months ago, that’s a pretty serious comment.
“Maybe Abby and I can go back to Asia and keep the ball rolling there while you and Olivia stay in America,” offers JJ.
Abby looks at JJ. “In what capacity are you asking me to accompany you?”
His friends watch him with amusement as JJ’s face reddens.
***
Tony and Leo, the Chinese girls’ pimps are worried. No, not worried. Totally and completely freaked. They have just lost three girls, and their boss is not going to be happy. Even though the girls were just stupid addicts willing to blow any john with a buck or spread their legs for a hit, they were profitable stupid girls, each one netting between two and five hundred bucks a day. They were probably good for at least another year, maybe two, before they were so strung out, scrawny, with sunken eyes and emaciated bodies that no one would pay a nickel for them. In other words, they just lost Prince close to two hundred grand after expenses.
They weigh their options. 1. Take off and hide 2. Kill themselves before Prince does it for them. 3. Face the music.
If they take off, their families are in jeopardy. After all, they are just like the girls they lost. Illegal immigrants with nowhere else to go.
Killing themselves is not much of an option either. If their bodies are not found, it will be assumed that they took off with the girls, which again means death to their families. If their bodies are found, it will be an admission of incompetence. Their families might be spared, but it would bring huge dishonor to them.
Facing the music means relying on the whims of the unpredictable Prince. He might shrug it off as the cost of doing business, he might feed them to his “pets” or he might just use them as human punching bags to be pummeled.
With heavy, fearful hearts, they get into their onyx black GMC Yukon and head back onto the highway, still undecided as to which of the three lousy options they should take.
CHAPTER 3
“You screwed up,” screams Alexei Gudonov in Russian as he pounds on Raoul, one of his henchman.
Two big, heavy-set men. Two bruisers. Two expatriate Muscovites in the back room of an unknown building in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn’s Russian enclave.
Alexei Gudonov, age fifty-three, had been living in New York for close to fifteen years. He had been part of Russian Special Forces in the Afghan war, a fancy way of saying he was a cold-blooded killer of innocents. He personally was responsible for the deaths of over two thousand Afghans. As part of his warped thinking, he often gave his younger victims a choice - to be raped before or after being killed. It was here that he developed his particular proclivity of young girls. When the war ended in 1989, he returned to Moscow where his special skills were much in demand and got a job as an enforcer with one of the burgeoning gangs. However, Alexei was too ambitious to be happy with just being a hired gun. He began to deal drugs, as well as dabble in prostitution, racketeering, gambling... all the usual criminal activities. But competition was starting to get a little too fierce in Moscow so close to the turn of the new century; he decided to do what so many from so many nations did and do: he went to America to build his fortune.
Alexei is pretty successful. Yes, the core of his business is still drugs, girls and gambling, but he’s expanded into money laundering and real estate as well.
There’s a new part of his investment portfolio that he takes a personal interest in: That’s the smuggling of young girls into America and turning them into sex slaves. What Alexei likes about this is that it combines business with pleasure. In addition to the money to be made, Alexei too has never forgotten the taste of young meat when he was in Afghanistan. Good thing he doesn’t have to pay because he’s one of the biggest consumers of his own product.
That’s why Alexei is particularly incensed at Raoul. Raoul allowed Alexei’s recently arrived batch of young Russian girls to escape. He had not yet tasted them all and was looking forward to more adventure time with them, particularly seventeen-year-old Tanya. It drives Alexei mad to think that a waif like Tanya with her sultry eyes and delectable body are in the hands of that... that Chinaman,
“Give me another chance, Alexei,” whimpers Raoul.
It’s pretty pathetic to see the burly two-hundred-and-fifty pound man beg, but at this point Raoul has nothing to lose. Much as his instincts tell him to fight back, the thugs behind Alexei would expedite Raoul’s trip to hell.
“How could I know? I just followed orders. Chinaman was crazy.”
Chinaman was JJ. There was no way that Raoul could have known that he was a Shaolin grandmaster. Queenie, Chin’s daughter, whom Alexei was trying to impress, had asked for a favor. Alexei was anxious both to get into her jeans and to make a positive impression on her father, Chin.
Raoul’s job was theoretically simple: Grab this monk from China and keep him hidden for a while. Piece of cake, so Alexei and Raoul thought. JJ was locked away with the young Russian girls in a concrete prison masquerading as an apartment. He had no idea that JJ was not only dangerous but connected to Noah Reid, the head of the three-billion-dollar-endowed Chad Huang Foundation and a Shaolin martial artist as deadly as JJ.
Ultimately, Raoul completely screwed up. Alexei, of course, would not admit any personal wrong action on his part. Not only did JJ escape and take the girls with him, Queenie was killed, and his other jewel, the Skyscape Studios, was in shambles. This was not going to impress Chin nor anyone else.
“I will get the girls back. I promise. I promise.”
The silent Alexei does not stop the incessant collision of fist on face and ribs, foot to groin and stomach.
Raoul falls unconscious, bleeding, lacerated, face pummeled beyond recognition.
Alexei steps away, pulls out a knife, then stabs Raoul in the heart. Alexei then delivers a kick to the head worthy of a World Cup soccer player.
Raoul’s body twitches involuntarily for twenty seconds, then starts to spasm and shake.
In two minutes, it’s all over. Raoul’s body stops moving.
In Alexei’s world, there are no second chances. A second chance is just a second chance to screw up.
***
As his driver of his black Mercedes GL450 heads towards the Brooklyn Bridge, Alexei can’t get his mind off the girls. Raoul’s screwup is also bad for business. Alexei’s high-end brothel had been suffering a bit of a drop-off in business recently. Not because of lack of overall market demand - American men were as horny as ever - but because of the overwhelming number of new entries into the business. It was a direct result of America’s ongoing high unemployment and underemployment rate. People have to eat somehow, and the skills necessary to satisfy a man didn’t exactly require a Ph.D. in sexology.
Alexei realized he had to innovate, and there was product that never seemed to have enough supply for the demand: Young girls. That it was dangerous, socially taboo, risqué and risky made it all the more attractive to the degenerate clients. There was a thrill in knowing that if somehow they were caught, the law enforcers would throw the book at them. Alexei took special precaution that being caught was not a possibility - he had a number of freeloader judges and DAs making regular appearances at his establishment. But still, forbidden fruit was still forbidden and very, very tasty.
Even more in demand were white girls, preferably American. That was the greatest short supply, but American girls were unpredictable and harder to control. Too many of them knew how to game the system, and that was a hassle Alexei didn’t want to have to deal with. Alexei made a few inquiries among his customers and discovered that if white Americans weren’t available, they’d take white girls from other nationalities. In fact, his customers thought this was a fantastic idea - there would be little chance that young girls brought under false pretenses
would complain to anybody. With his Slavic background, Alexei struck a deal with some old connections and brought in his first batch of girls from Russia. Technically speaking, they weren’t all Russians. Some were from other parts of the former USSR, but that was a small technicality.
The dozen girls were all willing to come and would do anything their handlers wanted in order to. Some were orphans, some were street kids, some were just looking for a chance to get away, go to America. None of them had anything worth living for in the former Soviet Union.
Be careful of what you wish for because it might come true.
Their nightmare began as soon as they arrived. They’d been here less than a month, and they went directly from the airport to Alexei’s special “apartment.” This large, windowless concrete box was soundproof, Internet and cell phone proof. The girls were all given injections of heroin, starting small, but after a month graduating to several times a day, so there was very little reason for them to try and escape because they needed Alexei to provide their daily fixes.
In exchange, the girls performed whatever the client wanted. Most of the time they had no idea of what they were doing because their own realities were so fogged up.
Alexei’s got an ulterior motive for bringing them over. He’s never married, never had the slightest urge, but there was something about one of them, Tanya, that struck him the moment her photo appeared on his cell phone - he was going to make her his bride. Tanya’s condition to him is that he leave her young sister, Larissa, alone. While Alexei grumbled about the loss of income, he went along with it. Why? He knew he would tire of Tanya before she was twenty, but by then she would have sired a couple of Alexei’s kids. Larissa would be fifteen by then, and maybe she might take her sister’s place.
***
Alexei gets off at the 7th Hotel in Manhattan. An exclusive hotel, it was the last known whereabouts of the girls. He heads directly to the housekeeping office.
Eva, a proper middle-aged Russian lady at the desk. She takes one look at Alexei and cringes. She doesn’t know him personally, but she knows the look - this is a man not to be argued with. Maybe former soldier, maybe former KGB.
Eva asks in Russian, “May I help you?”
Alexei puts five hundred dollars on the table. He doesn’t have to do this, but he has found that showing unnecessary generosity to a minion can pay dividends in the future.
“I’m looking for my girls. Twelve of them. Russian. New to America.” Alexei takes out his smart phone. He puts it in front of Eva’s face and flips the pictures. “Tanya. Larissa. Polina. Nina. Natalia. Margarita... all teenagers. All beautiful. All mine.” He flips through a few more pictures - all of them are of Tanya.
Two things strike Eva about the pictures of Tanya. Her endearing eyes and the row of fresh needle marks on her arms.
“I don’t know anything about them.”
“Suite 1247. Three days ago. Who was on day shift then?”
The head housekeeper doesn’t even have to look the information up. “Olga Petrokovna. Shall I call her down?”
“Yes, please.”
Eva makes a call, makes the request and hangs up. “She’s coming now.”
Alexei nods.
It is amazing that he has managed to keep his temper. His whole experience with the Chinese, especially Chin, has been one of futility and frustration. Chin was into everything, and everything he touched made money. Drugs, girls, gambling, real estate - there was not an area that he didn’t make a bushel full of money on. He wanted in on Chin’s business, but the answer was always, “Not yet.” Never “no,” always, “not yet.”
Alexei thought helping Chin’s daughter would ingratiate Alexei to the Shaolin mobster. Three years ago, the then twenty-two-year-old Queenie approached him about being a distributor for Asian heroin. She didn’t have a whole lot of product, and normally he wouldn’t pay any attention to her, but she had two things going for her: 1. She was Chin’s daughter. 2. A sex tape featuring Queenie and a couple of Russian hockey players had gone viral, and he wanted in on that action too.
She, however, kept their dealings strictly business, and now Alexei regrets that he honored that decision. Her drug smuggling deals were always small, and she always acted like she was doing him a favor when realistically, better deals were there to be had. Then a few days ago, she lied to him about the Chinaman. She said he would be easy to take care of.
Right. The guy was a kung fu monk for God’s sake. Killing inbred into his damned genes. And now with her gone, he’s got to try and pick up the pieces. Even in death, Queenie is a damned pain in the ass.
***
Olga, the cleaning lady arrives. From the sound of Eva’s voice, she knew there was some kind of problem - likely the guest in Room 717 complaining that the sheets weren’t tucked in properly again.
Seeing Alexei makes her quake, and when he told Eva to leave the room, she knew that there was likely no good end possible.
Alexei dismisses Eva from the room then asks Olga, “What did the Chinaman want with my girls? Is he setting up his own shop?”
No need for introduction or opening niceties. Olga knows exactly what Alexei is talking about. The only question is whether or not what she says can save her life. She vaguely remembers someone saying, “The truth shall set you free.” Maybe that’s the ticket.
“No, he was trying to help them.”
“I am the one who was helping them,” snaps Alexei. “They had no life in Russia. I took them off the streets. I took them away from abusers. How did he say he was going to help them?”
There is no point in arguing. “He told me he was part of an organization that was to help young people. Especially those that had no other chance.”
“You are so foolish. Do you know that that is the line that every pimp in the world uses? ‘Oh, you’re so pretty; oh, you’re so nice. I can make you a star. I can you happy.’ They fall for it every time. I’ll bet he looked very handsome too. Right?”
Olga nodded. She had to agree that JJ looked very sharp.
“So, here is the situation. The girls are either going to work for him, or they are going to work for me. If they work for me, they will be treated by judges, politicians, Wall Street money men and executives in big corporations. Nice, respectable, white people. Or you can leave them with the Chinaman, who will let every filthy, stinking Chinaman, Japanese or Korean contaminate our people.”
Alexei spits on the ground. “You want them to whore themselves to every yellow devil with a dollar?”
Olga is in despair. Of course this barbaric Russian is right. She has had to clean up after all of the types he has mentioned. And how could she allow herself to get sucked in by the Chinaman’s sweet words?
“He wouldn’t tell me his name. None of them would tell me their names. The white man. The Chinese. Their girlfriends. A black kid. A Chinese kid. I’m just a housekeeper. Clean toilets, change sheets.”
“Useless.”
Alexei walks up to her, grabs her and twists her head until her neck is broken. He takes out a knife and slits her throat. Yes, the truth has set Olga free but not in the way she was hoping for.
Did Alexei have to kill her? A lesser man would have said no. However, Alexei is not a lesser man. He has been careless in the past and knows that that is a fast way to guarantee a short existence in life. He’s been lucky before, and he won’t tempt the fates again. He will not risk having Olga contacting JJ. What if she lied? What if she was in on the game? Who’s to say she wouldn’t do the same to him?
He walks out of the office to see Eva standing there.
“My name is Alexei Gudonov. I am well known in the Russian community here. You may have even eaten at one of my restaurants or shopped in one of my stores. I am telling you this just in case Noah Reid or his Chinese sidekick, JJ, shows up. If they do, I want to know immediately. I am leaving one of my men, Igor, here to make sure that you understand perfectly. I’m sure you can find him a room to stay.”
A
lexei nods to Igor, a large stocky, bald-headed man, then points to her office. “Oh yes, you need housekeeping in there.”
Alexei gets into the freight elevator and leaves.
CHAPTER 4
Fifteen Years Ago
Eight-year-old Prince is angry. His Ayi, or “auntie,” had pulled him from his brand-new Playstation game to go spend some time with his father.
Prince hated that. He didn’t see his father that often - maybe once every six to eight months, and they were never happy times. Chin would try to get him interested in Hung Gar Shaolin Kung Fu, which the couch-potato, overweight teenager found extremely boring. Nowhere near as interesting as playing Battle Arena Toshinden where the digital warriors are way cooler than any of the sifus that his dad inflicted upon him.
So Prince is sitting in the limo with his father who, like every time he meets him, has his mind on something else. This time, Chin is on the phone on the phone with Garret Southam, his flunky lawyer. Prince hates these conversations that his father has with Garret. They are always talking about real estate or holding companies or fluctuations in the currency. He figures that Garret and his father have the most boring jobs in the world.
Prince’s discomfort intensifies when the vehicle gets off the main highway and heads into the woods onto a dirt road that is virtually hidden from the highway. He continues grumbling for the next half hour as the unpaved road seems to hit every tree root or hole in the ground. He only stops when his father turns around and whacks him across the mouth. Prince shuts up but folds his arms across his chest to show his displeasure.
SLAVERY UNBOUND: Cruelty & Lust with the Emerging Eastern Mafia (Noah Reid Action Thriller series Book 4) Page 3