Choosers of the Slain

by John Ringo

  "Live on Candid Camera?" Mike asked. "Must be off-putting to the customers."

  "They were concealed," Russell said. "I had her get on top so I could get a good look around."

  "You're not shopping," Nikki said.

  "Shit!" Russell snapped. "She speaks English?"

  "Quite well," Mike replied. "Go on."

  "Security door at both ends," Russell said, looking at the girl. "Booths along the sides, curtains. She was very professional but still sort of stumbled through the motions. She hardly cried at all, though. These are intermediate whores. They're still getting settled in."

  "You're looking for better trained?" Nikki asked nastily.

  "We're doing research," Mike said. "On the sex trade in Eastern Europe."

  "Sure you are," Nikki snorted.

  "Parts of it," Mike said. "And you talk a lot. Don't you get in trouble for that?"

  "All the time," Nikki said.

  "They're good about not leaving scars," Mike noted.

  "You should look under my hair," Nikki said. "And the needle marks don't show up much."

  "Gotcha," Mike said, standing up. "Come on."

  "Don't go over there," Nikki said, pulling back. "Please."

  "Time to find out what you're worth," Mike replied, dragging her towards Nicu's table.

  She straightened up and tried to appear as if she liked the idea as soon as a bouncer looked her way and had almost managed a smile by the time they got to the table. One of the muscle stood up and held his hand out to stop the twosome but Nicu waved them forward with interest in his eyes.

  "Mind if I sit?" Mike said, waving at the chairs filled by women.

  "No," Nicu said, glancing at Nikki darkly.

  "Nice club," Mike said. "Very classy."

  "Thanks," Nicu said, looking sideways at one of the men at the booth and then back. "What can I do for you?"

  "How much for this one?" Mike asked, waving at Nikki.

  "For the night?" the pimp asked, grinning. "Five hundred euros. She could have told you that. Should have told you that," he added, looking at Nikki again, this time with a smile that promised pain later.

  "No, to buy," Mike said. "I'm in the market."

  "That, of course, would be out of the question," Nicu said, smiling faintly. "That would constitute sexual slavery. This young lady is free to come and go at any time."

  "Sure she is," Mike said. "Half the cops in town would pick her up for you if she could even get out of the club. We've danced through all the proper forms. How much? Time is money, Mr. Gogasa."

  "And you are?" Nicu asked, suddenly curious.

  "A drunk American who wants to buy a sex-slave," Mike said blankly. "Of course. What else?"

  "Many things," Nicu said, glancing sideways again. Mike ignored the look but he'd now pegged the "associate" as something on the order of a control.

  "Well, what I actually am is a guy passing through with a group of girls intended for sale in Macedonia," Mike said. "A special sale. Very special. I think she would do well at it."

  "And I can believe that or not," Nicu replied.

  "Would you believe five thousand euros?" Mike asked.

  "Hah!" Nicu said, grinning. "You make me laugh. I will make more than that off of her before I sell her."

  "You don't sell her," Mike pointed out. "You move her to your boss's network." He glanced over at the "associate" and nodded. "Right?"

  "And we will make more," the man replied, coldly. "Far more."

  "Maybe, maybe not," Mike said. "Sure, you move her through the network, maybe to Albania then over to Italy. Then up to the rest of Europe, maybe the U.S. or U.K. But what's going to happen along the way? You lose how many girls that start from here? What's your actual profit per girl? I know I will. And you don't have to deal with her support anymore. Or the possible loss. Raise, fold or call."

  "Fourteen thousand," Nicu said, glancing over at the Albanian with a raised eyebrow to which he received a nod.

  "Out of the question," Mike snapped. "Half that, maybe. I can walk out onto the street and buy any four free women for that much."

  "But she is trained," Nicu pointed out. "She has been taught not to try to escape, what that gets her. And she has been trained to give sex well. Would you like her to show you how well she sucks? Nikki is a very good sucker. Thirteen is a very reasonable price."

  "All of that is assumed," Mike pointed out. "And your training is sunk costs," he added, gesturing at the muscle. "You pay them from the profit from the bar, not even counting the money you're laundering through here."

  "What money?" the Albanian asked angrily.

  "Oh, get off it," Mike snapped. "Clubs are perfect laundering spots. Did you take in a thousand in cover charges or ten thousand? How are the police to know? Water the alcohol and charge it at full price, then figure on the margin. Then there's the girls. Are they turning ten tricks a night or twenty? The difference between the two all goes in your pocket. Do me a favor and don't take me for an idiot, okay?"

  "Okay," the Albanian said. "But you must take us for idiots. You come in here with a bullshit story about selling girls in Macedonia. To who? I know all the buyers in Macedonia."

  "I don't know who they go to after our special customers are done," Mike said. "I just get them to the house in Macedonia."

  "There was a crackdown on those," Nicu said, frowning. "Most got shut down."

  "Jesus," Mike said, looking at the Albanian. "You don't keep him around for his brains, do you? Who forced the crackdown?"

  "IFOR," the Albanian said, looking at him carefully. "And KFOR. And you're American military. The haircut, the build. Their fucking Special Force, yes?"

  "So you think they really cracked down on our house?" Mike asked.

  "You buy for the military?" Nicu asked, really confused now.

  "Of course not," Mike said, sighing. "Soldiers can't afford what we sell."

  "You make black funds," the Albanian said, nodding as he sat back. "You run house that raises money so your military can do the things your government doesn't pay for. The things your parliament cannot know about, yes? Twelve thousand. Because the American military has been very good to my people."

  Mike had to admit that the Albanian would make a great writer for the Democratic Underground. Of course, there was more than a gram of truth to it. He did do black work and he was doing some fundraising. He'd have to give it some thought. But he knew he didn't sell girls. End of existential angst as the chief would say.

  "And for the Israelis, yes?" Nicu said, the light finally dawning.

  "There are things you don't talk about," Mike said with another sigh. "But let's just say that Mossad got its funding cut way back this year, just when we really needed them to keep funding their Damascus office. Okay? And thirteen is out of the question. I need to make a damned profit, okay?"

  Over a couple of drinks and more than one copped feel they got an eventual price of ten five worked out.

  "And you think you will make a profit from her in Macedonia?" the Albanian asked.

  "For what we offer rich bastards from the states and Japan?" Mike asked. "You betcha."

  "We have such visitors," the Albanian said, still clearly puzzled. As well he should be; Mike was spinning bullshit so fast it was practically brown silk.

  "Look," Mike said, shaking his head. "What is the U.S. Military known for?"

  "Destroying countries?" one of the other men asked.

  "Very good bombs?" Nicu said.

  "Invading any country that has oil?" the Albanian asked, shrugging. "Being very good at killing people and less good at finding them?"

  You just wait, motherfucker, Mike thought.

  "Okay, all of that," was what he said. "But the main thing that matters here is we don't talk. What happens at the house, stays at the house. Period fucking dot. That's something that our customers can depend upon. We don't have fucking cameras in the booths. Hell, we don't even have booths. You have your choice of anything from silk bedro
oms to the dungeons. And anything goes if you've got the cash. Understand?"

  "I have never heard of this house," the Albanian said, frowning.

  "See? Now go get your clothes, honey," Mike said, looking at Nikki. "You're mine, now."

  * * *

  Once they were out on the street, with Mike and Russell flanking the whore, Mike leaned over to her ear.

  "Nikki, you really don't want to run," he whispered. "Not just because of the bad things that Nicu will end up doing to you if you do. Just go along with us and you won't be sorry."

  "So I can be raped in a dungeon by rich old men?" Nikki asked, breathing hard and fast as they approached the car. All she had was a tube dress and a small bag that couldn't hold much more than cosmetics. He had to wonder where the clothes she'd "bought" had gone.

  "Well, it's that or the Albanians, honey," Mike said. "And just don't ask stupid questions until we can get someplace to talk, okay?"

  "What are you?" the whore asked.

  "Like I said," Mike repeated. "Shut up. Russell, sit in back with her."

  "Miss," Russell said as he opened the door for her. "Please don't try to run. If you did I'd have to restrain you. I'd try not to hurt you, but you're a lot smaller than me and you'd probably get hurt anyway."

  "Where would I run to?" she asked bitterly.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was a silent twenty-minute ride to the hotel and then another silent three minutes to the set of rooms Mike had found.

  "Russell, go debrief with Vanner," Mike said as he knocked on the command room door. He knew there'd be at least some Keldara women there. "He'll need your input on the club layout."

  "Oh, Kildar," Anisa said, blushing. She was wearing the tube dress and high heels, very much the same uniform as Nikki, if in different colors.

  "You really are a whoremaster," Nikki said bitterly.

  "Not quite," Mike said, trying not to smile at Anisa's discomfiture. "Doing some training, Anisa?"

  "Uhmmm, yes, Kildar," the girl said, still furiously blushing and pulling her dress down. The maneuver just about got Mike a view of nipple, which caused her to blush and back up so fast she nearly went ass over teakettle.

  Katya was in the room, dressed in jeans, and for the first time Mike saw what looked like a real, honest, smile on her face. In fact, all of the Keldara girls were in the room along with Oksana and there were three more dressed in tube dresses and trying to stand on high heels.

  "Been doing a lot of training, Cottontail?" Mike asked, breaking into a grin. "I gotta say, if I really was selling hookers, I'd make a mint off of you girls."

  "Don't even joke about it, Kildar," Greznya said, gasping. "We've been listening to far too much of what happens to them."

  "Sorry," Mike said, contritely. "Speaking of which, various gals, this is Nikki from Belarus who up until recently was a whore in Nicu's club. I want you to suck her brains dry. Do we have maps, yet?"

  "Blueprints of the club as well as his apartment building," Greznya said, getting up and going over to a table to flip through some sheets. "We're not sure where he breaks the girls in, or where he keeps his records."

  "You're not a whoremaster," Nikki said, looking around at the girls. The Keldara girls were all fiddling with their dresses, nervously. She clearly wasn't sure what to think. They were dressed as whores and as nervous as new ones but they certainly didn't look as if they were in fear of him.

  "I am not a whoremaster," Mike said. "I know you have a tendency to chatter, Nikki. Even if you get a chance, do not chatter about what is happening here. Lives depend upon it. Okay?"

  "Okay," she said, puzzled.

  "Ladies," Mike said, looking around and trying not to grin again. "I leave it to you. And ... this looks like good training!"

  "As in unpleasant and uncomfortable?" one of the girls trying to balance on stilettos asked. "These shoes hurt."

  "Exactly," Mike said, walking to the door. "Good Training!"

  * * *

  "You worked in Nicu's club?" Greznya asked, settling Nikki on the edge of the bed with a Coke.

  "Yes," Nikki said, looking around. "What is this?" she asked, staring at Katya and Oksana. There was something different about them, she could tell.

  "We were hired to find a girl who is in the sex-slavery industry," Greznya said. "Sometimes we have to pose as hookers, which is why the girls are practicing. It was sort of a joke; only Anisa has had to do it."

  "And me," Katya said, sipping at her drink which was clearly alcoholic. "But I'm a real whore, just like you."

  "And what about you?" Nikki asked, looking at Oksana.

  "She was going to be made into one," Greznya answered. "The Kildar bought her, instead."

  "He was a little late for me," Nikki said bitterly.

  "He will be late for almost all the women around here," Katya said with a slight slur in her voice. "He was late for me. Hell, he used me as one. Still might. And worse. I'm a whore, why not? Once a whore, always a whore."

  "You are more than that," Anisa said sharply. "Much more."

  "Whatever," Katya replied.

  "Hail, hail, the gang's all here," Vanner said, walking through the adjoining door.

  "Nikki," Russell said, nodding at her.

  "Hi," Nikki said, smiling to see a familiar face, even if it was Russell's.

  "We need to look at the blueprints," Vanner said, walking over to the table. "What Russell is sketching out doesn't sound like the design on the paper."

  "It's not," Russell said, glancing at the blueprints. "The sex booths are through here, which shows a solid wall. It looks as if they knocked a door into this section, here," he added, pointing. "This place used to be a couple of warehouses; they've redesigned it."

  "Nikki, right?" Vanner said, gesturing at the girl. "Have you been in much of the club?"

  "Some," Nikki said, walking over and looking at the schematic in incomprehension. "What is this?"

  "It's like a map of the building the club is in," Vanner replied. "I know it's confusing, but don't worry. We'll walk you through it...."

  * * *

  "I hope you have something for me, Vanner," Mike said the next morning when he strode into intel. "I had a crappy night's sleep and the smoke from that damned club is killing my lungs."

  "Well, at least some of us got some sleep," Vanner replied. "No rest for the staff pukes, huh? Yeah, we got some stuff but it's basically crap."

  "Go," Mike said, flopping into an armchair.

  "Okay," Vanner said, flipping up the blueprints for the club on an easel. They'd been heavily marked over and some of the areas were either entirely unmarked or marked with dotted lines making approximations. "First part of the crap."

  "I can see," Mike said. "They've really worked that building over. And I don't see where they've got the guys watching the security cameras."

  "We've positively established it as being right here," Vanner said, waving his hand over one quarter of the more-or-less-square building that wasn't mapped. There were some doors around it, but nothing inside the box.

  "That's bad," Mike said.

  "It gets worse," Vanner said. "There are cameras on all entrances. Nikki has seen the security in full rig and they're heavy. Up to RPG."

  "How very good," Mike said dryly.

  "They stay in the club, in a barracks," Vanner said, glancing at his notes. "But it's in the security area. The girls don't go in there to service them. Nicu moves in a three vehicle convoy. Leaves late, comes back late, around noon. Sometimes goes out of town."

  "Shopping," Mike said.

  "Shopping," Vanner confirmed. "His convoy uses multiple routes. The only confluence is his apartment and the club. Sometimes he takes girls, especially new ones, to the apartment. Apartment has security all over it, too."

  "All over?" Mike asked.

  "All over the ground floors," Vanner said. "We've got cameras on the club and the apartment."

  "Does he keep records of the girls?" Mike asked.


  "Presumably," Vanner said. "Or someone does. But that would be in the offices." He pointed to a spot on the blueprint near the back of the main club area. "To get to the offices you have a couple of choices. Go through the club, go through the girls' dormitory, which has very tight security, or go through the security area itself."

  "No," Mike said. "You're thinking two dimensionally."

  "The roof?" Vanner asked incredulously.

  "It's worth looking at," Mike said. "Brainstorming. Okay, convoy, multiple routes. Lots of bystanders around in the club and heavy security. Lots of security on the apartment. Records in a practical vault. Nikki tell you about the Albanian?"

  "The guy who actually sold her?" Vanner asked. "Brami Dejti. Former officer in the NLA. Got made fighting the Serbs, worked his way into fundraising by sex, slavery and drugs. Arrested for war crimes, rape and murder of females, mostly, associated with the NLA, never prosecuted. He got released by the Belgian contingent of KFOR and nobody ever brought it up again. Arrested in Greece for pimping, released. Arrested in Belgium for suspicion of transportation of women for immoral purposes and kidnapping. The two witnesses, the whores, disappeared. Case dropped. That guy?"

  "Where'd you get it?" Mike asked, nodding.

  "I pulled up a list of known players and ran the mug shots past Nikki," Vanner said. "For damned near two hours. After that it was easy. Interpol has a rap sheet the length of Albania on the guy. Somehow he always slips out of the net."

  "Interpol is the epitome of European policing," Mike said. "All the information in the world and no real success at stopping crime. We need to work on him. Maybe more than Nicu."

  "He left last night in a convoy of three Mercedes that from the looks of them were armored," Vanner replied. "We might be able to get something more tomorrow night. If he shows."

  "We need them both," Mike said. "Together. And we need their records."

  "That means taking down the whole club, Kildar," Vanner said, frowning. "You're not talking about that, are you?"

  "I dunno," Mike said. "I'm going to think on it. Find me a way in that doesn't require shooting. Anything. Find it. If we can get somebody inside, we're going places. Short of that, I'm out of ideas. We'll have a meeting this afternoon to toss ideas around. You, me, Adams, Sawn, Russell, Nikki and a couple of the Keldara women."