The Brightest Fell

by Nupur Chowdhury

  Rito sighed, stepping out of the cramped restroom and heading for the campus lawn. She needed some fresh air. “Remember Falguni? The girl I told you about, whom we’d rescued when I was volunteering at Pragati?”

  “Of course. The kid you always went to visit at that fancy boarding school uptown. She okay?”

  “For now,” Rito said grimly. “She called me earlier today, terrified out of her mind ‘cause Afreen, one of the social workers who helped rescue her, disappeared while investigating that godforsaken club of yours.

  “She’s my friend, Laihan. I need to find her. If she’s still alive, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t at least try to help her. And I need to know what the hell is going on at that club.”

  After a moment of silence, Laihan said, “So I’m guessing you read that article, huh?”

  “I did. And I need you to tell me everything you know about La Fantome. Anything you left out of that article that I should know about?”

  “What?” He laughed. “Like the fact that the place is owned by the daughter and son-in-law of the former deputy PM?”

  Rito gasped. “You mean...Let me get this straight. You’re talking about Badal?”

  “Yep. He’s your guy. His only daughter and her husband happen to be the owners of La Fantome.”

  “Fuck.”

  “The feeling is mutual,” Laihan chuckled.

  “Well, you sit tight and don’t do anything stupid till I get there. I’ll be in Weritlan by tomorrow evening.”

  “I’ll pick you up at the airport. But tell me, does your family know you’re playing detective and poking your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

  “Why would they care? It’s not like we’ve got a reputation to lose anymore, is it? Can’t stain a black coat and all that.” She snorted. “You know, it’s oddly freeing. To be able to do things without having to worry about what people will think, what the press will say, all that sort of crap. It’s been years since I’ve felt so...wonderfully anonymous.”

  “Well, so long as your newfound anonymity doesn’t land me in a gutter with my throat slit, I’m cool with it. See you tomorrow, Shian. What’re you gonna tell your folks, anyway?”

  Rito hummed, stretching out under a tree with a sigh of contentment. “I’ve yet to collect my transfer certificate from the University of Weritlan. It’s as good an excuse as any, I suppose. Oh, and Laihan, do me a favor, won’t you?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do some digging on Sinya Haval. She’s the HOD of the Comparative Lit department here at Qayit University. See if you can find any connections between her and our club.”

  Chapter 8

  What had he expected to find when he arrived at the La Fantome club? Abhijat wasn’t sure, but he did know it wasn’t this.

  The décor was over-the-top, featuring colorful tapestries and ornate chandeliers. The music was soft and sensuous. His boots sank into the velvety, cream-colored carpet under his feet. ‘Decadent’ was the word his sister would have used, and Abhijat was inclined to agree.

  The hall was large enough, but it felt cramped and overcrowded with nearly fifty people occupying the space, some swaying lazily to the music while others were too busy making out against the vibrantly adorned walls.

  Boys and girls – most of them teenagers – sauntered around the room in flimsy, low-cut shirts and glittery makeup. He didn’t think any of them could’ve been above twenty. Some of the girls wore short, almost see-through dresses and many of the boys were dressed in some kind of translucent toga that never quite reached their knees.

  They moved with a sort of languid grace that might have been attractive on an adult, but looked forced and unnatural on kids barely past puberty. Some of them might even have been as young as thirteen or fourteen.

  Vyas had told him that the La Fantome club was linked to trafficking and drug related violations. But Abhijat hadn’t expected it to be this…blatant. He could see why it was so hard to get into this club. They couldn’t risk anyone seeing what went on inside, if there was any chance they might talk about it once they got out.

  Most of the customers were exquisitely dressed and looked to be middle-aged or older. Many of them wore artistic masks that hid the upper half of their faces. Abhijat could swear he spotted the jutting chin of a yesteryear movie star, who was still quite popular in the indie world. There was another man, surrounded by two girls and a boy, whom Abhijat recognized vaguely as an up-and-coming politician recently elected to Ishfana’s legislative assembly.

  A girl of about fifteen walked up to him with a tipsy smile, holding out an ornate tray with several flutes of champagne. She wore glitter around her eyes and some kind of shimmery makeup that made her cheekbones stand out in an unnatural manner. Her face had yet to shed all of its baby fat.

  As she smiled up at him, Abhijat noticed that her eyes were unfocused. She didn’t look scared or distressed, just kind of dazed.

  Abhijat forced himself to smile back, trying to make his expression as reassuring as possible. He took one of the champagne flutes between his fingers and raised it to his lips, pretending to take a sip.

  Putting a hand lightly on her shoulder, he drew her aside. She went willingly enough, ambling forward without the slightest hint of hesitation or resistance. It was almost as if she didn’t mind being there.

  A chill ran down Abhijat’s spine.

  Once they were no longer in the direct line of sight of the guards stationed near the main doorway, Abhijat removed his hand from her shoulder and drew a photograph from his pocket.

  It was a headshot of Sajal, the electrician whose trail had led him to this godforsaken place to begin with. Before he could figure out what to do about La Fantome, he needed to find Sajal and take him into custody. There was much that man needed to answer for.

  Crouching slightly so as to be level with his companion, he held out the photo for her to see. “Hey, can you tell me if you’ve seen this guy around here today?”

  Head cocked to one side, she frowned at the picture. “I...” she shook her head, blinking a few times before focusing once again on the photo in Abhijat’s hand. “I think he’s in...” she looked over at a garishly decorated door near the back of the hall.

  Abhijat followed her gaze. The door was shut, but not locked. Since he’d entered the club, he had noticed people come and go through it every few minutes, usually in pairs. Two large men stood guard on either side of the doorway, and a middle-aged woman sat at a small desk a few feet away.

  The sound of heavy footsteps made him turn around. Three of the guards, who earlier stood near the main gate, were stalking towards them, their faces grim.

  “Go,” Abhijat told the girl, pocketing the photograph and stepping forward to stand between her and the advancing guards. She nodded once and scurried away, holding the tray close, almost like a shield.

  A moment later, he was surrounded by three burly men who looked like they were itching for a fight. They wore uniforms, but looked more like thugs than security personnel.

  Abhijat slid his hands into his pockets and raised an eyebrow, his posture relaxed but ready for a fight.

  “What?” he snapped, trying to sound more miffed than threatening. It’d been a while since he’d played the spoilt rich brat. Rito had always been better at this sort of thing than him. Tantrums just came more naturally to her.

  “What d’you think you’re doing?” one of the men asked, taking a threatening step forward.

  Abhijat forced himself to shrink back, feigning fear. He lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes in a show of clearly faked bravado. “Having a good time...or trying to. Is this how you treat your customers around here?”

  “Customers should be havin’ fun and mindin’ their own business,” said the largest of the guards, with a smirk. “Not prying into things and annoyin’ the employees.”

  “Employees?” Abhijat sneered. “Is that what they’re calling ’em these days? What, you guys offering health coverage and retireme
nt benefits now?”

  “Why you piece of –” the guard wrapped a meaty hand around Abhijat’s upper arm. His grip was powerful, and might well have overpowered a civilian. Abhijat just dug his heels into the carpet and relaxed his stance, his hands clenching into fists.

  The guard’s eyes narrowed, and he raised his free hand for what he probably thought would be a debilitating blow. Abhijat steeled himself, trying to calculate how to incapacitate the three men while causing the least amount of ruckus possible. The last thing he needed was to draw more attention to himself.

  As he raised his own hands to block the oncoming attack, Abhijat glimpsed a flurry of purple and orange hurtling towards them through the corner of his eye.

  Before he could react, an orange-haired boy in a purple toga had managed to push through the nonplussed guards and attach himself, with impressive determination, to Abhijat’s side. Confused and slightly scandalized, Abhijat stiffened as the young man pressed sensuously up against his side, hanging off his shoulders as if he were drunk.

  “Hey! Where do you think you’re going? You promised you’d take me inside, remember?” The boy pouted, batting his lashes in such an extravagant manner it almost made Abhijat laugh.

  “He told me he’d take me inside,” he confided in the guards, leaning in to whisper the words directly into the ear of the man who’d been about to hit Abhijat moments ago. “To the Royal Suite, no less. Tell ’im we don’t break promises around here, do we sir?”

  “The Royal Suite?” the guard swallowed and stole another look at Abhijat, this time giving him a covert once-over, as if to assess whether or not he looked like someone who could afford the aforementioned suite.

  Abhijat was sure he didn’t, but he didn’t give the guard a chance to reach that conclusion. Awkwardly, he wrapped an arm around the boy clinging to his side and cleared his throat. “Ah I-I’m sorry. I just got a little...caught up, as you can see.” He glared at the guards.

  “Right, of course, we’re so sorry to have interrupted you, sir,” said the shortest of the three guards, backing slowly away from the scene, a tight smile straining his lips. “Please, enjoy your evening.”

  “We will,” the boy giggled. Then, as the guards turned away, he pulled Abhijat closer, leaned into his space, and pressed his lips to his ear. For the fraction of a second, Abhijat froze.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” the boy hissed into his ear, his voice soft but sharp.

  Abhijat jerked. Taking a hold of the boy’s shoulders, he pushed him off but didn’t let him go, holding him firmly at arm’s length.

  On closer inspection, he realized that his companion was older than he looked. Long orange hair fell into his glittery eyes, which comprised at least three different shades of eyeshadow. Like the girl Abhijat had been talking to earlier, his face shimmered with some combination of cosmetics he was not familiar with, although he could tell the boy had a lot more layers of makeup on his face than the champagne girl did.

  He raised a perfectly shaped brow at Abhijat. “You’re staring, Shian. Which, while flattering, is also a waste of time.”

  Abhijat’s eyes widened, his hands clenching of their own accord, which caused his nails to dig into the toga-covered shoulders. “Fasih?”

  “At your service,” he bowed slightly, the toga making him look like some character out of a fairy tale. “Now, take me by the hand and lead me down to the nearest washroom. We need to talk.”

  “Wh-what? I’ll do no such thing. What is wrong with you?”

  Both of Fasih’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “You’re assuming that was a request,” he hissed, holding out his hand. “It wasn’t.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Abhijat blew out a frustrated breath, grabbed him by the wrist, and marched him down the hallway. A few of the patrons turned to stare at them, smirking knowingly behind their masks.

  Kicking the washroom door shut behind him, Abhijat rounded on Jehan. He was fuming. “Fasih, for the last time, what are you doing in this damned club?”

  “I believe I just asked you that very question.”

  “And why,” Abhijat looked him over one more time, bewilderment and outrage battling for dominion on his face. “Are you dressed like…like–”

  “A hooker? ’Cause it was the easiest way to get in without revealing my identity. I could hardly have entered this place as a client without causing the scandal of the century.” He smirked. “It’s called blending in, Shian. Something you’re clearly incapable of doing.”

  “You are the prime minister of this country! For God’s sake, you can’t be seen dressed like that.”

  “And I won’t be. At least, not by anyone who’d recognize me in this get-up. Not if you can keep your mouth shut and follow directions. Now, tell me what you’re doing here.”

  “I was tracking a suspect who might’ve been involved in the fire at your office. And just for the record, you’re certifiably insane.”

  “True, but irrelevant. We need to get into the sanctum. And you’re going to help me get there.”

  “The what?”

  Jehan rolled his eyes. “This hall is the outermost layer of the La Fantome. This is the part of the club that hosts the…casual visitors. Then there’s the inner sanctum for the more…ah…adventurous clients.”

  “So that’s the place with the suite you were talking about?”

  “Yep. Exactly. See? You can be smart when you want to be.”

  “Why do you want to get into this sanctum?” Abhijat growled, his eyes narrowing into slits. “And why couldn’t you get there without me?”

  A moment passed in silence, faint music drifting in from the hall outside. Fasih sighed. “Okay, fine. I’m here to look into the disappearance of a social worker who’d been investigating this club. She’s…a friend of a friend. And she works with trafficked kids. Which is why there’s reason to believe that the owners of the La Fantome might’ve been involved in her disappearance.”

  Abhijat frowned. “So why didn’t you just order an investigation? The NIA could’ve sent a team down here and–”

  “There wasn’t enough time. There were rumours that…” Jehan closed his eyes and bit his lip, as if forcing himself to get the words out. “That this club was making illegal use of a prototype of the Amven drug. I wanted to see for myself if that was true.

  “Amven is…it can be a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands. Particularly because not many people understand how exactly it works. Of course, this is just a prototype. But I wanted to know how advanced a version they’d managed to get their hands on.”

  He ran a hand through his bright orange hair and groaned. “Damnit. You’ve no idea of the trouble this could lead to. You think this club is bad? It’s just the tip of the fucking ice-berg. I need to know where they’re storing the drugs, how much of it they’ve got.”

  Abhijat frowned. “All of which could’ve been unearthed and brought to light via an official investigation. And it wouldn’t have required you to walk around in a frock, drenched in glitter.”

  “It’s not a frock,” Fasih said absently. “And it’d have been too late. The owners of this club are powerful people. They have the local authorities in their pocket, including the police. How else do you think this operation’s been carried on for months in one of the city’s main commercial districts, without anybody noticing that something was amiss?

  “An official investigation, ordered by the central government, would simply have spooked the local authorities. This whole setup would be gone by the time a team from the NIA arrived to investigate. It’d just ensure we never came to know the truth about the Amven prototype they’re using here.

  “Besides, by the time an official investigation was greenlighted, it’d have been too late to save any of the boys and girls trapped here. These kids would’ve been sent off to the next destination, perhaps even abroad, before an NIA agent got within a hundred feet of this club.”

  “You expect me to believe you decided to dre
ss up like a tramp high on ecstasy out of concern for some wayward kids from rural Eraon?” Abhijat sneered. “Besides, from what I’ve seen, they seem quite happy to be here.”

  Fasih flinched like he’d been slapped. “I don’t care what you believe, Shian,” he said icily. “But even you can’t be so ignorant as to not know the basics of how Amven affects people. That damned drug has been all the rage in Qayit for over a decade now. You couldn’t watch the news for a week without hearing it mentioned–”

  “What’s your point?” Abhijat snapped.

  “My point is that Amven – or at least most prototype versions of it – makes you passive…docile and compliant. Less aggressive; more willing to follow orders.

  “Do you get it now? These kids are happy to be here. They’d be happy to jump in front of an oncoming train, if ordered to do so.” He looked Abhijat in the eyes, letting the words sink in. “Which makes it the perfect drug for this sort of an operation. After all, you can’t rape the willing.”

  His hands clenching into fists, Abhijat looked away. “Fine. I’ll help you get inside the sanctum if you think that’ll help,” he said through gritted teeth. “But why do you need me to get in there, anyway?”

  Jehan leaned against the tiled washroom wall and pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Those kids you saw outside in the hall…they were drugged, yes. But the dosage administered to them was pretty low.

  “The inner sanctum…that’s a whole different ball game. From what I’ve observed, that’s where you’ll see what the Amven drug can really do. The escorts who go in there are far more heavily drugged than the ones outside. And I believe that’s where they’re holding Afreen, the social worker I was talking about. Who knows, you might find your man in there as well.”

  “So why haven’t you gone in yet?”

  “’Cause I can’t go in alone. That door is heavily guarded round-the-clock. The only way to get in is with a client. And the clients can’t go in by themselves, either. They have to book a suite beforehand, and be accompanied by at least one escort. Did you notice that woman sitting at the desk near the back door?”