As they approached the building, they stepped onto a cement slab raised from the pavement outside an aluminum door.
A security camera mounted to the corner of the doorframe looked down at them.
Kinzer knocked on the door.
They waited. And waited.
A cool breeze rushed through the alley, making an eerie whistle.
Kinzer eyed the security camera and waved, hoping to signal to whoever was monitoring it that they were interested in procuring some pussy for the night.
A buzz filled the air, followed by a click.
The door opened and a large man stood in the entryway, his gaze shifting between them.
“Can I help you?” he asked in a voice so deep it was barely audible.
“We’re looking for Marc,” Kinzer replied.
“For what?”
“Whatdya think?”
“Who you hear it from?”
“A friend who isn’t interested in being named.”
The man eyed him skeptically.
“Stay right here.”
He shut the door.
As Kinzer and Maggie waited again, Kinzer’s concern grew.
What if they only worked off referrals? What if there was some secret password he hadn’t known? They could burst right out with automatic weapons and hose them to the curb in moments.
That same buzz filled the air and the door opened again.
“Okay, lemme check you and the lady real quick,” the man said. “Make sure you’re not wired or nothin’.”
His check wasn’t very thorough, and once he was pleased with his pat-down—one that had spent far too long near Maggie’s bust—he led them through the building. He guided them up a stairwell and through a few halls lit with dim lantern light. Kinzer knew they must’ve had better lighting. The atmosphere was certainly intended to set a mood. Perhaps if the place looked like the Ritz, clients wouldn’t have felt comfortable about expressing their true desires. Walking through the dim light created a certain atmosphere that almost seemed otherworldly. Like this place wasn’t a part of the outside world, and the acts committed within it wouldn’t affect the rest of a visitor’s life.
Their escort took them into a room with overhead fluorescent lights shining across white tiled floors. On the far end of the room, French doors opened out to a balcony, where a man leaned against a brick rail. A cigarette dangled from between his lips as he surveyed the neighboring buildings.
“New visitors,” their escort said.
The man outside turned to them with a smile. He put his cigarette out in an ashtray on the rail and sauntered through the French doors. His pace was relaxed, so much so that it set Kinzer at ease. This man clearly wasn’t concerned about them, so he had no reason to worry about him trying anything funny.
“I’m Darren,” the man said, extending his hand.
He and Kinzer shook hands. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s all mine,” Kinzer said. “I’m Jeff.”
“And I’m Amy,” Maggie said, shaking his hand as well.
“Well, Jeff and Amy,” he said, the look of amusement in his eyes indicating he was playing along with these fabricated names. Surely, he was used to people coming to a place like this and using such simple aliases.
