Chapter 16: Dead Whore

I took the bus, finding a seat near the back. As I sat down, I activated my powers, ensuring that I remained invisible to the other passengers. With a bit of concentration, I projected an aura of forgetfulness around me. The passengers’ gazes slid right over me, and they continued on with their lives as if I had never been there.

The bus rattled along, and I stared out the window, the cityscape blurring into a mix of concrete and neon. I was deep in thought, wondering if this constant state of hiding was going to be my new normal. But those worries could wait; I had a mission.

After a few stops, the bus finally reached its destination. I got up and made my way to the door, slipping out unnoticed. I headed further east, dragging the rolling suitcase filled with gold bars. The streets were alive with the hum of nightlife, but I had no time to enjoy the scenery.

Soon, I found myself in the red-light district, a place that was both vibrant and shadowy. I walked around for several minutes, keeping a low profile, until I arrived at an enclosed nightclub. The neon sign flickered above the door, casting a garish light on the street below.

I approached the entrance, but a burly bouncer stepped in my way. His hand landed heavily on my shoulder, and he looked me up and down with a mix of disdain and suspicion.

“This place isn’t for you,” he said, his voice gruff and final.

I felt the weight of his hand, and I had a split-second decision to make. I could either try to make an impression or sneak inside. Deciding that confrontation wasn’t worth it, I whispered, “I am not even here.”

The bouncer’s eyes glazed over momentarily, and his grip on my shoulder loosened. He looked around, confusion etched on his face as if he had lost a few seconds of memory. Without a word, I slipped past him, my form fading from his awareness.

Excepting the staff, the prostitutes, and the paramours, every person here was wearing a mask as if hiding their own shame. Ironic, since I was wearing a mask too. Unlike them though, I had no intent to feel shame or pretend I was a different person just because I wore a mask.

I was here for personal business, and that was exactly what I’d be dealing with.

The inside of the club was surprisingly more spacious and elegant than what the outside initially suggested. Ornate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow on the polished floors and plush seating. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and cigar smoke, mingling together to create an intoxicating atmosphere.

It was clear that this was a place where the elites of society came to wind down, indulging in pleasures of the flesh and gambling. I watched as old men felt up young women, women of high standing were surrounded by their paramours, and probable scions fondling those of the same sex or someone far younger than they should be. It was debauchery at its finest.

Nightclub my ass… This was a glorified whore house.

A wave of nausea threatened to overcome me, but I pushed it down, using my powers to suppress the part of me that felt conscience. I couldn’t afford to be a wrecking mess right now; I had a job to do. I scanned the room, searching for any sign of the club's owner. Deciding that a direct approach would be more efficient, I approached a passing waitress.

“Where is the owner?” I asked, allowing myself to become visible.

The waitress looked at me with surprise, then confusion as she took in my appearance. I knew I looked shabby, and out of place among the finely dressed patrons, but it was rude to judge a book by its cover. I erased the suspicions that were starting to form in her mind, watching as her expression softened.

“The owner is playing,” she replied, her voice filled with reverence and fear.

Of course. On top of brothels, the Dead Whore also dealt with gambling houses. The owner must be in the private rooms, where the stakes were higher, and the clientele even more exclusive. I thanked the waitress and moved towards the back of the club, slipping past the throngs of people with practiced ease.

‘I was getting good at this,’ I thought to myself as I toured the place.

I took my time, roaming around while maintaining relative invisibility. The club's lavish interior was a labyrinth of opulence, with each room more extravagant than the last. I moved through the hallways with deliberate care, studying the layout and creating a mental map. If everything went as planned, then I would have no need for the information. But if things took a turn for the worse, I wanted to be prepared with multiple escape routes.

As I roamed, I absorbed every detail, from the positioning of the security cameras to the locations of the exits. The longer I explored, the more confident I became that I could slip in and out unnoticed if necessary. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of winding corridors and concealed doors, I found the room where the Owner was.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

It was a lavish space, far more opulent than the rest of the club, and unlike the main area, there were no masks here. The air was thick with the scent of expensive liquor and cigars, mingling with the quiet hum of conversation. Several people were seated around a single poker table, their expressions a mix of concentration and amusement. Despite the stakes at the table, there were no guards present, only a few staff members: waitresses gliding silently between the players, an onsite bartender tending to the counter, and the dealer who controlled the game with practiced ease.

I remained silent, watching them from the bar’s counter. My shabby appearance went unnoticed; to them, I was just another guest. I had made sure of that, using my powers to erase any thoughts of me being a stranger from the minds of those who were conscious of my presence. It worked like a charm—no one gave me a second glance.

Except for one person.

The boss himself was an androgynous man with striking oriental features. His eyes narrowed as they landed on me, a fleeting expression of suspicion crossing his face. He studied me for a moment, then returned to his game as if I didn’t matter. But I could tell that he was unnerved. It was subtle, but it was there—an edge in his posture, a tension in his shoulders. Years of experience as a gang boss had taught him to trust his instincts, and right now, those instincts were telling him that something was off.

This meant he had perceived me as a ‘concern’ that demanded more delicate handling. Looking at it from another extreme, he might as well put me under a magnifying glass, while he studied me.

I watched him carefully, thinking how to approach him. This was the man I had come for, and I knew that he wouldn’t be easy to fool. But then again, I wasn’t here to fool him. I was here to sell gold.

The boss had dark, long hair that framed his youthful face, and his eyes always seemed to hold a hint of a smile. He had a blonde eye-candy clinging to his left arm, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. Dead Whore’s boss wouldn’t look a day over twenty, but he was, in fact, already in his early forties. His name was Christian "Chris" Holt, and he had been the founder and gang boss of the Dead Whore for decades, a testament to his cunning and charisma.

A few hours later, the poker game finally concluded. I checked the time from my wristwatch tucked under my sleeves; it was already past six in the evening. The players began to react, some more vocally than others.

“Oh, come on, Chris!” one of the players groaned, leaning back in his chair with a look of frustration. “We usually play until ten, what happened?”

“I was about to win big!” another chimed in, looking genuinely put out.

“Ha ha ha~! The losers kept whining!” a third player laughed, gathering his winnings with a broad grin.

Some of the players complained, but most of them just left disappointedly with a huff. Chris, however, remained unbothered. He waved off their protests with a charming smile. “There’s still a next time! Moreover, I don’t want to be late for dinner, right sweetheart?” he said, turning to the blonde beside him.

“Oh, yes, dearie~ Say, what do you want for dinner?” she asked, her voice laced with affection.

“I want you,” Chris replied with a playful smirk.

She giggled, tapping him lightly on the chest. “Ah, you jest!” she said, her laughter ringing softly through the room.

As the room emptied, I knew the moment I’d been waiting for had arrived.

I remained in my seat by the counter, watching everything with a detached curiosity. Something about the scene before me was unnerving. The blonde woman by Chris’s side hadn’t blinked once during the entire session, and the same could be said for the other staff members. If I didn’t have the power to dull my sense of fear, I would be freaking out right now.

Chris’s voice cut through the air, drawing my attention. “How about you sit with me, masked man?” he asked with a hint of challenge in his tone.

I stood up, dragging my suitcase behind me, and took a seat at the table’s opposite end. The dealer immediately began shuffling the cards, preparing for a different game. How extravagant~ having another person shuffle cards for us.

“Do you know how to play poker?” Chris inquired with his eyes fixed on me.

“No,” I replied simply.

“Unfortunate,” he mused, his tone laced with disappointment.

“I know how to play Old Maid, though,” I offered.

Chris raised an eyebrow with a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “A peasant’s game, is it? Fine. Let’s play. Humor me.”

I nodded, and the dealer distributed thirteen cards evenly between us. The rules of Old Maid were simple: one card from the fifty-two would be hidden, and the players had to match cards of the same rank. The player left with the card without a pair would lose.

I recalled Lois teaching me the game to stave off boredom. To be frank, the game was quite boring, but Lois seemed to enjoy it. As the cards were dealt, I focused on the task at hand with a poker face. It might seem unnecessary, considering that I was wearing a physical mask already.

However, Chris possessed empath capabilities derived from powerful observation, so it wouldn’t hurt to be more careful around him.

Chris dropped a pair of two hearts and five spades onto the table, his expression as unreadable as the cards he held. He looked at me expectantly. "Your turn," he said.

I nodded and signaled the dealer. “Draw,” I murmured, hoping for a better hand. The dealer handed me four cards, but I still came up empty. I tried not to let my disappointment show.

Chris turned to the blonde woman beside him and gestured toward her. “How about you introduce yourself, doll?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual.

She smiled proudly and said, “My name is Stephanie, Christian’s wife. But most people just call me Steph.”

“And most people just call me Chris,” he added with a slight grin.

Stephanie wasn’t a tall woman, only reaching up to Chris’s chest, but she exuded a certain ageless quality. Despite being in her 40s, much like Chris, she looked as if time had barely touched her.

I drew again, and the dealer slid four more cards my way. This time, I was able to drop three pairs: an ace of hearts, a king of clover, and a ten of diamonds. Chris gestured for the dealer to draw him more cards, and he swiftly dropped another two pairs onto the table.

We continued playing, taking turns as the conversation unfolded.

"So... Do you have a name, masked man?" Chris asked, his eyes flickering between his cards and my suitcase.

“I am just a… nobody,” I replied, keeping my voice even.

"I see. Mr. Nobody it is. I hope that's not a weapon," he said, gesturing to my suitcase, "because that would be just terrible."

As he spoke, I noticed the staff members moving around, subtly yet deliberately. They formed a perimeter, blocking the doors and windows. The bartender, in particular, was distributing guns to the staff with a practiced ease. Their movements were so mechanical and efficient, that it was eerie.

Despite the increasing tension in the room, I maintained my composure.