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.

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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 retirement 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.