She had no firm plan, or really any idea what to expect going into the club. They knew he would be there, but beyond that it was a question mark.
Rob met her at a Thai restaurant a few blocks from the club, and they ate a light dinner as they watched the locals traverse the teeming streets and vendors hawking trinkets and pirated goods. A group of bar girls who worked as prostitutes at one of the myriad nearby go-go bars walked by, laughing.
“They don’t look like they’re older than fifteen,” Jet commented, taking a bite of her Kaeng phet pet yang — duck in red curry.
“They’re older. Asian women tend to look younger. It’s genetics. Most of the bars do regular checks for underage workers, so the mainstream ones are strict about it.”
“I don’t know. They don’t look it.”
“Many of them dress and do their makeup so as to appear younger. It’s a more desirable look here.”
“Why is that? I mean, I get the whole idea of youth being attractive. But, come on. There’s youth, and then there’s borderline children.”
“It’s the market. I don’t get it, either. But many of the patrons of the sex trade are Thai men, and they like them young. Probably has to do with the woman being unspoiled and youthful,” Rob speculated, chewing on a shrimp.
“Unspoiled? Come on. If you’re a hooker, servicing God knows how many men per night in a go-go bar, isn’t that a stretch? I mean, I can rationalize as well as anyone, but please…”
Rob held his hands up. “I agree. But I don’t make the rules. That’s what sells, and the market is what the market is.”
“So it’s a society of pedophiles.”
“Not necessarily, although there’s certainly plenty of that to go around. It’s more about some twisted male fantasies about having sex with the teenage girls you could have had in your youth. Even though most of the men that come here know full well that these girls are eighteen and up, they’re buying into an illusion. There are whole clubs that offer nothing but schoolgirl-themed sex workers. It’s a big business. And the Japanese eat that up. Their society is rigid and based on control and rules, so they come here and want the forbidden. Even if it’s all an act.”
“Hmmm. It just seems wrong. I mean, I’ve been all over the world, and I’ve never seen anything like this. And I’m not exactly innocent — I’ve been in a lot of horrible places. But it seems to me that this whole civilization is based on selling youthful sex to fat, red-faced white men.”
“You aren’t that far off, except that again, Thai men are huge consumers.”
They ate in silence, dissonant music blaring from a tinny speaker in the far corner of the restaurant, and then another group of bar girls ambled by on their way to work.
“They all have darker skin. Is that also what the market wants, or is that just me?”
“Most are from Isaan, in the north. The skin is darker up that way. That’s one of the reasons Thais consider the typical women that farangs favor to be low class. Darker skin is associated with poverty, which is the worst sin you can commit here. Being poor. The average annual income of someone in Isaan is four hundred dollars a year,” Rob explained.
“So they come here to make that in a week. Or in some cases, in a few days.”
“Exactly. Like I said yesterday, it’s economics. Always.” He took another mouthful of noodles and shrimp. “What’s the plan for this evening?”
“Edgar said that you were going to be briefed before you came to dinner on the latest from the club. He’s got a guy outside on the street. What did he tell you?” Jet asked.
“The bouncer is working tonight, and he said they expect Lap Pu in later. Beyond that, we have nothing new.”
“I was thinking we spend some time there and see if there’s an opportunity to plant a tracking device on him, or at worst, on his car. I don’t like my odds of being able to follow him from the club.”
“He has a number of homes. Nobody’s really sure how many.”
“But the only one we’re concerned about right now is wherever he’s staying.”
“It’s a long shot. But I suppose it’s as good as any.”
They finished their dinner and paid, then moved out into the bustle of the streets. Two blocks south, they rounded a corner and found themselves facing a blinking neon cat, sporting a top hat and a lascivious grin.
A man approached them from the darkened doorway.
“Ping pong show. Very nice. Best in Bangkok. Anything you want. Girls. Boys. Come on in. Cold beer.”
Jet exchanged a look with Rob that appeared unconvinced.
“I don’t know…”
“Top Cat famous all over world. Anything you want. I get for you. Anything.” He offered them a leer that promised that indeed, anything that could be imagined could be found in the Top Cat.
“Can we just look around?”
“Of course. Come in. Drink cold beer. Look at all the ladies, the show. Come. Come now, sexy lady. Come to the Top Cat.”
She took Rob’s hand, raised an eyebrow and nodded. Rob played along, and they moved into the doorway. Two large bouncers stood immediately in front of a black velvet curtain. Music boomed from behind it. Rap. The street hawker nodded at them, and the larger of the pair pulled the curtain aside with a hand the size of a ham.
Rob led, and within two seconds, a hostess wearing what appeared to be a gladiator outfit crafted from black vinyl latched onto them and led them to a booth near the raised stage. The club was half full, all tourists, ninety-five percent male. At least forty young women wearing little but smiles lounged around, chatting in pairs and threesomes, their more fortunate co-workers having already found willing companions for the next hour among the men gathered around the stage.
They took a seat, and the gladiator asked them what they wanted to drink. Rob held up two fingers.
“Singha,” he yelled over the music, ordering the most popular beer in Thailand.
She departed on stripper heels, and Jet took in the club. It was larger than she’d expected — looked like it could hold several hundred people. Lighting was limited to red, which was appropriate, and was dim, with barely enough to make out the other clubgoers. She supposed that was typical.
The beer arrived within seconds, very cold. Rob paid for them. They’d agreed he would be the money for the night — in keeping with their cover as a couple on holiday looking for something exotic.
The music changed, and the stage lights illuminated with a flourish. There was no introduction. A young woman mounted the stairs to hooting applause, and then held up a foot-and-a-half-long metal tube, brandishing it like a baton. More cheers.
Rob leaned close to her ear.
“Darts. See the balloons around the stage?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“How the hell…”
Any questions she had, or had never even considered, were answered over the next five minutes.
Three more women joined the dart performer after the display was over. It was time for ping pong. Jet watched in amazement as paddles were distributed to the men nearest the stage, and then the game began in earnest.
Her eyes scanned the room as the show continued, and she spotted an older woman with a child near one of the doorways leading to the rear of the building. The little girl couldn’t have been more than twelve and was dressed in a short skirt and a tube top, exposing her adolescent frame and skinny appendages. The woman grabbed her by the arm and was yelling at her, pointing at the crowd, and the little girl nodded, tears streaming down her face.
The woman’s face contorted in frustration, and her hand whipped out like a striking cobra, slapping the child so hard her head smacked against the wall. Jet’s stomach broiled with anger, but she bit it back, her face displaying no emotion even as she stifled the urge to leap up and flatten the woman.
Another cheer greeted the final salvo of ping pong balls, and then a tired-looking MC climbed up on the stage and announced in broken English that there would be plenty more entertainment coming up shortly, and that everyone should take a well-deserved relaxation break and find some way to amuse themselves while waiting for the continuation of the show.