“Select few women are into degradation, and even then they only appreciate it in the bedroom. Never insult them out of it.”

As Charlie’s brain struggles to absorb this, I approach the VIP lounge door. It’s flanked by two bouncers. One of them puts a hand out to stop me.

“Who’re you?” He asks.

“Oy, step aside, step aside!” Charlie juts his chin. “We’re here on business.”

“Give me a name, or get out,” The bouncer insists.

“Jack Hunter,” I say. “We’re here to see Terrance. He’s expecting us.”

The bouncer turns away and touches his ear, speaking into an earpiece. After several seconds, he turns back and opens the door with his meaty hand. Charlie salutes him as he walks in, and I slide in soundlessly. The music dulls, champagne cooling in an ice bucket on the black glass table. The couches are leather – real and shining sleekly under the lights. Another two bouncers sit on them, drinking champagne and typing away on their cellphones. They are huge and beefy, but it’s nothing Charlie can’t handle with an element of surprise – he’s a furious Tasmanian devil in a fight, and all I ever have to do is mop up the pieces.

They look up when we come in, and pat us down quickly. Charlie complains, but I silence him with a look as another man walks in and sits down. His pinstripe suit is impeccable – though he’s fat, it fits him very well. His hair is thin and gray and balding on the very top, his eyes watery and his skin a nut-brown from obsessive tanning sessions. Dozens of rings stack on his fingers – real gems, as far as I can tell. Clear, no flaws. This man is very rich, and very well-connected.

“Gentlemen!” Terrance smiles, sweeping his hands out and offering one to me. “Welcome to my humble abode. Glad you could make it on such short notice.”

“It’s good to be here,” I say, and shake his hand. We sit, and Terrance starts pouring champagne.

“Need a drink?”

“We’ll pass, thank you,” I insist. “We wouldn’t want to waste any more of your time than is necessary.”

Terrance raises an eyebrow, then laughs a full belly laugh. “Concise and ready to get down and dirty right away. I like that in a man. You rarely see that kind of single-minded dedication in your generation these days.”

Terrance drains his glass, then claps his hands.

“Alright, so what’s your offer? I’ve already got guys on campus giving me cuts on MDMA. What do you think you have that’s better, huh?”

“Information,” I say.

“Yeah? You know somebody better?”

“First, I’d like you to fulfill your end of the bargain,” I say. “The names, if you will.”

“Oh, see,” Terrance clicks his tongue. “I can’t just do that without any assurance I’m gonna be getting something good. It’s not right. I like those guys. Giving them up for shitty info would go against my business practices.”

“Listen, buddy –” Charlie snaps. The bouncers lean in suddenly, and I put my hand across Charlie’s chest to stop him.

“Terrance,” I stare into his eyes. “Your business prowess is formidable. Gregory has told us much about you, but this excellent club tells us more. You’re very good at what you do.”

Terrance relaxes, and his bodyguards relax with him.

“I am. Thank you. Always good to get a little recognition where it’s deserved.”

“So I know that a businessman as skilled as yourself is very keen on gaining assets, not losing them.”

Terrance narrows his eyes. “Go on.”

“There are some people who have suddenly become very interested in your guys.”

His eyes flash, and his fist tightens, but he keeps his voice cool and level. A true professional.

“Yeah? How important are these people we’re talking about, here?”

I smile. “I’m so sorry, Terrance. But without names, that’s all I can tell you.”

I watch the clockwork wheels sync up in his mind – I’ve told him law enforcement is looking into his MDMA suppliers. These suppliers give him a huge cut in prices, and with a booming college town rave scene right here in his club, the profits are no doubt enormous. He’s weighing the potential loss of those guys – and the cut – against being implicated when said guys are apprehended by the authorities. But without knowing who exactly the authorities are, he is reluctant to give us the names and therefore lose the price cut. If it’s simply the local police, he could bribe them into impunity. But if it’s the less corruptible DEA - or even higher - he’d lose everything, not just the price cut.

“Bill,” Terrance finally spits. “I think one of them is named Bill, or Will, or something like that. His last name is complicated, C-something. Caraway? Carlsbad?”

“Cavana?” I try, feigning innocence.

“Cavanaugh, that’s it.” Terrance points. “Now, you tell me who’s after them, and I’ll give you the other name.”

“How do we know you won’t just tell them and they’ll split?” Charlie snarls. Terrance smiles at him like he’s a child.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I don’t deal with bugged associates. We cut all ties with the ones who are being investigated, for our own safety, you understand.”

Terrance looks back to me, and I lean in, lowering my voice with the lie that comes out.

“DEA. Cyber-crime ops. Your boys are part of a larger group on the internet black market. Hackers, mostly.”

Terrance nods, putting his fingers to his lips. “Hacking isn’t my thing – the internet isn’t my thing in general. I prefer to conduct business old school.”

“Which is why you’d do well to cut them off,” I say. “This is far bigger than club drugs. We’re talking meth. Human trafficking.”

Terrance inhales sharply through his teeth. “Damnit. I thought I’d found a straight pipe in those two. But they’re always a little more crooked than you’d like, aren’t they? I’m not going away for something like that. You’ve got your name – Kyle Morris. Easier to remember than the other one. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some phone calls to make.”

We get up, and he shakes my hand before we’re escorted promptly out of the lounge. The music blares again, the smell of sweat and cloying perfume practically assaulting me. Charlie follows me to the door, and asks questions only when we’re on the curb.

“Why’d you lie? We ain’t DEA, the DEA ain’t after them.”

“We aren’t anything,” I say. “We’re third party contracts. If I told him the truth, that we were approached by the CIA, do you really think he would’ve taken us seriously? Look at us – we’re teenagers in their eyes. The CIA doesn’t contract teenagers, and it doesn’t tell teenagers what it’s up to, but the DEA does, constantly. Especially on college campuses.”

Charlie makes a face, but doesn’t argue. “I guess Gregory was right to put you on this shit. You know some things.”

It’s as close to a compliment as I’ll get from him, but I only barely hear it. My eyes are riveted to the curb, where two students are kissing fervently. The boy has dark hair and huge arms and is sliding his hand up the girl’s red shirt, a shirt I recognize very well from a certain day in a certain high school after certain photos were posted around, and her makeup is darker and bolder than I’ve ever seen it and she looks so skinny, so small against his huge hands and face as their lips meet, her hair wild around her cheeks - the passion in the kiss so bright, so tangible - and my body stops responding, my blood pumping hot and hard through my every vein as the beast in me begins to growl.