He stared at the search warrant and protested at being shut down. “We have a bona fide licence to operate the club. Our clientele is very respectable.”
“Yeah? Is that so?” Kappolis’s tone was cocky.
“Our guests are all very legitimate people. District attorneys, supreme court judges, business owners and movie moguls. This a very legitimate establishment. See those photos on the wall?” he pointed to a row of black-and-white photographs of prominent people.
“We don’t care about your who’s-who list,” said Nick. “What I want to know is, what kind of joint you’re running?”
“This is a private club for people of high class.”
“Class thing, is it?”
Kappolis’s sarcasm was lost on Andy Loong. He continued in an earnest tone. “Entry is for members only. Our initiation fees are five thousand with annual membership at three thousand. Right now we have a waiting list for membership.”
“I’m sure you do,” answered Nick. “Who owns the place?”
“Mr. Sun Sui.”
“Where is he? Where did he get his money?”
“Mr. Sui is at home this evening.”
“Pick up the phone and call him. Tell him to get his butt over here right now,” demanded Nick.
“He doesn’t like to be disturbed at home.”
“Tough shit,” said Kappolis in a menacing tone.
Loong quietly complied, punching in a set of numbers on Kappolis’s cellphone. Nick took the phone out of Loong’s hand, and listened for a few seconds. “His bloody voicemail. The guy’s not home. I don’t feel like leaving a message when the element of surprise works a hell of a lot better,” he said to Kappolis.
“Getting back to this membership business,” said Kappolis to Loong, “how about letting us have a look at that membership list of yours?”
“I can’t do that. That’s private information. I would have to ask the members first.”
“We got a search warrant, Mr. Loong. I hope your immigration status is regularized. Or you better start praying.”
The general manager sighed. “I’ll give you a computer printout. You want it right now?”
“Yeah, after we’re done with the questions. I see you’re peddling sex and drugs on the third floor.”
“Those are massage rooms. We have permits for that. And I can’t say exactly what goes on behind closed doors.”
“Yeah, yeah. Heard that excuse before.”
“The girls are dancers and entertainers. If they want to sell sexual services, it’s up to them. It’s got nothing to do with the club management or policy.”
“Is that so? Well, this is an immigration investigation. And I want to see their working papers. Or else I’m gonna shut the place down for the evening. And maybe permanently.”
“That’s a big loss of profits. I assure you they’re all here legally. All have working papers. Why close down the club if I can prove this? What you’re doing isn’t good for business. Everyone has paid good money …”
“Mr. Loong, we’ve heard enough,” snapped Kappolis, impatiently.
“Mr. Sui is with the immigrant investor program. You can’t do this to him. He’s a very important man. Immigration Canada promised him lots of help if he invested in this country. That is what he is doing. The club needs to stay open.” Loong was still protesting as the uniformed cop escorted him out of the room.
Nick and Kappolis carved up the interviews with the eight police officers from backup, but kept Loong for themselves. Saved him for last. It was a tactic they learned early in their careers.
The first entertainer was a pretty and petite woman going by the name Niin Tran.
“What documents do you have to confirm your immigration status in this country?” Nick asked, scanning her documents which gave her age as twenty-four. However, the girl in front of him looked no more than seventeen. Nick made a notation in the side margins to look into the matter. Sexual exploitation of female minors was a very serious offence in his book.
The second entertainer looked nothing like her photo. In the photograph she was wearing spectacles and a white blouse. Whereas the woman before them had dark, kohl-rimmed eyes, no glasses, and spiked hair the colour of a flaming sunset. Her lipstick was a dark shade, almost black, a colour they had not seen on lips before, and her skimpy sequined outfit barely covered her body. Kappolis and Slovak could not stop staring until they noticed that her stage companion was dressed in an even skimpier costume that left nothing to the imagination. It was not every day that they came across big-breasted Orientals.
“Implants,” whispered Kappolis to Nick.
Nick stared harder. He had never seen a woman with breast implants. Could this be the real reason why men paid such stiff initiation and membership fees? After the two girls, they interviewed two young males who could easily have passed for the opposite sex.
“Nick, it took me a while to figure out they were guys.”
“Yeah. Let’s not linger longer than necessary with these people. There’re too many of them and I don’t wanna pull an all-nighter.”
Nick retrieved his laptop from Kappolis’s car, and started banging out notes with mathematical precision. Full names, nationality, dates they entered the country, the dates their foreign authorizations were due to expire, visa numbers, the whole shebang. When he lifted his eyes from the keyboard, he noticed that the woman sitting in front of him had legs that were far too thick for a dancer. He didn’t believe that she had ever danced a day in her life before coming to Canada. He was trying to keep an open mind, but the only thing believable about these girls was that they all came from backward economies.
“How did you learn about getting a job here if you’re from Thailand?”
“Advertisement in newspaper in Thailand.”
“Who’s your employer? Who pays you?”
“The general manager, Mr. Loong, looks after us. He pay us once a month. Put money in our bank accounts.”
By the time they finished interviewing all the girls, Kappolis and Slovak were immune to halfnaked bodies.
“Even the bouncer’s an import. It doesn’t take a lot of brains to be a bouncer. We got unemployment at ten percent and we’re bringing in Third World thugs to be doormen?” asked Kappolis.
“I’m going to have one of my officers look into these work authorizations.”
When Andy Loong sat down, he asked for permission to smoke, and lit up a cigarette with trembling hands. Nick registered the man’s nervousness without looking up from the pile of witness statements. “Are you a landed immigrant, sir,” he asked, “or here on a work permit? Please produce your documents for verification.”
“I am a landed immigrant.”
“May we see your landing card?”
Andy Loong pulled a dog-eared piece of paper from his billfold.
“Tell us about the club’s relationship with the Flying Dragons triad,” asked Kappolis.
Loong’s face became noticeably paler. “Some who come aren’t respectable people, but there’s no way to deny them entry when they’re paid up in full. As long as they abide by the rules, we have no problems. I know nothing about triads.”
“Don’t fuck with us,” said Nick. “We weren’t born yesterday.”
Nick studied Loong as he closed his eyes, trying to pull himself together.
“Okay.