Lucia Waymark was an entreprenneuse, a go-getter for showbusiness with an eye for style. Her club was The Flying Dutchman, one of the oldest Gentleman's clubs in the district, and home of the world-renowned dancing troop Peaches and Cream.

Wilkes had made fifteen calls, each one a notch down in his organisation, before he reached Lucia. Her burlesque show may have sold out weeks before his call, but when he, Deek and his latest Compound Commander Archibald arrived, there was a table laid for them in front of the stage complete with champagne on ice, a low-key lamp and five chairs.

Wilkes sat down and ordered a beer. The suit he had tailored for the evening was uncomfortably loose; he forgot to eat almost every day, now almost as thin as the girls caged in his new home from home. Deek pulled himself down low and fidgeted nervously with a napkin, palpably uncomfortable at the sight of go-go dancers swaying their perfect bodies inside assorted colour cages to the drum and bass beat.

'Would have thought you'd be used to that by now.' Wilkes smirked at Deek, who tried to shrug off his nerves. Archibald scoffed.

'What business do we have in a place like this?' He set his corporal jaw and clenched his teeth, sitting upright with a mosaic of medals pinned to his puffed-out chest. 'I have work to do, I don't want to spend my evening around these low-lifes.'

'You spend every evening with low-lives, Commander,' Wilkes reminded him as he took a sip of ice cold lager. It hit him hard; it had been a while since he had a drink. 'In any case, shut up and listen. I'll do the talking.'

The background beat cut short and the go-go dancers leant up against the bars of their cages, turning their heads toward the stage. Wilkes did the same; a troop of scantily-clad girls, six in number, trotted out in formation to a round of applause from the gentlemen seconded in equally dimly-lit booths. When the music burst back to life, this time a jaunty forties-style swing, they swung their legs into the air, knocked knees, kicked, and repeated, hands on sumptuously round hips, beaming at the crowd.

Wilkes watched their bodies work in silence while the men whooped, cheered and whistled.

'What are those things on their heads?' Commander Archibald said, ruffling his handlebar moustache with a ripple of his upper lip, 'they look like indian chiefs.'

'Its what we call Carnivalia.'

Lucia made her entrance to their table, propping herself on a stool between Wilkes and Deek. She was an older, elegant sort of woman, and despite her age still bore the hallmarks of beauty. Her dress was so endless that it appeared to sink into the blackness of the floor, cropped at the shoulders and laced purple to match the grand flower in her hair. She waved to them all in one high arc and then poured herself some of the untouched champagne.

'Thank-you for meeting with me, Ms Waymark.'

She swallowed and then shook her head, batting Wilkes off with a finger-gloved hand. 'Its nothing, for you gentlemen I know I gotta be on my best behaviour. I ask only that you don't take too many of my girls. I got a business to run, and all that.'

'We aren't here to make arrests,' Wilkes said quietly, watching rows of swinging legs dangle in front of him, 'we're here to make a business deal.'

Lucia threw her head back dramatically as she laughed.

'A deal? My dear man, your accountant called me to book you in, and I gotta say, from what he told me you boys couldn't make money if you had a dollar and a photocopier. What do I need you for?'

'If we aren't here to arrest these women, I am not needed here!'

Commander Archibald got to his feet and threw his napkin down on the table. Wilkes pounded his fist into the woodwork. One of the girls almost lost her balance halfway through a routine, and shot Wilkes a fearful look.

'Sit down.' He glared at Archibald. The Commander let his mouth slip open, and then sat. Lucia cast her eyes away awkwardly, taking another sip of champagne.

'Let's be frank, Ms Waymark,' Wilkes said, turning to face her fully, 'burlesque isn't all you do here. For the right buyer, these girls do more than dance.'

'That's what you're after?' Lucia scoffed loudly, 'You got a whole prison full of girls at your mercy, and you wanna pay for it? I didn't reckon you boys were this dumb.'

'On the contrary. We want to use your business model. Your client list for using these exceptional creatures stretches further than the hem of that magnificent dress, or so I hear, and we would like you to spread the word that there are places other than here, places where a man can pay a little and enjoy a lot. Places where women are at their disposal, thousands of them, catering to every taste. That is all.'

The chorus show ended to rapturous applause. The girls trotted off to be replaced by one girl alone, trussed up in a yellow corset and sheet tights who began creatively dancing around an enormous cello. Deek watched her fretfully while pretending to look at accounts sheets.

'So,' Lucia's manner suddenly softened, and she spoke more calmly, 'you want to turn your little experiments into a pay-for cathouse with unlimited girls?'

'That is the word you will use,' Wilkes nodded, 'unlimited.'

'Mmm,' Lucia was trying to suppress a smile, and if Wilkes was seeing it right, a hint of impression, 'What do I get out of this?'

'You get to keep your club, your girls and your freedom as long as you keep up your end of the deal; send us customers. As many as you can.'

'The way things are going, I reckon me and all my girls will be in one of your cages before long.'

'Correct,' Wilkes said firmly, 'but if you want to stay free for as long as possible, you'll do what we ask. You're living through the end of women, Lucia. You're just lucky you happen to sell them for a living.'

Lucia inclined her head and held up her hands. 'I had a feeling, yeah. I guess I should consider myself lucky, right? Like I'm getting off easy? You're a smart man, Wilkes. I like this deal. I only have one request.'

'What?' Wilkes' patience was wearing thin.

Lucia beckoned toward the fire exit. A dark figure emerged from beside the doorway and paced over to them. When the little light there was hit his face he looked to be a young man dressed up in tailcoats and a bowtie.

'My nephew,' Lucia took his hand and squeezed it, 'he needs a better job than this one. I reckon you've got space on your guard?'

Wilkes looked the kid up and down.

'Its a tough job.'

'I can handle it.' he sounded like he meant it.

'You'll work long hours.'

'I can do it.'

Wilkes shrugged. 'Sure, he starts tomorow.'

Lucia clapped her hands and kissed her nephew on the cheek. 'Wonderful.'

'I want the database of your clients by the time i return to the compound,' Wilkes said, getting to his feet, 'no excuses.'

'Yes, yes Sir.' Lucia gave him a wink as she led the three of them to the door.

'Oh, and, what was your nephew's name?' Wilkes craned his neck back at the club; the kid seemed to have vanished.

'Nate,' Lucia replied, 'Nate Howard.'