Rick had better watch out.

A ghost of a smile played upon Mai’s lips as she hobbled around the breakfast table, clearing up.

Rick ordered the girls upstairs to change and pack. None of them had many clothes of their own. The good ones, which they shared, had already been stored away by the Mamasan to be loaned out when they entertained the richer clients.

These men liked to see their women well dressed and sipping expensive cocktails on yachts or at private parties in fancy mansions. That way they could pretend it was all real, that they were handsome men who went with pretty girls because the girls wanted to be with them. Only when the bedroom doors were closed did the real games begin. When it came down to it, Mai reflected, these men were no different than the dirty boys from last night—cleaner maybe, but their grunts were still the same. (Image 19.1)

Image 19.1

CHAPTER TWENTY

The door to Monty’s hospital room was shut. Stevie couldn’t recall it ever having been shut before. For a moment she hesitated, peering through the grid of the safety glass, anxious for what she might see on the other side. The room looked different, Monty looked different. Most of the tubing was gone and there was only one drip left hanging above the bed. He looked relaxed, propped up with pillows. If not for the drip and the ubiquitous heart monitor, he could have been in bed at home reading the Sunday papers.

A man sat in the visitor’s chair, examining the sheets of paper Monty handed him from a pile on his lap. Must be one of his doctors, Stevie decided; she’d spoken to so many over the past few days she’d lost track of them all.

Monty saw her face against the glass, beckoned her in and introduced her to Colin Zimmel from the AFP. She remembered the name although they had never met. Monty and Col had been in the WAPOL rugby team together until Col had joined the Feds and been transferred east. He’d recently moved back to Perth and Monty had been consulting him for the work he was doing for the CCC.

Monty’s build could have singled him out as a rugby player, but his even features showed little evidence of the game. Col Zimmel’s face on the other hand was a testimony to every scrum, every boot and elbow to the face, every broken cheekbone and flattened nose—not a face you’d want to come across in a dark alley at night. His voice, however, was deep and mellifluous and he seemed genuinely interested in Izzy’s artwork.

‘Izz brought these pictures in when she visited with Dot this morning,’ Monty explained after he’d introduced her to Col. ‘Col reckons she’s very talented.’

Stevie made herself as comfortable as she could on the cramped bed beside Monty, a pillow under her back. ‘He wouldn’t dare say anything else, would he?’

Col laughed. ‘I have to admit I’ve been keeping my eye on the monitor there.’

‘Thank God he won’t be bringing that thing home with him,’ Stevie said. ‘Being nice all the time is becoming quite a strain.’

Monty turned to Col. ‘I’m drinking it in while I can.’ He passed her Izzy’s drawings and she stacked them upon his bedside table. ‘Stevie, I was thinking about what you were telling me earlier, and I reckon you need to have a talk to Col here.’

Stevie feigned ignorance. ‘What do you mean?’

‘This people-trafficking operation you seem to have stumbled across.’

‘I can’t talk to Col about it, Mont. Col needs to see Angus, not me.’

‘I’ve made an appointment to see Angus Wong tomorrow,’ Col said. ‘It’s very important for us to get some sort of information exchange system into place. I just thought...’ He pulled at a cauliflower ear and glanced at Monty who tipped him an encouraging nod. ‘There are a few things you need to know. Monty told me about the attempt on your life the other night; it sounded like a close shave. I think it’s time you knew about the kind of people you’re dealing with.’

‘We’re concerned about your safety,’ Monty said before Stevie could get a word in. ‘You need to know this for your own protection. Humour me and listen to the man—I’m not supposed to be under any stress, remember?’

Stevie stifled a sigh, slid from the bed and sat next to Col in the other visitor’s chair in order to give him her complete attention. ‘Go on then.’

‘Although human trafficking is primarily a federal concern,’ Col began, ‘we often work alongside state police. The sharing of data between the states and departments can be abysmal, so I was impressed when Senior Sergeant Wayne Pickering from the SCS contacted me yesterday and filled me in on the Pavel case. I did some extra digging and came up with some facts about Jon Pavel that I think you should know, seeing as you seem to be, er, peripherally involved.’

Monty threw up his hands. ‘Peripherally? Ha!’

Stevie ignored the outburst. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t interested and found herself leaning towards Col from her chair. ‘Go on.’

‘Jon Pavel, aka Anton Arcos, aka George Brasov was born in Bucharest in 1973, the son of a petty thief. He followed in his father’s footsteps, but took the family firm a lot further. He started dealing in weapons when he was a juvenile and was lucky to escape the harsh punishments of the communist regime of the time. He was apolitical, supplying arms to anyone who could pay. After the fall of the communists he was recruited into a powerful crime ring—guns, drugs, prostitution and human trafficking. Then he got himself involved in a turf war with another gang and was implicated in a drive-by shooting in which two rival gang members were killed.’

Monty stretched for the water jug on the side locker. Stevie reached it first and poured him a glass. ‘I’m not totally helpless,’ he said peevishly.

Jeez, Stevie thought, the fun and games have already started and he’s not even home yet. ‘We’re still listening, Col,’ she said, ignoring Monty’s grumbles.

‘When you’re quite ready...’ Col sighed and waited for Monty to down his water. ‘While Pavel was in hiding,’ he went on, ‘he applied for Australian residency, using a false name and false papers. He had all the contacts he needed to forge the documents and plenty of money. He married a peasant girl, Delia. Perhaps she showed him the light and he decided it was time to go clean, or maybe just nothing he got up to came through on our radar. Whatever, he didn’t get any kind of criminal reputation with the Perth authorities. He established several legitimate businesses—a club and restaurants—which you’ve visited, right, Stevie?’

She nodded.

‘It’s quite possible he stayed clean for a couple of years,’ Col said, ‘until he was headhunted by an Asian human-trafficking syndicate looking for Australian-based middlemen.’

‘So we have an Asian mob recruiting Australians and Romanians?’ Stevie queried. ‘I thought these gangs stuck with their own kind?’

‘They have in the past; this is a new development,’ Monty said. Stevie sensed from his animated expression that this was in the paper he was writing. ‘If there are two or three cultures to contend with, it makes it harder for us to understand how they’re working. It’s happening in the UK now, with Lithuanians, Chinese and Albanians working together. The Lithuanians bring the girls in and sell them to the Albanians who set the brothels up. The Chinese organise the affiliated drug shipments. This is huge business. According to estimates by UNIFEM, the numbers of women and children trafficked in South-East Asia could be around 225,000 out of a global figure of over 700,000 annually.’

‘Good God,’ Stevie said. ‘And the powers that be think that little old Perth can stay clear of this? Or are they just ignoring the situation over here?’

Monty and Col exchanged glances. ‘Not if we can help it,’ Monty said.