CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Petite Asie in Paris, France
There was nothing worse than winter in Paris. Cold, wet and dirty, the City of Light held no appeal for Aksim Olivier Du?s. He should be making love to his beautiful wife, Soraya, on a cruise ship headed to Thailand. Instead, he and his young brother, Iz?l, were freezing their asses off in Paris’s Petite Asie, following up on one of a dozen leads.
For more than two and half months, they’d crisscrossed half of Europe and Asia trying to track down their wayward brother. A week ago, their search led them to Paris’s Chinatown. Located on the banks of the River Seine, the district boasted the largest concentration of Chinese immigrants in the city.
“La Porte Rouge…The Red Door?” Aksim looked at Eugene, his brother’s butler, or what he deemed a glorified personal assistant. “Merde. This is a cathouse. Are you sure he’s here?”
Eugene nodded. “The accountant settled his bill last week and the addressee was a Madame Haung, proprietress of La Porte Rouge.”
“When did you see him last?” Iz?l asked. Five years younger and a reprobate, Iz?l was just as roguish as Khalid.
Eugene’s pale cheeks bloomed bright red.
Aksim bunched the other man’s collar in his fist. “Spit it out or so help me God.”
“Your brother hasn’t been home in three weeks.”
“Three weeks?” Aksim and Iz?l echoed the other.
Aksim tightened his hand on the manservant’s tie, bunched the material in his fist and yanked Eugene close and closer still.
“And we had to learn of his condition from ses amis?” Aksim took a calming breath before he committed a délit penal and wound up in jail.
“My brother had better be breathing or you’ll be joining him.” With a growl of disgust, Aksim released the other man so fast, he stumbled off the curb.
“What does he do about food and clothes?” Iz?l asked.
Eugene’s hands shook as he straightened his tie. “I bring him a fresh set of clothes each day. Madame Haung provides her patrons with hot baths and food.”
Aksim scratched the back of his head, ruffling the black curls. The rumors were true. Khalid had fallen into such debauchery that even his ne'er-do-well friends had become concerned enough to contact their father, who in turn called him.
Last fall, Khalid not only walked away from the Victorian Cup, he’d disappeared completely. By the time Aksim finally tracked Khalid to their cousin Hassan’s camp off the coast of Africa, he’d moved on. Ever since, there had been dozens of sightings of his brother throughout Europe and even Asia. He never remained in one location for long, staying one step ahead of them until now.
“Allons. Let’s get this over with.” Aksim stepped up to the door and knocked. “Predictable,” he sneered, noting the double doors’ blood-red paint.
A book-sized slat slid back, spilling light and music onto the stoop. “What do you want?” a pair of eyes asked.
“We want to clean the upstairs bathroom.” Aksim rolled his eyes. “What else do you think we want?”
“Private club, go away.” The slat slammed shut.
“Well, that’s that,” Iz?l glanced down at his manicured nails as if bored by the night’s events. “I have a bottle of brandy and a voluptuous redhead waiting for me back at the hotel.” His brother pivoted on his heel and headed toward their car.
Not wanting to have his image of his older brother shattered, Iz?l had joined their search reluctantly. Aksim would’ve left him out of it, but he needed extra muscle to bring Khalid home.
Aksim dug into his inner coat pocket at the same time he knocked on the door.
The slat opened again. “I said we priv…mmm…mmm,” the man mumbled around a roll of money shoved up his nose.
“I’m buying a membership for all three of us. Now open the damn door.”
Once more, the slat slammed shut.
“If you’re going to blow cash like that, you could’ve given it to me,” Iz?l drawled. “There’s a magnificent filly running in Longchamps tomorrow.”
Ignoring his brother’s vices, Aksim counted to ten. If the door didn’t open by then, he would bust it in. He eyed the hinges, sizing up the doors’ parameters, estimating the thickness of the wood. His preparations proved to be unnecessary because the door swung open.
A diminutive Asian man scuttled back, his head bowed. “Bienvenue,” he gushed. “I am Chow, Madame Huang’s personal assistant. We are very pleased to have your company.” He closed the door behind them, then proceeded to slide three metal bars into place, locking them in.
Attention riveted by his immediate surroundings, Aksim barely gave him any notice. Smelling of cloves, oranges, and sex, La Porte Rouge’s interior was a garish feast of the senses, a direct contrast to its monastic exterior. A five-tiered chandelier swung from the third floor ceiling. Gold-leafed wallpaper hand-painted with pastoral scenes competed with dozens of erotic paintings. The cherry wood floors had been polished to a glossy high shine and appeared new.
The expensive trappings couldn’t contend with the half-naked women leaning from the balustrade above. Diverse as exotic birds, they vied for the newcomers attention with catcalls and bared flesh.
“What’s your pleasure?” Chow nodded toward the bevy of women. “We have all shapes, sizes and colors. We even have men if that’s more your preference.”
Grinning broadly, Iz?l stepped forward, earning a flurry of wolf-whistles. “I think I’ll have the blonde covered in tattoos.”
Aksim clamped his hand on his brother’s shoulder, halting him. “We’re here for Khalid.”
“Cock blocker.” Iz?l painted him with a withering look but he remained by his side.
“We would like an audience with Madame Haung.”
Chow’s smile faded. “What do you want with the Madame?”
“That’s none of your business.”
The man eyed them for a moment as if sizing them up. Wiry and standing only an inch or two over five feet, Chow didn’t stand a chance against him or Iz?l. “To see the Madame is extra,” he held out his hand.
“I’m sure.” Aksim fished in his wallet. “How much more?”
Chow cut his eyes at them. “Five hundred should suffice,” he uttered as if pulling a number out of his head.
“Five hundred just to speak with her,” Iz?l stepped forward, fists clenched.
Aksim shoved his brother behind him. “Sounds like a steal,” he drawled, while peeling off several hundred dollar bills.
Grinning like a Cheshire cat, the man rolled the bills around Aksim’s first bribe. “If you gentlemen will follow me.”
Aksim half-expected to be led to a bedroom on the upper floor filled with Louis XVII furniture in which an overly perfumed and powdered madam held court. Instead, Chow led them down a hallway to the back of the house and into an enormous provincial kitchen more suited for a country estate than a bordello. Piles of exotic spices, freshly chopped vegetables, and three plucked chickens littered a large work table in the center.
A woman of indeterminate age stood by the stove, guarding several copper pots. Unlike their escort’s modern attire, she was dressed in a traditional Chinese robe in apple-green silk, and her stark white hair streamed down her back to her knees.
Chow scuttled over to his patron, but maintained a respectful distance. “Madame, these gentlemen would like an audience with you.”
The woman didn’t look up from the pot she was stirring. “Time is money,” she replied, holding out a slender hand. Several jade bracelets clinked against the other, drawing Aksim’s gaze to her willowy wrist. If he had a mind to, he could break her like a twig.
Chow placed the roll of money in her open palm. After safely depositing the money in her pocket, Madame Haung finally turned toward them. Pale as rice paper, her skin was blemish free and her blue eyes, rimmed with the longest lashes he’d ever seen, dominated her heart-shaped face.
“So what would you gentlemen like to know?”
Taken aback by the fact that she wasn’t Asian, but Anglo, Aksim searched for his tongue. “We…ah…we were looking for our brother, Khalid Du?s. His accountant informed us we could find him here.”
The woman’s expression didn’t flicker with recognition. “A shame. Mr. Du?s is not only charming but one of my best paying customers.”
“I’m sure,” Aksim drawled, remembering the exorbitant bill Khalid’s accountant had forwarded their father. “We’ll reward you well when you hand him over to our care.”
“No need to reward me.” The woman waved her hand. “My customers always come back, especially the ones with his particular vices.” She reached up and pulled a black ribbon from around her neck. Attached to it was a key.
“You run a tight ship.” Iz?l snorted.
“We like to protect our clients’ privacy,” she replied. “A raid by the authorities could ruin my business overnight.” Turning, Madame Haung walked over to a pair of beveled pantry doors.
“If you have a handkerchief, I suggest you pull it out.” She tugged on a braided chord, switching on a light bulb hanging overhead. “I’d hate for you to become my customers as well.” Madame Haung chuckled as she turned the key in a lock behind a rack of spices. The wall groaned and then jerked before swinging backward to reveal a flight of stairs, leading down into the basement.
Leading the way, Madame Haung pointed out, “I’ve taken good care of your brother.”
Halfway down, Aksim found that hard to believe. Drafty, smelling of piss, shit, and something so syrupy sweet he wanted to gag, the enclosed space smelled worse than the Parisian sewer on an unusually hot day.
At the bottom of the stairs, Madame Haung lit an oil lantern. “Unfortunately, you’ll have to suffer my other clients.”
“Merde alors!” Iz?l hissed. Mouth set in a hard line, he staggered forward.
Unlike the upper levels, the basement was a hovel unfit for rats much less humans. Rubbish littered the concrete floor, and the walls had been charred black with smoke. Row after row of low platform tables populated the main space. Bunk beds similar to those found in crew cabins on a ship abutted the walls. Despite the eerie silence, each bed was occupied by someone in various stages of euphoria. The deeper they progressed, the more profound the person’s disrepair.
“What level of depravity has Khalid fallen to?”
Aksim didn’t bother to answer his brother’s question. He’d read about opium dens but fiction proved to be a far cry from reality. No amount of words could aptly describe this decadence and utter disregard for one’s welfare.
Aksim blinked back tears. What had happened to his little brother? Educated, wealthy and an avowed bachelor with women falling over him at every turn, Khalid lived a life most men would envy. How could he have ended up here with the rest of these degenerates?
Needing answers, Aksim caught up with Madame Haung, “Did my brother say anything to you regarding his reason for being here?”
The Madame shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I do not judge, nor do I babysit. We just supply the vice.”
Angered by her indifference, Aksim fell back. If he choked the shit out of her, he may never see his brother again. He glanced at Eugene, but didn’t press him for information. Loyal to Khalid, his personal assistant had to be threatened with bodily harm to get him to accompany them tonight.
Madame Haung turned left, leading them down another row flanked by dozens of cots. “In all my years in this business, I will tell you there’s one thing that always sends men of your brother’s stature into a downward spiral. They simply want to escape.”
Escape? Aksim doubted Madame Haung’s reasoning. From traveling the world to racing cars, Khalid lived life to the fullest. He’d lived vicariously through him, and Iz?l emulated him.
At the end of the aisle, Madame Haung pulled aside a gauze curtain threadbare with age. Iz?l fingered the pink material. “Love how you’ve decorated, I shou…” His words trailed off. Silently, he stepped forward and stood next to Madame Haung. “Good God, is it alive?”
Aksim wondered the same thing. Pale, gaunt and sporting a ragged black beard, this dope fiend, a ceramic pipe clutched it to its sunken chest, couldn’t possibly be their brother.
Iz?l must’ve had the same notion because he picked up a lantern from a tray on the bed and held it aloft.
The thing’s eyes popped open. “Go away,” It snarled. “Your prayers are wasted here.”
Aksim felt his heart squeeze tightly in his chest. The opium had deteriorated the luster of the pale blue eyes staring up at him. “It’s not him.”
“Never said it was.” Retrieving a key from the sleeve of her gown, Madame Haung skirted the bed and approached a large metal door. “Your brother is into a much deadlier vice than opium.”
She gave a tug and the pocket door slid back into the wall.
Met by raucous cheers and a blinding light, Aksim hesitated.
“If you want your brother, Monsieur Du?s, you better get moving. The games run their course rather quickly.”
“You heard the lady.” Iz?l pushed past him into the room. Still somewhat disoriented, Aksim followed in his wake.
Over six feet tall and packing lean muscle, his baby brother met little resistance as he cut a path through the mob. At one point euphoric, the crowd was now eerily hushed. The sudden change caused a chill to run down Aksim’s spine.
Iz?l suddenly stopped. “What in the world?” he whispered.
Curious, Aksim stepped around him.
A good fifteen pounds lighter, yet still roguishly handsome, Khalid appeared bored in this unnatural setting. One of two occupants sitting at a table set in the center of the room, his brother held a balloon snifter in one hand, while the other palmed a revolver
Kicking into big brother mode, Aksim stepped forward.
“Kal, what the f*ck are you doing?”
Startled, Khalid’s head snapped around. A spectrum of emotions marred his features and then he seemed to settle on fury.
“Get out of here,” Khalid growled.
Aksim shook his head. “I’m not leaving without you,” he countered. “Father sent us to retrieve you and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Of course,” Khalid said, surprising him. Stubborn to the core, his baby brother had never acquiesced this quickly in his life. “I’ll be right with you, just let me finish up here.”
Smiling broadly, Khalid pressed the revolver against his temple and pulled the trigger.
The air balled up in Aksim’s lungs. All of his voluntary responses seemed to freeze at once and he became immobile. Thank goodness for the press of the crowd at his back or he would’ve toppled over.
Click.
Not satisfied with the outcome, Khalid squeezed the trigger again.
As the sound of another empty chamber echoed in the room, Aksim leapt onto the table, drew back his fist and landed a solid blow into Khalid’s jaw, knocking him out. A novice pugilist, who boxed daily for exercise, his hobby had finally come in handy.
“Was that really necessary?” Iz?l shoved his hands between Khalid’s armpits and heaved him out of the chair.
Aksim grabbed hold of Khalid’s ankles. “You had a better idea? He was dead set on suicide.”
Iz?l grimaced at their unconscious load. “Are you sure you want to take him to your chateau in Lorraine with Soraya and the boys? We can take perfectly good care of him at his townhouse in Montmartre.”
Aksim shook his head. “He should be as far away from this shit hole as possible. Plus, it was Soraya’s idea to bring him to our home.”
Iz?l started chuckling, which quickly turned into all-out laughter. “You are so p-ssy-whipped.” He reached up and wiped away a tear.
Aksim didn’t deny his brother’s crude allegation. He’d started a civil war over his wife. “Stop blabbering and let’s get him out of here.”
Being overly dramatic, Iz?l grunted loudly as they lifted their brother. Considerably lighter, Khalid probably weighed less than most women. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he grumbled.
Aksim had absolutely no clue. He did know that a two year feud in the desert would be a walk in the park compared to what lay ahead.