The Crime Leveling System

The Trap Behind the Music

As the bar door swung open, he was hit by a heady blend of alcohol, tobacco and perfume. The main hall was dimly lit, with only the stage area bathed in a crimson glow, reminiscent of a burning flame. Low-frequency music vibrated through the floorboards, mingling with the laughter of the crowd and the clinking of glasses, giving the entire space an air of ambiguous chaos.

Victor entered like any other patron, pausing neither to look around nor to take notice. He casually grabbed a drink and settled into a corner, hiding in the shadows of the crowd.

He asked no one anything, for in such places, one extra question leaves a trace. Leaning back in his chair with his glass in hand, he appeared to be casually fixed on the stage. He studied the lighting, the security patrol routes and how men, driven by alcohol and desire, released their emotions here.

The well-dressed white-collar workers and gentlemen had shed their personas, bellowing and laughing in the dim light as if this night offered their only escape from reality.

Time crept by as acts changed on stage, but Victor felt no urgency. He was accustomed to waiting — true hunters never rush their strike, first securing their surroundings and escape routes.

He took the occasional sip of his drink, moving casually, yet his focus remained fixed on the stage and the backstage entrance. About half an hour later, the DJ's voice suddenly boomed from the speakers in an exaggeratedly enthusiastic tone, as if ready to set the entire bar alight.

'Gentlemen, get your wallets ready!' the DJ bellowed. 'Next up is the hottest girl of the night — let's welcome the stunning Isabella!'

The rhythm of the music suddenly intensified, the stage lights began to spin and a tall woman glided out from backstage.

Wearing a half-mask and a revealing stewardess uniform, the tight fabric accentuated her defined waist and shapely legs. Her steps were slow and confident, each one deliberate and controlled. As she reached centre stage, the men in the front rows erupted into cheers.

Notes were thrust high into the air and rained down onto the stage. The notes of currency fluttered in the lights, creating a scene of absurd, frenzied chaos.

Isabella's dance moves grew bolder with each beat of the music. Her body undulated like a supple snake under the lights and pieces of clothing were flung into the air, pushing the atmosphere on the stage to fever pitch.

Victor leaned back in his chair and let out a soft whistle. He had to admit that this woman certainly knew how to drive men wild.

As the performance neared its end, Isabella was left with only scraps of fabric covering her. She bent down and deftly tucked each bill scattered across the stage into her stockings.

Then she removed her mask to reveal a face radiating Latin charm. Stepping to the edge of the stage, she offered the audience a seductive smile. Below, some people shouted her name excitedly while others waved bills in an attempt to catch her attention.

“Come and have a drink with me, Isabella,” a regular said, extending his hand; his voice was thick with drunken fervour. Isabella merely smiled in response. After exchanging brief pleasantries with a few familiar patrons, she blew a kiss to her most generous customer before turning away. The click-clack of her high heels faded as she disappeared through the backstage entrance.

Only then did Victor put down his glass. He pulled a small vial of clear liquid from his pocket, pierced the cap with his fingernail and spread the contents evenly across his palms and fingertips. It was nail polish — a thin film that would render his fingerprints unreadable.

Once the liquid had partially dried, he poured the rest of his drink onto his clothes, saturating himself with the scent of alcohol. He feigned the appearance of a drunkard heading outside for some fresh air.

His body swayed slightly as he rose, yet his stride remained steady. He moved slowly towards the rear exit of the bar. It wouldn't be difficult to kill someone in such a place, but Victor had no intention of acting within the bar itself.

It was unclear whether Isabella had shared the armoured truck information with others, but the matter involved a powerful politician — a risk Victor wasn't willing to take. Tired of living like a fugitive, he believed the issue should be handled elsewhere, such as at Isabella's residence.

The bar's changing room was brightly lit and several dancers were changing clothes inside. A black girl playfully slapped Isabella's hip in a teasing manner. 'Hey, not staying tonight? Your Marcus hasn't shown up in days.” Isabella pulled her coat tight and flashed a relaxed smile. 'Nah, I've got stuff to do these days.' She waved goodbye and left the dressing room with her bag.

The back door opened onto a narrow alley. Trash bags were piled in the corner and the air was thick with dampness and the fumes of alcohol. Several junkies were huddled against the wall, half-asleep. Deeper within the alley came the sound of heavy panting — couples who had grown impatient waiting in the bar's restroom queue and had come here instead to act on their desires.

Isabella had long grown accustomed to this. Clutching her stun g*n, she quickened her pace through the alley.

Only after exiting the alley did she relax slightly as the streetlights illuminated the pavement. She disliked the feeling of being exposed by the light, but it was the only way home. In order to give her daughter a better life, she had to endure nights like this every single day.

She navigated the streets with practised ease, favouring routes with surveillance cameras while sidestepping junkies and homeless people sprawled on the pavement.

After about seven or eight minutes, a patrol car slowly rolled past from the other end of the street, its red and blue lights flickering in the night. Isabella’s nerves finally eased a little.

She paused beneath a streetlight, took a cigarette out of her bag and lit it. As the smoke curled upwards, she muttered under her breath, 'Damn Marcus! He borrowed my car for two days and hasn't said a word. Did he actually go and rob a bank or an armoured truck?”

Not far from the corner, several scantily clad Eastern European women were waiting for clients. Controlled by the 'Bear g**g', they lingered by the roadside. Their customers were mostly men emerging from strip clubs, though some taxi drivers also brought patrons here. Isabella was also waiting for a ride, leaning against the streetlight and visibly irritated as she smoked.

Further back in the shadows, Victor watched her quietly, his brow furrowed. Although they had shared moments together, he knew almost nothing about her life — not even where she lived. This made him realise how careless he had been. If he had paid attention to such details earlier, he wouldn't be struggling to track her down now.

Victor paused briefly, then pulled his hat and mask on before stepping out of the shadows. He walked at an unhurried pace, blending into the street like an ordinary passer-by crossing from the opposite side.

Isabella finished her cigarette, still waiting in vain for a taxi. She flicked the butt to the ground and pulled out her phone to call her daughter. Just then, she noticed several s*x workers at the corner staring at her strangely.

A sudden unease gripped her heart. As she turned to look, she felt a sharp blade press against her neck. She froze instantly, her hand still clutching the phone. Victor embraced her from behind, moving as naturally as a lover would, but with his arm locked around her neck and seizing the stun g*n from her grasp.

Leaning close, he whispered in her ear, 'Honey, hold me tight. Come with me. We're just here for the money; no harm will come to you.” The icy touch of the blade against her skin made Isabella freeze. She could only lean into Victor's embrace, and they appeared to be an ordinary couple strolling through the night. The streetwalkers glanced their way, but quickly lost interest and returned to their chatter and cigarettes.

They walked out of the lit area. After about a hundred metres, Victor led Isabella into a residential alleyway where the air reeked of urine. Keeping her head down, Isabella nervously said, "Listen, buddy, all my money's in my bag. You can have it, but please don't hurt me, OK?” She tried to stay calm, but Victor, who was walking behind her, remained silent.

He didn't respond. The silence made the atmosphere even more oppressive and Isabella's breathing quickened.

She felt trapped in a place with no visible exit and was forced to keep talking to buy time. 'This is the Bear g**g's territory. They don't like outsiders causing trouble that leads to bloodshed — it attracts the police.” She paused, then added, 'And I'm a dancer at Jenny's Bar and the leader of the Big Dog g**g's woman.'

Her voice suddenly softened, as if she were shifting tactics. 'If you need it, I can accompany you. I won't resist.' To make her words more convincing, she shifted her body slightly.

At that very moment, she sensed movement from the man behind her. The air seemed to grow heavier in an instant.