NINEINSIDE, A SHORT CORRIDOR with a small window to the right. Behind the window’s thick pane of glass stood a stooping Asian woman in her sixties, taking money as entrance fee.
As I approached, getting in line behind them, I heard her talking to the man who had been driving. She said, impatience all over her voice, “yes yes yes, Mr. Barnard. Tomorrow night all will be as reserved. Don’t worry, we hosted VIPs many times.” He looked as impatient with her as she sounded with him.
Behind me another man entered the queue. Two of the guest-house men had already made their way down the corridor, a set of bouncers waiting on them with hand-held metal detectors. Mr. Barnard, the guy in front of me, finished paying for the three of them and followed his mates inside. I paid my fee as well and wen
