"You okay there?" Rich Borchers asked.

"Yeah," Donald Wenk replied. He lifted his head back into the passenger seat. He'd left a small puddle of sick on the driveway. His stomach still felt greasy.

"Nerves?" Rich asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Yeah," Donald replied. He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. "Are you really sure this is a good idea?"

"We'll be fine," Rich replied. "Nothing to worry about."

Nothing to worry about, Donald thought. They were about to enter the house of one of the most notorious crime lords in the city. His stomach flipped again and Donald struggled to keep hold of his breakfast. Come on. He had to get on top of this. What kind of impression would it give if he threw up on the gangster's shoes?

"Nice pad," Rich commented as they left the car and looked up at the house.

It was a mansion. An extremely posh mansion on the outskirts of city. It could have featured on MTV Cribs.

What were they doing here? They were a pair of college dope dealers. This was so out of their depth.

"Whoever said crime doesn't pay should come down here and take a tour," Rich said.

He pushed his fancy white-framed sunglasses up until they rested on his forehead. He looked a little like a noughties DJ and shared a lot of the same self belief.

They walked up a flight of steps to the entrance. The front door was already open and an attractive brunette in a secretary's outfit greeted them.

"Come in," she said, her voice rich like chocolate. "Mr Koontz is expecting you."

She wore a pair of narrow spectacles that looked more suited to an old school matron than a smoking hot woman with the face and figure of a glamour model. Donald thought she might be deliberately dressing down in the way extremely beautiful women sometimes do in order to be taken more seriously, but that didn't seem to be borne out in the lascivious little glances she gave them, or the licentious way her hips swayed as she led them through the mansion.

The outfit was a tease. A porn film costume. He doubted she was required to fulfil any actual secretarial duties.

"They say he likes to surround himself with beautiful women," Rich said. "Like he'd rather be Hugh Hefnor with his own Playboy mansion."

They entered a more private part of the mansion. The artwork on the walls changed from tasteful pieces of erotica to darker, more explicit, even pornographic scenes. This wasn't vanilla porn either; the pictures were sadomasochistic in nature and featured demonic women with horns, wings, tails and cloven hooves consorting with their victims. All very twisted, Donald thought.

They paused to look at one large painting. It depicted Christ on the cross being tortured by three feverishly rendered demon girls. Somehow the artist had managed to do the impossible and make the girls seem at once both enticing and abhorrent.

"Fruity," Rich commented.

"They also say Koontz is nuttier than a bag of Planters you know," Donald said. The décor in this section of the mansion was certainly ... eclectic.

"Well, we'll find out soon enough," Rich said.

The secretary led them into an intimate little waiting room. Seating was provided by a series of plush black leather benches. The walls were hidden behind thick velvet drapes. The only other exit was an opening in the far wall, also obscured behind thick drapes.

"We'll be okay," Rich said, more to pump himself up as he looked at the curtained-off entrance. "We've got a good proposition. He's going to go for it. How else would he be able to get near those preppy faggots?"

"Take your clothes off," the secretary said. "Mr Koontz will see you in the main chamber."

"Huh?" Rich said. "Did you just ask us to take our clothes off?"

The secretary smiled, showing a row of flawless white teeth.

"Yes," she answered. "Mr Koontz insists all business negotiations be carried out naked."

She said it as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

The effect on Rich was immediate. He was knocked right off his stride, like a marathon runner hit in the guts by a baseball bat with the finishing line in sight. The progression from surprise to then doubt was clear on his face as he realised the secretary wasn't joking.

Perhaps that was the intention.

It was clear to Donald what Rich was thinking. All those stories about Koontz, the ones that painted him as lost it, crazy, the hippy godfather and all the rest, maybe they were true. Maybe it was more than just an act to throw off the authorities. Maybe it was more than harmless eccentricity.

Maybe he was actually ... you know ... really crazy.

All those doubts bubbled to the surface and floated across Rich's face.

"Not so fucking sure about this," Rich said after the secretary had left them. "What do we do?"

Donald unbuckled his belt and dropped his trousers.

"I think we do what she says," he said, moving on to unbutton his shirt.

Donald wasn't so convinced on the rumours. Koontz ran the west side and had done so for years. A crazy person, or even just a soft eccentric, would not be able to do that. Donald could also think of plenty of sensible reasons why a man in Koontz's position would want strangers to take their clothes off before negotiating with him and most of them had nothing to do with eccentricity.

"This could just be caution on Koontz's part rather than lunacy," Donald said.

Rich paused to think about it. "Yeah, you could be right. This way no one's going to sneak a gun in on him unless they hide it up their ass."

"It could also be a psychological ploy," Donald said. "Get people naked so they feel vulnerable and exposed."

He folded up his clothes and put them on the bench.

"You know what I think," Rich said. "I think there's a bunch of wiseguys sitting right through there and waiting for us to walk through these curtains so they can laugh their asses off at our lily-white butts."

He tossed his shirt onto the bench.

"It's not like we have a choice," Donald shrugged. "I'd rather they were laughing than pissed at us because we spoilt their fun."

Rich took off the last of his clothes. His nakedness was not new to Donald. A few months back, to celebrate the large deal that had first opened up the possibility of going from occasional recreational users to college suppliers, they'd shared a hooker, spit roast her between them.

It had been okay. Donald had felt a little uncomfortable fucking a girl with another man in the room. It didn't help that Rich was hung like the proverbial horse.

He thought it might have been awkward for Rich too, or he'd spotted Donald's discomfort. Either way it had been a one time thing. They hadn't done it again.

"Ready?" Rich asked, naked apart from the sunglasses sitting on his forehead.

"Nope," Donald replied, "but it's not going to get any better."

They walked through the curtain and down a dark corridor lit with low red lights. Donald's heart pounded in his chest. His stomach felt like a fried egg sliding around on a greasy pan.

Why was he doing this?

He knew why he was doing this. He wanted to go onto university when he graduated college. That took money. His parents didn't have it and a succession of McJobs wasn't going to get it either. Selling drugs to the spoilt brats that surfed through life on the back of Daddy's credit card might though. So long as you set aside the morality of doing it.

So long as you didn't keep running out of product because the only people you could get the stuff off were unreliable stoners with brains rotted to mush.

Being here was a risk. He knew that. He also knew to make the big money you had to take risks. It was like playing poker. You couldn't win the big pot if you weren't prepared to push your chips out into the middle.

Donald took a deep breath, steadied himself, then followed Rich through the door at the end of the corridor.

The room beyond was large and lavish. It was quite possibly the most opulent room Donald had ever seen in his life, and that included anything on either the small or big screen. It was like walking straight into the Arabian Nights, or maybe the last decadent days of the Roman Empire. Gauzy swirls of brightly coloured silks hung from the ceiling and walls. Plush cushions lay scattered across overstuffed chairs and a large black sofa. There was even a luxurious bed in one corner of the room. It was circular in shape and large enough for a full orgy. The room was only marginally better lit than the corridor preceding it. Low lights bathed everything in a soft, intimate glow.

This didn't look like a room for business. It looked more like a posh whore's boudoir.

It even had its own whore.

In the centre of the circular bed an incredibly beautiful girl writhed on top of pink satin sheets. Long blonde hair fanned out behind a heart-shaped face that would have graced the cover of any magazine. She was naked, her long tanned legs spread wide, finger toying between the smooth folds of her lovely bald pussy, lost in pleasure and oblivious to the rest of the room as she squirmed on top of the mattress. She looked as beautiful as a top model or actress, and filthy enough to service an entire fleet of sailors.

She was not the only whore.

Two more gorgeous girls stood by a curtained off alcove in the side wall. Where did Koontz find them? Both could have graced the centrefold of Playboy or Penthouse. They stood there, nipples pointing upwards from gravity defying breasts, and smiled suggestively at Donald and Rich. One was a redhead, the other a brunette with long chestnut braids. If asked to pick between them Donald would have said both.

And it didn't end there.

There was another beautiful girl standing at Koontz's shoulder. She was tall, maybe taller even than Rich. Unlike the other girls she was not naked, instead she was clothed completely from head to foot in tight black latex. A jet-black corset was cinched tight around a classic wasp waist. Her face was pale like snow and hair the colour of midnight was brushed back in an austere pony tail. Her beauty transcended that of the others, but looking at her sent cold chills running up and down Donald's spine.

The only thing that didn't look like it belonged in the room was Koontz himself. He wasn't naked, Donald hadn't expected him to be, and on seeing him Donald was fairly grateful for that. The old mobster was fat, almost grotesquely so. His features swam in the centre of a fat moon face. His lips were thick and looked like two slugs sliding over each other. His gross body was hidden within a red silk dressing gown. Given their current surroundings it reminded Donald of the togas worn by Roman senators in old sixties epic movies.

"Welcome, welcome to my humble abode," Koontz said, standing up from what looked a little like a raised throne and waving his arms in an extravagant greeting.

Imagine if Ozzy Osbourne had an older, fatter brother. That would be Donald's description of Koontz. Unfortunately the other man's eyes were hidden behind a pair of rose-tinted spectacles. A poker player, Donald liked to gauge people by what he saw in their eyes.

Rich tapped him in the side and surreptitiously pointed down to Koontz's feet.

Good lord, was he really wearing a pair of fluffy white bunny slippers?

Rich flashed him a concerned look as if to say, 'what now?'

Koontz stood before them, hands clasped together, smiling broadly like a benevolent monk. His clothes, especially those slippers, looked crazier than a box of frogs, but there was something about him...

Koontz reminded Donald of guys he'd seen at the poker tables in the local casino. They looked like giant goofballs and they had that whole hick in the big city shtick, but come the early hours of the morning they were always the ones with the giant stack of chips in front of them. Donald got the same vibe about Koontz, a little tingle that warned him to think damn carefully before putting his chips up against this guy.

Donald gave Rich a little nod to indicate they should proceed as planned.

"Hello Mr Koontz," Rich said, stepping forward and offering his hand. "I'm Richard Borchers. We spoke on the phone."

"Ah yes, you're the college hotshots with the juicy proposition for me," Koontz answered.

"That's right," Rich smiled rakishly.

Donald introduced himself. Koontz's hand was large, soft and felt unpleasantly squishy.

"Sit down, sit down," Koontz beckoned to the large sofa behind them. "Mille, Chiro, would you be so kind as to get some drinks for our guests."

The redhead and the brunette disappeared into the curtained off alcove. They returned with tumblers of a dark amber liquid. Whiskey, Donald thought as he took a sip. An expensive brand. The fiery liquid glided down his throat and left a warm glow in its wake.

"Do you like my girls?" Koontz asked.

Rather than leaving, Mille and Chiro sat on the sofa on either side of them. The redhead, Mille, scooted up close to Donald until he felt her warm thighs come up against his.

"They're very attractive," Rich said. He took a gulp of whiskey and flashed the brunette a cocky wink.

"Would you like to fuck one of them? Right now?" Koontz didn't even miss a beat. His smile stretched a little wider, like a toad on ecstasy.

The directness caught both Donald and Rich by surprise. Rich emptied the contents of his glass with a single swift gulp. Donald would have liked to do the same, but he wanted to stay focused. He placed the tumbler on the small table in front of them.

"Oh dear," Koontz said, feigning upset at their shock. "I hope I haven't offended you. I find a little dollop of sex works wonders for greasing the wheels of business, but sometimes I forget my views are a little more liberal than most folks are used to."

"Not at all," Rich said.

"Oh good," Koontz said. "So which would you like? You can have any of the girls here. Even Physalia should you desire," he glanced up at the statuesque girl behind him. "You might not like her though. She's a little rough in bed." He chuckled, a sound like noxious gas bubbling up through a mire.

The tall girl in black latex smiled, if it could be described as such. Donald felt icicles grow on his eyelashes just looking at her.

"We'll get the business out of the way first, if that's okay with you," Donald said.

"As you wish," Koontz said.

"I like the way you do business," Rich said, the whiskey allowing him to recover some of his natural bravado. "Not so effective on the ladies though, I'd wager."

"You'd be surprised," Koontz smiled. "My girls are very talented."

The brunette stood up to collect Rich's empty glass. As she did so she turned to him and mimicked a lapping motion with her tongue. The pink organ flickered back and forth as fast as a snake's.

"I see," Rich said.

"Maybe you'd like to borrow them sometime," Koontz said. "I've found them to be very persuasive when dealing with stubborn people in authority."

"I'll keep it in mind," Rich said.