The moon is full in the sky as I make myself more comfortable on the hard concrete roof. It’s cool but comfortable outside, and the full moonlight makes it easy to see as a man wearing a heavy black coat walks up to the warehouse door, knocks, and then is let inside.

He’s one of maybe twenty or thirty men each night. Despite the police activity in the area, the whorehouse hasn’t slowed down. Not one tiny bit.

In fact, since this all started, I noticed a slight uptick in customers.

That’s strange for a niche thing like this place. Unless it’s not niche at all. Unless it’s actually a huge operation.

But I would have heard of it before if that were the case. I had my ear to the ground in this city, and anything illegal going down eventually came to my attention. I couldn’t imagine a situation in which this whorehouse avoided my gaze, especially considering they had little girls in there.

As I watch, though, it becomes clear to me, at least partially, why I haven’t heard about it yet.

The clientele isn’t your usual whorehouse losers. They’re not poor working class boys from the south of the city. They’re not dockworkers, HVAC guys, landscapers, or fast food managers.

They’re rich. Or at least some of them are rich. Most of them are at least office workers with solid jobs and solid salaries, at least based on what they’re wearing. Sheer was a divorce lawyer, of all things, and he did pretty well for himself in a little private practice he had set up. That was probably how he found out about the place, and probably how he could afford it.

I bet he thought the whorehouse was a godsend for him. He probably had no way of getting his jollies except by actually raping little girls, so he figured raping one in a whorehouse would be better.

Scumbag. I’m glad that fucker is dead.

But there are a lot more fuckers where he came from. I write down the man’s description in the big coat as best I can before he disappears into the warehouse. I fall back and glance through the notebook of descriptions, trying to see if I’ve noticed him before.

I haven’t been able to identify anyone, at least not yet. The richest men show up in chauffeured cars, and I’ll be able to track down their license plates eventually. Most men show up on foot, which suggests that they’re either taking public transit or they park far away and then walk over. I’m betting the whorehouse has some kind of rules about how they approach and what they wear, because most of them have on hats or scarves or something to obscure their identity.

It’s a well-oiled machine, this place. They come, they fuck, they come again, and then they leave. Most guys only stay in there for an hour or two at most before getting hustled back onto the street. I never see who’s inside or what goes on in there, and I haven’t tried to yet. I know I will soon, but I want to gather as much information as possible.

One big thing is keeping me away, or at least forcing me to be careful. The fact that the cops are staying away despite working barely down the street and the clientele seems to be rich suggests that this place is connected. Seriously connected. Maybe even bribing the cops to leave them alone, since the place hasn’t so much as missed a single day since the police started their investigation.

All of that means I need to be very cautious. I can’t start killing a bunch of rich, powerful men without some kind of plan in place. That would draw far too much attention to myself. So far I’ve gotten by with murdering the scum of the earth, the poorest, dirtiest, most disgusting fucks out there. But I know that the rich can be just as bad, they just hide their crimes behind their big bank accounts and their fancy lives. They deserve death as much as any poor asshole does, and maybe even more, since they have the resources to be horrible on a large scale.

In all my time watching, there is one thing that stands out to me. There is one person that keeps coming and going, every single day like clock work, early in the morning until late at night.

At first, I thought it was just a regular customer. But he didn’t leave in an hour or two like the others did. It also took me a few days to realize that it wasn’t a man at all.

It was a woman. A tall woman dressed in masculine clothes, but definitely a woman.

I call her the Madame in my mind. I can’t be sure if she’s the one running the show, but I suspect she is. She’s dressed too well and keeps regular hours. She almost comes and goes like a normal salary person working in an office, although she works late hours. I haven’t been able to identify any other workers, but I’m sure they have plenty of muscle living inside of that place.

I stay up late under the full moon, waiting. Tonight I’m going to make a move, do something to further this mission. I can’t keep waiting around, doing nothing. I can’t get into the building, but there is one easy thing I can do

Tonight, I’m following the Madame.

She comes out around one in the morning, just like I thought she would. The man in the big coat hasn’t surfaced yet, but he’s not important. The Madame comes out of a side door wearing a gray trench coat, running sneakers, and a wool hat pulled down low. Her hair is either cut short or bundled up on her head; I can never tell. Either way, I hurry over to a rope that I have set up on the side of the building and quickly slide down it.

I have to hurry. The Madame always walks the same way every night, but I always lose her as she rounds the next block. I hit the ground and start jogging to catch up, which I know is dangerous this late at night, but I can’t risk losing her. I’ve wasted so much time already.

Luckily I spot her up ahead just as she turns a corner. The streets are otherwise empty and I can’t risk catching up with her just yet. I quickly walk to the corner and round it. She’s up ahead, walking at a normal clip toward center city. I follow, staying far back, not taking any risks.

She walks a well-rehearsed path, I can tell. There’s no attempt at throwing off anybody that’s following her, which surprises me. I figured someone like her would at least assume that people might want to come after her some day, but no, apparently not. Maybe her connections are just that damn good.

I have a strange feeling in my gut as I follow. I can’t tell if it’s caution or what, but I’m worried about this. She’s simply walking into center city, not deviating from her straightforward path. I would have guessed that she’d grab a cab or get on a bus at some point, but apparently she’s just walking.

Fifteen minutes go by like this. We walk and we walk, and I stay far back until we get deeper into the city. More people are around, so I can risk getting nearer. She never looks back or changes her brisk speed, she just keeps going.

We get into the heart of center city and she finally pauses at an intersection, although the light is green. I hang back, curious. Suddenly she darts across the street and goes down a set of subway stairs.

I have to almost run to catch up. She disappears into the subway and by the time I can follow, she’s nowhere in sight. I trot down the steps but I don’t risk going all the way in. If she spots me, I could really fuck myself.

I force myself to back off. I stand up at the subway entrance for almost a half hour, waiting to see if she comes back out, but no. Apparently she went down there and got on a train. She could be anywhere in the city by now.

I head back to my car, trying to wrap my head over what just happened.

She didn’t make me. I’m sure of that. She never actually saw me. But at the end there, she suddenly acted like she was being followed after all. The whole walk she seemed perfectly normal and content, right up until she darted down into that subway. I couldn’t understand it at all, and that made me even more uneasy.

Regardless of what happened at the end, I did learn something very, very important.

That walk felt rehearsed. She wasn’t looking around or checking street signs. She knew where she was going because she’s done that walk a hundred times before.

That’s her route. I’d bet anything on it. She walks that way every time she goes home from that whorehouse. I need to follow her a couple more times to confirm, but I’m fairly positive already.

That’s her route. And it’s her weakness.

I don’t need to get inside the building. Because she’s going to come to me.