" I followed the tinny sounding voice to a small speaker mounted under a camera, over the door."Good. If you don't call them I will. That's my company... logo over the door, and I'm pretty sure I didn't authorize anything I see. I'm sure the police will be glad to listen to any explanation you'd like to give him. I might even ask them to inspect the premises, just to assure me there's nothing illegal going on." I pulled out the phone and held it up to the camera. "Your choice, but one way or. There may be the occasional report of a police raid upon a relatively small prostitution ring in the United States, where a dozen or more helpless young women, typically from Mexico and other Latin American countries, are found quietly plying “The World’s Oldest Profession” within a pervasive climate of fear – a fear of beatings, of hunger, or more often than not, simply a fear of arrest and deportation – but such accounts are rare indeed; the far more common image of modern white slavery, as. Then, without a word, he suddenly stood up and, taking their shoes and back packs with him, disappeared into his office behind the customs counter. After what seemed an age he returned, empty handed except for their passports which he handed back to them, and gestured that they may go. Not believing this is what he meant since he was still in possession of their things, they just stared at him. In sudden broken English he barked ?you will go now? and glaring at them, he turned and went back. He collapsed to the ground and began licking Janani’s feet from between my legs as Janani returned her stare to me, her unrelenting hands still yanking my hair out. She spat on my face once, then again, and then a third time. Her voice went menacingly (and sexily, as that behenchod Anjan would call it, whenever we recount this day later) low, “First, you escape my hand and try running away from me”, she said, and landed a solid punch on my balls. I howled from the pain and my legs began.