“Decent women don’t go to bars!”

“Um, OK. What else have you found out?”

“Some ads she has put up on various online adult sites. A few of the Dutch bars and clubs she hangs out in, or at least that she’s reviewed online. I think she’s doing it to drum up business. She uses her working name, the same as in her Red Light District room. Intersex Dom666.”

“Lovely.”

“Oh, and I looked up Brixton Murphy for you. I was curious why someone so boring would marry such a crazy woman. It turns out he’s quite the little rebel.”

“Really? How so?”

Biniam didn’t answer immediately. The coffee had come to a boil, a black froth bubbling at the top of the pot. A rich aroma pervaded the room. Biniam put a cloth over the pot to filter out the grounds, then poured it into two tiny cups. Taking them, the two men moved to the living room and sat. Heinrich didn’t try to sip the scalding liquid at first. Instead, he held it close to his nose so that he could savor the smell.

Biniam went on. “His father is a Southern Baptist minister, quite a successful one, with radio shows syndicated on more than fifty stations. He’s written some books, too. Needless to say, he’s rich. I doubt he likes his daughter-in-law very much. I’ve found some photo shoots she was involved in. Most have Satanist themes. The preacher must not know about them if he’s still sending his son money. Must have a soft spot for him, because Brixton identifies as atheist.”

Heinrich arched an eyebrow. “How in the world do you know that?”

Biniam shrugged. “Anything Facebook knows, I know.”

“Yet another reason to not be on Facebook.”

“I do a lot more good with my knowledge than Zuckerberg does.”

“Fair enough,” Heinrich said, sipping his coffee. “Oh damn, this shit’s good. How about you and me open a café and put Starbucks out of business?”

Biniam laughed. “That might be a good idea, my friend, but all these rich white people will come in and ruin it, and then where would we be?”

“Going to Amsterdam to save a kid from her degenerate mother,” Heinrich grumbled into his coffee.

“I learned some things about that production studio,” Biniam went on, shaking his head as a look of disgust crossed his face. “I’ve seen a lot of things on the Dark Web, but this was really crazy.”

“Anything with her in it?”

“No. She just got there, after all.”

“Anything illegal?”

“I don’t know. Is shitting and pissing on tied-up guys illegal in Amsterdam?”

“Probably not.