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gorgeous, perhaps seventeen, thin-waisted, but with a good rack shadowing her exposed midsection. Strands of glo-stick circled her belly and neck. It reminded Gragg of Mardi Gras, and that was a good sign. He motioned to a couple of security guards and moved toward her.
    He timed it so he and the guards converged on the dancing couple. Gragg tapped the guy on the shoulder—which sent him twirling around defensively. Gragg held up two neck badges clearly marked A LL A REA A CCESS. Smiling, he looped one around the guy’s neck.
    Few symbols have more power over the Western teenage mind than the All Area Access badge. The guy glanced at the uniformed security guards and evidently felt reassured.
    Gragg, meanwhile, draped the badge over the laughing girl’s neck. Her cleavage glistened with sweat. Gragg leaned over and yelled into the guy’s ear. “Your girl is fabulous, man! She should be dancing on the top floor—not down here!” With that, Gragg slid a couple of pills into the guy’s hand and nodded his head toward the girl. He motioned for them both to follow and led them through the crowd as the burly security guards made a path.
    They soon reached the base of a steel staircase leading up to the DJ tower. It was roped off and flanked by a couple of bouncers. Gragg leaned in close to one of the bouncers. “Tell me when she’s taken the hit!”
    The bouncer knew the drill. He watched poker-faced as the young guy popped what he probably thought was ecstasy into the girl’s mouth. She washed it down with a swig of bottled water, laughed, then writhed with the pounding music. The bouncer nodded to Gragg. Gragg nodded back and the rope was withdrawn to let them pass.
    As the boy passed by Gragg, Gragg leaned into his ear. “Play your cards right, man, and I’m gonna get you laid within the hour.” The guy smiled back and gave Gragg what the kid probably assumed was the universal “playas’” handshake.
    Gragg watched them go. They were now in the holding pen—a controlled area where he could further reduce her inhibitions. The prostitutes there and Cheko’s men would make it all seem completely acceptable to ”go wild.” Gragg had successfully separated her from her support system. The rest should be easy. He was already erect in anticipation, but a little patience was required.
    Gragg walked the perimeter for a good fifteen minutes before heading back to the holding pen. He found the girl dancing on the mid-deck with a crowd of perhaps twenty. Most of the women there were attractive and scantily clad—but these were Cheko’s whores and were of no interest to Gragg. The seventeen-year-old target was laughing as her date danced between women in g-strings. The girl was evidently flying high. On meth the laser lights, the trance music, and the writhing motion were said to be hypnotic. Accompanied by a surge of sexual arousal and perceived invulnerability. Or so Gragg had heard. He didn’t take drugs himself.
    Gragg radioed the security guard in the DJ tower. He couldn’t even hear himself talk, but he knew the guard would hear. The guard looked out and saw Gragg wave his arm slowly, then point at the girl dancing nearby. The guard leaned over to Mix Master Jamal, and the DJ looked out at Gragg. He nodded and then snapped his fingers at the light board operator. Gragg leaned over to her date. “What’s your girl’s name?”
    “Jennifer!”
    “You wanna see her tits?”
    The guy stared for a second in dumb amazement. Then burst out laughing. “Hell yeah!”
    Gragg spoke her name into the radio and moved forward. A spotlight shone down onto Jennifer, and the DJ’s voice came out like the booming voice of God, “Check out Jennifer! Is she hot or what?” A roar of lust arose from a thousand voices.
    Jennifer laughed and looked back to see her date and those around her shouting encouragement.
    The DJ’s voice. “Let’s see you move, baby!” The pounding bass moved back in, and she moved seductively to