Orell checked the time. Being out here<em>in person</em>made him feel a bit uneasy. He was more used to doing business on the matrix and from the safety of home. But this ‘Svelte’ was hard to reach online, something about ‘interference’ in her Personal Area Network. Of course Orell had smelled a rat at her excuses, but his background research on her had shown that she was indeed not an ‘online’ person.<br/><br/>Either he was walking into one very elaborate trap – for which he felt to be a little too low on the pecking order to be the target of – or he was about to walk right into the life of Irina Sarkova, C-List model. She was famous enough so she could be<em>monetized</em>, but not so famous as to have powerful friends in high places.<br/><br/>Orell had done a job like this before – they called it<em>playing with dolls</em>in the line of business he was in (which was mainly extortion but with a big helping of BTL and drug dealing along with prostitution rackets, the occasional grand theft, computer crime and assorted violence) – but only as a technical expert, not as the lead of the operation. But the face of his group of hard-boiled Russian mobsters was in jail for the foreseeable future, so it fell to Orell to ‘recruit’ the girl and then turn her.<br/><br/><em>Playing with dolls</em>involved quite a bit of glamour, so he had splurged on a really nice<em>Actioneer</em>suit and matching accessories, which made it hard for him to recognize himself in the wall-length mirror behind the well-stocked bar. It also involved drugs, BTLs, nude pictures, blackmail and the occasional threat of violence. He put his hand into inner pocket of his suit and, sure enough, he found a suitable item for each of the tasks he might have to perform tonight. The meeting place was a fancy club – the kind that served real alcohol and seated you on real wood – but for the right price, they still let you in without making you check your coat – or walk it through the scanner.<br/><br/>Orell checked the time again. Maybe he was being too greedy. Greed had been the downfall of any number of talented mob operators and he was about to enter a dangerous game with the girl who was about to walk through the doors. The stakes were certainly high enough: What he wanted from her was basically nothing short of her<em>life</em>…<br/><br/>At first, he would compliment her and make big promises of ‘opportunities’, of fame and fortune. Sure enough, there would be a real gig, or two, but all the while he would work to get her hooked on something only he could provide. And then he would steer her work in a direction that was more profitable – for him and his organisation. He would be her ‘manager’, raking in the profits, while she would be the doll dancing on his strings. And there would be nice profits. Because even in this jaded day and age, people were still willing to pay to see an innocent young girl with a little fame to her name get naked… and they would pay even more to get naked<em>with</em>her.<br/><br/>She was the perfect target, the perfect opportunity: Pretty and famous enough to be of worth, yet practically unconnected and with no backup. She was new to the country and new to the scene and her face had just appeared on a few e-zines, but she didn’t have a big contract or a millionaire boyfriend yet. Also, she had made her home in Renton’s 21st street, which put her at least on the border of the territory claimed by Orell and his gang. If you were serious about your game, you needed to control all variables, and the girl’s<em>home</em>certainly made a big difference. The fact that she was living there – in a decent enough place, but still in walking distance of the Redmont Barrens, a location which most people tried to avoid – also meant that she hadn’t landed it real big, yet.<br/><br/>So just maybe… she would bite.