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About Martin

Picture this: dim lights, smoky air, girls in skimpy gear—proper cheeky setup. I’ve seen some wild ones, yeah? Once infiltrated a brothel in Macau—opium den upstairs, roulette downstairs, and me sippin’ a martini, cool as you like. “Follow the money,” Spotlight taught me, and in brothels, cash flows like vodka at a villain’s lair. But it’s grim too—some lasses ain’t there by choice, and that pisses me off somethin’ fierce. Makes me wanna punch a wall, or a pimp.