Naga Special Massage
The address was a little way out of the town centre. Ken Stoker stood outside a plain wooden door set in the back of a nondescript building. Tattered scraps of faded material hung down between the metal framework of an old awning above the door. Behind him was a builder's yard. On either side of him the road ran past old industrial plots, their red brick buildings slowly decaying from neglect. This area had seen better days. The door was slightly ajar. Ken pushed it open, feeling some...