《Hot Revenge Box Set 4》 Chapter Vitale Chapter Vitale Michael ¡°I¡¯m pregnant.¡± Charlotte¡¯s mother chews at a lip as Beth holds her hand. ¡°I¡­ I thought I couldn¡¯t¡­ I thought I was too old. I¡¯m forty-eight for God¡¯s sake¡­ When Larry was here, I didn¡¯t¡­ I mean¡­ we didn¡¯t¡­¡± She splutters to a halt and sits staring at her fingertips, picking at one thumbnail with the other. ¡°You must think I¡¯m stupid, letting something like this happen...¡± She nts eyes toward Charlotte¡­ ¡°¡­ Again.¡± ¡°I see.¡± I nce over towards James, still framed in the doorway, now gazing up at the ceiling, grimacing as he rubs the back of his neck. ¡°Interesting news, James,¡± I say, twisting in my seat to face him. Out of Mitch¡¯s line-of-sight, I eye-point her, waving palms downwards¡­ Cool it¡­ Moving as though the earth might just cave in under me, I pull up a chair, sit by my ¡®mother-inw¡¯. ¡°In the first ce, Mitch, I don¡¯t think you¡¯re stupid. I can understand why¡­¡± Choose your words¡­ ¡°¡­ why you might not have believed there was an issue. Secondly, for the avoidance of doubt, you are not old.¡± Her mouth opens and closes but nothinges out. ¡°So¡­¡± I nce down at the pregnancy tester, and its blue line. I prise her hand from Beth¡¯s, sandwiching it between my own. ¡°So¡­how do you feel about it, Mitch?¡± She raises emerald eyes to me, so like those of her daughter¡¯s. But they¡¯re glossy and fluid. James, apparently recovering hisposure, joins us, snaking out a long arm to pull up a chair and sit with us. In soft tones, he says, ¡°¡­ Um¡­ An¡­ interesting situation¡­ Are you¡­ happy about this, Mitch?¡± Her voice chokes. ¡°I¡¯ve not gotten that far. I only knew for certain half an hour ago. I still can¡¯t believe it¡­ Oh, God¡­¡± Shuddering, she tugs free of me, dropping her face into her hands. ¡°What am I going to do?¡± James reaches out, tilts up her chin. Peeling her right hand from her cheek, he squeezes the fingers between his own, then kisses them. ¡°Mitch, you¡¯re family. Any child you produce is family. Whatever you decide to do, your family will support you.¡± Mitch¡¯s breathing is rapid and short. Cheeks scalding red, her pupils are ck pinpricks stabbed through jade. ¡°What do you think Larry will say?¡± James and I share a look, then he releases her to me. ¡°Mitch¡­¡± ¡­ I take her left hand, ying with the emerald and tinum band on the fourth finger¡­ ¡°¡­ you¡¯re wearing his ring. Unlikely as it might seem, Larry Klempner¡¯s ring is on your finger. I seriously doubt any other woman in history has been able to make that im.¡± She ys with the ring, screwing it around the finger. ¡°Do you think it was a proposal?¡± I huff air. ¡°Well, I¡¯m blowed if I know what else it could be. Yes, he wants to marry you.¡± She winds the ring in circles, around and around the finger. ¡°I think¡­¡± I continue¡­ ¡°¡­ from what we know of him, over a periodsting decades, it¡¯s the only thing he ever has really wanted¡­¡± James Hmmms agreement. ¡°¡­ All the rest of it, I would say¡­ The trafficking¡­ The money¡­. Blessingmoors¡­ Even his mistreatment of Charlotte when she was young¡­ All of it¡­ seems to me to be simply something that filled the gap inside him. Larry believed he was abandoned as a child. He believed you simply abandoned him for Conners. Sometimes when you get to the core of what went wrong with someone, you have the answer on to set it right. Not always. Some people are beyond redemption. But sometimes they can be rescued. When Larry understood that neither of those things was true, that he had not been abandoned by the two people who meant the most to him, he changed. Even more so when you epted him back again. He¡¯s a different man to what he once was. Yes, he wants to marry you.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think,¡± she whispers, ¡°that he expected parenthood to be part of the deal.¡± Iugh, trying hard to inject some joy into the sound. ¡°Mitch, Larry¡¯s already epted parenthood. That first time we saw him, in prison still, after he realised he was Charlotte¡¯s father, he was so proud. He is still proud. You can see it every time he looks at her.¡± Mitch¡¯s throat ripples and she bites her lip. ¡°You think? Really?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡± She blinks, looks to James, who nods agreement. ¡°Ah-ha.¡± ¡°But¡­ but¡­¡± She nts eyes to Charlotte¡­ ¡°¡­ Jenny¡¯s twenty-six. She¡¯ll have a baby brother or sister a full generation apart¡­¡± ¡°Mitch.¡± I speak sharply but sp her hand more tightly in mine. ¡°Calm down. There is only one¡­¡± I press a forefinger to the back of the hand. ¡°¡­ important question here. Everything else¡­ Absolutely everything else¡­ is detail.¡± Her breathing shudders, but she rxes. ¡°That¡¯s better. Now, Mitch, do you want this baby? Whatever you decide, everyone here¡­ I know without asking that James agrees¡­¡± James nods vigorously¡­ ¡° ¡­ And I am happy to speak for Richard too¡­ ¡° Now Beth nods¡­ ¡°¡­ Everyone here will support you in whatever you decide. Larry¡­ whenever we see him again¡­ whatever he thinks¡­ will have to take that on board.¡± Mitch blinks hard¡­ Breathes¡­ Calms¡­ ¡°Yes, I want it.¡± She splutters¡­ ¡°Him¡­ Her¡­ Whatever... I want the baby.¡± ¡°Then that¡¯s the end of the discussion.¡± I squeeze her hand again. ¡°This is a big house. I always hoped we¡­ me, James, Charlotte¡­ would fill it with children. But we is a moveable feast. It includes Richard and Beth, and Adam too, now he¡¯s dropped by to say hello. And now it includes you and¡­¡± My words dry up and I make a helpless gesture in the general direction of Mitch¡¯s stomach. The clip of leather on tiles¡­ ¡°Has something happened?¡± Richard hovers by the door. Striding across to Beth, heys a hand on her shoulder, ¡°Is everything alright, my Love?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she smiles. ¡°Really¡­ But Mitch has some news. She¡¯s a bit¡­ unsettled.¡± ¡°News? What news¡­ Ahhh¡­¡± He too sees the pregnancy test. ¡°Er¡­ ¡° His gaze darts around the table. ¡°Yours, Mitch?¡± She inhales. ¡°Yes, mine.¡±Belongs to ? n0velDrama.Org. ¡°And are you¡­ pleased about that?¡± Mitch is silent for some seconds, but then she looks to Charlotte, to Beth, to James, then back to me. I give her hand another squeeze. ¡°It¡¯ll be fine.¡± The smile is watery, but it¡¯s there. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m pleased.¡± ¡°Yay!¡± Richard spreads out his hands then, pulling Mitch up from her chair, enfolding in a bear-hug. ¡°I think that makes it champagne time.¡± Her breath huffs out as her ribs cave under his embrace. ¡°Perhaps¡­¡± I suggest¡­ ¡°¡­for breakfast, Bucks Fizz? And, given Mitch¡¯s condition, some elderflower fizz for her? We still have some in from Beth¡¯s pregnancy.¡± ¡°Even better¡­¡± Richard hesitates at the fridge door then casts back to Mitch. ¡°Looks like I¡¯d better order another case of the elderflower, then? No more wine for you for a few months.¡± Her mouth twitches, and finally, she smiles. ¡°I guess you¡¯re right on that.¡± ***** Chapter 1 Fatale Chapter 1 Fatale James I tap and my daughter¡¯s voice replies. ¡°Come in. It¡¯s open.¡± Content ? N?velDrama.Org. Pressing the handle down with an elbow, I nudge the door open with the tray. ¡°Good morning,¡± I say, injecting into my voice as much cheerfulness as I know how. ¡°Breakfast. I thought we might eat together.¡± Georgie smiles from her seat at the dresser where, looking fresh and a little pink from the shower, she is brushing out her long hair. Born in my physical image, her hair as dark as mine: at least, as dark as mine used to be. Trying not to be obvious about it, I look her over. Still pale¡­ ¡­ but the dark rings under her eyes are fading¡­ ¡°Hi, Dad. Yes, I¡¯d love to have breakfast with you.¡± She¡¯s smiling, but her voice is subdued. ¡°I brought croissants and coffee. Keep it light. I thought we might have lunch togetherter? I reserved a table for us by the picture window in the restaurant downstairs.¡± ¡°Lunch? Yes, that would be great¡­¡± That not-quite-a-smile again. Masking something¡­ ¡°How are you feeling now?¡± She sucks at a lip. Swallows. ¡°I¡¯m getting better. It¡¯s just¡­ my head¡­ I¡¯m a bit of a mess inside.¡± ¡°I can understand that. But Georgie, you¡¯re safe.¡± Her eyes well. ¡°They were going to rape me, Dad. Takes turns at me. She was going to watch.¡± ¡°But they didn¡¯t. We reached you in time. And now, you¡¯re safe.¡± Her breathing shudders and tears trickle down her cheeks. I pour from the pot. ¡°Here, have some coffee. It¡¯ll help.¡± Georgie nods vigorously and tries to smile, but her eyes still well. ¡°Sure. Thanks.¡± Then, sipping at the coffee, ¡°Who are they, Dad? Why did they pick me? Was it for a ransom? ¡®Cos you¡¯re rich?¡± ¡°No, it wasn¡¯t ransom. And¡­¡± ¡­ Christ¡­ Where to start? Exining this one¡­ I sit on the edge of the bed,y my hands on myp¡­ ¡°¡­ and it wasn¡¯t really aimed at me either. The target was one of the other men you saw me with, the older one. He has enemies and they were trying to reach him through me, because I¡¯m his friend. And so, through you.¡± She swipes hands across teary eyes. ¡°Sounds like you have some weird friends.¡± Can¡¯t argue with that¡­ ¡°Georgie, believe me. They don¡¯te weirder than this one.¡± ¡°Where is he now?¡± ¡°Looking for the woman behind all this. The woman you saw. Listen, Georgie. I¡¯ll tell you all about it, but not now, while you¡¯re still shaky. I¡¯ll fill you in when you¡¯re calmer. When you¡¯re fully recovered. But what I will say again is, you are safe. There¡¯s not just me here. We have police guards watching too. Also, we have very good reason to believe that the woman responsible is out of the country now.¡± She sips, then whispers. ¡°Okay.¡± Another sip. Then she munches a mouthful of croissant. ¡°Um¡­, Dad. That lunch you were talking about. Is it just¡­ you and me?¡± Ahhh¡­ ¡°Yes, just you and me.¡± ¡°I thought you might bring¡­ your wife¡­ along too. So I could meet her again.¡± Keeping my voice cool, ¡°You weren¡¯t very pleasant to Charlotte thest time you met her¡­¡± Georgie¡¯s face falls. ¡°¡­ In fact, you were downright hostile. I¡¯m not risking her being upset that way again...¡± My daughter bites another mouthful of her croissant, chewing and chewing, but it doesn¡¯t seem to go down. ¡°¡­ Like it or not, Georgie, Charlotte is my wife. And I¡¯m not going to introduce you again to her, and certainly not to Cara, if I can¡¯t be certain of your good behaviour. Or at least, your good manners.¡± Her forehead wrinkles. ¡°Cara? Who¡¯s Cara?¡± Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake¡­ ¡°Cara is Charlotte¡¯s daughter. My daughter¡­¡± I lean forward¡­ ¡°¡­ My other daughter.¡± She turns away, her head drooping. ¡°Oh, yes. I forgot.¡± ¡°Really? Georgie, Cara is my child¡­¡± I extend a forefinger towards her¡­ ¡°¡­ Your sister¡­ And you¡¯re going to have to get used to the idea¡­¡± She fidgets and looks away¡­ ¡°¡­ In any case, I think the hotel is the best ce for you right now. You¡¯refortable here, I¡¯m sure. This is one of the best rooms. You have everything you need, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she whispers. ¡°Dad, aren''t I wee at all in your home? I thought that¡­ after a few days¡­¡± She bites her lip. ¡°¡­ Maybe?¡± Ah, crap¡­ Head bowed for a moment, I consider how to deal with this¡­ I should have thought it through before I came¡­ ¡­ but inspiration escapes me. ¡°It''s not just my home, Georgie. You were unforgivably rude to Charlotte when we met you in that clothes store before Christmas. Alright, you fell out with me years ago. But what has Charlotte ever done to you? And our daughter? Our then, unborn daughter... How could she offend you? A grown woman?¡± Colour burns on Georgie¡¯s cheeks. Her shoulders hunch¡­ ¡°¡­ I cannot simply bring you into our home. It¡¯s not fair on anyone else.¡± Her mouth opens, as though in protest¡­ ¡°Mom¡­¡± ¡°... Your mother is nothing to do with it. I''d been separated from your mother ten years before I met Charlotte.¡± She lifts her head, but her eyes slide past me. ¡°She wants you back, Dad.¡± ¡°Georgie, your mother wants my wallet back. And my bank ount. It¡¯s not going to happen. That horse rode long ago.¡± She nods slowly, then finishing off her coffee, takes a breath. Looking around the room, her voice brighter, ¡°You know, I never saw you as a hotel owner.¡± Back in thefort zone? ¡°I¡¯m not. The hotel¡¯s not mine. It, and the spa, belong to Michael.¡± ¡°Michael?¡± ¡°The blond man I was with when we found you.¡± ¡°Oh¡­¡± Her gaze goes ¡®faraway¡¯. ¡°He¡¯s a friend of yours too, then? He¡¯s very good-looking isn¡¯t he¡­¡± For the first time something like a smile ghosts at her lips. ¡°¡­ Is he¡­ um¡­ avable?¡± Fuck¡­ ¡°Michael is married.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± She pulls a face, rocks her head. ¡°Bound to be spoken for, I suppose. A guy that looks like that¡­ Dad, please...¡± She gives me a pleading look¡­ ¡°¡­ I¡¯d like to make it up to your wife. Apologise to her. Don¡¯t you think¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡± But I have no idea where to start. ***** Chapter 2 Chapter 2 Dear Klempner Larry, I wanted to drop you a couple of lines to apologise for my behaviour thest time we met. I would like you to know that I regret my words to you and if I could take them back, I would. I understand your reasons for leaving without saying goodbye but I wish it had been otherwise. I would have liked the opportunity to apologise face to face. Despite our past differences, for reasons we both understand well, I havee to regard you as a friend and I trust that can remain so. You might like to know that Mitch was very pleased, delighted, ovee when she received your delivery. I think it is fair to say that she is looking forward to your return. In any case, I promised her I would let you know that she is wearing the ring. Charlotte is well, as is Cara Deanna. When Cara cries, Charlotte is telling her not to be scared of the monsters. Grandad K wille and eat them. I trust that your hunt for Juliana Diaz is progressing sessfully. Baxter is, I am told, a wreck of a man. The doctors tried to save his hands but could do little. After Juliana¡¯s attentions, there was too little left to repair. I understand that amputation is proposed but that Baxter is resisting that. If he refuses for too long, necrosis will kill him. If there is any way in which we can assist you, do not hesitate to get in touch. I would appreciate a reply to this message, however brief, even if just to confirm you have received it. Best Regards, James ***** I detest writing personal letters. I never know what to say. I¡¯m articte enough face-to-face, but when faced with penning a simple message, my eloquence founders. Is that enough? I re-read my words. Probably¡­ It¡¯s not as though he¡¯s given to idle chit-chat himself¡­ I hit Send. ***** Klempner In Arrivals, the baggage carousel takes fucking ages to produce anything at all. After fifteen minutes, it vomits a small overnight case from the chute which travels a 360 circuit, drawing no more attention than muttering andints from the waiting crowd. The ceilings are low and the air suffocating. N?velDrama.Org (C) content. Could murder a beer¡­ Bored, I lean against a wall, ankles crossed, fishing my phone from a pocket. Anything new? A message pops up: James. Hmmm¡­ Thest time we spoke, he sted me out for fucking up his life. The Sender has requested a Read Receipt - Yes/No? I let my finger hover, then tap, Yes. Shading the screen with a cupped hand against possible observers, I read James¡¯ message. Then, I re-read it. Grandad K? There¡¯s a thought that hadn¡¯t urred to me. Still¡­ I think I rather like the idea of being Grandad K. A slightly silly smile skirts my lips and firmly, I suppress it. Should I reply? ? No, too manyplications. As James said himself, it would be better done face-to-face¡­ ¡­ when the opportunity arises again¡­ ***** Chapter 3 Chapter 3 My first day in a new city: Sao Paulo. I tap into the internal phone. ¡°Room service? A pot of coffee, please. Strong, with cream. Orange juice. Toast, fruit sd and yoghurt. Room 313.¡± ¡°Sim senhor. Dez minutos.¡± ¡°And a newspaper, please. You have the New York Times?¡± ¡°Sim senhor. Sem problemas.¡± My hotel suite is spacious andfortable. Not the top of the range. Not the bottom. Upper-middle, where it¡¯s luxurious enough to befortable for, what I¡¯m expecting to be, an extended stay, but not where I¡¯ll be watched all the time. Anything from Hickman? I check my mobile. It¡¯s brand new, as supplied by Dakho and currently disying the message ¡®Bem Vindo a Brasil¡¯ from the local service provider. As I touch the screen, the message flicks off to be reced by Your system needs a restart to install updates. Restart now? The phone has a great spec, the best, but I''ll be happier when it''s settled down a bit. Irritably, I tap, Yes, then put it to one side to let it run through its interminable updates. In rather less than the ten minutes promised, my breakfast arrives. From sheer habit, I keep my hand under my jacket where the Glock nestles in its holster, but the boy of perhaps fourteen who enters with the tray doesn¡¯t look like any kind of threat. ¡°Onde, senhor?¡± ¡°On the table by the balcony, please.¡± I tip the boy and he backs out of the room beaming. ¡°You want things, senhor, you call Rodrigo. Yes, senhor?¡± ¡°Thank you, Rodrigo. I will.¡± The juice is fresh, the fruit freshly chopped and the coffee strong as requested. I think they must have run an iron over the newspaper. Excellent¡­ I settle with my tray, balcony doors open and the rtive coolth of the morning wafting in on the breeze. Shaking open the paper, I savour the excellent coffee. From beyond the door: the low hum of a vacuum cleaner, gradually drawing nearer. Then, a tap on the door. ¡°Senhor? I am the cleaner of the room, please?¡± One hand nested under my jacket again, ¡°Entrar.¡± A young woman enters, green-overalled, her hair in a scarf, pushing a cart loaded with cloths and sprays. She looks local, with the olive skin, dark hair and eyes of the Hispanic types, although slightly ttened features suggest some native blood mixed in. She¡¯s a sultry-eyed beauty who would be walking a catwalk somewhere if she lived in the First World, or at least anywhere with less inequality. Her options here are more limited. N?velDrama.Org (C) content. ¡°I can clean, yes? You want Ie back?¡± I wave a hand across the room. ¡°No. It¡¯s fine. Do it now.¡± I¡¯d prefer she did itter. It¡¯s not as if the room needs much. I¡¯ve barely upied the ce. But it¡¯s better to behave normally. And if the suite¡¯s been cleaned already, no-one will have reason to disturb me again. Setting my newspaper on the tray with the coffee pot, I take the lot out onto the balcony. The sun and the heat are wonderful. Jumping from one hemisphere to the other, I¡¯ve left behind the freeze and the damp of winter. The summer heat bakes through my bones, dispelling the grinding chill that¡¯s gued me ever since I set foot inside Jenny¡¯s home. I¡¯d prefer less humidity than Sao Paulo offers, but you can¡¯t have everything, and it beats the prating cold of the northern winter hands- down. Sighing, I stretch out, tipping my face back to bathe in the morning sunshine, revelling in the heat. Inside, the maid hums some crap-pop jingle before being drowned out by the sound of the vacuum cleaner. Take an hour to rx, then down to work¡­ ***** Downloading Finchby¡¯s database of invoices, I scour through for the most likely follow-ups for Baxter. After a couple of hours, armed with a shortlist of a dozen likely addresses and my new mobile which seems finally to have run through its downloads, I¡¯m ready to go. Take a taxi? No. Don¡¯t leave a trail¡­ It¡¯s a long walk, but the upside is that I get to explore Sao Paulo on foot, always the best way to see anywhere new. The loose linen suit I¡¯m wearing, appropriate to the temperature and humidity, is a roomy fit, so there¡¯s plenty of space for my gun holster and other equipment. Check the Glock into its holster¡­ ¡­ Knife¡­ ¡­ Hat on¡­ ¡­ Sunsses¡­ A quick check in the mirror¡­ English¡­ ¡­ Tourist¡­ ¡­ Harmless¡­ Time to move¡­ The hotel door closes behind me with a click. Plucking a hair, I lick my thumb, then spit-ster the hair into ce about a foot from the floor, bridging the crack between door and frame. If the door opens while I¡¯m out, I¡¯ll know. I suck in a smile. It¡¯s the oldest trick in the book, but if it¡¯s good enough for Sean Connery, it¡¯s good enough for me. The nearest address on my shortlist is about a half hour¡¯s walk away. Hands in pockets, I stroll through a pleasant neighbourhood: not wealthy, but clean and green, shady with trees. Sauntering along, I consult my mapping app asionally, then stop by a tourist information board, making a show of tracing my finger over the map to museums, parks and the theatre. Visiting Tourist¡­ My phone mutters at me: the mapping app. Your destination is on the right¡­ ¡­ but I keep walking¡­ A bar-restaurant: Bar do Antonio¡­ A scatter of outdoor tables and seating¡­ Customers seated with coffee and beer¡­ ¡­ and without breaking my stride, I amble past the address¡­ past the barber¡¯s next door and the half dozen stores following¡­ and then across the road to pause by a series of ss-fronted stores for upmarket clothes, sandals and shoes, swimwear and essories. From there, with a view of the bar, I hang around on the corner, making a show of window-shopping for over-priced clothes behind acres of te ss, the reflection giving me a reasonable view even with my back turned. At first sight, Antonio¡¯s Bar is just the kind of ce I enjoy hanging out in in a new environment: a small family-run establishment, off the main tourist tracks but still in a decent area; somewhere the locals will come to eat. The signs and paintwork are shabby but clean. The seating and tables also look well- used. But as I watch, a customer rises and leaves. An old man moves smartly in, snatching a towel from his apron. Sweeping away crumbs, he pumps from a hand-spray then wipes over the top, taking a moment extra to work on some more difficult stain before giving the whole thing a final polish. From my lurking point at the corner, I watch for several minutes as the old man serves drinks and snacks at the outdoor seating, waving arms and barking orders at a young woman in a ck apron. One of the customers says something, pointing at the sun, and the old man pulls across an umbre and stand, taking the time to position it carefully to shade the client. After a few minutes, a woman, looking much the same age as he is,es outside carrying a tray of steaming pots. None of these people looks a likely candidate for leader of a trafficking ring. I check my notes, then my mapping app. Yes, I¡¯m in the right ce. In the back, perhaps? Or upstairs? Tucking away my mobile, I stroll across and take a seat, using my hat as a fan to waft air over my face. The old man trots over, beaming. ¡°Ol¨¢ senhor. Est¨¢ muito quente. Sim? O que voc¨º gostaria?¡± I open my mouth to reply¡­ Cerveja, por favor. ¡­ Then bite down on my words: no need to let anyone know that I understand a good deal of what is being said around me. ¡°A beer, please.¡± ¡°Sim, senhor.¡± Ducking his head, he trots off to return in a minute or so with a ss of beer cold enough to drip dew on the table, then gestures at the sunshade. ¡°Voc¨º quer um sol, senhor?¡± I nod vigorously. ¡°Please, yes.¡± The first mouthful of beer slides down my throat without protest. I¡¯m on my guard, but the second mouthful doesn¡¯t put up much of a fight either. It''s tempting to simply enjoy the weather and the drink¡­ Work to do¡­ I wave the old man down. ¡°Excuse me, where is the bathroom?¡± He waves me indoors with a nod and a smile, and I follow his pointing finger, through a deep narrow room, dim against the brilliant daylight outside, lined either side with Formica-topped tables. At the end, in the coolest part of the space, a ss disy counter is stacked with tes of chopped meat and veg mixed with ck beans, some crispy-looking brown circles which I take to be squid rings. A te of ¡®somethings¡¯ looks like vine-leaf-wrapped snacks, although I know that around here it¡¯s more likely to be a banana leaf. The young woman is behind the counter, smiling at me as I amble past. Waving hands over the disyed dishes, she raises brows¡­ Want Something? I return the smile, winding my finger in a circle. When Ie back. She nods happily, extending a finger to aim me towards a corridor from the back of the room. It takes me past a kitchen where, through the swing doors, the old woman, short and stout, thrusting out arms like wrinkled tree trunks, stirs something in a pot. She nces up¡­ ¡°Ol¨¢ senhor,¡± ¡­ then returns to her cooking. Continuing along the corridor, I throw a nce back over my shoulder, then stroll past the obvious bathroom door. The passage grows cooler all the while towards the rear of the building. At the end, I¡¯m at the base of a stairway, dimly lit but, as I look up, open and brighter at the top. It¡¯s unmorous, in the way that the back areas of stores and restaurants always are, in brick and concrete, but both vinyl-tiled steps and white-painted walls are immactely clean, with none of the dust or stale food smell I half-expected. I sh another look back to be sure no-one¡¯s watching, then, cing my feet gently against the carrying echoes, one hand resting on the holster inside my jacket, I make my way to the top¡­ A single room, taking up the entire floor¡­ ¡­ Sunbeams streaming between tted shutters, dust motes glittering mid-air¡­ ¡­ The normal furnishings of everyday life: two fat settees, much used, the fabric fraying on the arms. Ancient linoleum flooring, the edges curling upwards by the walls. A table and wooden chairs¡­ ¡­ A tiny antiquated TV in one corner... A chest of drawers in some dark wood, old and scratched. This is looking less and less like what I expected to find, but on the off-chance, I check a couple of the drawers: a child¡¯s coloured pencils and scribbled paper, dice and a pack of cards, a leaking biro stains the cheap wood blue. Moving quickly and quietly, I reverse out and make my way back down the stairs, meeting the old woman at the bottom. I give her my best inane smile. ¡°Sorry, my mistake.¡± She taps my arm and chuckles... ¡°Nenhum problema, senhor. Est¨¢ aqui.¡± ¡­ waving me to the bathroom door. The bathroom too is dpidated but spotless¡­ a couple of those green tablets in the urinal¡­ a faucet that works, if only for cold water¡­ a tattered towel smelling faintly of freshlyundered. Returning past the counter, the woman hovers, wearing a hopeful expression and my stomach growls. Alright, the restaurant isn¡¯t going to win any stars, but the woman¡¯s hair is freshly washed, her face has that scrubbed look and her fingernails show the white crescent moons of fresh cleaning. The food too looks interesting. Why not? A man¡¯s got to eat¡­ ¡°I will, yes.¡± She beams, disying fewer teeth than I might have expected. ¡°Sim, senhor. A gar?e vir¨¢ at¨¦ voc¨º.¡± Returning to my seat, waiting to be served. I take my bearings. I¡¯m not sure what I expected to find as I followed up on Finchby¡¯s invoices, but this isn¡¯t it. On the face of it, Antonio¡¯s Bar is just what it appears to be: a small, family-friendly business: busy, humming with trade without being packed out: couples, some with children, some without, eating and drinking. Some tables upied by groups of workmen drinking the proprietor¡¯s beer but eating their own food, unrolling sandwiches from foil packs, biting into tough dried meat and sausage, slicing chunks from hard cheese with a penknife. I feelpletely at home. And the beer¡¯s not half bad. What¡¯s left of the first ss swills down my throat with the greatest of ease and I¡¯m about to call for a refill when the smiling waitress stops by my table pointing at my empty ss. ¡°Outro cerveja, senhor?¡± I slide the ss across the table to her. ¡°Yes, thank you.¡± The second beer arrives in less than a couple of minutes and the waitress, turning great dark smiling eyes on me, offers me a menu. ¡°Voc¨º querer, senhor?¡± I push the menu back to her. ¡°Yes. Something local. No hamburgers.¡± Her brows furrow, and I rephrase. ¡°Comida regional. Algo local.¡± Her face clears, but the old man materialises beside her, snatching away the menu then shooing the girl back towards the kitchens. Seen up close, his face is imprinted with enough wrinkles and cracks to map out a sizeable city and his moustache, luxuriant but grey, is stained yellow at the tips. ¡°Senhor¡­ You want the food regional?¡± His ent is a little thick, but his English easily understood. ¡°Thank you, yes. Local food. Something typical of the area.¡± He disys gappy, brown-stained teeth. ¡°Sim senhor. Sem problemas¡­¡± He taps his nose, waggling bushy brows also stained yellow at the tips. ¡°For this, youe to my house and not the houses of the touristas?¡± ¡°Exactly. What do you have?¡± ¡°If you wish, sir, minha fam¨ªlia and me, we eat this?¡± He gestures across to the old woman, now carrying a lidded casserole pot to a table. ¡°Maria, vem c¨¢.¡± She stomps over, then lifts the lid to waft fragrant steam at me. Chunks of red sausage and some kind of meat wallow in a sea of ck beans. Other less identifiable items which could perhaps be parts of a pig¡¯s trotter, surface briefly then sink again. The aromas of garlic, smoke and chilli well up and my stomach growls approval. The old man sps his hands, shifting on his feet. ¡°You like? Yes, no? Food for nice foreign man?¡± ¡°Perfect.¡± Enough food to satisfy James¡¯ table - though perhaps without Jenny sitting there - is piled in front of me: the chilli, a dish of bread rolls, which when I split one open, turn out to be stuffed with cheese, a green sd. Some of the small offerings I saw at the counter too, although the ¡®squid rings¡¯ turn out to be a sort of puffed-up, savoury cookie. The dishes keep arriving. A bowl of tomato salsa looks innocent enough and I scoop up a generous portion with half a bread roll, then gasp as the result sears the inside of my mouth, branding the silhouette of a tomato slice onto my tongue. Blowing incandescent air over my teeth, I snatch at the other half of the roll, squishing cheese around my mouth until the mes subside. Chapter 4 Chapter 4 ¡°Is good, Senhor?¡± Rheumy eyes crinkle in a face like a Roman mosaic. ¡°Yes, very good,¡± I cough into a napkin. ¡°Just¡­ surprised me, that¡¯s all.¡± The crinkles deepen. ¡°Americano?¡± For a moment, my mind nks out¡­ Who the hell am I supposed to be? ¡­ then the information surfaces. ¡°No. English.¡± ¡°Ahhh¡­¡± The brows rise, then, ¡°Senhor, Voc¨º quer nosso vinho local?¡± He stares into air for a second. ¡°Our wine locale¡­ You try?¡± ¡°Yes, please.¡± I cough again into the napkin, clearing a final fiery fragment from my throat. ¡°Your local wine would be good.¡± He offers up a bottle: the contents pale, a in whitebel and a heavy-duty waxed cork. ¡°Is of the ¡­ wine garden¡­¡± He gives me a questioning look¡­ ¡°Vinyard.¡± ¡°¡­ The vinyard of my brother. Is good. You want? Yes, no?¡± ¡°Yes. Yes.¡± The wine is indeed good: nominally a sparkling white but in fact the palest of primrose yellows when held up to the sunshine. Medium-dry and lightly fragranced, it¡¯s perhaps a little light to go with the volcanic salsa, but works well with the bread. By the time I¡¯ve worked through all of the meal and most of the bottle, I¡¯m feeling well-fed, slightly tipsy and brimming with bon ami. ¡°Voc¨º quer caf¨¦, senhor?¡± ¡°Yes, coffee would be good, thank you.¡± The sunshine warms my face as I sip at the excellent coffee. This ce is everything I ever enjoyed about travel and I¡¯m developing a kind of holiday mood. Perhaps it¡¯s inappropriate, but you can¡¯t keep your guard up all the time. No-one knows I¡¯m here¡­ What¡¯s to worry about? And, if I¡¯m truthful with myself, I¡¯ve learned to chill out in the days spent with Mitch¡­ ¡­ and with Jenny¡­ ¡­ and her family¡­ James too? Alright, we had words at the end, but I know it wasn¡¯t really me he was angry with ¡­ Was it? ? He¡¯s a friend. Who else have I ever called friend? I¡¯ll make it right with him¡­ When I get back¡­ Perhaps Michael too, I could call a friend. He seemed to thaw out after Jenny¡¯s rescue. I couldn¡¯t have handled Jenny¡¯s rescue without him. Even Haswell gave me a handshake. And his buddy Stanton, the policemissioner¡­ He could have arrested me¡­ ¡­ locked me up. He didn¡¯t. It feels good. I¡¯ve read the stuff the scientists write: the psychologists and the anthropologists and brain-men. Humans are social animals¡­ It never meant a fucking thing to me. I could have been reading about Alice in her Wondend - another book I never rated - for all the connection I felt. But now, it¡¯s different. Mitch¡­ Content ? N?velDrama.Org. Are you wearing my ring? ¡­ Emerald eyes outshining any gem I could give¡­ And that cloud of copper hair¡­ You¡­ under me¡­ gasping as I make love to you¡­ hilting myself¡­ burying myself ball-deep inside you. You¡­ riding me, disying yourself with your broad, bright smile as I let you take me, pleasuring me as you pleasure yourself. I knock back thest of the coffee then set the cup on its saucer. It¡¯s quite clear to me, what I have to do. I have a situation to deal with. That¡¯s fine. I can handle it. I¡¯ll get this sorted out. After that¡­ Is it possible? A normal life. What kind of wedding would Mitch want? Something big and shy? In a church? Lots of guests? The marshmallow dress? All the¡­ I dredge my memory for my limited knowledge of such things¡­ ¡­ All the stuff¡­ That sort of thing matters to women¡­ ¡­ Doesn¡¯t it? Perhaps I should ask James? Or maybe Michael¡­ He¡¯s the one legally married to Jenny¡­ I rise, flinging my napkin down to the table¡­ ¡°Excellent.¡± ¡­ and proffering far more than the cost of the meal. ¡°Keep the change.¡± The old man beams. ¡°Obrigado, senhor. Youe again? Yes, no?¡± ¡°Ie again, yes.¡± His hand thrusts out. ¡°I am Antonio, senhor.¡± I take the hand and shake. ¡°Hughes. Harry Hughes.¡± ***** Rolling out of the bar with a case of wine-induced sea-legs, enoughmon sense asserts itself to tell me I¡¯m in no condition to go chasing down the next of Finchby¡¯s invoice addresses. Horizontal on my cheap hotel bed is where I¡¯m best suited for the next few hours. Arriving at my room, I¡¯m sufficientlypos mentis to check my ¡®guard hair¡¯ - still nicely in ce. As I open the door, it breaks free, floating down to the corridor carpet. Nheless, as I flop down on the bed, staring up at a spinning ceiling, my thoughts spiral with it¡­ A family restaurant... And yet, with an address from Finchby¡¯s invoice. Several invoices in fact. All for trafficked women and girls. Why? Tomorrow I¡¯ll go investigate some of the other addresses. NB - stick to coffee. ***** Chapter 5 Chapter 5 Richard My friend, Will Stanton, the policemissioner, has called by in person to deliver his news. None of us are happy about it. Will stands, arms folded, sucking at his teeth. ¡°Richard, you know I¡¯ll do whatever I can, but I have budgets to keep to. If Klempner¡¯s out of the country now, there¡¯s a good argument to say that the danger to Charlotte and Georgie, and whoever else, has moved on. I¡¯m going to have a tough case to answer, keeping a police guard here for much longer.¡± Elizabeth, sandwiched between Mitch and Charlotte on the settee, widens her eyes. I¡¯m not happy that Will chose to deliver this here and now, within the hearing of my pregnant wife. She¡¯s all but at term and I don¡¯t like her getting upset James wears a face like a thundercloud. ¡°The original attack on Charlotte happened before Klempner arrived here. And was nned long before that.¡± Will is stony-faced. ¡°Be that as it may, we all know those events were about drawing Klempner out. That¡¯s been done now, and whatever else happens between him and this female Nemesis of his, it¡¯s happening elsewhere.¡± ¡°But¡­¡± James¡¯ protest is cut short by a wry-faced Michael strolling into the lounge. ¡°Look who I just found outside.¡± He turns back towards the hall. ¡°Come on in. No-one¡¯s going to bite.¡± The figure that enters is familiar and deeply reluctant. Wearing heavy-grade outdoor clothing and muffled up to the neck, he holds out gloved hands. ¡°My apologies. This wasn¡¯t my idea.¡± Heads swivel. ¡°Hickman?¡± says James. ¡°What are you doing here? You know Klempner¡¯s not with us now, surely?¡± ¡°Mr Alexanders...¡± Hickman is the very image of a ¡®heavy¡¯. He gives James a nod. ¡°¡­Yes, of course I know that. But while he is away, Mr Klempner has instructed me to keep an eye on what¡¯s happening here.¡± His voice turns dry and he casts an eye at Michael. ¡°He was also insistent that I be discreet and not intrude on your family life. I did not ask to enter your home. I am a professional. I do the job I''m paid for.¡± Michael gives him a sunny grin. ¡°Does being professional necessarily entail standing outside and freezing your nuts off?¡± Hickman sucks in a smile, scratching at his nose. ¡°I suppose not, no.¡± ¡°Then for God¡¯s sake, take that jacket off and have a hot drink. What¡¯ll it be?¡± Hickman unbuttons his heavy overcoat. Underneath, he¡¯s still warmly dressed in pullover and jacket. ¡°Coffee would go down well, thank you.¡± ¡°Coming up.¡± Will watches in silence, but his folded arms have gone into lockdown. He res at Hickman. ¡°You were on the video footage at the Lucky Time bar, the night Mickey Miller was attacked. You were talking to Klempner. Who are you exactly?¡± Hickman¡¯s regards him with a cool eye, then casts a nce to Mitch. ¡°I am Miss Kimberley¡¯s bodyguard. And should the situation require it, also Mrs Summerford¡¯s and her daughter¡¯s.¡± Will cocks a brow at Mitch. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you had a bodyguard?¡± Her lips twitch. ¡°Neither did I, until now.¡± Will regards Hickman, unlocks his arms, resps hands behind his back. ¡°You work for Klempner?¡± ¡°At the current time, yes.¡± Will takes a step or two, looming close. ¡°You going to give me any trouble?¡± Hickman sucks air between his teeth. ¡°Commissioner, I will only be giving trouble as my contract requires it. I do not anticipate you or any of your personnel being the target for any trouble I might be involved in.¡± Will casts a look to Mitch, then Charlotte and Elizabeth, me and Michael. ¡°And how do you all feel about this? I think we can all hazard a guess at what kind of man Lawrence Klempner is likely to hire. Or put his trust in.¡± James moves in, taking Hickman¡¯s coat, draping it over the back of a chair. ¡°The kind of man who is very good at what he does,¡± he says¡­ ¡°And who has proved himself to be trustworthy. Will, it¡¯s fine. We know Hickman. We¡¯ve met him before under circumstances that told us all we need to know about him.¡± Will¡¯s face, dark as it is, nheless reddens. ¡°Well, I haven¡¯t. Who are you?¡± He jabs a finger towards Hickman¡¯s chest. ¡°What was your name again?¡± Klempner¡¯s henchman looks down at the finger. Eyes narrowing, he drawls his reply. ¡°You heard Mr Alexanders. You can call me Hickman.¡± Will scowls, withdraws the finger. ¡°I remember now¡­ Where else I know you from. You¡¯re one of the men who originally abducted Charlotte¡­¡± Michael breaks in. ¡°Will, calm down. Hickman helped us escape from Finchby¡¯s ce. He¡¯d been hired as part of the effort to catch Klempner. When it became clear what Baxter¡¯s intentions were regarding Charlotte and Cara, he refused to go along with it. He switched sides.¡± Will¡¯s scowl deepens. He circles the passively standing Hickman. ¡°What is your rtionship with Lawrence Klempner?¡± ¡°Mr Klempner pays me to work for him as he requires.¡± ¡°He employs you? When you were originally part of the attempt to capture him?¡± ¡°Mr Klempner understands that wasn¡¯t personal. He knows I am a professional. So, yes, he employs me.¡± ¡°And if someone makes you a better offer?¡± Hickman¡¯s brows rise. ¡°Then I might be interested in epting, after I havepleted my current contract.¡± Will snorts. ¡°So, Lawrence Klempner has bought your loyalty?¡± ¡°If you want to put it that way.¡± Hickman remains impassive. ¡°But having been bought, my loyalty will stay bought for as long as my current employmentsts.¡± ¡°And after that?¡± Hickman shrugs, purses his lips. ¡°After that¡­ we¡¯ll see.¡± Will sniffs, rubs his nose. ¡°You carrying?¡± Hickman casts him a look¡­ ¡°I¡¯m a bodyguard.¡± ¡­ then huffing, opens the left side of his jacket to disy what¡¯s underneath. Will regards the holstered weapon, then as Hickman readjusts his jacket, ¡°So where¡¯s Klempner? Why¡¯s he left you here?¡± ¡°Mr Klempner is pursuing Juliana Diaz. He is not your problem anymore.¡± ¡°Where? Where has he gone?¡± ¡°I understand he is in South America. Brazil, in fact.¡± He pins Will with a stare. ¡°Commissioner, I am quite sure you have already interviewed Baxter. This must already be known to you. Why are you asking me?¡± Will rxes a bit. ¡°When you¡¯re dealing with a man like Klempner, it¡¯s good to have the facts confirmed. And yes, Brazil was my understanding.¡± He paces for a moment, considering, then, ¡°You seem comfortable, Mr Hickman, telling me what you know.¡± Hickman¡¯s lips quirk. ¡°My employer instructed me to tell you¡­¡± Will¡¯s brows rise. Hickman smiles slightly. ¡°¡­ He also asked me to point out that Brazil is outside your jurisdiction.¡± Will¡¯s eyes narrow, then he bursts intoughter. ¡°So, it is.¡± He breaks off as Michael enters the room with a tray. ¡°I made enough for everyone. Hickman, help yourself.¡± Hickman pours. Will paces some more, apparently involved in some internal struggle. After a minute, he stops by the window, staring out. ¡°Something wrong, Will?¡± I ask. He shrugs, huffs, then fishes something out from a pocket: a data key, offering it to Hickman. ¡°I brought this for James here, topare against what he already has. But since you have a connection to Klempner, you can send them to him too if you think he could use them. They¡¯re data files of the transcripts of our interviews with Baxter. Given that Klempner is hunting Baxter¡¯s associate, perhaps he can glean something useful from them.¡± Hickman¡¯s chin lifts, his eyes widening. ¡°Commissioner, does your authority permit you to do this?¡± Will looks blue. ¡°No, not really. But since Klempner is hunting a killer that I should have apprehended myself, I¡¯m prepared to supply him the tools to do it with.¡± Hickman gives a small nod. ¡°Thank you, Commissioner. I''ll be sure to pass them on.¡± He turns to James. ¡°I¡¯m sure you want to copy the files before I take the key away?¡± ¡°Of course, yes. But on a rted subject¡­ Hickman, Klempner gave me contact details. I¡¯ve sent him several messages, which I think he¡¯s seeing, but I¡¯ve had no reply. You¡¯re in contact with him. What¡¯s happening over there?¡± Hickman hesitates, then, ¡°I have no message to give you, Mr Alexanders, and no authority to speak to you.¡± James¡¯ face darkens. ¡°I want to know what¡¯s happening. Klempner can¡¯t keep us hanging like this. I¡¯m asking you to tell us.¡± ¡°With respect, sir, you are not my employer.¡± Hickman swirls coffee around the bottom of his mug then polishes it off. ¡°Klempner instructed you to take orders from me.¡± N?velDrama.Org (C) content. ¡°And so I will, Mr Alexanders. In any matter that does not conflict with my direct instructions from Mr Klempner.¡± Richard interrupts. ¡°I¡¯d like to ask a question if I may. Hickman, you say that you remain hired so long as Klempner is your employer. What happens to your loyalty if something happens to Klempner? He¡¯s dealing with violent people. If he were injured or killed, we¡¯re putting a lot of trust in you.¡± Hickman gives a small smile. ¡°That¡¯s a fair question, Mr Haswell. Be assured that I would not undertake a further employment that¡­ um¡­ shed with the spirit of my agreement with Mr Klempner. In any case, he has himself considered the matter and there is a considerable sum set aside against that eventuality. It is specifically for the purpose of you¡­¡± He waves his hand around our group¡­ ¡°¡­ retaining my services should you wish to do so.¡± Mitch moves closer, fingers sped, winding the emerald ring on her left hand around and around the finger. ¡°Hickman, did Larry¡­ have any message for me?¡± Hickman¡¯s rough features soften. ¡°I did ask him that, Miss Kimberley.¡± He holds her gaze. ¡°He replied simply, ¡®Mitch knows.¡¯¡± Mitch¡¯s eyes fall and her throat ripples. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ all he said?¡± ¡°It is, yes.¡± Hickman touches her arm with the tips of his fingers. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t read anything into it if I were you. The social graces are not Mr Klempner¡¯s area of strength, and he has his mind on other things. If I were you, I would read my presence here as the message. And¡­¡± He touches a forefinger to her hand¡­ ¡°¡­ I¡¯ll tell him you¡¯re wearing his ring.¡± ***** Chapter 6 Chapter 6 Charlotte I love being a Mom. From her bundle of fleece and wool, Cara looks up into my face, her eyes fixing on me in a way that they didn¡¯t when she was first born. Her features have lost that squashed-up look she had at first, filling out to more of the true ¡®Winston Churchill¡¯ look of young babies. My baby¡­ So beautiful¡­ There¡¯s never been anything so beautiful in the whole world¡­ ¡­ But when she was new-born, she was a beautiful, little squashed-up red prune. Cara held close to my breast, she suckles contentedly¡­ Wonder how long it¡¯ll be before she does more than eat and sleep? However wonderful My Baby might be, the novelty of breast-feeding is wearing off fast. Bored, Cara supported in one arm, I browse my tablet, scrolling the feed with a thumb. Somehow, they have gotten hold of my email address and my In-Box is bombarded with ads for milk substitutes, nappies, early learning for babies¡­ Jabbing my thumb at the offending posts, I delete one after another¡­ And then, something more interesting¡­ Aaahhh¡­ A message from my Master¡­ Wonder why he used my work address? ? Probably came up first on the autofill¡­ I tap with my thumbpad, fumble, then Cara held in the crook of one arm, pass the tablet to one hand so I can tap in properly with the other. An image opens up: a corset. It¡¯s a beauty: satin andce in a shade of jewelled emerald, edged in a deeper jade. Thought you might like to browse this site. Find something you like. Life¡¯s getting back to normal xx Intriguing¡­ ¡­ and I can see why my Master picked out the one he did. Smiling to myself, I follow the link through to find myself on a website for sexy underwear¡­ Actually, beyond sexy. Downright erotic. Anything but bored now, I explore the lingerie: ckce, red satin, bodices and bustiers, stockings and garters, thongs and French knickers¡­ It¡¯s been so long since I was able to wear anything like this, but my figure is rapidly returning to normal¡­ Boobs are still huge though¡­ I nce down at my contentedly nursing daughter¡­ ¡­ And likely to remain so for the foreseeable future¡­ I chuckle to myself. I¡¯m getting warm inside¡­ Wet, in fact. Shifting around, I set Cara onto the other breast and resume my browsing. It was a clever idea of my Master¡¯s, sending me this. But then, he always did know me better than I know myself. Then I chuckle again. Of course, he does. He¡¯s a Dom. He¡¯s always going to start by ying inside my head, working on my sense of anticipation¡­ ¡­ Get me to choose my own clothes. What¡¯s he got in mind? Downstairs? In his yroom? Over the spanking horse? Saint Andrew¡¯s cross? My pussy is going into meltdown. Clicking through one page after another, I consider the alternatives. What would he like? What would he want me to wear? And Michael? Content ? N?velDrama.Org. What would make the most of my current¡­ I nce down at my hugely expanded boobs¡­ assets? Then the obvious hits me. Working back through the menus, I locate the corset in the image from the email. It¡¯s a beauty, and I can see why he picked it out. Hooked to the front, heavily boned to pinch in the waist. Nheless, it¡¯sced at the back to allow for an expanding, or shrinking, figure. The cups are firmly supportive for the ¡®fuller figure¡¯ but could be tucked down nicely to expose the breasts. And the colour is perfect. Green always looks good on me¡­ He didn¡¯t ask it specifically, but my Master¡¯s wishes are clear. A quick tap on the ¡®Buy¡¯ button and a ¡®1¡¯ appears by the cart. Some whileter, Cara is lying in her cot, eyes closed, blowing bubbles as she sleeps. And my cart contains rather more than just ¡®1¡¯. I¡¯ve added stockings - hold-ups in case my Master wishes to remove the corset - a wrap-around skirt in some sheer silky fabric, with just a pair of buttons to hold it in ce. I hesitate over the shoes: spiked heels, in a deep jade to match the corset. Utterly impractical for everyday wear, but what the hell¡­ My mind whirls through the possibilities¡­ Our first post-pregnancy session in my Master¡¯s yroom. Just the Three of us? Or Richard and Beth too? Beth¡¯s all but at term now and can barely get out of her chair now without help. But she¡¯ll enjoy watching. Watching her husband fuck me¡­ Watching me suck him off¡­ Tallying up what I¡¯m spending, I gulp a little at the total¡­ Totally worth it¡­ ¡­And I hit Pay Now. Should I tell him? Course I should¡­ Switching screens back to my Master¡¯s original email, I click reply: Look what I bought¡­ He¡¯ll like that. Then, I shift in my seat. I¡¯m really very ufortable. Time to change into fresh underwear¡­ My thoughts are interrupted as Cara burbles, burps, then starts to fuss. Probably needs burping¡­ And despite myself, I find myself smiling as I reach to pick her up. Any excuse¡­ Jiggling her up and down, I pat her back until a Blub! of milk burps up¡­ then down again, dribbling over my shoulder. Damn. Forgot the towel¡­ All those brochures and guides speaking of the joys of motherhood¡­ No-one mentioned spending half the day smelling of yoghurt. It doesn¡¯t matter. Swiping away the milky trickle, I hold her in front of me, singing one of those silly little songs they have for babies. And I smile. I can¡¯t help it. It justes, welling up, a smile for my tiny girl. Gurgling, Cara smiles back. It¡¯s a bit gummy and a bit unformed. Her eyes fix on me, then wander off, then drift back, but it¡¯s a smile. ¡°You look lovely when you do that.¡± Jolting, reflexively I sp Cara tighter to me¡­ Who???? ¡­ But there, leaning against the door frame, Michael stands, looking into the nursery. Sunlight nts across from the window, throwing a beam over Scruffy, standing by his feet. Ears perked, the stubby tail is a frenzied blur. I rx again, feeling foolish. My beautiful husband, my Golden Lover. Of course he cane into the nursery. ¡°Sorry, didn¡¯t mean to startle you.¡± He takes a step forward, then pauses. ¡°Is it okay if Scruffyes in?¡± ¡°Um, yes, alright...¡± You¡¯re being silly¡­ And Iugh. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s fine. They should get to know each other.¡± Michael pulls up a chair beside me. ¡°It¡¯s good for them both to get to know each other.¡± Scruffy trots in, Bear strolling in behind, his expression benign. Both sit with ears pricked, looking up. Michael raises a finger to the pair. ¡°Nicely. She¡¯s only little.¡± But the dogs both seem to understand they¡¯re looking at a ¡®people puppy¡¯, sitting quietly, not trying to crowd me. ¡°Still enjoying motherhood?¡± ¡°Oh, yes. It¡¯s amazing, but it¡¯s nice to see that we can go back to some of how it was before too.¡± His brow furrows. ¡°Sorry? Not with you.¡± I grin, feeling wicked. ¡°Look¡­¡± I disy my Master¡¯s email, the model in the beautiful corset. ¡°I just bought it.¡± Michael raises eyebrows, nting a smile at me, then scissors open the image for a closer look. ¡°Very nice. James always did have good taste. I¡¯ll look forward to seeing you wearing it. You say you¡¯ve already ordered it?¡± ¡°Ah-ha. Estimated delivery, three days.¡± He shes a grin, then leans in to kiss me on the mouth. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure then, that we have the cava on ice, and the heating on downstairs.¡± ***** Chapter 7 Chapter 7 James In the kitchen, pushing bacon around a pan, I ponder how to square the circle and re-introduce Georgie and Charlotte. The fact is that Georgie created the whole hos¡¯ nest herself by being so appallingly rude, not just to me, but Charlotte too, the first time they met. But if I truly want any kind of future rtionship with my daughter¡­ my elder daughter¡­ I need to get the pair of them, if not friendly, at least polite with each other. Richard and Beth descend the stairs, she leaning heavily on him for support. She sits clumsily, trying to find afortable position so she can eat. Fanning her face, ¡°I can barely reach the table over my stomach.¡± She¡¯sughing but theugh sounds strained and she runs hands over her enormous belly. ¡°I¡¯ll be d when Adam arrives and I can get back to being able to move again. Charlotte looks up from where she is giving Cara her breakfast. ¡°Know what you mean. I tell you, it¡¯s a real relief afterwards, getting back to feeling you¡¯re the only one upying your body.¡± Beth sags, blowing air, but Richard is there, serving her with her favourite muesli and yoghurt. He kisses her cheek. ¡°Not long now, my Love.¡± I poke at the bacon then flip it over in the pan, ¡°Anything special you¡¯d like, Beth?¡± She brightens. ¡°A boiled egg?¡± ¡°No problem. Just the one?¡± ¡°Two, then.¡± ¡°Coming up.¡± I head for the fridge. ¡°Anyone else for boiled eggs?¡± From the front door, a knock. Michael rises. ¡°I¡¯ll get it.¡± Damn¡­ There are only so many options for who could be knocking at this hour. Only one in fact. ¡°No, it¡¯s alright,¡± I say, setting the frying pan to one side. ¡°I will. You stay with Charlotte.¡± His eyes meet mine and he gives a small nod, nudging his chair closer to Charlotte¡¯s. upied with Cara, she doesn¡¯t seem to have noticed the knock. Heading down the hall, I work at quelling the unease in my gut which hovers somewhere in the hintend of anticipation and anxiety. Content ? N?velDrama.Org. I open the door and she¡¯s there, my tall, dark daughter, Georgie. Chin lifted, eyeing me, ¡°Hi, Dad. Can I come in?¡± As I hesitate, she says, ¡°I promise I¡¯ll behave. I won¡¯t be rude to her.¡± ¡°Alright then.¡± Opening the door wide, I gesture her to the kitchen. As we enter, Charlotte nces my way, then doubletakes as she sees Georgie. Turning away, to Cara¡¯s squalled protests, she buttons up her blouse. ¡°I¡¯ll go upstairs.¡± ¡°No, Charlotte. You won¡¯t,¡± I say. ¡°This is your home. Georgie is the visitor here.¡± I sh eyes at my daughter and she looks away, flushing. Raising her chin again, she takes a step or two towards Charlotte, then falters at the cat-eyed warning there. Charlotte holds Cara, cradling her close to the breast. ¡°I¡­ I wanted to apologise¡­¡± says Georgie... ¡°¡­ For being so rude to you before. I¡­ I was hoping we could be¡­ friends¡­¡± Her voice trails away. Charlotte blinks and looks down. Looks to me. Looks back to Georgie. Then, to Michael, sitting by her, head tilted. He murmurs something to her. I can¡¯t pick out the words, but, unusually for him, there¡¯s a note of authority there. Charlotte ducks her head. ¡°Apology epted,¡± she mutters. Then, rising from her seat, ¡°Cara needs changing.¡± And, baby in arms, she sidles past Georgie, heading for the door. She doesn¡¯t quite brush past me, but instead, halts. ¡°¡¯Scuse me. Can Ie past, please, Mas... James.¡± I don¡¯t reply, simply stepping aside to let her by then looking out to see where she¡¯s headed. Charlotte bolts along the hall and up the stairs, casting a look down at me from half-way up before vanishing toward the nursery. Georgie stands, glum-faced. ¡°Sorry, Dad. I wanted to make it right, but¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s not me you need to apologise to, Georgie. I¡¯d say you have some ground to make up with Charlotte.¡± Hunched, she nods. ¡°Yes, but you too. I¡¯m sorry¡­ I¡­¡± She grinds to a halt, looking around the room. ¡°I didn¡¯t realise there are so many of you here.¡± Thank God for a change of subject¡­ ¡°Since you are here, let me introduce you to everyone. This is Mitch, Charlotte¡¯s mother.¡± Mitch nods and gives a polite but strictly controlled smile, then rises and follows Charlotte¡¯s path out of the room¡­ Crap¡­ ¡°These are my friends, Richard and Beth¡­¡± Georgie steps forward with a subdued, ¡°Pleased to meet you¡­¡± Richard smiles in friendly enough fashion. ¡°And you, Georgie.¡± Beth follows his lead with a smile and a ¡°Please excuse me if I don¡¯t get up.¡± ¡°¡­ And this is Michael.¡± From behind Georgie¡¯s line of sight, I give him a pleading look, but there¡¯s no need. Michael is already standing, hand outstretched, treating her to one of his sunburst smiles. ¡°Great to meet you atst, Georgie. I¡¯ve heard so much about you over the years.¡± ¡°You have?¡± ¡°I have. James is always telling me about you.¡± ***** Chapter 8 Chapter 8 Klempner Over the next day or so, I visit a dozen establishments, all chosen for having been header addresses on invoices received, and apparently paid, by Finchby. I find myself calling by two more bar-restaurants, adies¡¯ shoe shop, a bookseller, a cut-price budget outlet, two fruit and veg stalls and a liquor store. None of them seems even remotely likely as an export outlet for organised criminals. The only even slightly illegal behaviour I encounteres from myst call: a jeweller. By now, my doubts are sprouting. I¡¯m almost out of options and I¡¯ve found nothing that takes me any closer to tracking psycho-Juliana. WTF¡¯s going on here? In the jewellery store, the proprietor skulks at the back. Then, seeing me browsing his stock, thinking I might find something for Mitch, he tries to pass off a locket, gold-ted but base metal, as the genuine article. He cringes satisfactorily as my fingers grip his neck, squeezing just enough to cut off his air for a few seconds. I¡¯m not serious about doing him any real harm, but I leave his store of over-priced crap whistling. But still, my disquiet crawls¡­ What am I missing? I arrived in Sao Paulo believing I had plenty of leads to track, as I first thought, Baxter, then his blood- besotted paramour, Juliana. But I¡¯ve used up my leads and I¡¯m rapidly running out of ideas. Juliana¡¯s still out there, shrieking for my blood. And she¡¯s as likely as not to go looking for her own peculiar brand of vindictive entertainment with someone else connected if it¡¯s not actually with me. Mitch¡­ Jenny¡­ Think¡­ A quick check of my messages: a confirmation from Hickman that all¡¯s well over there... Wearing the ring? A warm glow, having nothing to do with the weather, floods my chest and face. What to do? Walking¡­ That¡¯s how I think best¡­ The body strolling out, running on autopilot, letting the mind roam at will. I don¡¯t try to concentrate on the problem in hand. Instead, letting my thoughts drift, I wait for inspiration to well up from the subconscious backburner. How to find one woman in a city of twenty million? But nothing suggests itself. I don¡¯t do it consciously, but looking around,ing to, I find I¡¯m standing outside Antonio¡¯s. The old man cracks a smile and hastily wipes down a tabletop before pulling out a chair and, brows raised, offering out a palm to the seat. I¡¯m not fooling myself that the beer clears my thinking, but nothing else is working for me. I might as well enjoy a drink. ¡°Obrigado. Sim.¡± Antonio beams as I make my way to the table, then scuttles off, returning in under a minute with a ss jug, dripping condensation, and a te of lupini beans. The cold beer is perfect. The first couple of gulps slide down my throat. Slipping the skin from a bean, I chew the salty nibble, tossing the skin to a nearby pigeon Another swallow and I¡¯m reflecting that the moist heat I enjoyed when I first arrived in Brazil is beginning to annoy: close and cloying. Never thought I¡¯d miss the northern winters¡­ That mountain¡­ The views¡­ The clean air¡­ Be honest¡­ I¡¯m missing Mitch. More than that. I¡¯m missing all of it. My daughter¡­ My granddaughter¡­ The casual camaraderie of her two husbands¡­ Three husbands? Where does Haswell fit into that? ? How the hell do I judge that one? Mitch¡­ What are you doing now? Enjoying life with Jenny I hope. I tap open the mobile, into my images, download one of my favourites. There¡¯s very little in my files of this kind. I enjoy travelling, ying the tourist, but seldom bother with the camera. I prefer taking the time to see the ces I visit: capture them in my head. The few times I¡¯ve bothered taking snaps, the result never does justice to the original. But this one is different. Mitch looks out at me. I don¡¯t think she knew I was taking the photo. Indeed, I made a show of simply fiddling with my phone, looking up some file or other. So, she looks at me, head a little inclined, lips a little parted, eyes questioning¡­ Those glorious eyes¡­ Greener than any gem I could give her. Greener than Spring leaves. Greener than cier waters¡­ I could lose myself in those eyes¡­ Ie to with a start: Antonio leans across, setting a basket of bread on the table. His eyes crease, if it were possible, even more. ¡°Very beautifuldy, senhor. Yourdy?¡± ¡°Yes...¡± I tap the phone closed, but his words warm me inside. ¡°¡­ Mydy.¡± ¡°Lady here? Sao Paulo?¡± ¡°No, not here. Far away.¡± ¡°You go home tody soon?¡± ¡°Yes, soon.¡± He smiles. ¡°You very lucky man. But she luckydy too, I think.¡± ¡°I hope so.¡± ¡°You want outro cerveja, senhor? Caf¨¦? Vinho?¡± ¡°Caf¨¦. Obrigado.¡± He nods and totters off. Half a minuteter the hiss of steam tells me my coffee is on the way. One day¡­ After all this is over¡­ Mitch¡­ You always wanted to travel¡­ All those books¡­ Those ces you¡¯ve never seen¡­ Where would you want to go? ? Jenny? Would she want toe? For part of the time, maybe¡­ Content ? N?velDrama.Org. A holiday? Travel as a family¡­ ? ? James might help. He¡¯s encouraged her to forgive and forget. ¡­ Forgive, anyway¡­ ***** Chapter 9 Chapter 9 The coffee strong and fragrant, washes away my doubts and clears my thinking, although granted, it leaves me with my problem. How to find Juliana? And what is the significance of the invoice addresses? I let my mind freewheel, caffeine lubricating the gears. What''s the connection? ? ? Content ? N?velDrama.Org. Back to basics... Finchby¡¯s invoices... Taken from his own files¡­ Supply addresses from legitimate businesses¡­ ¡­ Listing women, children¡­ Human cargo. ??? That can''t possibly be what went through the customs checks... Duplicate documents then? Same references. Same mary values. Different cargo. That would seem logical: A parallel ounting system: one for the outside world, one for private records. Yes, that works. Anypetent criminal could make that work. And doubtless, with the money involved, they¡¯d have ountants and bookkeepers¡­ Perhaps even customs officers and tax inspectors on the payroll. But none of that gives me the connection to Antonio¡¯s bar or any of the others. Why here? Frustrated, mind spiralling inward¡­ Damn the coffee¡­ ¡­ I order another beer. ***** Charlotte ¡°Charlotte, it¡¯s a beautiful day¡­¡± My Master stands by the nursery door, wearing the jeans and boots he uses for riding, and a thick cable-knit sweater¡­ ¡°¡­I¡¯m going to take Oliver out. Want toe?¡± It is indeed a lovely day, with a crisp snap to the air. And the sunshine is that brilliant clear white you only get in cold winter weather. ¡°I¡¯d love to. And Charlie could use the exercise. Um¡­¡± I look down to my tiny daughter, blinking at the mobile rotating above her in the cot, trying, with unformed muscles, to reach for a glitter-pink unicorn. ¡°I¡¯ll keep an eye on Cara.¡± My Mom smiles from her rocking chair next to mine. ¡°She¡¯ll probably sleep anyway.¡± ¡°Can you give me five minutes, just while Cara drops off?¡± ¡°Of course I can.¡± My Master takes the few steps to bring him close to me, then reaches down with a long finger, stroking Cara¡¯s cheek. His face might seem impassive to any that didn¡¯t know him, but I see the hidden smile behind his eyes. Our daughter burbles a bit but doesn¡¯t seem to mind. ¡°Take all the time you need,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯ll be with the horses, saddling up.¡± ***** In the stable, my Master nces up from where he is checking Charlie¡¯s girth. ¡°All ready for you.¡± Straightening up, he runs over me with his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re wearing plenty ofyers? It¡¯s cold out there.¡± I tug down the neck of my roll-top pullover. ¡°Two woollens, a cotton top and a thermal vest Mom insisted I put on.¡± His lips twitch, then he stoops by Charlie, locking his hands into a cup. ¡°C¡¯mon, I¡¯ll give you a leg up.¡± Oliver is stamping and snorting, eager to be off. My Master ps him on the shoulder then runs a hand up his neck. ¡°Shhhh¡­ Calm down. We¡¯re going now.¡± Oliver¡¯s ears flick forward, but he settles long enough for my Master to mount. ¡°Walk on.¡± As we make our way through the yard, he says, ¡°I thought we might take the path through the top field then loop back for the trail through the woods.¡± ¡°Great idea.¡± ***** It¡¯s simply magical: just me and my wonderful Master, riding together as though there were no-one else in the world. The ground is firm with the cold and Oliver is trying to take the bit. Head tossing, his gait dancing between a walk and a trot, everything about him says Go¡­ ¡°He needs to run,¡± says my Master, then eyes Charlie, also performing, jarring under me. ¡°They both do. They¡¯ll settle after they¡¯ve burned off some energy.¡± ¡°Race you to the end of the field?¡± He raises a finger. ¡°Only to the fence. No jumping. That gate is too high¡­¡± But his final words are lost to the wind as I kick heels at Charlie, and she moves from trot to canter to gallop in fewer hoofbeats than I can count. Only for seconds do I have the lead. Oliver isrger and heavier, more powerful, than Charlie and almost immediately, he thunders up, first closing behind me, then alongside, snorting steam as he pulls ahead. But as her son begins to draw away, Charlie jolts under me with another burst of speed and as we reach the end of the field, Charlie and Oliver, mother and son, my Master and I, are neck and neck. ¡°Whoa¡­¡± He pulls Oliver to a standstill and I do the same. I¡¯m grinning like a maniac, panting, my blood racing. My Master¡¯s eyes are soft. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you smiling properly atst.¡± ¡°Ah, that was great.¡± I scan the field, stretching down the mountain, theke glittering at the bottom, the air frigid and fresh. Oliver and Charlie blow blue from their nostrils. ¡°It¡¯s so good to be able to move again properly. Sometimes, it¡¯s just good to be alive, isn¡¯t it.¡± ¡°So it is.¡± He reaches out, lifting the long arm of the gatetch to let me through, clucks Oliver along behind me, and lets the gate swing closed. We follow the bridle path that will take us to the trail through the woods. ¡°Charlotte, there¡¯s something I want to ask you.¡± ¡°What¡¯s that, Master?¡± I try to sound bright, but inside me, something knots. I think I know what¡¯s coming. He doesn¡¯t speak for a few seconds¡­ Choosing his words? ¡°Charlotte, you know that Georgie is still staying in the hotel...¡± Yes¡­ Georgie¡­ ¡°¡­ I¡¯m keeping her there for now. At least long enough to be sure the threat¡¯s diminished.¡± ¡°What about her?¡± I try to keep the edge out of my voice, but I¡¯m not sure I seed. He gives me a sharp look, but his voice remains mild. ¡°I would like to invite her for dinner one evening.¡± ¡°Dinner? At home, you mean? In our home? Back at the house?¡± ¡°Yes, of course, back at the house.¡± He¡¯s sounding irritable. ¡°Where else?¡± ¡°But¡­ you can eat with her in the restaurant. Or¡­ Or¡­ You could take her somewhere in the City. Somewhere nice, that you¡¯d both enjoy. A nice little Italian ce maybe.¡± Sidelong, his eyes are slitting. ¡°The point, Charlotte, is that Georgie would like to meet you¡­ Properly¡­ In a family environment.¡± I want to protest. I want to scream and screech and shout. I want to cry¡­ ¡°But, Master, Georgie hates me. She made that clear when we met that first time. She didn¡¯t want to know me. She was horrible. Not just to me. To you too¡­¡± He cuts me short. ¡°Things have changed, Charlotte. Yes, Georgie was sharp with you. But she¡¯s sorry. She wants to apologise. She wants to get to know her sister.¡± He softens. ¡°Don¡¯t you think Cara should be able to meet her sister?¡± ¡°Georgie¡¯s only her half-sister.¡± But even as the wordse out, I know I sound petnt. The sharpness is back in his voice. ¡°And what does that matter?¡± He pulls up on the reins and Oliver drops to a walk, then halts. Charlie halts by him. My Master does not look happy. ¡°Are you telling me, Charlotte, that you do not want, ever, to have my other daughter into our home?¡± I have no words. I don¡¯t want to speak. Instead, I flick the reins and move Charlie along. After a few moments, I hear Oliver¡¯s hoofbeats too. ***** Chapter 10 Chapter 10 The trail is lovely, the winter sun streaming through the trees, their naked boughs casting an intricate tracery of light and shade. But I¡¯m in no mood to enjoy it. Charlie stamps and judders under me, tossing her head. I pull back on the reins. ¡°I don''t know what''s wrong with her today.¡± My Master is cool. ¡°It¡¯s not the horse, Charlotte, but the rider. You''re in a mood and Charlie''s picking up your mood. You¡¯re perching in the saddle as though you¡¯re the one about to bolt. And if you jerk the reins like that again, I¡¯ll take them from you. Charlie doesn¡¯t deserve to be the butt of your temper.¡± He¡¯s right¡­ But so what? Clicking my tongue, I urge Charlie forward and she breaks into a trot, but her eyes roll back at me¡­ ¡°Charlotte...¡± ¡­ I urge on my mount. The air is fresh on my skin. The sun shimmers and dances to the leaf-littered ground. But nothing dispels the clouds in my head. ¡°Charlotte!¡± My Master¡¯s voice snaps like a whip. With a thunder of hooves, Oliver pulls up beside me and my Master reaches across, snatching at Charlie¡¯s bridle. ¡°You may be angry with me, but you will not ignore me.¡± He wrenches the reins from my hands then leads me, with Charlie, to a tree, looping the reins over a branch. Swinging a long leg over his saddle he dismounts then snaps a gesture to the ground. ¡°Down!¡± My throat dry, I obey. My Master reaches, catching me as my feet touch turf, then pushing me backward, my spine pressed t against a tree trunk. His face close to mine, he hisses at me, ¡°I am trying to be fair to both you and Georgie. And both of you are giving me a hard time. I''m caught between a rock and a hard ce here, Charlotte. And I don''t care for it. You are treating me as though I have done something I should apologise for, and I do not believe, or ept, I have done anything to deserve that.¡± I have nothing to say. ***** Michael The pair blow in through the door, in theory, together. James stalks in, face reddened. Charlotte follows and, without a word or a smile, disappears into the kitchen. I watch her scuttle away, then catch James by the arm. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± James swipes a hand through his hair, blows air through puffed cheeks. ¡°Georgie.¡± Then spinning, face set, he strides out again. The door ms closed behind him. This has gone on long enough¡­ I hover by the window, listening for the crunch of footsteps on gravel to fade, then head for the kitchen where Charlotte is taking one of Cara¡¯s feed bottles from the fridge. Her eyes flick to mine and then back to the bottle. ¡°Hi.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t Hi me. What d¡¯you think you¡¯re up to, Charlotte?¡± ¡°Up to?¡± The innocence in her voice sounds fake and as she puts the bottle into the microwave, she keeps her face turned away. Even side-on, the flush on her cheeks is visible. ¡°And don¡¯t y the innocent either. You know perfectly well what I¡¯m talking about. I don¡¯t think James deserves to be upset like this. And certainly not by you.¡± ¡°He wants to bring her here¡­.¡± Still, she doesn¡¯t look at me¡­ ¡°¡­ Into the house. Why would I want her here? This is my home.¡± ¡°It¡¯s James¡¯ home too. And Georgie is his daughter. His other daughter.¡± She fiddles with the bottle, screwing and unscrewing the cap, as though she¡¯s doing something useful. But nothing¡¯s happening. It achieves nothing. ¡°She didn¡¯t want anything to do with me before,¡± she mutters. ¡°Or with Cara. Or with him. Why should I make her wee here? I don¡¯t even know why he wants her here. It¡¯s been years since she had anything to do with him.¡± ¡°Charlotte¡­¡± I move to stand over her¡­ ¡°¡­ Georgie is James¡¯ daughter.¡± She tries to slide away but I lay hands on the worktop either side of her, caging her between my arms. It¡¯s not often I get heavy with Charlotte, but sometimes¡­ ¡°Don''t you think you''re being unfair to James?¡± Her eyes narrow and I don¡¯t bother trying to keep the disgust out of my voice. ¡°I have to say, Charlotte, I didn''t think you were this small-minded¡­¡± She hisses, raising a hand to me, but I grab her wrist, holding it in mid-air. ¡°¡­ James has been grieving over losing Georgie for as long as I''ve known him. And now, just when he has the perfect opportunity to make up with her again, you behave like this. It¡¯s petty and wilful and downright selfish.¡± ¡°She was horrible to me¡­¡± she snaps¡­ ¡°¡­ When we met her in that clothes store, that time, when she saw I was pregnant, she was just awful. To me. And to him. She didn¡¯t even pretend to be nice. She couldn¡¯t get away fast enough.¡± The problem, of course, is that every word Charlotte says is true¡­ ¡­ but it¡¯s not the point at all¡­ ¡°Charlotte, I realise that Georgie was epically insulting to you, but¡­¡± I press the end of a finger to her chin. ¡°¡­she had just discovered her father''s new wife is a woman younger than she is. Give that news credit for a bit of shock value¡­¡± I pause, but Charlotte remains stony-faced. C¡¯mon, Babe, you¡¯re better than this¡­ ¡­ But her chin juts and her lips press t. I stand away, releasing her. Scratching at my forehead¡­ How the fuck to deal with this? ? ¡°Michael, let me¡­¡± It¡¯s Mitch, cradling Cara. I wave an arm from mother to daughter. ¡°Be my guest.¡± Mitch holds Cara, disying her. ¡°Jenny, listen to me¡­¡± Charlotte¡¯s face is still set, but her head inclines¡­ At least she¡¯s listening¡­ Content ? N?velDrama.Org. Mitch continues, all the while, bouncing Cara gently in her arms. The baby girl gurgles and chuckles. ¡°It is in the nature of things that we love our children more than they love us.¡± Charlotte¡¯s jaw drops. ¡°Mom¡­¡± I think mine does too. ¡°No, listen to me, Jenny¡­¡± Mitch has a set to her jaw I¡¯ve not often seen¡­ ¡°¡­That¡¯s how it is, and how it should be¡­.¡± Mitch moves closer and, in her embrace, Cara burbles and bubbles. ¡°¡­Ask yourself a question. If something happened: a fire, or a car ident¡­ a terrorist attack maybe¡­ and you were faced with the choice, who would you save? Me or Cara?¡± Charlotte¡¯s mouth ps. ¡°Mom, I wouldn¡¯t¡­¡± I look away, not wanting to let my face betray me. The same core of steel as her daughter¡­ ¡°No, Jenny. Don¡¯t argue about it. Answer the question. If your back was against the wall. If you had no other choice, me or Cara, who would you save?¡± Charlotte¡¯s blinking hard, her eyes glossy. ¡°Cara,¡± she whispers. ¡°Of course you would¡­¡± Mitch smiles... ¡°¡­ And that¡¯s as it should be. Cara is your child and you would do anything for her, just as I would for you. But think¡­¡± Cara supported in one arm, she strokes Charlotte¡¯s cheek, tucks a lock of hair behind an ear, ¡°¡­ Georgie is James¡¯ child. I know it upset you when he left us, but of course he had to go after her when she needed help. And of course, he wants her close.¡± All but imperceptibly, Charlotte is trembling. She sucks at her lips. Mitch continues. ¡°How do you think it feels Jenny when, through no fault of your own, you are robbed of your child? You daughter. Your little girl¡­¡± Charlotte¡¯s eyes grow ever wider¡­ ¡°¡­ And when, yearster, the chance to have her backes, wouldn¡¯t you want to take it?¡± Charlotte¡¯s tremble grows. Mitch seems to grind to a halt, but I take over where she left off. ¡°¡­ Charlotte, I¡¯m not a Dad yet, although¡­¡± I grin, trying to ease the tension a little¡­ ¡°¡­ I¡¯m looking forward to it when you¡¯re ready¡­¡± A ghost of a smile curves over her lips¡­ ¡°But I can still imagine what it feels like to be a father. And I can see it in others. Especially in James¡­¡± She blinks, looks down with a small nod. Her intake of breath is trembly. ¡°¡­ We all know he¡¯s not great at showing his feelings. But we all know too, that he has them¡­¡± Her eyes are gleaming¡­ ¡°¡­ I didn¡¯t know James when it happened, the breakdown with his wife, his first wife, his divorce, how it was that Georgie sided with her mother and not him. But I¡¯vee to know him well enough¡­ I¡¯ve seen enough¡­ that I don¡¯t believe it was his fault¡­¡± ¡°Babe¡­¡± I cup her chin. ¡°You''re not doing this for Georgie. I don¡¯t me you for not liking her. Even James admits she was aplete bitch that day. But you are doing it for him. Think on it. Whenever James has known you wanted something, or needed something, he¡¯s has moved heaven and Earth to get it for you¡­¡± I tighten my hold on her chin. ¡°How often has he ever asked anything of you?¡± She swallows, her eyes great, green full moons. ¡°If you don¡¯t let this happen, Babe, you''re just being selfish, unforgivably so. I know you''re upset. But think about it¡­¡± Enough negativity¡­ Give it a positive nt¡­ I steer her face towards Cara. ¡°You gave James one daughter. Perhaps you can help give him the other one.¡± Her breath shudders and, against the grip of my hand, she nods. I release my hold on her face. ¡°Yes?¡± She nods again, more positively. ¡°Yes¡­ I''ve behaved badly, haven''t I?¡± ¡°It''s not been one of your finer moments, no.¡± From behind, a small sound of movement: It¡¯s Richard, watching in silence from the doorway. ¡°Did you hear that?¡± I ask. ¡°Every word.¡± ¡°And what do you think?¡± ¡°I think James deserves better than he¡¯s been getting.¡± Charlotte looks down, tying a lock of hair in knots. ¡°Just give the woman a chance,¡± I say. ¡°Try to get to know her. That''s all I''m asking. Perhaps it will work out. Perhaps it won¡¯t. But give James a fair chance to win his daughter back.¡± ¡°I will.¡± ***** Chapter 11 Chapter 11 Charlotte Where is he? My Master is not in the lounge or the dining room. I don¡¯t find him in his office or any of the usual ces. Outside? In this weather? I finally find him in the stables, currying mud from Oliver. He doesn¡¯t see me as Ie in behind him and I halt at the doorway¡­ Does he want to talk to me? Oliver blows through his nostrils as theb circles over neck and nk. Charlie leans across, nuzzling at my Master, then nickers softly, ears flicking forward as I enter. My Master turns, but as he sees me, disys no pleasure. ¡°Charlotte.¡± And he returns to grooming Oliver, this time using a brush on the heavy winter coat, clearing dirt and dust from the thick hair. ¡°Master, I¡¯m sorry. I came to apologise...¡± He pauses his movement, then restarts. ¡°Thank you for that, at least¡­¡± ¡°¡­ and to ask if you might like to invite Georgie to dinner this evening?¡± He ceases his brushing, sets the brush to one side then turns to face me. Legs astride, arms folded, he¡¯s still not smiling. ¡°And what brought about this change of heart?¡± ¡°Michael spoke to me. So did Mom. They said¡­ They said I¡¯m being selfish. And that there¡¯s nothing you could want more than¡­¡± I can¡¯t look at him¡­ ¡°Even Richard said¡­¡± I stir a ke of hay across the floor with my foot. ¡°I don¡¯t know what else to say. I¡¯m sorry. I was wrong. I want to try to put it right.¡± And he¡¯s there, his arms around me, pushing me hard back against the ster, his mouth on my own. His grip on me grows tighter. Setting his face by mine, cheek on cheek, his breath rasps loud. His chest heaves. One hand pins the side of my head, holding me still. After a long minute, he rxes, kisses me. ¡°Thank you, Charlotte.¡± He stands back, palming my cheek, looking me in the face, and my Master is smiling at me again. The words stumble out of me, a stato tumble. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so sorry.¡± ¡°Shhh¡­¡± He presses a finger to my lips. ¡°It¡¯s done. It¡¯s over.¡± Then he reces the finger with his lips, brushing over the skin. He stands back, lips curving, eyes crinkling. Holding me at the shoulders, ¡°What shall we have for this meal? You choose.¡± My mind nks over. I can¡¯t think of a single thing I want to eat. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­ I can¡¯t think of anything.¡± He chuckles. ¡°A likely story.¡± ¡°What does Georgie like? You could cook that.¡± He blinks. ¡°I could, couldn¡¯t I¡­¡± He considers for a moment. ¡°You know, I¡®ve no idea. When she was a little girl, she always liked beans and sausages, but she¡¯s grown up a bit since then.¡± ¡°How about grown-up beans and sausages?¡± He snaps his fingers,ughing again, real joy there now. ¡°You¡¯re right. Do you like cassoulet?¡± I shake my head. ¡°I¡¯ve no idea, Master. What is cassoulet?¡± ¡°French sausage and bean casserole¡­¡± His gaze goes distant¡­ ¡°Or fabada¡­ That¡¯s the Spanish version. Come on¡­¡± He grabs my hand, towing me towards the door¡­ ¡°You can help me in the kitchen. As we make our way back to the house, he¡¯s muttering to himself¡­ ¡°Do I have any chorizo in the store¡­?¡± I don¡¯t have a clue if he has any chorizo. But it doesn¡¯t matter. My Master is smiling again. ***** James ¡°So, what are we having?¡± It¡¯s Richard, with the air of having followed his nose. ¡°Fabada,¡± I say, brandishing my chorizo, ¡°with some traditional Spanish tapas and apaniments.¡± He leans over my casserole pot, examining the contents, sniffing the steam. ¡°And fabada is what, exactly?¡± ¡°The Spanish answer to cassoulet...¡± His brows rise¡­ ¡°Ah, yes. An excellent dish. I had it in the south of France on holiday some years ago. Quite a rich dish. Heavy on the beans and pork as I recall.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the one. Spanish fabada is a bit different¡­ I have most of the ingredients, chorizo, belly pork, and I can get away with ck pudding instead of morcis. I don¡¯t have the authentic Jamon Iberica, but Parma ham will do.¡± Richard¡¯s face is zing¡­ Am I talking too much? Probably¡­ ¡°¡­ And the apaniments?¡± His gaze sweeps my work area. ¡°Alioli and a tomato dip with fresh crusty bread, a potato sd, olives¡­¡± Belongs to ? n0velDrama.Org. His gaze wanders the kitchen. ¡°Sounds like hearty fare.¡± ¡°So it is. So it is. Perfect for miserable January winter days.¡± He stands, hands in pockets, looking a bit helpless. Or a bit lost¡­ ¡°Can I help?¡± he asks. Looking for an excuse to hang out? ¡°Absolutely. Where¡¯s Beth?¡± ¡°Asleep. She¡¯s exhausted. I¡¯ll be d when Adam¡¯s safely born and then we can all rx again.¡± ¡°Apart from the small matter of not getting a full night¡¯s sleep for the next two years?¡± He pulls a face, then, ¡°What can I do?¡± ¡°Peel some potatoes for a start.¡± Richard havers. ¡°And the potatoes are¡­?¡± He swings, looking around the kitchen¡­ At the fridge¡­ The table¡­ The dishwasher¡­ When did hest cook a meal for himself? Has he ever cooked a meal? ¡°Back of the wood store. You¡¯ll find a couple of sacksful out there¡­¡± ¡°Ah¡­¡± He tilts his chin with a roll to the eyes that suggests that, whatever Richard¡¯s financial acumen, he¡¯s sailing foreign seas. I point to one of myrger pans. ¡°If you fill that up, there should be plenty for mash and roasts tomorrow and we can give Hickman a good meal too.¡± He straightens his jacket like some medieval knight girding his armour then, pan in hand, heads out. ¡°I may be some time¡­¡± Shouldn¡¯t be more than a minute or two¡­ After a quarter of an hour, I¡¯m about to send out search parties when he returns with the pan filled. Mud smears his hands, streaks down his jacket and circles previously white cuffs. ¡°Sorry I was a while. It was very dark in there.¡± I point. ¡°There¡¯re aprons hanging on the back of the door.¡± ***** Chapter 12 Chapter 12 Richard handles the veg knife like a kid with his first wax crayon, not so much peeling the potatoes as hacking chunks from the outside. Trying not to be obvious about it, I watch the performance for a few seconds¡­ He¡¯s going to slice his thumb if he keeps that up¡­ ¡­. then taking a peeler from the cutlery drawer, I pluck the knife from his hand and rece it with the peeler. ¡°Try that instead.¡± He fumbles at the potato, drawing off a sliver of peel. ¡°Ah, yes. That¡¯s much easier.¡± Still, I keep half an eye on what he¡¯s doing. ¡°Not that one,¡± I say, pointing to the potato in his hand. ¡°It¡¯s green.¡± ¡°Oh¡­¡± Richard stares at the tuber. ¡°There were a few green ones at the top of the sack. Is something wrong with them?¡± ¡°You can poison yourself with green potatoes. That¡¯s why you store them in the dark. So they don¡¯t go green.¡± ¡°Seriously?¡± Richard stares at the spud in his hand as though he¡¯s never seen one before. ¡°Poisonous? Potatoes? But I eat them every day.¡± ¡°Yes, seriously. They¡¯re from the same family of nts as Bedonna, the Snaceae. The green parts contain a toxin called snine.¡± Richard regards the tuber in his hand with a sceptical eye. ¡°Bedonna? Prettydy?¡± ¡°Medieval women used it cosmetically to erge their pupils. The alkaloids that achieve the effect are some of the more effective toxins out there.¡± Still, he looks dubious. ¡°Take a look at a potato nt when it¡¯s in flower,¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯ll see the resemnce then. In any case, don¡¯t add green potatoes to the meal.¡± ¡°How dangerous are they?¡± ¡°In truth, for you and me, not very. You¡¯d have to eat a lot of green potatoes to do yourself any real damage. But¡­¡± I raise a finger. ¡°Snine can be dangerous in pregnant women. It¡¯s been linked to spina bifida.¡± Richard¡¯s mouth drops open, then striding across the kitchen, he toes open the bin and drops the green potato inside. ***** Michael In the kitchen, there¡¯s no sign of James, but Scruffy and Bear sit in one corner, snouts lifted, noses twitching in the direction of the hob. A pan tters its lid against the steam, and I lift the lid to some dark red sauce simmering at the bottom,rge bubbles glopping and redissolving into the surface. Chunks of sausage and something- or-other-else surface then vanish, nudging aside some kind of beans. The smell of fresh bread competes with garlic. It smells divine. Jameses in, carrying a bottle. ¡°Ah, Michael. Good timing. You want to open the wine? Set it to warm¡­ I¡¯ll serve the meal in the dining room, but we can sit in here while the food¡¯s cooking.¡± He offers me the bottle, then hovers, sucking at his teeth. ¡°That¡¯s Rioja, to go with the casserole. But perhaps a bottle of cava too? What do you think?¡± ¡°Good idea. This is a celebration after all, isn¡¯t it.¡± He beams. ¡°Course it is. Back in a mo.¡± And he vanishes out again. Scruffy stares fixedly at me, then transfers his gaze to the hob. Bear isn¡¯t so subtle. He simply stares at the pan, long strands of drool swing from his chops. I peek a look out of the door and then with the thirty seconds I reckon I have before James¡¯ return, I fork a sausage, bright orange, scented of chilli, out of the pot. Blowing on it, I break it in two and toss half to each of the dogs. The two halves vanish mid-air with twinned Chops! leaving on a scent of fragrant steam. Why just them? Quickly, I fish out another sausage. Just as I¡¯m blowing on it, the door swings, James strolls in, a bottle of cava in each hand, and I jam the whole thing into my mouth¡­ Fuck! ¡­ frantically blowing air over my scalded tongue. James doesn¡¯t look at me as he puts the bottles into the fridge. Then, stacking tes and cutlery onto a tray, ¡°Perhaps when you¡¯ve finished donating our dinner to Scruffy and Dogzi there, you would like to lay the table?¡± ¡°Um¡­ yes¡­ sure.¡± I swallow down against my blistered mouth. Fishing a corkscrew from the drawer, I wrestle the cork out of the Rioja bottle... ¡°Nice choice by the way.¡± ¡­ then set it on the hearth to bathe in the heat of the glowing ashes. James stirs his pot, pping a palm as his spectacles mist over. ¡°Choice? Yes, I thought Georgie would appreciate a Spanish meal. We visited my boyhood home several times when she was small, but I¡¯m not sure she¡¯s been there since.¡± ¡°Yes, of course. But what I meant was, your email to Charlotte.¡± ¡°Email?¡± James swipes his lenses clear with a bit of kitchen roll. ¡°What email? Damn!¡± and he makes a dash for the oven where smoke is spilling from the back. N?velDrama.Org content rights. mming the door down he reaches in, then curses, standing back to suck his fingers before running them under the cold tap. Snatching up a towel I pull out a tray of steaming and slightly singed baguettes. ¡°They¡¯re fine. They¡¯ve only just caught.¡± Butter pools onto the tray. ¡°Is there anything on the menu for this evening that¡¯s not cooked with garlic?¡± ¡°Yes, Crema Catna.¡± James inspects the baguettes with a critical eye. ¡°They¡¯ll do. I¡¯ll slice them up and give anything that¡¯s too ck to the dogs. ¡°What¡¯s Crema Catna?¡± ¡°Cr¨¨me br?l¨¦e to you. What were you saying about an email?¡± ¡°That corset she¡¯s bought¡­ Great choice.¡± ¡°Oh, yes¡­¡± He scrapes charcoal from crust¡­ ¡°Yes, she did send me an email¡­ Something-or-other she¡¯d bought¡­¡± ¡°But she told me¡­¡± Richard pops his head around the door, a phone pressed to his ear. ¡°James, I have Olivia on from Purchasing. She''s asking about the paperwork for the permissions for the trench drains on D site. Is she good to ce the orders?¡± James holds out his hand for the phone, snapping his fingers. ¡°Olivia? I spoke with Josh at the city hall last week. He gave me the verbal permissions at the time. The paperwork should havee through by now... No? Hold on a mo. Let me check my messages.¡± Then a hand over the mouthpiece¡­ ¡°Back in five. Can you keep an eye on the casserole, please. Make sure that doesn¡¯t burn too.¡± ¡°Sure.¡± James leaves the room, still talking into the phone. Richard follows. Wooden spoon in hand, I lift the lid and give the stew a stir. From off-the-field, a groan, then a whimper. As I look their way, Scruffy shifts his bottom, wagging his stumpy tail. Bear, towering over his, pricks his ears and gives me another groan. Leaning back to check no-one¡¯s by the door, I spoon out another sausage. ***** Chapter 13 Chapter 13 Richard James stirs his bean and sausage concoction. It¡¯s bubbling, smelling good. Then, heading for the larder, he returns with olive oil, eggs and garlic. Elizabeth and Charlotte sit together with Mitch, and I exchange chit-chat with Michael. Humming to himself, James cracks a garlic bulb into its cloves, smashing each one with the t of his knife onto a wooden board. Skin picked out, the pulp goes into his mortar. Pestle in hand, he¡¯s just starting to grind when the front-door knocker raps. James turns as though to make to head for the door, but I wave him back. ¡°I¡¯ll get it.¡± At the door, Georgie waits, a wine bottle in one hand, a bunch of daffodils in the other. ¡°Hi. I think my Dad¡¯s expecting me?¡± ¡°He is, yes, Georgie. Everyone¡¯s in the kitchen. Come on through.¡± In the kitchen, she marches to the table, thrusting the flowers at Charlotte, her words spilling out in a rush. ¡°I wanted to apologise to you properly. I behaved dreadfully the first time we met. I wish I hadn¡¯t. I''m sorry.¡± Charlotte gives a tentative smile. ¡°That''s okay. I think maybe I over-reacted the other day. It must have been a shock for you, meeting me that first time. Here, sit down...¡± She gestures to the next chair. ¡°Why don¡¯t we get to know each other, instead of making assumptions. Would you like some tea? Or coffee maybe?¡± ¡°Coffee, please... Oh¡­ ¡°Georgie raises fingers to her mouth, ncing across to James¡­ ¡°unless it''s that dreadful stuff Dad drinks? That stuff you coat roads with.¡± Charlotteughs. ¡°We don¡¯t use it on the roads now. But I think Michael¡¯s got a bucket in the woodshed for clearing the hotel drains.¡± From his spot by the counter, pestle in hand, James pauses from grinding garlic. ¡°I''ll make a fresh pot.¡± ¡°It¡¯s alright, James¡­¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯ll do it. If you make it, we¡¯ll just have another supply for Michael to asphalt the shed roof.¡± ***** James Georgie clutches her coffee in cupped palms, her body rigid. Her eyes slide to the carry-cot next to Charlotte. ¡°Um¡­ can I see her? Is that alright?¡± Charlotte stiffens, then rxes, a little at least. ¡°I suppose.¡± She flips back a cover, but hovers close as Georgie stoops over the cot, looking at the sleeping Cara. ¡°I never had a sister before.¡± Charlotte doesn¡¯tment, but I move closer. My two daughters¡­ Together for the first time¡­ Georgie nces up. ¡°She looks like you, Dad.¡± ¡°And you,¡± I say. ¡°But there¡¯s a touch of red in her hair too. She¡¯s inherited that from her mother.¡± Georgie nods, then returns to her seat, coffee mug in her hands again, looking across the table. ¡°So, you¡¯re Michael? Is that right?¡± Her words are bright, and she smiles as she speaks. ¡°You own the hotel?¡± How¡¯s he going to handle this? Things being as they are, I¡¯ve not told Georgie about my ¡®family arrangements¡¯ with Charlotte and Michael. I¡¯ll have to do it at some point, but now¡¯s not the time. Sailing foreign waters here¡­ Michael settles for nd politeness. ¡°That¡¯s right. Along with Charlotte here, of course.¡± ¡°Charlotte?¡± Georgie gives her a startled nce. ¡°Oh¡­ so¡­ you¡¯re business partners then?¡± Michael easy smile falters then softens again. ¡°Yes, partners.¡± ¡­ with a few icebergs to negotiate¡­ ¡°So, my Dad and Charlotte live here. You¡¯re what? A family friend?¡± Michael pauses again. ¡°Something like that, yes.¡± How much is it bothering him? ¡°Thank you for letting me use one of your rooms, after¡­ after what happened.¡± ¡°No problem, Georgie.¡± But his eyes flick to mine, eyelids drooping in the smallest of messages¡­ Don¡¯t worry¡­ and his easy smile is back. A fragrant smell drifts from the hob and the pan lid rattles. ¡°¡¯Scuse me,¡± I say. ¡°I need to check the meal.¡± The fabada ising along nicely, the surface blup-blupping, but it needs longer for the beans to soften. I give it a quick stir, then reach for a knife to check if the potatoes are cooked through. In the background, Georgie is talking again,ughter jostling with annoyance in her voice. ¡°Doesn''t it bother you when he does that?¡± What¡¯s she talking about? Prodding at the potatoes with my knifepoint, I watch over the top of my spectacles. Charlotte frowns. ¡°Does what bother me?¡± ¡°When Dad takes over the kitchen like that.¡± Charlotte shrugs. ¡°Why should it? He likes cooking¡­¡± She looks towards me and I quickly look down into my pan, sliding the knife in¡­ Another five minutes¡­ N?velD(ram)a.?rg owns this content. Charlotte¡¯s still talking¡­ ¡°¡­and I don¡¯t mind. It¡¯s not as though I don¡¯t have plenty else to keep me busy. And besides, my Ma¡­ James is a much better cook than I am.¡± My Jade-Eyes¡¯ voice is calm and her face neutral. Too calm¡­ Too neutral¡­ Georgie rattles on. ¡°Mom always used to say Dad tried to be in charge of everything, including the kitchen.¡± Michael¡¯s mouth twitches and he looks away. Charlotte puts up a show of interest. ¡°Your Mom likes cooking? She¡¯s a good cook?¡± Yeah¡­ right¡­ ¡°Well, no¡­¡± Georgie gulps coffee. ¡°¡­but that''s not the point.¡± Charlotte¡¯s head tilts, enunciating her words, all glints and bright edges. ¡°Surely it is?¡± ¡°But Mom said¡­¡± Enough¡­ I take the coffee pot across. ¡°A refill, Georgie. And maybe you should pay more attention to what your mother does than what she says.¡± Georgie''s mouth pinches tight. ***** Chapter 14 Chapter 14 The meal goes smoothly enough, albeit with a lot of negotiating the rapids and under-currents of good manners and courtesy. Beth¡¯s pregnancy proves a safe topic of discussion, with none of the pitfalls and booby traps lying in wait if we talk about anything closer to home. Mitch is a star, repeatedly shifting the conversation back onto the imminent birth of Beth¡¯s and Richard¡¯s new son. Later, in a quiet moment with Michael, ¡°My apologies,¡± I say. ¡°Tact isn¡¯t one of Georgie¡¯s virtues. It never was.¡± His answering smile is wry. ¡°Like father, like daughter.¡± ***** Klempner Two weeks and¡­ nothing¡­ Not a whisper. Nothing I can find. Sitting in the corner of Antonio¡¯s, I¡¯ve spent a pleasant afternoon, but frustration gnaws at me. Hickman reports that all is well, but¡­ Has Juliana given up? ? Not fucking likely¡­ Antonio¡¯s cafe has be somewhat of a routine. Misgivings nudge me, reminding me that I shouldn¡¯t develop such habits¡­ ¡­ Making myself vulnerable¡­ But, with nothing to go on, what the hell else can I do? On the other hand, there has to be some reason for the address to have been used in Finchby¡¯s invoices. Perhaps I just need to wait. But what am I waiting for? How long can I keep doing this? Still, in the meantime, while I wait for my mystery to unravel, the old man is genuinely goodpany. And also, a mine of local information. Finishing a cup of the excellent coffee, I consult a local guide,paring my list of addresses to a local map, looking for some pattern, seeking inspiration¡­ ess to road¡­ ess to the ports¡­ Whereabouts of police stations¡­ Proximity to the poorer end of town¡­ the red-light district¡­ schools¡­ Nothing hangs together. Antonio materialises at my elbow, nodding down to my empty coffee cup. ¡°Mais caf¨¦, Senhor Hughes?¡± ¡°Sim. Thank you.¡± I slide my cup across the table, and he nces at my guide. ¡°Senhor Hughes¡­¡± He stabs a finger at my page. ¡°You not go this ce. Is bad ce for nice English cavalheiro like you.¡± ¡°Realmente?¡± Then, remembering that I ¡®can¡¯t speak thenguage¡¯¡­ ¡°What¡¯s the problem?¡± ¡°Is ce very bad. Many bad men there. And badder woman.¡± My ears prick. ¡°Woman? Que tipo de bad men and woman?¡± The old man grimaces then pulls a chair across to sit close by me. His voice lowers and he leans in close. ¡°One time, since many years, this city¡­.¡± He sweeps his arms out in circles all around¡­ ¡°¡­all bad ce. Much¡­¡± He falters then holds out two fingers making a Bang Bang gesture¡­ ¡°And much¡­¡± Invisible knife gripped in his hand, he mimes a stabbing. ¡°Much violence,¡± I say. ¡°Much danger.¡± ¡°Sim¡­¡± He nods vigorously. ¡°Sim, muita viol¨ºncia. Muito perigoso.¡± ¡°Cannabis?¡± I smoke an imaginary cigarette and again he nods. Then I mime injecting myself¡­ ¡°Coca¨ªna¡­? E outras drogas?¡± ¡°Sim. Drogas.¡± He leans closer yet. ¡°¡­And the womans para prostitutas.¡± He takes the book from me, closes it, then ps it down on the table. ¡°Bad ce, Senhor. And bad men.¡± He wags a finger at me. ¡°You no go there.¡± ¡°You said bad woman too? A prostitute?¡± He looks down, then up again, nodding. ¡°Prostitutes, sim. But h¨¢ sim one bad woman especialmente.¡± ¡°The bad woman. What she do?¡± ¡°Senhor Hughes, since twenty year, Sao Paulo bad ce. Then, since ten year, Sao Paulo good city. People not die¡­¡± Fingers spread, he rocks his hand¡­ ¡°¡­ Not so many. Bad men gone. Not like other cities. Since two years, bad men here again. And this woman is baddest. She is¡­¡± He splutters for a moment¡­ ¡°She same as prostitute. She has man. Then other man. And first man, he dead¡­¡± This is sounding deeply familiar¡­ Juliana¡­ ¡°This woman, her name? What does she look like?¡± Antonio stares at me nkly. I try again. ¡°The bad woman¡­ A mulher m¨¢¡­ Her name? Nome?¡± Palms upheld, he shrugs. ¡°Ningu¨¦m sabe. ¨¦ um mist¨¦rio.¡± ¡°A mystery? What does she look like?¡± Again, that nk stare¡­ I stand, raising my hand to my head¡­ ¡°Tall?¡± ¡­ Then lower¡­ ¡°Short? Alta? Baixo? Loiras? Morena?¡± Again, the shrug. But he waves a forefinger at me, then at my city guide, repeating, ¡°Bad ce. Bad people. You not go there. I show you nice ce for nice English turista man. You go this ce.¡± N?velD(ram)a.?rg owns this content. He takes up the guide, riffling through. ¡°You like o museu de arte, Senhor Hughes? We have many artista famoso there. And we have parques¡­¡± He nods vigorously¡­ ¡°¡­muito bonitos¡­¡± I let him ramble on, nodding as he jabs fingers at ces where ¡®Nice turista man is safe.¡¯ But my mind¡¯s on overdrive. I¡¯ve missed a trick: an obvious trick: ten minutester I¡¯ve signed up for subscriptions on a variety of Brazilian newspapers, or at least, their English editions. I can read Portuguese, but it doesn¡¯te so naturally as reading in English. I spend more of my time interpreting thenguage than I do understanding the content. But now, delving into the newspaper archives, I know what I¡¯m looking for¡­ I tap in an experimental search term¡­ Sao Paulo organised crime¡­ Then as an afterthought, add, assassination¡­ My screen blinks: 139,000, 000 results, starting with a Wikipedia article Hmmm¡­ Narrow it down¡­ I tap in another search. Names of criminal gangs sao paulo¡­ 57,600,000 results, this time, but some more useful headlines¡­ ¡­ Brazil¡¯srgest gang is enticing recruits with a monthly¡­. ¡­ The Evolution of the Most Lethal Criminal Organization in¡­ ¡­ Brazil Officials Link Rising Sao Paulo Violence to Gang Conflict¡­ Still not specific enough¡­ Names of criminal gang leaders sao paulo¡­ 27,600,000 hits¡­ Wikipedia again¡­ but this times with names. Sucking at my cheeks, I tap Images¡­ There, a photograph, linked to a newspaper article¡­ Assassination of Brazil¡¯s Top Gang Leader¡­ Attending Brother¡¯s Funeral¡­ A grainy shot of a funeral home, stony-faced men and women gathered outside¡­ One of the women, her arm hooked through a man¡¯s arm, blowing into a handkerchief, her face partly hidden¡­ I can¡¯t be sure. Fuck! I tap the image link, just on the off chance it might take me somewhere useful¡­ Then, as the image clicks to a video feed from the funeral home, my jaw drops. A streaming feed? A webcast for a funeral? Seriously? A crowd mills around, sipping drinks, nibbling hors d''oeuvres. But once I get past my attack of wtf? I¡¯m not interested. Scanning the crowd, I search for the woman from the photo. After a minute or so, I set the yback to x2. There she is¡­ Weeping into her hanky¡­ Real tears? Who knows? Her eyes¡­ and her true expression remains hidden behind sunsses. But it¡¯s all there. The not-too-convincing wig, blonde this time¡­ the heavy make-up¡­ ¡­ Some poor bastard she¡¯s with wraps arms around her, providingfort to the poor bereaved senhora. Wonder who he is? That¡¯s his life-expectancy down the pan. I pinch out the screen, scissoring open the image with thumb and forefinger, zooming of the woman¡¯s face. Gotcha, Juliana¡­ Now all I have to do is find you. ***** Chapter 15 Chapter 15 James I watch from the doorway: my Jade-Eyes, in the nursery with the daughter she gave me, rocking her, cooing over her, talking to her. She doesn¡¯t see me, engrossed with Cara. Our baby goos and gurgles at her mother, a tiny hand reaching for a long copper lock of Charlotte¡¯s hair, swinging loose draping over Cara¡¯s creamy wrap. So beautiful¡­ Both so beautiful¡­ I think Charlotte must have just given Cara her feed. She still has the towel over her shoulder she uses when she¡¯s burping her. Even from here, the towelling looks damp. The top she¡¯s wearing, not quite buttoned up, is stained too. As I watch, Charlotte rises from the rocking chair her mother painted so beautifully for her,ys Cara in her cot and brushes herself down. As she turns to drop the shoulder towel into aundry basket, she sees me. ¡°Oh!¡± And then sheughs. ¡°Sorry, Master. I didn¡¯t see you there.¡± ¡°I was enjoying watching you.¡± She looks towards the cot, eyes alight. ¡°I know I¡¯m her mother, but I don¡¯t think there¡¯s ever been anything so wonderful ever.¡± I pull her into my arms. ¡°You¡¯re wrong there. Cara¡¯s mother takes first ce on that one. But Cara runs a close second.¡± She yields into my embrace, then making a face, pulls away. ¡°Um¡­ better let me change. Or you¡¯ll smell of cheese all day too.¡± Still smiling, she strips off her soiled blouse, tossing it at the basket. The heavy-grade maternity bra follows. She lets out air. ¡°It¡¯s wonderful doing this. But I¡¯ll be happier when I can put on clean clothes and stay that way. It would be nice to feel sexy again.¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you put on something pretty now. Cara will sleep for a few hours at least. Just be ready to go back into ¡®Mom mode¡¯ when she wakes. Meanwhile, we can have a ss of wine down by the fire. You, me and Michael. We¡¯ll leave the baby monitor switched on. It¡¯ll be just like old times.¡± She dimples. ¡°Sounds great. Actually, I did get some new clothes. Just give me a minute. I¡¯ll show you.¡± She darts out of the room. I make to follow but she ps hands back at me. ¡°No, just wait there. It¡¯s a surprise.¡± Charlotte getting enthusiastic about clothes is an event rare enough to rate headlines. I¡¯m happy to humour her. From the bedroom next door, drawers and wardrobe doors bang and tter. Mitches up the stairs, heading straight for the nursery. As she sees me, ¡°Jenny?¡± ¡°Wants to show me some new clothes.¡± She arches a brow. ¡°And when is the rain of frogs due?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll let you know.¡± Charlotte reappears, beaming. ¡°Isn¡¯t it lovely.¡± Belongs to ? n0velDrama.Org. I wind my finger in a circle and she gives me a twirl. In shades of warm brown and dark green, the fabric of the skirt is heavy: winter-weight but cut to re, swishing around her legs in an elegant swirl. The pullover seems in at first, but as Charlotte moves, the knit is of someplicated pattern giving a subtle knot-work effect over the front. It smooths over her full bosom and narrowing waist, emphasising everything she has. She pauses, sucking at her lip as she waits for my verdict. My Jade-Eyes¡­ ¡°Yes, it is lovely. And it suits you very well.¡± She dimples. ¡°I hoped you¡¯d like it.¡± Mitch Hmmms¡­ hooking a finger into the back of the pullover, then arching the brow again as she reads thebel. ¡°First time I¡¯ve seen you pay for designer wear¡­¡± She stands back, appraising her daughter. ¡°¡­ But it was money well spent. As your figure shrinks, I¡¯ll be able to alter the skirt, so it shrinks with you.¡± Charlotte beams. ¡°Really? That¡¯d be great. I did pay a lot, so I¡¯d like to get some wear out of the outfit.¡± ¡°Ah-ha.¡± Mitch examines the pullover, feeling the yarn between thumb and forefinger. ¡°The top should shrink a bit with you too, but right now it¡¯s making a good show of your assets.¡± Her eyes dance, flicking down to Charlotte¡¯s maternity-inted bust. She blushes, hugging arms around herself. ¡°A¡­ Mom.¡± From her cot, Cara burbles and all heads swing her way. Over ten seconds, her burbles turn to cries and Charlotte is already picking her up as they rise to full-blown wails. Charlotte jogs her up and down... ¡°Shhh¡­ it¡¯s alright, Baby. Shhh¡­¡± ¡­ patting her on the back. Mitch holds out a warning hand¡­ ¡°Jenny¡­¡± But Cara abruptly flushes bright red, opens her mouth and spews. Milky vomit fountains over Charlotte, splurging over her shoulder and down her back. Another geyser-like burp, and a second shower sshes over her front, soaking the pullover then dripping glutinously down over the skirt. Mitch offers out hands, ¡°Here, I¡¯ll take her.¡± A final micro-burp: Cara gurgles happily then promptly falls asleep in Grandma¡¯s arms. Her entire output has ended up over Charlotte. Her pink onesie is still fluffy and clean. Mitch wipes her face with a tissue then pops her back in her bed. Charlotte stands, hands held away from her body, dripping with puke, stinking, and looking like a kind of whited-out version of Carrie in the final scene of the movie. Creamy vomit is sshed over her hands and face. Her designer sweater is sopping and the brand-new skirt is, if not ruined, at least unusable again before a visit to the dry cleaners. She bursts into tears. ¡°Hey,e on,¡± I say, trying tough it away. ¡°It¡¯s not the end of the world.¡± I reach to touch her but she jerks her arm away. ¡°Leave me alone. Don¡¯t touch me!¡± Mitch¡¯s voice is calm. ¡°Jenny, it happens with babies. Don¡¯t get so upset¡­¡± ¡°Upset? Upset!¡± Charlotte¡¯s voice rises to a screech, her face colouring up. Mitch backs away. ¡°¡­ It¡¯s the first nice thing I¡¯ve worn in months! I didn¡¯t even have chance to get out of the room with it.¡± I step between the pair of them, hands held up catingly. ¡°Charlotte, it¡¯s not a disaster. We¡¯ll get the clothesundered. I¡¯ll buy you a new outfit. Really, it¡¯s not a problem. Now calm down.¡± Again, she pulls away from me, chin quivering. ¡°I never feel sexy anymore. I¡¯m the size of a whale and¡­¡± ¡°Charlotte!¡± My tone is sharp and Mitch gives me a warning look, nodding towards the cot. Lowering my voice, ¡°Charlotte, you chose to do this. Yes, motherhood has its ups and downs. Five minutes ago, you were telling me you¡¯d never known anything so wonderful.¡± Her voice trembles. ¡°That was before I was covered in barf.¡± She looks down at herself, muttering¡­¡± What I paid for this¡­¡± Mitch turns brisk. ¡°Jenny, try to see the funny side. You just have to get used to it I¡¯m afraid¡­¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to get fucking used to being covered in fucking vomit!¡± And she barges past both me and Mitch and out of the room. ***** Chapter 16 Chapter 16 Richard Despite everything, everything that¡¯s happened, everything that might happen¡­ ¡­ Despite the feeling of waiting¡­ ¡­. What¡¯s Klempner doing? ? Who knows? Hickman? I suppose he¡¯d tell us if he thought there was a problem¡­ ¡­ life feels almost normal. I could work at the office, but with Elizabeth due any time now, I prefer to work here. ¡°Ross, could you deliver these back to Francis, please. I¡¯ve emailed the scanned documents, but she needs my original signatures on some of them.¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± He takes the files. ¡°Is there anything for Mr Alexanders?¡± ¡°James? I¡¯m not sure. Let¡¯s go ask him.¡± ¡°I think you¡¯ll find him in the kitchen, sir.¡± Ross shifts from one foot to the other. ¡°I didn¡¯t like to disturb him.¡± Really? James is indeed in the kitchen. There¡¯s not too much doubt of it. A trail of banging and cuss-words leads us right to him. And as Ross and Ie down the hall from one direction, Michael is approaching from the other. He jerks his head at the kitchen door. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°No idea.¡± Inside, James¡¯ back is turned to us. Jacket hanging over the back of a chair, shirt sleeves rolled up, and be-aproned, he ms down some doughy mass on the counter-top, sending a small cloud of flour billowing. To one side, Scruffy sits, nose aimed upwards. To the other side: Bear, also sitting but at eye- level with the work surface. James spins the dough, turns it, presses in with the heel of both hands, then lifts and ps it down again with what looks to me like unnecessary violence. Michael raises brows at me and I shrug. Taking my life in my hands, ¡°James, I was looking for you.¡± ¡°Yes?¡± He speaks through clenched teeth. ¡°What can I do for you, Richard?¡± ¡°Ross here wants to know if there¡¯s anything you need delivering to Francis?¡± He pauses, stares into space¡­ ¡°No,¡± he says after a moment. ¡°I¡¯ve emailed everything that¡¯s needed to the parties concerned.¡± Lifting the dough once more, he spins it, ms it down, then leans in, kneading hard with the heel of his hands. Ross¡¯ face is very straight. ¡°That should make excellent bread, Mr Alexanders. Always a good choice when you want to work off some¡­ energy.¡± James scowls at him, then cracks a smile. ¡°You¡¯re right. My apologies. Ross. I was sounding off my temper.¡± Ross shes brows. ¡°Better bread than pastry. Or people.¡± File in hand he turns for the door. ¡°I¡¯ll be off then.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll see you out.¡± Michael follows him, returning a minuteter. ¡°What¡¯s griping you, James?¡± Shaping the dough into a round, he raises eyes ceilingward. ¡°Charlotte is.¡± ¡°Why? What¡¯s she doing?¡± ¡°Bad-tempered. Snappy. Rude to me. Rude to her mother too, which is what really annoys me¡­¡± ¡°What triggered it?¡± N?velDrama.Org content rights. ¡°Cara decided to do her Exorcist impression over her. Fountained about a gallon of her lunch back over Charlotte¡¯s brand-new outfit¡­ It was unfortunate, but her reaction was off the scale. I¡¯m not letting her get away with it¡­¡± Michael¡¯s chin jerks up. ¡°You¡¯re going to punish her?¡± ¡°Oh, yes¡­¡± Jamesys the round of dough in a bowl, fishes a clean tea towel out from a drawer and covers the bowl. ¡°¡­ Her behaviour waspletely uneptable.¡± His gaze travels beyond us. Michael and I turn to follow it. Charlotte stands in the doorway¡­ She must have heard him¡­ ¡­ Her head droops. Her shoulders are hunched. Yup¡­ that¡¯s a guilty look¡­ James rinses floury hands under the tap. ¡°Charlotte are you going to behave yourself? Did you n to stop with me and your mother? Or do you intend to be rude to everyone in the house before the day¡¯s out?¡± She folds her arms into a tight knot. ¡°Sorry, Master. You¡¯re right. I¡¯ll¡­¡± Her words trickle up and she shuffles her feet. Michael strides across, wraps his arms around her, rocking her. His blue eyes intense, he looks between James and Charlotte. ¡°I think it¡¯s blindingly obvious what you need. Both of you.¡± The pair exchange nces, then turn to him, brows furrowing Michael¡¯s eyes crease at the corners then roll to eye-point downward to the basement. ¡°I thought so the last time we made love. It was wonderful. It always is. But you two¡­¡± His forefinger waves between them like a metronome¡­ ¡°¡­ both need more than that.¡± James lets out air then, face softening, cups Charlotte¡¯s cheek. ¡°Aaahhh¡­ We can always rely on your other husband to speak sense, can¡¯t we.¡± She dimples. His tone turns brisk. ¡°Michael, why don¡¯t you go put the heating on downstairs. Charlotte, I think we should arrange a¡­ date¡­ for this evening.¡± He shes brows at me. ¡°Richard, I assume that you and Beth would like to join us?¡± ***** Chapter 17 Chapter 17 Charlotte My Master was right. Michael makes a lot of sense. As we make our way along the hall to the basement door, I¡¯m growing warm inside, and Pussy is purring. Michael apanies Beth, helping her along. My Master and Richard march, side by side. N?velDrama.Org (C) content. Descending the steps to the basement, I help the waddling Beth, Michael supporting her from the other side. In the passage below, Bethys her hand on my arm. ¡°Charlotte, I wanted to ask¡­¡± ¡­ Her voice is low and she casts furtive nces toward Richard. ¡°Because I¡¯m¡­ well¡­ so huge¡­¡± She passes a hand over her vast belly¡­ ¡°I can barely move. Richard and I¡­ we haven¡¯t¡­ um¡­¡± ¡­ Richard stands by the door to my Master¡¯s yroom, holding it wide for us, mouth twitching as his wife speaks¡­ ¡°¡­ I wanted to ask, could you¡­ er¡­ look after Richard for me, until I¡¯m a bit more able to do it myself.¡± ¡°Course I can¡­¡± All male eyes are turned on me and Beth. ¡°¡­ That would be alright wouldn¡¯t it, Master?¡± He moves to stand over me, then stoops and kisses my mouth. ¡°If Beth hadn¡¯t asked first, I would have suggested it myself.¡± Then he kisses Beth on the forehead, brushes fingers over her cheeks. ¡°Of course it¡¯s alright, Beth.¡± Richard joins him, bending to brush lips over my brow. ¡°Thank you, Charlotte.¡± ***** The fire is roaring, mes zing up the chimney as Michael piles on more logs, but it¡¯s clearly been burning for some hours. The bed of ash is deep, glowing gold and radiating hot, banishing any ¡¯cer- feel¡¯ in the air. And a settee sits by the hearth that¡¯s not been there before. Michael steers Beth to the couch, one hand in the small of her back, the other cupping her elbow. He pulls a nket around her shoulders. ¡°Sit yourself down. Getfortable.¡± Then heys another nket over herp. It¡¯s months now since west used my Master¡¯s yroom. Between my pregnancy and then my illness, it wasn¡¯t a possibility. But now, as I watch Michael move around the room with a taper, lighting candles, I warm inside. My panties are damp, and clitty is throbbing. To one side, my Master stands with Richard, the pair talking quietly, both casting asional nces to me and Beth. Michael positions himself beside Beth, one arm wrapped around her, the hand resting on her belly. With the other hand, he reaches down under the nket, the fleecy top moving a little with him. Beth is growing pink. She quivers suddenly and her breath judders. Michael smiles, kisses her cheek and then his arm moves more obviously, a rhythmic stroking under the warm cover. My Master¡¯s voice snaps out, ¡°Charlotte, turn to face Richard. Remove your clothes. Let him see what his wife has gifted to him.¡± I swallow hard, Richard¡¯s eyes following me as I move closer. Standing before him, breathing in the scent of his cologne, I lower my eyes. He sets a fingertip on the hollow of my neck, tracing a line down between my breasts, then hooking the finger between the buttons of my blouse. ¡°Take it off, Charlotte. I¡¯d like to see what you¡¯re wearing underneath.¡± I prepared for this. And I¡¯m wearing the corset my Master chose for me. And it is the first time in months that we¡¯ve done this¡­ Richard¡­ Michael¡­ My Master¡­ My Masters and my Golden Lover¡­ The three of them¡­ I won¡¯t be able to sit down tomorrow¡­ Walking might be difficult too¡­ ¡­ Who cares? It wasn¡¯t easy. My stomach hasn¡¯t yet ttened all the way, but Beth helped, tightening theces as far as was sensible. So once more, I have something that passes for a waistline¡­ After this¡­ ¡­ exercise¡­ ¡­ and back to my old shape¡­ But for now, I unbutton my blouse, slowly, one button at a time, letting Richard¡¯s gaze settle onto my upraised breasts, contained in greence. I chose a wrap-around skirt. It is in, demure. But a pair of buttons hold it in ce, no more, and I turn side-on, offering them to Richard. As he slips open first one, then the other, the silky material drops to the floor. My Master picks it up, folding it neatly and setting it to one side. And now they can see me: the corset my Master chose for me, in a shade of jewelled emerald, edged in a deeper jade. Cinched in at the waist, sying at my hips, the boning sculpts my breasts upwards into domes. The stockings are ck, but I chose hold-ups rather than suspenders or garters so that, depending on the choices of my Masters, they could remove the rest of my clothes if they wished, while keeping the stockings in ce. As he sees how I am dressed, Richard¡¯s mouth curves. He clicks his tongue. ¡°Very good, Charlotte. You¡¯re taking this seriously.¡± Then, casting a nce over his shoulder¡­ ¡°Turn around a little. Let your husband see how you have dressed for us.¡± My Master moves to stand side-by-side with him, his dark eyes measuring me. ¡°You like it, Master?¡± He doesn¡¯t reply, but his eyes fold at the corners. My beautiful Master¡­ His hair silvered¡­ Lean-faced¡­ The contours of his chin and cheekbones sculpted by the candlelight¡­ His eyes are dark as a moonless night¡­ But I know that stars shine there¡­ Michael¡¯s arm is still moving under Beth¡¯s nket. He smiles as I disy myself: smiles more as Beth leans forward, angling for a better look. Beth murmurs something to him. He calls across. ¡°Charlotte, take your tits out of that corset. Beth wants Richard to be able to y with them.¡± Richard¡¯s eyes crinkle and my Master sucks in his cheeks at the words, but obediently I lift first one breast, then the other, free of the cups, to sit perched atop the boning. Stillrger than usual, they tremble with my heartbeat, rise and fall with my breathing. The nipples pucker. Richard strokes over the mound of my left breast, then palms it, squeezing a little, before pinching at the nipple, plucking it harder. From between my thighs, warmth trickles¡­ ***** Chapter 18 Chapter 18 James She looks stunning. I know Charlotte¡¯s been worrying about her size. Today¡¯s little episode has only been the most recent example of that worry. And it¡¯s not escaped my notice that she¡¯s been putting in plenty of exercise. Still, her choice of the green silk bodice, emphasising her rapidly normalising figure, is inspired¡­ Wonder when she bought it? With the other outfit maybe¡­ Does she really believe that I find her unattractive? Or that Michael does? Time for some re-education¡­ Richard delves into a pocket. ¡°I have something for you, Charlotte.¡± She blinks. ¡°Sir?¡± ¡°A gift. Actually, a gift from Elizabeth too.¡± He nces towards his vastly pregnant wife. ¡°She asked that I get it for you. She would like to see you wearing it.¡± He produces a small bag, green velvet, with a draw-string fastening, something small but bulky inside. ¡°Here¡­¡± He offers it to her. Her hand half-held out, she looks to me, as though unsure whether she should take it. ¡°Charlotte¡­¡± I eye-point her to Richard¡¯s offering. ¡°Manners, Charlotte.¡± She licks her lips, then swallows, before taking the bag. Beth leans forward, watching as she unravels the silk ties and tipping the contents into her hand. It¡¯s a lovely piece. Richard must have paid a fair amount for it. The tapered tip of the plug gleams chrome, I assume stainless steel. The head is inset with a green crystal, catching the light of the candles, splintering it. Richard smiles slightly. ¡°I thought the colour would suit you. One should choose jewellery ording to the wearer wouldn¡¯t you say¡­?¡± He loosens his tie then, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt, slides it out. ¡°¡­ And I think you know where it¡¯s going?¡± He takes a step or two towards Beth, offering out his wrists. As she slips open his cufflinks and sets them to one side, her eyes are narrow green rims circling great ck pupils Rolling up his shirtsleeves, Richard returns to Charlotte. She¡¯s breathing heavily as he plucks the plug from her fingers. More heavily as Iy my hand between her shoulders, pushing her towards the spanking horse. ¡°Bend forward, Charlotte. Legs wide.¡± Beth shifts her position again for a better viewing angle and my shaft nudges for attention. Beth¡¯s taste for voyeurism provides an interesting nt on the evening. When Richard first ¡®gave¡¯ Michael to her as a birthday present, we learned quickly that she has a taste for watching. I think she only discovered it for herself at that point. Now, in her advanced pregnancy, it¡¯s about her only option. And yet, I¡¯m finding that, much as I enjoy watching Charlotte, and what Richard is about to do to her, I enjoy just as much Beth¡¯s vicarious pleasure as she watches her husband preparing to fuck my wife. Not just enjoying it¡­ She put him up to it¡­ Charlotte¡¯s skin is sheening as she obeys, a fineyer of perspiration. She¡¯s pinking up too; a rose blush that begins with her cleavage then spreads over her breasts, rising to her neck almost as we watch. Obediently, she moves to the spanking horse, leaning forward to lie with her cheek pressed against the padded top, spreading her arms out wide. Richard moves into her line of sight. ¡°I think you can spread your feet wider than that, Charlotte.¡± As she shuffles her ankles further apart, he tips a little oil into a palm, smoothing it over the surface of the plug. Then moving behind her, he presses one palm down over her neck, not hard, but pinning her. With the other, reaching down, pressing in, his wrist twists, first one way, then the other. Charlotte¡¯s lips part and she inhales, shuddering as he eases the plug home. He takes a step or two backwards, head inclining as he admires the result. ¡°Yes, it does suit you. I thought it would: silver and emerald against that lovely pale skin. And it matches your choice of clothes very well.¡± He turns to his wife. ¡°You like it, Elizabeth?¡± Beth nods slowly, her lips open, her breathing a heavy in-out-in-out¡­ Richard regards his wife for a moment, then strides across, stoops to palm her cheek, and open- mouthed, kisses her. Then pulling away, still cupping her face, he holds her eyes for a long moment, before turning back to Charlotte. ¡°And what do you think, James?¡± Charlotte¡¯s bejewelled derriere is an engaging sight; the green gem centred between the pale cheeks of her heart-shaped ass. The glint of emerald matches the gem colours of the corset she has chosen. Her pussy is swelling, pinking up and a glistening trickle seeps from her slit. I slide a fingertip through the plumping folds, swiping a little honey onto my skin. Sucking oysters and lemon from my finger, ¡°I think the skin should be pinker.¡± Richard strokes paired fingers over her lips, winds a small circle around her clit, then briefly pushes inside her before also sucking his fingers clean. ¡°I agree.¡± He casts across to Beth. ¡°What do you say, my Love? Do we just use hands on your cousin? Or more?¡± Beth¡¯s voice is rushy. ¡°Start with your hands. Then more.¡± Richard meets my eye. ¡°That work for you, James? Michael?¡± Michael stands from his position by Beth, strolling over with his hands in his pockets. Looking down on the quivering Charlotte, ¡°I¡¯d say my wife is ready for anything you two want to hand out.¡± Belongs to ? n0velDrama.Org. ¡°You want to help?¡± ¡°No, I¡¯m happy to watch while I decide how I¡¯ll take my turn at fucking her.¡± ¡°Fair enough.¡± Richard clicks his tongue then swipes across Charlotte¡¯s ass. It¡¯s not hard, a mere preliminary, but her perfume blooms, rising pungent and heady. She appreciates a little drama does my Jade Eyes, and with two Doms and her husband to deliver it, she¡¯s going to get what she wants. Out of her view, Richard¡¯s nostrils re, his eyes crease and he brings his hand down on her ass again, this time with a harder p that brings a yell from Charlotte. I pin her neck in the crook of my thumb and fingers. ¡°Did anyone ask you to make a noise?¡± ¡°No, Master.¡± ¡°Richard, would you like me to gag her?¡± ¡°No thank you, James. I enjoy hearing Charlotte¡¯s chorus when she starts singing.¡± And with that, his palmes down on her once. Then again, the other hand, on the other cheek. She wails and bucks, trying to move, but I keep my hold on her neck and from behind, Richard shoves her ankles further apart with a shoe, then delivers another p that ripples flesh. He¡¯s not holding back. From where I am, I can see her ass colouring up, vivid red palm prints impressed on creamy skin... This should use up those aggressive energies¡­ ¡­ Her vulva too is brilliantly scarlet now. The glisten of juices at her slit is growing, a trickle that lengthens, flowing down to wash over her engorged bud then down her thighs. Richard hovers, assessing her. ¡°Give her more than that,¡± I say. ¡°I want her well warmed up.¡± His head inclines and his brow furrows in question, but I nod him down to continue. With a p! that echoes around the stone walls, Charlotte¡¯s buttocks get another open-handed stroke. And another. Her ass is blooming red, the blood rising, her flesh heating. With her still pinned under my hand, ¡°One more thing, Charlotte.¡± ¡°Master?¡± Her chest heaves. Her voice shudders. ¡°Earlier today, you were discourteous, very discourteous, both to me and to your mother. I understand the reasons, but I won¡¯t tolerate it. Before we go any further this evening, you and I are going to settle that matter.¡± Her eyes roll sidelong to mine. ¡°Richard, would you take over here, please.¡± He frowns slightly. ¡°Of course.¡± From where I had it waiting on a shelf, I take my riding crop, disying it to Charlotte. ¡°Two strokes. One for being rude to me. The other for your mother. You understand me?¡± She blinks hard. Doesn¡¯t speak. Gives a small nod. Swallows. I could have done this at the start, gotten it over with, but her flesh already warmed, ready to take more, she¡¯ll be better able to handle the pain. And it¡¯s going to hurt. For the first stroke, I aim carefully, for the plump area of her butt, above and well clear of the glinting gem. Making a practice arc through the air, I make sure I have the angle¡­ A good, clean stroke¡­ Richard raises brows, I give him a small nod and he locks his grip on Charlotte¡¯s neck and hands. In a single smooth curve, I bring down the crop. It hisses through the air and connects with a Snap! that make her flesh ripple. ¡°That one was for me.¡± Charlotte screams and bucks, but without breaking my flow, I draw back the crop again to make my second stroke¡­ ¡°And this one is for your mother¡­¡± ¡­ and I sh it down to bite into the crease of buttocks to thighs... She doesn¡¯t scream this time; simply gasps, panting to catch her air. ¡­ and I lean over her, kiss her cheek¡­ ¡°And now, it¡¯s over. Yes?¡± She heaves and shudders, a tear trailing from one eye. ¡°Yes, Master¡­ Master?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry I was rude to you.¡± ¡°I know. As I say, it¡¯s done. And now, I think Richard would like your attention again.¡± He releases his grip on her, stroking her hair. ¡°Charlotte?¡± She¡¯s still trembling. ¡°I¡¯m okay. I¡¯m okay. Really.¡± Two weals are rising, cherry-bright against the already reddened skin. She¡¯s going to need salve at the end of the evening and a cushion for the next few days. In truth, it¡¯s not so much more than Charlotte normally takes when Richard and Iy into her together, but I needed to be sure she knew it was a punishment. So¡­ two strokes¡­ and make them count¡­ Richard moves around her, surveys the damage, mouth puckered at first. Then the pucker rxes. He sees as well as I do that despite the pain¡­ ¡­ Or because of it? ¡­ a slow leak of fluid glistens down her thigh. And while the welts are red, her pussy is redder, a brilliant crimson, engorged and puffy¡­ I trail the soft tongue of the crop over the weals, very gently now, a caress, a mere kiss of pain I know my demon-eyed, me-haired sub will embrace. ¡°For taking your punishment, Charlotte, and for taking it well, withoutint, you may now serve Richard, in whatever way he wishes of you.¡± Her eyes are zing¡­ Is she flying? I think so¡­ The clip of leather on stone: Michael rising, striding over. He looks in close, staring into Charlotte¡¯s face, fingers resting on her cheek. ¡°Babe?¡± Her gaze nts up to his and her mouth widens. It¡¯s not quite a smile. Not quite an indrawing of breath. It speaks of love and pain, submission and eptance¡­ He watches her for long seconds, then, with a sharp nod to Richard, returns to Beth. Richard moves to stand behind Charlotte, dropping to his knees. ¡°Too good to waste,¡± he murmurs. A hand ced either side, gripping her tightly by the hips, he draws his tongue in a slow extended stroke, the length of her vulva. Charlotte exhales a sound: a slow, drawn-out whimper, her face blushing to the same crimson bloom as her sex. He lingers by her clit, teething gently, plucking with his lips. Then, shifting upwards, he swipes into her unfurling pussy with his tongue, licking away her flow. Charlotte¡¯s whimpering grows. Kneeling back on his haunches, he swipes at his mouth, his gaze shifting to Beth. ¡°Alright, my Love?¡± Her eyes are brilliant with excitement, a glow over her face easily matching Charlotte¡¯s. Lips parted, she nods, chewing at her lower lip. Michael perches on the arm of the chair. ¡°What would you like, Beth? Who¡¯s going to fuck Charlotte first? And how?¡± Beth¡¯s eyes pass to Richard. ¡°You. Take out the plug.¡± He pulls himself upright. ¡°You know what your cousin wants, Charlotte. Open up. As wide as you can. Let me in.¡± I move quickly, grabbing her arms, levering them over her head, forcing her down t against the padded surface of the horse. ¡°Do as you¡¯re told, Madam. Beth wants to see her husband is being looked after.¡± Does she hear me? I¡¯m not sure. Her pupils are enormous: huge and ck. She could be on some drug¡­ She is, but it¡¯s all from within¡­ Richard moves in, easing his shoes between her ankles, forcing them wider. ¡°Very pretty, Charlotte,¡± he smiles. ¡°Nice and pink and wet. An ideal fuck.¡± I suppress my smile. Richard is bulging inside his pants. He pushes close, his groin against her butt. It has to be increasing the pressure on the plug. And it¡¯s probably rubbing against the cropmarks, doubtless, his intention. He eyes the back of Charlotte¡¯s head spectively, prodding at the crystal pommel of the plug. ¡°Charlotte, did you hear what Elizabeth said? She would like to watch me fucking you up the ass. How do you feel about that?¡± Charlotte, eyelids drooping, murmurs something incoherent. Ravelling my hand into her hair, I lift her head. ¡°Richard asked you a question, Charlotte. We couldn¡¯t hear your reply. Beth wants to see you ass-fucked. Yes?¡± Her voice is spaced-out, dreamy. ¡°You¡¯re both my Masters tonight.¡± Richard¡¯s head tilts, eyes crinkling. He moves round to hunker down by her face. ¡°Yes, Charlotte. But I do not wish to impose my Dominance on you. I want to win your Submission.¡± Her head raises¡­ ¡°You have it, sir. If that is what Beth wants, and what you want, it¡¯s fine.¡± He kisses her forehead. ¡°Well then, let¡¯s give my wife what she wants.¡± He moves away, stripping off his shirt as he does so. As he repositions himself behind Charlotte, I toss the bottle of oil and he catches it one-handed, mid- air. Unzipping, he releases himself. Then easing out the plug, he oils her over. He takes a moment to swipe a little over the welts; then pussy, vulva and ass. And with paired fingers, inside. Then, finally, himself. He¡¯s ready for her. More than ready: his erection is huge, twitching upright, glistening with the oil¡­ For a confirmed Dom, he sure likes taking instructions from his sub¡­ ¡­ One hand round his shaft, he guides himself home, easing in, then out, then in again, more deeply. Charlotte¡¯s breathing is elerating, short sharp pants. Beth¡¯s not much different, her eyes bright as her gaze switches between Charlotte¡¯s face and Richard to her rear. Michael watches between the two women. He¡¯s still doing something under Beth¡¯s nket, his shoulder moving rhythmically. She whispers something to him, and he smiles, nodding. Richard presses into Charlotte, now fully sheathed inside. He holds for a moment. He¡¯s not smiling. Teeth slightly bared, his breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling. Droplets of sweat bead his pecs and abs. Gradually he begins to move, withdrawing, then resheathing. Retracting then prating. Charlotte moans: a slow extended sound that ripples and wavers. He sets palms on her hips, leaning around to see her face. ¡°Is that good, Charlotte?¡± Her moan grows louder, and she nods. Her pupils have all but swallowed her irises. Richard¡¯s lips curve and he increases his speed. As he does so, his lips peel back, his head tips back. His strokes grow faster, harder. Charlotte¡¯s moans match him. Beth sits upright, mouth wide, eyes alight. Sweat streams down his face. With a grunt, his eyes squeeze. He gasps, grinding his hips, bucks and then, with a gasp, drops forward, resting his forehead on Charlotte¡¯s corseted back. Four breaths... Five... Six¡­ He withdraws, palming the sweat from his face with both hands. Backing off, struggling to re-zip¡­ to re-belt¡­ he raises brows to me, eye-pointing the plug. I¡¯m already nodding as I move to rece him. Charlotte wails again as he reinserts the plug, and then again as, for good measure, I p a hand across her stripes. My shaft is straining inside my pants. I¡¯m as ready for her as Richard was, and my groin is gratifyingly tight as I unbuckle, unzip and ram into her. Her pussy is hot and wet and pulses satisfyingly around me¡­ Richard¡¯s already taken her most of the way¡­ Looping arms around her, she spills hot over my fingers as I reach for her clit. She¡¯s swollen and fluid, and as I thumb back the hood, flicking at her bud, she squeals and her cunt snatches at me. She poised¡­ Right on the edge¡­ Her hips are shuddering, her flesh beginning to pulse, her sweet pussy clutching and squeezing¡­ Just a little more¡­ With thumb and forefinger, I pinch at her clit, kneading the tiny thing between fingerpads¡­ ¡­ and with a shriek, she goes into orgasm. She tries to rise on her hands, to push herself upright. But Richard nts both hands on her shoulders, restraining her as I pound into her, reaming her inside. She¡¯s spilling hot, pulsating inside, bucking and screaming and howling¡­ ¡°Red! Red, Master! Red!¡± ¡­ and releasing her clit, with a spasm that sends my blood pressure rocketing and lights stars behinds my eyes, I convulse and shoot. Dropping over her, wrapping my arms around her, I spurt deep into my Jade-Eyes. Christ¡­ Far too long since we did this¡­ No wonder she was grouchy¡­ I straighten up, fingerbing dripping hair back over my skull. Even as I recover the powers of sight and speech, Beth is whispering something to Michael. ¡°Richard,¡± he says, standing. ¡°Would you like to look after your wife now?¡± And with that, he lifts Charlotte, limp and cid, into his arms. ¡°Something a little easier now, Babe.¡± Richard, his pants now apparently a morefortable fit, sits to embrace his pregnant wife, exchanging a few quiet words. Michael carries Charlotte to the four-poster,ys her carefully down, then as she watches, and Beth too, he strips off. ***** Chapter 19 Chapter 19 Michael I hold her close, her semi-naked body against mine. She¡¯s still quivering with the afterburn of climax and I cradle her. ¡°Shhh¡­¡± She¡¯s still on some other, but her face pressing into my chest, she mumbles something then shifts to let me in closer, lying on her back, parting her legs. I roll over her, taking my weight on my elbows but still sping her back. My shaft presses into the vee of her thighs, then the heat of her pussy. She¡¯s wet, almost fluid, and very obviously, still fully sensitised. My cockhead kissing into her, she shivers. ¡°How are you doing, Babe? Alright? You good for this?¡± ¡°Mmmm¡­¡± She doesn¡¯t seem to want to speak, but her arms slip around me, and she widens her thighs, inviting me in. With my cockhead anchoring to her, barely prating, I hold. ¡°Soft or hard, Charlotte? What do you want?¡± Belongs to ? n0velDrama.Org. ¡°You choose.¡± She mumbles a bit, spaced-out, almost as if half-asleep, but I think it¡¯s just the euphoria of orgasm after-burn. Another one, Babe? Let''s see what we can do¡­ She''s swollen and heated, her flesh still throbbing a little. I move gradually, barely thrusting, just a slow stroke in, then out; filling her, sheathing myself inside her, then withdrawing against the slight suction. Another long slow stroke in, feeling the stretch of her flesh as I prate. She makes a sound; a stretched-out purring noise then shifts to rest her cheek against mine. ¡°My Golden Lover.¡± She whispers it, close by my ear, then presses her lips to me. ¡°Always, Babe. Always.¡± And I tighten my hold on her. Twisting my hips, I wind myself inside her, aiming for her g-spot. It''s not easy, but she groans deliciously, shuddering under me, her fingernails biting into my shoulders. ¡°Like that?¡± I murmur. ¡°Ah-ha¡­¡± Then she chuckles, sounding livelier. ¡°Two can y that game.¡± She mps around me, her pussy gripping at me¡­ Fuck¡­ ¡­ and I jolt. ¡°Jeez, Charlotte¡­¡± Laughter rumbles through her chest. ¡°I thought I might have¡­ um¡­ stretched inside, with the baby, so I took precautions. I¡¯ve been exercising¡­¡± And with thest word, she snatches at me again, her cunt gripping around my shaft, leaving me gasping. ¡°You like that?¡± she chuckles. Christ, yes¡­ ¡°Yes, but take it easy¡­¡± ¡°What¡¯s she doing?¡± It¡¯s Beth, seating herself on the edge of the bed. In my peripheral vision, Richard moves to sit by her, cradling her, supporting her. ¡°Charlotte¡¯s been doing her exercises.¡± I hiss though my teeth. ¡°The result is¡­ dramatic.¡± And I suck in air as my green-eyed mermaid clenches around me again. ¡°Enough of this.¡± Encircling her wrists with my hands, I press her arms up and over her head, then pin them there against the pillow. ¡°You want to y rough, you¡¯ve got it.¡± And I thrust, hard. Charlotte yelps, and as I thrust again, moves under me, swinging her legs up and around me, locking her ankles around my waist. I sheath myself inside her and she yelps. That internal quivering is building again. She never truly came out of her first climax, riding the teau. Now, I¡¯m going to drive her up and over the crest again. Whatever it is she¡¯s been doing, she still feels wonderful. She¡¯s tight, her pussy squeezing me as I thrust into her, gripping as I withdraw. But she¡¯s already twitching under me, arms quivering, pelvis quaking. I thrust harder, spearing her, burying myself inside her with every stroke. Her tits bounce with my thrusts, the skin golden with candlelight, sheened with perspiration, the nipples proud. The shuddering at her hips is growing¡­ She¡¯s going to¡­ ¡­. And she blows¡­ Arching back on herself, head flung back, straining against me as she bawls out. Her nails bite into my shoulders. It doesn¡¯t matter. Nothing matters when I can watch Charlotte¡¯s beautiful face in orgasm. Her breasts palpitate with the hammering of her heat. The vein at her neck throbs. Her pussy pulses and¡­ Fuck¡­ And with a wave of pressure from my balls that ripples through groin and shaft, I Come. Growling¡­ I spill once, twice¡­ a pause¡­ and a final volley¡­ Releasing my hold on her, I drop onto my elbows resting my face between her breasts. When I lift my head again, emerald eyes are locked with mine. ¡°Good?¡± she grins. ¡°God, yes.¡± She looks over my shoulder. ¡°Was that okay, Beth?¡± I roll over to see the equally grinning Beth resting back in Richard¡¯s arms. ¡°Oh, yes. Almost as good as if I¡¯d been doing it myself. Thank you everyone.¡± She sshes her smile around the room. Richard kisses her in the crook of the neck. ¡°You¡¯re wee, my love.¡± Charlotte sits up, looking down at herself. ¡°Think I need a bath.¡± We allugh. Her hair is a bird¡¯s nest, her lipstick is smeared and her eyes be-panda¡¯d. Her outfit still looks great, but one stocking has rolled down to her ankle and the other is badlyddered. Unrepentant, she grins. ¡°You liked the corset then, Master?¡± James shes eyes at her. ¡°Oh, yes. Excellent choice, Charlotte. It was a very pleasant surprise seeing you wearing it.¡± She blinks. ¡°A surprise? Oh, you mean you¡¯d not realised I¡¯d ordered it?¡± His forehead wrinkles. ¡°Why would I realise that, Charlotte?¡± She blinks, head swinging. ¡°But It''s from that on-linepany you sent me the email about. Didn''t you recognize it from the photo?¡± James tugs at an ear. ¡°What email? I didn''t send you any email, Charlotte. Although I''ll admit I might have done if I''d seen the ad for that corset. It suited you perfectly.¡± ¡°But¡­ but¡­ you sent me an email, with the link to the site and that photo. I went right through it. They had some lovely things. But I knew you liked that corset, so I bought it.¡± James sounds a little techy. ¡°Charlotte, I sent you no email of that sort. If I¡¯d had thoughts along those lines, I¡¯d have simply bought the corset for you myself.¡± ¡°But the email came from you¡­¡± She scratches into her tangled hair. ¡°Or it seemed to, anyway.¡± James sucks at his teeth. ¡°I¡¯d say you¡¯ve been click-baited, Charlotte¡­¡± She reddens¡­ ¡°¡­ Usually, they''re trying to sell me Viagra or penis extensions and I junk the lot. It''s a clever marketing ploy but I think you''d better cklist that site. There¡¯s no harm done, but if that¡¯s their marketing practice, I think you¡¯re better not dealing with them.¡± She turns away, shaking her head. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ll set them to junk.¡± She sounds increasingly irked. ¡°I don¡¯t usually fall for that kind of thing, but the email did seem toe from you.¡± ¡°No harm done,¡± says Richard, still with an arm around Beth. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dwell on it if I were you.¡± He tugs a towel from a hook, mops his face. ¡°God, I was ready for that¡­¡± He turns to James, brow creasing. ¡°I hope it didn¡¯t offend you? Elizabeth directing operations like that?¡± James swallows a chuckle. ¡°It¡¯s a novel arrangement, I¡¯ll grant you. The sub in charge. But I think we all enjoyed the result.¡± He watches Richard, mopping at the back of his pants. ¡°Something wrong?¡± Richard twists, trying to see behind himself, feeling at his backside. ¡°Why am I wet?¡± I burst outughing. So does James. ¡°Was it that good, Beth? We¡¯ll do it again sometime.¡± ¡°No,¡± says Richard, standing up, examining his pants. ¡°Not that kind of wet. I mean wet.¡± He points down. ¡°The bed too.¡± Beth raises a hand to her mouth. ¡°Oh God. My waters must have broken!¡± Richard strides for the door. ¡°Michael, can you get her upstairs while I call the midwife.¡± ¡°On it now.¡± ***** Chapter 20 Chapter 20 Klempner The hottest part of the day¡­ hot enough to have driven me indoors¡­ In a coolish corner at Antonio¡¯s, my back to the wall, I can sit behind my newspaper but see everything around me. Scouring the daily papers for starting points and clues, then following through with my phone and tablet, my researches are yielding a clear picture of rival gangs, the growing power of organised crime in Sao Paulo and, threaded through it all, hints of where I might find my target. Photos, references, events, are all building a picture. A woman, wing her way to the top, leaving a trail of male corpses behind her. The details vary: sometimes a shootout between rival gangs. Sometimes an ¡®ident¡¯, brake-failure. An overdose of cocaine crops up twice. One has died of some kind of poisoning, although there¡¯s no details on what kind. Outright assassination, a bullet in the forehead seems almost too obvious for her methods. Inconveniently, the newspapers fail to publish her home address. I¡¯ll find you¡­ Why aren¡¯t the police on to you? Or does she have the police in her pocket too? Some authority figure at least? What isn¡¯t clear to me yet is whether my target is Juliana herself or the entire criminal gang she¡¯s currently tied up with. I sip coffee, hoping for caffeine-powered inspiration. She can¡¯t be at the head of the gang. Any gang. It wouldn¡¯t work like that. Not here. This is Latin America. Men don''t answer to women down here. Too much of the macho culture. Women don¡¯t get to the top. Even Eva Per¨®n worked through her man¡­ ¡­ Men¡­ Eva Per¨®n¡­ There¡¯s a pattern that fits perfectly with everything I know of Juliana. The power behind the throne¡­ Find the man who can give you what you want. Get his attention. Pull his strings. Milk him Then when you see a better option, move on. How would a woman do that? ? Eva Per¨®n. How did she do it? Once, Mar¨ªa Eva Duarte... The slum girl who made good¡­ Five minutester I¡¯m looking at photos of the one-time First Lady of Argentina: a girl who climbed the ladder, using men in power as rungs, until she reached the top. I consider a hard-edged female face: dark-eyed, highly made-up, bleached-blonde hair, designer clothes and jewels. The smile is all des and edges. She wasn¡¯t even that beautiful¡­ But you have to look closely at the photos to realise that. My Mitch is genuinely beautiful. You could shear her hair, smear her face, dress her in a rag, and she would still be beautiful. Jenny¡¯s the same, at least if you catch her without that wolf-eyed look she wears. Eva Per¨®n wasn¡¯t. Strip away the money and the finery, the cosmetics and the careful grooming, and I¡¯m looking at the face of a rather ordinary girl who took the devil¡¯s drive out of the gutters all the way to the top. And yet, she dazzled man after man, took him for what she wanted, then left them scattered in her wake as she moved on. Juliana¡­ When she moves on, her men are dead. Food for thought. I retrieve my paper, scanning headlines. Gang rivalries cause mayhem. Leader dies¡­ Assassination suspected¡­ Hmmm¡­ I biro a circle around the piece. Another coffee? Why not? Brain food¡­ Dropping my paper a couple of inches, I¡¯m about to raise my hand for Antonio¡¯s attention when the old man looks towards the door, his smile dissolving. Jaw set, scowling, he jerks his chin at the waitress, sending her scuttling back towards the kitchen. A figure stands in the doorway, radiating the kind of causal menace that, in my experience, goes with toorge an ego and too small a brain. He''s a smooth-looking bastard, in an expensive suit, his hair slicked back and with the kind of sunsses where someone¡¯s paid for the designer name without noticing any improvement to the eyesight. The shoes, highly polished and glossy, match the slim attach¨¦ case, in his hand. Standing silhouetted against the daylight, he strikes a pose¡­ Thinks he¡¯s something¡­ Fucking Wonder Boy¡­ Lowering my newspaper a little further, I¡¯m about to rise, but Antonio, eyes wide with rm, waggles fingers at me, nodding me to stay in my seat, then raises a finger to his lips. The stranger takes off his shades, popping them in apel pocket. His gaze sweeps the room, passes to me, pauses, then moves on. A young couple sitting at a quiet corner table gather their things together and exit, sliding around him as though he were wearing a leper¡¯s bell. Antonio speaks rapidly and quietly, his voice quavering. The old man is trying to inject confidence into his voice, but it¡¯s not nearly convincing. The stranger murmurs a reply, lips curled. I understand Portuguese well enough for tourist or business purposes, but the pair are talking at the breakneck speed of those speaking in their mother tongue. Still, while I can¡¯t pick it all out, I get the gist, especially with Antonio madly gesturing toward the tin box under his counter that passes for a till. ¡°Senhor Monteiro, voc¨º chegou cedo. O dinheiro n?o ¨¦ devido at¨¦ a pr¨®xima semana¡­¡± You¡¯re early. The money isn¡¯t due until next week. The reply is delivered with off-hand sarcasm. ¡°S quer isso agora.¡± S wants it now. S? Who¡¯s S? A gang-leader? Not read that one in any of my researches¡­ I jot the name on a corner of my newspaper. ¡°Vou t¨º-lo para o Sr. S na pr¨®xima semana,obinamos.¡± ¡­ Monteiro looms over Antonio. ¡°Voc¨º tem o dinheiro?¡± Panic marches over the old man¡¯s face. ¡°Eu n?o tenho isso¡­¡± He prises open the lid of the tin, holding it out for inspection. ¡°Veja¡­¨¦ tudo o que tenho.¡± For all his height, the thug¡¯s bby. Under the expensive suit, his muscles are soft. His jacket falls away a touch from his gut, fat has stolen the definition from jaw and cheekbone. And his bulk speaks more of fine eating than fine training. Good enough to menace an old man and a girl. Should I interfere? I could take the bastard easily enough¡­ ¡­ Scare the shit out of him¡­ N?velD(ram)a.?rg owns this content. What¡¯s to lose? I rise, or begin to, but Antonio casts a frantic nce my way and I settle again. Not here, then¡­ Somewhere private¡­ Wonder Boy snatches the cash box, scooping out the notes, then tipping small change into his hand and stuffing the lot in a pocket. Touching his hat to Antonio¡­ ¡°Obrigado¡­¡± ¡­ he turns on his heel and exits. Antonio is close to tears, his face screwing up as he totters to my table. ¡°Senhor Hughes, me desculpe¡­ I not want you see that.¡± Quickly folding my newspaper, I p it down on the table, drop a fifty Real note onto the table and make for the door. Antonio¡¯s grabs my arm. ¡°No, Senhor Hughes. Bad man. Very bad. You not go.¡± I drop him a wink, hold up vee¡¯d fingers. ¡°Two bad men, Antonio. Dois homens maus.¡± His eyes widen. ¡°Policial?¡± ¡°No, not a policeman.¡± And I dash for the door. Fucking protection racketeer¡­ Enforcer? Or just a runner? Doesn¡¯t matter. Organised crime gang¡­ And they''ll have their fingers in all the other pies too. I have my link¡­ ***** Chapter 21 Chapter 21 Antonio''s concern for me is touching but it¡¯s cost me long seconds. As I emerge, blinking against the sunlight, Wonder Boy has vanished. Fuck! Have I lost him? I spin, scanning all around, seeking my quarry, ignoring the curious stares of passers-by¡­ ¡­ The line of parked cars¡­ Doorways¡­ ¡­ along the block¡­ ¡­ the other side of the street¡­ Zip. Nada¡­ Then, sprinting across the street, dodging the traffic, I make it to the corner: the clothes store I used as my lurking spot when I first came here. How long did he hold me up? Twenty seconds? Thirty? How far can the bastard have gone? Then, I see him again, tall against the crowd. He emerges from the next door along from Antonio¡¯s, a small hair-salon-cum-barber-shop. Shoving something into his pocket, he turns my way¡­ The clothing store? It appears Santa us is doing his rounds, collecting his gifts from all the little boys and girls on his list, regardless of whether they¡¯re naughty or nice. Hastily, I move on, cross the street to merge with the hubbub of people, then double-back on myself to wait, watching the store entrance as he enters, strolling in as though he owns the fucking ce. Own the people¡­ Own the ce¡­ Angling a bit, looking through the te ss windows, I see him inside, looming over a shop-assistant, not much more than a teenager. He¡¯s much taller than the girl he¡¯s intimidating. An arm to either side of her, smirking, he has her trapped, enclosed between his chest and arms, and the wall. Even from here, I can see the way her face is screwing up, close to tears. I¡¯ve seen James stand over Jenny with that same gesture; using his height, looking down on her, moving in on her space as he cages her with his body. But it¡¯s different between them; easily seen for the game it really is. And where both understand¡­ ¡­and ept¡­ ¡­ the rules. This is the real thing¡­ If that were Jenny¡­ My gut tightens¡­ Then, inwardly, I chuckle. If that were Jenny, Wonder Boy would have a knee in his groin and a knife/broken-bottle/metalb at his throat. The only time anyone ever took my daughter down, she was nine months pregnant. Even then, it took two strong men and a hypo of tranquilizer to pull it off. As I watch, the girl ducks, then slides away from Wonder Boy, making for the counter, Stabbing at the till, she snatches cash from the drawer and, face contorted, thrusts it at him, yelling something I can¡¯t hear. I¡¯d love to take him on. You just try to intimidate someone who knows how to handle it¡­ I¡¯ll wipe that smirk from your face¡­ ¡­ It¡¯s not the time¡­ Instead, I tuck it away for future reference, adding it to my list of To-Dos: Teach Asshole a lesson he won¡¯t forget¡­ A minuteter, he re-emerges, again stuffing his pocket¡­ Always the pocket¡­ ¡­. Never the attache case¡­ ¡­ before sauntering to his next stop: a tobonist a couple of doors along. This time, I follow him inside. He¡¯s already at the counter, exerting his charm, but both he and the girl serving fall silent as I point to the first brand I recognise¡­ ¡°Vinte, por favor. E um isqueiro¡­¡± ¡­ push the coins at her, then, pocketing a packet of twenty and the lighter, exit again. Crossing the street, I stand in clear view, making a show of opening the packet, unravelling the stic wrap, taking one out then, as I¡¯m about to light up, Wonder Boy reappears. He doesn¡¯t even look my way as, taking a sharp left, he strolls off into the crowd. I watch for a few seconds, letting him get a little distance as I slip the cigarette back into the pack, when I realise there¡¯s a beggar, rheumy-eyed, standing beside me, holding his hand out, looking at the cigarette. I pass it to him, then offer up the lighter, the yellow-tipped me flickering in the breeze. The beggar inhales deeply, smoke drifting from his nostrils, then gives me a small bow and a crack-lipped smile. ¡°Obrigado, senhor.¡± I touch my forehead¡­ ¡°My pleasure...¡± ¡­ then turn to follow¡­ Shit! Where is he? Wonder Boy¡¯s nowhere in sight, lost in the milling crowd. Have I lost him? I break into a sprint, then at the curious staresing my way, drop to a jog¡­ Where¡­? Aahhh¡­ ¡­ There... ¡­ Wonder Boy looks back and around, then ducks into a side-street Furtive¡­ Dropping to an amble, I switch on my Mr Tourist face,ing to a halt by the alley. Loafing by the end, I fish my props out of their pocket, light up and, blowing smoke, stare up at a billboard advertising some local theatre performance, all the while sneak-peeking sidelong down the alley¡­ ¡­ where I see Wonder Boy tipping out his pockets and counting bills. I count with him¡­ One¡­ two¡­ three... ¡­ twelve¡­ thirteen¡­ fourteen¡­ ¡­ neen¡­ twenty¡­ Finished, he peels two notes from the wad, sliding them into a wallet. The rest, he rolls, snaps an stic band around, then jots a note on a pad. Then, the roll of notes and the pad go into his attach¨¦ case. Fingers in the till? N?velDrama.Org (C) content. Crime barons tend to value loyalty highly. Creaming ten per cent from the top won¡¯t be well-received if he¡¯s caught¡­ When he¡¯s caught¡­ I smile to myself¡­ He sniffs, apparently clearing his nose, clips the case closed, then swaggers back towards the main street. I snap my attention back to the theatre poster, then as he emerges, give him a fifty-yard start. With a final puff from the cigarette, I toss the foul thing into the gutter and follow. We don''t go far, this time just to the end of the block where a wide doorway gapes open under roller shutters. Inside, a car, an expensive model, is jacked up and from underneath, a pair of blue overalled legs stick out. A hand gropes in the oily concrete, grabs a spanner and disappears underneath again. I keep my distance. I don¡¯t need the details. This is another of the addresses on my list. ***** Chapter 22 Chapter 22 Three hourster, it''s been an instructive and productive afternoon. N?velDrama.Org (C) content. I''ve followed Wonder Boy through half the neighbourhood including, to my satisfaction, four more of the addresses on my list. And all of those on my address list not visited are a good distance away, certainly more than walking distance. So, I have my connection... Legitimate businesses held under the sway of racketeers and crime barons, too scared to resist having their addresses used for whatever purposes their overlords choose¡­ and that¡¯s assuming they even know about it. The pieces of the jigsaw are dropping nicely into ce. As evening falls, I¡¯m still trailing Wonder Boy. He¡¯s not called anywhere new for a while and seems to be headed for some specific destination. His swagger¡¯s worn off and he¡¯s walking more slowly. How far¡¯s he going? I long since lost track of where I am, but I¡¯ve set my mapping app to follow my progress. I¡¯ll be able to both find my way back to my hotel and return here when I want to. Abruptly, Wonder Boy vanishes into a doorway. It¡¯ste for a store to be open so, as I approach, I assume it¡¯s a bar or a restaurant. Instead, I find a publicvatory. Hanging back, I wait and watch. A couple of minutester, he re-emerges, the spring back in his step following his former path. Only a few doors down, he takes a left. At first, in the failing light, I think he¡¯s turned a corner. But instead, he¡¯s turned in to what looks like the entrance lobby to private apartments. And unlike his previous calls, he doesn¡¯t just barge in. Ringing the bell, he waits, and after half a minute, the door opens to admit him. It¡¯s almost dark now, so I find a shadow to lurk in and wait. Ten minutester, Wonder Boy¡¯s not reappeared. There¡¯s no concierge that I can see, simply a dark space beyond the entrance door. The ground floor is in darkness. On the next floor, a couple of apartments are upied, silhouettes moving behind the windows, the blue shimmer of a TV. On the fourth storey, balconied windows are brightly lit, at the front, and when I check around the corner, at the side too. Figures move in the light. I can¡¯t make out the details, but several people are moving around inside, mostly male¡­ But there¡¯s another¡­ Is that a woman? Then I see Wonder Boy, standing at the window, lighting up a cigarette. Keeping to the shadows as much as I can, I make my way to the door. Someone¡¯s taking their security seriously. The door is solid, well-constructed and the lock is a high-quality multi-action model. I could break in¡­ ¡­ but where does that get me? ¡­ Inside a building that likely has simr locks on the inner doors and corridors. And I¡¯d still not be able to see what was going on in the apartment. Hmmm¡­ The apartment is four floors up, but each floor is balconied, front and sides. So long as I can avoid being seen¡­ Piece of cake¡­ A quick foray around the side of the building¡­ Enough street lighting for me to see what I¡¯m doing, but out of view of the main road¡­ A trash bin and a drainpipe get me onto the first balcony level. From there it¡¯s easy. The balconies are sturdy, steel bar and mesh fronts and it¡¯s simple to mber onto the side-rail¡­ a brief bncing act as I reach¡­ and I grab for the next level then haul myself up. Still, it¡¯s more of an effort than I expected. Several of the rails are hung with washing, draped with pots and windows boxes. Carefully, I negotiate my way around them, trying to disturb as little as possible. This was easier when I was thirty¡­ ¡­ or forty¡­ Gotta give this stuff up¡­ But after a couple of minutes, I¡¯m at the right level and I have merely to scramble around one apartment balcony to the next, and then again¡­ Why are they all in the dark? Not just dark, but shuttered up, closedpletely¡­ But I don¡¯t have time to dwell on that. I¡¯m at my destination. A balcony with ss-fronted terrace doors, standing open to the night air, with only a mosquito screen blocking my way. Hugging the wall, a quick peek through the first window¡­ A bedroom¡­ An unupied bedroom. A door on the far side is closed, light visible through the gap at floor level, and from beyond, the sound of voices¡­ The screen is the roller-shutter kind, clipped at the base from the inside, but inserting the point of my knife unclips it. Gripping the tag, I let it roll up slowly, trying to keep the squeak of the spring to a minimum, then suppress a curse as one of the night-biters Squees by my ear¡­ Moving silently, half an eye on the door, I step inside. It¡¯s a woman¡¯s room: arge double bed, mirrored wardrobes, dresser: all expensive, high-quality. Now I¡¯m inside, another exit is visible. Moving carefully to keep my footsteps silent on the tiled floor, I press an ear to door¡­ Nothing¡­ And no light spills from underneath¡­ Glock in hand, aiming through, easing the handle, slowly, I open the door¡­ ¡­ to darkness and silence. A quick nce back at the other door and I flick on the light switch. It¡¯s a dressing room cum walk-in wardrobe. It¡¯s huge. One wall is lined with shelves, another racked with hanger rails. Banks of drawers and cupboard fill a third wall. The shelves are stacked with shoes: boots, sandals, flip-flops, court shoes, sneakers and high heels. Beyond them, boxes, spilling over with bags and hats. The hangers are crammed tight with clothes, some still with the tags dangling. Who the fuck needs so many clothes? Imelda Marcos didn''t have this many shoes¡­ I open the nearest drawer: it¡¯s filled with jewellery: bangles, brooches and beads. Nes and pendants. There¡¯s no attempt to sort or organise. It¡¯s a magpie¡¯s tumble of coloured bling. Earrings are scattered through the mess, all singles. I don¡¯t see a matched pair. As I try to shut the drawer again, the brimming contents snag the runners and I have to shove hard to close it. I try the next drawer. More of the same. And the next¡­ Cosmetics: lipsticks, foundations, eyeliners and mascaras, blushers and shadows, designer perfume and cheap scent, powders, lotions and creams. No woman needs all this. Still moving carefully, I back out. A quick search of the rest of the room reveals more of the same. Chock-full wardrobes. Jammed drawers. Wigs, sunsses, scarves, gloves, sashes and shawls. Battalions of nail varnish bottles stand in ranks on the dresser. The drawers are jammed with underwear: panties, bras, stockings. What else? The bedside tables¡­ A pair ofmps. A stic tumbler and a bottle of sparkling water. A clock. A radio. I slide open a drawer: hairbrush. A bottle of paracetamol. Tissues¡­ At the back, a book. ¡®Poisonous and Psychoactive nts: a Handbook.¡¯ Interesting choice of bedtime reading¡­ I slide the drawer closed again. Something¡¯s pulling at me. Something missing. I can¡¯t put my finger on it. What? I run a mentalparison with Jenny¡¯s home and with Mitch¡¯s apartment. Ah, yes¡­ Not a single photograph. Not one. Not a picture on the wall. No personalisation of any kind. Beyond the door, voices are still speaking, mostly male but one is certainly female. And it¡¯s a voice I recognise, gabbling away in Portuguese, but too quickly for me to catch the words. Juliana¡­ You had me in that hellhole of yours, Blessingmoors. Then you shipped me out to Eastern Europe. Ten years of crawling through the mud, nting potatoes, picking potatoes, not eating much but fucking potatoes. You even said I looked like a potato. What does she want? Apart of course, from the pleasure of slitting my throat¡­ And anyone connected with me. Try checking your facts if you want to im the moral high ground. Jenny, who was standing beside you¡­ one of you¡­ Jenny. Is. My. Daughter. I look around the crap and bling she¡¯s filled her space with. Is this what she wants? Or just what she uses to fill the hole? No photos. Nothing personal. Even a hotel room has a cheap print hanging on the wall. What¡¯s going on here? What¡¯s in her head? Juliana¡­ She''s a simr age to my Jenny. Had a simr background to my Jenny¡­ All my fault¡­ But Juliana¡¯s taken a very different path to Jenny. Jenny¡¯s worked to take her life forward¡­ To change her stars¡­ Education¡­ A family¡­ A child¡­ To find her mother¡­ Mitch¡­ Great green eyes¡­ Sinking myself inside you¡­ Losing myself in you¡­ ¡­ Focus, Man¡­ For all that Jenny¡¯s family life is unorthodox, her life is full of love. Until recently, I¡¯d not appreciated just how much so. She couldn''t give a shit about any of this bling. This¡­ junk¡­ What¡¯s going on? I¡¯m not good with this head stuff¡­ Wish Michael was here¡­ I¡¯m pushing my luck. I¡¯ve been here long enough. Slipping out, I lower the mosquito mesh again, clip it back into ce and make my way along to a window, light streaming out. There¡¯s at least dozen inside, lounging, smoking, talking. Wonder Boy''s there, strutting and, although I can¡¯t hear anything through the ss, apparently bragging about something. As he turns enough that I get a decent view of his face, his eyes are staring wide, pupils huge and dted. Cocaine? The recreational drug of choice around here, I imagine. Whatever he¡¯s popped on, it¡¯s not as though he¡¯s alone. A couple of the others look pretty spaced too. And as I look carefully, I¡¯d say they¡¯re all carrying. And it¡¯s not just handguns I¡¯d be dealing with. Stacked in one corner, a vintage collection of rifles, mainly AK-47s and AK-74s so far as I can see from my angle. Hardly a sniper¡¯s choice but great for spraying bullets. Just as well I didn¡¯t go charging in... ¡­ I¡¯m good, but I couldn¡¯t take out this lot before they got me. One little Glock isn¡¯t enough to handle this. I need to kit up. What else? Ducking, I shift my position to get a different angle on the room¡­ Bingo! Juliana¡­ She¡¯s sitting beside a man counting out cash,paring it to the page of a notebook. Wonder Boy¡¯s takings? Juliana herself, grinning at the cash, is fiddling with a tablet. Across the room, another man looks to her then looks away. Then back again. Watching her but not wanting to be seen to do so? As I watch, her eyes rise to meet his and she bites her lip, then looks away again as Cash-Counting- Man nudges her, offering a bunch of notes. Her grin widens and she stands to kiss his cheek, then moves to sit on hisp, her arms around his neck. But her eyes keep flicking across the room to the other man. Still ying her games¡­ She¡¯s consistent¡­ I¡¯ve seen enough. I¡¯m in no position to do anything right now, at least not if I want to get out of this alive. Time to leave¡­ n¡­ ¡­ then return¡­ I¡¯m about to leave when an idea strikes. Phone in hand, I snap each of the faces inside. The lighting¡¯s a bit raw, but it¡¯s good enough for this. Ducking under the window ledge, I creep back along the balcony and make my way down again. My suit¡¯s suffering. It¡¯s meant for lounging and strolling in, not for ying Spiderman. From the lowest balcony level, I hang on with my fingers as low as I can then let myself drop,nding on my toes. I¡¯m still down the side of the block, out of sight of the main street, so I take a moment to brush myself down when¡­ ¡°And where d¡¯you think you¡¯re going?¡± Reflexively, I spin, reaching for my Glock, but halt as I look up the barrel of the pistol already trained on me. From behind me, footsteps. ¡°I asked where you think you¡¯re going?¡± The owner of the pistol is the man Juliana was making cow¡¯s eyes at. His English is excellent and only slightly ented. My hands held out, palms offered. I semi-turn to see the second man. Another of the upstairs group, his pupils are expanded ck¡­ High as giraffe¡¯s ass¡­ ¡°Oh, just passing by.¡± I shrug and give what I hope passes as a nervous chuckle. ¡°On my way back to my hotel. You know how it is. Stupid tourist. Got myself lost.¡± The owner of the gun jerks his chin upward, brows arching. ¡°Lost on a fourth-floor balcony. Not bad going.¡± His lips peel back. ¡°I know who you are, Larry. S warned me to look out for you.¡± ¡°S?¡± He snorts. ¡°Okay, Sna, if you insist. She told me all about you. That you wereing after her.¡± He almost spits his contempt. ¡°What kind of manes after a helpless woman?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t know that I¡¯d call her helpless,¡± I say. ¡°I don¡¯t know what she¡¯s told you but¡­¡± I lower my hands a little, extending the palms¡­ ¡°Look, whoever you are, this isn¡¯t personal. I¡¯m not looking for trouble with you. My gripe is with her. So, why don¡¯t you just let me go on my way and we¡¯ll say this never happened.¡± ¡°You think?¡± he snarls. ¡°I know where your family lives, Larry¡­¡± Something inside me freezes¡­ ¡°¡­ I know about your red-headed whore and that pretty daughter of yours...¡± Well, there you go¡­ ¡­ making it personal¡­ He¡¯s still mouthing off¡­ ¡°Yeah, S told me everything about what you did to her¡­¡± Really¡­ ¡°¡­ and about your bitch daughter and her tricks¡­¡± He nods to the man behind me. ¡°He¡¯s carrying. Under his jacket. Get it.¡± A hand snakes around me from behind, fumbling inside my jacket. The movement¡¯s twitchy and uncoordinated and I shift slightly¡­ ¡°Mexa-se, seu bastardo!¡± he snaps, but the speech is slurred. Obligingly, I turn, but his hand now under my arm, I snap tight with my elbow, gripping hard as I move, spinning around. I couldn¡¯t have pulled it off if he¡¯d not beenpletely baked. As it is, he stumbles and as the shot rings, he jerks and drops, grabbing at his thigh, and I push him, screaming, at his companion, who obligingly puts another round in him, this time in the chest. And I¡¯m moving, the knife from my belt already in my hand. No one can outrun a bullet, but I don¡¯t have to. The screaming, twitching, bleeding figure clutching up at the gunman, holding on, stops him firing, stops him even moving properly as I dart behind him. The back of one hand lifting his chin, with the other, I sh. The pistol falls from his hand and he drops to the ground. He¡¯s still moving, still alive, but as the blood pulses out he clutches at this throat. And I see it there. The rising panic¡­ The fear¡­ The horror¡­ as he sees the spurting blood and realises it is his own, understands the knowledge that this is the end. He can¡¯t scream. Only a stricken gurgle emerges from his mouth, but his eyes rise to mine as I stand over him. ¡°I was willing to walk away¡­¡± I say¡­ ¡°You think you can threaten my family? You¡¯re lucky I don¡¯t slit you open and make you eat your own liver.¡± And I watch him die. The whole thing can¡¯t havested more than a minute, but this isn¡¯t the moment to hang around¡­ Time to leave¡­ But I''m covered in fucking blood. Under the streetlights, it stains ck against the pale linen of my suit. Even in the dark, I''ll have problems if I meet anyone. And then I have to get to my hotel room without being seen. Laurel and Hardy aren''t exactly clean either. The slit throat of the one has gushed over his chest, but his pants are just about wearable. The jacket from the other is bloody but darkly coloured, is a huge improvement on the cream of my own. Stripping the pants from one, the jacket from the other, they¡¯re not a great fit, but at least I look less as though I just stepped from the set of a horror-gore flick. So long as I keep my head low, I should pass muster long enough to make it back to my hotel. My own suit, I toss into the trash can and hope for the best. Back to the hotel¡­ Get equipped¡­ I¡¯ll be back¡­ ***** Chapter 23 Chapter 23 Michael The kitchen seems as good a ce as any to wait. Given the endless supply of tea and coffee needed, why go anywhere else? Charlotte sits by the fire. ¡°It¡¯s going to feel funny having a brother for Cara.¡± ¡°Not exactly a brother,¡± says her mother. Mitch is on a knitting spree again, this time, a small blue hat. Charlotte ponders. ¡°True, but Adam will feel like a brother, won¡¯t he.¡± James puts a bottle of Cava in the fridge. ¡°Something to celebrate with,¡± he says. ¡°We¡¯ll need more than one¡­¡± I say... ¡°¡­ And¡­ it¡¯s Richard we¡¯re talking about. I¡¯ll pop across to the hotel and get some champagne.¡± He opens his mouth to protest and I hold up warding hands. ¡°I know, it¡¯s the same, but Richard would prefer it. And it¡¯s his and Beth¡¯s day. Why don¡¯t you make sure we have plenty of ice for the bucket.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± James lifts the lid of the freezer, rummaging inside. ¡°¡­Then you could make a pot of tea to take upstairs. If you give Richard any more coffee, they¡¯ll be scraping him off the ceiling.¡± James tugs out a bag of ice cubes. ¡°Yes, there¡¯s plenty.¡± He sucks at his cheeks. ¡°Never thought I¡¯d be so nervous on behalf of someone¡¯s else¡¯s child being born.¡± Mitchys her knitting on herp. ¡°Scared someone might think you have a heart, James?¡± He awards her a basilisk stare, but she simply chuckles and lifts her needles again, counting under her breath. James draws a breath, heading for the hob. ¡°So, who wants tea? Who wants cof¡­¡± And from beyond the door, drifting from the upper floor, the wail of new lungs being tested out for the first time. ***** Klempner I tap and wait. The answer¡¯s a little slower ining than usual¡­ Timezone? Ah, yes¡­ Early morning there. Perhaps I¡¯ve rung too early¡­ But as I¡¯m about to ring off, the line clicks and connects. ¡°Good morning, sir.¡± Hickman¡¯s tone is polite but sleepy. ¡°My apologies, Hickman, I wasn¡¯t thinking. I should have rungter.¡± ¡°That¡¯s fine, sir. I was already out of bed. You caught me making coffee.¡± A pause and a gulping sound testify to his words. ¡°How are things over there, Hickman? Everything alright?¡± ¡°Absolutely fine, sir. There¡¯s not a murmur of anything amiss. If there had been, naturally I would have contacted you immediately.¡± ¡°Mitch?¡± ¡°I¡¯d say Miss Kimberley is missing you, sir. She spends a lot of time staring into space and fiddling with your ring.¡± ¡°And my daughter and granddaughter?¡± Belongs to ? n0velDrama.Org. ¡°Mother and baby both doing well, sir¡­ Sir, don¡¯t you think you should speak to your family directly?¡± ¡°No. I don¡¯t need anyplications right now. I have a job to do and no distractions. We can talk when I get back¡­¡± ¡°But Miss Kimberley¡­¡± ¡°¡­ I waited twenty years for her, Hickman. I can handle a few months more. So long as she¡¯s well, that¡¯s all that matters.¡± ¡°Very good, sir. Are you making any progress? Have you found Juliana Diaz?¡± ¡°Yes, but it¡¯s not a simple as that. She¡¯s going under the name of S, or Sna. And she¡¯s running some kind of organisation¡­ Or at least, she¡¯s the power behind the organisation. I need to find out what. There¡¯s no point me simply cutting the head off the snake to find there¡¯s a whole nest of them.¡± ¡°Be very careful, sir. The woman is dangerous.¡± My hackles rise. ¡°And I¡¯m not?¡± There¡¯s a silence for several seconds, then another gulping sound. ¡°It is quite clear, sir, that Diaz¡­ if that is her name¡­ has been nning this for years. Given her performance with Baxter and others, it is equally clear that she is intelligent, organised and vindictive. If she passed through your hands in your trafficking days, then she¡¯s proved herself to be a survivor too.¡± ¡°I think my sense of survival is more finely tuned than she is. Hickman, I need you to get some information for me¡­ ***** Chapter 24 Chapter 24 Michael ¡°Congrattions, Richard.¡± Will Stanton clinks sses with his old friend. ¡°I came over as soon as I heard. And how¡¯s Beth? I have some flowers for her.¡± ¡®Some flowers¡¯ is an understatement. The bouquet is huge. ¡°I¡¯ll find a vase for them,¡± I say. ¡°You can take them up together.¡± ¡°Great!¡± His smile is broad. ¡°And the baby, Adam is it? How¡¯s he?¡± ¡°All present and correct,¡± beams Richard. ¡°Mother and baby doing well.¡± From the front door, the sound of knocking. ¡°I¡¯ll get it,¡± I say. ¡°Enjoy your champagne. It¡¯s probably another delivery of Congrattions cards. I head down the hall, chuckling. I¡¯d not considered that, Richard being who he is, one of the Great and Good of the City, we¡¯d be overwhelmed by cards. The house is festooned with them: hundreds of the things: from friends, employees, colleagues, bankers and hangers-on, they all want to be remembered to the richest man in a hundred miles. I open the door, expecting to see a mailman. Instead, it¡¯s Hickman, arge brown envelope sped in one hand. ¡°Please excuse my intrusion, Mr Summerford, but I saw the policemissioner arrive. I wonder if I might have a word with him?¡± ¡°Of course. Come in. Everyone¡¯s in the lounge.¡± Will¡¯s brows rise as he enters. He speaks with exaggerated politeness. ¡°And what would you and I have to talk about, Mr Hickman?¡± ¡°I have a request from my employer. He needs information.¡± It¡¯s a clich¨¦ to say that you could hear a pin drop, but nheless¡­ Will¡¯s mouth ps open, then closes again. Then opens once more. ¡°You have my attention.¡± In the background, Mitch rises from her seat, moving closer. Hickman¡¯s face is straight, but his lips quirk as he takes something from the envelope, passing it to Will: a sheaf of photo prints. ¡°My employer requests that you obtain identification and anything else you can tell him about the men in these photographs.¡± Will blinks then works through the sheaf of images, examining each one quickly then moving on. ¡°And these individuals are¡­ of what interest exactly?¡± ¡°My employer informs me that they are gang-members running a protection racket on a number of small, apparently reputable and legitimate businesses in Sao Paulo. The businesses concerned are based at the addresses taken from a number of the¡­¡± ¡­He makes airmas¡­ ¡°¡­ invoices¡­ taken from Finchby¡¯s records.¡± Will scowls. ¡°Is that so?¡± He peers at the images, holding them up to the light. ¡°So, what¡¯s Klempner up to?¡± Hickman¡¯s voice remains nd. ¡°Mr Klempner is attempting to trace the connection between Finchby¡¯s operation here, Baxter¡¯s¡­um¡­ supply chain¡­ and the female named as Juliana Diaz by Baxter, now apparently under the name of S or Sna.¡± Will awards him a slow look, his lips pursing¡­ ¡­ Unabashed, Hickman continues¡­ ¡°Mr Klempner suggests that it would serve all our interests to¡­ What was his phrase? ¡­ Cut the supply at source. He intends to ensure the Diaz female is no longer a threat to his family¡­¡± He casts a small nod to Mitch, another to Charlotte¡­ ¡°¡­ And since it appears that the gang is still dealing with at least two branches of organised crime, protection and trafficking, he felt you might be interested in cooperating with him.¡± Hickman finally dries up and his face cracks to a smile. ¡°What do you say, Commissioner?¡± Will inhales. ¡°Let me see if I have this right. Lawrence Klempner wants me to supply him with information identifying individuals involved in organised crime in Brazil with the intention of what? Assassinating said criminals?¡± ¡°My employer did not entrust me with the fine detail of his ns,missioner.¡± N?velDrama.Org (C) content. ¡°It seems to me he¡¯s entrusted you with a lot else, Hickman.¡± He pauses, regarding the heavy-set, slightly thuggish-looking man. ¡°I thought you were just Klempner¡¯s hired muscle? He seems to be relying heavily on your loyalty.¡± ¡°We have already discussed thismissioner. While my muscle is, as you say, hired, it will remain hired so long as Mr Klempner is my employer.¡± Will grunts nonmittally, and works through the photos again, this time examining each one more carefully. James offers out a hand. ¡°Mind if I take a look?¡± Hickman interrupts, his tone smooth. ¡°My apologies, Mr Alexanders. I printed several copies.¡± From the envelope, he extracts several more sets of the printed images, distributing them to James and Richard, another to me, then Mitch and Charlotte. ¡°Mr Klempner was specific that he wanted you all to have ess to full information. In return, he hopes that Commissioner Stanton here will see fit to provide the information he requests.¡± Will raises a brow. ¡°You realise of course, this isn¡¯t the kind of information I have right on hand...¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°¡­ but I¡¯ll see what I can find. At the least, I¡¯ll have to contact Interpol and the Brazilian authorities. When I¡¯ve learned anything, I¡¯ll take a view on what I¡¯m willing to pass on to Klempner.¡± ***** Chapter 25 Chapter 25 James Adam is safely born. Beth is asleep. Richard too¡­ Nervous exhaustion? Lol! It¡¯s quiet. And it¡¯s dark. And it¡¯s the first real chance I¡¯ve had to sit quietly. To think¡­ ¡­ To consider what Charlotte said. But¡­ but¡­ you sent me an email, with the link to the site and that photo. I went right through it. They had some lovely things. But I knew you liked that corset so I bought it. I turn the words over in my head. Not like her to fall for something like that¡­ Way too canny¡­ Too suspicious¡­ So it must have been good. ¡­ ? It seemed toe from me¡­ So, someone had my email address¡­ And baited the message with something so perfect Charlotte had no reason to doubt it¡­ And they¡­ they¡­ ¡­ they what? They sold her a corset¡­ ? ? Weird or what¡­ Yes¡­ What? How could they know her that well? To target her so well? ***** ¡°Charlotte, do you still have that email? The one you said I sent you. Or have you wiped it?¡± She nces up from herptop. ¡°I was just about to wipe it. Why?¡± ¡°I¡¯d like to see it. And the invoice for the corset if you still have it. And the packing slip.¡± She frowns, then her face clears. ¡°Sure. Gimme five.¡± She returns with a couple of A4 sheets. ¡°Invoice and delivery note.¡± Shaking her head slightly, ¡°Why the interest, Master?¡± ¡°Let¡¯s say I¡¯m taking offence at your being targeted. The thing is, this has all the hallmarks of a scam, except that all it appears to have achieved is to sell you an item of sexy lingerie.¡± ¡°Appears to have achieved?¡± She swallows. ¡°I¡¯ve not done something stupid, have I?¡± ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so. But someone else has gone to a great deal of trouble if the only intention was to sell you expensive underwear.¡± I snap my fingers at the sheets in her hand. ¡°Let me see.¡± I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m looking for, but somewhere in the back of my head, rm bells are ringing. ***** Two hourster, I¡¯m still shaking my head. The lingeriepany appears to be a perfectly legitimate business. It¡¯s been trading for nigh-on thirty years and the only thing that¡¯s changed in that time is the fashions it¡¯s selling. A quick check with the registrar reveals that thepany listed on the paperwork is the same one as is connected with the website. A further search shows that the directors are authentic, actually exist as people and, judging by the string ofpany ounts I¡¯ve looked over, are doing solid and growing business over some decades. But those rm bells are still ringing. Something smells off. The website has a newsletter. So, making a couple of adjustments to my online security first, I sign up and wait to see what develops. A wee email pops into my inbox within two minutes. Wee to Arcadia Lingerie! We¡¯re thrilled to have you aboard¡­. I read on¡­ It¡¯s standard marketing stuff. Not inspired, but since they¡¯re selling a quality product that speaks for itself, they¡¯re doing alright anyway. I sit back in my seat, fingers drumming the desktop. ¡°Mind if I join you?¡± I spin in my chair, but it¡¯s only Richard. ¡°I couldn¡¯t sleep.¡± Belongs to ? n0velDrama.Org. ¡°I¡¯m not surprised. Yes, of course. Drink?¡± ¡°Beat you to it.¡± He pulls up a chair by my desk, slides a ss across to me. An inch of amber nectar sits in the bottom of the ss. He sips from his own. ¡°Beth alright? And Adam?¡± He gives me a silly grin. ¡°Doing great. Just catching up on their sleep.¡± He leans in peering at my face. ¡°What¡¯s bothering you?¡± I push the paperwork Charlotte gave me to him, along with some of the print-offs I¡¯ve taken. He nces at them, then shrugs. ¡°What¡¯s so exciting about a sales pitch for a corset?¡± I sip the malt, then take a gulp. ¡°Something¡¯s wrong.¡± ¡°Elizabeth gets emails like that all the time, trying to sell her this or that: clothes, jewellery, bags, hats¡­ For that matter, so do I.¡± ¡°Do they arrive in Beth¡¯s in-box purporting toe from you?¡± He sits back in his seat. ¡°No, they don¡¯t.¡± He pulls at his chin. ¡°If I¡¯m mentioned, it¡¯s because the ad comes from one of the How To Spend It outlets. Usually trying to persuade her that I need a new diamond watch, or a yacht or an antique car.¡± ¡°Exactly. This email professed toe from me.¡± ¡°Personal email address?¡± ¡°No, work address.¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± He inhales¡­ ¡°¡­ that¡¯s public information. Anyone taking a ten-second look at a Haswell corporation brochure would pick it up.¡± ¡°In which case, why the personal connection to Charlotte?¡± Richard Hmmms¡­ Sips his whiskey¡­ Swallows¡­ ¡°Perhaps you¡¯re tackling this from the wrong end. What did that email lead Charlotte to do? It purported to advertise a lingerie website. What exactly did she do when she read the email?¡± ¡°She clicked a link. Click-baiting is amon enough tactic with hackers, but this link was to a legitimatepany, a legitimate website.¡± Richard Hmmms again. ¡°I¡¯m not enough of a tech man to know but, just because apany is legitimate¡­ It¡¯s website too, perhaps¡­ Does that necessarily mean that an individual page or link couldn¡¯t have been¡­ interfered with?¡± Of course it fucking doesn¡¯t¡­ He watches my face closely. ¡°Why don¡¯t you take a close look at the link and page together? Perhaps I can ask some numbskull questions that you can answer.¡± I pull up Charlotte¡¯s email onto the screen, ¡®from me¡¯. Thought you might like to browse this site. Find something you like. Life¡¯s getting back to normal xx The image of the girl modelling the corset is there: a very attractive redhead wearing an emerald green corset. The model can¡¯t match Charlotte for looks, but the suggestion is there: a red-headed girl in sexy underwear which, had I really sent this message, is just the kind of thing I would have suggested for her. The real sender was right on target, whoever they are. This is no random spam. It¡¯s targeted¡­ at Charlotte. I go over the link to the website¡­ again¡­ I already know what I¡¯ll find, I¡¯ve done it three times already. The link is clean, with none of the ¡®behind the screen¡¯ coding that would suggest anything suspicious. It simply directs the clicker to the home page of the target website. There¡¯s not even that attached tagging that tells the more alert reader that some associate ount is going to earn a few per cent on any sale. I scour the home page, looking for anything out of kilter. But there¡¯s nothing. Richard pours another inch into my ss, then his. ¡°Alright, so Charlotte¡¯s on the Home Page. Where would she go next? How about the page it¡¯s showing on the email? The one with the corset image?¡± ¡°But the link on the email doesn¡¯t lead her¡­¡± And I swallow my words in mid-sentence. No, the link doesn¡¯t lead her there. But Charlotte believes I have sent her a request to buy that item. Christ! She¡¯ll have searched through to find it, scoured the menus until she found that item. Then she would have clicked again. Resting my chin on the knuckles of one hand, with the other I mouse through menus until I find the image from the email. On the face of it, there¡¯s nothing suspicious. To the casual observer, and indeed, any other visitor to the page, it is simply disying and offering to sell an item of luxury lingerie. A right click, then I bring up the source code. And it¡¯s there. ¡°Fuck!¡± Richard peers in, swinging his head. ¡°What is it? What does it do?¡± ¡°To anyone else visiting that page, nothing whatsoever¡­¡± I¡¯m muttering into my hand, pressed to my mouth¡­ I point to a couple of lines of code. That¡¯s Charlotte¡¯s IP address. When she clicked through, carrying the breadcrumb trail from ¡®my¡¯ email, it triggered¡­¡± What? What did it trigger? My temples are beginning to throb. Something highly specific, specific to Charlotte has been set up to¡­ To what? What does it do? Richard sits by me in silence for a couple of minutes as I try to make sense of what I¡¯m seeing. ¡°Perhaps I can ask another question?¡± ¡°Go on.¡± ¡°What did Charlotte do next? After she saw this page?¡± ¡°That is a very good question¡­ She bought the corset, along with several other items.¡± Richard nods. ¡°So, she paid online for the goods. An attempt to hack her bank ount or credit card perhaps?¡± ¡°Perhaps¡­¡± Still¡­ ¡°Richard, could you give Charlotte a call please¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m here.¡± She¡¯s hovering by the door, twisting a lock of hair in her fingers. ¡°What¡¯s happening? What have I done?¡± ¡°Charlotte, humour me, please. Check your bank ount and credit cards. Make sure that everything is as it should be. If you find anything untoward, freeze them immediately.¡± Her face clouds. ¡°Back in a minute.¡± And she darts off. ¡°You don¡¯t look convinced,¡± says Richard. ¡°I¡¯m not. I¡¯m just covering all the angles. This is¡­ too borate. Too specific.¡± Charlotte reappears, her openptop in hand. ¡°My ounts are fine. Nothing¡¯s gone out that I don¡¯t know about.¡± I scratch at my chin¡­ Need a shave¡­ ¡°Charlotte, when you ordered that corset, did anything seem odd about the transaction? About the way the website worked? How they took your money? Anything?¡± Her mouth is a little ck. ¡°No, it seemedpletely normal. Master, what¡¯s wrong? What¡¯s happened?¡± ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m trying to figure out.¡± Richard says, ¡°Charlotte, after you ordered the goods, what did you do next?¡± Her eyes go vacant for a second, then she turns to me, ¡°I sent you a message, Master, to say I¡¯d bought it¡­¡± Her voice trails off¡­ ¡°Oh¡­¡± Her eyes widen. I take a breath. ¡°And I opened it. But I wasn¡¯t paying attention. Charlotte, was it a fresh email? Or a reply to the one you thought I¡¯d sent you?¡± ¡°It was a reply.¡± Her hand rises to her mouth¡­ ¡°But if there was anything wrong in there, your security would have stopped it¡­ surely?¡± ¡°Not when it came from you. My system is set to ept any messages from you. An hourter, I know what¡¯s happened. I¡¯ve been hacked and, right now, I can only guess the consequences. Richard, Charlotte and Michael sit by as I exin. I don¡¯t want to tell Mitch until I¡¯ve had an opportunity to think things through. ***** Chapter 26 Chapter 26 Michael James looks sick at heart. ¡°They sent an email to Charlotte which appeared toe from me. And so of course, she responded to it. And because there was nothing amiss with any of the content and the link was to a trustworthy website, there was nothing for her security to pick up on¡­ ¡°Whoever did this, they''ve hacked apletely legitimatepany, a supplier of lingerie and other perfectly innocent goods. Charlotte could have worked her way all around that website and the only damage would have been the spend on her credit card, until she hit that single image. And they ensured she would hit it by making it look like a request from me. ¡°After that, Charlotte replied to my email and I clicked it open. The fucking thing infected my system and I didn¡¯t spot a thing because I wasn¡¯t paying attention.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t follow all this,¡± I say. ¡°So what¡¯s this infection done, James?¡± He sucks at his cheeks, as though trying to work up saliva. Then, speaking as though making a confession, ¡°While Klempner was here, I hacked his phone. Or to be precise, he uploaded an image I sent him, one of those of Baxter while we were searching for him. The image was a lot more than it appeared to be. I¡¯d set it up as a Trojan into his system which meant I could keep an eye on him wherever he was¡­¡± James raises a finger¡­ ¡°That is what I was telling Will about when he was deciding whether or not to arrest Klempner. I knew that at the time of Mickey¡¯s stabbing, Klempner was nowhere near. He couldn¡¯t have been the attacker. Will took that as a sign of good faith. With that information and the promise that I would keep an eye on where Klempner was at all times, he epted that he didn¡¯t need to arrest him.¡± ¡°So¡­?¡± prompts Richard. ¡°So¡­ Klempner destroyed that phone. I¡¯m guessing he realised I¡¯d got a tracker on him. The phone went out ofmission just after he spoke to us that day he found Baxter¡­¡± Belongs to ? n0velDrama.Org. Richard folds arms. ¡°I detect a Buting into the conversation¡­¡± James draws in air. ¡°But¡­ my Trojan did more than just infect his phone. It was set to back itself up into his cloud service¡­¡± ¡°So¡­ when he got himself a new mobile¡­ the moment he logged into his system, it re-infected itself?¡± ¡°Yes¡­¡± James presses fingers to his forehead. ¡°And now, I¡¯ve been hacked, more than that¡­ I¡¯ve been suckered. The moment the hacker obtained ess to my machine, they set about searching out all the records I have rting to Klempner¡­¡± There¡¯s more¡­ ¡°¡­ And worse than that, because I messaged him, because he opened my messages, their virus has been carried through to his system.¡± ¡°So¡­¡± says Richard slowly¡­ ¡°Our hacker is in Klempner¡¯s system?¡± He nods, rubbing at the back of his head. ¡°I suppose¡­¡± I say¡­ ¡°¡­We can assume the hacker is Juliana¡­ S¡­ whatever she¡¯s calling herself?¡± ¡°Who else?¡± ¡°So, Juliana not only knows where he is? She has ess to all his files?¡± ¡°That¡¯s about the size of it.¡± ¡°I think you¡¯d better let him know, pretty damn quick.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve already sent a message to Hickman, asked him to call by¡­¡± As though on cue, the doorbell rings. Richard rises quickly. ¡°I¡¯ll go.¡± In less than a minute, he returns, Hickman at his side. ¡°What can I do for you, Mr Alexanders?¡± ***** Hickman¡¯s expression is grave. ¡°I can¡¯t get a reply from him. There¡¯s a voicemail connecting but, under the circumstances, I¡¯m reluctant to leave a message with anything very explicit. I¡¯ve simply asked him to return my call on an urgent matter. I am¡­ unwilling¡­ to message or email him, given what you have told me¡­¡± ¡°He can still trace your phone¡­¡± He tosses his mobile from one hand to the other. ¡°Brand new mobile. Completely generic. I, like Mr Klempner, always keep one unused and handy, just in case.¡± ¡°A new number? So, how does he know it¡¯s really you?¡± ¡°He knows my voice, Mr Haswell. And we have some prearranged codewords in case of trouble or warnings that we can¡¯t speak out loud.¡± ¡°You seem well prepared.¡± ¡°Mr Klempner is very well prepared. Very organised. Except of course where someone blows a hole through all his arrangements.¡± Hickman¡¯s voice is t, but his re is directed at James, who looks away. ¡°What do we tell Mitch?¡± I say. Richard snaps a reply. ¡°Nothing. Not yet. There¡¯s no point upsetting her without our learning more first.¡± ***** Chapter 27 Chapter 27 Klempner Damn phone¡­ What¡¯s wrong with the fucking thing? I tap in again. Nothing happens. I¡¯m several floors up, heading back for my hotel room. The signal should be strong up here. I inspect the screen¡­ Yes¡­ plenty of signal¡­ Better contact Dakho¡­ Get him to supply a new one¡­ A more reliable model this time¡­ Arriving at my room door¡­ N?velD(ram)a.?rg owns this content. ¡­ A brief shufti along the corridor¡­ ¡­ I¡¯m alone. A quick inspection that my slicked-on hair is still in ce¡­ ¡­ It is¡­ a faint dark line against the white paint, which peels away, then drops to the floor as I slide the card into the lock and push the door open¡­ I toss the useless phone onto my bed then start to shrug off my jacket¡­ ¡­ and in mid-movement, I stall. My spine prickles and without meaning to, I¡¯m standing stock-still, Glock in hand, staring around the apartment. What¡¯s wrong? Working on automatic, my hand follows my eye, weapon aimed, but¡­ I don¡¯t see anything. Nothing has moved. Nothing has changed. Air-con whispers above me, riffling the petals on a vase of lilies and wafting honeyed air at me. The carpet still lies in vacuumed stripes, with only my own footprints lightly in the pile. Really? Experimentally, I press my foot down by one of the existing footprints: a perfect match. My newspaper lies where I left it, outside on the balcony, folded up on the table, alongside my breakfast tray. And the balcony is small, with nowhere for an intruder to hide. cing my feet silently, I cross the floor, turn the handle of the bedroom door. With a subdued click, it swings open. Inside¡­ the carpet in perfect dark-light stripes¡­ the bed made, and beside the pillows, a pair of bath- towels folded, for some inexplicable reason, into the shape of swans. Why do they do that? On a side-table, the usual tea and coffee kit, biscuits, a small box of foil-wrapped choctes, a comments book¡­ Gun in one hand, with the other, at arm¡¯s length, I flick open first one wardrobe door, then the other. There¡¯s nothing but my own clothes. And while shirts garishly printed with pineapples and palm trees might be an offence to good taste, I don¡¯t feel threatened by them. Only one ce left¡­ Inexorably, I¡¯m drawn to the door of the en-suite. Freezing statue-still for a long second¡­ ear cocked¡­ gun at the ready¡­ I listen¡­ ¡­ to no more than the mixed warbles and screeches of birds, the hiss of cicadas, sshing pools and chattering children¡­ Standing back, thrusting out, I kick the door and it bangs open, bouncing on its hinges¡­ But inside, there¡¯s nothing more rming than a tidemark around the bath where I¡¯ve washed away the sweat of the day and the maid has beenx in her cleaning. Still, my rms are ring¡­ What triggered it? My mouth tastes metallic and my heart ys percussion against my ribs¡­ Calm down¡­ Breathe¡­ Think¡­ What happened? I was barely in the room¡­ Outside then¡­ Something in the corridor¡­ Elbow crooked to aim the gun-barrel at the ceiling, I dart a look outside. The corridor is still empty; nothing to indicate anyone has been watching. At the end of the passage: double French doors, closed, to a Juliet balcony: curtains to either side, long and full, draped to the floor. Marching briskly down, I tug first one curtain to the side, then the other. Still nothing. The balcony beyond is tiny, but just on the off chance someone might be hanging over the edge¡­ Letting your imagination run away¡­? ¡­ I try the door handle. It¡¯s locked. The corridor is long and all but featureless: four doors to the left, four to the right¡­ but¡­ I looked. If anyone had been at the doors, I would have seen them. Baffled at my own reactions, I pace back to my room door¡­ Look right¡­ Look left¡­ Up to the ceiling¡­ Hidden camera? But if it¡¯s so well hidden, even my subconscious wouldn¡¯t have responded¡­ I look down¡­ ¡­ and my pulse pounds¡­ There, on the thick corridor carpet, a single hair, my guard-hair, fallen to the floor, close by the edge of the door frame. From my eye-level six feet up, I wouldn¡¯t even notice it except that I¡¯m looking and, catching the light, it glistens. It glistens red. Sweat streams cold down my spine. Stooping, I pick up the tiny thing. Then, plucking a hair from my own head, I hold the two side by side. In one hand, I hold a single copper strand. In the other, a thread of brown. Juliana¡­ ying your games again? ***** Chapter 28 Chapter 28 Michael I amble into the kitchen to the mixed smells of toast, peppermint and coffee. Mitch, Beth and Charlotte are gathered around the breakfast table. stering a smile on my face, I try to sound cheerful. ¡°Morning all.¡± ¡°Morning, Michael,¡± smiles Beth. She still looks tired, but like Charlotte, is still going through the stage of not wanting to let go of Adam. He coos in her arms and she keeps her attention on him. Charlotte speaks quickly, then looks away. ¡°Hi.¡± Mitch nods, then sips from her teacup, looking down. Have I said something I shouldn¡¯t? Offended one of them? Snagging a couple of oranges, I head for the squeezer and slice the first one in half. ¡°Juice, anyone?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have some,¡± says Charlotte. ¡°And squeeze some for Mom too, please.¡± ¡°Sure thing.¡± I grab another couple of oranges, running a quick mental inventory of what I¡¯ve said and done this morning and the evening before¡­ Beth was tired¡­ Hardly surprising. But certainly not upset. Triumphant would be nearer the mark. Did I say something to offend her? Nah¡­ What then? I press down on half an orange. The squeezer hums and spins, shooting a thin jet of juice and catching me in the eye Fuck! ¡­ then dribbling down my face onto my chest¡­ Making a grab for the paper towels I swipe down my face, then mop at the stains on my tee-shirt¡­ ¡­ but it makes a convenient excuse for me to surreptitiously eye the female trio. There¡¯s an air of huddle about them. Normally, me firing myself with orange juice would have at least drawn a snark from Charlotte. But now¡­ She and Mitch and Beth lean in, heads close, talking quietly. This is beyond ¡®huddle¡¯. I¡¯m inching towards conspiracy¡­ What the hell¡¯s going on? Then I see it. On the tabletop, lying between the three¡­ ¡°Is that a pregnancy test?¡± Three heads spin. Three faces jerk my way. Three sets of copper hair sway, then settle. I stride over, snatching up the small wand. Two blue lines stare up at me. ¡°Charlotte? Didn¡¯t you want to tell me?¡± Her great emerald eyes rise to mine and her mouth opens to speak, but I¡¯m still talking¡­ ¡°It¡¯s pretty soon after the first, I know, but did you imagine I¡¯d be angry?¡± She¡¯s shaking her head¡­ ¡°Michael, it¡¯s not¡­¡± ¡°Charlotte¡­ It¡¯s marvellous¡­¡± ¡°Michael, it¡¯s not mine.¡± I jolt back down to earth. ¡°What?¡± Belongs to ? n0velDrama.Org. ¡°It¡¯s not my test.¡± My head is full of fug. I look to Beth, Adam cuddled up close, barely born. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± James stands in the doorway, his gaze sweeping the kitchen, a touch of interrogation in his tone. Scarlet flushes up Mitch¡¯s neck. She drops her face. ¡°Michael¡­¡± Charlotte touches my hand. ¡°The test¡­ It¡¯s¡­ Mom¡¯s.¡± Mitch? My mouth ps open then closed. Then open again. ¡°Mitch?¡± ¡°Yes, I¡¯m pregnant.¡± ***** The Story Continues In ¡®Vitale¡¯ Chapter 30 Chapter 30 Klempner In one hand, I hold a single copper strand. In the other, a thread of brown. My body freezes as my mind races through the possibilities. I left my hotel room several hours earlier, slicking a hair into ce over the crack between door and frame as I left. On my return, a hair was still in ce and I entered my room assuming all was normal. N?velD(ram)a.?rg owns this content. Now, however, in my left hand, I hold a hair just plucked from my own scalp: the mousy-brown shade of my current identity. In the right hand, I hold the hair which dropped from my hotel room door as I returned, and which on casual inspection, I had taken to be the one I slicked into ce as I left the room earlier. But the right-hand hair is red. And now I look at it, I recognise that shade: a deep burnished copper-auburn that many women aspire to, but few have. But Mitch has it. Jenny too; Could ite from one of them? Probably, yes. Jenny¡­ Juliana, or at least her cat¡¯s-paws Baxter and Finchby, had Jenny unconscious as a prisoner for some while. They even trimmed a lock of her pubic hair and sent it to James along with her underwear. Plucking a few hairs from her scalp would never have been noticed. So, this could be Jenny¡¯s hair. On the other hand, it might just be the hair of some local woman lucky enough to have the shade. Does it matter? Where ites from? Or is it just the message that¡¯s important? Juliana and her games¡­ My hand is shaking, the copper hair vibrating between my fingers like a metronome. Calm down¡­ Think¡­ Breathing deliberately deeply, I let out air. Take it in again. And once more. My hand steadies once more. How long have I been standing here? Frozen by surprise and indecision¡­ A minute? Two? Time to get the hell out of here¡­ Making a sharp re-entry to my room, I sling essentials in a carry-bag: wallet, tablet, passport, that useless phone¡­ Must contact Dakho¡­ Get a recement¡­ A nce around the suite¡­ ¡­ Anything else important? Clothes, I abandon. Toiletries too. It¡¯s all just stuff. Easily reced. I holster my Glock, check my knives are in ce in their sheaths, sling the bag over my shoulder¡­ ¡­ That¡¯s it, then¡­ ¡­ And making a u-turn, I head for the door¡­ On the threshold, I pause. Would Juliana really have stopped at that? A hair¡­ A warning to me¡­ Only that? It doesn¡¯t ring true. There¡¯s surely something else. Torn between the urge to leave and the desire to know¡­ I vacite. It¡¯s under five minutes since I made my discovery, and everything inside screams that I should leave¡­ And Now¡­ Fuck! I¡¯ve got to know¡­ Carry-bag still slung across my shoulder, gun in hand, I pace the lounge¡­ ¡­ then the terrace¡­ ¡­ the bedroom¡­ ¡­ seeking¡­ seeking what? Whatever my first hasty charge around the apartment might have missed. I find it in the bathroom. Juliana¡­ She¡¯s consistent at least. Rigged up in the same way as when she abandoned Baxter, the lavatory seat is wired. Hitching my pants at the knees to squat down, I peer in. It¡¯s an amateur job, the wiring crude, but it would still work. Lifting the seat is the trigger for the explosion. The technique has long been used as a booby-trap in situations where, typically, the intention is not to kill, but to maim. A corpse can be buried with honours. But apanion on a stretcher, carrying what¡¯s left of his genitalia in a paper bag; that¡¯s a drag on resources and morale. On the other hand, the bowl, or maybe the cistern, could contain enough explosive to blow the room apart. I¡¯m not about to put it to the test. Shaking my head, I leave. I make my way down the rear stairs, calling by theundries in the basement. Dumping my suit, a rummage through the baskets produces some sort of uniform; one-piece, in navy-blue, perhaps for a plumber or other maintenance man. Checking first that there¡¯s no logo stitched in to link me back to the hotel, I put it on. It¡¯s a little short in the arm but rolling up the sleeves hides that. Then, carry-bag back in ce, whistling a merry little tune, I exit the hotel via the service entrance. Following the side-road brings me to an alley, then another alley. Finally, I spot a shady niche. There¡¯s space for a dozen trash bins, but not all are taken. Ducking into the gap, I¡¯m out of sight. One of the bins serves as a seat while I grab my breath and assemble my thoughts. Now what? Caught with my trousers down¡­ ¡­ like aplete fucking amateur¡­ I believed I was safely hidden behind my fake ID. Now I¡¯m going to have to change again. When the hotel discovers ¡®Harry Hughes¡¯ has an explosivevatory, the police are bound to investigate. I¡¯m still not far from the hotel. I need to get further away than this, but there¡¯s no point running at random. Somewhere to stay? To hide? To think¡­ And I¡¯m still faced with the obvious, and unpleasant, question. How did Juliana know where I was? Perhaps she made the link to Antonio¡¯s? I was eating there regrly. Was I careless? Building up a habit I shouldn¡¯t have? She could have had me followed back from there? After all, I picked up on her messenger boy at the restaurant, when he was squeezing the old man for protection money. Sauce for the goose? Sauce for the gander? It still doesn¡¯t feel right. Antonio¡­ She wouldn¡¯t go for him would she? Just an innocent bystander that sold me a few meals? Would she¡­? My meandering thoughts are cut short¡­ Shattering noise ricochets down the alleyway, echoing and reverberating. Lids tter on the bins around me. The bin I¡¯m sitting on Whumphs! under me with the shockwave and reflexively, I drop to the ground, hands mming over my ears, curling in on myself against the explosion, Then catching up with my thoughts, I coil, springing up to dash back the way I came, towards the source of the sound. I¡¯m fighting against a stream of shrieking, panicking, fleeing people. Men and women alike, some carrying children in their headlong dash for escape. Some stopping to help others. Others simply pelt away. And I know what they¡¯re running from. The st wasn¡¯t huge on the scale of things. But what was, only minutes ago, my hotel apartment, is history. So is the next apartment. A brick and ster hole gapes where my bathroom window once looked out. The lounge window is the same along with several windows further along. Broken debris lies scattered all around. ss shards like daggers, propelled three stories, down into the unknowing crowd below, shing and maiming as they went. Bricks, concrete and chunks of ster, ejected to rain down on the heads below. People are screaming and running. Some sit, dazed, cradling wounds where the ss and metal shrapnel stabbed down. Others cough and choke, trying to clear airways of billowing dust. One woman lies still, a stic carrier bag still clutched in her hand, but the contents burst free: tin cans and stic bottles roll loose in the blood which pools around her, A crazed ss jigsaw crunches under my feet, pocked with fragments of brick, cement and twisted metal. Above me, a plume of smoke, thick and ck, chimneys up out of what was my bathroom, powering skyward, mes licking at its base. rms are madly ringing. People pour out from the hotel, spilling down the steps, some in businesswear, others in casual holiday clothes. One woman tumbles out from the door with only a towel clutched around herself. Another sits on the steps, by the prone body of a man. Arms hugged around herself, her make-up streaked with soot and dust, she rocks to and fro. I can only watch Hell¡¯s drama unfolding. I should have disarmed it¡­ I could have done it. There was nothing sophisticated about thesh up of wiring. A simple tug on a connection or two, and the explosive would have been so much sticine. But I was too fucking self- absorbed to consider the consequences of abandoning a primed bomb behind me. The column of smoke is growing, mes rising and brightening¡­ How much fucking explosive did she use? From somewhere out of sight, sirens are sounding, the wail drawing nearer. There¡¯s nothing I can do here. I missed my chance to help. As blue lights sh into view, I merge with the fleeing crowd and run. ***** Chapter 31 Chapter 31 A cheap hotel room, a miserable night, and the first poor cup of coffee I¡¯ve had in this S?o Paulo: A face stares out at me from the morning newspaper: a smiling boy, perhaps a school photograph, posted under a grim headline Casualties are mounting in the aftermath of the explosion¡­ My eyes follow the text, but as I reach the end of the column, I realise I don¡¯t know what it said¡­ Rodrigo¡­ The hotel boy who served my breakfast each morning. So helpful to the nice cavalheiro ingl¨ºs who sometimes tipped him, as much for the smile as for good service. He couldn¡¯t have been more than fourteen. And now dead because some vengeful little bitch missed her target. I had to grow up quick at that age¡­ He never will¡­ Did she miss her target? Or was it all part of some n to implicate me? Lawrence Klempner¡­ Trafficker, murderer, and guilty of a thousand sins, now wanted for terrorism¡­ ? Who knows? I¡¯m getting beyond guessing how much mayhem Juliana is willing to unleash in her crusade against me. How did she find me? She knows I¡¯m here¡­ She knew where I was¡­ So¡­ why take so long about showing her hand? How did she find me? And when? As I entered the country? Three weeks ago¡­ But our Juliana likes her games¡­ Gives her a sense of power perhaps¡­ Still ying cat and mouse? A customs officer maybe? Who recognised me at the airport? It¡¯s possible. Not likely though. If my face had gged up any warning signals, ¡®the system¡¯ would have taken me in, not some random official. Or perhaps they did simply spot me at Antonio¡¯s? Or trace me back to the bar after I took out their heavy. And he knew who I was when he met me. Maybe they all do. If she put the word out on me¡­ That seems more likely. And I made a habit of going to the restaurant¡­ hoping to spot my quarry¡­ Instead, they spotted me. She knew I¡¯d turn up at some point, so of course, her thugs would know what I look like. That all makes much more sense¡­ I think¡­ Somewhere under the surface, I¡¯m picking at the scab¡­ Does it add up? Really? What¡¯s missing? Where does she fit into a gang of that sort? Brazil¡­ ¡®Traditional¡¯ values¡­ Not the kind of ce you¡¯d expect to find a woman heading a crime syndicate¡­ For that matter, how often do you ever find women in that kind of position? On the other hand¡­ the ¡®Power Behind The Throne¡¯? Find the man at the top and get control of him. That would tie in with what she¡¯s done before; her preferred methods. Femme fatale¡­ Wonder who he is? Poor bastard¡­ That¡¯s his life-expectancy down the chute¡­ But in the meantime, if they all know who I am¡­ If Juliana has them all reeled in on her quest for vengeance¡­ Draining my cup, I run a mental rey of my visit to Juliana¡¯s apartment. The coffee¡¯s dreadful stuff, but at least the caffeine hit does its work. My mind is clearing. How many were there? A dozen certainly. And an uncertain number not present. I set the newspaper to one side. But smiling, using eyes still stare out at me. After a moment, I turn the paper over, photo underneath. What now? Fade into the background? Disappear? How? New ID. Contact Dakho and get him to fit me out with the paperwork. Change that fucking phone too¡­ Right now, I¡¯m ¡®English¡¯. What else might work here? In the bathroom, I regard my reflection; Fair-haired; Grey-eyed. Not easy to make myself look convincingly local¡­ No point then¡­ The alternative: Act fast. Do the job. Get out. That feels a better option. I know where to find Juliana. Deal with her and go. N?velD(ram)a.?rg owns this content. Back home. Back to Mitch¡­ ¡­ ¡­ At least a dozen of them¡­ ¡­ How to do it? Take on theplete gang? That¡¯s a lot of opponents¡­ And I¡¯m not armed for it¡­ If I was in home territory anywhere, it wouldn¡¯t be a problem. I have plenty of equipment stashed where I can easily get at it¡­ But not here, in Brazil. I¡¯m the new kid on the block here and I don¡¯t have ess to my usual facilities. So¡­ taking on the lot of them¡­ not impossible, but very risky. And I don¡¯t have a suicidal bone in my body. Pick them off one at a time? Peel off her defences until she¡¯s left alone. Easy for the first one or two. Not so easy after that. People get itchy when they see their associates dropping around them. The alternative¡­ Go directly to the source of the problem. Decapitate the organisation. Cut off the head. ***** Chapter 32 Chapter 32 Richard I turn the wheel, swing through the gates. ¡°I know that it¡¯s only an illusion, but it feels good to get back to something like normal life, doesn¡¯t it. Just doing a day¡¯s work. Driving home.¡± Gravel crunches under the tires as we pull up. James clicks his tongue. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong there.¡± He rubs a forefinger over the top of his nose. ¡°I¡¯ll admit, I was worried about the effect the business with Klempner was going to have on Charlotte. All the forward progress the three of us made since we first met. It was feeling as though everything was going to be blown out of the water¡­ Ahhh¡­ Michael must be there ahead of us. The lights are on.¡± ¡°He¡¯s left the door standing open too,¡± says James. ¡°It¡¯ll be letting the weather right through the house. Might as well not bother with the damn heating.¡± We step inside. James closes the door behind us with a bang. As it ms, a voice drifts down the hall. ¡°James, is that you?¡± Together, we halt in mid-stride. ¡°That wasn¡¯t Michael¡¯s voice,¡± I say. ¡°It sounded like Stanton,¡± mutters James. ¡°What the hell would he be doing here with no-one else around?¡± I mutter back. ¡°Good question.¡± Then more loudly, ¡°Will? Is that you? Where are you?¡± ¡°Richard? I¡¯m in the lounge.¡± There¡¯s a touch of panic in his voice. ¡°And hurry the fuck up, will you.¡± What the hell? James and I exchange nces. Setting briefcases on the hall table, we enter the lounge together¡­ ¡­ to find Will pressed back into the far corner of the room. My old friend stands, bolt upright, arms folded up and well out of the way, head pulled back. His eyes are rimmed white against the coffee of his skin. To one side, he¡¯s hemmed in by a dresser. To the other, a table blocks his exit. His face lights up as we enter. The reason for the odd posture lies close by his feet. Head resting on outstretched paws, apparently rxed, Bear is doing his best impression of a fur rug, if rugs emanated a low continuous rumble, something along the lines of distant thunder. Will shifts and the rumble grows louder, the thunderstorm rolling overhead. A ridge of fur rises between Bear¡¯s shoulders and Will freezes once more. ¡°Can you call your dog off, please.¡± James¡¯ face cracks. He spins, sucking in his cheeks, then straightens his face and turns back. ¡°Bear¡­¡± He snaps his fingers. ¡°C¡¯mon Bear. It¡¯s fine.¡± The huge dog swings his head around, looking over one shoulder, disbelief radiating from every hair. James strides forward, scratches him behind the ears. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Bear. C¡¯mon, Good boy. The Two- Legs havee home now. You¡¯re off-duty.¡± Bear rumbles another low threat towards our policemissioner, then slowly, reluctantly, stands and pads away. Flopping down by the hearth, he angles himself to watch the intruder. Will straightens up, tugs down his jacket. ¡°That¡¯s one helluvan animal you¡¯ve got there. Could be viewed as dangerous.¡± James cocks a brow. ¡°Did he do you any actual injury?¡± ¡°No, but he wasn¡¯t going to let me move.¡± James chuckles. ¡°Then, he was just doing his job, wasn¡¯t he. Keeping the intruder under control until the return of the pack leader.¡± ¡°And you¡¯re the pack leader?¡± ¡°In fact, no. From Bear¡¯s point of view, I¡¯d say that¡¯s Klempner. But since he¡¯s not here¡­¡± Will coughs. ¡°It¡¯s Klempner I¡¯m here about.¡± ¡°The information he requested?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± Will nts a cautious nce across to Bear, still watching him with a baleful re, then lays a file on the table, pulling out a variety of documents. ¡°Could you call Hickman in, please. Doubtless, he can get the information back where it¡¯s needed.¡± ¡°That may not, in fact, be the case, but I¡¯ll call him.¡± James takes out his mobile, taps in then talks quietly into it. Will turns to me. ¡°What did he mean? May not be the case?¡± ¡°We have lost contact with Klempner. Or at least, Hickman has, and he was the point of contact.¡± ¡°And he¡¯s not been in touch with anyone else?¡± N?velDrama.Org (C) content. ¡°No.¡± Will frowns. ¡°I hardly dare say it, but I find myself concerned for him.¡± ***** Hickman strolls in, all nonchnce. He nods politely. ¡°Commissioner? You have something for me?¡± ¡°I do. Is it still the case that you are out of contact with Klempner?¡± Hickman¡¯s face falls. ¡°I¡¯m afraid so.¡± ¡°Given what I have learned, that¡¯s not reassuring.¡± Will fans a handful of prints across the table, the photos Klempner asked to be ID¡¯d. ¡°I believe I have the information your employer requested. All the men in the photos you provided except two are known criminals. However¡­¡± He stabs a finger down on one image. ¡°¡­ This individual is one Jose Santos...¡± Hickman nods as Will speaks, jotting notes on a pad¡­ ¡°¡­ Santos is well-known to the Brazilian authorities and the only reason he is still breathing free air is that whenever any attempt has been made to arrest him and to get him¡­ and those he works with¡­ into court¡­ witnesses dry up, die or simply disappear. As do jurors and even judges¡­ ¡° He pauses to let his words sink in, then continues. ¡°Add to that, the Brazilian police system is rife with corruption, the justice system is slow, bureaucratic and¡­ let us say, unpredictable¡­ Thus far, all attempts to bring this man and his cohorts to justice have been unsessful.¡± He sucks air between his teeth. ¡°Much as it pains me to say this, I suspect Larry Klempner¡¯s methods may be appropriate in this case.¡± ¡°What exactly is Santos wanted for?¡± I ask. ¡°You name it¡­¡± Will heaves his huge shoulders, blowing air. ¡°Klempner¡¯s picked out the group through Racketeering and Protection, but Santos is also involved in Vice and Trafficking. Given that Klempner is disying interest in him, I don¡¯t doubt he has involvement in trafficked individuals who in the end, we find here.¡± Richard folds arms. ¡°Who are these associates he works with?¡± Will clucks, producing another document. ¡°Ah, I thought that would be next. Nowes the interesting part. Brazil as a whole has a historical problem with crime, corruption and all that goes with it. In the thirty years leading up to 2010, there were a million homicides in the country¡­ ¡°On the other hand, S?o Paulo specifically, had been doing rather well with its clean-up operation for the previous ten or twenty years. Violent crime had dropped dramatically and the homicide rate, in particr, plummeted from a high of 52 per 100,000 Paulistanos in 1999 to only 6 per 100,000. However¡­¡± He brandishes a forefinger¡­ ¡°All that began to change two years ago¡­ ¡°Perhaps the authorities simply let their guard slip, but the organised crime reared its head again in the form of rivals gangspeting for the opportunities avable in the country. Usually, they were headed by men who had been long-term career criminals and simply slipped the justice over the years. But also, there were some new faces appearing. ¡°At first, there were perhaps a dozen such gangs¡­¡± He rocks his hand back and forth. ¡°Why the doubt over the numbers?¡± asks Richard. ¡°Because the identities of the gangs and their members are slippery, at least to outsiders. Some of the smaller groups amalgamated through the gang leader falling to assassination and the one group being absorbed into the other. This happened at least three times that we know of. ¡°In other cases, it was outright gang warfare and the wholesale murder of the members and their families¡­¡± ¡°This is, as you say, interesting,¡± says Michael, ¡°but what does it have to do with Klempner?¡± ¡°I¡¯ming to that,¡± says Will. ¡°Bear with me. I should say by the way, that my source documents are in Portuguese, so these are trantions¡­¡± ¡°I assume¡­¡± says Richard, ¡°¡­ that all this ising around to our Juliana¡¯s involvement somewhere? She¡¯s been assassinating gang members?¡± Will sniffs. ¡°You could argue that, yes. However, ourdy doesn¡¯t seem to worry about coteral damage. The explosion that wiped out most of the Facas gang¡­ The ¡®Knives¡¯ as they called themselves¡­ resulted from an explosive device ced in a family restaurant. As well as the gang members themselves, the incident resulted in the deaths of the restaurant owner and his wife along with other, perfectly innocent bystanders. ¡°The Irmandade de Sangue¡­ the Blood Brotherhood¡­ lived up to their name when they were gunned down while attending mass, along with numerous other members of the congregation. There have been other cases.¡± ¡°Now¡­ these events urred about two years ago. There was a drastic thinning of the various criminal enterprises in the area and it left only three major powers, each with control of an area of S?o Paulo, andpeting to take over what they could of their rivals¡­ Os Drag?es. The Dragons¡­ As Erva-mouras, The Nightshades¡­ And Os Lobos, The Wolves¡­ ¡°The Dragons were headed by Valente Ennes. There was also a Senhora Ennes, apparently rather a sweet soul who was somewhat in awe of her husband, and also apparently, in denial concerning his character and activities. Among the activities she held a blind eye to was his constant phndering. He had a string of mistresses behind him and the most recent model was a woman half his wife¡¯s age whose main interest in Ennes would seem to have been his wallet. Mrs Ennes died in a car ident about two years ago and, apparently by coincidence, the mistress also died about a weekter showing all the signs of alkaloid poisoning¡­¡± ¡°Showing the signs of?¡± Richard frowns. ¡°Surely there would have been an autopsy under those conditions?¡± ¡°No,¡± says Will. ¡°The body was cremated within a day.¡± ¡°So¡­ Ennes himself suspected of murdering his wife and his mistress?¡± Will nods. ¡°That was the original thought but¡­ keep bearing with me¡­ Almost before the smoke cleared from the cremation, Ennes installed a new mistress as head of his household¡­¡± He slips a sheet from his wad, a scanned copy of a newspaper cutting, passing it across to me. ¡°Here¡¯s a photo of the happy couple¡­¡± The quality isn¡¯t good, but under the dress, the veil, the red hair and the heavy make-up is a familiar face. ¡°Juliana again? Walking down the aisle?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right. Now known as Sna. Ennes married her within days.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t take out much time to grieve then?¡±ments Michael. ¡°No, he didn¡¯t. Not that it made much difference to him. Ennes himself was dead within the month, also from alkaloid poisoning.¡± Michael rubs his nose. ¡°She¡¯s consistent, isn¡¯t she.¡± ¡°Cui bono?¡± says Richard. ¡°Who benefited from his death? The brand new Mrs Ennes, I assume?¡± ¡°In fact, no,¡± says Will. ¡°The¡­¡± ¡­ He makes airmas¡­ ¡°¡­ coincidence of so many deaths was apparently too much for even the most hardened of Ennes¡¯ associates and the new Senhora Ennes had to run for it. But not before she¡¯d already emptied several bank ounts¡­ ¡°Two dayster, with the head members of Os Drag?es gathered together, presumably to discuss what their next move was, they came under attack by Os Lobos, led by Roberto Carreira, another long-term criminal, known to deal in drugs and trafficked persons. The Dragons were wiped out almost to a man. Now¡­¡± Will reaches for another item from his documents. ¡°This photo was taken by long-range police camera only three days after that. Look at the woman on Carreira¡¯s arm.¡± We pass around the image. By now, we know what to expect, although this time, our old friend Juliana is brte. ¡°So, Juliana is¡­ what? Targetting the traffickers and professional criminals. Working her way through them a piece at a time?¡± ¡°It would seem that way,¡± says Will. ¡°It sounds,¡± says Richard, ¡°as though she¡¯s setting out to do much the same as Klempner was in Thand. Take out the trafficking gangs.¡± Michael heaves air. ¡°Perhaps, but on what we¡¯ve heard, the motivation is very different. Klempner was aiming, and seeding at, a genuine clean-up. And for himself, I¡¯d say seeking a kind of absolution. Juliana is putting herself at the top of the tree and simply pruning out thepetition.¡± ¡°And perhaps also,¡± says Will, ¡°taking revenge on the kind of men who enved her in the first ce.¡± ¡°Which I suppose,¡± I say, ¡°begs the question of what exactly she has in mind for the actual man who enved her.¡± ***** Chapter 33 Chapter 33 Klempner A quick trawl of some of the greyer websites I use from time to time quickly produces what I want: contact details for an arms merchant who isn¡¯t too fussy about inspecting, or even asking for, documentation or licences rting to either his merchandise or his clientele. Online, it seems ideal, but when I arrive at the address, I¡¯m unimpressed. I could be in the set of some clich¨¦d hack movie. The side alley is dark and damp. The building is of the would-fall-down-but-is-held-up-by-the-dry-rot variety. It¡¯s even better as I enter. The proprietor has, apart from a serious case of halitosis, a gold tooth. Why I have no idea. It glints from among a sundry dental collection in ck, brown and yellow. Apart of course from the three which are missing altogether from the front. Maybe he lost them in a fight. Or perhaps they ran for cover from their horrible housing. Having wandered into the area wearing my don¡¯t-mind-me-I¡¯m-a-tourist uniform, I¡¯m beginning to regret the cream linen suit. Stained jeans and a dark tee-shirt would have been more appropriate. Or perhaps a wetsuit. I move carefully, preferring not to brush against the walls or furniture, and wishing it were as easy to close the nostrils as the mouth. Toothy snaps fingers at me. ¡°Sua permiss?o paraprar.¡± I allow confusion to cross my face. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, do you speak English? I want to buy a gun. You were rmended to me.¡± His features disy a running battle between Irritation and avarice. The opportunity to sap the ignorant but wealthy foreigner¡­ ¡°I talk English small, yes.¡± He holds out his hands, fingers wriggling in a Gimme gesture. ¡°Your permit for gun?¡± Making a show of taking the paperwork from my wallet, I unfold it, stroking out the creases, It¡¯s part of the ¡®toolkit¡¯ Dakho routinely runs up for me. I¡¯ve no clue whether it ispletely fake or a copy of something he hi-jacked from elsewhere. It could even be the genuine article. But he¡¯s never let me down yet. In any case, it¡¯s good enough to pass Toothy¡¯s cursory examination. ¡°Okay, you want gun for nice English tourist. To protect, yes?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± I award him a small smile. ¡°To protect myself.¡± Toothy sniffs with a sound like bad plumbing, then heads for a door, jerking his thumb at me to follow. In the next room¡­ Ah-ha¡­ That¡¯s more like it¡­ ¡­ the walls are lined with racks and shelves and mountings disying a satisfying variety of merchandise. Pistols and revolvers share one disy. Rifles fill another. Grenadeunchers rub shoulders with anti-tank weapons. A bazooka nestles in one corner, shoved close to a rocketuncher. Stacked crates are marked up for the old L2 grenades as well as their smoke and stun cousins. My host offers out a hand to the rack of handguns¡­ ¡°Senhor¡­¡± ¡°No, not those¡­¡± I aim a finger¡­ ¡°Those¡­¡± I head for a disy of assault weapons. His eyes slit, but he grins, giving me a better view of his putrescent teeth than I would like. The gold tooth winks at me. ¡°Perhaps you not just nice English tourist,¡± he drawls. ¡°Perhaps I¡¯m not,¡± I agree. ¡°You want to make a sale or not?¡± He snorts again, produces a key and unlocks the disy. It¡¯s not too impressive. All the goods are new, still with manufacturers¡¯ stamps and tags, but they look like knock-offs, and not very good ones. The paint is shiny and the metal polished, but it¡¯s cheap civilian junk designed for rich idiots that want to go hunting on staged ''safaris''. Not my preferred option when my own neck¡¯s at risk. Would it still be ¡®sport¡¯ if lions could fire back? Picking one at random, I take a lightweight semi-automatic rifle from the rack. It purports to be an AR- 15, but as I eye the manufacturer¡¯s mark and heft the thing in my hands. The weight¡¯s wrong and the bnce is off. ¡°This supposed to be the genuine article?¡± ¡°Is good gun, senhor.¡± Toothy raises a thumb. ¡°Melhor qualidade. Bestest Quality.¡± Hmmm¡­ ¡°You got a firing range?¡± ¡°Senhor?¡± ¡°Lugar para praticar? Testar?¡± I hold up the weapon to my shoulder, mime aiming and firing it with a couple of Bang Bang noises.. ¡°Ah¡­ Sim, senhor.¡± He crooks a finger, leading me through the back into what looks to be a bricked-up alleyway: a long narrow street, perhaps two hundred yards long, contained between the high brick walls of adjacent buildings, and blocked off at the end. At intervals of several yards apiece, targets invite assassination: paper and cardboard outlines; some fixed to frames, others dangling from strings, swinging in the slight breeze. Some are human silhouettes, concentric circles marked on the chest. Many are home-made: printed off, then pinned to boards. ¡°Ammunition?¡± He passes me a box, the card soft with age, speckled with mould. Even as I snap off the magazine, feeding in the rounds, it doesn¡¯t feel right. The spring is spongy and soft. Fucking fake¡­ Go through the motions¡­ I¡¯ll make my point in a minute. The mag should take 20 rounds. As a precaution, I only load 18¡­ Probably jam anyway¡­ Setting the ¡®AR-15¡¯ into my shoulder, the action on the trigger isn¡¯t as smooth as it should be. As I squeeze back, something clicks that shouldn¡¯t¡­ Burred? Unfinished surface? I pick a target at the far end of the alley, a paper cut-out of a six-foot human figure, aiming for the heart, firing three rounds in quick session. At this range, were it a genuine AR-15, Paper-Boy should have three neat holes puncturing his chest. As it is, if he were a real enemy, he¡¯d have a nasty limp and would have dropped his coffee. Adjusting the sight a touch, I give it another go. One round veers off to the left. One drops low. On the third shot, the weapon jams. Fucking waste of time¡­ I shove the useless heap of junk back at Toothy, hard enough to stagger him backwards as I propel the barrel at his chest. ¡°You going to show me the real thing now? Or do I have to get annoyed? I¡¯m not here to be ripped off by some cheap grifter who thinks I¡¯m an easy mark.¡± ¡°No, senhor. I see now. You not tourist. Perhaps¡­¡± He sets the ¡®AR-15¡¯ to one side. Perhaps you want this?¡± He gestures. ¡°Come. Come see.¡± Back indoors, from his bunch of keys, he unlocks a second cab. And it¡¯s apletely different collection. The weapons inside are old and clearly second-hand. Pretty they¡¯re not. But this time, it¡¯s the real McCoy: AK-47s and AKMs. Soviet-made rifles, built for fighting wars. Not sophisticated, and lacking most of the bells and whistles of many of the modern ¡®improved¡¯ designs, but rugged, reliable and easily maintained. Toothy has quite a range on offer. Given the number of simr weapons I saw on my visit to Juliana¡¯s apartment, they¡¯remon in the area, so I suppose it¡¯s no surprise. Scanning the choice, I mutter to myself. ¡°That¡¯s more like it.¡± I finger a AK-47, the famed Kshnikov. God alone knows how many were made, but whoever owned this one, went through a lot with it. The wooden stock is worn smooth. The paint is polished clear down to bare metal in ces. It¡¯s a ssic weapon, and with good reason, designed by a soldier-cum-engineer who had a clear understanding of what is needed when your life depends on the weapon you¡¯re using. The only real problem with the model is blowback and recoil, which can make the uracy doubtful. Still¡­ I hover over the disy. I could choose the Kshnikov¡¯s more modern cousin, the AKM. Toothy has several on disy. But the main advantage of the model is simply the longer-range sights. But the parts are cheaply made and I don¡¯t care for them. Besides, I¡¯ll be working up close for this operation, so there¡¯s not much to be gained. Then I spot¡­ Ahhh¡­ ¡­ the AK-74¡­ ¡­ Another child of the AK-47, but adapted to a smaller round and a higher muzzle velocity. I pluck it from the rack. Turning it over and around, giving it the once over. The magazine snaps cleanly off, and after a cursory check of the chamber, the bolt slides smoothly back, then forward again, with the small snapping sound of perfectly meshingponents. I snap my fingers at Toothy. ¡°Ammo?¡± ¡°Sim, senhor.¡± He bobs his head fishing out another cardboard carton or rounds, this one clean, freshly- labelled and with a manufacturer¡¯s batch stamp I recognize. N?velDrama.Org owns ? this. Stepping outside, targeting Paper-Boy again, I aim, fire and this time, three holes appear within an inch of each other, low-centre in his ribs. The aim¡¯s a touch off for me, but the sights are easily adjustedter. Meanwhile¡­ Sucking my teeth, I aim a trifle higher and a tad to the left, and fire again. This time the shot makes a neat puncture upper-left in the chest. And the next. And the next. I look the rifle over again, hefting it in my hands, getting to know it. But it¡¯s only a cursory inspection, more for Toothy¡¯s benefit than mine. It¡¯s a weapon of course. It¡¯s only function is the taking of life. But this weapon has saved its owner¡¯s life, and I¡¯ll not guess how many times. It¡¯s well-cared for and God knows how much service it¡¯s seen. Second-hand be damned Pre-loved¡­ ¡°I¡¯ll take it. Now, what else do you have in that disy?¡± ***** Chapter 34 Chapter 34 Michael ¡°James, we have to tell her. Given her condition, Mitch has to know. ¡± He exhales slowly, avoiding my eye. ¡°Yes, she does. I¡¯ve¡­ been avoiding it¡­¡± ¡°Hoping it would go away? That Klempner would contact us out of the blue and we could warn him? That just like that, everything would be alright?¡± ¡°Something like that, yes.¡± ¡°If Mitch doesn¡¯t have all the facts, she can¡¯t make proper decisions. She¡¯s going to need support. And part of that support is to give her the truth. It¡¯s not doing her any favours to be kept in the dark.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right of course.¡± James squeezes his eyes closed, presses at a temple. ¡°Let¡¯s get it over with. Can you get everyone together. We¡¯ll need the family with her for this.¡± ***** Richard and Beth drop what they are doing, joining us in the lounge. Georgie appears shortly afterwards, strolling in from the hotel with a spective look in her eye. Elbow resting on the chair arm, I talk behind my hand to James in the next seat. ¡°You think it¡¯s a good idea to have Georgie here?¡± ¡°She¡¯s family too,¡± he snaps. ¡°And she was also targeted by that maniac woman. So, yes, she should be here.¡± Turning away from me, he flips open his mobile, giving the screen a couple of taps. ¡°Hickman? Yes, it¡¯s James. Could you join us in the house, please¡­ Yes, right away.¡± I bite down on my doubts. Georgie sits off to one side, silently waiting, regarding me from under lidded eyes as she sees me watching her. But it¡¯s James¡¯ call¡­ His daughter¡­ His problem¡­ Or at least, the problem he created¡­ Charlotte perhaps has simr reservations. She meets my gaze for a long moment, her attention broken as James speaks. ¡°Charlotte, could you fetch your mother, please. Tell her I need a word.¡± He stares at his feet for a moment, then, ¡°Don¡¯t say more than that. This has toe from me. Try to keep her calm.¡± Sucking at her lips, Charlotte nods and heads out. James paces the room, looking as though he¡¯s just been asked what he would like for hisst meal. Richard pushes a ss into his hands. ¡°Calm down. We all know it wasn¡¯t intentional.¡± James knocks back half an inch of golden liquid, then thrusts the ss back at Richard. Legs akimbo, his back to the fire, he stares moodily into space, cracking his knuckles. Hickman arrives, clean of any expression. He takes an armchair at the back of the room; leaning back, arms folded, legs outstretched, crossed at the ankles. Charlotte returns with Mitch, one arm hooked through her mother¡¯s. Mitch pauses in the doorway, brow furrowing as she sees the gathering. ¡°What can I do for you, James?¡± James clears his throat, then gestures to an armchair. ¡°Um¡­ why don¡¯t you sit down, Mitch. There¡¯s something I have to tell you.¡± Mitch holds¡­ ¡°What? What is it? Is it about Larry? You¡¯ve heard something?¡± Her voice snatches. ¡°Has¡­ something happened to him?¡± ¡°Please, Mitch, sit down.¡± ¡°Mom¡­¡± Charlotte takes her hand. ¡°Sit by me on the settee.¡± Mitch angles a nce at her daughter. ¡°So you know something I don¡¯t? How do you get to find out before me?¡± I move in, cupping her elbow with my palm, steering her to the seat. ¡°Mitch, please sit down. James needs to talk and it¡¯s not going to be easy on either of you.¡± She res at me sidelong, but sits, sandwiched between me and Charlotte, who slips her hand over her mother¡¯s. James, skin sheened, his words slow, speaks like one making a confession¡­ ¡­ As indeed, he is¡­ How Klempner was fooled into uploading James¡¯ Trojan to his phone¡­ ¡­ Set a locator on him¡­ ¡­ Programmed it to backup into the cloud, so that when Klempner reced his mobile, he would be automatically re-infected¡­ ¡­ and then, how James himself was hacked, and that virus now has control of Klempner¡¯s new phone. And we can only assume that it is Juliana behind it. Fingertips steepled to his lips, James talks from behind his hands, ¡°Mitch, I¡¯m sorry. I never intended any of this, but we¡¯ve heard nothing from him. Hickman can¡¯t make contact¡­¡± He nces to Klempner¡¯s henchman, who simply nods agreement. Belongs to ? n0velDrama.Org. Mitch is pale¡­ paler than usual, herplexion sallow. ¡°Are you telling me that woman can trace exactly where Larry is? And he has no idea it¡¯s happening?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mitch. But yes, that¡¯s almost certainly right.¡± ¡°You hacked Larry? And it didn¡¯t ur to you to tell any of us what you were doing?¡± Her tone would blunt the edge on a razor de. James doesn¡¯t reply. She speaks carefully, precisely, hands sped over a still t stomach. ¡°What exactly is she able to do?¡± He swallows¡­ Mitch¡¯s voice rises an octave. ¡°Tell me, James. What have you done?¡± ¡°As far as I can tell, Juliana¡­ and we are assuming it is Juliana¡­ hasplete control of Klempner¡¯s mobile. If the phone is capable of doing it, then she has control. She¡¯ll certainly know where he is. She¡¯ll have his log-ins, passwords and his entry codes. She¡¯ll be able to use the camera and the microphone. If he carries it in his pocket as he usually does, she won¡¯t be able to see much, but she will be able to eavesdrop and to record any conversation he has.¡± James presses fingertips to his forehead. ¡°Larry uses a top-line model. It¡¯s capable of a lot. But he doesn¡¯t have control of it. She does.¡± Mitch stares at him, trembling, stroking her stomach. Richard breaks in. ¡°This doesn¡¯t get us anywhere. Hickman, how long is it now since youst had contact with Klempner?¡± The heavyset man gives James a look that would etch ss then, speaking in a monotone, ¡°Five days now.¡± ¡°How often did he normally contact you?¡± ¡°Typically about once a day. Different times. Different pattern. Mainly¡­¡± He looks towards Mitch¡­ ¡°¡­ it was to ask after Miss Kimberley.¡± ¡°What was thest thing you discussed with him?¡± ¡°It was to ask me to obtain the information regarding the organised crime syndicates in S?o Paulo.¡± ¡°He could have asked me,¡± says James. ¡°I¡¯d have been happy to help with the research.¡± Hickman swings his gaze to James. ¡°Your help?¡± James flushes. ¡°Klempner¡¯s in trouble because of me. I¡¯ll book a flight and get over there¡­¡± Hickman cuts him short, but his voice has lost its edge. ¡°Mr Alexanders, I know you mean well, but if Mr Klempner has encountered the kind of trouble that he can''t handle¡­¡± He raises brows nodding down to James¡¯ bad leg. ¡°I''ll go,¡± I say. ¡°I can handle myself.¡± ¡°I''m sure you can, Mr Summerford.¡± Hickman sucks at his lips, rubs his nose. ¡°Do you speak Portuguese?¡± ¡°Well¡­ No.¡± ¡°Exactly. So¡­ listen, all of you.¡± Hickman pins his gaze on each of us in turn, driving home his message. ¡°Mr Klempner was very clear in his instructions to me. He wanted me here. He wanted all of you here. To protect Miss Kimberley and Mrs Summerford. He knew he was walking into trouble¡­¡± James protests¡­ ¡°But his phone¡­¡± Hickman stabs a finger toward him. ¡°If his phone was hacked, whether or not it was Juliana, whoever it is knows exactly who you all are. They would be waiting for you. Alright, yes, it probably is Juliana, but Mr Klempner was specific that he wanted to deal with it himself. He wanted all of you out of the business.¡± James snarls, ¡°The situation has changed.¡± ¡°No, it hasn¡¯t. Not in terms of my instructions.¡± The two men move close, eye-balling each other. I interrupt before the discussion goes south. ¡°Perhaps,¡± I suggest, ¡°we could try another tack. Given that clearly, something has happened, maybe we could ask another favour of Will Stanton: to ask his contacts if they can track Klempner down for us.¡± Richard blinks, then swipes a hand through his hair. ¡°I can certainly ask Will, but I¡¯m not sure how he would react. Neither am I sure how pleased Klempner would be with us if he thought we¡¯d set the Brazilian police on his trail.¡± I consider that for several seconds¡­ ¡°If Juliana¡¯s somehow got the better of him, he might be happy to know we have the authorities looking for him.¡± ¡°Someone¡­¡± says Hickman¡­ ¡°¡­ who isn¡¯t one of you.¡± ¡°Do it,¡± says Mitch. Her tone is shaky but decisive. ¡°That bitch is clever, murderous and obsessed. If Larry¡¯s in trouble, he needs help.¡± James casts a look toward her. ¡°Mitch, even if we were to ask for assistance, or if Richard were to ask Will to do it for us¡­ ¡° He takes a breath¡­ ¡°With Larry¡¯s¡­ past record¡­ the Brazilian authorities might not be willing to help.¡± She lifts her chin. ¡°Regardless of Larry¡¯s past record, that woman is psychotic. She might have targeted Larry until now, but if she seeds in killing him, do you think that¡¯s where she¡¯d stop?¡± She stands, pacing up and down, hands iling as she speaks. ¡°Look at what she¡¯s already done, how many she¡¯s murdered as she yed her games with him. If she killed Larry¡­¡± Her breath catches, then as she regains her self-control, ¡°¡­ what do you think would happen next? That she¡¯d stop at that? No, Juliana enjoys murder for its own sake. She¡¯d find some other target, some other excuse, and keep doing exactly what she¡¯s been doing..¡± Hickman stands, hooking thumbs into his pockets. ¡°I agree with Miss Kimberley. Mr Klempner might not like it, but being captured by the police and finding himself in prison again is preferable to being killed.¡± James nts eyes to Charlotte. ¡°Anything to add?¡± Her voice trembles. ¡°I spent so many years not knowing he was my father. So many years we were enemies. I don¡¯t want to lose him again now.¡± James nods, slowly, sucking at his lip. Then, ¡°Richard?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll call Will now. Juliana created enough havoc on his beat that I think he¡¯s likely to help. And I¡¯m quite sure he¡¯ll not be wanting her return to the City¡­ ¡°Hickman, are youfortable with that?¡± Hickman raises his hands. ¡°Who am I to argue with a personal friend of the policemissioner?¡± Mitch is trembly and shaky, her eyes glossy¡­ Losing it¡­ I take her hand, hold it between my own. The tremble in her body passes through to mine. ¡°Try not to worry. I know that¡¯s easy to say, but try. Larry¡¯s intelligent and resourceful. It won¡¯t take him long to realise that something¡¯s amiss. After the things he''s done, the life he¡¯s lived through, can you really see some vengeful, petty-minded female getting the better of him?¡± She shakes her head, but hershes are wet. ***** Chapter 35 Chapter 35 Klempner A dozen of them¡­ Or more. I know where to find at least one of Juliana¡¯s heavies. So I might as well reduce the numbers a bit¡­ Improve the odds. And oddly, I find I have another motive. The things we learn about ourselves¡­ I realise that the idea of coercing the old man¡¯s hard-earned cash away from him offends me. That¡¯s new¡­ ¡­ ¡­ Wonder how much they¡¯ve had off him over the years¡­? Why do they call it ¡®Protection¡¯? Call it what it is¡­ Extorting money with menaces¡­ I make a working assumption that Wonder Boy is liable to turn up at about the same time as on previous asions. After all, he wants his clientele to know when to have the money avable for pige and theft. A lurking spot near Antonio¡¯s bar gives me what I want: a view of the entrance. He turns up, right on time. Thest time our paths crossed, he made it away with the money and delivered it to Juliana, or at least to the poor sap whose arm she was hanging on. I¡¯m intending a slightly different script for our encounter this time. Hanging around, I wait to see if he follows the same routine with Antonio. He does, except that this time, helps himself to a beer. Then another. Suitably refreshed to face the rigours of the hot day, he makes for the clothes store over the road¡­ Yup¡­ Same routine¡­ Same targets¡­ And even after the events that befell hisrade-in-arms, he¡¯s not paying attention to what¡¯s going on around him. So much the better for me. He works through one bar, restaurant and store after another, exactly the same routine as when I followed him on the first asion. I follow at a discreet distance on the other side of the street, waiting for that special moment when¡­ He turns down an alley: a nice quiet¡­ nay, deserted alley¡­ That will do nicely¡­ To piss or to snort? Or maybe to peel ten per cent off the top before he delivers¡­ A quick shufti around the corner¡­ A dead-ended passageway upied by a couple of tall trash cans and not much more. Wonder Boy¡¯s standing just beyond the cans with his back to me, recycling Antonio¡¯s beer against a wall. N?velD(ram)a.?rg owns this content. A five second, soft-shoe¡¯d sprint and he doesn¡¯t even hear me until I¡¯m almost on top of him. When he does register I¡¯m there, he¡¯s still got his dick in his hand. My hand holds a knife. He pauses, head cocked, face screwed up, obviously recognising me, but unsure where from. Seeing him now, close up, his pupils are huge, dted well beyond what the lighting should permit. Does he ever learn? Toote now¡­ Then light dawns across dull features. Abruptly, he grins, jabbing vee¡¯d fingers towards his eyes, then back at me. ¡°Eu vejo voc¨º, Senhor Klempner.¡± And he reaches for something inside his jacket¡­ ¡°Realmente?¡± And I sh out, first at the reaching hand, then across his throat. He drops with barely a sound, his cock still hanging out of his pants, clutching at his throat and gargling blood. With half-an-eye back to the alley entrance, I wait until he stills. Slit throats are a messy business and it¡¯s broad daylight. I don¡¯t want to have to exit the alley covered in blood. The something inside his jacket turns out to be a knife, a switchde. Had he gotten it out in time, the main threat to me would have been biological, judging by the crap amidst the rust and stains. The de is dull, the edge barely there. And it¡¯s anyone¡¯s guess if the spring action would have worked on demand. I might use the thing to peel potatoes. Then again, I don¡¯t much fancy food poisoning either. Amateur¡­ He was overconfident and bby, puffed-up with swagger and cocaine. And wayyy¡­ too dependent on his reputation and the fear of his victims, all everyday innocents who only wanted to get on with their lives. I don¡¯t qualify. He can keep his boy scout¡¯s de. I strip out the money belt tucked under his jacket, taking just enough time to eye the amount inside. Then I leave him lying in a pool of blood and piss. ***** The rear entrance of Antonio¡¯s bar: skulking in the shadows, I wait for an opportunity. They¡¯ll empty the trash at some point. A nip from my hip sk whiles away the time until¡­ ¡­ There¡¯s the wife¡­ Maria was it? Keeping my voice low. ¡°Hey, Maria.¡± She spins, eyes wide, her voice shrill. ¡°Quem ¨¦ esse?¡± Then as I step out from my shadow, her mouth drops open. ¡°Senhor Hughes¡­¡± She scuttles towards me. ¡°Voc¨º est¨¢ bem?¡± But I press a finger to my lips. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m fine. Estou bem. Antonio?¡± She bobs her head, vanishing out into the bar-front, returning a minuteter with her husband. He checks over his shoulder, then draws the curtain closed behind him. ¡°You good Senhor Hughes? You chase very bad man¡­¡± Grinning, I toss the moneybelt to him. ¡°Seu dinheiro, meu amigo.¡± As his eyes widen, I press a finger to my lips, wink, then turn and leave. ***** Chapter 36 Chapter 36 The climb to Juliana¡¯s apartment isn¡¯t difficult, even in the low evening light. I¡¯ve done it once before, so I already have my bearings and know exactly which way to go. My target is thedy¡¯s bedroom. If I find her in there, I can cut the head from the serpent on the spot. If I don¡¯t, I can wait for an opportunity to do so. Knowing that there¡¯s likely to be anything from half a dozen to twenty men in the next room, I¡¯m happier now that I have the rifle slung over my shoulder. The Glock too isforting, sitting in its holster under my jacket, and with plenty of spare magazines in one pocket. With a knife, a KA-BAR, in its usual spot, the sheath to the back, I¡¯mfortable that I¡¯m good for any up-close resistance. But I have spares, a small switchde strapped to one calf, and an A-F fighting knife to the other. A length of cheese wire is a lightweight addition, pinned inside my belt. Ast-minute addition is the tyre iron shoved into the belt. It doubles as weapon and means-of-entry, but shifts disconcertingly as I move, threatening to work loose, and I¡¯m cursing myself for not holstering it properly. From street level as I begin my climb, I can see the apartment is brightly lit. Every window shines out onto the street, Juliana¡¯s bedroom included. But there¡¯s no movement beyond the lights; none of the shifting shadows of people walking around the room. A flickering blue light suggests a TV might be ying, but there¡¯s none of the human activity that might apany it. Four floors up: I swing up and over the balcony edge, then immediately drop to the floor, ducking out of sight of any prying eyes. As it turns out, I don¡¯t need the iron. Juliana¡¯s door stands open to the night air, with no more than a mosquito screen separating outdoors from indoors Moving carefully, quietly, cing my feet with care, I dart a look inside, but it¡¯s unupied. It¡¯s still the same rat¡¯s-nest tangle of bling and junk. The bed is unmade and, although a double, looks to have been upied only by one. The rifle in my hands, I slip inside. Two doors - the first to the dressing room I saw on my first visit here. I set it ajar, just in case I need to slip out of sight quickly. The second door, leading to the lounge beyond, stands closed. Then, rifle in hand, I stand and listen¡­ Nothing. Street traffic: check. Cicadas: check. Human activity¡­ not a thing, not even the sound of the TV I thought might be ying. The muzzle of the rifle hanging low, I inch my way to the lounge door, cocking my ear. Still nothing. Slowly, cautiously, muzzle aimed outward, I turn the handle, peer through the crack¡­ Three secondster, I lower the gun and step through¡­ ¡­ into a ughterhouse. In fairness, it¡¯s a tidy ughterhouse, with none of the mess and gore one might normally associate with such a ce. Perhaps ughterhouse is the wrong word. But I don¡¯t have another. Some of the faces I recognize. I saw them on my first visit. A couple of others are new. Most are men in, as they say, their prime. Some are middle-aged. One looks barely out of his teens, perhaps freshly recruited. He was probably a handsomed while he was still walking about. But all of them lie, in twisted and contorted angles; faces are blotched red, eyes sightless and staring, but the pupils huge. The room reeks of the vomit which trails from mouths, over clothes, furniture and flooring. The TV ys with the sound turned low, some sit acted out by fake smiles, stic faces and cannedughter. It feels¡­ inappropriate¡­ and with the toe of my boot, I nudge the plug free from its socket. I find one body in the bathroom, a ss of something on the washstand which, when I tentatively test it with the tip of a finger, then the tip of my tongue, is brine¡­ Trying to make himself throw it up? Wonder what she used? And how she got it down all of them at once? In fact, thest part doesn¡¯t take too much thought. Beer sses lie scattered everywhere; some with their contents half-consumed, others spilled and empty. Why? They were on her side¡­ ¡­ weren¡¯t they? Outlived their usefulness? Sheer spite? Boredom? Unsettled, I hover¡­ What to do next? Back in the bedroom, I make a quick search, brieflyparing what I saw on the previous visit, with what¡¯s here now. In truth, it¡¯s hard to see the difference in the magpie¡¯s nest of stuff. But on an impulse. I open the bedside drawer where I found the one book in the room: Juliana¡¯s handbook on Poisonous and Psychoactive nts, stuffing it into a pocket. Perhaps I¡¯ll gain some insight into her way of thinking¡­ N?velD(ram)a.?rg owns this content. On the other hand, I¡¯m not sure I want to examine too closely the contents of Juliana¡¯s psyche. Anything else? No. Time to go. ***** James It¡¯s not easy leading a normal life. A cloud hangs over us all, and Mitch¡¯s palpable unhappiness doesn¡¯t help. And I feel terrible. At least Georgie seems to be getting a grip on reality. I¡¯ve taken to alternating between breakfast in the house, with Michael, Charlotte and Mitch, and breakfast in the hotel dining room, with Georgie. She¡¯s subdued. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I made trouble for you, Dad. I¡¯ll do my best to make friends with everyone.¡± ¡°Thank you, Georgie. That would be an enormous help.¡± ¡°I know you asked me to stay in the hotel, but perhaps I could join you for lunch? If Charlotte and I could get to know each other properly, maybe we¡¯d get along better.¡± I reach over the table, pat her hand. ¡°A very good idea. Why don¡¯t you join us in the house,ter today. Say, about one?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be there.¡± ***** Chapter 37 Chapter 37 ¡°Charlotte, could you set an extra ce at the table, please.¡± ¡°Sure.¡± She pauses, her hand full of cutlery. ¡°Who are we expecting?¡± ¡°Georgie¡¯s joining us for lunch¡­¡± Her mouth opens in a silent Ahhh¡­ ¡°¡­ Is that alright with you?¡± She moves table-mat, knife and fork to one side, clearing enough space for another setting. ¡°Of course it is, Master. I know how much it means to you to have Georgie speaking to you again. I¡¯ll do my best to make friends with her.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± I kiss her forehead, tilt her chin up. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, she said something simr.¡± ***** The doorbell rings. Charlotte stands. ¡°I¡¯ll go.¡± She returns a minuteter with Georgie, who offers her a bottle of wine. ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure what everyone likes, red or white, so I brought a ros¨¦.¡± ¡°Good choice.¡± I gesture towards the fridge. ¡°It¡¯ll go well with the salmon we¡¯re having. Just pop it in the fridge for now to chill, then take a seat.¡± She hovers by the table. ¡°Any particr ce I should sit?¡± ¡°I set your ce there...¡± Charlotte points. ¡°¡­ next to your Dad.¡± Georgie takes a seat, having the look of one floundering. Then, spotting Cara on her ymat on the floor, patting at a dangling pink and bluedybird. ¡°Are you enjoying being a Mom?¡± Charlotte beams. ¡°Oh, yes. But I''ll be d when I¡¯m back to my proper shape again.¡± ¡°I suppose you can use the gym in the hotel. Get plenty of exercise.¡± ¡°There''s that. And I can ride too. That''s good exercise.¡± ¡°Ride? You have a horse?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right. She was a Christmas present. Can you ride?¡± Georgie blows air. ¡°I¡¯ve never been on a horse.¡± Credit where it¡¯s due, Charlotte¡¯s hesitation is infinitesimal. ¡°Would you like to try? You could¡­ You could borrow Charlie. I''m sure my Ma.. your dad would teach you.¡± Georgie swings around to me. ¡°Would you?¡± ¡°If Charlotte is happy for you to ride Charlie, I¡¯d like that very much.¡± ¡°When can we try?¡± ¡°No time like the present. After lunch?¡± ***** Klempner Abandoning the abattoir above me, I make the quick climb down again, hanging from the rail of the lowest balcony to let myself drop to the ground. Landing on my toes, the rifle swings against my shoulder then jogs against me. ¡°Ah, there you are, Larry. I was beginning to worry you might have taken a wrong turn.¡± The voicees from behind me and despite myself, I startle, spinning to face the grinning Juliana and, by her side, a stranger with a gun in his hand. In the poor light, I can¡¯t make out the model, but since the dangerous end is waving at me, that¡¯s by the by¡­ I look more closely, but not at the weapon: his face. A bit of a pretty boy: his hair is slicked back to a fetching ponytail and he has that slightly oily look that says Pimp. No¡­ not a stranger¡­ Now I look again, it¡¯s Cash-Counting-Man from the night Wonder Boy led me here the first time. While Juliana was making cow¡¯s eyes at another gang member¡­ Cash-Man hovers close to Juliana with a slight proprietorial air¡­ Thinks he¡¯s got her? N?velDrama.Org content rights. Another one? Must have worked her way through half the fucking city¡­ Be walking bow-legged if she¡¯s not careful¡­ And now I think on it, I have Cash-Man¡¯s photo in my phone¡­ Wonder if Hickman made any progress on that? Juliana¡¯s wearing that manic grin that is so much a part her sexual allure and Femme Fatale appeal. ¡°So sorry, Larry. Weren¡¯t you expecting me?¡± She fishes into a shoulder bag, producing a mobile, then tapping the screen to life. WTF? Calling for backup? She¡¯s opted for redhead this evening¡­ Deliberate? Probably¡­ ¡­ with green eye make-up which I¡¯m guessing is supposed to give her a delicate mermaid air, but in reality reminds me of one of the characters I saw in the Pride and Prejudice and Zombies movie. Oddly, Cash-Man seems attracted to her. I cannot see why. But she¡¯s repeated this pattern now again and again. How the fuck does she pull it off? ttery? Appeal to the machismo? Good in the bedroom? Whatever it is she has, she has the knack to sucker a certain kind of man¡­ ¡°Be careful, S. He¡¯s dangerous.¡± Cash-Man seems genuinely concerned. Why¡¯s he speaking in English? His ent is a bit thick but perfectly intelligible. For my benefit? Put up a show? Wonder if he knows she¡¯s screwing around? Not that it matters when they¡¯re all already dead¡­ ¡°Jose¡­¡± She smiles sweetly at him. ¡°¡­ how dangerous can he be when I have you to protect me?¡± ¡°Jose is it?¡± I raise a finger, pointing skyward. ¡°D¡¯you know all your friends up there are dead?¡± He snorts. ¡°Yeah¡­ Right¡­ You killed them all of them, did you? All by yourself?¡± ¡°Not me. Yourdy of the poisoned pocket is the one responsible. Did you let her dole out whatever they were taking this evening?¡± ¡°What the fuck are you talking about?¡± His voice is slurring just a little. He res, moving toward me and now, closer, I see the expanded pupils¡­ How dense can he be? Seriously? Aiming the finger at Juliana, ¡°How difficult would it be for her to slip a little something extra into the mix for the Boys?¡± And a bit of something different for you? ¡­ While she still has a use for you? Cocaine? Give him a high? Confidence? Supermanplex? Juliana says nothing, simply smirking and fiddling with her phone as he speaks. ¡°I don¡¯t believe you. You think I¡¯m stupid?¡± ¡°Stupid? You? A pusher who¡¯s a user too? Sorry. My mistake.¡± But I¡¯m talking to buy time, time to think. My mind¡¯s racing¡­ Deja vu¡­ This is the second time I¡¯ve been found at the spot, and under just these conditions, as I descended from the fourth floor. How did she know? Waiting for me¡­ Several stories of balconies, windows and human paraphernalia¡­ All overlooking this alley¡­ A look-out? Watching for the police maybe? Or me¡­ Why not stop me halfway down? Throw me off the balcony¡­ Or try to¡­ More likely a security camera somewhere¡­ One I missed¡­ Ah¡­ the phone¡­ She¡¯s linked to a camera somewhere. Sure enough, she¡¯s tapping at the screen. Should have thought of that¡­ No-one¡¯s infallible¡­ She stares at something on her screen, then her face twists. ¡°Don¡¯t let him get away, Jose,¡± she hisses. ¡°No problem.¡± He raises the gun. ¡°No! Not like that. I told you. I want him alive.¡± He jerks his chin at the rifle over my shoulder. ¡°You think that¡¯s any good for up close?¡± He grins, advancing, pistol in hand. I reach behind myself. The poor street lighting glints off his teeth. It¡¯s not a bad match for the glint on the edge of my de. ¡°No. This is what I use for up close.¡± I nod down to his pistol. ¡°And how much use is that when she wants me alive? It¡¯s hand-to-hand, Jose.¡± He snarls, raising the gun. ¡°She said alive, not uninjured¡­¡± ¡°No!¡± It¡¯s Juliana again¡­ Jolting, he jerks a startled nce her way, and it¡¯s all I need. Darting forward, pping the pistol to one side, I lean the other way. Sure enough, it fires, the round blowing a hole in the wall of the apartment block before skittering to ground and off. Jose screams. The blow may have broken his wrist. Certainly, it jarred it. And I¡¯m not about to give him time to regret his moment of inattention¡­ He¡¯s trying to recover from his mistake, but as I swing a foot around his ankles, he¡¯s off-bnce and he topples, ponytail pping. The ponytail was a mistake. I¡¯ve nothing against the style. Each to his own. For myself, I prefer my hair long enough to provide a bit of padding against blows, but short enough to be ungrabbable¡­ Jose¡¯s fashion statement follows him down. Snatching at it with my free hand, I yank upwards, halting his fall¡­ kind of¡­ Half his body weight is taken by his two feet, firmly on the ground. But dangling where I hold him by the hair, he¡¯s almost horizontal from the knees up. He can¡¯t get up, can¡¯t get down and now, shoving the knife into my belt for speed, I have the Glock in my hand. My hand looped tight into the ponytail, I jerk his head up, hard enough to make his neck creak. Hard enough to pull him upright now that I have control. The muzzle of my gun pressed to his skull. ¡°You¡¯re coming with me, Juliana, if you don''t want to lose the boyfriend.¡± Not that I think she gives a shit about him, but at least his body is shielding mine while I figure how to get to Juliana herself. Is she armed? But I don¡¯t see anything except the mobile in her hand. ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡± Her reaction is weird. She stands there, all nonchnce, smirking. ¡°That¡¯s it, is it, Larry? You think you have the upper hand?¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you ask Speeding Gonzales here?¡± Jose struggles under me. I¡¯m disinclined to murder the poor sap if I can avoid it. He¡¯s hardly the first to be suckered into doing what she wants. But, something about Juliana¡¯s manner is unsettling. ¡°I know you don¡¯t care if I blow his brains out, but after he¡¯s dead, you¡¯re next.¡± But I¡¯m ying for time, trying to figure what the card is she holds in her hand that I don¡¯t know about¡­ Someone else here? Quickly, I dart nces left and right¡­ back, front¡­. up. There¡¯s no-one else. That giggle. That fucking infuriating Juliana giggle. ¡°Larry, look at your phone.¡± ¡°My phone?¡± Knotting my right hand tighter into his hair, keeping Jose immobile, the left is upied holding the gun. She lifts her chin, eyes nting to my jacket pocket. ¡°Yes, your phone. You''ve got iing, Larry. Take a look.¡± She¡¯s not exactly smiling¡­ ¡­ but¡­ she knows something I don¡¯t. In my pocket, the phone is vibing. With both hands upied, I push the muzzle of my gun into the back of Jose¡¯s neck, tugging down on the ponytail with the other. ¡°On your knees, hands sped behind your head.¡± He¡¯s calm as he obeys: suspiciously calm. Juliana¡¯s gaze follows him down, and now she¡¯s definitely smiling. The gun muzzle to the base of his skull, I fish the phone from my pocket¡­ ¡­ and turn cold¡­ Instead of the usual ept/deny button, there''s an image on the screen¡­ No, not an image. It¡¯s moving: a live feed. And of a view I know well. In bright sunshine, looking up towards the terrace of James¡¯ home in the mountain. Mitch and Jenny are there, sitting at one of the tables. Their backs are turned to me, but they¡¯re clearly talking together, bodynguage rxed. James and Michael stand nearby, leaning against a wall, mugs in hands, casual, chatting. But, oveying it all, making my gut tighten and my mouth dry, crosshairs hover. Gliding across the screen, they move between the two men: first Michael, then James. Then drifting, as though by ident, they pass over Jenny. And then, finally, they settle squarely on Mitch''s head. A live feed from rifle sights? Juliana¡¯s smile cracks wide and she giggles again: an infuriating, sickening sound. ¡°Which will it be, Larry? Your bitch whore or your bitch daughter? I can take the men too, but they¡¯ll best.¡± Where the hell''s Hickman? Not doing his fucking job¡­ I¡¯ll gut him for this¡­ ¡°I''m waiting, Larry.¡± Juliana sniggers. ¡°Who''s first? Jenny? Or Mitch? Or maybe the guys? I can have them picked off one at a time. Or my sniper can simply mow them all down in a few seconds¡­¡± Christ¡­ She pauses in an overyed dramatic silence¡­. ¡°¡­. Or are you going to be a good boy and put the gun down?¡± Don¡¯t panic¡­ ¡­ Think¡­ Frozen, the muzzle of my Glock still to Jose¡¯s head, I watch as Juliana mutters into her phone, grinning as her eyes sh to mine¡­ Will she give the order anyway? Take my surrender, then murder them anyway? Mitch¡­ Jenny¡­ ¡°What¡¯ll it be, Larry? You going to give yourself up?¡± She holds up her phone, shaking it gently in her hand at me. ¡°Drop the gun and I''ll tell my man to stand down.¡± My lungs are tight, and I¡¯m struggling to control the shakes. Holding the Glock, she¡¯ll see immediately if my hand trembles. The breath sticks in my throat as I speak. ¡°And how do I know that? That you¡¯ll keep your word?¡± ¡°Oh, you don''t.¡± She wrinkles her nose in fake cutes. ¡°I¡¯m the one holding the ace. But for what it''s worth, you have my promise. I''ve had my fun with them. It''s time you and I got down to business. So¡­¡± Her face turns serious as she stares me down. ¡°¡­ are you going to put down the gun?¡± No choices. No way out. Mitch¡­ I suck at dry cheeks before the words will form. ¡°Alright, tell your sniper to stand down. You want me. You¡¯ve got me. But don¡¯t hurt them. They never did anything to you.¡± Juliana¡¯s grin widens, and she nods down to where the Glock rests against Jose¡¯s skull. I lift it away then, my heart yammering, then, hands outheld, I stoop, moving slowly,ying the pistol on the ground. ¡°The rifle too.¡± Shrugging it off, I let it drop from my shoulders. Raising my arms, but with the mobile in one hand, I watch the screen. The crosshairs still linger over Mitch. Jose stands. As he finds his feet, smirking, he kicks the rifle away to skitter over the dusty ground towards Juliana. She retrieves it, slinging over her own shoulder. The Glock he shoves into a jacket pocket before brushing himself down. Her eyes holding mine, Juliana raises her voice as she speaks into her phone. ¡°Hold your fire¡­¡± She slides a finger over the screen¡­ ¡°¡­ But stay alert. Keep your cellphone within reach. If I don¡¯t call again within the next ten minutes, shoot the women.¡± The image on my mobile drifts sidelong, a little away from Mitch, but both she and Jenny are still on- screen. The crosshairs shift and blink. ¡°No tricks, Larry. My man''s not gone anywhere, yet. He¡¯ll still take your precious bitches if he doesn¡¯t hear from me.¡± Juliana jerks her chin at Jose ¡°Get on with it, then. Tie him up. We don''t want him changing his mind...¡± Rummaging in her bag, she tosses a stic packet: zip ties. ¡°Search him. Make sure he¡¯s not armed. And get his phone. Fasten his hands behind his back. And make sure it¡¯s tight.¡± Jose snatches the phone from my hand, tucking it inside his jacket. The Glock too. Holding my arms out, I stand, passive, as he pats me down, removes the knife from my belt, plus the pair from the calf- holsters, then he goes through my pockets. He raises brows as he finds Juliana¡¯s text on nt poisons. ¡°Your choice of reading? And you tried to put the me on her?¡± The book too, he shoves in his own pocket. Then, lip curling, he nods down. ¡°Now you kneel. Hands behind your back.¡± I hesitate, but Juliana holds up her phone, waving it at me. Out of options, I obey, gravel biting into my knees as I drop. Will she keep her word? Mitch¡­ There¡¯s no air. Behind my eyes, spots dance as the ties tighten; the first in a simple loop around my wrists, the second in a figure of eight, circling first one wrist, then the other, before clicking tighter. Juliana watches. ¡°At the elbows too. Tight enough to be sure he can¡¯t move his arms, wriggle free.¡± Stock still, frozen in body and mind, I allow Jose to do his work. The ties aren¡¯t long enough, so he zips two together and uses the pair, slipping them behind me. As they tighten around my elbows, it strains at my shoulders, drawing them back. ¡°Ankles and knees too,¡± says Juliana. ¡°Restrain himpletely. Make sure he can¡¯t free himself.¡± Jose kicks at my knees. ¡°On the ground.¡± Obeying, I lean sideways, trying to break my fall, but apparently, I don¡¯t move fast enough. He shoves me at the shoulder and I topple, scraping my cheek on the ground as I impact. Again he connects two, then three, of the ties together, locking them around my ankles. Another set goes around my knees. Lying t, trussed like some oven-ready chicken, my face pressed into the ground¡­ Will she keep her word? ¡°Juliana, call your dog off. Mitch and Jenny have done nothing to you. You¡¯ve got me. Now stand your sniper down.¡± She smirks, then exchanges grins with Jose¡­ No¡­ My stomach lurches¡­ Mitch¡­ Her eyes sparkle with malice. ¡°No need, Larry.¡± She hunkers down beside me. ¡°You¡¯ve been had. There¡¯s no marksman. No sniper.¡± I don¡¯t mean to, but I react¡­ as she clearly intends¡­ My head jerking sidelong, straining up to see her. ¡°What? But¡­¡± She gestures to Jose. ¡°Show him.¡± He produces my phone from his pocket, tapping it alive, then offering it to my view, disying the screen. Mitch and Jenny still sit there chatting, James and Michael in the background. The cross-hairs still hover. Then, Jenny stands and turns. And seeing her properly now, from the front, it¡¯s clear she¡¯s pregnant. Not heavily so, but it¡¯s visible. Not a feed¡­ A recording¡­ Months old¡­ Juliana, arms folded, widens her eyes at me. ¡°I took the footage myselfst year¡­¡± She sucks at her cheeks, as though savouring some delicacy¡­. ¡°¡­ while I was still gathering information. That moron Baxter helped.¡± She sniffs, rubbing the back of her neck. ¡°I had to pick and choose a bit; get a shot with Jenny''s back turned so you¡¯d not see she was pregnant. That would have given the game away. But any fool with a two-dor app can paste a set of crosshairs over video.¡± Her eyes glint. ¡°I hacked your phone, Larry. At least, I had a friend do it for me¡­¡± There¡¯s an ache at the back of my throat. Swallowing hurts. ¡°A friend? You have one of those, do you? Not murdered them all yet, then?¡± Juliana snarls, then recovers, smirking. ¡°An old video, a bit of editing and an ovey. I owned your phone. And that meant, I owned your life. I had you fooled, Larry. The great Lawrence Klempner, taken down with a parlour trick.¡± Think¡­ ¡°You nned all thisst year?¡± Pointless question, but I¡¯m ying for time¡­ Options¡­ I move, keeping it subtle, flexing against my bonds. Nothing happens. I¡¯m bound tight and staying that way. ¡°Oh, no¡­¡± Juliana shakes her head, sneering¡­ ¡°Much further back than that, Larry. Much, much further back. I¡¯ve nned since I was a teenager how I¡¯d settle my score with you. I might have had a life. And you took that away. You and Baxter and all those like you.¡± Baxter¡­ Oh, Christ¡­ What she did to Baxter¡­ She moves nearer, bending close, her breath washing over my face as she hisses through bared teeth. ¡°You might have beaten me, Larry. You might have killed Jose here. You might have caught me. But¡­¡± She stands, waving her hands up into the air¡­ ¡°¡­ you threw it away. And for no reason. Your precious sluts were never in any danger.¡± She tilts her head. Folds her arms. ¡°Can¡¯t say the same for you though, Larry.¡± Wrinkling her nose, ¡°Aren¡¯t you just in a mess now?¡± She reaches into her bag, producing a roll of tape, tossing it to Jose, ¡°Gag him. We don¡¯t want him yelling for help if he wakes up. And be quick, before anyonees along. But make sure you don¡¯t block his breathing.¡± Jose looms over me, the tape drawn tight between his hands as he stoops toward me. I speak quickly. ¡°You think you¡¯re going to survive this much longer than I am? Your so-called girlfriend will have you for dog meat as soon as she decides you¡¯ve served your purpose.¡± He snorts. ¡°Yes, S said you¡¯d say something like that. She¡¯s told me all about you and what you did to her. You¡¯ve lost. And now S¡¯s going to have her way with you.¡± My stomach clutches. ¡°Why don¡¯t you just kill me and get it done? You¡¯ve been ying your games for long enough.¡± Juliana bares her teeth, eyes glittering. ¡°And I¡¯ve not finished ying them yet, Larry Dear. Oh, you''re not going to die. Not yet. I want you to live for a long, long time¡­¡± The tape grabs at my face, tightens over my lips. I can¡¯t reply. Juliana moves over me, looking closely at my face. ¡°Scared yet, Larry?¡± Then to Jose, ¡°Get him in the car. First, we get him out of sight. Then we trank him.¡± ***** Chapter 38 Chapter 38 It takes the pair of them to lift me; her at my feet, him at my shoulders; carrying me to a car parked, as I now realise, only yards away. They roll me over the edge of the trunk, where I thump down,nding awkwardly and on my face. Twisting, I¡¯m still trying to ease myself into a morefortable position when, letting me see her do it, Juliana delves into her bag again. She produces a small bottle, sets it on the edge of the trunk, then after another rummage, stic packets containing syringe and needle¡­ My dder tightens. At least the needle will be clean¡­ ¡°He''s not going anywhere, S,¡± says Jose. ¡°Nowhere we don''t want him to go anyway.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want him enjoying the ride too much. Just check he''s properly restrained.¡± Jose leans in, gripping me at my shoulder, rolling me. He prods at my knees and my ankles, both locked tight. Then at my elbows. ¡°He¡¯s fine.¡± ¡°Good.¡± Juliana¡¯s eyes flick between mine and the needle and syringe as she assembles them. Then she grins again as she draws clear liquid from the bottle. ¡°You¡¯re going to take a little nap, Larry.¡± I want to look away but force myself to watch as she holds the needle over me. Lamplight glints from the tip as she hovers over my arm then moves instead for my neck. She¡¯s not gentle, stabbing in. My vision is already ckening, my ears buzzing as she gives me a quick pat on the cheek. ¡°Just think of the fun we¡¯re going to have together, you and I.¡± Then she ms the lid down, and I fall into the darkness both inside and outside my skull¡­ ***** I wake to a banging headache and a foul taste in my mouth. Behind the tape, I swipe my tongue inside cheeks and over teeth, trying to work up enough saliva to moisten cotton-puff flesh. It takes a little while for me to gather my head and make sense of the rest. I¡¯m lying side-on in the confined space of the trunk, chin pressing toward my chest, knees crooked. It¡¯s dark, but notpletely so, as light leaks through crevices. The car grumbles and vibrates, stopping and starting irregrly with jolts that bang my forehead against some metal object; a car jack I think. My face stings where I scraped the ground earlier. My spine strains at my unnatural posture. Outside; the sounds of other traffic; a lot of it, as though we are travelling through a city centre; the grind of engines, the hooting of horns, asional shouting and swearing. My arms are still locked behind me, the stic ties digging in. My fingertips feel swollen and numb at the same time. My ankles are much the same. With some difficulty, I shuffle along a little to stop the jack jamming into my skull every time the car goes over a rough spot. But the pain is nothing. I know what Juliana is capable of; the depth of her vindictiveness. Panic rises in a surging tide, threatening to overwhelm. Baxter¡­ ¡­ as Ist saw him¡­ ¡­ Cuffed, fettered, both hands smashed; hammer and crowbar used on bone and flesh until they were all but pulped; beyond all hope of repair or surgery. Probably needing amputation¡­ ¡­ Both arms and one leg broken. A smashed knee. And then, shackled to a wall so he couldn¡¯t stand upright. Couldn¡¯t sit either. Abandoned¡­ Twisted, agonised and bloody¡­N?velD(ram)a.?rg owns this content. ¡­ for me to find. Will he ever walk normally again? I doubt it. The surgeons can only do so much. There has to be enough left for them to repair. And now, I am Juliana¡¯s prisoner. The air is hot, stifling in the confined space. Ites to me that my cheek is pressed against something, harder, then softer with the rocking of the vehicle. It sticks slightly to my skin. And now, with time to think about my surroundings, there¡¯s an odd smell; slightly floral, but with a metallic tang¡­ Oh, fuck¡­ Straining to nt eyes downward, I make out stic wrap. And inside that, packets; hundreds of small stic packets. My face is pillowed against a street value of a million or more in cocaine. Hope to Christ they''re properly sealed¡­ Am I breathing the dust? Probably not. I have no sense of a Superman high. Quite the contrary. As I try to see sidelong, from my awkward position and in the limited light, it does seem that the stic sheet under my face is sturdy stuff; heavy-duty. And Juliana doesn¡¯t want me dead. Not this way at least. ¡­. You''re not going to die. Not yet. I want you to live for a long, long time¡­ What¡¯s she nning? My dder protests, with every jolt and rumble of the car, threatening to rebel and cut loose. Don¡¯t piss yourself¡­ She¡¯d love that¡­ The sound of traffic dies. The drive grows smoother and for me, marginally less ufortable. My only possible movement is the rocking of my body with the swing of the vehicle, the vibration of the engine. After a while, I sway sidelong against the side, the car easing into a turn. The engine grinds to a halt, rumbles then dies. A handbrake squeaks on. From right and left, the click and thud of doors opening. The crunch of footsteps, the clunk of the trunk lock and the lid opens, flooding brilliant sunshine into my prison. Despite myself, I gurgle and turn streaming eyes away from the daylight until a shadow falls over my face. Juliana¡¯s silhouette looms ck against an azure sky. ¡°That¡¯s better, Larry. We have a little privacy now¡­¡± She produces the hypo again, leaning in¡­ ¡°¡­ I hope you¡¯re enjoying your little ride. I''ll not spoil the surprise by telling you where we¡¯re going. The needle pierces my skin and once more, the world fades to ck. ***** James ¡°That¡¯s enough for your first lesson, Georgie,¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯ll be creased up tomorrow if you do too much in one go.¡± My daughter¡­ my elder daughter¡­ teeters uncertainly in the saddle. ¡°Is that enough exercise for a horse? It didn¡¯t feel like long.¡± ¡°No, but Charlotte will take her out now and give her a good run. If it¡¯s something you want to do again, we¡¯lle out tomorrow. C¡¯mon, I¡¯ll help you down.¡± Leading Charlie and Oliver back to the stable, Charlotte is waiting, already wearing boots and helmet. She runs a quick eye over Charlie then smiles at Georgie. ¡°All good? Enjoy that?¡± ¡°Very much. I¡¯d love to do it again if that¡¯s okay?¡± ¡°Course it is.¡± She turns to me. ¡°You take Georgie back to the house. I¡¯ll see to these two.¡± Oliver snorts and pushes forward, nuzzling at a pocket for the apples he knows she keeps there. ***** Chapter 39 Chapter 39 Back in the lounge, Cara is sitting on Mitch¡¯s knee. ¡°Getting into practice?¡± I ask. Hope and tears war in her voice. ¡°I suppose.¡± Then as Cara stretches chubby arms out to me. ¡°I think she wants a hug.¡± My baby daughter gives me a gummy smile as I pick her up, cradling her to my chest and bouncing her a bit. ¡°You been a good girl then?¡± A burble is my only reply, but Georgie looks at me a little oddly. ¡°You never used to do that with me.¡± ¡°In fact, Georgie, I did. But your mother didn''t like it. She always took you away from me when she could.¡± She frowns. ¡°Mom stopped you picking me up?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± ¡°But¡­why would she do something like that?¡± I shrug. ¡°I suppose she wanted control of you.¡± I speak off-handedly, but suddenly, the conversation is ufortable. ¡°Mitch I¡¯m making tea. Peppermint for you?¡± ***** Klempner Nightmares¡­ The world spinning¡­ A face¡­ Juliana, grinning at me¡­ Her teeth sharp and pointed, like a cat¡¯s. Pain¡­ Something gnawing at me, some monster biting at my ankle. I know I¡¯m in a nightmare, but I can¡¯t jolt myself out of sleep. Sickeningly, the world spins and wavers around me. I want to retch, but my sleep-bound body won¡¯t let me. ***** Harsh white light filters through myshes to stab at crusty eyes. The world still revolves. Or is it me that¡¯s turning? Consciousness returns only slowly, one sensation after another settling enough to make sense of them. The spinning around me slowly dies and my world settles. I¡¯m chilled and numb. Pain stabs behind my eyes and as I move, my stomach threatens rebellion. Gradually, ites to me that, while my shoulder muscles burn, my hands are free. A male voice: ¡°He should be awake now, shouldn¡¯t he?¡± A female voice: ¡°Yes. I didn¡¯t give him much. He should be awake by now. He¡¯s probably faking it.¡± Just lie here¡­ Eyes closed¡­ Listen¡­ I¡¯m lying on some cold, hard surface, slick with damp, coated with Christ-knows-what unnamable muck. And for some reason, I¡¯m stretched out full-length, one arm reaching out above my head. The male voice again: ¡°Wakey, wakey, Larry.¡± And something nts itself in my ribs, whoofing the air out of my lungs. Instinctively I roll, snatching for a foot, a leg, a fist: but I catch only empty air. Then I pull up short, with the clink of metal and something biting into my ankle. What the hell¡­? The air stinks. A fetid smell; stagnant water and the rank scent of decay, washes over me. All without meaning to, I react, covering my mouth and nose with my hand before realising that my hand is part of the smell, foul with slime and muck. Somewhere close by: a trickling sound, and the p of water against hard sides. Where the fuck am I? Oddly out of ce, the smell of fresh paint tickles my nostrils. The male voice again. ¡°He¡¯s awake for sure. He opened his eyes just then, but closed them again.¡± The words sound far away, as though carried through a tunnel. My eyes won¡¯t focus properly. Nor my head: stuffed and unclear. ¡°Hi, Larry. Good to see you awake again. How it¡¯s going?¡± The female voice sparkles with glee. ¡°Enjoying yourself?¡± Blinking to clear gummy eyes, I try to haul myself upright. But a stab of pain at my anklepetes with the rebellion of my stomach. My guts heave and the sad remains of myst meal spill over the ground beside me. Vomit sours my mouth and spatters my chin. Wiping it away with the back of my hand seeds only in smearing foul muck over my face. Someone giggles. And now close to my face, I realise my fingertips too are sticky with something besides the filth: white, already drying, crisping at the edges. Cautiously, I sniff: paint. ? My head is cloudy, achy. My thoughts too. Nothing makes sense. Every part of me screams protest as, stiff-muscled, my body torpid, I try again to raise myself into a sitting position¡­ ¡­ That bite at my ankle again, something clinking as I move¡­ My eyes still unfocused, I reach for my ankle, finding a steel cuff, snapped closed. And as my vision clears, I see a padlock. With leaden fingers, I feel at the metal, probing sluggishly: it¡¯s good quality, the steel polished and new. My feet are bare; there¡¯s no sign of my boots. My breathing in short gasps, finally I look up and around, take in my surroundings. The light is bright, harsh and white, But it quickly fades, illuminating only a small area around me, three or four yards, before fading to an imprable gloom. Juliana¡¯s there, waiting, sitting on a fold-up wooden chair. Jose stands beside her. Between them and me, trickled over muck and slime, a thick white line is painted on the concrete floor. Calmly, she watches me, a slight smile ying over her lips. ¡°You won¡¯t escape that padlock, Larry. I chose it especially for you.¡± The smile broadening, she holds something up, dangling it in her fingers, glinting dully: a small brass key: She passes it to Jose, who hangs it on a nail banged into the concrete wall, clearly visible, but well beyond my reach. ¡°Not feeling so good, Larry?¡± Juliana rises from her chair, to stand a little distance from me, smirking. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, the nausea will pass¡­ Or¡­¡± She sweeps an arm around¡­ ¡°Or maybe it won¡¯t. I¡¯d like to think you get the benefit of the amodation I¡¯ve chosen for you.¡± She pauses, I assume for effect, letting me take in the ¡®amodation¡¯. We¡¯re underground. The smell says that. The walls and floor are concrete. Beside me, the floor drops away to a channel containing an uncertain depth of oozing water. Rusted metal grates obstruct narrow ck unknowns: some dry, some trickling into the main channel. Sewers? The light, from a single overhead bulb, marks out the confined space with sharp dark shadows. And set in the wall behind Juliana, towards the ceiling, a camera eye aims at me, a light blinking green. Sucking some saliva from my cheeks before I speak, ¡°You¡¯re consistent, Juliana. I¡¯ll say that for you. You imprisoned Jenny below ground in primitive conditions. Now you n to do the same with me.¡± She disys teeth. ¡°There¡¯s no n about it, Larry. I¡¯ve done it.¡± She squats down, noticeably well to her side of the painted line, fastidiously not touching anything. Looking me in the eye, ¡°And where d¡¯you think I learned it, Larry? Locked up in your cers at Blessingmoors, whenever you or that bastard Jenkins¡­¡± Her lips curls¡­¡±That fucking perv you put in charge¡­ Whenever either of you felt like handing it out to a lot of helpless kids.¡± She stands again, the snarl washing from her face. ¡°Oh, yes, you like cers. I remember that about you. I remember those cers so well. We all spent time there; with the rats forpany and knowing the bodies of the ones who disappeared were down there in the dark with us¡­¡± Juliana pauses. I don¡¯tment, don¡¯t move, try not to swallow. She lifts her chin, eyes nting down to me, then continues¡­¡±That¡¯s good. I can see you do remember. Since you¡¯re so fond of tunnels and dark ces, this is your life now¡­ for as much of it as you have left.¡± She leans closer, hissing the words. ¡°What goes around,es around, Larry. Karma.¡± ¡°Fuck you.¡± I spit the words at her, trying to inject some venom, but it¡¯s false bravado and we both know it. She turns to Jose. ¡°You still have his gun in your jacket?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°Give it to me.¡± He takes it from his pocket, passing it across grip first. She turns it over in her hands, examining it, as though she has never seen such a thing before. Then, holding it loosely, almost negligently, she waves it through the air, the muzzle almost-but-not-quite aimed at me¡­ She won¡¯t shoot¡­ She¡¯s a gloater¡­ So she doesn¡¯t want me dead¡­ Not yet¡­. But my breath holds¡­ The barrel swings, apparently randomly, first one way, then the other, but always over me. ¡°You''re mine now, Larry. What am I going to do with you? I haven''t decided properly yet, you know.¡± She aims at my forehead. ¡°I might just shoot you dead. Bang! Bang!¡­¡± She mimes firing¡­ Fake recoil with each Bang¡­ ¡°¡­Just like that¡­¡± Then she sniffs. ¡°But that wouldn¡¯t be so much fun, would it?¡±Belongs to ? n0velDrama.Org. She cocks her head at me, as though it were a genuine question, as though, waiting for an answer. She doesn¡¯t get one. ¡°On the other hand¡­¡± she muses¡­ ¡°¡­ I could take you a piece at a time.¡± She stares upward, as though addressing the ceiling. ¡°What do you think, Larry? A foot maybe? Perhaps the one in the cuff¡­?¡± I force myself to breathe¡­ In¡­ Out¡­ In¡­ Out¡­ ¡­ I know all about these games: making the victim coborate in their own torture. The nose of the barrel drifts between my feet. ¡°Which will it be, Larry? Left or right? If you don''t choose, of course, it will be both feet.¡± Fuck this¡­ ¡°Left or right, Larry? Time to choose.¡± Keep calm¡­ Don''t panic¡­ Baxter¡­ ¡°I¡¯ll take the right one, I think¡­¡± Her face splits into a pumpkin smile and she widens her eyes at me¡­ ¡°¡­ It''s not as though you¡¯re going to need it again. I''ll leave you the other one for a bit. You¡¯ll want to stand up when you take a piss.¡± My spine prickles and already chilled skin streams cold. ¡°Leave me with gunshot wounds down here, Juliana, and they''ll be infected within hours. I''d be dead of sepsis or gangrene within days. I''m guessing that would spoil your fun.¡± She wrinkles her nose, lowering the muzzle of the Glock. ¡°Quite right, Larry.¡± She gives a quick, sharp nod. ¡°It''s good we understand each other...¡± She looks toward Jose, ¡°¡­What do you think?¡± He stands, arms folded, legs akimbo; radiating machismo. ¡°All your enemies are dead now, S¡­¡± He jerks his chin toward me¡­ ¡°You¡¯re only alive as long as Sna chooses to keep you that way. I don¡¯t think you have more than a few days. And they¡¯re not going to be good days.¡± Injecting contempt into my tone, ¡°You think I¡¯m the one in trouble, Jose? If your only use to Juliana was to make me her prisoner, your life expectancy is down to hours.¡± He rolls his eyes like some teenager told he can¡¯t stay outte. ¡°¡­ S can do what she wants with you. No one else knows you¡¯re here. She has her revenge. And she¡¯s free.¡± ¡°So I am.¡± Juliana¡®s lips curve, but Jose doesn''t see the knife in the smile. She moves closer to him, slides one hand over his cheek, then around his neck, as though to kiss him. ¡°As you say, Jose, only we know he¡¯s here.¡± He doesn¡¯t watch her other hand and what it¡¯s doing. How can he not see it? He slips arms around her, smiles in his belief that they are lovers. Dumb bastard¡­ ¡°Hey, look out. She''s...¡± And he¡¯s too wrapped up in his delusions¡­ ¡­ and I¡¯m toote. With the muzzle of the Glock pressed into his belly, she fires. Theics show guns going off with a Bang. It¡¯s good enough for kids and old Western movies, but it¡¯s nowhere close to the truth. Guns are loud. And in the confined space, the noise is shattering, echoing and reverberating through the concrete cavern. Juliana¡¯s ¡®Lover¡¯ convulses, doubling over on himself as he clutches at his gut, or tries to. Much of what should be inside him is sshed, blood-red, bruise-purple and shit-brown, against the wall behind him. His mouth is working, but his voice is as broken as his body. His lips move, forming a Why? before he drops, spasming and twisting around the pain. Juliana stoops, patting him on the cheek. ¡°Because I can''t have anyone else knowing that Larry''s here, can I. You really should understand that by now.¡± Is she that ruthless? Or is she actually insane? I¡¯ve seen wounds like that before: ripping open the bowels without damaging anything immediately vital. It can take the victim hours to die. Even days. And then, as often as not, it¡¯s sepsis that kills. It¡¯s a horrifically slow and painful way to go. He¡¯s still conscious, but in his agony, he¡¯s beyond words, almost beyond sounds. Probably beyond thought. Gasping, huddled around his syed guts, he lies mewling and shuddering and twitching. ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake, Juliana, finish him off. Even if you¡¯re done with the poor sap, you don¡¯t have to let him die like that, twisting in his own blood and shit.¡± She stiffens, staring at me with eyes white-rimmed. The gun muzzle wavers in my direction. ¡°It¡¯s not Juliana. It¡¯s S.¡± I hold up palms. ¡°Okay! Okay¡­ It¡¯s not worth arguing over. S, if that¡¯s what you want. S, for pity¡¯s sake, finish the poor bastard off.¡± She rxes, her eyes softening. She clicks her tongue. ¡°Coup de grace? From you, Larry? I didn¡¯t think you had that much mercy in you. But since you insist¡­¡± She holds the barrel to Jose¡¯s forehead, point- nk and fires. The entry hole is small, but the back of his skull is history, sttered scarlet and grey. Jose jolts then falls still. Juliana leans close, peering over him, but he¡¯s not moving; never will again. First stowing the gun in her bag, hunkering down, she fishes through his pockets. His wallet goes in her bag. A small notebook or maybe a diary, she tosses to one side. Her poisoner¡¯s herbology joins it. She pockets a small knife and a handful of change. The corpse ransacked, with the toe of a foot, giggling, she pushes what¡¯s left over the edge of the channel and into the fetid water. I¡¯ve seen more than my share of murders,mitted enough myself, but Juliana¡¯s peculiar brand of hyena-edged lunacy sets my scalp prickling. She watches the body sink slowly into bowel-ckness. ¡°One more corpse from the world of organised crime,¡± she says brightly. She could bementing that it might rain. ¡°Even if he¡¯s ever found and identified, the cops know him. They won''t give a shit about finding him dead¡­¡± She rummages in the bag, producing, of all things, a packet of baby wipes. With finicky, fussy movements, she swipes her hands clean of blood and brains. ¡°¡­ And that¡¯s assuming he¡¯s found at all. When he floats up again in a few days, the rats will probably eat well.¡± Then, turning, she smiles brightly at me. ¡°See? It''s just you and me now, Larry.¡± The smile dissolves. ¡°No-one''sing. There''ll be no cavalry-in-blue riding in. The only person who knows where you are now, is me. You''re all mine.¡± She swabs over her clothes with the wipe, then tosses the gore-soaked thing into the water before extracting another and continuing her clean-up. Finally, she takes apact from her bag, checking her face in the mirror, dabbing at specks of scarlet on her cheek. Oddly, she doesn¡¯tpletely clean the blood away¡­ What¡¯s that about? ¡­ and yet, she tops up her lipstick with ayer of gloss¡­ As she examines her reflection, angling her face first one way, then the other to see the result, she¡¯s speaking. Her eyes dart between me and the mirror. ¡°That middle-aged hooker of yours, I thought you should know, I''ve not finished with her¡­¡± Her reflection lingers on me for a moment before returning to the mirror¡­ ¡°¡­ Yes, I know I promised. But promises to you don¡¯t count, do they. And you don¡¯t have to worry, I''ll keep you up to date¡­¡± She stares into space, reflectively¡­ ¡°I did think I¡¯d simply have her killed, but that doesn¡¯t feel right. I''ll bring you the photos when I have her ganged¡­¡± She pauses to see the effect of her words. When I don¡¯t reply¡­ ¡°¡­ Or maybe you¡¯d prefer to see the video? I¡¯m sure an old whore like her can handle a few together. We¡¯ll find out how many, shall we.¡± There¡¯s a buzzing in my head. Trying to ignore it, I remain stony-faced. She sucks in her cheeks. ¡°Don¡¯t you want to y, Larry? Never mind. You¡¯ll soften up, I¡¯m sure. When you¡¯ve had some time to think about it.¡± She pops thepact back in the bag, then pokes through the rest of the contents before producing something small, round: ball-shaped. She tosses it at me and reflexively, I catch it. A potato. A small one. Raw. ¡°Don''t eat it all at once, Larry. They''re quite nourishing, but you''ll want to make itst. You won¡¯t be getting another one for a day or two¡­ Oh¡­¡± She raises a forefinger¡­ ¡°One more thing before I go¡­¡± Another search in the bag: this time she produces a small paper-wrapped package. Taking her time, she opens the pack, revealing two golden-brown empanadas. ¡°Don¡¯t get any ideas. They¡¯re not for you. But they do smell nice, don¡¯t they?¡± Juliana holds one to her nose and inhales, then lets the air out again. ¡°Chicken and peas. Very popr with the locals.¡± She bites, her teeth sinking into the pastry with a faint, crisp sound. The fragrance of meat and spices drifts across, briefly masking the smell of stagnant water. The pastries probably do smell good, but my stomach¡¯s still not recovered from rejecting myst meal. The smell merely makes me queasy again. She chews, swallows and smacks her lips. ¡°Lovely. But they¡¯re not really for me either.¡± A single bite missing, she crumbles the small pasty, scattering crumbs and morsels of meat on the ground, just beyond the painted white line. She does the same with the other one, then produces the wipes again, cleaning oil and juice from her hands. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t like you to be lonely, Larry. But I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll soon havepany.¡± She gives me that bright, white smile again. ¡°You know, I¡¯ve never had a pet before. They tell me you¡¯re supposed to look after them. Keep them clean. Feed them. That kind of thing. But don¡¯t worry¡­¡± She eye-points the camera¡­ ¡°¡­I¡¯ll be keeping an eye on you.¡± And with that, she produces a small shlight from her bag, slings the bag over her shoulder and, humming, strolls away, out of the circle of light and away down the tunnel. For a while, I see the wavering illumination of the shlight, but then it vanishes. Her footsteps echo for a while longer, but after a while, they too fall silent. And I¡¯m left alone. ***** Chapter 40 Chapter 40 Five minutester, the light clicks off. For one mind-numbing moment, I think she¡¯s left me in the dark, but as my eyes adjust, the light is merely very dim: blinking green from the activation light of the camera. I¡¯d thought my stomach was empty but, as it turns out, I¡¯ve not done yet. As Juliana¡¯s footsteps dwindle to silence, my gut heaves. I have just enough time to react by throwing myself to the edge of the water channel before my stomach relieves itself of thest of its burden. The piquancy and fragrance of Portuguese street food were good on the way down, but chilli and spices are less appealing on the way back up. Retching and puking, I let my body do its worst. Part of me knows this is the monkey brain acting: fear and panic running their course. Another part, the human brain, sits in the passenger seat, waiting calmly to take the wheel again. And now, with the immediate freak-out passing albeit with muscles still twitching and dancing the adrenaline fandango, I sit back against the wall, breathing heavily, swiping chill sweat from my face. Mitch¡­ Time to weigh up my position¡­ My resources¡­ My stomach evacuated, I want nothing more than to rinse my mouth, drink something nd: milk or weak tea perhaps¡­ Not an option¡­ Water? I eye the turgid flow in the channel beside me, now even darker in the restricted lighting. Clots of garbage float, waterlogged, on the oily surface, bobbing beside the bloated remains of a rat. Grey foam speckles the base of one of the inlets. Drinking from there is not to be considered. What then? From one of the narrow inlets to the main channel, somewhat above me, a thin stream dribbles. I stand, reaching for the flow, then as the ankle cuff nips, pick up a loop of chain to relieve some of the weight. This time, it¡¯s a stretch, but I get there, swiping through the trickle with a fingertip. Cautiously, I sniff, then lick. It tastes a little brackish, but not putrid; rainwater run-off probably. A mug or a ss would be nice, but I doubt Juliana is nning to supply such homeforts. A cupped palm collects a bare mouthful, enough to rinse my mouth with. Another palmful, and fresh water eases some of the tightness in my throat. Mitch¡­ Got to warn her¡­ Get word to Hickman¡­ Or James¡­ Gotta get the fuck out of here¡­ First order of the day¡­ That steel cuff¡­ The key? It hangs on its nail, at about eye-level, the brass a sullen yellow-green reflection in the bleak lighting. Juliana surely hung it there deliberately, leaving it well beyond my reach. Still, gotta try¡­ I¡¯m by no means short. I top six feet and I¡¯m long-limbed with it, but even at full stretch, letting the metal gnaw into my ankle, I¡¯m at least two yards short. No amount of reaching and straining will get me there. And in the process, I discover the purpose of Juliana¡¯s painted line. It marks the end of my range. With my arms and legs at full extent, straining against the cuff, letting it bite into my ankle, that white line, already dirty with muck, divides the world into two part: the one I can reach, and the one I can¡¯t. Okayyy¡­ Next target¡­ The padlock: Something to pick the lock with¡­ Pin¡­ Wire¡­ ¡­ ¡­ A quick self-survey of my resources: the clothes I¡¯m wearing; shirt, pants¡­ Belt¡­ The cheese-wire¡­ Or the tongue of the buckle might make an eptable lock-pick. I reach for the buckle, and it¡¯s not there. My belt has gone. Fuck¡­ And now that I¡¯m looking, I realise, so have my holster and knife sheaths. Anything with more substance than the thin linen cloth of my shirt has been stripped. Lucky she didn¡¯t leave me naked¡­ ¡­ I suppose¡­ I cast around at my surroundings. Bare concrete, fetid water and slime. The cuff is welded to a loop of chain. The chain in turn welded to a post on the wall embedded into fresh cement. The cement is fresh and hard. My fingernails make no impression, simply ripping at the top and leaving me bleeding at the quick. Above me, the camera eye: aimed directly at me. And doubtless, she¡¯s on the other side of the lens, watching me on aptop or via a phone app. This hasn¡¯t been set up in minutes or hours: even days. Juliana¡¯s had this nned for some time. Just as she did when she had Jenny kidnapped¡­ even though at the time, I believed Baxter and Finchby were behind it. Perhaps they even thought they were¡­ At the thought of Baxter, my stomach churns. What she did to him¡­ Again, she wasn''t trying to kill. She left him a physical ruin; in a condition where he¡¯d live, but he¡¯d never be the same man again. And she left him for me to find. At the time, I rather appreciated the justice of it. But, that was then. And now, she¡¯s brought me here¡­ Wherever here is¡­ If all Juliana wanted was to take her time murdering me, she could have chosen any abandoned building a little out of the way. But she¡¯s not done that. This ce is¡­ what? She drugged me twice to bring me here. So, several hours travel at least. Out of the city? Away from S?o Paulo¡­ Where the fuck am I? It¡¯s a water system, a sewerage or drainagework. No-one builds them in the middle of nowhere. Drains imply people. How far underground am I? I peer up the dark water inlets, looking for daylight. There¡¯s nothing. Every hole gapes unrelieved ck. And now, sitting in my gaunt cell, I listen. Water trickles¡­ N?velD(ram)a.?rg owns this content. Echoing from somewhere is a chittering sound¡­ My own breathing¡­ My heartbeat... The pulse inside my ears... ¡­ All minute sounds, magnified by the otherwise utter silence and my spiralling imagination. Standing, I listen at my sweet-water inlet. It¡¯s a little above my head-height, but tip-toeing, I cock an ear to the narrow channel. Dripping water is the only sound. No voices. No traffic. No rumble of underground trains. No people. If I were trapped in the city, yelling or screaming might draw someone. But if there¡¯s no-one. If Juliana is truly the only person who knows where I am. Buried alive. ***** Chapter 41 Chapter 41 As it turns out, the darkness isn¡¯t quiteplete. The power light of the camera casts just enough illumination to bathe the scene in a weird green, albeit, blinking glow. Once my eyes adjust, I can see enough to manage. Manage in this case means, seeing well enough to piss over the side into the water without falling in. Still, several hourster¡­ I think¡­ I¡¯ve concluded that I truly am a prisoner. With no sense of day or night, my sense of time is already drifting. Perhaps it¡¯s been longer than that¡­ I¡¯m not sure¡­ My immediate physical reaction is to sleep: the body¡¯s age-old defence against reality. And I don¡¯t even realise I¡¯m drifting off until, with a start, I wake up, jerking up against a crick in the neck where I¡¯d nodded off with my chin on my chest. What woke me? Movement in the dark¡­ On the limit of my circle of light, a pair of rats are polishing off the remains of Juliana¡¯s S¡¯s? ¡­empanadas. One sits on its haunches, nibbling into a circle of pastry. Some version of the snack can be found in every country I¡¯ve ever visited. In India, it would be a samosa. In Ennd, a sausage roll or cornish pasty. The Chinese would offer you a vegetable roll. No matter. It¡¯s street food. Finger food. Right now, rat food. Rats don¡¯t worry me overmuch. With luck, they¡¯ll finish their treat and go. Warily, I watch them. Within a few minutes, they¡¯ve cleared the scatter of crumbs and, nose-to-tail, vanish into the dark together. Sleep has helped. My panic has dispersed and the nausea has gone. In fact, I¡¯m hungry. The potato Juliana gave me lies beside me on the filth-encrusted floor. I don¡¯t want to consider what I¡¯m sitting on. Even less what might have brushed onto the skin of the tattie. I¡¯m not quite that hungry. Yet. Time to think¡­ ***** Michael I tip thest barrow-load. After a dozen return trips to ¡®The Heap¡¯, I¡¯m glowing with heat, dripping with sweat and smelling more of manure than manhood. The ground steams where the output from the stables lies scattered over Charlotte¡¯s nned new herb bed¡­ That should get them green and growing¡­ If only to get away from the smell¡­ N?velDrama.Org owns ? this. Turning the barrow over, I rub away a fragment of straw that has somehow taken root in my stubble¡­ I itch¡­ ¡°I brought you a coffee.¡± It¡¯s Charlotte, a mug in either hand, the steam rather more appealingly fragrant than what I¡¯ve just been handling. ¡°Thanks, Babe. I was justing in.¡± She wrinkles her nose. ¡°I hope you were nning on a shower?¡± ¡°It¡¯s Number One on my list of To-Dos.¡± Extending an arm to a tree stump, ¡°May I offer my wife a comfortable seat? So we can enjoy our coffee together?¡± She dimples and sits, then sips at her coffee. I park my butt on the upturned barrow. She stares into space, her smile fading. ¡°Charlotte? Something wrong, Babe?¡± But I know the answer before she replies. Her throat ripples. ¡°Where do you think my father is?¡± ¡°I don''t know, Charlotte. I just don''t know. I wish I did.¡± She sips and swallows again. Sips and swallows. ¡°D¡¯you think he''s still alive? Surely he''d have been in touch by now¡­¡± I don¡¯t know how to reply. I stare down into my mug. Her voice is tight. ¡°Mom keeps asking me¡­¡± Her words stumble. She starts again¡­ ¡°She asks, and I don''t know what to say to her.¡± ¡°I think you can only say that, whatever''s happened, your father did what he did to protect her. And you. And he sent her the ring. He nned a future with her. He''lle back when he can.¡± ¡°If he can.¡± ***** Chapter 42 Chapter 42 Klempner My resources: The clothes I¡¯m wearing. A notebook and the stub of a pencil: A book on herbal toxins. A small supply of sweet water. An infinite supply, for any practical purpose, of foul water, slime and garbage. And of course, one small potato. I¡¯d like to give in to despair. There¡¯s something alluring about despair, something seductive. Perhaps I should simply not y Juliana¡¯s game; let her kill me. But if I¡¯m dead¡­ Mitch¡­ My beautiful green-eyed Mitch. So alive. So energetic. So full of courage. So vital. Vitale ¡­ Stay alive... So, eat the fucking potato¡­ I prise it out from its bed of sludge and slime with a slight sucking sound. It¡¯s small; perhaps half the size of my fist. On the other hand, adhered muck aside, it seems sound; firm, mid-brown, no sprouts or green parts. I have a vague idea that I¡¯ve read that green potatoes are unsafe to eat. Hauling myself up from my concrete seat, lifting my chain in one hand, with the other, I hold my meal under the water inlet, thumbing away the dirt under the clean water. Time to live¡­ And I bite in. ***** With no warning, the light blinks on and without meaning to, I groan, hiding my eyes behind my hands. Within seconds, the Click Click of heels on concrete, then Juliana emerges from the darkness. ¡°Good afternoon, Larry. How are you? I do hope you¡¯ve had the opportunity to fully appreciate your situation?¡± She¡¯s opted for ck hair today, long and draped over her shoulders, with deep red lipstick. The dress is long and clingy, with a low cut neckline; designed to show off a figure which I suspect is being enhanced with well-chosen underwear. A clutch bag in ck satinpletes the ensemble. Blinking streaming eyes, I don¡¯t reply and she awards me a polite little smile, then sits, on her fold-up chair, hands neatly folded. She could be in school, waiting for a favourite teacher to begin the lesson. Or perhaps in the audience at some small town hall, for a talk on jam-making or how to grow dahlias. At least she could if Morticia Addams had ever joined the ¡®Jam and Jerusalem¡¯ set. ¡°So,¡± she says brightly. ¡°What are we going to talk about today?¡± I struggle upright. I¡¯m fucked if I¡¯m going to let her look down at me while we talk. She watches me, a touch of wariness in her eyes. Momentarily, her gaze drops to her painted line, but she¡¯s well to one side of it, me to the other. ¡°What¡­¡± I fold my arms, lean back against the wall¡­ Fuck, but it¡¯s good to get off the concrete¡­ ¡­ ¡°What would you like to talk about? I¡¯m guessing you have a selection of choice topics.¡± I pace a little, as much as the chain allows, unhinging stiff knees and hips, stretching muscles. ¡°You know, you¡¯re right.¡± She gives me a bright little smile. ¡°And¡­¡± She aims a long painted fingernail at me¡­ Fake¡­ Extensions? ¡°¡­ that¡¯s part of it, Larry. You must look after yourself. Exercise. You won¡¯t do well down here if you don¡¯t move about more than I¡¯ve seen you doing thest two days¡­¡± Two days? ¡°¡­ Is there anything you want?¡± I pause¡­ Seriously? ¡°How about a cup?¡± She snorts. ¡°What? And give you something to turn into a weapon or a tool? Finchby and Baxter were stupid, letting your little bitch daughter get hold of a ss bottle. I''m not making that mistake. You have hands. Use those.¡± ¡°It¡¯s difficult to get a real drink that way.¡± ¡°You have something better to do with your time? Lick it off the wall if you have to. I¡¯m not giving you a cup.¡± ¡°I¡¯m touched by your concern for my welfare.¡± ¡°Now don¡¯t be grouchy, Larry. I¡¯ve won and you¡¯ve lost. You¡¯re mine now and we¡¯re ying by my rules.¡± ¡°You realise they''ll be looking for me, the police. By now they''ll know I''m missing.¡± She wrinkles her nose. ¡°¡¯Fraid not. You see, Harry Hughes isn''t missing. What¡¯s left of him has been found dead in his hotel suite after the explosion. And I made sure the police found some clues about you being near my apartment. With the number of bodies they¡¯ll have found around there recently, I¡¯m sure that will perk their interest in you¡­¡± My chest tightens¡­ ¡°What clues?¡± ¡°If you insist, I left your passport not too far away, close enough to link you to the spot.¡± She sighs, stroking a hand over her hair. ¡°I suppose they might decide you were involved with the gangs. But I think it''s more likely they''ll say you got caught in the war between the Wolves and the Nightshades. You know¡­¡± She makes airmas¡­ ¡°Innocent Tourist Witnesses Gang Murder And Bloodbath. Criminals Retaliate.¡± The papers love that kind of thing.¡± She leans forward onto her knees, her smile widening. ¡°Either way, Larry, they¡¯re not looking for you. You¡¯re dead. Or the man they think you are is.¡± My mind spins¡­ ¡°So¡­ you rigged that explosion just so you could nt a corpse to stand in for me¡±? She shrugs, looking away. ¡°Couldn''t have people wondering where you are, could I? That would spoil our fun together.¡± ¡°Juliana¡­¡± ¡°S!¡± she snaps. ¡°S, then,¡± I spit back. ¡°How many have you murdered? There were scores of people caught in that explosion. All innocent. All nothing to do with me.¡± ¡°You''ve murdered plenty in your time.¡± Teeth bared, she hisses the words. ¡°You think you¡¯re better than me? What¡¯s the difference?¡± ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve killed plenty. But it was always for a reason. It might have been a bad reason, but it was a reason. I never went for creating wholesale mayhem for the happy-go-lucky thrill of it all.¡± N?velDrama.Org owns ? this. Eyes zing, sheunches to her feet so fast that the little wooden chair drops backwards, copsing on itself with a sad little squeak. Whoa¡­ Too far, too fast¡­ Pressing backwards against the wall, ¡°S, I¡¯m sorry. I shouldn¡¯t have said that. My apologies.¡± Instantly the fire leaves her eyes. She smiles. ¡°That¡¯s better, Larry. If you learn to talk nicely, we¡¯ll get along a lot better.¡± She regards the copsed chair and giggles. ¡°Well, would you look at that. That¡¯s what happens when I get cross.¡± Unfolding it, she sets it back in its spot, beyond the white line and sits again. Fingers sped on herp, ¡°So? You were saying?¡± *Thin ice* ¡°S, you¡¯ve taken your revenge on me. I get that. I can understand it. I know what I did¡­ To you and many others. But¡­ you¡¯re still threatening others who have never done you any harm.¡± She tilts her head. ¡°Are we talking again about that ageing hooker you shacked up with? What¡¯s so interesting about her? You¡¯ve had control of hundreds¡­ maybe thousands of women in your time¡­ You could have had any of them you wanted, whenever you wanted..¡± ¡°Mitch is not under my control. And Juliana¡­ Whatever else you¡¯re using me of¡­ and I do acknowledge that most of it is true¡­ Did you ever see memit rape? Or hear of anyone who said I had done that?¡± Her forehead furrows. ¡°Now you put it that way, no.¡± She drops her face, swaying her head from side to side. What the hell¡­? Abruptly, Juliana stands, opens the clutch bag and produces a potato. Barely looking, she tosses it my way and I field it before it hits the ground. Without a word, she turns and leaves. A minuteter, it blinks dark. Touched a nerve? Who knows? I rub away a smudge of soil and bite into the potato. ***** Chapter 43 Chapter 43 The Wolves and the Nightshades¡­ Gang names¡­ ? ¡®Wolves¡¯ has masculine overtones, a touch of the machismo about it. I can see that as a gang name. But Nightshades? What gang calls itself Nightshades? Poison is a woman¡¯s weapon¡­ Chewing my potato, I retrieve S¡¯s text on poisons. Nightshade¡­ Also known as Bedonna¡­ ¡®used historically as medicine, poison and cosmetic¡­ Cosmetic? I read on¡­ Bedona¡­¡¯Beautifuldy¡­ the juice used historically in Italy to erge the pupils of women to enhance their appearance¡­ Fuck me¡­ I flick a page or two: Symptoms of bedonna poisoning¡­ dted pupils, rash or flushed skin on the face, neck and upper body, elerated heartbeat, epileptic spasms, vomiting¡­ ***** James ¡°What do you think?¡± Michael raises brows. ¡°Klempner?¡± ¡°Of course, Klempner. D¡¯you think he¡¯s alive?¡± He scratches into his scalp. ¡°With the kind of life he''s led¡­ leads¡­ I suppose it was only a matter of time before he walked into one of these situations and didn¡¯t walk out again.¡± ¡°I suppose. Still, it¡¯s hard to imagine him going down with some half-crazed woman. I mean, drug barons, criminal overlords, yes. Experienced mercenaries or assassins¡­ You can see how they might have outssed him. But some half-cocked girl with a grudge? How could she have gotten the better of him?¡± ¡°That¡¯s not really the question is it?¡± ¡°No?¡± ¡°No. The question is, how is Mitch handling it?¡± Guilt clutches at me. ¡°Not well.¡± ***** Klempner She¡¯s back, and behaving as though our previous meeting never happened. The day¡¯s fashion statement consists of a tight geisha-style dress in green silk, heavily embroidered with gold dragons. It¡¯s too loud against the curly, mid-brown hair and subdued, flesh-tone lipstick. But I¡¯m not about to passment. How the hell did you seduce so many men? Must be a fucking wow in the sack¡­ ¡°So what are we going to talk about today, Larry?¡± I shift my position, trying to sit a little morefortably, straightening up against the wall. ¡°What would you like to talk about? My packed social calendar?¡± I shift again. My tailbone is rubbing and I move to ease the pressure. It works, but now my weight is on my backside and I was never bulky. There¡¯s not enough flesh there to cushion me against the concrete. Lips pressing, she snaps, ¡°You¡¯re not paying attention.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not easy to pay attention with concrete rubbing a hole in your ass.¡± ¡°Poor baby. Aren¡¯t youfy?¡± Pleasure gleams in her eye. ¡°I¡¯m sure you know I¡¯m not, but if your idea is to keep me incarcerated in the dark for as long as possible, Juliana, you''d better let me have some basics.¡± She sucks air through her teeth, then props her chin on her knuckles. ¡°Such as?¡± ¡°A chair?¡± ¡°You¡¯re not having a chair. I didn¡¯t bring you down here to enjoy lounging around.¡± ¡°A cushion then? I¡¯m getting sores in my skin from rubbing against damp concrete. If they get infected which, in these conditions, they probably will, your source of entertainment will be cut short.¡± ¡°Hmmm¡­¡± She rocks a hand; sniffs and smiles. ¡°We''ll see. Perhaps I¡¯ll give you something¡­ since you''re learning to ask nicely¡­ like a good pet.¡± Belongs to ? n0velDrama.Org. ***** Chained in my corner, I stare into the dark¡­ This is it then. I survived it all¡­ Outlived them all¡­ Mercenaries¡­ Murderers¡­ Machete-wielding savages¡­ A hundred bastards just like me¡­ Some of them worse than me¡­ I survived the lot. And I''m captured by one stupid female¡­ ¡­ ¡­ No¡­ Not stupid¡­ Vengeful¡­ Depraved¡­ Insane¡­ Yes, insane¡­ I chuckle. If I don¡¯t find something tough at, I¡¯ll weep. Madder than a sack of ferrets. Not exactly a medical diagnosis, but encapsting all the important points. What''s her intention? What does she want? To kill me? I''d already be dead. So, no. Or at least not immediately. So what does she want? Power. To enjoy wielding power over me... To gloat. To starve me, but not quite. Keep me alive, but rotting¡­ Come to visit and crow over me every so often? Or just watch me from the camera? I enved her. Shipped her out to a life of hard manualbour. I put her in chains and took away her choices. So now she¡¯s doing the same to me. ¡­. Mitch¡­ How can I help you? The key¡­ It shines in the dim green light, about the only clean thing in this stinking hole. Of course she left it there deliberately. Cheap entertainment for her¡­ ¡­ What if Juliana gets bored? Will she kill me outright? Find something to do to make life worse? Or just leave me to starve in the dark? ?? If she gets bored, it¡¯ll be the end... So, don¡¯t let her get bored. Entertain her... Give her something to gloat about¡­ Juliana¡­ Who single-handedly brought down Lawrence Klempner¡­ ¡­ and keeps him as a pet. ¡­ ¡­ Mitch¡­ How to get that key? ***** Chapter 44 Chapter 44 Richard Mitch descends the stairs carefully, gripping the rail with one hand, a great wad of glossy something-or- others tucked under the other arm. ¡°Here, Mitch. Let me help you with those.¡± Although the swell on her stomach is only just visible, and Mitch is by no means ungainly, I think we¡¯re all conscious of her age and the need to pay her extra attention¡­ A pregnancy she didn¡¯t expect. The father¡¯s reaction uncertain¡­ Even if we knew where to find him¡­. ¡°Thank you, Richard.¡± She passes me what turns out to be a stack of knitting patterns. Tucking them under my arm, I apany her down. As we reach thest step, the doorbell rings. ¡°You get it, Richard. I can manage now.¡± Mitch takes the patterns, heading toward the kitchen where, from beyond the door, James¡¯, Michael¡¯s and Charlotte¡¯s voices carry. Then Elizabeth¡¯s too. It¡¯s a bright day, the sunshine warm, and the door standing open. Hickman¡¯s on the step. ¡°You could have just knocked and walked in you know.¡± ¡°The door may have been open, Mr Haswell, but a home is still private space.¡± His expression tightens. He peers beyond me, over my shoulder and into the hall. Keeping his voice low. ¡°Do you have a minute? Mr Alexanders and Mr Summerford too.¡± ¡°Of course,e in.¡± A nce over my shoulder, back to where Mitch is vanishing into the kitchen. Keeping my voice low. ¡°Klempner?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± He looks over my shoulder again. ¡°You might want to be private from the women.¡± For a man who, on the face of it, is no more than paid muscle, Hickman surprises me with his sensitivity. ¡°I¡¯ll see if I can get Mitch and Charlotte out of the way before you say anything. You go through to the dining room.¡± ¡°Hmmm, yes.¡± He nods; a short, terse gesture. In the kitchen, Mitch, Charlotte and Elizabeth are sitting together at the table. Mitch has a stack of knitting patterns, all featuring some woolly item in pink or blue. Elizabeth holds up three or four, comparing designs. Charlotte¡¯s eyes are zing. Beyond the women, James, in jeans and riding boots, stands side-by-side with Michael, leaning back against the counter. The pair, coffee mugs in hand, are chatting,ughing over some joke. Hovering in the doorway, I catch Michael¡¯s eye and jerk my head back to the dining room. His smile fades and he nudges James. Both men, apparently casually, stroll towards me, following me back to where Hickman is waiting. In the dining room, James props himself back against the table, arms folded. ¡°So, Hickman, any news. Anything from Klempner? Anything at all?¡± Hickman sucks at his teeth, slowly swinging his head. ¡°No. I¡¯m here to say that there¡¯s no news at all. You¡¯ve not heard anything yourselves?¡± ¡°No. It¡¯s what, three weeks now?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± ¡°What¡¯s three weeks?¡± It¡¯s Charlotte, framed by the doorway, her tone demanding. James sucks in his cheeks. ¡°Does it ur to you, Charlotte, that if we gather in a different room, then perhaps we would like a private conversation?¡± Her eyes slit. ¡°It urs to me that there¡¯s something you¡¯re trying to hide, and right now, I can only think of one thing that might be.¡± ¡°Is it about Larry?¡± Mitch appears from behind, Charlotte stepping aside to let her through. ¡°What is it? What¡¯s happening?¡± ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Elizabeth appears, Adam wrapped in her arms. ¡°Hickman? Have you learned anything?¡± He opens his mouth to speak, but Georgie strolls in, wearing a rough jacket and riding boots. ¡°Ready, Dad?¡± Her head swings around the room and her smile fades. ¡°Is something wrong?¡± James raises palms. ¡°So much for privacy.¡± Michael sucks in a smile. ¡°Dad?¡± James speaks gently. ¡°Hickman here just wanted a word. But¡­ there¡¯s no news of Klempner?¡± ¡°No. Nothing of him. Nothing from him. If he were free to do so, he would have found a way to contact me by now. I¡¯m sure of it. I think we have a problem. Or at least¡­¡± He pulls a face, clicks his tongue¡­ ¡°...Mr Klempner has a problem.¡± Georgie is very pale. ¡°You think that woman who kidnapped me, might have caught him?¡± Fuck¡­ I try to catch her gaze, eye-pointing Mitch, but she doesn¡¯t notice¡­ Got no more tact than her father¡­ James¡¯ eyes roll, but it¡¯s toote¡­ A sob¡­ Mitch¡­ Mitch, eyes glossing, her throat rippling, ¡°You¡¯ve heard nothing at all?¡± Hitchman speaks slowly, regretfully. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Miss Kimberley. But no, nothing at all.¡± Charlotte guides her mother to a chair. Mitch sits, rocking in her seat, hands over her mouth, shuddering. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry. Georgie¡¯s right. Something¡¯s happened to him. I know it has. He went after that woman to save all of us and¡­¡± Michaelys a hand on her shoulder. ¡°Mitch, don¡¯t assume the worst. You know Larry. He¡¯s one of life¡¯s survivors.¡± ¡°Yes, he is¡­¡± Her breath catches, and she swallows. Then again. ¡°Yes, he is a survivor. But¡­ He¡¯d have gotten word to us¡­¡± She looks from one face to another, her eyes wide with distress¡­ ¡°Even if it wasn¡¯t much. I know he¡¯s not a talker, not demonstrative. It¡¯s not his way.¡± She huffs a humourless laugh. ¡°I¡¯m not sure he knows how. But he¡¯d have made sure we knew he was alright.¡± She holds one hand with the other, winding the ring on her left hand around and around the finger. Charlotte pipes up. ¡°Maybe he¡¯s emailed you or something?¡± Hickman shakes his head. ¡°I thought of that, Mrs Summerford. I¡¯ve checked emails, phone apps, messaging systems¡­ Anything I could think of where he might try to get in touch, but there really is nothing.¡± Charlotte stares at her feet, but Georgie¡¯s head swings between the two women, brow furrowed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I don¡¯t understand¡­¡± Her finger vacites between Mitch and Charlotte. ¡°Miss Kimberley and Mrs Summerford?¡± Oh, Crap¡­ What a fucking time to choose¡­ Hickman¡¯s eyes roll up as he realises his faux pas¡­ Not his fault¡­ Bound to happen sometime¡­ But so far, Georgie just seems puzzled. The fingers aims towards Michael. ¡°Your name is Summerford, so you¡¯re¡­ what¡­? Charlotte¡¯s brother? Cousin? But¡­¡± The finger swings like an usingpass to point back to Charlotte. ¡°But you¡¯re married to Dad. Your name should be Alexanders...¡± Michael has frozen, his eyes widening towards James¡­ What the fuck do you want me to say? ¡°¡­ Did you want to hang on to your maiden name? Dad¡¯s name isn¡¯t good enough for you?¡± Charlotte¡¯s eyes, wide and worried, also swing to James¡­ Georgie¡¯s still talking¡­. ¡°But your mother¡¯s name is Kimberley? So, you¡¯re¡­ from another marriage or something.¡± Hickman breaks smoothly in. ¡°If you will excuse me, Miss Alexanders. I am pressed for time¡­¡± And James finally recovers the power of speech. ¡°Of course you are, Hickman. Georgie, leave it. There are more important things right now¡­¡± ¡°But¡­¡± He angles a finger at her. ¡°I said, not now. We¡¯ll discuss it another time.¡± He turns away, deliberately cutting her off¡­ While he thinks about how the hell to deal with it¡­ You¡¯re going to have to tell her sometime¡­ You¡¯re not actually married to your ¡®wife¡¯¡­ From off-side, Michael gives me an old look, then says, ¡°I think we have to assume¡­¡± His eyes roll to Mitch¡­ ¡°¡­ to assume that Klempner is alive and well. Roughly speaking, if he can¡¯t contact us, perhaps we can contact him? Perhaps through Will Stanton? He¡¯s already making enquiries through the police over there isn¡¯t he. Maybe he could find a way to contact Larry.¡± Well yed¡­ Belongs to ? n0velDrama.Org. Complete change of subject¡­ Having said that¡­ We¡¯re only assuming he¡¯s alive¡­ ***** Chapter 45 Chapter 45 Klempner ¡°Here¡­¡± Juliana ces something in the ground¡­ a t something¡­ ¡°I''m not giving you a cushion, but you can have that.¡± On the end of her shoe, she toes it toward me and across the white line. A fragment of paint breaks from the edge of the line. Stiff-jointed, I stand. It¡¯s not easy. Every movement scrapes flesh and bone against the concrete and I resist the urge to simply roll forward and crawl towards whatever-it-is. So, I stand: unravelling myself: piece by piece, joint-by-joint, unfolding my body until I¡¯m upright. Then I take the three or four steps to what has be the edge of my world. Stooping with exaggerated care for my stiff spine, I examine her t-packed offering. ¡°A cardboard box?¡± ¡°It''ll get your ass off the concrete.¡± ¡°In this damp, It won''tst long.¡± She shrugs. ¡°Then, I might give you another. If you behave yourself.¡± ¡°You mean if I grovel and entertain you.¡± She gives me a hyena grin. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit.¡± ***** ¡°Can I ask you something?¡± Her eyes narrow. ¡°You can ask.¡± ¡°How did youe to be in my hands in the first ce? Most of the kids were shipped in from the third world or Eastern Europe. How did youe to be in Blessingmoors?¡± Her jaw drops. ¡°You don''t know?¡± ¡°Why would I? I ran the show. I didn''t make personal collections. I had people on the ground for that.¡± She¡¯s floundering. ¡°You really don''t know why I was in Blessingmoors?¡± ¡°No, I don''t. Is there some reason I should?¡± Shock recoils over her face. ¡°Juliana, I may have fucked up your life, but if you imagine it was from some personal vendetta, you''re dreaming. Did one of my ground teams abduct you? Were you a runaway?¡± ¡°No...¡± She speaks slowly¡­ Reluctantly¡­ ¡°My parents sold me to you...¡± Something in me tightens. ¡°Your parents?¡± She shrugs, apparently off-hand. ¡°Well, in fact, my mother. My father was never there. And when he was, he was usually drunk. If he came home, we''d all hide or go out if we could.¡± ¡°We?¡± Me, my brothers and sisters.¡± She licks lips. The eyes slit further. ¡°Are you really interested in this? Or is this your idea of being clever?¡± ¡°I¡¯m interested. I¡¯d like to hear it.¡± She looks away. ¡°It¡¯s private.¡± ¡°Your childhood? Tell me. I¡¯ll match you.¡± Her face screws up, unbelieving. ¡°What?¡± I fake a smile, wink at her.¡° I¡¯ll show you mine if you show me yours.¡± ¡°Oh¡­¡± She nods slowly, then seems to reach a decision. ¡°There were eight of us. One day, my mother said we were going out, just her and me¡­ That she was taking me for a special treat. She made me wear my best dress. My older sister''s actually. And she took me to meet a man. He gave her money¡­¡± She gulps, looking away¡­ ¡°She said I was to go with him. She said he''d take me to my new home. It would be a kind of holiday¡­¡± Her voice breaks. Christ¡­ My belly tightens¡­ I rub the bridge of my nose. ¡°For what it is worth to you, Juliana, I do understand how that makes you feel. For many years, I believed my own mother had abandoned me.¡± She turns liquid eyes to me. ¡°But she hadn''t?¡± ¡°No. She was murdered when I was small. But, at the time, I didn''t understand that.¡± Her voice is dull. ¡°Who killed her?¡± ¡°My father.¡± Her eyes widen. ¡°And what happened to him?¡± ¡°In the end, I killed him.¡± Theugh is bleak. ¡°Karma.¡± ¡°Yes, Karma. What goes aroundes around.¡± She sits back in her chair¡¯ eyes me. ¡°And so here we are.¡± ¡°As you say. Here we are.¡± Time to move on¡­ ¡°How did you get away? After you were taken from Blessingmoors?¡± She shrugs. ¡°I was moved from one shitbag ce to another. I don''t know where most of it was. One ploughed field looks like any other. Sometimes it was fruit, or peas, but mainly it was potatoes. Then, one of the Gang Masters, he could have had me, but instead, he offered me light work if I did what he wanted¡­¡± She hunches... ¡°I don''t know why he picked me, with my face, but he did. Maybe I was just the best of a bad bunch. The good-looking ones didn¡¯t get sent to the farms did they¡­¡± She spears a look at me. I stare straight back. She¡¯s silent for a moment but then recovers herself. ¡°Anyway, he rxed around me. He got careless and I got away. And after I escaped, I had to learn how to look after myself. Do my face, my hair.¡± ¡°Yes, I can see you put a lot of effort in.¡± She raises a hand to her hair. ¡°Really?¡± Misreading me entirely... ¡°Yes, really.¡± There''s a kind of man who goes for the doll look. Thepletely made-up face. Not I. ***** After she leaves, I sit in the green gloom, eating my potato. What¡¯s going on here? Her obsession with appearance? Simply that she wasn¡¯t a looker as a teenager? I¡¯d thought she was simply shrieking for revenge on me, but¡­ Is it that simple? Whatever it is, it gnaws at me, this key to my captor¡¯s thought, her way of thinking. *****N?velDrama.Org content rights. Chapter 46 Chapter 46 Richard My inte buzzes. ¡°Yes, Francis?¡± ¡°Mr Haswell, I have the policemissioner on for you.¡± ¡°Put him through, please¡­¡± The phone clicks¡­ ¡°Richard?¡± ¡°Will, good to hear from you. What can I do for you? Do you have any news?¡± ¡°I do, Richard, yes. But it¡¯s not good news I¡¯m afraid.¡± Damn¡­ ¡°Go on.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve emailed you a report from the authorities in Brazil. Briefly, there was an explosion in a hotel room in S?o Paulo; a booby-trappedvatory would you believe. It took out several rooms and there were a lot of casualties. Two bodies were taken from the room. One was a member of the hotel staff. The other was a guest. The passport identifies him as one Harry Hughes: English. But take a look at the photograph and tell me what you think.¡± My mouth sours¡­ Christ¡­ If it is¡­ ¡°Can you hold, Will, while I pull up the email.¡± ¡°No problem. Take your time.¡± Tap¡­ Tap¡­ Tap¡­ Click¡­ Password¡­ Scroll¡­ Click¡­ Crap! I breathe in. Let out air. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s him. He¡¯s clever with the hair and the sses. It¡¯s quite subtle and you wouldn¡¯t see it on a casual nce, but that¡¯s him¡­¡± ¡­ ¡°Richard?¡± ¡­ How do I tell Mitch? ¡­ Or Charlotte? ¡­ ¡­ N?velDrama.Org owns ? this. ¡°Richard? Are you alright?¡± ¡°In truth, Will, no, I¡¯m not. It might sound ridiculous. We know the man Klempner was in the past¡­ But the courage he¡¯s shown¡­ The way he behaved when Charlotte was abducted¡­ And when he knew there was a threat to Mitch. And James. There was a real human inside there somewhere, fighting to get out. And now¡­ his chances have gone.¡± What a waste¡­ ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Richard¡­ Would¡­ would you like me to call by and tell Mitch myself? Give her the official line?¡± ¡°No, she deserves better than that. I¡¯ll tell her. Or I¡¯ll tell James and Michael, and get one of them to break it to her.¡± ¡°Okay. If there¡¯s anything I can do, you know where to find me.¡± ¡°Thanks, Will.¡± ***** James is in his office next door to mine. He takes the news badly. ¡°James?¡± He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing. ¡°I feel terrible. This is all my fault.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know that for sure.¡± ¡°I know it ny-nine per cent for sure. I gave Juliana the wedge to crack his defences. It¡¯s almost certainly down to me.¡± He breathes in, then out again. ¡°No. The question is, how do I tell Mitch?¡± ¡°Maybe we shouldn¡¯t tell her. At least for a while. After the birth. She could miscarry.¡± ¡°That¡¯s months away.¡± He tugs at his chin. ¡°She¡¯s already stressed out with waiting and hoping. Could this be worse? At least it¡¯s closure and she knows what she¡¯s dealing with. She¡¯ll have all her family around for support.¡± ¡°Maybe you should move her back into the house? So we can all keep a closer eye on her? Elizabeth and Charlotte may well prefer that.¡± He chews at a thumbnail. ¡°That might make her feel we¡¯re spying on her. But we could make up her old room again, so it¡¯s there as an option if she wants it.¡± ¡°Good idea. Shall we go. Deliver the news face-to-face. I¡¯ve already asked Francis to cancel appointments for both of us.¡± He straightens up. Eyes red-rimmed, he tugs his jacket straight. ¡°You¡¯re right. Time to face the music.¡± ***** Klempner Without warning, the light flicks from dim to bright, and grunting, I raise a hand to shield my eyes for a few seconds. By the time I¡¯m blinking back to normality, the click-click of stiletto heels is drawing close. She has her usual bag, stuffed with God-knows-what, and as usual, colour-co-ordinated to her outfit. ¡°Good afternoon, Larry. How are you?¡± She¡¯s in red today; very gaudy, very Latin. The dress fits too tightly and the lipstick is too bright for her. Although that might not show on the casual nce. ¡°Why do you wear sunsses underground?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a fashion statement.¡± Her voice is airy. I don¡¯t bother to get up. Sitting with my knees up to relieve the strain on my fettered ankle, hands loosely sped around my legs, I do shift a little, moving my weight from one side to the other. I¡¯ve almost ceased to notice the cold striking up from the concrete, but it still rubs, being in contact with the unyielding surface all the time. She¡¯s gone for the whole Latin thing today. The wig is ck; much too dark for herplexion. Not that herplexion is visible, with her face stered under a brown sludge that would be ttering on some young woman of genuine Latino descent, but which simply looks unsubtle, almost grotesque on Juliana. A scarlet hibiscus set in her hairpletes the ensemble. ¡°Join me for lunch?¡± She smiles brightly and tosses a potato at me. On auto-pilot, I catch the miserable thing mid-air before it hit the deck but, despite the clenching in my gut, I don¡¯t eat. Lunch? She takes the usual paper packet from her lunch box, unwrapping some fragrant dainty, then appears to realise I¡¯ve not moved. She nods down to the potato. ¡°Go on. Eat it. It¡¯s fine. Keep mepany.¡± Still, I don¡¯t move. She blinks, then, ¡°If you eat that one now and behave yourself, I¡¯ll give you another before I go.¡± Pride surges, butmon sense beats it over the head. I take a bite from the potato, chewing slowly to convince my stomach it¡¯s getting a good meal. What¡¯s galling is that my stomach ising to believe it. ¡°Enjoying that?¡± she says. ¡°I''m trying to give them up for Lent, but you know how it is¡­¡± I take another small bite. Juliana watches me for a few seconds then returns to her own food. But she makes no attempt to torment me with hertest gourmet selection. Instead, she simply eats and talks. ¡°There¡¯s a new park opened in the city you know. Did you see it before¡­ well¡­ ¡° She simpers¡­ ¡°Before¡­?¡± ¡°Before you brought me here? I didn¡¯t, no...¡± Where the fuck is this going? ¡°¡­ Is this in S?o Paulo?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right. I went for a walk therest night. It was lovely, under the moon and the stars, with the cicadas buzzing. You know. Like they do.¡± She frowns¡­ ¡°Or are they crickets? I¡¯m never sure.¡± ¡°Cicadas probably.¡± Her brow clears. ¡°Yes? Well, I suppose you¡¯d know. You¡¯re a clever man, aren¡¯t you. And you travelled a lot...¡± She rattles on, rxed and chatty exactly as if we were some normal couple at a restaurant, and not a murdering psychotic with her chained and incarcerated pet ex-trafficker. I take another slow bite of my potato. She¡¯s still talking, but I¡¯m only half-listening¡­ A park in S?o Paulo¡­ Last night¡­ And now she¡¯s here with her lunch, bought from some street bar¡­ Not so far away then¡­ ¡°What else do you do with your time, Juliana?¡± She res at me, eyes slitting, and I hold up my hands, one still clutching the remains of my potato¡­ ¡°Sorry¡­ Sna. When you¡¯re¡­ um¡­ between visits¡­ What do you do?¡± ¡°Oh, this and that¡­¡± She waves a hand in the air¡­ the one holding her pastry¡­ scattering pastry crumbs and fragments of meat in her wake. ¡°I like reading. And there are some very good museums and galleries.¡± She wrinkles her nose. ¡°I really should make more of an effort to learn thenguage properly, but I get by.¡± She takes another bite from her pastry, chews and swallows. ¡°What about you? What do you do in your spare time?¡± I simply stare at her¡­ ¡°Ahhh¡­¡± She has the grace to blush. ¡°¡­ I suppose what I mean is, if you could, what would you do?¡± It barely seems worth trying to answer. She cocks her head at me. ¡°What are you thinking?¡± ¡°I was wondering what you look like without all the fakery.¡± Her face morphs to edges and des. ¡°What do you mean?¡± I wave a hand at her. ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious? The wigs. The make-up. The different face every time I see you. Every time anyone sees you. You¡¯reing down a sewer for God¡¯s sake and you¡¯re wearing four-inch spikes. What the hell for? D¡¯you think you¡¯re going to impress me?¡± Her face freezes over. Mouth pinched, she rewraps her sandwich, puts in it her bag, turns and leaves. The heels click-click away into the shadows. Two minutester, I¡¯m plunged into inky ckness. And I didn¡¯t get the extra potato. ***** Chapter 47 Chapter 47 The key¡­ I dream about that fucking key. It hangs on its nail. When she¡¯s here and the light¡¯s on full, the tarnished brass a dull yellow: winking golden-green when it¡¯s just me and the lighting¡¯s reduced. The camera light blinks reflections from it: On¡­ Off¡­ On¡­ Off¡­ asionally I find myself staring at it, counting the blinks¡­ 27¡­ 28¡­ 29¡­ It¡¯s not as if there¡¯s anything better to do. When a blinking light is the highlight of the entertainment¡­ 933¡­ 934¡­ 935¡­ Christ! Am I so reduced that I can reach 1,000 without even realising I was getting there? Think of something else¡­ What? Something good¡­ A good memory¡­ Mitch¡­ When I first knew you¡­ ¡­ She dances for me¡­ Kicking off her heels, in her bare feet, she dances. She wears a dress in teal-green silk, which rustles and whispers as she moves. And her long hair is a cloud of red around her as she sways and shimmies to the music, her green eyes shining. She reaches for me, her long pale arms outstretched, andughing for sheer joy. Taking her in my arms, one hand at her shoulder, the other nested at the base of her spine, we dance smoothly and slowly to the quiet, easy music. So close to me, she smells of that perfume she wears. It rises from within the silk like a drug, and like a drugged man, I stoop to lift her and to carry her to the bed... It all went wrong¡­ so quickly¡­ so soon after that¡­ All my fault¡­ You ran from me for years¡­ And then¡­ Miracle¡­ You gave yourself to me¡­ Her hands on my chest once more, ¡°You want this?¡± ¡°Mitch, I¡¯ve never wanted anything else.¡± ¡­ ¡­ Oh, God¡­ I had it¡­ I had it¡­ I¡¯d gotten there. After a fucking lifetime, I¡¯d gotten there¡­ ¡­ The people I hurt. N?velDrama.Org owns ? this. The lives I ruined¡­ Mitch¡­ Jenny¡­ Who would have guessed justice woulde from such a ce? ***** Richard ¡°Mind if I join you?¡± Michael turns, a mug cradled in his hands, steaming in the chill morning air, matching the one in my own. ¡°Not at all.¡± He shuffles up, making room for me on the terrace wall. I sit, looking down the sweep of the mountain. ¡°Amazing view isn¡¯t it.¡± ¡°Yeah¡­ I never get tired of looking at it. Especially this time of the day, when the day warms and the mist rises¡­¡± He¡¯s right. Below us, over theke, the rising sun nts silver fingers through curling fronds of mist. As we watch, it billows and rises, like the breathing of some great animal. Michael continues¡­ ¡°¡­They used to call it ¡®The Breath of the Dragon¡¯. It¡¯s easy to see why.¡± ¡°It is indeed.¡± Michael jerks his chin back over his shoulder. ¡°How is it inside?¡± ¡°The same. Charlotte and Elizabeth are sitting with Mitch; trying to stay cheerful; trying to bring her out of herself¡­¡± ¡°¡­ and not seeding?¡± ¡°No¡­ She pastes a smile onto her face when she knows anyone is looking at her, but the moment she thinks she¡¯s alone, she just sits, staring into nothing, stroking her stomach.¡± Michael nods, sucking air between his teeth. ¡°Yeah¡­ That¡¯s how I see it too.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°She¡¯s so unhappy. Who would have ever believed Lawrence Klempner would be mourned like this?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think even he would have.¡± Michael huffs and nods. ¡°True.¡± He sucks at his mug, swallows and lets out air. ¡°What we need is something new. Something to break the pattern.¡± ¡°Something to stop Mitch wondering if she¡¯s been widowed before she was even married?¡± ¡°That¡¯s it exactly.¡± ¡°Any suggestions?¡± He swings his head. ¡°Not a clue. I mean, two new babies in the house and another on the way¡­ If that¡¯s not a distraction, what is?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve got me there.¡± From somewhere beyond the housees the rumble of a car engine, then the squeak of brakes. Michael cocks his head, listening. ¡°Visitors? At this hour? Who¡­¡± The doorbell rings. We sit, both semi-looking over our shoulders, back into the house. A minuteter, James pops his head out of the door. ¡°We have visitors!¡± He¡¯s grinning broadly. ¡°You¡¯d bettere inside.¡± ***** ¡°Kirstie! Ryan! Were we expecting you?¡± I throw arms around the tall, elegant woman, giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Then I shake hands with Ryan. ¡°Sorry to turn up at your door so early,¡± he says, ¡°But we were bursting to share the news and to ask you¡­¡± ¡°Stop right there,¡± says Kirstie. ¡°I¡¯m the one who gets to ask.¡± ¡°Ask what?¡± Mitch is quiet, pale-faced, but showing a glimmer of interest. ¡°Sit down, the pair of you,¡± says James. ¡°Join us for breakfast and give us your news.¡± He too is eyeing Mitch. He exchanges nces with me, then Michael. ¡°Kirstie, Ryan¡­ Tea or coffee? Mitch¡­ more peppermint?¡± ***** ¡°We¡¯ve set the day for the wedding,¡± says Kirstie. ¡°You¡¯re all invited of course.¡± She reaches into her bag, producing a handful ofvender envelopes. ¡°We¡¯ve brought your invitations. We do hope you¡¯ll all come.¡± ¡°Of course we will. Congrattions, Kirstie.¡± James stands, tugging her up from her chair with him and smacking a kiss onto her forehead. Then turning¡­ ¡°And you, Ryan, of course.¡± He sits back, his voice dry, lips twitching. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t mind me. I¡¯m just the groom. I know who will be the centre of attention for this one.¡± His eyes crinkle. Elizabeth pipes up. ¡°Who are you having as bridesmaids, Kirstie? Your sisters?¡± ¡°No, my sister didn¡¯t want to do it. She¡¯s a bit shy, you know. I¡­ was hoping you and Charlotte would be bridesmaids for me.¡± Charlotte beams. ¡°I¡¯d love to. We both would, wouldn¡¯t we Beth?¡± ¡°Of course we would.¡± ¡°And the other thing is,¡± says Kirstie, ¡°I was hoping.. well¡­ James¡­ Michael¡­ Would you agree to be ushers? Um¡­ Mr Haswell¡­¡± She bites her lip. ¡°¡­ I¡¯d like to ask you too.¡± Then holding up her hands, speaking quickly¡­ ¡°But of course I realise¡­ If you don¡¯t want to, it¡¯s quite¡­¡± I cut her off. ¡°I¡¯d be honoured to, Kirstie. I¡¯ll pencil the date in my diary.¡± Michael gives her arm a squeeze. ¡°Me too. I¡¯d love to help.¡± ¡°There¡¯s onest thing,¡± says Kirstie. ¡°Mitch¡­ you¡¯re so good at design and decorations and things like that. I was wondering, would you help me with all that. I thought¡­ maybe¡­ my dress?¡± Mitch smiles. For the first time in weeks, she really smiles. And when she speaks, there¡¯s that throaty sultry tone that has been missing for so long. ¡°I¡¯d love to help, Kirstie. Of course I would.¡± ¡°So¡­¡± Michael rips open his envelope. ¡°When¡¯s the wedding of the year to be?¡± James is already tapping into his phone. ¡°I¡¯ll put it on my calendar now.¡± ¡°We¡¯re having a Christmas wedding,¡± says Kirstie. ¡°We¡¯ve booked the Church for December twenty- ninth.¡± ***** Chapter 48 Chapter 48 Klempner Arranging herself on her seat she takes a stic container and a brown paper package from her bag; a hold-all in a pale beige that, as ever, matches today¡¯s outfit. Unclipping the container she takes out a length of sausage and a knife, slices a neat inch from the end of the sausage and pops it in her mouth. N?velD(ram)a.?rg owns this content. Chewing, she speaks through her food. ¡°I thought I¡¯d join you for lunch again today, Larry.¡± Stooping to her holdall, she rummages inside then produces the usual potato, then tosses it at me. I catch it mid-air before itnds on the uncertain hygiene of the concrete, cradling it like some precious thing in my palm. Don¡¯t fall for it¡­ Nheless, it¡¯s isn¡¯t easy to stop my eyes following her hand as she slices off another bit of sausage before popping it back in the box. She watches me, eyes glinting. ¡°Not hungry? Perhaps I¡¯m overfeeding you.¡± Her gaze remains steady as raising the potato to my mouth, I bite in. She gives a crisp nod and takes a small package from her lunch-box. Taking her time unwrapping the white napkin, she produces a pair of small batter-coated fritters. ¡°Salgados,¡± she says. ¡°Terrible for the figure, I know¡­ All that fat and salt¡­ but I can¡¯t resist them. I thought about buying the shrimp ones, but I settled on these instead.¡± Holding my eyes, holding one in both hands, she breaks it open. The batter splits with a crunch, releasing a wisp of steam and the fragrance of garlic and chicken. There¡¯s onion in there too and I think I can smell parsley. I gulp against the flow of saliva and take another small bite of my potato. She nibbles at a corner of one of them. ¡°They¡¯re quite nice,¡± shements, ¡°but I¡¯m not that hungry really. I had a big breakfast.¡± She regards the crisp delicacy, pursing her lips, then shakes her head. ¡°No, I don¡¯t really fancy it.¡± And she tosses it into the water channel. I seed in suppressing the groan but turn my face away from the water for a few seconds. When I turn back, there¡¯s just a bubble or two and a small circle of ripples. Juliana pops the other salgado back into the box ¡°I¡¯ll save the other one forter. Mustn¡¯t be wasteful. Here¡­¡± And she tosses the grease-soiled napkin at me. I don¡¯t try to catch it, and it flutters down to lie, limp and greasy on the ground beside me. ¡°I do like to have a dessert with my meal though.¡± Juliana reaches into her box again, this time producing some sort of tart. ¡°Pastel de nata,¡± she says. ¡°Don¡¯t you just love them?¡± Yes, I fucking do¡­ Small custard tarts, often just a bite-sized. I¡¯ve eaten quite a few from Antonio¡¯s kitchen: crisp ky pastry, thick vani egg custard and a dusting of cinnamon. I resist the urge to reply, but the spicy fragrance of the cinnamon ys havoc with my nose and my stomach gives a betraying groan. Juliana smirks at the sound, chewing slowly on her sweet as her eyes dance. Think about something else¡­ For fuck¡¯s sake¡­ something else¡­ ¡°You don¡¯t talk much do you?¡± With a long fingernail, a pale pink today, she picks a fragment of food from between her teeth¡­ ¡°I don¡¯t have a lot to say. It¡¯s not as if I can tell you what I¡¯ve been doing all day.¡± ¡°You said you like reading. You¡¯ve got a book to read.¡± ¡°Sna, I¡¯ve read your little poisoner¡¯s primer from cover to cover at least a dozen times now. It¡¯s not as if poison was ever my weapon of choice. If I wanted someone dead I¡¯d use a gun or a knife.¡± ¡°Hmmm¡­ That¡¯s true¡­¡± She speaks slowly, inspects whatever she just picked from her teeth, then flicks it into the water. ¡°¡­ I suppose I could bring you something else to read. But then, I didn¡¯t bring you down here to have a good time.¡± She scratches her temple. ¡°No, on the whole, I think I prefer the status quo. That way, when Ie, you¡¯ll be nice and attentive.¡± She sits, feet crossed at the ankle, tucked tidily under the chair. She¡¯s ash-blonde today. The make-up rtively toned-down, her eyes are shaded a subdued brown, her lips painted one of those flesh-type no-make-up shades. But the muted veneer doesn¡¯t stand up to close inspection. With the lights turned up full and the harsh white light doing its unttering best, it¡¯s obvious that her cosmetics are stered on. No matter what her ¡®look¡¯ for the day, it¡¯s dawning on me she always wears apletely made-up facade. Every. Single. Time. It¡¯s beginning to interest me. Where¡¯s the real Juliana? What does she look like straight from sleep? Something stirs¡­ The beginnings of an idea¡­ Leverage¡­ ¡°Juliana, let me ask you a question.¡± Her eyes slit. ¡°Sna. I¡¯ve told you. Or S.¡± ¡°Po-tay-to, po-tah-to, does it matter?¡± She scowls, eyes slitting¡­ ¡°Alright, S, if it makes you happy. But, whatever you¡¯re calling yourself, my question¡­¡± She finishes her mouthful of tart, looking pleased as she wipes her hands clean of icing sugar. ¡°Hmmm? Go on then. What do you want to ask?¡± She fishes in her box and produces a second pastry: glistening golden-brown and topped with red berries. Biting in, she makes a smacking noise with her lips, holding my gaze. Ignoring her unsubtle goading, I stare back. ¡°Whates next?¡± Her brow wrinkles. ¡°Next? What do you mean? Next? You know what¡¯s next. You and I are having fun together¡­ Aren¡¯t we¡­¡± She smiles, with a glitter in her eyes that spells anything but fun. I shift against my chain, easing the clutch of the steel on my ankle. ¡°No, that¡¯s not what I meant. What I mean is, whates after me? As far as I can see, you¡¯ve dedicated much of your adult life to tracking me down. You talk as though revenging yourself on me has been your life¡¯s work. Alright, you¡¯ve won¡­¡± Her smile grows¡­ ¡°¡­ You have me and you can do what you want with me... ¡°¡­ But whates next for you? After you''ve had your payback. After you¡¯ve finished with me, what are you going to do? You¡¯re still a young woman. What will you do with the rest of your life?¡± Her face falls ck. Her mouth opens, then closes again. She doesn¡¯t know? She really never thought beyond her revenge on me? ¡°So¡­ there¡¯s nothing else? Is that it? The end of all your ambitions? Tormenting me for as long as it lasts and filling your room with pointless bling?¡± Silent, she gazes at me, blinking rapidly. ¡°Sna?¡± Still, she says nothing. Then abruptly, she flings what¡¯s left of her lunch into the water. Retrieving her bag, she rises from her seat¡­. ¡°S¡­¡± ¡­. turns and leaves, vanishing into the dark passage. And the lights blink out. ***** Chapter 49 Chapter 49 James Richard sips thest of his breakfast coffee, craning his neck to see that the women are out of the room. ¡°I think we can agree that having Kirstie¡¯s wedding crop up so conveniently is a blessing. Under the circumstances, what I think we should do, is to try to return to some kind of normality. Yes, Mitch is expecting a baby. Yes, the father is¡­ Well¡­ What can we say about Klempner? But a normal life, so far as we can create that, will be the best option, not just for Mitch, but for Charlotte and Elizabeth too.¡± ¡°I couldn¡¯t agree more. I¡¯ll encourage Charlotte and Mitch to throw themselves into helping Kirstie. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll do the same with Beth. Any other suggestions?¡± He sips again. ¡°I think Charlotte suffered from a touch of post-partum depression after Cara was born¡­¡± He cocks an eye at me¡­ ¡°Yes, I agree. She wasn¡¯t herself, but she¡¯se out of it now. Or at least, ising out of it.¡± Richard nods. ¡°It¡¯smon enough in women after all, and certainly very understandable given the events surrounding the birth. But you believe it is resolving itself?¡± ¡°I¡¯d say so yes. Charlotte has been much improved thest few weeks. By which I mean, her worries have rted to outside concerns such as the state of her mother¡¯s mind, looking after Cara, helping Beth with Adam. She¡¯s not been turning inward. And as you say, Kirstie and Ryan dropping in on us like that was a tremendous help. In any case¡­¡± I pause, raising a finger as I hear, out in the hall, the foot-tread of my beloved wife and sub¡­ Eavesdropping? ¡°¡­ In any case, I believe we settled on a cure¡­¡± I raise my voice. ¡°Charlotte, could youe in here for a moment, please.¡± A brief shuffling sound and she pokes her head around the door. ¡°Master?¡± ¡°Charlotte, Richard here presented you a gift some weeks ago. How much use have you given it?¡± Richard looks briefly away then, looking back, with sucked-in cheeks, pastes on a nd expression. Charlotte pinks up, points of colour pricking at her cheeks. My question was rhetorical. I already know the answer. Charlotte has not used Richard¡¯s ¡®gift¡¯ at all since the first night he presented it to her during an episode of ¡®family y¡¯. I know this because I pocketed it at the end of that evening. And in fact, I have it in my pocket now. But I see no reason to tell her that. ¡°Master?¡± She sucks at her lower lip, her gaze darting between me and Richard. ¡°Charlotte, remove your panties and bend over the table.¡± She blinks, looking one way and the other around the kitchen. ¡°What? Here? Now?¡± ¡°Yes, here. And now. Remove your panties and bend over the breakfast table. I do not expect to have to repeat myself.¡± I slide cups and tes to one side to underline my point. Richard, his face straighter than a surveyor¡¯s line, clears the coffee pot and milk jug from the table, then sits, legs crossed at the knee, one arm draped over the back of his chair. I fish the plug from my pocket, holding it between thumb and forefinger, disying it to Charlotte. It¡¯s rather attractive, with a silvered finished and set with a gemstone; emerald green: always a good colour on a red-haired woman. Richard chose well. Wonder if Beth has one like it? Charlotte¡¯s eyes, a green to match the gem, fix on it. Her lips part and her breathing is elerating¡­ Always leave a sub anticipating¡­ ¡°Charlotte, I believe I gave you an instruction. I expect to be obeyed.¡± She swallows, reaching under her skirt to pull down her panties. I retrieve them from the floor, stuffing them in my pocket. ¡°You won¡¯t need those today, Charlotte¡­ Now¡­¡± I face-point down to the table. She drops her face, blinking, then bends over the table to lie with her palms t to the top, one cheek pressed down. Now that she can¡¯t see his face, Richard¡¯s mouth is twitching. I sh brows at him. Go on then¡­ He speaks. ¡°Charlotte, hitch your skirt up over your waist.¡± Her position is awkward for what he¡¯s asking. Nheless, she slides hands behind herself, tugging up her skirt. It hitches up in several installments, each tug raising it to reveal an inch or so more of thigh, then buttock. As her pussy is exposed, her perfume billows up. Richard tosses his head back, inhaling. ¡°Good girl, Charlotte. Your Master and I will see that you receive the reward for your obedience¡­¡± I cut in, meeting Richard¡¯s eye. ¡°But not untilter.¡± He grins, then smothers his smile before she sees it. I toe at her ankles. ¡°Legs wider, Charlotte. I¡¯ll be giving you to Richardter. He wants to see what he will be enjoying.¡± He drops me a wink, then stands, scraping back his seat with an unnecessary amount of noise. Charlotte¡¯s face turned away, she can¡¯t see him walk to the grocery cupboard, but she surely hears the clip of his shoes on the tiles, the click of the door opening and closing. ¡°Olive oil, James?¡± ¡°Ah, yes. Thank you, Richard.¡± I move to also stand away from her line of sight as he passes me the bottle. Pouring a little into my palm, I hold my hands close by her ear, but still behind her. Rubbing my hands together, I spread the oil over my skin, squeezing it between my fingers with a squishing sound. She starts to turn her head¡­ ¡°Did I give you permission to move?¡± She drops her face back to the tabletop. ¡°No, Master.¡± I continue my ¡®hand-washing¡¯ for a few seconds more, then rub the oil over the plug, again, holding my hands close to her face, making the sound louder than necessary. ¡°Move your hands. Grip the edge of the table.¡± She¡¯s trembling; actually quivering. Her pussy is flushing redder than her face and her slit glistens. I award myself ten Dom Points¡­ Notid a finger on her¡­ ¡­ Yet¡­ Richard is sitting back in his seat again, eyes dancing. Charlotte¡¯s condition is as obvious to him as to me: her arousal, her heightened senses, her anticipation¡­ ¡­ How far can I wind her up? Nodding him to her rear end, I move around the table, back into Charlotte¡¯s field of vision, disying the oiled plug. ¡°You will wear this today...¡± ¡°Today?¡± She nts her gaze up to me. ¡°Today? All day?¡± ¡°Yes, all day¡­¡± She jolts, starting to rise¡­ Behind her, Richard¡¯s arm is moving. I think he¡¯s stroking herbia¡­ But I m a hand down to her wrists, pinning her to the table. ¡°You were not invited to move.¡± I show her the plug again¡­ ***** Charlotte Behind me, hands are peeling apart my butt cheeks, opening me. Something chilly presses at my rear entrance. Belongs to ? n0velDrama.Org. Leaning over me, close by my face, my Master speaks, his voice hissing, the hardness of his groin pressing to my hip. ¡°I think we¡¯ll explore all the options on this asion, shall we.¡± Something cool and fluid sshes at me, trickling between my buttocks. Fingers probe, then rub, lubricating delicate skin. Briefly, a chill finger enters me, then withdraws. My Master¡¯s arm swivels at the shoulder, flexes at the wrist, and inexorably, something pushes at me to the rear. ¡°On ourst asion downstairs,¡± he says, ¡°I thought Richard¡¯s gift rather suited you. I¡¯ve never really favoured butt-plugs as jewellery, but perhaps I was mistaken.¡± The plug twists behind me, pressing ever inward. Slowly it prates, opening me ever further, and I fling my mouth wide, my breathing in short snatches¡­ ¡°¡­When you¡¯ve worn that for a while,¡± murmurs my Master, ¡°You¡¯ll be ready for any and all of us to take you¡­ There, and anywhere else we wish to¡­¡± ¡­ until, with a final twist, the plug settles into ce¡­ leaving me with that odd filled sensation¡­ Richard curves around to inspect the result. ¡°Yes, looks good. Green is definitely your colour. But James, while that¡¯s all well and good, she¡¯s empty elsewhere until we get around to fucking her properly.¡± ¡°That will not be a problem¡­¡± ¡°¡­ Charlotte, you will wear this today and you will not remove it. This evening, as I say, I will be giving you to Richard. He expects to find you in a suitable condition and ready for him.¡± ¡°This evening?¡± There¡¯s a intive edge to her voice. ¡°That¡¯s hours away.¡± ¡°Yes, hours. I do not believe it is too much for me to expect your obedience for a few hours. In fact, you may practice patience and obedience. I will be checking that the plug is in ce during the day. And, if there is any doubt in your mind, you may not touch yourself before then. Richard will have the pleasure of removing it from you. Perhaps then he will wish to fuck you after that. But that will be his decision. He may prefer toe in your mouth.¡± Richard, his voice level. ¡°Perhaps I should ask Elizabeth?¡± ¡°Perhaps you should,¡± I agree. ¡°So, Charlotte, you understand your instructions for the day?¡± ¡°Yes, Master¡­ Master? ¡°Charlotte?¡± ¡°Um¡­ Can I have my panties back?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t need to repeat myself, Charlotte. You won¡¯t need them today. We¡¯re not expecting visitors. And Richard and I will both check at intervals that you have obeyed your instructions. ***** James ¡°When did youst check her? ¡°About an hour ago. Time for another would you say?¡± ¡°I think so. I¡¯ll do it now. You take a turn¡­¡± I check my watch¡­ ¡°Say threeish¡­ Keep her on the simmer¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s certainly doing that. Stopping her from dwelling on anything else too.¡± ¡°True. Shame we can¡¯t do the same for Mitch.¡± ¡°Hardly an option.¡± ¡°No, it isn¡¯t.¡± ***** Chapter 50 Chapter 50 ¡°How are you, Charlotte?¡± ¡°I¡¯m alright, Master. It¡¯s just. I¡­¡± She ducks her head and falls silent. Close to, her perfume is strong. ¡°Very well. I¡¯ve asked your mother to look after Cara and Adam this evening. You may return to your work for now. I believe you¡¯re working on some catch-up for your university course?¡± She nods, swallows and almost waddles back into her study. ¡°What was that all about?¡± Michael follows her with his eyes, brow creasing. ¡°She¡¯s walking a little oddly, don¡¯t you think?¡± ¡°There¡¯s a reason for that.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°She¡¯s wearing Richard¡¯s gift¡­¡± Michael¡¯s smile dawns then broadens¡­ ¡°It will be removed for her later.¡± I cock a brow to him. ¡°I assume you have no objection to an evening¡¯s entertainment downstairs?¡± He grins, rubbing his hands together. ¡°Bring it on. Beth and Richard too?¡± ¡°Oh, yes. And so that you know, Charlotte has an instruction that she is not to remove the plug or to¡­ relieve¡­ herself during the day. I told her I would be monitoring to see it was still in ce.¡± ¡°Did you mention me?¡± ¡°No, I didn¡¯t. So she won¡¯t expect you to check, will she?¡± He gives me a winner-of-the-toffee-apple smile and strolls after her. I call after him. ¡°Don¡¯t do anything dramatic. We want her on the boil this evening.¡± He keeps walking, but raises a hand, calling back over his shoulder. ¡±Ahead of you¡­¡± ***** We make our way downstairs, Charlotte leading the way. Beth is on Michael¡¯s arm behind her. Richard and I bring up the rear. ¡°Mitch okay?¡± murmurs Richard, his lips not moving. ¡°She¡¯s fine. I left her with the babies, surrounded by sketches of wedding dresses. Apparently, nothing¡¯s been good enough so far.¡± ¡°I¡¯d have thought Kirstie had the ideal figure for a designer to hang a dress on?¡± ¡°Me too, but so long as she¡¯s working, she¡¯s happy.¡± He nods to Charlotte, walking as though she¡¯s on hinges. ¡°How¡¯s she doing?¡± ¡°Judging by what Michael told me an hour back, she¡¯s suffering from foreshocks and prone to a Richter seven or eight event at the slightest provocation.¡± ¡°I trust he didn¡¯t provide the provocation?¡± ¡°Not at all. He enjoys edging as much as anyone. He felt up her skirt to check the plug was in ce and left her panting.¡± ¡°And he still believes he¡¯s not a Dom?¡± ¡°That¡¯s what he seems to think.¡± ***** She crouches before me: head bowed, her palms t to the floor: naked, submissive, quivering. Richard stands off to one side for the moment. Michael takes his ustomed ce by Beth. Although I permitted Charlotte to bathe before we came down, I did not allow her to remove the plug. The green gem glints bronze in the candlelight. Despite the bath, she¡¯s slick with her own juices: a gleaming trickle down thighs and knees and calves. Her vulva is brilliant red, swollen and shiny. I chose a flogger for the evening, my usual toy of choice, but made a point of selecting one with unusually long, fine tresses. In the softest of suede, they ripple more like silk than leather. The leather-bound handle cradled in my palm, I allow the tips of the tresses to brush over Charlotte¡¯s distendedbia. She shudders and groans. ¡°Oh, God¡­¡± ¡°You were not invited to speak, Charlotte. You are here to obey.¡± ***** Charlotte My Master behind me, he rested his cheek against mine,id his hands on my shoulders. ¡°Knees,¡± he whispered. It sounded like amand. Nheless, he held my arm, bncing me as I dropped, first to my knees, then all the way, to crouch at his feet, and Richard¡¯s too; face downward, my hands outstretched, palms to the floor. It¡¯s not cold or painful. Protecting me from the hard stone gs of the basement, the matting indents slightly at knee and toe and elbow. I crouch at my Master¡¯s feet, submissive as he wishes¡­ Something kisses my aching sex, and I shudder. I gave myself to him long ago. And he gave Michael to me. And now Richard too. It¡¯s a heady mix. From above me; a silken rustle; my hair is brushed to one side. But I am not invited to move. No assisting hand raises me to my feet. I wait¡­ The rustle of fabric and the creak of his shoes as my Master shifts on his feet¡­ The scent of new leather and the tang of polish¡­ The fragrance of clean fabric. A hint of spice; some soap or body-wash perhaps¡­ My Master¡¯s murmured voice. ¡°Good girl. Wait there.¡± The clip of leather on stone, first close to me, then receding, then returning once more¡­ ¡­ ¡­ The intensifying cadence of my breathing¡­ The strengthening beat of my heart¡­ ¡­ and the growing mour of the pulse inside my head¡­ The liquid heat at my core¡­ The filled-ness at my rear where the plug has teased me for hours with its promises of what is to come¡­ ¡­. ¡­ The brush of soft leather over me¡­ ¡­ A delicate caress, kissing my spine¡­ The shiver that runs over my skin¡­ ¡­ A frisson that shivers through the length of me, catching the sound in my throat¡­. ¡°You feel that, Charlotte?¡± ¡°Yes, Master.¡± ¡°What do you think it is?¡± ¡°One of your floggers, Master.¡± ¡°Yes. Today, you will fly.¡± The feather-touch traces over my spine again. Who needs wings? Something brushes by my cheek: velvety soft leather, flicking by. ¡°Kneel up, Charlotte.¡± I rise, face-to-groin with my Master. Beyond them, Michael, my Bright Angel, sits with Beth, cradling her on hisp. Beside them, Richard. Richard stoops to cup Beth¡¯s cheek. ¡°You¡¯re sure, my Love, that this is enough for you?¡± My cousin chews at a lip. ¡°The tears are still a bit sore. But it won¡¯t be long now. Is¡­ Is that alright? He stoops, presses his lips to hers. ¡°Of course it is. You enjoy yourself.¡± He exchanges nods with Michael, then returns to stand by my Master. As I expected, in one hand my Master holds the flogger, the tails swishing free. It¡¯s not one I¡¯ve seen before. The shaft is smooth, polished timber, the grain curling golden. In the other hand, he holds cuffs. Perhaps he bought them as a set. The leather of both falls and cuffs, scented of honey and bees, is velvet-dark as the pelt of some great ck cat, drinking in the light. He passes the flogger to Richard, then strokes one of the cuffs against my cheek. The fur-lined leather is cool on my skin, flexing against my flesh, supple and smooth. My breath catches and Richard, looking down at me, inclines his head slightly, eyes creasing. My Master, lips curving, turns the strap over, stroking the fur over my forehead, then my cheek and chin. The buckle catches against my lip, a touch of chill against the warmth of his almost-smile. ¡°Forget everything,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Forget everything except how this feels: What you are going to feel. You have nothing to worry about. All is well¡­¡± ¡°Cara¡­¡± ¡°¡­ is with your mother. Adam too. Now, rx. Calm yourself. Yes?¡± I drop my head, leaning into his hand, kissing the fingers, a little awkwardly around the cuff. ¡°Yes, Master.¡± He stoops to kiss me, softly, brushing his lips over mine. ¡°That¡¯s better. Now, there are more here than just you and I. Beth loves her husband and would like to see that you are servicing him appropriately. You are his now.¡± My Master steps away, letting Richard move closer. Pushing my chin up with paired fingers, he meets me with his blue-eyed gaze. ¡°You¡¯re happy with this, Charlotte?¡± ¡°Of course I am, Sir. It¡¯s a pleasure.¡± He smiles, his teeth very white even though, winter barely over, his tan is all but gone. So close now, the warm musk of his body washes over me and I inhale deeply; his scent; musky, spicy, masculine; the faint ¡®justundered¡¯ scent of his clothes. The swell of his erection presses through his pants. Leaning forward just a little, a hand resting either side of his hips, I press my lips to him, kissing the bulge. Rolling my eyes upward, I see his head drop back, mouth opening as, briefly, he raises his face to the ceiling. He drops a palm to my cheek, caressing my face and, lips wide, I mouth at him over his trousers. Moving slowly and deliberately, he unravels his belt, slips open the button at his waist, slides down the zipper. Then he stands, waiting. I reach inside, past soft fabric to warm skin, the wiry fuzz of hair, the velvet and steel of his waiting erection. As I slide fingers around his length, Richard slips hands around the back of my head and into my hair. He¡¯s not quite pulling me in, but he holds me close. My Master shifts to stand behind me, trailing the falls of the flogger over my shoulders as I free Richard¡¯s shaft. Where he is already seeping, a dewy trail shines from the slit. Kissing away the dewdrop, I wrap my lips over the head. As I suck, from abovees the exhtion of air, and the hands draw me in closer. Keeping my touch soft, I probe with my tongue into the ridge of the crown, tracing his outline, tasting him, swiping over the trickle of precum, then sucking away the viscous thread that clings to my lips. Ringing his shaft at the base with thumb and forefinger, squeezing a little, he hardens, the head swelling in my mouth as I suck and lick andp. Supporting his swollen cock with one hand, with the other, reaching inside once more, I cup him. Between his thighs, it¡¯s warm, almost humid, but I enjoy the soft and yielding skin, the faint scratch of coarser hairs on my skin, the hard kernels; shifting them in my palm as, with the tips of my fingers, I press into his groin, massaging the root of his penis. ¡°Fuck¡­¡± Richard hisses, abruptly releasing me, stretching upright to sp fingers behind his head. From behind, the rustling and scraping of movement. Richard¡¯s fingers are reced by my Master¡¯s, knotting into my hair, tight; controlling me, steering me back and forth. ¡°You have to try harder than that, Charlotte. I think months of freedom while you were pregnant have taken the edge off your performance. You¡¯re out of practice.¡± Above me, Richard huffs¡­ N?velDrama.Org content rights. Releasing me, my Master stoops, hooking hands under my arms, lifting; spinning me as he hauls me to my feet. ¡°Let¡¯s see if we can improve matters.¡± He holds me close, but not so close that he can¡¯t look down into my face. Tall and straight he stands before me, his fingers tangling into my hair again, screwing tight enough to tug at my scalp. Then leaning in, he reels me in, kissing me; an open-mouthed pration of body and soul. The hardness of my Master¡¯s chest and ribs pushing against me, his body heat permeates through his shirt to my naked skin, his heart pumps against my breasts. The hardness at his groin too, presses at my loins as I ept him, returning the kiss, linking my hands around his neck, letting him take me. Still gripping my hair, he pulls back, again locking my face with his. ¡°A little better.¡± He eye-points, and I follow his gaze across to where a spreader-bar hangs, a carabiner dangling at each end. Arm outheld, he invites me to take my ce. Obediently, I do so, then without waiting for the instruction, offer up my wrists. From his ce with Beth, Michael speaks up. ¡°I did suggest, Charlotte, that the Saint Andrew¡¯s cross might make a change. But James and Richard agreed that it¡¯s easier for the two of them to work you from either side. The smile that doesn¡¯t touch my Master¡¯s lips, nheless dances in his eyes. ¡°Quite right. Richard and I both wish to be able to enjoy the results of our efforts.¡± But his pants are straining. I think he¡¯s already enjoying himself. He buckles the cuffs to me, drawing the steel tongue to a perforation in the leather, then more tightly to the next. ¡°Comfortable? Not too tight?¡± ¡°No, Master. They¡¯re fine.¡± He jerks his chin up and I raise my arms. He snaps one cuff to a carabiner, Richard the other, then together they turn me to face Beth. Michael kisses her forehead. ¡°I¡¯ll just be a minute.¡± He walks somewhere off-side, but my peripheral vision picks up the rhythmic movement as he winds the supporting chain higher, and with an oiled squeak from the gears, my hands are raised, my arms ratcheted taut. ¡°That enough?¡± ¡°A little more, I think,¡± says Richard. ¡°I always feel that a good sub appreciates a little strain.¡± The chain clinks tighter and I¡¯m tugged upward, my weight now only just on my feet. The gears Clunk, locking into position. My waist and thighs are pulled taut, my heavy breasts lifted by my upstretched position. Richard plucks at my nipples. ¡°You look good, Charlotte, but of course, just now, these belong to Cara, don¡¯t they. I¡¯ll look forward to being able to enjoy full use of them again.¡± He continues his journey, his palms t, tight over the line of my waist and hip, outlining my silhouette with his hands. Brushing over my ass, he nudges at the plug, sending electricity tap-dancing to my clit. Moving to my thighs, he pauses. At my feet, my Master is cuffing my left ankle. He passes the other cuff to Richard. Off to the right, Michael is looping chain through a wall hoop. This too, he passes to Richard who clips the cuff around my ankle, the chain to the cuff. My Master repeats this to my right. ¡°Tension her up, Michael.¡± He draws the chain to my right; Michael the one to my left, and my ankles are eased apart, my thighs opened, my sex exposed. They leave me a little movement. I can¡¯t close my ankles, but I could widen them, except that I¡¯m already teetering. Michael stands, saunters close, resting his hands either side of my face, ¡°Alright, Babe?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± I¡¯m better than fine. I¡¯m warm inside; streaming and swelling. But the plug is driving me wild¡­ I want to be filled¡­ Really filled¡­ By a man¡­ By men¡­ Michael snuffs. ¡°So you are.¡± Still holding my face, he kisses me softly, brushes fingers over my lips, then returns to Beth. Looping an arm around her, he drops a hand to stroke her thighs. Close by my face, my Master whispers, ¡°Richard wants to taste you now. In a while, he will fuck you. And so will I.¡± He steers my chin toward Michael, who grins. ¡°Your Golden Lover too. And Beth will watch.¡± ¡°Tonight,¡± adds Richard, ¡°we will all share you.¡± My pussy, already heating, shivers and clutches¡­ Your tongue¡­ Lapping through me¡­ Winding around me¡­ My clit throbs¡­ My heart is elerating, obviously so as the flesh of my raised breasts bounces and vibrates to the rhythm. Richard stands close, very close. ¡°Ankles wider, Charlotte. I gave you sometitude, but I expect you to open for me.¡± It¡¯s not easy. I move my feet further apart, but I¡¯m tottering. Richard nudges at my ankles with his shoes, his breath sighing over me as my pussy trickles. ¡°Wider, Charlotte.¡± In the instant it takes me to obey, the tresses of the flogger sh across my buttocks, a sting that jolts the plug and whips the air into my lungs, followed by another stroke that sets it gasping out again. ¡°Do as Richard instructs, Charlotte. You know what is expected of you here.¡± ¡°Yes, Master.¡± Shuffling to move, I widen my ankles further. Richard taps my thigh. ¡°That will do, Charlotte. Michael, raise her a little more, please. I¡¯d like to feel the tension in her muscles. Her weight on her feet but only just.¡± ¡°Coming right up.¡± Michael leaves Beth for the half-minute it takes to grind the gears forward a notch, and irresistibly, inexorably, my arms are drawn up at the wrists, leaving me teetering on the balls of my feet. I¡¯m quivering with tension, almost crucified. Muscles straining, I lose what¡¯s left of my bnce and my weight drops onto my wrists before Richard snakes an arm around my waist to support me. ¡°Perfect. Tell me, Charlotte, do you enjoy having my wife watch while I fuck you?¡± In my strained position, my breathing is tight and I¡¯m fighting for the words. In the second or so before I reply, leather tongues swipe behind my thighs again, biting in. Only a single stroke this time, but the stripes glow hot¡­ Sitting down¡¯s not going to be fun tomorrow¡­ But Pussy doesn¡¯t care. Pussy pulses hot juices down my thighs. ¡°Well, Charlotte? Answer the question. Do you enjoy having Elizabeth watch while I enjoy the use of your body?¡± My mouth is hot and dry. My pussy is hot and wet. And swollen. And aching¡­ ¡°Yes, Sir. I do.¡± From behind me, my Master¡¯s voice. ¡°What will you use, Richard?¡± Then again on the edge of my peripheral vision, movement, as he strolls along his racks and shelves. His eyes dart to mine, then away again. ¡°Perhaps something with more bite?¡± He speaks as though musing to himself. Moving to be more within my vision¡­ Deliberately? For sure¡­ ¡­ he picks out a crop, brings it down on his palm with a Smack! then reces it, before moving along to pick out another item: a rubber paddle. ¡°In fact,¡± says Richard, ¡°for this asion, I brought my own piece.¡± Face stern, but eyes twinkling, he strolls across to Beth. Her eyes are wide, pupils huge and ck. She dimples a smile at me as she passes something to him. Richard epts it and strolls back, offering it up to me for inspection. It¡¯s another flogger: a lovely piece, the handle bound in ited red and ck leather strands. ¡°Elizabeth gave me this,¡± he says, ¡°for my birthday, before we were married.¡± He swishes the falls over my breasts; a whispering movement that caresses my skin and sets Pussy twitching out another gush of juices. ¡°I think it is a fine measure of the depth of the friendship between you, that she should ask me to use such a personal item...¡± He ambles around me; aplete circuit, casually flicking at my skin. It doesn¡¯t hurt. It¡¯s barely hard enough to feel it at all. But my senses are heightening, my skin is sensitising, and every contact sends electricity streaking to my core. Quivering in my chains, I groan. Richard gives a small smile. ¡°And since you have volunteered to stand in for Elizabeth while she recovers from her pregnancy, I agreed¡­¡± He casts across to his heavily breathing wife¡­ ¡°¡­ I believe Elizabeth is looking forward to watching your response when I use her gift on you.¡± With a twist of the wrist, heshes across my breasts, still lightly, but then again, as my breath catches, harder across my thighs, enough to warm. ¡°You like that, Charlotte? I thought you would.¡± He repeats it, on the other side, again, a touch more force, smarting a little. He moves close, wraps an arm around my waist, pushes my chin up with the pommel of the flogger. ¡°I¡¯m going to fuck you with this in a while, but¡­¡± He steps back¡­ ¡°¡­ I think, a little for my own pleasure first.¡± He shoves the flogger into a pocket, drops to his knees and nts his palms to curve inside my thighs. His face close to my loins, he inhales. ¡°You smell wonderful, Charlotte. Your Master was right. We¡¯re both¡­¡± ¡­ He nces around the room¡­ ¡°¡­ We¡¯re all going to enjoy this¡­¡± He inhales again, resting his forehead against my belly. Kneeling back, he looks at me, his hands roaming, sliding down and around my thighs, then up and over my hips and waist and stomach. He tangles fingers into my curls, musing. ¡°Perhaps I should have Elizabeth present herself this way too...¡± He plucks at hair already wet with my own juices. Pussy throbs. ¡°¡­Then again, I enjoy the variety. What do you think, Michael?¡± Michael¡¯s eyes crinkle. ¡°Oh, I enjoy the variety too.¡± One arm slung around her shoulder, he gives Beth a squeeze¡­ ¡°Sometimes smooth. Sometimes not.¡± The other arm, lower down, inside her robe, is exploring Beth¡¯s ¡®smoothness¡¯. Richard quests further, slipping paired fingers between pussy lips already slick with my arousal. He withdraws, then sucks the fingers. ¡°I¡¯m tempted, Charlotte, to have you lick me clean, but I think I¡¯ll wait. You can clean me up elsewhere in a while.¡± He nces up, his grin wicked. To one side, my Master sucks in his cheeks. ¡°You too, Richard? You¡¯re going to be busy, Charlotte.¡± Legs astride, arms folded, with the paddle loose in his hand, he¡¯s putting on a casual front, but his stance is uneasy as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Abruptly, Richard slides hands behind me, grasping my buttocks, pushing the plug hard in and pulling me in tight. Pressing into the vee of my thighs, he tongues at my clit, already heated and swollen. He licks andps and sucks and, flinging my head back, I groan. I want to buck and twist, but my tensioned body can only tremble and shudder. And somehow, I¡¯ve lost the power of speech, only a gurgle rises from my throat. Something moves behind me and Richard releases me. One hand moves to centre-forward position, diving in and up, finger-fucking me as he swipes into me with his tongue. And behind, air swishes then something ps across my ass. And I yell¡­ It¡¯s no love kiss. My Master brought down the paddle hard and it hurt¡­ the sting on my buttocks¡­ the press of the plug as the paddle jolts it into me¡­ But Richard pumps at me, his wrist rhythmically up and down inside me, his face presses in, tonguing my clit¡­ Another stroke of the paddle¡­ And another¡­ Pussy is going into meltdown, my juices streaming hot down over Richards''s hand and down between my thighs. The heat of his mouth over my tortured-ecstatic clit¡­ The pain¡­ The rhapsody¡­ The buzzing in my ears¡­ I¡¯m pulsing inside. Already primed, ready before we stepped into my Master¡¯s pleasure room, my climax ising. And fast¡­ It rises, throbbing and pulsing, radiating out from my core and taking the rest of me with it. If I could, I would fall¡­ But I can¡¯t¡­ Dangling from my wrists, my body twitching, my mouth screaming, my brain full of nothing but one sensation piled on another¡­ The heat-pleasure-pain-sting-ecstasy all merge and surge and bloom, euphoria billowing through me in a shuddering, shaking rhapsodic Rush¡­ ¡°Red! Red! For God¡¯s sake, Red!¡± Instantly, Richard pulls away. But I¡¯m still riding the tsunami, my body out of my control, still gripped by my volcanic orgasm. Blind and deaf, to anything outside my own skin, I quiver and shiver my way back to earth, drifting down through clouds and stars¡­ Eventually, I open my eyes. I¡¯d not realised they were closed. Richard and my Master are standing side-by-side, watching me as though they should be taking notes. Michael, sitting by Beth, isughing. Beth¡¯s mouth hangs open. Richard casts to my Master, ¡°We can dere that a sess then?¡± In his voice thick as whipped cream, dark as chocte and brimming with suppressedughter, ¡°Oh, I think so.¡± ¡°So¡­¡± says Beth¡­ ¡°Which of you is going to fuck her now?¡± Mischief skitters over her lips. Richard turns to his wife, brows arched. ¡°I¡¯d not realised, my Love, that you have such an unkind streak. Your cousin may remember it when ites to your turn.¡± She looks down but does not appear greatly chastised. ¡°However¡­¡± says my Master, ¡°it is a valid question. But I think we might give Charlotte the option, on this asion, of how she would like to be fucked?¡± He cocks an eye to me. ¡°Um¡­ Would you mind if I lie down, Master?¡± ¡°Of course not.¡± He moves close to me. At wrist and ankle, Michael and Richard unbuckle cuffs. But my Master curves an arm around my waist, presses his lips to mine, then teases my mouth open. The kiss is slow and soft and long. As my wrists are freed, for a brief moment, I drop, but he¡¯s holding me, supporting me. And as my ankles too are released, he sweeps arms under me. Lifting me, he carries me to the four-poster at the end of the room,ying me on the nkets. I know my Master loves me. He often gives me his smile, shows me kindness, but it is seldom I see¡­ ¡­ tenderness. He perches on the bed beside me, still fully dressed, his eyes soft. He traces the line of my cheekbone with his fingers. ¡°It¡¯s good to have you back with us again.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll alwayse back to you, Master. I promised you that a long time ago. It¡¯s still true.¡± His mouth curves and he draws the fingertips down my nose and over my lips. Then, without warning, the Dom returns. ¡°You have other duties now, Madam.¡± He half-turns, looking back. ¡°Richard, I believe your wife would like to see the rest of the show?¡± Richard stands over me, unbuttoning his shirt as Michael apanies Beth to a nearby armchair. She pauses as Richard offers his wrists and she slips the links from the cuffs. Then she allows Michael to guide her to the seat, where she sits, eyes sparkling, pupils wide, ck-on-green. As Richard, Michael and my Master all strip, I turn to her. ¡°Richard¡¯s right. I won¡¯t forget you know.¡± She chuckles. ¡°I know. I¡¯m nearly there now. You can wreak dreadful revenge on me next time.¡± The menugh with me as I reply. ¡°Don¡¯t think I won¡¯t.¡± Then I lie back, stretch out my arms and arch my hips. ¡°Right, who¡¯s first?¡± My Master stands over me, his cock upright. ¡°We¡¯re not taking turns, Charlotte. You can handle us together. Michael¡­ Head or tail?¡± My Golden Lover, his shaft at full mast, moves closer. ¡°Head. I want a good view.¡± ¡°Fine. Charlotte¡­¡± My Master lies, naked and fully erect, on the bed¡­ ¡°¡­ On all fours above me.¡± Straddling him, I ease myself over him. Am I up to this? ¡­ but as his cockhead kisses my entrance, arousal, sharp and sweet, spears through me¡­ Another one? ¡­ and at my inhtion, my Master¡¯s smile is broad and white. Gripping my hips, he draws me down over him, his pration gradual and easy¡­ then he holds¡­ his gaze passing over my shoulder¡­ Behind me, movement: Richard, nudging between my ankles. Then, at my rear entrance a twist and a pull¡­ and abruptly, I am achingly empty¡­. Fill me¡­ Fill me again¡­ A squeezing sound, the probing of oily fingers and pressure¡­ I thought I was ready. After hours of obedience, of wearing the plug, being stretched wide, I thought I was open. But Richard, moving in, pressing in¡­ His stiff cock¡­ Thick and hard¡­ Opening me further¡­ Stretching me¡­ I¡¯m panting. My lungs heave. He pierces me¡­ My Master¡¯s eyes hold mine. I see the question there. The same question I saw the first time I did this, when Michael took ¡®my other virginity¡¯¡­ And I have the same answer. ¡°I¡¯m okay,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡± His mouth doesn¡¯t smile, but his eyes do. His grip on my hips grows tighter. Richard presses in; deeper, further, harder¡­ Then he withdraws¡­ Again, he prates me. And again. The pration turns to thrusting. With each stroke, he deepens the contact, fathoming me¡­ Until, atst, his flesh fully inside mine, I feel him, his groin pressed hard to my body. One hand coils into my hair. Another strokes my cheek. ¡°Are you alright, Charlotte?¡± ¡°Yes, Sir. I¡¯m fine.¡± ¡°Good.¡± The grip on my hair tightens. The hand twists, winding my hair more tightly, tugging at my scalp, arching me backwards. I¡¯m streaming. My cunt pulses hot and fluid. I don¡¯t doubt my Master can feel it, his flesh also sheathed by mine. He moves¡­ slowly¡­ withdrawing, then thrusting. Withdrawing then thrusting. Richard matches him, the two men moving in harmony. ¡°Don¡¯t try to move, Charlotte,¡±es the voice from behind me. ¡°No, Sir.¡± Michael draws closer. I look up into his startling blue-eyed gaze. His cockhead, seeping briny dew, brushes my lips. ¡°Open up. Charlotte.¡± Obediently, I part my lips. A tug on my hair steers my face to a more convenient position. Against all expectation, against all reason, after my volcanic climax of only a few minutes ago, climax rises inside me again; coiling and curling, full of promise. Michael pushes his cock at my mouth, then pulls back a little. ¡°Where d¡¯you want it, Babe? Over your tongue? Or over your face? Or both? Your call.¡± I roll eyes upward. ¡°Michael Summerford. I¡¯ve said it before, but you¡¯re a kinky bastard sometimes.¡± ¡°Really? That¡¯sing from the woman with a man at every entrance?¡± But he¡¯sughing¡­ He looks to Beth, nodding down to me¡­ ¡°She won¡¯t answer, so you can. Where¡¯s she getting it?¡± Beth¡¯s reply is instant. ¡°Over her face. So I can watch. But she has to keep her mouth open.¡± Michael raises eyes ceilingward. ¡°And I¡¯m supposed to be the kinky one¡­¡± But he slides thumb and finger around his length. ¡°You suck the head, Babe. And lick too. I want to see that tongue.¡± I¡¯m trying, but it¡¯s not easy. Richard and my Master are building speed, building tempo, pumping me harder. Ram-rodded, doubled-barrelled-style, my spine arched back, my lungs heave. Inside I¡¯m clutching and clenching. My clit throbs an SOS to my pussy, and Pussy takes no notice. Richard is being careful, taking it easy, but now his slow strokes are mismatched to my Master¡¯s who bangs into me. mming upward, he spears me with every stroke, ramming me inside, colliding with my inner walls. My neck straining, Michael¡¯s lovely cock filling my view, it¡¯s not easy to look. But rolling eyes down, my Master¡¯s face is brilliantly red, streaming with sweat. His eyes wander between my swinging breasts and my mouth. A grunt¡­ Michael drops forward, one hand still stroking his erection, the other resting on my shoulder. Hot cum spurts, sttering my face, sshing into my mouth. I reach, trying to take more, to drink him in, top it up. Abruptly, the hold on my hair releases. Surging forward, I wrap my mouth around Michael¡¯s throbbing shaft, cream, hot and bitter-sweet, pulsing over my tongue. Hands are grasping around me, clinging tight, clutching at my breasts. Behind me, Richard groans, his hips grinding against mine. Below me, still thrusting, my Master meets my eyes, then looks sidelong at Michael, over my shoulder then back to me. His eyes squeeze closed. He bares his teeth, his head thrusting forward¡­ ¡°Fuck¡­¡± Beside me, Michael pants and heaves, his forehead dripping. Beth stands beside him, running her fingers through hair dark with sweat, looking from one man to the next and then to me¡­ And my own orgasm bursts loose. For the second time in under an hour. I lose it. Eyes closed, teeth gritted, I rear upwards, my hands thrashing as I wail triumph to the heavens. Hands sp mine, the fingers linking with my own. My core pulsates, sending waves of pleasure rippling through thighs and belly and ripping the scream from my throat. How am I screaming? Am I breathing? Still convulsing, I grip at the fingers locked with mine. ¡°Oh, God¡­¡± ¡°Was it good?¡± Dropping forward, hands catch me. A kiss to my lips. Another in the crook on my neck. From behind and below, the fullness withdraws. And finally, I open my eyes. Michael is sitting on the bed beside me. ¡°Okay, Babe?¡± My heart drums a tattoo under my ribs. The pulse pounds behind my ears. ¡°Er, yes¡­ Just give me a minute.¡± But the fingers gripping mine aren¡¯t Michael¡¯s. Beth blushes, disentangling her hands from mine. ¡±Um¡­ I was worried about you there. Just for a minute.¡± She retreats to her chair. I sag. One minute ago, I was high as a kite. Now, all I want to do is to sleep. ¡°Charlotte?¡± My Master¡­ a touch of worry in his voice. ¡°I¡¯m fine. I¡¯m better than fine.¡± I swipe away the sweat where I¡¯m dripping on him. ¡°I¡¯m just¡­¡± ¡°Exhausted?¡± suggests Richard. ¡°That¡¯s the word.¡± ¡°Sounds good to me.¡± Michael strokes my neck. But I¡¯m not fooled. ¡°How¡¯s my pulse rate?¡± ¡°Coming down,¡± he smiles. ¡°Now roll over and get under the sheets. This bed is big enough for five when we¡¯re all friends.¡± ***** Chapter 51 Chapter 51 Klempner It¡¯s not as though I don¡¯t have the time to think¡­ To n¡­ I might be short on the creatureforts, but if there¡¯s one thing I have in endless supply, it¡¯s time. And the time hangs. There are times I consider finishing it. It wouldn¡¯t be difficult: to tangle myself in the chain and let myself fall into the fetid water. But even at the end of hope, life remains sweet. And I have a better reason¡­ Mitch... When I think of Juliana¡¯s threats, my throat tightens, my breath catches. My mind freezes over. But I¡¯m no good to Mitch like that. Or Jenny. So I don¡¯t let myself dwell on it. She¡¯s alive¡­ If she weren¡¯t. Or if Juliana had seeded inmitting some harm to her, I¡¯m quite sure she would have told me. Almost certainly, she would show me some kind of proof. She hasn¡¯t. Ergo, Mitch is alive and well. But Juliana is never going to release me¡­ The key¡­ It dangles from its nail, tormenting me with its promise of freedom. I have to be patient, make my moves slowly. But I can¡¯t afford too much patience. With the poor diet and unsanitary conditions¡­ ¡­ and the depression¡­ ¡­ and the darkness¡­ ¡­ I¡¯m conscious that I¡¯m no longer in good physical condition. And that¡¯s only going to get worse every day. Even the fetter around my ankle is looser than it was. How much weight have I lost? How long can Ist? I have to escape. So¡­ How? ***** Michael ¡°Morning, Mitch.¡± Early Spring sunshine streams down on the sultry beauty. Arge bag full of who-knows-what women¡¯s paraphernalia is by her feet. A book pokes out of the top. Pregnancy For The Older Woman: All You Need To Know. She smiles at me from her seat by her front door, setting a porcin cup on its saucer. Mint-scented steam rises from the pale-green tea. Cradled into the nook of her other arm, Cara gurgles, trying to point at the birds pecking up a little scattered grain. Her aim¡¯s a bit off, still wobbly and uncoordinated, but she¡¯s trying. As she sees me, she breaks into a gummy smile, then at the sight of Bear and Scruffy trotting along behind, she bounces and jiggles in Mitch¡¯s embrace, little arms outstretched. ¡°You alright there? With Cara using you as a trampoline?¡± I nod down to the now noticeable swelling of her stomach. ¡°I''m fine. Just holding her until James arrives. He''s having a shower after he and Jenny went riding.¡± ¡°You¡¯re waiting for him?¡± ¡°He''s dropping me off at the clinic on his way to the office. Jenny¡¯s in the stable if you¡¯re looking for her.¡± ¡°I was, yes. I''m at a loose end, so I thought I''d see if she wants some help with the garden.¡± ¡°I think you¡¯ll find she¡¯s mucking out the horses right now.¡± The clip of leather on stone behind me: it¡¯s James, freshly shaven, his hair still damp; suited and booted. ¡°All ready, Mitch?¡± ¡°I am, yes.¡± She makes to stand. ¡°Michael, could you¡­¡± ¡°Of course.¡± I take Cara from her. The tiny girl blows a bubble at me. I blow one back. James heads for the stable¡­. ¡°I''ll just say goodbye to Charlotte¡­¡± ¡­ and reappears half a minuteter followed by Charlotte. ¡°Okay, let''s go.¡± James offers Mitch his hand. Although her pregnancy is showing now, she still moves gracefully, elegant on his arm. ¡°Thanks, Michael.¡± Charlotte takes Cara from my arms. Then, to her mother, ¡°You''re sure you don''t want me toe with you?¡± ¡°I''m a big girl. I can manage.¡± ¡°Here¡­¡± I stoop to pick up Mitch¡¯s bag. ¡°Let me carry this to the car for you.¡± ***** Waving the pair off, I return to the stable. Charlie nickers, her ears swinging forward as I enter, knowing what to expect as I take the usual carrot from my pocket. Oliver snorts and stamps, then as I snap the carrot in two, stretches forward to ept his half. Both horses munch contently. Bear drops into the straw panting. Scruffy trots across to investigate a crack in the ster that has been known to divvy up delights such as rats. Charlotte, in rough jeans and rubber boots, is back up to her knees in horse bedding, fork in hand, shuffling straw through the prongs. ¡°I came to see if you needed any help?¡± The smile again. ¡°Thanks, but I¡¯m fine.¡± She forks up another load of straw, shaking the clean parts free and dumping the rest in her barrow. ¡°It''s nice to get back to a normal life, isn''t it.¡± She holds the pitchfork held in one hand, bncing it on the other. She purses her mouth, tilts her head. ¡°Is it normal? Mom pregnant. My father dead¡­¡± ¡°Let''s pretend it''s normal.¡± ¡°And how do we do that? I grin. And wait. She eyes me. ¡°What? What is it?¡± I widen my eyes. sh my brows. ¡°What''s what?¡± The eyes narrow. ¡°You''ve got that look...¡± ¡°What look would that be?¡± ¡°You know what look.¡± Oh, yeah¡­ I let my eyes travel over her. Let her see me doing it. ¡°You know, you really do things for me like that.¡± Charlotte sucks at her cheeks. ¡°I''m shovelling horse shit into a barrow, and I do things for you?¡± ¡°Yeah, well, it''s like when you''re wearing your hard hat and steel-toed boots.¡± I move in closer, take the fork from her and set it against the wall. ¡°I rather like you dressed like that too.¡± A hand on either hip, I nuzzle into the crook of her neck, nibbling. ¡°Yes, I remember. You bent me over a crate in your van...¡± She struggles, hands on my chest as though trying to push me away. But she¡¯s not trying very hard. ¡°There¡¯re those, Michael Summerford, who might say you have depraved tastes.¡± I p my hand to my heart. ¡°I¡¯m wounded.¡± I scan the stable. ¡°What I can bend you over in here?¡± Then I scan again. ¡°Where''s Cara?¡± Charlotte nods towards an old chest of drawers. Well past its better days, once it furnished a bedroom in the hotel. Now, it houses tack, bits of leather, saddle soap, wax and rope. A single enormous cobweb drapes diagonally from one edge up the white-washed wall to anchor on a rafter. It¡¯s owner crouches up in the top corner looking satisfied and well-fed. But today, the top drawer stands open, horsey paraphernalia shoved to one side to make way for fleecy nkets and the gurgling Cara. She¡¯s already watching us, and as she sees me looking at her, she gurgles, beaming a gummy smile, holding out wriggly-fingered hands. ¡°Hi there, Sweetie.¡± I scoop her up, supporting her under the arms to bounce her up and down a bit. Then, I move into the sunshine to get a better look. ¡°She¡¯s getting a good head of hair now. As dark as James¡¯ almost. But there¡¯s definitely a touch of red in there.¡± Charlotte and I exchange smiles. ¡°She has his eyes too,¡± she says. ¡°So she does.¡± I kiss the little girl¡¯s forehead. ¡°Who¡¯s going to be a dark-eyed lovely, then?¡± She chuckles, burbles and blows a bubble at me. Charlotte moves to stand by me, rests her head on my shoulder. ¡°The next one¡¯s yours. Perhaps she¡­ or he¡­ will be a strawberry blond.¡± I want to reply, but buy myself some time to speak,ying Cara back in her spot amid the horse tack. When I reply, I speak carefully, choosing my words. ¡°I had the impression, Babe¡­ that¡­ you didn''t much enjoy being pregnant?¡± She sniffs and shrugs. ¡°I¡¯ll admit, the reality came as a shock. I¡¯d never realised just how big a change it is. But I¡¯ve gotten past that. I''m ready for it this time¡­¡± She hooks hands around my neck, tip-toeing to kiss me. ¡°And I did promise you the next one.¡± ¡°You''re sure about that?¡± I cup her cheek with my hand. ¡°I don''t want you to feel pressured.¡± Her brow creases. ¡°Don''t you want one that''s yours?¡± Wrapping my arms around her, I rock her gently side to side. ¡°More than almost anything.¡± ¡°Almost?¡± ¡°Almost.¡± Pulling back, I press a finger to her mouth. ¡°I don''t want you doing something you don''t really want to. Babies are a long-termmitment.¡± ¡°I do want to. If you want to.¡± ¡°I do.¡± Sliding hands down behind her, I palm her ass. A plump cheek cupped in either hand, my cock gives me a nudge, and I nce around the stable again. ¡°Mmmm, how about a practice run?¡± ¡°Here? Michael, I smell of horse.¡± ¡°Nothing wrong with the smell of horse¡­.¡± Charlie nickers and tosses her head¡­ I nibble at an earlobe. ¡°¡­ And we can both have a shower afterwards.¡± She grins and y-pretends to push me away¡­ ¡±Michael Summerford, you are just a kinky bastard.¡± ¡°I knew there was a reason you married me.¡± I pull her back towards me by the ass, pressing her against my burgeoning groin. ¡°It''s rather nice to have my wife all to myself.¡± A couple of straw bales are stacked by the wall. ¡°Those¡¯ll do.¡± Charlotte¡¯s mouth might be protesting, but her eyes say otherwise. Hitching her up, I semi-prop her against the bales. ¡°Hold on to me.¡± Her eyes dance as her handse up back up around my neck¡­. ¡°That''s more like it. Get yourselffortable.¡± I fumble for her belt. She puffs air. ¡°If you think you''re parking my bare ass on prickly straw, you''re wrong.¡± ¡°Easily fixed,¡° I mutter, nudging her back to the ground, Tugging my sweater off over my head, Iy it over the straw. ¡°A throne fit for a queen. Now¡­¡± I return to her belt¡­ ¡°Let''s get those off, shall we. You¡¯ll not be needing them for the next few minutes.¡± I unravel the belt, shoving my giggling wife¡¯s jeans down. Charlotte ps at my hands. ¡°Let me get these boots off first.¡± ¡°A good thought.¡± Hoisting her up again, I plonk her on the sweater, then tug off her boots. Then her jeans and panties, to leave her naked from the waist down. My cock¡¯s already at half-mast inside my jeans as I move in close and she wraps her legs around my waist. She smells warm and weing and only a little horsey. ¡°Let''s get you warmed over shall we.¡± Kneeling, my knees resting on straw, I push her knees open. ¡°Rest your feet on me. Get yourselffortable.¡± Her soles resting on my shoulders, Charlotte leans back, her ponytail swinging back against the straw, giving me a front-row view of her lovely pussy. There¡¯s stillughter in her voice. ¡°You''re not going to scare the horses are you?¡± ¡°Depends how much noise you make.¡± I take a moment to enjoy the view. Her pale inner thighs, veeing to the startling copper of the curls; her labia, rapidly pinking up. Her perfume wells in a warm cloud as I stroke her thighs; long, slow, finger-tip caresses, starting by her knees and drawing down and into her warming sex. ¡°I knew there must be a good reason this is James favourite position.¡± Head back, eyes closed, she chuckles again. ¡°It is, isn¡¯t it.¡± I stroke herbia with a fingertip. ¡°You''re so beautiful you know. I never get tired of looking at you. She lifts her head, opens her eyes to meet mine. ¡°Shovelling horse shit, you mean?¡± But her lips quirk. ¡°It keeps you fit. Here, look at you now. Apart from your boobs, you''ve gotten your old figure back already.¡± She frowns, though only a little. ¡°D¡¯you think I''ll get it back as fast with the next one?¡± It really did bother her¡­ Never thought of her as vain¡­ ¡°I don¡¯t see why not. You look after yourself. Um¡­ you realise you''re not likely to conceive again while you''re breast-feeding full time?¡± She grins. ¡°Doesn''t mean we can''t practice. And if we''re going to have a lot of babies in the house, we might as well have them altogether; Cara, Adam, Mom''s baby...¡± ¡°Your brother or sister...¡± ¡°Yeah... There¡¯s a thought¡­¡± Getting a little serious? Save that forter¡­ I move in, mouthing at soft pale skin, following the same path as I did with my finger: a soft bite just below her knee, then drawing the heat of my lips and tongue downward¡­ downward and inward¡­ towards her fragrant sex. Charlotte sighs, shifting her position a little, dropping her head again, settling back and lifting her hips to me. Trailing lips over her swelling outer lips, I¡­ A snort in my ear is followed by a nudge on the shoulder, setting me reeling¡­ ¡°Shove off, Charlie!¡± ¡­ Warm air blows by my ear¡­ ¡°¡­ This isn¡¯t the time.¡± The mare gives a disappointed nicker and ambles back to her spot in the straw, exchanges nuzzles with Oliver, then tugs a wisp of hay from the rack. Jaws grinding the hay from side to side, she watches me usingly. Charlotte bursts outughing, dropping back against the bales, her body shaking. ¡°Calm down, Woman. How am I supposed to enjoy pussy-cocktail with the horse assaulting me from one side and you shaking like a bloody H dancer from the other?¡± Charlotte makes a not very convincing attempt to straighten her face, then creases up again, knees curling up to her chest while I try fruitlessly to stretch out her legs again and open her up. Charlie yanks out another wisp of hay, watching me with an assessing eye. You have been weighed and found wanting¡­ I eye the mare. I don¡¯t have a lot of experience with horses. Not that I dislike them, but up close, they¡¯re so bloody big, ¡°Um¡­ She won''t take offence at this will she? Me manhandling you?¡± Charlotte tosses her head at the mare. Charlie tosses back and continues her munching. ¡°Charlie''s had foals of her own. A few of them. Oliver''s one.¡± Charlotte¡¯s eyes level with mine, mischief dancing behinds the wings. ¡°She knows what it is to be covered by her stallion.¡± N?velDrama.Org owns ? this. ¡°Covered by¡­? Is that right?¡± I¡¯d like to say more, but off-hand, I can¡¯t think of anything that doesn¡¯t sound corny or as though I¡¯m begging for apliment. Stallion, eh¡­ I silence Charlotte by nting my mouth over her, sucking a swollen lip into my mouth and pulling, letting it slowly slide free. Her chuckle morphs to a gasp. Then another, as I open her up with my fingers, plunging in with my tongue. I¡¯d normally warm her up a bit more before I did this, but I think a little wifely respect is due to the man sucking out her pussy. Delving in deep, I swipe against the quivering muscle inside, winding a circle with my tongue-tip, then drawing her innerbia through my teeth. She shudders and yells, but I¡¯ve nted my palms inside her thighs, pinning her¡­ Got your attention now¡­ Her body gives lie to all her protests. She¡¯s hot and liquid, and as I probe with my tongue-tip, beginning to flow. Juices running nicely, I think her pussy¡¯s had enough attention for now and I shift to pay her clit the homage it deserves. A hand to either side of her sex, holding her outer lips apart, she¡¯s syed and open. Gleaming with her juices, scarlet with her arousal, her vulva is nothing but an invitation to my mouth¡­ There¡¯s an urgent signal from my groin¡­ ¡­ Okay¡­ My cock¡¯ll get its turn in a little while¡­ Her clit is still cloaked and I ease back the hood with the tip of a thumb, exposing the tiny erect nub. My hands t against her, I can feel her tremble building. A growing tremor shivers through my palms, but I¡¯m not nearly ready to fuck her yet¡­ ¡­ My cock pulses a reminder at me¡­ ¡­ Down Boy¡­ Sit and Stay¡­ ¡­ I¡¯m gonna fuck you raw in a while¡­ Before I move to her clit, I give myself the treat of her juices. Her pussy is opening, flowing beautifully, a glistening nectar trickling. A long slow voyage of her vulva¡­ a single stroke¡­ She¡¯s briny and acidic¡­ Above me, breath whistles in, then out again, and Charlotte¡¯s hips judder. Fingersce into my hair, winding around my ears. Another journey, swiping through her hot folds,ving her with my breath, nibbling and sucking until, at the end of the journey, with the smallest tip of my tongue, I trace a circle around her stiff bud. Not touching the sensitive tip, I probe into the root, pushing and prodding. A groan, and the fingers at my ears abruptly be nails, digging in¡­ Taking her clit between my lips, I massage and gently suck¡­ ¡­.Above me, the heaving of breath. Close to, a flooding pungency: Charlotte at full arousal¡­ And ready to be fucked¡­ My cock is mouring demands for release and as I stagger to my feet, I¡¯m fighting the pressure at my groin. Unzipping, my erection all but springs for release. I¡¯m set to kick off my jeans, but only get them shoved from my hips when Charlotte mps her legs around my waist and hauls me in. Sinking into her is soooo¡­ easy. So hot. So wet. So delicious. My hands under her ass¡­ Her hands hooked around my neck¡­ We move together in a smooth syncopating rhythm; me thrusting hard and slow and long¡­ She rising to meet me, lifting her hips to sheath mepletely. She pulls herself closer, her weight taken behind my neck and I lift her a little, my mouth meeting hers as we rock and fuck and love together. Charlotte¡¯s face is red, dripping with perspiration. Her sweat and mine mingle as we kiss. Her depths are heated, liquid, pulsing and tight. Her breath shakes and her ribs shudder against mine¡­ Her voice is rising, moans turning to cries, cries turning to wails¡­ My climax is rising: my groin tight: my balls pressured. But I resist it¡­ Come for me¡­ She¡¯s beginning to pulse inside¡­ Come for me¡­ ¡°Michael¡­¡± Panting and breathy, she clings to me, hips jerking and bucking, then freezing. Hot flesh clenches around my shaft, and again, and again¡­ And¡­ ¡°What the hell do you think you¡¯re doing?!?¡± On autopilot, my face jerks sidelong to the stable door¡­ WTF? ¡­ there, silhouetted against the daylight: Georgie. The silhouette strides in. ¡°What the fuck are you doing?¡± As she moves from the harshness of the daylight, her face is more clearly visible: contorted and red. Eyes rimmed white, she stands, hands spread, her body shaking. Charlotte sags in my embrace, her voice muffled against my chest. ¡°Oh, fuck.¡± I murmur low, tightening my hold on her, cupping the back of her head with my hand. ¡°Shhh. Cool it, Babe.¡± ¡°You think you¡¯re going to get away with this? D¡¯you think I won¡¯t tell my Dad?¡± rasps Georgie. She stabs a finger toward me. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be his friend!¡± And she stamps out again. For several seconds, long seconds, we simply pause, Charlotte and I. My heart is pounding, but now, for all the wrong reasons. Then, withdrawing my wilting erection. ¡°James really should have exined to her before now. Something tells me he¡¯s in for an ufortable afternoon.¡± I want to ¡®get myself together¡¯¡­ Alright, I want to get my cock back inside my pants, but Charlotte clings to me. ¡°We haven¡¯t done anything wrong.¡± I kiss the top of her head. ¡°No, we haven¡¯t. But James is in for a bad time, I¡¯d say. Or at least a hard time exining.¡± She exhales and releases me. ¡°I¡¯ll give you that one.¡± Her normal colour is returning, but her hair has escaped the ponytail and she swipes sweaty locks back from her face. The pulse at her neck is pounding at about the same rate as my own heartbeat. ¡°If he¡¯d told her before, he could have broken it gradually to her.¡± ¡°Yup. Now he has to exin it all in one go.¡± ***** Chapter 52 Chapter 52 Klempner What''s the obsession with potatoes? I called her Potato Face when she was a kid. What does she look like now? Jenny was no looker at that age¡­ ¡­ But she matured. Bloomed. Juliana... Never the same twice. I scratch at my beard. I¡¯ve never liked facial hair in hot climates, but I don¡¯t have a choice right now. Even so, the flourishing colony of lice that has stowed aboard adds an extra edge of irritation. Lice¡­ Where the fuck did theye from? Can rat lice live on humans? Having a fucking good go at it¡­ I catch one, squeezing the revolting thing between my fingernails. It bursts with a Pop! Only another 999 to go¡­ ***** The boredom¡¯s the worst. Endless hours. Endless days and nights. I¡¯ve no idea how long. The only breaks in the monotony are Juliana¡¯s visits: just long enough to sit, eat something at me, toss a potato at me. No, not Juliana: Sna. Why''s she so obsessed with the name? How many names have I used over the years? Worn like a suit of clothes to be discarded when the weather changes and something different is needed. I¡¯ve never been defined by my name. But she sees it differently¡­ Something skritches and I jerk a look sidelong It¡¯s a rat¡­ Just a rat¡­ You¡¯ve faced down gunmen, soldiers, murderers¡­ It¡¯s just a rat¡­ From the dark openings, more scratching. And a nose pokes out. They say if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back at you. Who said that? Nietzsche? Depressing bastard¡­ In my case, the abysses equipped with teeth and whiskers. Ie equipped with fists and feet. Between us, we settle an uneasy armistice. ***** ¡°Juliana, do you know what Stockholm syndrome is?¡± ¡°No.¡± Interest flickers over her eyes. She takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from a napkin. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°It''s thebel for a psychological condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner forms an attachment to the captor.¡± She sniggers. ¡°You saying you''re getting attached to me?¡± ¡°Oh, no. Don''t misread me...¡± Her head tilts. She pretending mockery, but I have her attention. ¡°¡­ But there''s a reverse condition. It''s called Lima syndrome, where the captores to empathise with the prisoner.¡± ¡°So?¡± ¡°Am I your only friend, Juliana?¡± Amusement skirts her lips. ¡°Friend? You think you¡¯re my friend?¡± The napkin produces a brigadeiro. A ke of chocte cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into the napkin and she dabs it up with a fingertip then into her mouth. ¡°So, why do you keeping here?¡± She pauses in her chewing, mouth hanging a little open. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Why do you keeping? If all you wanted was to watch me rot, you have your camera there.¡± I jerk my chin up to the blinking light ¡°I have to feed you. I assume you do want me to feed you? We can always change that you know.¡± ¡°Yes, I do. But if that were the only reason, you could leave me a bag of potatoes ande once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so far as I can reckon, you''re here every day or so.¡± She chews and swallows, not speaking, simply regarding me. I continue. ¡°Am I your only friend, S? Is that it? You''ve murdered everyone else that might get close to you?¡± She swings her head, giggling. ¡°So, you''re my friend are you?¡± Levelling a finger at me, ¡°You think someone''s going toe and save you, Larry? You believe you''re worth saving? That there''s anyone out there who thinks you''re worth it? The daughter you had ted as a sex-ve when she was a kid? That middle-aged hooker? You''ve not changed, Larry. I can see right through you. The same heartless bastard that shipped me out to dig up potatoes for the rest of my life. Along with all the others you did the same to. You¡¯ve not changed. And I¡¯m going to make you pay.¡± She crosses her arms, sits back in her seat, arches her brows. ¡°I am making you pay.¡± Lowering my eyes, I keep my voice mild. ¡°Did I say otherwise? I''m not iming to have changed. Who ever really changes?¡± I raise my gaze again, look into her face. ¡°Have you changed Juliana?¡± ¡°Sna¡­¡± she hisses. Her mouth working, she says no more. Instead, she stands, the lunchbox tumbling from herp. The contents spill and scatter over the rancid concrete, some of it dropping just this side of that painted line, now less than white. Even under the heavy make-up, her colour has changed. White-faced, white- lipped, scarlet spots at her cheeks. Turning on her heel, she stalks out. It takes no supernatural premonition to know what''sing. Launching myself at the fallen food, ignoring the jab of pain in my ankle as the chain snaps taut, I snatch up the discarded meal from the filthy concrete, scrabbling to grab broken fragments of meat in one hand, a cake with the other before, with a click, the light winks out and I''m left in darkness. Momentarily blind, my eyes adjust to the green blink of the camera. It hardly matters. My attention is on the wealth in my hands. The meat-and-veg-stuffed delicacy is almost untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner. And I have half of a fruit pastry. I¡¯ve not eaten anything like this for¡­ for¡­ For how long? ¡­ I¡¯ve no idea. Weeks? Months? My sense of time is out of the window¡­ If I had a window¡­ Stuffing in a mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram the food into my mouth. Too much. Too soon. Half-chewed pulp goes down the wrong way and suddenly I¡¯m no longer eating, but coughing and choking and retching. Unable to swallow, gagging on my scavenged meal, I barf it up, where it plops in a saliva-coated mess onto the floor. Recovering myself, I wipe streaming eyes. Calm down¡­ Slow down¡­ What¡¯s left of the empanada is fragrant, fresh-baked; indeed still slightly warm from the oven. My teeth sink in and the pastry breaks into crisp kes before releasing its contents. The meat is sulent, spiced with¡­ with¡­ ¡­I chew slowly, savouring the heavenly dainty¡­ ¡­ with garlic,tro, and just a hint of chilli. The vegetables: tiny morsels, tender, juicy and fresh, tangy, and tasting of everything that¡¯s green and alive. As I chew, a dribble of saliva runs down my chin. Despite myck of an audience, I¡¯m embarrassed at myself, swiping it away with the back of my hand. I used to buy these small pasties from any street corner for a few coppers; eating them on the move without a second¡¯s thought. Quick food for when I was busy; when I was thinking about something; simple fuel for the body. Now, it melts into my mouth. I still have the broken crumbs of a fruit pastry, perhaps a quarter of the original, dotted deep pink with raspberries, topped with a glistening syrup. Cradling the precious fragments in my filthy palm, I squat down against my wall and inhale. Vani¡­ Raspberry¡­ Cream¡­ I take a bite¡­ The vour is exquisite. N?velDrama.Org owns ? this. The pastry is ky, soft inside, crisp outside and filled with a sweet vani cream that slips over my tongue like liquid velvet. The berries are perfectly ripe: sweet and piquant, with that fragrance that only comes from summer fruit. I eat slowly, extending my ¡®meal¡¯ for as long as I can. When I¡¯ve finished, I¡¯m not fool enough to wipe greasy fingers on my clothes. I don¡¯t want the rats deciding that I smell appetising. So, I lick thest sticky-sweet fragments from filthy palms and fingers. Then, retrieving the coughed-up remains that dropped to the floor, I eat those too. Despite being ¡®second-hand¡¯, they still taste ambrosial. As thest fragment slips down my throat, I sit, staring into the gloom, sucking my lips clean. My face is wet again. Irritated at myself, I swipe at the saliva on my chin¡­ ¡­ then realise that the moisture isn¡¯t saliva. The green eye blinks above me. For God¡¯s sake¡­ don¡¯t let her see¡­ Retreating to my wall, rolling down, I tuck my face into my knees, locking my arms around myself as though for sleep. Then shuddering, my chest heaving, in my living tomb, I hide my tears from the camera. ***** Chapter 53 Chapter 53 Curled in on myself, my emotions running amuck. I ride the storm, letting it run its course. And gradually, my calm returns. The clenching in my throat eases and the shaking dies away. Oddly, I feel better. Objectively, nothing has changed. I¡¯m still here, incarcerated in the dark, my life hanging on the whim of a psychotic. And yet¡­ yes, I feel better; cleansed almost. Perhaps I needed that. The catharsis. The release. My body knows something I don''t? At least, at the conscious level¡­ Something just happened, and I need to pay attention. Always listen to your body. How often have I ever wept? Very rarely. My tears dried up long ago. Or so I thought¡­ ¡®Where is she? Where''s your mother?¡¯ The little boy drops his head, tears trickling. ¡®I don¡¯t like Mommy any more.¡¯ ¡®What? What the fuck¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡¯ ¡®Mommy went to sleep. She won''t wake up and talk to me. I want her to tell me a story and she won¡¯t. And she''s gone all ck.¡¯ I shake my head. My mother¡¯s death is thest thing I want to dwell on right now. Nheless, suddenly, my mind is clear, astonishingly so. I can think again. What just happened? I didn¡¯t expect Juliana¡¯s reaction to my words. True, I was trying to get a reaction from her, but I¡¯d not expected the scale of her fury. So why did she respond as she did? Juliana... Sna¡­ I touched a nerve. That much is certain. So... Intentionally or not, I scraped a sore spot... A vulnerability... A weakness. ... Leverage... Think¡­ Uncurling from my foetal position, I sit upright, propping myself against the wall. Analyse¡­ Be logical¡­ What do I need to escape? The key. It hangs on its nail, dull bronze, blinking green in the light of the camera eye. No¡­ get it right¡­ What I need is to have that key on this side of Juliana¡¯s painted white line. So¡­ I need Juliana to bring it to me. I regard the line. In the drab intermittent light, it¡¯s barely visible at all now. No longer sharp and bright, dividing my personal world from everything else. The thick paint, originally applied directly to the ground, with its crust of mud and muck and nameless filth, probably never had too good a hold on the concrete in the first ce. Now, it¡¯s cracked at the edges, chipped away in ces. Dirt obscures some parts. Is the barrier separating me from the real world crumbling? ***** What did she get so upset about? Suggesting I was her friend? It''s the obvious answer, but it doesn''t feel right. Juliana seemed more amused when I suggested it. At worst, thoughtful. So what upset her? I rey the conversation in my head. I''m not iming to have changed. Who ever really changes? Have you changed, Juliana?¡± Myment that no one changes. It''s all a facade... That''s what triggered it. But mainly, I was talking about myself... Not her. But is that what she heard? ***** No one changes? That''s what enraged her? Or the suggestion that she hasn''t changed. So... ... Follow the logic... What was Juliana that she believes... or wants... to have changed from? She''s a psycho... T¨ºxt ? N?velDrama.Org. ¡­ Does she know that? ¡­ Yes. And she doesn''t care. She almost revels in it. How many she''s murdered¡­ ? ? Is that aspirational? She wants to to be a murderess? Or¡­ she wants to be wicked? There¡¯s a kind of mour to wickedness She wouldn''t be the first. Famously, it''s usually men who have such ambitions, who be the serial killers for the fame and the notoriety, for the corrupted romance of it all. But there''s no reason it couldn''t be a woman. Femme Fatale. Fatale... Exotic. Alluring. ... And in a blinding, Paulian moment, I see it. Scrambling for Juliana¡¯s one and only book, the nt poisons text, I find the page I want. Even squinting through the dim green light, It takes me less than ten seconds to spot what I¡¯m looking for. And flicking over the page confirms it. I¡¯ve got it. Juliana¡¯s weakness. Her Achilles heel¡­ ¡­ ¡­ Now how to use that? How to turn knowledge into leverage? ¡­ One chance only¡­ She¡¯ll not fall for it twice¡­ In the original story, Achilles gained his vulnerable heel by, as a baby, being dipped in the River Styx by his mother. But so as not to lose her baby, she held him by his heel and the water couldn''t cover him. I nce at the feculent liquid sucking at the concrete sides of the channel. Thest thing I want is to be dipped in there. For all that my body and clothes suck and stink, there are still worse options. That water is one of them. One chance. Think. ***** Chapter 54 Chapter 54 It¡¯s hard to tell, but it feels longer before shees back. As the time stretches¡­ And stretches¡­ Has she given up on me? Abandoned me to the dark? My nerves stretch too¡­ Still, I try to move around, as best I can; try to keep muscles limber and joints supple. I¡¯m going to need them. And atst, the light clicks on. A minute or soter, she teeters in, in her unsuitable shoes, the heels click-clicking on the concrete. Jenny would havee down here in those steel-toed boots she has. Mitch would have worn sneakers. I think even the Haswell woman would havee in something t-soled. But Juliana, true to form, wears the four-inch spikes she thinks are morous, this time as part of silver vinyl knee-high boots. The rest of the outfit involves an electric blue skirt and blouse, a 70s Sci-Fi silver-blonde wig and green-glitter nail varnish. I drag myself to my feet, making a show of slow, unsteady movement, keeping well to my side of the now much-broken white line. ¡°Good morning Juliana. I think it¡¯s morning? Yes?¡± She scowls. ¡°How many times do I have to tell you? My name''s not Juliana.¡± ¡°Ah, yes. So you keep saying.¡± I stand against my wall, well away from the painted line. And I keep my voice soft. ¡°It¡¯s S, isn''t it. Or Sna. But you were Juliana before that. You¡¯ve had me thinking about that. What it means. And I''ve had quite a lot of time to think.¡± She sniffs. ¡°I¡¯ve no idea what you mean. Now¡­¡± She pulls her chair a little closer to the line, makes as though to sit¡­ ¡°¡­ are we going to talk about something sensible? You were rude to mest time and I haven¡¯t decided yet if I¡¯ve forgiven you.¡± ¡°What¡¯s to forgive, Juliana? Or if there were something to forgive, what¡¯s the point?¡± I take a step toward her. Uncertain for a moment, she takes a step back, ncing down at the line, but she¡¯s where I want her, closer to the back wall. ¡°What¡¯s got into you?¡± She jerks her chin at me. ¡°You¡¯re talking nonsense.¡± ¡°No, not nonsense. But I have had plenty of time, as I said, to think about what it¡¯s all about. What¡¯s the key to all this.¡± She folds her arms, sucking in her cheeks. She drums fingers against an arm, then looks to her side. She aims a finger. ¡°This key you mean?¡± And just like that, the Juliana smile is back. ¡°You do mean this key.¡± Unhooking it, she dangles it between thumb and forefinger. ¡°You¡¯d love to have it, wouldn¡¯t you, Larry. You never will.¡± She turns back, to rece it on its hook. Carpe diem... I speak quickly, interrupting her movement. ¡°A question for you, Juliana.¡± She turns back, head inclining. ¡°Oh? What?¡± ¡°What do you look like?¡± She swings her head, frowning. ¡°You know what I look like. You''re looking at me now.¡± ¡°No, I''m looking at wigs, and costume and makeup. What do you look like when you get out of bed in the morning? What do your lovers see when they wake up with you?¡± Her lip curls. ¡°They never wake up with me. My bed is my own.¡± ¡°Really? That¡¯s interesting. Alright, I¡¯ll ask instead, how long do you take getting ready before you leave the house?¡± The folded arms are back, but she¡¯s still standing, and the key is still in her hand. That chin jerk again. ¡°What¡¯s it to you?¡± ¡°Just curious? You see, I remember you from when we first met¡­ My little Potato Face¡­¡± Her lips tten¡­ ¡°I¡¯m wondering how much you have really changed?¡± Her pupils are pin-pricking. Her chest rising and falling more quickly¡­ ¡°Then too¡­¡± I continue, ¡°I¡¯m wondering too about the whole S business¡­¡± Her lips part, her breathing growing quicker¡­ ¡°S? An interesting choice. Meaning All alone? Well, you''re bound to be alone, aren''t you. When you ughter every living soul that touches you¡­¡± Her lips are beginning to peel back, her knuckles whitening¡­ ¡°¡­ But somehow, that didn''t feel right. Who names themselves for being an outcast? Even when the casting-out is self-imposed¡­¡± I wait, to give her chance to reply¡­ ¡­ ¡­ ¡°I see I''m right. It¡¯s not S-The-Girl-Who-Walked-By-Herself¡­ ¡°So, then I thought about Sna... Sun girl? Sunflower? Sunshine?¡± I fake augh. ¡°I don''t see you facing the sun anytime. I get it. I used to be like that myself. But of course, you and I met when you were very young. And you already know that about me. From the days when I called you Po-ta-to Face.¡± I lean on the words, smacking each syble from my lips. She could be carved from stone, save for the pulsing of the vein at her neck. ¡°So, what else?¡± I pace a little, the four or five steps the chain will allow me, one way, then the other. I wag a forefinger at her. ¡°I went through your stuff you know, in your apartment, before you went on the murder-go-round with your friends there. It threw me, seeing what was in there. Your cosmetics. Your clothes. Shoes. Wigs. Beads and bangles. All your stuff. But where were you? Where was Juliana?¡± Another pause, to see if she will respond. I continue my pacing, my small circle of movement, warming muscles, loosening stiff limbs. Juliana could be struck dumb. ¡°You know, I find I keepparing you with my Jenny. She had a bad start too. All my fault I know. But she turned herself around. Became her own person. ¡°I couldn''t understand why you hated her so much, especially after I told you she''d been one of you, at Blessingmoors. You should have sympathised with her. But then, Jenny¡¯s beautiful, isn¡¯t she. Even after you imprisoned her, degraded her, left her to lie in her own shit for a week, she still looked beautiful. ¡°It''s no credit to her, of course. She''s just lucky that way. Jenny wakes up, no make-up, hair like a bird¡¯s nest. But she looks in the mirror and what looks out is beautiful... What do you see Sna? Without all the fakery?¡± She breathes in short shallow snatches¡­ Almost there... ¡­ Time to move in for the kill¡­ ¡°And another thing¡­ If I were in a room and Jenny had spent any amount of time there, I''d know it on the spot. Her trademarks. Her signatures. Books. Knick-knacks. Souvenirs. All things that say something about her. Things that tell a story¡­ ¡°But then, I was looking at the crap you fill your life with. Nothing in that bedroom was you. Everything I saw there was something to cover over you... Insofar as there is a You, Juliana¡­ ¡°In fact, the only object I found in that room that seemed even remotely personal was a book¡­¡± I stoop to pick up the tattered and mouldy copy of ¡®Poisonous and Psychoactive nts: A Handbook¡¯. ¡°At the time, I didn¡¯t think much about it. Thenter, well¡­ you do murder for fun, so fair enough. But why not, a guide to hand-weapons, or history¡¯s most famous serial killers¡­?¡± She¡¯s poised, trembling¡­ A push and¡­ A quick check and yes, she¡¯s still clutching the key¡­ ¡°¡­ But there was just this single book...¡± I heft the text and drops open now at the page I want. ¡°I read this at first because I was bored. Then, I read it again because I wondered what you¡¯d dosed your friends with¡­¡± Holding the pages open, I read aloud¡­ ¡°Bedonna¡­ meaning ¡®beautiful woman¡¯¡­ Symptoms of poisoning¡­ dted pupils, rash or flushed skin on the face, neck and upper body, elerated heartbeat, epileptic spasms, vomiting¡­ Yes, that pretty much covered what I saw¡­¡± Although facing down to the page, I look up under hooded lids. Juliana¡¯s face is twisting¡­ Her weight begins to shift¡­ ¡°Also known as Deadly Nightshade¡­¡± I lick a fingertip, turning the page with arge deliberate movement¡­ ¡°Family name¡­ Snum¡­ A family of nts including Bedonna and the other nightshades plus various nts of agricultural importance including¡­ tomatoes, aubergines and¡­ the potato.¡± I snap the book closed, taking a step closer to the half-visible line. Then another. ¡°So¡­ Sna¡­¡± I grin. ¡°Here we are. All those years. All that pretence. All the covering up and pretending to be the exotic Bedonna. You touch people and they die. All those murders¡­ ¡°And at the end of it all¡­¡± I put the sneer into my words¡­ ¡°¡­ you¡¯re still simply my little Potato Face.¡± Juliana shrieks,unching herself toward me, arms outstretched, hands opening to ws,ing for my eyes. I step back, drawing her in, and at thest moment, her gaze drops to the ground, to the fractured remains of the white line, her safety boundary. For the briefest of instants, her eyes widen and her face goes ck as she realises what she¡¯s done¡­ ¡­ I grin at her¡­ She jerks backwards¡­ ¡­ But I¡¯m already moving¡­ She tries to retreat, to draw back beyond her safety line, but in her confusion, she¡¯s not paying attention. The long heels slide on the slimy footing and her feet skid out from under her. Arms iling, she starts to fall, reflexively reaching for me as I hold out my hand, then trying to snatch back as thought catches up with reflexes¡­. ¡­ But I already have her, clutching her wrist in a grip I¡¯m not about to break. In her screwed-up fist, she clutches the key. My free hand iling, I¡¯m grabbing for the closed fist, but she¡¯s squirming and struggling and, outstretched as I am, and in my weakened condition, I can¡¯t both restrain her and force her fist open. Semi-supported by my hold, she doesn¡¯t fall all the way, but hangs poised, scraping those pointed heels over the concrete, trying to regain her feet, trying to break away. But on the slick surface, there no grip to be had and the heels scrape uselessly at the concrete. She cries out, face contorting as she tries to twist free of my grasp. Shrieking like a banshee, screeching like a fishwife... ¡°Fuck you!¡± ¡­ she struggles and squirms and twists¡­ ¡­ then abruptly, changes tack, flinging herself forward, and head down, drops to my hand, sinking in her teeth. Pain stabs up my arm and involuntarily, briefly, my fingers cken. And in the instant before I regain my hold, with a shriek of triumph, she¡¯s pulled free. As she slips loose of my grip, she drops,nding with a bump on her ass, scrambling backwards, shoving herself along on palms and the ridiculous silver-vinyl boots. Hurling myself after her, forward and down, Ind with a jarring thud, arms at full stretch, straining to reach her before she retreats beyond my range. She kicks at me, the steel-tipped heels stabbing toward me like chisels. One jabs into my bitten hand. There must be pain, but I don¡¯t feel it as my other hand brushes her ankles, then tightens around into a firm hold. Inexorably, I haul her back towards me, well this side of what¡¯s left of the painted line. She screams and shrieks and twists, but I have her by both ankles now. And finally, I have control. Myid muscles trembling with the effort, I draw her close, then roll on top of her, using my weight to pin her. On all fours above her, circling her paired wrists with one hand, I prise at her fingers, trying to open the closed fist where still, she clutches the key. Under me, she lurches, her knee rising to my groin and reflexively, I jerk away, my grip on her wrists loosening. She¡¯s still under me, but her face twists into a twisted smile, a rictus of a grin, and she hurls the key¡­ ¡­ Or tries to¡­ ¡­ as I regain my hold of her hand, cutting the movement short, and as she lets fly, the key simply drops, clinking to the ground, then skittering along to settle a few feet away. Releasing her, I dive for it, scrambling on all fours, groping to reach it. But now Juliana¡¯s on me, kicking and screeching and snatching. Her long fake nails scrape down my face and with a jerk, she kicks for the key. I''m ahead of her, snagging my foot around hers to prevent the movement. But I can''t shake her. She¡¯s like a fucking rat, or some blood-sucking leech, clinging, shrieking at me, hampering my movement. ¡°Fuck you.¡± I heave and push, breaking loose of her, but shees back at me, wing and clutching. And this time, I p her across the face, hard enough to knock her sidelong, to addle her¡­ ¡­ and in the instant that buys me, shoving her away, I scrabble for the key again. And my fingers close around the precious thing¡­ With it clutched in my fist, I scramble upright, but Juliana¡¯s on me again, rising with me, hands outstretched, hurling herself bodily. The impact knocks me back and her own momentum carries her with me, but the chain tugs tight at my ankle, unbncing me and I fall, taking her with me. Ind hard, concrete below, Juliana above, the breath huffing out of me with the impact. Winded, I lose the moment. We roll and grapple, both trying to stand, each impeding the other. She ms down on my hand with her fist, smashing my hand on the unyielding surface. Numbed, my fingers go ck, and with a shriek of triumph, she grabs the key¡­ Trying to rise, pinned by her weight, with my other hand, Ish out, back-handing her. Catching the side of her head, it knocks her weight from me, and the key flies free again, this time close to the channel edge. I stagger upright. She¡¯s semi-stunned by my blow, but only briefly, and as once more I stumble towards the key, she¡¯s with me, clinging like some sucking parasite. I spin, this time punching hard. She staggers back, but in the same moment, toppling, she kicks out at the key¡­ ¡­ overbnces and falls, her head striking the wall with an audible Crack! I dive for the key¡­ ¡­ Her eyes roll white¡­ ¡­ it skitters over the concrete to the edge¡­ She drops¡­ It drops¡­ ¡­ and plinks down into the oily water. It gleams, then sinks out of sight. Frozen, I watch my freedom sink into ckness. How deep is it? I¡¯ve no idea. I¡¯ve never had the slightest urge to get closer than I needed to the polluted water. Don¡¯t panic¡­ It¡¯s a drainage channel How deep can it be? Movement behind me¡­ ¡­ and I whirl¡­ She¡¯s on her hands and knees, crawling away from me. Her movements are slow. Blood trickles from her nose. ¡°Juliana?¡± She crumples, sinking to the ground. Rolling, she curls in on herself, facing me. Her eyes are dull but they fix on me. Her words are breathy, barely audible. ¡°I win...¡± Fuck that¡­ ¡°I don¡¯t think so, Juliana. It won¡¯t be pleasant, but I¡¯ve enough reach to fish the key out. It might take me a while to find it at the bottom, but it¡¯s there. I can get it.¡± Her lips stretch. ¡°You think?¡± She still stares at me, but the light in her eyes is fading. Kneeling on the edge, I look down into ck water. The key¡­ As it went over, it slightly scuffed the muck and slime: not much, but enough for me to have the exact spot. I should be able to reach it. I¡¯ll be at full stretch on my chain, but the channel surely can¡¯t be more than three or four feet deep¡­ Surely¡­ But on the brink, I hesitate. The steady drip from my ¡®drinking water¡¯ supply sets ripples spreading, making random garbage bob sluggishly. Yellow-tinged foam and threads of scum dot the unappealing surface, breaking up the oily veneer. The idea of reaching down into the water appeals about as much as going bald or breaking both legs. On the other hand, staying here with only rats and the dying Juliana forpany appeals even less. A change of clothes was not among the amenities offered by my hostess and my shirt is hardly fresh. Still, I strip it off before I start¡­ Clean clothes¡­ Crisp linen, freshlyundered¡­ ¡­ New underwear¡­ What I¡¯m wearing under my tattered and stinking trousers would stand up by itself. Naked from the waist up, I lie, full-length on the ground, pulling a loop of my chain close by to give myself some manoeuvring ability. It¡¯s not too bad, and with my face pressed cheek-down to the ground¡­ ¡­ and with only a moment¡¯s hesitation¡­ ¡­ I can reach¡­ My fingers dip below the surface¡­ The water¡¯s not cold, not at all. Rather, it¡¯s tepid. Somehow, that¡¯s notforting. ¡­ then my wrist, then my elbow¡­ With the water almost to my shoulder, I encounter resistance, my fingers reaching mud¡­ Please¡­ let it be mud¡­ Whatever it is, it¡¯s gloopy, syrupy almost, as my hand descends into this surface-under-a-surface. And it¡¯s warm¡­ Something rotting? My stomach coils uneasily, but I try to ignore it. And my hand is still descending¡­ How deep is it? I roll, bnced precariously on the edge, and still, I¡¯m not touching bottom. ¡­ I feel it¡­ Something hard¡­ The base of the channel¡­ Thank Christ for that¡­ ¡­ but only just. The tips of my fingers are only just grazing the surface. I shuffle to almost overhang the edge, now clinging to my chain with one hand to keep myself from falling in. Slime kisses my cheek. My face almost skims the surface, but no matter how I reach, I¡¯m only just touching the bottom. More to the point, I¡¯m not touching the key and, at full stretch, my groping range is only a few inches wide. Frustrated, I pull back, rolling away to lie on my back. I stare up at the ceiling. There¡¯s only one way I¡¯m going to be able to search properly. Oh, God¡­ I¡¯m going to have to go in for it. The idea of wading through the putrid water¡­ ¡­ Freedom¡­ I eye the foul surface¡­ Strip off? But I can¡¯t. With the cuff in ce, the only way I could remove my pants would be to rip them open down one leg. Once I¡¯m out, I don¡¯t know what I¡¯ll have to face above ground. If I¡¯m in a city somewhere, a semi-naked man is liable to causement. If I¡¯m in the wilds, I¡¯ll need my clothes in good condition¡­ such as can be managed. The chain clinks as I shuffle to the edge, then gingerly swing my feet over, sucking back my disgust at the putrid touch of the water on my feet, like the kiss of a corpse. As it covers my ankles,pping at the raw skin where the steel cuff rubs, I pray for antibiotics. Holding onto the edge against slipping, slowly, I lower myself in until I¡¯m standing thigh-deep, my feet wallowing in several inches of sludge. Keeping my hold on the side, I probe with my toes. I¡¯ve read of people searching for ms and oysters this way. I imagine they expect to encounter nothing worse than the odd empty shell or a sulphurous smell in their hunting. But I¡¯m on edge, trawling tentatively with my toes in case of broken ss or rusted metal¡­ But there¡¯s nothing. A few bubbles rise, then plink out to non-existence. More follow. I¡¯d gotten used to the smell down here, not registering it any more. But now, it stinks. No ss¡­ No drinks cans¡­ How far from civilisation am I? Doesn¡¯t matter¡­ Freedom¡­ I keep probing, less cautious now, extending my circle. Be there¡­ Please be there¡­ I¡¯m stretching out,ing to the end of my range¡­ Leaning back to hold the sidewall with my hands, I push forward with my legs and feet, feeling for anything, that might be a key. The chain clinks taut. It will go no further¡­ Stretching now, reaching, full-length, the cuff bites into already sore flesh and¡­ There! My toe nudges against something; a something just the right size for a key. Yes! Curling my toes around the object, I draw it closer. Dragging it inch by inch from the edge of the world, scraping it over the bottom, I draw it into my range. And now it¡¯s easier, the key sliding easily, closer, ever closer, until I have it, there at my feet. Quivering and shaking, running on an adrenaline high, I release my death-grip on the side. Stooping to retrieve my prize, reaching down, I raise my chin against the stinking wash over my mouth. The key¡¯s slippery in my fingers, sliding through the slime, trying to escape my hold. I bend a little further, and as my hand fastens around the Holy Grail, my feet slide from under me and I go down. My fall is speedy and inexorable. Scrabbling madly at the side with one hand, the other firmly gripped around the key, I can¡¯t stop myself. I have barely time to mp my mouth closed as I go under. As I slide, I¡¯m almost down when, with an agonizing pain at my ankle, the chain pulls taut, spinning me as it does so. Pain spears up my leg as my knee twists and unthinkingly, I try to scream¡­ ¡­ the sound cut short as putrid water fills my mouth and nostrils. My eyes are squeezed closed. I¡¯ve lost my sense of up or down and the chain wraps at my ankle, weighing me down, hampering my movement Spluttering for air, coughing and heaving, I resurface, then as my feet slide through the ooze, sink down again. But I have a scant moment to fling out a hand, to grab the side, and this time, as I go under again, my plunge is curtailed. Coughing and puking foul water, chest heaving, for a while, all I can do is prop myself against the side¡­ Then I remember¡­ Panic stabs¡­ But I open my hand, and there¡¯s the key: slime-covered and foul, but still the most beautiful thing I¡¯ve ever seen. Muttering a silent Hallelujah!, I toss it across the floor where ites to rest under the fixing bolt of my chain to the wall. Prone on the ground, Juliana, to my surprise, is still alive, She watches, unmoving, unspeaking, but conscious, in her expanding pool of blood. Her chest rises and falls, the breath rasping in her throat. Her make-up is smeared like that of some monstrous clown. One pupil is hugely dted: the other pinpricked. Both follow me as I haul myself out of the water, then dripping, pad across to my spot by the wall, sit and pick up the key. I wipe it clean, for all the good it does, on my rancid trousers, then insert it into the padlock¡­ ¡­ or try to¡­ It won¡¯t go in. Turning it around, I try again. It still won¡¯t go in. Mouth and throat suddenly dry, my stomach clenching, I stab the key at the lock, trying to force it in. But. It. Won¡¯t. Go. It won¡¯t go¡­ It won¡¯t go. It¡¯s the wrong key. From across the floor, that giggle¡­ That Juliana giggle¡­ Her voice is a bare whisper, but she¡¯s grinning: a manic, lunatic grin. ¡°But¡­¡± I stare at her, the useless key ck in my hand. ¡°You don¡¯t think¡­¡± She stops to heave air¡­ ¡°¡­ I¡¯d have ever left the real key here do you?¡± She breaks off again, gurgling against the blood which trickles from her nostrils and over her lips. ¡°But¡­ I saw you hang it up. When you first brought me here. I saw you.¡± ¡°Just my little joke.¡± She coughs and her face twists, more blood spilling now from her mouth. ¡°Gotcha, Larry.¡± And as I watch, in a slow exhtion, the air escapes her throat. Her eyes lose their focus and freeze into a sightless stare. ¡°Juliana?¡± She doesn''t move, quite still. No lift to her chest. No flutter to her eyelids. ¡°Juliana?¡± She doesn¡¯t move again. I¡¯m quite alone. No-one knows I¡¯m here. No-one ising. I gaze into the abyss. And the abyss gazes back. ***** ¡®The Master¡¯s Child¡¯ Concludes In T¨ºxt ? N?velDrama.Org. Natale The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!