JAMES"You're not my father!" Pushing herself backwards against the wall, Charlotte shrieks the words at him. Close to hysterical, almost frenzied with denial, utterly distraught, she screams, struggling against Michael when he tries to hold her, tries to calm her.The guard, Hartland looks increasingly alarmed. "You want me to...?"No, it's alright. We need to deal with this."But he's already talking into his phone, satisfaction etched on his face as more guards burst in, bundling the passive Klempner out. He looks over his shoulder as they hustle him away, his expression shell-shocked.Charlotte is still fighting against Michael, refusing to be held. "Let's get her out of here," I say. "I'll get her out. You get the car keys.""We all need to sign out.""Just take her out," interrupts Hartland. "I'll clear it at the counter."As Michael heads for the reception, I have to drag Charlotte, resisting me all the way, to the car. Red-faced, wild-eyed and screaming, she fi
MICHAEL"How is she?"James props himself, both hands knuckled on the kitchen table, head bowed. "The same. Not good. I'd say she's gotten past denial, but I almost wish she'd cry... Get it out of her system. Instead, she behaves as though she's in shock."He's mourning the loss of a daughter... She's panicking over gaining a father...Both bereft......What a fucking mess."Shock is probably the right word..." I say. "... Discovering she has a psychopath for a parent. It's going to take time and support to get her past it."He rubs the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing closed for a moment. "I think," he says, "part of the problem is that not knowing much about him, she's cooked up some idealised vision of Conners in her imagination...""The perfect father who never was?""As it turns out, yes." He rubs at the back of his head. "How the hell do we deal with this?""Time may be the only thing that deals with it. We simply wait for her to come out of her funk.
MICHAELShe has her bath, returning an hour or so later scented of lavender and rose. We drink, but not too much. We eat, sharing Charlotte's favourite treats; cheese, bread, olives, strawberries and cream. She sits on the rug by the fire, not hitting the food the way she normally does, but nonetheless, she eats.Then she sits, inert, leaning back against my legs as I stroke her hair.Over her head, James cocks a brow to me, tilts his head. I nod.He rises, takes Charlotte's hand and pulls her upright, then kisses the fingers. "You are going to go downstairs now, undress and wait for us. Michael and I will join you in a few minutes..." She hesitates... "And the next words I expect to hear from you are 'Yes, Master'."She bows her head. "Yes, Master.""Good." I pass her a glass of Rioja... "Now, drink your wine... And I want you to have another glass after that."*****Downstairs, in the basement, James' 'playroom', the demesnes of a Master, she's waiting for us. As he
JAMESI've often tested her before; tested her limits, tested how far I can take her before pain-pleasure simply becomes pain. But I've never before set out to take her completely to the edge and, perhaps, just a little beyond.But this time, on this occasion, I want her to travel out from the real world and into that heady space where pain and pleasure merge into sensation and where the mind and body ride the whirlwind together.Michael has relaxed her. And he's right. She's arousing. Her perfume is rising and there's that sheen to her skin she gets; the flush over her breasts which rises over her pale swan neck to blush her cheeks.She's ready...From behind, I lick at her with the falls; soft and suede-like, the best kind. Supple and elastic, the leather kisses skin and bites at muscle. She mewls, but it's not in distress. I know her better than that. At the same moment, her pelvis twitches...How does that feel to you, Green-Eyes?Is it a kind of penetration...?...
A cop in blue uniform enters the bar. "Would you be Angelo?"The barman pauses in swiping a towel through a glass, brow wrinkling. "That's me, yes. Something I can do for you?""I'm looking for a woman who frequents here. Goes by the name of Mitch."The brow uncreases, his expression flattening. "Mitch? Barely seen her the last few weeks.""When did you last see her?"Angelo pays strict attention to his polishing. "Couldn't say." His cloth works tight circles over the glass.Taking off his sunglasses, the cop props elbows on the bar. "We know that she hangs out here, soliciting."The circles slow. "She never did any soliciting that I saw. I mean, she knew how to pull a guy, but that's different altogether isn't it? Nothing illegal there." The barman bends to his work again, concentrating on some ingrained speck on perfectly polished glass.The cop drums fingers on the bar-top, saying nothing; the kind of silence that sucks out the words. After a minute, the drumming mor
In the privacy of his own apartment, Bech, beer in hand, he cracks off the cap against the edge of the table then, leaning back on the chair, swings his boots up onto the top.A swallow of the beer and then he riffles through the card index, brows rising at some of the names: Taking a card at random, he reads:Alex BergermanAccountant. Interested in stocks. Wife 2 kids boy + girlLikes corsets, big hair. Gets off on dirty talkA pencilled note at the bottom of the card: Ask him about the Planet Levanti merger. Good investment?Flipping the card over, Bech checks the back: a list of a dozen or so dates about a month apart. Each partnered with a money amount.Payments to the whore?He sucks in his cheeks, then digging the filofax from his pocket, checks the most recent date. Then the previous one. He grins.He takes another random card, Daimon CrevierBanker. Unmarried. Nerd: model trains. Talker. Likes flattery and headWith a smile that has nothing to do with
Mitch sits on the cold slab. Eyes red-rimmed, hugging herself, she rocks on the seat.The door clangs open."You..." The officer says no more, simply thumbing out of the door.Out in the office the lawyer, Theo, stands waiting. Dark-suited, briefcase in hand, he regards Mitch without expression. "Miss Kimberley."The duty officer jabs a finger at a sheet. "Sign."Her eyes rise. "What's happening?"Theo says, "You've been bailed, but you and I need a talk. On behalf of Mr Devlin.""Please, I need to talk with Max himself."Curtly, "Mr Devlin does not want to talk to you, Miss Kimberley. He is a very busy man. He accepted your call and assigned me out to assist you. That is the extent of his involvement with you." He sniffs. "I'll not presume to guess why he did that much." He turns, picks up his briefcase."Mr Aldred, please, just call him. I have to speak to him. Please...""Is it to do with this case?""Yes... No... Yes... It's not what it looks like. I don't tak
The club is dark and sleazy, like most of its customers; perhaps denizens would be a better description. Occupied by the lost and those wishing to be so, the unwanted and the unwantable, it caters to those not wanting to be noticed by the passing world, or those the passing world will perhaps see, but then look away from.The bouncer looks askance at the blue uniform, moving from his spot in front of a luridly coloured poster of young women of unlikely proportions and appeal. He stands to block the entrance, then jolts back as he recognizes the face at the top. "Sorry, Corby. Didn't realise it was you for a minute there." "'S fine Pat. Just let me through.""You expected?""Yup.""Should I send ahead?""Nope."Inside, Corby grimaces at the mix of sweat, smoke and stale air. Sweeping a view through a blue haze over the hunched shoulders of solo drinkers, past the gawpers ogling the stripper under the spotlight, he settles on the shadowed nooks at the far end of the bar.