Mae struck another pose as they began to move off toward the far end of Openhaertsteeg. “Zaichik—bunny?” she said, her eyes following the men.
Kitt lowered his mobile and put out his hand. Hands clasped, they followed, lagging a bit behind, watching the two men reach the end of the laneway and make a right. Within a few seconds, Kitt and Mae reached a pizza shop at the corner of Openhartsteeg and Reguliersdwarsstraat, one of Amsterdam’s known LGBTQ+ areas for partying and dining. He pulled Mae back slightly, gave the men a bit more distance, and surveyed the brick-paved street lined with cafes, delivery vehicles, gay bars, shops catering to local clientele, and coffeeshops selling legal hash and marijuana.
The men crossed to the left side of the street, passed a café with a lone patron sitting at an outdoor table, and paused at the front of a black brick gabled building with two white-framed, glossy-black front doors, side by side. Single, unconnected to the other, separated by brick and doorframe, the left door led to what appeared to be a residence. The door on the right was a ‘pink’ business, with a white-framed window display of arty adult books and mannequins dressed in high-end-looking fetish leather and PVC, the name Erotica framed by love hearts, written in swirly, unlit red neon above. The gardener pointed to the door on the left. He handed over keys as a delivery van pulled to the side, a logo of lettuce, tomatoes, and carrots bright on the white doors. The two men parted, Mr Thin Moustache moving to the front of the van to talk to whomever sat hidden behind the wheel, the gardener Juventis fan going into the shop, gloves, bucket and cleaning supplies in hand.
On the opposite side of the street, Kitt lowered his sunglasses and scrutinised the two black doors, the white-painted windows above, the step-gabled roofline with the old hoist protruding from the top of the expensive-looking shop front. The windows on the two levels above the shopfront were lined with heavy curtains, the kind that blocked out sunlight and the glare of night-time neon. At present, the building sat in the shadow of the taller structure across the street. Kitt stared at the windows. It took a second before he found it. “What do you see?” he said softly, lifting her hand to his mouth, kissing the middle of her palm.
“Bondage apparel.”
He let go of her hand. “I mean above all the pretty leather in the window, in those windows on the two floors above.”
“Do you like leather and kink and BDSM? I’ve never asked you.”
“I’ve never asked you either, but this isn’t the time for such a discussion.”
“Standing in front of a sex shop is the perfect time for such a discussion.”
“This isn’t the time for such a discussion. I’m trying to teach you. What do you see?”
Mae glanced from the top two windows, then to the ones on the level below and back to the top again. “Windows with the curtains drawn.”
“Keep looking.”
“Are you really trying to teach me something or avoid my question?”
“What do you notice about the windows?”
“You’re avoiding the question.” She studied the windows again, head tilting slightly until she realised something about the glass was a little too…precise. “Those aren’t curtains at all, are they?”
“Very good. There’s a film, a decal stuck to the glass. The two windows on the right have a small strip of heat shrinkage in the bottom corner panes. You noticed the stripe of light from a bulb inside, didn’t you?”
“M-m. What does it mean?”
“Something. Nothing. Everything. Hydroponic nutraceuticals and medicinal crops. I have no idea.”
“But we’re going to find out?”
Expressionless for a long moment, Kitt exhaled audibly and nodded once.
“Oh, off we go,” Mae snorted. “Wait here,” she said low and plummy, exactly like Kitt speaking with polite, yet tyrannical authority. “Stay here. Right here.” She gave him a sideling look, adding, “Please.”
“Don’t be feckin’ daft,” eyes narrowed, he imitated her Irish inflection—and the you are so full of shite gaze she sometimes gave him. “I’m not leaving you here. However, there’s something I need to remind you about, a promise you once made. Do you remember the second most important thing I have ever told you?”
“You mean the bit about if I find myself in a situation where someone has a knife or a gun or there is any threat of violence? How I shouldn’t throw a punch, a cup of coffee, lash out with a block of cheese, a toilet brush, or a drinking straw but run?”
“Ah, you do remember. I’m so pleased. Never deviate from that promise.” He reached for her hand and paused.
On the other side of the street, the gardener came out of the door on the left with two black men, both thin and dressed in orange-trimmed grey uniforms that hung from their narrow frames. Each man had a bucket, rubber gloves and cleaning products poking out. A man with a potbelly came out behind them, closing the door, locking it, checking that the lock was secure. Cigarette in his mouth, he adjusted large, rectangular wrap-shield sunglasses with orange-red lenses, the sort cyclists wore, banged on the side of the van. An arm, heavy with thick, dark hair, appeared as the double side doors opened. Potbelly got into the van with the two black men, the same hairy arm reaching out to shut the doors behind them. Thin Moustache went around the front and climbed in the passenger side. Then Tanja Goedenacht leaned out of the driver’s window and said something to the hoodie-clad gardener.
Kitt pulled the brim of his cap a little lower.
After a nod, the gardener walked into the sex shop next door and the van pulled away.
Kitt clasped Mae’s hand again, crossing the street with her, pushing open the entrance to Erotica. Mae looked about the shop. There was no shop clerk. She and Kitt were the only two real people inside.
Two dolls, life-sized and made of silicone, stood beside a white mannequin clad in a black corset and lacy thigh-high stockings. Another mannequin, decked out in a leather face mask and a shiny black strap-on, posed on a table laid with an array of expensive dildos and vibrators, and plugs, all lit by small spotlights. Seventies soft rock played, Toni Tennille asking the Captain to Do That to Me One More Time. White and bright inside, laid out like an upmarket clothing boutique, the shop’s centre displayed black and red stiletto heels and thigh-high boots on gleaming white tables. To the left, shelves held a variety of luxury bath items, lubricants, oils and lotions. A round table held black and white busts, leather masks full or partially covering the faces, a few masks laid out in a display on the tabletop.
More pleasure toys, his-n-hers, were arranged on an antique-looking sideboard. Lingerie, tees, and other garments hung from racks lining the wall alongside crops, handcuffs, and spiky items that looked like teeth-cleaning chew toys for dogs. Near an alcove where dressing rooms sat at the rear, elaborate attire and equipment for specific sexual tastes was artfully presented: fetish toys, leather hog ties, floggers, collars, shackles, restraints, corsets, and bookcases full of books and DVDs.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and say there’s another way out of here.” Mae released his hand.
“Probably back there, through the fitting rooms.” Kitt marked the shop’s security cameras, one trained on the entrance, another above the till, the last pointing towards the rear. There would be an AV screen somewhere near the till, most likely inside the desk it sat upon, and probably another somewhere in the back. From what he saw, he surmised the set-up was a basic DVR device rather than a back-to-base monitored security system. Lucky break. If necessary, he could wipe the recording with the touch of a switch, but still… “Keep your hat and sunglasses on,” he said.
The noise of a door opening at the rear of the shop drew Kitt’s attention from the cameras. There came the shuffle of heavy-ish items pulled or pushed across the tiled floor, the dull thud of a door shutting, the zzzt of tape being torn from a roll repeated several times. The behind-the-scenes noises of a functioning sex toy boutique continued, Kitt scanned the space and merchandise, waiting for inspiration to str
ike, three scenarios coming to mind rather quickly, all involving Mae, all leaving a bitterly sour taste in his mouth. He crossed to her. “Mae,” he said quietly, “there might be the need for a bit of improvisation.”
“Are we still Russian?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Did Ms Goedenacht see you?” Mae bent forward, examining something gold and shiny. “Does that really say thirteen-thousand euro?”
“I don’t think she paid any mind to us.” Kitt leaned over a little to have a look at an information card on the pedestal. “Yes, thirteen-thousand euro, but it’s twenty-four carat gold and is, so it claims, the world’s most luxurious, exclusive personal massager.”
“Jaysus, just call it what it is. Personal massager my hole.”
“Yes, I suppose you could use it there.” He took her hand again, moving closer toward the rear of the shop her until she stopped in front of a lone, absurdly huge, jungle camouflage-adorned dildo perched atop another pedestal.
“You think this a piece of art or is it meant for personal use?” she said, lifting it to examine.
“I think everything in here is meant for personal use.” Kitt considered the enormous green silicone phallus. “Is that something you fancy?”
“I’m more a hands-on kind of girl, and the mottled green isn’t exactly sexy, unless gangrene is a colour that gets you off.”
“You want me to teach you something? Right then. Gangrene, despite how it sounds descriptive, is brown, purplish-blue, or black, not green.”
“Oh, I like learning new things.”
“As do I. Tell me. In all your lonely years as a widow, did you own any toys, any personal devices?”
“Five minutes ago, you prudishly told me this was not the time for a discussion about leather and kink and BDSM and now you’re asking me if I ever had personal devices.”
“Well, did you, do you?”
“As I said, I am, and I have always been, a hands-on kind of girl.”
“Were you often hands-on? Are you often hands-on?”
The multi-green monster in her hand, Mae looked up at him with one brow arched. “Is the stuff in here turning you on, Kitt?”
“This is not the time for such a discussion.” He pulled her very close. “Not when I said there’d be kissing,” he said, mouth hovering over hers.
“Hoi, kan ik u helpen?” a man said behind them.
Kitt lifted his head, gave Mae a wink, and turned about as the shop owner, a man, thirty-ish, with a mop of yellow curls and round blue eyes, stood in the rear alcove near the fitting room, a row of shiny PCV tube skirts on hangers dangling from his fingers.
He smiled pleasantly and repeated in English what he’d said in Dutch, “Can I help you?”
“I’d like to try on one of those,” Kitt jerked his chin to the mannequin with the corset, his accent pure Dallas, Texas. “Does it come in red?”
“It comes in a selection of colours.” The mop-haired blond gestured to the side of the shop where the selection of corsets hung on racks. “Come look,” he said, laid the skirts on a table, and led the way to the leather, lace, and rubber.
Mae caught the twitch of Kitt’s mouth. She set aside the pricy dildo. He slid his arm about her waist and took her to the garments, running his fingers over them before pulling a few from the rack—blood red, deep purple, and lipstick pink with nipple cut-outs. He handed them to the shopkeeper. “What’s your name, son?”
“I’m Gert. Please let me take these to a fitting room for you,” he said, his English pronunciation far better than Vlaming’s.
They trailed behind the man a few steps, gravel-voiced Rod Stewart singing Tonight’s the Night. There were three doors in the alcove, all on the left side. The last cubicle stood alongside a large, white-framed mirror and a bookcase display of pastel products aimed at women. Boxes of merchandise had been stacked next to the bookcase; one big carton had smaller boxes of packaged pastel vibrators that looked a bit like Easter rabbits dumped on top. A waist-high table across from the first dressing room displayed more gargantuan, camouflage toys like the ones out front. The curly mop-topped Dutchman unlocked the tiny room across from the dildo table arrangement.
“Will you need my help lacin’ up, darlin’?” Mae said, matching Kitt’s twang.
Kitt cocked his head ever so slightly and took off his hat and sunglasses, stuffing the shades inside the cap. “I think I can manage, honey-bun.”
“Even with those fiddly bits?”
“I forgot how you like the fiddly bits,” he said and thought he saw her eyes narrow ever so slightly behind her sunglasses. “Are you with me then, sugar-pie?”
“Aren’t I always?” She pursed her lips in a kiss.
Gert twisted a skeleton key in the lock, opened the door, stepped into the fitting room and hung the corsets inside on a hook. As he turned about, Kitt released Mae and blocked the man’s exit. “It’s sure teeny-weeny in here. Is this the only dressin’ room?”
Gert shook his head, curls bouncing. “No, there’s the one next door too.”
“Is it big enough for us both?”
“Sadly, it’s about the same size.”
“What about that there one on the end?”
“At the moment it’s full of mannequins.”
“Where’s your stockroom? We could use that.”
“The stockroom,” his hazel eyes flicked to the large, framed mirror, “is not a fitting room.”
Kitt gave Mae a sly, sidelong look. “Maybe you can let us in the stockroom anyway?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Come on.” Kitt pulled a wad of euros from his pocket. “You let the other guy in there.” He waved the money in front of Gert.
“What other guy?” Gert said, without so much a glance at the money, his green eyes steady on Kitt.
“The guy who came in here just before we did.”
Gert smiled spiritlessly. “No one came in here before you.”
“Sure, there was a guy, Italian soccer fan.” Kitt added a few more euro to the wad.
Gert went on smiling spiritlessly.
“I see.” Kitt stuffed the cash back in his pocket, and smiled broadly at Gert, head down, peering up through his long lashes.
Mae sighed. “Really, honey-bun?”
“Darlin’, no need to run off, just step back and let us fellas talk. Go on now. Step back.” He slipped off the cloth bag he’d stuffed his jacket into, tossed it into the little room.
Mae took a step back and knocked into the camouflage display, objects on the bookcase wobbling slightly.
Gert’s curls bounced as he shook his head and waved a finger in the air. “No, sorry. Nothing’s going to happen here in my shop, the fitting rooms, or the stockroom. The places you’re looking for are between Zeedjik and Warmosstraat in De Wallen. You’ll find they cater to sex acts of all kinds. We don’t do that here.”
“But we like it here.”
“Like someplace else.”
Kitt tilted his ball cap, looked Gert up and down, his eyes doing a slow wander before he grinned, and leaned a little closer. “We’d be happy to let you watch.”
Gert leaned a little closer. “Get out of my store.”
“Come on, sport,” Kitt set his left hand on the man’s shoulder, “let us in there.”
In one move, Gert had Kitt’s thumb and he twisted hard, turning him about, forcing him to bend from the waist, baseball cap and sunglasses falling to the tiles. “Time for you two to leave, sport,” Gert hissed, driving him out of the fitting room and alcove, right past Mae.
Mae snatched very firm, fat, phthalate-free silicone from the bookcase display, and swung the slightly rubbery thing like a club, the adult toy slapping into golden curls and cartilage. In an instant, Gert let go of Kitt. Hand to his ear, shouting, he spun about, fist drawing back, but Mae moved faster and the downward arcing momentum of the larger-than-life camouflage-green imitation dick smashed into very real testicles. Jaw sagging, eyes half rolling
into his head, shock and pain froze him in place for a moment. Then, soundlessly, he dropped, his knees hit the shiny tiles and Kitt’s fist walloped against jawbone. Gert flopped sideways, back into the fitting room alcove, out cold.
Thumb and wrist smarting, Kitt kicked the man’s feet out of the way and faced Mae. “Thank you for taking direction.”
She stared at him, at his cold blue-grey eyes, at disconnected, utterly neutral features. “No need to run off? Take a step back?” she said. “What happened to never deviate from the promise I made you, hmm?”
“I assessed the risk, ascertained there was no need for you to run, and I was better served with you following my lead. I was counting on him doing something,” Kitt said, flexing his fingers wide, rotating his thumb, “and I needed to have the upper hand.”
She glanced at Gert. “I’d say he had the upper hand.”
“Sometimes you need to let your opponent think he has the advantage.” Kitt massaged his hand and wrist.
“Is that what you were doing, letting him think had the advantage?”
“Yes. I kept him busy, he couldn’t touch you, and I knew you’d hit him with Godzildo.”
“Godzildo?”
“It’s big and green, isn’t it?” His eyes flicked to the monster still in her grip.
“Did you let him do that on purpose? You feckin’ let him twist your arm? Yes…yes, you did.” she said. “You were counting on it.” Jaysus, why can’t this be easy? Mae dropped the sex toy. It bounced on the tiles a few times and came to rest against the soles of the unconscious man’s shoes.
Quickly, Kitt went through Gert’s pockets, finding six keys on a ring and a small butterfly knife. After running hands down over chest and flanks, he jerked shirt from trousers, flipped the man over and frisked from thighs to ankles, removing a small, semi-automatic Sig P365 from an ankle holster. “Now why do you have this?” he said, rising, releasing an empty magazine, checking an already empty chamber, and tucking the unloaded weapon into the waistband of his own trousers. “This might just be for show, the kind a shopkeeper has for dealing with unruly customers, or the kind given to an idiot who can’t be trusted to not shoot off his own toes. Then again… If he moves, kick him in the yockers.”
True to Your Service Page 12
