by Peter Hall
“I don’t normally eat like this,” she said. “Usually I have porridge, but thought this was a special occasion.”
Cal laughed. “This’ll be the first time for a year I’ve not started the day with porridge.”
As he scraped the plate clean, he reflected on how content he was feeling. He lived by routines and if they were disturbed, he could become agitated. Because of Juliet, his normal ways had been tossed aside. He had slept without booby traps, missed out exercises and eaten ham and eggs for breakfast. Yet he was completely at ease.
Afterwards, they cleared away the dishes and started packing the vehicles. Both moved about slowly and gave each other uneasy glances and half-smiles. What would happen next? Juliet finally closed the boot of her car and leaned against the back of it as Cal packed the last few items into the Land Rover.
“Okay Cal,” Juliet said, echoing their conversation from yesterday afternoon. “What now?”
“Now?”
“Yes now! Good God, you don’t make things easy, do you? What are we going to do now? Shall we just say goodbye and drive away on our separate ways? Maybe never seeing each other again. Is that what you want?”
“No. No. Not at all. What would you like to do?”
Juliet sighed.
“Okay. I’ll put my cards on the table and hope I’m not making a fool of myself. Sit, please.” She pointed to the ground, and they both sat down. Juliet pushed the hair away from her face. “I enjoyed last night, Cal. I enjoyed talking to you and I enjoyed the meal. I’ve not laughed that much since… well, for a long time. It was fun and I’ve not had much fun recently. Also, I slept really well last night. And it wasn’t just the booze, either. I felt safe for the first time in ages.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Last night was good for me too.”
“Good. The thing is, I think we have similar ideas. You’re one of the few people I’ve met who’s focussed on planning for the future. I don’t know how you feel, but I’d like to try travelling together for a while. Just for a trial period. I’ve tried travelling with several groups and it hasn’t worked out. But I’m willing to give it another go with you. That’s if you’re interested? We can help each other with our caches?”
Cal nodded. “Yes. That sounds brilliant. I’d like that a lot. And, if you wish, I can train you on using weapons and defending yourself.
“Great, even better. But there’s just one problem. You’re hiding something from me. I’m a doctor and I’ve taken hundreds of case histories, so I can tell when somebody is holding something back. Last night, whenever we talked about the past, you were, vague, evasive, and changed the subject. That makes me nervous, Cal. What have you done that’s so bad you’re keeping it from me?”
“Nothing, honest.”
“This reminds me of trying to coax the symptoms from a child. Since the Yellow Death, we’ve all done things that would have been unthinkable before. Have you killed somebody? Are you being chased by somebody?”
“No, no, nothing like that, really.”
“Then what? Speak to me, Cal. You’ve been lying to me about something. You can’t expect me to trust you when you’re holding back from me.”
Cal knew she was right. If he didn’t reassure her, she would drive off and he would be alone again. But what to say? So much about his past was fabrication. He’d repeated the lies so many times he almost believed them himself. If only he hadn’t mentioned that bullshit about combat in Afghanistan and Syria yesterday—he couldn’t go back on that now.
He realised many seconds had passed between them in silence. Juliet waited, but soon it would be too late to do anything. He had to give her something.
“Okay. You’re right. I have autism, Asperger’s Syndrome to be exact.”
“Oh,” Juliet said and nodded slowly to herself.
“Do you know what that is?”
“I’m a paediatrician, Cal.”
“Oh, yes, silly. Of course you do.”
Juliet smiled. “I see. Your shyness. The long pauses. The routines and need for security. I’m surprised I didn’t pick up on it myself. You hide it very well.”
“Oh, thanks. Apparently I’m a mild case and trust me, I’ve had a shit load of therapy.”
“So, you’re not a mass murderer?”
“No, well, not yet anyway.”
“Good. Let’s hope it stays that way. In that case, I suppose we’d better decide where we’re going today?”
CHAPTER 15
John & Aarika
TIMELINE: 5 years before Yellow Death
“I remember the first time I had sex—I kept the receipt.”
Groucho Marx (1890–1977)
In a dark corner of a bar that played pop music so loud it hurt John’s ears, he sat around a table with three of his T.A. buddies.
“Well, bugger me with a bargepole,” Danny said, while slapping his hand on the table and making their beers spill. “Cal here’s still a virgin.”
The others laughed.
“It’s not a crime,” John said.
“It fuckin’ should be. How d’you get to twenty-seven years old and still be a virgin?”
“I-I guess I’m not good with women,” John said, suppressing a belch.
“Even so—twenty-seven! That must be a world record.”
John was on the annual two-week T.A. training camp. John’s battalion was taking part in joint Anglo-German-American manoeuvres in Germany.
Exercise ‘Stand Together’ was due to take place in the second week of the annual camp, so the first week had comprised practising relevant military skills in preparation. The highlight for John was his first experience with fast assaults from helicopters. Jumping from a moving chopper was an exhilarating moment he would never forget, and never wanted to repeat. Unprepared for the effect his heavy equipment would have on his legs, John collapsed in a heap and rammed his rifle butt into his guts.
Since this fortnight was the major training event in the T.A. calender, the schedule was intense. Nevertheless, the troops were given one day of leave on the middle weekend and coaches took the entire battalion to Cologne, where they split up into small groups to take in the sights. John teamed up with three buddies from his section—Danny, Martin and Stuart. The quartet had all completed the T.A. basic training together and were the nearest that John had to real friends.
John hoped they would explore Cologne’s culture, but was soundly out-voted in favour of a massive pub crawl. He reluctantly agreed, not wanting to spend a day on his own in a foreign city.
The four young soldiers sat in their tenth bar, although the exact number was disputed, as their ability to count was now severely limited. A waitress had led them to the secluded table before bringing them each an ornately decorated tankard of beer with a flip-up lid. The group had started their expedition by drinking a beer in every bar and John discovered that German draught beer was a tad stronger than British. Initially, John savoured the crisp, clean, malty flavour of the ice cold ale as it slid down his throat. Now he was so utterly pissed, he would not have noticed if he was drinking pond water. At around the fifth bar, Danny suggested they have a schnapps chaser with each beer. John’s objections were overruled, and he had no choice but to join the insanity.
As is often the case when men get drunk together, the conversation centred around sport, women and sex. The lads had taken turns to relate stories of macho sexual conquests—no doubt exaggerated, yet John remained silent. After some probing questions, he let slip the fact that ‘John Junior’ had never seen any genuine action.
Martin put his hand on John’s shoulder “Jesus Christ, Cal. No wonder you’re always so bloody quiet and wound up. You’ve got to be ready to explode?”
“No, no, really. It’s not—”
Danny seemed to be enjoying John’s embarrassment. “Now we know why he takes so long in the bog, eh, lads? Bet he must wank himself silly.” The three others burst into raucous laughing. “I’ll tell you what though, we’re in the perfect fu
ckin’ city to fix Cal’s minor embarrassment. Drink up lads, we’ve got some urgent business to sort out.”
Danny bent to speak to the taxi driver through the open car window. The other three hovered behind him in a shop doorway, trying to stay out of the rain. “Are you able to take us to the eros centre?”
The driver looked at the four men and smiled. “The Pascha? Sure. Any cab driver in Cologne could take you there with their eyes shut. Get in.”
Boris, the driver, spoke almost perfect English and was happy to talk about their destination―in fact, he seemed quite proud of it. “Most cities have an eros centre, but ours is the finest. The Pascha is the biggest brothel in the whole of Europe. Over a hundred and twenty rooms spread over twelve stories and each one dedicated to giving young men like yourselves the best time of your lives.”
“Are you sure it’s legal?” John asked Danny in a low voice.
“Yes, of course. Trust me. This is all totally fucking legit and above board. Sex on demand with German efficiency. All the women are registered and have regular medical checks. Someone professionally cleans the rooms every day. The building even has a beauty parlour and restaurant.”
“I heard some women practically live in the place,” Stuart said. He was the oldest member of the quartet and the only one married.
“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” John mumbled.
“You’re right,” Danny said. “It’s not a good idea, it’s a fucking brilliant idea.”
After paying the modest entry fee, the quartet entered the ground floor of the Pascha, which was mostly given over to a nightclub. They pushed through the crowds and found their way to one of the quieter tables. It could have been almost any nightclub anywhere. Strobe lights punctuated the darkness, accompanied by throbbing music that assaulted the ears. The men ordered beers from a waitress whose clothing was not designed for modesty. It was a miracle of engineering that her breasts stayed inside her bra when she leaned over the table. Her sweet, spicy fragrance hit John like a slap in the face. He looked around and frantically rubbed his thumb against his fingers under the table. No amount of alcohol could prepare him for this onslaught on his senses. The place was heaving with drunken men and scantily clad women. The air felt clammy and stank of unwashed bodies and beer.
“Why are there no women customers in here?” John shouted, trying to penetrate the noise.
“They’re not allowed,” Danny said. “This is not a place for wives and girlfriends, is it?”
“I guess not.”
“Jesus, will you take a look at that!” Stuart said, pointing to the stage where six women wearing nothing except white wigs and matching silver micro-skirts were now gyrating erotically and spraying each other with foam.
John’s guts churned, and beads of sweat ran down his forehead. This was just horrible. His idea of complete hell. Crowds, noise, flashing lights. Everything strange and unusual.
Please let this end.
“Are we really going to do this?” Martin said.
“Sure, why not?” Danny said.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” John said.
“Oh no, you ain’t getting out of it that way, my man. If you need to puke, then go puke first.” Danny said. “The toilets are over there.”
John considered visiting the toilets to get away from the cacophony when their drinks arrived.
The same waitress deposited each of their beers on the table with a complementary bowl of nibbles. All eyes were transfixed on her bosom.
“Danke, fraulein,” Danny said, handing her a five Euro note as a tip, which she took without comment.
“Bit ungrateful,” Danny said.
“Probably because you just insulted her by calling her a fraulein,” Stuart said. “Best not try speaking German, eh? She was actually wearing a name badge, if you’d taken your eyes off her tits.”
“Okay. Fair enough. But I’d still like to bury my face in those babies.”
Stuart pulled John’s beer away from him. “I think you’ve drunk enough for one night lad, we don’t want you disappointing the ladies, do we?”
John’s head spun. “I really don’t—”
“You really don’t what, Cal?” Danny said. “You really don’t want to wait much longer? Understood. We’ll move on in a minute. First, let’s get these beers down us, yes?”
“I can’t believe this place,” Martin said. “Is it true they’ve got a money-back guarantee?”
“Satisfaction guaranteed. You can’t say fairer than that,” Danny said.
Martin grinned. “Holy shit.” He looked at Danny. “What about you―are you planning to, y’know, sample the goods?”
“Well, I might take my pecker out for a bit of exercise, since we’re here. When in Rome, as they say. Let’s see what’s on offer first, eh?”
The quartet left the nightclub area and entered the main hotel. Seven of the twelve floors were set aside for the professional women. The men went from floor to floor, walking through the plushly decorated corridors. Most hotels are furnished in bland neutral colours, but the Pascha was quite different. The walls were dusky pink, the doors and frames with their elaborate carvings and recessed lighting were a deep burgundy with gold motifs. Slow, repetitive music pervaded every corridor, and the air was heavy with spicy exotic scents.
What made this hotel unique was that outside each room, a woman sat on a high stool displaying a welcoming smile. Their apparel varied from scanty lingerie to sleek evening dresses—depending on their target audience. All clothing was cut to make sure ample flesh was on display.
John had experienced nothing like this. Danny had told John to give a nod when he noticed somebody he fancied. That should have taken under a minute. Yet, they were now on the third floor with John making no sign.
John was quite particular about the women that attracted him. A woman might be extremely beautiful to most eyes, yet might not be his type. Right now, that was a prerequisite for his choice.
Then he saw her at the end of the corridor and, in a fraction of a second, he decided. He jabbed Danny in the ribs so hard with his elbow that Danny coughed—but he got the message.
She was petite with straight shoulder-length blonde hair, large blue eyes, thin lips and a chiselled nose. John thought she was gorgeous and felt himself blushing. Her standard welcome smile extended further as they stopped next to her.
“Hello, jungen.”
“Hello there yourself,” Danny said. In ‘real life’ he was a telemarketer, so was comfortable negotiating, unlike John, who stood rigid with nerves. “And what do they call you, sweetheart?”
“Ahh. You English, yes?”
“That’s right. England’s finest. Except old Stuart here who’s half Scottish, but we don’t hold that against him.”
“Good, I like English boys a lot. My name is Aarika. It means a rose.”
“A rose between several thorns,” Stuart said under his breath.
“You boys are soldaten… soldiers, yes?”
“That’s right, Aarika. Sixth Battalion, The Rifles,” Danny said.
“Ahh, so you are here for the war-games?”
“Absolutely.”
“We have many soldiers come here today. English, Deutsch, Amerikana. Many boys missing their girlfriends, yes?”
Stuart and Martin looked uncomfortable, being reminded of their respective wife and girlfriend back in Devon.
“Tell me, Aarika,” Danny said. “Who makes the best lovers, the English or the Americans?”
“Oh, English, of course,” she said and smiled. “But the Yankees they…” she rubbed her fingers together as the universal sign that showed Americans have a lot of cash.
“Look, Aarika. You can help us out with a little problem here. You see our friend, John,” he pulled John out from behind him. “Well, he needs female company and, let’s just say he’s got no experience. He might need some help.” He winked at her.
“Help? Oh, I understand.” She appraised John quiv
ering in front of her. “He is männliche jungfrau—a virgin?”
“Sorry, yes. I’m afraid he is. But we’re hoping that’s about to change.”
“You didn’t have to tell her that,” John whispered into Danny’s ear.
Aarika smiled knowingly. “Is no problem. Aarika has made many boys into men. I am excellent teacher. But it takes a little longer than usual. You pay more, yes?”
“How much?” Danny said.
“What service is it you are wanting?”
“Well, just the normal.”
Aarika put her head back and laughed out loud. Other women nearby were listening and joined in. “Around here, there is no normal.”
Stuart was getting increasingly uncomfortable. “Just straightforward sex, one man, one woman, face to face. Nothing kinky. No trimmings.”
“Okay. You are nice boys,” Aarika said. “I do special deal, one hundred Euro.”
“What!” said John, then quieter behind Danny’s back, he continued, “I don’t have that much cash.”
They had all taken the official advice and left their credit cards back at the base.
Danny was unperturbed. “Oh come on now, Aarika. That’s a bit steep on a soldier’s pay. How about sixty Euro?”
There was some negotiating between Danny and Aarika, whilst John did his best to appear invisible. They set the final price at eighty-five. John emptied the last notes from his wallet and the others chipped in to make up the difference. The deal had been struck.
Aarika closed the door behind John. There was a finality which instantly wiped out the effects of the alcohol and everything focussed into astonishing clarity. John took a deep breath.
The room was small and dominated by an immense bed. Mirrors on every wall and the ceiling created multiple images of himself and Aarika. The walls, carpet and luxurious bedding were all dark blue. Several sets of twinkling fairy lights hung around the perimeter. The atmosphere was warm and clammy, with a musky scent. A dull repetitive thudding from the night club music resonated through the walls. It was a Santa’s grotto for perverts.
