by Karen Long
The brilliant white smile that had greeted him at the desk disappeared instantly the moment Laurence wafted his badge under her nose like a bad smell.
“We don’t discuss our clients with outside agencies,” she snipped.
Laurence sighed deeply, “Look, a member of your gym has been murdered under extremely unpleasant circumstances.” He paused to stare at the receptionist, whose eyes didn’t even flicker. Perhaps, he thought, client murder was an everyday occurrence here. He waded further. “The victim had a friend here who supplied her with some information that may prove vital to solving this case. So your cooperation would be both appropriate under the circumstances and appreciated.” He softened his expression and raised an eyebrow in what Mags had always claimed to be a winning combination. But it obviously lacked universal appeal as the receptionist added another layer of frost to her already icy expression.
“Or I could just hang around the entrance and piss your clients off when they come in,” said Laurence stonily.
Two jocks clad in at least fifteen hundred bucks worth of anti-sweat, anti-blister attire bounced over to the desk. The receptionist’s face was instantly suffused with radiance as she handed over a pile of thick, white towels.
“Hey honey, is Tracy here?” asked one guy.
“She is but she’s just finishing with a client. Shall I page her?” purred the receptionist. The jock smiled and blew her a kiss as he wandered towards the changing room with his buddy.
“You and Tracy are on my radar,” he cooed as he disappeared into the changing room with his smirking buddy. Laurence watched the receptionist simper and had to make a titanic effort to prevent his eyeballs rolling skyward. As soon as the door swished to the icy expression returned as she focused her attention on Laurence once again.
“Give me her name,” she hissed.
“Lydia… Lydia Greystein,” he said.
“I can confirm she was a member of this gym,” replied the receptionist with finality.
“Huh-huh. Who was her friend here?”
“I have no idea as to her social networking,” replied the woman with a hint of outrage.
Laurence turned from the desk and walked purposefully towards the main door flipping open his badge with the obvious intention of accosting the next individual to cross the threshold. He heard a scurrying sound and turned to face the receptionist.
“Lydia always booked with Tracy.” she spat.
“Tracy, as in ‘with a client’ Tracy?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
Laurence paused, his eyebrows rising. “She one of the personal trainers?”
“She’s a posture therapist.”
“A what?”
“She’s in the main gym on the first floor. They finish in ten ok?”
“Thank you for your co-operation,” said Laurence with minimum irony.
Laurence had prepared himself for a similarly frosty reception from Tracy but was pleasantly surprised by her open manner and very appreciative of her sculpted frame. Laurence estimated her height to be around 5 feet 11 inches and her figure a testament to healthy living and a lifetime of excessive exercise. Her thick blonde hair was expensively cut and curled round her strong features.
“I didn’t know Lydie terribly well. I’ve got a few clients and run one or two classes so I don’t get much time to build up meaningful relationships but she’s ok… why?” asked Tracy, daubing at the negligible sweat from her brow with a towel.
“You seemed to have several interests in common,” said Laurence carefully. He watched her expression harden slightly.
“Such as? And what’s this all about anyway? Is there a problem with Lydie?” asked Tracy.
“She’s been murdered,” replied Laurence.
“Holy Fuck! How?” gasped Tracy, leaning back against the wall for support.
“She decided to take your advice and have a kidnapping arranged,” said Laurence gauging her reaction.
A look of complete incomprehension glazed her expression. “I don’t understand. You mean she met up with Madam Sashia? But…”
“We don’t know who she met up with. Her intention seemed to be to experience the same…” Laurence felt himself flailing a little, “The same kinky kidnapping as you did.”
Tracy was beginning to look a little nauseous and asked in a quiet, trembling voice if Laurence minded carrying on his questioning in the staff canteen where she could get a coffee.
Tracy stared at her coffee, her long manicured fingers wrapped tightly around the cup.
“I’ve been to Madam Sashia’s place a couple of times but only did the kidnapping once. It’s a great way to get turned on and relax but it’s expensive.” Tracy studied Laurence’s face and smiled.
“I know it sounds a bit sick but it’s just a game and the master is kinda sexy but not too scary.”
“You mean Feodor?”
She nodded, “Look I’ve never been injured. A couple of pinches and bruises but nothing nasty.”
“How does it work? How do you determine what’s going to happen to you?” Laurence was trying not to appear salacious but was genuinely interested in how the enterprise worked.
“You have a consultation with Madam and she determines how far you want to go and what sort of thing it is that gets you off. Then you arrive at her dungeon and that’s it.”
“How do you pay?”
“It cost a thousand a session but the kidnapping was five thousand in cash. I had to leave that behind the bar at the Xxxstacy the other sessions I always paid for when I got there.”
“Why was this a different arrangement?”
“I guess because you weren’t really sure of when it was all gonna kick off. I chose the day and was told to walk along Elmore Avenue near to that vegan restaurant. There was an alley there and I should maybe walk up and down it. So, I walked around and then suddenly I was blindfolded and chucked in the back of a van. Next thing I was in the dungeon. It was fun but kinda overpriced for a ten minute drive with Feodor sitting on top of me. I was hoping they’d arranged a new venue,” she giggled lightly and sipped her coffee.
“So, under what circumstances did you get talking to Lydia about your interest in masochism?”
Tracy smiled at the term. “I met her and her boyfriend in Xxxstacy by accident and we had a couple of drinks together and I mentioned it. Lydie just went crazy and said it sounded fantastic. I said I’d bring her in Madam Sashia’s cell number for Monday’s gym session but when I saw her she’d already gotten the number and arranged it.”
“Is it possible she found the card pinned to the notice board in Xxxstacy?” asked Laurence.
Tracy thought about it. “Yeah, maybe. I really don’t know but I didn’t give her the contact details and I just can’t imagine Madam Sashia going that far,” she sipped her coffee.
“Why not? Feodor has served time for going a little too far with someone not of the right age,” said Laurence noting Tracy’s eyes widening.
She leaned towards him, “Because what goes on there is fun but kinda lame. Understand? It’s sexy and safe. You wanna look to the places that don’t advertise.”
“This one did,” replied Laurence softly and it wasn’t ‘sexy’ or ‘safe’ for Lydie, ok.”
Tracy stared at him nodding imperceptibly.
“Give me something Tracy. Anything that might help,” said Laurence quietly.
Tracy knotted her brow and appeared about to shake her head when she paused. “Ok, come with me.”
Laurence followed her along the corridor past a glass divide where toned bodies pushed and pulled ridiculous weights under the watchful eye of a bank of television screens tuned to yoga channels and MTV, into an atrium leading to the changing rooms. The walls were banked high with lockers identifiable as such only because of a discrete metallic number next to a small electronic key swipe. Tracy looked around her and seeing there was no one around opened locker 492, with a master key.
“This is her locker, ok?” whispered Tracy and sto
od back. “I have no authorisation to do this so be quick.”
Laurence peered into the empty locker and sighed. He ran his hands around the box in a futile gesture but there was nothing, not even a stray hair.
He nodded to Tracy who closed and reset the lock.
“By the way,” asked Laurence as he turned to leave. “What is a posture therapist?”
“I make people stand up straight,” smiled Tracy.
Chapter Ten
“Malcolm… MALCOLM! Where the fuck is he?” screamed Cassandra Willis to no one in particular.
“Didn’t you ask him to fax through those resumés?” responded Aria calmly, as she placed a neat pile of documents each bearing several coloured sticky tabs indicating where a signature was required in front of her boss. Aria sighed and began to walk back to her office.
“Tell him I need him here not by the fucking fax machine!” bellowed Cassandra.
Aria didn’t bother to reply but moved slowly through the glass partitions that only nominally divided the recruitment staff from each other. Cassandra Willis, who had taken over the company nineteen years ago, was a great believer in always reminding her staff who was in charge and in keeping visual tags on all comings and goings. It was believed by all seven staff members that she had a stopwatch that calculated exactly how much time was taken for rest room activities and lunch breaks. She had even mooted that the fax and photocopier should be brought in from the walk-in down the corridor and placed within eye line, a measure strongly discouraged by everyone who used it as a last refuge for an illicit text, quick gossip and for general time wasting. Cassandra Willis had always run the company with a rod of iron; never doubting that bullying and criticism were tried and tested means of making money. Unfortunately, her recruitment agency had always turned a very tidy profit, which cemented these beliefs.
Malcolm had been idling by the fax machine for the last thirty minutes and so far had only managed to achieve one sent fax and a deeply bitten fingernail. He had had a lot on his mind recently and now that the day of reckoning had finally arrived he was consumed with doubt, fear and inertia. Aware that the finger in his mouth was becoming ominously salty he withdrew it and watched dismayed as a neat red bubble began to swell in the corner of the nail bed. “Shit!” His boss hated chewed nails and sighting this one would most likely bring on that ‘lemon-sucked expression’ she adopted when about to tear him off a strip. He was just about to pop another finger in his mouth when the door swung open.
“Hey Mal,” said Aria wearing the sympathetic smile that told him Cassandra was on the warpath.
“I’ve only been in here for ten minutes.” he whispered angrily.
“She needs you buddy,” said Aria as she gently steered him in the direction of the main office. “I’ll finish these off,” she smiled and then tutted gently when she saw he hadn’t made an impression on the tide of papers.
“I owe you one,” gasped Malcolm appreciatively as he hurried off.
“Doesn’t everyone,” she said flipping the fax machine switch to ‘on’.
Malcolm gazed longingly at a large glass paper weight on Cassandra’s desk as she vented her disappointment, frustration and general disgust at his incompetence. The voice ricocheted around the less conscious areas of his brain as he waited for the phrase which would herald his dismissal from her presence. He didn’t have to wait too long.
“Why the fuck do I put up with you?” she wailed.
Malcolm knew exactly why she ‘put up with him’ and he her. They had been working in the same office for the past eleven years ever since his grandfather knocked a zero off the cost of purchasing the company. Cassandra signed the cheque and the paperwork, brushing away the caveat as if it was nothing; a trifle. The conditions of sale demanded that Malcolm receive a quarter of the director’s wage, plus an annual proportional bonus but to qualify he had to complete a ninety-seven percent attendance record. Cassandra, on the other hand, needed to find him lawful employment and the agreed wage, or forfeit the fifty percent shareholding held in trust to a myriad of charities most involving the preservation of small domestic mammals. They had both tried in the early years to find a way to minimise this arrangement but she’d signed and Malcolm would never find other employment which would pay as well or tolerate his less than ethical approach to work. So, for as long as he or she was alive and the company remained profitable, the situation would be unchanged. Which was, Malcolm concluded, the only course of action left to either of them.
Malcolm nodded his head and turned to leave. He had almost reached the relative safety of Aria’s desk when the voice started up again. “I assume that you have remembered to order the car. Or should I do that myself!”
Slowly he turned round to face her but couldn’t quite meet her eye. “It should be here in thirty-five minutes… or so,” he corrected himself. He shouldn’t be too prescriptive it would make her suspicious. She was raising her eyebrows to question this when she noticed his fingernail.
“For fuck’s sake!” she squealed.
Malcolm turned round and scurried out of the office and headed for the ‘in house’ coffee shop.
Willis Recruitment was situated on the third floor of the Northtec Building; the other three floors provided home to a mixture of accountants and stockbrokers. The eatery was tucked into an alcove as you entered the building and served pastries, great coffee and panini at lunch time. It had been serving local office staff in the surrounding buildings for several years now and had a professional buzz about it. Malcolm loved it and spent considerably longer than the allocated lunch hour chatting and sipping coffees. In fact it was on a lunch break a week or so ago that he’d met Cindy and he’d been drawn into her world immediately. She was vibrant, attractive and talked about the smuttiest of things. He’d only known her for ten minutes and she was asking him what sort of sex he liked. Malcolm was so shocked and amused he’d spluttered the froth off his cappuccino all over her croissant but she didn’t care, she thought it was funny too and proceeded to lick the froth off the chocolate glaze with long, lazy tongue strokes. Malcolm was convinced he’d stopped breathing for the entire thirty seconds it took her to perform this act. Cindy didn’t work in the buildings, just liked the coffee and company she said. In fact he didn’t know very much about her, just enough to know this was a woman he could trust; spend time with. She seemed to have a complete understanding of his problems and had been hinting that she knew someone who, for a price, would be willing to ‘take care’ of Malcolm’s problem. For a mere five thousand he could give the bitch a taste of her own medicine and nothing could ever be traced back to him. It had sounded perfect, too good to be true even! This utterly gorgeous woman with the unbelievable figure, long brunette hair and wicked sparkle in her eye was offering him a way to get revenge on this god awful existence. She had even hinted strongly that a man that was capable of taking those sorts of decisions was of extreme interest to her. So, after a great deal of internal debate, Malcolm accepted the offer and gave a padded manila envelope stuffed with his savings to Cindy. It had to be said that the most recent debate he had been having with himself was mainly concerned with whether his savings might be lost. Anyway, too late to worry now. Malcolm had spoken to Cindy yesterday and told her that Cassandra was going on a business trip the following day and that might be a great opportunity for Cindy’s ‘friend’ to pick her up. Cindy had thought about this carefully as she sipped her coffee and said that it might be possible and what sort of time would his boss be expecting a car? Malcolm was trying not to get too excited by all of the planning as he knew he had a tendency to fidget and fuss with objects. He had deliberately sat on his hands when the arrangements had finally been made and he’d watched Cindy stand up, slip on her sunglasses and sashay towards the exit on ice pick heels. It hadn’t really occurred to him until an hour ago that there might be any moral concerns as to organising the kidnapping and sexual humiliation of a woman. In fact he had been considering calling the whole thing off but
he’d heard nothing more from Cindy and she hadn’t been around today in the coffee shop, even though he’d made several unscheduled visits throughout the day.
Malcolm checked his watch; it was 4.40 pm. He scanned the coffee shop wildly in the hope of seeing Cindy but she really wasn’t there, so with an uncharacteristic burst of speed, he headed back to the office. He stabbed energetically at the elevator button noting that it was on its way down from the top floor. “Come on!” he shrieked at the lift, causing a couple of executives to turn round and frown at him. Malcolm didn’t like drawing attention to himself. His small, untidy presence was more suited to conservative tasks and situations and bellowing at the elevator was uncharacteristic. His hand shot to his mouth as if shocked at his own behaviour. He had to remain composed and focussed. He took a deep, calming breath and closed his eyes. Nothing he could do would change the speed at which the elevator arrived so he relaxed. He smiled when he thought of what Cindy would say if she saw him so flustered. The elevator made a ‘donging’ sound accompanied by the sucking swish of the doors. He opened his eyes and saw Cassandra standing directly in front of him, her face thunderous.
“Why are you never where you’re supposed to be?” she hissed, barging past him and wheeling her overnight bag over his foot. He suppressed a squeak.
“I was checking that your car was here,” he answered peevishly.
“No you weren’t! You were lolling around the coffee shop. Waiting for the tart you’ve spent most of this week chatting to instead of doing anything resembling a working fucking day!” Cassandra glanced through the glass entrance doors that led out onto the road. They both saw the car at the same moment. Its blacked out windows and polished black exterior proclaiming its role. Cassandra waved a gloved hand at the car and turned towards him lowering her voice. “Listen carefully Malcolm,” she spat, poking him in the chest with her index finger.
“Maybe you shouldn’t…” started Malcolm.
“I’ve had just about as much as I can take with your apathy and incompetence. When I get back I’m going to meet with my lawyer and get rid of you. Something I should have done years ago. Fuck the consequences, I cannot stand another day of looking at your moronic face. Consider yourself terminated,” she grimaced and with a vicious twist of her heel marched triumphantly towards the door.
