The Place That Never Existed

by Jim Ody

  Rupert was of the sort Sam really didn’t mind, which was to say he knew that despite the job she was doing, she was still a very attractive woman. This meant she had—if you pardon the pun—a very good ride of it. She’d been treated well, taken out to fancy restaurants, theatres, the races. And in return, she would spend less than five minutes pleasuring them. The majority of that time would be laid back with her eyes closed, so to get paid what she did, almost seemed unfair.

  She hated not being completely honest with Ginny, but it was hard to argue the hourly rate she was on against what she would be on using her education. She wasn’t completely lying. She was involved in an archaeological dig near Torpoint, but there was an issue with the funding due to some mix-up with legal liability documentation. So she had stumbled into lucrative and possibly short-term work of the type she considered socialising, rather than the few minutes she was naked. She didn’t consider it to be anything like prostitution as she was dating the men albeit for one or two nights. She justified it as new and temporary friends with benefits.

  Sometimes things can go bad very quickly. Rupert hadn’t got to where he was by getting besotted with an attractive brunette. He always strove to be the best at everything he did, and when he couldn’t be the best, did he fall into a depression, sulk, or even be one of those weak-minded men that accepted he couldn’t always be “top dog”? Of course not. If he could not be the best at something, it was just a matter of time before the so-called best was either taken out and trodden on or made to feel like they were not worthy. In those rare examples where none of these could be achieved, he would simply go back to basics and buy his victory. Money can’t just buy you love.

  Rupert came from money, and it was said that one day his face would more than likely be on money in the form of a banknote. Rupert himself often quipped at parties, “I have touched so much money in my lifetime, that if I had kept every penny and every note, then the economy would completely collapse, and Britain would have no choice but to either print more or resort back to bartering!”

  And of course people would cheer and hold up their glasses. They would wink at him and shake his hand, while harbouring a desire to either liberate his cash or have him help open doors for their business ventures. He was a popular guy but for all of the wrong reasons. Educated at Eton, he could’ve gone on to Parliament, but that would’ve taken up a lot of his time, and he just wasn’t prepared to do that. Of course, a couple of those little misdemeanours that had blemished his record didn’t help either, but he was living on the south coast in a small town calling the shots, seemingly above the law. That was until this little business with the Dudley House…

  At first he did what he always did, threw some money at the problem, sealed a few mouths, and made the issue go away.

  Except the issue hadn’t gone away, and he was now stuck between a bloody rock and a fucking hard place. He almost knew he had a moral duty he should be doing, but there was also something else that was a little too exciting for him: the chance of more money and a lot more power. He almost felt like a James Bond baddie, minus a cat to stroke…and an accent.

  The funniest thing was that in front of him, decked out in the expensive Italian lingerie that he’d bought her, was a girl who knew too much. Only he realised this arranged act of lust was in fact an elaborate Mexican standoff. They both held the cards, but only he knew how to play them.

  Tonight, he would not pay her, and the thought made him lick his lips and get harder than he had done in years. She was here for as long as he wanted. In more ways than one, she was his puppet.

  Sam herself was at the point a lot of people find themselves. Within a relationship, however fleeting, the excitement and anticipation rises and hits its peak. For the long-term relationship, it replays that wonderful Groundhog Day of having peaked and only reducing again slightly before the next time when the cycle repeats itself. And of course, this can go on for years—if you are lucky, for a whole lifetime. But Sam hit the peak the last time they were together, their second time in total. Her female intuition felt that shift in how she was perceived. The initial hungry excitement she saw in his eyes, not only levelled the playing field, but tipped it in her favour. He was suddenly and silently begging her to touch him and make him feel like a true man. It was this playing-with-fire theory that she had been told was the most beneficial. When you could get a powerful man into this situation, you could raise the prices, exercise your right to basic business economics—you had the supply, and he had the demand.

  She cannot say she didn’t enjoy their time together, for one thing he was incredibly enigmatic. He had to have had some form of charm to have got where he had in life. For all his sociopathic ways, he was gentle and attentive, which completely surprised her. Even after the event they had shared wine and laughed deep into the night. When other men would think about kicking her out, he was happy to share more stories of himself and talk about nothing in particular, enjoying the time too.

  “Maybe my wife should join us next time,” he joked, and she thought about the sweet lady with her blouse and cardigan buttoned up to her neck. In some ways, it was no wonder a man strayed when his wife no longer cared about his needs. Of course she had no way of knowing this detail, but it somehow justified her own actions to think like this.

  “That would cost more,” she replied with a wink and wondered whether it would actually be a pleasant change.

  But tonight, Rupert was cocky and suddenly more self-assured. The mask that had slipped the previous night, showing his nervous and intimidated side, was firmly in place.

  “You didn’t bring your wife?” she asked and realised with surprise she was actually disappointed. Not for any sexual reason, but because this was again something she had been told about. The mark becoming the hunter. When a man got overly comfortable quickly with a woman, he could suddenly see the debauched picture as her fault, and so played out a fantasy of punishment that he justified was for the benefit of his own wife, that this bitch was making him cheat on her by flaunting herself in a temptress way.

  It was all too suddenly apparent that the game of cat and mouse may well have seen their roles reversed. She was now backed into a corner, albeit on silk sheets and wearing Italian underwear that cost more than her rent.

  “Why don’t you take the rest of it off,” he demanded, something that he would not have done previously. He was too busy fidgeting, his eyes roaming over her unable to remain focused. But that was then, and at this point having already tasted the pleasures, he cared not how he came across. It was what is known as the rule of three. A dangerous and unspoken feeling of growth in a man when it comes to sexual activity:

  The first time is tentative, a cosmic blast of fantasy and reality colliding together. He may be so highly charged with desire that the whole act may well become a blur of a memory.

  The second time, he is surprised to have been invited back into this situation again. Slightly more focused, he is torn between either trying to copy touch by touch the previous venture if it went well, or doing the exact opposite if it went a little south of heaven.

  The third time has relaxation and familiarity creeping into the situation. A bit of joking around, and a thrown-in suggestion of position change is more than likely. He may now want to establish a blueprint of his future expectations, so it is at this stage that his ‘partner’ will need to be much more forceful then she may’ve thought would be required in their “first time”.

  Tonight, was not about establishing anything other than who is boss, and by boss, I mean “who could make the other one disappear”. Less than five minutes later and he was slowly pumping his naked hips into hers, his left hand twisting one of her nipples hard, and the other hand applying pressure to her neck. Her eyes were wide open, and tears escaped the way she wished she could. It finally dawned on her that she was in well over her head.

  It could be too late already. There was an increasingly good chance she would die tonight.

  T
HE PLACE THAT NEVER EXISTED

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  T he book would have to be put on hold, Ginny had decided. She knew her police instincts were correct. She sat down in front of her bedroom mirror and didn’t know whether to cry or take a deep breath. And then scream at the top of her lungs.

  Everything she stood for in the world was peace and justice, the ability to know the right from the wrong. But through her time in Plymouth, and now in the non-existence that was retirement, she couldn’t feel less fulfilled than if she were to lock herself away in a nunnery. But there was something to hold on to, a thread of a lead to grasp on to and unravel. This could be a sign from a god she hadn’t believed in for thirty-odd years. Like a young Miss Marple, she could get to the bottom of this and solve the mystery. It was like some cosy crime novel set in a quaint old fishing village—except where people vanished, stories and legends were rife, and the local council and authorities were all in cahoots. Of course, the fantasy would end with her typing up the story ready for her publisher like she was some Jessica Fletcher wannabe.

  Her fantasy was cut short by a knock at the door. Bolan jumped up suddenly at the disruption to his nap.

  Sinister thoughts raced through Ginny’s overactive brain as she made her way to the door. She took a deep breath and opened it.

  Before her stood a strange pair. First was a guy with a large nose and lopsided grin, who was freakishly tall and stooped almost apologetically. Then next to him was a thick-set girl, with a round face and hair pulled back. She looked like she’d gathered as many colours as she could find in the world and splashed them over herself.

  “Good day to you, madam,” the guy said, his hair flopping over his eyes, leaving just his large nose to focus on. He looked a little like a life-size Muppet made human.

  “Why’re ya talkin’ like that, ya retard?” the girl added in a thick Northern Irish accent.

  “If the lady wouldn’t mind, I was in the middle of my salutations,” the guy said, sounding like a Medieval minstrel.

  “I’m not sure what you’re selling,” Ginny started to say and began to close the door, “but I’m not interested.”

  “Pardon me, my good lady, but we are seeking a sibling of mine, of which I have reason to believe you have prior knowledge to her whereabouts.”

  Ginny was a little unsure whether there was a question in any of that. Perhaps he was an extrovert living his life like an amateur dramatic production.

  “Who, Sam?” she said.

  “Negative, my fair lady, the person—”

  “Debbie. Her name is Debbie, so it be. I have no idea what this idjit is talking about, I didn’t know he were simple in the head when he were in the presence of… ah, bollocks, now I’m talking shite too!”

  “Debbie?” Ginny thought hard. “Ahh, Debbie and Paul, the newlyweds?”

  “Affirmative, madam.”

  Ginny slowly opened the door again, not due to being attentive but to hide the fact she had begun to close it. “Debbie’s your sister?” The surprise was hard to disguise.

  Jez took a deep breath before replying. “Yes, I got all of the good genes.”

  Kim sniggered, and he shot her a glance. “What?” she said, trying her best not to smile.

  It’d been a strange day, Jez thought, suddenly finding himself on the doorstep of a homely looking—what was she? Forty-odd or thirties? It was hard to tell; she had a cheekiness in her smile, and her eyes appeared young, but grey appeared in her hair, and she wore clothes that looked a size or two too big for her. One of those women that liked comfort over style, just like my wife, he thought.

  “So do you know where they’re staying?” He paused. “Okay, silly question. I know you know where they’re staying as it’s your lodge they’re staying in, correct?”

  “You did get the part about them being newlyweds, didn’t you?” Ginny said. “I’m not sure whether you and your girlfriend are familiar with the concept, but it’s not unusual to stay in bed all day on a honeymoon, if you get my meaning!” She grinned, and Jez liked that look on her.

  Kim, however, suddenly looked like she had swallowed a beehive. “And why couldn’t I be this lad’s wife then? For sure I’d be a good one, so I would!”

  “I’m sorry,” Ginny said with one of those little smiles that you do when you’re not sure whether or not the person is amused or upset.

  “Girlfriend, is what yer said. Like he were using me fer sex but without any gentlemanly intentions.”

  “Are you married?” Ginny said slowly.

  “Yes!” Jez said triumphantly at the same time Kim said “no!”

  “So which is it then? Yes or no?”

  “I’m married,” explained Jez. “Just not to her.” He nodded his head to Kim

  Kim snapped back, “And who be her, my lad? I have a name, so I do!”

  “So you’re friends?” Again Ginny was cautious with her question. These were a real pair.

  “We just met,” Jez said. “I picked her up.”

  “I’m a hitchhiker not a hooker.”

  “O-kay. So anyway, I’m not even going to ask what the rush is to find your sister...” And with that, she explained where the lodge was.

  “Thank you,” Jez said as Ginny held up her hand and said goodbye.

  They turned back to Jez’s mini. “Nice lady,” he said.

  “Lonely lady,” Kim replied.

  “Eh?”

  “She was there with a dog. No wedding band and looking like a widow.”

  “Really, you got that?”

  “I sure did, lad. I sure did.”

  THE PLACE THAT NEVER EXISTED

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  H e walked towards the back of the Smugglers’ Rest car park and sat down. The sun was beginning to drop in a sky that was now clear. Perfect.

  He sensed something was happening. It wasn’t a specific gift he had, although at times it did appear to be strong. He knew time was running out, but then, he mused, from the very day of our birth our time is running out. He smiled to himself. He had enjoyed his time here, but sometimes you had to gather what you could and then leave. There was a definite skill in not outstaying your welcome. There would be other towns and other people.

  He looked up as the back door to the pub opened, and the old fisherman known as Woody walked out in his usual stiff way, carrying a black bag. Age and years of tough work had worn out his body. It was even more surprising that such a man of his vintage and experience was open to the things they had discussed.

  “And there he is,” the fisherman said gruffly as he walked up with a nod. He put the bag down, unzipped it, and opened it. “This should be everything you need,” he said and pulled out a lightweight silver tube. “These all connect together with the energy flowing all the way through. I’m told this is the best that money can buy.”

  Then, satisfied the nod of the head and smile was enough encouragement, he reached into the bag and pulled out a solid metal box.

  “This, my friend, is a battery that will produce a powerful laser light. A flash of this in the right direction, and you’ll be able to see it fifty-odd miles away. Just make sure, whatever you do, don’t look at the light when you turn it on. It would blind you.” The smile was wide as he acknowledged the fisherman had done well, taking it from him and turning it round slowly in both hands.

  This was exactly what he wanted.

  The fisherman got out a cigarette and lit it, his face engulfed suddenly in the thick smoke that floated up and away. “You’re a strange one, you know,” he said, taking in the person in front of him and shaking his head. He couldn’t be sure what he felt. It was a mix of emotions. He didn’t know all of the facts. How could he? But he knew enough to know which side he was on, and that was enough for him.

  “As promised, I sent someone there earlier today—a brave young man who deactivated any little ‘issues’ you may’ve run into. You should have a clear run to get in and then get out.” He sucked in, and again the bright g
low shone before giving way to the thick smoke as he exhaled. “The poor bugger almost shit his pants from what I heard!” He silently wondered whether the tale of silver was worth it all. Hell, if he was honest, he really didn’t understand what was going on, but this seemed to be the right choice—and if people knew of what was going to happen, then it would blow their minds!

  Robin had been chosen after careful consideration. He was an outdoorsman, resourceful and not short of intellect. He completely trusted him, although interestingly, not enough to tell him the truth. That wasn’t about trust but more so of Robin’s ability or desire to carry out the job. His intellect would question how brave he was, even in the face of the town’s survival. Woody thought that given the facts, there was a chance Robin would’ve still carried out the mission, but there was also a chance he wouldn’t. Everything was falling into place—or so he had been told—so nothing could get in the way of the master plan.

  They shook hands, and the shorter of the two hefted the bag and wandered off with a parting wave.

  They both knew this would be the last time the two of them would ever meet. It was a shame, but that was the way it had to be.

  THE PLACE THAT NEVER EXISTED

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  D on was frustrated. There was an easy path and a complicated path. It was as simple as that. He’d been to the meeting with the rest of them, listening to everything they’d had to say. It was not a question of morals so much as self-preservation. Surely this was easy to see. The fishing town was dying, but this could be what finally boosted the local economy. The trick was to feed the consumer slowly, or else before they knew it, the place would be overridden with tourists and bandwagon jumpers.