by Maynard Sims
A door farther along the hallway opened, and a young man stepped out, a look of something close to panic on his face. “Mr. Holly, you’re early. You should have phoned to let me know.”
Holly appraised the young man, a look of irritation in his eyes. “Is there a problem, Kaminski?”
Wladyslaw Kaminski was flustered but fighting to hide it. “No. No problem. It’s just that we’re still getting her…”
“Spare me the details. We’ll wait in here.” He pushed open a door and ushered Alice inside.
The room Alice entered was the lounge. She spotted the chain and shackles immediately and spun on her heel. “What is this place?”
Holly came into the room and shut the door behind him. “It’s one of our restaurants. It’s also where we bring the new arrivals from Poland for processing. It’s in an ideal position. Harrow has a large Polish immigrant population, a constant ebb and flow, so new faces don’t attract much attention here. Also, within the population, there are a number of border-line poverty cases who are only too happy to supply us with names of potential candidates, in return for a fat fee of course.”
“Candidates,” Alice said scornfully. “It nauseates me the way you dress things up. ‘Restaurants, candidates’…It’s all subterfuge. Do you think that if you use anodyne names you somehow sweeten the sick business you’re engaged in?”
Holly looked at her patiently. “The ‘sick business,’ as you call it, is our way of surviving. And don’t kid yourself that I like it any more than you do. My father was working for a way forward, a way of ending our reliance on the…candidates. When he died, it set us back years. So don’t preach to me, because you know nothing about it. You and your bad driving are to blame for his death, and for the steps I have to take.”
“That’s a lie, and you know it. Your kind will never give up these places. It’s a way of life, a tradition. You might think that by carrying on your father’s research you’re working toward a bright new future, but there are those who’ll never accept your ideas. People like Saul Goldberg. What are you going to do, John? Roll over them? Kill all those who don’t share your vision, who don’t play by your rules?”
He looked at her steadily. When he spoke his voice was soft, barely a whisper. “Yes, if I have to.”
She opened her mouth to say something else, then snapped it shut. What was the point? She’d had countless arguments with him over the past few months, and it had gotten her nowhere.
She hated the man standing in front of her, hated him with every fiber of her being. The hatred was like a physical ache, cramping her arms and legs and making her head throb. But she knew she was tied to him for as long as he wanted her to be. She had tried to escape him a number of times, and each time he’d found her and brought her back. How can you hide from someone who can read your thoughts, who can see what you see, hear what you hear, and feel what you feel? It was hopeless. And it could be argued that hate was another useless, impotent emotion, but she refused to let it go. It was the hatred that kept her moving forward.
Hatred and the need for revenge. John Holly had destroyed her life. He took her away from the one person she had ever truly loved. Daniel Milton had been her life partner and soul mate. John Holly had snatched her from the hospital because what she knew was an obstacle to his plans. It was that loss, the manner in which he kept her away from the life she had known, used her as his assistant, involved her in his grotesque schemes that fueled Alice’s need to avenge, that gave her the strength to keep going. She’d promised herself, and promised Daniel, wherever he was, that one day she would make John Holly pay for what he’d done.
The door opened, and Wladyslaw Kaminski sidled into the room. “Five minutes,” he said.
Holly glared at him. “You should have been ready. This isn’t good enough.” He turned to Alice. “You might as well sit down,” he said as Kaminski scurried from the room and ran up the stairs.
Alice looked across at the couch, at the chain and shackles and suppressed a shudder. “I’ll stand.”
“As you wish.” He glanced at his watch and tapped his foot impatiently.
Alice walked across to the window and stared out through the grimy net curtains at the road beyond. There were people hurrying along but, on the road, cars, buses, and trucks sat nose to tail, barely moving; the usual urban rush-hour crawl. She wondered if curious eyes ever tried to peer in through the curtains from the outside; wondered if anyone out there ever thought about what was happening behind the mildewed facade of the house. She guessed not. They were all too busy going about their lives, too wrapped up in themselves to care about the plight of others.
In London anonymity was king.
In the room above the lounge, Karolina was sitting on a hard-backed chair while a hairdresser, a young Polish woman with too much makeup, gelled her hair and teased it into spikes.
Jozef was standing in front of the door, watching the procedure with disinterest.
The hairdresser had said little since her arrival an hour before; the woman hadn’t even met Karolina’s eyes. On the mantelpiece above the fireplace she’d propped a small photograph and as she worked on Karolina’s hair, she kept glancing at it, as if using it for reference.
Finally she came round, stood in front of Karolina, and looked at her, nodding slowly. “Good,” she said, walking across to Jozef. She showed him the photograph. Jozef studied it for a moment, then stared hard at Karolina.
“What do you think?” the hairdresser said.
Jozef shrugged.
The hairdresser made a noise of disgust in the back of her throat. “Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”
“I should care,” Jozef said.
She pushed past him and opened the door to call Kaminski.
Karolina felt numb. Ever since Wladyslaw told her she could be leaving here tonight, she had felt sick with dread. Her thoughts were in turmoil. What started out in Poland as a great adventure had turned into a bad dream. One from which she thought she’d never wake. She couldn’t believe how much Wladyslaw Kaminski had changed since they arrived in England. Her kind, attentive lover, the gentle soul who had swept her off her feet, buying her flowers and taking her for candlelit dinners, had turned into a monster.
When they arrived at the house in Harrow View, he’d taken her upstairs to this very room to unpack her belongings. Then he started undressing her, pushing her down onto the bed. Even when he produced the cord and started binding her wrists, the alarm bells failed to sound; they’d played mild bondage games in her room back in Poland. When he then tied her ankles tightly together and left the room, she realized she was in very serious trouble. How could I have been so stupid? The question kept playing over and over in her mind. As yet she’d failed to find an answer.
And now the day had taken a step into the bizarre. Why had they brought a hairdresser in to cut her hair? She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the dressing-table mirror and barely recognized herself. The hair was much shorter than she usually wore it, and she would never style it like this. It made her look older. In fact, it made her look like the woman in the photograph.
She turned as Kaminski came into the room. “Come on,” he said. “They’re waiting.”
Karolina didn’t move from her seat.
“I said come on! We’ve kept them waiting long enough, and John Holly is not a man you want to keep waiting.”
He crossed the room and grabbed her by the wrist, yanking her to her feet. This was frustrating. He wanted to slap her but was under strict instructions from Holly that she mustn’t be harmed in any way. He pulled her to the door, pushed Jozef out of the way, and then put a hand in the small of Karolina’s back, thrusting her out onto the landing. She resisted him all the way as he dragged her toward the stairs.
Finally his temper got the better of him and he spun round, grabbed her by the throat, pinning her against the wall. “Listen, you little bitch, if you don’t cooperate, I’ll kill you. You don’t know what’s at stake here.�
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She stared back at him, defiance in her eyes, and then she spat in his face.
Kaminski made a half-strangled noise. His hand balled into a fist, and he swung his arm.
Before his fist made contact with her face, he was lifted off his feet. For an instant, panic flared in his eyes, and then he was being hurled backward along the length of the landing, his body crashing into the wall at the far end. Karolina heard the sickening thud as his skull hit brickwork. He hung there for a moment, spread-eagled against the wall, like a butterfly skewered by a pin. Then his eyes fluttered shut, and he slid down to land in a heap on the floor.
“Are you all right, my dear? Did he hurt you?”
Karolina turned at the sound of the voice and saw a man walking toward her from the stairway. He was tall, good-looking with dark hair swept back from his face. He moved with all the grace of a panther and looked twice as dangerous.
She struggled to find her voice. “I…I’m okay. How did you…? Is he…?”
John Holly wrapped an arm around her shoulders and walked her to the stairs. “Don’t worry about him. He’s of no consequence, no better than vermin. Wait here. I’ll show you how I deal with vermin.”
Kaminski groaned and tried to sit. A bomb had gone off in his head, and now he was dealing with the fall-out. Nausea was rising from his stomach, and his eyes were rolling in their sockets. In the distance, at the top of the stairs, he saw Holly turn and start walking back toward him. The door to the bedroom opened. Jozef and the hairdresser stepped onto the landing and saw Kaminski lying crumpled at the foot of the wall with Holly advancing on him. The hairdresser gave a small cry and retreated back into the relative safety of the bedroom, slamming the door behind her and locking it. Jozef pressed his back against the wall and wished he were invisible.
Two yards away from Kaminski, Holly stopped. Kaminski tried to focus on him, trying for a look of defiance but achieving only a slightly vacuous frown.
Holly was smiling. “You are a fool, Kaminski. You had the key to it all. Had her in the palm of your hand, but you sold her as a pet. It took my father years of his life trying to track her down, and a brainless…”
He raised his arm, and before Kaminski’s befuddled mind could register what was happening, Holly clicked his fingers.
The pain was so excruciating it was almost exquisite. It was as if Wladyslaw Kaminski’s head had been clamped in a slowly tightening vise. The blood vessels in his nose were the first to explode, followed closely by those in his eyes and ears. As blood poured from every orifice, he gave a small whimper, like a child left alone in the dark. The vise tightened still further, and Kaminski’s brain burst, turning to pulp in his skull. He died half a second later.
John Holly smiled and turned his attention to Jozef. Jozef pressed tighter against the wall, eyes open wide, staring at Holly, his mouth working, lips forming a silent prayer.
“Get rid of that garbage,” Holly said to him and walked back along the landing to where Karolina was waiting, staring at him, wide-eyed. As he approached, she shrank back. The day had turned now from a bad dream into her worst nightmare.
Alice was still standing at the window, staring out at the street when Holly led Karolina into the room.
“Alice,” John Holly said softly. “A surprise for you.”
Alice turned from the window and saw the two of them standing there. It was like being kicked in the stomach. All the air seemed to gush from her lungs in one rapid exhalation, leaving her breathless and gasping for oxygen.
The young woman standing next to John Holly was a mirror image of herself.
Alice stared at her, tears springing to her eyes, wanting to believe that there really was a good reason her double was standing there, even though a cold, rational voice in her head told her that it was impossible. This was a trafficked girl, and the man standing opposite Alice now, smiling, was responsible.
She took an involuntary step backward.
No!
It wasn’t a perfect likeness. The girl was younger, little more than a teenager. But the face, the hair, and the way she held herself…It was an uncanny resemblance.
The girl was looking at her uncertainly, bafflement in her eyes…and something else. Fear.
“A gift for you,” Holly said.
Alice gathered herself. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”
John Holly’s face was a picture of injured innocence. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“And I’m sure you do, you bastard,” Alice said hotly as she felt the anger swelling again.
Holly spread his hands in a gesture of appeasement. “As I said, she’s a gift to you. A new pet. It’s been so long since you had someone of your own. I thought I’d change that.” He gestured to Karolina. “She’s yours to do with what you will.”
Alice looked at him steadily, ignoring the girl. “No,” she said. “This isn’t a joke. It’s just sick.”
Holly turned to Karolina. He said nothing to her, but her right leg started moving, taking a step toward Alice. Karolina screwed her eyes shut, as if concentrating furiously. Alice could see the girl’s left leg twitching, the muscles almost going into spasm as she tried to resist Holly’s will, but a second later the leg moved, taking her another step toward Alice. At the same time, Karolina’s arms opened, preparing for an embrace. Sweat was pouring down the girl’s face, tears pressing out from her tightly shut eyelids.
“You see,” John Holly said. “She wants you. Doesn’t a tiny part of you want her too?”
“Stop it!” Alice cried. It was almost a scream of anguish. “Leave the poor girl alone.” Why was Holly doing this? Nothing he did was without a purpose. “Stop it,” she said again, her voice quieter this time, barely a whisper.
Holly sighed. “Very well,” he said and tore his gaze away from Karolina. The girl’s arms flopped to her sides, and her eyes opened with a look of confusion and fear.
“Jozef!” Holly called.
Jozef was standing just outside the door, ready to jump if summoned. Having witnessed what had happened upstairs, he feared a repeat performance, this time with himself as the victim. At the sound of Holly’s voice, he was in the room in seconds.
Holly gestured to Karolina. “Dispose of this as well,” he said.
Jozef leapt forward and pinned Karolina’s arms at her sides. “Move,” he said, propelling her toward the door. As the girl passed Alice her lips mouthed the words, “Pomagają mnie.”
Alice didn’t understand the words, but the meaning was burning in Karolina’s eyes. Help me. A desperate plea for her life.
“Wait!” Alice said.
“Czekają,” Holly repeated in Polish.
Jozef froze on the spot.
“A change of heart?” Holly said to Alice.
She took a breath and nodded.
Holly smiled. “Jozef, bring the young lady back.”
Almost grudgingly, Jozef led Karolina back into the center of the room and let her go.
“Leave us,” Holly said to him.
Jozef nodded curtly and left the room.
“So she’s coming with us?” Holly said.
Alice nodded.
“Right then. Let’s get out of this shithole before we catch something.”
Alice sat in the back of the car with her arm around the girl’s shoulders, trying to stop her trembling. Silent tears were trickling down the girl’s cheeks. Alice took her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “It’s okay,” Alice said softly, not sure if the girl could understand her. “What’s your name?”
“Karolina,” the girl whispered. “Karolina Adamczyk. Please. I want to go home.”
“This is your home now. Get used to it,” Holly said from the front seat without looking round. Alice glared at the back of his head. How had he heard their conversation above the music coming from the stereo? She squeezed Karolina’s hand again, attempting to communicate silently that she’d try every way possible to grant the girl’s wish. Karolina suppressed
a sob and slumped back into her seat.
“I’m glad you approved her, Alice. It would have been tiresome for me if you hadn’t.”
Alice said, “I would never be tiresome.”
Holly glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Karolina will be conducting some of your public duties for a while.”
Warning bells rang in her head. “Why would I need her to do that?”
Holly turned the music off. “You’ll be too busy helping me with my project. My…what did you call it? My research into a bright new future.”
They traveled the rest of the way to Hertfordshire in silence.
Chapter Seventeen
Breathing is the greatest pleasure in life.
—Giovanni Papini
Krakow, Poland
Jacek Czerwinski took a long swallow of his vodka. Pike poured more into his glass without asking. This was shaping up to be a full-bottle story.
“My brother, Tomas, had a daughter, Julia. She was a free spirit who danced to her own tune and gave her parents hell.” Another swallow of alcohol.
Pike waited; this would take some time. Clearly Czerwinski was telling an emotional tale.
“Tomas himself was…unconventional. He ran a business that fell into hard times. Poland has had some difficult economic periods. The solution Tomas came up with was fraud. He was caught and…”
As Jacek’s voice trailed off, Pike leaned back. “Tell it in your own time.”
Tomas Czerwinski looked around his cell for the last time. The place that had been his home for the past four years looked squalid and incredibly tawdry now as the prospect of freedom loomed.
