by D J Harrison
‘What’s the interest rate?’ I ask.
‘Depends on how good a customer you are.’ His grin is almost a snarl, and he’s looking at his empty right hand as if he’s just lost something.
I look him straight in the eye. ‘So if I have sex with you, how much will the repayments be then?’
He grunts, his head snaps back and he sits back down in the chair. ‘Oh, well. The same. Fifty quid.’
‘So there’s not a lot of point then,’ I say. ‘Let me get this clear, fifty pounds a week repayments for how long?’
‘Fifty quid’s the interest, love,’ he says. ‘Ten per cent. That’s all. You’ll not get better rates anywhere else.’
‘Are you going to give me the money or what?’ I ask.
He counts out twenty-pound notes, gives me twenty-two, pockets the other three.
‘I’m supposed to be borrowing five hundred,’ I say.
He pats his pocket. ‘Administrative costs. You should have been more amenable.’
I stand by the door clutching my money until he gets the message. As he leaves he brushes past me unnecessarily and rubs himself against my backside.
‘Just make sure you’re here this time next week and you’ve got the repayment ready.’
2
The front door flies open, propelled by a large boot attached to a stocky youth clad in baggy trousers and a camouflage jacket. My financial advisor, the sallow-faced Abe, is looking particularly disgruntled following our brief exchange of words through the door. I told him to fuck off and he kicked the door down – not the best start to delicate financial negotiations.
‘Mrs Williams.’ Abe confronts me as I stand amongst the ridiculous number of empty wine bottles that litter my floor. ‘You’ve been avoiding me. That’s not what we agreed.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, watching him closely, waiting for him to make a grab or try to hit me, ‘I’ve had a bit of trouble with social services. They’ve taken my kids away. I’m not getting money for them any more.’
‘Well, that’s all very sad, I’m sure,’ Abe says. The youth is picking his way around piles of rubbish and trying to get behind me. ‘But you’re four weeks in arrears, you’re making me look stupid. If you don’t pay it reflects badly on me, and I get my arse kicked.’
I’m watching his eyes. They’re flicking about, judging distances, picking out targets, keeping tabs on the youth’s progress. I know what’s coming now, I’ve known it for weeks. It’s just something I have to go through. It’s part of the deal.
The youth makes a grab at my shoulders. I twist away, leave him grasping air. Abe’s hand fastens around my throat and squeezes the breath from me. I’m immobilised, powerless. The youth grabs around my waist, pins my arms to my side.
‘I need two hundred from you today. Where is it? Where’s your money?’ Abe pushes his face close to mine. My windpipe is being crushed; I can’t speak, only shake my head slightly. ‘You’ve pissed it up the fucking wall, you drunken bitch.’ The grip on my neck loosens. I gulp in air.
‘No.’ It hurts to speak. ‘I’ll get it for you. Next week. I’ll get a job. You’ll have your money.’
I see the blow coming but can’t evade it. The force of his open hand across my face twists my head, producing momentary darkness then searing pain.
‘I warned you.’ Abe’s eyes are wide and bright, I can see how much he’s enjoying this. ‘I told you to have the repayments ready. Not to miss. Now you’ll have to work off the arrears.’
‘Yes, I will, I’ll get a job, I said I would. Just give me a bit more time.’
‘You’re working all right. You’re working for us now. Starting tonight.’
‘Sure, anything, what do I have to do?’
It’s a party. All you have to do is have fun, be nice to people. Do it well and that’s one week’s arrears paid off. Okay?’
‘I don’t get it,’ I say. ‘Why would you pay me to go to a party?’
‘Because you’ll be the centre of attraction, that’s why. It’ll be your job to make sure all the guests get what they want.’
‘How many guests?’ I have no doubts at all about what he’s making me do, I just need him to spell it out.
‘Usually about ten or so. If there’s more than twelve you’ll get another girl to help you out.’
‘Ten men?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you want me to let them fuck me? All of them?’
‘Yes, got it in one. And you’ll need to show a bit of enthusiasm or you’ll not get paid. You’re going to get fucked one way or another. Might as well make it worthwhile.’
‘All for fifty quid? You must be off your head if you think I’m doing that for fifty quid.’
Another slap, harder this time. I black out for a moment. My arms are released and I slump down on to the floor. Abe is standing over me; he unzips his fly and pulls out his penis. I curl up protectively, knees tight together, expecting him to prise them apart and try to rape me. Instead, I feel the warm wetness on my back and twist my head to try to avoid the stream of urine as it splashes over my head and cascades down the side of my face.
3
Two policemen suddenly appear behind Abe. His hands are pulled behind him and I hear the snap of handcuffs. Both policemen look very young, clad as they are in short-sleeved white shirts underneath black stab jackets. The baseball-style police caps add to the informality of their garb. They work with an air of practised detachment as if this is another in a long series of arrests. The smaller of the two officers bends down to offer me assistance.
‘We’ll get an ambulance for you,’ he says.
‘No,’ I insist. ‘I’m okay, I’m fine. No ambulance. Please.’ He helps me into a sitting position then looks back at his colleague. Abe’s flaccid cock is still protruding from his fly. The two policemen exchange nods and smiles and mine stands up, grabs hold of Abe’s belt buckle and yanks enthusiastically. The penis disappears like a snake down a rabbit hole. I have a sad feeling that this manoeuvre may be required on a regular basis and that these poor coppers are used to men with their cocks hanging out of their trousers.
Two more officers have intercepted the camouflaged youth at the door and trussed him up in similar fashion to Abe.
‘The police won’t save you,’ Abe spits at me. ‘It’ll be worse for you now.’
‘No,’ I say, ‘I didn’t call the police, why would I? You can’t blame me, they must have been following you or someone heard you breaking in here and called them. Tell me where your party is. I’ll go. I’ll work off the debt, trust me.’
Abe is looking surprised now; my reaction to being slapped then pissed on is obviously more resilient than he’s expecting.
‘Eight o’clock.’ He calls out an address in Chorlton as he’s dragged away. ‘I’ll see you there after these clowns have finished hassling me. If you don’t make a complaint they can’t hold me. Don’t let me down.’
The police take the men away and leave me to strip off in the bedroom. I’m placing my piss-soaked charity shop ensemble into a black bin liner when Charles Smith arrives.
‘Come on,’ he says, seemingly oblivious to my state of undress, ‘I’ll give you a lift home.’
‘What the hell did you do that for?’ I ask.
‘I was watching what was going on and we moved in to protect you. As arranged.’
‘I didn’t need protection, I was getting somewhere with Abe, he was lining me up as a sex slave.’
‘All the more reason for our intervention, Jenny. You did well, we’ve more than enough video for our purposes. The job’s finished as far as you’re concerned.’
‘Not yet,’ I say, ‘can’t you see what’s going on? These bastards are lending money to vulnerable women knowing they can’t ever pay it back. Then they’re forcing them into the sex trade. I’ve got to follow this up. I can’t just leave it at that, it’s all part of the same horrible business that could be holding Kat. I might even get some information about her if I go t
here and confront them.’
‘No you don’t,’ Charles says. ‘Your job was to get some good video evidence showing what this pay day loan company is up to. Information for the Home Office, something to brief ministers and inform policy decisions. The fact that these men are working for a large, publicly visible organisation is the most important thing. We can demonstrate what happens when people fill in the online form and take out a loan. Threats, intimidation, violence. You’ve done a good job. Time to go home.’
‘It’s all right for me, I can just walk away from all this, leave it behind, go back to my nice flat, forget about Abe and his nasty ways. There are hundreds of women who don’t have that option, who are trapped. I can’t forget that, Charles. Anyway, you promised me when I joined that you’d help me find Kat. That’s the deal: I help the security services and they help me.’ I’m feeling much stronger now that I’m fully dressed and wearing my own clothes again. ‘I’m betting she came to Manchester to be with her sister. This might be my chance to find her.’
Charles carries my small suitcase out to his Jaguar. We leave the flat door swinging in the breeze.
‘Look, Jenny, I’ve done everything I can, put the word out about your Ukrainian friend, name, description, photograph, the lot. I’ve even indicated it’s a high priority that we talk to her. That’s what’s going to find your friend’s sister, not putting yourself at risk in some sleazy backstreet brothel. That’s not your job, it’s not our job. Anyway, Hector wants you to give your full attention to what he refers to as the Irish Project.’
4
I lower myself slowly into the bath. The water is too hot for comfort but my scalded legs and buttocks adjust, absorb the heat, and dissipate it through the rest of my body. I lie back feeling the warmth all the way up to the base of my neck. As I relax, my breathing deepens. I’ve been holding my breath for too long and it needs to be expelled properly so that I can let go of all that tension I’m holding. I hope that I can finally do that here in the safety of my own bathroom.
No matter how much I try to relax, my breath keeps being caught by visions of helpless women being preyed on by Abe and his unscrupulous cohorts. I know exactly how they feel; I’ve visited that deep pit myself. I’d still be trapped, or dead, if someone hadn’t rescued me.
The longer I lie here, the more I long for Alex to visit, to find me here in the bath, soft and warm and ready for him. I need his soft hands to ripple the water, glide along my legs, caress my belly. I haven’t phoned him. If I do, I’ll not be able to stop myself inviting him here. Then he’ll hold me in his arms and make me stay here with him. He’ll prevent me doing what Charles has forbidden. He’ll talk me out of it and it will be easy for him.
I feel the protective warmth of the water, and imagine the comfort of my bed and the safety of Alex’s arms. Then I think of Lottie’s anguish and the promise I made to her. My stomach curls when I remember the reaction to her father’s death and the guilt of my complicity. Finding her sister is the only way for me to expunge these terrible feelings, to make things better for her, and me. Up to now, all I’ve done is to interfere with dire consequences. However good my motives have been, nothing positive has resulted for either of us. Her father is dead, her sister is missing and I’ve become a target. I can’t rely on Charles’s faceless colleagues, they don’t care. One Ukrainian girl more or less is of no consequence to them.
No. This bath is all the comfort I’m getting tonight. A brief respite to cleanse my body and spirit from all the abuse I’ve been getting, then back into the real, horrible world out there.
As I dry myself, the mirror reveals that the red swelling on my cheek is beginning to turn dark blue. I look like I’ve been hit by a truck, but it was only Abe’s hand. The memory of the blow, the flashing lights, the sickening jolt, produces tightness in my abdomen. Hot anger rises up through my chest and into my throat. I mentally replay how it ought to have been. My side step, a kick to his knee, his hand flying uselessly past my head, my fist connecting with the bridge of his nose, stopping him dead. A powerful excitement flows through my body. I pick up my massage wheel, fit it snugly in my hand and punch the air several times.
The massage wheel, as I call it, is actually a handcrafted piece of solid wood consisting of an axle with two hemispherical ends, like a small wooden dumbbell. When I hold it in my fist it’s as if my fist is encased in solid wood, the device protects me and adds devastating effect to my punching power. I visualise Abe on the receiving end and feel very good about that prospect, and then wonder if that’s what I truly intend tonight. Am I really embarking on a quest for Lottie’s sister or am I hell-bent on exacting retribution from the bastard who beat me up, then pissed all over me? Either way, my massage wheel, or to be more accurate its twin brother in my coat pocket, is coming along just in case.
5
Mick meets me at his careworn front door which needed painting desperately a long time ago.
‘I’ll be straight out.’ He speaks in a loud whisper, as if I’m a secret admirer come to call at an inconvenient time.
‘I’ll say a quick hello to Joan,’ I say.
His huge face folds into uncomfortable wrinkles. ‘Best not,’ he says, ‘she’s resting.’ He closes the door, the latch clicking to make sure I’m not able to follow him inside.
Mick’s massive frame reappears, his round face still creased with worry.
‘Listen,’ I say. ‘Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all. You stay with Joan, she needs you.’
He reacts as if I’ve slapped him in the face. ‘No, she’s not that bad, she’s not incapable. She’ll be glad to have me out of her sight for a change.’ He limps painfully out to my Range Rover and clambers awkwardly into the passenger seat. Mick was always my go-to man in a crisis when he worked for me at GOD Security. Even though most of his wrestler’s muscle transformed into flabby bulk long ago, he remains an imposing presence and someone to bring order from chaos. Most situations resolve themselves peacefully merely by his being there, but when called to action he’s always been fast and powerful.
‘I thought you were getting your knees sorted out, Mick.’
‘I will,’ he says. ‘Soon.’ The word lingers in the air like a portent of death. I think of Joan, always fussing around him, glad to see visitors at any time, happy to offer her copious hospitality. Now he won’t let me in. Maybe he doesn’t want me to be shocked at how bad she is. More likely it’s Joan herself who made the decision.
Mick hands me an envelope. I can feel a thick sheaf of bank notes inside. ‘What’s this?’
‘Parking money, your share. Five hundred, give or take.’
‘The football season hasn’t even started, Mick, what’s going on?’
‘Big pop concert. We doubled prices for that. Hope you don’t mind.’ He grins.
‘Here.’ I try to push the envelope back into his hand. ‘I told you I don’t need this any more. The parking is yours now. You keep it, I’m sure you and Joan could use it.’
Mick’s expression changes from friendly to serious. I know exactly how he’s feeling. He’s a proud man and there’s no point arguing with him. I push the money into my bag.
‘Okay. But if you ever need me, you’d better not be too proud to ask. Right. When we get there, we’ll make it quick,’ I say. ‘You go inside if they’ll let you. If they won’t, leave it. If you can get inside, have a look for Kat. That’s all. No need for any heroics, if anyone gets in your way, just leave. It’s a long shot anyway. Not worth causing trouble about.’ I pass him a photo to remind him who he’s looking for. ‘If you do find Kat, don’t do anything. Just come back to the car and I’ll deal with it.’
Mick nods and stares at Kat’s pretty face. I drive past, point to the house, then pull in around the next corner. ‘Here.’ I push ten £20 notes into his hand. ‘There may be an entry fee or something. I’m not sure how these things work.’
Mick climbs gingerly out of the car and hobbles away around the corner and out of sight. A
ll I can do is wait here and wish I didn’t have to rely on Mick. By nine o’clock the darkness is beginning to draw in and I get out of the car, feeling less conspicuous in the twilight.
I can’t sensibly walk past the house to take a look from the outside because Abe said he’d be there and he might see me. There seems no real danger if I just walk to the corner, though, and have a quick peep down the street. I need to stretch my legs – my bum’s sore from sitting in the car.
Even though it’s still quite warm, I pull on my coat, plunge my hands into the deep pockets and walk slowly to the corner of the street. I can see no signs of activity at all. There’s nobody in sight. The sporadic flow of cars weaves its way through the chicanes of parked vehicles but nothing stops outside Abe’s house.
Mick must have gained entry. I wonder how he’s getting on. It’s been nearly an hour, too long for a quick look inside. Something must be going on in there. I pull up my collar, tuck my hair inside my coat and walk cautiously to the front of the house. The downstairs window is lit but heavily curtained and I can hear the dull thud of bad music from inside. It seems the party, if you can call it that, has begun without me.
I carry on walking to the next street then turn round and look back, conscious that standing on a street corner in this part of town might not be the most inconspicuous thing to do. I stroll back towards the car. As I pass the house again two men come out. One of them is Abe.
The sight of him makes me stiffen with fear. I grip the massage wheel in my pocket, widen my stance, wait for him to recognise me. He doesn’t even glance in my direction. He’s preoccupied by the tall man he’s with. There’s a good deal of shouting, gesticulating and angry prodding of fingers. Abe is on the receiving end, backing off apologetically, holding up his hands in defence.
I breathe more easily. My legs begin to function again and I start to walk away as unobtrusively as I can. The front door of the house opens inwards with a loud bang. Abe and his assailant watch as Mick comes out at a run. He’s carrying a bundle over his right shoulder, something wrapped in a grey blanket; Abe moves to block his path and then quickly steps aside in the face of the human juggernaut.
