Like You (Perfectly Flawed #1)

by Dunning, Rachel

  "Oh, you could tell?"

  I laugh. "He told me you...helped him...when he came to Germany? That's why he's helping me. And he said he owed you."

  "Really? I just gave him a few leads on modeling agencies. Nothing special. I didn't give him a room to stay or dump all my savings on him. That's something I save for my special friends."

  "Har-har. Very funny."

  "I think he's helping you because he likes you. You have that effect on people."

  "You talk such crap."

  "I don't, and you do. People know they can trust you. You have that 'I can be trusted' face."

  "You mean I have the 'I'm gullible so I'm probably a pushover' face."

  "My version sounds better."

  "Let's stick with your version."

  "So, The Hunter: She wanted to have you here in the morning but I told her it takes four to six hours to get from Frankfurt to Berlin by train so she agreed to a meeting at noon. I'll pick you up at the train station and you can get cleaned up at my hotel room because no doubt you'll smell and look like shit after that train ride."

  "Smell? Thanks!"

  "Hey, that's not a statement against you. That's a statement about catching trains. OK, Gen, good luck. I'm rooting for you. Gotta go. See ya! Love ya! I'll email you the name of the hotel in case—"

  "No! Don't email. Um, I mean... I'm changing my email address."

  "Again? Didn't you just change it?"

  "I did."

  "Gen, is there something you're not telling me?"

  "N—no. I just don't like the address."

  "I see... So everything is OK?"

  "Yeah, of course," I lie. "Just... I'll text you an email address later. But please don't email to address you have."

  By all indications it seems the person only has the address itself, not access to it. But I don't want to look at the threats. I just want to start fresh.

  "No sweat. OK, hon, chat later. Text me the address. Bye!"

  She clicks off.

  I bow my head and squeeze my temples. I like the pressure of this project. It makes me feel alive.

  I can live with this pressure.

  I look up at the howling street.

  I think back to that email.

  Fuck the asshole who's threatening me! I'm not going to let him stop me!

  CHAPTER 21

  -1-

  A.

  Nov. 13, 2013 — Wednesday, a little past noon.

  I pop an STD antibiotic as I walk into the Kama Inside Me brothel. The irony makes me chuckle.

  I decided not to have Gen come over and beg this bastard for "permission" to take photos in his cesspool of an establishment. I decided he's gonna give me the room or I'm gonna crack a tooth of his. It's funny what a man does when, moments ago, he thought he was gonna die.

  Emeryk is behind the reception counter, arms folded over his ever rolling belly. The dude looks like a big, fat, white pimp.

  Oh, wait, he is a big, fat, white pimp.

  These brothel managers say they don't pimp. That's like the drug lord himself saying he never touches the big C himself. Great in theory, bull in reality.

  Emeryk likes to be called Em. More precisely, he digs the appellation, Eminem.

  Yeah, right. He looks far more like the rapper Jelly Roll than Eminem. Or like a sumo wrestler. Take your pick.

  It's a sign of respect in this crowd to call him Em. I give him all the respect he deserves when I walk in. "Hey, punk," I say.

  He sits and looks at me without answering. Maybe he wants to eat me. If he's missed breakfast, I might be in trouble. Oh wait, it's past noon. I might be in trouble anyway.

  "What you want, Ax?"

  I like being called Ax by him. It's one of the few English words he's bound to know the meaning of. He and I speak English to each other. The only German these Red Light dudes need to learn are the words for "I have a permit," spoken in a thick, Eastern Bloc accent, for when the cops come by.

  "I'm bringing a friend over tonight. She's going to take some photos of this place."

  I see his mind churning. I damn near hear the cogs trying to start moving after years of being in stasis.

  "She?"

  "She."

  "You know we no allow random girls here, no?"

  I sniff. "She's an artist. We'll need a room. She'll take some pictures of the..." I look around, wave my hand "...decor. We'll be discreet. You can cordon off sections of the building for us as we need them, or we can take shots in front of all your clients."

  He grunts. That must be a cog wheel getting going.

  "And the room?"

  "Art."

  He smirks that dirty smirk of a dude who never gets any unless he pays for it, or unless it's with his hand. "Art?" The smirk gets bigger.

  I tighten my fist below the counter. Boy, I'd love to kick this motherfucker's ass into a bloody pulp right now.

  But I don't. There are worse guys than him. Much worse. And as bad as it is to say it, the fuckturd is better to have around than to not have around. Better for the girls. Because he might take a little money for the room on the side, but that's all he does.

  "Yes, art," I say. I know what's going on in his mind.

  "I see."

  "I don't think you do. But that's not the point. Room. Hallway. And any other place she'd like to go. I'll be with her all the time."

  He swallows hard when I emphasize that last point. The sheen of sweat over his blubbery face looks suddenly brighter.

  "Boss know about this?"

  "No."

  "He should."

  "You wanna call him?"

  There go those gears again. Creak. Creak. Creak. Whoa, wait up—was that a ceiling beam cracking from the heavy exertion?

  "No, I not call him." He sighs out heavily. This must be a very difficult decision for him. "We no allow girls here who not rent a room."

  "Then I'll pay for the room myself." As much as I hate this prick and his business, I only have so much leverage. He answers up to the guy who actually owns the place, the guy who hires me. The Boss.

  I understand his predicament. And I'm willing to bend. Just a bit.

  "OK, Ax, one night only?"

  "Yes."

  He sighs again. "But hallway is problem. No can do."

  "Yes can do."

  He gets brave. "You are fuckin asshole, you know that, Ax?"

  Now I'm the one smirking. Finally, some progress. "I try."

  "Who is this girl? Girlfriend?"

  Ooh, don't go there, chump. I say nothing.

  "One day, boss will get someone else to look out for girls."

  I shrug. "Maybe. But for now, he knows that the girls go where I am. Must be my good looks."

  He shakes his head. "Boss could fire me for this."

  "He won't."

  Getting fired is like getting killed for these guys. A good, solid job is hard to come by for dudes like him who hardly speak a word of German. And the crappy wages they get as managers are enough to purchase mansions for their families back home.

  Talking to these guys about their "job" has always been pretty successful for me in getting them to listen up.

  Emeryk looks at me like I'm making him some kind of guarantee or something, like my word is gold with the boss. Whatever. Let him think what he wants. I just need space for photos tonight.

  "Room you have for whole night because you pay for it. Hallway I give you for one hour only."

  I cock an eyebrow. I see a bead of sweat break from his temple.

  "Two hours," he says.

  I shake my head, slowly.

  "Ax, please, I run business here. I can't—"

  I hold three fingers up.

  "Fine! But no more."

  I smile at him. Then I hand over fifty Euros for a room. "I want room four-nine-one."

  His eyes go as wide as saucers! "No! And regular room is hundred Euros!"

  "Four-nine-one. You're allowed to give discounts for rooms. Besides, I know you're taking t
he extra fifty into your own fucking pocket anyway." I lean closer and deepen my voice. I make sure he gets the full brunt of what I mean with my next statement. "Now that is something that 'boss' would be very interested in knowing about."

  He swallows hard again, leans back. "OK, fifty Euros. But come early. Six o' clock. More difficult to block out sections of hallways later at night."

  What I say is: "I'll do the best I can."

  What I mean is: The best I can for the artist...

  Then I spring the big surprise on him. "Oh, did I say one girl? I meant two. "

  I walk out.

  -2-

  When I get outside, I text Gen.

  Axle: Can we do the shoot at six tonight?

  She calls.

  "Axle, thank you so much. But I already arranged to do another shoot tonight. Would the hotel be available tomorrow?"

  Hotel? Not her fault. She really has no clue how hard it is to get into these places and take photographs. "It's tonight or no night, Gen. I'm sorry. If you can't do it tonight we'll have to go with your earlier idea of shots outside."

  There's a delay before she answers. "OK. I'll arrange it. Six?"

  "Six. And look, lingerie-man needs to come dressed like a man at first. He can change inside the room when we get in there. We need to be very discreet, OK?"

  "OK, I understand." She sounds out of breath.

  "Driving in Frankfurt at that time is insane. We'll walk from your place. I'll meet you there at five-thirty."

  "Walking might be a problem. I have lighting I need to take with me."

  Lighting? Oh, brother. "Um, right. OK, I'll pick you up by car then. But look, bring some blankets. We can't be seen going in there with our cameras and lighting umbrellas or whatever it is you use when you take pictures."

  "Blankets. Got it. Thanks again."

  -3-

  Back at the clinic the doc tells me I'm otherwise disease-free. He warns me again not to have sex with anyone until seven days after I finish taking the antibiotics.

  "Have you contacted any of the women you've slept with yet?"

  I shake my head.

  "Please do."

  CHAPTER 22

  -1-

  G.

  Nov. 13, 2013 — Wednesday, five-forty-five P.M. Red Light District.

  "Mon Dieu, who brought Schwarzenegger?" cries Thomas from the sidewalk.

  Axle looks nervous. "You're the guy?" he asks.

  Thomas raises his eyes flirtatiously. "Maybe, if you're the other guy."

  "Oh, Christ. Look, just keep your mouth shut when we go in there. It needs to look like you're going in there to get laid, OK?"

  "Hmmm, commanding. Very sexy."

  "I can't believe I'm doing this."

  I cut in. "Axle, this is Karolin. She's the female model."

  I met Karolin earlier. A beautiful girl who speaks English with almost no accent. She's about twenty with amber eyes as large as lakes and full, alluring lips. She has straight, dark hair that stretches to the bottom of her back and a soft, curvy figure. She was very confident when I met her and didn't bat an eyelash when I told her we'd be taking tasteful shots at the Red Light District. Fully clothed for her.

  I tried to recall how confident I was at twenty. Not nearly as confident as her.

  But now, looking at Axle's eyes and at his extraordinary build, she stumbles a bit when she says, "Hello." She actually even curtsies slightly when he shakes her hand.

  "You look better in a suit than he does," Axle says to her.

  I frown at his crassness.

  "Sorry, Gen, it's just that it cannot look like we're doing a photo shoot here."

  He explains how the photos would give the place a bad name, and then they'd start digging around as to who got the photographer in, and then they'd boot out the asshole who runs the front desk. But that asshole is actually a better asshole than the others so it's better to have the devil we know in there than the devil we don't know.

  "It's not about this fucking establishment. The establishment will stay no matter what we do. It's about the girls who choose to work here. A lot of them could get hurt if we screw up. Because at least this punk doesn't hurt them physically."

  We all understand.

  "Last thing, it's a different world in there. Especially for women. Do not stray from my side. When we're in the room, all OK. When we're not, you stay by me. Only female workers are allowed in there. That means, if you're female and some prick touches your ass it's because he thinks you work there. Moral of the story? Walk fast, get in the room. I've arranged to have the hallways closed off for when we take photos. OK?"

  We nod.

  On our way in, Thomas gives me the thumbs up and then licks his lips while looking at Axle. Thomas's ass develops a stronger sway. OK, I see how he shifts from one side of the coin to the other now...

  And it's not even Friday yet.

  When we get in the place I see a guy who looks like a humanoid version of Jabba the Hutt, sitting behind a desk. He looks kind of serious.

  I want to pull out my camera and start shooting. There are Kama Sutra paintings all over the walls, huge glass display cabinets with automobiles and naked mannequins in them. The lighting is hot red in one hallway but then cool blue in another. We pass a cage with another mannequin, this one in a mini-skirt. I wonder if I'd be able to put Thomas in there. Maybe Thomas and Karolin...

  Karolin's wide eyes are even wider now as we walk through. We pass a drab-looking Middle Eastern man with a big mustache. He leers at us and stretches out his hand toward Karolin's ass but before I know it Axle is there shaking his head and the dude looks away like he just stared death in the eyes and then quickens up his pace.

  The place is a maze. Corridor after corridor of sex paintings and mirrors and—

  Whoa. Chains and handcuffs on the walls! A big wall-painting says S&M. There are black suits that look like something out of a movie about Salem witches and...a dentist chair?

  I shudder.

  A girl flaunting her breasts walks past us and smiles.

  We get in the elevator and ride up to the fourth floor. Fifth, if we use American numbering.

  We get into a huge room. There's a large bed inside and, again, paraphernalia of all sorts hanging from the walls. Whips, chains, bars, black clothes... It boggles my mind what some of these girls probably get paid to do.

  "I hope those are clean," says Thomas, looking at the sheets.

  "They probably aren't," says Axle. "But you can't get any sexual diseases by lying on dirty sheets."

  Thomas changes into his lingerie. He chose a good set, very erotic. And it makes him look exactly like a body for sale.

  Axle hunts the room for something, lifting up lampshades and tables and a trash can, and I ask him what he's doing. He says, "Just making sure— Ah, here we go." He pulls out something small and square shaped and stomps on it with his boot. He throws it in the trash. "Just making sure yours is the only camera in here. Happens sometimes."

  We set up the lights and I put Thomas and Karolin by the bed. She's not shy at all. I avoid the straight BDSM motif because that's not what I want to portray, but we do various shots all involving money exchanging hands and the props. The idea is to have Thomas look like the desperate hooker and Karolin like the buyer.

  Axle stands, arms folded, by the door.

  Later we move into the hallway. Each time we change position, Jabba the Hutt cordons it off for us. I do a few long exposure shots. I do get Thomas in that cage. Then both of them. Again, the money exchanging hands. I do one with Karolin holding the money away from him, and him reaching for it. I get him lying on the Cadillac's hood in the glass display case, then in front of the Kama Sutra paintings. I get a candid one of him stretching his hand out through the bars of the cage when he's thirsty and asking for a drink of water. All of it.

  Three hours in the hallway fly by and I still have twenty more different poses in my mind.

  I see Axle's tension.

  Jabb
a the Hutt comes by and tells Axle it's time to leave. Axle puts his hand up and tells him we're almost done. I fire away two more shots.

  "Any chance we could do more?" I ask Axle.

  He shakes his head as if he's let me down. But he hasn't. He so hasn't. Including the time in the room we've been here over five hours! I've taken several thousand photos already!

  "No problem," I say, and I grab his hand. "Thank you so much."

  He looks at his hand a second, stunned, and only now do I realize what I've done. I let it go.

  "No sweat. Now pack your camera up and let's get all this gear out of here and just pretend we all came out of an orgy, OK?"

  Jabba the Hutt decides to speak: "Hey, Ax, fat girl there could make lot of money if she rented room for night. More money than modeling, is for sure. Is tough for fat girl in modeling."

  Karolin hears him. I see it in her face. She's probably been told that kind of shit all her life. It's probably eaten at her confidence away bit by bit, insidiously, until, finally, she maybe wonders if she ever had any in the first place. Just like was done to me. It was so sly I never even realized what was happening.

  Always smiling. Always fucking smiling.

  Jabba the Hutt is also smiling now. Grinning like the fricking Joker.

  The worst thing about it is that she's not "fat." Not even close. She's curvilinear and shapely. This bozo clearly never saw a single portrait of Marilyn Monroe. Or even Cindy Crawford in her heyday for that matter.

  "Yes, baby—"

  "Shut up, punk," says Axle.

  Karolin says, "It's OK, Mr. Axle, I've—"

  Blubber-boy says, "Yes, baby. Is OK. You—"

  Slam!

  Crash!

  Slam!

  Jabba the Hutt's head is being crushed against the cage! Axle has his hand against his neck and is squeezing! He says something to the guy that I don't pick up. Then he says, "Say it!"

  Jabba the Hutt gurgles out, "Sorry, babe. Emeryk is sorry!"

  Axle lets him go. We're all staring at him! Stunned!

  He shrugs. "Don't read too much into it. I've been meaning to do that all day. You just gave me an excuse to. Ready to go?"

  Karolin smiles. He's just made her hot, I can see that. So hot...