Deceit

by KERRY BARNES

  She wandered to the bedroom and lay on the soft quilt covered in a brushed cotton, feeling the gentleness against her skin. Carl’s words swirled around her head. ‘Lucy Lou, you are dangerous when you don’t need anyone and weak when you do.’ She often thought about those words because he knew there were many times in her life when she needed him. And he was right: it made her weak. He fascinated her, drew her in with his mysterious ways, his philosophical statements, and with the crazy reckless look in his eyes. Perhaps in some ways he was her mirror image – only older, male, and even more insane than herself.

  She carried out his clever scams, and at the time, she thought she was being rewarded fairly with a few hundred quid shoved down her knickers. But he was right about being stronger alone, and so she began finding work for herself. She hooked up with an agency as a call girl, and within a week, she was in the world of the streetwalkers, except she didn’t walk the streets – she had clients who wanted her. The dominatrix earner was great, and she could pull it off easily, but there was more money to be had in other areas, and without a conscience, she was learning the game fast, leaving Carl behind to go it alone.

  By the age of seventeen, she was tall, leggy, and could ooze sex just by the way she walked; it was that sultry eyebrow lift and then a flutter of her heavily mascara-laden lashes that would have her drinks paid for by any unsuspecting punter. Her ability to have men eating out of her hand and begging for it gave her a status – a high-class prostitute, who could demand an outrageous price for a night in an expensive hotel. It meant nothing to her. Whether they were tied up and whipped just for the turn-on, or whether they liked full-on sex, it didn’t matter, it was just that – sex. She never had high expectations of saving herself for the right man or worrying that her past would come back to haunt her because she didn’t care.

  She was rewarded financially but she also had a certain status. Yet, always there in the background was Carl, turning up at her father’s home, when Les had retired, so he put it. But the truth was Les was washed up, too fat to fight, and too pissed to think straight. He never questioned her line of work, but he knew she was on the game; the tell-tale signs were there: the flash clothes, the heavy make-up, and the sensual manner, too suggestive for a girl her age.

  Carl had a strange obsession to keep one hand in her life; he took her out for the odd meal for two, and it was always followed by sex. He referred to her as his number one woman, his pleasure, and of course his money-maker. She too liked to have him on speed dial, if ever a rough punter needed bashing up, or she was too drunk to get home.

  Their relationship was symbiotic; she wasn’t his partner, girlfriend, or best friend, but his go-to girl. He didn’t flirt with her either; he just said in matter-of-fact terms that she was sexy, reliable, and perfect to have at hand, if need be. What it amounted to varied from week to week. She could never guarantee his intentions when he pulled up in that flash car of his to take her out. Perhaps that was her guilty pleasure – the unknown.

  Then things changed.

  One evening, she was propped up at a bar, sipping a glass of Grey Goose and tonic, awaiting her favourite punter, Gerry Johns, when Carl strode in. He nodded her way but didn’t come over; instead, he walked with his cocky swagger over to the tall and very beautiful brunette who was seated by the open fireplace. Lucy followed him with her eyes and watched closely how he greeted the mystery woman.

  Lucy’s heart beat faster when she saw him gently rub the woman’s arm and sensually kiss her cheek. The brunette smiled coyly and fluttered her eyelashes. This was no business meeting; it was a date. Lucy stared harder, clocking the attractive woman’s response to him. She was clearly besotted and made no bones about oozing her sensuality. He ran his hands through his long loose waves and almost blushed – that was a first.

  It was at that point, Lucy realised she was jealous and would have loved to have swapped places. The one thing she had always noticed was that no matter what scam he was pulling off, he wore an Armani suit or designer jeans, an expensive leather jacket, and a gold watch. As she continued staring, whilst he was whispering in the woman’s ear, he glanced Lucy’s way and winked. She spun back to face the bar to digest the meaning of that sexy wink. She couldn’t be sure if he was teasing her or mocking her.

  As soon as Gerry arrived, she sighed with relief; she could play Carl’s game and flirt. Gerry was a looker himself, being tall, fit, and almost pretty with round glassy eyes framed by extra thick dark lashes and a contrasting pale skin. His hint of an Irish accent gave him an edge. She had asked him why he needed to pay for it when he could have any girl flocking at his feet. He smiled and replied, ‘Yes, I can have girlfriends, but I can’t stand the ag, the neediness, and the bloody whining. I’ve enough money to pay for what I want, so why have some tart hanging on to my shirt-tails?’

  That was good enough for her, although if he hadn’t been paying for it, she would have given him a piece of her anyway. She liked sex with him and actually enjoyed his company, but once he’d given her his reasons for not having a girlfriend, she decided to keep it as it was and not upset the apple cart. That evening, though, she wanted to flirt, and so she laughed louder than she would have and whispered more than she needed to. She tickled his back and ran her hands up the back of his neck, pretending she was gooey-eyed and in love, and yet, all the while, she hoped Carl was watching. Two can play at that game, she thought.

  As soon as Gerry got up to use the gents’, Carl was at the bar to buy another round. He slid his way over to her and whispered, ‘I hope he’s paying you well for all the effort you’re putting in?’ He winked and ordered two Bacardi Mojitos, leaving her biting her lip with rage. She felt foolish and wanted to slap him for mocking her.

  A week later, he called at her father’s, holding a bunch of keys and laughing. ‘Fancy ya own pad, treacle?’

  She naturally grabbed the offer with both hands, packed her bags, and left within an hour, without even asking what the flat was like, how much the rent was, or what she had to do to return the favour. She’d misunderstood him and assumed they were going to live together.

  The flat itself was a two-bedroom pad, along with three other small flats, which had been converted from a shop in Webb’s Road just off Clapham Common. He pulled up directly outside and grinned in her face. ‘So, what do you think? Better than Lewisham, eh?’

  She looked at the modern frontage and smiled. ‘This will do us both nicely. Have you moved all your belongings in already?’

  He jerked his head back in surprise. ‘You what? Lucy Lou, you didn’t think I was moving in with you, did you?’ His tone was contemptuous.

  Her eyes flicked across his face, searching for an explanation, but his deadpan countenance told her all she needed to know, and with a downtrodden expression, she replied, ‘No, of course not, a silly assumption on my part.’ Yet, deep down, she was gutted, and then the realisation hit her; he wanted something in return. ‘So, Carl, do enlighten me. What’s the reason for the flat?’

  He shook his head and laughed. ‘Oh, come on, Lucy, me and you, we have a thing. I look out for you, and, well, you work for me.’

  She couldn’t disagree, but the flat would cost an arm and a leg, so he would want payment, in one way or another. ‘Carl, me and you are just two lost souls, really. Yeah, we fuck, and I work for you sometimes, but I’m not ya sister or ya bird, so, come on, spit it out, what’s the catch?’ She fingered the set of keys and waited for an answer. His side profile was just as handsome as his front, and she gazed while he stared ahead.

  ‘All right, there’s no messing you over, is there? I’ll be straight with you. I know you have your regular punters and I turn a blind eye—’

  ‘Blind eye?’ she interrupted. ‘What the fuck does it have to do with you?’

  With a half-cocked grin, he ran his index finger down her cheek. ‘Because, Lucy Lou, you are supposed to work for me. No sidelines, no nonsense, just be ready when I need you.’

  She shud
dered, feeling a little intimidated by his words. There was no hint of a joke; he was serious. ‘Carl, since when do I solely work for you? I mean, I have scratched your back, and you, in some ways, scratch mine, but that’s as far as it goes.’

  ‘That, my little treacle dumpling, is where you’re fucking wrong. I have toms set up in twenty flats all over London, and each one does as she’s told. You have got away with too much, and anyway, why ask?’

  Her face was scrunched up in confusion and disgust. ‘I ain’t one of your fucking dirty whores. I’ve my own clients, rich decent men, who wine and dine me and don’t take fucking liberties. They see me all right for cash, so why on earth would I be in one of your whorehouses? You ain’t my pimp.’

  He chuckled sarcastically. ‘You have a funny idea of a pimp. Well, let me educate you, Lucy Lou. You don’t have to sleep with a man for money to prostitute yourself. You’ve been doing it for a few years now. But, although we make a good team, with our little scams, it still comes down to the same sordid act. Whether you are dancing around half-naked cracking a fucking whip or jumping up and down on some geezer’s cock, it’s still prostitution. And another thing, Miss High and Fucking Mighty, your so-called selected clients can just as easily put a knife across your throat and would probably have the brains to get away with it. So, in my eyes, princess, you need a pimp.’

  He paused and wiped his mouth. ‘Whether you like it or not, I’m your pimp. I always have been and probably always will be.’

  With flared nostrils and a livid expression on her face, she grappled with the lock to get out of the car. She wasn’t going to listen to his bullshit. She didn’t need him, she was independent, or so she thought. He could shove his fancy flat up his arse. But the door was locked, and Carl laughed again.

  ‘Hey, slow down, you’re gonna wreck me motor. All right, listen. I said I would turn a blind eye to your private clients … the truth is, it was me that sent you them, not that poxy two-bit escort agency. Christ, Lucy, I thought you would have guessed by now that everything you do has your good old Uncle Carl’s name behind it.’ He waited for her to digest all of this, enjoying the frustration on her face. In fact, he revelled in getting one over her – he almost got off on it.

  She stopped trying to escape from the car and froze, feeling as though she’d just experienced an electric shock. Slowly, she understood his satisfied expression and lunged forward, clawing at his face. ‘You bastard, you fucking dirty sly bastard!’ She began to scream and, enraged, she continued trying to claw him, but he gripped her wrists, allowing her to scream and shout obscenities, until, unexpectedly, she began to cry – deep heartfelt sobs that made Carl think perhaps he’d gone too far this time. Lucy never cried.

  She genuinely thought she’d escaped her father’s miserable council house and was going it alone, to make a life for herself. Selling her arse was just the start, until she would have enough savings to set up her own business. Whatever that would be, it didn’t matter, but one day, she would make a life for herself.

  He waited until her sobs subsided before he spoke. ‘I knew you went to that agency, so I told them to only give you the best punters, and I checked them out myself. Ya see, babe, I still have your back, so directly or indirectly, I’m your pimp.’ He softened his voice and spoke slowly. ‘But, you’re right. You ain’t like my whores I have in the flats. No, Lucy, you, my babe, are different.’

  She sniffed and wiped the snot with the back of her hand, pulled down the sun visor mirror and looked at her blotchy red face as she tried to wipe away the black mascara that stained her cheeks. ‘Why, though, Carl? Why me? Why couldn’t you just leave me be? You always seem to have your hand in my life. What is it, Carl, eh? In love with me, are you?’ In a way, she hoped he would say yes.

  He didn’t, though. He laughed in her face and those words hit her like a brick. ‘Don’t be silly, I’m not capable of loving anyone. I don’t want to, either.’

  She rolled her eyes and stared at the flat. ‘So, I guess I’m in there, then, and you will send clients to me, eh? And I s’pose I will pay you a percentage to cover the cost of the flat. Am I right?’

  For just a second, she thought he looked sad or guilty as his head dipped down, but maybe it was just wishful thinking.

  ‘Aw, Lucy, no. Look, treacle, I don’t want to play happy families. I can’t. I’m not into that, and no, I don’t love you, well, not enough for anything serious. Look, I owe your ol’ man a big debt, and I made a promise that I would look out for ya, and yeah, you have chosen your own path in life, and I can’t change that, but I will look out for ya. I have to admit there’s something about you that has me coming back for more, but I don’t want you all the time – it’s that simple, really. Anyway, enough about us, ’cos there is no us, but listen, the flat’s yours. I have a few little jobs coming up, and I want you ready. It’s a good earner for me and you, so there’s the flat. Keep ya silly punters but be ready when I call.’

  He tapped her nose and gave her a look of narcissistic satisfaction. ‘Now we have that straightened out, how about we try out your bed? It’s all fresh and ready for your naked body. You know how I like it, Lucy Lou.’

  For a second, she contemplated the idea. His eyes were beckoning her; that sexy twinkle, it always turned her on, yet she was still furious, and so she laughed back in his face. ‘No way. You want my arse, then you fucking pay like the rest – five hundred pounds, take it or leave it.’ She noticed his arrogant jubilation diminish, and she smiled inwardly. That will teach you, you cocksure prick.

  But she wasn’t prepared for what happened next. All at once, his hands were around her throat and his eyes burned into hers. ‘Listen to me, baby doll. You ever think about talking to me like that again and I’ll rip you a new fucking arsehole. No punter, no matter how desperate, will want a piece of you.’

  As she spluttered, and stared at him in horror, he released his grip. The situation had turned tense, but he realised he needed to be the bigger person. Accordingly, he lowered his tone. ‘I didn’t have to take care of you. In fact, as a kid you were a fucking nightmare, but I made a promise to ya ol’ man. You have a short memory, Lucy, and you need to remind yourself where you really would have ended up, if it weren’t for me. I can take you to King’s Cross, right fucking now, and you will see for yourself!’

  She tried to remain cool and not let on it terrified her. Instead of making exaggerated gasping noises, she took a slow but large intake of air through her nose and fixed her eyes on his, trying hard not to show any emotion. She didn’t want to give him any clues that she was afraid of him; he was a dangerous man, a secretive and powerful man. But whilst she had to be mindful he would hurt her if she took the piss out of him, she was no soft touch herself. She had her pride and an inner steel about her. No way was he going to get the upper hand, not whilst she still had breath in her body.

  That was the beginning of their adult relationship. She was almost eighteen and he was in his late twenties. He’d achieved a lot in his young years. It was hard to imagine her own father being powerless to Carl; even at his age and size, her dad was still bloody scared of him. Perhaps that fear had rubbed off on her. Maybe that was part of the thrill, imagining her father being scared of the man and her shagging him.

  Whatever it was, it never changed over the years. Carl made demands that increased as the months rolled into years. She went along with it – she had to – even with the men he sent for services, and to add insult to injury, they weren’t the nicest either, being old, fat, hairy, and some smelly, but in the back of her mind, she was afraid that if she pushed Carl too far, he would harm her.

  Now, as she lay there on the bed, feeling the brushed cotton between her fingers, she experienced a sudden rush of emotion: it was hate. Being away from Carl had made her see things for what they really were and getting her life in order and taking what she wanted, and not what she was only allowed to have, gave her a sense of freedom. Biting her nails, she just wished that he would leave
her alone, and let her get on with her life. And as for the twenty grand she stole from him, that was peanuts to a man like Carl; he probably carried that much around as pocket money.

  But she had stolen it to go to Australia, to start a new life on the other side of the world. Carl, however, saw the money she owed as his reason for pulling her back into his clutches. If he was insistent, then she would have to get the money, and the only way that was likely to happen was if she could somehow wangle it from Justin. Perhaps a trust fund for their son would be the answer.

  She’d spent all of her own money and also what she’d cajoled out of Joan Bannon before she died. Joan, the poor unsuspecting woman, had no reason to ever imagine that the young person who had moved to within a few yards down the street and who offered to clean her house and care for her would be a leech for information. Lucy had spent enough time with Joan to learn everything about Kara because the woman was so proud of her precious daughter; it was like taking candy from a baby. And she had all the tools she needed to step into Kara’s shoes and take her man, her house, and her money.

  Without any warning, Lucy felt the baby move, only slightly, but it made it all the more real that in a few months she would be giving birth, and then she would have her hands tied. Of course, she would play the sick wife and insist they had a nanny.

  Her thoughts returned to Kara, and once again, she bit her lip, as there was always that nagging doubt that Justin could leave her at the drop of a hat, as he’d done to Kara. For, deep down, she knew in her heart that Justin was still very much in love with Kara.

  She looked at the small bedroom and sighed. She wanted to have what Kara had – that idyllic home and the man who Joan had bragged about. Once Joan was on the subject of her daughter, she wouldn’t shut up; she would go on and on about how proud she was, how beautiful and brilliantly clever and happy Kara and Justin were – even to the point of describing the size of their perfect home and what wonderful parents they would make.