Trust Me

by Paul Slatter

  Chendrill pulled the Aston up outside Dan's mother’s, parking it an inch from the back of the Ferrari that couldn't go over 90kph, feeling his ribs twinge as he got out. He walked up the steps to the door, pulled out the spare key Dan's mother Tricia had given him, and opening the front door heard Dan calling out Daltrey’s name from the basement.

  Daltrey was here he thought. That was quick, but she was supposed to still be in the hospital. Then he heard Dan call out again, “Get over there and get back on the bed.”

  And moments later, “Don't—don’t you try and escape, get your ass in the air—I'm not done with you yet.”

  Then, “Get away from the door!”

  Chendrill called down the stairs into the basement towards Dan's room.

  “Dan! What the fuck are you doing?”

  Seconds later, the door to Dan's bedroom opened, Dan popping his head all red and sweaty out as Chendrill heard him say, “You what?”

  Chendrill stood leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs, staring down at Dan, seeing a piece of the duvet peeking through at the bottom of the door.

  Then Chendrill said, “Leave her alone, if she doesn't want to be down there with you then don't be a prick.”

  Now Dan was confused, how could the big fucker in the shirt know he'd just made love to the spirit of Daltrey with the help of what ended up being all the butter from the fridge upstairs. He said, “There ain’t no one here.”

  Chendrill saying straight back, “Then who are you talking to then?”

  Dan looked back into the room as if there's someone there and nodding, then looked back out again and quickly said, “Mum’s waiting for you at the cinema, you'd better be quick.”

  Chendrill frowned, wondering what the international sensation was going on about now. Then heard Dan carry on saying, “Yeah, she's waiting for you, she wants you to watch Adalia Seychan’s latest film. She said since you and her have had troubles, it could be kind of bonding.'

  Oh, Chendrill thought, that film. Adalia Seychan was supposed to be good in it. He remembered hearing about it—it was about a woman who, in the autumn of her years, goes back in time and kills every one of her boyfriends and husbands. He said, “The one where she plays the axe murderer? Sounds great.”

  Then he asked, “So, who's in there then?”

  “None of your business,” said Dan, who quickly heard back, “Really?”

  “Yeah!”

  “It's normal for the youth of today to keep people imprisoned in their basement rooms is it?”

  Dan telling him again, “Mum's waiting.”

  Chendrill smiled at the kid who could be as sharp as a tack one minute and one dumb fucker the next. He said, “Your mum picked that film as a nice couples movie did she—thought we could cuddle up?”

  “Yeah that's exactly what she said.”

  “And that's how you got her out the house was it? Gave her a bullshit line about meeting me at the movie theatre so as you could have a girl back here?”

  Fuck, Dan thought, how did this prick always seem to be able to see through his bullshit—even if Daltrey wasn’t quite here in a physical sense.

  Wondering if Chendrill knew he was naked, he said, “Why you keep talking about me having a girl down here?”

  “Because you were telling her to get away from the door, and other stuff.”

  “Well yeah, you were right, but she’s gone—she ain’t here anymore.”

  “Well unless I’m deaf and didn’t hear her climb out that little window, she must still be in there with you.”

  “She’s not.”

  “So why you giving her shit then?”

  “Just pretending. I’m rehearsing for this movie you’ve got me in… That’s what.”

  “I’ve got you in?”

  “Yeah, you’re the one who came here knocking.”

  “Oh, ok? So you’re rehearsing?”

  “Yeah, it’s important. Sebastian said I had to.”

  “And that’s why it’s two in the afternoon and you’ve got no clothes on, is it?”

  Fuck, Dan thought, wondering how this prick with the moustache who was screwing his mother could tell.

  He said, “Haven’t you got better things to do than hang around here?”

  Ignoring the question, Chendrill just said, “Why’s there butter on the door?”

  “Dunno. I had a sandwich.”

  Chendrill said again, “Well like I just said—unless I'm deaf and I didn't hear whoever you've got in there climb out that little window, then whoever you were bullying is still in there.”

  “I told you—no one’s in here.”

  “What are you doing then, having sex with a ghost?”

  Smiling and looking back at Chendrill, Dan wondered now how he'd managed to work that one out. Tilting his head to the side, Dan said in a sarcastic tone, “Maybe!”

  Hearing the minute inkling of truth in Dan’s voice, Chendrill laughed inside. He looked to the streak of butter smeared on the door. Raising his eyebrows, he said, ''Really?”

  “Yeah, you need to get out more. People do stuff like that these days.”

  Then as he turned and began to walk away, Chendrill said, “Well if it was Daltrey’s ghost, you’re just wanking as normal.”

  Leaving Dan in his basement, Chendrill headed to the cinema downtown so he could ‘get out more’ and found Dan's mother standing alone in the foyer. Walking to her, taking her by surprise with a squeeze of her arm he said, “I heard your son's been recommending couples movies for us.”

  Then he heard Trish say, “I'm sorry I hit you.”

  As she turned to him, Chendrill looked down at her, smiled, and said, “Forget about it.”

  Then she replied, “I take it coming here was all Dan's idea. He must have sensed there was trouble.”

  “Yeah, he's really deep.”

  They sat at a restaurant just down from the cinemas, Chendrill ordering for them both. Tricia not liking the chicken on a bun and wanting a salad instead, but not saying a word.

  Chendrill carried on as though it was normal to have his hair pulled and to be slapped in the face. Then out of the blue, just as the waiter had walked away, shuffling his way through the afternoon crowd, Chendrill said, "You're my girl—I haven't got another woman and I'll let go what happened the other morning but you need to know if it happens again for whatever reason, it won't happen a third time.”

  Tricia looked at him, getting it no problem. She knew what she could be like and wondered if she should just end it now. She said, “It's the one thing I hate about myself, Chuck, somethings are just there, but I will try.”

  It was just there, thought Chendrill, just there as it was in a lot of people, just there under the surface of men who lashed out when they felt angry or threatened or frustrated by their inability to find an answer to their wife’s quick tongue or emasculation; just there in the woman who did just that to the one person who truly loved her, hitting their partner they pretended to love or their children with their venomous words and crying after to hide their shame.

  They headed home to Tricia's place, Tricia quietly listening to Abba in the passenger seat of the Aston, her right hand out the open window playing with the air, her left unconsciously stroking Chendrill’s leg, hoping she could control her temper, wishing they could be forever. Three cars behind them, the guy from the U.S. Customs and Border Protection followed along, wishing he’d listened at school so as he could drive an Aston Martin as well and be like James Bond.

  They reached the house and parked outside behind Dan’s Ferrari, which hadn’t moved. The pair of them still holding hands as they went up the small steps to the front door and headed for the kitchen. Chendrill sat in his usual spot, as he always did, Tricia wondering where the butter had gone, Chendrill wondering if the guy who’d been following them was a Pap.

  As he watched his girl making a drink, he asked, “Do you think your kid will ever get out of that basement?”

  Shaking her head, Tricia sa
id back, “He likes it down there. Sometimes he doesn’t come out for days.”

  “I see that,” he said, and then, “This girl he was kind of seeing, the one I told you had died, the one who called me…”

  Deciding to let it go about Chendrill having slept with the woman, Tricia asked, “Have you told Dan?”

  Chendrill shook his head, then carried on saying, “I tried to mention it earlier, but he was busy.”

  “Oh?” said Tricia, wondering what her son had been busy doing. She said, “Well should we tell him now?”

  Chendrill shrugged, then said, “Sure.” Tricia walked to the top of the basement stairs and called down to her son, her voice like that of an angel who had something important to say.

  They both waited, Tricia looking down the stairs, Chendrill looking at the floorboards in the direction of Dan’s room almost as if he had some sort of superhero powers. Dan’s mother tried again, “Dan?—Dan?—Daniel love?” Tricia waited then looked to Chendrill, saying, “Maybe he’s asleep?”

  “Yeah, he’s probably tired, the way he’s been rehearsing for this film.”

  She tried again, this time louder, “Dan—Daniel—Daniel—Dan—Daniel love.”

  Then they heard him stir slightly and something fall over, and then his voice say, “Fuck.” And then again, “Fuck,” and then once more in complete irritation, “For fucksake—what?”

  Chendrill looked to his girl as he heard the door to Dan’s room open, and then heard Dan himself wade up the stairs, appearing up the top in his underpants with one sock on.

  He said, “I’m trying to sleep you know.”

  Chendrill and Dan’s mother just stared, keeping quiet as Dan carried on saying, “You know, I’m a model, I need my sleep so I can look good. It’s important.”

  Chendrill said straight back, “I thought all the appeal came from you looking like shit?”

  “Speak for yourself,” Dan said, snapping straight back.

  Then as he began to turn and head back down to his cave, he heard his mother say, “Dan, Chuck’s got something to tell you.”

  And Chendrill said, “The police made an error. Daltrey is still alive, I saw her last night.”

  Dan stared at him for a moment, putting it all together, the calls, the fact that having sex with a ghost hadn’t really felt anything different from any other ‘special time’ he’d given himself on a Saturday when his mother was out—or in, for that matter. It all made sense now.

  He said, “Yeah I know she called.” Chendrill stared for a moment, wondering why. Then said, “And?”

  “I didn’t answer, I thought it was a ghost.”

  Chendrill smiled and looked to Dan’s mother, everything making sense now—Dan in his room downstairs, doing what he’d said Chendrill should do, only there was no spirit in his room to reciprocate.

  Chendrill said, “I guess it was a bit of a waste of time then this afternoon, now that you know the facts.”

  “Depends which way you look at it,” replied Dan, grinning ear to ear.

  ************

  Stephanie told him he wasn't allowed to use any of his fingers as she sat on the edge of Ditcon’s desk and held him tight by the ears. It wasn't the way his tongue licked her that was making her excited, it was more the way she was making him lick her that was making her excited. Ditcon, doing it kind of okay—but she'd had better guys down there, ones who cared about what they were doing more than simply getting off on the scent. Ditcon there, sitting in his big office, on his big chair with her on the edge of his big desk, out to lunch in more ways than one by the way he was gnawing on her vagina. His head felt good in her hands even though it didn't have much hair, and his ears were turning red from the way she'd been pulling him into her.

  What a fun start to her shift week it had been, getting the call to drive the big guy about like she had, listening to his bullshit, then having him sucking on her pussy in a little over 48 hours without the guy even trying to get his cock out. Not that she would ever let him; after all, she did have a boyfriend.

  Ditcon looked up and wiped the dribble from his nose, which hurt. He said, “I could sit here and do this all day,” which is pretty much what it felt as though he had been doing from the way his neck and jaw ached.

  “Well you'll have to stop soon because I need to go to the toilet,” said Stephanie. Ditcon going in for afters then pulling back, stopping, without a thought for her. He said, “You're good yeah?” She wasn't, far from it really, but what the hell, the way he was going about it there was little hope anyway.

  She had him now where she wanted him, there was no doubting that. Long gone were the days of sexual manipulation or harassment for this girl as domination was Stephanie’s thing.

  It had all started a few years back when a friend who kept a cat suit in the closet and a dungeon in the basement had asked her for help and male sexual subservience had quickly become Stephanie’s little secret.

  Nowadays any sleazy, power crazed man, such as Ditcon, who saw her as easy prey would soon find themselves quite literally sucked in and feeling abused. So, with all the booze and drugs Ditcon had been plowing into Stephanie along with his wandering hands, her boss Ditcon had deservedly just gotten his first taste.

  She said, “We going anywhere today?”

  Ditcon thought about it. They'd had breakfast, then coffee, then some wine over lunch, then some tequila and a couple of shots of brandy, then out had come the cocaine again along with another tease and some more inappropriate touching and suddenly Ditcon had been eating another lunch in the office.

  As he watched Stephanie straighten herself out so quickly that even he wondered if the last hour had been his imagination, he said, “Yeah get the car ready, there's a nice cafe on the other side of town which needs looking into.”

  They moved fast, the traffic parting as though Moses himself was sitting in the back of the Buick town car he’d picked this time with its souped-up extras. Ditcon feeling good, but a little pissed now, wishing he'd stopped what he'd been doing 20 minutes earlier so as he could snag one of the glazed pastries from the cafe before the kids got out of school. Sometimes they split them, he thought, as he stared out the window at the cars pulled over at the side of the road. If they did and there were two left, he'd have them both, tell them one was for his driver.

  He said, “When we get close, turn off the lights and siren so as no one knows what we're up to.”

  They pulled up outside the café. Ditcon was first out, coming in at the back end of a bunch of schoolkids just hitting the door. Pulling his ID, he said, “What school you guys from?”

  The kids looked nervous for a moment, saying, “Kits”.

  Nodding as if knew something they didn't, Ditcon ducked in front.

  They sat at a table by the window, Stephanie looking at him with a smile wondering if one of the two pastries he'd bought was for her. Ditcon was in a bit of a dilemma because of this. Then the phone rang and it was from the U.S. Customs and Border Protection. The guy on the end of the phone said, “Do you have a reason for thinking this Chendrill character is our guy? He seems clean, has a valid passport, why wouldn’t he just use that?”

  Ditcon looked at his new driver, who was now sexually harassing him. Raising one eyebrow, he said, “You want us to bring him in to see what he has to say?”

  The guy on the phone sitting up the road from Dan's mother’s home wondered about the time because he'd been on the phone to a place he knew from old called Happy Feet and booked a foot massage. He said, “Let's give it a bit—see how it all plays out.”

  Ditcon sat there with frosting on his upper lip, putting the phone on speaker so he could look cool, and said, “Be quick, or you'll need to get a work visa.”

  The guy sitting in the rental thinking about his toes said straight back, “Don't need one, I'm a Canadian, eh!”

  Chapter Eight

  He'd been there before, this little place just up from the Sutton on Burrard with its signs on the wall tellin
g anyone who'd listen to respect the girls who made his feet feel good.

  Kaio wasn't there anymore, the woman at the desk had told him, the girl there instead though sorting him out with her magic fingers looking just like the one before who he used to see. The Asian girl squeezing his big toe at the top just like Kaio had when he'd been up before cruising round town looking for bad guys.

  He smiled and said in almost a whisper so as the fat woman three chairs along couldn't hear, “You're really pretty.”

  The girl who looked like Kaio smiled back at him as he tried to hold in his gut. Then he said again, “I'm not kidding, what's your name.”

  “Maio.”

  The girl answered louder than he'd have liked as he caught her fingers with his oily splayed out toes and gently shook her hand and, still whispering, said, “My name’s Basil and I'd love to take you for coffee.”

  They met after her shift finished; she was all smiles and so, so shy. Basil's feet slipping in his socks as he walked—same as they had the last time he'd been in town. He looked at her over the top of his latte as he spoke, asking her what the little wooden tool she'd been digging into the pressure points at the top off his toes was for. She told him it came from her grandparents, the same as Kaio had the last time he'd been in that same cafe.

  He said, “Really, that's so nice.”

  She was from Hiroo, one of the many residential districts of Shibuya, right in the heart of Tokyo—this little beauty with hands of steel who was still having trouble with English and the words which came spitting out at her fast and furious, just as her sister Kaio had a year earlier when she'd been in town.

  Basil sitting there telling her about his place just across the border with its view of the sound and boring her with the new granite topped kitchen he was putting in, Maio getting confused, just answering with a “Yes.”

  Basil lying, saying his feet had never felt so good and how he liked the squishy feeling in between his toes. Maio saying 'yes' again.

  She looked at him, this girl whose great-grandmother had spent the duration of the WWII using her little wooden tool to massage the feet of the officers in Beppu Prisoner of War Camp in Japan while they starved Basil’s great-grandfather to death. This guy who needed to clip his toe nails, talking to her about workmen building a chicken. The man looking and acting the same way as the guy her sister had met.