by Paul Blades
The guards and Diskare rose, not breaking the silence which now lay across the room. The girl had soiled herself and the room reeked with a mixed smell of her waste and burned flesh. More drinks were poured as the girl slowly regained consciousness, moaning, straining lightly at her bonds. The thin guard approached her and anointed the scar with the red colored salve which would tint it. Gradually, the men in the room began to talk and exchange light banter about their recent victim.
Diskare picked up a phone located on a table near the door and spoke briefly and quietly into it. A few minutes later there was a knock on the door. One of the guards pulled the door open and admitted two servant girls followed by Carla. Diskare tossed his head towards the girl on the divan and Carla spoke sharply to the two servant girls. They proceeded to the divan where they began to clean up the mess we had made there. Marissa's arms and legs were freed from the legs of the divan by the guards and one of the girls wiped her clean, carefully avoiding the burned tissue above her ass. Carla pulled from the cabinet on the wall a large bandage which she then affixed to the wound on Marissa's backside.
Diskare watched silently. Marissa, supported by the two masked guards at her sides, hung limp, exhausted, crushed by what had happened. As the servant girls finished their tasks, one of the guards took Marissa's wrists and joined them together before her and then, by a small chain, fastened them to the ring in the front of her collar. She was brought before Diskare and pushed to her knees. Diskare regarded her. No cameras this time. He grabbed her face. "Learn to serve, learn to obey," he said. He released her and nodded to Carla.
Carla was holding a leather mask, more like a hood which she pulled over Marissa's head. A gag affixed to the interior of the hood was forced into her mouth and the bottom was pulled tight around her neck. Carla adjusted the front of the hood, assuring that the holes for the girl's nose were in the right place, and then pulled tight the straps in the back of the head. From a pocket in her dress she pulled out a chain which she affixed to the clasped wrists and pulled Marissa to her feet. Pausing only to nod slightly at Diskare, she yanked the chain tight and then led Marissa from the room. Marissa stumbled slightly as she was forced forward and then plodded out the door, undoubtedly to spend the night in one of the cages I had seen earlier.
"Well, that's a night enough for me," Diskare said as he downed his drink. "I shall retire. Harry, you are welcome to use the game room facilities upstairs, but I warn you, we have an early day tomorrow, much work."
"I'm with you Mr. Diskare," I said. "Besides, I've got a little package waiting for me up in my room. I think I'll let her relieve me of some of the heat you've built up here tonight."
Diskare laughed and slapped me on the shoulder. “Very good my friend, very good. Let us go."
We left the basement and returned to the ground floor and then climbed the stairs to the second. "Your room is to the left, Harry;” Diskare told me. “My chambers are to the right. Have a good night."
I thanked him and walked back towards my room. My footsteps echoed down the empty hallway.
CHAPTER FOUR
A GIRL MEETS HER DESTINY
On my second day on the island, Diskare invited me to accompany him on a trip to the main city of Paliba, called by the same name. "We're having lunch with a client," was all he said. As a result, we sailed down the winding road towards the city in his limousine. The countryside was lush but obviously poor. We passed one or two villages of cardboard and corrugated iron huts, the denizens hanging about, seeming fixtures gathering dust. Undoubtedly these villages served as a fertile recruiting ground for staff at Diskare's resort. Few of the men of these villages would have any hope of improvement in their lives and would show unswerving loyalty to a man who could do for them what was otherwise impossible. Besides, the fringe benefits of working for Diskare were obvious.
We hit the city after about thirty five minutes of high speed driving and parked in the courtyard of a Spanish style building settled in a rather quaint section of the city. The courtyard was completely surrounded by the building and three walls. A uniformed doorman let us in through a wrought iron gate. Diskare led me inside to a restaurant where a maître’d escorted us to a table near the back of the room.
The restaurant was sparsely filled, almost empty. At the table was a late fortyish, heavyset man and what appeared to be his daughter. The girl was tall and slender in a graceful, wispy sort of way. She was wearing a white cotton blouse splashed with large, pastel yellow flowers and a long, tan skirt which ended about mid-calf. Demure, and classically beautiful, good fortune dripped off of her in the form of a pair of exquisite pearl earrings which hung like teardrops from her ears and the sparkling string of pearls which looped down from her shoulders and around her neck. Her blouse had a rounded neckline which left exposed the very tops of her breasts, hinting at the fullness beneath. Her long, straight, light brown hair was held back by a yellow ribbon, bowed at the top of her head. She was wearing dark sunglasses, not entirely inappropriate for the brightly sunlit room.
"Ah, Simon, I am glad to see you," Diskare said to the seated man. "And your stepdaughter, yes, so glad to meet you." Diskare held his hand out to the girl. Looking slightly offended, the girl extended her hand limply, touched Diskare's and then dropped it to the table. She looked away.
“My friend, Harry," he said by way of introduction. I shook the man's hand and then the cold fish's.
The man spoke. "Yes, this is my stepdaughter Audrey, Audrey Abrams. I am glad to be able to finally present her to you." Oh, oh, something was up.
"Yes, I'm very glad to meet her; you've told me so much about her,” Diskare replied. “I'm so happy you were both able to stop and have lunch with me here. You just totally surprised me when you called." He had the ability to diminish his appearance at will. What I knew to be a cruel, barracuda like sociopath could come on like a hairdressing, weak-kneed pantywaist. All he needed were painted fingernails and a lisp and you'd swear you saw him lilting down Seventh Avenue. He was really pouring it on now. We sat down and Diskare quickly ordered food for us all. "I know all the specialties," he said. And to the girl, Audrey, "Please, remove your glasses. Simon has described your eyes as being quite exquisite and I'm dying to see them."
"Yes my dear, let him see your eyes," Simon implored.
Audrey removed her glasses with a scornful wave of her hand. "I don't see why you can't just leave me be, Simon. I am sure your friends are very nice, but I really want to just have lunch and then get off this dumpy island."
Well, I had just learned two things about this girl. One, if she thought that Diskare and I were "nice", she was a pisspoor judge of character. Secondly, I felt that her stay on Paliba was going to be a little longer than she imagined. Oh, and third: her eyes were beautiful.
"Oh, I am sorry if I have troubled you, Miss Abrams," Diskare spoke. "It’s just that I am intrigued by Simon's description of you. I feel as if I know you."
"And what has he told you? I'm afraid I don't approve of my stepfather trying to pimp me to his friends,” Audrey snapped back.
"Don't mind Audrey," Simon said. "She's upset about our little detour here. We are on our way to the Caymans to celebrate her 21st birthday in two days. At that time she is to come into her mother's estate. I'm afraid all I'll be left with is a small allowance. You see I'm really the one with the right to be upset."
"Simon, I really don't appreciate you're involving your friends in my personal affairs,” Audrey interjected. “If you can't discuss something else, I'll go wait at the dock."
"Oh all right, Audrey," Simon said. He looked at Diskare ominously.
Our food was brought to the table by a young servant girl. She was dressed in the manner of the servant girls at the resort and wore the telltale leather anklet around legs, noticeable only to those who knew their meaning. So this little Spanish rendezvous was actually part of the club. That explained the iron gate, the doorman and Diskare's presence here. I knew that Audrey was in for quite a s
urprise.
The restaurant filled up with several groups of very classy looking people, the kind who drank in money every morning and exuded wealth and privilege the rest of the day. Apparently
Diskare used this place as a way to reward his local bigwig
friends. Those in the know could, I was sure, request a private lunch upstairs, one which included some very special services.
I sat silently watching Audrey as Diskare and Simon discussed the weather, the fishing, the market, whatever. The girl refused to acknowledge my gaze and kept her eyes focused on what could be seen of the street from the window next to the table. Iron barred I might add. Finally, she could take it no longer.
"Mr. Wiggins, would you please stop staring at me. It's most disconcerting," she said tersely but politely.
"Pardon me," I said, "I didn't realize I was staring, I'm sorry. It's just that I find you very attractive."
She softened a bit. "Well, I thank you for the complement, and I must apologize for my attitude. I certainly didn't plan on having lunch on this island today. I'm very annoyed. I had hoped to be in the Caymans by dinner." She delivered a stony stare to Simon. He was a slime ball all right.
"Oh, yes Harry, you see it’s all my fault,” Simon said. Audrey had been talking to me, but the comment was obviously directed at him. “I didn't know”, he continued, “that the flight I booked us on stopped here for a layover. We'd been sailing for the last few days, Audrey loves scuba diving, and I guess I just blew it. I'm not very good at travel arrangements and things like that, but it has given me a chance to see my old friend Diskare here."
"You know Simon," the girl's voice was icy and sharp, piercing, "I don't put it past you to have shanghaied me here on purpose just so you could have lunch with one of your drinking buddies. You know I'm really pissed. And you shouldn't get me pissed now, should you?" The girl was flinging daggers at Simon. A silence fell over our little party after the girl’s outburst as our waitress appeared to remove our plates. The lunch had been quite delicious, as usual with all of the Club's cuisine, at least as far as staff and guests were concerned. The girl had hardly touched hers, a failure I felt she would soon repent. Slave fare was hardly worth writing home about, that is, assuming that slaves were allowed to write home.
Simon had wolfed down his plateful and was downing his third martini. Diskare, as usual, kept his counsel quietly, observing, measuring. He had a unique skill of talking, but saying little, all the while sizing you up, placing into one of his mind's categories. Filed away for later use.
Diskare acted to break the spell. "Simon, let me show you my new boat, it’s very beautiful. Let me take you and Miss Abrams out for a small trip. Our island is actually quite lovely." Diskare looked at Audrey. "Please, let me be your host for a while?" Host, indeed!
"Yes, Audrey let’s go see Diskare's boat. We can catch the first flight out in the morning. You don't really want to take that little puddle jumper we booked on do you?" As Simon talked, he waved his arms about like a man agog, knocking over his glass.
”This is it, Simon," the girl said disgustedly as she threw her napkin to the table. "I told you I want off of this island and I meant it. If you don't get ready to go right now, I'm going to go by myself. And remember, in two days, those charge cards you hold will be cancelled. No more flying around the Caribbean for you. I won't have you pissing away my mother's money anymore, my money that is, with your lowlife friends. Now are you going with me or not?"
The girl was quite exercised about the whole thing. I was sure Simon wasn't worth it, but then, I was equally sure that this girl would be apologizing to Simon very shortly.
"I'm staying here with my friends, Audrey” Simon replied. “I'm not going to let you run my life. You'll be sorry you spoke to me like that, I promise you."
Audrey laced out bitterly at Simon. "Well, I'm afraid you're the one who's going to be sorry, Simon. I'm leaving. Mr. Wiggins, would you be so kind as to order me a cab to the airport? I have a plane to catch in one hour. I'm sure that there is some chivalry on even this god forsaken island.”
So she was sure, was she? Well, I wouldn't be too hasty. I looked over to Diskare who had been calmly mopping up Simon's overturned martini. He nodded at me discretely. "Harry, the maître’d will take care of it. Just waive him over." He looked at the girl with his cold steel eyes. "Miss Abrams, I do not appreciate your tone and your implications about me. One should be cautious about making enemies, especially at such a young age." The barracuda was coming out.
"I really don't care what you think, and I don't appreciate being patronized," the girl replied. "I'll wait outside." The maître’d had come over to the table. "Please call me a cab for the airport at once," she said.
The girl stood and walked away swiftly from the table as the maître’d scraped and bowed his way to the telephone. Everybody in the now crowded restaurant was watching as they could not have avoided noticing the girl's outburst. Diskare had spoken, as was his custom, firmly, but quietly. Simon was huffing and puffing and waving his arms about as before. I kept my hand on my drink. "Oh well, Simon, we might as well enjoy ourselves, no?" Diskare said.
Diskare motioned the waitress for another round. Easy for him to say, he was drinking seltzer. Maybe I was wrong about what was going on here. How could he just let her walk out? I wasn't getting something. I watched out the window as an island cab, painted about thirty different colors in what seemed to be typical island fashion, drove up to the gate, was admitted and then drove off with the girl in the back seat. Well, I guess I didn't know everything after all.
After another round of drinks, Diskare called for the check and signed it. "Now Simon, you don't really want to go on my boat, do you?" He smiled at Simon.
"Boat? Who wants to go on a fucking boat?" Simon laughed, a kind of greasy guffaw.
"I thought not. May I suggest that you go upstairs and refresh yourself for a while, I'm sure you will find something there which will arouse your interest."
"Oh, I'm sure you're right old buddy, I'm sure you're right."
"And then we will see you, perhaps around nine tonight?"
"You can count on that amigo." Simon was beginning to sound like a very poor caricature of a slimy, fat, good old boy. Well, ducks don't fall far from the tree, do they?
Diskare and I left the restaurant and he directed his limousine back to the club. I was speechless, as I was disturbed
at my misreading of the situation. Diskare had a little smile on his face. "Quite a lovely creature, wasn't she, Harry?" he said as the car sped out onto the mountain roadway leading out of the city.
"Yes, quite lovely, but one that got away, no?"
"Well Harry, sometimes you have to let things take their course, do you know what I mean?"
I nodded yes, and as Diskare's tone seemed to signal an end to the conversation, I dummied up and enjoyed the scenery which quickly flashed past the window as we motored along. About fifteen minutes into our ride, I saw the taxi which had left the restaurant coming down the mountain road in the opposite direction. It was empty except for the driver, and that wasn't the way to the airport. It seemed that our little friend had missed her plane after all. I looked at Diskare.
"You see, Harry, timing is everything. I believe we have a new guest waiting for us at the Club. Shall we return and greet her?"
I really didn't have to say anything, I just nodded and smiled. This would be interesting indeed.
We drove up to the club a short while later and were waived through the front gate. The driver pulled us over to the side door of the main house and we entered by that door. As we walked in, I could see the guards giving the car the once over. Even the top man's car was subject to search when he returned. No telling who would try what, but safety lay in precautions. Needless to say that some people might look askance at Diskare's little operation here. Not only was he guilty of kidnapping, rape, involuntary servitude, piracy and murder, but a substantial amount of contraband found its way in a
nd out of this island. And it also served as a safe little getaway for some of the toughest, baddest bad guys this side of zero meridian. Many a deal meaning only bad news for the guardians of law, order and the good guy way had been struck here.
Passing through the hallway, Diskare led me through the doors to his private office. There, sitting in a large, overstuffed, maroon leather chair was Audrey. And steaming was an understatement.
"I thought so," she yelled, "I was positive you were behind this. What the fuck do you think you are doing? I have never been treated like this in my life, brought here against my will. This is kidnapping. Let me tell you, I intend to press charges. I don't care if the president of this island is your Uncle Charlie, you are going to pay for this!" The girl was standing now, stamping her foot and jabbing her finger at Diskare. Her eyes bulged slightly from their sockets and her face was turning a sort of soft pink. Very excited.
There was one guard in the room standing about five feet behind the chair the girl had been sitting on. He stood there stony faced, looking only at Diskare. I'm sure he was a little curious at why Diskare would take this kind of shit from a woman, especially one who was a prisoner and soon to be a slave.
The room was finely furnished with a teakwood-topped desk and leather appointed chairs and stools. A heavy mahogany armoire stood against one wall while on the opposite one was a large plate glass window which looked out over the bay below. A red, plush carpet covered the center areas of the floor, leaving a border of gleaming, highly polished wood around the room.
Diskare just walked calmly past the girl to the business end of his desk, ignoring her outburst. His desk was set facing the doors we had entered through and the girl had been sitting in one of two elegant leather easy chairs which faced it, their backs to the door. Beyond the desk, to Diskare's rear, was an array of three chairs, their backs also to the door, all facing a divan set about two feet out from the wall. Diskare motioned me to one of those chairs. He spoke to the girl.
