The Debt Collector (Season 1)

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  She frowns. “All I’m asking for is four short hits. You will be on your way soon.”

  I cross my arms. “At which point, you won’t need me further, given that I have no intention of working for you full-time. It seems safer for you to have a reason to want me back.”

  The smooth skin of her forehead wrinkles. “You think I’m going to sell you out to the mob.”

  “It’s crossed my mind once or twice.”

  She smiles. “What assurance do I have that you’ll return?”

  “I’m… interested in making sure Tilly receives some of the transfer.” Which is true, even though there’s no way I can personally transfer out to Tilly. And it’s a convincing, given my moment of weakness in the stairwell. When I get back, I'll just make sure their other debt collector does that particular transfer.

  Madam A narrows her eyes. “Two transfers now, two later.”

  “I’ll do all four transfers, plus another two, but only when I return.” I keep my face impassive. “I want you to have incentive to bring me back.”

  She sighs. “Fine. But if you do not return, Tilly will drop to the bottom of the list for transfers.” She tilts her head to me. “I want you to have incentive to return to us as well.”

  My stomach hollows out, and I sneak a look at Grace. Her gaze is fixed on Madam A, emotionless. I have no way of knowing if she’ll follow through with giving my hit to Tilly.

  “Agreed,” I say between my teeth. “And I assure you, I have every intention of returning.” Surprisingly, I actually mean it.

  She inclines her head again, accepting my promise. “I still have contact with a debt collector who has worked for us in the past,” she continues. “He now belongs to Kolek.”

  I don’t like the way that sounds, like the debt collector is the personal lapdog of a mob boss. “How unfortunate for him.”

  “Perhaps,” she says, noncommittally, which I find even more unsettling. “But it’s fortunate for you. He says your friend Ophelia was brought to Kolek’s central operations this evening. And he’s agreed to provide a cover for you to get inside. In case you are wondering, the facility is well-guarded. Even if I told you the location, it would be impossible for you to get in.”

  “So it’s quite a risk for him to cover for me,” I say. “What are you giving the debt collector in exchange?” Even if they’re friends, that can’t be the extent of it.

  “He owes me a favor,” she says evenly. “I’m more concerned about you, Lirium. Kolek is a dangerous man.”

  “I’ll manage. Just get me in, and Ophelia and I will find a way to get out.” I hope this is true. This is about the extent of my plan so far, and it sounds terrible when I say it out loud. But I’m short on options. Madam A raises her thin-line eyebrows, like she thinks I’m even more foolish than before. I glare at her. “What’s my cover?”

  She pauses a beat. “How good are you at pretending to be a sex worker, Lirium?”

  The look on my face makes her break into a grin.

  I’m still not convinced this isn’t Madam A’s idea of a cruel prank. Maybe her twisted attempt at revenge for my unwillingness to sign up full-time for her charity.

  Then again, I did ask for this.

  I’m standing outside a mansion, the kind I would never expect to see on the east side. A lush, expansive lawn serves as a natural barrier between the guarded gate and the house. White stucco walls are hidden behind palm trees, but brightly lit with spotlights. It’s hard to tell the size of the estate in the dark, but I don’t spend time trying. The fatigue-clad security guard at the gate with the automatic rifle slung over his shoulder has captured my attention.

  “I’m Joe,” I say, giving my real name, because everyone will assume it’s not. “I have an appointment with Valac.” I follow the script Madam A gave me, hoping there actually is a Valac locked up in the mansion somewhere. It sounds like a debt collector name, and probably means “demonic being of evil deathliness.” Ophelia would like it.

  The guard speaks into his wrist for a moment, waits, listens to something only he can hear, then clears me with a nod of his head. I shuffle towards the black-iron gate, but the guard stops me with the barrel of his rifle crossing my path.

  “I’ll have to search you first.” His voice is rough. His buddy in the guard shack looks unimpressed with my trenchcoat and boots. Madam A cleared my attire, after she unbuttoned half my shirt, spiked up my hair, and replaced the hospital bandages on my knuckles with nu-skin tape that makes my wounds practically invisible. Part of me wonders if I was really, all along, only a few buttons away from passing for a male sex worker. The guard slings his rifle over his shoulder and makes quick work, running his hands up and down my body. He doesn’t give a second look to my hands, the only real weapon I have. I try to act like I’ve done this a hundred times before.

  Finally he nods to his partner. The gate clicks, then buzzes as it slowly slides open. I hurry through the opening as soon as it’s wide enough and stride up the long driveway. Another rifle-carrying guard stands at a door I assume is the entrance, based on the giant, plaster archway and two-story columns marking it. I climb the three steps of the marble stoop. He holds up a hand when I’m still a few feet away. I freeze in my tracks. He doesn’t say anything, just stares. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for, but I try to act cool. I search my memories for what Madam A’s girls looked like when I opened the door: calm, collected, sexy. Smiling like they’ve done this before.

  I smile at the guard and shift my weight to one foot, quietly tapping my boot. The guard frowns. My heart pounds in my ears. I look away, pretending to examine the architecture, heat rising in my face.

  I have no idea how to do this.

  Finally, the mansion door slides open and a man leans out, holding on to the door frame. He’s young, with wavy, longish blond hair. He grins, bites his lip, and lets his gaze travel the length of my body before saying, “Joe, is it? Do come in.”

  I force a grin and saunter up to the threshold. I feel like an idiot, but the guard is already looking away, bored. Valac—at least I hope it’s Valac—slides his arm around my shoulders, ushering me into the darkened entryway. He leans back to press the button to close the door, a hand still firmly latched onto the shoulder of my trenchcoat. A receiving room down the hall is decorated with sleek gray couches and chairs, all lit with a warm white glow, but there’s no one else in sight. Valac returns his attention to me, giving me a one armed hug and leaning close to my face.

  “So nice of you to make a midnight booty call.” His voice is low.

  I give him a coy look, just in case. “You’re Valac, right? I just want to make sure I have the right client.”

  “Oh yes.” He grins again, then whispers in my ear. “You’re in exactly the right place, my friend.”

  I really hope Madam A isn’t having a laugh at my expense right now.

  He turns me to a set of stairs I hadn’t noticed in the dark. “C’mon, my room is upstairs.” His arm slips from my shoulders, but then he grabs my hand to pull me up the stairs. At the top, there’s no one in the hallway, which is sparsely decorated with steel-gray tables. White vases with matching roses infuse the air with their perfume. Valac drops my hand and moves quickly to the second door. He passes his hand over the keyswipe, and the door slides open.

  I hurry after him, checking behind me to make sure we’re not being followed. His bedroom is more steel-colored furniture with white linens and a gray-and-white mosaic that covers one wall. The door slides shut behind me, and Valac wheels to face me. His clean shaven face, black silk shirt, and trim-tailored dress pants make him look like he just returned from a photo-shoot. He moves closer until he’s less than a foot away and examines me with blue eyes that look entirely too hungry for my taste.

  “Look, you know I’m not really a sex worker. Right?”

  The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Relax, man. You’re not my type.” He’s still inspecting my face though. “Just trying to figure out your angle.”


  I edge out of his personal space, but my back’s against the door. I try not to feel trapped. “You’re a debt collector, right?” I ask.

  He holds up his right hand. His collecting hand. It’s crisscrossed with so many welt-scars that I can’t count them. Years. Those are years of life he’s taken. I know, because there’s one on my palm too. I hold it up. He takes a half-step back, giving me room, but looks even more puzzled.

  “Then you should understand why I’m here,” I say, “I just want to get Ophelia safely away from Kolek.”

  His eyebrows go up, and he’s still close enough that I notice they’re blond as well. “An altruistic debt collector? You’ll get yourself killed with that kind of thinking, Joe. Didn’t Ophelia teach you anything?”

  “You know her?” I press back. “Was she your mentor?” I need to know what this guy’s deal is.

  “Yes,” he said, eyeing me again. “I’m assuming yours as well, since she doesn’t do debt collectors, and yet you’re still trailing after her like a puppy.”

  My eyes narrow. “At least I’m not Kolek’s lapdog.”

  His blue eyes turn ice cold. That was a mistake, but it’s too late to take it back. “Where’s Ophelia?” I demand instead. Which is what I should have been asking the moment I was in the door.

  He gives me a wolfish grin and puts one hand on the door behind me, leaning in entirely too close. “If we go see her right away, we’ll blow your cover. You’re supposed to be servicing me in my room.”

  I’m thinking I might be his type after all. “Sorry,” I say dryly, not flinching away. “I don’t have sex with debt collectors either.”

  He lets out a light-hearted laugh, backs off, and strides over to a smoothly-cushioned chair. He flops into it, draping one leg over the chair-arm, chin in his hand, studying me again.

  “What’s your real name, Joe?” he asks.

  “Lirium.”

  His gaze travels my body again, then lands on my right hand. “How’d you get the burn?”

  “Same way as you, I imagine.”

  He grins. “And yet, you’re working with Madam A. You’re a complicated man, Lirium.” He says this like he approves, but I’m not sure about which part.

  “Look, we can exchange life stories later. Right now, I’m most interested in how we can get Ophelia out of here.” I’m assuming she can’t just walk out the front gate with me once my “appointment” with Valac is done.

  “Well, that will be some trick,” he says, rubbing his chin. “Security is pretty tight.”

  “There’s got to be some kind of delivery service or supplies that come in and out, right?” I ask. “If we wait until morning, maybe—”

  “My sex workers don’t usually do overnights,” he says with a smile. He seems entirely too relaxed about all this.

  “Well, maybe I’ll just call the police and report her kidnapped.”

  He gives that no-cares-in-the-world laugh again. “The police would never touch that 911 call. Half the force is in Kolek’s pocket, and the other half are afraid of his debt collectors.”

  His debt collectors… meaning Valac. “How did you end up here?”

  “Well, that is an interesting story,” he says with a smirk. He glances at his palm, taps it briefly, then looks up again. “But one that will have to wait, I’m afraid. Why don’t we go see Ophelia?”

  I frown. Valac was stalling for time, but not enough to convince anyone we did more than take off our shoes. “Are you this quick with all your sex workers?” I say, the suspicion creeping into my voice. “They must be very disappointed.”

  He grins, climbs out of the chair, and pats my cheek as he brushes past. “Guess you’ll never know.” He pauses at the door, glancing over his shoulder before opening it. “You coming?”

  I frown, but nod. Hopefully Ophelia will have some idea how to get out, once she knows I’m here to help. And Valac too. Although I’m more convinced he’ll just stand by and watch us get shot on the way out.

  Valac leads me farther down the hall, away from the stairwell. He adjusts his collar and smooths back his wayward blond hair before he reaches a stainless steel door at the end. He must have a passkey programmed in his palm screen, because he simply waves his hand at the door, and it slides open. Valac strides inside, barely giving me a backward glance to see if I’m following. When I do, the door slides shut and locks behind me.

  The room is expansive and filled with more of the sleek furniture I saw downstairs. The soft-white lighting makes it feel very European, and I’m guessing the Kolek mob is doing well enough to order the finest of whatever they want. Valac strides ahead to a tall, blond man fixing drinks at a bar near a fireplace at the far end. He turns, and Valac kisses him on one cheek, then the other in greeting. He hands Valac one of the drinks. They have a few whispered words before I catch up, and the man turns to me.

  “Welcome to my home, Lirium.” His voice has an eastern European accent. I’m dead certain it’s Kolek, although the mob brothers are secretive, and I’ve never actually seen him before. I’m also certain that Valac has just sold me out with that kiss.

  I try to keep my breathing calm. I can’t help glaring at Valac.

  “Oh, now, Valac’s just doing as I asked.” Kolek’s clear blue eyes have a laugh in them as he takes a sip of his drink. “Can I make you a drink?”

  “No, thank you.” My mouth is dry. “Where’s Ophelia?”

  “Ah, yes. How rude of me. Ophelia, dear,” he calls to one corner of the room. “Come join us.”

  I pivot in the direction he’s looking, and a door swings open to reveal a kitchen all shiny with stainless steel. Ophelia walks in, still dressed in the form-hugging dress and knee-high black boots from my apartment. Her steps are unsteady, and a purplish bruise on her face is visible even across the room. Her expression is blank, like she’s sleep-walking or in some kind of daze. She’s slowly crossing the room, but she doesn’t seem to see anything, including me. I don’t know how I’m going to get us out of this, but making a lunge for Kolek’s forehead is high on my list.

  “Ophelia?” I’m hoping to shake her out of her fugue. I need to know if she can help. We won’t have much chance of escape if she can’t.

  Her head snaps up, and her gaze wanders until it falls on me. She looks horror-stricken. Her mouth works. Then she gets mad. At me. “Guppy! What the hell are you doing?”

  Well… at least she’s awake.

  Valac gives me a derisive look, probably because of the pet name. Which I really need to discuss with Ophelia when we’re done here. She takes that moment of distraction to lunge at Valac, catching him by the wrist and yanking him off balance. He drops his drink, but the twisted look on his face isn’t from the physical stumble. She’s sucking life energy out of him.

  I whirl on Kolek, planning to plant my hand on his forehead, only to find a gun pointed in my face. I freeze, hand suspended in air.

  “I’d rather not waste your life, debt collector,” he says calmly. “So please don’t make me do it.”

  I put both hands in the air and twist back to look at Ophelia and Valac. They’re locked in a death grip: his hands on her throat, her fingers clawing at his face. I can only imagine what’s happening inside, as they wrestle for control of their life energies. Both their faces are stricken, and they’re teetering physically. Then slowly a smirk creeps onto Valac’s face, and he bends her backward over the edge of a crisp steel-colored sofa. Ophelia’s face starts to match the color of the couch.

  I whip back to Kolek. “Call off your dog!”

  “And why would I do that?” he asks, as if genuinely puzzled. “You come into my house and try to steal her away from me. Surely you didn’t expect me to allow that?”

  I turn. Ophelia’s eyes are starting to glass over. I look back to Kolek. “Call him off and I’ll…” I swallow. “I’ll stay with you.” That was always a possibility. I knew that coming here was potentially a one-way ticket for me.

  He arches his eyebrow. “
You didn’t expect me to let you leave, either, did you?”

  “I’ll work for you,” I say. “Willingly. But only if I have Ophelia by my side.”

  Kolek rolls his eyes to the ceiling, and tips his head back and forth, as if saying “eenie, meenie, miney, mo” in his mind. Then he shrugs. “Valac!” he calls.

  Valac is still draining Ophelia of life.

  “Valac, let the girl go,” Kolek says in a bored voice. “You can play with someone else later.”

  Valac drops Ophelia. She falls limp on the couch. I want to run to her, but Kolek’s voice stops me. “Debt collector,” he says, quietly. “I want you to understand that if you ever pull a hand on me again, I will shoot you, then let Valac have what’s left. Are we clear?”

  I manage to nod, even though every part of my body is screaming with the desire to launch myself at him, just like Ophelia did to Valac. But she’s alive, and I’d like to keep her that way. I stumble to the couch where she’s lying, still as death, but Kolek’s soft voice follows me.

  “Valac, show the boy what I mean.”

  Before I can shrink away, Valac has a hand on my neck. I immediately feel him pulling life energy straight through the point of contact. My heart contracts, seizing with the feeling of death. I twist around, trying to get out of his grasp and reaching for his head, but I can’t do either. Darkness is closing in on my mind.

  Any skin-on-skin contact, Ophelia’s voice reminds me. I claw at Valac’s hand on the back of my neck, getting solid contact with his wrist. I close my eyes to concentrate; my vision is fading anyway. I feel him like a malevolent cloud in my mind. I push back against it and reach through my hand… his wrist… feeling my way into his life energy. I’m draining something from him, which slows the loss a little, but not enough. I’m drawing a trickle; he’s super-flushing the life force from me.

  I hear Kolek’s voice, but I can’t make sense of what he’s saying. He repeats it over and over, and finally Valac’s hand wrenches free from my neck. I nearly fall over, but manage to stay upright until I reach Ophelia on the couch.