Call Me Joe

by Martin Van Es

  “Sure,” Joe shrugged his agreement. He was enjoying the attention and the excitement of the show was still tingling through his veins and making his head feel light.

  Sophie had to struggle to keep up with the group of people who now seemed to be sweeping him towards a line of limousines waiting just inside the heavily guarded perimeter gates to whisk them away, and she only managed to get into the last car by physically fighting her way through the crowd. Joe was in the front car and it felt like she was being left behind, even though she was still part of the entourage.

  The Ukrainian had managed to slide into one of the cars in between them, concentrating on texting on his phone to avoid having to make eye contact or conversation with anyone else who had been crammed into the same car.

  He had been on jobs before where all the planning had gone out of the window at the last moment and he was forced to go with the flow of events, alert for all possibilities. Part of him enjoyed the feeling of unpredictability, like a hunter crawling through the undergrowth towards his prey, unsure which way it would jump or whether it would catch his scent and run.

  Forty-Two

  The club’s own full-time security staff had been swamped with newcomers, all of them with different agendas and different people to protect, all of them with different uniforms and all-areas passes to flash at one another when challenged. As Joe and Sophie were both swept into the dark interior in different groups, the Ukrainian was able to walk in between the stern-faced guard of honour lining the red carpet, simply raising his security pass to anyone who looked like they might challenge his right to be there. He strode straight to the bar and picked up one of the already poured glasses of champagne and moved into the darkest, most deserted corner he could see, from where he would be able to watch almost the entire room. He raised the glass to his lips to look like he was just another celebrating guest but did not sip. He wanted to keep his head as clear as possible for whatever opportunities might present themselves.

  It was many years since Sophie had been inside a nightclub and the atmosphere made her feel uneasy. She had never been comfortable in places where there was too much noise and where people were too drunk to hold proper conversations. Plenty of people were coming up to shake her hand, kiss her cheek as if they knew her, and tell her how wonderful she was and how much they admired her, but she couldn’t think of anything to say to any of them. She was sure she could sense their disappointment. She was already aware of the trolling she was receiving online after Joe singled her out for special thanks and she couldn’t help wondering if any of the trolls were in the room with her. The lights were so low it was hard to orientate herself and feel safe. She felt deeply vulnerable and wished she had Joe’s protective arm around her.

  Joe was now wedged into a booth by a group of young women, all of whom were working hard to anticipate his every need, gazing at him adoringly and laughing loudly at everything and nothing. She couldn’t get into the same booth but found one directly opposite where other people happily shuffled along to make room for her without trying to talk to her.

  From there she was able to see that one of the girls at Joe’s table had surreptitiously lit a joint and was passing it around. When it came to Joe’s turn she saw the girls showing him how to take small puffs to avoid feeling faint and to hold the smoke in his lungs for the best effect. He sank back into the cushions with a comfortable look on his face as the smoke curled slowly back out of his nostrils. She looked quickly round the room to see if she could see anyone using a camera. Even in the dark she could see there were at least twenty phones taking pictures and most of them were pointing in the direction of Joe’s booth.

  She knew for sure that the internet would already be circulating images of the Son of God inhaling drugs in the middle of a group of excited-looking young women but there was no way she was going to be able to get close enough to warn him. It was probably too late anyway and she didn’t want to appear like a jealous, possessive girlfriend, although she actually felt nauseous with a mixture of jealousy and a terrible fear that she was about to lose him. If she tried to interfere in whatever was happening at his table she would only draw more attention to it and give the media yet another trivial story to blow out of proportion. She was aware that the fewer personal stories there were out there, the more space there would be for the serious messages that Joe and the Twelve wanted to circulate.

  She remembered what he had said on stage about sex being too good to be reserved only for reproduction and felt the claws of fear dig even deeper into her gut. Being beside him in the previous weeks had been an otherworldly experience, but she now realised with a jolt that, no matter how affectionate he had been towards her, at no stage had he ever told her that he loved her and at no stage had he suggested that they were in any sort of exclusive relationship. The subject had simply not come up and she certainly would never have had the nerve to ask him how he felt about her. It would have seemed like the most enormous presumption on her part to even suggest such a thing, but at the same time she had allowed herself to presume that he felt the same way about her that she did about him. She suddenly felt foolish and wanted to cry. She downed her drink in one swallow and snatched another one from a passing waitress.

  The Ukrainian was able to watch both Joe and Sophie from his vantage point in the shadows and could see exactly what was happening. His drink remained untouched and he simply ignored everyone who tried to catch his eye or make conversation. Once everyone else had had a few drinks, or taken a tablet, or smoked a joint, they became absorbed in their own bleary-eyed worlds, dancing or laughing, and he knew that he had become as good as invisible to them. Soon he would be able to move amongst them like a ghost, entirely unnoticed.

  After an hour, he saw Sophie clamber her way out of her booth and make for the exit. He guessed it was because she was unable to bear to watch the girls pawing Joe on the other side of the room for a moment longer. Crossing the room to Joe’s booth, she waved to catch his attention and signal that she was going, hoping that he would want to come with her. Instead he beamed happily at her, his eyes glazed with pleasure, and waved back. As she headed for the door, fighting back the tears, Sophie noticed a man in the shadows watching her with an unusual amount of interest. She recognised him as the sound technician she remembered she had pushed rudely aside backstage. She now realised that he was a good-looking man and she thought for a second about going over to him to apologise properly for her earlier rudeness, thinking that perhaps Joe might feel jealous if he saw her talking to another man.

  The Ukrainian averted his eyes as soon as he realised that Sophie had noticed him, which made him look furtive and disinterested at the same time. She considered challenging him to look her in the eye and connect with her but decided that she wasn’t going to stoop to playing such immature games. She was too confused and too angry to be able to make flirty conversation with a shifty-looking stranger who obviously wasn’t interested, so she walked on to the exit, emerging out into the fresh night air, still boiling with a mixture of jealous rage and fear.

  Being high was a new experience for Joe and he was enjoying it. Being on the stage in front of so many people, not to mention the billions more who would have been watching the broadcast on their televisions or their phones, had made him feel incredibly good and he didn’t want that feeling to end. The smoke and the alcohol had made his brain pleasantly unfocused and the attention from the girls in the booth was simultaneously soothing and exciting. The sensual pleasures of simply being alive in a physical body were overwhelming and he allowed his tired, happy mind to surrender to them.

  One of the girls pressed on his leg as she leaned in and whispered in his ear. He caught her scent in the air and felt her body warm and firm against his. When he touched her bare arm the skin was soft and inviting. She was asking if he would like her and her friend to give him a massage to help him unwind from all the tension of the evening. Her friend w
as sitting beside her, smiling equally invitingly and Joe smiled back as his good judgement drifted away on a cloud of champagne bubbles and fragrant smoke.

  The Ukrainian watched as the two girls helped Joe out of the booth and guided him to a door at the back of the club. Everyone else in the group seemed to be having much too good a time to take any notice of what the guest of honour was up to. He guessed the door led to some private rooms. If he had known they were coming to this venue he would have found a way to check it out before arriving and would have been able to weigh up the risks he would run if he followed. He didn’t like being unable to visualise what the layout might be beyond the door, where the exits might be and where they would lead him to if he required them. At the same time it made the adrenalin pump through his veins as he considered the risks of plunging himself into the unknown.

  A couple of security men had seen the trio disappear and were moving discreetly in the same direction. He waited a few moments and then moved out of the corner he had been sheltering in and followed them through into whatever world might lie on the other side, just like any other punter.

  Forty-Three

  Joe closed his eyes and lay back on the cushions, allowing the pleasant fog to drift across his brain, relaxing his limbs and arousing him at the same time. The two girls seemed to be experienced with their hands and he permitted them to do whatever they wished. Although it was known as a “private room”, and a security guard lurked discreetly outside the door in case of trouble, there were other people coming and going around them. Some of them seemed to be sleeping or tripping in various chairs and couches while it was obvious from the noises they were emitting that others were making love. There were oriental screens dotted about the room and the lights were low enough for the space that they were inhabiting to feel private even though it wasn’t.

  He was drifting into a trance-like state, which was close to sleep, as the girls unbuttoned his shirt and trousers. Their fingers felt pleasant against his hot skin, cooled by the iced champagne glasses they had been drinking from.

  The Ukrainian slipped some money into the security man’s hand without making eye contact and let himself into the room as the man nodded his permission and looked the other way. He waited for a few seconds until his eyes had accustomed to the gloom. He could now make out which of the couches Joe and the girls were lying on. The girls were so engrossed with their work that they did not notice as he circled round them, like a wolf in the night, patrolling the perimeter of a lambing pen. One of his hands was in his pocket, holding the handle of his stiletto knife.

  As he came round the end of the couch, he had a clear view of Joe’s stripped body and the girls’ pale fingers working their magic across the darkness of his naked skin. None of them could see him in the shadows and the security man was still outside the door. No one else cared if there was a voyeur in the room. Everyone was entitled to get their kicks wherever they could.

  After just a split second’s thought he saw an opportunity to provide an extra, possibly even more valuable, service to his employers. If there was visual evidence of the situation in which Joe met his end it would carry all the more symbolism. Rather than dying a glorious death on a cross, this time he would be assassinated in the seedy backroom of a nightclub for the whole world to see. He let go of the knife and pulled out his phone instead. With experienced fingers he set the video going and casually pointed it at the action on the couch. Despite the gloom it was easy to see Joe’s face and to make out exactly what the girls were doing with their fingers and lips.

  It was less than a minute before their skills paid off and the Ukrainian was surprised to see one of them produce a small specimen jar from her bag in time to catch a sample of Joe’s semen. The specimen jar then vanished into the palm of her hand as Joe let out a gentle chuckle of pleasure before falling into what looked like a deep, satisfied sleep. The Ukrainian slid his phone into his pocket and gripped the handle of the knife again.

  Their job done, the girls exchanged a few brief words and then left the room, neither of them thinking to check if they were being followed, which struck the Ukrainian as a sign of amateurism. Something about the haste with which the girls left the room caught the eye of the security guard. Signalling to one of his colleagues to take over from him on the door he went into the darkened room and towards the couch where Joe lay. Seeing his only escape route blocked, the Ukrainian released the knife and walked casually out, leaving Joe to sleep.

  He stayed a few metres behind the girls as they walked briskly from the club into the darkness outside, turning in opposite directions without saying a word to one another. The one who had taken the specimen jar was talking on her phone as she went. She was mumbling and covering her mouth with her hand, as if deliberately avoiding being overheard, and those words that he did catch sounded like a code. He guessed she was reporting a completed mission to whoever had employed her and decided she was the one to follow. She led him down several streets, past darkened buildings. He was careful to keep his distance and not alert her to his presence. She reached a building where lights were blazing in windows as if someone was waiting for her arrival. She had a code to enter by the front door. Staying tightly in the shadows the Ukrainian moved to the back of the building and found an unlit window which was sufficiently loosely latched for him to be able to prise it open with his knife.

  Once inside the building, he slid from the room into a corridor, moving quickly and silently from one door to the next, pressing his ear to each in turn. Finally he detected voices and peered through a slit of a window into a room that was kitted out as a laboratory. The girl was talking to several scientists in white coats who appeared to be freezing the sperm in straws and storing them in liquid nitrogen containers. She seemed to be haggling angrily with someone on the phone at the same time as talking to them. The Ukrainian watched as the scientists obviously decided they had heard enough and all turned their backs on the girl in order to concentrate on their work. As a result, only he saw her lift one of the freeze boxes as she turned away and headed for the door.

  The Ukrainian ran silently back to the window he had entered through and slid out. He then stood in the shadows and watched the door as the girl hurried out a few seconds later, glancing nervously over her shoulder. She was still clutching the bulky freeze box close to her chest. He had to admire her decisiveness, obviously deciding to steal some of the semen and acting on that decision within a few split seconds. He followed her to a parked car and watched her drive away, confident that he would be able to find her again as soon as she tried to sell her stolen goods.

  Once he was back at the apartment, the Ukrainian forwarded the film of the sex act from his phone to his employers, where experts edited it carefully in order to make it appear as pornographic as possible, removed the part where the semen was collected and released it onto the internet a few hours later. They congratulated him on his decision to use a camera rather than a knife. They all knew there would be plenty more opportunities for him to use the knife later. He suggested the adjustment that he now wanted to his fee and nobody quibbled. The money was transferred within hours.

  Forty-Four

  At four in the morning, when everyone but the cleaning staff had fallen out of the club premises and stumbled home, the individuals charged with Joe’s personal security, relieved to have found him alive after a nervous half hour’s search, woke him from a deep and peaceful sleep where the girls had left him in the private room, and ushered him out to a car that had been waiting for several hours. Refreshed from his sleep, and the effects of the joint having worked their way gently out of his system, he felt relatively pleased with the way the night had gone and he made no protest about being smuggled back into the hotel through the back entrance to avoid the twenty-four-hour media camp out the front. He was looking forward to going back to sleep as soon as he reached the bed.

  He was genuinely shocked by the level of Sophie
’s fury that struck him as he entered the suite. She had been sitting on the sofa, staring at the door ever since she got back, trying to work out how she felt and what she should do about it. The moment she saw him come in she realised how she felt, which was furiously angry and bruised to the depths of her soul.

  She flew across the room, thumping her fists against his chest and knocking him backwards into the wall. Recovering his equilibrium he encircled her with his arms and held her tightly, as you might hold a child in the throes of an uncontrollable tantrum, waiting for it to subside while trying to make sense of what was going on.

  “How could you do that?” she demanded. “How could you behave like that with those women, flaunting it in front of me like it didn’t matter?”

  “Flaunting what?” He wanted to understand what she was talking about so that he could help her. “How could I do what?”

  “Going off with those women! Letting them climb all over you!”

  “Oh.” He continued to hug her close to him, even though she was now wriggling to be free so that she could look him in the eye and confront him properly. He held on tight, needing time to work out what had happened and how he had unwittingly caused it.

  “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, “it was just a party and I was relaxing.”

  “Where did you think I was? Did you give me a moment’s thought?”

  “I assumed you were having fun somewhere else in the room. Was I meant to be looking after you? Is that what you expected of me? Were you in danger? Did something bad happen to you?”

  She realised they were genuine questions as she finally managed to pull back from his arms and look into his puzzled face.