Agares stepped into the dimly lit club beyond. It smelled heavy of cleaner and leather. There was a stage to the left and there were a few women and about five men sitting around a table toward the back of the club. They all watched him as he approached.
One of the men, a short stocky guy with a bad Fu Manchu moustache pulled a chair out.
“Sit,” said the man directly across from him. He had a military haircut and a just a trace of five-o-clock-shadow. Then in a thick Russian accent he said, “I am to hear you have questions for me about a former employee?”
Agares nodded. “My name is Ted Agares and I’m a private investigator. I’m looking for information about a woman named Laura Stanton who used to work for you.” He took out the picture and pushed it across the table to the man.
“Yes, I remember this girl.” The man shrugged.
“You wouldn’t happen to be Victor Kolknov, would you? I understand he and Laura Stanton were lovers,” Agares pressed.
A sly grin slid over the man’s face. “Ah. Who do you work for?”
“My client simply wants to know more about his girlfriend.”
The man nodded. “I see. At least I know she’s okay. Laura left me, obviously for this other man.” He motioned toward the guy sitting at his left.
He was a big guy, probably early forties, bald and sporting a goatee. He also looked like he lifted weights. He picked up the picture of Laura Stanton and looked at it.
“That’s unfortunate and I hope my being here isn’t putting salt in an old wound, but if you could give me a break and tell me about her. I guess I’m interested to know if she was a drug addict or anything you could tell me.” Agares leaned back in the chair.
“I have been over Laura for years. She was not doing drugs if you are talking about when we got arrested. That was patron of the club who did drugs and she worked here, I own the club, we got arrested. She was a whore though.”
A few snickers rounded the table.
Victor continued with that same smug grin on his face. “She liked gang-bangs and having sex for money. I didn’t mind. I like watching whores get fucked by many cocks.”
At this point all of them around the table were smiling.
Agares was starting to feel uncomfortable. While he was never one to judge another person’s sexual preferences, he was still a victim to his own Catholic upbringing. He straightened up in his chair. “So she was a prostitute?”
Victor nodded. “All the women who work here are whores. See?” He motioned to woman to his right who immediately hiked up her skirt and spread her legs to reveal her shaved pussy so Victor could shove three fingers into her.
Victor pulled his fingers out of her and immediately put them in his mouth the lick them off.
Agares could feel the mask of shock and embarrassment covering his face. “Well thank you. I appreciate your help. I should probably get going.”
He stood and turned to leave.
“Her parents are dead and she has no brothers or sisters.” Victor said casually behind him. “Her parents died in a car accident when she was eighteen.”
Agares stopped in his tracks and looked back at Victor. “Thank you.”
Victor nodded, “You are welcome.”
With that, Agares left the claustrophobic atmosphere of the dark club and was thankful to find himself standing on the sidewalk outside. He took a generous breath. The door to the club opened and the young woman wearing the black dress stepped out.
“Mr. Agares,” she said, getting his attention.
“Yes?”
“My name is Misha Prell. Laura was a friend of mine. Umm, could we meet later to talk? I know why Laura left Victor.” She looked warily at the door to the club then back at Agares. “Victor was, is, abusive.”
That didn’t surprise him. It was obvious, from where he was sitting, that the man was twisted. Agares pulled one of his cards from his inner pocket and handed it to her. “Call me when you get off of work and we can meet for coffee later.”
She took the card gratefully and smiled at him. “Thank you.”
With that, she disappeared back into the club and Agares got into the rented blue, four-door sedan and decided to go back to his hotel to send Brad Hudak an update, and maybe take in a nap.
Agares had barely stepped into his hotel room when his cell phone rang. He answered it without hesitation.
“Mr. Agares, it’s Misha Prell. Is there a private place we can talk?”
“I don’t know the area very well. Do you have a place you’d prefer to meet?” He took a pad of paper from his back pocket and a pen from his shirt pocket. It seemed kind of quick that she’d only waited exactly thirty-four minutes to call him.
“I don’t want to discuss this in public. Can I just meet you at your hotel?” She sounded nervous.
“I suppose you could…” he paused. “Is everything alright Ms. Prell? You sound nervous.”
“What I have to tell you could get me killed,” she whispered. “Where are you?”
He gave her his hotel and room number and then they hung up. He imagined she’d tell him how Victor was abusive and how Laura ran away to get away from the abuse. It was the same old story. Girl meets boy, boy hits girl, girl runs away. He’d seen it a good number of times during his career as a private investigator. It was no wonder Ms. Laura Stanton had moved to the opposite side of the country and changed her name. Of course Agares suspected that if Laura had been a prostitute, it was probably, in part, Victor’s doing. Men like that were usually pimps.
He figured while he waited for Ms. Press he could get some work done. Sitting down at his computer he began going through online newspaper archives only to find that Laura Stanton’s parents had, indeed, died in a car accident. Then he drafted the email to Mr. Hudak.
Dear Mr. Hudak, I have found some interesting information about your girlfriend. Both of her parents died in a car accident when she was eighteen. She has no other family. Also, the man she was dating owned the bdsm club I was telling you about. He’s a Russian and I don’t mind saying he appeared to me to be a sadistic man. I also met one of Laura’s old friends, Misha Prell, who is currently on her way to my hotel to give me the scoop on the ex-boyfriend Victor. She mentioned he was abusive and suggested there was something bigger going on here. Victor claimed the drug charges were due to a club patron and he and Laura were falsely accused. However, he also suggested that Laura worked in the club as a prostitute. I hate having to share that with you, but I thought you should know the findings of my investigation. I will send you another email when I’ve finished talking with Ms. Prell and then I think I’m going to close up here and head to my family’s place. I don’t think I need to investigate further. With such a tragic past I imagine this is why your girlfriend changed her name and hasn’t been so forthcoming. - Ted Agares
He clicked send, and almost simultaneously there was a knock on the door. He put his laptop in standby, closed the lid, and went to the door. Opening it, he found Ms. Prell standing in the hallway, nervously looking around as if she was expecting an ambush. “Come on in, Ms. Prell.”
He locked the door behind her and Misha visibly relaxed. No one would be barging in on this conversation.
This time her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but she wore the same black dress and again, she was barefoot. Before he could ask her about her lack of footwear she said, “I don’t like to wear shoes. I run around barefoot most of the time. Hope that doesn’t bother you.”
He shrugged. It was a little strange, but he wasn’t one to judge. “So you had something to tell me?”
“You’re all business, Mr. Agares.”
“I have to be,” he said. “My clients don’t pay me to socialize.”
“Can you tell me if Laura’s okay?”
“My understanding is that Ms. Stanton is just fine.”
She sat down at the small table near the window. “I thought, for the longest time, that Victor might have killed her and dumped her somewher
e. Like out in the ocean or something.”
“Victor is that abusive?”
Nodding she offered, “Victor is Russian mafia, Mr. Agares. I’ve worked for him for a lot of years. Even back when he and Laura were together. He’s not a man to be messed with. No matter what, if he comes around asking for information where she is, don’t tell him, okay?”
“Do you think he’d go after her?”
She looked warily at the door and visibly shuddered. “I think she stole some money from him and it pissed him off. He would love nothing more than to track her down and take his pound of flesh…”
“How come I have a feeling he already took his pound of flesh from her and more?” Agares didn't like where this was going, not one bit.
“Her new boyfriend, the one you said hired you, he shouldn’t have sent you. Now that Victor has a lead on where she might be…” Her eyes wandered to the street below and grew big. She got up. “I have to go, Mr. Agares. Please don’t tell anyone I was here. Please.”
With that, Misha Prell, all five foot four of her, hurried from his hotel room and disappeared.
Agares sat back down at the computer and composed another quick email to Brad Hudak.
Dear Mr. Hudak, I finished talking with Misha Prell. The ex is dangerous. I’m starting to feel uncomfortable so I’m leaving and heading to Anaheim now. Once I’m there and settled I will send you more detailed information. - Ted Agares
After clicking send, he turned off the computer, packed up everything in the room, and wandered down to check-out. There was no sense staying the night, and now that he knew Russian mafia was involved he figured it was best to play it safe and leave, just in case Misha was telling the truth. The way she was talking it sounded as if she thought they would find him and rough him up a little. That wasn’t anything Ted Agares wanted to get in the middle of. He didn’t get paid well enough for that. No less than fifteen minutes later he had the car loaded and he was ready to head to Anaheim. Sitting in the driver’s seat of the rented Ford sedan he dialed his sister’s number. While the line on the other end rang, he started the car. He didn’t have a chance to hear his sister’s voice when she picked up the phone, or to hear or see anything at all because the bomb under the driver side went off and just like that, Ted Agares was no more.
Chapter Five
Victor Kolknov ground his teeth together and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. He needed time to think. First he had to find out where Laura was hiding in Boston. A quick scan of all the bdsm clubs was sure to produce her, or at least a trace of her. She didn’t know anything else. He’d known all along she’d eventually turn up. That bitch owed him a hundred grand, but he’d let her work it off as a house slave provided she still had a good body. That’s what he liked most about Laura, her body. She had long legs, a tight round ass, and her tits were big enough to smack. He remembered putting clothespins on her nipples and labia and how she’d cried because it hurt. His cock started to throb in his pants just thinking about it. He hoped she still shaved her pussy; otherwise he’d do it for her in a room full of people so they could watch as he bared her for them.
From the picture the PI showed them, she hadn’t lost her beauty, though he was disappointed that she changed her hair color. It was still a toss-up, whether or not he’d kill her. He wasn’t sure yet. Regardless what happened, he wasn’t playing games with the bitch.
If she was in acceptable condition and he did get her back he imagined putting her in one of the coffin boxes in the garage for a few days to teach her a lesson about disobedience. For three years he’d wondered if she was going to tell the police what she saw and for three years he wondered where the hell his money went. His first mistake had been letting her get too close. He should have never let her sleep in the same bed with him. She should have had her own cage like the rest of the house slaves. She was sexy though, he reasoned.
He rubbed his chin. “What’s done is done, Victor,” he told himself. “You let the slut get too close and now you’re paying for it. A hundred grand paying for it. She probably got a boob job.”
After washing his face and making sure he looked composed and regal, he left the bathroom to the club beyond. His henchmen were still sitting where he left them. “Richard, I have a job for you.”
Master Richard, one of the club’s more long-term Dom’s and one of Victor’s right hand men nodded. “Sure boss.”
Victor pulled out the card Misha had gotten from the private investigator, before his untimely demise, and handed it to Richard. “This detective, he had his business in a suburb of Boston. You take some of your guys, go to Boston, and find Laura and my money. Bring her back to me. I will take care of the rest.”
“Do we know where she lives?”
“Doesn’t matter. She’s a whore, find a club, you’ll find Laura. She likes having her ass whipped.” Victor waved his hand dismissively.
Master Richard stood, clutched the card and nodded at two of the guys sitting at the bar. The three men left to do Victor’s bidding.
Victor ran his hand down Misha’s shoulder, causing her to tense up. “You did very nice, pet. When Laura comes back you two will be good friends just like old times, eh?”
Misha gave him a tight smile. “Yes, Master.”
“Good. Let this be lesson to all you girls. You can run from me but eventually I will find you and I will punish you. Laura’s punishment will be severe, but as long as she still has a nice ass I won’t kill her.” Victor kissed the top of Misha’s head, causing her to tense again. The rest of the women in the room looked down, not saying anything.
Victor smiled. No one defied him. No one dared steal from him. Perhaps he would punish Laura publicly with a brutal caning. That was sure to make all the whores under Victor’s charge more obedient. Just the thought of a solid cane cracking against a disobedient sub’s ass made his cock stiffen in his pants
He pointed to Misha; thinking about her red lips wrapped around his throbbing shaft, and motioned her to follow him back to his office. After all, his cock wouldn’t suck itself.
***
Being Victor Kolknov’s right hand guy was probably one of the worst positions he could have ever found himself in. Richard Vogt didn’t like Victor, but he tolerated the guy for a paycheck. Having a previous felony on his record made it hard to get a good job, and Victor, who didn’t care if his employees had a past or not, paid well. It was after Victor and some of his other cronies started killing people that Richard knew he was in too deep. The final nail that sealed his fate happened when Victor made him plant a car bomb and set it off. At that point there was no turning back. Victor owned him and Richard, a Dom to the core of his being, didn’t like feeling owned. A few times he thought about going to the cops, but Victor’s reach was far. Richard knew he would be dead within days, even in prison. Somehow everyone loved Victor at first, until he seduced them and trapped them. Laura, sweet Laura who’d started working at the club around the same time Richard did, had also fallen under Victor’s spell. At least Richard didn’t have to hurt her. No, Victor would do it, but it didn’t make his task any easier. Quite frankly he hated the fact that he had to go after her. His underlings didn’t care. They never knew the kind, gentle sub who trusted Victor with every ounce of her being. They didn’t know the abuse Victor’s subs endured at his hand. Richard had, many times, scolded himself for not helping the girls under Victor’s charge, but again, what could he do? If he did anything, Victor would surely have him killed. That’s how Victor usually rewarded disobedience from his male entourage. The women at least had a chance.
He decided then that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t be able to find her. Or, if he did see her, maybe he’d pretend he hadn’t seen her. Deep down, however, he knew he would find her and that one of his men, who had already seen the current photo of her courtesy the private investigator, would recognize her and he would have no choice but to agree that it was, in fact her. Before he began packing he sent a text to Misha to a phone Vi
ctor didn’t know about. The text read: “When I find that piece of jewelry, I’ll send you the #; you can call about it and give jeweler a heads up.”
He hoped she was smart enough to get the message and call Laura with the warning. Maybe that’s how he could save Laura.
Just as he sent the text he received another. It was from Agent Brocco with the FBI. Brocco had approached Richard once, asking him to become an informant and while Richard hadn’t agreed, he had taken the man’s card. He’d fed the agent a tip here and there. But it was unusual that the agent contacted him.
The text read: “How did a private investigator from MA piss off Victor Kolknov?”
Richard didn’t reply, but not two minutes later he got another text. “Come on, Rich. That car bomb had Kolknov written all over it.”
With a sigh, Richard stopped packing his bag for Massachusetts. He texted back, “Laura Stanton.”
“Victor’s Ex?” came the reply.
“Yes.”
“I’m not following.”
Richard rolled his eyes and thought about the quickest way to text it. His thick fingers moved across the on-screen keyboard with as much grace as an elephant. “PI came to club asking about Laura Stanton. Her current boyfriend hired PI.”
“Why did Victor kill PI?”
Richard shrugged at the phone then said to the empty room, “Because Victor’s an asshole? I don’t know.” Then he typed, “Liability. He knew too much. Kolknov sending me to MA to kidnap and return Laura Stanton.”
It took less than a few seconds for him to get a text back from Brocco. “You ready to talk now?”
His reaction was almost automatic. It made him feel sick, but then having to live with all the things Victor blackmailed him into was worse. He quickly texted back, “Yes.”
Brocco wasn’t finished. “Where in MA?”
“Just outside Boston, near Somerville in Medford. That’s where PI was from and we think he was local to where she is.”
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