Dark Service

by Linda Coles

  “Who is the latest that you know of?”

  Jules sighed heavily again, not wanting to break confidences. She’d told Ellen she wouldn’t report what she’d said, and she’d meant it.

  Amanda could see the conflict in her eyes. “It’s going to be out in the open soon,” she said, more gently now. “There are too many women having these horrific experiences, and it’s gone on too long. It’s time it was stopped. Whoever this latest victim is, we need to hear her side of the story to figure out exactly how this thing operates. It’s distressing, I know, but he needs to be stopped so that no one else has to go through it.”

  “I know. I won’t give you her name just yet, but I will tell you what she told me. Then perhaps I can persuade her to talk to you.”

  “Tell me what you know.”

  And Jules did: that her employee had gone to an address, but the story didn’t pan out as she remembered it. The driver denied taking her, the client denied seeing her, and she’d awoken in a hotel room in Knightsbridge with a scarf tied around her ankles and a note on the side table.

  Amanda scribbled furiously in her notepad. When she had all that Jules was offering to give, she asked, “And what’s your plan now, then? I’m assuming you have some sort of revenge organized?”

  Jules looked a little sheepish. “I do, actually. And while you might not like it, I think it’s a good plan. Maybe you can help?”

  “Why don’t you tell me what it is first? Then we’ll see.”

  When Jules was finished speaking, Amanda had to admit it could work, though there were elements that concerned her. She’d need help to pull it off. Someone strong, someone intelligent and someone with a knockout body. And she knew just the right woman to step in.

  Ruth.

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  “Well, first off I think you’re mad, and probably a bit desperate if you’re asking me, but it does sound like fun.” Ruth was pulling out a few stray dandelions from around the rhubarb in the small garden at the back of her house while Amanda watched. Gardening and Amanda were like nails and cheese: not two things that went together. She preferred others to grow food for her.

  “I’ll be there in the background, and it’s only to see what goes on there, nothing more. You won’t be in any danger.”

  “Like I said, it sounds like fun. I get to dress up.” Thinking, she added, “I might wear a sort of mask too, so nobody can see all of my face. Wouldn’t want to see a client in there. Them see me, I mean. That could be a tad embarrassing.”

  “Jules Monroe will be there with you. She’s the woman who runs the body part model agency. I’ll introduce the two of you beforehand. She had a vigilante plan that hopefully I’ve stomped out now, but we did agree a snoop-around would be useful, and she’s game to go in. There’s no point me doing it though,” she said, fanning her hand dismissively across her body.

  “And why not? You’d look great in a pair of tight leather pants and a plunging top.”

  Amanda smiled at Ruth’s attempt at a compliment. “Who are you kidding? Me in tight leather? I’d look like a Cumberland sausage squashed in all the wrong places. I don’t have the figure to draw attention. I’d be a laughingstock.”

  Ruth got to her feet and put her arms around Amanda’s shoulders, careful not to get dirt on her. “You wouldn’t, actually. You have a low estimation of yourself. But I said I’d be happy to help and I will. Now stop with the crappy body image talk. You’ll look knockout in your wedding dress because you’re you. We both will.” Ruth pecked her on the cheek and pulled her in tight for a hug. When she released her, she asked, “When are we doing it? I need to get a suitable outfit organized because, funnily enough, I’m right out of PVC or leather dresses.”

  “Tomorrow evening. The club opens at ten pm, so we’ll leave here about thirty minutes before. It fills up pretty quickly from what Jules has seen, and I want to make sure we get in – that you both get in.”

  “I’ll be ready. It will be fun to go shopping for a bit of fetish gear. Maybe we’ll use it afterwards?” Ruth winked at Amanda, who rolled her eyes in return.

  “Let’s see what you come back with first. I’m not wearing a gimp mask for anyone. Nor a rubber suit. How do you even get into one of those things?”

  “Talcum powder, I guess,” said Ruth, winking. They both laughed.

  “Right, I’m off to make dinner,” Amanda said, and headed back up the path to the house.

  Inside the kitchen, Amanda put water on for the rice and stirred the pot of chilli, tasting it gingerly from the wooden spoon. Chilli was one thing she could cook well. While she waited for the water to boil, she called Jack to see how he was settling in back at home and ask whether he needed anything.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired, but glad to be home. I’ve had a nap in my chair this afternoon – fell asleep with my headphones on listening to The Style Council, of all things.” His gentle chuckle made her smile at the phone.

  “Glad you’re resting. I thought I’d see how you were doing and let you know about my meeting with Jules Monroe.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “She couldn’t deny anything. I’d seen her following him, so she fessed up pretty quickly and told me the whole story. She’s very protective of the girls, and while she thought the hack was all over many moons ago, she was shocked and upset to learn Smeeks was still getting access as and when he needed something. It seems it’s been going on for at least ten years that she’s aware of, and a considerable number of her girls have been targeted over the years. The latest one was only a few days ago.”

  Jack grunted he was still listening.

  “I’m hoping she’ll speak to me – the latest victim, I mean – though she didn’t have hair stolen. Get this – she was left in a hotel like the other one but with her ankles bound in a silk Hermes scarf and rose petals scattered all round her. My bet is a bit of foot worship went on. Creepy, eh?”

  “Damn right.”

  “Anyway, Smeeks owns a company called Mild Industries, which owns the club and a few other properties around London, as well as a collection of vehicles. I told you he owned an ambulance, didn’t I?”

  “You did mention it. That in itself is creepy. Wonder what he’d want it for?”

  “Transportation, I’m guessing. Who would query an ambulance turning up? My big question is how he can have so many people involved. You’d need rent-a-crowd to pull some of the stunts off without anyone knowing. Just think about it. How do you get a doped woman in and out of a hotel suite without her knowing, or anyone suspecting anything? And how do they ensure the victims don’t tell? Asking them by note is pretty risky, yet none of them do. There must be some dirt going on in their backgrounds for them to keep quiet, like Stephanie with the sexual harassment case suddenly going away.”

  “I hear you, Lacey. And the answer is I’ve no idea. But do you remember a movie called The Game back in the late nineties? It starred Michael Douglas and Sean Penn. It sounds a little like the same concept: a rent-a-crowd pulling off something big that goes on in the background of someone’s life. Might be worth looking it up. Maybe it could shed some light on how this fits together?”

  Amanda wasn’t convinced. “What makes you think it’s a game? Because if it is, it’s not a nice one.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant, but the organization of it sounds the same. They were actors and actresses, if I remember correctly, on a big movie set. Look it up and watch it.”

  Amanda grunted in response, not convinced. “Anyway, Jules is going to go inside the club and have a look around. I can’t stop her doing that anyway as a member of the public. I’ve asked Ruth to keep her company, and she’s happy to. I’ll be in the background, preferably outside or in the cloak room, perhaps, and listen in from there.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “Just by keeping the phone line open, her phone to mine. If the music is too loud I may not hear everything, but we’ll see. There sho
uldn’t be any danger, since it’s a public place of sorts, and I won’t be far away.”

  “It goes without saying to be careful though, eh? Was does the DI say?”

  There was a pause in the conversation as Jack realized she hadn’t told him. “Lacey? You’ve got to tell him. He’ll go nuts if things don’t go to plan. Cover your arse.”

  “I know. I’ll mention it tomorrow. But it’s only a look-see, anyway. No need to concern him yet.” Amanda heard Jack’s heavy sigh. “Don’t you be worrying too.” Changing the subject, she asked, “How was the pie?”

  Chapter Eighty

  It was late. But the beauty of having a business on the web was that you could work whenever you wanted, from wherever you wanted, as long as you had an internet connection. Just as writers worked from coffee shops and libraries, nocturnal forum owners could work from bars and clubs, and he had a couple to choose from. Chris had his favourites, depending on his mood and what he was doing. Simple background checks for premium required some degree of quiet, while new member authorizations for the chatroom required nothing more than a tick box. His venue for tick boxing this evening was his small but perfectly formed fetish club, Femme Fet-Elle, one of his favourite places. He had a permanent space at the end of the bar, a space from which he could do his work and observe what went on in the club at the same time, and that was where he was sat now. Not much raised his eyebrows any longer. He’d seen and heard it all, and as a provider to the kinksters and in particular the wealthy ones, he’d filled many fantasies spanning many years.

  The strong pulse of the dance music reverberated through his laptop and up his wrists as his fingers worked the keypad, and he found himself moving slightly to the beat as he typed. He looked up from his screen for a moment to take in the ambience around him. The electronic music was almost deafening, but he found it invigorating. PVC-clad clientele of all genders gyrated to the music, unashamedly rubbing themselves and others with gloved hands or peering out from behind leather masks, making suggestive gestures with their mouths and tongues. Later on, the dance floor would empty out as people found willing partners and separated off to get their own personal high together.

  He felt good tonight, wired even, and judging by the swell in his trousers he thought he might get a little action himself later. He caught the eye of a woman stood a couple of paces further along the bar, hips moving to the beat ever so slightly, trying to attract the busy bartender’s eye to order her poison. Her hair was shoulder length and looked silky soft, as did the skin she had on display. She smiled seductively at Chris then turned away in an instant, her drink order more important than his company. He perused her body while she was preoccupied. She was encased in black leather from her chest to just below her buttocks; her shapely legs disappeared into the tops of thigh-length fire-engine-red boots. They had the highest heels he thought he’d ever seen. Around her neck was a studded black dog collar, with two rows of spikes running around the length of it. It looked lethal to the uninitiated. A moment later, another woman, dressed in a similar fashion though her dress was electric blue leather, joined her. Her buttocks were more visible than her friend’s, the soft flesh just begging to be touched.

  The first woman passed a drink to her and caught Chris’s eye again as she did so, lowering her chin in silent acknowledgment, encouraging him. He smiled back, slipped off his stool and walked towards them both, leaving his laptop where it was. He sauntered over slowly, keeping eye contact with the lady in black, hoping he was reading the signals correctly. A stirring in his trousers reminded him of how he was feeling, what he might take later on. Standing beside her now, did he imagine her eyes twinkling in excitement as the strobe lighting flashed across her face? Was she feeling game too? He hoped so, and there was only one way to find out. He reached out his hand and gently ran the back of it down her leather-clad back. The woman responded like a cat being stroked, the telltale arch greeting him in response, and he heard her murmur something, though he had no idea what. Perhaps she was purring. . .

  She turned her head towards him slightly, and he could see that she was smiling. Yes, she was encouraging him, enjoying the feeling, the attention. But her friend in blue wanted her turn, and she took his hand now and encouraged him to run it down her back, except this time she led the way with her own to guide him, guiding him all the way down, stroking the rise of her nearly exposed buttocks and then moving down, down to the flesh itself, the part that had caught his attention. She closed her eyes, enjoying herself, but she clearly wanted more.

  She placed his hand directly on the bare flesh of her left buttock and then moved it lightly backwards and forward, moaning her pleasure into her friend’s ear. Her friend turned and stroked her other buttock seductively, nibbling on the earlobe of the lady in blue. Chris watched, mesmerized. He’d seen two women having fun on numerous occasions and it never failed to excite him. The woman in blue pulled away first, turned to Chris and fixed him with a smouldering gaze. This was all the confirmation he needed that she was ready to play, that they wanted to play. Taking the lead, the lady in blue led him through the crowd towards a set of swing doors at the rear of the club. Behind him, the friend followed, drinks in hand.

  Once through the doors, the atmosphere immediately changed. The heavy, throbbing music was replaced by a quieter soundtrack, and under that he could hear languid moaning and groaning. Had he turned around, he would have noticed that the lady in black was having trouble not to stare as she walked and was doing her best to look as though she was a regular, came every month, knew her way around. Inside she was gasping with astonishment. In one corner, a man wearing a full leather gimp mask was tied naked to a bench face down and a woman with a leather riding crop was flicking his reddened backside with the tongue of it. In the centre of the room, a woman on all fours was being periodically slapped on the buttocks by a mystery bare hand and, judging by her cries, was enjoying every sting of it. But Chris was intent on the lady in black, just ahead of him, who carried on leading the way.

  He knew where they were leading him: there was only one destination in the direction they were headed – the private rooms, where willing participants got their kicks together. As the woman in blue led him through the door of a dimly lit room, she winked to her friend and then turned to lock the door to make sure they wouldn’t be disturbed. She then approached him, drink in hand, and encouraged him to sip from the glass, which he dutifully did. Then between them, and taking their time, they seductively stripped him down to his underpants.

  The lady in blue was playing her part perfectly, and Ruth let her take the lead. It was her show, after all. Only Chris was unaware of what was about to happen next. The lady in blue again offered her cocktail glass to his lips. He took two large gulps to refresh his mouth and reached out to kiss her as she rubbed herself up and down his naked thigh encouragingly, sensuously.

  Inside the top of the fire-engine-red boots, Ruth’s phone line was open, and Amanda listened in from where she was hidden between Mackintosh coats in the cloakroom.

  A striking woman, Chris had thought when he’d first seen her at the bar. He could see now that she had short-cropped dark hair with a white flick at the temple. And now he was in a private room with her and a friend and was about to have some kinky fun with them both.

  And that’s about all he remembered as he passed out on the bed.

  Chapter Eighty-One

  “What the hell?” Ruth’s voice sounded strained.

  Amanda pressed her ear buds more tightly into her ears. So far, things had been going well but now she wasn’t so sure. Ruth’s familiar voice didn’t sound happy.

  “What the hell have you done, Jules? I thought we just wanted to chat when we got close, not knock him out.”

  “It was.” Jules was speaking now. “But I thought in for a penny, in for a pound. We’ve got the bastard now and we can do one of a couple of things.”

  Amanda couldn’t believe her ears. What the hell was going on in there?

>   “Oh? And what are the two choices, eh? Kidnap I’m guessing is one, like he did to the others, and what’s the other?” Ruth had raised her voice a couple of octaves. “Amanda, are you getting this?” Her voice came clearly to Amanda now as Ruth reached into her boots to retrieve the phone.

  Amanda was livid. “Where the hell are you both? What have you done?”

  “Head through the dance floor and keep walking to the rear. We’re in the room on the right. I think it had a shoe on the door rather than a number or name. It’s locked, so knock and I’ll let you in.”

  Amanda grabbed her identification badge, flashed it at the gorilla on the desk and made her way towards the back of the club. Heads turned at the strange vision of a woman wearing regular street clothes wrestling her way through the gyrating bodies on the dance floor as best she could. When an anonymous hand reached out for her backside and squeezed, she shrieked but pressed forward undeterred. It was like cutting her way through dense forest with a butter knife. Nobody wanted to move; everyone wanted to party. Except for her. Strobe lighting played havoc with her sight, but she pressed on and finally came to the entrance of a much quieter space. Quieter save for the cries of those deep in their own individual pleasure zone. She didn’t hang around to watch as she headed for the door to the right. A stiletto platform shoe so tall that it could never be worn signalled the right door. Amanda knocked, Ruth opened, Amanda entered. Jules was sat on the edge of the bed. Smeeks was out cold.

  “I’ll let you sort her out,” Ruth said through gritted teeth. “I’m going to see if I can at least salvage this operation and go and get his laptop off the bar. Hopefully, it’s still there.” Muttering, she pushed past Amanda and stomped back out into pleasure land.