by Cody Young
Mr Birch had always thought Layla would be such an easy sell. Pretty face. Blonde hair. Big tits like watermelons. What’s not to like? But, in fact, they had a few problems with Layla. A few problems they hadn’t bargained for.
First off, they didn’t have the test results. And he did like to have all the right paperwork in order. It helped his clients to feel generous and relaxed. Secondly, the girl wasn’t exactly compliant. She was sulky and rude and that wouldn’t go down well with the punters. He could make her compliant, in the usual way, but they didn’t want her all bruised on Friday.
And now, Jacob was standing in his office saying he had to come upstairs and take a look at the stupid girl’s back.
“What’s wrong with her back? If her front’s anything to go by, her back ought to be bloody marvellous.” Mr Birch almost laughed at his own joke. But not quite.
Jacob’s face was clouded with worry. So Mr Birch took a long pull on his cigar and exhaled like a weary statesman. Then he got up and followed Jacob upstairs.
Through the open door, he saw Layla sitting on the bed with her back against the wall. Only now, she was wearing the halter neck top that all the girls around here wore. It was like a uniform. To be worn with pride if you worked at the Fizz. Only hers was white – in recognition of her special status. She’d get a gold one later.
Birch breezed into the room, gratified at the look of fear on Layla’s face. Respect. That’s what he liked to see. Respect counted for a lot in this part of London. His heroes, the Kray brothers, had got it – though they hadn’t managed to keep it. And the Richardsons – over on the other side of the river – they were your career criminals, they were. They’d won a lot of respect. But Birch knew that nothing and no one deserved more respect than he did. That went without saying.
“Layla darling. Jacob tells me you’ve got a little mark on your back. Is this true?”
She swallowed and glanced away.
“Are you going to get up and let me see?” said Birch. “Or do I have to come over there and make you?”
Layla got up off the bed. Listlessly. And stood in the middle of the room. Facing Mr Birch.
“Come on. Don’t keep us in suspenders.”
She looked sulky and hostile, but she turned around to face the window.
And there, on Layla’s lily white skin, Mr Birch saw what Jacob had seen.
Birch felt the first hint of that familiar tide of anger rising inside him. He breathed in, and out. Very slowly. “Blimey. You’ve just turned into a harder sell than I thought you were going to be, Layla.”
Jacob watched from the doorway. “I’m sorry boss. She told me her mother put it there.”
Birch gave a bitter laugh. “Oh, Tara, you bitch. You did that to spite me.”
* * *
Ben went home. Took the afternoon off. At least it gave him more time to think. And it was productive time too. Because he came up with a plan. Thanks to Mr Holloway and his rich understanding of how things had to be done.
With trembling fingers, Ben dialled the number he knew well in North Fenland. And got through to Morrie Stein. His father.
“Dad. I need ten thousand pounds. Can you send it to me? Today?”
Morrie Stein sounded surprised, but unruffled. “You want to put a deposit on a house, Benjy? Good for you.”
“No. Not a house.”
“A business venture then?”
“Sort of. I can’t really discuss it with you at the moment. I know that sounds odd, but I can’t. So don’t ask me to. Please, dad. Just send it.”
“Well, you’re my son and I love you. I hope you know what you’re getting into, that’s all, because you’ve never had much of a head for business.”
Ben hated hearing that, though he knew it was true. “I know I haven’t, but I have to do a deal with someone today.”
Morrie made a sympathetic noise. “Of course. Of course. You’re a grown-up, and you want to make your own way in the world. But you would ask me for help if you needed it, wouldn’t you? You’d come to me for advice if you were in any trouble?”
There was a silence. His father’s tone of voice was so understanding and reasonable that Ben wished he could just spill the whole damn story. But that would be insanity. He couldn’t tell him about Layla’s situation. His father would be sure to say he should go to the police instead, and he needed him to say go to the bank, the money will be waiting for you.
Which is what he did say, because Ben didn’t tell him the truth.
“I’ll make the transfer just as soon as I hang up the phone,” Morrie said.
* * *
When Ben was shown into a back room at the Fizz club, Mr. Birch was enjoying a game of cards. He was sitting at a green baize table with three other men Ben had never seen before.
“You’ve got a nerve, showing your face around here,” Mr Birch said, without looking up.
“I have got a nerve, yes. I’ve also got the money you want for Layla.”
That made Mr Birch look up. For a moment. Then he smiled, and returned to wandering through his playing cards, cigar in hand. “Do you play cards, Dr Stein?”
Ben had been trying to quit for several days now, so he found the aromatic scent of the cigar smoke very disconcerting. “No.”
“You should. I like a good game of cards.”
Ben guessed that when Mr Birch played cards, he always won. Like Elizabeth the First. Ben looked down at the pile of cash and other spoils on the table, and was even more disconcerted to see the barrel of a small black gun – poking out from between the twenty pound notes.
Birch didn’t even try to hide it. On the contrary, he moved one of the notes aside so Ben could get a better look. “This round is winner takes all.”
Ben didn’t answer that. “About the girl−”
“You should take up cards, doctor. You really should.”
Ben frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“It teaches valuable life skills. Like patience. And strategy. Two things you obviously haven’t got.
No, thought Ben. His patience was wearing rather thin. “I understand you are planning some sordid little ceremony here in your club. And that Layla will be auctioned off like an animal. Is that so?”
Mr Birch turned around and spoke to the man who had shown Ben into the room. “Jimmy. I shouldn’t have to ask – but better to be safe than sorry. You did check this impertinent fellow when he came in, didn’t you? To see if he was wearing a wire?”
“Sandy and Mandy gave him a good frisk on the doorstep, sir,” Jimmy chuckled. “He didn’t like that.”
“No. That’s because he likes quality. And purity. Isn’t that right, Dr Stein?”
Ben sighed. “Can we get this over with? I want to take Layla home.”
“Don’t you want to come along to the auction? And be the winning bidder?”
“Most certainly not. Either you accept my offer now, or I’m going home. There’s no way I’m coming along to your illegal fiasco this evening.”
“I see. You’ll buy her. But you don’t want anyone to know that you’ll buy her. Is that how it is? You can’t have people see just how low you’ve had to go. To get a girl. Is that right?”
Ben could see that the man was actively trying to make him angry, and he knew how important it was not to be drawn. There was a gun on the table. There were people loyal to Mr Birch standing by.
“Can we get on with this, please?”
Mr Birch laid down his hand of cards and scooped the pile of money towards him – with almost childlike satisfaction. The other men grunted and sat back in their chairs.
Then Mr Birch looked up at Ben. “Put your pocket money on the table, Benjamin. We’ll see if you’ve got enough.”
Ben made an offer of ten thousand pounds to Mr. Birch. It was twice what Arthur Holloway had suggested, but Ben figured that whilst the old man was wily, he might not be in touch with inflation.
Mr Birch put his hand up to scratch his head – cigar and all �
�� releasing a tantalising stream of tobacco smoke that made Ben want to hit him. “Ten grand? Oh dear me, no. I couldn’t let her go for that.”
And Ben knew that he must have made the offer too fast and too freely, to receive such a cool rejection. He sighed inside. His father had always said he had no head for business.
“No,” said Mr Birch, and took a deep pull from his cigar. “I’d love to do you a favour, but you see I’m not running a charity here. You see, the lovely Layla has attracted a lot of attention. From all sorts of interested parties. I could get twice that, if I tried.”
“Can you prove that?” Ben said, in confusion.
“Yes. Just come along tonight and watch the bidding,” Birch said, with a cruel smile. “Then we’ll see how much she’s really worth.”
Ben glanced away. He couldn’t put her through that. Not standing there while people laughed and leered. He couldn’t see her degraded like that. While she pretended – out of fear – that she was willing to go through with it. Just because Mr Birch was in charge.
“Go home and think about it, doctor. Take your time. If you can’t afford her tonight – don’t fret. She’ll be much cheaper by tomorrow morning.”
So Ben went back to his car, and made the phone call.
“Dad. It’s me,” he said, with a heavy heart. “There’s a problem.”
“Didn’t you get the money? I sent it through like you asked me to.”
“Yes. It’s here. Thank you. You’re the best father any son could wish for… which is why I feel so bad about this…”
“Spit it out, Benjy.”
“I need you to send the same amount, again. Actually, could you make it fifteen this time?”
“Oh, dear. It doesn’t sound as if these negotiations are going very well at all. Another fifteen, you say? Do I understand you correctly? They want twenty-five thousand for something that just yesterday was going to cost ten?”
Ben sighed. His father would never have let it get to this point. “Please, Dad, help me.”
“You can always walk away, if the deal doesn’t seem so sweet anymore,” Morrie sounded so reasonable and sympathetic.
“No, no. I can’t walk away. In this case, I have to go through with it.”
“And you won’t even tell me what you’re buying?”
“I can’t. I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s dangerous, Benjamin, when a business decision becomes an emotional one,” Morrie said carefully. “It’s usually best to−”
“Please, Dad. Have I ever asked you for anything like this before?”
“Never.”
“Well, I swear I never will again.”
“Never’s a long day, son.”
“I’ll never get a chance like this, again,” said Ben. “I have to do this.”
There was a long silence from both of them.
“I’ll make the transfer just as soon as I hang up the phone.”
Ben’s heart leapt. “Thank you. Thank you. You’ve saved me...”
“Benjy?”
“Yes?”
“Tell them you could only scrape up eight. And you’ll be bleeding financially because of it. They won’t accept that, because they’ve already planned how to spend what they’ve asked for. But that’s good, good for you at least. Are you listening to me, Benjy?”
“Yes,” Ben said.
“Then you go and walk around the block, and when you go back to them, you stand there, and you clench your knuckles two or three times, and you tell them you made a phone call, and it wasn’t easy, but you found the other two thousand they wanted. But it cost you. It nearly killed you to get it, and they’re bleeding you white, you say. So then they accept it. Because you’ve convinced them – totally convinced them – that they can’t get any more out of you, because there isn’t any more to get.”
“What then?’
“Shake hands. Give them their money. Get what you came for. And send me back the five thousand you didn’t need.”
“Okay. I’ll do that.”
“Good boy. Good luck.”
* * *
Layla kicked up one hell of a fuss when they told her they’d come to an arrangement. God, she knew what that meant.
Or she thought she did.
So she lay on the bed and cried and sobbed. Said she wasn’t ready. Tried to play for time.
Mr Birch was all pseudo-sympathetic. “Layla, my dear. The client is waiting downstairs. So don’t be difficult, my sweetheart.”
“And if I say no? If I kick and scream? Or bite him until he wishes he’d never spent his money?”
Birch laughed. “Bite him, my dear? You’ll have to ask him if that’s what turns him on.”
Eventually, Birch asked for two of his men to come and get her. Jimmy, his second in command, and Jacob from the bar. “Bring her downstairs,” he said, with a wink. “But don’t spoil it for me. Or for him. Don’t tell her our little secret.”
Mr Birch left the room and went downstairs.
Jimmy and Jacob approached Layla and she tried to hide behind the bed. She had to be dragged kicking and screaming out of the room. Jimmy was impatient. He wanted to slap her to shut her up, but Jacob said he could deal with her.
“Shut up and be grateful, Layla,” said Jacob, quietly. “The fate that awaits you isn’t what you fear…”
But Layla didn’t trust Jacob. Or anyone who worked for Mr Birch.
Jacob picked her up and carried her downstairs. Fireman’s lift. Over his shoulder. Enduring her insults and her attempts to escape him with a stoicism born out of years working behind the bar.
He set her down – tearstained and angry – but standing on her own two feet. She brushed strands of damp blonde hair out of her eyes.
And then she saw Ben. He was standing there, pale and unhappy, with bruises on his face.
It seemed like the final indignity, that he should be there to witness what she had always dreaded happening to her– being handed over to someone who had paid to use and abuse her. “Oh, God. What the fuck are you doing here?”
“It’s okay, Layla. You’re coming home with me.” He took a step towards her. “Let’s go.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, though perhaps she was beginning to.
“I’ve paid what they asked,” he said simply. “It seemed easier that way.”
“Oh, Ben,” she murmured.
“Don’t be too gentle with her, Doctor,” said Birch. “Give the girl a night to remember.”
Layla looked at Birch like he was Satan, and then, almost doubting she was free to do so, she took a tentative step closer to Ben. And another. And another. And then he met her halfway and gathered her into his arms.
“Layla,” he said, in a voice all broken with emotion. “Let me take you home.”
“Ah. It’s like seeing a puppy dog finding its true home,” said Birch. “Makes it all worthwhile.”
The men in the club laughed. But Layla refused to respond. She let Ben walk her out of the Fizz club and down the road, towards where he had parked his car. Layla shivered – she was only dressed in a thin t-shirt and leggings - not enough clothes for late November. Ben stripped off his coat and put it round her shoulders as they walked towards the car. And she kept looking over her shoulder like she was sure they’d come after her.
He unlocked the car door for her, and she got in. She waited until he had got in too, before she asked him. She could see he knew she was going to ask, the look in his dark eyes betrayed him.
“How much?” she said, in a broken tone of voice.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes it does. It matters to me.”
He shook his head.
“How much?” she repeated, and looked straight at him so she’d know if he was telling her the truth.
“Twenty thousand pounds. I had twenty-five. But they didn’t know that.”
He started the ignition, and drove her home to Richmond.
His Place
&n
bsp; She’d never been to his place before. The closest she’d come to it was that night outside the restaurant when he drank too much chardonnay. From the outside it was a fine-looking building. Built in the mid-sixties. About four stories high. It stood behind a low white stucco wall, surrounded by some well-tended green grass and tall trees – which would have looked leafy and charming if it hadn’t been November. Ben led her up towards the double doors, picked up some mail that had been left in a wooden cubbyhole for him, and said he was on the third floor. The lift wasn’t working so they took the stairs, and she felt surprisingly shaky by the time they reached his front door.
“This is it,” he said, and unlocked the door for her.
She went in. It was a nice room. The lounge, she would have called it. Comfortable couch you could sink into, with big cream cushions with bobbles round the edge. And off to the right was a kitchen, small but very modern and bright. Hospital clean. He was either a neat freak, or he had a cleaning lady, and for some reason she suspected the latter. Off to the left was a pair of double doors, which she feared might lead to the bedroom.
The bedroom. Would she ever have the courage to ask a man who had paid twenty thousand pounds for her, if it would be okay to sleep on the couch?
For dinner, he ordered a takeaway from a Chinese place that did deliveries. And when the buzzer on the wall sounded she practically jumped out of her skin. Terrified it might be Birch and his gargoyles.
“It’s just the guy with the food, that’s all,” he told her. “I’ll run downstairs and get it.”
It was nice – steamy and aromatic and appetizing. Noodles and wontons and beef in a black bean sauce. She loved Chinese food. But she couldn’t eat much. She was so nervous, being here with Ben.
She watched him as he ate. Unsure of the balance of power. He’d been her doctor, for goodness sake. What was he now – her boyfriend – or her owner? It was an awful thought. But he just looked up and smiled at her and tried to encourage her to eat.
“Sorry,” he said, when she shook her head. “Just want to look after you, that’s all.”
