Play With Fire

by Solomon Carter

  Mark handed Dan the phone. This time he saw an image of the same girl as before, but instead of blue hair, her hair was metallic lilac. In the background, another woman stood behind her, hands ready to grip the lilac girl’s shoulders as if ready to give her a shoulder massage.

  “What I am looking at exactly?” said Dan.

  “I think it’s a subgenre of ASMR. Watching and listening to other people getting massaged. That’s ASMR too.”

  “You think? To me it looks like clickbait for people who want to watch something a little kinky.”

  “I agree. It’s that too,” Mark admitted. “In fact, I’d say it’s mainly that… because…” Mark scrolled along the timeline beneath the video, and the website presented a small thumbnail image of each part of the movie as he went along. “If I stop right here, we see this.”

  Dan blinked at the screen. For a moment it was too fuzzy to understand but his eyes soon made sense of it. “So, she’s getting a massage… and it looks like Jenny is the one doing the massage.”

  “Yes. But did you see the lower part of the screen. It’s been pixelated.”

  “Where? Why?” said Dan.

  “Because Jenny’s friend there had gone topless.”

  Dan narrowed his eyes. “So the pixilation is a good thing?”

  “I doubt they did it to spare the innocent,” said Mark. “More like YouTube requires it. But think, they could be advertising their wares for another purpose. The video doesn’t look lurid, but it’s still more than suggestive. I think they’re after more than a few views.”

  “Is this Mark the PI speaking, or Mark the single young man?”

  Mark gave Dan a look and waited.

  “Looking at the comments is very informative,” said Mark. He scrolled through the comments below the massage video.

  “Where can I see this without those pesky pixels?” says one. And Jennifer Soul responds directly, saying, what the guy wants to see isn’t available, but, she says, and I quote “we do have a special website for many more of our exclusive videos,” and then she gives the website address. There are other comments too. Some are pretty seedy, but when Jennifer responds, the website gets a mention a good few times.”

  “Interesting. They mentioned the channel, but nothing about a website. Take a look at it, but don’t click on anything dodgy. I don’t want you to faint on me.”

  Mark clicked through to a black and red web page called Jennifer Soul’s Deep ASMR. He saw a couple of video stills with a play button in the middle of them. One was an image of the bleached blonde – the top half her body only, and she was wearing only a lacey bra. The film style looked primitive, the light unflattering. The second image below showed a similar shot but featuring the other woman, wearing intense face make-up. She was smiling with her little fingernail pressed against her teeth.

  “Now this doesn’t look like much like the stuff on YouTube,” said Mark. “They’ve branded it ASMR, but it looks distinctly top shelf to me.”

  “What do you know about top shelf?” said Dan.

  The blurb beneath the freezeframes advised that if viewers wanted anything more than the two clips shown on the front page, they could access an exclusive set of eight different movies by paying a one-off fee of $97.

  “Dan, look at this,” said Mark.

  Dan looked at the screen. “Well, I never. Jenny here almost had me hoodwinked with her disarming smile and friendly patter. But look at that. It’s is almost enough to put a man off his cheese sandwich. So, how does it work? They have one earner from advertising on YouTube… from which they upsell these dodgy so-called exclusives. Nothing I’m seeing there looks too exclusive to me. Who’d want to pay ninety-seven dollars to see a couple of Basildon babes sounding off in their underwear. But then, that’s the joy of the Internet. There’s always someone out there who’ll pay for something.”

  Dan’s eyes tracked across the street to the two young girls flicking through their comic and his voice drifted away. The website’s dollar pricing suggested Jennifer Soul’s website was being pitched to an international audience. He suddenly remembered The Bleaches’ open invitation to the girl and winced.

  “What are we going to do about all this?” said Mark.

  Dan sighed. “About their videos? Nothing. It’s legal. Pathetic, but legal. But… I dare say their landlord doesn’t know what they’re up to in his house. And I wonder, these Bleaches are certainly in the non-conformist brigade. Rebels rarely like to follow the rules, do they? I wonder if their tax affairs are up to date.”

  “Tax affairs?” said Mark.

  “That’s how they got Al Capone in the old days. The only way they could bring down that gangster was through tax evasion. I’ll bet you they haven’t paid a penny. I could talk to those people about tax audits and tax evasion – see the look on their faces.”

  “You think these videos explain why Ronson can’t get any sleep. Things that go bump in the night?”

  “I think there are probably a few reasons why Mr Ronson doesn’t sleep very easily. But we’re going to work them out. Just the fact these his neighbours make videos like that explains everything. It says what kind of people we’re dealing with. Anything goes types. People who don’t give a damn. The bleached hair was a big clue.”

  “So how do we play it?” said Mark. “If what they’re doing is legal, then we can’t do anything about them.”

  “But it’s not just them we’re worried out, is it. This situation is evolving into something else. Don’t they always?” said Dan.

  “How do you mean?” said Mark.

  “It’s become a prevention case,” said Dan. “We’re here to help that little girl. And I think we could be here to stop Ronson from crossing a very serious line.”

  Mark looked at the girls across the street.

  “You really think he could be that dangerous?”

  “That, Mark, is what we’re about to find out.”

  As Dan got out of the car. Ronson saw him from the upstairs window. The little man stiffened in surprise and gave Dan a nod of greeting. Mark stepped out of the car and Dan locked the car behind him. Carberry was a quiet street, but it was still Basildon.

  “How do we handle this?" said Mark.

  “Get him talking and we listen. The man likes talking, have you noticed? Meanwhile, we need to see if there’s anything in there which suggests he’s is a danger to children.”

  “Such as?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not a psychologist and I haven’t dealt with this kind of thing before. You’ll just have to use your imagination.”

  Mark gulped. Using his imagination about a potential paedophile? Not a place he really wanted to go.

  Ronson opened the front door and gave them a flash of his nervous smile. “You’re early today. Didn’t expect to see you until much later. My esteemed neighbours don’t usually wake up for hours yet.”

  “Did they bother you much last night?” said Dan.

  Ronson pushed his glasses up his nose and shook his head.

  “They partied for a while, and while they were loud, they weren’t as bad as usual. What did you say to them?”

  “I just explained your concerns,” said Dan.

  Ronson frowned. “Oh dear. They really won’t like that. They hate my guts. They’re the noisy ones, and yet they’re the ones asking when I’m going to be out! I can’t stand them.”

  “Busy are you?” said Dan.

  “I was just having a cup of tea before I start work. I was going to take a look at the markets, plot a few buys. I’m due to start in about ten minutes or so.”

  Dan gave a nod. “You know, I’ve never had the knack for investments. Sounds like interesting stuff, especially if you can earn like you do,” said Dan. “Maybe we could have a cup of tea and you could tell us about it.”

  “I’m not sure that what I do is really your bag, Mr Bradley.”

  “You know what they say,” said Dan. “Never judge a book by its cover.”

  Dan’
s smile hardened. He took the initiative and climbed the doorstep, forcing the mild mannered man back into his own hallway. “Very kind,” said Dan, stepping inside. Mark followed and gave Ronson the same fixed smile.

  “I do have some work to do, you know,” said Ronson, behind them.

  “Of course. But you’re not in a rush, are you?” said Dan. “I saw you looking out of the window just now, watching the world go by.”

  Ronson coughed into his fist and looked away. “Like I said. I was having a cup of tea. I like to take a look out of the window in the morning. Don’t you?”

  “What do you look at?” said Dan.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, we all look for something that makes us smile. For inspiration too, I suppose. What inspires you when you look out of the window in the morning?”

  “Oh… lots of things,” said Ronson.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Tea was it?” said Ronson. He turned away for the kitchen as if it might offer him a reprieve.

  “Coffee,” said Dan. “It’s always coffee.”

  The man turned for Mark’s answer. “Same please,” he said.

  “Right you are,” said Ronson. As soon as he was gone Dan nodded to the sideboard opposite the sofa. Mark took up the challenge. Dan walked over to the bookcase behind the door. It was a tall bookcase occupied by little more than a few paperback novels and some twee animal ornaments. They didn’t seem the kind of items a man would buy for himself, not even a man like Ronson. They looked like gifts, or maybe inherited knick-knacks. Dan moved a set of porcelain geese to get at a small photograph album behind them. The cover design looked ancient and the colours had almost entirely faded. The photos inside were so dated that Dan guessed the child in the images was Ronson himself, probably no older than one or two. Dan looked around the walls of the room and noted a complete absence of photographs. A feeling of dread suddenly hit him. Perhaps Ronson wasn’t a loner by choice. Maybe he was an ex-offender placed out of harm’s way. If so, the authorities hadn’t done their homework very well, because the Mellot girl was at risk. Dan flicked through the old pictures. One man showed up time and again. In a few images he had large shirt collars, and shaggy brown hair. There was something of Ronson about the man’s face, only the man in the images seemed much more sure of himself. He was more normal. Dan flicked a few pages to find a woman with curly blonde hair and a slim, pretty face. The fashions changed as a few pages spanned a decade and more, but there was nothing noteworthy in the whole album. Just a baby growing up with his family. Dan returned the little photo album to the shelf just in time as Ronson’s footsteps came their way. Dan stuffed his hands in his pockets as Ronson walked into the room holding a tray with three cups, a pint of milk still in the bottle, a bowl of sugar cubes and a spoon.

  “You were looking at my ornaments?” said Ronson.

  Dan gave a nod. Mark turned his back to the sideboard.

  “Another person’s ornaments are always more interesting than your own, don’t you think?” said Dan, who had never bought an ornament in his life.

  “I suppose. And those are awful, aren’t they?” said Ronson. “My mother bought them. I never had the heart to get rid of them. I don’t have much of her left.”

  Dan took his coffee and drank a few sips, happy to let the small talk die a quick death.

  “So, where do you work?” said Dan. “Where’s your desk?”

  “The cockpit, you mean?” said Ronson, with a chuckle. The way he said the word made Dan wince, but he mostly managed to hide it. “Upstairs. In the spare room.”

  “I see.”

  “But it won’t interest you. My work is quite boring and it’s pretty risky too, unless you know what you’re doing. You can lose a lot of money just playing at it. I’d prefer if we left it, to be honest. I don’t like anyone messing about in my workroom, really. Anyone apart from me that is.”

  “Oh, and why’s that?” said Dan.

  “Because I’m just set in my ways. I’m a very private person, Mr Bradley. I’m sure you must have realised that by now.”

  “Yes, I did,” said Dan. “But you’re an interesting person too.”

  “Really? Yesterday at your office, I got the impression you would have been glad to see the back of me.”

  “Don’t be so hard on me. Besides, a lot can change in twenty-four hours,” said Dan, looking into the man’s little eyes.

  ***

  Eva awoke to a knock at her bedroom door. Her head was aching and she was disoriented. It didn’t take her long to understand she was hung over. But it took her a moment or two to recall how much she’d drunk, and why. She remembered Romford. Lauren and the concrete striking the man’s head. She blinked, sat up, wiped her eyes, groaned, and smoothed her hair. Dan was gone, his side of the bed empty, and his absence made Eva feel suddenly sad. The knocking started again.

  “Come in,” she said.

  Lauren walked in, dressed in her black tracksuit and hoodie from the night before, but her hair was clean and her face made-up. Lauren looked in good in shape. The woman tilted her head at Eva with a look of concerned pity. The look annoyed Eva before they’d even spoken a word to each other.

  “You okay, Eva?” said Lauren. “You had a really rough time last night.”

  Eva looked away. “We both did,” she said., then forced a smile. “But we live to tell the tale.”

  Eva looked around her room. This was her space, Dan’s too. Lauren wasn’t supposed to be in here, but she felt too tired to complain.

  There was a moment’s silence between them and Lauren’s eyes fell to the empty pillow.

  “Are you two… having trouble?”

  “What? Uh. No? At least, I don’t think so?” said Eva, suddenly unsure. It felt as if one of her life’s guy ropes had suddenly snapped at the question. She was tired, fragile. She didn’t need questions like that first thing.

  “Why?”

  “I saw him. He was in a bad mood. Needless to say, he took it out on me and then left. That’s exactly the kind of shit Jamie pulled whenever it suited him. I don’t know why we put up with it.”

  Eva shook her head. “Dan is nothing like Jamie, believe me.”

  Lauren gave a sympathetic smile full of patronising cynicism. “But we all say that, don’t we? Our man is okay. Theirs is the bad one. But it’s not true. The truth is all of them are selfish, self-obsessed, vain, predatory, sadistic little boys who will do anything to get what they want in life, and screw everyone else.”

  “Lauren, that’s your experience. That’s Jamie.”

  Lauren shook her head. She walked further into the bedroom and Eva couldn’t help but frown as she crossed the carpet and the rug and set herself down on the edge of Eva’s bed. Dan’s side. Eva drew the duvet high about her as a defensive wall and looked at Lauren, letting her frown shine out loud and proud, but Lauren seemed oblivious to it.

  “You meant what you said last night, didn’t you?”

  Eva’s heart sank.

  “What did I say?” said Eva.

  “About no regrets. You’ve forgiven me, haven’t you?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “We were drinking. Have you forgotten?”

  Eva didn’t want to surrender another level of control. She couldn’t remember a word of it. But remembering the file in Romford, it sounded like something she might have said.

  “Yes, I remember,” said Eva.

  Lauren beamed. “Good then. Because that means I forgive you too.”

  “Forgive me? For what exactly?”

  “Because of what happened between us back then, when we were at school. Because, if in case you missed it, that was the start of everything going wrong.”

  “But, Lauren, I didn’t do anything to you. Nothing at all. I don’t apologise for what happened back then because I have nothing to apologise for.”

  Lauren’s eyes flashed for a moment before they settled down.

  “I know that’s how it feels to you right
now. But you’ll see. You hated me for a while. Didn’t you?”

  “After what happened, that was kind of… inevitable, don’t you think?”

  Lauren’s smile shone at her. She looked in Eva’s eyes. It was as if Lauren had suddenly changed the subject in her head. Eva narrowed her eyes. She felt defensive but didn’t know why.

  “You’re lonely, Eva. I’ve seen it twice now. Dan makes you feel sad.”

  “Dan? No, he doesn’t. That’s totally untrue.”

  “Be honest with me, Eva, even if you can’t be honest with yourself.”

  Eva was momentarily speechless. Lauren leaned further back on the bed, resting on her elbow. It was only the merest hint of a gesture, but Eva saw it, read it for what it was. Flirting. Baseless flirting. It was so subtle that it could have meant nothing, and yet, with Lauren there was always the gleam in her eyes. Provoking. Seeking a reaction. The woman was seeking to unsettle her. But her words contradicted her behaviour.

  “After last night, I’m beginning to think that we’re more alike than ever. You could do worse than get rid of him, you know. He’s holding you back. Bringing you down. You’re the one who makes things happen, not him. If he doesn’t see that, then the man’s a buffoon.

  Eva didn’t like the words at all, or Lauren’s presence in her bedroom, or the look in her eye. She drew away. “Lauren, you’ve badly overstepped the mark,” she said, her words hard. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she continued with a forced, confused smile.

  “Actually, I think you might have a fair idea.”

  “No, I don’t,” said Eva, firmly. She edged back, moving further away from Lauren.

  Quite suddenly, the woman’s face changed again; all her subtle intensity was gone, as if it never happened.

  “Breakfast then,” said Lauren, standing up from the bed.

  “No thanks,” said Eva. “I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

  She looked away at the window.

  “Breakfast isn’t optional,” said Lauren emphatically. “You might not know what’s good for you, but I promise you, I do.”