Erotic Amusements

by Justine Elyot

  “Michelle.” Rocky called after her, pulling Flipp along behind him until they were outside the supermarket, in a small car park between it and the pool area. “Stop.”

  Reluctantly, seeing that she had nowhere to run and no way of eluding Rocky’s long, long legs, Michelle halted and turned to him, her face defiantly set.

  “Sent you after me, has he?” She looked around, noticing a small clutch of breakfast-bound holidaymakers stopping to rubberneck. She raised her voice, deliberately appealing to them. “Well, if you’re going to take me down, you’ll have to do it here, in public. Take note,” she shouted to the tourists. “My name’s Michelle Roberts. This is Rocky Anderson. If you read a Missing Persons report in the paper with a picture of me, you know what name to give the police, right? Rocky Anderson. Professional heavy. That’s him.”

  “Michelle, please,” Rocky hissed in an appeal for calm.

  Flipp wondered if he was going to take Michelle by the arm and drag her somewhere less public. She looked around, fearing intervention from onlookers or camp staff.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not here to find you. Tell her, Flipp.”

  “He isn’t.” Flipp backed him up. “I don’t know why you think he is.”

  “Well…obviously because…” She turned around to check on the little crowd, moving closer to the pair, keeping this part of the conversation private. “Haven’t you heard? Hasn’t it been in the paper yet? Surely by now…”

  “Listen, I think we need to talk,” Rocky said. “Let me buy you breakfast up at the complex. Nice and open up there, plenty of people around. You’ll feel safe. Yeah?”

  “Okay.” Michelle grudgingly accepted before turning on the onlookers and yelling, “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?”

  They trudged off, muttering amongst one another, cheated of their hoped-for spectacle.

  “But first,” Rocky said, heading back into the supermarket, “I need to see the local rag.”

  He bought a copy of the Gazette and swore explosively at its front page, which depicted a large photograph of Cordwainer beneath the headline The Godfather of Goldsands.

  “You knew about this?” he spluttered, shaking the paper in Michelle’s direction when they were out in the car park again.

  “What? What is it?” Flipp plucked eagerly at the newspaper, but Rocky held it out of her reach.

  “That breakfast?” Michelle seemed alarmed at Rocky’s demeanour, but surely she knew nothing could happen to her out here in the open or in the crowded cafeteria inside the complex. If Rocky was a problem, she could simply call the police. Flipp couldn’t see that she had anything to worry about. It wasn’t as if Cordwainer was here in person.

  Huddled at the corner table with their plates of congealing bacon and egg and toast, the trio pored over the newspaper, spread open in the centre of the red Formica.

  “Jeez,” muttered Rocky, his face contorting into new expressions of awe and dismay with each sentence he read. “I picked the right time to leave.”

  “You don’t work for him anymore?” Michelle stopped pushing bits of frilly caramelised egg white around her plate and stared.

  “No. Quit three days ago. But I didn’t exactly hand in my notice.”

  “You’re—are you in hiding? Here?”

  Flipp and Rocky looked at each other, as if agreeing the level of secrecy required, then both nodded.

  “So am I.”

  “You aren’t running the Fairhaven anymore?”

  “No. Cordwainer, um, we split up. And when I found out about his plans for the nature reserve, I wanted to do something. He needed to be stopped. Don’t you think?”

  “So it was you who went to the press?” Rocky raised his eyebrows and blew out a breath. “That’s quite a risk to take. I wanted out, but I would never have gone that far. I know his connections. He’s not a man to cross, Michelle. I hope you’re going to be okay.”

  “I hope so too,” she said, palpably nervous. “But the Gazette man promised he’d take care of me. He seemed very sure he could take Cordwainer down.”

  “Of course he seemed sure—to you. He wanted your story. But Cordwainer knows a lot of people.”

  “Yes, but now it’s in the public domain, he can’t get away with it, can he?” Michelle’s tone was pleading. Rocky squeezed and relaxed a fist around the salt cellar, ruminating.

  “He’ll take me down with him,” he said. “Flipp, we’re going to have to get away today, I think. The fall-guy look doesn’t suit me. If Cordwainer doesn’t find us, the police will.”

  “Okay.” A subdued Flipp had little appetite for the plate of food in front of her. She gulped at her coffee instead.

  Michelle turned curious attention to Rocky’s companion.

  “You worked in the arcade, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah. For my sins.”

  “I always thought Cordwainer had an eye for you. I thought you were going to be my replacement.” She chuckled mirthlessly. “Hard to believe that I was jealous of you for that.”

  Flipp looked up with a rueful grimace. “I think he thought that too. I had ideas of my own, though.”

  “You and Rocky—I suppose he didn’t know about that?”

  “God, no. Though now…”

  “Perhaps he thinks we’ve both run off with Rocky.” Michelle laughed, more genuinely this time, and gave Rocky the ghost of a batted eyelash.

  “I should be so lucky,” said Rocky gallantly, but he took Flipp’s hand and squeezed it, making it quite clear that he was happy with his one woman, just in case.

  “He’ll kill us if he finds us,” said Flipp. “I wonder if he’s looking for us right now.”

  “As soon as we’re done here, we’ll?” Rocky hesitated. Michelle looked interested, but he lowered his voice as he spoke to Flipp alone. “Do what we were planning to do. Go and see that guy. You know.”

  “Right.” Idly, Flipp turned the page of the Gazette, wanting Cordwainer’s beady newsprint eyes off her while she tried to tackle her breakfast. She sucked in a breath and spilled coffee over the Formica at the unwelcome sight that met her eyes. Her own face in a corner of the page, underneath the headline Womanhunt.

  “What the…?”

  Rocky snatched the paper and read it with gathering consternation.

  “Fucking hell, Flipp. Now they’ve got the police after you as well.”

  Flipp, pale and nauseated, could only sit and shake.

  “Somebody must have seen me. One of his officers. Maybe on holiday or something. Oh God. Let’s go now, Rocky. Can we go? Can we just get away? Never mind packing the tent and all that. Can we just go?”

  She carried on repeating the plea, mindlessly, over and over, while Rocky made his apologies to Michelle and escorted Flipp out of the cafeteria.

  How many of these tourists had seen the paper? How many people might be calling the police helpline number even now? Yes, they had to go. There was no alternative now.

  Rounding the corner of the entertainment complex, Rocky and Flipp dodged back again, flattening themselves against the wall and peering round at Reception, in front of which stood a pair of black-and-white uniformed police.

  “Oh no.” Flipp could barely breathe, her vision disintegrating into blur. “Rocky.” She jerked his name out. It was hard to speak with lips paralysed by fear.

  “We’ll go along the beach. It’s less than a mile to town. Come on.”

  He ran, dragging her along after him, down the hill to the shingle beach, not stopping until they were behind the cliff, beyond sight of any official eyes.

  “Not the easiest stuff to walk on,” Rocky conceded as their feet sank into the tiny pebbles. “At least we’ve got good boots on.”

  “Rocky, if he finds me…”

  “He won’t find you.”

  “He’s got everyone believing that I’ve escaped from a mental hospital. That’s what it said in the Gazette. It’s not true, though. You don’t believe it, do you?”

>   “Flipp, you told me what happened. I believe you. I know you’re sane, love.”

  “He can make people believe anything. He made me believe I was bad and dangerous. Rocky, I’m so scared.”

  “We’ll be in France tonight, sweetheart. It won’t matter what he can do. And one day we’ll be able to set the record straight. We’ll be able to clear your name.”

  “He made everyone believe I was a madwoman. Just because I didn’t want him anymore.”

  “He’s a bastard, Flipp. There’s a lot of them about. And you weren’t his girlfriend anyway. You were his victim. He took advantage of a sixteen-year-old girl. He should be charged with rape, in my book.”

  “He’s the bloody chief of police. There’s no chance of that.”

  “No, I suppose not. All we can do is run. And that’s what we’re doing now. Come on, Flipp, keep up.”

  Michelle, in the meantime, unsettled by her breakfast with the pair of fellow fugitives, found herself taking the quietest route, with the most potential hiding places, back to her caravan, where she intended to hole up for the rest of the day. The only other thing on her agenda was an urgent call to Jeremy. Until Cordwainer was arrested and the other guilty councillors rounded up, she was a moving target. It was not a role she relished.

  She stopped dead at the start of the track that led her alongside the camping field. Two burly men stood examining a motorbike that she recognised immediately as Rocky’s. A third emerged from the tent, holding aloft some clothes.

  “They’re together. Definitely. You stay here and wait for them. I’ll go and scout round the site. Cordwainer wants them, like, yesterday. All right, lads?”

  Michelle scurried backwards. The tough had made no mention of her. Jeremy’s sister had obviously kept her lip faithfully zipped. One day, when all this was over, she was going to send her a bunch of flowers. In the meantime, the wisest course of action seemed to be lying low.

  She was almost out of the goon’s line of sight, flitting into the caravan field, when she ran slap-bang into the pair of uniformed officers who were on the lookout for Flipp.

  “Oh, sorry,” she muttered.

  “Careful,” cautioned the female officer, putting out a hand to steady her.

  “Can I just ask you if you’ve seen this woman?” asked her male colleague, producing an old photograph of Flipp, looking much younger and less punky than the girl she had breakfasted with.

  “Sorry, no,” Michelle said, looking back over her shoulder, fearing recognition by Cordwainer’s hireling, whom she had frequently served over the bar at the Fairhaven. “Excuse me, got to go.”

  “Hang on, what about this man? We think they might be together.”

  The policeman thrust a photograph of Rocky into Michelle’s face.

  “Really, no,” she blustered, waving the picture away.

  Cordwainer’s goon was behind her now; she could hear the clump of his heavy boots on the dirt track.

  “Officers,” he said with sardonic courtesy, then he stopped and Michelle’s scalp crawled with dread. He was looking at her, trying to place her face.

  “Will that be all, officers?” she muttered, taking to her heels.

  “Here, you’re the barmaid from the Fairhaven.” he exclaimed. “Michelle. You’re…Hey. Someone I know is looking for you.”

  But Michelle was running now, grateful for the tennis shoes she had put on that morning instead of her usual heels, dodging around and among the caravans with the indignant yells of the heavy behind her.

  Somehow she made a break around the back of the pool area and towards the beach, intending to take the quickest route along the shingle to the harbour of the nearby town. Once there, she planned to lurk in one of the many cafés and call Jeremy.

  Ahead of her the comically contrasting figures of Rocky and Flipp could be seen pounding the pebbles, hair whipped by the coastal winds.

  “Rocky,” she shouted over the blustering gusts. “Rocky. Wait for me.”

  But he could not hear her, and it wasn’t until they were in the shelter of the cliffs, on the path to the harbour, that she managed to catch up with them.

  “Rocky,” she panted, ignoring the look of fearful annoyance on his face. “Please. Take me with you. Wherever you’re going.”

  “Are you mad?” he asked, dragging Flipp roughly along and away from the unwelcome hanger-on. “I’ve got enough to worry about without taking on your troubles. I have to look after number one, and right now, that’s me and Flipp.”

  “Please. Cordwainer’s men were there. At your tent. They knew you were staying at the caravan park.”

  Rocky stopped and stared. Flipp whimpered.

  “Are you sure about that? Cordwainer’s men? Which ones?”

  “Oh, I don’t know his name…is it…Darren something?”

  “Shit. Darren Redmond. He’s at the campsite?”

  “He was following me. I think I managed to lose him.”

  “Fucking hell. We’ve got to move fast. Come on.”

  Michelle hurried after him, refusing to let him abandon her.

  “Rocky, he’ll kill me. He’ll have me killed. Do you want that on your conscience?”

  “Never mind my conscience. That’s my affair.”

  They were at the harbour now, heading for the fishing boats unloading after an early morning’s catch.

  Michelle gave up for the moment, sitting down on a bench and punching in Jeremy’s number on her phone. She watched the pair of lovers descend some stone steps to a jetty. It was a windy day and the harbour waters were rough, causing the prows of the boats to swing to and fro like pendulums while the buoys clanked and tocked.

  I wish I had a lover like him, who would help and support me, she thought wistfully, jealous of the way Rocky seemed happy to risk his entire life for Flipp. How deluded she had been to imagine Cordwainer had any feelings for her. The love between Rocky and Flipp poured out of them in everything they said and did. How had they achieved that? How did it happen?

  She sighed and listened to the burr of the ringing phone, waiting for Jeremy to pick up and make everything all right again.

  The ringing switched to voice mail and she sighed again. He must be in a meeting, perhaps. She began to leave a message, trying to sound calm and only partially succeeding. As she spoke, she watched Rocky and Flipp board a fishing vessel and head downstairs into the hold.

  “Jeremy, it’s Michelle. Please ring me as soon as you get this message—it’s very urgent. I’ve been discovered by Cordwainer’s men. I’ve got away for now but…” Her voice trailed off. She heard a sharp scream, Flipp’s, and the sound of raised male voices.

  Then the screaming stopped, and there was silence.

  Chapter Eleven

  The smell of the police-issue gauntlet covering Flipp’s mouth was so familiar and so terrifying that she could not breathe it in without retching. Her stomach leaped and jolted while her captor’s other hand closed so tightly about her upper arm that it was numbed within a minute.

  “I’ve missed you, Philippa.” The voice in her ear was too much for her, and she vomited, suddenly and copiously, so that he had to take his hand off her mouth with a shout of shocked anger. “Ugh, clean yourself up,” he snarled, pushing her towards the bucket of water that stood in a corner of the hold. She fell on her knees and buried her face in the wet cloth, letting tears merge with the icy damp.

  “Rocky,” she jerked out, looking over to the corner where he lay unconscious, a bleeding wound on the side of his head, seeping out and matting his messy black hair. All the same he looked peaceful, the sleeping boy she liked to just watch during the long nights under canvas. Was he still alive? He was so pale. She tried to crawl over to him, but her path was blocked by Charles Cordwainer, who knelt over her lover’s leatherclad bulk and began tying his wrists in front of him.

  “What if you’ve killed him?” She addressed the words to Detective Chief Superintendent Peter Rhodes, who was washing his vomit-stained hands in the b
ucket behind her.

  Rhodes shrugged. “What if I have?” The handle of the gun he’d used to knock Rocky out protruded from his jacket pocket. Flipp, in her haze of misery and fear, tried to formulate a plan, to get the gun, to use it against Rhodes and Cordwainer, but her thoughts refused to order themselves and she found herself once again drawn to the corpselike figure of Rocky. Before she could lash out at Cordwainer, Rhodes had hold of her again, and he pushed her down on a bench and handcuffed her hands behind her back.

  “Calm down, love,” he said, trying to sound soothing. “It’s all right. I know what’s best for you, Philippa. That’s all I’m trying to do here—I want to help you.”

  “Then let me go. And let Rocky go. That’s the only way you can help me. Oh, killing yourself would be good too.”

  Rhodes tutted, his head to one side, and put out a hand to stroke Flipp’s cheek.

  “You’re still so young, aren’t you? And you don’t understand what you need. You don’t understand what’s good for you. But I do. I always did. Come home with me, love. Come back home.”

  “It was never my home.” Flipp was struggling against her breath to get the words out. “It was my prison. You caught me when I was just a kid with nobody to protect me and then you…preyed on me. You’re a fucking vulture. You’ve no shame, and you should have. You should be in prison.”

  “I caught your family’s killers for you. I did all of that for you. I protected you. I did it because I love you.”

  Flipp turned her head away and let the sobs take their course, transported far away to that awful time, five years ago, when Rhodes had come into her life.

  She had only escaped dying in the fire that had destroyed her home and killed her parents because she had stayed out too late at a gig in town. Returning at two o’clock in the morning, wondering why she hadn’t had the usual series of angry, anxious text messages from her mother, she had found a ring of fire engines surrounding the burning shell. She didn’t remember much after that, until Rhodes had come to visit her on the psychiatric ward, to ask her about her father’s involvement with a local crime gang.