by DC Brockwell
Two pairs of hands grabbed him and pulled him back to the bed. He fought them with every ounce of strength, screaming a feral scream. Then a third pair of hands grabbed him.
They were far too strong; as much as he struggled, they overpowered him, pinning him down and wrapping the cuffs around his ankles, wrists, and neck until he was in the same position he’d started this whole nightmare in. He struggled against the chains.
“You think you’re really clever, don’t you?” Beattie stared down at him, her face angry and flustered. “I knew you hadn’t adapted. Your transition was far too quick, Danny. No one comes to terms with it that quickly.”
He watched as Beattie put her arm around Grace’s robed shoulders. “She’s wonderful, isn’t she? Not bad for an amateur actor; worthy of an Oscar, I’d say.”
“Fuck you!” he hissed.
Beattie stepped up to his bed. “I knew you were plotting to escape. I’ve been doing this a long time, so I know my bees and how they react. Now I’ve got to break you down. And I will break you down, you can believe that.”
“I meant what I said, Danny, I’ll be booking with you again real soon.” Grace laughed. “You are a fantastic fuck. Though maybe you can choose the role play next time.”
Beattie, Grace, and the three guards laughed. Kimiko had her head down, her hair covering her face. He fought against the chains again, as though sheer physical force would break them.
“Go ahead, Danny, get it out of your system,” Beattie said. “By this time next week you’ll be mine. As punishment, you’re going to have the worst week of your life… and after the week’s up, we’ll see how compliant and grateful you really are. It’s my biggest hate, you know, my bees being ungrateful.”
Anger welled up in his chest. “Grateful? For this? You’re a fucking psycho!”
One of the guards walked over and punched him on the cheek, snapping Danny’s head sideways as blood sprayed the pillow.
“No! There’s no need for that!” Beattie shouted, forcing the guard to back off. “I don’t want my star bee all battered and bruised for tomorrow’s clients.”
When he turned his head back, Beattie was looking down at him with a grin he really didn’t like the look of. It was devious, evil. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“You’ve had a taste of our classier, more sophisticated clientele, like Grace here; now I’m going to show you the other side of our business. And you’re not going to like it, not one bit…” The grin got wider. “By this time next week, you’ll be begging me for your old clients back.”
Danny froze. The guards were there all day as far as he could tell, the door was always locked, Kimiko was too scared of Beattie to betray her and help him… the only way he was getting out of here was by being rescued somehow, or by death.
As he lay there, exposed – with Beattie, Grace, Kimiko, and the three guards watching him – he suddenly thought that death didn’t sound like such a bad option after all.
Five minutes after being left alone, the air conditioning unit changed its whirring sound. It took him just a few seconds to realise it was blowing cold air…
17
Nasreen parked her red Ford Fiesta on the street outside Francesca Belmont’s modern four-bedroom detached house. It was five to seven and she was off the clock. She took her badge and notebook with her to make it look official.
She’d had some luck phoning the escort agencies and had managed to talk the owner of Gentlemen4U.com into an interview. She’d told the owner, a woman called Theresa Gaffney, that she was looking to find out more about the industry – that she wasn’t looking at her company for any wrongdoing.
She’d then mentioned the disappearance of Daniel Rose and that she was investigating the case. Theresa had told her it wasn’t unheard of for male escorts to go missing; she alone had lost two very good-earning employees through mysterious disappearances. This had excited Nasreen, and she’d asked Theresa if she could take the details of the two escorts. Theresa had said she would have the information ready for when Nasreen came to her office the following day, though she did warn her that the police had already investigated.
Nasreen walked up to Francesca Belmont’s blue front door, pressed the bell, and looked around at the other houses while she waited. It was dark, but the streetlights were good. Francesca Belmont’s house was like every other house on the street, right down to the front porch. She wondered why people would want identical houses; her house was unique, and she loved that about it.
The door opened, and she was greeted by a very well-dressed woman in her mid- to late-sixties. She was surprised at how elderly she was; she’d expected Danny’s clients to be a bit younger. The two previous clients she’d spoken to were in their fifties.
“You must be the detective,” started Francesca. “I’m sorry, dear, I forget your name.”
“Nasreen,” she replied with a polite smile. “Nasreen Maqsood.”
“Won’t you come in, please?” asked Francesca, opening the door wider.
Nasreen stepped in and waited while the elderly lady walked along the corridor with her back slightly hunched, asking her to follow. Nasreen was offered a cup of tea, which she kindly refused, then she followed Francesca through to the lounge where she was offered an armchair.
“Now then, dear, what did you want to talk about?”
When Nasreen saw how black Francesca’s teeth were, she couldn’t help but flinch they were so nasty. And the smell! It smelt like rotting flesh; it was rancid and offended her nostrils. Hoping her face didn’t give her away, she was surprised that this was one of Danny’s clients. The old woman wasn’t like the other two. Francesca even dressed like an elderly person; she was wearing a thick floral dress, stockings, and hideous slippers. A thinner Nora Batty sprang to mind.
“I’m looking into the disappearance of Daniel Rose,” Nasreen started, “a friend of yours, I believe? I was hoping to find out a bit more about him.”
“There’s not a lot to say really.” Francesca shrugged. “We went out on a dinner date not so long ago; he was great company. My husband died, you see, and I wasn’t getting out much. A friend of mine gave me his number, said he was a lovely man.”
Nasreen nodded. “So, where did you go? Some posh restaurant?” she asked, genuinely interested to see where Danny would take this old dear.
“It was lovely, a place on the high street… I forget the name. It’s so annoying when you can’t remember all the details. Anyway, he was just the perfect gentleman, and a hell of a looker too. I tell you, if I’d been twenty – or thirty – years younger.” She winked.
“So, you didn’t…?” Nasreen regretted asking straight away.
“Oh no, dear, I’m far too old for that. I invited him in for coffee – I remember because he was in here when he got a phone call – and then shortly after that he had to leave. Something about his mother having a fall and having to go to the hospital. That’s right, I remember now, poor thing.”
This neither confirmed nor denied anything. Francesca had invited Danny in for a drink, but then he’d lied about his mother having a fall – Nasreen knew this because she knew his mother had been dead for years. It sounded like sex had been in the offing and Danny had backed out. She wasn’t surprised at that.
After a few minutes of chat, she decided she’d heard enough. It was another dead end, like the previous two clients. She’d not learned much more about Danny, other than there were limits to who he’d sell his body to. She was thankful for that, at the very least.
Nasreen asked Francesca if she knew of anyone who would wish Danny harm. The old lady said that as far as she knew, everyone loved Danny. No help there either.
Itching to get away from the offensive odour surrounding Francesca, Nasreen asked a couple more questions, before needing to breathe fresh air. “Anyway, thank you for sharing that with me,” Nasreen said as she stood up. “And if you think of anything else, please give me a call.” She handed her a card.
/> When Francesca made to get up, Nasreen said, “No, please, Mrs Belmont, there’s no need to show me out. I remember the way. You have a lovely evening.”
It was quarter past seven by the time Nasreen got back in her car, and as it would take her an hour to drive home, she thought she might make it in time for Isha prayer at her mosque. Adding to that, she really wanted to see Mina too. She felt bad about how much time she was missing with her daughter. Work had to be a top priority though, especially now she was a single mother.
Although the meeting with Francesca had proven uneventful, Nasreen was still hopeful about tomorrow’s meeting with Theresa Gaffney, of Gentlemen4U.com. As far as she knew, there were a possible two more missing persons cases.
As Nasreen drove through the dimly-lit suburban roads, she kept thinking there could be a link… or was she just hoping there was? At least if there was a link between Danny and these other two investigations, there might be more she could get from them to help her find him.
On the one hand, both the other cases had been investigated already and nothing had been found. But on the flip-side, she hadn’t been on the other two inquiries…
18
Kimiko closed the hatch to Danny’s room and sighed. Mrs Harrison had turned the air conditioning unit down to eight degrees, and she’d left him shivering, goosebumps all over his arms and legs. He would be left like that until the morning, when Mrs Harrison would switch it back up, ready for the first customer. She’d done this to several bees as punishment over the years, and mostly it was effective.
Kimiko hated seeing Danny suffer; she’d tried to comfort him for the past hour or so. He hadn’t said a word to her. She guessed he was mentally adjusting to his situation.
With a letter in her hand, Kimiko walked down to the office and knocked on the door.
Mrs Harrison answered. “Kimiko, you’re down here late.”
“Excuse me, Bea, but I have letter to my family.”
She handed the note – still not sealed – to Mrs Harrison. Each month Kimiko wrote a missive addressed to her father, as Mrs Harrison had suggested she do when she’d first arrived. All those years earlier she’d written a page a day, which soon went down to a letter a week, and now it was – if she could manage it – one a month. Mrs Harrison always read them before sending them. Sometimes Kimiko thought it was such a shame her benefactor could read and speak her language. It gave her no privacy. She wanted so badly to ask her father to come and get her. Time had taught her that it was impossible.
Mrs Harrison accepted it, waited a few seconds, and asked, “Is there anything else, honey?”
With her head down, Kimiko asked quietly, “Why you trick Danny?”
Mrs Harrison gently pulled Kimiko’s chin up with her fingers, and smiled. “I didn’t trick him, honey, I tested him.” Then, opening the door wider and waving her in, Mrs Harrison beckoned her inside.
Shuffling her feet, Kimiko stepped into the office.
Mrs Harrison offered her a seat, which she accepted. Her employer pulled her chair close to hers so that they were staring at one another. “You see, Kimiko, Danny hasn’t adapted yet. All New Bees need to have time to accept that they’re here, that they work for me now. Danny failed the test; he just needs more time to adjust. But he will, you’ll see.”
“He a nice man,” Kimiko said.
“You like him, don’t you?” Mrs Harrison asked in a funny manner. “I understand. I know he seems like a nice man, but I’m warning you that he isn’t what he seems.”
“But–”
“No buts, Kimiko, he’s not a nice man!”
Kimiko frowned. She didn’t understand why Mrs Harrison was saying that.
“You know, all my bees are liars. It’s what they do for a living; it’s how they make money out there on the streets. They use their looks, and their… you-know-whats… to make money. And they do this by making innocent women believe they love them. It’s why I chose them to work here; they’re perfect for the job. I don’t say this to be harsh, Kimiko, but Danny doesn’t like you; he’s using you.”
Kimiko shook her head. “Danny would not–”
“He’s using you!”
Mrs Harrison’s tone changed, and Kimiko knew what that meant.
“Right now,” Beattie continued, “he’s probably thinking that he needs to get close to you, and soon he’ll ask you to betray me. You’re free to wander around here, you’re not under guard, and you could certainly use this phone when I’m not around to phone the police… but it would be a mistake, Kimiko, a big mistake.”
“I never betray you,” Kimiko said, her voice frightened. “You been good to me.”
She felt Mrs Harrison’s hand rub her shoulder. “I know you wouldn’t, honey, because you’re loyal. It’s why I love you.”
Kimiko was lost for words.
“Come here, you.” Mrs Harrison wrapped her arms around her.
They embraced. Kimiko’s mind raced.
Mrs Harrison had never said she loved her before. Did she expect her to say it back? Would she take offence if she didn’t reciprocate?
Finally, mid-embrace, Kimiko managed to say, “I love you too…”
19
Lennox opened the office door, greeting Zack and Neil Astor with handshakes before letting them in and ushering them through to their seats across from William Rothstein.
Lennox took his seat next to his boss, but further back and to the side; he wasn’t considered equal to the other men at the meeting – he was just an employee.
Rothstein commenced the meeting with the usual “Would you like a drink” routine, talking about families and other inane drivel while he made them all Scotch on the rocks from the bar to the right of his desk. For some reason, Rothstein liked making the drinks.
After handing each of them a glass, he sat back down.
His boss was a tall man, about six-one, and thickly set with a full head of white hair, which belied his age – he was only fifty-eight. He’d had Beattie when he was fifteen, which had caused quite a stir back then. He was always immaculately dressed, just as he was that night. Lennox had heard so many stories about Rothstein from other employees – his colleagues – and none of them good either.
Back when Rothstein had been in his early twenties, he’d already acquired a reputation as a prolific drug dealer. He’d pummelled his competition into submission, is the way he heard it. By the age of twenty-five, he had murdered six people, one of them – an innocent civilian woman – having died in the crossfire. People were so frightened of him that the police had never found anyone brave enough to testify against him.
He’d started importing when he was in his late twenties, knocking all the aggro that came with street dealing on the head. He’d started thinking smarter, had rid himself of his coke habit, and looked after his family. By this point in Rothstein’s life, Beattie would have been about fourteen or fifteen, and she was beginning to ask questions about why people seemed so afraid of her.
In all the years Rothstein had been in business, he had not been sent down, charged, or even cautioned by the police. Lennox often wondered how he’d managed it, as psychotic as he was.
When he was in his forties, Rothstein had bought his first fixer-upper to renovate, which was how his property development business had started. By then he owned properties up and down the country: houses, blocks of flats, factories, office buildings. He outright owned two nightclubs, hotspots where the rich and famous went, safe they would not get bothered. Then, of course, Rothstein owned the blood bunker, as Lennox called it.
He observed the two guests as they continued.
Zack Astor was in his late fifties, about six foot with grey hair. He was huskier than Rothstein and might have one over on him in a fist fight – or he would if not for Rothstein’s psychotic streak. Lennox would bet his money on his boss, every day of the week. Dressed in a light grey suit, Astor didn’t spend as much money on clothes as Rothstein, though he still looked smart.
> Lennox had heard stories about Zack Astor too. He’d grown up with an alcoholic father and a skaghead mother; not much of a start in life, but he’d gone on to be the biggest dealer in his neck of the woods, and like Rothstein, he had managed to stay out of prison.
He’d married a woman from a decent family, who’d managed to ground him, and Zack and Zoe had gone on to have two children, Neil and Olivia. Then they’d adopted their youngest, Ryan.
Lennox had met Neil on a few occasions and always found him friendly. He was quieter than his dad, more reserved. He was a plumber by trade, but outside of work he handled his dealers under a cloud of secrecy; he was the new breed, who knew that operating stealthily was the key.
Lennox met Neil’s blood sister once, at a wedding of a mutual colleague, and he’d been smitten with her immediately. She was stunning, with long ginger hair, pale skin, and a killer body. He had had his fun with her in the toilets of the hotel. She was sweet.
But the real story was Ryan, and Lennox wished he knew more about that. He’d asked Rothstein what the deal was, but Rothstein told him that some stories should never be told – which, of course, had intrigued Lennox even more. All he knew was that Ryan knew nothing of their affairs and that the whole family did everything they could to shelter him from the truth, not even telling him that he was adopted. Apparently, Neil had hospitalised the one person who’d ever tried implying that he wasn’t really an Astor. Lennox wished he knew that story.
“So, what’s this proposition you have for me, Zack? It sounded interesting,” Rothstein asked as he leaned forward, his elbows on the oak desk.
Zack Astor leaned forward too. “Shit! I don’t even know where to begin. Okay, here goes. We got a visit from some bloke at the house, claimed to be some big-up cop, an assistant commissioner or some shit. Second in command of his area, he said, something like that.”
