by DC Brockwell
“Right,” Rothstein drew out the word as though he were confused.
“Anyway, he asks to come in, so I let him in, offer him a drink and all that…”
Rothstein raised his eyebrows. “This cop, you just let him into your home?”
“Wait, hear me out, you won’t regret it,” Astor insisted. “So, we’re sitting at my dining room table, drinks in hand, and he starts telling me all about how he’s devoted his life to law and order, and how he wants to leave a legacy after he’s gone.”
“Okay, so he’s chatting you up.”
“Wait! So, he starts telling me how the current system doesn’t work, and how systems in other countries do work. And then he hits me with it… He wants to legalise drugs and prostitution.”
Lennox watched as Rothstein leaned back in his chair.
His boss didn’t look happy, not one bit.
“You what!” Rothstein exclaimed.
“He’s going to start off small, which is why he’s come to me, and others.”
“What do you mean, start off small?”
“He wants to trial it in certain areas first, areas where he has colleagues with the same way of thinking. He wants us to work for the government; we’ll carry on doing what we’re doing, with no risk of getting pinched.”
“And what does he get out of it?”
“Arrests, Will, lots of arrests. That’s the best part – he wants us to drip-feed him our competition. He wants one dealer per area, that’s it. Everyone else gets nicked. As far as the public’s concerned the police look good, they get a percentage of our take, and we get to do what we do unhindered. It’s a win-win situation. Well, win-win-win situation actually.”
Lennox thought about the proposal for a minute: it was clever, it helped the police, it helped them, and what the public didn’t know wouldn’t harm them. Other countries had legalised drugs and prostitution, and they had some of the safest gear around. Not to mention that the prostitutes were safer in those countries than here in the UK.
“Let’s say he’s right, he’s kosher… how’s he going to do it without people finding out?” Rothstein seemed intrigued.
“I’m telling you, I asked him a bunch of questions; I thought he was taking the piss. He said this has been planned by the top people at the Home Office, the Department of Justice and other agencies, then it’s been fed down to the most senior people in the police. His boss had to test him on the idea, and he’s tested people under him. So only the big dogs know, not the rank and file pricks on the streets. He’s promised that if we agree, they’ll make sure no one pinches us for anything. We’ll be above the law, Will, think about it.”
Rothstein shook his head. “This sounds like bullshit to me, Zack. And what’s more, you’re falling for it.”
“Hey, I’m not a stupid man.”
“I know you’re not, which is why this is so baffling. It’s entrapment, mate, can’t you see that? By having the conversation, you’re all but admitting you’re a dealer.”
“This isn’t entrapment, Will. You weren’t there. He handed me this, for starters.”
Lennox watched as Zack Astor pulled out a card and handed it to Rothstein. It had the police insignia on it and details of the card’s owner.
“Look him up! He’s legit, right up there, assistant commissioner. He’s working for the Secretary of State for the Home Department – or some nonsense – and the Minister of Justice.”
“And when you say we, did you mention my name?”
Lennox watched as Zack Astor put his palms out in a placating manner.
“Hey, wait, hang on, Will, of course I didn’t,” he pleaded. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”
Rothstein sighed. “This all sounds too far-fetched. It makes sense, sure – to us. If we could do what we do without recourse, that’d be great, but it isn’t going to happen.”
“It is, Will, it really is. This is happening – not straight away, but it will. When this guy comes to see you, listen to him, for your own sake. If he decides to go with another supplier, well, it’s curtains, isn’t it! Your competition won’t think twice about shopping you, will they?”
Lennox sat back as everyone went quiet.
Finally, Astor went to stand and said, “You can keep the card. Look him up, you’ll see he’s real.”
When he reached the door, Zack turned and said, “I really hope you see sense, and get on board. We’ve been through a lot together; I don’t want the journey to end here.”
Rothstein closed the door behind them, turned around, and looked at Lennox. “What do you reckon, Lenny?”
“If it’s real, you don’t have a choice. Why? What do you make of it?”
Rothstein stared into the distance for a moment. “Zack’s a lot of things, but he’s not a liar, and he’s not stupid…”
20
Day 16
Friday, 26th January
Beattie looked down at the monitors, noticing something strange in room eight. She heard raised voices outside. Christopher, one of her bees, was crouched in a ball on the bed, rocking back and forth, his knees pulled into his chest. Cara – one of her most regular customers – was standing there naked, shouting and pointing at him.
Beattie sighed as she muttered, “What now?”
Outside in the hallway that separated the two sets of rooms, one of her support staff, Enrieta from Romania, stood watching from the doorway. Pulling Enrieta out of the way, Beattie marched into the room. “What the hell’s going on in here?”
“It’s your bee,” Cara said, naked save for the eagle tattoo on her left breast, “he can’t get it up. Can you? You fucking waste of space! Look at you, all curled up like a fucking baby.”
Beattie had to calm Cara down. Usually she was a sweetheart, although she could certainly be a handful when angry. Beattie picked up Cara’s white robe and held it out to her. “I’m so sorry about this, Cara. Put this on, and I’ll see what I can sort out.”
“It’s not good enough! I pay a lot of fucking money for my time with you,” she hissed at Christopher, “and this is how you repay me? Beattie should cut your cock off, you fucking piece of shit.”
Beattie escorted Cara out of the room and shut the door, turning to Christopher. “What are you playing at, Chris? What have I told you, over and over again? If you have any problems, ask for the Viagra; Enrieta would’ve brought you some. Now you’ve gone and pissed off one of my best clients.” Beattie turned away from him, placing her hands on her head in frustration. “Why don’t you listen to anyth–”
“I took them. I took some a couple of hours ago and nothing’s happening.” Christopher started crying, big baby sobs.
Beattie turned to him again. He certainly was a sorry-looking state.
Christopher had been one of her bees for little over two years. He’d adapted pretty quickly and had been a good contributor to her bank account for the first year; he had not been the best, but he was still a good earner. It was why his room was so sparse; he had a TV, a DVD player and stereo, a good wardrobe of clothes, but very little else. He’d not been top of the leader board for well over a year.
Of her bees, he was easily the sweetest, which was probably why he’d never been her top earner; he was too nice to win. He had mousy brown hair and blue eyes, which the clients had loved a year earlier. Since then his ratings had dwindled, being rated on average with sixes and sevens. She’d spoken to him about his scores on several occasions, although it didn’t seem to make a difference. “Here, take some more,” she said, reaching for the pot of pills on his chest of drawers. “See if this will get you going.”
“It won’t work!” Christopher’s bottom lip quivered.
“Take some anyway; you never know.” She held out the pills.
“There’s no point. Nothing’s going to work. I’m so sorry, Bea.”
A sudden pang of anger built up in her gut and she turned away, her hands on top of her head. What the hell was she going to do? She had Cara waiting outside and
a useless bee… what could she do? Beattie mulled it over in her head for a moment.
There was no way Christopher would come back from this; he was done working for her now. She could auction him out to some of her dad’s business colleagues… or she could…
“Enrieta!” she shouted, loud enough for the door to open immediately.
“Yes, Bea?”
“Bring Cara back in here, would you?”
Beattie saw Christopher stop crying for a moment and look up at her.
“What are you doing, Bea?” He was petrified; she could see it in his eyes.
Without responding, Beattie turned as the door opened and Cara entered, with a much calmer demeanour. She beckoned her client over with an outstretched arm.
“Is he ready now?” Cara asked.
“I’m afraid not.” Beattie wrapped her arm around Cara’s shoulder. “But I’ve got something even better for you. Normally I’d auction this off to my dad’s friends, but because it’s you, and because we’ve let you down, I’m giving you first dibs.”
“Dibs on what?”
“I’m going to set Chris, here, up in a room on C Wi–”
“No, Bea, please,” Christopher interrupted, his face pale. “It’s working, it’s working. Please, Bea!” He started crying again.
“And you can do whatever you want with him, okay?” She smiled at her client.
Cara stared at the bee, who was sobbing. “Whatever I want?”
“Whatever your sick little mind wants,” Beattie clarified with a playful wink. “But it will cost you more than the standard five hundred.”
“How much?”
“Two thousand. This will be Chris’ last earnings, so I can’t do it for any less.”
“Done.” Cara held out her hand.
With a smile, Beattie shook it and asked Enrieta to fetch two guards.
“Please, Bea, I’m sorry! Don’t do this,” Christopher pleaded through floods of tears. “I’ll be your best earner, please! I’ll do anything you want.”
“It’s too late for that, Chris, I’m sorry.” She looked down at him with disgust. “And besides, a deal’s a deal. You’re in Cara’s hands now.”
The guards carried the screaming bee away, while she took Cara to the furnace room. Hung on the wall were all manner of tools. “Take whatever you need and when you’re finished, the guards will dispose of the mess. I’m so sorry for the disappointment earlier; I hope this somehow makes up for it?”
She watched Cara pick out a knife and a machete. “Are you kidding? This is like all my Christmases and birthdays come at once!”
Beattie had known Cara for over ten years and had heard plenty of stories about her in that time. Cara had been sectioned under the Mental Health Act twice; once when she’d tried to commit suicide, and the second after she’d recently kidnapped her ex-girlfriend, in an attempt to carry out a suicide pact. Cara had suffered greatly at the hands of her father, who’d raped her regularly from the age of six, until it was her younger sister’s turn, and she’d been overlooked.
According to Cara, she’d been groomed by a Pakistani man over the course of six years, and repeatedly raped by the Pakistani and his friends. It was little wonder that Cara was the person she was today; she’d stood no chance, being born into a family with a junkie mother and paedophile father. Beattie could see why men were drawn to Cara. She was extremely attractive.
After walking to room two of C Wing, Beattie could see Christopher tied to a chair, his back to her. He was crying and had urinated on the floor; a pool had formed around the chair. “Have fun!” she said to a smiling Cara.
“Oh, wait,” said Cara, sliding the robe off her shoulders and handing it to her. “I won’t be needing this; I’m going natural on this one.”
Beattie watched a radiant and happy Cara, still holding the knife and machete, as she went inside and closed the door.
Beattie waited outside for a couple of minutes, thinking that Cara must be teasing her ex-bee, choosing her moment to commence dispensing the pain. That was when the screaming started…
21
Lennox Garvey hated the cold; he missed his country’s weather. It was the end of January and about two degrees outside, and he was watching as a fat woman wearing a fur coat talked into the payphone across the street, his payphone. She’d been on it for twenty minutes already! What was she talking about?
He opened the door of his four-by-four and pulled himself out, feeling the bite of the cold at his eyes and cheeks. It might have been two degrees, but with the wind it felt like minus five.
He ran across the high street, dodging between cars, and as he approached the phone, the fat bitch in the furry coat hung up. Lennox used this phone every time he needed to speak to his uncle, as it was safer than using his mobile.
Once the woman was gone, Lennox took out a piece of paper and dialled the number in Jamaica. When a female voice answered, he said, “It’s me.”
It took a minute for a male voice to speak. “Lennox, it’s good to hear from you, my boy. How’s everything over there? You behaving?”
“Hey, Uncle, everything’s fine here, but a situation’s come up that I think you need to know about.”
“Go on, what’s on your mind?”
“Could be nothing, could be something.”
He went on to inform his uncle of what had happened the previous night at Rothstein’s home. It took Lennox five minutes to get everything out, and as he talked, he covered his lips with his hand.
“And you think this guy’s telling the truth?”
“He’s not a liar… but the cop could be lying, could be trying to entrap him. Rothstein’s not convinced, but he’s thinking on it, waiting to hear from this top cop.”
“And you called me because you think he might try to fuck me? To go with another supplier?”
“Had crossed my mind, yeah. We didn’t talk about it last night, but if he agrees to do it and the cops have their own supplier in mind, what do you think he’ll do?”
“He’d be mad not to. Keep an eye on things for me.”
“Will do. I thought you should know.”
“Thank you for bringing it to my attention.” There was a pause, then the uncle said, “Hey, Lennox, you still got that camera set up in his office?”
“Absolutely.”
“If you ever meet this top cop, film it for me. I want to see what he’s got to say.”
Lennox agreed to record the meeting, said his farewells, and hung up. When his hands were free again, he cupped them together, breathing into them and rubbing them as he waited for a space between the cars. When one came, he ran over to his Shogun.
When he’d moved over here, his uncle had asked him to buy a covert camera and have it installed in Rothstein’s office. He’d found the perfect place for the tiny recording device – up high and overlooking the desk and bar – and he’d used it a few times when Rothstein had business going on that conflicted with his uncle’s.
After all, his loyalty was with his family, not Rothstein…
22
Beattie looked at her watch: 10:56. She could hear movement inside room two of C Wing, but so far Cara hadn’t emerged. The screaming had stopped an hour earlier, so she assumed Chris was no more. He’d clung on for a good couple of hours, though, so Cara must’ve bided her time before moving in for the kill strike. She dreaded to think what horrors Cara was doing to Christopher’s corpse; she had been in there a long time.
Eventually the door opened and out walked Cara, covered in blood.
Beattie could hardly see her skin; there was so much blood she looked like she’d bathed in it. As Beattie glanced past her client into the room, Chris’s torso was still on the chair, his head nowhere to be seen. She could see two legs lying on the floor, but the rest of him was out of sight. She suddenly felt very queasy.
“Wow!” said Cara, clearly elated. “That was so much better than sex. Liberating! You should try it, Bea. You’ll love it. I’m literally floating.
”
Somehow, Beattie knew that something had just been awoken in her client. Cara was radiant, glowing almost; her usual scowl and frown lines had all vanished. She watched Cara as she walked towards the shower area, dripping fresh blood across the floor. Beattie didn’t want to admit it to herself, but she was turned on by her naked client, and as she watched Cara step into the shower, she turned to her and said, “Do you want to join me?”
Beattie declined, as tempting as it was. She wasn’t afraid of lady play – in fact, she’d slept with a girl in college once and she’d enjoyed it. No, the reason she declined was because Cara was dangerous; she didn’t want to give her the wrong impression and regret it further down the line. Cara had stalking tendencies, or so her dad had told her.
Two guards caught her attention as they carried various body parts to the furnace room. The last piece of Chris to be carried away was small enough to be carried in one hand, and it was then that she realised it was his penis; Cara had carried out her earlier threat.
When Beattie heard the water start, she walked through to her office next door, sat down at her desk, and watched the monitors…
Kimiko opened the door to his room and wheeled in her trolley loaded with his bathing equipment. She didn’t believe Mrs Harrison when she’d told her that Danny wasn’t a nice man. “Time get you ready.” She wheeled the trolley to the side of his bed.
He lay there – no conversation, no bravado.
She didn’t take offence; after all, he had a lot of thinking to do. He had to adapt and realise his situation was what it was. For the previous ten days he’d obviously thought there was hope, where there was none, and that was what he needed to understand. She’d taken months to truly realise that this was it for her. Now all she could do was get on with her life, awful as it was.
Dipping her sponge in the warm water, she squeezed it before wiping Danny’s forehead. His eyes looked dead, lifeless; they just stared up at the ceiling. “Your next customer be here soon,” she said, wiping his face. “You not want make Bea angry, do you?”
