Tattoo

by J G Alva

  “What?”

  “We’re being followed.”

  “What?”

  She turned and looked behind them. She could see a pair of headlights, but only the vaguest silhouette of the car beyond them…and nothing of the driver.

  “Who is it?” She asked, a tremor of fear stealing over her.

  “I don’t know,” Sutton admitted. “It’s a small car. A Renault, I think. I can’t make the driver out.” He looked at her quickly. “Do you know anybody who owns a Renault?”

  “Uh…I don’t know.” She thought. “I don’t think so.” She looked behind them again. “Do you?”

  “No,” he said grimly.

  Wild fear crawled up the back of her throat.

  “Is it him? My God, is it-“

  “I doubt that very much, but you never know.” He glanced at her. “Have you got your seatbelt on?”

  “Yes, but-“

  “Hang on,” Sutton said, and then gunned the engine.

  They were coming to the T junction at the bottom of the shopping district in Clifton Village. At the junction Sutton pulled the car to the left suddenly, mounting the curb, the shocks banging loudly under the bonnet, and Robin found herself hanging on to the grip above her head with panicky tightness, good God, and Sutton turned the car around in the road, swerving wildly to miss the curb on the opposite side but hitting it anyway, the engine screaming, and Robin looked over her shoulder to check that nothing was coming from their left, and silently thanked God it was four in the morning, and there was no traffic on the roads.

  At that point Sutton had managed to turn the car almost the full three hundred and sixty degrees back around, and they were now coming back up on the road that they had only just left.

  “Hang on,” he said again.

  Headlights appeared at the end of the road, and Sutton aimed his car toward them, trying to block the other car in. The driver of the Renault reacted with lightning quickness, spinning to the right as Sutton came up to meet him, Sutton slowing and swerving to avoid a collision, and then the Renault sped up the road away from them into the Village. Sutton gave chase, hunkered down over the wheel, his face grim and determined, but at the same time did Robin not see a glint of pleasure in his eyes, as if he was enjoying himself? He was close behind the other car now, and he tried to overtake it, but the Renault swerved to block him in anticipation of the move. The combined sound of their roaring engines filled the street, the world. The Renault swerved to the right suddenly, darting down the small alley beside the WHSmith on the corner, and Sutton followed, hitting the curb again but on the driver’s side this time, hard enough to bring a shower of sparks up into Robin’s field of vision. They were now coming back around to Victoria Square from the other side, but if memory served her correctly there would be nowhere for the other car to go, as the road ended after only a short distance. Robin could see the other car up ahead, swerving between parked cars on either side of the narrow alley, Sutton following expertly behind, until they were both able to see the point where the narrow road became a cobblestone footpath; there was nowhere for the other car to go, it was trapped. A row of bollards had been sunk into concrete at the end of the cobblestone path to prevent any vehicular traffic from going any further, and she had time to wonder what Sutton would do when the driver of the Renault would be forced to stop before hitting them, and would have to get out to face them, when a loud metallic bang punched through the sound of the roaring engines, and with a bounce and some sparks, the Renault was through suddenly, squeezing between the tight dimensions of the arch formed by the juncture of two sides of the terraced Victorian houses, into the square, the two bollards toppled in its wake like discarded cannons.

  Sutton slammed on the brakes, and Robin was heaved forward over the dashboard, the seatbelt cutting into her shoulder, her hand twisted back on itself where it still held to the grip above her head.

  The Rover stopped a foot from the toppled bollards.

  As the sound of the engine quieted, Robin watched the taillights of the other car recede along the edge of Victoria Square, before turning a corner at the end and disappearing.

  Sutton had been right to stop; even though the bollards were down, he would never have been able to squeeze his oversized monster of a car through the arch in pursuit. Not without taking some part of the walls on either side with him.

  “Did you get the number plate?” He asked her, his breathing laboured, his voice loud in the sudden silence.

  “No,” she said, shocked. “Didn’t you?”

  “Fuck,” Sutton shouted in anger, and then slammed his hand against the steering wheel, three times, quickly, bang, bang, bang; the car shook slightly from the force of the blows.

  He’s an animal, Robin thought, more than a little afraid in that moment, and waited quietly until he had regained control of himself, and then with an arm over the back of her seat, he backed them out of that narrow road and out onto the main thoroughfare.

  *

  When he seemed more like his usual self, Robin said, “it looked like a Renault Clio.”

  “Hm.”

  “A Clio is generally a woman’s car.”

  His expression was thoughtful.

  “Then who the hell was that?” He asked.

  *

  CHAPTER 6

  Eleanor Mason lived on Manilla Road, in a four storey Georgian monolith, with white walled high ceilinged rooms filled with expensive antique furniture, which vied for the attention of any guests against a plethora of the most modern electronic gadgets, flat screen TVs in every room, sleek black stereos in the Lounge and Dining Room, games consoles, laptops, she had it all, and she liked to show that she had it all too, to anyone interested enough to visit. In the Lounge, lamps illuminated their surroundings from the four corners of the room. Behind the long heavy curtains, night still pervaded.

  Sutton had known Ellie for a long time, had first met her as the consort of a successful young businessman over from America, and had bumped into her almost a dozen times in the six years since they had been introduced; she had even helped on something he had been working on once.

  She was a very attractive woman now in her late forties, and knew how to conduct herself in elite social circles, was a constant in the strange tides that ebbed and flowed at the higher end of the tax bracket. She was an inch over six foot, had an impressive spill of blonde trestles, good shoulders, a tiny waist, and a voice that was just a little deeper than your average female, and seemed always to be scratched and throaty, as if coarsened by passion…or too many cigarettes. Large liquid blue eyes looked out of a face that was only just beginning to erode with age. The mind behind the face was no less sharp however.

  Sutton was still unsure of what to make of her. Her facade was so complete and so layered it was almost impossible to get a good reading on who she truly was. Rumours abounded; she was the one person that everyone liked to talk about: that she was a genius; that she had killed her first husband with a letter opener after years of abuse; that she had grown up poor; that she was the one and only daughter of an international oil tycoon; that she had four children that were all in Cambridge; that she was a call girl; that she owned a dozen homes, four of which were in the Bristol area alone. Sutton knew that some of the rumours were true: she did indeed own several homes in the more affluent parts of Bristol…and he knew that she had once been a call girl too.

  Which was why he had come to her now.

  “God, you’re a good looking man, Sutton Mills,” Ellie said, touching his lapel. “I keep forgetting how good looking you are. Such presence.”

  “I’m flattered, Ellie,” Sutton said, amused.

  She gave a bark of throaty laughter.

  “You always know the right thing to say. That’s what I love about you. You have no idea what a delight that is. I meet a lot of intelligent successful young men, but you’d be surprised how few of them really know how to talk to a woman. Much less show her a good time in bed.”

&
nbsp; Ellie had offered only minimal protest at their disturbing her so early in the morning. Indeed, it seemed as if she had not yet been to sleep herself, as she was dressed in a tight black pencil skirt, an off the shoulder black see through blouse – the cream of one shoulder and a black bra strap blatantly exposed – and full make up. Briefly, Sutton looked up, wondering what activity she was conducting that had been interrupted by their visit.

  She caught him looking, and smiled wryly.

  “Don’t worry, he’ll keep. Now, what is this about Jessica? Why do you need to find her?”

  Ellie ushered him to the armchair by the fireplace, and indicated for Robin to sit on the sofa directly in front of it. Ellie did not sit however; she opened a drawer in a cabinet against the far wall and brought out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter and, balancing a cigarette expertly on her full lips, put a flame to it, and sucked greedily on it.

  “Apparently, about seven years ago, she was attacked,” Sutton said.

  Ellie’s expression suddenly turned guarded.

  “Some guy tried to cut off her head,” Sutton continued. “I need to talk to her about it.”

  She blew smoke into the room.

  “Whatever for?”

  Sutton glanced at Robin.

  “Robin’s sister has been abducted. There’s a chance that the same man that attacked Jessica Leonard might be responsible.”

  Ellie looked at Robin.

  “Oh my. I’m ever so sorry, dear.”

  Robin nodded, accepting the sympathy.

  “Do you remember it?” Sutton asked.

  “I remember,” Ellie said, her eyes thoughtful as she blew smoke into the air above her head. “It’s a long time ago, but I remember it.”

  “Is there anything you can tell us about it?”

  “Not the details, unfortunately. I wish I could help.”

  “Was she working under you then?”

  Ellie’s eyes twinkled.

  “Such a quaint phrase, and so provocative,” Ellie said, drawing on her cigarette. “Is that a Freudian slip, Sutton?”

  Sutton smiled.

  “She was one of your girls, I meant,” he corrected himself.

  “They were never my girls,” she explained, “at least not in the traditional sense. I felt protective of them, and I looked out for them, as best I could. And more often than not, it was I who arranged their liaisons, vetted them. It was better for all concerned, at the time.” Ellie smiled graciously at Robin. “This young lady is a such an attractive little thing, Sutton. It’s no surprise to me that you have her in toe. What did you say your name was? Robin?”

  Sutton said, “Ellie, this is Dr. Robin Sails. She’s a Psychotherapist. Like I said, it’s her sister that has been abducted.”

  “Anything you can tell us will help us find her,” Robin said.

  Ellie did not speak, merely stared at Robin.

  Eventually, she looked at Sutton.

  “She is a beautiful creature,” she said. “Quite unspoiled.”

  Sutton noticed that Robin had stiffened in her seat.

  “I thought you weren’t working anymore?” Sutton said mildly.

  Ellie dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand.

  “I’m not, but I still have an eye for quality merchandise. A lot of men would go to a lot of trouble for that pretty face.”

  “Jessica Leonard, Ellie,” Sutton reminded her, thinking that Ellie was trying to distract them for some reason. But why?

  Perhaps from asking any questions about her “guest”.

  “Yes, yes,” Ellie said, flapping her hand again. Each finger had at least two rings on it, and there were at least two bracelets on each arm, and her hand rattled. “Like I was saying, nobody was in charge, not as such. But when I was working, it was always handy to know one or two girls that I could call on for gentlemen with a particular taste. Girls always come and go. It’s the nature of the business. It’s a phase, or they like the money, or they like the power, but sooner or later it loses its gaudy glamour. I used to be able to pick them out. You know. The girls who would, with the proper coaching. It was a gift. There would be a young girl in an art class I took, or it might be the daughter of a respectable mother I knew who cared more for her credit cards than she did for her child, but I could always tell. And I knew the men. After all, for a time I’d been a wife to a man who moved in those circles, and I’d had the pleasure of mingling with those more important families in Bristol on many occasions. So I had contacts. And I knew the men who could afford to indulge themselves, so it was only natural that I began to be a matchmaker of sorts, fulfilling the needs from both sides. And the girls trusted me to look out for them. At the height of it, I was handling a dozen girls, and three times as many clients.”

  Robin cleared her throat.

  “I’m interested,” she said.

  “Oh?” Ellie seemed delighted in that moment. “Well, I am sure there are some people I could call-“

  “No. I mean, as a Psychotherapist. This is something I’ve only touched on briefly in my work. I’m interested to know how you came to be working in…such an old profession. How did you start?”

  Ellie smiled.

  “Oh, that’s easy, my dear. I like sex. Always have. And I am a woman with a considerable appetite. I prefer men, of course, but there are women I have spent time with, that I have indulged, and been indulged by. And more times that I can recall where both sexes have been involved. The oldest man I’ve slept with was a seventy two year old retired banker. The youngest was fourteen.” Ellie smiled. “I was his fourteenth birthday present.”

  Robin’s expression was carefully immobile. She inclined her head in an interested way, a silent bid for Ellie to continue.

  Ellie pursed her lips.

  “Perhaps…your interest extends beyond the professional, Dr. Sails?”

  “I’m devoted to being a Psychotherapist, Miss Mason. Nothing more.”

  “Well. To each his own.” Ellie pulled on her cigarette. “I had a Psychotherapist for a client once. All that man ever wanted to do was get me to dress up as a little girl and pretend he was my father. He’d bathe me, spank me, bounce me on his knee. And then force me to do things to him with a threat of homework.”

  Ellie leaned down and stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray on a table by the armchair opposite Sutton.

  “I expect what you really want to know is why I do what I do,” Ellie said. “After all, it’s not something you come across every day, I’ll bet. I come from a large family. I was the last of five sisters, two of which were bright but not pretty, and two of which were pretty but not bright.” Ellie smiled. “I was both. And I knew it. We grew up poor, in Knowle West, so naturally the first thing on my list was to get out of that shit hole. I married well, so well in fact that if I wanted to, I’d never have to work again. And for the first time I wondered what I was going to do with myself. I had all the time in the world, so what did I want to do? Sex was the only thing I was good at, the only thing that really fulfilled me, and it was all that I needed, really.”

  Ellie shrugged, and there was an edge to her smile.

  Robin said, “I can understand how a young woman, who has no control, can become enamoured with that very thing that gives her control-“

  Ellie laughed; another bout of cracked, throaty laughter, that echoed around the room.

  “Oh, Dr Sails,” she said. “I know you. I know your type. And you are oh so hypocritical. It’s so much easier to solve other people’s problems than it is your own. Isn’t it? Tell me: do you ever turn that analytical eye on yourself? After all, who counsels the counsellors? Well, let me tell you something that you may not have worked out for yourself yet, but I bet you will, in time: you smother those desire that are natural to you only because you think you have to. Society forbids such candid desire, and you are only the victim of medieval thought and doctrine. What do you think would happen if you were to release those desires? I can tell you right now, you would not sudd
enly burst into flame, or be consigned to the pits of hell. So what if you were to release them, to realise them? Imagine it, lifting the lid on your desire. What if you could let yourself do everything you ever wanted to, every dark desire you ever had? What about making love to another woman? Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it, every woman has, at least once in their lives. Imagine what it would feel like to be completely satisfied, sexually I mean, by someone who knows your body as well as you do, as they know their own? What about a stranger, taking you by force? Have you ever considered that? I bet you have, and more besides. What about being hurt, forced at the point of violence to do things you could never allow yourself to embrace, but which, unfettered by your own will, by so called social restraints that probably have you in more knots than many of your patients, you could abandon yourself to? I’ve experience all these things, tasted all those fruits. And do you know what all of my experience has taught me? It’s taught me to pity you, Dr. Sails. Oh, what a wasted thing you are. If I were to only have my time again. If I were to be you, wandering around in that lithe little body of yours…I would make sure to use up that delicate flesh, to use it all up, as much as I could get.”

  “Ellie,” Sutton said, with a worried look at Robin. Robin’s face was expressionless, but so deliberately expressionless that it must be costing her some effort.

  Ellie waved a hand in Sutton’s direction.

  “And what about Sutton here? I’ll bet he has a better idea than most on how to satisfy a woman. I bet he could get into your head as well as into your knickers. Wouldn’t you like him to force his will upon you? To overwhelm you, so that he bore the guilt for all those filthy things you know you shouldn’t be doing, but can’t help enjoying anyway. In the daylight, even by the light of a few light bulbs, these desires might seem lurid, unhealthy, perverse even. In the dark they begin to take on their true form, an extension of natural desire, to possess, and to be possessed, to be used as you are using them, for your pleasure.”