Bitter Sweet (3 page)

6

Ivonne had called. The Albanian had booked an appointment with her, she was worried and didn’t know whether to have Markus on hand in case something went wrong. I’d phoned Mike and he had come up with a plan to provide both Ivonne and I with an element of reassurance. The plan, however, contained one risky aspect; Ivonne and I were to upload a tracking program on to the Albanian’s phone. I hadn’t like the idea, but had gone along with it. I assumed it was like an app such as Runtastic or something similar for tracking kids’ phones.

‘Remember the cop I went out with?’ I asked.

‘I thought you said that had fizzled out?’

‘Not quite,’ I said, watching Mike as he took various bits of electronic devices out of a bag. ‘He hasn’t given up. Asked me out for dinner again.’

‘Did you go?’ Mike asked, not looking up.

‘I did.’

‘And?’

‘He’s sweet and kind of cute.’ Mike didn’t react; he was busy with the bits and pieces now spread out on the table. ‘We went out for dinner.’ I shifted on the sofa. ‘It was a nice evening, although he did give me a scare. We’d been talking about cop-business – how he wants to make detective. Then he started talking about a rumour going around the station. At the mention of the sex industry, I froze.’

Mike looked up and grunted.

‘Acted mildly curious,’ I continued, ‘despite the rapid increase in my heart rate. He’d heard that some ranking detective was about to start a razzia on the trade. I think he was just making small talk, and was curious for a woman’s, any woman’s reaction.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘Didn’t really. Tried to see if he knew why the sudden crackdown. He didn’t know. But,’ I looked down at my new gemstone nail-art stickers, ‘Martha said that some detective has been taking backhanders, nothing big. Just the usual, if someone strays into an area of the city where they shouldn’t, rather than the heat coming down this detective will for a consideration tell the person where they can operate.’

‘Did Martha mention a name?’ Mike asked his hands now still.

‘Sorry, she didn’t. Just said he is an old hand. The payoffs go back years.’

‘Interesting,’ Mike said, looking at his watch. ‘We’ll have to get a move on.’ He li
fted what looked like two white telephone cables. ‘First we need to get these installed. One in Ivonne’s corridor?’

‘That’s right,’ I giggled. ‘Bedroom would be better.’

Mike laughed. ‘We can sit here and watch the action.’ He placed one cable back on the table. ‘And this one,’ he again looked at his watch, ‘is the tricky one, it’s for the passageway outside.’

I watched Mike as he gently laid the cable besi
de the other one. My anxiety was beginning to take root. His hand moved to the memory stick. The nervousness bloomed. I grabbed hold of my phone and started flicking through the list of escorts on the Escort England website.

‘
Nina,’ Mike said. ‘Are you sure you can do this?’

I swallowed. ‘Yes, I’m okay.’

‘Can you do it?’ Mike asked, insistently.

I threw the phone down on to the sofa. ‘Yes.’ I looked at Mike. ‘The waiting is getting to me.’

‘It’s going to get worse,’ Mike said, toying with the memory stick. ‘You’re running a greater risk than Ivonne.’

‘I know,’ I said.

‘Let’s go through the back-up plan if it all goes wrong?’

‘Okay. The main thing will be to play dumb. The story being; I’d fallen asleep in Ivonne’s spare bedroom. I’m to look as if I’ve just woken up.’

‘What if the guy becomes nasty?’

‘Look, I’m nervous enough without having to think about it.’

‘No,’ Mike said, ‘on the contrary. If you know what to do, then you’ll do it and won’t be thinking black thoughts.’

‘All right. But, the thing is we don’t know how he’ll react, or how fast – if we’re caught out.’

‘True, that’s the only weak spot. You choose your moment, do it quickly and straight back into the spare bedroom. Now,’ Mike set the memory chip down, ‘let’s get these cameras set up.’

We went
outside to the passageway; Mike carrying a set of steps and a toolkit, I held the mini-surveillance camera; the lens was no bigger than the rubber on the end of a pencil. The spot for the camera had already been chosen – it was close to the door of my apartment, just around a corner, so the building’s CCTV system could not see us installing the new device.

Luck was with us
and we were able to install the mini-camera system faster than anticipated, using the building’s ventilation system. However, Mike had to work hard to conceal the cable in the corridor of Ivonne’s apartment as there wasn’t much of a gap between the walls and the architraves.

Ivonne joined Mike and I in
my apartment to go over the plan one last time.

‘The cameras,’ Mike said, ‘are mainly for your safety, okay?’

Ivonne was wearing a very short dress; with both knees together she sat down at an angle on the sofa, leaned back and slowly crossed her legs, all the while watching Mike. His eyes came up to meet hers and she winked, lasciviously.

I coughed. ‘This is serious.’

‘You bet,’ Ivonne said. ‘Mike is doing us a favour. One good deed deserves another.’

Mike laughed. ‘Glad you’re relaxed about it, Ivonne. However,’ Mike scratched his right ear, ‘what if it all goes wrong and you’re caught inflagranti?    

  ‘You mean,’ Ivonne said, grinning lewdly, ‘like, being caught with your knickers down?’

Mike smiled. ‘Not literally, but you’re getting the drift.’

‘Won’t happen,’ Ivonne said, ‘because we’ll do it when he’s in the shower.’

‘That’s the plan,’ I said, tapping my knee with my index finger. ‘But what happens if he catches you with the phone, Ivonne? Or me?’

Ivonne sat upright. ‘I’ll just say it slipped out of his jacket, trousers, whatever.’ She was now getting down to business. ‘The one thing I don’t want,’ Ivonne continued, ‘is to be caught in the room with the guy.’

‘What if you are?’ I asked.

‘Ivonne,’ Mike said, ‘has the bedroom door got a lock?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is it a dead lock?’

Ivonne frowned. ‘You mean a bolt?’

‘That’s right,’ Mike said. ‘When the door is open, turn the lock, the bolt stays out – the door won’t close.’ Mike looked at his laptop. ‘You can’t get trapped, and I can see the door from here.’  

I looked at the computer screen. ‘Has the camera got a microphone?’

‘It does,’ Mike said.

‘Then make sure the volume is turned up.’

Ivonne stood up, abruptly. ‘Look,’ she said, crossing her arms, ‘if you think this is going to turn nasty then I want Markus in here, right next to that computer.’

I glanced at Mike. He nodded.

‘Agreed,’ I said. ‘Ivonne, come and sit down. It might not even be the same guy.’

‘Don’t talk shit,’ Ivonne said, spinning around to face me, her eyes flashing with anger. ‘You bloody well know it’s him. Martha gave you the phone number and the guy’s description. It’
s him.’

Mike clapped his hands. ‘Good, now you’re both taking it seriously.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Fifteen minutes and he should be phoning to confirm the apartment number.
Time to get ready.’

The call came. Ivonne confirmed the time and her apartment number. I took one last look at the screen of Mike’s laptop. He handed me the memory stick, our fingers brushed.

‘Come here,’ he said, giving me a hug. ‘It’ll work out fine.’

The layout of Ivonne’s apartment was the exact same as mine. A corridor led to the sitting-room-dining-room-kitchen area, and gave access to the two bedrooms, a bathroom and a closet where the central heating was located.

I went into the spare bedroom, lay down on the bed and pulled the covers up to my waist. My mind was skidding this way and that. I unclenched the fingers of my right hand and looked at the memory stick. Two minutes, max. That’s what Mike had said. Then the programme on the stick would have control of the phone.

Did I trust Mike? Yes. But I didn’t know if he knew what he was doing. It was my ass on the line, not his. There was no going back. I could feel the pulse in the artery of my neck. My breathing was fast – too fast, just to be lying there on the bed.

The doorbell rang.

I listened to the slight squeak coming from Ivonne’s shoes, then the door opening.

‘Hi,’ Ivonne said her voice bright and breezy. ‘Come in.’

‘You Ivonne?’ came the reply.

I stared at the ceiling, listening to Ivonne’s chatter, distracting my mind from the upcoming task.

As the gas boiler kicked into life I got up from the bed and stood beside the door, the memory stick ready in my hand with the array of connectors lying on the bed. The door handle moved, Ivonne’s hand appeared and I grabbed the phone.

It was switched on – good. I placed it on
the bed and looked at the power port, selected the correct adapter and connected it to the memory stick.

The boiler shut off. I jerked my hand back and looked towards the door. I couldn’t see Ivonne. I stared at the door, all my senses on alert.

Ivonne’s voice broke the silence. I couldn’t hear what she was saying; she must have been in the other bedroom. What little I could hear didn’t convey alarm. I turned back to the phone and started moving the adapter towards the power port. I stopped; my hands were shaking. I took a depth breath, and as I exhaled pushed the adapter into the phone.

I felt panic rising as the phone’s screen sprang into life. A progress bar appeared on the screen. It started up. Twenty percent, thirty percent. The boiler fired up, making me jump. Forty percent. I was beginning to think I’d make it. Fifty percent. My hand was gripping the phone like a claw. Sixty percent. I was willing the thing across the screen. Eighty percent. The door swung in towards the frame an inch or two. I looked up, hoping it was Ivonne. No, a slight draft. Ivonne moving across the corridor? Ninety percent. Almost there.

I readied my fingers to disconnect the adapter. Poised, I glanced at the door. The light coming in under the door altered. Jeez, that had better be Ivonne.

She popped her head in, and smiled.

I looked down to the phone’s display. The progress bar disappeared. The phone went blank. Oh shit. Had it installed? The screen glowed again. A message popped up; installation complete. 

I breathed out, disconnected the phone and handed it to Ivonne. She spun on her feet and wiggled her ass at me. I collapsed on the bed. The tricky part was over. Now it was just a matter of waiting. But first I hid the memory stick in the formica wardrobe and put the adapters in the drawer of the bedside table.

I settled myself on the bed, but soon the groans of pleasure coming from the room across the corridor broke into my thoughts. I began to wonder if Ivonne was putting on an act for my benefit. She’d asked me once if I would do a duo with her. I had refused, having done a duo only once. Somehow being with a client and another woman hadn’t gelled. I’d had the peculiar feeling of being an interloper. I knew it had all been an act – just like the noises now coming from Ivonne. Still, I felt as if I’d been butting in. I was embarrassed and a bit jealous when I wasn’t taking the lead and when I was, I was nervous that the other girl would criticise my technique. Nor did I like the idea of drinking from the furry cup.

The groans of pleasure reached a crescendo – thank God he’d only booked a half hour. Now he’d get a massage and then I’d be out of here.

The sound of a door crashing startled me. I sat upright, listening.

‘Where is he?’ the Albanian barked.

‘He’s not here,’ Ivonne’s stammered.

The door to my bedroom flew inwards, smashing against the wall.

The Albanian stood on the edge of the door frame, using Ivonne as a shield. I gasped at the sight of Ivonne teetering on her feet with one arm twisted behind her back. Worst of all, was the thin flick-knife pressed into her face, just below her right eye. My hand flew to my face. Ivonne was pinned, unable to come down off her toes, held viciously in position by the upward thrust the Albanian was exerting on her arm.

A globule of blood formed on the point of the blade.

‘What the fuck do you want?’ I yelled.

‘Big man
, where?’

‘He’s not here,’ I gulped.

The Albanian’s grey eyes, glinting like pearls, bored into mine. He had the perma-tan look of southern Europe, his head almost clean shaven – the three millimetre look of stubble. And the hard body, the stringy muscles, paired down, efficient.

‘Where?’
he asked.

I fought the desire to look at Ivonne, knowing that if I did
, the Albanian would know that I knew.

‘I don’t know,’ I stammered. ‘I was doing a duo with Ivonne.’ I avoided looking at her. Being ultra nervous I started to babble. ‘I had a late night, I crashed here—’

‘Shut up. Where is big man?’