Bitter Sweet (4 page)

Shit. Why hadn’t Ivonne just told him?

‘How the fuck should I know, he’s her boyfriend,’ I said, pointing at Ivonne.

The
grey eyes became smaller.

I held his gaze. Somehow, he had guessed the presence of another person in the apartment. Maybe an instinct thing. Maybe he’d thought that Markus had been in the spare bedroom. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Mike and Markus could hear what was going on, but the way the camera was positioned they couldn’t see anything. If Markus came rushing in through the front door someone was going to get cut. And Markus wasn’t going to be able to rush in; he’d have to unlock the door.

I didn’t doubt for one moment that the Albanian would use the blade, and ruthlessly.

‘Look, can we all relax, there’s no one else here,’ I said, deciding to babble on, hoping to play on the man’s prejudices. ‘I had a late night, then the appointment with Ivonne. We’d been using this room.’ I saw the knife point move, downwards. ‘I didn’t even know you were here. That bitch didn’t tell me.’

That got through to the man. He shoved Ivonne straight at me. She crashed into me, the momentum driving us both on to the bed, her elbow landing on my stomach. I let out a yelp of pain.

The Albanian closed the knife and grunted. Said something unintelligible. Laughed once, at his own humour and slammed the door shut.

‘Christ almighty,’ Mike said, pacing about the room. ‘Did I have a job keeping Markus in here? We could hear everything. Damned glad he couldn’t see what was happening; he’d have barged straight in.’

My mind had shut down. I lay on the sofa staring at the glorious ceiling of my own apartment, feeling secure,
only half listening. I was just glad that it was over. The cut below Ivonne’s eye didn’t even need a stitch. It was the emotional trauma – that’s why I just lay there in a daze.

‘
Nina,’ Mike said. ‘You were magnificent, you really were.’

That brought me out of my
daze. Mike had shown concern for both of us as soon as the Albanian had gone, then he had rabbited on about our lucky escape. Now, finally, he began to see the courage it had taken to diffuse a situation which had contained violent, if not lethal, consequences.

‘Thank you, Mike,’ I said. Then it dawned on me:
he
had probably wanted to rush in and play the hero and save me from danger.
His
emotions were now settling down. ‘You’re a real gentleman, Mike. A sweetheart.’ That sounded slushy, but well, I meant it.

‘Come here and sit down,’ I said, patting the sofa beside me. ‘Give me a big hug.’

He did so. It felt good to be in his arms. I ignored all the client-escort rules and savoured the moment; drawing strength and comfort from a truly shared intimacy. Boy did that feel good.

Then it became too much. The nature of the business reasserted itself. Anything which took place in the apartment was business, only. I lived the lie, denying myself the tenderness of a permanent relationship outside of the job – enough lying went on just to maintain my anonymity as a sex worker.

I looked at Mike. ‘So, what’s this little gadget of yours going to do?’ I said, pointing at the memory stick which lay on the table next to an overlarge smartphone.

‘Record every SMS and every conversation. And will be ab
le to track his exact movements.’

‘Hold on. We? I’ve had enough. I’m in this business to make money. Cash. And to live a life which isn’t nine to five, not a life sitting bored at some desk with a bitchy boss, or some bald prat ogling my ass all the time. I’m free to run my life and organise my day as I please. Nor am I dependant on some boy friend or hubby doling out the cash.’

‘You’re absolutely right, Nina.’

‘Yes, that’s right, I am.’

‘And two rights make a . . .’

‘What the fuck?’

‘Because you’ll be pushed out of business – sidelined.’

‘Now just a moment—’

‘You live the life you do because of the order which exists around you. Maybe not the best order. The law’s not perfect.’

‘Damn right.’

‘Yeah,’ Mike said, nodding, ‘that’s right. But you take what you can get.’

‘Stop blathering. Spit it out.’

‘If this Albanian is part of a crew which has moved in, the whole escort business will spiral out of control and into the muck. Trafficking, pimping, coercion. You name it, that’s their game.

‘The clients – the good ones will start to run scared. They’ll worry they’re breaking the law, scared of being exposed, held to ransom.’

‘All right,’ I said. ‘What’s your plan?’

‘First a recap, okay?’

‘Yeah sure.’

Mike scratched his ear. ‘Someone has been at the CCTV system. We don’t yet know who, but it wasn’t the maintenance company. I haven’t yet checked out the janitor,
Alfred. Remind me to do that, okay?’

I nodded.

‘There’s what?’ Mike continued. ‘Two sets of girls from south-eastern Europe working in the city.’

‘That’s right, and they’re both undercutting.’

‘You sure?’ Mike asked.

‘Oh yeah.’

‘Martha is quitting,’ Mike continued. ‘There are rumours about a crew muscling in on the trade. Everyone’s getting nervous. There’s a cop taking backhanders. And we don’t yet know what the score is with the Albanian who was here this morning.’

At the mention of the Albanian, I started twiddling with the end of my ponytail. ‘He could be the ring leader,’ I said, looking at Mike. ‘You wait and see; the next thing we’ll have is a group of girls in this apartment block. Minders and pimps hanging about. The Albanian or some of his thugs coming and going, collecting the cash. Seedy.’

Mike frowned. ‘If it comes to that the residents will complain.’

‘You must be jokin
g. You don’t live here. This isn’t no leafy suburb with quaint cottages, gate lodges and gentlemen’s residences. This building is full of one and two bedroom apartments – full of students and young singles who work in the city. Will they complain? Will they even notice?’ I stood up. I needed to move. But above all I needed to think of something else. I’d had enough excitement for one day.

‘How can the students afford these rents?’

‘Don’t be naïve, Mike. Three or four students sharing – not even two hundred quid a month.’ I went into the kitchen and grabbed the bin bag. ‘Time to go. I’m taking this down.’

Mike hurriedly packed his things and put the oversized mobile phone for tracking the Albanian into his jacket pocket.

I lifted my keys. ‘Thanks, Mike,’ I said, giving him a smile. ‘I need to get my head cleared, okay?’

‘I would offer to carry the bag?’

‘I know you would,’ I said, heading down the corridor with the bag.

Mike laughed. ‘You really are macho-emancipated.’

I opened the door and smiled. ‘That’s right.’

We had to wait ages for one of the lifts and then it was full. Mike and I squeezed in; the lift stopping on every floor. I almost got off on the wrong floor, my brain running over the confrontation with the Albanian, looking for any details I had missed. Had he really swallowed the dumb-escort charade?

The lift came to a halt. The doors opened. I saw Alfred behind the counter in the foyer. I waved.

‘Hello,
Nina,’ he responded with a smile.

As I reached the entrance to the bin room, located next to the front doors of the building, I turned to Mike ready to say goodbye.

‘Let me get the door,’ Mike said. The door sucked open.

I curled my lip. ‘You’re too nice.’

‘Can’t help it,’ he said, following me through the door. ‘Also, I’d like you to show me the layout of the basement and the underground car park.’

‘Now?’

‘Why not?’

‘No, Mike. Not now, I
’m too frazzled.’

‘Anything you say.’

‘There you go again.’

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘Too nice.’

Mike laughed and lifted the bin lid for me. I threw the bag in. The lid clanged closed. I let out a deep breath. ‘Think I’ll go home or go to the gym.’

‘Good idea.’

‘I need to get that Albanian out of my head,’ I said, heading back towards the foyer. ‘Does that tracker thing tell you where he is?’

‘Should do.’ Mike took the phone out of his pocket. ‘Not very accurate, though.’ He stopped and pressed some buttons. ‘Okay, the GPS display shows that he’s . . .’ Mike held the phone up to the light. ‘Jesus Christ. He’s in the building!’

‘Ivonne!’ I yelled, and took off through the door. The foyer was empty. I sped over towards the lifts. One of them was on the fourth floor. My floor. The other showed G. Reaching the elevator, I jabbed at the button. The door opened. Oh
shit, always the way – the two old dears from the first floor.

Helplessly, I looked a Mike. He rolled his eyes. I bounced up and down on my feet in frustration. The old ladies dodder
ed out. We raced into the lift. I punched the button for the fourth floor. Mike immediately pressed the doors-close button.

The lift started upwards. I pulled my left
knee up to my chin, stretching and then  bounced on my feet before bringing my right knee up.

Mike looked up from the phone. ‘
Nina,’ he commanded. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

I twisted my torso, the Taekwondo warming up exercises, automatic.

‘He’s still in the building,’ Mike said. ‘Don’t go running out.’

‘But—’ I looked at the floors numbers. We were on three.

‘No way. You’re no match.’

‘Don’t be so sure.’

The elevator bell pinged.

‘Please,’ Mike said imploringly, and put a hand on my shoulder.

I was about to brush it away. The doors slid open. I stood still, looked along the passageway and then at Mike.

‘Let’s go,’ he said, and pocketed the phone.

We hurried along the corridor. At the bend we stopped and peered around the corner. That’s when I heard a low moan.

Mike reached for my arm, but I was quicker. I sprinted past my door and came to an abrupt halt. One glance told it all: Ivonne sat, propped against the corridor wall of her apartment, her head in her hands. Markus lay, pole-axed on the floor, his right leg below the knee, jutting
out the wrong way. Perspiration dripped from his forehead despite the pasty colour of his face. But, he was alive. I quickly checked his breathing and his pulse, they were okay.

I then scooted over to Ivonne and knelt down beside her. A low keening and her trembling shoulders made me fear the worst. Slowly, I pulled her hands away. One cheek glowed an angry red and her lower lip resembled an over-ripe berry ready to burst.

The tears rolled down her cheeks, the mascara highlighting their path, creating a look of gothic grief. I put my arms around her and pulled her towards me, at that, the sobs racked her body. Gently, I ran a hand over her hair in a stroking motion, whilst softly muttering her name.

Mike’s voice intruded, ‘I’ll call an ambulance.’

Mike placed the call, giving the address and the nature of the emergency. ‘Could you give me an arrival time for the ambulance?’ he ask
ed. He listened, only to ask; ‘You must know if an ambulance is free and the distance from the depot to the Merchant Building?’ Again he listened, a scowl contorting his face.

‘And?’ I asked, as he closed the phone.

‘Nothing, can’t tell me.’

‘Idiots!’

‘Bureaucracy,’ Mike said, ‘blindly following rules. It’s no wonder the country is still stuck in recession. Paper work everywhere.’

‘I did a month in a call centre.’

‘Didn’t know that,’ Mike said. He’d been squatting beside Markus, now he shifted on to his knees.

‘One of the reasons I took up escorting.’ I felt Ivonne stir. She raised her head. ‘It’s true,’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t believe what it’s like to work in one of those places. You’re not allowed to deviate from the script on the screen. I felt like the mouthpiece of a computer – being prompted to as
k this question or that. And if you didn’t tick the box, the system would stay in the loop until you did. Mind blowing.

‘It’s inhuman, sitting there keeping your emotions and your brain on hold. The callers think you’re jerking them around – especially those who’ve phoned in more than once; the same shit questions, all over again.’

I could tell that Ivonne was listening – good it would keep her mind off what had happened. Not that we knew. I was bursting to ask Ivonne and to have a look at the recording on the laptop in my apartment.

‘Couldn’t take it – walked out.
Right in front of everyone in that damned call centre. Told the manager to go stick his minimum wage. The whole room was listening. I turned on him; “Do you really think anyone has the slightest interest in your quality and service drivel. We don’t give a shit about the whining and the gibberish of the customers we’re forced to put up with every day. Do you know what the real target is? Getting paid and getting the fuck out of here at the end of the shift.”