Fireflies (18 page)

When Sharon Bellfield first came out of university her father insisted she take any job she could find because he’d ‘given her more than her fair share already’. So she managed to secure a job in the typing pool of one of the last remaining textile firms just outside Bolton. The place was full of two-legged relics. Even the younger members of staff acted like they’d already been downtrodden by the sharp realities of life. They didn’t have a rank structure amongst the typists but one of the girls who called herself a ‘senior’ was called Anne. Sharon absolutely detested her. She was never seen without a packet of crisps in her hand which was nothing in itself but which irritated the shit out of Sharon because it meant that wherever Anne was there was this crunching sound of crisps being devoured in her stupid mouth. She never seemed to eat anything else either. She never brought any sandwiches in or a bowl of salad or pasta. But she took it upon herself to come down hard on anyone who said they enjoyed a drink because of the example of some distant uncle in Darlington or some other such place who was a drunk. Sharon argued with her that just because someone likes a drink it doesn’t make them a drunk, violent or otherwise. But this was how it is with people like Anne. They’re such dull people leading such dull, pointless lives because they haven’t got the guts to go out and get a good one that they come down hard on people like Sharon who like to go out and enjoy themselves. She always wore the most disgustingly old-fashioned clothes and she could moan and complain for England but the thing that really bugged Sharon about Anne was that despite having the disposition of a wet weekend in Scarborough she always signed her departmental notes ‘Annie’ and she always turned the dot on the i into a flower.

‘Welcome to the Mayfair hotel, Stockport, how can I help you?’

‘Yes, hello’ said Sharon. She was impressed that Anita greeted her at the reception desk  playing the game well and showing no signs that she was pretending she’d never met Sharon before.  ‘I have a reservation for this evening’.

‘
Okay, and the name is, please?’

‘It’s Annie Flower’ said Sharon who always used Annie Flower’s name when she needed a disguise. She wondered for a moment what the daft cow was doing now. Probably still eating crisps all day in some office environment where she pretended to be a senior. ‘Miss Annie Flower’.

After her previous meetings with Anita Patel, Sharon had decided to check in to the Mayfair hotel to find out for herself any evidence suggesting it was one part of a wider prostitution ring involving staff in hotels across Greater Manchester.  But this was only to be part of the investigation. She was keeping the most shocking revelation Anita had told her, about what she knew of what happened the night three years ago when Kim Barnes was murdered on her wedding night in the Manchester Hilton, to provide the kind of twist in a story that would make her journalistic career. But she needed to be careful. Anita could be in grave danger once her information is out but Sharon wasn’t sure if she could keep her powder dry until Anita was safely back with her family in India.

Sharon was then approached by Anita’s Czech male colleague Tomas who worked as a concierge who offered to carry her case to her room. And Anita had been right. Tomas was gorgeous. Tall and burly with big shoulders, neatly kept short blond hair and the most appealing green eyes. A quick look downstairs and Sharon didn’t think she’d be disappointed with his packet either. He looked like a big boy and although she wasn’t a size Queen she didn’t like small dicks.

‘So do you always escort guests to their rooms, Tomas?’ Sharon asked after they’d come out of the lift at the second floor and were walking down the corridor.

‘Sometimes’ Tomas replied in his typically Eastern European accented English. ‘We need to special care of customers because we had some troubles here last week. Police have been here asking all kinds of questions’.

‘Because of the murder of James Clifton?’

‘Yes’ Tomas confirmed. ‘But I did not tell you that. My boss doesn’t like us to talk about it with guests’.

‘Oh don’t worry’ said Sharon. ‘Your secrets are safe with me, young man’.

Tomas smiled cheekily. ‘I have no secrets’.

‘I’m sure’.

They got to room 227 and Tomas opened the door and let Sharon go in. She was pleasantly surprised by the modern tasteful décor. She’d been expecting something rather different and old-fashioned.

‘This is one of our newly refurbished rooms’ said Tomas. ‘Everything is touch button for curtains, lights and so on. And of course there is free Wifi in the room’.

‘And what about room service?’
     

‘Yes’ said Tomas who by now had let the door close. He lifted up a book from the occasional table by the window and opened it out for her on the room service page. ‘Here it is. Or we have restaurant downstairs’.

‘How old are you, Tomas?’

‘How old am I? Well I’m twenty-three but why do you ask such question?’

‘You’re here to earn money and improve your English?’

‘Yes? But again I don’t know why you ask?’

Sharon took off her coat and perched on the end of the bed. She outstretched her arms and placed her hands slightly behind her. Then she looked up at him. ‘I was wondering if there was any special room service that you provide? I’m sure you know what I’m talking about’ She watched Tomas’s face lighten as the penny dropped. She slipped her foot out of her shoe and ran it up the inside of his lower leg. ‘You’re so handsome in that uniform by the way. I’m sure people have told you that before’

Tomas smiled. ‘Would you like to see me out of it?’

‘I would like that, yes’ Sharon answered. She was almost whimpering like some daft teenager at the anticipation of seeing Tomas naked. He was ten years her junior and she really should remain professional but he was so bloody fit and a girl has needs. And besides she was a tabloid hack who’d stop at nothing to get to the heart of the real story. Nobody would expect her to act responsibly and just ask Tomas the questions she needed answers to. James Bond always fucked first and asked questions later. She was carrying on a fine old British tradition. The fact that she was a journalist and James Bond was a fictional secret agent was a mere detail. She knew what she meant and she’d be able to justify her actions to anybody.

Tomas stepped up close to her and stood coyly with his hands together behind his back. He leaned down and spoke softly. ‘One hundred pounds cash for oral stimulation and the fuck of your life. When I’m hard I’m nine inches and I’m a very talented boy’.

‘Fuck’s sake’ said Sharon, feeling giddy at the thought. ‘Let me get my purse’.

‘Oh and I’m in complete control’.

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way’.

Now Sharon had been around the block a few times but this would be recorded in her memoirs as a high point. Apart from the wonderful licking out he gave her, Tomas took her in the usual way of straight couples the world over but then he also took her from behind dog style, he took her over the back of the chair at the desk in the room, he took her up against the wall and when she was down on him she felt his fingers wave their way through her hair. She discovered that he was a master at holding off his orgasm, despite the obvious pleasures that were being unleashed, not least the orgasms Sharon was experiencing. And when he did let himself go he exploded inside her like a bomb shaking the very foundations of a building. It took her all her time not to scream the place down with joy. 

‘You weren’t joking when you said you were a talented boy’ said Sharon, breathlessly. She was lying on her back with Tomas beside her. She looked down and could see that he was still semi-hard. ‘I suppose you go to the gym and all of that?’

‘Yes, of course, every day. And you?’

‘No’ said Sharon. ‘That’s why I’m more out of breath than you are’.

Tomas leaned over and cupped her breast with his hand. He raised his thumb and used it to play with her nipple. ‘I have to go soon. Anything else you want?’

‘Information’.

‘What?’ asked Tomas, his face etched in
confusion.

‘I need information on the way this hotel is run, Tomas, with particular regard to the kind of room service I’ve just received. I’m not the police so don’t worry about that. But I am in a position to pay you very handsomely, a lot more than a hundred quid, and your anonymity will be protected at all times. I can promise you that. So what do you say?’

‘You have tricked me?’ he asked looking almost angry.

‘No, Tomas, I haven’t tricked you’ Sharon assured. ‘I’m a journalist and I’m on your side’.

‘I don’t want my name in newspaper!’

‘You won’t get your name in the newspaper. You have to trust me, Tomas. Believe me it will be worth it to you financially and nobody will ever know that we talked except you and me’. 

Tomas looked suspiciously at the door and then all around the room as if it might be bugged or something.

‘Tomas, it’s just you and me here’ said Sharon. ‘You’re not in any trouble. Now do you like what you’re doing here?’

‘You don’t like what I did to you?’

‘Tomas, I loved what you did to me, any woman would. I’m asking if you wouldn’t rather keep it all for your
girlfriend?’

‘I don’t have girlfriend’ Tomas declared. ‘I don’t mind having sex with lots of different people. I’m young and its fun for me’.

‘But Tomas, wouldn’t you rather keep all the money you make for yourself? What my newspaper can pay you would enable you to set yourself up, maybe in London, as a professional escort keeping every penny for yourself’.

Tomas still looked
sceptical. He sat up and raised his knees before folding his hands in front of them. They were sitting there still naked, still winding down after their session. But Sharon had to get him on side if she was going to get to the heart of the story she was after.

‘How much money?’
Tomas asked.

‘Four, maybe five figures?’
Sharon suggested encouragingly. She had to get the balance right. If she was too pushy he’d run. ‘Then you could say goodbye to all this and put those wonderful talents of yours into being your own boss. This is about you, Tomas, and the future you could have’.      

FIREFLIES SIXTEEN

Jeff and Rebecca were driving to the
Knutsford home of Manchester gangster Bernie Connelly and were intending to get there just as the team Jeff had ordered to serve a warrant on Connelly to search his house would be there and ready to start work.

‘Do you think there is such a thing as an honest rich person?’ said Rebecca as she looked at all the large houses that stank of money as they passed by them. 

‘Well I assume that all rich people employ accountants to find ways of getting them out of paying their fair share of tax so perhaps the answer to your question is no’.

Rebecca smiled. ‘Yes, that’s just what I was thinking. Jeff, you and Andy Kirkpatrick were really close, weren’t you’.

‘He was my best friend’ said Jeff. ‘We joined the force on the same day, went to college together, I was best man at his wedding. But I am aware of not letting the personal drive the professional’.

‘I don’t doubt that for a moment, Jeff’ said Rebecca. ‘How’s Brendan the au pair settling in by the way?’

Jeff laughed. ‘He’s not an au pair, Becky’.

‘That’s what you’d call him if he was a girl’.

‘Well okay, I guess you’re right’ said Jeff. ‘He’s actually settling in very nicely to tell you the truth. The house is clean and tidy for the first time in ages, he irons all my shirts and laundry and hangs everything up so I just have to reach out and put it on. And most importantly he gets on great with Toby. So all in all, it was a bloody good move to hire him’.

‘He might develop a crush on you’ she teased.

‘Get out of it, Becky’.

‘I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first time a gay man had a crush on you, Jeff. Just like any young girl would. Being the caring, sharing, hands on modern Dad to Toby is a very alluring situation’.

‘Yes, well Brendan it seems only has a crush on the Australian actor Hugh Jackman and as I look absolutely nothing like him I think I’m safe from even his fantasies’.

‘Ah but you always end up with someone who looks nothing like what you think your ideal paramour looks like’.

‘Yes, well I’m not going to go any further with this, DS Stockton’ said Jeff. ‘We’ll be at Connelly’s house soon’.

The raid they were about to perform on Connelly’s house was part of a simultaneous operation that also included bringing Sophie Cooper, Clarissa Dalton-Wood, Melanie Cartwright, and Andrea Kay in for questioning. Ollie Wright had discovered that Sophie Cooper and Clarissa Dalton-Wood had been firm friends since they both started at Grange Park boarding school in Somerset when they were eleven years old and were in trouble throughout their time there. But in their last year there they were both expelled for sneaking out at night and getting drunk in the local pubs in the area. They had plenty of cash and were able to dress themselves up to look older than they were. But when they were expelled both sets of parents decided they wouldn’t tolerate their
behaviour any longer and they were both brought back home to the northwest where they went to Willowbrook comprehensive in Middleton, north Manchester. They settled in pretty quickly in terms of exercising more bad behaviour. They were both suspended, twice, for bullying two other students, namely Melanie Cartwright and Andrea Kay but after that Andrea Kay became as thick as thieves with both Sophie and Clarissa. And when Ollie delved further he discovered that Andrea Kay’s grandmother had for many years taken a sleeping pill every night that knocked her out for a good six or seven hours. And she’s always in bed by eleven which would suggest that Andrea Kay was lying when she told Jeff and Rebecca that her grandmother always waited up for Andrea whenever she went out.