Secret Skin (17 page)

I opened my mouth to speak, paused, ‘It’s not quite like that,’ my cheeks warmed as the blush spread.

‘Well just what the fuck is it like, you fucking idiot gobshite mother fucker? If I’d sent you on a job covering camel racing in Dubai, I wouldn’t have expected you to go around fucking the god damned camels. Where’s the objectivity for Christ’s sake?’

‘I haven’t bloody well fucked her have I.’

‘Haven’t you?’

‘No. Of course not.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘Okay but you’ve bloody well gone and fallen for her haven’t you?’ he roared. ‘A woman who’s seen more burnt rubber than Sheikh Zayed road.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I said, ‘have I?’

‘Well let’s see you’ve just told me you’re happy for her to come home with another man’s…oh please Bryson, just tell me that was the heat and the tension talking would you? Smacking a kiddie-fiddler with a fire extinguisher I can handle, even applaud, but falling in love with a prostitute, not in this country, please god no.’

‘What’s so wrong with that Martin? She’s not doing it by choice, she’s someone’s slave for crying out loud, who else is going to help her?’

‘But that’s the point you naïve little shit. You think you’re helping her don’t you?’

‘Well, yeah.’ I said.

‘Well you’re not Bryson, let me tell you. This isn’t Holland where prostitution is legalized, or even Britain where they pretend it doesn’t happen but everybody knows it does. This is Dubai: it’s a desert playground for the boys that own it. It’s private land and you’re the hired help, allowed in here to trim the frigging hedges and to keep your mouth shut.’

‘I don’t see what that’s got to do….’

‘Shut up Bryson. For once keep quiet and listen. You’ve obviously promised this girl, someone’s slave, that somehow you’re going to rescue her by writing an article. Haven’t you?’

‘Not in so many words.’

‘So what happens when this article is printed and nothing changes?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Bryson, one article that’s read by about ten people in this country isn’t going to change a thing. Even the readers abroad who roll their eyes and say “Oh that’s terrible!” will do very little, nothing probably, and then where will your girlfriend be?’

‘Yes, I know that, that’s why she’s not going to be mentioned, or her pimp.’

‘And then what happens to her?’

‘I…I don’t know. We’ll find a way; I’ve already tried to buy her freedom.’

‘Have you? On the rates I pay.’

‘Well then I’ll get some false papers made or have her smuggled out.’

‘But that’s only if you love her right?’

‘Yeah, well no, of course I’ll do it either way, even if nothing happens between us.’

‘Oh yeah? And when will you know if you love her? When you’re inside her right?’

I didn’t know what to say. Truth really does hurt.

‘You’re an idiot. You should have kept your distance.’

‘Yeah, but the story is good.’

‘How good?’

‘Damaging.’

‘To who? Them or her?

Martin was right. I hadn’t kept my distance.

She turned when I tapped her shoulder. ‘What are you doing here?’ she said.

‘I thought I’d get out of the heat. I’ve been working through your list. It’s going great.’

‘You should have called first,’ she said, ‘Faisal is still suspicious of you. He will be angry with me; you should go before he sees you.’

‘I can’t. Not just yet,’ I said looking at the bulky silhouettes through the glass doors. She followed my eyes.

‘What have you done David?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

‘David!’ she said through gritted teeth.

I knew I’d messed up, but I was charged from my narrow escape and still had nowhere to go.

‘Well balls to it,’ I said. ‘Let’s see if I can’t grab this bull by his horny horn then,’ and strode off in the direction of Faisal’s table.

***

‘Faisal!’ I called out.

He didn’t hear me. Or more probably ignored me, while a wiry hair-trigger of a man did his job and put a hand on my chest.

‘Private area,’ he said.

‘Whatever,’ I said. ‘I’m here to see my friend. Faisal,’ I called again.

He looked pissed off at being addressed so disrespectfully; then amused when he saw it was me.

‘Come,’ he said and waved me in. He patted the white leather seat on his left without acknowledging me. I sat down and waited.

‘Mr. Bryson,’ he said eventually. ‘Vodka?’ Before I had time to answer he motioned to a waiter who poured two fingers in a tumbler beside me.

‘I thought you were going to let me know when you were coming.’

‘My apologies,’ I said, ‘I was passing and your offer was just too good to refuse. I’ve already had an ear bashing from Yasmin I’m afraid. I think she thought I came for her but when I told her I’d come to examine your other girls she was most put out.’

He tutted. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure next time you show her the color of your money she will be just as wonderful as the last. I train them well, but they can be a little emotional sometimes. They are only women after all.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed and joined in with his little joke.

‘You have a great club here Faisal. Who would have thought there were so many scantily clad women in Dubai? Are they all yours?’

Before Faisal could answer, a truly massive man on the table next to us raised his glass. He could have been mistaken for a giant blonde surfer but when he smiled his skin wrinkled with age. His hair wasn’t sun bleached but cropped and white, matched by a neatly trimmed goatee. For a passing moment his clear grey eyes challenged each one of us.

‘A toast,’ he called in English. His accent fractured when he spoke, like many Russian expatriates in Dubai his pronunciation mixed both American and English phrasing with a little of the old country.

There were three tables in total, one to our left and one to our right, three people on each. Everyone raised their glasses, including Faisal.

‘To the liberation of finance,’ he said. ‘My favorite pastime.’ He led and we swallowed. Apart from Faisal, who brought the glass to his lips and rested it there a moment, bellowing ‘Aaaah!’ along with the rest of us.

Eyes watered and everyone laughed, partly duty bound, partly because they were already drunk.

‘I stopped after the fifth,’ Faisal said twiddling his glass, ‘But these Russians, they always want to drink more.’

‘So are all these women yours?’ I asked again, motioning to the busy club floor. His eyes couldn’t quite focus on me.

‘Not all of them no, many of them are freelance. Just like you,’ he smiled smugly and patted my knee, a polite insult, ‘but they all have to pay me something if they want to do business. Everyone who walks through that door tonight will pay me money.’

‘That is a good business.’

‘Yes,’ he said. He put down his glass and looked me in the eye. ‘But you should stop asking so many questions about my affairs or I shall be forced to gut you,’ he said.

He cracked up the moment he saw uncertainty in my eyes. Some of the other table dwellers smiled but no one knew what the joke was. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I am making fun of you. I am not serious.’

‘Thank god for that Faisal, you had me going there for a moment old son.’

His whole face turned up at this and he laughed again. My new friend.

Someone refilled my glass.

I noticed the Russian looking at me with an aggressive confidence that was truly terrifying. He had the arrogant aura of a man who can’t be touched. I guessed that anyone there would have done whatever he asked of them. Except me, I didn’t care who he was.

‘What the fuck happened to you?’ He shouted, thankfully not at me.

A familiar dark haired man slumped down into a seat between the Russian and Faisal. He held a bloody cloth over his nose. I didn’t need to see the face beneath those moody eyebrows to recognize the man I’d followed upstairs.

‘Some fucker broke my nose,’ he said from behind the kerchief, ‘they’re bringing the car around and taking me to the hospital.’

‘Ahh, come here. Let me fix it for you,’ said the big man leaning over to grab his nose. We all heard the crack.

‘Arrrggh! You fugging wanker,’ he screeched through his hands, clearly another Brit. He writhed in pain.

‘A toast!’ called the big man. ‘A toast to my little friend and his broken nose, may he recover quickly.’ Everyone slugged back their vodkas, a little slower this time I noticed, one of the men next to the Russian tried not to gag.

‘Don’t you people do anything else apart from toast bloody vodka?’ said the dark man, ‘Try a glass of wine or a lager some time. Live a little.’

Faisal said, ‘Don’t worry my friend. We won’t tell anyone about that little girl breaking your nose.’

The groans of the inebriated gave way to laughter at another’s expense.

‘It wasn’t the bloody girl Faisal. It was some bastard at the door. If your people did their job properly they’d be jumping up and down on his head about now. The fucker said he worked for the hotel.’

Faisal’s mood soured. Who was this man to be able to make him lose so much face in public? ‘Do not worry. If he works for me, we will find him. I will even bring him to your house and you can jump on his head yourself.’

‘Thank you,’ he said.

‘Now I think you had better go to the hospital.’

‘Yes, yes thank you,’ he said, happy to be the centre of attention.

‘Yes,’ the big man roared, ‘if you stay here any longer Faisal will get his little twins to break your arms as well.’

‘Fuck off,’ he said, humiliated again, and stood up to leave.

The big man teased him, ‘They are nearly nine years old, tough bitches, you had better watch out,’ he waited a beat. ‘Look out, behind you!’ he shouted. The dark man visibly jumped but didn’t look back as he stormed out. They all roared with laughter.

‘That was funny,’ Faisal said.

‘Twins, hey?’

‘Not for you,’ he said.

‘So how much would one of these girls cost?’ I nodded to the main floor.

‘That depends what you want to do with them.’

‘How much to buy one of them.’

‘Oh not much, depends on the age, younger is more expensive of course.’

‘So you don’t charge by the kilo?’

‘Hah,’ he laughed, ‘No.’

‘Just as well, because what I’d really like is a grown woman,’ I said, ‘Someone like Yasmin, you know? That delicious Lebanese look.’

‘Reminds you of someone,’ he said, looking at me through hooded eyes. ‘I remember.’

‘So how much?’

He raised both hands in an I don’t know gesture. ‘That depends,’ he said. ‘If she is young and untrained, not too much. Ten thousand dollars maybe.’

Tourist prices I thought.

‘Does that cover postage and packaging as well,’ I said. That amused him. ‘Can you gift wrap that?’

‘I’m sure we can.’

‘How about for someone who is already trained,’ I said, pushing it, ‘like Yasmin?’

He turned his whole body to face me and examined me coldly.

‘Why are you so interested in her? And don’t tell me she reminds you of someone.’

‘She does.’

‘Who?’

I hadn’t thought the lie through that far. ‘An ex-girlfriend,’ I ventured.

‘What was her name?’

‘None of your business. How much do you want for her?’

‘More than you can afford. She is one of my best earners. I have plans for her future.’

‘But she is getting old.’

‘Not for what I have in mind Mr. Bryson, so unless you have tens of thousands of dollars in your account, I suggest you drop it.’

‘You mean he doesn’t? Who is this pauper Faisal?’ the big man said.

‘His name is David Bryson. He wants to buy Yasmin. I think he’s in love with her.’

‘In love with a prostitute, aww poor little boy,’ the Russian said.

My turn to be humiliated. My treacherous face reddened.

‘You know prostitutes are like new cars?’ the Russian said. ‘They lose their value the instant you buy them and when you drive them hard they wear out quickly,’ His cronies laughed on cue.

‘He just asked to buy her,’ Faisal said.

‘Why buy when you can lease?’ said the Russian.

‘Exactly, but what is worse for the poor little boy, he cannot afford her.’

‘You said no of course?’

‘Of course.’

‘Poor little boy,’ the big man agreed wiping away pretend tears. ‘But why is he so poor, poor, poor?’

‘Because he’s a writer, and we pay them the same as cleaners in this country.’

‘What kind of writer?’ the big man said.

‘A journalist,’ Faisal said.

‘A fucking journalist!’ the big man hollered and slammed his fist on the table, scattering the half full glasses of vodka. ‘And you let him sit at my table? All of this buying Yasmin talk is bullshit, he’s pumping you for information you idiot. What the fuck is wrong with you?’ he said.

Cursing in his own language the white haired giant cuffed the pimp around the head. In his own club Faisal cowered, terrified of the big man.

That pleased me. The Russian treating him the way Faisal treated Yasmin.

Then the big man turned his wrath on me. ‘I fucking hate journalists,’ he spat, a globule hit my cheek. ‘You know what we do to journalists we don't like in Russia? Birthday presents for our president. We fucking kill them,’ he said making a sawing motion over his throat. He turned to Faisal, ‘Is it anyone’s birthday today? Perhaps your sheikh would like a surprise present? This fool’s head would make a perfect polo puck. Would you like me to kill him for you, right now, here in your fucking club?’

‘No—’ Faisal began. ‘Just get him out of here,’ he said to the wiry man.

‘I can see myself out,’ I said to the Arabian pimp, but he wouldn’t catch my eye. I didn’t look back.

Faisal’s man escorted me straight through hotel security and outside, where despite the late hour the heat still had the ability to fuse brain cells.

I sat down on a low crumbling wall nearby, shaken, but pleased by the progression of events. It had been an unhealthily productive night. My recorder had been running the whole time I’d been inside.

The big Russian worried me. I had broken his friend’s nose and pissed off Faisal. There would probably be no end of trouble for Yasmin and I was the cause of it. Anyone of them could have had it in for me.