Sextortion (7 page)

"They might.
They've done it once, so why not again?"

"It's a pretty
risky business snatching someone off the street and bundling them
into the back of a car. Not the sort of thing they'd want to do too
often."

"I suppose
not."

"OK, the girl
came here and told you to write the second book, and they got me to
ring you to make sure that you knew they meant business. They're
obviously not big-time gangsters because, at the very most, they'll
only get, say, half your advance."

"Half? That's
fifty thousand..."

"It's a lot of
money, yes - but hardly big-time stuff. They've achieved what
they'd set out to do, which was to frighten us. I reckon they'll
back off once they know that you're writing the book and the
advance is on the way. When the girl next contacts us, we'll tell
her that you've started the book."

"But..."

"There are no
buts, love. You'll have to write the book."

"What about
the detective?"

"It's too late
to ring him now, I'll call him in the morning and fill him in with
the latest. You never know, he might have seen the girl leave
and... I'll call him in the morning."

"I'm tired and
my head's aching like hell, I think I'll go to bed."

"Don't you
want some tea?"

"No, not
now."

"OK. Try not
to worry, I reckon that the worst is over."

"Apart from
giving the bastards thousands and thousands of pounds."

"It might not
come to that. You go up and I'll join you later."

Again, I
barely slept. My dreams wouldn't leave me, restless monsters
roaming my mind, conjuring vivid images of the girl's mouth closed
over my clitoris, her fist driving deep into my pussy. But that was
my secret. No one, apart from the girl, would ever know the
dreadful truth. If she told Danny, I'd deny it - and he'd believe
me.

I was up at
six the next morning, making tea, and my plans. I hadn't told Danny
about the royalty cheque, and I wasn't going to. If the girl
started questioning him, he couldn't let something slip that he
didn't know about. I'd open another bank account and hang onto that
money if it was the last thing I did.

Oversleeping,
Danny wandered downstairs at nine-thirty. I reckoned that he'd been
mentally exhausted and had fallen into a deep sleep the minute his
head had hit the pillow, unlike me! As he made himself a cup of
coffee, he started on about the book again, how I should begin as
soon as possible, how I had no choice. I couldn't take it,
listening to him rambling on and on about the bloody book.

"I rang the
publisher," I finally interrupted him.

"Oh?"

"I spoke to
Tammy about the book."

"Good girl! I
knew you'd..."

"Danny,
there's a problem."

"What do you
mean?"

"After lunch
with Tammy the other week I'd thought the second book was definite,
but... Things have changed."

"Changed?"

"The sales of
the first novel peaked, and then died a sudden death."

"But the press
has been quoting fantastic sales figures."

"It was hype.
The publisher deliberately inflated the figures to try and boost
the flagging sales."

"So, what are
you saying?"

"They don't
want a second book."

"But..."

"They want to
see how the first one does before they commit themselves and, by
the look of it, it's died."

"I can't
believe it! It hit the top of the best-selling list and..."

"And now it's
dropped off. Tammy reckons that the false figures they've given the
media might revive it, but she doesn't hold out much hope."

I didn't like
lying to Danny, but I had to put an end to his obsession with the
book. He didn't understand that my head had to be clear to write,
my mind free of worries and problems. I'd explained many times that
to produce successful work I had to become part of the book,
dissolve into my characters. Unless I was left to become totally
absorbed in my work, to concentrate wholly on my writing, I could
produce nothing worthwhile.

Gazing out of
the window, he sighed, obviously believing that I'd rung the
publisher and no doubt wondering what the blackmailers would do
once they found out. But, if we told them that the publisher didn't
want a second book, there'd be nothing they could do about it.
There'd be no point in forcing me to write a book that no one
wanted, that carried no financial gain.

I reckoned
that this was the only way we could win. OK, they could still go to
the newspapers, but what would they gain? If I told the bitch that
I had no career to destroy, that the first book had died a death
and there was to be no second book, that would be the end of the
matter.

"But the book
was doing so well," Danny persisted, turning on his heels to face
me.

"Was, being
the operative word. Tammy reckons this is nothing new. They launch
a new author, the book shoots to the top of the list, and then
dies."

"So, there'll
be no royalties?"

"How can there
be? Book sales generate royalties, Danny - and if a book doesn't
sell... Anyway, that should shut the thugs up."

"I doubt
it!"

"What do you
mean?"

"As I was
saying, they mean business."

"Danny, if the
publisher doesn't want another book, then..."

"Try telling
them that!"

"I intend to.
When the girl contacts us, I'll tell her exactly what Tammy said,
and that'll be that."

I wasn't sure
whether Danny believed me as he gazed out of the window again. My
story sounded feasible enough, but he seemed suspicious. I supposed
he was worried, probably thinking that the thugs wouldn't believe a
word of it and grab him again. As I made toast and marmalade, he
paced the floor, his forehead lined, his eyes tired. We were both
tired, tired of the whole damned business!

"They won't do
anything, Danny," I smiled reassuringly.

"Who won't?"
he asked abstractedly.

"The thugs and
the girl."

"I've been
thinking," he murmured, his dark eyes frowning as he gazed at me.
"I reckon you should start the second book anyway."

"Why?"

"The time
might come when they want it. If the first one picks up, they might
ask you for the second."

"But..."

"Don't you
see? Firstly, if the day comes when they want it, you'll be well
underway with it - you might even have finished it. Secondly, we
can show the girl that you're writing it, show her the book on your
computer screen."

"Danny..."

"Selina, you
don't know what it's like being dragged off the bloody street by a
couple of thugs! I was in that basement tied to a bloody chair
almost pissing myself with fear. It's all very well you saying that
it'll be OK, but I'm the one who's going to end up... Christ knows
where! Six feet under, more than likely!"

"OK, OK, I'll
start the bloody book."

"Sorry, I
didn't mean to get irate, it's just that I was shit scared in that
basement. Before I knew they were connected with the girl I thought
of all sorts of terrible things. Political killings..."

"You're not
into politics."

"No, but they
might have thought I was. It's happened before, where the wrong
person gets murdered. Screwing some tart is one thing, but..."

"OK, I'll
start on the book today."

"Good. Shit,
this is a bloody mess!"

"You're
telling me!"

He flounced
off, leaving me to have breakfast alone. He really was frightened,
and I couldn't blame him. Again, I wondered how on earth we'd got
into this mess. I'd been lying my head off to Danny, he'd been
abducted and tied up in a basement, I'd watched him screw the
bitch, I'd had lesbian sex with her, we'd given away ten thousand
pounds... What the hell was going to happen next?

As I sat at
the table nibbling my toast, I realized that I couldn't take any
more. Physically and mentally drained, I knew I had to get away,
have a break from the nightmare before it swallowed me up. Ringing
Chrissy, I asked her whether she felt like spending a few days in a
hotel somewhere.

"I can't," she
sighed. "We're really busy at work. I'm free today but there's no
way I could get any more time off."

"Never mind,
it was just a thought."

"Shall I come
round for coffee?"

"Yes, I
haven't seen you for ages."

"Give me
fifteen minutes."

"OK, see you
soon."

Chatting to
Chrissy might help, I reflected as I washed up. Unloading my
problems... No, Danny was right, it was best not to tell anyone. As
for the book, I'd try to write the first few pages, just to show
willing. My thoughts turning to Tammy, I decided to ring her. I
knew she'd ask how the book was coming on, and I'd have to make up
some excuse or other, but I thought it best to make contact.

"Selina, how
are you?" she trilled.

"Fine, fine. I
thought I'd just ring and say hi."

"I'm glad you
did. The sales have gone through the roof! Look, the second book...
We want to follow the first with another as soon as possible."

"Yes, I know,"
I sighed, rather too despondently.

"Is there a
problem?"

"No, no it's
just that... Writer's block, that's what it is."

"Don't worry,
it happens. Just relax and don't force it. It'll come, believe
me."

"I hope
so."

"How far have
you got with it?"

"I
haven't."

"You've not
even started?"

"No."

"Oh.
Er..."

"I haven't had
the contract yet, Tammy."

"Don't worry
about that, it'll be with you any day now."

"Good. Look,
I'll try and get my brain into gear."

"OK, I'll talk
to you soon. Get those fingers working, Selina."

"I will."

More pressure,
more problems! I reflected as I replaced the receiver. I felt as if
I was going mad as I wandered up to my den and sat at the desk.
Switching the computer on, I pondered on the book, bringing the
synopsis up on screen and wondering how the hell I was going to
write.

"I rang the
private dick," Danny enlightened me, appearing in the doorway. "He
didn't see the girl leave last night."

"She went the
back way, probably over the wall into the alley."

"Oh, great!
Anyway, I told him about the thugs, that I'd been dragged off the
bloody street."

"What did he
say?"

"He agreed
with me, you should write the book. At least it'll give him time
to..."

"I am writing
the bloody book, or trying to!" I snapped.

"I'm sorry,
I'll leave you in peace."

"No, no, I'm
sorry. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know,
I'll have a coffee and then I might try to write something. See you
later."

The private
detective was bloody useless, I reflected. Apart from sitting in
his car, he'd done nothing. God knew how much he was going to
charge us! Trying to clear my head, I read the synopsis. The idea
was good, but where to start? Page one, paragraph one, sentence
one.

"Hi!" Chrissy
beamed as she breezed into the room with a cup of coffee. "Danny
let me in."

"Chrissy, it's
good to see you! Plonk yourself on the couch."

"I'm not
stopping you from working, am I?"

"No, no. To be
honest, I haven't worked for ages."

"Why's
that?"

I told her the
story - well, most of it. I couldn't bring myself to confess to
having a girl lick me to orgasm, but I did say that Danny had
screwed her while I'd watched. Hooking her long raven hair behind
her ears, she listened intently, her eyes widening or frowning as I
mentioned the thugs and the basement, the money and the naked
girl.

"I'll tell you
what I think," she pronounced when I'd finished. "Danny's in on
it."

"No, he's
not," I replied. "Admittedly, it did cross my mind, but he's
not."

"It fits,
Selina," she insisted, raising her eyebrows. "It fits
perfectly."

"I know it
does, but... What would he have to gain by dreaming up fantastic
stories of abduction and being tied up in a basement?"

"Money."

"But it's our
money."

"Sex."

"If he wanted
to have an affair, he wouldn't go to all this trouble. And why have
me watch him screw a girl?"

"He might get
a kick out of it."

"You should
write fiction, Chrissy! God, you're so cynical!"

"I can't help
it. Anyway, it fits."

Closing the
door, I told her about the girl forcing me to strip, about her
fingering and licking me to orgasm. Her expression one of
disbelief, she didn't take her eyes off me until I'd finished
relating the sordid details. Saying nothing, she sipped her coffee,
obviously mulling over the incredible act the girl had performed on
my naked body. Initially, I was so embarrassed that I wished I
hadn't said anything.

"Shit!" she
finally breathed. "And you say you haven't told Danny?"

"How the hell
can I?"

"Yes, I see
your point. God! What are you going to do?"

"I don't know.
What would you do?"

"I'd tell the
girl where to get off. Tell her that she can go to the newspapers
and..."

"I've thought
about that. But there's more to this than simple blackmail,
Chrissy."

"How do you
mean?"

"If I was
rich, a millionairess, I could understand it. But going to all this
trouble for a relatively small amount of money - the photographs,
snatching Danny... Somehow, it doesn't add up."

"It's not that
much trouble for, what did you reckon, fifty grand?"

"Yes, but...
There's something that I can't quite put my finger on. I don't know
why, but I feel that there's far more to this than meets the
eye."