by Knight, JJ
Wait.
Morse code.
I start clicking. E-M-E-R-A-L-D.
An engine starts. The ground rumbles.
Oh my gosh. I started a car. A hidden car.
How do I get it out? Does it know how to get out on its own? Or is that a totally different trigger? Dang it, Jacob. Did you have to make this so complicated?
I click the sequence again. The engine stops. Okay. It’s like a power on/off.
I run the letters one more time. The engine starts. How do I get to it? I walk along the edge of the rock. And then I remember. Jacob always puts in a delay. Always. So I stand perfectly still and wait for a count of thirty.
The engine revs, and suddenly the rock parts, and the sleek gray Aston Martin roars forward.
I want to squeal. I did it. It's here!
It slams to a stop just outside the hillside. I open the door. When I sit on the seat, a gentle female voice inside the car says, “Driver not recognized."
God. Surely he's not going to gas me in the car.
I take a deep breath and hold it. The car continues talking. “Please state your name.”
What do I tell it? I certainly can't give it my real name. That will register as an enemy instantly.
I decide to continue on the theme.
“Emerald.”
The voice says, “Emerald is not a registered driver.” The engine kills.
“Wait!” I say. “Imelda. Imelda Holt.”
The voice is soothing as it tells me, “Imelda Holt passed away on May 16, 2016. However, you have initiated the guest pass.”
The engine fires up again.
“Where did Jacob get this car?" I ask.
“That’s classified information,” the woman says kindly. It’s so odd, like I’m having a conversation.
“Oh, you can tell me, woman to woman,” I say.
“I am not actually a woman. I am a digitally created voice in the higher spectrum of the human range of vocalization.”
“You’re spoiling the magic.”
She has no response to that.
It doesn’t matter. I know exactly where Jacob got this car. The Vigilantes. Only they have cars like this. But how did he get it? He isn't a Vigilante. This I know for sure.
“What name should I call you?” the car asks.
I think about this. I still can’t tell it my real name. Emerald didn’t work. And Marissa is what the Den gave me.
“Jade," I tell it.
"Welcome, Jade.”
“What should I call you?”
“It is not necessary to give me a name.”
“But I want to. You will be Janet.”
“Thank you for the name Janet. Where would you like to go?"
“Head toward Manhattan," I say. "I'll figure out an exact destination when we get there."
The car moves forward.
“Manhattan registered. Would you like to drive? Or use auto-drive?”
Across the field I see the first man emerge from the electrical shed. Shoot. I’ve spent too much time being chatty with the car.
“Automatic," I say. "And step on it. I'm being followed."
"Countermeasures activated," Janet says. "Stealth mode activated."
The car takes off like a jet. We fly across the field, crunching the smaller trees and bushes in our path. I grab my seat belt and yank it on.
The car bumps onto the road. I look in the rearview mirror. The men are still stumbling out. They have no way of being transported, as far as I can see. It's like Antony just left them.
“What are the countermeasures?” I ask.
“This Aston Martin can achieve functional invisibility by blending into its environment. It can also prevent the emission of any traceable radio waves or heat signatures.”
“Wow.” I sit back in the seat.
“Would you like a cold beverage?”
“Sure.”
“Please select from the beverages listed on the screen.”
I glance over it, my eyes resting on one I haven’t seen in a long time. I laugh. Really, Jacob?
“Mr. Pibb, please.”
“Very good. It is also Mr. Holt’s favorite.”
Really?
The doors of the console by my arm open and the can slides up from below.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
I pop open the top of my drink. I could get used to this.
"Would you like some music?" Janet asks.
“Actually, can I make a phone call from here?"
"Yes, although this will create a transmission that will compromise the stealth mode.”
“I’m not worried about that.”
“Okay. Regular line or secure?”
I think about this for a second. I’m not sure what my dad will think if he realizes I’m calling from a Vigilante car. Technically, they are law enforcement of sorts, and we are, generally speaking, in opposition to their goals. I don’t want him to think I’ve been kidnapped.
“Secure, I guess," I say. "How will it appear to the person I call?"
"I can make it appear any way you like," Janet says. "If you would like me to spoof any phone number or name, I can do so."
"I need to call my father," I say. "He needs to know that it is me."
“Just let me know what information to transmit.”
"Call with the secure line, and make the call from Baby Leprechaun."
"Very well. To what number?"
I give her my father's personal line. He's the only one who ever called me Baby Leprechaun. Even my mother could not stand the endearment. He will know the call is from me.
I'm sure when he sent me on this job, he anticipated that at some point I would be calling him to bail me out. I’ve lasted longer than probably anyone thought.
It isn't that I need help for myself. I could take this car straight to my parents’ compound. But it’s Jacob I’m worried about. If Antony decides that Jacob has been involved with a mutiny within his ranks, his life is definitely in danger.
A ragged tone tells me that the call is being put through. I wait a few moments, and then my father's voice comes on the line.
“Baby Leprechaun!" he says. "Don't tell me. You killed too many of them, and now I'm going to have to send out a crew to deal with the bodies."
"Daddy, come on. You know killing is not my thing."
"I know. Mine neither. Did you get to go on that heist?"
Right. The Fife tiara. "Did you check on that for me?"
"I did. The Fife tiara really is out of rotation at Kensington Palace, but not because it has been stolen or is on tour. It's being cleaned. I had someone infiltrate the palace staff. They saw it with their own eyes. Your lead on that mission lied to you."
Dang it. I really wanted that tiara. But I’m not surprised. The moment Jacob showed up, I had known something was amiss.
"Well, I'm in what looks to be a retired Vigilante car, driving through the Pennsylvania countryside."
“How did you get that? It’s a very rare and valuable item.” His voice betrays his excitement.
“Jacob had it.”
“Well, go through it. There could be amazing tech in there. Advanced weapons. They are really good.”
“I will. It’s driving me around.”
“I’ve always wanted to get my hands on one of those.”
“I think Janet has to approve you.”
“Janet?”
“That’s the name I gave the car.”
He laughs. “Well, get what you can. They might steal it back at any point.”
“Will do.” I squint at the map on one of the screens in front of me. "I'm headed to Manhattan. I think Jacob is in trouble."
"Why are you worried about that man?"
"He got me out of a jam."
"My baby doesn't need anybody to get her out of a jam," Dad says. "Tell me the real story."
"I don't know. He's just so…" I trail off. I don’t know what he is. But I don’t wa
nt him to die.
“I thought he was a pig you wanted to bring down along with that entire operation. What did you call it? The Great Misogyny.”
“I think he’s different now, Daddy.”
"Ahhhh. I see. Well, all right then. What my baby wants, my baby gets. Give me a few minutes, and we will determine his location. You want a rendezvous so we can get you a phone?”
I look outside the windows. We have reached the highway and fly by the other cars. “That’s a good idea. I should hit Manhattan in maybe an hour."
"All right. Should I call you back at this number?"
“Yeah. Oh, and when you bring a phone, I need my brown Golden Goose boots and everything inside them.”
“Got it. Are you going this alone?”
"Let's find out where he is," I say. “Then I'll make my decision.”
“You be careful.”
A few minutes later, when the name and address of where Jacob has been taken flashes on the screen, I can’t help but crack a little smile.
Funny how life comes back full circle.
"Hello, Janet?” I say.
"Yes, Jade.”
"Can you find a beauty supply store somewhere between here and Manhattan?"
The map appears on-screen, with several dots showing locations.
I click on one about a half hour away.
Jacob’s life isn’t in danger where he is. Just maybe his pride.
I’m definitely going to have to make an unscheduled stop before I meet up with him.
27
Jacob
Just as Onyx promised, she and Amethyst lead me to one of the slave rooms just before the stroke of midnight. I am stone sober, the effects of whatever dart Antony gave me completely worn off. I’m barefoot, but at least they’ve given me a silky brown-gold robe.
Onyx approaches a door and unlocks it with a traditional key. Then she presses her palm against a screen in the wall. The door pops open. Old school plus tech. I like it.
Two guards take their place on either side. A little something extra for me, I guess. None of the other doors we passed had guards. I look farther down the hall. One more has a pair of them as well. Perhaps another member of the Den pressed into service for their crimes, real or imagined.
Amethyst leads the way inside. The walls are entirely black. In the center of the room, a red leather bench waits for its resident. It can be adjusted for multiple positions. I flash with a vision of Emerald on it, her red hair spilling around her.
On the side wall, a giant black wardrobe stands open, every sort of bondage implement you might desire hanging inside.
I can defeat the security handily enough. If I escape the room, I will have to take on the two guards, and the other pair of guards will certainly come down to assist. I’m sure a silent alarm somewhere will alert more staff.
As we pass Onyx, she says, “You behave yourself with her.”
I glance down at Amethyst. She seems intimidated to be near me. I wonder if the women here gossip about the latest "recruits" from the Den. I have been aware of this practice, of course. But never in my two decades with the Den has a first-rank thief been sent to Club Y.
Amethyst adjusts the bench so that half of it angles down. I can imagine the position she’s about to place me in. She moves to the wardrobe and collects wrist and ankle cuffs.
"Not those," Onyx barks from her position by the now-closed door. "We'll need to secure this one until he can be trusted, if that ever happens.”
Amethyst nods and returns to the wardrobe. She presses her palm to a small, almost unnoticeable screen in the bottom corner of the wardrobe. A drawer pops out. She retrieves a different set of cuffs from there, not as leather and friendly looking, but shiny blue-gray metal.
They look to be the same material as the human shackle I wore earlier. No doubt some sort of secure device Antony dreamed up.
"Blindfold him before you put them on," Onyx says. "He's a wily one. Can't give him any head starts."
Amethyst looks over at me as if in apology. But she pulls a blindfold and a black scarf from the wardrobe.
"Over here, if you please," she says barely above a whisper, gesturing to the angled bench.
I could take both these women out right now. But I don't really want to hurt the little one. She looks like she's in training or something. I will bide my time until I have an escape plan.
I walk over to the bench. "How do you want me?" I ask with a tone that makes the double entendre clear.
Her eyes get big. What is such an innocent one doing in a club like this?
“Just lie here," Amethyst says. “Belly on the bench and bring your arms around the sides.”
Onyx’s voice is like an ax slicing through Amethyst’s quiet kindness. "The robe, girl."
"Oh!" She sets down the shackles, flustered. "I need to take this."
She unties the belt. Underneath, I'm as naked as the day I was born. Uncomfortably so, since they seem to have removed a multitude of body hair.
I resume the position she described, my skin melting into the soft leather. At least that part is comfortable.
"Blindfold," Onyx reminds her.
Amethyst slides the black satin over my eyes, adjusting the elastic band around my head. Then she wraps it all with the scarf. Her nimble fingers tie it swiftly, and the tail of it tickles between my shoulder blades.
She moves away, and I listen carefully for telltale clicks and movements that will hint as to how the shackles work.
Amethyst pulls my arms around the bench. There's a scraping sound, a click, then the cool metal circles my right wrist. Another click, then my arm is pulled forward until it is perfectly straight, and another snap means I am attached to the base of this bench. Presumably. I suppose it could be the floor. I reach out my fingertips to see if I brush the ground. I do not. I move the shackled wrist. The cool bar at the base of the bench grazes my fingers.
I shift as if trying to get more comfortable, but I'm trying to see if the bench actually moves. It does not.
"Stay still," Onyx barks.
Amethyst takes my other arm with shaky fingers. She’s nervous in my presence. Perhaps she’s been told that I'm dangerous. Maybe they have woven some sort of tale to make sure everyone stays on full alert.
"Sorry about this," Amethyst whispers as she moves my leg farther out. My ankle is strapped down, first one, then the other. I will have no idea what's coming at me when a client arrives.
But I can guess.
"You should've at least bought me dinner first," I say to the girl.
“Gag him,” Onyx says. “He talks too much.”
Amethyst’s fingers touch my back lightly in response. She doesn't seem like a fit for Club Y, but I suppose shy virginal girls are just as popular as the feisty ones. Perhaps more so. There’s no telling what her story is.
While she fits a ball gag to my mouth and straps it around my head, I think back to Emerald. Her eyes had been perfectly green. Maybe too green. Probably contacts. I sigh around the ball. I should let that memory go. Since then I’ve lived a life of call girls, hoping one would live up to her.
Until Jade. She had done it. But I had no idea if she would ever see me again.
At the moment that’s probably a good thing.
Onyx’s voice cuts through the quiet. "Your name is Zircon now. You will wait here for your first customer. Not every jewel at the club will receive a client each time, but generally when there is a new jewel, someone will want to come visit.”
A shuffling of steps tells me they are leaving the room. The door clicks shut, and the faint buzz means it has been electronically sealed.
Time to get to work. I test the limits of my range of motion in both my arms and my hands. Maybe an inch. I cannot get my two hands anywhere near each other. Ankles are the same.
Hell of a thing I've gotten myself into, strapped to a bondage table, ass up. I ignore the illegalities of what they’ve done. We’re criminals. I steal for a living. They can get a
way with whatever they want.
Think. If the staff has been warned about me, someone may have figured out that I'm here. Someone somewhere is going to recognize me.
Not that they would help. For all I know Elliott is in on this thing. Club Y is a contingency I definitely had not planned for.
I work my forehead back and forth against the bench until the scarf falls away. I'm about to move the blindfold, when a buzz and click tells me that someone has opened the door.
Antony, checking to make sure I’m ready for my punishment?
Or a client already?
The footsteps are heavy, with a striking clomp sound. Boots. Cowboy boots, possibly. Not Antony.
A client. Male client?
This is not ideal.
The footsteps stop to my right, where the wardrobe is. Something slides off a hook.
I brace myself for a smack or pinch or worse.
A rectangle the size of a playing card slides along my back. It flexes as it makes its way up.
The motion makes me think of a moment from my childhood. I remember going to the circus, and my brother dragged me over to the fortune teller. He paid her a dollar, and she turned over a tarot card with a smooth glide, making the card flex across the table as it moved.
It’s the same as this motion on my back.
I still remember the card, of course. Seven of Swords. The woman told me that I should take care if I planned to deceive someone. But later, my uncle told me that the card meant I was destined to be a thief.
But this isn’t a card on my back. I consider the usual inventory of bondage toys. Then I have it.
A flogger. I can picture the flat end moving up my spine.
After it reaches my neck, it glides back down again. When it touches my ass, I feel a sharp smack.
The way the flogger is being used doesn’t match my vision of a burly cowboy getting his jollies on another man.
The next time I feel it, the movement starts at the back of my knee and runs up the inside of my thigh. It hesitates at the top, and then I feel a light blow straight to the balls.
I do not jump. Whoever this is seems concerned with my pain threshold.
I sense the person step away. I wonder if he will go for some other item in the wardrobe. The room is so quiet, no music or bleed-through from another room.