Natasha reached him just as the set finished. People clapped and threw coins into an open guitar case.
“Hey man, do you play?” asked one of the musicians directing his question at Declan.
“No, no he doesn’t,” replied Natasha before Declan could answer. She grabbed him forcefully by the elbow and led him away. “Declan…what the fuck? I told you to stay inside. Don’t you understand? The police are looking for you.”
“I’m in disguise,” said Declan pointing at his sunglasses.
“That’s not enough. It’s too risky. Where were you going anyway?”
“I wanted to see the Glasgow concert hall. There was an article about it in a magazine at the place we’re staying.”
This was not a good sign for Natasha. Some part of Declan’s brain was being drawn back to music. She had to work fast.
Across the street were two services Natasha needed, a barbershop and a photo studio. First, the barbershop. It was empty. Angelo, the barber, looked up from his sudoku puzzle as the young couple entered. The man looked very familiar. He looked like that singer, the one who died in a helicopter crash. As he was about to remark on it, Natasha cut him off.
“Yes, we know. He’s always being mistaken for that guy. It’s getting very annoying so we want a completely different look,” she said.
Angelo directed Declan to a chair and whipped a plastic cape around his neck. Natasha quickly scoped out the counter magazines. Fortunately, they were all sports oriented.
“Shave his head,” she ordered Angelo. Angelo looked at Declan in the mirror and raised his eyebrows.
“Is that what you’d like? Down to the wood?”
Declan nodded then closed his eyes as Angelo set to work.
Soon Declan’s thick hair had fallen in a mass of dark hanks onto the floor. His bald pate gleamed with hairdressing oil.
“Great,” said Natasha when Angelo was done. Declan ran his hands over his naked scalp.
“Feels weird,” he said.
“Yeah babe,” said Natasha. “I hate to tell you but it makes you look even hotter.”
Angelo winked at Declan. “The lady knows what she likes.”
Three store fronts down from the barbers was a studio with a sign that advertised passport photos.
“In here Decky,” said Natasha opening the door and pulling him inside. A pretty Japanese girl assured them she could make Declan’s photo the correct size for a Canadian passport.
Declan sat on a stool and stared unsmiling into the camera while the girl pressed a button and the camera flashed. The photos were stamped and delivered to them twenty minutes later. Natasha hoped the girl wouldn’t recognize Declan but she didn’t give any sign that she knew him. The girl was engrossed in texting.
Natasha hustled Declan back to their suite where she heated up a quiche. Natasha didn’t mind that Declan ate almost all of it. The excitement of her upcoming mission had diminished her hunger. She poured them both a glass of wine.
“Now Decky, I want you to promise me on our children’s lives that you won’t leave the apartment again,” said Natasha. Declan had a flash of two cherubic children laughing as he tickled them.
“Sure. Sorry,” said Declan. “I just wanted to go out is all.”
“Soon you’ll be able to go wherever you want,” said Natasha, “But for now it’s crucial you stay inside. Trust me.”
Natasha finished her wine. She noticed that Declan hadn’t touched his and polished it off herself.
“I gotta go out for a while babe,” she said kissing him on top of his shaved head. “You promised now…”
“Yeah, yeah,” agreed Declan. “I’ll stay in.”
“Good.”
On the way out of the loft building, Natasha noticed the same concierge.
“You work long hours,” she said smiling at him.
“Double-shift,” he replied gloomily.
“Do you have a pen and paper?” asked Natasha.
“Sure,” he said handing the items to her. She wrote down a number and handed them back to him.
“If you see my friend leave again, call my cell.”
“Call your what?” said the concierge.
“My cell,” said Natasha. Seeing the blank look on his face she mimed the hand-signal for talking on the phone.
“Oh, right,” he said. “You mean your mobile.”
“Yes,” she said, “Call my mobile cellular phone device.”
Natasha handed the concierge a five-pound note. “This is for your trouble. My friend just recently recovered from a major brain operation. Tumour the size of a grapefruit. He’s not supposed to go out unaccompanied.”
The man nodded and returned to sorting papers.
Covered, thought Natasha. She wondered briefly why tumours were always grapefruit sized, never plum-sized or grape-sized. Not that it mattered a damn. She raised an arm to hail a passing cab.
“Aye lassie, where to?” grunted the cabdriver.
“The Brazen Boar,” said Natasha, “on the south end.”
“Are ye sure lassie? It’s a wee bit on the rough side.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” said Natasha. An amusing thought popped into her head, I like it a wee bit on the rough side. Her thoughts turned to Declan. He’d been happy to play rough with her before. She was looking forward to it again.
The Brazen Boar was definitely on the seedy side of Glasgow. Disused rail tracks covered in weeds ran alongside the building. Natasha surmised it had once been an old railway station before its conversion into a pub. As she exited the taxi, the driver handed her a card.
“Just call me if yer get in any trouble. Watch out in there lassie. There’s crooks and thieves by the boatload.”
“Thanks,” said Natasha taking the card. She smoothed her skirt, took a deep breath, and marched inside. An unsmiling blonde woman was behind the bar.
“What can I getcher?” she asked, wiping the bar surface with a grey coloured rag.
“A martini, straight up with a twist,” said Natasha.
The woman’s face broke into a smirk. She called over her shoulder to a man stacking bottles behind the counter.
“Hey Ray, there’s a bird here wantin' a martini,” she paused for dramatic effect then added sarcastically, “with a twist.”
Ray, a large man with chewed fingernails, ambled over to Natasha.
“A twist you want is it?”
Natasha nodded.
“Let’s see.” The man began counting on his fingers.
“A peppermint twist, a donut twist, a twist of the wrist?”
Several of Ray’s cronies, drinking at the bar, broke into hoots of raucous laughter.
“A twist of lemon,” said Natasha, beginning to wish she’d ordered a beer.
Ray leaned across the bar and stared Natasha in the eyes.
“We don’t ‘ave any fookin lemon. Where tha fook dya think yar? A' tha bleedin Ritz?”
The men at the bar guffawed loudly.
“Never mind,” said Natasha quickly. She pointed to an older man sitting by himself at the other end of the bar, nursing a glass of dark liquid.
“I’ll have what he’s having,” she said.
Ray called to the man, “Hey Enoch. She wants some of what you’ve got.”
The men began rapping on the bar with their knuckles singing loudly in unison “Knock, knock, Enoch, knock, knock.”
Enoch was the name of the man Natasha was looking for. Her former cellmate Barbara ‘Mouse’ Fellen, had told her where to find him. She said he was distinguishable because he always wore the insignia of a marijuana leaf somewhere on his person. Yes, she could see it, a tiny green plastic leaf on the lapel of a faded jacket.
Natasha slipped off the barstool and took a seat beside Enoch, away from the jeering catcalls and whistles of the buffoons at the bar.
“Enoch,” she whispered. “Barbara Fellen sent me.”
Enoch’s pale eyes widened in surprise.
“Babs? My little girl?” He t
ook a swig of the brown liquid then said disconsolately, “she’s inside, in Canada.”
“Yes, I know. So was I,” said Natasha. “She was my cellmate. She’s your daughter?”
Enoch gave a barely perceptible nod.
“She don’t like to talk about me too much,” mumbled Enoch. “Said I led her into a life of crime. But she learned from the best.”
Natasha took a guess, “you?”
“S’right. Best in the business.”
The bartender slopped a glass of brown liquid in front of Natasha.
“That’ll be five quid for the Enoch special. Guinness with a shot of whiskey.”
“Bring another for Enoch here and take one for yourself,” said Natasha. Ray harrumphed but took the money.
“So, my Babs must’ve given you a special word,” said Enoch.
Natasha thought for a second. What was the secret word for a fake passport? Ah yes, she remembered it.
“Wings," she whispered.
“Let’s go to a booth,” said Enoch, "away from all these nosy ears.”
When they were settled, Enoch leaned conspiratorially across the table. “What nationality?”
“Canadian,” said Natasha.
Enoch nodded. “Photos?”
Natasha slipped them across the table.
“Five hundred now, cash, and five hundred when I deliver,” said Enoch.
“How long will it take?” asked Natasha.
She glanced up at the men at the bar but they were now engrossed in a soccer match and bellowing at the television.
“Week,” said Enoch.
Natasha shook her head. “I need it sooner. Can you do it in three days?”
“For a little extra sugared honey,” said Enoch.
“Another five?” offered Natasha.
Enoch smiled. He was missing a front tooth.
“Sweet enough.”
Natasha went into the bathroom to count out the right sum. This was definitely not a safe place to be seen carrying a large amount of money. Holding the cash tightly in her hand, she went back to the booth casually placing the notes in Enoch’s pocket. His hand felt for them. Natasha got the feeling he could tell the denominations through his fingertips.
“Right. Let’s go,” said Enoch. “Finish yer bevvie and I’ll see yer safely out.”
Natasha took a sip and made a face. The drink was a disgusting mixture. She handed it to Enoch. “Here, it’s all yours.”
Enoch cleared the glass in several swallows. He let out a resounding belch.
“Meet yer back here in three days. Same time?”
“No,” said Natasha. The idea of having to revisit this part of town didn’t appeal to her.
“Do you know where the Glasgow lofts are? On Buchanan Street?” she asked.
Enoch thought a minute, “Aye,”
“Bring it there. I’ll meet you in the lobby at three on Wednesday," said Natasha. She took a ten-pound note from her purse and handed it to him. “This is for the extra trouble. Take a taxi.”
“Right” said Enoch.
So far so good, thought Natasha.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Declan was dozing on the couch when Natasha got back to the suite. Thank God for that. She went online with her laptop and booked two flights to Toronto for Thursday morning.
She fired off an e-mail to her father to let him know she would be coming home and inquiring whether he would be around. He got back to her almost immediately telling her he would be away on business in Dubai and not back until Saturday. Good, thought Natasha. This was excellent news. She sent another e-mail telling her father she’d be taking his S.U.V. to visit friends.
“How did your vacation work out?” he inquired. She replied it had been even better than she hoped then signed off with a series of X’s and O’s. That should keep the old man happy. Everything was working out.
Declan woke, yawned and stretched on the couch. He was naked from the waist up. Natasha devoured the sight of his youthful body. His leanness and perfectly shaped bald pate made him sexier than usual. A few regular meals seemed to be restoring his strength. Natasha imagined that he might be hungry for her. She snapped her laptop closed and snuggled up to him. She was in a good mood and feeling horny. My God, it was close to three days since she’d had sex with that guy on the train. A girl had her needs. Maybe Declan would be up to fulfilling them. She ran her hands across his chest.
“Kiss me baby,” she whispered.
Declan did as he was told. Oh it was heaven to have the famous Declan Thomas, her husband, wanting her and kissing her as he’d done when they first met. She ran her hands sensuously over his head, surprised that she liked the feel of it even better than his thick hair.
Natasha gave Declan’s lip a little nip.
He pulled back, surprised,
“Ouch," he said. “What did you do that for?”
“C’mon Decky. Bite me back, you know that’s our little game.”
“Is it?” asked Declan.
“Yeah, you know how I like it.”
Natasha slipped off her top and wriggled out of her skirt. Wearing only a black lace bra and thong, she sat astride Declan. She pulled one cup of her bra down exposing a dark nipple.
“You know you want to suck this Decky. You know you want to bite it.”
Natasha leaned forward so her nipple touched Declan’s lips. He latched on, sucking hard.
“Ohh yeah, that’s it,” moaned Natasha. She leaned back, pulling her thong to one side, exposing her Brazilian.
“This is what you want isn’t it Declan. This is what you’ve always wanted. Mine. Nobody else’s, mine.”
Declan stared between her legs. Natasha felt herself getting wetter. She couldn’t wait to have his dick inside her, fucking her and only her. She leaned back, reaching for the bulge of his crotch then stopped and looked at him in amazement.
“Where is it Decky? Where’s your hard-on?”
No welcome erection waited for her hand. Declan was as soft as could be.
Natasha unzipped Declan’s jeans and took him in her mouth. No matter how much she sucked, his erection failed to materialize. She’d heard of such a thing but it had certainly never happened to her. She felt affronted. Had she lost her charms? After trying unsuccessfully to arouse him several more times, Natasha finally gave up.
"Okay Decky,” she said. “You can just lie there and watch.”
Natasha fetched a vibrator from her suitcase and sat on a chair in front of Declan. Still wearing her thong, she spread her legs wide, turned on the device, and started moving it rapidly over her crotch. As she was about to come, she shoved the vibrator inside herself while she continued using her fingers. She arched her back, crying out in pleasure.
“You’re fucking me Declan. You’re fucking me good and hard. You’re giving it to me so good baby. Yeah.”
But Declan wasn’t giving it to her at all. The vibrator was accomplishing what his own body couldn’t, or wouldn’t. He lay on his side watching Natasha’s display. He seemed to be in a neutral zone, neither turned on or off. When she’d finished with herself, Natasha kneeled beside him.
“What happened baby? How’d you break your dick?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” said Declan. “I can’t explain it.” he added “Like so many other things. Like the scar. Like the burn.”
“I’ll look it up,” said Natasha. She Googled ‘broken dick’ but that seemed to be an extremely rare condition. Next she tried ‘soft dick’ which lead her to erectile dysfunction, the correct medical term. After reading a number of posts from doctors and patients Natasha concluded that the problem was mental. Declan had been under an enormous amount of stress and was now about to flee the country using a fake passport.
Natasha decided that all would return to normal as soon as she had him back home, in a safe place, with his children, with their children. They would be one happy family. Declan would fuck her as often, and as hard as she wanted.
***
Enoch showed up at the agreed upon time. The concierge buzzed Natasha to let her know a gentleman was waiting for her in the lobby. He placed the subtlest stress on the word ‘gentleman.’
Natasha took an envelope containing five hundred pounds and went downstairs to meet him. Thank God for her relationship with Mouse otherwise she would have had no idea about how to obtain a fake passport. She told herself it was all meant to be. Fate had decreed that she and Declan were meant to be together. She decided not to come on to him sexually until he was well rested and safely back in Canada.
Enoch was waiting in the lobby wearing a headband embroidered with marijuana leaves. His wispy white hair curled from underneath it like smoke.
“Here yar,” he said handing her a package. Natasha ripped it open. The passport was an excellent forgery. Declan’s name was now officially John Beatty.
“Great, thanks,” she said. She handed over the envelope. Enoch took a quick look at the contents.
“Pleasure doin business wi yer. If yer see Babs again tell er I was askin after er.”
“Sure,” said Natasha. Enoch tipped two fingers to Natasha in a mock salute and shuffled away.
Perfect thought Natasha. All they had to do now was clear customs in Toronto.
***
The customs officer barely looked at the photographs in the passports of the young couple standing in front of him. He was much more interested in staring at the woman, an exotic creature with feral, almond eyes that glowed like a cat’s.
“Purpose of your trip?”
Natasha snuggled into Declan’s arm.
“Pure pleasure,” she said smiling up at him.
Lucky fuck, thought the customs officer. He stamped each passport and called out “Next.”
Declan and Natasha walked away.
“Mr. Beatty, Mr. Beatty?”
Luckily, Natasha had the presence of mind to stop.
The customs officer waved a piece of paper at them.
“You’ll need this. It’s your clearance.”
The officer looked suspiciously at Declan.
Dragonfly of Venus Page 20