Even so, just because she was keeping one customer happy didn’t mean that she could just forget about all the others. Mr. Dobbs and Mr. Sanders were regulars here and clients like them were their bread and butter. In here like clockwork every week, as were many of the men. Molly needed to sort this mess out, and fast.
Leaning over Shanece, she frowned as she scrolled through the diary trying to see if she could rectify things.
‘Well, I don’t mind having a bit of double delight myself you know, so if it helps you can always just book them in with me.’ Shanece giggled. ‘I’m sure that once they turn up and we explain what’s happened they’ll be fine about it. You know how kinky some sods can be. Having a twos-up on me will probably be a dream come true for the pair of them.’
Molly stared aghast. Not only was this girl vain, but she was also clearly game for anything, yet another much sought-after quality Raymond would have spotted in an instant when he had taken on the girl, Molly surmised.
‘Share you? No chance, Mr. Dobbs likes the same routine every time, has done for years. Missionary position with his eyes shut. Poor bugger thinks if he doesn’t actually look at the girl while he’s dipping his wick, then technically he hasn’t cheated. It’s bad enough that Heaven has called in sick, because she’s the only girl he likes. I’m going to have my work cut out trying to persuade him to go with you as it is. No offence, Shanece, but even just the sight of you will be a gamble enough for him today.’
The girls couldn’t be any more different if they tried. Heaven was demure, understated. While Shanece, she was about as understated as a poke in the eye with a flashing dildo. Molly had already heard Shanece with a couple of her punters, panting and squealing like a porn star in the making. Poor Mr. Dobbs was going to have to muster up every bit of self-denial he had today, if he wanted any chance of keeping his mind on his wife while grinding away on top of Shanece. There was no way that she could suggest a threesome with another man; Mr. Dobbs would run out of here faster than Shanece could whip her drawers off.
‘Well, how about you take one of them then?’
Molly gritted her teeth as she fought to keep her temper down. She was really trying hard to be patient, really she was. But the girl was pushing her to the limit.
‘I run the place, Shanece. I don’t lay down with the clients. That’s your job.’ Molly didn’t need to justify her role, but clearly Shanece needed a reminder about who was the boss here. Molly had never bedded a man for money in all the years that she’d worked for Raymond and she didn’t intend to start now.
Not that she hadn’t had offers. Considering that she was the wrong side of forty, and she was the first to admit that she was no oil painting, Molly was popular with the men. Especially the older ones. They appreciated her gracious curves and her au naturel image. Molly had never even entertained the idea. Raymond employed her for her brains and her loyalty, and unlike the other women here, he treated Molly with a high regard because of that. He respected her, and rightly so. Without her, Raymond wouldn’t be able to manage the place, not with the brothel that he had down Wardour Street, opposite the casino.
‘Tell you what, why don’t you do the missionary guy, what’s his name, Dobbs? All you’ll have to do is lie back and think of England.’ Shanece shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. ‘You can borrow a bit of my slap if you like, got my make-up bag up in the bathroom. Or you could just stay as you are. Don’t suppose it really matters what you look like seeing as he’ll have his eyes shut the whole time anyway.’
‘I tell you what, Shanece,’ Molly said grabbing the girl roughly by her arm as she yanked her out of the chair. ‘You stick to what you do and let me stick to what I do, yeah? Now get your arse up out of my chair and go and get your room ready. Let me get on with sorting this lot out.’ Shanece might have thought she was helping with her useless suggestions but the way the girl was being so blasé about her fuck-up was really starting to grate now.
‘Oh and Shanece,’ Molly called as she watched the girl totter up the stairs in her six inch heels, just as the main-door buzzer went. ‘In future, leave the fucking bookings to me please!’
Checking the security monitor, Molly spotted Mr. Curtis staring hard into the screen. He looked shifty, like he was willing the buzzer to be pressed and the doors to open in case someone spotted him coming in here. Buzzing him straight in, Molly didn’t want to give him any reason to complain. He certainly wasn’t the usual type of bloke that Raymond associated with, but whatever it was that Raymond was up to, Molly knew that she had to make sure that her end of the plan ran smoother than Shanece’s over-preened fanny.
Mr. Curtis was to be given the full works and Raymond insisted that Molly gave the man a fifty percent discount for the privilege.
That alone sent alarm bells ringing as far as Molly was concerned. Raymond was normally so bloody tight, you’d have more luck getting shit from a rocking horse than you would at winging anything free from him. No doubt about it, there was definitely something suspicious going on alright. Raymond Marks never did anything unless there was something in it for him.
Seeing the internal door open, Molly plastered a great big smile on her face, beaming as the man walked up to the desk. He looked nervous.
‘Hi, I’m Mr. Curtis. I have an appointment for two-thirty for . . .’
‘Your massage,’ Molly offered. Though they both knew Mr. Curtis was here for more than just a back rub. With straggly grey, receding hair and a face lined with deep, heavy-set wrinkles, Mr. Curtis looked older in this light, and she could tell by his tone that he was every bit as pompous as he looked. Still, who was she to judge?
‘Yes that’s right. My massage.’ Mr. Curtis nodded, and Molly could see he was on edge about being here. Most blokes were like that the first time they came to a place like this. Reassuring him, she smiled.
‘You’re in safe hands here, Mr. Curtis. I’ve organised a real treat for you this afternoon. So if you’d like to follow me, we’ll have you all nice and relaxed in no time.’
Molly’s voice was professional; she reserved it especially for punters. Guiding the man down the hallway, she pushed open one of the bedroom doors. Then stepping aside, she invited Mr. Curtis in to where the two young oriental girls were stood waiting.
‘Mr. Curtis, this is Jasmine, and this is Dahlia.’ Molly introduced the girls like they were showpieces, exquisite pieces of art on display purely for him.
They could certainly pull that look off.
Stood side by side next to the massage couch, the girls looked like twins. Wearing only bikini bottoms, they were breathtakingly beautiful. With their long dark hair skimming down over their small naked breasts ending just below their tiny waists, they looked like a mirage.
‘Girls, this is Mr. Curtis, and you are both to see that he is made to feel very comfortable.’ The speech was purely for Mr. Curtis’s benefit; Molly had already told the girls that they were to give this customer an extra special service.
Raymond had been adamant that he wanted the girls to give the man the works. He wanted today to be the best fuck of this man’s life, and Molly was in no doubt that Jasmine and Dahlia would fulfil the client’s every need. The girls were good at their job. Working as a pair had proved to be a very popular request. Double delight – more like double trouble, Molly thought. If you asked her, sixteen was far too young to be in this game, if they were even that. They may have the bodies of women but these girls were still babies. It made Molly feel sad that they were both already on their way down this very dark path.
What could she do about it? The girls seemed happy enough doing their job, and not only were they coining it in for Raymond, they were making a good earn for themselves too.
All she could do was look out for them, and see that they were treated fairly.
Smiling to Mr. Curtis as she closed the bedroom door and left the three of them to it, Molly walked back t
o the desk, and picked up the phone. ‘He’s in with the girls now,’ she said quietly into the mouthpiece, keeping her boss up to date, just as he had requested.
Placing his mobile down on the table, Raymond Marks smiled as he picked up his whiskey and took a large gulp. Switching on the screen, he sat back down at his desk in his office and watched the kinky sex scene unfold in front of his eyes.
Jasmine and Dahlia were his best little earners, and watching them as they both worked their magic on the guy, Raymond could see why. Smiling, Raymond was enjoying every second of the live show.
This bloke had been getting cocky.
Snooping around trying to dig up shit on him and his business partner. Raymond had taken to trying to pay the guy off. He was greedy, though. The more Raymond gave him, the more he wanted. Just because he’d been given a few backhanders here and there for turning a blind eye, he suddenly thought he was untouchable, lording it up like Raymond was indebted to him.
As if.
Raymond had seen corkscrews that were less bent than this bloke, and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t paid him generously for the favours that he’d done.
This bloke was cunting him to anyone who would listen, making out that Raymond was in his pocket, when it should be very much the other way around. He was giving him the major hump.
Raymond was smart.
He’d played the long game.
For weeks he’d done nothing but lull the guy into a false sense of security. Raymond let the guy believe that he held all the cards, that he was in control. He let him keep digging his hole, deeper and deeper.
Three weeks he’d spent buttering up this cunt to make him believe that they were new best buddies, and now Raymond couldn’t wait to teach the man a lesson.
Right now that ponce was getting his nuts in with two underage, illegal immigrants and Raymond, having rigged up the room with cameras, now couldn’t help but be impressed with his own blinding acting skills.
Under the protection of a false name, Mr. Curtis, or Detective Chief Superintendent Porter as he was really called, had just played right into Raymond’s hands.
Having a pig in his pocket would be the best insurance policy that Raymond had ever taken out, he was sure. He had evidence now, evidence that could destroy Porter’s reputation at the force. That could lose the man his marriage, his reputation, his job even.
Porter could dig all the way to China for shit on them now, it really didn’t matter anymore. Because armed with their very own ‘get out of jail free card’, Raymond and his business partner would be laughing.
Chapter Four
Terry Stranks was on fire. He’d won almost every bet so far and he was up by well over a grand. He had heard the expression ‘on a winning streak’, but until now he had never had the good fortune to experience it.
As it turned out, though, roulette was his game. Probably because it was a game where no brains were required. Terry didn’t know, nor did he care. All that mattered right now was the euphoric rush of cocaine and tequila that surged through his veins while the pound signs flashed before his eyes. He was on a roll and was pleased to see that it hadn’t gone unnoticed by his now growing crowd of onlookers around the table.
Placing yet another pile of chips down Terry felt the hot blonde step in closer, provocatively pressing her ample cleavage firmly against him like she was Lady Luck herself. The pretty girl squealed once more with delight as Terry won the game. He was on to a winner tonight in more ways than one. Grinning, he felt like he was king of the fucking world.
‘I do love a man who knows how to play,’ the girl purred, her strong Romanian accent making her words sound more like a promise than a statement. She playfully caressed Terry’s thigh through his trousers, her hand skimming over his crotch as she eyed up the chips that were piled high on the table in front of them. ‘I’m Serena, by the way.’
Terry tried to control the stir in his pants at her obvious touch. She was hot. Wearing a tight black minidress that left little to the imagination, he couldn’t help but compare her to the usual desperate dregs he normally ended up getting his leg over down at his local. This bird was in a different league altogether. A league completely of her own. Then, he figured the casino attracted a different class of clientele from the places he usually drank in. Tonight, for once finally up on his luck, Terry felt like this was exactly where he belonged.
‘I’m Terry.’ Taking the girl’s hand, he kissed it noticing how tiny her fingers were in his. ‘What’s your lucky number, darling?’ His words were cheesy, like he was repeating a line he had heard in a film. The girl didn’t seem to think so, though; instead, she smiled.
‘Nineteen.’
‘Nineteen? Okay . . .’
‘It’s how old I am, so got to be worth a try. Don’t you think?’
‘Well, that definitely works for me.’ Terry beamed. Nineteen. Fucking hell, the girl looked young, but he would never have guessed that she was less than half his age, and clearly by the way she draped herself flirtatiously over him, she was up for a bit of fun tonight. As far as Terry was concerned, he’d just hit the bloody jackpot.
Pulling a bird like this one proved that he still had it.
Winking, he placed a hundred pounds’ worth of chips on red, number nineteen.
A straight bet – just like the girl.
Clenching his fists tightly in anticipation, he watched as the ball left the dealer’s hand, hitting the wheel and bouncing a few times before rapidly spinning.
It was a thirty-five to one, and if this came in he’d be laughing.
As his gaze chased the ball, he watched as it whirled around the wheel. His stomach was in knots; the adrenaline mixed with the cocktail of alcohol and drugs he had taken was starting to really take effect.
The tension in the air was electric. He could feel everyone’s eyes around the table burning into him.
The ball slowed.
Thirty-two, fifteen, then a slight wobble and Terry couldn’t believe his eyes.
Red, lucky number nineteen.
Hearing Serena’s loud screech of pleasure as the ball came to a halt, Terry stood dazed. He’d just pocketed three and a half grand. Combined with his early winnings he was looking at almost four and a half K in total. What a touch. No matter how pissed off Kelly would be that he had gone off on another bender tonight, the money he’d bring home would soften the blow, he was sure. Especially if it meant that they could keep the O’Sheas from their door for a while.
All women were the same. Whoever said money didn’t make the world go round was a mug. Money always talked and it was the only language that most of the women Terry knew were fluent in, especially his Kelly.
‘Very impressive, Terry,’ Serena said, as Terry gathered up the pile of chips he’d won. ‘How about we get ourselves a bottle of something from the bar and go back to mine? Celebrate in style. Unless you have to be somewhere else?’
‘That sounds good, hang on.’ Terry checked his phone briefly – it was 3 a.m. and not only did he have fifteen missed calls but his voicemail was flashing too.
No prizes for guessing who that was.
The way that Kelly harped on at him, you’d think she was his personally assigned parole officer, not his wife. It hadn’t been long into their seven-year ‘life sentence’ that Terry had worked out the reason some men referred to their other halves as ‘the ball and chain’. He was firmly weighed down now himself, only there was no chance of getting out early on good behaviour. Together forever, until death do us part, that alone was a grim enough thought.
When he’d met Kelly she’d been just seventeen years old, almost thirty years his junior. That had been her main appeal if he was honest; young girls generally just did what they were told, and were grateful for what they got, unlike the women his own age who were so bitter and saddled down with enough baggage they could fill a luggage bel
t at an airport. The last thing Terry wanted was to end up stuck with some old nag.
Kelly had been a safe bet, or so he had thought. But as it turned out the girl could moan for England. Talk about hard work.
Despite all that, he did love her, in his own way. Sometimes, though, he just wanted to go out by himself. Be his own man. Not a husband, or a dad, or a bloody dogsbody at work. Just him. Terry Stranks.
Hovering his fingers over the mobile phone’s keypad, he thought about sending Kelly a text. Then he quickly thought better of it.
She would have spent the night pacing the house like the bleeding antichrist with a bad dose of PMT as it was, and she’d see right through his text messages. Kelly could spot one of his lies from a mile off. Fuck it! Switching the phone onto silent, Terry shoved it deep inside his pocket. He was entitled to go out and have a bit of fun if he wanted to and seeing as the nagging cow was going to go mental at him no matter what he did, he figured that he may as well make tonight’s bid for freedom worth his while. Besides, he justified, girls like Serena didn’t come along that often – actually, in his world they didn’t come along at all. He had a pocket full of cash and a stonking hard-on to contend with, so it really was a no-brainer.
‘You know what, babe, that sounds like a fucking blinding idea. I tell you what. I’ll go and sort the readies out, and pick us up a bottle of bubbly, and I’ll meet you outside, yeah?’ Terry watched Serena as she left, wiggling her pert little arse as she walked; she was a stunner alright.
The night may no longer be young but the girl he was about to fuck was, and Terry – never normally this fortunate – intended on enjoying every minute of it.
Bad Blood Page 3