Gypsy Trail

by West, Nicole Leigh

  “I know.”

  “I’ve tried to contact her again, but I can’t. She’s not…her mind isn’t open to it in the state she’s in.”

  “I know.”

  “Come inside, have some food. There’s a lot to do — and plan.”

  Brishan stubbed his cigarette out on the step. He stared into Dane’s eyes, for the first time since he’d returned in the early hours of the morning. What he saw, in those dark depths, the knowing soul of his uncle, tugged at the knots in his stomach.

  He swallowed, the movement painful against his dry throat. “I saw an article, in the paper at the airport, about a human trafficking ring in Germany.”

  “Yes, I saw it too, and yes, it’s linked. Next week, we finish this,” Dane said.

  “I thought as much. I’m ready.”

  Dane placed a strong hand on his shoulder. “I feel your pain, but you can’t use this battle to hurt yourself any further. I see it on your face, your need for revenge. It’s a crazy urge, Brishan and it makes us rush into the face of danger.”

  “Isn’t that precisely what we’re doing?”

  “Not in that way, no. You must have full focus and that’s impossible if you’re so affected…if you’re so much under the influence of your emotions.”

  “I know.”

  “Brishan.”

  “Yes.”

  “I will not force you to do this; you know that, don’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Let Cosima help you, please. Oriana’s life depends on all of us…our skill, our minds, we must be focused.”

  “No, I won’t have this taken away from me.”

  “Holding on to your anger won’t bring Claudia closer, but holding on to your love will.”

  A dull roar raged inside his head. Surging, banking, threatening to overflow. The raw, harsh reality of her rejection of him stabbed his heart; thinking of the blond man made him boil. His fear for her well-being consumed him.

  “Her pain…her pain was so intense. But she was so brave, so strong, so much the image of you.”

  Dane’s jaw clenched and he lowered his head, almost bowing to him. “My gratitude for you, for her life, is infinite.”

  “You would have gone, if you’d been able.” Brishan cringed at Dane’s obvious struggle, torn between lover and daughter and the injuries that had stopped him from helping them. “But it would have…she may have…if only you’d been there, instead of me.”

  “Her mind will clear, her soul will fight. And she loves you.”

  Brishan nodded, aching to believe it, even as the memory of her face, fearful and full of distrust at the hospital, scarred his soul. He stared at Dane’s rapidly healing body.

  “You haven’t told me, the rest of the story…how you got hurt?

  “Ah. Such are the tortures of the world you will enter, all too soon.” Dane still stared at the ground, his face a closed, tight-lipped sculpture. “An angry client, who I was ordered to…remove…didn’t like being ordered around. It’s that simple.” He shrugged.

  God, what he must have suffered. “I’ll let Cosima help. Only because I’d die for you, for all of you.”

  Dane nodded, once. “As would I. This time, my boy, it won’t be necessary. But thank you…thank you for the offer.” Half a smile cracked the marble face as he walked back inside.

  Only minutes later, Cosima emerged. She held out a glass filled with murky, green liquid. “Drink.”

  Brishan took it, swirling the gritty, thick relaxant around his tongue before swallowing in one gulp.

  “Now. Relax until the morning. You must drink again when you wake, and twice every day after that. No more, you hear, or the valerian root will make you sleep for days.”

  Almost immediately, Brishan felt the potion warm his stomach, his eyelids becoming heavy with its potency. The danger from Cosima’s potions was not to his health, but to his mind. Too much, and he could become numb and oblivious to all around him. He walked to the back of the caravan, to his single bed, squashed in its own compartment, and lay down. His arms crossed his chest, holding on to his love for Claudia as the anger and pain diminished with sleep.

  Over and over again, Dane’s plan replayed in his mind. Brishan wore a black suit, the most expensive cloth that had ever touched his skin, and his hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail. The red shirt beneath his jacket gleamed in the sun and his shiny shoes rubbed blisters into the back of his feet.

  Although it had only been hired for the day, the outfit cost more money than he’d ever seen. The fake business cards and passport, courtesy of his father’s forgery skills, sat uncomfortably in his left pocket. He rubbed his finger over the new moustache and the hair round his chin, shaved so finely. He scanned the busy traffic as it raced by London’s famous Harrods building — and he waited.

  His heartbeat thudded, slow and steady, numbed by Cosima’s drugs. He felt no panic, only mild discomfort in the heat of the sun in the thick, Armani suit.

  Before it came to a complete stop, Brishan knew the black limousine, with dark tinted windows, would be for him. The back door opened and a pint-sized man, with brown, slanted eyes and a pointed goatee, stared at him from inside.

  “Mr Valentino?” he asked, a smile stretching a pink scar on his left cheek.

  “Yes,” Brishan replied, nodding and forcing himself to grin.

  “I am Mr Sidaki. Please, come.” The man gestured for Brishan to enter the car, sliding over to create room for him on the seat.

  “Before we can further conduct business, I’m sure you understand our need for complete privacy within our operations.”

  “Yes.” Brishan nodded once.

  “Please do not be alarmed, this is merely a precaution on our behalf and will be removed the moment we are on the premises. I assure you, once you arrive at our establishment, you will be amply rewarded.” With that, Mr Sidaki pulled a black hood out from a brief case and placed it over Brishan’s head, patting him down at the same time.

  Brishan was not alarmed by the action, Dane had briefed him on all possibilities, but the black cloth made it hard to breathe and the loss of sight unnerved him, breaking through the numbness from Cosima’s potion.

  “May I check your identification?”

  “Of course.” Brishan tried to make his voice sound confident and calm through the material. He felt Mr Sidaki reach into his jacket pocket and pull out the cards and the passport. The long silence was only punctuated by the soft hum of the car’s powerful engine. His own breath, slow and regular, grew loud in his ears.

  “Very good. This is all in order. Thank you for your cooperation. We will arrive shortly.” The Japanese accent was oddly comforting in its extreme politeness. His documents had passed the test. He felt a slight pressure on his chest as Mr Sidaki pushed them back into his pocket.

  He didn’t bother trying to calculate where they were taking him; he knew they entered the bowels of the city, far below the major tourist attractions and business hubs. An Italian accent, required for the ruse, played over and over in his head, along with visuals of a swaggering, self-absorbed celebrity. Dane had joked that it wasn’t quite enough of a stretch.

  It was now, faced with the reality of their plan.

  The car came to a stop and he was led, by a hand placed coolly on his elbow, down a long straight path, then into an air-conditioned place where his feet landed on a thick, carpeted floor. The hood was removed and he breathed deeply; the air smelled of alcoholic spirits, fresh roses and leather.

  “Welcome, Mr Valentino, to The Lair.” A woman spoke, her white-blonde hair glowing in the light of an elaborate chandelier. A floor to ceiling mirror behind her showcased a slender, naked back in a red dress, hugging her hips and running the length of her long legs to the floor.

  “It is an honour to be here,” Brishan replied, bending to kiss both her cheeks.

  Her soft, pillowy lips stretched in a dazzling smile and she hooked her arm through his, steering him towards another room.<
br />
  “What may I get you to drink?”

  “Cognac, on ice.”

  “Certainly. Please, take a seat.” She gestured towards four black leather chairs, all facing a curtained stage. Soft candlelight illuminated black walls, adorned with statues of entwined, naked bodies and crystal vases brimming with blood red roses. A cigar cabinet overflowed with Cuba’s finest and slow, rhythmical drumbeats filled the silence.

  Brishan pulled an envelope from his pocket. A down payment of ten thousand dollars, cash. The money Dane had earned in this very establishment. Money they could have used to rebuild their life. Money that was about to slide down his throat in the form of expensive alcohol.

  The blonde retrieved the envelope and ice-cubes clinked as she placed the drink in his hand. He turned to the back of the room, conscious of a new, barely noticeable presence. Two figures, blending seamlessly with the black walls, moved towards the shadows in the far corner. They were almost as silent as they were invisible. His breathing steadied with their arrival.

  A soft hand ran the length of his arm. “Please relax, security is a necessity that I’m sure someone with your wealth can appreciate. You will soon forget they are here.” The blonde knelt in front of him, her wide, blue eyes deceivingly innocent.

  “Of course.” Brishan tilted his head and winked.

  “You are an actor, yes?”

  Brishan feigned shock. “Yes, but how do you know that? It is of utmost importance that my visit here is…in secret.”

  She laughed, a low husky sound. “Everyone’s visit here is secret. It is important we know who we are dealing with, though. As the madam, I’m made privy to the information.”

  “I understand.”

  “I saw your photo, recently, in a magazine. You are much better looking in real life.”

  “Grazie — and you, too, are beautiful.”

  “Ah, and the Italian accent, so sexy.” She knelt further between his legs, pushing them apart to stroke his inner thighs. Brishan focused on the long, red fingernails instead of the fire starting in his groin. One finger ran over the zip of his expensive pants, up and down, up and down, until he felt them stretch and pull uncomfortably with his erection. He lay back into the soft leather, closing his eyes in an effort to coax his body back from its betrayal of him. She laughed again, softly.

  “Not yet, gorgeous one, but soon. First, you must make your choice.” She stood, elegant and tall, and swept her hand towards the stage. “There are ten women for you to choose from. The first five, you may have for your own personal use while in London. The last five are our most expensive acquisitions — they are for sale. As you’d appreciate, offers have already been made on them, so your price needs to be, shall we say…generous.”

  Brishan forced himself to smile as he sat straight in the chair. She gazed at him, gently biting her bottom lip. Then, she pointed a remote control towards the stage. A red curtain slid across a glass wall. Inside, gold tassels glimmered from hanging lanterns. They dangled from the roof, from the tops of a gold, ornate chair in the middle of the room, shooting sparks of light over red-velvet walls.

  A girl sauntered in. No more than eighteen, her long, red hair tumbled below her hips in dramatic contrast to the white dress clinging to her slender form. The dress was transparent enough to see the outline of dark, erect nipples and the shadow of pubic hair between her thighs. She was breathtaking — and the defeated look on her face heartbreaking. Brishan breathed deeply, stilling the rage flaring within.

  The blonde goddess looked at him, quirking a finely arched brow.

  “She is lovely. But redheads are not for me.”

  “Certainly.” She flicked another button and the curtain closed on the girl’s silhouette.

  “They can’t see me?”

  “No, they see only their own reflections.”

  “Lucky them,” Brishan joked and felt bile rise in his throat.

  He braced himself against the next, and the next and the next girl in the long line of women, more beautiful, more vulnerable each time the curtain parted. Finally, they came to the last two of the five most expensive women. His palms stuck to the leather armrest as his adrenalin peaked. He gestured to the blonde goddess to reveal the next woman.

  “She is part Japanese, part German and part Hawaiian. A sensual cocktail, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Tall, with a mass of thick, raven hair, ivory skin and a face like a fine china doll. His soul ached for the woman, possibly in her late twenties. Her beauty, like Oriana’s, had obviously only increased with age. She was almost certainly destined for a rich oil sheik or underground mafia boss. Not if I have any breath left in my body.

  “I can see this one creates passion in you.” The blonde goddess bent over his shoulder to whisper in his ear. Her red nail trailed from his cheekbone to his mouth.

  “Yes, she is exquisite. They all are, but I’m a man who likes many choices.” He caught her hand in his own, bringing it towards his mouth and running her fingers over his lips.

  She smiled, tracing her hand down his neck and over his chest. “Of course.”

  When the curtain next opened, Brishan felt a small part of his heart die. Oh God, precious Oriana, what have they done to you? His aunt stood so still, gazing into the glass, her stare blank and listless when it should have been intense with the gypsy fire that coursed through her veins. Her wild beauty was perfectly framed by a scarlet dress, cut low at the front and slashed into strategically placed strips, seductively swirling around her lean legs.

  The olive skin, so like his own, glowed with oil or something they’d rubbed over her bare shoulders and her chocolate brown hair flowed in perfect waves to the swell of her hips.

  A sharp, muffled intake of breath reached his ears from the shadows in the corner, causing a wave of pain to roll over him –pain that was not his own. He tasted anger, regret, guilt, overwhelming love and sadness.

  Dane’s.

  His eyes flicked to the blonde goddess and he noticed a small frown appear on the smooth forehead. She stood as if to walk towards the hidden security guards. Brishan clutched her arm.

  “This is a hard choice. How will I make my mind up?” He ran his finger over the fine veins in her wrist. She was immediately distracted.

  “Perhaps something to take your mind off it for a while? Then you can come back to them with fresh eyes.” She curled her fingers around his cheek.

  He smiled and stood to pull her into him, looking over her head, watching as his aunt swayed, unsteady on her feet. Oriana’s eyes rolled back and the tassels above flickered as her arms reached out to no one.

  She fell, noiselessly, to the ground.

  “My God,” Brishan said, pushing the blonde goddess away and staring, mouth open, at the stage.

  The blonde’s arms flew up in the air. “Men!”

  Two black clad figures raced from their hiding spots, entering the stage from a door behind the curtains. She pointed the remote control at the glass, jabbing it over and over towards the curtains until they closed on Oriana’s motionless form.

  “What is wrong with her, do you think?” Brishan asked, eyes wide with feigned shock.

  “Oh, nothing serious I’m sure, perhaps she just hasn’t eaten today. They like to stay skinny, these beautiful women. Come, we will wait outside until she is…tended to.” Her eyes darted from side to side as she pulled him towards the door.

  Brishan scanned the room and noticed the cameras, small black objects secured into the ornate carvings on the roof, barely noticeable unless under close inspection. A phone rang, somewhere, and before he could speak further, his hostess picked up a small, silver object and murmured, “Yes,” into it, three, four, five times.

  “Mr Valentino,” she said with a teeth-baring smile as she put the phone down. “Unfortunately, we must end today’s viewing, but we will accommodate you for another appointment as soon as you wish.”

  “But, this is unacceptable!” Brishan waved his arms in the air, channelling an I
talian in a fit of passion.

  “I know and I do apologise. But Mr Sidaki is already on his way, to take you out. I’m afraid I cannot offer any further explanation. You will be suitably compensated, however, when you return.” Her pink tongue ran over her teeth as she smiled, reaching her hand towards his crotch and pressing her whole body into his.

  Brishan gripped her shoulders, kissing her, putting on a show for the cameras. She moaned into his mouth, her tongue circling his, her hands almost inside his pants.

  Mr Sidaki cleared his throat as he approached. Brishan pulled back, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at the Japanese man. He held the black hood, a smirk playing on his thin lips as he twisted his goatee into a fine point with his thumb and forefinger.

  “Nice to see you again, Mr Valentino. We will go, and I will bring you back when it is appropriate.”

  Brishan nodded, staring at the blonde goddess until the hood was placed, once again, over his eyes.

  The potion had worn off; his heart raced as he left the limousine, thanked Mr Sidaki in a flourish of hand gestures and superfluous words, and hailed a taxi. Fuck, so much traffic. The Tower of London seemed hours away in the throng. Brishan drummed his fingers on the seat, closing his eyes to view the map in his mind. The map to Seething Lane. The image of skulls on an archway that lead to a church. The need for perfect timing with the corpse collector…

  Don’t think about where this is leading. Stay focused.

  As the taxi slowed, gaping skulls came into view, guarding the entrance to secrets long held. Brishan breathed deep and removed his suit, rolling it up and squashing it under the passenger seat. Some lucky bastard will find it and benefit from our lies. Underneath, he wore a plain black jumper and skintight jeans. He pulled the hood down over his face. Spare notes were scrunched inside the pocket and he pushed a handful at the driver, his eyes already locked across the road on the deserted alleyway.

  Where is my father? As the taxi motored away, leaving him alone in the street, Brishan’s eyes searched the shadows for Eamon, hoping for a glimpse while the road stood empty between them. Rubbish bags lined the ancient walls and he covered his nose. Dad definitely drew the short straw having to hide in that.