by Tony Lavely
“You ‘ave nothing to apologize for. At the risk of being… vulgar, and you underage and all…” He paused as she backed away.
“Sir.” She smiled. “Please feel free to take advantage of me; I am yours to command.” She kissed a fingertip sensually, then blushed at the sensation. She ducked her head. “Or, to talk to anyway.”
She joined his laugh once she saw it was honest.
“Okay,” chuckling, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you. A friend of mine—”
“The infamous friend? You know, at the doctor: ‘a friend of mine, she’s missed her period, is that serious?’” She snuggled under his chin, listening.
“Yeah, that’d be the one,” he agreed. “Now, shall I tell the story? Anyway, ‘e told me never to judge a woman by the size of ‘er, well… breasts, though that’s not—”
“Yeah, I can guess,” Beckie said inside his jacket.
“Anyway, ‘e said that was because any of the breast you can’t get in your mouth is wasted…”
“I don’ even know how much that would be,” she commiserated. “But I’m guessing it would be counterproductive to experiment right now.” He nodded, a little sadly, she thought—hoped, maybe. “So, shut up, mister, and dance with me, Okay?”
They danced through the rest of the seven minute waltz, enjoying it. But when it ended, he took Beckie to the table and asked Sue for another dance.
“That looked pretty serious,” Willie said.
“Don’t worry, I won’t do any—”
“Not what I meant. Derek’s here to set the stage for picking Sue up Thursday night at the hotel.”
The light bulb came on in Beckie’s head. “Oh, my God.” she whispered. “I was thinking—”
“Probably not that, I’m guessing. Look, both of you are drop dead gorgeous, and you’ve been showing off all afternoon. Not sure if that’s ‘cause you’re away from home or what. I haven’t worked with you much—”
“Yeah. Sue has and Mr. Jamse and Kevin. I was a stripper for a few days, twice. And then you saw us last week. So it’s not like you all haven’t seen my boobs before.”
“That’s no reason to display them unnecessarily,” he retorted. “Or, maybe that’s the old man in me talking again. The younger man wishes I were younger yet, so I could ask you to dance in a different way, more like you and Derek were dancing… or do more than glance at that lovely body you display so casually.”
“Not casually, Willie. Never casually. Not for good reason, maybe, but always for a reason.” She looked across at him. “As for the dancing, except it wouldn’t do our personas any good, you could certainly do that. All of you, even Mr. Jamse—though he’s terrifying, too—are awesome attractive, believe me. The work is all that keeps me from falling down faint in front of you, for sure.” She slid onto the chair next to him, took his hand and kissed it as she had Derek’s. She wasn’t surprised to have the same reaction; Willie was attractive, too.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do that again,” he ventured.
“Yes.” You know, Beck, you’re seriously vamping these great guys… and they’re prob’ly married. Remember? Kevin said everyone ‘cept Mr. Jamse was involved already. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Willie. I didn’t mean—”
“You’ve done nothing wrong. And while I might wish…” He reached over and kissed her cheek. “I treasure you, you know. I’ll keep you safe.”
“Even from myself, Willie?”
“Maybe not that, though I’ll try if you want.”
When Derek brought Sue back to the table, Beckie stood and kissed Willie on the cheek, then took her original seat. The women shared a few non-committal words of good-bye with Derek while Willie settled the check, then left for the hotel.
The next day was wonderful. The weather was hot; as if planned, the rain fell while they motored about instead of dampening their foot tours. After mid-afternoon, the skies had cleared; the sun felt like it would fry everything in its glare. Beckie wore the bikini from the news broadcast at the beach, leaving considerable of her Minnesota-readied skin bare. Prudence came to her; she was covered entirely in SPF50 lotion and beneath an umbrella as well when she wasn’t gamboling about in the water. Both Sue and Willie did the same; a painful sunburn would not advance the mission. About half past seven, they returned to the hotel, finding a note from Jamse asking Sue and Willie to check the rooms.
The check didn’t take long; all the little markers Sue and Beckie had placed to indicate that things had been moved showed that things had been moved. This was especially true in Beckie’s room, where not everything had even been replaced. Willie said his room had had much more superficial treatment.
They restored the indicators; then made preparations for the evening. Ready to dress, Beckie looked at her shoulder and selected a dress that covered her back and shoulders while leaving her arms bare. Sue opted for a different style; Willie wore his dinner jacket.
The White Egret was again wonderful. Beckie pulled Willie closer while they danced but nothing more.
The third day repeated the second, until they returned to the hotel for the evening. A quick check revealed that no new search had been made. Beckie stripped off the swimsuit and showered the sand, salt and lotion away, choosing a green silk sleep outfit. She loved the feel of the pull-over top and shorts against her skin.
When Sue appeared for her final check, Beckie admired her outfit as well, even though she knew the woman would be exchanging the purple and white pants suit for her much plainer uniform. With the admiration of her outfit complete, Sue handed her a package wrapped in gaudy kid’s Christmas wrapping paper. “All that I could find,” she apologized when Beckie looked askance at the package.
She hefted it, curious at the weight. “No, jus’ wondering why a present?”
“This is Elena’s ‘going away’ present. Or maybe it’s ‘welcome aboard.’ We talked about it in the plane, remember?”
Beckie gave her a nod as she unwrapped the package, then a little gasp as she saw the contrast between the paper and the contents.
The paper had covered a walnut casket with a silver crest worked into the center of the top. The catch was also silver and inset so the edge of a nail was easiest to slip beneath for opening.
Inside, she found a filling of purple crushed velvet on which lay three instruments of violence. The first was the promised dagger, thirteen inches from butt of handle to tip of blade, a black worked leather grip with more silver inlays in the blade. The blade itself was double edged, less than an inch wide, far less than that thick. Both edges were dead sharp, as Beckie found as she tested the heft. The second was what Sue described as a small throwing knife, flat, seven inches long but only one wide except at the tapered pointy end, which was blunter than Beckie expected. She was surprised to find that it was also double edged, and quite stiff. This one, they fastened to the outside of Beckie’s hip in a tape made sheath, hidden under the shorts. The third implement appeared to be a razor blade.
“We’ll tape this to the bottom of your foot. Then you’ll walk around the room and the garden, make it look like it’s been on a while, like you stepped on something at the beach, maybe. It will be uncomfortable; try and bear it. It’s for getting free of ropes and things. It is awesome sharp, hence the cover. Do not try to use this as a weapon; if you’re in a position where you think it’d help, use your fists, your hands, teeth, head, tears, sex, feet, anything before you try this.” In response to Beckie’s surprise, she said, “It’s too small and too hard to hold for fighting. It will cut, but not deeply enough to disable an attacker.” She stopped and looked into Beckie’s wide eyes. “Anything, anything, will work better, and allow you to keep this hidden.” She finished pressing the tape into the arch of Beckie’s foot.
A couple of minutes after Beckie came back through the French doors from the garden, Willie arrived to give best wishes and a kiss to seal them. The sound of the lock was ostentatious.
Beckie was alone; she lounged on the settee, half watching a
movie on the TV. It was an American one, dubbed into Thai. She didn’t remember seeing it, so realizing it was American wasn’t a lot of help. Thinking of turning in, she was scratching a scab when something fell in the sitting room.
Beckie moved to stand, but the sitting room door burst open and a half dozen men and one woman swarmed in, filling the room.
Before Beckie had the chance to either shrink or turn away, two men seized her arms, picked her up and dropped her on her back on the bed. They sat to either side, holding her shoulders; another two hurried up to hold her feet.
A spate of words, perhaps German—might as well be Martian for all the good it does me—as the woman directed the men. While she didn’t understand the words, Beckie believed she recognized the woman from the plane to Rome. One of the men grabbed her thigh near the hip; his hand landing where Beckie wasn’t much pleased to have it, but that feeling quickly became concern and then fear as she watched Cäcilie remove a syringe from her bag and then inject her.
Beckie dropped into soft, fuzzy darkness.
CHAPTER TWO
Werner Meets Beckie
BECKIE WOKE SLOWLY, WITH A headache the likes of which she’d not had since falling from her horse years ago. The room was large, twenty or more feet square. The floor on which she lay was deep pile carpet; halfway across the room the rug gave way to hardwood. The walls were red and jade wallpaper; she couldn’t focus well enough to see if there was a pattern to the colors. A dark, almost black enameled door across from her was closed. Between her and the door lay a small pile of pillows.
She thought she was okay, except for the headache. However, her ankles were fastened with something, as were her hands. The sleep outfit was in terrible condition: the top cut open to expose her whole torso, and the shorts, while still draped from her hips, had been cut or torn at the side where she’d worn the knife. It was gone, of course. She tucked her feet further under and twisted and writhed until she could see her soles. The bandage with the blade was still there!
Her head continued to clear. In a few minutes, the door opened. Beckie chose to feign unconsciousness; through slitted eyes she watched Cäcilie lead two nude girls to sit at the pile of pillows. Beckie could see that one of the girls was quite young, her breasts nascent at best. The older of the two was taller than Beckie. She was close to the age of the girls in Arizona. While she was developing nicely, she had some way to go. Neither girl’s waist had slimmed much; they had no visible body hair. Beckie wasn’t surprised that they were both oriental, though there was no hint of their national origin. Their skin was not dark, but darker than Beckie’s; a pleasant bronzy olive blending. Both had black, straight hair; shoulder length on the younger girl, tied into a pony tail that reached nearly to her waist for the older one.
Cäcilie returned to the door and took a package from someone there, who closed the door. Beckie saw no handle on the inside.
Back by the girls, Cäcilie opened the box to reveal a kimono of very light, flimsy material. She shook the kimono out, stood the younger girl up and pulled it onto her. She removed a second cloth that Beckie thought would also be a kimono, but this turned out to be nothing but a wrap, cut down. It tied directly below the older girl’s bust, but was bloused and turned back to expose her breasts. As if that wasn’t sufficient, the fabric was too small to meet in front, and it dropped only inches below her waist. The woman belted the wrap and brought the girl to sit where Beckie was lying. Cäcilie used a length of rope from the package to tie the girl’s hands to her feet, limiting her ability to move in any meaningful way. With a glance, she pushed the girl over to lie against Beckie.
Cäcilie turned her attention back to the younger girl, still waiting by the pillows. She fastened the belt on the girl’s garment. The woman scrubbed the pillows about to uncover a ring set in the wood of the floor, to which she tethered the girl’s ankle. She pushed the girl to sit on one of the pillows, then looked about, pausing to stare at Beckie before she slapped the door, calling to leave the room.
The two girls talked to each other in a language Beckie didn’t understand, but she didn’t need that to know they were unhappy and frightened, especially the one draped over Beckie, who was trying to roll herself off. Tied as she was, Beckie wasn’t able to help much, but she was able to roll over onto her side, which put the two of them on the carpet facing each other an arm’s length apart.
When Beckie first moved, the girl’s eyes had gotten immense, as big as Mike’s had become when Spock—Jamse—put them in the box in Maui. A flood of conversation between the two ensued. Beckie gave her name, but received nothing in return except another fearful look.
She twisted herself again to reach the tape on her foot, but while she could get the corner started, the ties at her ankles didn’t allow movement sufficient to pull the tape free. The girl next to her noticed her activity, but waited until Beckie was nearly ready to cry with frustration before making a quizzical look—or that’s when Beckie noticed it, perhaps.
Beckie returned the look with one of her own, and, indicating her foot, gestured with her hands. The girl was tentative, but nodded with a small motion. Beckie swung around so her feet were near the girl’s hands. Now, now! She was ticklish as the girl tried to pull the tape away. In spite of several involuntary spasms and twitches, the girl was able to free the tape; she handed it to Beckie, still curious.
Freeing the blade had taken several minutes, during which Beckie fully expected the door to open, foiling any plan she might yet think up. However, nothing had happened so far. She attempted to extricate the case from the tape so she could slip the blade out. She almost had it when the door opened.
Beckie froze, holding her hands where the ruined top might hide them from casual notice. Aware that she’d missed the chance to play dead once more, she lay quietly, watching.
Werner—Beckie recognized him—scanned them all quickly, then walked to Beckie. He was tall, she guessed almost seven feet, and more than 220 pounds. Well proportioned, he looked to be about forty, short, blond hair turning stark white. Or perhaps it was bleached. His skin was darkly tan.
Standing next to her, he was barefoot, his feet as well cared for as the rest of him, neatly pedicured and tanned. He was wearing what she thought of as a robe, though he might have characterized it as a kimono, loosely belted. His purpose in the room was obvious, looking up from her vantage point at his feet.
He reached down. Beckie had just enough time to drop the blade before he dragged her to her feet. He took her throwing knife from his pocket and cut the ties at Beckie’s wrists, then examined her, pulling her shorts down in the process. Beckie began to wonder where Jamse and the others were.
“Ja,” he said. “Sprechen sie Deutsch?” She’d heard enough German back home to shake her head. “No? English perhaps?” with a light, easily understood accent. He needed no answer to see that she understood. A burst of another language as the girl next to Beckie made to roll away, then, “Apologies. You have no Chinese, I assume.” Without waiting, “I purchased these two from families in the rice paddies north of the border.” He twisted the girl’s foot to show Beckie something he thought made it all clear. To Beckie, it looked like a normal foot, well suited to the rest of the girl. “They are for pleasure. I expected that you are too old to be of much interest to me.” Cupping her breast and hefting it, “I could have placed you quite well, perhaps in Saudi Arabia or… But that was then. You had not cost me money and reputation as you did in Rome.”
Beckie was beginning to be seriously worried that Jamse was not at the door.
Werner shoved her back; she fell, narrowly missing the girl lying still. Werner laughed and turned to the other girl, staked out at the pillows like a lamb.
He snatched the young girl to her feet. He used the knife to cut her tie to the ring, then slid his hand under her kimono. Beckie perceived that his style of foreplay was not gentle—no need to have her enjoy the goings on, she brooded bitterly. Recalling the video Jamse had shown her, she
worried how this would end.
He forced fellatio on the girl, then spun her around and out of the kimono. Her back was to him as he held her, one hand at her nascent breast tweaking the nipple, his sex pushing between her legs, against hers, poking its head out in front of her. She was making little coughing sounds from the oral sex, along with nearly stifled sobs.
Apparently displeased, he said something in Chinese and grabbed a handful of her hair to pull her head back. He used Beckie’s knife to slash the girl’s throat, one slash deep enough that she suffered no more; her blood sprayed out over the room, flooded her body.
Beckie, lying on the rug, paralyzed by the atrocity, was instantly aggressively sick, so quickly and violently that she was unable to keep the vomit from running over her front as the blood was doing on the little dead girl. The other girl screamed, then hid her face as best she could, crying, continually crying.
Werner laughed; still rampant, he dropped the body and walked to pull the second girl over to the pillows. He seized the cord between her hands and feet, picked her up and dropped her over a pillow beside the body. The girl was screaming so hard she was beginning to hyperventilate, and her voice sounded more and more raw. Werner slapped her twice, hard, quickly, but given what she’d seen and surely suspected as he again fondled the knife, he had to slap her once more before she slowed, choking back the sobs in fear. He knelt by her, wiped the blood from the knife—Beckie’s knife, she thought in horror—wiped it on the inside of the girl’s thigh and then her cheek. He used it to caress her, then a quick motion cut the tie on her wrap. He freed her hands to enable him to divest her of the pseudo-garment. He paid no attention to the blood that she’d been dragged through, that he knelt in. He pushed her feet up to allow him access to her sex; roughly he fondled her.