Out Of The Red

by David Bradwell

  “Can I just have a quick word?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  I took her back through to the kitchen, where Danny was sitting at the table, looking guilty. Or just glum, perhaps. Not his usual chirpy self, anyway. DC Jachuck followed closely behind.

  “She’s very fragile,” she said in a low voice. “She’s been through a lot. She doesn’t seem to know much, but she’s very scared. Are you okay to keep her here for a bit?”

  I explained our plans. Amy seemed pleased.

  “If she says anything, or anything changes, I’ll give you a shout,” I said. “Let me know if you track down Colette though. I’d love to speak to her. And obviously if Leah comes round.”

  “I will.”

  They made their way to the door, but just as she was leaving, Amy came back and said something to Danny. I don’t know what it was. At this juncture, I’d just like to point out that I’m not the jealous type. Like to, but it would be a fib. There were a lot of things I didn’t understand. I had a strong sense of the world being off-balance. I yearned for the quiet life, but had a feeling things were going to get a lot worse before they’d achieve any semblance of better.

  21

  DANNY wasn’t sure what constituted “rush hour” in the massage parlour trade, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t 4pm. That was good. He wanted it to be as quiet as possible to give himself the best possible chance of discovering something of value.

  He took the tube to Euston and then walked back up Eversholt Street to the Central Sauna parlour. But as he got closer, so the nerves grew. What exactly was he going to do, and what was he trying to achieve? There wasn’t a clear plan. Play-it-by-ear was all well and good but there was plenty of scope for embarrassment, at best, and abject disaster at worst.

  Still, he was a seasoned journalist now, fearless in pursuit of a story, trained by the very best. Or at least that’s what he told himself. But it didn’t explain why he walked straight past at the first time of asking, rather than dare to darken the doors.

  He turned and tried again. This time he got as far as the door, took a deep breath, and pressed the buzzer. There was no going back now. The door opened and he was inside. Immediately, and surprisingly, the nerves dissipated. He was struck by a chemical aroma: air freshener perhaps, or maybe just bleach? He imagined there was a lot to keep clean. There was a middle-aged woman behind a reception desk, asking him if he’d been before, smiling at him.

  “Don’t be nervous,” she said. “We’re here to make sure you leave completely relaxed.”

  He was shown downstairs to the basement where two masseuses were sitting on a sofa, listening to a radio, reading magazines and smoking. They were both dressed in perilously short white tunics that revealed expanses of nylon-covered thighs.

  “This is Dominika,” said the receptionist, indicating the tall redhead on the left, “or there’s Aurelia. Take your pick.”

  Aurelia smiled and winked at him. The decision was made.

  He introduced himself and was then shown to a treatment room and told to undress. He was given a towel and a small bag for any valuables, and was offered the use of a shower.

  “Would you like a glass of water, Danny?” Aurelia asked. She seemed to have an accent. Possibly Polish?

  He said he would. The situation was already rapidly heading out of control.

  Aurelia left, saying she would be back when he was ready.

  Now here was a conundrum. To undress and potentially make yourself vulnerable? Or stay fully clothed and arouse suspicion. Anna maybe had a point. Danny took off his clothes, wrapped himself in the towel and quickly headed to the nearby shower cubicle, taking his watch, keys and wallet with him in the valuables bag, just to be on the safe side. He took a very brief shower and returned to the massage room. He was nearly finished drying himself as Aurelia came back, carrying a glass of water that she put on the table beside him.

  “Have you been here before?” she asked.

  “It’s my, ah, first time,” said Danny.

  “Don’t be shy. Everyone starts somewhere. I will make sure you enjoy it. Would you like oil?’

  “Oil?”

  “For the massage.”

  “Ah, yes. Yes please. Oil is good.”

  “Okay. Lie down for me please, face down. We won’t be needing this.”

  She indicated the towel. Danny passed it to her, and then, acutely aware of his nakedness, quickly lay down, wondering what exactly he was going to do now. An attractive young woman was about to start work on his naked torso. In another time and place he wouldn’t be objecting, but fundamentally this was wrong. It was all happening so fast.

  Aurelia poured a small amount of oil between his shoulder-blades and started work.

  “Have you been working today?” she asked. Her hands were soft. Experienced.

  “Kind of,” said Danny.

  “What do you do? You seem very tense. Your shoulders are knotted.”

  “I’m a... er, work in a record shop.” Record shop? It was first thing that occurred to him.

  “Really? That’s interesting.” Her voice was soft and soothing. The low light was relaxing. New age music played softly in the background. In his peripheral vision, he could see his own reflection in a full-length mirror that ran alongside the massage table. Aurelia had undone her tunic, revealing matching underwear and black lace-top hold-ups. She poured more oil into the palms of her hands and started working on his arms, working the muscles in his biceps. She was good, no question about that.

  “Is that okay or would you like it firmer?” she asked.

  “No, that’s good.”

  She moved to the end of the bed and trickled cold oil over his legs, and started to knead the muscles in his calves, occasionally letting her fingertips brush lightly against his thighs. The small talk continued. The clock kept turning. As she worked her way up she leaned close to his ear and started to whisper, revealing a menu of added extras and the associated charges. It was now or never.

  “My friend recommended this to me. He said you were good,” he said.

  “Satisfaction is guaranteed,” she said, with a smile.

  “I think, maybe just stick with the massage for now, though.”

  Aurelia was used to this with the nervous ones.

  “Do you not like me? Have I not done a good job?”

  “No, you’ve done a great job. I’m just...”

  “A bit shy.” She finished the sentence for him. “Turn over and let me tell you more about some of the things I can do for you. Maybe that will make you less shy.” She ran her fingertips down his spine, as soft as raindrops.

  “No, really, just the massage for now,” Danny insisted. “Maybe I’ll be braver next time. My friend said how good you were.”

  “And did your friend explain about the happy ending?”

  “Not exactly. But he spoke very highly of you, er, Aurelia. How do you spell that, by the way?”

  She spelt it out for him.

  “Ah, that’s right,” he said. “You especially.”

  Danny could see she doubted that. Something in her expression had changed. And then it occurred to him. Maybe she made her living from the added extras. If the house took the basic massage fee, then she was working for nothing unless she could tempt him with more. To her he’d just be a time-waster. And yet she seemed like a nice person. Intelligent. Attractive. What was she doing in a place like this? What damage was it doing?

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “Maybe I pay you for the extras but we can just talk, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said. She was used to the talkers, too. Sometimes they just wanted someone to listen to them.

  “Where are you from?” he asked.

  “Poland.”

  “Wow. That’s a long way. Whereabouts in Poland?”

  “Łódź. Do you know it?”

  “Woodge?” he said, repeating her words without any awareness of the Polish characters. “No, sorry.”

  �
��It’s an industrial city. In the middle.”

  “What brought you to London? Have you been here long?”

  Was that sadness in her eyes? She ignored the first part of his question.

  “Nearly two years,” she said.

  “And how did you end up working here?”

  “You have a lot of questions, Danny.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m just curious.”

  “Let’s talk about you. How long have you worked in the shop?”

  “The shop?”

  “The record shop.”

  “Ah yes. About two years too.”

  “And what is your favourite music?”

  Danny reeled off the names of a few bands. He mentioned Lumière Rouge to see if there was any reaction, but there wasn’t. He was desperate to return the conversation to Aurelia and the parlour, aware that time was ticking. He sat up and started to get dressed.

  “What are your ambitions? What would you like to do?” he asked.

  “I’d like to be an artist. I like to draw, and paint. But there’s no money in Poland. It’s very hard.”

  “Is that why you came here?”

  She looked at him.

  “Maybe.”

  Danny started to do up his shoelaces.

  “Maybe you know my friend?” he said. “I think he comes here often.”

  “It’s possible. What’s his name?”

  “Graham. Graham March.”

  Suddenly the atmosphere changed. She stood up, her expression hardening.

  “Wait here,” she said, and left the room.

  Danny finished getting dressed. He took some money from his wallet to cover the fee, then sat on the edge of the table, thinking. Was she here against her will? Was she also a victim of trafficking? He had so many more questions, but she seemed reluctant to talk. He needed to earn her trust but it wasn’t going to be easy. Maybe he would come again. It hadn’t been so bad. His honour was still, vaguely, intact. Like many he’d had preconceptions about prostitutes, but ultimately they were still people. People with thoughts and passions and problems and dreams. He decided to ask her which days she worked, to make sure he could see her again.

  The door opened. But it wasn’t Aurelia. It was a man. A giant of a man, and he didn’t look happy. He grabbed Danny by the collar, twisting the fabric in his fist.

  “What the fuck is your problem?” he asked in broken English.

  “Sorry?” Danny was shocked and scared in equal measure. He hadn’t been expecting this.

  The man pushed him to the door, then shoved him in the direction of the stairs. He could see Aurelia, back on the sofa. She looked terrified too. Danny tried to protest his innocence, but just received another shove for his troubles. He climbed the stairs, the man behind him. He was pushed towards the door.

  “Fuck off and don’t come back. If I see you again, you’re a dead man.”

  The door was opened, and Danny was forcibly ejected. It slammed shut behind him. He stood in the street, momentarily dumbstruck. He looked back at the door. At the parlour. What had just happened? And why did the mention of March have such a dramatic effect?

  * * *

  Danny ordered a cappuccino and tried to collect his thoughts. There was a lot to take in. So, March was certainly well-known, but had he been ejected because they thought he was a friend? Or because he was asking questions? Either way they had something to hide, and March seemed to be at the centre of it.

  His mobile phone rang. He connected the call.

  “Hi, it’s Amy,” said the voice.

  “Amy, hi. Any news on Leah?”

  “No, not yet. She’s still in a bad way. It’s just a quick call.”

  “Okay, what can I help with?”

  “It’s more how I can help you.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. I’ve made a few enquiries. About March.”

  “Okay. And?”

  “It seems you’re not too far wide of the mark. He’s definitely involved in something, and I’ve heard the word trafficking mentioned.”

  “That’s good. Well, not good exactly, but you know what I mean. Are they close to nailing him?”

  “I can’t tell you that. Listen Danny, keep digging, okay? I’m extremely light on resources here. It’s good to have you working on this. Just keep me informed. Deal?”

  “It’s a deal. Any more word from your politician friend?”

  “Oh God. He called me again. I didn’t answer it.”

  “Pressure’s still on, then?”

  “Looks like it. But I don’t care about preserving reputations. The bad guys are the bad guys.”

  “Agreed.”

  Danny thought about mentioning his trip to the massage parlour, but before he’d had a chance to assess the possible implications, Amy drew the call to a close.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said. “Phone me. Any time.”

  “I will.”

  He ended the call. A minute later the phone started ringing again. The number was withheld.

  “Danny Churchill,” he said after pressing the green button.

  “Danny,” said Clare. “We need to talk.”

  22

  I’D gone through as many changes of opinion about the wisdom of keeping the dinner date as I had changes of outfit. Clearly it was madness, and I was needed at home, and my prime responsibility was to look after Holly. But at the same time, I needed something to take my mind off things, and it could be fun. And while I was having all of these thoughts, I was aware that Danny was getting up to all sorts of unimaginable delights in a massage parlour, and I have to admit that clouded my judgement considerably. I opted for a short dress with the significantly uncomfortable shoes again, abandoned it for jeans and DMs (can’t go wrong) and then compromised with a different, slightly longer, yet still stylish dress and different shoes that were still not hugely comfortable, but slightly easier to walk in.

  Holly seemed much calmer. I’d plied her with tea and biscuits and raided the fridge to make her an afternoon snack. I promised Danny would organise a takeaway when he returned. She seemed curious about my date, and my relationship with Danny, and just things in general. I was happy to talk, to take her mind off things too, although in truth I expect she found it all rather dull. In return, I asked her about her background. She’d grown up near Winchester in the south of England, but moved to London as a student (didn’t we all) and now combined the band with a bit of temping to help pay the bills. She was a bit reserved on the family side of things, but I didn’t pry.

  I’m not sure we’d ever have been friends if circumstances hadn’t thrown us together. She was, as Colette had said, a little bit posh, although I hate to generalise. I’m not one to judge. I’ve found my first impressions aren’t entirely reliable. I used to almost have a fondness for Clare, until she did her disappearing act and went rogue on us. And I used to think Danny was near perfect until he started spending his spare time fraternising with murderers and prostitutes.

  By 6.30pm I was ready to go out, but there was still no sign of Danny. Presumably he was having a whale of a time, although I tried not to contemplate the details. It was a bit annoying, though, because on top of everything he was now going to make me late.

  “Don’t worry, you can go. I’ll be fine here,” said Holly when she’d got bored with me pacing up and down. I’d tried to phone him without success.

  “I can’t just leave you,” I said. “I’m supposed to be looking after you.”

  “Of course you can,” she insisted. “I’m not a child. In any case I’m sure he’ll be home soon.”

  I decided to let fate make the decision for me. I phoned for a minicab. If it came before Danny got home, then so be it. I’d leave Holly to fend for herself. I was sure she’d be safe. Ten minutes later I heard a car horn, looked out the window and saw the car waiting on the street outside.

  “Are you’re completely sure you’ll be okay?” I asked.

  “Of course. Now
go.”

  I grabbed my jacket and keys and headed out into the evening.

  * * *

  “It sounds like you’ve had an interesting time,” said Mitch as we started to look at the menu, awaiting our drinks order. He’d made an effort with his appearance; the crisp white shirt seemed to emphasise his glowing skin tone and he looked every bit the possible film star. “Is everything okay now?”

  “Interesting’s one way of putting it,” I said. I gave him the summary as the drinks arrived, without hopefully betraying any confidences. And leaving out Danny’s more sordid exploits.

  “Wow. I’m so sorry to hear all of that,” he said. “I’m honoured that you still agreed to come out with me.”

  “Believe me, I’ve been looking forward to it. Although excuse me if I attempt to get hammered.”

  We did the cheers thing with the glasses.

  “How’s the world of petrochemicals?” I asked. “Have you managed to find any oil in Camden?”

  “Haha. No, but it’s okay, you know? Busy.”

  “I’ve been thinking about this.”

  “Oh God. Go on.”

  “Well, it’s just it covers a lot of things, doesn’t it? I mean, you dress it up as marketing within a petrochemical company but for all I know that could mean you work behind the till at a garage, on the night shift. I’ll be popping in for a tank of unleaded and there you’ll be, in front of a wall of fags, trying to hide the magazine you’ve pinched from the top shelf, and asking me for my Switch card.”

  He laughed, which was nice.

  “Are you always like this?”

  “Like what?” I adopted my innocent look, which, it’s fair to say, is not one of my naturally most convincing.

  “You know exactly what I mean. And no, I don’t work in a garage, but work’s just work anyway. It pays the bills. The screen acting’s the passion.”

  I wasn’t finished.

  “Okay though, but tell me. Super unleaded. Advertising con, or do I need it?”

  He laughed again.

  “Do you want the technical explanation or the marketing one?”

  I realised I was possibly being annoying. Luckily, a waiter came to take our food order. I hadn’t really consulted the menu, but made a quick decision to go with tagliatelle and then almost immediately regretted it, as it was almost impossible to eat with any degree of elegance. Too late.