Ensnared

by I N Foggarty

  “I must say your timing is impeccable,” he heard a man’s voice say in well-spoken perfect English. “I find that such an endearing, yet strangely uncommon quality amongst people these days.”

  Ramone lowered his hand from in front of his eyes and stared at the newcomer. Dressed in a pristine black suit and wearing a pair of dark shades, the man in front of him must have stood well over six foot. Behind him, the sun’s speckled rays gave him a mild gold sort of glow. One thing was certain, he had never even seen this sort of criminal before let alone conducted business with one.

  “Afternoon,” Ramone grunted back at him, feeling that some show of manners would be required.

  The man’s soft tones were slightly unnerving when he responded to the greeting. “Good afternoon to you both. I am…”

  Ramone raised a hand and stopped the visitor in his tracks. “Do you mind if we skip the pleasantries? I’d appreciate it if we could get this over with as soon as possible.”

  The man gave him a disappointed look that made Ramone feel like child owning up to a parent about breaking something valuable and out of bounds.

  “Very well,” the visitor said calmly and sighed. “I believe you have something that may be of interest to my employer.”

  He quickly regretted his ill manners. It was only a blasted name. Though he wanted this all to be over, not knowing the man’s name would not absolve him of the crime. Not to mention the stories he heard about people who offended such criminals. Unlike glass slippers, concrete boots were not a thing of fairy tales.

  “Sure,” he replied quickly, hoping to move on from the insult. “Right this way.”

  Only when he indicated for the man to follow did Ramone noticed that he was not alone. Though it shouldn’t have been a surprise he suddenly found himself on edge as two men clad in black suits, white shirts and black ties filed in behind the visitor. While Roca led the party down the crumbling stairs, Ramone moved to close the shutter and paused. Reaching into his jacket he tugged on his gun ever so slightly to ensure it would come free should the need arise; he left the shutter open.

  “Bitch’s in here…” he heard Roca say when he joined the party.

  “There’s no light in there,” Ramone cut in, opening the door to the living area instead. “Roca, wake her up and bring her through here.”

  “That would be preferable,” the visitor agreed as he turned and walked between his henchmen to follow Ramone. “Such conditions will not show the specimen in its the best light.”

  Ramone looked at the visitor when he passed by him; he had taken off his shades. Who used a word such as ‘specimen’ to describe a girl? One thing was for certain, this man was no Pirelli. Once the henchmen had filed into the room he followed suit. A quick glance around the place, particularly at last night’s TV dinners made him feel that they should have tried to tidy up. The man would probably consider his attire ruined for having just stood in the place. He watched the two guards assume positions that would best allow them to protect their charge should a fight break out. One thing was certain, he did not fancy their chances should any sort of ruckus ensue.

  “Rather an earthy sort of look you’ve gone for, wouldn’t you say?”

  Ramone almost jumped when the visitor spoke to him; he had been far too busy watching the bodyguards. He did not get the chance to answer as the door opened.

  “Here she is,” Roca said, pushing the now re-bound girl into the room.

  Ramone had to reach out a hand to catch her as she stumbled and almost fell. Perhaps they should have dressed her more appropriately he thought, taking in her wrinkled, stained and unappealing jeans and baggy t-shirt ensemble. After all, he had the audacity to admonish others in Los sin techo for the way they had presented their merchandise to Pirelli. He looked between the shaking girl and the visitor. “Do you want to have a look at her?”

  “Would you mind undressing her? Her attire is not the most flattering.”

  The girl squealed into her gag and he turned to his comrade. “You heard the man, Roca.”

  The big man grunted and took hold of the girl again to comply. A muffled scream of fear sounded when Roca seized her t-shirt and hauled it up over her head.

  “Take your time,” the visitor said from behind Ramone, sounding rather absent-minded. “I am in no hurry.”

  Something about the man’s tone struck Ramone as off but he ignored it. Instead, he watched Roca roughly pull the girl's jeans down without bothering to unbutton them. The big man then procured a switchblade and cut the straps of her bra. It fell to the floor and he grabbed her breasts from behind. The girl half cried, half screamed as she was lifted off the ground more or less by her chest.

  “Gimmie a hand to take her shoes off will you?” Roca said, grinning.

  Ramone looked at him darkly. There was no need to take her shoes off but it would not do anything for their sale chances if they broke into an argument. Though it left a sour taste in his mouth, he complied. A moment later and the girl had been put back down, wearing nothing but her oversized, unflattering white underpants.

  “Better not forget these, Ramone,” Roca said, stripping the girl of her last shred of modesty. She cried out again, this time more of a sob that wracked her body. As she stood shivering Ramone noticed damp patches beginning to form around the lower edge of her blindfold.

  “Let her go, Roca,” he commanded. He scooped up her clothes and dumped them onto one of the sofas. The big man complied and stepped away from her. “She’s ready for you to look at now,” he then said, turning back to face the visitor.

  “Hmm?” the man replied. He turned to look absently at Ramone as though he had forgotten not only that there were other people in the room, but also what he had come for in the first place. “Ah, of course.”

  Ramone didn’t like the way in which the man had just spoken. Pushing the thought aside he watched the visitor slowly circle the girl, who had crossed her legs and bent over slightly in order to hide her cunt. She’s only a fucking child he thought once the visitor had made a second shark-like circle. The sour taste intensified in the back of Ramone’s throat. He looked away.

  Suddenly the visitor stopped pacing and stood with a pensive look for a moment. The silence stretched and became awkward. Ramone could feel himself getting impatient. Finally, the man spoke again. “Hmm. No… No, I do not think so. I’m afraid she’s not quite fit for purpose.”

  A sense of relief swept through Ramone that was quickly doused by the reality of what this meant. Too right she’s not what you’re looking for, she’s too young. Nothing more than a fucking kid! There would be no sale today.

  As Ramone fought with himself internally, Roca spoke up. “Why the fuck not?” Apparently, he did not share the same misgivings about the situation. “She’s a bitch isn’t she, just like any other.”

  The visitor let out a small chuckle that sent a chill up Ramone’s spine. Did he genuinely find the situation amusing?

  “If only it were that simple, my dear fellow. Unfortunately for some people, the simple distinction between male and female is not quite enough I am afraid.” Had the position not been so serious, Ramone would have laughed at the man’s wit. “However, I see little point in dwelling on such details. Suffice it to say that in the case of this young lady, I find her slightly lacking in…”

  Lacking in age Ramone was about to say but suppressed the urge.

  “Aww she’ll get bigger,” Roca cut in, slapping the girl on the backside.

  “I have no doubt she will,” the visitor conceded. “Regrettably though her hair is not likely to change.”

  Her hair? Could the man seriously put off by that Ramone wondered? Pirelli had been willing to take any combination of hair, height, skin tone and cleavage. Why was this man so picky? Surely, a bottle of dye could solve his so-called problem.

  “I am not certain that the ginger hair and pale skin, coupled with the small breasts is a look that will…” he paused for a moment, “…suit my employer’s tastes.
He can be quite particular about such things and I do not think this young lady will be to his liking at present. In a month or so… perhaps.”

  “Wot the hell you gonna do with her besides fuck her?” Roca demanded. His comrade’s tone told Ramone he was not best pleased about having done all that work only for them to get fuck all for it. However, he himself did share the thought. What possible purpose could the visitor, or indeed his employer have in mind other than ‘fucking her’?

  The visitor sighed in a manner that Ramone would have wagered contained a hint of long-suffering. “My employer has a number of whims and fantasies that he likes to…” He paused and Ramone could tell that he was actually in need of a moment to procure the correct words. “…indulge in. Whenever the mood takes him. Unfortunately, he has a bad habit of being rather erratic. To the extent that on more than one occasion, I have purchased a young lady only for his fleeting fancy to fade before her training has been completed. As you can imagine such an eventuality is horrendously wasteful in regards to both time and money.”

  Ramone swallowed and felt a lump form in the back of his throat, he could tell that this man’s purposes were far removed from selling whores on street corners. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of what the ‘training’ these girls would receive could entail. He cast the thought to one side. It was none of his business and if the man did not like her, then he could at least try to have the girl taken away by the end of the day. “Well if you’re done let me show you out.”

  “Actually there was one other thing.” Ramone looked up and saw the disinterested look vanish from the visitor's face. He suddenly got the feeling he was about to find out why the man had seemed so distracted before looking at the girl.

  “I would be rather interested in meeting the young lady with the red hair, whom you are keeping in the next room.”

  The clock and the cuckoo

  Tick… tick… tick... The unmistakable sound of a clock passing from one second to the next without discrimination. Matt had heard his physics teacher mention a concept called time dilation once, but this was taking the biscuit, eating said biscuit and then passing it out the other end. It felt like waiting for Christmas. The more he willed the end of the school day to come the further away it seemed. At every point in the textbook he thought would have been an appropriate place to stop, the teacher disagreed and decided to do another section. At this rate they’d be finished the entire bloody volume before the end of the class he thought on scribbling down yet another new section heading.

  Tick… tick… tick… The noise from the clock behind him was slowly starting to drive him mad. Largely due to the fact that he could only guess at what time it showed. Wandering eyes were a pet hate of Mrs Jacobs and Matt had no intention of having the class delayed while she reprimanded him. The woman also took umbrage with cell phones. Hence a stray hand down to his pocket to slide it out and glance at the screen would not be worth the risk of detention.

  Tick… tick… tick… Scratching a line through a mistake, his pen slipped in his sweaty right hand and he almost dropped it. He looked at his page. Even with a messy score taking up the best part of two lines his work still looked neater than the untidy scrawl that Dylan passed off for penmanship. Handwriting is a thing of the dark ages he would say anytime his work was criticised. Anna, on the other hand, had an elegant flowing style that Matt could never hope to emulate. Tick… tick…

  From out in the hallway the joyful sound of metal hitting metal made its way into the classroom and Matt almost leapt to his feet. Hometime had arrived at last. At the front of the room, Mrs Jacobs looked up from her copy of the textbook and scowled.

  “I suppose we shall have to finish there for today,” she said reluctantly, placing the book on her desk. “However ensure that you are all here on time next lesson. Or I may not be so lenient in future.”

  This time Matt did leap to his feet. Hurriedly shoving his books into his bag he darted from the room before any of his friends could delay him with unwanted conversation. In fact, he left so quickly that he completely missed the startled look that spread across the teacher's face, followed by her comments to the rest of the class regarding why he had left faster than a rabbit on steroids.

  In a manner that would have made Anna proud, and his coach even happier if he could match it on the ice, Matt slipped through the crowded hallways at speed and made his way out of the school without a single collision. Once clear of the grounds he slowed to a more socially acceptable pace; though his eagerness did not wane. For the third time in as many days, he soon found himself turning the corner at the bottom of Anna’s street. Like his previous visits, the place seemed dead.

  Making his way along to the building that housed Anna’s apartment he could hear shouting coming from an open window. A common occurrence despite the typical lack of life at street level. When he got to the steps that led up to Anna’s building the door opened from inside and an old woman, Anna’s downstairs neighbour stepped out. Seeing this as a perfect opportunity to get inside hassle-free Matt lunged up the steps and caught hold of the door before it slammed shut behind the woman. Unfortunately, it startled her into yelling gibberish at him. Like yesterday he took Anna’s advice and ignored her. Apparently, it was the best course of action short of heading up some stairs; she had a hip problem so could not follow.

  Taking the stairs two at a time he went up to the second floor, knocked on the left-hand door… then let out a deflated sigh when after five whole minutes he received no answer. Anna where are you, he thought, half-heartedly hitting his fist off of the door. Despondently he trudged back down.

  Back outside the old woman had vanished. However, it did little to raise his spirits. Dejected, Matt once more wandered the now familiar sidewalk down towards the end of the street. About to turn the corner a voice called out in a grizzled tone. “Hey, Kid.”

  With no one else around Matt knew that the man, for he could not imagine what sort of woman would own a voice like that, had addressed him. Whoever it was he had no desire to talk to them. Feigning ignorance he continued on his way. However, after only a few steps the man called out again. “Hey, Kid.”

  Refusing to turn around and acknowledge him Matt picked up his pace. As he reached the end of the short road a hand grabbed his shoulder. “Hey, Kid!”

  “What!” Matt exclaimed, turning to face his pursuer and hoping his harsh tone would be enough for them to get the point.

  The man gave him a toothy grin. “Got any change?”

  He was short with tousled grey hair that looked like it might once have been black. His eyes were a dull blue, his face gnarled and unevenly shaven. He wore a long ripped, patched and frayed overcoat. At some point in its existence it may have been beige, but looked so dirty, discoloured and stained that Matt wouldn’t have staked any money on it. Underneath that his checked flannel shirt and cord trousers were in a similar state of disrepair.

  “No,” Matt replied curtly. He turned and darted across the road.

  He had nothing against homeless people in general; just at present, he had things that were more pressing on his mind. Like what he would tell Janine in order to get the police involved in his hunt for Anna. Whatever he eventually decided upon, he was safe in the knowledge that she would at least hear him out and that would be a start.

  “That’s a shame.” Matt jumped in fright on hearing the grizzled voice next to his ear. He hadn’t even heard the man follow him. “Looks like we’re both gonna be disappointed tonight.”

  “How would you know if I’m disappointed or not?” The second the question left his lips he regretted it. Why did he have to say that? A simple go away would have sufficed.

  “S’not how it works, Kid,” the man replied in a manner that suggested to Matt that he might actually have offended him. “You get to ask a man a question or tell him to piss off. You don’ get to do both.”

  “Fine,” Matt sighed by way of an apology. “Why do you think I’m disappointed?” Yet again
he had to question why he had not, to use the man’s words, told him to piss off.

  “Cos your lady friend’s still not come home.”

  Matt stared at him for a moment. “Do you know something about Anna?”

  The man gave him another toothy grin. “Might be I do. Course when I think about her I usually refer to her as the fiery red-head who gets the blood pumping every time I look at her. If you catch ma drift.”

  The man’s grin widened and Matt had to resist the urge to punch him. If Anna heard what he had just said she would probably have robbed him of his remaining teeth and Matt himself felt sorely tempted to do so on her behalf. The idea of this hobo, whose age Matt could not determine, leering over his girlfriend made his blood boil. He took a deep breath and allowed himself a moment to calm down before opening his mouth. He had no other leads so could not pass up the opportunity to find out something pertaining to Anna’s current whereabouts. “What do you know about Anna?”

  “Other than I’d be willing to bet you would like her between your legs?”

  Had he not been desperate, Matt was sure he would have lunged at the man. Gripping the strap of his rucksack tight enough so that his knuckles turned white, he forced a levelled response through his teeth. “Yes. Other than that.”

  The man let out a throaty chuckle as if Matt’s words had amused him in some fashion he could not fathom. “Ah, honesty, I like it. I guess I would have to answer... something you don’t. Now, how about that change?”

  Somehow Matt’s knuckles managed to whiten further. Thrusting his other hand into his pocket he cobbled together what change he had. When he held it out his brain told him it was a waste of both time and money.