The Badge & the Pen Thrillers

by Roger A Price

  ‘And what do you expect me to do with them, once they are back on the European mainland?’ Boldo asked.

  Babik didn’t answer; he’d never thought that far ahead.

  ‘And why should we double the risk of our transportation routes by using them once more than we need?’ Boldo asked. But before Babik could answer, or even fully contemplate the question, Boldo continued. ‘I would feel safer and also feel like we were both doing an equal share of the work if we had an alternative arrangement.’

  ‘Such as?’

  Boldo didn’t answer the question, instead he side-tracked Babik and started talking about how they should change the current batch of girls in the mill. Babik didn’t understand. ‘There’s only six,’ he said. Then Boldo went on to explain that if they changed them two at a time, it would cause less upheaval; among the girls and for the punters. Babik got this, and said he thought it was a good idea.

  ‘Good, I’m glad you think so, as it brings me back to your question,’ Boldo said.

  Babik said he understood, but he didn’t.

  ‘It would be much safer if our alternative arrangement ensued that the used girls are disposed of, over here.’

  Babik noted the emphasis that Boldo placed on the word ‘used’. He was obviously not into women, but that aside, he soon switched on to what the swarthy one was suggesting. He knew he himself was an evil man, even though it was just business as far as he was concerned, but Boldo was something else. Even darker than Babik himself, if that was possible.

  ‘Now, hang on, asking me to off them all is a sudden jump in workload, and risk. Why can’t you do it once you are back in the Pyrenees?’

  ‘Safer done over here. You have water all around this country, no?’

  ‘You are asking me to do the real dirty work.’

  ‘What do you think I did with the first batch we exchanged from the other place?’

  Babik had never asked. He knew they had exchanged several girls, but never wondered what Boldo had done with them. ‘Well, if you’ve offed the first lot, why can’t you keep going?’ he asked.

  ‘Five or six is not big problem, but if we are to expand this into the franchise you suggest, it is too risky, too many involved. We need a local solution.’

  Babik could see the perverse logic in Boldo’s suggestion, but this meant taking things to a whole new depth. He didn’t answer, but walked to the bar to get more drinks. He made his way back to their alcove and retook his seat before he spoke. ‘What if I refuse?’

  ‘Then no more girls. I have contacts like you in France, who are keen to expand. But if I am to be honest with you, I like the English Channel. Call it my firewall. But if you do not want…’ Boldo shrugged his shoulders.

  Babik knew he had no choice, but he would get someone else to take the risks for him, someone he could trust. Someone the girls would trust. He recalled how, back in his childhood, his father would stroke the goats’ heads and make soothing sounds to them — just before he slit their throats.

  He looked at Boldo and nodded.

  ‘Excellent, my friend, we have a new arrangement,’ Boldo said.

  ‘But I want a 70/30 split,’ Babik said.

  ‘60/40,’ Boldo replied.

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘Good, now let us talk about your next two girls.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘In fact, why not show me the mill and you can choose which you want to replace,’ Boldo smiled.

  Chapter Fifty

  Christine checked into the hotel and left a note for Vinnie, whom she noted had yet to arrive. She’d felt a little guilty at knocking him back this evening, but she had work to do. She put her room number in the note and told him to pop in later if it wasn’t too late, but only if he could. Or he could give her an early call, before breakfast. She flushed at her own subtext. Once showered and changed, she ate and picked up the keys from reception for the hire car she’d asked them to arrange. Thankfully the budget-sized saloon came with sat nav fitted.

  She wasn’t too sure what she was looking, for but guessed the mill would outwardly seem a closed or even derelict property, as was the norm with such things. However, after an hour or so driving around the streets of Deepdale and the northern end of Preston, she’d failed to find a single likely building. She found plenty of mills, or ex-mills, but all were clearly marked as businesses or had been remodelled into flats — there were plenty of those. She decided to try a new approach and headed back to Fletcher Road, which was near to where she’d originally lost the perv in his van; and where she’d seen Amal being dumped.

  Fletcher Road was poorly lit and at night time it was a different place. As she’d hoped, there were several street walkers evident. This is where the woman at the hostel had directed her the previous day. She drove slowly along the road, from end to end, and counted five women. All looked up on hearing her car approach, and then seemed to quickly lose interest on seeing the sex of the driver. She turned around and headed back along the street.

  She now realised her mistake. The women, on seeing her car return, must have thought she was police, because as quickly as they had first appeared from the shadows, they disappeared. Except for one. She was distracted, on her phone, and though she must have heard Christine’s car approach, she didn’t look up until the car was stopping. Christine already had her driver’s window down and heard the woman swear at her caller.

  ‘Can’t help it if it’s dead, you fucker. Look, I’m going, a punter’s just pulled up.’

  The woman snapped her phone shut, it was one of the old flip-tops. Almost an antique, Christine thought as she took in the woman. She couldn’t have been more than 25; it was difficult to tell because she was so thin. She had a denim jacket on over a boob tube, and a skirt that was so short it wasn’t much more than a very deep belt. A cheap pair of cracked shiny PVC thigh-length boots completed the outfit. Her face was jaded; tired, sunken and ghostly white. The woman walked towards the open window and as soon as she started to talk, Christine saw the rotten front teeth as further proof of this wretched woman’s heroin addiction. She felt utterly sorry for her.

  ‘Sorry love, if you’re after business I don’t do girls. Though maybe I should, some of the geezers we get round here are proper pigs.’

  ‘It’s not that, but—’ Christine started.

  ‘Hey,’ the woman said interrupting, as she looked at the car and then back at Christine, before she carried on, ‘You not the law are you? Cause—’

  It was Christine’s turn to interrupt. ‘No love, I’m not, and nor am I after business.’

  ‘Well, if you’re a do-gooder, there’s no saving me, darling, so don’t waste your time. So unless you’re the most unlikely looking smack dealer I ever saw, I ain’t interested.’

  Christine held up a £20 note she’d had out of sight and told the woman she was a reporter and she was interested in doing a piece about a brothel known as The Mill. The woman didn’t answer straight away; she had her eyes fixed on the note.

  ‘Look on it as removing your competition,’ Christine said, with more than a tinge of guilt at her own words.

  ‘Brothels ain’t no competition to the likes of me, darling, I’m bargain basement and I know it.’

  ‘Supposed to be around here somewhere,’ Christine said.

  ‘I ’eard that there was a posh place somewhere about, but you can ask any of the girls, no one knows where, or even if it’s true,’ the woman said, as she held out her hand.

  Christine passed over the note and then held a further £20 up. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll spend that on yourself instead of drugs?’

  ‘Not a lot, but I’ll spend the next one on some proper grub if that’s also coming my way.’

  Christine wanted to believe her, by the look of her she could do with some decent food. ‘Fair enough, but you first,’ Christine said.

  ‘Like I said, no one knows for sure but often around this time, you clock some decent-looking motors driving down there
,’ the woman said, whilst pointing to a road opposite. Christine glanced across the street and saw the junction the woman was indicating, and noted the street name was Deepdale Mill Street. Apt, she thought, as she turned back to the woman. ‘And they look out of place?’ she asked.

  ‘Yep, and the drivers are always men on their own, we spot that straight away.’

  ‘How do you know they are punters?’ Christine asked.

  ‘’Cause they ’ave that leer in their eyes, and even though it’s obvious that they ain’t stopping, they have a quick perv as they drive past. So you do the maths, darling,’ the woman said, before she snatched the second £20 then added, ‘no offence love, but do you mind doing one? That’s the second punter who’s just driven past.’

  Christine hadn’t noticed but instinctively looked at the last car and saw the lone male driver in his fifties with his head apparently on a swivel. She shuddered; he looked normal and could have been anyone’s dad.

  By the time the car had passed her, she looked back, but the woman was already on her way. Such a shame; she was obviously as sharp as anything, and could be anything: anything but this.

  Christine spent the next 20 minutes exploring Deepdale Mill Street and all its tributaries but saw nothing obvious. Nor did she see any posh motors driven by lone male pervs. In fact, the only car she’d seen had passed her two minutes ago but with two men on board, so she decided to pull over and park up for a while. She checked the dash clock; she’d give it another 20 minutes and then turn in at 10 pm.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Babik drove from the hotel and 10 minutes later was turning into Deepdale Mill Street. He noticed three street-walkers but noticed that Boldo hadn’t. He pointed them out, and commented on the state of them. ‘It keeps the lower end of the market away from us,’ he said.

  A further five minutes and he was pulling up into the mill’s car park. He saw Boldo take in the sign announcing ‘Quality Textiles — garments with the softest touch,’ before roaring with laughter. ‘I can guarantee my girls all have the softest touch.’

  After Babik had parked and killed the lights, Boldo held his arm and said they should discuss business before they went in. Babik nodded and Boldo carried on. ‘How have you ensured security with the girls, so far?’

  Babik told him that they had all been told that after 12 months they would be granted a British passport and released. They also each believed that they were being paid well, and although they were never given any cash, they were each given a statement every month, falsely showing their monies accruing.

  ‘So you’ve not used drugs?’ Boldo asked.

  ‘No, as these are top class girls for top class clients we didn’t want them all drugged up and unresponsive. Granted, we’ve had to slap a couple into submission, which worked well on the others, but since they accepted their situations they have all been compliant. We may have crushed their spirits and dreams of what life in the UK would be, but we gave them a false hope to cling onto, for once they’ve served their time.’

  ‘Excellent. So by removing two now, it will cement your false promise,’ Boldo said.

  ‘And reinforce it in the eyes of the others. How soon can you deliver replacements?’

  ‘I had two already over here in Manchester, in a forced servitude role. I was considering promoting them, but they have left, unfortunately.’

  ‘Problem?’ Babik asked.

  ‘Only for the idiot who allowed himself to be arrested.’

  For the first time Babik felt less than 100% confident in Boldo, who must have seen it in his eyes as he answered his unspoken question.

  ‘Trust me, there is no problem.’

  Babik decided to let it slide. To be fair, he’d had enough of his own problems with the other two premises recently, and Boldo hadn’t taken too much issue with him. Not once he’d assured him of this mill’s safety. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘we can choose two tonight and I can arrange their removal, pending permanent disposal.’

  ‘You can do that so quickly?’ Boldo asked, looking impressed.

  ‘I have a female associate the girls will trust, she can move them tonight. I know it will leave me short until your replacements arrive, but we can link it to your visit, giving it even more credibility,’ Babik said.

  ‘I’ve two in Calais so can have them here in 24 hours,’ Boldo added.

  ‘Excellent,’ Babik said, before reaching for a large bunch of keys in the glove box.

  ‘You sure you are only dealing with me?’ Boldo said.

  Babik looked at the keys in his hand before answering, ‘You know I am, though I have used quite a few houses recently, I like to move around. In fact, I need to sort this lot out as several of my houses are no longer in commission.’

  ‘Problems?’ Boldo asked.

  ‘Only for the local fire brigade — they somehow keep going up in smoke.’

  Boldo roared for a second time, and they both got out of the vehicle and headed to the main doors. Babik found the correct key fairly quickly; they both entered and he re-locked the main doors behind them. Once inside, Babik led Boldo past the main factory part on the ground floor where all the legitimate business took place during the day, to a small door at the rear of the premises. It was a nondescript door that had the look of a storeroom entrance, with ‘Private’ written on it in faded red letters.

  Again, Babik quickly found the correct key and led the way. Past the door was an old set of wooden stairs that spiralled up to the second floor. At the top was a small landing, with a light above a steel door. Babik started looking for a further key and appeared frustrated when he couldn’t easily find it. Then the steel door opened inwards and the manager greeted them.

  ‘Saw you approach on the CCTV,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks, Gill,’ Babik replied, and went on to introduce Boldo to her before asking her to show Boldo around. Babik made his way to the main office-cum-flat at the end of the corridor used by Gill, and waited. As he walked past the five bedrooms en route, he noticed that the doors to numbers two and three were open.

  Five minutes later, Gill led Boldo into the office. He looked satisfied.

  ‘Fancy a go?’ Babik asked him, largely out of mischief. Boldo politely declined. Women were definitely not his thing.

  ‘All looks impressive,’ he commented.

  Babik then explained to Gill what was going to happen, giving her only the fake premise, and then asked, ‘Which two should we exchange first?’

  Gill said that it should really be the best two, as they had probably done most to earn their freedom and bounty, but as business is business, she recommended the least popular two.

  ‘I like your thinking,’ Boldo said.

  ‘Which are these girls?’ Babik asked Gill.

  ‘The girls from rooms two and three. Chrystal and Chelsea, to use their stage names,’ she answered.

  Babik told her to go and give the women the good news, and to tell them to prepare themselves to leave — hopefully tonight. He then poured Boldo a drink from Gill’s drinks cabinet and ushered him to a leather recliner. Boldo made himself comfortable and pulled the sleeves of his canvas jacket up as he sank into his chair. Babik studied the unusual tattoo, shaped like a wagon wheel, on Boldo’s right forearm. ‘Didn’t know you were a cowboy,’ he joked.

  ‘It’s the Romani Chakra, you philistine,’ Boldo replied, smiling.

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Chakras have a long history, but the Romani one symbolises the Roma people.’

  ‘Didn’t know you had gypsy blood in you,’ Babik said.

  ‘My family come from the Roma travellers; there is much you don’t know about me.’

  Babik didn’t doubt the last comment one bit. He told Boldo to enjoy his drink while he phoned Sue in order to get things moving. ‘I hope to meet her before I leave, if time allows,’ Boldo said.

  Babik nodded in reply before walking to the other end of the room and dialling Sue’s number. She answered nearly straight away.

&n
bsp; ‘You busy?’ he asked.

  ‘Just heading home, why?’

  ‘I’ve got a little errand needs doing,’ he said.

  ‘Sure, is Boldo getting on your nerves already?’

  Babik instinctively glanced at Boldo, sitting in the easy chair at the other end of the room, and checked that he wouldn’t be able to overhear, before he answered. ‘It’s actually gone remarkably well; in fact you can see for yourself.’

  ‘When?’ Sue asked.

  ‘Maybe later, or most probably tomorrow, if there’s time, but that’s not important now. I need you to take two girls to a safe-house and stay with them, but only until the morning, probably.’

  ‘OK. No problems, I hope?’

  ‘Quite the opposite, they have earned their freedom. Stay by your phone and I’ll ring you later with the details,’ he said, before ending the call. In that split second he had decided not to tell Sue the truth about the women’s fate. She didn’t need to know, and anyway, it would make her all the more believable with them.

  Before he had time to return his phone to his pocket, it rang again, but it wasn’t Sue calling back as he expected. He took the call.

  ‘It’s me,’ the caller started.

  ‘I know who you are,’ Babik said gruffly.

  ‘That 500 large still on offer?’ the caller asked.

  ‘Yes, if it’s worth it,’ he said, lowering his voice.

  ‘Want to know about a reporter asking questions?’

  ‘Yes I do, the money’s yours, go on.’

  ‘Well, darling, better listen up.’

  *

  Christine was feeling restless and was about to start the hire car’s engine and head for the hotel, when her phone rang. She picked it up and the screen announced ‘unknown caller,’ which piqued her interest as it usually meant an international call. She answered it and recognised the voice of Bob-A.

  ‘You alright?’ Christine asked.