She ignored him and grabbed her phone from her desk, sitting beside him at the table.
“I’m texting the girls. They’re going to lose it,” she said with relish, a broad grin spreading across her face.
“Not for the reasons you think,” he mumbled, rotating his phone in quarter turns.
He should be pleased too. Seeing Yuki get her revenge would release him from his pledge to her made all those years ago. She’d done more than pay him back for saving her. She really had made all his dreams possible. She’d only added one thing to what she wanted from him. Loyalty.
As he listened to the clicks of her typing and watched his phone turn and turn, he did feel relief. He would finally sell his shares in Cavendish Security over to The Girls, as they called themselves, and head east.
He could put his pet project into action and start a simple life away from the affluent scum he saw drift through the fancy manors and castles Cavendish had built around the world.
“Okay, group conference call tomorrow. I know it’s everybody’s day off, but I want to get everybody on the same page,” Yuki said, putting her phone down and folding her legs under her on the chair. “We can have a face-to-face when everybody’s on site. But I’m putting you on special duty.”
“What kind of duty?” he asked, already guessing.
“I need you twenty-four seven on Anya. I need full reports on what she’s doing and who she’s seeing. Stay clear if you can, but I’m not overly worried if she sees you. Just tell her it’s our policy to secure her safety until she’s decided about joining.” She rubbed her palms against her knees. “Did I push it enough?” she asked, looking directly in his eyes for the first time since she’d walked out of the bathroom.
“Push joining as a consultant?”
“Should I have mentioned the money? It’s usually money that tips the scale.”
“I don’t think it’s money for her. Based on what I read in her file, and what I saw today… I think it’s knowledge first. Then money.”
“Shit, I should have mentioned the money. The Prince of Monaco’s cousin wants to pay ten grand for someone like Anya to whisper dirty things to him in Russian while wearing lingerie. But I thought it would scare her off.”
“Especially if you told her it’s the cousin who wants to wear the lingerie,” he allowed with a shrug. “Although, she strikes me as practical and focused. I don’t think many things scare her off.”
“True. But she needs to pay for school. She’s probably in debt up to her eyeballs, with no chance of paying for medical school without us.”
“What do you want to do about Trevor?”
Yuki blew a gust of breath, sending her bangs flying up.
“Nothing. He’s only with one B-list client, but it’s an incredible profit margin. And he brought us Anya. Even though it was purely by chance, he brought us Anya, and I can be… forgiving because of that.”
She blew out another breath and unfolded herself from the chair. Walking to her desk, she unzipped the garment bag and dug inside. After a second, she pulled out Trevor’s pass card.
“Have someone take this to him and scare the shit out of him about saying anything else to anybody, ever.” She handed him the card, and he slid it into his breast pocket.
“I’ll get on that and update Anya’s file with her new address,” he said, rising and buttoning his jacket. “That was a slip, not knowing she’d moved out.”
“No, that was my fault.” She sank back into her chair. “I didn’t have her file on status surveillance, and I should have. Luckily, she came to us.”
He nodded, but inside he felt uneasy. Yuki had never been clear on her revenge plan, saying when it was time to execute, she’d bring them all in the loop. Now that it was time, a small part of him didn’t want to know.
“I’d better get going,” he said, turning toward the door.
“All of our dreams are coming true, Dimi,” she told him, leaning on a hand. “Smile for once.”
He looked at her, lowering his eyebrows.
“I am,” he replied, and left the office.
* * *
“Jones, Jones, this is St-Pierre, over,” he said into his walkie once he stepped out of the manor’s elevator. He headed down the hallway to the security team’s office.
“Jones, here, over.”
“Do we have any pick-up trucks on site? Over.”
“There are two Fords over at Topkapi Palace, over.”
“Okay. I’m taking one. I have a personal job to do for Yuki. I’m leaving Insley’s pass card with Liddell at the manor. Can you have either Emelianenko or Silva impress upon Mr. Dinsmore how important that talking and not keeping tabs on his card could result in extreme bodily harm, but more importantly, no more consultations? Over.”
“You got it, boss. I’ll look after it, over.”
“Over and out,” Dimi said just as he entered the security room.
He handed Liddell the card.
“Hang on to this until you hear otherwise,” he told the man, who nodded. He put the card in his drawer and continued his monitoring of cameras.
Dimi pulled out his chair and woke his computer up. He opened Anya’s file and dug into the security tab.
In ten minutes, he’d hacked her email and gotten not only her address but a copy of her rental agreement and her login into her University of Washington student portal. He entered all the relevant info into her file.
* * *
He pulled up to the address on his phone, slowing to confirm the number. Then he eased his truck farther down the road to turn around and park.
According to her lease agreement, she lived in one of two basement suites in the rundown house just outside of the University district. You almost couldn’t see the house for the garbage bins parked out on the curb and the two large trees in the front yard.
He opened the file on the other renter he asked Jones to check out. A part-time computer science student, second year, with shitty grades. The guy’s picture wasn’t anything that made him worry.
He couldn’t tell if Anya was home or not. Likely, she’d drop off the Ferrari first and then get a ride here or take the bus. Her bank records showed a monthly payment for a transit pass.
He opened his app that let him tap into her text messages. So far, just a stream from a friend named Jenn begging her to meet her at a club. He set his phone on the seat and hunkered as far down as he could get. The street was lined with vehicles, and his older model Ford fit right in.
It had been a long time since he’d been on a surveillance, and it wasn’t his favorite way to spend a night. If it had been anyone else, he would have made an argument with Yuki to send his second in command. But it was Anya.
He sighed and shifted in his seat. Tomorrow, the Cavendish executive team would meet and talk about the next steps. Then he’d make his own timeline. This was just a job that was finally coming to an end. Once Yuki kicked off her plan with Anya, he could wash his hands of everything.
5
Anya stepped off the bus and walked down the crowded sidewalk. The rain had tapered off, but the threatening gray clouds dimmed the afternoon light.
She’d intended to give Trevor his keys back and apologize, especially when she realized she couldn’t give his Cavendish card back. She felt doubly bad that she’d probably gotten him fired. But when she parked the Ferrari, she chickened out, leaving his keys with Scotty the building manager. Then she’d run out to the bus, pounding on its side as it started to drive away.
Now, she turned the corner to walk the last two blocks to her basement suite, weaving around the garbage bins that sometimes edged onto the sidewalk. Her thumb toyed with the rounded corners of the business card in her pocket.
She’d start at the pharmacy next Tuesday, and she had a shift at the old Neptune Theater tomorrow. If it had been possible to work both jobs full-time, she’d be making $26.50 an hour. As it was, she’d barely be covering rent for the month.
Crossing the
street through the parked cars, she dug into her pants for her keys. The uneven cement walkway of the house where she lived was crowded by weeds. She veered off and tromped through the wet grass to the back, where her suite was.
Ducking under the sagging porch where the ground grew muddy, she looked down at the three narrow cement stairs that led to her door. She couldn’t help but compare them to the steps of the manor.
She singled out the worn silver key and unlocked the chipped door, shutting it and locking it behind her.
It was the cheapest living space she could find. It was a single open room, a fold-out couch on the left, and a mini kitchen to the right. A tiny bathroom was at the back. There was an identical apartment beside it, and she could hear her neighbor Steve and his friends laughing and playing their guitars.
Despite the damp feel of the place and the sparse furniture, she’d tried to make it cozy. She made a neat little library of textbooks on the rickety table in the kitchen and grouped another row on the back of her futon. There was no closet, so her school clothes hung in the tall garment box Jenn had given her. Her socks, underwear, and folded clothes were in clear plastic bins beside the box.
She hadn’t thought much of her living quarters before today, other than being relieved to be out of the twenty-four-hour house party Trevor’s apartment had become and paying less rent. But now, she had to admit it was a little hard to be here after driving a Ferrari and spending time in a French manor.
She shrugged out of her raincoat and draped it on the one chair in the kitchen. Plugging in the kettle, she plunked a teabag into her mug and sat down. She pulled out the white card and laid it on the table.
Lorna. The name was printed in simple letters with a capital L and yet still had a classy feel to it. She tilted the card and saw the printing made gentle outlines, as if each letter and number had been pressed into the thick paper stock.
The kettle shut off with a click, and the sound of boiling water slowed. She poured it over her teabag and held the mug close to inhale the steam of the black tea.
Instead of sitting back down, she grabbed her beat-up laptop from the futon and dropped onto the fleece-covered mattress. She set her tea on the floor and opened the computer, her hands hovering as she thought about what to search for.
How to be an escort, she typed. Surprisingly, there were a lot of results. She clicked on several results, opening up new tabs in the window.
The first website advertised Discreet International Travel Companions and featured an image of a dark-haired woman with sunglasses in front of Big Ben.
“How to become an elite courtesan,” she read out loud and clicked the underlined text. “A high-end courtesan is a refined, gracious woman of some breeding. Well, that’s not exactly me.” She closed the window.
The next website had cartoon illustrations instead of photos and way too many typos.
“Nope,” she said, closing that window.
The next website looked more interesting and definitely had better grammar.
“Is becoming a professional escort for me?” she read, reaching for her tea and settling in to see what Adult Escorts Making Money could teach her.
It turned out the website taught a lot.
Like how most women who contemplated being an escort don’t go through with it. That most women do it for the money, and that the money can be very, very good. That it’s about the experience and not just the services, although it also gave a checklist of the services.
She opened a document to copy and paste the services… and then felt weird having a document on her computer that listed hand job, anal sex, porn star experience, girlfriend experience, and cum in face, among other things.
She clicked on each one, which led to more pages and more information. Some of it seemed ridiculous, but then she thought about Trevor’s Ferrari and watch and tried to put her judgement aside.
Her phone sounded with Jenn’s tone, and she checked the time. Ten thirty, she thought, shocked until she noticed she had about forty tabs open in her browser and the room was dark.
She opened Jenn’s message and saw the previous eight she’d ignored.
GET YOUR ASS TO THE CLUB, BEE-YOTCH! screamed the latest one.
Doing some job research, she typed and hit Send.
IT’S DRUNNNK FRIDAAAYYYY!!!! came the quick response.
She thought about Jenn for a second. You couldn’t exactly call what she did dating, but she did juggle several guys at a time.
Come over and help meeee!! she typed, going against her grammar instincts. Jenn would be pissed that she didn’t have any wine at her place, but maybe her topic would divert her attention. Jenn loved talking about the guys she slept with, what they got off on, who picked up the drink tab, that sort of thing. Not so far off what she was contemplating.
Her phone rang, and a close-up of Jenn’s face kissing the camera popped up.
“Nooo, you come here,” she slurred before Anya could say anything.
“I’m thinking of becoming a sex worker and I need your advice,” she admitted, saying the most shocking thing she thought would get her friend’s attention.
There was a clatter and then Jenn spoke, her words sounding immediately more sober.
“I’m on my way. Text me the address to your dungeon. I don’t have it in my phone.”
She sent it and dropped her phone on the couch, going back to her laptop. She didn’t get through much more reading before she saw the security light turn on through the small window in her door. She jumped up and opened the door, just in time to see her friend stumble toward the other unit.
“Jenn!” She hissed, “Over here.”
“Oh, oops.”
Jenn executed a careful turn, her heels sinking into the muddy grass, throwing a few “Son of a bitches” and “Goddammits” into the air.
For once, Anya was interested in what Jenn had on. Her red knit dress hit well above her knees, and her cropped jean jacket was buttoned at the bottom, accentuating her breasts, which swelled out of the low, scooped neckline. She always called them her pride and joy, her boobs. She had a tiny bag on a long strap slung over her shoulder, and its sequins matched a smattering of sparkles across the toes of her black heels.
“Hey, what’s going on?” asked Steve, who popped out of his door. He held a Corona and wore a baggy T-shirt that said Ringmaster of the shit show.
“She’s coming to see me, Steve,” Anya said, reaching for Jenn’s hand so she could help her down the awkward stairs.
“Hey, why don’t you both come over? Have a few beers, listen to music…?” he trailed off. Anya pursed her lips, thinking in the three weeks she’d lived here, despite saying hello a few times, he’d never invited her over.
“Thanks, dude,” Jenn said over her shoulder, “but I have a sacred duty to counsel my friend tonight.” She started down the stairs, missing the first step and falling onto Anya, causing them both to sprawl on the musty rug of her apartment.
“Vodka much?” Anya asked, grunting when Jenn laughed into her face with her boozy breath.
“Vodka so much, as a matter of fact.” Jenn giggled.
Anya got her friend settled on the futon and pulled off her shoes.
“Thanks for coming over,” she said, putting the shoes by the door so the mud could dry.
“Just get to the part where you want to be a hooker. What is that all about?”
“Actually, sex worker.”
Jenn cocked her head at her and shook it. Then she looked around the room. “I can’t blame you, if you have to come home to this every night. Why won’t you move in with me?”
“Because I need the focus that only comes when one lives alone.” She plopped beside her on the futon, grabbing the folded fleece blanket from beside the couch and swinging it over them both.
“I would have thought you were bullshitting me, but you’re not a bullshitter. So, tell me for real… what’s got you considering being a sex worker?” Jenn interrupted herself with a loud gasp
. “Oh my God, is that what Trevor is doing?”
Anya hesitated, thinking about St-Pierre’s warning about confidentiality. Thinking about him automatically brought his image to mind, and a little shiver slid down her spine.
“It is, it is!” Jenn crowed, grabbing her shoulders and shaking them. “How much does he make? Are they recruiting? Because I think I could do that. Maybe. I mean, I don’t know if I could do a super obese guy that had hair on his back—although maybe I could for a thousand dollars….” Jenn looked off into the distance, lost in thought.
“This has nothing to do with Trevor,” she lied, reaching to the floor for her laptop. “But today I responded to an ad to become a high-end escort, and I’m trying to weigh the pros and cons.”
She clicked on her document window where she’d noted her thoughts from the last hour in two even columns.
Jenn pulled the blanket around her shoulder and folded her legs under her, turning to face Anya.
“Okay, start with the pros.”
“Money. Although I have that in subcategories.”
“Of course you do. You’re you. Hit me with the categories.”
“Well, under Money is Pay off loans, Pay for med school, Pay rent, and Buy a bike.”
“A bike?” Jenn questioned.
“The charm of bus riding only goes so far,” she explained.
Jenn shrugged and nodded.
“Okay, what’s the next pro?”
“Self-knowledge,” Anya said, knowing this would sound odd to Jenn. She remembered what Yuki said about learning more about herself than she’d do in a lifetime, and that made it important enough to include on her list.
“Esoteric, but that totally sounds like you. What else?”
“Under Cons I have Dangerous, which have the subcategories of Physical Injury and Health,” she began.
“Wait, you only have Money and Self-knowledge under Pros?”
“Well… yeah. What else would there be?”
“Fun sex, for one. New clothes, for another. Freedom, probably free meals and drinks, maybe even trips and gifts.” She sighed, looking at her. “As usual, you’re being way too sciencey about this.”
Disciplined Page 5