“Well. Thank you both very much indeed. That’s all very helpful. I expect you won’t be surprised that I knew some of that already but you’ve filled in some gaps and there are links that I might be able to follow up.”
Deborah was a little disappointed. “Does all this not help with your book and your other work?”
“Oh yes, of course it does but I still need more facts, names, addresses or, at least, locations, that sort of thing. What you have said helps a lot but it not enough yet, I’m afraid.” Jill’s arrival forestalled whatever Deborah had been about to say.
“I’m so sorry, everyone. I just couldn’t get away and the tube was so slow. You must be Marianna. No? Oh, Natasha. Great to meet you! What have I missed? Is there anything I need to do?”
“We’re all doing a sort of brain dump on Helen of everything we know. Your turn now, Jill.”
“Oh, I’ve got stacks of information! How long have you got?” Helen sighed and turned on her machine again, frequently asking questions and taking occasional notes on a small pad. Nearly an hour later, Jill began to falter and repeat things she had already said. Deborah looked at Helen.
“Could you not go to the police? They will investigate won’t they?”
“They might. Or they might not. You see, there is no law yet specifically against trafficking people. The police can only investigate and prosecute crimes like abduction or assault or breaking immigration law. If the person they suspect is a foreigner, he usually just disappears when the investigation starts, just goes somewhere else or uses another name and comes back when the fuss has died down. It’s difficult for the police to stop this. There are very few witnesses. The punters obviously don’t want to give evidence and the girls are mostly here illegally so if they go to the police they get deported, or their families back home get threatened and they keep quiet then the case collapses anyway. What we really need is strong, reliable witnesses who collect evidence, will not be deported and then are brave enough to go to court; brave for their families too. Often they suffer too. You do see don’t you?”
“I am here legally,” said Natasha, the first time she had spoken for some time. The other women turned to look at her. Natasha’s face was set, unsmiling, blank. “I am here legally,” she said again. “I will be a witness. I will collect evidence.”
Deborah’s plan had been to take Natasha to meet Mario and try to get her a job as a door girl. If Anna and Irma had been willing – she had excluded Marianna from her plans for the time being – she had thought that she might be able to persuade Mario to open another club and use his new stock of English-speaking, European beauties as door girls and give her, Deborah, more direct access to the strippers, tarts and masseuses who were, for the most part illegal, always frightened, often addicted and, in some cases - the cases that she was interested in – trafficked from southern and eastern Europe. She had not even considered asking any of the others to adopt the dangerous and badly-paid front line roles. Her intention had been to discuss this plan with Helen and ask for advice but feeling deflated by Helen’s under-whelmed response to progress so far, she had changed her mind. Anyway, Helen was right, she admitted reluctantly. It needed direct, first hand evidence from those who had been trafficked in order to go to the authorities. Anecdotes might spark an investigation and generate enough heat on the traffickers to make them move on, go somewhere else, but it would not close down any trafficking gang or even part of one. Back at the house, she talked all this through with Irma and Anna while Natasha sat silent and withdrawn and Marianna watched the television in the far corner of the room. Both would be prepared to give the door girl role a try – especially as it was well paid. The probability of several thousand pounds a month seemed like impossible wealth. Natasha said nothing.
Mario did not say much either when Deborah suggested hiring two more door girls.
“There have been lots of times, Mario, when both Angela and I have been down here in the bar with punters. That means missed opportunities. Who knows how many punters pass by while we are having drinks and deciding how much to take the punters for? Two guys expect two girls so the door is empty, unmanned for thirty or forty minutes or longer every time Angela and I have pulled guys in. These two girls are legal. They have work permits so nobody can cause a problem. If the police check, they are solid, legal. Or, if you prefer to have the door uncovered while Angela and I have men with us, we could open another bar. Angela could run it. Or I could. We just need one of the security guys for back up and to take the guys to the cash machine or to the tarts. You could hire someone else to learn the business. There must be others you could get. It’s expansion; growing the business either way.” She felt Mario’s attitude hardening against a suggestion from one of his girls and knew it was time to shut up. “You could double the money you make now; either here or with another bar. Anyway, you’re the boss and you know an opportunity when you see one. I’ll get to work upstairs.”
The next day Mario was much more enthusiastic about the idea. First he needed to interview the new girls, then he needed to give them a trial at this club, then he would think about a second club. He knew of somewhere nearby. Deborah had the impression that he had had to speak to somebody else and that somebody had given the go ahead. Deborah decided it was time to introduce the subject of Natasha.
“There’s another girl, Mario. Illegal, from Albania and doesn’t speak much English but she is very, very pretty. And she’s desperate for money. I think she wants to go on the game but she doesn’t know how to get started. First thing she needs is a place, a flat or something. And she needs someone to, well… look after her.” Mario’s thick, black eyebrows came together in the beginning of a frown. “I know that’s not your line of business but perhaps you know people, know someone who would sort of help her… look after her?” The frown lifted. Deborah was to bring her to the club with the other two. He would have a look at her and think about it. Now would she please get back on the door and get on with her work. Deborah sensed, however, that he was quietly pleased that one of his employees was bringing him an opportunity to expand his little empire and to do a favour – someday to be repaid – for some associate who would be even more brutally mercenary than him. Climbing the stairs back to her post at the door, Deborah wasn’t sure whether she should congratulate herself for having used the greed of the sex trade to open a chink in its armour or whether she should loath herself for having taken the first step to launch Natasha into a very dangerous occupation.
Anna and Irma looked every inch the part when they presented themselves for Deborah’s inspection the following evening. Both were kitted out in skimpy tops and tiny mini skirts and somewhere they had learned how to infuse a smile with invitation. She was sure that Mario would take them on. By now she knew the sort of girls that appealed to him because they appealed to the more gullible of the foreign and provincial men meandering through the Soho streets looking for a thrill that would never come cheap. But it was Natasha’s appearance that took her breath away. For a moment Deborah’s vision seemed to swim. Natasha was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. The vision said something. Deborah heard her as if the sound was coming muffled through water. Then the mist cleared and Natasha spoke again.
“Do you think I look the job?” She had had her hair cut short and bleached to a peroxide white. Pale make up combined with dark mascara and scarlet lipstick made her look desirable, bruised, vulnerable, knowing and lost all at the same time. Deborah wondered where she had learned all this but was sure that Mario would pass her on to someone who would know how to exploit her for the greatest profit. This was a product for which people would pay a high price. She brought herself back under control.
“Yes, yes, wonderful. For the job; wonderful for the job.”
Natasha flashed her a professional smile. Deborah looked deep into her eyes seeking the old Natasha or anything recognisable but the mask was complete.
Chapter 40
The tap o
n the door was gentle and bang on time, twenty minutes late. Cyprus time, thought George. He had visualised his masseuse as petite and dark and coy. She may have been but the figure confronting him when he opened the door was male, grim and big enough to block out the light from the landing. The shadow spoke quietly and said, “Hand-maiden of Aphrodite. Special price. Pay in advance, please.” George paid. The shadow unblocked the light and a small, dark haired, female figure took its place.
“Hello. I’m Eva.”
“Hello. Come in,” said George unnecessarily because she was already behind him. He looked down the corridor and saw the shadow settling on a chair a few doors away, apparently about to count the money George had given him.
“You must be Mr George,” said Eva?
“Yes. That’s right.” George thought he noticed a faint American accent. “Where are you from?”
“I live in Limassol. Why do you ask?”
“No special reason.” George guessed it was unwise to ask too many questions too soon. He noticed she was carrying what looked like a makeup case. To cover his nervousness he asked, “Tools of your trade?” Eva smiled and nodded. She was attractive but not George’s type. She nodded towards the blue and silver trainers under a chair.
“You like running?”
“What? Oh! Not especially.” This was not going well and George felt he had to make an effort to get the encounter back on track. “Well… shall we, er… move things forward? I’ll get a towel shall I?”
“Sure,” said Eva, sitting on a chair and opening her case. “We’ll use the bed. Why don’t you undress while you’re in there. Just wear a towel and bring another one if you have two.”
In the bathroom, George looked at himself in the mirror. He had never felt less like being massaged – full body or otherwise. Miserably, he undressed and wrapped a large, hotel towel around his waist. He opened the door quietly and stepped back into the bedroom. Eva was drawing the curtains and the room was dimmed to a gloom punctuated by bright lances of light from outside. She was humming tunelessly to herself and the sound gave him a surreal feeling. He wondered whether all full-body massage sessions were so tense and what he should expect.
“Look, Eva. I’ve… er… never done this before. You’ll have to tell me what to do.”
“Your first time!? Oh my God! This is my first day! I thought you would know what to do! I suppose you’d better lie on the bed and I’ll rub you with oil. I’ve got different things here. Look.”
George looked and burst out laughing. “This isn’t your box of tricks, is it? Do you know what’s in any of the bottles?”
“Well… oil… I suppose. This was a bit of a last minute thing. They promised me training but the usual girl got called out by a regular – a very good customer – so they told Tassos to bring me.” The accent had shaded from trans-Atlantic to something he thought might be more Transylvanian. George was still laughing.
“Eva, please don’t worry. Look, I’m a writer and I’m researching a book on … on the sex business. I just wanted to see what happened here so don’t worry. If you don’t tell Tosser out there that he is going to be in a book, I won’t tell him you’ve done nothing to earn your fee. I would like to ask you a few questions, though. Is that okay?”
It was Eva’s turn to laugh. “Tassos; not Tosser. And I wouldn’t let him hear you call him that. Your name is George Rose and you are a writer? I look at lots of English books but I have not seen your name.”
“No, well I use a pen name. I write under several different names. So, where are you really from, Eva?”
“Odessa. On the Black Sea, you know, Ukraine.”
“And how come you’re here?” The story was a familiar one: a poor family, a bright girl who learned enough English at school and was pretty enough to attract the notice of someone in a gang, the promise of a well-paid job in the West. She had been told that she would be stopping off in Cyprus to learn the hotel trade then would go to England. She still had enough sense of humour to acknowledge that she had been very naïve not to realise what was meant by the hotel trade but she didn’t have enough money to move on and she was too ashamed at having been fooled to go home, even if she had been allowed to. She owed Michael her fare and the costs of her work permit and the debt was rising every day as interest and the rent for her shared apartment was added. George’s ears pricked up.
“You’ve met this Michael?”
“Never. But he is the boss. Everybody is frightened of him. Even Tassos. You know now that Tassos is here to collect the money and watch me and make sure I do my job. He is not worried what you might do to me so long as I can work.”
“Well, we’d better let him think you have done a good job, hadn’t we? How long are you supposed to take,” asked George looking first at his bare wrist then at his watch on the bedside table?
“I don’t know. At least half an hour, I think. A little longer than now.”
“Well, what shall we talk about for another ten minutes? I know. Can you play backgammon? But look, tomorrow I’ll ring again and ask for a massage. I’ll ask for you and we can talk again. I want to know more about this Michael.” Ten minutes was long enough for Eva to beat him twice before he showed her out of the door, still wearing a towel and, for the benefit of her minder, thanking her profusely for a wonderful experience. Tassos rose and walked beside Eva towards the lift. She flashed George a smile over her shoulder.
She beat him seven more times over the next two evenings. He won two games –partly because he was practising during the day but mainly because the dice fell right for him. On both occasions she arrived shadowed by the taciturn Tassos and on both occasions George paid him and waved his goodbyes to both of them thirty or forty minutes later. He also completed a couple pages of notes about Eva’s experiences that he added to the file of information gleaned from Dora and Anita. Flicking through it, he found he was getting quite a dossier. He was now bored with spending his days lounging around the pool and, anyway, he ought to get the Pajero back to its home with Stelios in Larnaca. His anxiety told him it was time to move again. Eva was about to leave after her third visit when George told her he would be leaving tomorrow or the next day at the latest.
“I’d like to thank you for your help, Eva. Apart from giving you a bit of cash, what could I do to show my appreciation for your help?”
“Well, I would like to see some more of Cyprus. Could I come with you to Larnaca?”
“Mmm, that could be difficult but maybe I could hire you as an escort for the day and take you to see some of the sights. What do you think?”
“You would do that? That would be wonderful. I shall ask Tassos.”
“No, let me ask him. If you ask, he may want to escort the escort, if you know what I mean.” George left Eva repacking her unused masseuse kit and walked down the corridor to where the shadow was waiting for Eva. “Tossas… sorry, Tassos. How much would it cost to hire Eva for the day tomorrow?” Tassos did not know but turned away to make a call on his mobile telephone. George offered half the amount requested, Tassos spoke again on the telephone and turned back with a ‘special, special price’. George paid.
They were both delighted by the Roman mosaics at Paphos, the amphitheatre at Amathus and the Neolithic site at Choirokitia. They drove to Maria’s village of Lefkara and their delight in the stone houses and handmade lace was only slightly dented by the constant invitations to ‘come and look at the lace. We make special price.’ After lunch they decided to take a country walk and admire the delightful views but were dismayed at the piles of building rubble and rusting kitchen appliances disfiguring the sides of the unmade, country roads. Only George fully appreciated the irony of a moulting, stuffed fox that adorned one pile of rubbish but he avoided thinking about a bag spilling a stream of chicken feathers to be blown away by the breeze. After a swim at Limassol’s public beach, George dropped Eva back at her apartment block just before dark.
“Thank you so much, George
. It was a lovely day. Good luck with your book. Please send me a copy.”
“I shall certainly do that. Thank you, Eva, for all your help and for your company. You look after yourself, eh!”
The hotel was hosting a large wedding reception and all the parking places were taken so George parked the Pajero in a quiet side street nearby. He told the reception clerk that he would be leaving the following day and had an early dinner and a bottle of wine in his room while watching an incomprehensible Greek game show on the television.
Chapter 41
It was still dark when the telephone woke him. “Mr George. Wake up. It is Stelios from Larnaca.”
“What? Stelios? What time is it?”
“Never mind. My car, my Pajero. Where is it?”
“It’s here, Stelios. Parked around the corner. Why? What’s the matter?”
“It catch fire. My car is blown up and on fire. The police call me.”
George’s first thought was for his dossier. He turned on the light. Yes. There it was on the table. He had remembered to take it out of the car. “Stelios, are you saying your car caught fire? It was okay when I parked it.”
“No, no!” Stelios was shouting. “Not fire; yes, fire but from somebody. Somebody made a fire in my car!”
“Stelios, I’ll ring you back in fifteen minutes, you understand, fifteen minutes. I will go to look.” George put the telephone down and ran his hand over his face. What the hell was going on? Somebody had set fire to the car? It didn’t make sense.
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