A Cold Moon

by Mike Price

  He stopped and reached into his pocket for the photograph, he could just make out the figures in the light from the street lamp. Neither of their faces was visible, but he was sure with his blond curly hair, he could be recognised. Martin was more difficult, but you could just make out the tattoo underneath his gold watch and he was convinced that would be enough. The most important thing was the picture had automatically printed the date in the top right hand corner… 9/01/10.

  He let out a whoop of joy. Got the bastard, he can’t deny that. He looked around to see if anyone had heard him but there was nobody in sight. I need to hide this picture somewhere safe, he thought, it’s my passport to a new life.

  He felt in his pocket for the cigarette case he had helped himself to, took out a cigarette and lit it. Slowly, he inhaled the smoke trying to think where would be the safest place to hide the picture, not at home, that was definite; his mother was always going through his things. He finished the cigarette and was about to flick the stub into the gutter when a man walked by on the other side of the road with his dog. The man glared across, almost daring him to litter the pavement. Normally, he would have ignored the man, but the last thing he wanted right now was any confrontation, so turning towards the park, he walked to the rubbish bin, and having made sure the stub was extinguished, threw it in.

  Although it was evening, it was a light night and looking into the park, he could just make out the play area and the café about five hundred yards away. Just past the play area, a pole reached towards the sky, it looked like a lamppost without the lamp. It struck Joe as being an odd place to put a pole that appeared to serve no purpose.

  Then the idea came to him. It could serve a purpose after all; it could act as a marker. The more he thought about it, the more the idea made sense. If he buried the picture at the base of the pole, he would easily remember where it was hidden and no one on earth would ever find it. It was perfect.

  He wheeled the bike along the path until he reached the spot, just past the play area and, leaning it against the hedge, looked around to make sure no one else was in the park or watching him from the road.

  He had his penknife with him and for the second time that night was glad that he, out of habit, had brought it. He had, in the past, strapped it to his waistband whenever he was seeing a punter, just in case they turned nasty or did not want to pay. Fortunately, he had never had cause to use it, but tonight it had been a godsend.

  The ground was soft after the recent rain, and after ten minutes of digging and scrapping, he had made a hole deep enough. The only problem now was how to protect the photo from any moisture, but that was soon solved as he patted his pockets and felt the cigarette case hard against his fingers. Emptying the contents, there were five cigarettes left, he folded up the picture and placed it into the case then dropped it into the hole. After another furtive look to see if anyone was nearby, he quickly back filled the earth and pressed it down with his heel, making sure that the sod of turf was covering the top.

  He stepped back, pleased with himself, That is as safe as the Bank of England.

  He walked back to the entrance, straddled his bike and set off back to Coventry. He would not ask Martin for any money straight away, but he would let him know he had the picture and then he would leave him to sweat a while before putting the squeeze on. Joe had not felt so happy for a long time.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Martin had not slept well. The revelation by Joe that he was under the age of consent had weighed heavily on his mind. He kept asking himself why on earth he had got involved in the first place, but there was no logical answer. From their first meeting, he had been drawn to the boy and what he felt for him was something completely new. He had never thought of himself as homosexual, yes, he knew that his libido was not as great as that of his friends, and certainly not as great as Maddy’s, but he still enjoyed making love to her. Whilst many of his male friends bragged about their numerous conquests, he had stayed silent, thinking they were not gentlemen to boast so loudly, but also because he had very little to boast about anyway.

  The thing with Joe had been unreal as if in a fantasy, a sort of escape from his real life, but yes, he had to admit to himself he cared for the boy and it had not just been physical. Yet, on reflection, all their meetings had been short, and centred on the bedroom, although he had tried to engage Joe in conversation and other interests. Now that he looked back, it had always been Joe who wanted to go to bed. The more he reminded himself of their meetings, the starker the truth was that Joe had seduced him and he had been too weak to fight it. Joe was the villain of the piece, what a fool to let a young lad have such a hold over him. He should have been stronger and rejected the lad’s advances.

  Once Martin had established, in his own mind, that he was not at fault, he felt a little better and able to face the day. Fortunately, Tony had no appointments for him that evening so he decided he would go home early. He checked around the apartment, just to make sure that there were no traces of Joe ever having been there. He had washed the whisky glasses the night before and everything seemed to be in place. The only thing that was odd was that he could not find the cigarette case he kept on the coffee table and assumed Joe must have stolen it. He contented himself with the fact that it was a small price to pay for getting rid of the boy for good.

  Picking up some papers and sliding them into his briefcase, he was about to leave when a key turned in the front door. His heart missed a beat, and for a moment he was paralysed, thinking maybe Joe had a key and was back again.

  “Who’s that?” he called out.

  “It’s only me, Mrs Black. I thought you’d be gone by now or I would have knocked. I hope I didn’t frighten you.”

  The portly frame of his cleaning lady entered the room and he let out an audible sigh of relief.

  “Oh, it’s you. No, don’t worry; I was just about to leave. See you next time no doubt. Bye.” He swept past her and out of the apartment before she could even reply. He really could not face a half hour gossiping with Mrs Black.

  As the Ferrari pulled out of the car park and headed towards the A48, he turned the stereo on full blast, The Ride of the Valkyries filled the car and he lost himself in the pulsating music. This was familiar territory; he could return to the real world and consign the last few months to the dump of history that never really happened.

  He pulled up outside his London flat, eager to enter the safe confines of home. He desperately wanted to see Maddy, but of course, she would not be there, not being due back from her trip to Paris until the next day. Nevertheless, he had to talk to her; just to hear her speak would be enough.

  Having parked the car, he took the lift to the flat and, as he walked in the front door, felt a warm feeling of reassurance. He was in his own domain, untouchable and strong again. He quickly looked through the post, nothing important, and went into the kitchen and switched the espresso machine on. He looked at his watch, twelve thirty; it would be one thirty in Paris.

  On the off chance that she would not be in a meeting, he rang Maddy’s mobile.

  “Maddy? Can you speak or are you tied up?”

  “I am rather tied up at the moment; can I ring you back in about an hour?”

  “No problem, give me a call when you’re free. Oh and by the way I love you.”

  “Love you too,” her voice sounded a little surprised by his declaration of love; it was not that often he actually told her that.

  Martin put the phone down and poured out his coffee, he took the cup into the living room and slumped into his armchair. I’m really looking forward to her coming back, he thought.

  Maddy put her mobile down with two hands, she had to, they were tied together. She felt a little guilty when Martin had said he loved her, but it was only momentary. When the phone had rung, Peter had just tied her wrists together and was about to tie them to the headboard on the King size bed in their hotel. They were both naked and although they had spent most of the night making love, her
appetite had not dulled. They had not left the bed since midnight the previous day, having had room service deliver breakfast to their room, consisting of Eggs Benedict and a bottle of Krug. Peter had suggested the bondage, not so much for its excitement, but more to get a little rest, although extremely fit, he was no match for Maddy’s insatiable desires.

  He finished by tying her ankles to the two bottom corner posts. She was now helpless and at his mercy, just the way she liked it!

  He moved away and sat in the chair, his glass of Krug in his hand admiring the beautiful curves of her body.

  “Peter, come on, don’t tease me, make love to me,” she looked at him in a plaintive way, almost childlike as though asking for an extra sweet.

  He laughed. “You’re going to have to wait, I need a rest, and this is the only way I can control you.”

  “You’re so mean,” she almost wailed. “I can’t wait, I need you.”

  Peter just continued to smile.

  “Please, Peter, please.”

  He could not resist, his self-control losing the battle with his desire. Slowly, he rose from the chair, his glass still half full of champagne, and walked to the bed. He sat beside her and trickled the champagne so that it slowly ran down over her breasts and he bent to lick it, as her nipples rose to the sensation of his tongue. Pouring more of the liquid onto her, it continued its passage down over her body followed by his tongue. She groaned as he carried on exploring her every curve until finally, the glass was empty. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and draw him into her, but the ties held firm. The agony and the ecstasy were almost too much to bear, and she gave a little scream as she climaxed.

  Peter undid the knots and once loose, she jumped onto him, writhing against his body. If he hoped by satisfying her in the way he had she would be sated, he was sadly mistaken. Maddy had plans of her own and she would not be side-tracked.

  It was nearly two hours later that she suddenly realised that she had promised to phone Martin after her ‘meeting’. She rose from the bed, Peter was fast asleep, exhausted after all the activity of the last couple of hours, and walked to the bathroom. After a quick shower, she put on her make-up, dressed and checking that Peter was still sleeping, quietly slipped out of the bedroom and went downstairs to the hotel lounge.

  She ordered a coffee and, having composed herself, phoned Martin.

  “Sorry, darling, it took longer than I thought. You wouldn’t believe how hard it was.” She smiled to herself at the double entendre.

  “Well, I just hope it’s been worthwhile. I hope you’ve only spent money on the shop not buying more bags and shoes,” he said it in half teasing manner. He had never been mean when it came to Maddy buying clothes for her own wardrobe.

  “Yes, darling, it’s been very rewarding, but I may have to come again.” She struggled not to laugh out loud.

  “Well, once this election is out of the way, I might join you and we can spend a long weekend, taking in the Opera house as well.”

  “That would be lovely. Anyway, I’ll be home by lunchtime tomorrow, so can you book a table somewhere?”

  “No problem; what about Simpsons on the Strand? It’s always good for Sunday lunch.”

  “Yes, that sounds fine; why not ask Dick and Jenny if they would like to join us. Okay see you tomorrow. Bye, darling.”

  The phone went dead. Martin felt good. He would ring up Dick and Jenny straight away. The events of Friday evening now completely erased from his memory.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Martin had heard the news at his office and had left early to be at home to take in the full announcement on the News Twenty-Four programme. At last, the waiting was over, it was Thursday April 8th and Gordon Brown had called the general election for May 6th. The bastard had left it almost to the last minute and now there were only four weeks to canvass before polling day.

  He switched the television on and watched Brown telling the world that he was asking the Queen to dissolve parliament. The race to Downing Street had started, and Martin had noticed how the opinion polls for the two main parties had been getting closer and closer. The Tories lead had been whittled down to just a few percent and the pundits were already talking about a hung parliament. He felt there was an even better chance of him doing well as an independent, especially with so many MPs standing down in the wake of the expenses scandal. His only slight worry was, as Kenilworth and Southam was a new constituency, no one could be really sure which way it would swing.

  Having watched the same news repeated again and again, he finally dragged himself from the set and rang Tony.

  “I take it you’ve heard?” There was a grunt at the other end of the line acknowledging that he had. “We need to get our nomination papers in quickly and start the canvassing. Have you got a proposer, seconder and the eight names we need for the nomination?”

  “Martin, don’t worry, it’s all in hand and I’ve already been onto the printers to get posters printed. They have promised to have them here for Monday. I’ve also booked some advertising space in The Coventry Evening Telegraph and spoken to ‘Mills’ who have those bill boards you were asking about. I’ve managed to get some prominent spaces in all the villages, as well as half a dozen in Kenilworth and four in Southam. The only problem I have is the money has run out and I will need to pay for the printing on Monday.”

  “Tony, you’re a star, what would I do without you. Don’t worry about the money, I’ll get my bank to transfer another twenty thousand straight away. When’s my next speaking engagement?”

  “Tomorrow, don’t you remember? It’s at the Women’s Institute so put on your best smile.”

  “Don’t you worry; I promise to be Prince Charming personified.” They both laughed, but Tony knew that the women, especially the middle aged ones, found Martin very attractive and that counted for a lot in terms of votes.

  Martin had arranged to take most of the month off from work, dividing his time, spending Mondays and Tuesdays in London, and the rest of the week in Kenilworth. Fortunately, with the impending election, business had slowed down and with a little help from his junior colleagues, he had managed to handle all current trading, keeping his customers relatively happy.

  To his surprise, Maddy had been very supportive and had not complained when he had explained what his movements would be, in fact, she had even agreed to accompany him on the second weekend of the campaign. He wanted desperately to show her off to his future constituents and the opportunity had presented itself when the local paper had arranged for a ‘Question Time’ style debate with all of the candidates, to be held on Friday the 16th. Tony had said it would go down well if his wife attended the get together after the debate. The newspaper had hired a large hall and arranged for drinks for a select number of invited guests. Maddy had said she did not mind going to that particular event, but was really too busy to be with him all the time. For Martin, it was almost a complete turnaround from her often expressed disinterest of the whole ‘circus’ and he was more than pleased by her decision.

  The Friday after the announcement, he had driven up to his apartment, arriving at about six o’clock, giving him enough time to shower, change and meet up with Tony before going to his first meeting as an official independent candidate.

  As always, the apartment was immaculate. Mrs Black was certainly a treasure, there was never a thing out of place and he only wished his lady in London was as meticulous. He poured himself a gin and tonic, which he took into the bedroom so that he could drink it in between showering and dressing. He had just finished straightening his tie and making sure his aftershave was not too overpowering, when his mobile rang. He picked it up without even looking at the caller ID name.

  The voice hit him like a kick to the stomach.

  “Martin, its Joe.”

  Martin was shocked; he had never expected to hear from the lad again.

  “I thought I told you never to call me again,” he was shaking and he tried not to let his voice give away the ang
er he felt.

  “I know, but I’ve got something I think you might want back and…”

  “You can keep the fucking cigarette case, I guessed you’d stolen it,” he interrupted almost shouting now, the bile rising in his throat.

  “I’m not talking about the cigarette case; I’m talking about a photograph.”

  “What photograph? I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean I have one of the pictures you took with your Christmas present. One of those action shots, as you used to say.”

  Martin felt the blood draining from him; surely, the boy was making it up. How could he have one, they were locked in one of his bedside drawers.

  “It’s not possible…”

  “Just go and check.”

  Martin walked into the bedroom as if in a daze. Sitting on the bed, he reached into his pocket for his set of keys. Before trying the key in the lock, he instinctively pulled at the draw and to his horror, the draw slid open. His hands shaking, he reached inside and pulled out the pictures. With mounting fear, he counted them, there was one missing.

  “Martin, Martin, are you still there?”

  He could hear the boy shouting down the phone, but could not move his arms to put the phone to his ear; it was as if he was paralysed. Slowly, he regained his self-control and, taking a deep breath, spoke into the mobile.

  “What do you want?” his voice was flat; he was totally at a loss.

  “Now there’s a good boy. What I want is very simple. I’ll return the picture on condition, you pay me ten thousand pounds in cash. If you don’t pay up, I’ll go to the papers with the picture and tell them all about our little ‘love affair’.” He was sneering now; there was no compassion in his voice, more a sense of triumph.