The Gigolo

by Rocky Wyatt

  But this thing with Geordie, that had suddenly developed, could not only ease the present situation, but could also benefit him and in more than one way.

  The Geordie, was an acquaintance of Clive’s, that had wanted a job at the Summer Nights Agency for quite a long time and for obvious reasons. He was called Geordie, because he was from Newcastle. Nobody had ever bothered to ask him his real name, he was just Geordie.

  He had promised to give Clive a monthly payback, if he could get him a job there. For Geordie, it would be his dream job, screwing women for money, but alas, Clive could never do it. No matter how hard he tried, Trudy just wouldn’t relent and give Geordie a chance, not until now it seemed.

  Geordie was a tall, dark-haired man, younger than Paul and better looking than Paul.

  He was surly and smug, with a roughness about him that Trudy didn’t like and didn’t think her clientele would like either.

  However, for this exercise and for this moment in time, the Geordie was exactly what she needed.

  Clive brought Geordie back to Trudy’s office, where he signed his contract and was given a lady’s profile, and was promised many more if he proved himself worthy.

  There would be no drink, or casting couch interview for him. Trudy reserved that for special escorts, the ones that took her fancy.

  “Well Geordie, you’re on the books now and all you have to remember is, you do exactly what I say and when I say it, that way we’ll get along fine, but if I have any problems with you, or any complaints from any of my clients about you, no matter how slight, you’ll be out on your ear as quickly as you came in. Now… do I make myself clear?” Trudy barked at him.

  “Yes Trudy, that’s absolutely clear and thank you, I won’t let you down,” the Geordie whimpered, with no trace of surliness at all.

  “I had a problem with the last escort I hired, the one that you’re replacing. He thought he was smarter than me, but now he knows better.” She paused. “He’s unemployed.”

  Trudy nodded her head and motioned him to the door. Geordie took the hint and left.

  Clive and Geordie sat in the canteen area having a coffee. Like conspirators they sat closely together, chatting, happy and looking pleased with one another.

  Geordie now had his dream job.

  Clive was going to get his bung money, all was back to normal at Summer Nights and Paul the escort was now Paul the history man, or so they thought.

  *

  Paul was on the sofa at his apartment. He was getting restless; he hadn’t heard from Trudy in days, he was starting to think something was amiss.

  He couldn’t help it, he called her.

  “Hello Trudy,” he said. “It’s Paul here.”

  “Hi Paul, how’s things with you?” Trudy asked, knowing full well, he hadn’t had a client for days.

  “I’m fine, just waiting for my next lady,” Paul countered.

  “I’m sorry Paul, but I just don’t have any spare ladies at the moment… The fact is, I have this guy on my books that’s just drop-dead gorgeous and the flavour of the month and all the women on my books, want him… I’ve tried my best to push you, believe me,” she said.

  But he didn’t. He knew it was all over, but he didn’t know why. He was the best, those women had attested to that, but for whatever reason Trudy had, he was now redundant, surplus to requirements.

  “Okay Trudy, do what you can for me and keep me posted, bye-bye for now.”

  “Bye-bye Paul,” and they both hung up.

  Trudy was clicking her heels, she’d shown him who was the boss and who was in control of who. She’d sacked him and wiped the smile off his face good and proper and soon, when he couldn’t pay his mortgage or his other bills, he’d be begging her for his job back.

  Clive could sense the change in atmosphere, there was peace now at Summer Nights.

  No temper tantrums, no shouting, no broken glasses to clear up, just back to the old routine and a bit more money for him into the bargain.

  It was a pity though, he thought. He never got the chance to beat the hell out Paul, but two out of three’s not bad. With that, he lit the cigar Geordie had given him and blew a smoke ring into the air.

  It was getting bad for Paul; his savings were running out and he was more than reluctant to get a normal job. He couldn’t plead with Trudy, he was far too stubborn and proud for that. His ex-wife needed money also, for his two children. The cost of giving them a good education was rising.

  He wanted to give his children a better start in life than what he had, that’s why he had to have the sort of money escort work gave him. Whatever else happened, he wouldn’t disappoint his children.

  But there was no way out, he was on his knees and he was beaten – Trudy had won.

  He was in a corner, but as all good rats do, when they’re cornered, they come out fighting.

  Paul was worried and anxious and maybe not thinking straight. It was always darkest before the dawn, he thought, but to him there seemed only one course of action he could take. He would remove the new, younger, and better-looking escort, that way Trudy would have to reinstate him and with full honours, of course.

  He was smiling now. If you can’t join them, beat them, he thought… and started to laugh, for the first time in weeks.

  His plan was to follow the new man home from the Summer Nights office; he knew the new man would have to go back there at some time or other.

  Trudy liked to keep her staff on a short leash, making them come into the office on a regular basis, or when she needed to rebuke them, or give them feedback from her ladies, that way she could keep an eye on them and keep them firmly under her control She didn’t want any of her escorts going ‘solo’ with her hard won and very lucrative clients.

  That was another thing about Paul that annoyed Trudy – Paul would never ‘clock in’ like the other escorts, he came and went as he liked it was always his way or no way.

  When he found out where the new man ‘lived’, he would confront him, man to man, and it would be a violent confrontation.

  Violence was another thing that Paul was very good at, as Clive and Karl had witnessed.

  Paul was waiting across the street from the Summer Nights office; he’d been in the café opposite for a couple of hours now and was on his fourth cup of tea.

  He’d been going there every day, hoping to catch a glimpse of the ‘new boy’, coming and going to the office, and now at the end of the day his luck was finally in.

  He saw him, his long vigil had paid off. Clive had walked out of the building with a tall, dark-haired, good-looking man, it had to be the new boy.

  Clive and the new boy parted company with nods and grins, Paul couldn’t hear what they were saying and it wasn’t really important, a visual sighting was all he needed. He now knew where he could find the new boy whenever he wanted to.

  Clive went back inside and Geordie, the new boy, walked towards the town. Paul finished his tepid tea and followed.

  Geordie had walked about half a mile before going down a high street and into a bar. Paul walked after him and stood outside pretending to use his mobile phone. He was watching him, like a cat stalking its prey, minute by minute the jealousy, hatred and fear building up inside him.

  The hatred was because the new boy was taking his earnings away from him, usurping him as the number one Summer Nights escort.

  The jealousy stemmed from the fact that Trudy had told Paul that the new boy was a better looking, younger stud, and that her ladies preferred him.

  The fear came from the knowing that he was going to have to smash the new boy’s face and stop him from working at the agency.

  Paul would have to plan this carefully if he was to succeed, stalk the new boy to where he could get close to him and break his face.

  When the time was right and there were no witnesses about, Paul would make the attack and make good his escape and then everything would go back to normal, or so he thought.

  Geordie got his drink and went t
o sit with a group of similar-aged men, it was obvious this was his local, as he nodded and spoke to most of the people there.

  This would be it, the place where the attack would happen. If it was inside, Paul would have to know where the toilets were, in case it happened in there, and where the exits were, in case he had to do it the bar and make a run for it afterwards.

  Paul walked into the bar and ordered a lager; he sat down with his drink and positioned himself so that he could watch the new boy and get a feel for him. He took a sip of his beer and went looking for the toilets and exits.

  They were at the back of the bar but there was no rear exit, so it would have to be the toilets, in the public bar, or maybe outside, at the front of the bar, where there were tables and chairs.

  Paul went back to his drink, waiting and watching. Geordie, or the new boy to Paul, went outside with two of his friends.

  It wasn’t particularly hot or sunny, it was twilight, but the patrons of the bar could smoke if they were outside and Geordie smoked. This seemingly insignificant personal detail would prove to be his downfall and consequently lose him his dream job forever.

  Paul was satisfied he could pull it off, he could do no more for now. It would be here outside the bar and in the evening, but not this evening; he needed to think about the plan more, work out the finer details, nurse his wrath some more and pick the right tools for the job.

  Paul finished his lager, got up and walked out.

  *

  Paul had told Pamela about being sacked and all about the new boy at Summer Nights.

  She hadn’t disguised her relief at hearing the news, or the fact that she was happy to have him all to herself again. It would be like a new start to their relationship, she thought, and she had started to build up her hopes and dreams again.

  But within weeks, those hopes and dreams had started to fade away, their relationship had gone from bad to worse.

  Paul’s behaviour had been impossible, he was moody, angry, and lashed out at the nearest person to him, which was Pamela.

  She was pleased he wasn’t a gigolo anymore and she wasn’t sharing him, but it was wearing her down, the fact that she was treading on eggshells all the time.

  She couldn’t say or do anything right and she was being shouted at and criticised daily, and life with Paul was becoming unbearable. If this was to be a sign of her future, then it was a very bleak one.

  In her heart she now knew, that to be with Paul meant sharing him with other women, or being bullied and scared and living a life of misery.

  Pamela was at breaking point and it would only take one more little thing to tip her over the edge… and it came later that week.

  Paul had followed Geordie a couple of more times and was now certain he could get him any time he liked, and he was going to get him tonight.

  When he got home from stalking Geordie, Pamela was there waiting for him.

  Paul, in one of his rows with Pamela, had told her about the new boy and blurted out how he was going to find him and what he was going to do to him when he did.

  She knew Paul wouldn’t rest until the new boy was out of the picture and it was bound to end in violence; in her stomach, she had a terrible feeling of foreboding.

  She wasn’t looking very happy, she’d been crying and she’d packed a small bag, for her incidentals, the little things that she’d left at Paul’s when she’d stayed there.

  “I’m sorry Paul, I can’t live like this anymore, you’re killing me,” Pamela said almost apologetically.

  She looked as if she was waiting for some wonderful reply, that would placate her and make everything good again, but it didn’t come.

  “I know and I’m sorry too, but I am what I am and I can’t change now, I have tried,” was his calm reply.

  Pamela had heard him rant and rave and scream and shout, over the past few weeks, but now she hated the calmness of the situation.

  Paul been in this scenario many times before and he knew the drill by now, he knew what he was like to live with and he knew she was right about everything.

  But he didn’t really care one way or the other; as with all philanderers and womanisers, he gave a lot of women, a little love.

  Easy come, easy go, was Paul’s motto, where women were concerned.

  Pamela waited a minute longer, then headed for the door. It ran through her mind that there may be a final gesture from Paul, some words of love, or maybe he would cry out, but there was only silence.

  She was wearing her glasses and they trapped in her tears, stopping them from running down her cheeks, forming little puddles under her eyes, behind the lenses.

  Pamela opened the door and left, she never saw, or heard from Paul again.

  Months later she read something about Paul in a local newspaper and the little puddles formed again.

  Paul put Pamela out of his mind and started on the task in hand; he walked to the bedroom and opened the door to his wardrobe. He took out a black briefcase, which he lay on the bed. He worked the combination lock and it flicked open to reveal another, more sinister and less pleasing bag of tricks.

  These were his ‘tools’ of violence, this time, and not of pleasure.

  An iron bar with a strap, like a truncheon, but smaller, about ten inches long, just the right size to conceal.

  Picking it up, he slapped it into the palm of his hand a couple of times, judging its weight and its pain potential, then he swished it quickly through the air, as if hitting an imaginary foe.

  A brass knuckle duster, he looked at it and dismissed instantly; flick knife, which he just had to flick open and shut a few times; a collapsible riot baton and a holstered gun.

  The gun was a Beretta .32 semi-automatic, it was flat and slim and didn’t spoil the line of his suit, which is one of the reasons he’d bought it.

  He bought it off a man he’d been introduced to, some years before, in the West End of London. He fired it once or twice, but only to test that it worked. He had it well hidden, and kept it just in case.

  Paul looked at them and made his decision. He took out the truncheon and the gun, shut the case and put it back into the wardrobe.

  He was dressed in his dark blue suit and polo-neck jersey. He took off the jersey and replaced it with a shirt and tie; he did this because if all went wrong, he would have to get to his gun quickly, there would be no time to fumble under a jersey – he would have to be, as they say, ‘quick on the draw’.

  He undid his belt and looped the holster on his left side, so he could pull it out quickly with his right hand.

  The truncheon went into the inside pocket of the coat.

  He buttoned the coat up, looked at himself in mirror to check for bulges, and when he was satisfied with the way he looked, he headed for the door and went out to find the new boy.

  Paul was waiting across the road from the bar, in a doorway playing with his phone, but watching everything. He was scared and the adrenalin rushing around his heart was making him shake.

  He wasn’t thinking much, he’d made his mind up. He knew there was no turning back now, he had to go through with the attack, it was too late for any other course of action.

  He hadn’t seen anyone come out of the bar yet, the street was completely empty. He’d been waiting thirty or forty minutes and was beginning to think the new boy wasn’t going to show and he’d have return tomorrow night.

  Then he saw him, Geordie had come out to smoke. Paul’s heart raced and missed a beat.

  Geordie had two black fellows with him and they were all smoking and chatting; Paul guessed the black fellows were bouncers, by the way they dressed in black suits and wore bow ties.

  One of the bouncers was a big fellow, broad and heavy, like a boxer, but with more weight. He would be very difficult to subdue and a huge threat.

  The other bouncer was tall, but averagely built, not much of a problem, but could still be a danger if things didn’t go to plan.

  Paul would wait until the new boy was alone, or at
least until the big fellow went back into the bar, or, failing that, if everything went wrong,… He’d just do it…

  It happened very quickly, the two bouncers went back into the doorway of the bar to peer inside, while they smoked. Almost instinctively, like a tiger Paul leapt up, stepped across the road and walked down the pavement as if to pass the bar. He’d unbuttoned his coat, reached inside for his truncheon and held it at his right side, out of view.

  He stopped dead by Geordie, went at him with his left hand and gripped his shirt; the truncheon went swinging up, then came straight down across Geordie’s unsuspecting face.

  It hit his face across the right eye and the nose, splitting the eye and almost breaking the nose – blood gushed from the wounds.

  In an instant, Paul had raised the truncheon high and hit Geordie’s face again and again.

  It had taken a lot of planning, a lot of risk taking, a lot of heartache, but in a couple of minutes it was over.

  There was blood everywhere, Geordie lay unconscious on the floor.

  During the attack, Geordie had never made a sound, it was so unexpected and he didn’t have a chance to defend himself, he never even smoked his cigarette.

  The tables and chairs were crashed all about him and with his smashed face, the new boy was now the ugly boy.

  Paul put the truncheon back in his pocket and quickly walked away. The bouncers heard the noise and came back outside to see what the commotion was, not urgently, just thinking that Geordie had probably knocked over a chair, or one of his women had accosted him.

  *

  It shocked them to see him there, lying in a pool of blood. He looked like the victim of a hit-and-run traffic accident and for a second they were motionless and speechless.

  Then they saw his attacker, Paul, attempting to walk away. They immediately ran towards him, with thoughts of apprehending him.

  Paul was prepared for this and without thought, he turned around, stopped and pulled his coat open, showing the bouncers the gun.

  The bouncers’ eyes seemed to visibly grow large and bright and they both stopped in an instant.