10
C
hampagne. Bring her to me,” Mikky demanded after Mr. Yarmouth drove away in his white Cadillac. His temperature was rising, made worse because the exterminators still hadn’t shown up. “And email all our subscribed members that we will be closed today, put a sign on the door, inform the receptionists…”
“Will do, Mikky.” I hunted down Freddie discreetly and asked him to find Champagne’s number and give it to me discreetly. I needed to speak to her face to-face and find out what the fuck she was thinking.
I returned to the Red Velvet rooms and pulled the soiled sheets off the bed, almost retching from the stink. Unfortunately, the shit had seeped through onto the mattress, so I yanked that off onto the floor as well. My head was spinning trying to come up with reasons why any of our girls would handcuff a client, tease him, and then leave him bound to the bed for hours.
I was not concerned about what kinks our members preferred, but safety and hygiene were our top priorities. This was a massive failure, and Freddie or Betty should’ve had their eyes on the ball. We had rats in the kitchen and snakes in the Velvet rooms, and it felt like things were starting to unravel.
It had me scratching my head because Champagne was one of the good girls who kept her nose clean, didn’t dabble in drugs, and was a favorite of many of the gentlemen who frequented the club. It seemed out of character, so I needed to speak to her in person. Additionally, only four of us had the code to the Red Velvet Rooms, so how did they get up there?
It stinks so badly that the scent has permeated the hall and other rooms, so I was relieved that Mikky decided to keep the club closed for the day and night. When Betty and our reception staff turn up for work, we’d have to turn them away and give a false excuse. I trusted that Freddie knew what to do.
I dragged the mattress down the hall to the room closest to the stairs, which had a window looking out over the alleyway. There, I threw the mattress and sheets out. Once I’d done that, I checked the rooms to ensure everything was in place before opening the hall cupboard containing the cleaning products.
After spending an hour mopping the floor, cleaning the walls, and every other surface, I checked that the secret door was locked and secured as I left. The pest exterminators had arrived and were scanning the floor for droppings as I walked back to the stairs, almost falling over a girl in faux fur sitting on the bottom step.
“Jeez, why are you sitting there?” I growled, not in the mood for this.
“Freddie told me you wanted to see me,” she said sweetly, standing up so I could see her properly.
“Champagne? You got here fast,” I stated, relieved but annoyed. “Follow me.”
“What’s going on? Freddie said we’re closed tonight, but I have two bookings,” she sounded so innocent, as if she had nothing to do with the old man covered in shit left in the room upstairs.
Kneehigh boots tapped behind me as I pointed to my office and shut the door behind us. Having the working girls up here broke the rules, but this must be kept confidential.
“What’s happened?” she asked again, playing dumb.
“Sit,” I told her as I strode to my seat and opened the top drawer to check my phone for messages. A message was left on my work phone from an unknown number, but I didn’t open it. “Is Mr. Yarmouth one of your clients?” cutting to the chase.
“Yes,” she swallowed nervously before replying. “What’s happened to him?” The color ran from her already pale cheeks as she bit her bottom lip.
“What makes you think something happened to him?” I challenged her to see if she’d crack or at least spill some bullshit.
“Because Freddie called and said there was an emergency,” she furrowed her brow. “And now I’m sitting in your office, Mr. Byrne. He is an old man, too, so I didn’t know how long he could handle the things he liked.
I cringed, holding up my hand to stop her speaking. “Spare me the details. And he’s not dead.”
She sighed in relief, and it seemed genuine. “Thank goodness. He didn’t turn up, so I was worried.”
“Turn up? When?” I questioned as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
“Last night,” she answered anxiously. “Thursday. Mr. Yarmouth is my Thursday, every Thursday without fail.”
“Well…it turned out he was already there,” I sighed, leaning back in my chair and watching her body language. “Handcuffed to a bed and in great distress.”
“Is he okay?” she asked, genuinely concerned. It seemed she was quite fond of the old guy.
“Yeah, he’s fine. Just shaken up. But he swore it was you who handcuffed, blindfolded, and gagged him. It was your name he used,” I explained as those furrow lines deepened even more.
“But it wasn’t me. “ I couldn’t have been, because he didn’t show up,” she pointed out.
“Were all the rooms in use last night?” I asked her since I didn’t oversee that side of the business. It was better to stay detached from it. In other words, the less I knew, the better, provided nothing was happening that could tarnish the club's reputation.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I was waiting in the lounge room for Mr. Yarmouth, so I wasn’t sure who was up there.”
“You didn’t go up at all?” I questioned her, knowing she couldn’t go up without one of us unlocking it.
“Not last night,” she replied. “There was no point because the only client I had booked in was Mr. Yarmouth, and we always met in the front lounge room on the right.” Her trembling, pale fingers opened her small carry bag and took out her phone. “Would you like to see my schedule?”
I flicked my hand, shaking my head. “No need.”
She looked cold and nervous and wrapped her faux tightly around her lean, long frame. “But someone was using my name?”
“It seems so,” I sighed, unsure if she was lying or not. Actually, I was sure she was telling the truth, but that meant a girl and a man with an accent snuck up to the room and handcuffed Mr. Yarmouth. Why? What was the point?
“Okay, thanks,” I nodded to the door. “You can go now.”
She hesitated before standing. “Did Mr. Yarmouth describe this girl?”
“We haven’t spoken to him properly yet as we were busy doing damage control, but we found him blindfolded, so I guess he was unable to see them,” I replied, shrugging, suppressing a cringe at the sight of that man naked and lying in his feces. “I’ll contact him later when he’s cooled down a little…if he wants to.”
She screwed her face up in confusion and dithered, still refusing to leave. “Do I still have a job?” she asked softly, her voice trembling with fear.
“Of course,” I asserted, “until we find proof that you did something wrong, you’re free to keep working here.”
A sigh of relief relaxed her body, and she thanked me several times before leaving.
“Wait,” I called after her, and her face dropped, turning back.
“Man with an accent, does that sound familiar to you?” I knew it was a stretch, as I had little information as to what kind of accent.
“Um, many men have accents,” she shrugged.
“Yeah, okay,” I resigned and waved her away as I combed my fingers through my hair, wondering how to fix this. Mr. Yarmouth might keep his mouth shut outside the club, but he could be a danger inside.
My hand mindlessly grabbed my phone to message Gunner when I remembered I had an unopened message from an unknown number. As soon as I read it, everything fell into place.
Them: Found him yet?
I didn’t need to know what or who the messenger was referring to, because it is evident that handcuffing Mr. Yarmouth was a setup. It wouldn’t surprise me that they took pictures as well to blackmail him and us. We could wipe our hands clean of this and allow Mr. Yarmouth to deal with it as his lawyers advised.
I swiped to call the number, but unsurprisingly, it was switched off. So, I walked to Mikky’s door and held up my phone. “It’s a setup,” I said.
“No kidding,” he snarled, reading the message, “the rats are too.”
“Champagne knew nothing. She said Mr. Yarmouth didn’t turn up for his regular Thursday appointment,” my stomach turned a little as I said this aloud, because I was a one-man woman. “Because he was tied up in the room, but she didn’t see who had done it.”
Visiting prostitutes was never to my taste. Perhaps I was a romantic at heart and believed in love, which became a problem when the only girl I liked was a suspect. It was a weird sensation, both exhilarating and frustrating, to be so attracted to a girl whom we were forbidden to touch. But then Mikky contradicted himself by saying that we had to act as usual, which meant continuing to kiss and fuck her. Nothing raises alarm bells more than virulent young men refusing to touch a girl they’d had their hands all over only a week ago.
Several beats of intense silence passed as Mikky contained his fury before he said, “Interesting coincidence, isn’t it?”
I nodded slowly as his mood was dark and sinister, almost suffocating.
“The Russians show up outside of your apartment building, then we have a rat infestation, and then,” he pointed his finger to the ceiling, “ol’ Mr. Yarmouth shit his pants tied to a fucking bed waiting to have his cherry popped by a girl called Champagne.”
“Blindfolded and gagged, so they didn’t want to seen-”
“That could be his kink anyway,” he argued.
“I reckon they took pics and you know the rest,” I suggested and he cocked his eyebrows.
“Nothing surprises me anymore,” he cleared his throat.
Betty’s distinctive footsteps came striding down the hall, and it was a relief that her shift had started, allowing her to sort out the dramas unfolding. Her dark, pristine head poked into the office. “What the hell is going on here?”
“Rat farming,” Mikky quipped, trying to see the humor in it.
“Was this a targeted attack?” Betty was not stupid. “Because we’ve got the FSIS downstairs.”
I was dejected when I glanced at Mikky, who seemed slightly confused. He glanced at me, reading the disenchanted expression on my face. “Remind me who they are?” he frowned, his dark eyes flicking from me to Betty.
“Food inspector,” she educated him.
“How did they find out?” I asked as Mikky’s mood turned darker by the second, and Betty noticed. Mikky was in a lousy mood, which made for an uncomfortable atmosphere.
Betty shrugged and carefully replied, “Someone called it in.”
In silence, Mikky pushed his chair and strode to the safe behind the naked lady painting, unlocking it as we watched him, waiting for directions.
He took a thick wad of cash from the safe and tossed it on his desk. “See, what it’ll take to make this go away,” he instructed, and we knew exactly what he meant. Money talks, and money also shuts people up.
I returned to my office, and Betty took the wad of cash to charm the inspector into giving us a break. Reflecting on the Russians in the mint BMW, I knew trouble would return when they had plenty of backing and power to fight us. They want the club back and their territory restored.
My finger tapped on my desk in irritation, curious that they had waited until Mikky was out of prison before attacking, when it would have been easier to start a war while he was inside. Maybe it was a coincidence or perhaps I poked he bear when I ordered the assignation of one of their pimps and dealers. Huh, plenty more bullets to spray at useless scums.
I say, if they wanted a war, bring it on.
Finding the message again from the ‘unknown’, I replied…
Me: What do u want?