Personal Protection Read online

  Since this place used to be a strip club, (and yes, there is a difference) there were no seats next to the stage. The girls have been pulled off by over-enthusiastic clients in the past, so the whole tucking the money into their g-strings bit doesn’t happen on stage any more. Instead, girls not currently dancing wander around with tip buckets. If the clients like what they see, they tip well; if they don’t, they tip badly or not at all.

  It helps that someone had the bright idea of making the tip buckets those artificial vaginas they sell in sex toy catalogues. It’s not in good taste, I grant you, but it is safer than the way things used to be. Now they can’t get their grubby little mitts on the real thing, punters happily push their fingers into these with a donation, drool over the performer (or the girl carrying it) imagining where they’d like to be sticking their cash. And quite frequently telling them all about it in fairly graphic terms. If I hadn’t known it was part of the job, I’d have punched some of these creeps’ lights out. The girls put up with a hell of a lot. I couldn’t do it.

  I contrived to be in a position where I could keep an eye on the audience and watch the act at the same time. I don’t know how, over the stage lights, but Tori must have seen me. She directed every lewd gesture and lascivious move in my direction. When she threw back her head, wet a finger and trailed it down the length of her body, I was just as unable to look away as every man in the room.

  She has a presence on stage that grabs attention and hypnotises everyone. The applause when she finished and gathered up her clothes and an armful of these bulging pseudo-pussies was tremendous.

  “What I wouldn’t give to fuck her brains out!” one ecstatic voyeur moaned.

  Never in my life have I taken such great pleasure in whistling jauntily and grinning ear to ear as I walked past someone. I think he got the picture.

  Tori had not long left the stage when someone tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Star 2.”

  Obligingly I took myself off to the private booth on the right of the stage.

  An Asian girl met me there with her inebriated client. He paid a cashier outside, then the door was unlocked and we went in. It was a small plush room. There was a single sturdy recliner under muted spotlights for the client, a micro stereo, a collection of CDs for the girl to dance to, and in the shadows behind the door, a tall bar stool for me.

  I made myself as comfortable as my damp underwear allowed, then watched as the girl cued up the CD in this soundproof booth and commenced gyrating. The music she chose wasn’t a million miles from what Tori had stripped to. And whenever her back was to the client her eyes were on me. I ran a finger round a suddenly tight collar.

  When it was over, the client staggered out past me, while the girl clothed herself in the revealing dress they walk the club floor in when they’re not dancing. I made to leave, but she was a fast mover. Her hand was on my shoulder. Breathy words tickled my ear. “Did you enjoy that?”

  “More than he did, I suspect.”

  Her other arm twined around my waist, fingers heading for my crotch. I clamped a hand about her wrist.

  “Tori’s a very lucky girl.”

  Her tongue traced the outer edge of my ear. I snatched my head away, ashamed to find that I didn’t want to. The mind may be true, but the body just wants what it wants. It doesn’t care who’s doing the job. Names don’t matter to the libido.

  I opened the door and her hands fell from me. The sounds of the outside room washed over me. Her chuckle followed me even over the sound of the booming music as I fled to the bathroom.

  The slap rang out like a gunshot in the tiled facility.

  “I didn’t do anything!”

  Tori wiped off my earlobe and exhibited a lipstick-smeared finger. “Then what’s this?”

  Damning is what it was, but I couldn’t say that. She didn’t give me time to say anything. She slammed out of the bathroom leaving me with a smarting cheek, a dripping face, a towel in my hands and an audience of other interested dancers. This gig was not turning out at all the way I’d planned.

  “Here, allow me.” The girl whose assistance I’d come to on the balcony claimed the towel from my hands and patted my face dry. One of the others took over cleaning the rest of the lipstick off my ear.

  I was surrounded by an ocean of beauty, smothered by soft touches and softer hands. This would be a fantasy of several people of my acquaintance. I didn’t want any of them! I tried to push through them gently, politely. That wasn’t easy when the ladies were determined and there was so much bare flesh on display. I mean, where do you put your hands? I finally stuffed them in my pants pockets and let them get on with it. It seemed by far the quickest way to get it over with and provoke no one.

  The story of my disarming the two hotheads had done the rounds quickly. Among the girls, I was the hero of the hour. Getting away wasn’t going to be easy.

  Another idiot customer provided me with an escape. He barged into the bathroom with hands outstretched to grab. The massed girls cried out and backed away. I moved between them and forced the idiot’s arm up his back and frog-marched him out. It wouldn’t do my reputation any harm, but it would make my life difficult if I got cornered by the ladies again. By the time I’d escorted him off the premises, there was no sign of Tori. Miserably, I went back to work.

  Unfortunately, after that I was in great demand to sit in the Star rooms. I have never spent so many hours squirming in my life. Even the girls who were straight directed their attentions to me when they weren’t facing the clients. (Teasing me or repaying me? I didn’t know.) They knew that since I had to see that the men behaved themselves, I couldn’t look away. If I had been unattached, I would have enjoyed it. As it was, their attentions were a torment.

  It got worse.

  Tori insisted I sit in on a private dance with a client. Unlike every other woman that night, she ignored me and directed her entire attention to the still sober man in the chair. Without contact, she did almost everything she would have done had we been in bed together and looked as if she was enjoying every minute of it, to punish me for my imagined transgression. Thank God the man never tried to touch her. By the end of the session, which seemed to go on forever, all I wanted to do was kill him.

  He passed me wearing the same look I had given the man that had said he’d have given anything to fuck her. It’s true: what goes around comes around. Remind me never to do smug.

  She snapped off the stereo and started to get dressed. I couldn’t look at her. When she had her clothes on she came over to me and tipped up my face.

  “That really hurt you?” She seemed surprised. “Maybe I don’t know you as well as I thought I did.”

  Damn straight, she didn’t! “I didn’t do anything, Tori. I’ve never cheated on anyone in my life. I may be a lot of things, but a two-timer? Never! You saw what you wanted to see. You wouldn’t let me explain.”

  I tried to get off the stool and leave. I didn’t want her to see my hurt.

  She wouldn’t let me. She pushed me back into my seat and straddled me.

  “I’m sorry. This whole business has got me turned around, mixed up and confused.”

  She was confused? What about me? I didn’t know whether I was coming or going!

  “Neither of us is thinking straight, Randall. Let me make it up to you…”

  Her hands started doing things they shouldn’t in a public place. Hyped up as my body was, there was no way I wouldn’t lose it completely if she carried on like this. But if I told her to stop, would she accuse me of wanting someone else? Jesus, this was too much for me!

  The door cracked open allowing in a blast of the music outside. Tori moved away, and the cashier asked, “Tori? You finished? Somebody wants the room.”

  “Be right out, Hank.”

  Hank gave me a speculative look, then closed the door again.

  I used the pause to stand, rearrange my clothes, try and regain some perspective. When Tori came at me again, I kept some distance between us.
r />   It was her turn to look hurt.

  “Randall…”

  “I have a job to do. If I don’t get out there and do it I’ll get fired. I’ve never been fired. It would reflect badly on my professional reputation. It won’t look good for Dean’s business, either. I haven’t got time to play games with you. I’m not made of stone. I can’t watch you make love to somebody else and feel nothing! Any more than I can stop my body’s reaction when other girls direct their dancing at me. It doesn’t mean I want them. Even if they do try it on with me.”

  I put my hand on the door knob. “Think about that. And when you’ve thought about it, get back to me. I don’t want this business, any of this business, to come between us. I love you.”

  And I let myself out.

  I was shaking when I stepped outside. I don’t like scenes, but I could not handle Tori blowing hot and cold on top of everything else.

  Let somebody else sit in the Star rooms and get hot and bothered; I took myself back up to the balcony. I needed physical as well as mental distance from my problems. It really was a bad idea to get involved with your clients.

  Somehow we all got through the remainder of the night. I didn’t see anyone who was a definite candidate for Tori’s rape. The customers went home. The girls went to get changed. The lights came all the way up. The cleaners got to work. The bouncers got paid.

  I queued with the other suits outside the manager’s office to get my cut. I didn’t see my fan boy and no one spoke to me. They were still deciding whether I was the enemy or not.

  “I see Lisa still isn’t back,” said the cretin I’d given the knife to. Lisa Moran was one of the dancers; Tori had mentioned her, a student on her gap year.

  “Yeah, third night in a row. Dyke bitch, she’s going to get her ass fired,” said another guy.

  I didn’t say anything. Working here was going to be hard enough without picking a fight with my co-workers. But I took careful note of who had shown his colours, then made a point of changing the subject, introduced myself and set about putting faces to names. Among them were Villiers and Grey, the heroes from the balcony, and Vic, aka the prick. How appropriate.

  When I reached the desk I noticed my pile of bills seemed higher than the others.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “Bonus.”

  “For what?”

  “Making sure there wasn’t a bloodbath on the balcony.”

  I wondered why the youngster (at least I assumed it was him) had felt motivated to report my own words verbatim. I handed the extra back.

  “I was just doing my job.”

  He licked his lips, looked uncomfortable, but accepted the money. A ripple of conversation started behind me. Crap. They’d think I was brown-nosing the boss. Oh well, too late now. As I turned to leave he said, “Can you wait? I’d like to talk to you about young Brian.”

  I frowned. The name meant nothing to me.

  “The one who asked you to teach him? He’s my son.”

  Ah; now it was crystal. But I had Tori to pick up. I hoped.

  “Of course. I have some arrangements to make. I’ll come back.”

  Tori was sitting on the edge of the stage, wearing her street clothes, swinging her legs so that her heels drummed on the hollow wood. She looked up at my approach.

  I slowed. I admit I was hesitant.

  She pushed herself off and stood before me toe to toe. For a moment, I thought she was going to slap me and walk away. The sharp pain I felt in my chest at the thought of that wasn’t wholly physical. My mind began to scrabble about, hunting for things I could say to make her stay. But it was late. I was tired. Everything I came up with sounded hopeless.

  When she slipped her arms around my waist beneath my jacket, laid her head on my shoulder and whispered, “I’m sorry,” into my neck I almost wept with relief.

  I closed my eyes, put my arms around her and held on tight.

  “Will you take me home?”

  “As long as you mean to my place.”

  She sighed. “Randall…”

  “I promise I’ll look at your locks tomorrow. Once I’m happy with your security I’ll take you home, if you’re so anxious to be rid of me.”

  Her hands began stroking my ribs. “Not that eager,” she said giving me a look that boded well for what remained of the night. “Remember what I said about women in a tux?”

  I swallowed and nodded. She smiled. My knees began to weaken in anticipation. “Tor…” I coughed and started again and her grin got wider. “Tori, your boss wants a word with me about his son.”

  She looked thoughtful. I wondered if this had anything to do with her. What she actually said was, “Young Brian? I thought I saw you talking to him earlier. What does B Senior want?”

  “I don’t know. It might be to do with that business on the balcony.”

  She grimaced. “I heard. A knife and a broken bottle! What a way to start a job!”

  “I’ve had worse. At least neither of the fools knew what to do with them. What I’m getting at is, this might take a while.”

  “I’ll go and have a natter with some of the girls. They are not all anxious to go home. They don’t all have such understanding partners to go home to.”

  I’ve been there. She kissed the tip of my chin and vaulted back on to the stage. “Go on,” she said with a smile. “You know where to find me when you’re finished.”

  Brian Senior, as Tori had called him, was busy filling out what my elementary knowledge of accounts told me was a day book when I presented myself at the open door of his office. He set his pen down in that prissy way compulsive tidiness addicts have, closed the book, then aligned it perfectly on his desk before gesturing me to a seat. “And close the door,” he said as an afterthought.

  He ground out the stub of a slim cigar in an already crowded ashtray.“Brian says you’ve given him an address.”

  “Yes.”

  This wasn’t why I was here, but I wasn’t going to help him. We’d get to the real reason he wanted to speak to me a lot faster if I didn’t encourage padding. Dean’s the subtle one; I go straight for the throat.

  “What does this place do?”

  “It’s a gym.”

  “They train you to fight?”

  “They can train people to fight. They teach martial arts, boxing and self-defence.”

  “That why you go there?”

  “No.”

  “They train bodyguards?”

  “There is no training for that.”

  That’s not entirely true. Police and ex-military men run courses on bomb disposal and self-defence, for officers who guard political officials. And there are private courses. I’ve done both. They can impart the mechanics, but no one can train you to stand in the line of fire for a stranger. You’ve either got it or you haven’t.

  Brian Senior knew what I meant. “You think it will help him?”

  “It will keep him alive and in one piece and make him reconsider his career choice.”

  “Best way I suppose. Kill or cure.”

  I wondered what Brian Junior thought, but I wasn’t about to ask his father. If we’d exhausted the subject of his son, we could get down to the business at hand.

  “You still work for that PI?”

  “With, not for. Yes, I do.”

  “Ah.”

  “Do you need help or advice?”

  “Do both cost me?”

  “Help does. Advice is free. I might advise you to get help, depending on the problem.”

  “The girls. There have been… difficulties.”

  “Difficulties?”

  “Some of the girls have been followed. One of the girls seems to be missing. At least, nobody’s heard from her in a few days.”

  Lisa of the malicious gossip?

  “And some have been attacked.”

  “How many?”

  “Definitely three, maybe four.”

  Five, I thought. Dean was going to be insufferable if they were connected.
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  “Most have boyfriends, some are married. Their blokes usually pick them up. Some of the girls, ones that live nearby, have said they’ve heard footsteps following them, or laughter. One had her house broken into, though that might not be related. One girl got knocked down and beaten after getting out of her taxi! Another one got raped. No one saw their attackers.”

  “Have they reported it?”

  “No.”

  I gave him The Look. He squirmed, then tried for defensive. “Look, the law don’t take it seriously when exotic dancers get assaulted. Even if they catch the bastard that did it, when they get him to court he pleads enticement. Mitigating circumstances. Provocation. The buggers always get off! We might have the Chief Super as a member, but he’s about as much use as a chocolate fireguard when it comes to getting a conviction against what even he sees as offences against sex industry workers. The girls might as well be prossies for all the police care.”

  “So you haven’t spoken to him?”

  “Nobody speaks to him! Except the girl he’s paying to sit in his lap or serve his bloody single malt.”

  “Why me? Why now?”

  “The lads saw what you did tonight and word’s got round. They respect you. The girls have seen you in action first hand. They like you. They think they can trust you.”

  I wish people wouldn’t look so surprised when they say that!

  “When they found out what you do for a living, they asked me to speak to you.”

  “Are any of them willing to speak to me personally? Tell me in detail what happened?”

  He looked uncomfortable again. “They might be.”

  “Has anything been attempted to put a stop to this? Find out who’s behind it?”

  “Things like this do happen from time to time; they usually take care of themselves.” I glared at him. “Some of the lads have taken to seeing a few of the girls home.”