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Authors: Mason N. Forbes
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followed by HMRC. And to confound matters, he’d provided the tracking device.
It really , really didn’t sit well phoning a client and, at that, asking for a favour. I’d never asked for the phone; it sort of happened. Now I was looking at the prospect of asking for help, again.
Okay, it was Mike and, as far as I trusted anyone in the client-escort relationship, one of the few was Mike.
I looked at his card again. The whole Erjon affair stank. Why was the bastard visiting escorts anyway? If the rumours were correct, he had his own bevy of girls to empty his balls for him. So, why come visiting us indies? I slapped Mike’s card down on the table. If Erjon wanted something, he’d be the type to threaten and not go spending his cash on indies. Who knows? Sex is a weird business.
My work phone was in the kitchen charging; i t was my old phone and the battery was no longer the best. I lifted my private phone and dialled Mike.
8
Mike strode along the corridor with Ivonne holding station alongside, her long legs allowing for a relaxed but fast gait.
The surprise, however, was Mike. Normally, he came to visit wearing casual clothes, not today. The suit was charcoal grey, two buttons and slim cut to match the current trend. It was complemented by a pale blue, cutaway-collar shirt and a pale brown, woven silk tie, subtly rounding off the ensemble.
In his left hand he held a matt-black leather briefcase – expensive looking.
I laughed. Mike brought to mind the idea of a modern-day warrior; the rank ill-defined, the weapons; a trained intellect, pen and paper.
‘Hi, Mike,’ I said. ‘I love the tie. And, thanks for coming.’
‘I bet,’ Ivonne said, looking at the tie. ‘Mike’s hourly fees are more than ours.’
Mike smiled.
‘But we work harder,’ Ivonne added.
Ivonne, instead of heading for her own apartment, breezed into mine. Mike followed and went to the table in the sitting room. He set his briefcase down, popped the latches and took out a handful of tax forms.
‘That’s just for show,’ he said. ‘I’m here in my business capacity as your accountant.’
‘When it comes to fees,’ Ivonne said, running a finger around her mouth. ‘Can we do a trade?’
Mike laughed. ‘You’d tire me out too quickly. Let’s call it pro bono.’
‘Something for free.’ Ivonne giggled. ‘Don’t often get that in my line of work.’
Mike turned to me, his face serious. ‘I noticed two cars on the way in. They had that very nondescript look of unmarked police cars. So, you could be right about a police raid.’
‘And,’ Ivonne said. ‘I met Mike coming in. We looked real smart walking in together.’
She did. She was wearing a short cropped blue blazer and Rock and the Republic jeans. I knew that she’d been lucky enough to find the jeans in a charity shop at a fraction of their retail price.
‘How is Markus?’ I asked.
‘Stable. The knee is in traction with a huge plaster-cast for good measure.’
I turned to face Mike. ‘Back to business. I stuffed the tracking phone into the guttering in the passageway, having wiped it clean of fingerprints.’
‘Good,’ Mike said. ‘No one can prove it’s ours. The bloke who lent it to me will say it went missing, finished.’
‘Oh oh,’ I said, looking at the laptop.
Mike leaned over the laptop. ‘The boys in blue – that was quick.’
‘Shit and bollocks. Why us?’
Mike closed the laptop. ‘I’ll speculate—’
‘Fat lot of good that’ll do.’ I placed my hand on his arm in appeasement. ‘Sorry, nerves.’
‘That’s okay.’ He placed his free hand on mine. It helped.
‘You and Ivonne,’ Mike continued, ‘have adjoining apartments.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Martha is at the end of the passageway?’
‘She was.’
‘Four or five apartments in a row, or at least together. Easier to manage.’
I looked at Ivonne, both of us recognising the veracity of Mike’s observation.
The doorbell rang. My fingernails went
It really , really didn’t sit well phoning a client and, at that, asking for a favour. I’d never asked for the phone; it sort of happened. Now I was looking at the prospect of asking for help, again.
Okay, it was Mike and, as far as I trusted anyone in the client-escort relationship, one of the few was Mike.
I looked at his card again. The whole Erjon affair stank. Why was the bastard visiting escorts anyway? If the rumours were correct, he had his own bevy of girls to empty his balls for him. So, why come visiting us indies? I slapped Mike’s card down on the table. If Erjon wanted something, he’d be the type to threaten and not go spending his cash on indies. Who knows? Sex is a weird business.
My work phone was in the kitchen charging; i t was my old phone and the battery was no longer the best. I lifted my private phone and dialled Mike.
8
Mike strode along the corridor with Ivonne holding station alongside, her long legs allowing for a relaxed but fast gait.
The surprise, however, was Mike. Normally, he came to visit wearing casual clothes, not today. The suit was charcoal grey, two buttons and slim cut to match the current trend. It was complemented by a pale blue, cutaway-collar shirt and a pale brown, woven silk tie, subtly rounding off the ensemble.
In his left hand he held a matt-black leather briefcase – expensive looking.
I laughed. Mike brought to mind the idea of a modern-day warrior; the rank ill-defined, the weapons; a trained intellect, pen and paper.
‘Hi, Mike,’ I said. ‘I love the tie. And, thanks for coming.’
‘I bet,’ Ivonne said, looking at the tie. ‘Mike’s hourly fees are more than ours.’
Mike smiled.
‘But we work harder,’ Ivonne added.
Ivonne, instead of heading for her own apartment, breezed into mine. Mike followed and went to the table in the sitting room. He set his briefcase down, popped the latches and took out a handful of tax forms.
‘That’s just for show,’ he said. ‘I’m here in my business capacity as your accountant.’
‘When it comes to fees,’ Ivonne said, running a finger around her mouth. ‘Can we do a trade?’
Mike laughed. ‘You’d tire me out too quickly. Let’s call it pro bono.’
‘Something for free.’ Ivonne giggled. ‘Don’t often get that in my line of work.’
Mike turned to me, his face serious. ‘I noticed two cars on the way in. They had that very nondescript look of unmarked police cars. So, you could be right about a police raid.’
‘And,’ Ivonne said. ‘I met Mike coming in. We looked real smart walking in together.’
She did. She was wearing a short cropped blue blazer and Rock and the Republic jeans. I knew that she’d been lucky enough to find the jeans in a charity shop at a fraction of their retail price.
‘How is Markus?’ I asked.
‘Stable. The knee is in traction with a huge plaster-cast for good measure.’
I turned to face Mike. ‘Back to business. I stuffed the tracking phone into the guttering in the passageway, having wiped it clean of fingerprints.’
‘Good,’ Mike said. ‘No one can prove it’s ours. The bloke who lent it to me will say it went missing, finished.’
‘Oh oh,’ I said, looking at the laptop.
Mike leaned over the laptop. ‘The boys in blue – that was quick.’
‘Shit and bollocks. Why us?’
Mike closed the laptop. ‘I’ll speculate—’
‘Fat lot of good that’ll do.’ I placed my hand on his arm in appeasement. ‘Sorry, nerves.’
‘That’s okay.’ He placed his free hand on mine. It helped.
‘You and Ivonne,’ Mike continued, ‘have adjoining apartments.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Martha is at the end of the passageway?’
‘She was.’
‘Four or five apartments in a row, or at least together. Easier to manage.’
I looked at Ivonne, both of us recognising the veracity of Mike’s observation.
The doorbell rang. My fingernails went
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