The Vanilla Extraction {Revised} 02:22 Jun 13 2016
Times Read: 398
The Vanilla Extraction
Chapter One
What felt like a punch to the gut, threw me against the wall, with so much force that any air left in my lungs was expelled, all in a rush.
I’d closed my eyes as I slid down slowly into a kind of crouch, unaware of the trail of blood left behind me, as I’d slid downward.
Cold filled, from the inside out, as I struggled to open my eyes: I saw a woman’s black boots walking toward me, shiney black boots, with a very high heel.
And with my vision getting cloudy, my world turned black before unconsciousness took me…
*
It had started, as many stories do, with a woman. The part-timer was gone, finishing early to pick up her little-un. I’d been sitting behind my desk, working onscreen, tidying up files, prior to giving the machine a defrag.
The Friday had brought an end to a quiet week, that ended an even quieter month; and I seem to recall the radio was playing ‘Tom Jones’ by Catatonia.
Times were hard: the economy was biting ay everyone’s wallet and hiring a P.I. wasn’t the priority for some, it might have been otherwise.
Yet, that day the door had opened: and, a brunette breezed into the office, with the manner of someone at home with themselves, no matter where they are.
Sweeping loose strands of hair from out of her eyes, she had perched her black frame, dark lens sunglasses, to the bridge of her short, straight nose.
Then, staring across the room and to my curious gaze, she’d asked me, “You are Timon Shawcross aren’t you?”
“Uh-huh, this is my office and that’s me,” I opined theatrically. It had been seven thirty in the evening; and, as far as I was concerned, I was missing out on a glass of single malt.
She had crossed the room and sat in the battered old brown leather armchair, all dead springs and comfort; then she’s crossed her legs, left leg over the right, in such a fashion I’d found myself wondering how warm the flesh was at the top of he self-support hose.
Her hair had been drawn tight to the scalp, then clamped off with a grip, so that as she moved the long tail swung, just like a horse swatting at flies.
“Are you free?” She had asked.
There was a hint of an accent to her voice: ‘Romanian perhaps?’
“Hardly,” I’d retorted, “I have an hourly rate and, charge for expenses.”
It’d been a poor joke, but it been the end of the day.
She had grinned in response; but it had been merely a movement of her lips and had appeared mirthless.
She had been wearing a little black dress, which clung well to his androgynous frame, that’s colour acted to emphasise how pale she was, ankle length black cowl boots with a heel of an inch, or so on her feet.
“American men are so flippant,” she’d opined.
“By birth I’m Canadian,” I’d informed her blithely.
She’d given a snort of derision at this, so I changed tack.
“Can you tell me why you’re here?” I asked with my notepad out, pen in hand.
“I need someone following Mister Shawcross…”
I’ve got a thing about boots; I liked the boots and, as she was speaking I stared at them, wondering idly how many pairs she had in the back of her wardrobe.
“And, your name is?” I’d asked, the pen hovering over the pad.
“I’m the Contessa di Cartinelli,” she had told me, looking at me quite intensely, in the short space between us and, there was almost a tangible air of expectation between us.
It was obvious I was supposed to be impressed, or perhaps intimidated by what she’s said. I’d felt neither.
I’d looked around the small office, then back to her, as I asked, “Any other name for me, as the Contessa di Cartinelli sounds a bit of a mouthful…”
She’d removed her glasses, swept a bang from her face again, and then crossed her legs: “You can call me Dianna.”
With vivid green eyes, Dianna had looked at me as I tried hard, not to stare, at her shapely legs.
“So Dianna, who do you want me to follow?”
“My younger sister,” she had said slowly, “she has been most evasive of late and, been staying out at all hours. And…”
“Uh huh,” I’d responded, putting my pad aside, figuring I knew where it was going, as I’d done that sort of case many, many times.
Often there’s a reason for the problem of the wayward teenager, or family member; and sometimes it’s as simple as a relationship the family can’t deal with, or that they have issues with drink, or drugs.
“So Mister Shawcross, will you take the case?” She asked flatly.
The Friday had brought an end to a quiet week, that ended an even quieter month and my bank balance was veering to near the overdraft for comfort.
Of course I’d said ‘Yes.’
Chapter Two
I had followed Misha for two days, keeping well out of sight, before anything unusual happened.
She lived with the Contessa, in a large house behind large wrought-iron gates, at the end of a long-drive-way.
Like her sister, she was a brunette, yet wore hair shoulder length, with a fringe.
And, just like her sister, she always’ seemed to be wearing sunglasses, which I had laughingly put down to their incessant drug use.
Unlike her sister though, she down-dressed, wearing ripped light blue, figure-hugging jeans and thigh length high heel boots with everything I saw her in; and I quickly leant that she was a veritable whirlwind of energy.
My lessons into her character had begun when at eight, when I’d be parked outside the house on the main road; ready to follow her wherever she led me.
And that somewhere was nowhere particular, for a whole week just clubs and other hang-outs for the young, then on the Saturday the bright young thing led me to somewhere I’d not of expected.
Around 8:00 pm, a black corvette pulled up in front of the Contessa’s house. This was new, as all the other young men or women that had picked her up drove inexpensive cars. I jotted down the license plate and pulled in two car lengths behind them. I couldn’t make out the driver, as the windows were tinted a dark smoky black. I followed the corvette down to the main drag of town, just mostly shops and bars. The weekend traffic had already started and I tried to do my best to keep them in my sights. We drove up Main Street and turned on to south d street, going up the hill past stately property that were hold outs to progress. These homes were old money, gained back during the 1800’s. A few of them were mansions, with a renovated carriage houses. I didn’t get the chance often to go on this side of town. Wasn’t far from the main drag but close enough to walk to it. I watched as they pulled into a gravel parking lot and saw Misha get out of the passenger side, her companion was one I hadn’t see before. She was dressed in black leather, the same as her companion. Her outfit outlined her young figure nicely. He carried himself with purpose and casually looked around.
The building next to the parking lot was a black/gray warehouse. The sign above it said “Marley’s” in black and gold lettering with chains hanging about the sign.
I stared dumbly at it for a moment. I knew this place, not well, but I had heard rumors. I watched as they both approached the front entrance and a bald, very well muscled man spoke to them and stamped their hands. He didn’t ask for an id for her. Big trouble, I’m sure the owner wouldn’t be pleased that a minor had slipped in. I waited until they slipped inside and I got out of the car, careful as not to draw attention to myself. I walked around to the back of the building, bordering the building was an alley with several other buildings close by. I saw a window high up and climbed on top of a waste dumpster that had its lid shut.
P I work isn’t the most cleanest job in the world. But I have stepped in worse.
I climbed up and peered through the dirty window. I couldn’t make out where Misha was. The lights in the club were dim, so seeing anything clear was out of the question. I had two choices. Either go in and try not to draw attention to myself. Or sit in the car until she came out.
If half of what I heard was true about Marley’s, no way I could “blend” in. Jumping down, I hit solid ground and what felt like a punch to the gut, threw me against the wall, with so much force that any air left in my lungs was expelled, all in a rush.
I’d closed my eyes as I slid down slowly into a kind of crouch, unaware of the trail of blood left behind me, as I’d slid downward.
Cold filled, from the inside out, as I struggled to open my eyes: I saw a woman’s black boots walking toward me, shiney black boots, with a very high heel.
And with my vision getting cloudy, my world turned black before unconsciousness took me…
Chapter Three
The dull throbbing spread from the back of his head to the fore, causing Shawcross to groan.
‘Pain.’ He didn’t like it, none whatsoever: he thought rubbing the back of his head, with his right hand and, he brought it before his eyes, pleased to see little blood on his the palm.
“Just call it a perk of the job…” He muttered as he opened his eyes cautiously, afraid to see what he would see.
‘Black boots? Shiney black boots, with heel.’ Shawcross would’ve smiled, normally. But, as he continued to look up, slowly, from the bottom of the tip of the boots upward, to the top of the calf-high, he found himself looking at blue jeans. And then, he can look up no further as the ache in his head increased.
He groaned again, long and loud.
“Sleeping beauty is awake…” said the owner of the voice, in a gentle voice, that spoke with authority.
“Thank you Rachel,” said another voice, a man’s, to Timon’s right. He was not outside any longer, he realised and, the room he was in seemed small.
“You can leave us now,” the voice added.
Timon Shawcross watched the boots turn and, heard the woman speak: “Chevy stay outside the door, will you just in case we need your muscle again…”
She left the room and as she closed the door Shawcross eased himself into a crouch, turning his whole body, to stare in the direction that the man’s voice had come from.
He looked round the small office, his eyes drawn to the two people sitting behind the plain desk, devoid of clutter bar the laptop, a folder and two bottles of water.
‘They’re a mixed pair,’ he thought momentarily.
The fellow on the left was a powerfully built man in his late twenties to thirties, his shoulder-length blonde hair tied back in a pony-tail. His clothes were casual, but with a style that suggested the owner had enough money to buy them.
Yet, it was the girl to his right that puzzled Shawcross: ‘Girl?’ She was a young woman, short of stature and slight of build. And, beneath her elfin face and long neck, the bleach-blonde with a page-boy cut wore little, just an over-sized white mans shirt.
Shawcross waited to hear what was said next, his sore head a reminder of the bruiser he’d encountered, who even now waited outside the door, as Rachel had requested.
Finally the fellow behind the desk spoke, “This is a private club mister…”
“Timon Shawcross,” Timon interjected.
“This is a private club Mister Shawcross, “an we don’t take to strangers noseying around like you were…” Jared spoke slowly, his interlaced fingers forming a steeple, as he rested his elbows on the desk.
And, although the atmosphere in the room was serious, Alice wanted to smile. She wanted to smile a lot nowadays: just the idea of being a partner in Marley’s with her Master was enticing, a delight; and due cause for her to smile for a lifetime, hers and someone else’s.
She rested her right hand on Jared’s inner-thigh and, smiling toward Timon she asked curiously, “Why are you here then?”
Timon looked round the room briefly before answering, “I’m looking for a woman.”
“And you came here, to find one?” Jared asked smiling: “Not the sort of place I’d come to find a woman…”
“That’s not what I mean…” Shawcross responded.
“ So what do you mean?” Alice asked of him softly.
“I’m looking for someone underage, who…” he began to respond, then realizing how it sounded he added, “I’m a private investigator, who was hired to…”
“Do you have a photograph of her?” Jared asked; his curiosity piqued.
Timon stood, albeit he was unsteady on his feet and, took a few paces forward toward the desk. And, with his right hand palm down, fingers splayed, he supported himself, as he reached into an inside jacket pocket, to retrieve the professionally taken five by seven of Misha.
He handed the photograph to Jared, who took and looked at it, with a smile that quickly turned to loud laughter. As his laughter became more raucous he handed the photograph to Alice next to him: “Here, look at this…” he said to her.
“I’m sorry for laughing,” Jared expressed, his cheeks ruddy from his outburst, as Alice passed the photograph back which he handed the photograph back to Timon, tears in his eyes, “But…”
Jared waved a hand in the air.
“I’m Jared and, this…” he indicated the young woman to his left, “this is Alice, my slave and partner.”
Timon’s jaw would’ve normally opened wide with surprise at what he’d just heard.
It didn’t.
The way he saw it, ‘It was just an ordinary day.’
Chapter Four
“Would you like some water Mister Shawcross? We don’t do alcohol here.” Alice said to me.
“This is a club and you don’t…” That seemed strange to me.
“As I said Mister Shawcross, this is a private club; and part of the membership is our no-drinking policy…” Jared explained slowly.
“So Mister Shawcross, before you fall over, would you like that water and, a seat while you explain why you’re looking for that painslut?” he continued.
Again I was stunned by something I’d heard. ‘This wasn’t my world, for sure.’
“Yes, a seat and water would be good,” I told the young woman.
Alice pressed a button on the side of the desk and, the door to the office opened and someone entered, “This is Chevy. He’ll get what you need…”
Still holding the desk in place, I turned my head to look at who had entered and grinned sardonically, “We’ve met.” It was the bruiser I’d encountered earlier.
“Water and a seat please Chevy?” Alice requested.
“Sure Miss,” The bald-headed fellow with muscles beneath a tight tee-shirt answered, smiling as he looked at Alice; scowling as he turned to look at me.
“I’ll see to that, for you now,” he added, as he turned to leave the office.
Turning back to look at Jared I asked, “So you know her?”
“Oh yeah, she’s into some real heavy stuff…” the young man explained.
“But that’s the nature of this place, isn’t it?” I asked curiously.
“Friend,” Jared explained slowly, “this is our Life. She seeks something else…”
“Oh Jeez,” I explained, realizing that this case had suddenly become one of the strangest I’d encountered in a while; a dozen or so possible scenario flitting through my mind; a myriad possibilities that were worse than I could conjure happening here, in this den of inequity.
I looked up from my hand, holding the desk in place, as I stood erect, quickly realizing how unsteady I still felt and, looking at the young woman, Alice, asked of her somewhat plaintively, “Where is that chair?”
My hand on the desk was the only steady thing in the room … snd, I saw concern on the cute one’s face, I think.
“Chevy!” She called out, “chair, now!”
And, ‘who’d have thought that such a small frame could hold such a large voice?’ I mused, as I felt my knees begin to give way; just before a chair slid beneath them and, I ease backwards, glad of the support.
“Now Chevy, get that water, for my guest,” she ordered; and for a fleeting second I notice a furrow appear and disappear on Jared’s forehead; then he smiles.
And, I’m sure there’s a whole back-story to what I’d seen. But, this was not the time nor place for such thought.
“Yes Ma’am, I’ll see to that for you now…” And, he sounds real sullen as he speaks, giving me sidelong glances that might’ve killed a lesser man.
And, looking up from my fingertips I look to Jared and I smile, with what I hope is my most endearing smile.
“You called Misha a painslut,” I asked Jared, “Does that mean what it sounds like?” I quizzed.
Clasping his hands together, the fellow seemed to hesitate before answering.
“Well yes and no,” again he paused: “But before I go any further, what … er, relationship, do you have with Misha?”
Now I could lay my cards on the table; but that’d detract from the game of it all.
Leaning forward, my hands on my knees, I say to him; “I asked a reasonable question, whilst making enquires about a minor, in an establishment where one has to be over twenty-one to be a member.”
I drew a breath, and then looking the fellow squarely in the eyes, asked him, “So are you going to help me, or hinder me in my efforts?” It was a simple question, yet a testing one. Yet, I couldn’t gauge his reaction to it, as he turned to Alice, who smiled toward him, then benignly at me: and she nodded.
“Painslut… you wanted to know what it might mean to her?” He quizzed, with one eyebrow raised.
“Yes,” I muttered, wholly unaware of where this was going; and going fast, it seemed….”
“Well then,” he began with a smile, “let me show you…”
I watched him pressing keys on his laptop and, then he turned it round, so I could see the screen, as Windows Media Player opened up, with a film seemingly filmed in this establishment…
Chapter Five
Before my eyes: There was a crowd gathered round a small dais, with a low sawhorse in its centre. The chattering group of onlookers hushed to comparative quiet, as a large man, dressed in leather jeans, boots and waistcoat, all in black stepped up drawing with him by leash, a young woman, on all fours: Misha.
Eyes wide, drool dripped from the corners of her mouth, filled with a red-ball, that was strapped in place with a leather strip, which fastened at the back of her head.
I watched the monitor fascinated by this: Fascinated and stunned, I was aroused.
The well-muscled fellow in black, leather turns to the crowd and he briefly explains that the exhibition will start, shortly.
I notice again, there is no liquor, just bottled water. And I can’t help but grin at the idea of a drunk being found wielding a whip, the bloody body of their sub lying quietly at their feet. Well sue-me, I find it funny.
There’s some dry ice drifting across the stage area and, then from the back of the crowd, a small group of scantily clad club-goers begin to chant.
“Master Ben… Master Ben… Master of a celebrity on the local scene, particularly with the ladies.” Ben…” Over the top of the laptop lid, Jared briefly explained: “He’s become somewhat
And with that he turned to his left and the young woman: “Isn’t that right sweetheart?”
“What would I know,” she said indignantly, as she stood, only to have her him old her wrist a moment: “I was only teasing, My Love.”
I ignore them, as she drapes her arms round his neck and they kiss, lovingly: and fascinated, I return my attention to the screen.
The fellow, ‘Master Ben’, was carrying a very whippy cane in his right hand, which he flexed and crack in the air, whilst Misha crawled behind him.
Master Ben spoke to the crowd once more, as she scurried into place on the sawhorse. Each strike of the cane was expertly laid on and, with each blow Misha would arch her now striped back, her pain evidently a pleasure, to judhe from the moans that issues from her mouth.
The swish of the whip and the sound it made on her young flesh seemed to find approval with the murmuring of appreciation made by the crowd round the dias, who otherwise stood in silence.
Amusement showed on the face of the elfin-faced blonde, whilst her Master, friend and colleague grinned widely: “There you go, our regular painslut in action…”
I couldn’t help but wonder if my interest showed, while I continued watching till the end of the video; then straightening up, I looked Jared squarely in the eyes: “That was Misha, wasn’t it?” I asked, already sure that I knew the answer.
I just needed to hear it said.
“Now you already know the answer Mister Shawcross, so why the question?” He enquired of me, that infuriating grin of his seemingly glued to his face.
“Now now,” Alice remonstrated, “play nicely, please?” I felt bruised; and now awkward, such was my progress on this case so far. And, if I could afford any pride, I’d have lost that as well.
But in my game, that’s a commodity I can ill afford. And furthermore, my tastes were plain ‘vanilla’; or so the crowd at Marley’s termed it.
‘So that might be,’ I thought standing, somewhat shakily, already awaiting the bump I might have tomorrow. ‘But there would be the paycheck…’
I looked at Alice and she nodded; she knew I understood a little more than I had. Jared, well, he walked round that desk and, clasped me round the shoulders.
And, that wasn’t the scary bit; and nor was that muscle-head Chevy; naw, the scary bit was the club being in full swing, as I walked out from the office, into the small area behind the bar counter.
Chevy had lifted a hatchway sorta thing and, I’d passed through into a sweet smelling haze, that fell from the stage, onto the crowd, around me.
I looked onto the small stage, which was set-up similarly to that I had seen on the video; only something of the image before me was well out of order.
Looking over my shoulder, I looked at Jared, he of the half-exposed chest and beautiful hair. Ah, they were both so beautiful, both Ben and Jared.
‘Now where did that come from?’ I muse, still staring ahead at the stage, where Master Ben stands, wearing boots, with strapping that is convenient, to cover modesty and little else. His thrall was none other than the Contessa di Cartinelli, her oiled body shiney beneath spotlights that playing on her naked body, as she crawled after him, wearing collar and leash, her green eyes alight with passion.
I turned, away from the crowd; and interests that the Contessa, or should that be Dianna, as in the Huntress; had helped point me toward, that would not be ignored. That was for sure.
‘But, right now,’ I thought, opening the A5 manila envelope, folded in half, to be stuffed inside my battered windcheater.
The retainer wasn’t much, but it’d pay the bills and maybe, just maybe I’ll be able to pay off my tab at Michael’s Bar & Grill. Scratchin my chin, as I open the doors and I look back and wonder at the lessons I might have learnt at that club.
I look into the night, the noisy busy traffic-filled night and raise my arm, as I let loose an ear-piercing whistle through my teeth, that I’m told only dogs can hear.
An, fascinating as it all looked; it all looked like hard learnin, to me.
If nothing else, this has taught me on thing: ‘my tastes weren’t as plain as they thought. And whereas that was somewhat of a surprise to me, or not; it was most certainly interesting.’
A taxi stops by the kerbside and, opening the door I look back at Marley’s: ‘can’t help but wonder how well di Contessa takes the whip. Now that I’d like to see.’
I close the door and pay the driver off with a twenty.
‘Hey, maybe she’ll be pleased to see me?’ I think with a grin, as I walk back to Marley’s and Chevy, standing outside, arms crossed.
COMMENTS
-