Читать книгу Perfect Kill - Helen Fields - Страница 15

Elenuta held a bag of ice against Anika’s cheek and waited for the girl to stop crying. Most of the men, and a few women, who visited Finlay’s establishment were there for something much less honest than plain old sex. They wanted to violate. Knowing that it was non-consensual was part of what they were buying. Getting away with throwing a few punches, the odd hand around the throat, sticking rough fingers wherever they liked, that was all included in the price too. Paying good money for a chance to express their hatred and rage in physical terms with no comeback was a given. The last bastard had gone too far with Anika though. She had fingermarks on both thighs where her legs had been held open, multiple grazes across her throat where rings had tugged at her delicate skin, and a lump coming up on her face that would take two weeks to reduce.

One of Finlay’s men came in, stared around the room at the four women crowded in there, syringe in hand.

‘This’ll make you feel better,’ he said gruffly.

‘She doesn’t need that,’ Elenuta said. ‘I look after her.’

‘Boss’s orders, don’t mess,’ the goon muttered.

Anika stared glassily at the syringe, then gave a weak nod, holding out her arm.

Elenuta took her hand, tried to pull her away.

‘Don’t,’ she whispered. ‘Anika, let me help you.’

‘You’ll get the same treatment if you don’t keep your nose out,’ Elenuta was told. The man shoved her away from Anika.

She watched as the needle pierced the girl’s skin, plunging its oblivion into her nervous system. Anika’s sobs turned into a groan, then a sigh. Silence.

‘Why?’ Elenuta asked the man, as he withdrew the needle and checked Anika’s pupils.

‘Finlay’s fed up with her crying. She won’t last. Too fragile for his liking. He’s decided to race her next month. Believe me, a little bit of smack’s not going to hurt her.’

Elenuta stared at him. Most of the guards refused to enter into conversations with the women. This one couldn’t seem to care less. She wondered if she was being set up for a punishment, then decided it didn’t matter anyway. Being scared of every consequence was exhausting.

‘What’s your name?’ Elenuta asked.

‘Digger,’ he said. ‘You should go and eat.’

The rest of the women had already filed out of the room into the small kitchen they were allowed to use, with supervision. There was one dull knife for them to cut up food, and it had to be handed straight back to whoever was in charge once it had been used.

‘Not hungry,’ Elenuta said. ‘What race?’

Digger looked over his shoulder and Elenuta knew he was checking to make sure Finlay hadn’t sneaked in. He had a habit of doing that, could be almost silent as he approached. Finlay enjoyed keeping everyone on their toes. Two or three times a day he appeared to check up on them, going from flat to flat, making sure the women were busy on their backs and that none of the men who worked for him were getting lazy or dipping into the takings. Elenuta checked the clock every time he turned up. There was no pattern to it, and that was how he liked it, she realised. She and Finlay had spent what he’d called some quality time together after her failed escape attempt. Her ribs wouldn’t heal properly for weeks. He’d spared her face as that was what made him money, but other aspects of his punishment had been sufficiently brutal that she’d simply curled up in a corner and not dared move or speak until he’d left the flat.

‘You’re better off never finding out,’ he replied as Anika began to tip over. Elenuta caught her, and Digger grabbed a cushion off the tatty sofa to slide under her head as she hit the floor.

‘Will Anika come back from race?’ Elenuta asked quietly.

Digger stood up.

‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘That’s enough questions. You’ll get me in a right load of shit.’

‘Will I have to race?’ Elenuta asked.

‘You won’t if you keep the clients happy and don’t pull any more stunts like running away. The polis have been all over Gene’s place since. Finlay’s pissed. You got off lightly but I wouldn’t push your luck.’

‘How many women in race?’ Elenuta continued. Digger wanted to talk, she could tell. He was one of the less brutal supervisors. She’d never seen him hit any of the women, or take advantage of the free sex that was on offer. Her assessment was that he liked a quiet life. Not so quiet that he wasn’t prepared to shoot heroin in the arm of anyone making a fuss, but that was what Finlay had ordered. If any of the women were trouble, it was procedure to shut them up and leave their warm body on a bed for whatever use could be made of them.

‘Four,’ Digger said quietly, checking his watch. ‘Help me get her back onto a bed. She’s not going to wake up any time soon and Finlay won’t like seeing her lying there when the clients come in to choose one of you.’

‘They race each other?’ she persisted, taking hold of Anika beneath the arms.

‘For fuck’s sake, would you quit it woman?’ He picked up Anika’s legs and began walking backwards into the narrow hallway, down which the bedrooms were situated.

An arm slithered around Elenuta’s waist, crushing the air from her, leaving her lurching forward, trying to hold onto Anika’s head before it smashed to the floor.

‘Do you really want to know?’ Finlay mock-whispered into her ear. She could feel the wetness of his lips against her.

‘I told her to quit it, boss,’ Digger said, looking miserable.

‘I heard you, mate. This one doesn’t learn, does she? How are those ribs? Still sore, I’m guessing?’ He slid his arm up from her waist to her ribcage, tightening his grip. Tears sprang to Elenuta’s eyes as she fought for breath. ‘But education’s a good thing. Maybe I should show you what the race is all about. It’s guaranteed to make you behave yourself. You can manage this other wee cunny on your own, can’t you Digger.’ It was a decision, not a question. ‘And you, you pretty bitch, can come with me. Digger, fetch my laptop from the kitchen before dealing with the whore.’

He took Elenuta by the hair, pulling her backwards up the corridor, feet tumbling over one another, hauling her suddenly sideways when they reached an unoccupied bedroom. Throwing her onto the bed, Finlay climbed on next to her, winding an arm beneath her neck to pull her in close. Digger delivered the laptop, and Finlay tapped a series of icons until a video came up, the first image frozen in place.

‘Watch this,’ Finlay grinned, holding Elenuta’s head in place with one hand, as he took a knife from his pocket and lay tossing it in the air and catching it.

Four girls came into view from a small doorway, each wearing ragged underwear, no shoes on their feet. They looked back as the door shut, grabbing each other’s hands, stepping forward inch by inch. Elenuta could hear them whispering in at least three different languages mixed with some broken English. It was clear they had no idea where they were or what to expect. Nothing good, though.

A light came on to one side and a bank of chairs could be seen on a large glass-partitioned balcony. One hundred men, if not more, were seated in rows and looking eagerly down at the women. They began banging on the chairs, the floor, whatever was at hand, slowly at first, the beat increasing steadily, a cacophony of masculinity.

Finally, a man stepped forward, looking smarter than usual. He’d made an effort, Elenuta realised. The thought chilled her. This was Finlay dressed to impress, enjoying a crowning moment. The four women stood, frozen, huddled together.

‘Good evening, you bunch of cocksuckers!’ Finlay shouted to a gleeful response from his audience. ‘Welcome to the third race. Most of you know what to expect by now, so I’ll keep this short and you lot keep your hands out of your pants while I’m talking!’ He pointed vaguely into the crowd but at no one in particular and Elenuta understood that he’d practised and polished this little speech, self-proclaimed king for a couple of hours.

‘Do you want to see your champions?’ There was a further hammering of approval, but apparently not quite loud enough for Finlay’s liking. ‘Well, do you, you bastards?’ A much louder roar that time. ‘All right then.’ He threw back his arms, a circus ringmaster drawing the audience in, revving them up.

Another door opened and three men walked out, each wearing only shorts and trainers. Elenuta’s first thought was how ridiculous they looked, like those fake wrestlers whose every blow and fall was carefully choreographed. One was covered in tattoos – literally covered – from ankle to neck.

‘No names here,’ Finlay said, with a nod of acknowledgement towards the camera. ‘But these gentlemen have paid a high price for this honour – higher than the rest of you wankers bid, anyway.’ (Another crowd belly-laugh for that.) ‘So give it up for them.’

Finlay walked forward, raising each man’s right arm one after the other, tattoo’s first, then a skinnier man with a scar down the length of his torso, and finally a shorter male with an enormous girth and loose flesh folds dripping from his upper body. The men accepted their applause with chest-beating, raised fists and celebratory middle fingers pointed in the direction of the admiring crowd.

‘Now to meet your skanks. Let’s hope for their sakes that they haven’t got too out of shape, spending all that time on their backs!’ Real-life Finlay lying on the bed gave a snort of laughter at his own comic genius for that one. ‘Bitch number one!’ He grabbed the nearest woman to him and pulled her closer to the audience. ‘Great titties or what? Bet you can’t wait to see those bouncing up and down when she runs.’ He thrust her towards the nearby wall. ‘Bitch number two!’ The crowd was lapping it up, their appreciation rising to fever pitch. ‘Best blow jobs for fifty miles. You’d best hope she’s a fast runner then!’

The woman he took by the arm gave him a look that could have burned green wood. Elenuta saw her own loathing reflected in her eyes, and knew she shouldn’t look at Finlay while she watched the remainder of the video. What he saw in them would get her killed in a heartbeat.

‘Bitch number three!’ This girl – definitely more girl than woman – he grabbed around the waist and lifted into the air. ‘Grown men have fainted at the tightness of her pussy – we bring you nothing but the best here!’ He dropped the girl, who sank to her knees on the floor, hair hanging limply over her face. ‘And last but by no means least, the winner from the last race, bitch number four. Can she repeat the brilliance of her last run or did she only have one victory in her?’ Finlay circled the last woman, who was looking twitchy, jerking her knees up one after the other, her eyes huge, haunted, like some terrified Olympian on speed.

‘Rules – like there fucking are any – the bitches get a sixty-second head start on the hunt. They can run, hide, fight, disable one another, team up, whatever they like. Champions – same applies to you – all you have to do is move like fuck.’

Elenuta felt vomit rising in her throat at the word hunt. The women were starting to edge away from Finlay, three of them together, the previous winner – as if that term could ever apply – keeping her distance from the group.

‘There are screens above your head that will capture any action you can’t see from where you’re sitting. Don’t worry, we won’t let you miss a thing.’

Elenuta couldn’t see the screens the audience had access to, but she didn’t need them. It was all here, ready for Finlay to gloat over. She wanted to refuse to watch, but even if Finlay would let her get away with that – and he wouldn’t – knowledge was a currency, and at the moment she was flat out broke. She needed to know what possible dangers lay ahead.

‘Turn up the lights!’ Finlay shouted and, like a Broadway show, the camera rose into the air – Elenuta assumed it was a drone – and lights flickered on in what was apparently a vast warehouse, fitted out with a maze of partitions. Here and there, metal staircases, more like ladders, rose above the temporary six-foot walls and facilitated access to a different part of the building, but using those ladders would make the women more visible. There were what appeared to be cupboards, large bins, piles of sheets, all providing the false promise of a place to hide. Elenuta estimated the warehouse interior was maybe twenty thousand square feet. It was hard to tell with the sketchy light and movement of the drone. It was vast, by any reckoning. The drone dipped closer to the floor and lengths of barbed wire came into focus, which would force the runners to either jump, dip below it or turn back. Dappled light on the ceiling caught her eye.

‘What’s this?’ she asked without thinking, giving Finlay a chance to enjoy her interest.

He pointed at the warehouse floor although there was nothing to see from the drone’s viewpoint.

‘Smashed glass. Five different patches of it. There have to be some handicaps, after all.’

‘But they have no shoes,’ Elenuta said. ‘It’s not fair.’

‘Not fair? I paid good money for those whores. I need a return on that investment, and that means putting on a proper show. Do you have any idea how much it costs me to house and feed you lot?’

Elenuta stared at him, the space between her eyebrows a knot of wrinkles as she waited for him to laugh. He didn’t. He meant every word of it, the resentment at the bills incurred feeding them stale bread and out-of-date chicken nuggets. The heating was turned off overnight and only put back on during client hours so they didn’t get complaints. The sheets were the only items washed regularly. The women handwashed their personal items in the sink overnight. Elenuta wondered how far gone Finlay was if he had genuinely persuaded himself that he was somehow being taken advantage of by the women he held captive and sold every day.

‘Here we go,’ Finlay told Elenuta, his face alight with excitement. ‘Now don’t you fucking look away. I don’t want you missing any of the good bits!’

‘One final word of warning to you all,’ on-screen Finlay wagged his finger. ‘First man to lay hands on any woman gets her to himself. Once a man has her, no other man can touch her. Three men, four women. The last woman standing gets a good meal, a hot bath and a comfy bed with none of you cunts in it tonight. That’s it!’

He raised his left hand in the air. ‘Countdown! Five.’ The last race’s winner looked deep into the maze, head down, knees bent. The other women looked terrified, hands still wrapped together.

‘Four.’ The audience was on its feet to a man, and the noise coming from that side of the warehouse was deafening. Elenuta couldn’t hear Finlay count down after that, but she watched his lips move.

‘Three, two, one!’

The previous winner was gone. She flew into the maze, taking an outside lane, glancing back over her shoulder only once as the other three women looked on, dazed and bemused.

‘Run, you fucking whores,’ Finlay shouted. ‘If you don’t want to die where you’re standing, then friggin’ run!’

As one, like the herd of zebra that’s spotted the lion, they bolted, moving chaotically, tripping over their own feet and each other’s. Elenuta wanted to shout instructions to them, as if she were watching in real time, but it was way too late for that. The camera focused on a clock on the wall, the countdown already at thirty-seven seconds and falling as Finlay’s champions jumped up and down, ready for the off. Tattoo had his teeth bared. The big man was sweating profusely, sparkling in the half-light. Elenuta prayed that a heart attack might strike him down in his revolting excitement before he could set off. The scarred man, though, was something else. Something bestial, his face twisted with a hatred so terrifying that Elenuta could hardly bear to watch. She pitied anyone who crossed his path. He was a man without limits. She’d met such men before and been grateful to have survived the encounters.

The image suddenly split into four quarters, presumably a reflection of what the audience in the warehouse had seen. The footage was from drones, four separate cameras. This was no small operation. Finlay had to have had four men, one set to follow each woman, to provide constant footage. Two of the women had stuck together, and the others had gone off alone. The countdown was at ten seconds, and the men were poised and ready to sprint.

‘Those drones are the bloody best you can get. Cost me a fuckin’ packet,’ Finlay lectured.

‘Uh huh,’ Elenuta murmured.

Her hands were gripping the bedcovers, as if to tether herself away from the screen. The previous winner was at the far side of the maze now, pausing, hands on knees and panting, looking behind her, then ahead, to decide tactics. Not getting yourself cornered was the obvious priority, and she wasn’t. She had three directions to run in. The next decision was whether to hide, or keep running. The problem with that was exhaustion. Sooner or later the after-effect of the adrenaline would be to drain the women’s energy, rather than to provide a boost, and then there would be nothing left to fight with if – when – the moment came.

Elenuta looked at the other screen sections. The youngest woman was trying and failing to open an old metal cupboard, tugging uselessly at the doors which had obviously been deliberately locked and put there to distract the runners.

Horns blasted, echoing hard around the bare walls. The men, like hounds released, began to run. The audience made noises that might have come from behind the bars in a zoo. The scene was nothing short of gladiatorial, if the surroundings were less than Romanesque. The young woman who’d been attempting to open the cupboard had finally given up on that plan and was trying to cover herself with a pile of old sheets that had been dumped on the floor. However slight she was, there was no disguising the person-shaped mound in the middle of the rags.

‘Get up,’ Elenuta hissed through the screen at the girl. ‘Get up now.’

‘She can’t hear you, love,’ Finlay laughed. ‘Entertaining, isn’t it?’

‘Animal,’ Elenuta said.

Finlay leaned forward, poking out his tongue to lick her face from eye to chin, leaving a trail of saliva for her to wipe away.

‘The big bloke’s surprisingly light on his feet. Watch him go here,’ Finlay pointed, as the largest of the three men took a corner at speed and caught sight of a woman ahead of him. ‘Oh, the tension,’ he mocked. ‘I should charge ten times what I do for this. People would take out loans if they had to.’

Elenuta chose to look at Finlay rather than the chase underway on the screen.

‘How much for ticket?’ she asked.

‘Ah, see, now you’re showing your true colours.’ He tapped the side of her head with his forefinger. ‘I knew there was a smart wee brain in there. One hundred and fifty for a seat in the audience. One thousand to participate. You can stop looking at me like I’m something you trod in, you snotty bitch. I’m a fuckin’ businessman, that’s what I am.’

A thousand pounds, Elenuta thought, to be able to chase and capture a woman to rape, beat and abuse on camera, in front of an audience. In the end though, not so different than what happened to all of them every day. Just less of a spectacle.

Three of the screen sections disappeared as one enlarged to follow the progress of the big man more closely. The drone was overhead both him and one of the women, face to face, each panting, him grinning, her glancing backwards at the stretch of broken glass on the floor behind her that was perhaps four metres long. Too long to jump but there was no way she was going to be able to climb the partition. The only other option was to fight the man, and hope she could deal enough of a blow to give her time to escape the way she’d come.

He motioned to her with his fingers, palms up. Come on then, was the message. Just you try it. The woman whipped round, dipping down as she went, grabbing a piece of broken glass in her left hand. She was no fool. He had several stone on her, and even though they were the same height, fighting him off was going to be tough unarmed. With the glass though, she stood a chance.

He took a step back, taking his time, before pulling a pair of leather gloves from his pocket. It wouldn’t stop the glass entirely, Elenuta thought, but it gave him more protection. Certainly he wasn’t about to back down now. He’d paid a thousand pounds and he wanted it repaid in flesh.

The woman stepped forward, keeping just out of grabbing distance, but presenting the man with an opportunity to try. He lunged for her and she leapt backwards and to one side, pulling the man’s arm and propelling him towards the glass-covered section of floor then letting him go. He fell under his own momentum, helped by his front-loaded gravity. Only letting himself crash to his knees first saved him from being peppered with broken glass from head to toe. Still, he howled in pain. The woman was already gone, leaping back down the corridor in which she’d been caught, glass fragment held out front. The man got up slowly, his knees and lower legs bloodied, staggering slightly before righting himself fully. Wrenching a shard of glass from one leg, he shouted into the empty area. Elenuta’s nails were her own shards of glass in her palms. If the man caught up with that same woman again, he would make her pay over and over, once for the pain and again for the humiliation. He hurled the slice of glass at the drone hovering about his head, and spun round to follow her. Slowly this time, though. He wouldn’t be sprinting again for a while. Elenuta allowed herself a smile.