Читать книгу The Dragon's Skin - Ross Gray - Страница 16

The Rose Garden was a brothel.

And Rose Garden – christened Rose Garden Smith, truncated for professional reasons – was a madam.

Rose was the madam of The Rose Garden and co-owner of The Rose Garden and its sister establishment The Crimson Grotto. Rose had been a whore for more than two quarters of her life and a madam for about its last quarter. She and her silent partner owned fifty percent each of Rose Bed Enterprises, which consisted of the two brothels, a thriving escort service facilitated through the front desk of The Rose Garden, miscellaneous real estate and a share portfolio. The girls called him Big Boss and her Little Boss. It was a reference to size not power, but it was a sobriquet never uttered within Rose’s hearing.

When Rose first became a madam and a partner in The Rose Garden her share was a mere twenty percent. Her first partner in business, who’d retained the lion’s share, had needed her for a front otherwise her portion would have been much smaller. Her first partner was a man she feared.

Her present partner was a man she loved. This was recognised – and discreetly acknowledged – by all those who worked at The Rose Garden, save Rose herself and the object of her sublimated affection. Perhaps Rose resisted conscious recognition of her feelings because she was old enough to be her partner’s mother.

It was her present partner who was the subject of her present conversation.

Rose was in her office at The Rose Garden talking to Charlotte O’Brien. Charlotte was one of the brothel’s receptionists. She had worked here for – what? Rose tried to remember – it must be at least two years. Rose had thought Charlotte wouldn’t last two days when she hired her. She’d been very young, naive and wide-eyed then. She was still young and naive, but not so wide-eyed.

Charlotte had a crush on her employer. Not Rose, her partner. She’d held this crush from the moment she laid eyes on him two years before. Unfortunately, if he was too young for Rose, he was too old for Charlotte, and in more than just years. Although it was clear to everyone else at The Rose Garden that any feelings he returned were paternal in nature, Charlotte remained steadfast and maintained her romantic affection.

And that was the issue at the heart of the present exchange.

Charlotte sniffed loudly and Rose stripped another two or three tissues from the box and handed them to her. She received a soggy wad of paper pulp in exchange.

‘Thank you, Charlotte,’ Rose said dryly.

‘ ’S okay, Rose,’ Charlotte said damply.

Rose sat and waited until Charlotte got her moisture under control. She was uncomfortable with this motherly role. Her style was more Dean of Women or dominatrix.

Charlotte breathed a deep sob. ‘I thought he was such a kind man,’ she said sorrowfully.

‘Kind? No he’s not a kind man, Charlotte, never that,’ said Rose. Charlotte looked at her with mild surprise. She’d expected Rose to defend him. She wanted Rose to defend him. ‘The other side of the “kind” coin is “cruel”,’ Rose continued gently – for Rose. ‘He’s not cruel.’ Charlotte’s wet gaze held on Rose and her head moved in agreement. ‘He’s a ruthless man, Charlotte. The other side of that coin is compassion. That’s a currency I prefer to carry in my purse.’

‘It wasn’t what he did,’ snuffled Charlotte. ‘It was what he said. When he did it.’

‘What was that?’

‘Wax on, wax off. When he hit them. That’s what scared me. It was the way he said it – like a joke.’

‘Wax on, wax off?’ Rose was puzzled.

‘It’s from an old movie,’ Charlotte said blowing her nose. ‘The Karate Kid. I’ve seen it on television.’

Rose was still puzzled. She didn’t understand the reference. She didn’t watch much television. ‘You’d better tell me the whole story, right from the beginning,’ she said.

‘What, The Karate Kid?’

‘Charlotte,’ Rose groaned.

‘Sorry,’ Charlotte sniffed.

They had come into The Rose Garden somewhere around eleven the previous evening. There were two of them. They were very young. It was difficult to judge their ages. They were very big boys. Charlotte placed them in their late teens, early twenties at the most. Their clothes were sloppily casual with expensive brands. They swaggered and spoke loudly with the braggadocio of the novice or what the girls called ‘the tourist’. The curious kid or Rotarian, wound up by their mates, come to ogle, look but not touch, to exit sniggering, feeling sophisticated and superior. Saturday night fever.

Charlotte was on the phone arranging an escort date for an interstate politician. She smiled her most winning professional smile – in Charlotte’s case, indistinguishable from her real one – pushed a copy of the house ‘menu’ across the desk towards them and raised one finger to indicate she would be with them in a minute. They took the menu and walked away from the desk perusing it with sotto voce whoops and guffaws and making dirty little schoolboy sounds. They quickly became bored with that and one wandered towards a door from which trickled the sound of a piano; the other turned and stared intently at Charlotte. Something about his expression made her feel uneasy, exposed. She turned her back on his gaze as she finalised the details with the pollie’s minder. When she looked back the reception area was empty.

Rose liked to call the room where the workers and their clients made first contact ‘the parlour’. It was a large dark wood and leather room of soft colours, soft furnishings, low tables and low lighting. There was a bar at one end where the girls could treat their clients to liquor and coffee. The coffee was free, the price of the liquor was added to the price on the menu. There was a large flatscreen TV high on one wall at the bar end, and a glossy black upright piano near a small low stage at its opposite. A man with blond hair sat at the piano playing ‘Honeysuckle Rose’. Neither of the two young newcomers could have identified the song: it was just some old shit.

There were two or three fully-clad males in the room and a half dozen or so females in various stages of undress. A redhead in a black baby-doll negligee sat by the piano sipping coffee and watching the pianist’s hands move over the keys.

‘Shit,’ said one of the boys. ‘Looks just like one of the old man’s business meetings.’

‘Bit of a fuckin’ disappointment, eh Ray?’ said the other.

‘Seen one fuckin’ whorehouse, you’ve seen ’em all,’ said Ray.

‘Seen one fuckin’ whore, you’ve seen ’em all,’ said the other.

They spoke loudly intending the room to hear. The male clients turned and stared. The boys mugged goggle-eyed faces at them. Other than a brief glance, the girls paid scant attention. The piano player seemed not to have heard at all. They sniggered at their wit and punched each other lightly in self-congratulation.

Charlotte appeared at the parlour door and sized up the situation. She couldn’t smell booze, but suspected they’d been popping something.

‘Gentlemen,’ she said crisply but sweetly. ‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting, if you’ll come with me? We like to get the financial side out of the way first. Then you can relax and enjoy the evening. Have you had a good look at the menu? Cash or credit?’ She turned her smile on them and tripped it to high beam. Usually the threat of getting down to business and the mention of money was enough to scare the tourists off.

They turned to face her. They were built like ruckmen who’d been ducking training. She felt the unsettling stare of the dark one on her again. He was handsome in a steak and eggs sort of way, and now she noticed the pocks of old acne.

‘Gentlemen?’ she prompted, the cheery professionalism of her voice masking her growing disquiet. She was distantly aware that ‘Honeysuckle Rose’ had segued into ‘Your Feet’s Too Big’.

‘Are you on the menu?’ the dark one asked and the pink tip of his tongue slipped wetly along his fleshy lips.

She’d heard this question before and learned to deal with it. But the tongue gesture shocked Charlotte because she was sure it was an unconscious one. If he had pantomimed licking his lips it would have been ludicrous, adolescent.

‘No!’ she said more abruptly than she should have. She heard herself and she sounded alarmed, not in control. ‘No, I’m the receptionist I’m not a … a sex worker.’

‘Oooh, Chas, I reckon we’ve got fresh meat.’ He reached into his jacket and pulled out a wallet. He fanned it open to show an array of credit cards. ‘Fetch the boss. I wanna fuck you, baby, and I can pay whatever he wants.’

Charlotte realised the music had stopped. There was a sudden loud chord. Everyone looked towards the piano. The pianist was sitting facing the room; he had a friendly smile on his lips.

‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I can see you aren’t familiar with the rules in an establishment like this.’

‘Shit, Ray, it talks,’ said Chas.

‘One of the rules,’ said the piano player, ignoring him, ‘is that, ultimately, it’s ladies’ choice. If a lady doesn’t want to take you upstairs she doesn’t have to.’

The two men regarded him indulgently with arrogant eyes.

‘Does anyone want to entertain these gentlemen?’ the pianist asked the room. All the girls flicked their eyes over the two, their expressions deadpan. Charlotte noticed Yasmin had one hand behind the bar. There was a button there. There was a similar one behind the reception desk. ‘So you see, gentlemen, there’s no point in your lingering.’

Chas’s and Ray’s smiles were twisting into sneers.

‘You want to fuckin’ try and throw us out, Elton?’ said Ray.

The pianist shook his head and turned back to the keyboard. Ray and Chas looked at each other as if they were trying to work out if this was a sign of cowardice or contempt. Before they could make up their minds there was another voice in the room.

‘That’s my job, fellas.’

The man in the doorway looked like a huge skittle in a suit. But one that only a wrecking ball could knock over. His skull had been dipped in black shoe polish and buffed to a shine. His smooth brow was pinched in an expression of mild perplexity and his gaze held Ray and Chas as if they were the answer to Life, the Universe and Everything. He wasn’t very tall but he seemed to fill the doorway.

‘There’s two of us, short arse,’ Ray said.

Skittle man stepped forward so that they shielded him from the eyes of the others in the room. He opened his coat just enough to give them an exclusive view of what was under his armpit. ‘There’s two o’me too,’ he said and stepped back to let them pass through the door.

Ray looked back at Charlotte. ‘I still wanna fuck you,’ he said. Skittle man nudged him through the door.

‘Are you okay, Charlotte?’ the pianist asked gently as he approached.

‘I’m fine thanks, Mr E.’

‘You handled that well,’ said Mr E, the pianist.

The girls gathered around praising and patting her. The redhead hugged her and said, ‘Goodonya, Charlie.’

‘Would you like to go home early?’ asked Mr E, the pianist, Rose’s partner and Charlotte’s other employer. ‘Yasmin can fill in at the desk.’

She shook her head. Then the phone rang. ‘I’ll get it,’ she said and hurried back to reception.

Rose interrupted Charlotte’s story. ‘Had David just dropped in?’

‘No. Mr E had been playing the piano all evening. Mostly Blues and stuff. I think the girls would have liked something livelier. He was in an odd mood.’

Rose couldn’t fathom why Charlotte persisted in calling him ‘Mr E’. All the girls called him David. ‘And he stayed to walk you home?’

‘He told me to take a taxi and charge it. Apparently he was very upset when he found out I was walking.’ Charlotte had difficulty disguising her pleasure at this. ‘Tess said he just grabbed his coat and bolted after me.’

Charlotte had been standing at the entrance to the park. It was reasonably well lit and normally she would cut diagonally across it. But tonight she hesitated. She was trying to convince herself that she was being silly, that the events of the evening had unsettled her and stirred shadows in her imagination, when she heard the running footsteps. At first that sound scared her more than the park, then she saw the blond head bobbing under a street lamp and heard her name. She felt a thrill tingle through various unmentionable parts. He’d run after her!

The mist of his breath haloed around his head as he reached her. ‘Disobeying a direct order from the boss, I should ask Rose to dock your pay,’ he said, showing scant sign of his exertions.

Charlotte giggled and silently upbraided herself for doing so.

‘Where do we go from here?’

He’s going to walk me home, Charlotte squealed in her mind. ‘I usually go through the park,’ she said. ‘It’s quicker.’

He looked into the darkness under the trees, then turned to her. ‘It’s cold. Best take that route tonight.’

As they started on the path that curled between the shrubbery he said, ‘Why are you working at The Rose Garden, Charlotte?’

She held a long shrug. Her collar brushed her ears. ‘I was desperate for a job, but it was an accident really,’ she said, wondering if she should tell a story that made her appear stupid. ‘I thought I was being interviewed for something else. I was writing down the details for so many jobs – and you know, my eyes.’ Charlotte was wearing contacts now, but the lenses of her glasses were thicker than the Antarctic ice shelf. ‘I had the wrong phone number.’ She could see him smiling in the faint light. ‘And then – at first – it was … curiosity I suppose. But I got to like the girls, and it was interesting, and it pays well, and, and I’ve got good bosses.’ The last was almost whispered. She blushed in the shadow of her upturned collar.

‘Everything a girl could want,’ he said.

About midway through the park there was a large square of lawn bounded on two adjacent sides by a high, dense hedge. Sulphurous light from the goose-necked security lamps reached here, but the shadows were long. The path looped across the grass into the dark elbow of the hedge. It was prudent, despite the wetness of the grass, to cut across the neck of the loop and back onto the path at the far end of the hedge. But her escort followed the path into the shadows. Charlotte’s heart fluttered in amorous fear and anticipation. But he strolled beside her with his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

As the path approached the end of the hedge a dark figure stepped onto it, legs spread, blocking their way. Its shadow cut a dark rift between them. Charlotte sucked in a sharp breath, almost choking on the chill air.

‘Well, i’n’ this a surprise,’ said Ray. ‘The cock teaser and the ivory tickler out for a bit of nookie.’

Her eyes on Ray, Charlotte instinctively shrunk into the lee of her companion, but he moved away, stranding her like a chicken in the road. She stared at him, shocked. He had removed his hands from his pockets and was pulling on kid-leather gloves. He was turned side-on to Ray and he casually glanced to his left. His breath smoked from his lips and dissolved in the night. Charlotte was certain her eyes, not her most reliable organs, betrayed her again. She thought she saw him smile. She snapped a panicky glance over her shoulder. Chas stood in the path a few metres behind.

‘The beds upstairs musta been fully booked, eh, Chas?’ Ray took a pace forward and snarled. ‘We’ll look after the slut’s needs, Elton.’

‘Fuck off or you won’t able to tickle your dick with what’s left of your fingers,’ Chas chimed in.

Charlotte was staring at Mr E. Her chest was being squeezed like a toothpaste tube in a fist. She could feel her jaw going up and down but no words came. Her erstwhile protector seemed more interested in the smooth fit of his gloves than the drama unfolding around them. His eyes came up and gripped hers. They were calm and cool and, even in the subdued light, blue.

‘You go on home,’ he said. ‘I’ll take care of this.’ He stepped to the middle of the path, facing Ray.

‘Watch her,’ Ray growled to Chas and propelled himself swaggeringly at the man before him.

He was as tall as Mr E and much heavier. The punch he launched might have shattered bone had it landed. Ray grunted as the ball of knuckle and flesh at the end of his arm struck air and he was wrenched forward by its force: a shotputter who forgot to let go. His target pirouetted like a weather-cock spinning in the slipstream of the blow. ‘Wax on,’ he said as his right leg came up, around and rammed out. Charlotte heard a dull crack, and Ray screamed.

She was aware of Chas advancing on her, but she couldn’t move. An icy fascination welded her to the spot. ‘Jesus fuck,’ Chas hissed at her ear and swerved away towards the cry. Then he baulked abruptly, caught in a limbo of anger and fear. He stared helplessly at his friend, who writhed on the ground spitting expletives and groaning in pain. Charlotte watched as Mr E moved with insolent leisure behind Chas. By the time Ray’s mate had reasoned that discretion was preferable to valour the path of his retreat was cut. Chas turned and froze when he saw it. He swayed jerkily from side to side like a cobra that knows the mongoose has his measure.

‘Kill the cunt!’ Ray chewed through his agony.

And Chas uttered a strangled war cry and swung an arm like a mace.

Charlotte clenched her eyes and the sounds of ‘Wax off,’ the wet snap of bone and Chas’s pain filled her ears.

‘Are you alright?’ she heard and opened her eyes. He stood between two contorted figures that moaned on the grass. His face bore an expression of concern.

‘I’m okay,’ she lied, hugging her chest, her body now colder than the night.

He turned and bent over Ray, who cringed. He searched through his clothes then moved to Chas who whimpered a feeble, wordless plea. When he straightened he held their wallets. He took a notebook from his pocket and wrote details from each wallet, then tucked them back in the clothes of the cowering men. ‘Have you got a mobile?’ Ray mumbled something. When he stood he had a phone in his hand; he thumbed the keys as he walked along the path a few paces. He spoke a few words, then asked Charlotte the names of the two streets at the nearest corner.

‘Raymond, Charles, I know your names and where you live,’ he said tossing the phone to Ray. ‘It’s a small world, Charles. Is your father still in real estate? Or have they caught on to his scam?’ Chas swore weakly. ‘Gentle­men, your names and faces will be circulated to every brothel in this city. And if I find myself downwind of you again, I remind you that you have three more limbs and a neck.’ He walked over and heaved a bleating Chas to his feet. ‘A taxi’s on its way. Help your friend up.’

‘I gotta fuckin’ broken arm,’ grizzled Chas.

‘You have a spare, Charles. Don’t worry, I’ll share the burden.’

Tears had overwhelmed Charlotte again.

‘You left them on the corner of the park waiting for a taxi?’ asked Rose.

Charlotte nodded, holding a tissue to her nose. ‘He was worried about me. I’d started to shiver and I couldn’t stop. Shock, he said.’ Salty runnels glistened on her cheeks. ‘I don’t know what to do, Rose. I think I’m frightened of him now.’

‘Charlotte,’ Rose said gently. ‘There were two men. He couldn’t fight by Marquis of Queensberry rules. It could easily have got out of hand and then what might have happened to you?’

‘He broke bones, Rose. It was like … like something in the Bible. He … he smote them.’

‘Charlotte,’ said Rose, and the mother was gone from her voice. ‘What do you think the Knight on the White Charger does after he finishes singing love songs beneath your balcony?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘He rides out and smites your enemies. He slays the Dragon and cleaves the Black Knight in twain. And they die in agony in pools of blood.’ She patted Charlotte’s thigh and her voice softened. ‘Our knight expects no favours of us. That’s why the girls in this house feel safe.’

The eyes that Charlotte turned on Rose were forlorn pools in the blasted moor of her face. ‘Rose … Rose … it was my fault.’

House-mistress Rose was in charge again. ‘Tosh! Nothing was your fault, Charlotte!’ Each word was a nail driven to the head with a single blow. ‘It’s their testosterone and they should control it!’