Bitter Sweet (22 page)

19

I decided to wait. Watching Ivonne and I free ourselves from the cable ties had brought the girls out of the worlds into which they had withdrawn – they had even smiled. Itching as I was with curiosity as to what Erjon had said, and the implications it might have, I gambled that with time they’d come around and tell me.

I sat down opposite the girls, propping myself against the wall. Ivonne joined me.

‘Okay,’ I said to her. ‘Tell me everything from the moment I blacked out.’

Ivonne pulled her knees up to her chest and turned towards me. ‘When the wrench hit the window
I screamed.’ She touched my arm. ‘I dropped my phone. It fell down the side of the seat, I remember that.’

‘So?’

‘One of the yobs must have driven your car over here. I caught a glimpse of it, parked beside the VW van.’

‘And my phone?’

‘Don’t know,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘It was still clipped to its holder when I was pulled out of the car.’

‘
If we could get to the car, and the phones are still there, and the key is in the ignition . . .’ I smiled.

‘Dream on.’

‘Yeah. More than likely they’ve nicked my phone and pocketed the car keys.’

‘You’ve got it.’

‘Now tell me the layout of this place. Is there a wall or a fence around it? Is there a gate? But most importantly what’s on the other side of the door?’

‘Okay,’ I
vonne said, and blinked. ‘Firstly there’s a fence around the place, barbed wire on the top. There’s a gate. Don’t know if they keep it closed; the van didn’t stop until we reached the building. This place is some sort of a disused warehouse or it might have been a factory.

‘We were brought in through a side door – the bus reversed right up to it.’

‘Locked?’ I asked.

‘Don’t know that. Didn’t see anyone using a key.’ She shrugged.

‘Probably locked,’ I said. ‘If we’re lucky it might be an emergency exit with a push bar. Go on.’

‘The door leads to a long passageway with offices off to the left and a couple of doors to the right – think they lead to the factory floor. The corridor does a right turn, at the turn there is a door.’

‘Metal?’

‘No, wooden. This part of the corridor is shorter. Three doors on the left. We’re behind the first one. And there is a door off to the right. Again, I’d guess it leads to the main floor area.’

‘That means we’re in some sort of a storeroom,’ I said. ‘The door to the right is it wood or metal?’

‘Swing doors made of wood with tiny windows at eye level.’

I continued to quiz Ivonne about the journey in the van and the layout of the building. I had been carried into the storeroom and had been dumped on the floor. Otherwise Ivonne wasn’t able to add much to what she had already explained.

20

We had freed ourselves from the cable ties, however, we remained locked in the storeroom with absolutely no chance of escape and with nothing to do Ivonne and I chatted about our lives and inevitably about our experiences as escorts. Having talked enough about the eccentricities
of the game, I asked Ivonne; ‘Do you think you’ll ever marry?’

Ivonne chuckled. ‘A husband, a wife or a boyfriend is a possession. You’re laying claim to that person, and the ultimate expression of that is marriage, and that means monogamy.’

‘I suppose I’ll marry some day.’

‘You’re a conformist,’ Ivonne said, grinning. ‘That’s what society expects of you, it’s what it wants you to do. I’ve spent the last two years doing what society
doesn’t
want me to do, and I’ve enjoyed it, and earned a fair packet doing it.’  

‘I don’t know that I’ve enjoyed it that much. The money is good that’s for sure. But someho
w I want a boyfriend again, they’re useful to have about.’

‘Sometimes.’

I giggled. ‘Okay, I guess you’re right there. They want sex, and sex gets to be a chore. After a full day of servicing clients, all I want is that the boyfriend finally comes so that I can get off to sleep.’

‘Touché.’

‘I’ve never told
any
boyfriend what I do. I suppose they think something is wrong; the intimacy is lacking, the post-coital intimacy, you know, as soon as the client comes it’s over, get them tidied up and get them dressed.’ I shifted on my bum. ‘Mike says most relationships begin with being
in love
, nature’s way of bringing people together to procreate, a type of chemical process, and when it wears off it’s down to need and compatibility.’

‘He should bonk you,’ Ivonne said, looking at me out of the corners of her eyes, ‘or go to philosophy classes.’ 

‘It’s nice to talk, and he’s sweet. He talks of love being a state of being, a source within, a manifestation. That it’s not something exclusive between two people, that it’s primarily the self being open enough to emit love which then is reflected back, reciprocated, or not. He says love is bigger and greater than the clichéd, lovey-dovey notion of romantic love or that of fairytales.’

‘If you’ve got daughters, you can’t help having fairytale princesses,’ Ivonne said. ‘Has he got kids?’

‘You’re damned right; three young boys,’ I said, remembering how I had assumed he was divorced with teenage kids. ‘Maybe it’s the romantic fairytales which create the belief, and then all you end up with is two egos clinging to each other.’ I glanced at my fingers; two nails had broken off. ‘Mike maintains that love exists in every relationship you’ve had and in every relationship you have, kids, parents, pets, first love, the exes.’

Ivonne tried to hide a smile. ‘Does that mean Mike loves you?’

‘I don’t know.’ I looked up at the ceiling. ‘If you take his definitions, yes.’

‘Why did Mike come to you in the first place?’

‘Temptation, I’d guess. But something stopped him having sex.’ I stared at my fingernails. ‘I think he knew that if he had sex, he’d cross a barrier in his own mind into an area he couldn’t resolve. Maybe it was what Martha said; he hadn’t expected to find me.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I suppose Martha was saying that Mike fell for me the moment he saw me.’

‘Oh right,’ Ivonne said. ‘Three young kids at home, mum is stressed,
he’s not getting it. He goes looking. It was all abstract in his head until you opened the door. And if Martha’s right you were a reality way beyond his expectations. And he saw the real you.’

‘That’s true. The first time he visited, I was running late, he was already waiting outside the apartment.’ I shrugged. ‘He met Tina before he met Nina.’

‘So, what does he want?’

‘I don’t know. He says he doesn’t know. He says he doesn’t want anything, he just enjoys being in my company.’

‘Ah,’ Ivonne said. ‘And what about you?’

‘I don’t want to think about it, he’s a client and he’s married with three kids.’

Enough of that, it was now time for Maria to speak up and tell us what Erjon had said. I was hoping that Maria, having listened to us talk about the world outside of these four walls might be finally willing to spit it out.

I stood up, crossed over to where she sat and squatted down in front of her. For a moment I said nothing. Then I placed a hand on her leg and looked into her eyes.

‘We’re still
trapped in here,’ I said. ‘But if I see any chance to escape, I will. And Yana knows that I can look after myself in a fight.’

Maria glanced at Yana. She said something I couldn’t understand.

‘Maria,’ I said. ‘I must know what Erjon said.’

Maria opened her mouth to speak. Then she looked around the room, her eyes resembling those of a trapped animal seeking a way out.

‘Please,’ I said.

Maria looked at her hands and then raised her head. ‘All right. There is an auction tonight.’

I didn’t know what she meant.

‘We’re being sold,’ she continued. ‘Erjon said that we,’ she glanced at Olga and Yana, ‘will be sold to a brothel keeper in Turkey, close to some big construction site. Erjon said; “that’s your punishment. No more
nice hot showers. Lots of hard dirty men.”

Maria exhaled. ‘I’ve heard of such places, they are the worst, we’ll probably die there. If you get ill there are no doctors.’

Maria studied her hands. She hadn’t mentioned what Erjon was planning for Ivonne and me.

‘And?’

‘You’re being sold to the Arabs,’ she whispered. ‘That’s worse.’

‘Why?’

‘Islam.’

‘Eh?’

‘What you do is an offence under Islamic law, punishable by death.’

I stood up, my head spinning. I hadn’t really bothered to think about what Erjon intended to do with us, certain that we’d escape somehow. If we didn’t the
n a short cruel life of sexual slavery would be our fate. 

21

For the first few hours after Maria’s revelation, I had sat stunned and shocked. I was also overwhelmed by the fact that someone like Erjon could, apparently without much difficulty, traffic a UK citizen out of the country to be sold into slavery. For the first time in my life I experienced real fear, and I began to truly appreciate the human horror which the three girls had undergone.

The light had begun to fade as dusk approached. The door in the corridor squeaked on its hinges. Ivonne gripped my arm.

‘Let’s do it,’ I whispered.

We had already worked out a plan. It had one hitch; we were assuming a maximum of two yobs would enter the storeroom. Two could be dealt with as we had the element of surprise. If three yobs entered the room it would be touch-and-go. There was another factor which I had not told Ivonne; having to fight within the confines of the room was a disadvantage, namely their weight and strength. And Taekwondo and a few other techniques I had picked up all required freedom of movement.

I tiptoed towards the door
and on my way lifted the metal pan, placing it at the point on the floor, where, when the door opened fully, it would be knocked over. The noise of the pan skidding over the concrete floor and its movement would, automatically, draw the eye. At that moment I would strike.

I positioned myself behind the door, flexing my muscles. Ivonne remained on the floor with her hands behind her back as if she were still bound. We looked at each other, both of us listening intently.

I raised my index finger – one yob. Ivonne nodded in agreement.

Footsteps coming closer.
I readied myself.

One bolt slid back, near the top of the door, a grunt, followed by the sound of the second bolt moving. A key slid into the lock. I stepped away from the wall giving myself room.

The key turned in the lock and the handle moved downwards. I bent my knees and double checked that the pan wouldn’t get tangled in my feet when the door opened.

I glanced at Ivonne; she was ready to use her feet to trip up the yob, if need be. The door opened and hit the pan. It went skidding across the floor.

Ivonne nodded. I propelled my legs upwards, channelling all the power of my body into an upwards thrust. My hands slammed into the door. It flew backwards. A solid thump and the door shuddered.

I jumped back and spun to the right, to face the yob. His hand was rising to his head. I went for the rear-horse kick and spun left. Using all the momentum of the spin, my left foot shot backwards. My left heel juddered under the i
mpact. Right on target at sixty-miles-per-hour into the solar plexus. The yob grunted.

I spun again, kicked backwards and heard the crack of a rib breaking.

The yob was still on his feet, doubled over in the doorway. My anger surged. I grabbed the top of his leather jacket and heaved him into the room. The pig tried to resist. I jumped left, and using the downward motion connected an elbow strike to the side of his head. Shit, the bastard still hadn’t gone down.

I jumped back; a small bounce for balance. Time for something else. I spun to the right, landing on my left foot. Using the rotation of the hips and all my leg power in an upward kick, I let fly with my right foot. The hard bone of my shin connected to the soft underside of the yob’s jaw. Yeah, a satisfying crack as his jaw snapped closed. He
was going down. I bounced high and, on the way down, planted another elbow strike to the yob’s head.

Down he went.

I bounced a couple of times, still loaded with anger and energy.

Ivonne shot across to where the yob lay. ‘Help me pull him over!’

We grabbed his jacket and rolled him on to his front.

‘Phone,’ I said.

I checked his trouser pockets whilst Ivonne checked the pockets of his leather jacket. I found a set of keys, not mine, but they contained a Volkswagen car key. Ivonne found an iPhone, the latest model, and a wallet. 

She opened the wallet.

‘Take the cash,’ I said, seeing a thick wad of notes, ‘could come in handy. Oh, and use the maps function on that phone; find out where we are.’

I pocketed the keys.

‘Let’s get out of here.’ I nudged the yob with my foot. ‘It won’t be long before this piece of shit is missed.’

I moved to the door and cautiously put my head around the door listening – nothing.

In the corridor
, I sped across, poised on my toes, to the double door to the warehouse and peered around the edge of the small window. The place was a mess with all sorts of rubbish heaped against the walls.

Satisfied that no one was in the main warehouse; I turned and took in the other two storeroom doors. We had no choice.

‘Ivonne,’ I whispered, ‘get the girls out here and lock and bolt the door.’

I approached the middle storeroom door and tapped the door with my knuckles – nothing. I moved to the last the door, the one furthest from where we had been imprisoned, and knocked softly, holding my ear to the door. I thought I heard a faint noise.

‘Give me the key,’ I said to Ivonne, who now stood in the corridor with the girls.

Ivonne joined me, handing over the key. I slid it into the lock and to my surprise it turned – the same key for all the locks. I pulled back the bolts.

I glanced at Ivonne, who was biting her lower lip.

‘We must check,’ I said.

‘You’re right, but hurry.’    

I held my breath and pressed down on the door handle. Slowly, I opened the door.

‘Oh shit.’ A girl lay slumped against the wall shivering.

I put my index finger to my lips. ‘Shush,’ I said, ‘it’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.’

She stared back at me blankly.

Keeping my index finger to my lips, I sped across the floor towards the girl.

‘Come,’ I said softly, taking hold of her upper arm.

She flinched at the contact, but I didn’t let go. I smiled. ‘Come.’

The blank look left her eyes. I smiled again. She moved her legs and I helped her on to her feet.

In the corridor, I bolted and locked the door. Knowing now that the same key opened all the doors, I opened the middle storeroom. Whew, it was empty save for a metal pan, any more girls and we’d have no chance of escaping.

It was time to get moving; the yob I had taken out might already be missed.

I paused behind the door to the other corridor. Would it be better trying to escape via the warehouse floor? With four trafficked girls in tow we’d have to be ultra quiet. And running would be a dead giveaway; six pairs of feet pounding along would sound like a stampede.

Whichever route I chose, there was still the unknown factor; would we reach an exit only to find it locked? I took a deep breath: we had to try, and, we had to escape.

The corridor was the riskier option, but I reckoned we stood a better chance of reaching an unlocked door, or at least, a door which could be opened.

I leaned against the door and listened – nothing. I raised my hand ready to push the door open, and stopped. The door had squeaked on its hinges when the yob had opened it. I pressed my fingers against the wood and slowly, very slowly, pushed.

Six inches and there was an ever so slight squeak. I stopped.

‘Ivonne, get the girls lined up, flat against the wall.’

I crouched down and placed my hand halfway up the door. Slowly, I applied pressure. Another tiny squeak. I kept up the pressure and eased the door half open, enough that I could see along the corridor.

No lights, however halfway along, light from two of the offices spilled into the corridor. Another quick glance; the corridor was at least one hundred metres long with the double doors to the warehouse floor set halfway along. They demarcated the point of no return, and if they weren’t locked they would provide a means to hide, if need be.

I held the door half open, turned and whispered to Ivonne; ‘I’ll go first. Make sure everyone stays below the windows and tight up against the right-hand side.’

I set off along the corridor, every sense on high alert. At the first office door, I checked behind me; the girls were following, single file, with Ivonne bringing up the rear.

I reached the next door and paused, hearing voices from the office in front of me. I crept along to a point just short of the widow and stood up, before inching towards the glass. From there I could see part of the room. Three men stood, on the left-hand side of the room, propped against filing cabinets. Thankfully, their attention was not focused in my direction.

Slowly, I leaned forward, taking in more of the room; on the far side, opposite me, stood a girl. Her head was being held up by one of Erjon’s yobs. Our eyes met. I stood frozen. Was I imagining the eye contact? Could she have really seen me in the semi-darkness?

The moment passed. The yob turned the girl’s head, forcing her body around.

I forced myself to e
xamine the rest of the room. One man was leaning against the right-hand wall and a further two sat on opposite ends of a desk. All the men had that look endemic to those who live off the flesh trade; over styled and vain. And with the fast cash generated by pimping, the baubles and the bling reflected from their wrists and necks.

I was tempted to jerk my head back, but sudden movement might attract attention. Slowly, I eased my head back behind the wall.

‘Ivonne,’ I whispered, turning towards her, ‘give me that phone.’

She crept up to where I stood.

‘Keep moving along the corridor,’ I said, taking the phone.

I tapped the screen on the phone accessing the camera function and it started filming. Remaining hidden behind the wall, I stretched out my left hand and held the camera to the office window. The images were just visible; I tilted the phone at various angles, making sure that every person in the room was filmed.

That brief, if only imagined, eye contact with the girl in the office continued to disturb me – there but for the grace of God go I. We still weren’t out of the building, we still hadn’t escaped, but in that office was a girl whose only chance of escape might be my intervention. Charging into the office and trying to save her was absurd. The only sane option available was to get her and the bidders on film and then take the evidence to the police. Oh God no, the police, they couldn’t be trusted, not with Driscoll in the background. I’d think of something.  

A raise
d voice from the office said; ‘Deal.’

I sneaked forward and saw the yob propelling the girl towards the doorway to the next office. I froze as Erjon emerged. Shit, at least he hadn’t looked in my direction.

That’s when I remembered the day Ivonne and I had planted the tracking software into his phone. Somehow he had known that I had been in the spare bedroom of Ivonne’s apartment. It was time to get moving. Erjon’s instincts were too sharp to hang about, and the way he had taken out Markus proved that he was a ruthless fighter.

I kept the phone just above the window frame and watched as Erjon pulled the girl through the doorway. He turned and led a different girl into the office. I adjusted the phone capturing the girl’s face. Erjon made some remark which elicited a burst of laughter before returning to the other office.

I crouched down, lowered the phone and sped silently along the wall to the next window. I stood up cautiously using the wall as cover. This time I didn’t even attempt to stick my head around the window frame, instead I edged the phone towards the glass. Part of the office came into view. I couldn’t see Erjon. I hesitated; concerned that he might spot the phone, before easing it along the window. More of the room came into view; four girls were sitting on the floor, all in various states of apathy or fear, staring towards the room in which the auction was taking place.  

I wiggled the camera and Erjon appeared on the display. He clapped a hand on to the shoulder of one of his thugs and they walked towards me, towards the window, Erjon talking.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Maria scuttling towards me. She grabbed my free hand and tugged. ‘Quick,’ she whispered, ‘Erjon is sending Viktor to look for Marko – that’s the one you KOed.’

I lowered the phone and ducked below the window. Maria and I scurried along the right-hand wall and reached Ivonne and the other girls.

‘Quick,’ I whispered, ‘into the warehouse.’

I sped towards the double doors of the warehouse. Were they locked? Would they squeak? I pressed my hand against the right-hand door and pushed. The door flew inwards. I almost fell. I lunged for the door and caught it before it could slam against its frame.

A quick scan of the warehouse told me there was no one there. Ivonne and the girls rushed in behind me. I gently pushed the door closed and took a peek through the small window, set at eye level. That was close; Viktor entered the corridor.

‘T
ina,’ Ivonne whispered into my ear, ‘give me the phone. I’m calling the police.’

I turned and stared at her, all the downsides of doing that racing through my head.