Ethan Justice: Origins (Ethan Justice #1) (17 page)

“My name is Dmitri Varushkin from Moscow. I pay girl’s debt. You agree, yes.”

“What girl?”

“Savannah Jones.”

The air went silent and thick with anticipation.

“I can be there in fifteen minutes,” Christos said, eventually.

“Too slow. I pay one thousand. The girl is mine, do you agree?”

“No.”

“You say she is liar?”

“What?”

“Girl tell me you agree, if she pay one thousand she is free.”

“She is lying.”

“I think you lie, Chistos.”

“It’s Christos, and the girl is a lying bitch, but she’s mine. I have a buyer, and I’ve taken a deposit for her. I can’t let you have her.”

“Girl tell me when I have cigarette to eye that you agree one thousand. Waitress also confirm what she say is true.”

“What waitress?”

“Waitress at my Pizza Hut.”

The air turned quiet again. It was John’s turn to elbow Savannah. Savannah immediately began to shriek.

“Christos, don’t let him take me! He’s an animal. I’ll go with the Arabs. I’ll do anything but please don’t let him take me!” Collapsing on the desk, Savannah broke into sobs just as they had planned.

John looked at Savannah and shook his head. “Look she is much trouble,” John said, looking directly at Christos’s wife. “I will swap her for your fat wife and ten thousand British pounds. I think your wife like the rough stuff, yes?”

Mrs Christos gasped and the line went silent once more. John shot a glance behind him to see if somehow Christos had contacted someone to go to the agency and check on his wife. He knew it couldn’t be Christos himself because Savannah had called him earlier to make an appointment in Shepherd’s Bush. However it didn’t stop Christos from contacting his employed thugs to take care of things. John’s heart thumped quicker and harder as the silence lengthened. The game was up, surely?

“Take the girl and keep the money. She’s yours,” Christos said.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind to take your wife.”

“I’m sure. Please don’t hurt Helen.”

“Okay I am happy. My new bitch will learn to be less trouble in time.”

“Noooooooooooo!” wailed Savannah.

“Please take her and go,” said Christos.

“Chistos, you don’t want to have drink and make party? You play with my bitch and I’ll play with yours?”

Savannah stomped hard on John’s foot. This time a small moan escaped him. His big toe throbbed. He hoped it wasn’t broken. Of course this time she was right, they needed to wrap this up. She could have just tapped him though.

“Perhaps another time. Like I say, I have business,” he added, reaching over the desk and disconnecting the call, all the time commanding his facial muscles to ignore the pain in his toe.

He grabbed Savannah roughly by her arm and lifted her from the chair as he rose.

“Go make piss now,” he said to Christos’s wife, whose colour was returning to her cheeks. She looked physically exhausted from her experience, slumped in her chair like she had run a marathon. One more nail was required. “Tell husband if he renege, I will suffocate him with own penis.”

She nodded frantically. “I will, Dmitri, I will.”

“I like way how you say my name, Mrs Chistos.”

John picked up the money and with his arm around Savannah’s shoulders, bundled her towards the doors. Each time John’s injured toe met the floor the pain flared like a miniature explosion forcing him to take most of his weight on the other foot.

An approaching customer, wearing a smart, velour, ink blue Parker jacket with the hood up, moved to his left so that the joined couple could pass through the electrically operated doors unhindered. The man’s eyes lingered on John, thin lips offering an oddly crooked smile and for a second John wondered if he knew him. The shadow from the hood prevented John from getting a good look at the man’s eyes so he couldn’t be sure.

“Later,” the man said, as he turned and passed through the open doors.

What an odd thing to say,
thought John. Perhaps he did know him.

17: Sunday 25th September, 10:50

I pass Savannah Jones and her companion as I enter Aphrodite’s Angels. The man has a limp and an arrogant look about him. He is not the pimp Black described to me. I have told Black to follow the girl and to keep me informed. A large woman sits at a large desk, applying makeup as she looks into the mirror of her compact. She is fighting a losing battle. She is unaware of my arrival. A horse could approach silently on this carpet.

“Where is Christos?” I ask.

The black-haired woman jumps in her chair, dropping her compact. She stares at me in terror. The fat on her arms trembles with fear. Her mouth is open but she is silent. I have not started to interrogate her. She has been worked over already. The young man with Jones is not to be underestimated.

“Who was that leaving?” I demand.

“My ... my husband will be here any minute,” the woman says, looking past me at the outside street. She is not in a good way. There is no value in distressing her further. I say nothing and wait. It is Christos I want to speak with.

Ten minutes pass before Christos runs in. He is solidly built and dressed only in black, an attempt at macho no doubt. His hair is oily and he is unshaven. I immediately dislike him. He rushes behind the desk to the fat woman, ignoring me completely. He leans over and puts his arms around her.

“I’m here,” he soothes.

She looks up at him, tears rolling down her cheeks. “He said he would suffocate ...” She takes a tissue from a desk drawer and blows her nose loudly. “ ... you with ... your own penis.”

I smile. “Who was the man that left with Jones?” I ask.

The couple turn to face me like they had forgotten I was there.

“Who the fuck are you?” Christos snarls.

I raise my hand. “Calm down. I have a feeling that we can help each other out.”

“Like I said, who the fuck are you?” repeats Christos.

“I’m somebody who can help you get the girl back.”

“From the Russian mob? I don’t think so.” Christos strokes his wife’s head while she dabs her eyes.

I pull my stiletto knife from its ankle holster. Christos and the fat lady jerk backwards. I throw the blade at a framed photograph of a big-breasted girl with platinum blonde hair on the wall above the sofa. The glass explodes, covering the sofa and carpet. The blade twangs as it reverberates between the eyes of the airbrushed escort. Impressive. I have their attention and I have my patsy.

“Tell me about this Russian,” I say.

My mobile rings before Christos can speak. I am bored with Queen now. I must remember to change the ringtone. It is Black with interesting news.

*

Back at the Ritz, John and Savannah were sitting on the bed, buzzing like two highly charged particles. They had raided the miniatures from the mini bar and were having an impromptu party on the bed.

Savannah attempted a Russian accent. “Chistos, you don’t want to have drink and make party?” She had to admit it was nowhere near as good as John’s. “What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” John said. “I got carried away I guess. My adrenaline was pumping, and my heart was beating like I’d sprinted a mile. It was a real rush. That elbow and foot stomping really hurt by the way.”

“You were out of control. I mean purposely getting his name wrong. You are a dangerous man to know.”

“Heh, we did it, right? At least I didn’t try to pay him off with five hundred pound notes.”

Savannah laughed louder and longer than she could remember. Their lives were still in danger yet she had never felt so awake, so alive or so grateful. When a shortage of air to the lungs brought her fit of mirth to an abrupt halt, she looked at John as she breathed in.

“Thank you, John Smith,” she said. “If that really is your name.” She fell backwards on the bed in an even bigger fit of giggles. After only one miniature brandy, she was as high as a kite. The brandy had smoothed down the edges and the exhilaration, born of relief, had flooded out like water from a busted dam.

John put down his drink and lay next to Savannah. She could feel his eyes on her as she stared at the high ceiling.

“I mean it, Smith,” she said. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“It’s not all over yet. We still have the mad bomber to worry about.”

“I know but I feel different. You know what you said before we went into the escort agency?”

“I told you yesterday, I can barely remember my name.”

“Don’t kid around, Smith. You know what you said about me having been a victim all my life?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Well, you’re right and now I don’t feel like that person anymore.”

“That’s great.” John poked a finger in Savannah’s side. “That’s for the elbow. I’ll get you back later for breaking my foot.”

Savannah jumped up and leapt on John’s stomach, straddling him and sending the air rushing from his lungs.

“Ooomph! That hurt. Get off me you lunatic.”

She looked at his face. His eyes were blue-grey and mischievous, shining with life and vitality, nothing like the eyes that had judged her yesterday morning. Sure he was handsome, but he was also twelve years her senior. Was that perverse? He looked much younger - did that make a difference? Graham had been twenty-seven and looked older than the man beneath her.

“Get off me,” grumbled John, making suspiciously little effort to remove her from his person. “Have you got lead in those lanky legs of yours?”

She didn’t reply. She was lost in his eyes and everything he had done for her. If she tried to kiss him, would he reject her? Was not throwing her off him a sign that he would like her to kiss him? Shouldn’t he make the first move?

She had never trusted or wanted somebody so much than at that moment but it was too important. Yesterday she had been a prostitute. Sure, not a very well paid one, her whole career grossing fifty pounds, thirty of which she gave to that dirt bag Christos. But she couldn’t forget the look John had given her yesterday when he realised she was in his bed for money. Could he ever get past that? Could any man? They were proud and strange beasts.

Being sat upon by a silent person was obviously not the correct protocol. “What’s up?” John asked.

“Just thinking,” she replied.

“About what?”

About kissing him, about whether he found her attractive, about whether he ever could, about how he was the bravest, most selfless man she’d ever met. Not much really.

“Nothing,” she said.

He gazed up at her. Perhaps her display of uncertainty was putting him off.

“Your eyes are amazing,” he said. “I never saw such bright, shiny eyes in all my life.”

That was it - confirmation to proceed. No attempt to shake her off and a compliment about her eyes - it was enough. She leaned forward taking her weight on her arms which she placed either side of John’s shoulders. As her face drew closer to his, she hesitated, suddenly nervous and unsure of the advance she was clearly making and the message it gave out.

Her face hovered motionless above John’s. His breath was warm and smelt of whisky. Christ, she had to do something now. Warmth in her cheeks, not of the brandy-induced variety, told her that if she didn’t go one way or the other soon, her embarrassment would be well and truly on display. John lay still like a lamb to the slaughter - surely another sign? In one slow, smooth and deliberate motion, she planted her lips onto his and rested them there. Her hair fell down around his face like an intimate tent. As his lips pressed back, she was filled with a mixture of happiness, relief and lust. Her heart drummed in her chest every bit as hard and fast as it had in Aphrodite’s Angels when she had heard Christos’s voice on the loudspeaker.

Their first kiss was soft, tentative and long. When John’s mouth opened, Savannah’s followed suit and she welcomed his tongue inside. She teased him with her own tongue which darted eagerly around his in a fast, then more measured and sensual motion. Each time her tongue increased its urgency, John’s lips would press harder and his breathing became faster.

John raised his head from the bed as his passion seemed to escalate. Savannah sensed that both of their pleasures would be heightened if John was able to move freely. When she lifted her left leg over his stomach, he scrambled to his knees and grabbed her by her waist. The straps of her dress fell over her shoulders as John pulled them to each side. She thanked a higher power for the gift of new, sexy underwear from Harrods.

Taking hold of her shoulders, John pulled her towards him and kissed her neck from front to back sending a series of shivers through her that made her squirm with delight. His lips moved to her ear and he breathed heavily. The anticipation of having her ear lobe nibbled by John was unbearable and the shivers continued from the soft touch of his breath on her neck. Most men, and there hadn’t been many, ignored her ears, preferring to head straight for the more obvious erogenous zones.

John, thankfully, wasn’t most men and was homing in on her second most sensitive area without a single clue. Savannah moaned softly, out of relief as much as pleasure. She had finally come across a man who would treat her right, in and out of the bedroom. But John’s teeth never reached her ear and the words he whispered delivered neither pleasure nor relief.

“I’m not paying for this, am I?”

Savannah pulled away, pulled her arm to one side and swung it with every ounce of energy her anger could muster. The flat of her hand hit his right cheek with a resounding slap, such was its force and accuracy. The cheek glowed even before John covered it with his own hand, rubbing, soothing. She felt her own face flush and her anger heighten.

“I thought that you were different. How could I have been so bloody stupid? You’re a pig, just like the rest of them.”

John stared back, rubbing his cheek, eyes wide and jaw dropped.

“You fucking bastard, you goddamn prick, you mean fucking cunt of a man.” Savannah’s hands grabbed her hair and pulled. “Is that what you want? Is that how dirty filthy whores talk to their men? Does that get your dick hard?”