J McKenna - Naughty girl

“What the fuck is this?”

Carl looked from him to the woman. Before he could speak, she said, “He’s looking for Turk.”

Baldy grunted. “Oh, yeah? What’s your name?”

“Carl.” He didn’t want to say more.

“What business you got with Turk?” He came over close, invading Carl’s space. He stood a good two inches taller. Carl tried not to shrink away.

He chose the “tough guy” route. “Not that it’s any of your business, but he told me to look him up when I was in town.”

“So you’re good buddies, are ya?”

“Not really. We do business together from time to time.”

“Oh, really?” He smiled an evil little grin, like he thought that was rich. “You guys do business, but you don’t even know which fuckin’ club he owns? You must think I’m a fuckin’ idiot.”

“All right, you got me. He did business with a friend of mine, who got himself killed last year.” Carl’s mind was racing, trying to come up with a plausible story. “I’m trying to take over his end of the business.”

“Yeah? And what business is that?”

“Training slaves,” he said without hesitation.

Baldy’s narrow eyes widened and he stepped back. “Well, if it’s a trainer you want, you couldn’t do any better than Mistress Gloria here,” he nodded his massive head toward the black-haired woman against the door. Carl turned and had to agree that she looked every bit the Dominatrix.

“Yes, well, I know about the deal my friend and Turk had, so I want to start there. If I don’t like the terms, however, I’ll come back and see what you might be able to do.” Carl tried to sound sincere.

“He’s bullshitting you, Hank,” Gloria spoke up behind him. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Yeah, I know.” Hank smiled like a hangman with his hand on the lever. “You must think I’m some kind of fuckin’ chump. You’re not a trainer. Get out.” He waved at the door.

Carl shrugged, as if it made no difference to him. Yet his mind raced to try and figure out what he’d said wrong. Perhaps it was just his general naïveté. He was resigned to going from club to club until someone pointed him in the right direction.

Gloria followed him out. The noise rose in volume immediately, making Carl wince. When she closed the door behind her, she leaned over suddenly and whispered into his ear above the noise, “For a hundred bucks, I’ll tell you where to find Turk.”

Time was of the essence. Carl had to get to Turk before he heard someone was searching for him. It was well worth a hundred. He handed her five twenties. She looked around the corridor then tipped her head in the direction of the back door. Carl followed her outside. They were in an alley behind the club. It reeked of stale garbage and was littered with empty beer bottles. At least the noise had mercifully been reduced to a dull throb.

He stood while she checked around, as if afraid to be seen with him. She no longer looked like a dominatrix, more like a spy, fearful of getting caught. “You’re not going to kill him, are you?”

“No,” he said at once. “I won’t kill him.”

“Why do you really want him? I know you’re not a trainer.”

Carl hesitated. “He’s got some information I need.” He hoped that would satisfy her.

She studied him, as if trying to determine if he could be trusted. “Okay,” she finally said, coming close. Carl could smell cigarettes on her breath. “He lives in a mansion on Clairmont Street, right near the intersection with Haight. You can’t miss it—it’s got stone lions on either side of the gate.”

Carl nodded. “Thanks.” He started to leave.

“Don’t tell him where you got the information.” He nodded. She held his arm for another few seconds, her eyes boring into his, then let him go. Without another word, she turned and disappeared back inside. Briefly, the noise assaulted him once again. It’s a wonder they aren’t all deaf, working in there . He turned and headed up the alley.

Mistress Gloria reentered the office, closed the door behind her and leaned against it. She smiled and licked her lips.

“Whadja get?” Hank asked.

“Hunnert. The way he gave it up, I shoulda asked for two. He’s a born sucker. You want some of it, Hank?”

Hank shook his head. “Nah. You keep it. I’ll get my cut from Turk later.” He picked up the phone. “Hey,” he said while it rang, “you wanna be cut in on the back end? He might be trainable.”

Gloria’s smile slowly spread across her face. “Yeah, I think I would.”

*****

Carl found Clairmont Street without trouble then followed it down to Haight Avenue. He parked in the darkness next to a fire hydrant certain he wouldn’t be long. For the first time, he wished he’d brought a gun. Coming here without a weapon could be a mistake, despite his self-defense skills. He got out and went to the trunk. Rummaging around, he came across a screwdriver. It would have to do. He slipped it into his belt—point down. He practiced yanking it free, feeling ridiculous. He looked around, afraid someone might see him and alert police—or worse, Turk.

Surprise was his ally. He’d better move fast if he wanted to get the drop on Turk. He crept up the walkway, unsure if he should find an open window and sneak in, or just boldly ring the doorbell, then threaten whoever opened the door. He decided on the latter course because he didn’t want to be considered a burglar. No, he was here to rescue DeeDee and nobody better stand in his way.

He rang the bell with his left hand, letting his fingers of his right lightly touch the handle of the screwdriver. When the door opened suddenly, he started forward, his face a snarl, ready to yank out his makeshift weapon, only to stop suddenly, his eyes wide. Instead of Turk, or some evil butler, as he had expected, there stood a slender, delicate Asian woman—a girl, really. She wore a black bustier and leather shorts. She had leather straps around her wrists and ankles, and her slender neck was encircled by a black collar.

“May I help you, Master?” she asked, bowing slightly.

Carl felt suddenly ridiculous. He took his hand off the handle of the screwdriver. “Uh. I’m here to see Turk. I, um, have some business to discuss with him.”

“Of course. Please come in. May I take your coat?”

“Er, no, that’s all right.” Carl pulled the flaps of his windbreaker tighter across his midsection, covering up the handle of his weapon. He hoped she hadn’t seen it.

“This way, please. Master Turk is in the study.” She pointed to a set of double doors past the huge stairway and began walking ahead of him. Carl dutifully followed behind. He thought it odd that he would be allowed in so easily. Perhaps she had mistaken him for someone else? Mentally, he began to rehearse what he would say to Turk that would convince the man to release DeeDee. Surely, he couldn’t believe that tripe that Evers had “bequeathed” her to him!

As he passed the stairway, his mind was still occupied and his eyes were on the Asian girl’s swaying bottom. He never noticed the hidden door open beneath the railing to his right. He sensed movement and began to turn in that direction when a spray struck him in the face, getting into his eyes. He screamed, jerking sideways to escape the burning sensation.

“You think you can just walk in here and steal one of MY girls away!” he heard a voice thunder. He wiped at his eyes with his left hand, desperate to clear them, and reached down for his screwdriver with his right. Suddenly he felt a hard fist smash into his head. Carl lurched sideways and went down.

He thought he was unconscious only for a few seconds, but when he woke up, his hands were fastened behind him. He looked down and noticed his feet were tied with plastic cuffs. He struggled to no avail. His eyes still burned, so he couldn’t really see his captor. He knew it had to be Turk.