Shaun Hutson - Captives

Carol turned back to the mirror and studied her own reflection. She ran both hands over her breasts.

Starting to sag yet.

She reached for a cigarette and lit it, sucking hard, allowing the smoke to burn its way to her lungs.

There is more. There has to be.

The clock on the wall ticked soundlessly, the hands crawling around inexorably. Showtime.

She would tell Scott it was over. Zena was right. She shouldn't hurt him. She would tell him.

Eventually.

The phone rang.

For a moment Carol was startled by the ringing, then she turned and picked up the receiver.

She recognised the voice immediately.

'Hi. I'm just about to go on,' she said.

'I know,' the caller said. 'Where shall I pick you up tonight?'

'Same place as before.'

'Same time?'

'Yes. Look, I'd better go.'

'See you later.'

She hung up.

***

In the back of his Mercedes Ray Plummer was smiling as he replaced the car phone.

TWELVE

Scott was still in his office when 'Loveshow' closed. He had some paperwork to finish but decided it could wait until tomorrow. He glanced at his watch, saw it was just after 11.30 and rubbed his eyes. He had to take the money from the bar and the hostesses round to the night safe and deposit it before he went home. The money taken at the door and that collected from the sale of books and videos upstairs in the shop was kept in the building until the next morning. Best not to bank the whole lot at once.

The bar takings were laid out before him, as was the money taken by the hostesses. Over eight hundred pounds in cash, all neatly arranged in piles according to denomination. Scott wound the piles securely with elastic bands and put them into the bag intended for the night safe.

Don Lloyd, the barman, stuck his head around the door and said goodnight. Scott waved and smiled, then looked at his watch again. After a moment or two he got to his feet and wandered down the corridor from his office towards the dressing room.

He knocked and waited.

'Come in,' a voice from the other side called and he poked his head in.

One of the other girls, a tall dark-haired young woman he knew as Lynn Fraser, smiled at him. She was completely naked, unconcerned by his presence. Scott was similarly uninterested in her state of undress; his attention, was drawn towards Carol, who was removing her make-up.

'How did it go tonight?' he asked.

Carol shrugged. 'Same as usual,' she said flatly.

'Well, my Rob's going to be overjoyed when I get home,' said Lynn, reaching for a tissue from the box nearby. 'I'm as horny as hell.' She wiped some of the moisture from her vagina with the tissue. 'Gets you like that some nights, doesn't it?' she continued, looking at Carol.

'I suppose so,' she replied unenthusiastically.

'Half an hour with a vibrator stuck up you,' Lynn cooed. 'I can think of worse ways to pass the time.' She giggled and began to dress. 'I hope Rob isn't banking on a good night's sleep.'

'Can I have a word with you when you're ready, Carol, please?' said Scott. 'In my office.' He smiled at Lynn and retreated from the dressing room before Carol could answer him. Behind him he could hear the dark-haired girl still giggling.

Scott went around flicking off lights. He waved goodnight to Lynn as she left hurriedly, chuckling. Then he made his way back to his office.

He sat down on the edge of his desk and waited.

Come on. Come on.

Carol finally appeared looking a little pale.

Scott smiled broadly at her.

'Ready?' he said happily.

'For what?' she said, somewhat bemused.

'I thought we could get something to eat. You said we could talk…'

She cut him short.

'I didn't say that, Jim,' Carol sighed. 'I don't feel too good. Maybe it's the time of the month.'

'Are you coming back to my place tonight? If it is the time of the month we don't have to…'

'I just want to get home.'

Tell him. For Christ's sake, put him out of his misery.

'I'm very tired, Jim.'

He clasped his hands together and nodded, the smile fading but still flickering on his lips.

'Maybe another night,' he said. 'Tomorrow, perhaps?'

She nodded.

That's it, just keep him dangling.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I just feel a bit rough.'

Lying bitch.

'You go home and get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow,' he said. 'You'll feel better then and we can talk.'

About what? About how it's all over?

She turned to leave but he crossed to her, put one hand on her shoulder and made her turn around. He bent forward and kissed her, aware once again that she was keeping her arms by her sides. He took one arm and draped it over his shoulder, then repeated the action with her other.

'Not too painful, is it?' he smiled.

She smiled back.

Don't hurt him.

They finally parted and she said goodnight. He told her he would see her tomorrow, he had some things to do before he left.

***

Carol closed the office door and made her way down the corridor. As she drew level with the dressing room the payphone inside began to ring. She opened the door, walked in and picked up the receiver.

'Hello,' she said wearily.

Silence. Only the odd pop and hiss of static.

'Hello,' she said again. 'Can I help you?'

'Carol Jackson.' It was a statement rather than a question.

'Yes,' she said after a short pause. 'Who's this?'

'I'm watching you.'

She held the receiver away from her ear for a moment and glared at it, as if her anger could somehow be transmitted down the line to the caller. When she pressed the receiver to her ear again she could hear soft breathing.

'If you're going to do it then do it properly, you useless bastard,' she hissed. 'Heavy breathing, it's supposed to be.'

'I'm watching you.'

'Then what am I doing?' she asked.

'You're about to leave and I'll be waiting for you.'

This time her response wasn't quite so swift.

Other girls had received calls like this. It was almost an occupational hazard. She was about to speak again but the caller got there first.

'I'm waiting.'

There was a click as the phone was hung up and she was left with just the buzz of a dead line in her ear. Slowly she replaced the receiver. Then, wrapping her coat around her, she climbed the steps to street level and stepped out onto the pavement.

It was still raining, a thin, miserable mist of drizzle.

***

High up in his office, Scott watched her scuttle off towards Shaftesbury Avenue.

But his were not the only eyes that watched her.

THIRTEEN

It was almost 1.30 A.M. by the time Scott finally got home.

He trudged into the main entrance of the block of flats where he lived, heading towards the lifts. Behind him he-left wet footprints on the tiled floor. As he reached the lifts he noticed that a sign had been affixed to the door: OUT OF ORDER. Beneath it, in biro, someone had scribbled: THEY ALWAYS FUCKING ARE.

Scott sighed and made for the stairs. Fortunately his flat was on the sixth floor; it wasn't too much of a trek. He wondered, briefly, how those on the fifteenth and sixteenth floors were managing. The block where he lived, like many others in Brent, was home to a wide variety of people. One-parent families, those in temporary accommodation, the usual ethnic mixture and, of course, long-term residents like himself. As he climbed the stairs he glanced at some of the graffiti sprayed or drawn on the green painted walls.

TORIES OUT ARSENAL FC ARE CUNTS

As he reached each landing he glanced out of the large glass windows looking across to the other blocks that thrust upwards into the sodden night sky like pointing fingers. He saw the anti-collision lights of a plane high above in the blackness. It was leaving London, heading north. Scott wondered where its passengers were bound for.