The Defector Page 3

  I nodded.

  ‘You don't mind.’ It wasn't a question, I didn't have a choice. But the tone said he could care less anyway.

  ‘No, no, of course not.’ I went through the motions. After all, I'd be in some hospital right now if it wasn't for him. I took a sip of the drink and tried to relax a little.

  ‘You want to take a seat?’ I asked, indicating the bar.

  ‘Sure. That'd be nice.’ I led the way over and we sat down, one either side of a small glass-topped wooden table. I gently put my drink down and massaged my temples.

  ‘So how are you today?’ he asked.

  I glanced at him, ‘Better than I was earlier.’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, you didn't seem too good last night. I was quite happy when that young girl turned up, I had no idea what to do with you.’

  ‘She works here, she's a good kid.’

  Janac grunted and shifted in his chair. I watched the cool, grey eyes sweep the bar and then the beach. I could remember those eyes well enough. And the purposeful stillness. He was here for a reason. I waited, silently, to find out what it was.

  Finally he said, ‘My car's parked out the back. You up for some dinner?’

  Again it didn't seem so much a question as an order. I twirled my finger through the ice in the glass. Watching the cubes tumble over each other. I didn't want to do this. But he'd saved me from a beating and I owed him one. I couldn't say no. I took another sip of my drink.

  ‘I really feel pretty damn rough...’ I started. I let the silence roll for a couple of seconds, then I leaned forward, and picked up one of the loose coins someone had left as change on the table. ‘Tell you what, heads I go with you, tails I stay here, take three aspirin and crash out. Agreed?’

  It was the first time I'd seen him smile properly. It almost reached his eyes. I'd hit the right note. He nodded, ‘Ok.’

  I flipped the coin and missed the catch. It bounced and span on the glass table top. It seemed to take an eternity to settle.

  ‘Heads.’ said Janac, starting out of his chair, ‘Let's go.’

  Chapter 3

  ‘Martin?’

  ‘Uhuh?’ I murmured, without moving.

  ‘Martin!’ the tone was much sharper. I looked round at Janac quickly. He held out something, a rolled up bill. My heart jumped, I looked down at the table between us. Two neat lines of white powder on a shiny mirror. I'd been so absorbed in watching the two girls shooting up a couple of tables away I hadn't even noticed. I glanced around, no one seemed to be watching, never mind caring.

  ‘There's no problem in here,’ the tone was insistent, the hand extended a half inch further with the bill.

  I scratched at the corner of my eye. Looked at Janac, the bill, the coke. I needed something, I felt like death. I took the bill.

  The meal arrived, the smell was stunning. I had no idea I was this hungry. But then I hadn't eaten all day, and I must have thrown up most of yesterday's. I grabbed a fork. It was good, very good, brilliant. So was I. I glanced around the club. Lit by flickering candles that created motion where there was none, and disguised it where there was. Only a few people dotted around in the shadows, despite the queue outside. The two girls with the needles had joined us. Janac had snapped his fingers and it had been so. It seemed everything had been like that. We had cruised in here past three sets of doormen and a fifty yard queue as though Janac owned the place. He probably did. And I was feeling pretty damn cool in the reflection of that presence now. Empowered rather than uneasy. The coke had breezed away the tiredness, the night was young, and we were in for a seriously good time.

  I felt a light touch on my leg, it crept slowly upwards. I glanced at the two girls. One was now beside Janac and I had the undivided attention of the other. A pink tongue crept out and slid across the blood red lips. I smiled and inclined my head. She moved round the table and slid astride my thigh. She weighed nothing. I put my arm round her tiny waist and felt the hot skin under the filmy, almost intangible dress.

  ‘How's the food?’ said Janac.

  ‘Excellent.’ I said, shifting slightly so I could still get at the meal. He was picking desultorily at his with a fork, the same hand holding a cigarette. The smoke drifted upwards to join the chemical cocktail in the atmosphere - an air sample would probably have been enough to get you busted for possession.

  He nodded thoughtfully, ‘Tell me how you lost your job.’

  Some of my euphoria evaporated. I stared at the food for a second, ‘I need another drink.’ I pushed forward my empty glass. I'd been converting chemicals faster than ICI and didn't want to slow down.

  His fingers snapped again, then he turned back to me interrogatively.

  I rubbed my nose with a blunt forefinger. ‘Middle of summer last year, just before the car crash. The European Union had signed the Maastricht treaty. The coming of a single currency required the exchange rates to be held for two years prior to the event. Failing to do so meant dropping out and being consigned to second string in a two-tier Europe - highly embarrassing for the Government of the country concerned. This meant a lot of political credibility was invested in holding the rate parities, which in turn made the risks of currency devaluation very low. So, everyone was buying in the normally weaker, high risk currencies, which had some very attractive interest rates compared to the Deutschmark. A high yield and low risk. All good news.’

  I shrugged, adjusting the table mat as the waiter arrived with my drink. ‘But along came the Danish referendum with a 'No' vote on the treaty. And all of a sudden the political certainties were no longer certain. Some big players started to bail, getting back into the Deutschmark. It was about then that the accident happened. I was ok for a while, but I got on this guilt trip and somehow the deal got all mixed up in it. I wanted to believe in the single currency, that it was right for business, you know.’ I looked up to find the usual dispassionate gaze from Janac, ‘No, you wouldn't know. But fixed rates make it easy for people to do business. I thought we should support that. We spent so much time screwing with the market for our own profit that I wanted to see those rates held for once.’

  I reached out for the drink and a thin arm slipped round my neck, her body was warm and relaxed against mine. ‘But I was hopelessly wrong. The fundamental reality was that the pound went into the ERM too high, it had to realign downwards. All the research said so. It was inevitable and everyone could see it. Except the politicians and me. But there was all this rhetoric from the press, painting the traders as profiteering bad guys. I didn't want to be a bad guy anymore. Too much guilt. So I stuck with pounds. On a day when the Quantum Fund made a billion dollars, I lost big.’ I shook my head bitterly, skin still crawling at the memory, the buzz in the office, the humiliation of being a loser. ‘While Norman Lamont was singing in the bath I was pissing in the wind.’

  I took another redeeming slug of the drink before I went on. ‘I really fucked up, for the first time I confused right and wrong with profit and loss. They reckon the Central Banks spent fifteen billion quid trying to support sterling that one day alone. Whose money do you think that was? The taxpayers. But it just got washed away. On average the London currency market deals with three hundred billion dollars a day. The fifteen billion was nothing. The markets just pummelled them.’ I shook my head ruefully, ‘When you've seen that kind of power, you want to be a part of it. I'll go back, got six months to sort myself out. You should have seen it that final day, god the market was just running with cash.’

  Janac was eyeing me carefully, ‘The currency markets aren't the only place you can make big money.’ he said.

  I watched him flick the ash off his cigarette. It was clear where this was going. It was in the air, literally. I should at least have tried to make a break then, but the coke was still pumping through my body.

  ‘You're a player Martin.’ he said, ‘you could be a player here.’

  I nodded, letting him reel me in, god help me. I forked in another mouthful of rice, but it was starting to get
cold. I pushed the plate away. Janac had fallen silent, sipping at his drink. The girl fidgeted restlessly under his arm. She was obviously getting bored.

  ‘So, if I told you we had a little action out here would you be interested?’ he said, after a pause.

  ‘What kind?’

  He nodded down at the table, sticking his finger in the tiniest trace of white powder. I felt the girl tense under my arm, she was watching him hungrily. He saw the desire and slowly reached out and placed the finger on her lips. Her tongue slipped out and licked it lovingly. Janac shifted his gaze back to me and his eyebrows arched enquiringly.

  I glanced away over his shoulder, trying to think of a response, wondering in a corner of my mind if he ever did that shit himself. The girl had followed my gaze, then quickly shifted, putting her arms around me, nuzzling her face in the nape of my neck. I ran my finger gently down her spine. Behind Janac a curtain had shifted to reveal a stage. I watched as a slight Thai girl crawled into the spotlight. She was shaking, crying. The distant professionalism of the sex shows was absent. Also missing was the cheap glamour, she was wearing a stylish silk dress.

  An answer came to me, which had the dual benefits of being both a refusal and an early negotiating stance, ‘I earned over two hundred thousand in bonus the year before last,’ I said, ‘and that was on top of my hundred grand salary. And no personal risk. Whereas drugs are high risk, low return, unless you're close to the top.’

  There was a long silence. I felt rather than saw Janac take a drag of his cigarette, as I watched the stage show develop. Five men surrounded the girl. Dressed all in black, bizarre, brightly coloured masks hid their faces. A strobe light came on as they started to push her around, casting the scene in a harsh monochrome flicker. Now with jerky, brutal movements they tore at the dress. She twisted and turned, already half-naked, she fought to cover herself. Someone slapped her, another kicked her legs out from behind. She fell badly and strong arms grabbed her, pinning her down. It was a choreographed rape scene. I wanted to look away. But I was gripped by the anguish, the pain in the girl's face and in every torrid, freeze-frame movement.

  ‘Jesus.’ I breathed out. If pornography could be art, this was. ‘What an actress.’ I said, finally glancing away long enough to reach for my drink.

  Janac glanced over his shoulder, ‘It helps when it's real.’ he replied, bluntly.

  I heard him, but couldn't register the meaning, ‘I'm sorry?’ I whispered, glass half-way to my mouth.

  ‘It's for real, they pull a kid off the street, run her up a dress, then throw her on the stage and rape her.’ There was the cynical, yellow toothed smile, ‘It's a competitive market, there's only so much you can do with ping pong balls, razor blades and snakes.’

  His hand came up with the cigarette. I watched the tip flare and die.

  Back on stage she had almost stopped struggling, the remaining resistance seemed focused in her left hand, caught in a streak of light. It twitched, half unclenched, but she was desperately trying to hold on to something. Then with a sudden spasm her hand was flung open and a small, shiny object spun out and rolled across the stage. It seemed to have an energy of its own as it careered towards me, fleeing the nightmare behind. My eyes, and a single spotlight, followed it magnetically. What was so important to her? Slowly it looped into a spiral, tracing a series of ever smaller circles until it sank to rest only yards away. A button. A gold button.

  I tried to wet dry lips, gaze hopelessly drawn back to the girl. Just her head was moving, almost imperceptibly, tiny flicks back and forth, shaking, no, no, no. I looked at her tear stained, bloodied face, looked into her eyes. Stop them, she was pleading. I started to rise. There was a fevered grasp round my neck, as the girl on my lap began to slip off. And then Janac's hand was firmly planted on my wrist.

  ‘No.’ he said.

  ‘But the girl...’ I choked.

  Janac shrugged, ‘From one of the villages up north, an orphan. Nobody knows or cares about her. If she makes it through tonight and cooperates they'll put her to work on the streets, if she's good, she'll maybe even make it in here.’ he nodded at our companions. ‘These girls are the best.’

  I slumped back. Washes of emotion crashed over me; nausea, revulsion, disgust, fear, anger - and shame. I looked back at Janac, he was still picking at his food. Watching me, with that half-smile, eyes glittering with a bitter amusement, ‘What were you going to do?’

  ‘Stop them.’

  ‘You want to be next?’ He was suddenly very still.

  ‘God no.’

  ‘I won't protect you in here.’

  I stared at him through a long silence, the grey eyes never left my face. Finally I pulled some bills out of my pocket. ‘How much would she cost, for the rest of the night?’

  The gaze flickered down at the pile of notes on the table, ‘That should do it.’

  I pushed it all forward, ‘Tell them.’

  Janac shrugged, disbelief in the eyes and the motion, ‘Where do you want her?’

  ‘I don't want her, tell them to get her a hotel room, some good food, tell them to be fucking nice to her!’ I was shouting the last words out.

  Janac waved over a waiter, and spoke some words, in Thai. Handing over the wad of cash, he pointed to the stage, where the girl was lying alone in the spotlight. A crumpled, quivering heap of blood, shredded clothes and shattered humanity. The girl on my lap was listening, she shifted, staring at me. It was a confused expression. I stared back blankly. She started to move away, I let her go.

  ‘I thought you were a player Martin.’

  I shook my head. ‘I think I should leave.’

  Janac nodded slowly, then turned and waved over another waiter, who started towards us. He turned back to me, ‘See that guy over there?’ he said.

  I followed his gaze.

  ‘Blond hair, denim shirt, a couple of tables down.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Australian narc, why don't you go tell him all about it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He's an Australian narcotics cop, go tell him, maybe he'll arrest somebody.’

  ‘Christ! He could do something?’

  ‘Like bust you for shooting those lines?’

  I could feel myself redden hotly, anger and shame.

  ‘Don't worry, he can't touch us, no jurisdiction, and the locals won't cooperate.’

  The waiter was beside Janac, a few words in Thai and then, ‘The bill please and a drink for my friend.’ he pointed to the cop, speaking in English now for my benefit.

  I watched the waiter go to the bar, lurid Hawaiian shirt clashing with the blackness, and then on to the cop. He put down the drink and indicated in our direction. The cop turned, surprised and concerned, staring straight at us. He hesitated, then rose, picked up the drink and headed over towards us. The waiter trailed anxiously in his wake, another joined him. Alarmed, I was half-way out of my seat when the Australian got to us. He was tall, over six foot, bleached blond hair and a deep tan. Rugged features and an arrogantly jutting jaw. Janac remained seated, one leg still nonchalantly crossed over the other. Arm still round the girl. But the grey eyes were watchful. I sat back down.

  Without a word the Australian tipped the glass and the dark liquid splashed onto the floor. There was a light tinkling sound as the ice cubes followed. My heart had stopped. I didn't seem to need to breath any more either. This guy was dead.

  Janac sucked his teeth and blew out a shred of tobacco. Eventually the eyebrows flicked up and that distorted smile returned to his lips. ‘Get him another drink.’ he said tersely, to the hovering waiter.

  The waiter started to turn, but the Australian grabbed his jacket roughly, ‘Don't bother, I don't want it.’

  Janac looked unfazed, the smile still there. He reached into his jacket with a movement that was as casual as it was fast. It looked like he was going for his wallet. His hand emerged with a gun. An old-fashioned six shooter revolver now levelled between the cop's eyes.

 
; Time had stopped; all other sounds in the room had receded. The girls scurried away. All I could hear was the buzzing in my ears. The Australian's hand dropped off the waiter.

  ‘If you don't want another, you'd better have the one on the floor.’ said Janac. ‘Lick it up.’

  ‘Fuck you.’ said the cop, but his words were undermined by the tremor in his voice.

  The hammer clicked back, the cylinder sliding noiselessly round. Janac rose from his seat. The gun steadily advancing until it was between the Australian's lips, ‘Lick it up.’ he repeated.

  In the silence I could hear the Australian's teeth click on the steel, he was visibly paling underneath the tan. He stood his ground for a couple more seconds, then slowly dropped to his knees. The gun backed off and followed him down. All four of us watched its progress.

  ‘Lick it up.’ the words were slow, heavy with menace. The cop bent, eyes finally lowered. Instantly Janac's boot slammed down on his neck, pressing his face hard into the floor. He snorted and struggled, bubbling the liquid, ‘Suck, you arsehole.’

  There was a gurgling, gasping, pain filled suck.

  ‘Say thank you.’

  There was more gasping before the cop ground out something that could have been 'thank you'.

  In a flash of movement Janac dropped the hammer, reversed the weapon and slammed the butt down into the back of his head. The cop's face bounced off the floor, then he lay immobile.

  A waiter dragged the body off as if it was a crate of empty bottles. No one in the club paid any attention. I looked back to Janac. The grey eyes were watching me again.

  ‘As I mentioned, that arsehole has no jurisdiction here. This is a town for players - if you've got the balls.’ he said, smiling. He laid the gun on the table between us with a heavy thud, ‘So, how about it?’

  ‘You want me to smuggle drugs, now? After this? Are you crazy?’

  ‘Ten thousand dollars in it for you.’

  ‘Bullshit easy money.’ I started to rise.

  ‘You're beginning to bore me now Martin.’ Janac said quietly, the smile was gone.