Doctor Who_ Warlock - Andrew Cartmel [122]
‘And if a client becomes violent,’ continued the Japanese boy, ‘our security staff will be there to help. All events that take place in the cubicle are recorded and, at our discretion, may receive satellite syndication. You will receive a fixed royalty for any such broadcast. These royalties and your share of the client’s fee will go into a Benelux bank account. Providing of course that you show a profit after our deductions for room rental, meals, security and medical care.’
‘And how likely is that?’
‘Most girls manage to work off their debts within six to eight months, providing they maintain a suitably high throughput and avoid incurring medical or other debts.’
Justine nodded, not really looking at the boy. She looked casually around the room, trying to find a way out. The walls of the room looked like sliding paper screens but Justine knew that they were made of some extremely durable plastic that could be locked into place.
Although the room appeared elegant, clean and welcoming it was actually a prison. At least for the girl who worked here. The customers could come and go as they pleased. With forty or fifty rooms like this in the building Justine estimated that the Japanese boy and his employers must be making a turnover of nearly a quarter of a million pounds a week.
One of the panels slid open and the Japanese girl came in. She was carrying some sheets of elegant, heavy handmade notepaper with computer printout on them. The boy took the papers from her and read them carefully. The girl paused and picked up a bag containing Justine’s clothes. Her new clothes.
They’d made her change into a pair of cream‐coloured silk pyjamas when she arrived. Justine watched the girl walk out with the bag containing her clothes. She remembered shopping for them with Creed, just a few hours ago.
She wished Creed was here now. Justine wished she’d never run away from him. ‘What’s that?’ she said, trying to keep her voice casual. But it sounded thin and strained, even to herself.
The boy frowned as he flipped through the sheets. ‘The results of that medical examination we gave you when you first arrived.’
‘Any problems?’ said Justine. Her voice trembled this time.
‘No. No problems,’ said the boy. He rose gracefully to his feet and smiled at her. ‘You are pregnant of course. But our medical staff will be back in a few hours and then we’ll get rid of the baby for you.’
Justine heard his words echoing in her head. She felt her stomach turn over. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
Then suddenly she heard the gentle whisper of the panel sliding open again. Her heart leapt. Someone stepped into the room behind her. Justine felt a sudden fierce blind faith that deliverance had arrived. She was saved. Creed had come to rescue her.
The baby was saved.
She turned around, already smiling, to greet Creed.
It wasn’t Creed. It was a small man with a thin moustache that looked as if it had been drawn on his upper lip with an eyebrow pencil. He was dressed in an expensive‐looking charcoal suit and red tie. A red flower blossomed in his lapel.
‘Hello,’ said Paulie Keaton. ‘I understand you know me.’
Justine tried to answer but her mouth was dry. She couldn’t force any words out.
‘I was just visiting, inspecting my operation and I saw you on the monitor.’ He nodded at the camera in the corner of the ceiling. ‘I heard what you said. Apparently you knew me. Back when I was a lad. Back on the Nightingale Estate.’
Suddenly Justine found her voice. But she didn’t speak immediately. Instead she stood up. Instantly the Japanese boy was tense, on guard. But Justine merely knelt on the floor in front of Paulie Keaton.
‘I’ll do anything,’ she said, staring up at him. ‘Please save my baby.’
Paulie rested a gentle hand on her head. ‘You’re right, you know. I did start my business in the back of a lorry.’ Paulie’s eyes clouded with nostalgia. He seemed lost in thought for a moment then he came out of the reverie and smiled down at Justine.
‘But I don’t like being reminded of all that,’ he said. ‘And I don’t like anyone calling