Chapter 14

"It’s been a while," the police officer across the table commented. Roth nodded feeling a bit of guilt. He had befriended several men in the police force during his days as a private detective. Most had been the kind of acquaintances that you sought out only when you needed information, or had some to give. A mutual arrangement of ‘I scratch your back, you scratch mine’. But with Meyer it had been a little bit different. Meyer was only a few years short of retirement; he was a wiry and short man, and had a balding head, a simple foot soldier in the police force, but a damn nice and decent man. Roth liked him, and felt a bit bad about seeking him out now only for information and possible help. "Yeah, you know what it’s like, the days just fly by," he said and gave the aging man an awkward smile. Meyer smiled in reply and lifted the cup to his lips, Roth had met him for lunch, and they had rounded up a meal of meat pie with some coffee. "I hear you’ve moved up in life," Meyer said, blowing at the hot beverage, " word is you’re head of security in the Wren clan these days. Not bad!" he grinned and nodded, approvingly and teasingly at the same time. Roth actually felt a bit embarrassed. "Ah… not really, I’m just an ordinary bodyguard, and it’s just for one of them, not the whole clan." "Still… It’s a good job? Not much action, lots of leaning back to collect the money?" Roth grinned. "I won’t deny that that’s what it is--- most of the time. Eh… actually, I’m kind of here on job matters…" Meyer smiled and nodded. "Thought so… Well, if there’s anything I can do, I’ll be glad to help." "Thanks Meyer. Well, Lord Wren has this--- personal thing against a man, and I’m trying to find a way to get at him. Legally!" he added. "Believe me, the man he’s after is a real scumbag in every sense of the word, and I’m convinced that he is a criminal as well. I can’t find anything on him in any archives, but I’ve got some info on him that points to him being a drug dealer. I would simply need some help in trapping this guy." Meyer nodded looking grim. "If I can help you ridding this city of those bastards I’d be happy to. What’s his name" "James Swift, have you heard about him?" Meyer leaned back and seemed to think hard. "You know, I actually think I have, there’s a familiar ring to that name, but I can’t place it… Have you got the time to come back to the station with me? I think there’s someone you should meet, someone with the brains to remember stuff like that." So they finished their coffee and small talked about this and that before leaving for the station. Roth felt that certain excitement; finally things were happening. >>> * <<< Nikal opened the car door and waited, Taven looked away not moving an inch. "Come on Taven!" "Please can’t we go back home? Please?" "I didn’t force you here, we talked about it, you agreed to it, remember?" Taven clenched his fists in his lap. "It’s you that talk… all this talking and ‘agreeing’ on things, and shit… it’s not for real anyway. Please Master, I don’t want to." Nikal sighed in annoyance; it had taken half a day to get Taven to agree to go to see Dr. Cordoux. The slave could be ever as stubborn as his red hair would suggest, and Nikal felt he was being pushed to the very limits of his patience. "Get out of the car! Right now!" he yelled. Taven jumped in the car seat, staring at his master with a perplexed look, but he obeyed. Nikal slammed the car door shut, making the slave jump again. "You know, Taven, I’m not stupid. Just because I’m being nice to you, and care about you. Just because I don’t want to abuse you, it doesn’t mean that I’m going to let you manipulate me, and let you take advantage of kindness given, understand? I really hate it when you act like this. We did talk about it, you did agree to it, and now you are going to do it. Do--- you--- understand?" Taven stared at his feet and nodded. "Do I really have to tell you to answer me correctly?" "No Master. I--- I’m sorry Master. I understand Master." Nikal’s anger drained away and he put a hand on Taven’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly, smiling. He wasn’t so sure Taven didn’t really manage to manipulate him after all, since his utter defeat and submission always created the same urge in Nikal to give him instant reassurance and comfort. "It’ll be all right, I told you, Cordoux will take you seriously, and I will be with you all the time, I won’t leave you. Now, let’s go, OK?" >>> * <<< Meyer introduced him to a young newcomer that Roth had never met before. Meyer called him detective Simon. Simon shook Roth’s hand but interrupted Meyer when he was about to introduce Roth as well. He knew who he was Simon said. The young man in the impeccable suit eyed him with utter suspicion Roth thought, but he didn’t let the youngster stare him down. "Meyer has briefly informed me what you want. You being an employee of one of the clans, does not give you the right to interfere in police matters, Mr. Roth," he said. "Look, you…" Meyer might have recognized the look in his eyes Roth thought, and could guess at what he was going to say, because Meyer took the young detective by the arm and lead him into the next room, closing the door. Roth could see them discuss the matter through the glass in the door, but couldn’t hear what they were saying. The rookie kind of guy still didn’t look especially happy. But whatever Meyer had said, it seemed to have worked because the young man was all smiles, even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes, when they came back out. "All right, Mr. Roth, let’s go somewhere more privately to discuss this." Meyer excused himself and told them he had work to do. Roth turned and thanked him warmly as he followed Simon through a door. Simon showed Roth into a small office and closed the door behind them. "I know James Swift very well," he said sitting down behind the desk, showing Roth a chair opposite from him, "he’s a drug dealer all right, he’s all sorts of things for that matter, thief, con man, pimp… where there’s easy money and low risks, you’ll find James Swift. He has been arrested several times on smaller offences, but he was always sly enough to slip out of the net where bigger crimes were concerned. Slimy bastard, he is, I loathe the man, there’s not one redeeming quality about him." Roth’s chin dropped. "You know about him? But I’ve looked through all the archives; there’s not a word about him anywhere. And I’ve asked about on the streets" Simon frowned. "You know, some of those archives are confidential information Mr. Roth. Well, I suppose Swift is feared among the dregs, he’s quite brutal I’ve heard, and if you have been out of the game for a while, they might not want to talk to you anyway. Swift is not in any archives because he was taken out of them." "What? Why?" "A deal was made. Swift knew some important things about a certain drug lord called Lawrence who had started to grow much too big for this city. Swift helped us catch the man, and in return he was taken out of all the archives, and given a certain amount of money as well, as I understand it, though I don’t know the sum." Roth blinked. "I don’t get it. A drug lord with a business that big? How come I’ve never heard of him? And how come he isn’t in any archives either?" Simon smiled in a very smugly way. "I think you have worked for the upper class too long Mr. Roth. The shifts of regimes are fast in the underworld; it takes all that we’ve got to keep up with the criminal activities these days. Lawrence had a very short career though, he seized power real quickly, and his operations grew fast. He turned into a real threat in no time. No matter how much I hate men like Swift, I must admit that it was mostly thanks to him that we nailed Lawrence so quickly. And with the power Lawrence had at the time--- it was kind of courageous of him, even if I hardly think he did it to prove his courage." "OK, I get it, you let one slimeball go free to catch a bigger one. But why isn’t Lawrence in any archives? I heard Swift mention his name, and believe me, I’ve been checking it up." Simon gave him an odd look. "What do you mean? There’s a lot of papers on that guy," but then he suddenly burst out laughing, still laughing he grabbed a piece of stationary and a pen and scribbled down something on it. The smugness increased in threefold as he held the paper up to Roth. It said: ‘LORENTZ’ Roth couldn’t help the moan he gave up as he slumped in the chair. "Fucking shit!" he swore. He had only heard the name spoken, never seen it written down. And to think that he actually had taken that possibility in consideration and searched the archives with different spellings. Only that particular way of spelling the name had never occurred to him. Roth moaned again. If only Swift’s name had been in the archives, he surely would have been able to make the connection sooner or later, even if he hadn’t got the right spelling, but as it was now he had failed over such a ridiculously simple thing! He really must be getting old, or he had been working for Nikal too long. It was embarrassing in any case. >>> * <<< "Hello Taven, it’s nice to see you again," Cordoux smiled at him and put a hand on his shoulder, "you look good, have you been taking your medicines?" Taven nodded, a bit taken aback at the man’s friendliness, he actually sounded like he really was happy to see him again. "Yes Sir, I eat tons of pills, every day." Cordoux smiled wider. "Good, good. So what seems to be the problem?" Taven squirmed, the palms of his hands prickled, he just wanted to turn and run out of the doctor’s office. Unfortunately, it seemed his master knew him that well; he was standing right behind him, his hands on Taven’s hips. He tried to run, Nikal would catch him right away, and be angry with him again. Dr. Cordoux patiently waited for an answer, but finally he looked to Nikal. "What’s wrong?" His master leaned down to talk into his ear. "Taven, Dr. Cordoux asked you a question." A very soft admonishment. "I can’t… I can’t say it. Please don’t make me say it…" "You want me to explain it?" "No! Uh… Yes… Uh I don’t know…" he could feel how he started shaking from pure stress in Nikal’s arms, his master answered to it with closing his arms around his waist and pulling him closer. "It’s a bit--- sensitive," Nikal explained turning to Cordoux. "I see," the old man turned to Taven, "you don’t have to feel embarrassed, I’m sure, whatever it is. How about you go and wait in the examination room while I talk to your master a little?" Taven reluctantly left Nikal’s arms. Sitting on the examination bunk, hearing the paper covering the vinyl rustle under his ass, dangling his legs, he felt more than nervous. It was awful just sitting here knowing what they were talking about out there. He should be immune to it. People had mocked him about it, and laughed at him mercilessly so many times that he eventually had got used to it he thought. Had convinced himself that he didn’t care what they said and did to him. But so many things that he had been used to before seemed to start to bother him again. He couldn’t understand it, he should become more jaded as time went by, not less; it didn’t make sense. It was Nikal’s fault he thought. His master made him weak in some way. It struck him how incredibly much it scared him showing Nikal such vulnerability, and it amazed him that he had even showed Roth a part of it. He must be crazy, what the hell was he doing? But it was like Ice Cream, he thought, or chocolate, it tasted so damn good, he never could resist it, even if he had known it would give him a toothache. Nikal’s care was like chocolate and Ice Cream – heavenly and hurtful at the same time. He knew he was stupid to fall for it all, but he wanted to believe Nikal’s words. His master cared – he wanted to believe that, even if he didn’t really… he so much wanted to… >>> * <<< "So, you guys just gave Swift total immunity?" Roth asked and made it sound like an accusation, which, in a way, it was. He could understand why the police rather had wanted to get at a man like Lorentz than Swift, but it still annoyed him. Swift could have been in prison a long time ago. Though he supposed that if he had been put away then Taven would have ended up somewhere else and Nikal would never have found him. Not that he was entirely sure that that would have been a bad thing. Simon shrugged. "Yes and no. He was acquitted from everything that his past records contained, but he was given no official protection as far as future crimes are concerned. He also promised to never do anything illegal again… Which was a total lie of course. Though he is smart enough not to do anything real serious that would make us turn our attention away from the real bad criminals to go after him. As things are now I think there is sort of a non-official agreement to look between our fingers when it concerns Swift as long as he keeps a low profile. Some seem to think he might be of similar use in the future as well." Roth snorted at that. "Well, I want the bastard behind bars, and you must want that too. Haven’t you done enough for that nutcase? I’ll do all the work tracking his activities down, and all you have to do is to turn up at the right moment and arrest him. Can you do that?" "Of course I want him behind bars, but I’m not sure I like this idea, and I definitely don’t like your involvement Mr. Roth. Why are you so intent on getting at this guy anyway?" "It’s my boss who wants to get at him. Though I must admit that I kind of really hate the man as well." "What does your boss want with him?" "Can’t tell you, it’s personal, but I can assure you that Nikal doesn’t want to do anything illegal. That’s why I am coming to you." "Oh thank you Mr. Roth. Well, I must think about this and talk to a few people, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible." "You want my home phone number?" "That’s all right Mr. Roth. I’m sure there is a folder on you here, somewhere," Simon grinned, and this time the smile did reach his eyes. >>> * <<< When Cordoux and himself walked into the examination room Taven didn’t look at them, but even as he looked down Nikal could see him closing his eyes and swallow repeatedly. He expects mockery, Nikal thought, no matter what he had told him, Taven expected taunting and contempt… revulsion even and it seemed to scare him more than a beating. Nikal was glad that he had explained Taven’s problem to Dr. Cordoux in private, because the old man had indeed been a bit embarrassed about it. But he had gathered quickly and told Nikal that he could indeed make sure there was nothing physically wrong with the slave, but that he really thought it was a mental problem, and that was not his area of expertise. "Taven?" Dr. Cordoux put a hand on Taven’s shoulder. "Your master have told me all about it, and I understand you think this is difficult, but it’s nothing to be ashamed about, no one here is neither going to blame you nor taunt you about it. Do you understand that?" Taven nodded but didn’t look up. "This is not an uncommon condition at all Taven, though it is not very common at your age. I would say that the way you have been treated is most probably the direct cause of this condition. Do you understand this? They most probably caused it by abusing you, and as they kept abusing you, the problem did not go away." "Master Nikal doesn’t abuse me," Taven muttered under his hanging bangs. "No, of course he doesn’t, but it may take a while for your body to forget about that it used to happen before. Well, Nikal wants me to take a look at you so that we can exclude any possibility of a physical cause. It only means an examination, like the first time you came here, remember?" Taven finally raised his head, looking at them both in turn. "Do I have to?" "It won’t take as long time," Dr. Cordoux promised, "and yes, it will be a bit uncomfortable at times, but it won’t hurt. I’ve never hurt you, have I? It went very well that time I think, I think you can do it this time too." "You’ll stay?" Taven turned to Nikal. Nikal nodded. "I said I would, didn’t I?" Taven sighed deeply and jumped off the bunk. "You want me naked, hah?" "Yes please," Cordoux answered, "you can go behind the screen, and…" "Yeah I know…" Nikal shook his head, Taven tried to act indifferent about it all now, but it was so easy to see through him. He was still scared and apprehensive, and Nikal had no problem in understanding him. He looked on while Cordoux put a pair of rubber gloves on, brought a bottle of lubrication from a cupboard, and some nasty looking mutant sized Q-tips. Nikal shuddered. Taven sneaked back into the room from around the screen, naked now, Nikal looked away. There were times when Taven’s nakedness gave him an instant hard on, there were other times when his nakedness only made him feel awkward, sad even, this was one of the latter moments. In the sterile room, Taven’s fear and apprehension practically bouncing off the light green walls, he looked more vulnerable and weak than ever. Cordoux turned to him. "Oh good, now just let me know when you’re ready, try to relax Taven, I will be really careful, I promise." Nikal sent a grateful thought to the old man’s thoughtfulness. Taven didn’t look at either one of them as he stepped closer, shrugged and tried to keep his indifferent look. "The sooner you start, Sir… I guess…" "Good, let me look at you." Cordoux positioned Taven under the overhanging light and looked him over. "The tattoo is slowly coming off I see, another year or so and it will be completely gone, good riddance, right? But oh my, you’re still so thin. Nikal don’t you feed the poor boy?" "I do to, ask him, he eats like a hungry pack of wolves, it doesn’t seem to stick." "You’re not keeping him on the same vegetarian diet you keep yourself on, do you?" Nikal smiled and shook his head. "Good, he needs a more varied diet than that if he’s ever going to gain a normal weight." "Doesn’t that mean I should eat some cookies and stuff then too, or like chocolate or something? Pizza?" Taven asked, giving Cordoux a hopeful look. Cordoux raised an eyebrow, and Nikal had to laugh. "Nice try Taven," he grinned, "I’m afraid a healthy and varied diet does not include junk food and candy. Tell him Doc." Cordoux laughed as well. "I’m afraid he’s right Taven, but a chocolate bar now and then does not really hurt either." Nikal rolled his eyes. "Well, thanks for nothing, Doc." >>> * <<< Taven was quiet in the car back home. The examination had been unpleasant enough, but their joking had eased it up a little, making Taven relax somewhat. As expected Cordoux had not found anything physical wrong with Taven that could be related to his nightly problems. They would still have to wait for a few test results, but those would probably not show anything either. Nikal thought he could interpret Taven’s silence as some sort of disappointment. After all, if it had been a physical problem maybe he could have been easily cured. "Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?" Nikal said just to break the silence, "Cordoux didn’t hurt you, did he? He’s a really nice man, don’t you think so?" "I suppose, Master" Taven mumbled, "for a man skewering your cock with sticks!" Nikal couldn’t help smiling at that. "OK, I admit those Q-tips were nasty looking, but you said it didn’t hurt." "You’re kidding, I felt like a damn shish kebab!" Taven’s thighs seemed to close tighter at the mere memory, "but… he was kind of… nice, so I didn’t want to… you know like… yell in his ear or something. Besides it isn’t exactly the worst I’ve been through… No big deal Master, you know?" Nikal turned serious. "I know Taven. I know." >>> * <<< Roth supposed his reputation within the police force was still worth something after all, or if it was only the title of his employer… In either case, Simon called him a few days later and claimed to be willing to draw up plans in collaboration with him concerning James Swift. After almost a week of heated discussions, most of which amounted to that Roth was budding into the works of professionals much too much and that Simon was an asshole… A plan was agreed on! Roth was very pleased with himself. Swift would go down now, and Nikal would be happy enough about that to soon forget that Roth had gone behind his back. At least he hoped so… >>> * <<< Nikal was just about to knock at the door on the run down building down by the old factory quarters of the city, but he stopped his hand for a few seconds to cast Taven a short glance over his shoulder. Taven didn’t notice; he was eyeing the tall brick buildings around them with that strange expression of bored curiosity that he managed sometimes. Nikal thought it might be wrong to bring him here, and not letting him know what this place was. But he wouldn’t be better off knowing, wouldn’t really understand Nikal thought. Besides, he had not asked, but followed obediently, as he did most of the times. Nikal knocked and a middle-aged woman opened looking at him with a bit of surprise before finding herself enough to ask his errand. Nikal explained that he had talked to a Mr. Jonesey over the phone earlier. The woman shrugged and showed him in. The building was as murky and run down inside the door, as its exterior would suggest, Nikal’s nose wrinkled at the moldy smell. The woman dove beside a desk in a small reception to fish up a bunch of brochures that she pushed in his arms while showing him into a small office at the end of a dreary corridor inside the old factory. The man at the other side of a rickety old desk looked as surprised at the woman had as he rose half way out of the chair he had been reclining in, greeting them. "Mr.…?" he asked. "Wren, Lord Wren. We talked on the phone a few days ago. I mentioned I would pay your organization a visit." Jonesey leaned back again, with quite a mockingly smile. "Oh yes, Lord Wren, yes, I remember. You wanted to--- make a donation?" Nikal nodded and produced a check from inside of his jacket, shoving it over the desk toward the man. He took it and gave it a look. Despite his efforts of keeping an indifferent look, his eyebrows came up. "That’s--- quite a sum, Wren," he put it back on the desk, "why do you want to give our organization all this money? What’s the catch?" Nikal shook his head. "There’s no catch. The money is yours." "Come on! There’s always a catch with you people. Why would you, an aristocrat, a clan member, give us a single cent? After all, we do our best to outlaw your little games with human beings. One of you clan’s people, waltzing in here to give us money--- that much money… that simply comes off as damn suspicious to me Wren. So just be honest with me here. What do you want? Don’t tell me you really support our cause." Nikal didn’t change his serious expression. "I do Mr. Jonesey. I have checked up several organizations like yours, and yours seemed to me to be the most sensible one. I assure you that there is no catch. I demand nothing in return. If you prefer we’ll make it an anonymous donation, and as soon as you have accepted the money I will not in any way try to influence what you ought to do with them. I trust you to put them into good use." Taven had so far been standing right beside his Master humbly looking at his feet, but as the conversation went on he seemed to get bored, and went up to a likewise rickety bookshelf standing to the right of the desk. The shelves were full of plaquettes, ribbons, medals and small cups, showing that the man behind the desk once had been a great athlete. Taven leaned close, trying to read the inscriptions, mouthing the words silently to himself. Jonesey eyed Taven out of the corner of his eye with a small frown, but then turned his attention back to Nikal, giving up a short laugh. "You’re making it hard for me to believe that Wren. After all, it does come off as damn hypocritical, don’t you think?" "No I don’t," Nikal answered, "you are fighting for better conditions for the slaves of this country, trying to enforce laws that would ensure they be treated with some basic humanity. I am all for that Mr. Jonesey, why wouldn’t I be?" Taven picked up one of the cups, eyeing it even more closely, and Jonesey sounded a bit annoyed as he turned to him, the chair creaking under his weight. "Put that down, please!" He said. Taven obeyed and stepped back. "Look, Wren, I still say you are a damn hypocrite. You care about the conditions of the slave population? Have you any idea what those conditions are? You want better conditions for them? OK, fair enough! But you do realize that what we really want is to abolish the system all together? Do you want that, hah? Lord Wren? Do you? Who would then wait on you? Feed you and wipe your ass? And wouldn’t you feel kind of bored, Lord Wren, without a helpless slave at your feet that you can treat as you fancy, hah? Order about and beat up on when you’re in a bad mood, hah?" Taven had obediently put the cup down, but his curiosity about the sport prizes seemed not satisfied, he had silently walked back up to the shelves, and was now checking a blue ribbon out, pulling a little at the ends. Jonesey turned once again, "Put that back, OK? Don’t touch any of that!" There was a bit more repressed annoyance in the voice this time, and Taven obeyed as quickly as the last time, looking a bit ashamed as he sneaked back behind his master’s back. Nikal sounded as calm as ever as he continued, ignoring the man’s hypocrisy speech. "Do you want the donation, or not?" he asked. Jonesey leered at him. "I’m not a slave Wren, I can’t be bought quite that easily. I still say you’re a hypocrite. You turn up here belonging to the two-percent minority that owns nearly 70 percent of this country’s slave population, and says you want to support our cause? Well, I might have believed you, if you had not brought that poor cowed sod you have there. The nerve… bringing a slave in here! You tell me why we should accept your money?" Taven had not remained a ‘cowed sod’ behind his master’s back for overly many seconds; again the shiny well-polished cups seemed to draw his attention like a crow’s to a silver spoon. He was back at the shelves, nosily picking up this and that. This time Jonesey almost got out of his chair. "Didn’t I tell you not to touch those…" he started, but he never had the chance to finish the irritated reprimand. Taven spun around at the annoyed voice and his elbow swept along the whole shelf, making most everything on it crash to the floor. There was quite a noise in the room as cups and plaquettes hit the cement floor and rolled in all directions. Jonesey did fly out of his chair then. "You clumsy idiot!" he roared as he reached for Taven’s arm, pulling him close quite brutally and raising his arm. But he never had the chance to hit him. Nikal was there in the blink of an eye to catch Jonesey’s hand in mid air, holding it in a steel grip, as he slowly pulled Taven to him, looking quite grim. "It was an accident, Mr. Jonesey! But as you yourself said, it’s so easy to just beat up on a slave when you’re in a bad mood, isn’t it? No matter if he really deserves it or not?" Jonesey didn’t answer to that, only glared at Nikal while he took his seat again. Nikal remained standing, his right arm resting protectively around the shoulders of a scared looking Taven. "Now who’s the hypocrite Mr. Jonesey? I admit I may be one, but it seems I’m not alone. Do you know what I think? I think that deep inside you don’t really care about your noble cause, do you? You are just nursing your hatred against the aristocracy, aren’t you? Well, I don’t care. Your organization does a lot of good, and I still want you to have that money. The same conditions apply, that is to say, no conditions at all. I do trust you to put that money to good use. You may be a hypocrite but you’re an honest man, really, aren’t you? After all, we all have our flaws… So what do you say? Will you accept that check? From one hypocrite to another?" Mr. Jonesey didn’t look up from the desktop, and didn’t answer; only nodded. Nikal smiled. "I’m glad that…" "Yeah, yeah… just get the hell out of here, will you?" >>> * <<< Taven sighed in relief as they stepped out on the street outside. "Was he angry or what? You wouldn’t have let him hit me Master, would you?" Nikal grinned. "Of course not Taven. And may I add that you did very well. A brilliant show, I would say, having to perform ad lib and all." Taven beamed at these words. "Ahh, nothing to it Master, being annoying comes like, you know… naturally to me. Uh… what’s that, add--- what?" Nikal laughed. "Ad lib, Taven. I’ll explain later." "Good, coz, I don’t get anything. You’re the weirdest master ever, why you wanted me to do that? Sure was fun though."

Previous||Next Bibliotheca Doloris All text, images & graphics © Francesca Bathory 2002 - The end of time |Main| |News| |Fiction| |Art| |Miscellaneous| |Links| |Guests| |Contact Me| |Guestbook| |Mailing List| |Original Pain Home| All rights reserved.