Follow Your Fantasy: Deeper

'I don't – I mean I can't take – I mean - carry drugs if that's what this is.'

'It's the most powerful drug there is.'

What the hell has Giselle been saying about you?

'I don't know what makes you think I'm into that but I can assure you I really don't-'

'Take a look, honey,' says Giselle finally. 'We're all hooked on that drug.'

You unfold the top corner of the package and immediately see something that reminds you how you wound up in this life in the first place. Sparkling jewels. But this is no rhinestone thong, it's the real deal. A tangle of diamonds threaded together on fine silvery metal threads. There's too much of it to be simply a necklace. You let out a deep breath, not even caring that it's audible. It's impossible to say how much this package is worth. Even if it's not looking illegal in an instantly obvious way, you can't walk around with something as valuable as this.

'What is it?'

'Ahhh, so uncultured!' He smiles, showing he doesn't mean to insult. 'You're holding something that has beguiled men throughout history in the hands of the right woman. The story goes that Marie Antoinette was the one who brought it to France. Before her, maybe even as far back as Cleopatra wore it. But we all know what happened to the last Queen of France.' He makes a brief his finger motion with at his throat. 'Napoleon, shall we say, acquired them for Josephine and Josephine had him ensnared forever. I think that was his intention. Powerful men love to be enslaved by women.'

Giselle snorts in agreement. 'Especially rich, powerful men.'

'But surely this can't be the same one. How would you know? How did you get it after Napoleon?'

'Things like this, priceless, beautiful, alluring … they pass from collector to collector. You could say I'm a collector. You might say Leon – the magician – is one too.'

'But what is it?'

'It's an adornment to bewitch men and make you the most desired you've ever been. Leon will be enraptured and you, if you want to take it, you could have the most memorable night of your life, following in the footsteps of the greatest women in history.'

Anton snakes his arm round Giselle's shoulders and begins playing with her right breast, squeezing her nipple between two fingers. Giselle arches her back and flicks her hair in pleasure.

'Why don't you want to take it?' you ask Giselle, eyes narrowed but too curious to inject that much suspicion into your tone.

'I'm already having the most memorable night of my life,' she says and bends her head to lick around the tip of Anton's erection. She winks at you on the way down and, even now, it's hard for you to know if she's telling the truth. But you want to get a look at what's in the package and taking it is the only way to find out what it is.

'The address is on the packet,' Anton says, his voice even, despite the fact Giselle's hand is also now wrapped around his cock. 'Go straight there. No stop offs. No phone-calls.'

'Leon will pay you for your time – or your whatever,' Giselle says and laughs. She sounds like the Giselle you first met – all hard edges and no sense of camaraderie. Not that you've seen her out of business mode that often, but there have been times when she's touching you or you've been playing with her, that there have been flickers of connection. Or all of it has been just a game she plays for her own reasons. Anton probably feels like he's her most valued customer when he's just tonight's most valuable.

'The whatever?' you ask, knowing she loves keeping you hanging with this kind of cryptic comment. 'What's in "the whatever"?'

'A magician never reveals his secrets,' she says.

It’s the second time that word has been used. You look at the package and see that it's labelled "Leon The Great and Powerful" with an address that's a few blocks from here. Whatever 'the whatever' entails, it involves jewellery that's hundreds of years old. You say goodbye and leave them to it.

This time the lift opens, descends, and opens again with no interruption from the screen in the panel. According to your watch, you only arrived at the hotel fifteen minutes ago but no-one pays you any attention as you leave. You drop the package into your handbag anyway, hoping you don't look too furtive, and nod at the doorman as he holds the door open for you.

'Can I get you a taxi?' he asks.

'Yes, please.' The address is only a few blocks away but you don't want to walk around with a priceless antique.

You wait only a few moments for the doorman to hail your taxi but it's long enough to look around in paranoia that somehow the value of what you're carrying is visible. As the doorman is opening the door for you, you notice a guy leaning against a silvery-blue car ahead of you. He's smoking and looks like he's been up all night, for several nights. Even the way he draws on the cigarette looks like it's costing him effort. The way he's half sitting on the rear of the car suggests it's his and when you turn around as your taxi pulls off, he proves your hunch right by stubbing out the cigarette and opening the driver's door.

You turn forward again and then, a few seconds later, mounting unease makes you turn back. Sure enough the blue car is two cars behind your taxi. Why would anyone be following you? How could they actually know what you've got with you?

Or, are they following Giselle? You didn't notice the guy when you arrived at the hotel, but that doesn't mean he wasn't there. You've no idea what Giselle was wearing when she arrived so you can't be sure if it's a mix up or not. You can't even really be sure you're being followed. The guy finished his cigarette and it was time to leave, that's all.

You're too unnerved to risk opening the parcel in the taxi. Even if the blue car is nothing to do with you, you can't whip out a pile of diamonds in front of the taxi driver. You run your fingers over the brown paper still hidden in your bag, trying to make out the size and weight of the stones. You don’t have time to explore much longer as the taxi pulls up in front of a nondescript, brown brick building. Somehow you'd expected a more vaudevillian style theatre with red lights around a 'Leon The Great and Powerful' sign. If there wasn’t a number above the door, you'd have thought you'd come to the wrong place.

You step out onto the pavement and see the car overtake you and turn right at the next junction. You look down, making more of putting your purse away than you need to, face turned away from the road as car headlights sweep past. Maybe you should have got the taxi to go a less direct route but it's too late now. What are you thinking? That you're in some low budget film noir?

You shake your head at yourself and hitch your bag onto your shoulder. But even though you think you're overreacting, something makes you hesitate before approaching the building. You pause until the taxi has left, straighten your skirt up and fluff your hair to kill a few moments before approaching the doorway of the theatre. There's only one buzzer next to a metal door and darkened windows. You press and the door clicks open straight away. There can’t be anything suspicious going on in a place that doesn't even check to see who's trying to get in. You tell yourself that five times before pushing the door open and entering.

Weak lights flicker on when you find the switch before letting the door close behind you and you find yourself in front of an unmanned ticket booth with a glass screen. Tatty posters peel away from the walls and the floor has a stickiness that makes your feet feel dirty even through your shoes. You can't hear anyone.

You're alone, really alone where no-one can watch you for the first time since you got Josephine's jewels. Your bag is open in a split second and you peer into the envelope. The strings, as now you can see there are multiple threads of them, lie in a tangle and you look for somewhere you could tip them out onto. Maybe the ticket counter–

There's a cough behind you, back towards the door you came in by, and you jump with a scream and drop the package.

'Forgive me,' says a soft male voice. 'I never can resist that little piece of theatrics.'

You turn and see first only what you already know is there. A corridor with a closed door at the end and smooth walls, meaning no-one could have entered without you noticing. Then you register the outline of a man even as your eyes scan the walls again. He's improbably dressed for a ticket seller, and you'd have guessed him to be the magician just by what he's wearing. Even if he didn't have the ability to walk through walls.

He has a black top hat and his goatee-accentuated face is complete with monocle and a twirling moustache that can only be called whiskers. The rest of his clothes fit the look with a white shirt and a black frocked coat with, of course, a watch and chain looped across his stomach. A red flowered silk handkerchief peeks from the top pocket of his waistcoat. Showtime must be soon.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

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