The Abduction of Monica 2: Taken! - Mary's Story
by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)
(story continues from The Abduction of Monica 1: The Russians are Coming)
“I still don’t understand why you want me along, Monica,” I told her as we drove into Brisbane CBD.
It was nearly 7.30 on Monday evening and traffic was light. Monica’s BMW was a cocoon of quiet coolness as we headed towards the Grand Heritage Hotel.
“I want your calm head, Mary,” she said, without taking her eyes off the road.
“What does that mean?” I demanded. “I don’t know why we’re even going near these Russians. I wouldn’t touch them with a bargepole. Look what they did to Steven and Leila.”
“What, leaving them tied up in the wardrobe?” She scoffed. “You’ve had a hundred things worse than that done to you, and in any case we should have been on the ball ourselves.”
“I still don’t trust them. They’re always involved in stuff.”
“Like?”
“People smuggling, racketeering, drugs, extortion... whatever.”
“If you have proof of this, you’d better go to the police,” she said flatly.
“Don’t be smart, Monica.” I know she hates it when I use my school teacher tone on her. But I’ve known her since she was nineteen – a fresh-faced wannabe Domme newly arrived in Sydney without a clue as to what it all meant. I can say without false modesty that Trish and I taught her all she knows. Well, perhaps she has taken a few leaps of her own since we finished with her. Despite her ignorance, she was right to follow her instincts then. But this time I still thought there was something wrong. “You know what I mean,” I added.
For the first time she glanced my way. There was a look of determination in her blue eyes.
“Mary, these guys have been recommended by my Sydney contacts. They have money and connections. They’re looking to set up a deal.”
“What kind of a deal?” I asked suspiciously.
“That’s what we’re going to talk about tonight. That’s why they were inspecting Bilboes – to see what sort of people we are, what services we can offer, what assets we have, what our client base is.”
“Do they want to buy you out?”
Monica’s tone softened abruptly and she put a hand briefly on my arm.
“You know I’d never do that to you and the others.”
“Never?”
“Not without discussing it. We’re a team. You know that. I want to know what these guys can do for us. I want to know what they can bring to the table. That’s all tonight is. Just a chat over a couple of drinks. You’re here to make sure Monica doesn’t do anything silly.” She smiled that bewitching smile she can pull out of the bottom drawer when she really needs to.
Not really mollified I crossed my arms and stared out the window.
“So what’s your take on our two Russian friends?”
“You have to admit Dmitri is a real man... Lovely body.”
“I hope you’ve looked a little past that,” I hurrumphed. Monica became serious.
“Yes. He’s sophisticated – on the surface. He’s learned from others how to dress, how to act, how to restrain himself. Deep down he’s a country thug. There’s something about the way he carries himself that says to me ‘farm boy from Novosibirsk’. Something’s not quite right. Scratch below the surface and you’ll see something ugly, of that I have no doubt. I don’t doubt he’s violent and cruel. I can sense it.” She paused as if deciding how best to express herself.
“Mary, listen to me. I have no illusions about the Russians. These are the people that brought us Tolstoy and Tchaikovsky.”
“The one an anarchist and the other gay,” I said.
“Oh all right – Borodin, Chekov, Rachmaninov – all those who laid bare the Russian soul. There is something about the Russians – you can’t understand Russia with reason – you can only believe in her.”
“Those aren’t your words.”
“No. A Russian poet. I’ve done my research, you know.”
“I’m impressed.” I was, but this was typical anal Monica, immersing herself in some culture or other subject just to get ahead of the play.
“I reckon our Dimitri is a son of the soil, but he’s also smart, in a streetwise sort of way. He understands money and power, even if he’s not quite comfortable with them yet.”
Monica amazed me sometimes. I had seen her do this often enough to know that she was usually right. She had an innate gift for getting to the heart of people.
“And our Mistress Ivana?”
“Spoiled rich kid. Loves her bling, and loves to use people. Image is everything for her. Dmitri is after a bigger power. Ivana is happy to take what comes her way and use it with her looks to get physical satisfaction. Steven tells me she was almost insatiable, but also gets off on pain – when it’s applied to others. In one sense she’s like Dimitri; he’s adapted with the times to the new powerful people in Russia. She’s adapted with the times to be part of the new beautiful people in Russia.”
“So this is why we’re dressed up?” I was wearing a cream silk blouse and a black skirt that showed off my legs without the tarty look that I was sure Ivana would have opted for. A simple gold chain necklace was enough at the top, with the whole package mounted on 8 centimetre black pumps.
Monica wore a sleeveless silk dress that seemed to shift between pale grey and silver in the changing light, and which showed off her figure and hair to the best advantage. I thought we could do worse than going to the best club in town afterwards, and told her so.
She grinned at me.
“We don’t look so bad, do we? We could pick up a couple of rich high rollers at the Casino – no trouble. I reckon we’ve still got it, Mary.”
We turned into the car park under the hotel and Monica collected the ticket as the barrier arm went up. Not surprisingly, the place was quiet at this time of night. The business rush hour was over, the dinner crowd was seated, and the clubbers were unlikely to be visiting. Brisbane on Monday night was decidedly low key.
Monica drove up a level and had just turned right along the main car park thoroughfare, when we spotted Dimitri closing the door of a black BMW X5 4-wheel drive. It was the same vehicle they had driven when they had visited Bilboes the previous day. He spotted us, and waved.
“Are we early?” I said, looking at my watch. It showed just on 7.30pm – Monica was nothing if not a stickler for punctuality, as many a late client had found out to their cost. “No, of course we’re not. Silly me. They must be running late.”
Dimitri was wearing a white teeshirt and jeans, both of which showed off his physique to its full, and carried a black leather jacket over his arm. Ivana appeared from the opposite side of the BMW, wearing tight jeans tucked into knee-high black boots, and a figure-hugging denim shirt, with a matching bag slung over her shoulder.
“Suddenly I feel distinctly over-dressed,” I said, as Dimitri waved to the parking space alongside the 4WD.
“Maybe they’ve been out,” Monica said as we pulled in and she switched off the engine.
“Good evening, ladies,” said Dimitri as we climbed out. He held out his right hand and took Monica’s, brushing his lips to it, then repeated the gesture with mine. I could not help smiling. It was so over the top, but just a little refreshing, somehow.
“It is fortunate you have caught us before we go up to the room,” he said. “I have something to show you in the back of my car. Do you wish to look? I think you will find it most interesting.”
He had backed the BMW into the parking space and went ahead to open the rear door above his head, before stepping aside for Monica and me.
It was the moment that we realised the rear of the vehicle was empty that instinct set in and we knew immediately that something was badly wrong. In a split second I noticed that Ivana had gone around the other side of the vehicle, trapping Monica and me at the rear. I saw her hand come out of her bag with a taser, and turned to see Dimitri pulling back the jacket hanging over his left arm to reveal an identical weapon.
Then my world went crazy as the pain hit. I was only dimly aware of my back arching and all the muscles of my body locking rigid. I must have stood up on my tiptoes for an instant – even more so than in the high heels, I mean – and I’m sure I screamed. I had no awareness of Monica going down beside me as I collapsed. I lay there trembling and scarcely aware of what was happening as first Monica and then I was lifted like a sack of potatoes and dumped in the back of the BMW. The rear seat had been folded down and we lay there struggling for breath and trying to moan with the pain at the same time.
My limbs just flopped without control as Dimitri pushed me fully inside. I was dimly aware of heavy plastic cable ties being zipped around each ankle and wrist, then all of them being pulled tight with a further tie that brought all wrists and ankles together behind my back in a tight hogtie. In the next minute rubber plugs were stuffed in my ears and packing tape was wrapped around my head, covering mouth, ears and eyes, and clamping my jaw shut.
The electricity coursing through my body had had the effect of destroying any resistance I might have had. It was as though all the strength and motivation to even move was drained from my body. I lay there bound hand and foot in my best clothes and could only concentrate on sucking in air in a bid to take the pain away.
I was barely conscious of Monica lying beside me, her body leaning partly against mine. As the vehicle started up it seemed that my body had been encased in jello, blurring all sounds and turning any movement into some sort of slow motion effort. Not that I was going anywhere. Someone clamped a pair of industrial ear muffs over my ears and taped them in place and a blanket was thrown over us. I was barely thinking any sort of sensible thought, such as where we might be going, whether both our assailants were in the car, or what might happen to Monica’s Beemer. Everything just submerged into an aching, silent darkness, a broken only by the thumping of the blood in my ears and the intermittent bumps of the vehicle. My only thought was, my God, what had we fallen into this time?
* * *
01.05.09
story continues in The Abduction of Monica 3: The Prisoners
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