The Lover's Children

Chapter 83 – Solstice – Part 16

KLEMPNER Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

Renberger lights a fresh cigarette from the stub of the old one, taps out the stub in the saucer, inhales.

“D’you get much out of Schauder?”

“Sweet fuck all.”

He nods and huffs. “He’s not good for much these days. Slow-cooked his own brain years ago with

whatever he could snort, smoke, or shoot himself up with. His son runs the show now. Just keeps the

old man on show for the look of the thing, I think.” He sniffs. “Don’t waste your time with Schauder

anymore. He won’t help you because he can’t.”

“And you will?”

Ash glows red as he draws long, staring into space. “I'd be happy to help if I could. This maniac running

loose is bad for business. The women are letting their imaginations run wild. Don't want to go out and

work. Had to slap a couple of them around a bit before they behaved themselves. The others got the

message after that, but it puts off the punters when the women look nervous.”

“Can I talk to your women?”

He shrugs. “Sure. I’ll take you up to the dorm.”

*****

The ‘dorm’ isn’t too bad, on the scale of things. I’ve slept in worse myself. Renberger and I enter a kind

of lounge area, laid out with threadbare settees and a table. Beyond that, a dozen or so narrow beds

line either side of the room, two of them occupied by a blanketed figure. A locker stands beside each

bed. Clothes-rails lined along the centre of the room, apparently communal, are hung with outfits in

Lycra, leather and black vinyl.

A couple of doors, one standing ajar, lead off the side. At the end of the dorm a bulky steel door is

padlocked, a window slot at eye level drawn closed.

A group of half a dozen blank-eyed women of mixed appearance and ethnicities lounge, slouch or

slump on the couches. As we enter, all stiffen up, eyeing Renberger. One, perhaps eighteen, is bruised

across the cheek. Another has a black eye. It’s not obvious, since she’s heavily made-up, but no

amount of cosmetics can hide the swelling.

Renberger claps hands together, voice and face jovial, like some inner-city Santa Claus. “Now then,

ladies. I’ve a guest for you. You’ve been telling me you’re worried about what’s going on out on the

streets. I’ve brought in Larry here to investigate it for us and see what we can do about keeping you

happy. He wants to ask you some questions first, so he’s clear on the facts. You help him all you can,

then he’ll be in a position to help you.” He casts around the group. “Where’s Janina? She’s supposed to

be here.”

A woman of East European appearance enters from the door standing ajar, carrying a steaming mug.

“Aš čia, pone.”

Renberger’s joviality withers. “In English,” he snaps. “You know the rules by now.”

She cringes. “Sorry...” Her voice is heavily accented. “…Now me here.” Circling wide around

Renberger, she takes a seat by the table. Another of the women, of similar appearance, moves to sit by

her, babbling away quietly, briefly pointing toward me. Janina brightens, offering me a tentative smile.

Renberger gives a small nod. “I’ll leave you to it then. Larry, I’ll be back in my office when you’re done.”

He saunters out, leaving me with the group of warily waiting women.

Diplomacy’s not my strong point…

Are they here voluntarily?

Maybe…

Maybe not…

Renberger did business with me over several years, albeit via Bech. Just because I’m not supplying

anymore doesn’t mean he’s not found another source of cheap labour.

Still, I don’t see any faces I recognise. “How many of you speak English?”

“Most of us,” says a crease-faced brunette. “We just don’t have much urge to talk to Renberger.” She

might be thirty. It’s hard to tell. She’s got that used-up look that whores often get after too many years in

the trade.

“Sorry, what’s your name?”

She shrugs. “Shawna. What is it you wanted to know?”

I pull a seat from under the table, swing it around and sit, straddled across it, elbows resting across the

back. “I’m helping in the hunt for the killer they’re calling ‘The Surgeon’. As I’m sure you know, he’s

targeting sex workers. I want to hear anything you can tell me about any man you’ve encountered in

the last year who rang alarm bells with you…”

Then, remembering some of Mitch’s tales of life as a pro… She has a pretty large grab-bag of you-

want-me-to-what? stories. “I’m not asking about johns with weird requests. We all know that if someone

can dream it up, there’s someone else out there who gets off on it…” Several of the women giggle and

nod… “… I’m talking about any man who gave you that gut feeling there was something wrong. The

kind where you knew in your gut that you wanted to get away from him…”

“… He could have been a client. He could have been cruising or kerb-crawling. Perhaps you saw some

guy just hanging around where he shouldn’t have been. Or perhaps he was there for too long,

watching. Is there anything any of you can…?”

It’s an outburst of noise, a cacophony, as all the women start speaking at once, each with a story of

some crank, flake, freak or sicko.

“There man on street two nights ago. He say me he like play with knife…”

“He tell me make him cum in spoon then feed it to him…”

“Last week I had one. Said he wanted a fifteen-year-old. I said I’d be fifteen for him if he wanted. He

didn’t like that. Took a swing at me…”

“He want me to call him Momma all the time we fuck…”

“He wanted me to crush bugs while he got himself off. Brought a box of cockroaches and a set of

stiletto heels for me…”

Ach…

Maybe it’s not too bad… Mitch thinking I’m vanilla…

“He wanted me to hump a beach ball while he filmed me…”

Beyond the babble, one of the sleeping figures rouses. “Will you lot keep the friggin’ noise down. I

didn’t get in ‘til nearly six. I’m trying to sleep.”

Shawna yells back over her shoulder. “You can sleep later. Get your ass over here. You want to hear

this.”

The figure groans, sits up and swings out of the bed. Tugging on a housecoat, she tramps across. Hair

askew, mascara spread over half her face, she lights up en route. “This’d better be fucking good. If I

don’t…” Mid-stride, she halts, staring at me. “You!”

She looks familiar. Not familiar enough that I could say who she is. But familiar enough that I know how

I know her…

The other women fall silent, turning as one. Shawna gives me a piercing look. “What’s that mean, Mia?

You know him?”

“Fucking right.” Glaring, she burns half her smoke in a single draw. “He told you who he is?”

“Renberger says he’s called Larry?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Larry…” She sneers, tossing her head at me. “Larry Klempner.”

“Klempner? The bastard that…”

“Yeah. Him. She saunters close. Too close. Inches away, she blows smoke in my face. “Remember

me? I don’t suppose you do, do you, bastard.”

“Actually, I do. You answered an ad. You were looking for work as… A nurse was it? Au pair?”

She sniffs. Nods. “Close. Nanny.” She swings around the gathered women. “Seventeen I was. This shit

interviewed me. Offered me a job. Told me I’d be teaching a couple of six-year-olds. Living in, eating

with the family. Instead, when I got off the bus, I was met by that other shite that worked for him… What

was he called?”

“Bech.”

“That’s right. Bech.” She spits the word. “He took my passport, my visa and delivered me to Renberger.

Bought and paid for. I’d never even had a boyfriend. Renberger was really pleased when he realised

that. Tell me, how much did he pay you for me? Did you get extra ‘cos it was my first time when he took

me to his party?”

“I've no idea. Probably. Bech handled that side of things.”

Shawna folds arms, eyes slitted, glowering. “That’s what you are? A fucking trafficker?”

My gut roils. “I was. I’m out of it now.”

The women mutter and snarl, shifting in their seats, then standing, backing away to leave me at the

centre of an ever-expanding circle.

Mia blows more smoke at me. “Don’t you believe a word this cunt tells you. I did. And see where it got

me.”

“Listen, I’m out of that now. I…” My words trail away. Blank-eyed stares and turned backs are the only

response.

Behind me, the door opens and Renberger breezes back in, radiating bon ami. “How are we doing,

girls? Got everything you need, Larry?”

“Everything I’m likely to get, I think.”

“Good. Let’s get you on your way. Time to get back to work, ladies.” His tone sharpens. “Mia, get that

crap off your face and clean yourself up. Who’s going to pay decent money when you turn out looking

like a cheap slut?” Turning on his heel, “Come on, Larry.”

As I follow him out, somewhere behind me, someone hawks, but I don’t move fast enough to avoid the

gob of spittle which splats onto my shoe.

I don’t say anything to Renberger.

*****

GEORGIE

I wake to pale silver sunlight slanting over the bed. And beside me, my pale silver lover lies, eyes

closed, his breathing soft and regular, his hair a scatter of frost over his tanned skin. A single stray lock

rises and falls as my breathing bathes his face.

Morning breath…

We made love last night, an act as physically intimate as it gets. Realistically, we’ve shared everything

it’s possible to share. But some things shouldn’t be shared. Quickly I withdraw, slip backwards from

between the sheets and, still naked, make for the bathroom.

I didn’t even bring a toothbrush. The new brush Borje gave me stands in a glass propped by a tube of

paste. A quick search produces mouthwash and dental floss too. Five minutes later, running my tongue

over teeth now feeling squeaky-clean, I venture back.

Borje is awake, his lips curving as his eyes follow me. “Good morning.” He pulls the sheets back,

inviting me in. “It’s still early. Come back into the warm.” I slip down beside him and Borje tugs the

duvet over, then rolls to lie almost atop me, his face close to mine. “How are you this morning?”