A black-tie fuckfest. Typical Whitlock.
“What did the place look like? Could you see anything from the windows?” I try another tack, hoping something will stand out.
“Glass all dark. See nothing. Just big party room. Many room. Music. Drinking. Some…some…” She looks at the floor, then touches her nose.
“Cocaine ,” Raoul says. “Sure. Don’t worry about it. You like to party. What happened next?”
“At first, it was good. We dance. We get…maybe…a little drunk?” Sasha is pressing closer against Kiki. “We like to partytogether. You know?” She presses her lips together. “Some men…they like that. To watch girls with girls.”
Raoul and I remain silent.
“One man, he like a lot. We go to bedroom. He watch while we play.”
“Can you remember what he looked like?” I ask.
“Nice. Tall. Light hair. Maybe same age like you. But eyes…” She gnaws on her lower lip. “Not nice eyes. Cold. Like dirt.”
The description is fairly vague, but I’m willing to bet she’s talking about Whitlock.
“Then others come. They touch too. They…uh…you know… They want to fuck. So we fuck.” She shrugs. “Is okay.”
I’m pretty sure it came as no surprise what they were there for.
“We play a while. More champagne. Lot of champagne. But then they bring more drugs. Bad drugs. Needles. Kiki…she want to go, but that man…he say no. Lock door.”
Kiki has now picked her nail to the point of bleeding, staring past her knees vacantly. The silence in the room grows oppressive as Sasha apparently looks for her next words.
“It was bad,” she eventually says. “Very bad. They take turns. Beat us. That man…with the ugly eyes… He like to hurt us.” She reaches for her friend’s hand, stopping the obsessive picking that now has blood dripping into the plush carpet. “He cut Kiki. Put knife…inside…there.” Her voice is little more than a whisper, and then it trails off. There’s more silence.
Thank fuck.
I don’t want to hear anymore. I feel sick to my stomach. Guilt surges. Somedays I feel like my whole damn gender has a lot to atone for.
“It’s okay,” Raoul takes over the conversation. “You don’t need to get into that.” He smiles again, but it’s not the earlier manwhore version. This one is gentler. Warmer. The kid has a heart, after all. Sasha gives a small nod, lacing her fingers through Kiki’s.
“Is there anything else you can remember about the apartment? Anything unusual?” he leads the questions to less treacherous waters. Sasha practically sags with relief.
“Yes,” she nods eagerly. “I hear sounds! Many sounds…from outside.” She’s still nodding. “Helicopter.” She whirls her finger as if indicating rotors. “Very close. Also…um…” She frowns. “Sound like…paarrp-paarrp…”
Kiki gives a little start at the abrupt sound and Sasha pulls her closer before continuing.
“And many pictures. All walls have lot of photos. Plenty of naked girls. Others are of…” She gives a visible shudder. “Look like dead men. Some no head. First, I think is joke. But later…” She widens her eyes. “Maybe real?”
“How did you get away?” Raoul asks what I’m wondering. These guys clearly had no scruples about ending life. As much as it was a nightmare, things could have turned out worse.
“I pass out. Kiki too. When we wake up, we back in limo. Driver drop us outside hospital. Kiki…she is very bad. Need doctor. Need…operation. Ivan come later. He say there is more money if we say nothing.” The words tumble out in a rush, with Kiki growing more and more huddled until it stops. Sasha gives a shrug as if brushing it off. But she has a death grip on her friend’s hand.
“And yet you came to us,” I say. There’s a depth of bravery here that goes beyond my understanding.
“Yes.” Sasha’s eyes narrow. “Fuck him!” She’s running her hand up and down Kiki’s arm. The two take comfort from each other. “You find him, yes? You make him pay. Not with money this time.”
“He’ll pay, Sasha,” Raoul says with a silken tone that makes the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. “Thank you.” He stands and moves to the door. The girls rise and follow him as he opens it. I notice now how gingerly Kiki moves. “Make sure they get home safely,” I hear him say to someone outside.
I rest my elbows on my knees and steeple my fingers under my chin as I mull over this new information. Another bunch of sick fuckers. This time on my doorstep. When Raoul returns to his seat, I glance up at him.
“What do you make of it?” he asks.
“We’re looking for a place near the harbor – that was a ferry horn she heard. Most likely a penthouse, if the long elevator ride is anything to go by. Also, the fact that they stepped straight from the elevator into the apartment. No hallway. He owns the entire floor.”
