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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - Up Against The Wall

At the breakfast table next morning we were served by the landlady. There was no mention of the little incident the night before. Though we did get some strange looks and cute little smiles from some of the guests. I don't think they knew anything really, it was just me being paranoid.
On departure I settled the bill with the landlord. Again it appeared that last night's little incident was forgotten. What he did tell me however was a piece of good news.
"The road up ahead is now open as far as the tunnel," I was informed.
To be quite truthful I didn't even know there was a tunnel, but I let the man continue.
"Further on up the mountains, the road to Andorra remains blocked," the landlord continued, "but you can still get through to Spain if you go through the tunnel and down the other side."
That too was something new to me. I was of the opinion that once over the summit I'd be in Spain. It was at a time like this I wished that I'd done a little bit of navigating myself, and not left everything to Sandy.
We set off from the hotel at sometime around nine o'clock. We were heading south and up the mountains once again. We were following a mountain pass with steep slopes to either side so there wasn't really much to see other than the next bend in the road.
I think a warm front had followed all that rain and the outside air felt warm and muggy. Most of the overnight snow had melted, and on reaching the barrier I was relieved to find it had been opened.
After continuing the climb for another twenty kilometres or more, we came across the road tunnel mentioned by the landlord.
I had to pay to go through, but then, wherever you venture on France's roads it ends up costing you money. I also had no alternative other than turn around and go back to Toulouse because the mountain pass up ahead remained blocked.
Anyway, I paid with a smile and went through. Sandy reminded me that she didn't like tunnels and shut her eyes, and I had to tell her when we were back in daylight again. I think the greatest disappointment was that we did not pass through Andorra. I promised Sandy we would come back that way on our return.
After exiting the tunnel our trip took us down the other side of the mountain. This time there was no pass. Instead it was a steep and winding road that zigzagged all the way down the mountainside. The amazing thing was, all this time we were still in France. Only when we reached the bottom did we cross the border into Spain at a place called Bourg-Madame. There was a checkpoint there but it wasn't manned.
After hanging around for a few minutes and seeing no one, I just drove through. After that I came up against another mountain range called the Sierra del Cadi and yet another tunnel.
After a quick cup of coffee at a services next to the tunnel entrance, and a desperate wee by someone who'll not be named, it was eyes closed all the way through the tunnel, and then downhill all the way after that, and before we knew it, we were on the outskirts of Barcelona.
Now Barcelona happens to be a big sprawling city, and if you've never been there, and have no notion as to where to head for, then all you end up with is a headache and total confusion, and that's just how I felt as I mingled with all the horn blowing traffic.
I was once told that the Spanish came a close second to the Italians when it came to horn blowing, and now I knew just how true this was. The din, especially at traffic lights was appalling.
With traffic jams and horns blasting all around me, I spotted a sign for the airport and suddenly I had a target. My reasoning was quite simple. I didn't know of any major airport in the world that didn't have hotels near by.
Somewhere to the south of this rambling ancient city I found the airport, and I was correct in my assumptions, there were hotels everywhere. I just booked into the very first building I came across. It was one of those big holiday type hotels, but in the first week in April it was reasonably quiet and had plenty of vacant rooms.
After a meal, Sandy and I went outside for a breath of fresh air. The weather was reasonably pleasant and we spent the rest of the day walking locally and taking in the sights. I also located a bank and got myself stacked up with Spanish pesetas. Up until now I'd been using my credit card.
As the sun began to set I was ready for action. We'd returned to our room at the hotel and I explained my plans to Sandy. Basically none of it involved her. I wanted to go to the 'El Calabozo' alone.
As eight o'clock came around, I ordered a taxi from the hotel foyer and left Sandy with strict instructions not to put on that stupid rubber suit she insisted on bringing with her.
However she promised me faithfully that she wouldn't take it out of her travel bag. I would have threatened to smack her bum hard if I ever caught her wearing it, but I think that would have only encouraged her.
Anyway, I left Sandy watching Spanish television in our hotel room, and I set off by taxi to the very heart of the city. I showed the driver the card Boris had given me, and told the man I wanted to be taken to this address. He gave me a knowing grin and nodded his head.
In broken English he told me: "I take me there. No problem."
The 'El Calabozo'  was down a back street, which didn't surprise me. It was also close to the heart of the city. I paid the taxi driver and walked up to the entrance.
I hung around for a while whilst a man dressed in a studded black leather outfit, and a girl dressed in a cat suit and hood, drifted in through the door. The man was leading the girl on a leash. She had a thick leather collar about her neck with great spikes sticking out in all directions, and her hands were chained loosely together at the front.
This brought back memories of Davina and Devotion, and the act I'd seen at Hendry's on my first day there. I wondered if they were going to act out that same fantasy? After a short time stood on the pavement and pondering upon the scene I'd just witnessed, I brought my mind back to the present. Having seen no means of transport, I could only assume that Dick Whittington and his cat had just walked through the centre of Barcelona looking like that.
I returned to focus my attention on the club. There were two big men on the door. And I mean big. They made Henry's Neanderthal man look like a chimpanzee. They were both dressed in smart dinner suites complete with dickie bows and stiffly starched collars. They recognised the couple and let them through with just a few words spoken between them.
I braced myself and walked up to the door. I just hoped that one of them had a reasonable command of English.
"Good evening gentlemen," I said in my best English.
It was noticeable that both men closed ranks to stop me progressing any further. One of them said something to me in Spanish. I hadn't a clue what it was, but I guessed that he wasn't talking about his wife and kids.
I showed him Boris's card and said: "Boris… Boris Von Reidler gave me this… he told me to come here."
The two men rattled away in Spanish. I just stood my ground and smiled.
One of the men turned to me and said: "You… wait…"
I was waiting anyway, so it didn't make much difference.
The same man then held me there whilst the other took the card from me and went away.
I smiled at the remaining man, then had a good look around. There were double doors leading in from off the street followed by another set of double doors after that. Both sets of doors had glass panels in them. I peered inside the building through the second set of doors. There appeared to be stairs going up and down, plus a third set of doors that went straight on. There were also doors to the left and right that looked like the ladies and gents toilets.
I started to whistle a tune and waited,.. and waited,.. and waited.
I was running out of tunes, so at one point I asked: "What's happening?" but the man obviously didn't understand English anymore than I did Spanish, and never gave a reply.
Whilst all this was happening, or probably to be more exact, whilst nothing was happening, other people kept arriving. Some where couples in weirdo outfits just like the first two, but mostly they were unaccompanied men. On each occasion the man on the door said a few words to them and let them through.
The way they were all attired I could see that the criteria for entry was obviously not a collar and tie. I think the system relied more on personal recognition, since I saw no cards or passes produced. Though the 'wearing of the most ridiculous outfit' competition might have had something to do with it as well.
Eventually I got some attention. The gorilla sized man who'd gone away some fifteen minutes earlier, returned to the doors, this time accompanied by another man. He too looked like a penguin dressed in a dinner suit complete with dickie bow and starched collar. But this man was much smaller and couldn't punch his way out of a paper bag. It was quite obvious that he had another role to play in the organisation other than bouncer on the doors.
"Good evening," said the little man.
He spoke in English but with a heavy Spanish accent.
"Good evening," I repeated and held out my hand.
He didn't offer his own hand and we didn't shake.
"You know Boris?" he asked. "He tell you to come here?"
I nodded my head.
"Yes he did. We met in Paris two days ago, and he gave me that card," I explained.
The man held up the card Boris had given me. He stared at it for a while.
"You come with me," he told me.
I smiled at the other two big guys and followed the man through the second set of doors. We went up the stairs. I trailed on a couple of steps behind. At the top I was shown into an office.
"Please… you sit down," I was told.
I sat down on a seat next to a desk.
"What your name?" he asked.
I nearly said Woody, but I remembered that Boris knew me as Dave.
"Dave… Dave Woods," I told him.
Reciting my name as if committing it to memory, the man then left the room. I was alone, and to occupy myself I drummed my fingers on the desk.
I waited for another ten minutes, maybe longer before the man returned.
He was nodding his head as he entered the room, and he held out his hand.
"It is settled," he told me as we shook hands. "I have spoken to Boris and he say you good friend."
I nodded my head in response.
"Yes, me and Boris good friends," I agreed.
We continued to shake hands.
"Me, I Carlos," he told me.
"Me, I Dave," I replied.
Now we were both the best of mates. Well we were until he spoke again.
"You must pay," he told me, "one hundred thousand pesetas. It is for membership."
I did a quick calculation. There was about 250 pesetas to the pound. He was asking for something like 400 pounds. I decided not to argue. It seemed to be a snip at the price. Hendry's had cost me 5000 pounds. I had the money on me. I counted out the sum into his hand.
"You now member here," he told me as he recounted the money for his own benefit.
"Good, I can now visit your club?" I asked.
Carlos nodded his head.
"You want girl?" he asked.
That was what I had come for, so I answered positively.
"Yes, me want girl," I replied and wondering why I was speaking in broken English.
"You come with me," said Carlos. "I find you good girl."
I was led back down the stairs and through the double doors opposite the entrance. The room was large and organised on a theme very similar to the bar at Hendry's club. There was a small stage in a corner, an area at the centre reserved for BDSM enthusiasts to ply their trade, tables all around the perimeter, and of course a bar that specialised in serving real Spanish beer at the pumps.
However, I didn't see any of the weirdo partners in the room. After having a peep upstairs, that was just a corridor with rooms, I concluded that all the action must have been going on down below.
I was expecting to be led to the bar and told to order a drink at some great and exorbitant price, but instead I was taken to a door over on the far side of the room.
I entered along with Carlos. The door was closed behind me and I looked around.
This room was richly decorated on what I could only describe as a Victorian theme. The colour of everything in the room was either a rich red or gold. The carpet was red, the walls were red, and so was the furniture. There was also gold braid everywhere. It hung in tassels down the walls, it edged all the chairs and even hung from the lampshades. There was a big marble fireplace with a real log fire going and I was made to sit down in a comfortable chair next to the hearth.
Carlos then made me wait for a third time.
I was alone in the room for quite sometime. I'd done whistling, then finger drumming, and I wondered what to do next to pass the time away. I decided to sit quietly and do nothing.
I was staring blankly into the flames of the fire when a door opened and I heard the chatter of women's voices. Six girls then walked into the room. They were all scantily dressed. Some in bra and panties, others in flimsy dressing gowns. They obviously knew the procedure well. This must have been a common routine to all of them. As they entered each fell silent and moved to stand in a row with their backs to the far wall. They must have also had a set order, for that shuffled around in order to be in the correct places.
Carlos entered the room last of all and walked across the room to join me. I stood up. He signalled in the direction of the girls with a sweeping pass of the hand.
"You choose one girl for twenty-five thousand pesetas," he told me.
At 250 pesetas to a pound this was easy to calculate. One girl was going to cost me 100 pounds. After spending more than that with staff discount for an hour with Doreen I considered this to be a bargain.
I opened up my wallet, counted out the money into Carlos's hand, then looked along the line. It was a difficult choice to make.
There were two dark haired girls, two brunettes, one blonde and a girl whose head had been completely shaven.
I looked along the line several times. One of the dark haired girls looked definitely Spanish and had the body of a goddess to go with it. I think under normal circumstances she would be the one I would have chosen, but for some reason my eyes kept returning to the girl with the shaven head.
I was thinking she could possibly be a blonde, but her hair had been cropped so short it was difficult to tell. She didn't look in the best of health either, her face was thin and drawn, and had those same dark rings about her eyes I'd seen in Rachel Joyce. And I think that is what triggered off my next thought pattern.
Now I always believed that I'd recognise Judy Jones when I saw her. How wrong could I be?
For quite sometime I considered this girl's features and asked myself, could this really be Judy Jones? If so, then she'd certainly gone downhill since those photographs of her were taken on the beach some two and a half years ago. In fact I'd go as far as to say, she'd changed far beyond recognition.
Therefore an uncertain remained, and I had to find out.
"Does anyone here speak English?" I asked as a general question to all six girls.
I got positive answers from three of them.
"Me," said one.
"I do," said another
"I do as well," said the third.
The first two had a ring of a Spanish accent about them. The third sounded more English. But more importantly it was spoken by the bald headed girl.
A walked up to the row of girls and stood directly in front of the girl with the English accent.
"Are you English?" I asked. "You sound it."
She nodded her head meekly.
"Yes sir," she answered with head bowed. "I was born in England."
I turned to Carlos.
"I'll take this one," I told him. "She says she's from England. I can make her understand what I want."
Carlos walked up to the girl and took her hand. He brought her hand to mine and we held each other lightly by the fingertips. He then spoke something to her in Spanish. She nodded her head and then turned to me.
"You are to come upstairs with me," she told me.
I turned to Carlos and smiled.
"Thank you," I said, and then added, "I'll see you later perhaps?"
Carlos nodded his head.
"Later,.. perhaps," he replied, "please,.. you have good time,.. yes?"
"Yes," I repeated. "I'll do my best."
I then turned and walked away hand in hand with the girl I suspected to be Judy Jones. I think my heart was pounding. Had I really found the girl I was looking for?
We passed through the door previously entered by the six girls. Beyond were a second set of stairs that led me up to the corridor I'd recently vacated. I was taken along the corridor to a room somewhere near the middle.
We entered.
Basically I was in a bedroom, but it was big and roomy and had a certain BDSM touch about it. There were straps, pulleys and ropes above the bed, and on hooks on the wall there were rows of whips, scourges and paddles along with an assortment of leather straps, chains and ropes.
Ever since taking on this assignment, I'd contemplated over the best way to approach Ted and Mavis's daughter. Now I was flummoxed. For the first time in my life I did not know what to say or do.
It was the girl that broke the silence.
"What do you want to do then sir?" she asked politely.
I turned to her. I was weighing up all the equipment as she spoke.
"Tell me you name first," I said.
"Rosetta," she said.
That I did not expect.
"You told me you were English. That's a Spanish name. What's your real name," I told her.
For a moment there was silence.
"I don't use my English name anymore. I am Rosetta now," she answered.
I gave a glaring look.
"I chose you because you were English. When you're with me you are to be English and act English, now tell me your real name," I told her sternly.
She seemed to consider what I'd said for a moment or two. It was as if she'd forgotten her real name.
"It's Judy," she told me eventually.
I smiled quietly. I was certain now that I'd found the girl I was looking for. Now all I had to do was gain her confidence. However, I was still uncertain as to what her reactions would be towards her parents. At the back of my mind was the fact that she had stormed out on them, and saying that she never wanted to see them again in her life. But then again, my brief was simple, it was to arrange a meeting between parents and daughter, and that was all. After that it was up to them to sort things out. I decided not to reveal my true identity straightaway, but to continue on with this little charade and see where it led me.
"Right Judy," I said, "let's see you naked for starters."
She was wearing a flimsy, pale pink, see-through dressing gown with panties underneath. She had nothing on the top half and I could see her nipples through the garment. They were pierced and had rings through them.
Judy unknotted a belt about the waist and removed the dressing gown. She handed it to me and I collected it in. She then slid her panties down her legs, removed them from her feet and likewise passed them across to me. I did not know what to do with the items so I just dropped them on the floor at the foot of the bed.
Judy was now standing naked before me. Her mound was shaved or naturally void of hairs. It was hard to tell. But I guessed with the shaven head to go with it, some kinky person had gone berserk with a razor not so long ago.
I tried to assess Judy's age. This did not look like a vibrant twenty-one year old stood before me. This girl looked far older and very haggard. Her age therefore remained my one and only nagging doubt.
"How old are you Judy?" I asked.
It was as if she'd forgotten her age, and it took some time to remember.
"Err… twenty-one," she said eventually.
I tried no to hide my joy. I think that was the final confirmation I was looking for, and now all I had to do was bring the conversation round to her parents and explain my reasons for being here.
I decided how best to go about it. Having had some limited success when playing my little interrogation games with Anthea, I was willing to give it another try. I was relying on the fact that in Judy's eyes I was just another punter, and here to have a little bit of fun.
"Right, up on the bed Judy," I told her. "let's see what these ropes and pulleys do."
Judy obliged by climbing onto the bed and lying down full length with her head on the pillows.
Above her head dangled a rope with two wide leather cuffs attached. The rope simply went up and over a pulley fixed to the roof and was tied to a bracket on the wall alongside the bed. I loosened the rope from the bracket and lowered the leather cuffs.
"Put your hands in these," I told her.
Judy raised up her hands and I strapped the cuffs about her wrists. I then pulled on the rope and drew up her arms so that they were straight upwards above her head on the pillows. I then retied the rope around the bracket to hold them there.
I moved to the bottom of the bed. Here was a similar arrangement, but this time the leather straps were on the ends of a spreader bar. I lowered the supporting rope to the bed and strapped Judy's ankles into the contraption at either end of the bar.
"Going up," I called as I pulled on the rope.
I stopped when the legs were vertical and secured the rope to a second bracket of the wall.
Judy was now lying on her back with arms and feet raised. There was no particular tension there, and I far as I could tell, she was lying comfortably.
I then found a cane amongst all the whips and paddles and moved to sit on a chair alongside the bed.
At first I simply pattered her lightly on the stomach and tits with the end of the cane.
"Judy, I'm going to ask you a few questions now," I told her. "It's a sort of interrogation game I play. And if there's any answers I don't like, then you get punished. Do you understand?"
Judy turned her head in my direction. It looked like she couldn't care less and was only going through the motions. She was a nobody with nowhere to go.
I thought what a difference there was between Judy and Anthea. They were both in the same game, yet Anthea was a person with a predilection for real orgasms and expensive jewellery. If it was Anthea here on the bed she'd be lapping it up and just praying that she could get at least one good orgasm out of it.
I threaded my cane through Judy's two nipple rings and lifted. With the tips of her nipples stretched and distorted, I asked my first question.
"Why are you shaven?" I asked.
I don't think Judy was expecting a question like that. She seemed to think about it for quite a while.
"A client did it to me," she answered eventually.
I suspected this.
"When?" I asked.
Again a delay.
"Yesterday," she told me as if time had no meaning.
This I also suspected, her scalp and mound were just smooth skin shining under the lights. However, since my opening questions were somewhat irrelevant to what I really had to say, I carried on. The main thing was, she was communicating with me and this caused me to relax the tension in her nipples.
"Right Judy," I told her, "now tell me, what do you know about my friend Boris… Boris Von Reidler?"
Judy's face turned quizzical.
"Boris!… He comes here quite often," she replied.
I moved on.
"Have you ever been with him?" was my next question.
Again I got that quizzical look.
"Yes," was all she answered.
I tensioned the tips of Judy's nipples once more and kept them under strain.
"You're not telling me much are you Judy?" I said with another upward tug to her nipples.
Judy grimaced as I turned on the pressure.
"There's not much to tell," she replied, "Boris!… he's just a client."
I decided it was time to ask something that might cause a little shock. The sort of odd question you throw in when questioning a suspected criminal.
"If my friend Boris is just a client, then tell me, why did he send a Christmas card to your parents from you?" I asked.
The question did shock, and it was meant to. I think some of my old police questioning techniques were coming out here. It's surprising what you can learn once they're off guard. Anyway, Judy's mouth opened wide and stayed like that.
I increased the tension on the nipples even further. Now they were really stretched and distorted, and I could see the pain in her eyes.
"Come on, I want an answer," I urged.
Judy shook her head as if in despair. I could see that I was getting to her.
"Because I'm not allowed out of here, that's why!… Boris said that he was off to Britain next. I asked him to send a Christmas card home for me. I gave him the address and he promised me he would," she revealed.
Suddenly the reason for the neat hand writing in the Christmas card became clear. Boris had purchased the card himself, wrote in it, and posted it off whist presumably stopping in London. It was so obvious when you stop think about it.
This prompted another question.
"Did you know there was a fifty pound note in the card?" I asked.
Judy smiled and shook her head.
"No I didn't. That was sweet of him," she answered.
I relaxed the tension in her nipples for a while just to show that I was happy with the way she was responding. It was also making my wrist ache.
"So you didn't know about the money inside?" I queried.
Judy remained smiling.
"No, but my mom and dad would have loved it. They're not very well off," she confessed.
 This response shook me. So Judy hadn't heard about her parents lottery good fortune? This put a different light on matters. If she knew, and still wanted nothing to do with her parents, then that would make my life extremely difficult. I decided not to tell Judy about her parents good fortune. I'd leave that for them to explain if daughter and parents ever did get together.
I moved on to consider Judy's previous answer, about not being allowed out of the building. But I needed to know a little more first about the daughter and parents relationship.
"Do you love your parents?" I asked.
I was expecting it to be a hard question to take, but Judy nodded her head almost immediately, and perhaps there was a little hint of a tear there somewhere. Yet a stubbornness remained and I got a reply I wasn't expecting.
"Who are you?" she asked. "Why are you here? Did my parents send you?"
I guess it was confession time. I withdrew the cane from her nipple rings and tossed it to the floor.
"Judy, you're right, you're parents sent me," I told her. "They hired me to find you. I'm a private detective."
Her mouth dropped. For a while there was silence.
"Why did they do that?" she asked. "They can't afford it!"
I stood up and looked down at her face.
"They did it because they love you, and they want you back," I told her.
Judy closed her eyes. Now I could see real tears.
"They shouldn't have… I'm not worth it," she sobbed.
I think I was about to cry too.
"Yes you are Judy. You're worth every penny, and they want you back desperately," I said.
Judy shook her head.
"I can't go back… they won't let me go from here," she sobbed some more.
I could see the problem. It was all too clear. Judy had managed to get herself caught in the vice trap. It was a lot like Rachel Joyce's situation. These people fed you and kept a roof over your head, and in return you were expected to earn your keep. The only problem was, you were never allowed to earn enough money to pay your way out of the mess, and all you kept on doing is run up an even bigger debt.
Even though I knew what the answer would be, I asked the question anyway.
"Why won't they let you go?" I asked.
Judy snuffled and tried to pull herself together.
"Because I owe them money, and they're keeping my passport until I can pay off all my debts," she told me.
That was the answer I was expecting. I considered the time now right to ask the question I'd been hoping to put to her ever since this little charade began.
"Judy, if I can get you out of here, will you meet your parents?" I asked.
Judy snuffled once more before answering.
"Yes,… please," she answered, "can you do that?"
I nodded my head.
"I'll see what I can arrange," I told her.
After that I released Judy from her bonds and we sat together by the side of the bed. I put my arms about her and gave her a cuddle. She was still sobbing.
I was already working on a plan to get Judy out of here. Seeing Dick Whittington and his cat earlier, and still haunted by memories of Sandy in her Miss Piggy suit, I had an idea that might just work.
"Judy," I said as I held her naked body close to me, "I've got a plan. I shall be back tomorrow night, and this is what I want you to do."
 
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End of Chapter Eighteen