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Chapter 9: Freddie’s Meeting
Harry, Connie and Rick were sitting on one side of the table. Freddie and Elly sat facing them.
Freddie was sitting with his eyes closed, his hands folded on top of the open file of research on the table in front of him. He was very still, very quiet. It gave the other three no comfort at all that he wasn’t pacing up and down furious at the turn of events on the Norfolk collection.
He took a slow breath. “OK,” he said calmly. “Who wants to start?”
“Me, I guess,” said Rick, sheepishly. There were tow things he learned about this sort of situation working for Freddie. The first was that safest thing was to be completely honest and the second was that this was no time for jokes. “We missed it. I’ve been back over the surveillance tapes and the intelligence and there’s nothing to suggest that ‘Penny’ was anything other than she, sorry, he seemed. An ideal target, no real social group, kept herself to herself, quite a private person.”
“And now we know why!” Freddie snapped.
Elly looked at him as much as to say, “That won’t help.”
“I suppose if we’d had more time for research we might have found something but, for heaven’s sake, he’s living as ‘Penny’ twenty four seven. I’m not convinced that a few more days’ surveillance would have made any difference. It’s a lesson to learn though.”
“Mmm,” said Freddie, abstracted. “And Harry? No one noticed on collection?”
“Come on Freddie, you know how it is. Sure we focus on making sure we’ve got the right person and that’s what we did. They spent quite a while scoping the venue and they had plenty of opportunity to make sure that the target checked with the briefing so they went ahead. After that, well, you know I don’t encourage the team to play around with the pick ups unless they’ve got plenty of time and somewhere secure – it’s too much of a distraction. If you want me to tell them to lift the skirt of ever girl they pick up there won’t be too many complaints but I don’t think it would be a good idea, frankly.”
“But no one noticed?”
“No, Freddie, no one noticed. From what was said at the debrief, the team had very little trouble with her. Sorry him. There wasn’t anything rough so they didn’t get to grips with him at all. I can’t see how they would have seen it unless they were looking. I guess another time we’ll be looking out for something like this, especially with a specimen as exotic as Miss Trating. But, anyway, what would you have had them do? Leave the delightful Penny behind? I don’t think so.”
Freddie looked thoughtful for a moment. He turned towards Elly. “What’s your take on this?”
Elly sat quietly for a minute looking at Rick and Harry in a way that made them feel even less comfortable than Freddie’s scowls had done. Finally she spoke. “I’m not sure it matters,” she said, bluntly. “The Kalinin wanted five story tellers. You’ve got five story tellers. Far be it for me to comment on anyone’s sexuality but maybe the Kalinin’s son might find Miss Trating an interesting novelty. I think you should follow some of Larry’s advice. What did he used to say? ‘When in doubt ask the customer.’ That’s probably a good maxim here. If he’s happy and Connie thinks Penny can be properly prepped then why should we worry?”
Freddie considered her words. The furrows on his forehead seemed to say, “This isn’t fair, there’s been a cock-up and someone deserves a bollocking but I can’t quite see who it should be.” Instead he turned to Connie. “Can he be prepped?”
Harry and Rick, sensing that Freddie was going to take Elly’s advice, breathed a little easier.
Connie leant forward. “No reason why not,” she said. “We might have to adapt the sexualisation programme a bit and I might need a few extra pieces of equipment - things not in my armoury, so to speak – but otherwise I’m sure that Penny is as amenable to re-orientation as any of our other guests. Anyway I thought you said the Kalinin didn’t want too much prep work done on them.”
“Hmm? Oh. Yes, that’s right,” said Freddie. “Well never let it be said I wasn’t prepared to celebrate diversity in the work place. I’ll talk to the Kalinin. You’d better start working with our friend on the basis that we’ll find a home for him.”
++++++
By the time Connie returned to their room, the captives, skewered on their “pegs”, were more than pleased to see her. All five were groaning with discomfort from the position in which they were trapped. Connie smiled with quiet satisfaction, confident that their treatment was making them all the more amenable to the training that was soon to start. Two of her team each took two of the four girls to start their ‘re-orientation’ as Freddie’s people euphemistically called it. Connie had decided to deal with Penny personally.
Connie loosened off the bolts that held the curved hook for Penny’s butt plug in place and pulled it clear from his backside. As she did so he sank back on his heels giving a relieved gasp into his gag. When Connie released the chain that stretched his arms behind him he fell forward to his knees, grunting with relief.
“Very good,” said Connie, “You’re on your knees just as I was about to ask, I can see that you are going to be anxious to please me
+++++
“Five women are feared drowned after a drunken house party boat trip tragedy” read the article in the Eastern Daily Press, giving an account of how their Land Rover and launching trailer had been found at a slipway near the cottage they had been using for the week end.
+++++
Deirdre took Reg’s call on her mobile. “I’ve had the final receipts through,” he said obliquely. “I’ll leave details at the usual place.”
“Reg, I haven’t got time for all that,” Deirdre looked skyward for inspiration. “I’m not fiddling around with yellow chalk, playing ‘Moscow Rules’ and hopping from one place to another. Why don’t you just buy me a coffee in town after work?”
Disappointed, Reg agreed. Deirdre obviously didn’t understand the security risks, he thought. It was ridiculous but he supposed it would be safe enough, if he kept a good look out.
Deirdre got off the bus in Lichfield Street and walked up to Queen Square. She ducked into the coffee shop on the corner. With no sign of Reg she bought her own coffee and sat down to wait.
She finished her coffee. Reg was late. It was another ten minutes before he finally appeared, slipping into the shop and getting a tea before sitting down at the next table with his back to her. Irritated, seeing that Reg certainly wasn’t about to buy one, Deirdre got herself another coffee. Ignoring his shifty behaviour she joined him at his table.
The barista looked across at them. She saw this sort of thing all the time, she thought; middle aged couples, annoyed with one another, hopping from table to table each hoping the other was going to apologise for whatever it was they were supposed to have done.
Reg scowled at Deirdre. “This isn’t safe,” he hissed.
“You’re late,” Deirdre ignored his warning.
“I had to make sure you weren’t followed,” he responded.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Deirdre, exasperated, exclaimed. “Just give me the envelope.” She’d worked with Harry, or whatever his real name was, and he didn’t seem to think all this was necessary.
Reg reached down to tie his shoe and while bent over slipped a package into Deirdre’s shopping bag from a pocket inside his coat. He sat up again. “It’s a bit short,” he said.
“Why? I thought we had – what would you say – ‘delivered the packages as required.’ What’s the problem?”
“One of the packages wasn’t according to specification. They’re saying we should have checked.”
“Checked what? We picked up exactly what we were asked to.”
The barista looked across again at the middle aged couple. It was obviously a tense conversation. One of them would be storming out in righteous indignation at any moment, she thought.
“One of the girls,” Reg said. Deirdre looked puzzled. “She wasn’t very girly. As in, not a girl at all.”
“The one in the caravan?” Deirdre said. Reg nodded. “I should have guessed.”
“Well I didn’t. I don’t see it’s our fault either. Why would we have known?”
“I looked at her record collection. She’s supposed to be a girl, infatuated with the sounds of 1962.”
“And?”
“No Frank Ifield, no Mat Monroe, no Bobby Darin, no Cliff Richard, not one bloody male singer. And you should hear my mum go on about them! The sixties weren’t all psychedelia and beat groups, you know.”
“Yeah, all right. Well we’re ten percent light.”
“I can live with that. I’m more worried about the factory at the moment. They’re talking about putting us on short time. Any chance of more work from this lot? I can’t imagine they’re affected by the credit crunch.”
“Dunno,” said Reg, “Harry was pretty glum but then he’s probably out of pocket too. He seemed to think there might be another job soon.”
“Fair enough,” said Deirdre. “In that case, do you want another cup of tea?”
© Freddie Clegg 2009
All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission.
All characters fictitious
E-mail: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com Web Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/
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