door. But I tell you now, Kate, the girls pretty much police themselves. I just work out the average, it’s all I can do given the circumstances. If the client rings in, then I can put them down as a definite. If they text the girls on one of the house mobiles, I can trace that, the same with the online registrations that come through our website. But if the girls themselves give the punters a private number, or a private email, then I am fucked. I can’t prove anything and they know it.’
‘How many flats are we actually looking at, just your girls?’
‘Twenty in Grantley alone, that’s without the ones spread all over the South East. With different owners. We can’t keep up with the demand, not just from the punters, but from girls asking to be taken on.’
‘I’m going to need all the information you have, you do realise that, don’t you?’
Jennifer swallowed down her whisky. ‘I have it ready for you, it’s out in the hall. And I can email the computer files. All the girls’ names and addresses, all the places we work them out of, everything. I hope you find the bastard, because whoever he is, he needs taking down a peg, sooner rather than later.’
‘To be completely honest, we’ve got taken out her frustrationsed">Dannygo nothing, Jen. Not a fucking brass razoo. He comes and goes without anyone even noticing. But then that’s par for the course in this game, isn’t it? No one wants to advertise the fact that they have to pay for sexual favours. It doesn’t matter how nice the girls might be, or how up-market the premises they work out of are. The men are still buying the girls’ time, and that’s not something they would want broadcast to the nation.’
Jennifer grinned then, and her whole countenance changed. She looked younger, brighter and Kate saw the girl she had once been. ‘Now, all the regulars are in the file and so are the numbers we have for them, or their online bookings. I’ve also put in the details from the casuals. I warn you though, most of the men use public call boxes, or internet cafes. But saying that, a lot do use their own phones, even landlines or work numbers. In fairness, the majority are harmless, and won’t think for a minute they are going to get a tug. But, as I said before, the girls all have their own little earners, and I can’t help you with those. Our business is reliant on people’s anonymity, not just the punters’, but that of the girls involved as well. So you’d better understand how hard it’s going to be to get the girls to open up to you.’
Lisa Blare was petite in every sense of the word. Just under five foot tall, she was well proportioned. Her hair was very long, past her waist, and she had a centre parting that framed her heart-shaped face to perfection. Her eyes were a very light blue, and she wore the minimum of make-up. She was twenty-two years old, but she knew she looked much younger. She dressed the part, from the schoolgirl skirt purchased from Marks & Spencer, to her long white socks courtesy of Asda. Coupled with a white shirt that barely covered her ample breasts, and a navy-blue tie, she knew she was every inch the jail bait her punters desired. She also knew better than to work in tandem, the other girls didn’t like her because she was a bit too pretty and a bit too babyish. Against her, most of the other girls looked jaded. Lisa knew her worth, and she knew exactly how to extract it from her customers.
Against the odds, and despite growing up in care, Lisa was at university, and expected to earn herself a good degree in English literature in the near future. Meanwhile, she needed money, and she wanted a nest egg, a decent nest egg. She never wanted to be poor again. She knew as well as anybody how important money was, that without it you could do nothing. Without it, you had no independence.
She slipped out of her uniform and hung it up neatly in the small wardrobe. She rented this room for her work. It suited
‘How many flats are we actually looking at, just your girls?’
‘Twenty in Grantley alone, that’s without the ones spread all over the South East. With different owners. We can’t keep up with the demand, not just from the punters, but from girls asking to be taken on.’
‘I’m going to need all the information you have, you do realise that, don’t you?’
Jennifer swallowed down her whisky. ‘I have it ready for you, it’s out in the hall. And I can email the computer files. All the girls’ names and addresses, all the places we work them out of, everything. I hope you find the bastard, because whoever he is, he needs taking down a peg, sooner rather than later.’
‘To be completely honest, we’ve got taken out her frustrationsed">Dannygo nothing, Jen. Not a fucking brass razoo. He comes and goes without anyone even noticing. But then that’s par for the course in this game, isn’t it? No one wants to advertise the fact that they have to pay for sexual favours. It doesn’t matter how nice the girls might be, or how up-market the premises they work out of are. The men are still buying the girls’ time, and that’s not something they would want broadcast to the nation.’
Jennifer grinned then, and her whole countenance changed. She looked younger, brighter and Kate saw the girl she had once been. ‘Now, all the regulars are in the file and so are the numbers we have for them, or their online bookings. I’ve also put in the details from the casuals. I warn you though, most of the men use public call boxes, or internet cafes. But saying that, a lot do use their own phones, even landlines or work numbers. In fairness, the majority are harmless, and won’t think for a minute they are going to get a tug. But, as I said before, the girls all have their own little earners, and I can’t help you with those. Our business is reliant on people’s anonymity, not just the punters’, but that of the girls involved as well. So you’d better understand how hard it’s going to be to get the girls to open up to you.’
Lisa Blare was petite in every sense of the word. Just under five foot tall, she was well proportioned. Her hair was very long, past her waist, and she had a centre parting that framed her heart-shaped face to perfection. Her eyes were a very light blue, and she wore the minimum of make-up. She was twenty-two years old, but she knew she looked much younger. She dressed the part, from the schoolgirl skirt purchased from Marks & Spencer, to her long white socks courtesy of Asda. Coupled with a white shirt that barely covered her ample breasts, and a navy-blue tie, she knew she was every inch the jail bait her punters desired. She also knew better than to work in tandem, the other girls didn’t like her because she was a bit too pretty and a bit too babyish. Against her, most of the other girls looked jaded. Lisa knew her worth, and she knew exactly how to extract it from her customers.
Against the odds, and despite growing up in care, Lisa was at university, and expected to earn herself a good degree in English literature in the near future. Meanwhile, she needed money, and she wanted a nest egg, a decent nest egg. She never wanted to be poor again. She knew as well as anybody how important money was, that without it you could do nothing. Without it, you had no independence.
She slipped out of her uniform and hung it up neatly in the small wardrobe. She rented this room for her work. It suited
Similar Books
