A drop fell... "Damn." Too late, the cop reached back with a clumsy, black-gloved hand and tried to brush away the icy drop as it beaded momentarily and then trickled a numbing path down his back. Muttering under his breath, he looked up to see another drop congeal on the end of an icicle on the doorjamb above his head. The icicle shimmered a garish red and blue under the flashing police light, as it melted, weeping hysterically in the unseasonably warm February night. Bored and tired - too much overtime - the cop reached up and knocked it away, sniffing as it cracked loose and shattered on the concrete porch. "Who's in charge here?" Startled, the cop looked up. The speaker was a man of medium height, with dark black hair and ice grey eyes. The cop frowned. "Detective Lomann," he grunted. "Who are you?" The black haired man had already pulled out some identification and was flipping it open: "Agent Harrison Crawford, FBI". The cop swallowed. He'd heard of Agent Crawford. Everyone had. "Go right in, sir." He stepped aside. "Lomann said to send you right downstairs." The FBI agent slipped the identification back into to his pocket and entered the house. Behind and above him, another icicle began to weep. It was in the basement. All of it. First and foremost, the body... laid out on its back, half stuck in dried blood to the hard, gore-streaked linoleum. Agent Crawford crouched down beside it, his grey eyes coldly tracing the precise straight red lines which criss-crossed the corpse's exposed chest, each one representing a meticulously shallow incision; the blue and red ligature marks and crusty, ripped skin which encircled the corpse's leg and ankles; the open, lipless mouth, frozen in mid-wail, dull teeth and yellowing, blood- flecked cheek bones exposed through the strip torn flesh of the lips and face. The man hadn't died quickly. "Looks like it was done by an expert." Crawford looked up. The speaker was a short, heavy man with a thick, greying moustache. Detective Lomann. The FBI agent looked back down at the body as a police camera flash froze the corpse's image in celluloid. "It was," he answered, his voice harsh and bleak. "A doctor." Another flash. "It's her, then?" Lomann was almost afraid to ask. Crawford nodded. "Yeah." He got to his feet. "Does our friend here have a name?" The Boston PD detective checked his notes. "Donald Linsky. Thirty four. Unmarried. The neighbours called it in a couple of house ago. Their kid knocked a ball into the yard and looked in the window." The FBI agent looked over at the window, curtains now closed, imagining the sight which had greeted the unfortunate child. Knowing what he knew about who had done this, he suspected that the drapes had been left open on purpose. "How long's he been dead?" "At least a few days, is my guess. Forensics is on the way." The cop looked down at the body. "So it looks familiar?" Crawford grimaced. "It's her." He looked around the basement. "Any connection to my... uh, work? " Lomann nodded at a doorway at the back of the room. Crawford scanned the room. This clinched it as far as he was concerned. She was involved. Dr. Jacqueline Astor. The grey, unfinished concrete walls were studded with hooks and braces, each one draped with chains and collars and other less benign instruments of restraint. A rack had been placed on the opposite wall, boasting dozens of different kinds of sex toys, ranging from dildoes and but plugs to a massive, menacing vibrator. A large, yellow stained mattress sat on the floor in the centre of the room. A slender chain ran up from an O-ring in the concrete beside the mattress and ended in a leather dog collar. Crawford glanced over his shoulder at the cop. "What did you say this guy did?" The cop checked his notes. "Insurance." "Figures." He turned and began to walk around the room. "I figured this was more your line," Lomann called after him. Crawford ignored him, his eyes taking in the room: the small, plastic dog dish on the floor beside the mattress... His line... "...and the pictures." Of course. Crawford reached in and pulled a sheaf of photographs out of a manila folder. He shuddered slightly as he quickly scanned them: a tall, thin redhead with wild hair and small breasts, crouched down with her legs spread wide, grinning horribly at the cum dripping out of her gaping pussy... the same girl, a closeup of her heavily made up face, her tongue licking sperm off her upper lip... the redhead on all fours in a dog collar, smiling at the camera while an unidentified male kneeled behind her, his penis half inserted into her vag... no, her anus... the redhead, tears streaming down her face, as she shoved the monster dildo into her gaping pussy... The FBI agent mentally compared the pictures with the ones he'd seen of his sister, Nikki, after she'd disappeared. Similar in many ways, but... He sighed and returned the pictures to the envelope. He didn't need to see any more. "Well?" Lomann looked at him expectantly. Crawford shook his head. "No. The girl isn't her work. I don't know where she came from, but I don't think Astor was involved. At least, not with the pictures." Lomann frowned. "How do you...". "It just isn't. Linsky - the body - was her. The girl wasn't. I don't know how Astor got involved." "OK." "No sigh of the girl, I take it?" The policeman shook his head. Crawford glanced around. "Anything else?" "Yeah." Lomann walked over to the desk and picked up a piece of paper. "This." The FBI agent took the paper. A letter... from someone named Jackson. In Bangkok. A polite, carefully worded refusal of a business proposition and a number for local assistance. Crawford stared. He recognized the number. He'd recently traced it to an empty, recently vacated office in downtown Boston. It *was* her. He looked down at the letter. But what was the connection with Astor? Jackson. Bangkok... ***** ***** ... scratches at the hurt that sent him home... purple heart... ...means nothing... seeing Danielle and little Cassie again... a charred picture... (notsolittleanymore) ... smiling blonde faces... picket fences, blowing in the wind... (neverforgetnever) Careful drunken walk... something... something smells... familiar... burning hair (neverforgetthatsmell)... napalm... burning... hair... burning... (never) drunken run... stumble... ...smiling blonde faces (lookslikehermother)... smiling blonde... ...young Sarah sobbed as her small pink tongue lapped... (looksalotlikehermother) no... not right... giggling fire lapps hungrily up the side of... (neverforget)... smoke... burning smell... (Neverforgetifiliveathousandyears) Burning... twisting... ...lick her daughter's lips in wanton surrender... Danielle... Cassie... (smilingblondelooks) ... smoke pouring out third story... smoke pouring... red blue police lights bounce off walls... hoses... twisting... (neverforgetif) ...Annie's head began rolling crazily about like a doll's... Cassie's (nothatsnotrightnotcassienevercassie) small elfin face was contorted in hurt.... smells... burning hair... (thatsmell...) Danielle... CASSIE!... smiling blonde faces... Annie leered, whorishly happy... (looksalotlikehermother) Mother and daughter had finally... bright flames lick... look around in red blue night... crowd, open mouthed, staring... Danielle's face leering whorishly in the dancing firelight... (no) DANIELLE!... BAM! ...their breasts bobbed up and down in unison as they squat- fucked themselves... DANIELLE... (looksalotlikehermother) (never) daughter's servicing... burning... burning... ... she too licked at her daughter's trim pink cunt... burning... Danielle... ...(neverforget) Cassie... Sarah... BAM! blondesmilingfacesneverforgetif... BAM! I woke up. The threadbare blanket was drenched in sweat and my heart shuddered frantically in my chest. Fuck. That dream again. I hadn't had that dream in years, then suddenly six months ago, it started up. I'd almost managed to forget... BAM! "Mr. Jackson!" Someone was pounding at my thin wooden door. From the sound of it, they'd soon be knocking it in. I slipped out of bed and into a shirt and pants. Not clean, but good enough to cover me and soak away the worst of the sweat as I walked towards the door. I was proud of myself. My breathing was steady and my hands had almost stopped shaking by the time I got there. It was one of Vopat's goons. No surprise there, I guess. There aren't many people who refer to me as 'Mr' anything these days. Vopat and his people are about it. Over the past few years, I've supplied him with more than enough, well, product to earn a little respect. Yeah... that and fifty Baht will get me a beer at Candyland, Vopat's club. Which was where we were going. Vopat wanted to meet. It was only a little past noon, but Candyland was already hopping. I don't think I've ever seen it closed. The tables were filled with the usual crowd... local hoods and their bosses... assorted mercenaries... drug smugglers... gun runners... foreign businessmen involved in shady deals or just in the know... The bar girls mingled and pranced about as they had been trained to do, giggling and flirting, enticing the men to buy them drinks and whispering lewd promises in their ears... As I said, the usual. I looked around. Vopat was at the bar. He gestured for me to follow him into his office. I obeyed, thankful to leave the main room as I caught a glimpse of Roxanne Bodwell - Annie, now - the english stewardess I had kidnapped for Vopat. Together with her teenage daughter Sarah, and Tam, Vopat's whore trainer, she had been part of the hottest act in Joytown for over the last several months. She was crouched down in front of a Japanese businessman with her legs spread wide, running her hands obscenely up and down the front of her body. I couldn't see her face, but I knew she would be showing a whore's plastic smile (...blondesmilingfaces...) as her fingers slid suggestively over her half-covered tits before dropping down under the flimsy panties and coming to rest on her well used pussy. There would be no trace of the prim and proper english stewardess who had arrived in Bangkok with her daughter just last spring. Apart from her pale white skin, she was now just another Candyland bar slut. The man reached down and slid a finger along her cheek. She turned her head and, eyes closed, and on sucked it in, slowly running her lips along it like it was the most delicious and exciting thing she'd ever done. Right. I stopped at the door and looked around the club. Sarah Bodwell - Annie's daughter - was nowhere to be seen. The rumour mill had it that Vopat had sold her to Colonel Chou for some fantastic amount. I wondered what Vopat was doing for a main act these days now that the Bodwells were no longer performing together. Then it occurred to me: that's why I was here. I glanced over. Annie was now straddling the businessman's lap, slowly gyrating her barely concealed crotch at him while running a hand through her long, platinum blonde hair. I thought about my dream (...neverforget...) for a moment and then shook my head. She didn't look a bit like Danielle, I told myself. Not at all. I walked into the back room. I had been right. Vopat was looking for a new act. "You like this one, Joe," he told me, more animated than I'd ever seen him before. "Good job. Easy job for you." I took a sip of my Klosters, stalling for time to think things through. He'd outdone himself this time. Three girls. He wanted three. And it sounded like he already had them lined up. "Let me understand what you want," I told him. "You have a line on three American girls. You've already arranged to have them picked up at the airport. Everything's in place." He nodded happily. "And you want me to..." I left it dangling. "Supervise, Joe. You a pro. See that it done right. Easy job for you. I set it up. You make sure it goes right. Easy job." It made sense, I guess. It still worried me though that the job was coming together like this. The few times I'd worked for Vopat before, he had just told me what he'd wanted and I'd provided it to him. Simple. With me in control of the job. Something was strange about this one. He'd found out about the targets. He'd set it up. And now he wanted me to follow through and finish the job. There was something else going on here I didn't know about. I decided to see how much he needed me. "50,000 Baht," I told him, naming an outrageous amount. There was no way he'd agree to that, but I just... "Good." Vopat nodded. "We have a deal." I sat for a moment, stunned, a cold sick feeling in my stomach. 50,000 Baht? Just for supervising? Something was wrong here. Very wrong. And I'd just agreed to do it. Still grinning, Vopat shoved a manila file folder across the desk at me. "Take a look, Joe. It happen next week. If you want to make change...". I took the folder and stood to leave the room. I glanced around on my way out. Luckily, Annie and her Japanese business man were nowhere to be seen. Not that it mattered. She looked nothing like Danielle. I went through the folder in my room. The three girls were a good catch. And an unusual one. Two lawyers and a paralegal from a San Francisco law firm, Stanford Fisher Lawrence. According to Vopat's information, they were on their way to Hong Kong to set up a branch office - immigration and that sort of thing; a booming business with 1997 swiftly approaching - and were stopping off in Bangkok for a few days to see the sites. The oldest of the three was a woman Janice Stanford. A partner at the firm. Stanford? I checked the file. Sure enough, her father, R. Terrance Stanford III, was the founding member and senior partner in the firm. According to the Vopat's informant, she was 29 years old and had just been made a partner. I'm sure having a father as a founding member didn't hurt. The folder included a picture. She was tall... a redhead according to the background information. High cheekbones and large, intelligent eyes. The picture was in black and white, but I guessed those eyes were green. Long legs and what appeared through the conservative business suit to be large, well formed breasts, made her a first rate catch for Vopat. The other two were no less valuable. Melissa Andersonn, a fresh faced law school graduate who had just passed her bar exam (on the second try), had been hired by Stanford Fisher Lawrence to work in their new Hong Kong office. She was 24 years old, obviously of scandinavian descent, a tall, willowy girl with light blonde hair and pale skin. She'd do well at Vopat's. The paralegal was the youngest of the three, a 23 year old pale brunette named Amanda Green. She'd been with the firm for three years, working as a secretary while taking some sort of night school. She'd just been promoted to paralegal and, like Melissa, was on her way to her first job in that capacity. According to Vopat's information, she was 5'4" and weighed 105 lbs. The picture just showed her face. She had a soft, friendly face with wide brown eyes under a cloud of soft curls. Another beauty. I put the folder down, lit up a Marlboro, and thought about the situation. The girls were a real catch for Vopat. No doubt about it. I could see why Vopat was so excited. But one thing still bothered me: they would be missed. They were all employees of a major U.S. law firm which was expecting them in Hong Kong three days after Vopat planned to abduct them. Usually, I set things up so that the girls I recruit will not be missed. Once, I'd faked a bus crash in the jungle. Another time, I'd arranged matters so that the husband believed that his wife had run off with another man. Standard stuff. But there was no way to do it with these girls. According to Vopat's plan, they would arrive at the Bangkok airport and simply disappear. Without a doubt, Bangkok would soon be seeing the biggest police action in its history, probably even some sort of international incident. I doubted that even Joytown would escape scrutiny. And I would be right in the middle of it. Still... I picked up the folder and started going through Vopat's plan. If I was going to do it, I was going to do it right. The pictures really hadn't done any of them justice. I looked out over my newspaper, watching as the three women walked into the terminal. Stanford, the redhead, was obviously the leader of the group. With an imperious shake of her dark red shoulder length hair, she directed the other two girls to grab the luggage. Smugly, I noted that I had been right; her eyes were green. Melissa and Amanda did as they were told. The blonde girl slung a carry-on over her shoulder and tugged a large suitcase along the floor behind her like a dog on a leash. The brunette was even more loaded down. "There he is. That way!" The redhead's voice, loud and commanding, carried across the terminal to where I watched as she noticed the man in the chauffeur's uniform carrying a sign which read "Stanford". With only one light bag on her shoulder, the redhead gestured for the other two girls to follow her as she reached the Thai man and spoke a few words to him. He nodded and led them out of the terminal towards the waiting limousine. Vopat's limousine. In the end, I changed almost nothing of Vopat's original plan. Just a bit here and there. Vopat's driver was to pick the targets up from the airport. The real driver had been knocked unconscious and drugged. He would be waking up some time tomorrow in his home with a hell of a hangover. We'd also left 20,000 baht hidden under his mattress. He wouldn't find it, but no doubt the cops would when they came looking. He knew nothing about the kidnapping, but he'd have a hell of a time convincing the cops of that after they found the cash. That was one of my touches. The air conditioner in the limousine was disconnected. The girls would soon be taking advantage of the (working) refrigerator and the ice cold bottled water. It had been drugged and I figured the girls would be unconscious within an hour of Vopat's limousine getting stuck in traffic. As it turned out, the traffic was a little worse than we'd planned and it took almost two hours for the limousine, with me following behind in my nondescript mercedes, to get to Vopat's dockside warehouse. I pulled in behind as two of Vopat's men slid the loading door closed behind us. The switch went smoothly. The girls were gagged, handcuffed and moved to my car. At Vopat's instructions, Melissa and Amanda were stuffed into the trunk and Janice ended up on the back seat with a blanket covering her. I figured Vopat wanted to protect the most valuable piece of merchandise, though I disagreed with his choice. The redhead was stunning, but the blonde girl, with her fair skin and firm breasts, was a gold mine. I shrugged as the trunk closed shut on my unconscious passengers. Vopat's property. His choice. Tam was waiting for me when I parked the mercedes in the small garage in back of Vopat's club. The young Thai whore trainer was dressed in her usual "welcome" outfit: tight, black lycra skirt, black bikini top, five inch heels... she had even added a pair of leather wristbands and a black collar. I almost laughed. Vopat must have been springing for the S&M videos again; she was such a caricature. "You bring new girls, Joe?" she asked, her blue eyes almost glowing with excitement. "Show me." I just grunted. There was no love lost between me and Tam. I unlocked the trunk. Tam looked in and giggled at the sight of the two american girls, lying unconscious, gagged and handcuffed. She hated Americans, particularly the women. The whore trainer reached down and fondled Melissa's light blonde hair. "This one very beautiful," she told me. "Make lots of friends." I grimaced, painfully aware of what kind of "friends" Melissa would be making at Candyland. After a moment, Tam straightened up and turned to me. "Bring girls into Vopat's office," she ordered. I started to object to her giving orders, but stopped. No use. I looked around for some help in transporting the girls, but Tam just walked out of the garage and there was no one else in sight. Sighing, I picked up the first girl, the blonde one, slung her over my shoulder and carried her across the garage, through a hallway and into Vopat's private office. She was moaning softly through her gag by the time I got her there, so I took the precaution of clipping her handcuffs to one of the small rings hanging from the ceiling. Her eyes began to flutter open as I turned to head back to the garage. I hoisted the brunette from the car and retraced the path into Vopat's office. By the time I entered the room, the blonde girl was fully awake, and quickly becoming acquainted with her new mistress. I stopped in the doorway for a moment, fascinated at the sight. Melissa was standing, fully extended, half on her toes as the handcuffs forced her thin, pale wrists high above her head. She had been wearing her light blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun, but Tam had pulled this loose and it now fell light and flaxen to her shoulders. The Thai woman stood behind the terrified captive, one bare arm circling around the girl's waist to hold her steady while the other slid underneath the suit jacket to squeeze the girl's breasts through the thin fabric of her light grey blouse. I could see the young lawyer's soft blue eyes, wide and darting with fear, as Tam leaned forward and whispered something in her ears. I knew what she was saying; I had said such things often enough myself. The girl's captive hands fluttered in panic as the Thai girl explained her future in crude, broken english. She let out a moan, wiggling frantically in Tam's grip. Tam laughed and nipped at her ear, still whispering. The brunette stirred in my grip. Distracted, I moved forward and locked her cuffs to another ceiling ring. She moaned and began to awake as the pain from her cuffed wrists dragged her slowly into consciousness. Tam giggled. I turned. The blonde girl was crying now. Tam had moved around in front of her and was lapping the tears from her cheeks. The blue eyes found my own and stared appealingly. "Ahw... ahw...". Help, in gagspeak. Tam looked at me and let out another giggle. "Joe no help," she sneered. I looked away as Vopat entered the room. He surveyed the two girls hanging from the ceiling and then turned to me. "Three girls, Joe?" I nodded and left the room to fetch the redhead from the garage. By the time I got back, Tam had pulled open Melissa's blouse and was playing happily with the blonde girl's firm breasts. There had evidently been some trouble, as Melissa sported an angry red mark on her cheek. Amanda was fully awake, brown eyes wide and staring. She hadn't yet been molested, but I didn't expect that to last much longer. Vopat was seated behind his desk. "Just lay her on the floor, Joe," he told me, gesturing at the redhead. I glanced at the third ceiling ring, but did as I was told. "Tam." The Thai girl gave Melissa's breasts one last playful squeeze and then walked over the unconscious redhead. Leaning over, she pulled a vial from... I don't know where... and waved it under her nose. Almost immediately, the woman's eyes popped open. Tam undid the gag, stood up and backed away, watching as the redhead sat up and then looked around. "About time," she muttered. She didn't seem frightened. Or even surprised. I stared. What the hell was going on? The office was silent except for the blonde's panicked sobs as Janice Stanford struggled to her feet and turned to Vopat. "Well," she said, rattling her handcuffs. "Aren't you going to take these off." Vopat gestured and Tam moved forward with the key. What the hell...