Chapter 34

When Samantha woke up the next morning, Klaus was already moving about the caravan drinking a steaming mug of black coffee while studying his script notes. "Mornin'," Samantha slurred at him, picking up a second mug of coffee that he'd thoughtfully placed at her bedside.

"Ah, gotten morgen Fraulein. Nice to see that you are awake at last."

Samantha smiled as she sipped some of the hot liquid. "You weren't calling me 'Fraulein' last night..."

Ceasing his pacing, Klaus sat on the side of the bunk, his free hand sliding under the covers before settling between Samantha's legs, his forefinger gently entwining itself in her pubic hair. "I don't think that I could call you those names in the cold light of day," he joked just as there was a knock on the door. "Come in!" he called loudly.

The door opened and in stepped the farmer whose eyes quickly spotted the young woman laying in the bed. Concern flickered across the man's face followed by disappointment - clearly he didn't want to upset the man providing the extra income to his farm by fooling about with the woman the director was sleeping with... but equally he had still harboured some thoughts of sowing some oats with Samantha. The two men talked in German for a short time before Klaus, clearly dismissing the farmer, showed him to the door. With the visitor departed, the director returned to the bunk and yanked the duvet from off the top of Samantha. "Time for work, Fraulein. There's a nice, muddy pig pen waiting for you!"

"A pig pen? What... ?"

"You and Bridget... a little mud wrestling..."

Ian Smythe nervously stood before the door of the small apartment block which was on the opposite side of the road to where he was based during the day. He'd already relieved the man who'd been watching the warehouse all night and he really should have been upstairs right now observing through his binoculars but Ian couldn't settle for he was far to worried about what the whore who lived in one of the flats here had seen of him yesterday. Ian was not normally an indecisive man... but he was at the moment. Should he ring the bell or not? Speaking to this Fifi would... or, rather, might... put his mind at rest... but, on the other hand, it might not. Concern that he really shouldn't be here - and certainly not now - forced Ian to turn and to move a pace away... only for him to pause as the door behind him opened. Instinctively he turned round just as the hooker straighten up with her recently delivered milk bottle in her hand. The tired frown that she usually wore suddenly turned into a grin. "'E," she said, "you're the flasher from across the road... the one with the hairy dick, ain't yer? What yer doin' 'ere?"

Ian studied the woman, her worn towelling dressing gown being held closed by her hand as smoke drifted up around her face from an untipped cigarette that dangled precariously from the corner of her mouth. Up close, Ian could now see that she was even older that he'd previously thought... and rougher too. Almost as if reading his mind, the woman said, "I ain't no spring chicken, 'oney, but I knows what I'm doin'. Why don't yer come if fer awhile? It ain't expensive and I'm willin' to do some extreme stuff that others won't."

'I'm not surprised, ' thought Ian. 'She'd have to go some to get any custom willing to pay more than a few quid.' "Erm... no thanks, not today," he said aloud. "I'm... er... working."

"Workin'? Is that what yer call it? I've see yer peerin' at me and me Johns through them damned glasses of yers. If I catch yer at it again, I'll be callin' the cops, just yer see if I don't!"

"No, no... I assure you... that's not my work. You see I'm..."

"Well, if it ain't work, yer should be payin' me fer it anyway. What yer say ta that?"

Fishing into his wallet, Ian pulled out a twenty pound note and handed it over. Fifi almost snatched it out of his hand before making it vanish somewhere into the inside folds of her gown. "That pays fer yer past peeping, Tom... but I want's more if yer goin' ta look again!"

"I assure you, Fifi, it's not my intention..."

"Tell yer what, 'oney... give us another twenty and I'll fit yer in fer half an hour. I've got a nicely equipped dungeon in set up in the back room, if that's yer kink..."

"Dungeon?" asked Ian sounding interested as he quickly glanced up and down the street.

Spotting the sudden rise in the punter's eagerness, Fifi pressed home her case. "Tie yer up real good... keep yer there all day if yer like... don't cost much extra once I've done the work and got yer sorted anyways..."

Ian wrestled with his conscience. Nothing had happened to the warehouse all the time he'd been here... and he was certain it wouldn't, not in the hours of daylight. However, he couldn't risk being away from his post for too long in case his boss, Max... or, worse, his wife/Mistress... were to call round or to phone. Pulling another twenty pound notes out of his wallet, he held it out before Fifi's eager gaze. "One hour - no longer, you get that?"

"Yeah, sure... whatever yer say, matey. Come in, come in..."

The stolen ruby twinkled and shone as it rested in the palm of Laura's hand. She hadn't slept at all well the previous night and she was still wearing only a very short and transparent baby doll nightie. All through the early hours, she'd tossed and turned, her conscience digging up more reasons for her not to have kept the gem while, at the same time, pointing out all the things that could led to her getting caught by the police. Now in the cold light of day, however, two factors had changed her mind for her - firstly, to return the stone now, she'd have to explain somehow why she'd not handed it straight over and, secondly, she held more money in her hand right now that she'd earn in several years of work. 'Besides.' she told herself, 'how would I explain my original false statement to the cops away? They'd not be too impressed with me.' Having come to the conclusion that she was going to hang on to the ruby, Laura's next problem would be how to get rid of it. Luckily, being in the trade, as it were, she knew of several gemsmiths who's reputations were a little dubious or even tarnished. 'But once I've got the cash, I'll have to make sure that my lifestyle doesn't change too much... that would be a dead give away. Right, best get dressed and see where we go from here... '