Chapter 5

Jake was busy surfing Internet porn when he saw Helene walking towards his desk. She smiled at him, "There's been a change of plans. Thule's got some things to take care of here. It's you, me, and Yuval to interview the scumbag."

Jake nodded, considering the statement. From what he knew of Thule's management style, it seemed extremely unlikely that he'd chosen Helene to go and deal with Oliver Heinzen. Thule's unique brand of chivalry would allow him to send a woman into a physically dangerous situation, but not onto a working porn shoot. Still, if Helene was sending herself out on this one without the boss's permission, that was between the two of them. Jake had seen her fight. He had no doubts about her ability to handle herself in a scrap.

Jake's own ethics were not configured like Thule's. He waved Helene over to his side of the desk, "Come take a look at this."

Helene came around and looked where she was told. As she realized what she was looking at, she turned her head away from the screen and scowled at him, "Jesus, brute squad. If that's the way you try to tell a girl you like her, you might want to go back to pulling pigtails."

"You don't have pigtails," Jake pointed out. "And this isn't a come-on. It's research."

Helene caught on immediately. She scrutinized the screen, "This is Heinzen's work?"

Jake nodded, "This is one of over one hundred twenty sites of his I've looked at today."

Helene raised an eyebrow, "Nice work if you can get it."

Jake shook his head vehemently, "Not this stuff. This is one of the classier sites."

Helene's eyebrow went even higher, "'Cock-Gobbling Sluts' is classy?"

Jake nodded, "Comparably."

"But, it's all within the law?"

Jake shrugged, "According to Miss Phuong. And, she seems to want to nail him to a wall. Some of his stuff couldn't be produced here. But, he does it through a holding company in Amsterdam."

"Amsterdam?" asked Helene. "Do you think the Vandevoorts are involved?"

"I don't see any link," said Jake. "Not every scummy thing in Amsterdam has the Vandevoort seal of approval."

"Still," said Helene. "It would be nice."

Jake nodded, but felt uneasy as he always did when such vehemence was displayed against the Vandevoorts. For the most part, people at RSS accepted him as one of the good guys, but he had worked for the Vandevoorts for a long time and was hardly clear of entanglements with them now.

"I'm going to go find Yuval so we can go," said Helene. "Unless you're not done with your research." She said the last word with a faint tone of mockery.

Jake rolled his eyes and clicked the browser shut. Three more popped up, trying to force him to stay on the site. He looked at Helene, "I'm ready to go whenever you are."

Jake, Helene, and Yuval were relaxed, even joking among themselves as they navigated through Boston traffic. Jake hadn't worked much with Yuval before. But, he'd done the former paratrooper's background check less than a week ago. Thirty-two years old, he'd served eight of those years in the Israeli army with distinction and been wounded in a firefight following a suicide bombing. He had a slight limp that only became obvious under extreme physical exertion. What the background check had missed was that he had a wicked and pointed sense of humor.

As they got closer to the studio Oliver had agreed to meet them at, they got quieter. Yuval checked his pistol in his shoulder holster. Professionals always presumed that a new situation was a hostile one. Jake had picked up the habit fairly quickly.

Porn King Studios was housed in a non-descript warehouse space nearly an hour outside the city. The sign outside was white and read "PKS Holding" in black block letters.

"Plain brown wrapper," said Yuval. He wasn't smiling. It was just as well. He was clearly poised to do violence if necessary. Smiling would only make him scarier.

No one came out to greet or intercept them. They walked around the building until they found a door. A single guard sat on a chair and watched them approach, seemingly too bored even to rise from where he was positioned. Of course, apparent indifference might also be self-preservation. He was a little bit smaller than Jake and nowhere near as fit as any of them.

He threw a thumb over his shoulder at the door when they got close enough, "The King is inside. He's waitin' for you." He said it without irony, but without much respect either.

Helene smoothed her blouse and said near Jake's ear, "If I'd known we were meeting royalty, I would have dressed better."

"I understand dress here is fairly informal," Jake deadpanned.

They opened the door into the building. Based on what he'd seen on PKS's sites, Jake braced himself for some vile sex act to be taking place right on the other side or at least to get smacked in the face with a pop-up ad. Instead, there was a reception area that wouldn't have looked out of place on any construction site--cheap furniture and threadbare carpets being the dominant decorating theme.

The primary difference here was that Jake immediately recognized the woman sitting behind the desk as someone he'd seen a pictorial of in what was extremely optimistically called "hot girl-on-girl action" less than four hours earlier. He might not have recognized her at all except that he'd been carefully studying the models' faces looking for signs that they'd been drugged or coerced. But, they had mostly just looked bored.

Now, she at least smiled. The smile was a bit wary which, Jake decided, he couldn't blame her for. In her situation, if someone looking like him walked in, Jake would have been similarly wary.

As politely and unthreateningly as he could, he said, "Excuse me, ma'am. We're here to see Mr. Heinzen."

She smiled up at him, rising, "If you'll wait here, I'll go get him." As she got to the door leading deeper into the building, she turned, "And Mr. Heinzen doesn't go by his real name in this business. You'll want to call him Mr. King."

"Excuse me?" asked Yuval.

"That's his stage name," said the receptionist. "Thomas Henry Edward King. Or, as he signs everything, T. H. E. King."

"I am not calling him The King," said Yuval flatly as soon as she'd left the room.

Jake nodded, "Just don't call him anything, then. Let me do the talking. You just glare at him."

"That will be easy," said Yuval.

"I know," said Jake. "I gave myself the hard job."

The receptionist stepped back into the room, "If you'll come this way, Mr. King is ready to meet with you."

They filed down a narrow hallway with doors on both sides. The first time they went by a door that was partly open, Jake glanced inside. He had an impression of bright lights and multiple naked bodies. What he saw was unappetizing enough that he kept his eyes straight ahead for the rest of the walk.

The conference room at the end of the hall was a bit of a surprise. The furniture looked relatively new. The conference table would not have looked out of place at one of the big architectural firms Jake had applied to straight out of college. Looking out the window at the parking lot, he got the sense that it looked wrong somehow.

It took him a few seconds to realize why. When he did, he wished that his memory weren't so good. The conference room had been used as a set for one of PKS's web sites, the premise of which was that young, naive girls came in for job interviews and were half-convinced, half-coerced into being fucked by a half dozen men. Looking around at the furniture, knowing what it had been used for, he suddenly didn't want to sit down.

But, Helene and Yuval had already sat down and Mr. King was extending his hand to shake. So, Jake took it, "Mr. King, thank you for seeing us."

Mr. King was a short, heavy-set man, probably somewhere in his forties. His hair started a quarter of the way farther back his head than it should have and fell to his shoulders. It was slicked back and wet, as if he'd just gotten out of the shower, "Miss Phuong suggested that I might be able to avoid some legal trouble later if I talked to you now. What have you got for me?"

Jake sat down reluctantly, taking the opportunity to look the president of PKS up and down. Other than the fact that he was dressed in blue jeans and a t-shirt that read "Porn King," he could have been an accountant or... say, an architect. After what Vanessa had said about him, Jake had expected someone sweating or oozing sulfur or something.

Jake said, "We're investigating a matter that involves Miss Phuong's business. Why don't you tell us about your business with Miss Phuong?"

Mr. King smiled, "Anyone mind if I smoke? We don't stand on a lot of formality here." When no one objected, he brought out and lit a cigarette. Then, he said, "Vanessa's a classy lady. She runs a classy operation. Sometimes, I get a girl in here who isn't really going to work well for me. If I think they would work better with her, I send them to her. If she likes them, she pays me for finding them."

Jake nodded and considered his next question. He'd spent a lot of time the past year studying to be a PI, but this was the first interview he'd actually been in charge of. He'd prepared for a confrontation, not some mild-mannered middle manager. This was T. H. E. King?

Jake decided to plough on, "A number of young women of Miss Phuong's acquaintance have disappeared from several cities. We believe that there's been an organized effort to kidnap these women."

"For what purpose?" Mr. King asked.

"We haven't determined that," said Jake. "We were hoping you might have some insight into the matter."

"Did I work with any of these girls?"

"At least one," said Jake. He flipped through his files, "A woman by the name of Gayle Cooper?" Finding the picture, he slid it across the table.

Mr. King glanced at the picture, "I think I remember her. She worked with my guys in New York. I don't get down there a lot. There were some problems with her. She didn't work with us for more than a couple of weeks. I think she was mentally unbalanced or something."

Helene wrote something on her pad. Jake looked down. It read, "Mentally unbalanced - bad at porn?" Jake gave her a brief nod of acknowledgement.

To Mr. King, he said, "Are you familiar with a company called The White Agency?"

Mr. King looked puzzled, "I may have heard the name somewhere, but... I couldn't tell you anything about it."

"You own it," said Jake.

Mr. King shrugged, "That's probably where I heard the name, then. I own a lot of companies. The law makes you jump through hoops to make a living in this business."

"So, you wouldn't know anything about the day-to-day operation of such a business, then?"

Mr. King shook his head, "I would have to look into it. Like I said, a lot of these companies exist for one reason--to get around some archaic law. For example, in Massachusetts, it's legally dicey for a business that creates pornography to employ anyone under the age of sixteen. So, I've got a company that does nothing but modeling work for girls under the age of eighteen. In some places, you've got one company that owns a strip club and one that owns a bar and they share a common wall. As long as you don't put a door in between them, you're legal. You put a door in, they shut you down. And these fucking politicians, they scream about the product, but they got no problem grabbing every penny they can in taxing all those companies."

Jake nodded, "So, who in your organization would know more about the White Agency?"

"Where's it incorporated?"

Jake shrugged, "If I had to guess, I would say New York."

"If it's doing business in New York, you would want to talk to my guy down there. His name is Romeo Jordan. That's his real name, by the way."

Before Jake could ask his next question, there was a timid knock on the door. Mr. King said, "Come in."

A young woman in a black and red robe stepped into the room, "Mr. King," she said quietly. "I'm done with my shoot. Is there any way I could get back to Boston before like ten tonight?"

Jake saw a flicker of annoyance on Mr. King's face for just an instant before he said, "All we've got for getting people back to the city is the big van. You'll have to get a ride with one of the other girls or wait."

"Actually," said Jake. "We're almost done here. We can give you a ride back."

The woman smiled, "Thanks."

Jake smiled back at her. But, he wasn't really looking at her. He was looking at Mr. King out of the corner of his eye. He was angry that Jake had offered this woman a ride. As before, it was only a flicker of emotion before his face regained its calm composure, but it was clearly there.

Jake asked a few more questions and extracted a promise to talk to them again if they needed anything before wrapping up the interview. Mr. King excused himself and left the room.

"That's it?" asked Helene. "We came down here for that?"

"He's not talking to us," said Jake. "There's not much we can do here."

Helene raised an eyebrow, so Jake went on, "He's never heard of the company he owns and never heard of the girl who worked for him? It's bullshit. We'll get more information out of the girl we're driving back to Boston. I want to get to her before she's been too thoroughly coached or intimidated. For some reason, she's afraid of King."

"You don't want to look around?" Helene asked.

"I don't see any reason to," said Jake evenly. "He's covering up something, but we're not going to find it by looking around here."

Helene gave him a calculating look, "All right. Let's find our little porn princess and get out of here."

When they'd gotten back to the reception desk, the woman they'd offered a ride to was nowhere to be found. Helene watched as Jake tried to explain to the receptionist who they were looking for. She got the sense that the woman was being deliberately obstructionist, although reluctantly so.

Before anyone involved could object, Helene slipped back inside and started randomly opening doors. Most of the rooms were empty, but she finally found one with people in it. Two women were naked on the couch, making out and touching each other while a man with a video camera recorded it. A man and a woman looked on from a couple of chairs in the corner.

When Helene opened the door, the man who was sitting in the corner said, "Fuck! This is a closed set. Don't you fucking people know anything?"

Helene did her best to look scared. Using the nearly unintelligible French accent she'd trained herself in for such occasions, she said quietly, "Excuse me. I am to meet girl here."

The man scowled, "What girl?"

"Tall girl, black hair, big..." Helene made a gesture around her chest with her hands.

The man snorted, "That could be practically anyone."

One of the women on the couch looked up. As soon as the man had spoken up, the action had stopped. She said, "White girl?"

"Yes," said Helene. "Tall."

"Sounds like Jez. She already did her scheduled shoot for today. She's probably in the break room. Just follow the hall all the way back."

"Thank you," said Helene.

"Close the fucking door on your way out," said the man.

Helene followed the directions she'd been given. The break room was actually a repainted garage with a few couches, a folding table with three PCs on it, and an old TV in one corner. The girl she was looking for was curled up on one couch, reading a paperback novel. When Helene approached, the girl looked up and smiled.

"Jez?"

The girl laughed, "Not really. Jezebel Cain is my working name. I'm Eileen."

"Helene," she offered her hand to shake. "Are you ready to go?"

"Actually, I talked to Mr. King. He said there might be some more work tonight."

Helene frowned, "Did you want to work any more today?"

"I wasn't planning on it," said Eileen. "But, I could use the cash."

"Did he say what kind of work?"

Eileen shook her head and laughed, "If you're looking for a job, this is the wrong place. You're pretty enough, but your tits are too small and you're probably too smart anyway."

Helene couldn't help glancing down at her chest. She might never be cast in a Gene Rodenberry series, but it was the first time anyone had accused her of being too small. Still, that wasn't really the interesting comment.

"How do you know I'm too smart?"

Eileen shrugged, "I just get the sense. You also don't look like you know how to keep your mouth shut. Mr. King likes dumb girls who know how to keep their mouths shut."

Helene raised an eyebrow, "Is that what he says?"

"Actually," said Eileen. "He says he only works with dumb whores because smart ones are too much work. But, that's just him talking big."

"It's up to you," said Helene. "But, I think you should come with us. We'd like to talk to somebody who works here when Mr. King isn't around."

"Can you pay me?"

Helene nodded, "Up to three hundred dollars. But, if anyone asks, I offered you a hundred and we negotiated up."

"Fair enough," said Eileen as she rose. "Let's go."

"One last thing," said Helene, reaching into her purse and extracting the cash. "Could you not tell the guys we paid you? They like themselves better if they think we rescued you."

Eileen smiled and raised her eyebrows ironically, "You're the customer."

As much as Dawn loved the sensation of being pressed between Thule and the cool leather of the couch, she only lay there for a few minutes before wiggling out of her niche and climbing over him.

Thule looked up at her with half-lidded eyes, still post-coital, "Leaving already?"

Dawn had already started stripping out of her clothes, "Not at all. I just want to get out of these clothes before we sweat on them any more. If we're going to do this with any frequency, I'm going to have to get more work clothes."

"Do you have another outfit?" asked Thule. "I've only seen you wear that one."

Dawn nodded, "One more."

Thule rose and stretched. Then, he said, "Wait here." Still naked, he walked out of the room. While he was gone, Dawn slid into a robe she'd stored in the study closet. In less than a week, she'd come to the conclusion that Thule wasn't likely to restrict their lovemaking to the bedroom. And, this room seemed to be one of his favorites.

Thule came in with a white envelope, handed it to her, then reached down to retrieve his pants.

"Do you always walk around here naked?" asked Dawn

"Always?" asked Thule. "Not at all. But, sometimes. I do live here. And, everyone that lives here is on my 'authorized to see Thule naked' list. That's the whole point of having the residential wing."

"What if I had a friend here?" asked Dawn. "I've had Helene and Lin over this week."

Thule nodded, "Listen, I know when I can get away with being naked. I wanted to get that for you. Aren't you the least bit curious as to what's in the envelope?"

Dawn looked down, "Sorry. Watching you walk around like that can be... distracting. And, when I get distracted, it tends to be all the way."

"Well, I have pants on now. Open the envelope."

Dawn wanted to point out that Thule in nothing but blue jeans wasn't much less distracting than Thule naked, but her curiosity was piqued. She opened the envelope and looked inside.

"Thule," she said. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Thule nodded, "I've been meaning to give it to you since you got here, but I've been busy and, when I'm not busy, you've been rather... distracting."

Dawn smiled at the compliment, "I appreciate you trusting me with a corporate card. I'll take good care of it."

"I'm glad you'll take good care of it," said Thule. "But, it's not a corporate card. It's a personal one. The company can't cover things like clothes or textbooks, particularly if you're not actually an employee."

Dawn flipped the card back and forth, watching the light reflect off its faux-gold surface, trying to force herself to shut up and take the card. Instead, she said, "So, who pays the bills?"

"I do," said Thule casually. "So, I hope you won't go crazy with it."

"Why would you do that?" asked Dawn.

Thule glowered at her for a moment before putting on the "reasonable" face that occasionally made Dawn want to smack him. Then, he said, "I want you to be able to focus on going to college. I can afford to make that happen. And, I want to."

"Are you doing it for anyone else?"

Thule shook his head, "Who else would I do it for? Marigold Tarr certainly doesn't need it."

Dawn sat down on the loveseat, "So, you would only do it for a girl you're sleeping with?"

Thule looked baffled and said again, "Who else would I do it for?" He looked down at her, "I've offended you in some way."

"No, Thule," said Dawn. "It's very thoughtful, especially after you and Jonas paid my tuition. I guess I'm just trying to understand how this is different from what Medeforte does."

Thule scowled, "Well, for one thing, I can't afford to pay as much as Medeforte. Marigold could, maybe. Although, I would hate to see her trying to explain that line item in her budget to Jonas."

"Thule, I'm being serious," said Dawn quietly.

Thule put his head in his hands, "All right. Let's see how it's different. We have a relationship that came before any discussion of compensation. There's no quid pro quo. I didn't have to lure you in here with a credit card. If I didn't offer you the card, I presume you would still come to bed tonight and we would still wind up trying to remember where our clothes were in the morning."

"Would you ever want to do something like that?" asked Dawn. "I know we've joked about it. But, you're nineteen and you've already got all of this. I can't imagine where you'll be at thirty or forty. If you could afford a harem like Mr. Medeforte's, would you want one?"

"No," said Thule immediately.

Dawn looked at him suspiciously, "You said that awfully quickly. Have you really thought about it?"

Thule laughed and shook his head, "Of course I've thought about it. As soon as I realized what Medeforte's arrangement with his staff was, I thought about it. At first blush, it's like the ultimate male fantasy, like being involved with a couple of beautiful women who are crazy about each other, too. And, while that hasn't been the worst experience in the world, it's something that permeates every aspect of your life. I had to think long and hard before I jumped into it, however compelling you made the case for acting in haste and repenting at leisure."

"So, no harem for Thule?"

Thule shook his head, "Not the way Medeforte does it. I'm not interested in being with a woman whose prime motivation for coming to my bed is money. But, it's not a moral thing. Money and sex are often inexorably interwoven, but money is fungible. A woman who's with me because I can give her a million dollars will probably be with another man who can give her a million dollars. I know that's not a lot of guys, but it's enough."