Chapter 3

Professor Moriarty looked up from his work bench, trying to find the ringing phone beneath the scattered pile of paper and printed circuit boards. He hated to be interrupted in his work. Sex and his work were the be all and end all of his life, all else was immaterial. And he had managed to combine the two in his latest project.

At sixty years of age, he was a retired social recluse with few relatives and even fewer friends. He was surprised at first by the foreign sound that flooded his laboratory. It was only later that he recognized it as the sound of his ringing phone, which had not been used for weeks.

His curiosity took hold as he wondered who could be ringing him. Perhaps it was a wrong number, but as the unfound phone continued to ring persistently, he rummaged through his work papers and junk to find the receiver simply to end this confounding irritation. At last he found the phone cord and roughly jerked the receiver from under a pile of books.

Moriarty: "Hello, who's this, you have the wrong number." He said crossly.

He was greeted by a vaguely familiar feminine voice: "Good evening, is that Professor Moriarty please?"

Moriarty was amused that this person knew him enough to greet him by his title, and he softened his tone; "Yes, how may I help you?"

Madame Tussard: "Oh Professor Moriarty, its so nice to hear your voice again, it's Madame Tussard from Cleo's"

He smiled to himself as he finally remembered where he heard the voice from. Until the recent incident, he had always enjoyed the services rendered by Cleo's. The agency supplied him with a steady stream of beautiful young models to satiate his constant and growing need for sex. But they were expensive and he knew that he was a virtual hostage to their services, much like a cocaine addict was held hostage by the crack dealer. Cleo's was the best, and there was no substitute for the quality of girls they supplied. He had been severely disappointed when he tried the much cheaper escort services who supplied him with cheap slabs of unpalatable meat.

But the problem was that having retired from the academic world without a steady paycheck, he knew his limited savings (substantive though they were), could not sustain his insatiable hunger and appetite indefinitely. What he needed was a good, cheap substitute, and there was none, at least not until his new project would be completed.

Moriarty: "Yes I remember, the modeling agency... wait a minute, I thought you blacklisted me after the last job. Why are you still calling me?"

Madame Tussard: "Black list you? Good havens no, who in the world could have told you that?"

Moriarty : "You of course."

Madame Tussard: "You must be mistaken, you are one of our most important clients. Anyway I called in to see how you are and whether you are still in need of our services."

Moriarty's pulse raced. The call could not have come at a better time when he had just completed his project. "Well I am in need of a model this evening, if there is one available. She must be young, and beautiful, preferably brunette."