Chapter 18

Carl held the small recorder in his hand as it played. Page and Willow knelt at his feet giving all of their attention to the description of the investigation and what the police knew or thought they knew. When the recording finished, Carl leaned back and said, "Well, it is clear that 'Master Carl' is not the focus of the inquiry."

It had been made clear to Page and Willow that this discussion was operating on the "kneeling pad" principles. Page took advantage of that to ask, "Sir, how did you get this?"

Carl gave her the smallest of smiles and said, "I still have my ID to get into the police building. I visited a few friends, asked about some of their kids, walked through the detective's bullpen coming in and going out. The status board gave me the names of the lead investigators. I timed my visit when I thought they might be at lunch. If not, I had planned on just asking about the case. When I saw that they were gone and the recorder sitting out in the open, I took a chance that it would contain something we could use. Instead I hit the mother lode of briefings."

Page thought for a moment, "So you think this information is ... reliable?"

Carl nodded slowly, "Yea, I am sure this is solid. I have taken part in hundreds of these kinds of briefings. This sounds and feels right. Also, they would have no way of knowing I would be in the building or could take the recording. I cannot see how this could be some kind of ruse to throw us off. I am sure this is genuine."

Willow had been thinking through what she had learned. She was not so sure they were any safer, "Sir, what about the FBI? What about their investigation? We don't know what they are doing."

Carl put his hand on his face in the 'I am thinking' gesture that both Page and Willow were familiar with. After a moment Carl said, "Well, what we do know is that the FBI is looking at this as an act of domestic terrorism. They are going to be looking at connections and conspiracies to allow them to arrest a group of people. I think that they have this BC group under surveillance and have their phones tapped. They will be running down those connections, none of which leads to us. The further the evidence leads them away from us, the less likely they will be to make a big deal out of a stray puzzle like 'What happened to Master Car?' They will want to forget anything that distracts from their focus."

Page took a deep breath and said, "So we are in the clear and can go back to Rose House."

"No," Carl said. "There are still the thugs the slave owners group has out there. They are the dangerous ones. We still do not know what they are doing or thinking and we have no way of getting that information. However," Carl got up and began to pace near the huge windows overlooking the Bay, "We can assume that they know what the police know. They would have given a great deal of attention to keeping on top of the investigation. So, what do we know that they know?"

Page sat there thinking through what Carl had just said while Willow caught on right away, "Sir, they know the name Master Carl. They know you are connected with Lord Blackmon. They know that you have two slaves. They know that you are new in the area. They know you bought new suits and shoes." With that Willow ran out of steam.

However Page had caught something in Willow's recitation that was not quite accurate, "No, they do not know that you have two slaves. They know you showed up at the event with two. However they also know that Willow was to be a gift to you from Lord Blackmon. The tailor told that to the police, and we assume the goon squad knows that too. The other slave at the show can be explained by you having possession of Lord Blackmon's slave while he is out of the country. Me."

Carl frowned as he asked, "So, what good is that? What do they care if I have two or one or a dozen?"

Page said, "They have a mystery. They do not like mysteries. If they can put the mystery of Master Carl to rest, they will turn their attention to other things. We just need to confirm the facts about you and put them at ease. If we confirm to them that you have a slave given to you by Lord Blackmon, it is no longer a mystery."

Willow looked a Page and asked, "How do we do that?"

Carl was following what Page was thinking. He began to search for flaws in the plan, "Ok, I think I see where Page is going with this. We need to confirm and agree with everything they currently know from their outside sources. That will make any other data points more plausible. If we contradict anything they think they know, we are in deep trouble and they will tear us apart looking for the truth. Page, this is a very risky plan. It assumes we know everything they know."

Page thought about that. "Yes sir, it is a risk. But we have one huge advantage. The truth we are trying to hide is not the truth they are looking for. They are looking for a connection with the militant group and the mysterious Master Carl. There is none. We are hiding that your Master Carl persona is fake and that you were a tourist at the Expo. If we give them another taste of Master Carl, confirming the information they think they know while showing them that you do did not support the attack, we can turn their attention somewhere else and we can disappear back to Rose House."

Carl sat back down on the couch. "Master Carl has such a limited exposure to the outside world we should be able to track all of his interactions and words. It has just been the tailor, shoe store and the Expo..."

Page turned to look at Willow, "We must convince everyone that Master Carl is the harsh and forceful Master he has been portraying. He must be someone that the local group would never associate with the anti-slave group or even Lord Blackmon. They will need to see proof."

Willow finally caught what Page was saying. She and Page were going to be the proof.

The planning of the excursion had taken two full days. Carl had not shaved for a few days prior, his police friends were used to seeing him with a beard, so he only needed a few more days' growth and some careful grooming to resurrect the face of "Master Carl." He had to drive to Rose House to retrieve his suits, shoes, and jewelry. He took the opportunity to make sure the house and grounds were undisturbed, even checking the logs of the two separate security systems. The almost four hour round trip gave him a chance to think through what they were trying to do and to see if there was any other way. He concluded there was not.

The details of how Master Carl would reappear and act were planned out. They needed to grab the attention of men like Master Lobo. They wanted to demonstrate Master Carl's nature and his attitude towards the slaves in his care. They wanted to demonstrate a certain distain for Lord Blackmon and his perceived soft attitude. In essence, they wanted Master Carl to look like one of them.

The use of the limo service was an easy choice. The name of the fare and destinations had to be relayed to the limo service office with each ride. If anyone was looking for Master Carl, that information would be quickly passed on. They also knew that there was a strong possibility that both microphones and cameras might be installed in the limo. They would have to be very careful and not let their guard down.

When Page brought up the idea of the public punishment, Carl had balked. He said there had to be another way to fool them into believing the Master Carl "legend" without such extreme measures.

Page had been sitting at the table with Carl looking at a map of San Francisco on his computer. Page moved her chair back and stood. She then took his hand and moved him over to the leather couch with the kneeling pad in front. When he was seated and she was kneeling, she said, "Sir, we cannot fool them. It is not possible."

Carl was shocked by Page's defeatist comment. "Page, we can do this. It will take some luck but..."

"No, we cannot fool them. Yes, we will need luck and we do need to have a good plan to accomplish our goal of diverting any future actions or suspicions. But we cannot fool them. This has to be real. You must be Master Carl. We must be Page and Willow, the sex slaves subject to your whims and wrath. This is the discussion we had weeks ago. Don't look at me like a woman, or treat Willow like a little girl. The slave owners will kill us all. Believe in your heart that we are your property to abuse and use as you see fit. There is no pretending here. It must be real."

Carl hung his head down. There was a long pause before he looked up again and whispered, "I don't know if I can."

Page thought for moment. She then looked at Carl and simply said, "Save my life. Save Willow's life. Please."

Carl looked out the window towards the lights of Oakland. He sat there staring and thinking for a long time.

"Lightning Limo Service, can I help you?"

"Yes, please send a limo to the Ferry Building on the Embarcadero. We will need it for the rest of the evening. Tell the driver that there will be a substantial tip if he can get here in the next ten minutes. It is for my master and two slaves. Please hurry, he is already upset."

"We can have a car there quickly. Who should they ask for?"

"This is for Master Carl. Please hurry," Page made her voice sound as pleading and panicked as she could. She knew that Lightning Limo was owned by a member of the slave owners group that included Master Lobo. They were often used by masters when in the city. She was sure that any activity using the name Master Carl would quickly be reported to the interested parties.

The Ferry Building made an ideal first pickup point for their quest. It has a number of entrances and can be approached from many directions. There is a BART subway station very close as well. Carl, Page and Willow had walked the five blocks, weaving through the foot traffic to hide their real starting point of the condo building.

The limo pulled in front of the entrance to the Ferry Building seven minutes later. The driver was a heavy set woman with a dark tribal tattoo peeking out of her collar. She recognized the man as her fare by the fact that he was very well dressed, standing with two women wearing capes, and had a pissed off look on his face. Many of the masters she picked up seemed to have that look. Her boss had it too most of the time as well.

Despite her size, the driver moved quickly to open the door, "Sir are you Master Carl?"

Carl snarled and said, "Yes, I am cold and you are slowing me down. Now let me get in." He slid into the middle of the back seat. Page got in second and Willow last. Before the driver could close the door Carl barked, "Present for travel." Page and Willow dropped to their knees facing the back seat and pulled back their black capes so that they were off of their shoulders, exposing their nudity. Because the limo was designed for use with slaves, there were restrains built into the interior of the vehicle. Recognizing the command and the slave's posture, the driver secured Page's and Willow's hands behind their backs, securing them in the kneeling position.

The driver slid back behind the wheel and said, "Good evening sir, I am Trisha your driver. Where did you want to go?"

Carl, still projecting fury, growled in the direction of Page but loud enough that the driver could hear, "Well that is a good question. My plan was to go the Treasure Island, but we need to take care of something first, and I bet you know just the place." Carl used his foot to push Page back on her heels. "This bitch wants to tell me my business. This bitch has tried to boss me around for days now. Just because she belongs to someone else she thinks she can get away with that. Well, fuck that." Carl then addressed the driver, "Trisha, I need ... I need a suck bar. Yea, take us to a suck bar that has a punishment stage. Do you know one like that?"

"Yes sir, there is one down across from Pier 39. It is popular with the tourists. They have..."

Carl cut her off, "Ok, let's go."

The limo pulled out and headed north. Because of traffic, both vehicle and foot, it took about ten minutes to pull up to a single story building that had once been painted a shocking shade of purple. Time and the salt air had faded and weathered the paint to what might best be described as rotting eggplant. Above the door was a red neon sign that read, "Rocks" and a smaller painted sign that urged their potential patrons to "Get your rocks off!" The driver hopped out and open Carl's door. Carl stepped out of the car, "Keep their hands locked but bring them in." He then walked into the bar.

The pounding music assaulted Carl's ears, but he kept himself from flinching. The bar was arranged in a horseshoe shaped with tables on the outside. A high and deep counter ran along the edge of a stage, high and deep enough for a slave to slide under. At the moment the stage was empty and unlit.

After getting himself oriented, Carl took in the patrons and staff. There were eleven customers in the main room. Three were young men just turned eighteen or so. They were near the back wall away from the stage. A dark haired slave was kneeling between the knees of the young man seated furthest away from the door. Three middle aged men, well-dressed but with their collars loosed, were sitting at another table. While they conducted an informal business meeting, Carl was sure this would end up on the expense account of one of them. A slave serviced each of them under the table. Carl could see they were not getting very much work done. The rest of the patrons were men scattered around the room. Four were being serviced while the other three looked like they were mostly concerned, at least for the moment, with drinking.

"Hey man, what can I get you tonight?" Carl turned back towards the door and saw the doorman/bouncer addressing him. He was not very tall, maybe a shade over five feet, and not overly muscular. But Carl notice the way he moved as he stepped closer to him. Carl could tell this was someone who could handle himself in a shit-storm of trouble and probably had in the past. Carl banked the Asshole Rich Guy persona and reached out to shake the guy's hand.

"Evening, what's your name?" Carl shouted over the music.

"Randy. What are you looking for..." the man began to give Carl what looked like a menu before stopping to notice who was coming through the door. Trisha, the limo driver, had gotten Page and Willow unlocked and out of the car. Both had their hands restrained behind them and their capes pulled back as they stepped inside the darkened establishment. Both Page and Willow were wearing high heeled sandals that buckled around their ankles. Heavy silver collars with a large ring in the front adorned their necks. Except for the red lined capes that were pulled back, that was all they wore.

The difference between them and the other slaves in the room was shocking. It was like two eagles had just entered a coop full of mangy chickens. While Page and Willow were toned, sleek, groomed and walked with a proud sway of the hips, the other slaves in the room looked dirty, broken, sullen and empty. All of the resident slaves were naked with dirty feet. Most wore a utilitarian leather collar while a few wore wide black collars with a box attached to the side. A few had their heads shaved while the rest had dirty, stringy hair.

Carl stepped closer to the doorman so he could be heard clearly, "Hey Randy, let me tell you what I am looking for." As Carl talked, he peeled a one hundred dollar bill off of the money clip he had taken from his pocket. He handed the bill to the doorman who was now giving him his undivided attention. "The blonde needs a serious attitude adjustment, but there is a hitch. She is not mine. She is on loan while I am in town. So I am looking for an expert hand to give her an honest man's whipping, but without any cutting or other damage. Do you have someone here that is reliable enough to do that?"

Randy looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Well, I ah ... I could do that but, well it is kind of an unusual request. I ah ... let me talk to the guy in charge." Randy waived over a tall man with a pock marked face to watch the door before disappearing in the back.

Carl took the opportunity to watch the action going on in the room. The slave with the young boys was now working on the guy in the middle. Clearly they had purchased her by the hour. Carl had noticed that the slave was wearing one of the collars with the box attached. While he watched, the guy getting the blow job pushed a button on a small remote control. A light on the collar began to flash and the slave began to pull at the collar and gasp. The red light flashed for ten seconds before the collar released its stranglehold. The young boys laughed. The guy with the remote repeated this five times before another slave, this one wearing a red collar said, "Snuff her and you lose your deposit!" The boy quit pushing the remote and forced the slave's mouth back down on his cock.

Randy and another man made their way from the back to where Carl was standing with Page and Willow. The man with Randy looked about sixty with a lot of loose skin and bad color. As he approached he looked at Page and mouthed the word, "Wow." Without giving a name or position he just said, "I am sorry sir, but we do torture and snuff shows on Fridays and Saturdays, sometimes using a whip, and we use our own product. I have never ... I mean we don't really..." His comments died a quiet death as Carl held up two one hundred dollar bills. After taking the bills, the manager looked at Randy and shrugged. "Go ahead if you want," and then walked off leaving Randy standing there with Carl.

Carl guided Randy a few steps away from Page and Willow and said, "Ok Randy, here is what I want. This bitch has pissed me off. If she were mine I would leave her here with you guys for a week or two to learn some appreciation for her situation. But like I said she is not my property. So let me ask one more time, are you good with a whip?"

"Yea, I ... have a lot of experience with a whip," Randy said looking down at his shoes. Carl was very puzzled by the two very different vibes he was getting from the small man. One was that of an experienced and skilled ex-soldier that had seen it all. The other, the one he projected when talking about the whip, was that of someone shy and embarrassed. But there was no time to solve this puzzle.