‘Funny.’
‘Hope you’ve got some cash for a tip.’
Tomek looked down at himself, gesturing to his outfit. ‘Where the fuck am I going to keep spare change?’
‘No place I want to know about.’
Rachel brushed past him and made her way towards the entrance. By the front door, two metal flame heaters were positioned to keep guests warm as they came in; large, perfectly manicured shrubs were placed by the stone pillars, and a chair had been provided on the stone patio. A woman was already sitting there, perched on the edge, leaning forward eagerly. She was dressed in a black funeral outfit, with a wide-brimmed sinamay hat base and fascinator on her head, her face covered by a black lace veil that carefully distorted her features. The woman’s excitement grew as they approached.
It was a little after seven pm. The Nights of Eden had begun at six thirty, and already the sound of chatter, conversation, laughter and music – along with some other sounds Tomek tried hard to ignore – permeated the air.
‘How long you been waiting for?’ Rachel asked the woman.
‘That’s an unfamiliar voice,’ she replied seductively. ‘I don’t recognise it. First time?’
Tomek didn’t like the way she eyed him up in his costume.
‘Is it that obvious?’ Rachel asked.
‘It’s not a bad thing. We like a bit of fresh meat. Especially you…’ The woman nodded at Tomek’s groin, at the bulge in his pants that had been caused by the crotch of his outfit, squishing and lifting things into an unbelievably uncomfortable position and making it look like he’d shoved a couple of socks down there. When Tomek didn’t say anything, the woman added, ‘Well, aren’t you going to kiss my hand?’
Tomek looked at Rachel. Rachel looked back at him. The time had come. The first part of the ritual. They had a decision to make. Who would be first?
‘I’m not doing it,’ Tomek said to Rachel.
‘Would you rather kiss my hand?’
‘That could be weird. But either way, one of us is going to have to kiss the other’s—’
‘How about I make it easy for both of you?’ The woman sauntered towards Tomek and held out her hand, wiggling her fingers in front of his face. For a long moment, Tomek observed her nails. They were flame red, with small sparkles at the tips and immaculate, as though they’d just been done a few hours before.
Closing his eyes, Tomek took the woman’s icy hand, held it in his, and then kissed it.
‘There,’ she said, lowering it gently, ‘that wasn’t so hard now, was it? There’s plenty more where that came from inside.’
‘Fuck my life,’ he whispered as the woman winked at him, turned her back on them and headed inside, her long black dress chasing after her down the corridor.
Tomek and Rachel looked at one another in disbelief. Everything that Micky had told them about – the kissing ritual, the waiting ritual, the dress code – had all been true. A part of Tomek, a massive part, had hoped that it was all a con, some elaborate laugh that Micky Tatton would be having at their expense, but it wasn’t. This was very real for a bunch of people, people that walked around him, along the street, in the supermarket, people who looked innocent on the outside but had a secret, decadent, salacious life behind closed doors.
‘What’s the matter?’ Rachel asked. ‘You look upset.’
‘Of course I’m upset, Rach. I’m wearing a fucking American policeman’s outfit that’s at least two sizes too small. The assless chaps are riding up my arse and up my groin, both of which are almost on full display if it weren’t for the shorts I put on underneath. The top is so tight I can barely breath, and I’m fairly sure the buttons are designed to come off with a single pull, which makes me believe this is the sort of thing a male stripper might wear. I’m wearing a fucking policeman’s hat but a robber’s face mask, which confuses the message entirely. I can barely see through the fucking slits, I’ve got a pair of plastic handcuffs digging into my fucking hip, and to top it off, I have to carry around this.’
Tomek brandished the oversized police truncheon that had come as part of the outfit. It was at least two feet long, and almost two inches thick at its widest point. Not only was it a pain in the arse to carry, but it was also seriously heavy, and written down the side, embossed in gold, were the words, “You’ve been naughty”.
‘I’m gonna fucking kill him tomorrow when I see him,’ Tomek hissed. ‘I’m gonna fucking kill him.’
‘He saw an opportunity, and he took it. You can’t blame him. You’d have done the same.’
Tomek would, of course he would. In fact, he would probably have done something worse, much worse. But Rachel didn’t need to know that. It was all right for her. She had been in charge of her own outfit and looked respectable dressed in a black and pink jockey costume, complete with leather knee-high boots, a whip, flat cap, and goggles over her eyes. She wore it well, and it suited her.
‘Now I have to kiss your hand,’ she said.
‘No, you don’t, I reckon we can—’
Tomek was going to say that they could get away with it, that nobody would be watching. But Rachel didn’t give him a chance to finish. Instead, she lunged for him, grabbed his hand, and kissed the back of it. Her lips were moist, sticky with lip gloss that glistened beneath the firelight.
As Tomek pulled his hand away, he said, ‘Well, that was weird.’ Then he began rubbing the area of skin she’d just kissed.
‘I’m not diseased, Tomek.’
‘I know. It’s just… You’re absolutely loving this, aren’t you?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ve been in need of some excitement in my life recently.’
‘Save it for next month’s visit. You can come on your own. Tonight we’ve got a job to do.’
‘Yes, sir, sorry, sir. Have I been naughty, sir?’ she joked playfully.
‘Fuck off,’ he told her, then turned slowly towards the entrance, towards the music, towards the sex.
‘You scared?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I just have absolutely no fucking idea what to expect when I go through that door.’
She slapped him on the back. ‘Keep an open mind. Remember, there’s a lot of stuff like this that goes on in the world. More than we probably know. By the end of it, you’ll have broadened your mind. And, hey, maybe you’ll have learnt a thing or two.’
Tomek turned to face her. ‘You’re sick, you know that?’
