The Dark Web Murders

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Friday, 17th August. Evening 

Michael Stevens cocked his eyebrows, grinning an obvious suggestion. The answering smile from his companion was clearly affirmative, so he pulled his mobile phone from his pocket,saying, "I'll order us a taxi." He dialled and, while waiting for a response,he said, "One for the road?" 

His companion smiled acquiescence, rose and headed for the elegant cocktail bar. "Make your call. I'll get them." 

Two hours earlier, Stevens had been thinking of an early night. He'd had a long and difficult day in court and had spent much of the afternoon and late evening preparing for a nine o'clock start the next morning. Thus,he was much too exhausted to even contemplate the rigours of an evening at The Club. Still tense and high-strung after the efforts of the day, however,he had decided to have a bite to eat and a quick drink in the Green Room of a small intimate bar he favoured on Union Street. 

Prior to its opening in 2003, the Union Street Bar had been a shoe factory and evidence of this was still visible in its wrought iron pillars and various odd plaques on the walls.Its publicity brochure claims that, "It's that touch of antiquity that fuses with modern loft styling to create a venue that is comfortable for a quiet drink..." A sentiment with which the barrister fully agreed. 

The Green Room was a particular preference of his, a unique upper level above Union Street, restricted to a certain clientele. It was comfortably furnished, with cosy lighting, and offered privacy to those who desired it.He had earlier been drinking on his own in a quiet corner alcove and had caught the eye of someone he recognised at the cocktail bar, slim, a little below average height, attractive in a stern, withdrawn fashion. They had been in shared company before on a number of occasions but had never conversed. A couple of shyly exchanged glances and a tentative smile resulted in the two of them spending an hour and a half in each other's company in the alcove. Surprisingly, he found his new escort to be a person of significant intellectual depth, an absorbing conversationalist, and apparently willing to spend the rest of the evening pursuing even more intimate dalliance. 

He grinned to himself as his companion returned with the drinks. He had some surprises up his sleeve that he would refrain from mentioning. Time enough to show his hand when things got interesting.There was always the chance, of course, that his proclivities could bring their intimacy to a fractious and brutish end, possibly ending also any chance of future meetings. But what the hell! Live for the hour, right? 

The taxi took them to Stevens' well-appointed apartment in a matter of fifteen minutes, during which time Stevens maintained an urbane and attentive conversation with his new acquaintance. When they were entering the apartment, however, Stevens staggered slightly and had to hold on to a doorpost for support. He shook his head for a second before saying with a grin, "Wow! My head's spinning a bit. Did we drink that much?" 

His companion was solicitous and led him to one of the armchairs in the huge, opulent sitting room. Smiling, the visitor began to explore and,pointing at a large door with an ornate surrounding frame, said coyly, "That wouldn't be the master bedroom, would it?" 

Still feeling somewhat dizzy but excited by his visitor's obvious implication, Stevens rose and said grandly, "Indeed it is." 

"And are there handcuffs in any of the drawers?" 

Stevens stood still, his expression suddenly lecherous. "Wow! You don't waste time, do you? But of course. What self-respecting hedonist would be without them? And whips ... and leather bindings ... tape..." He was staggering again and beginning to slur his words. "Gosh! Mush behavin'... attack of ver ... vertigo." 

The visitor reached out and took his hand. "Come. We'll get you on the bed."  

Despite his increasing wooziness, Stevens was enjoying this uninhibited directness, and lurched towards the bed, saying with a lewd leer,"You'll get no ar-argument from me." 

The bed was a massive king-sized affair, an antique replica, with intricately designed metal head and foot frames cast in a gleaming expensive bronze. Stevens fell rather than climbed on to the bed and turned to settle with his head on the pillow, smirking, but with sagging eyelids. 

"No. No. Not like that. The other way. Come on." The visitor helped the increasingly drowsy barrister to turn so that his back was resting against the foot frame, his head lolling back, exposed. 

Stevens lay still, trying to regain his equilibrium as he watched the visitor search a bedroom chest-of-drawers. He waggled a pair of sluggish eyebrows and mumbled, "Naughty!Naughty!"

 The visitor's search reaped a pair of handcuffs covered with a kind of pink fur, and two leather thongs. 

"Are you going to arresht me, Officher?" Stevens slurred, with an inane cackle. 

The visitor didn't answer but quickly divested the increasingly helpless barrister of his clothes, and was able, with little difficulty, to persuade him to lie on his stomach with his back exposed, handcuffing his hands to the bottom frame, and tying his feet and knees tightly together with the leather thongs. 

Stevens, still unaware that he was struggling to stay conscious but aware of his nakedness, gaped at his visitor. His words were becoming increasingly garbled, but the stupidly expectant grin was still on his face as he said, "Are you going to ... to ... play a new game?" 

"No." 

He tried to bring his head forward, suddenly aware that something was amiss. "No? What are you gon ... gonna ... do?" 

"I'm going to kill you," his guest said calmly.