I took out a piece of paper, tapped the keys one at a time, writing down the numbers as they appeared in the liquid crystal display, then hitting the Stop button before the call could go through. They all started with 011— international calls.
The phone didn't have a display— I left it alone. Nothing taped under the butcher block. No loose tiles. The carpet was all of a piece, tacked down tight at the corners.
'Is there another place?' I asked Fancy. 'What do you mean?'
'Another private place. Like this one.'
'No.'
I walked through again anyway, Fancy trailing behind, more at ease now that I wasn't looking anyplace she hadn't been. In a back corner, I spotted a circular staircase, black wrought iron.
'Where does that go?'
'It's just a room I…use sometimes.'
'Lets see.'
'It's just a room, Burke. A trick room, okay?'
'Get up there!' I said, pushing her toward the staircase, punctuating the order with a smack on her butt. I followed close behind. The room stood on a small landing, built–out walls along the sides, nothing else there. She opened the door without a key, and stepped over the threshold.
It was the white room— the room I'd seen in the video I took from Cherry's safe.
I stood in the doorway, sweeping with my eyes. The foot of the bed was a few feet from a pure white wall, the seamlessness broken only by a shadow box, black glass in a white wood frame.
'How does this work?' I asked her.
'It's like a light show,' she said, flicking a toggle switch at the side of the box. The black screen sparkled at the center, a burst of red–centered yellow. Then the colors flowed into a series of comet trails, mostly shades of blue and purple. Soundless explosions burst new colors into the box, waves of different colors swept them away.
'I don't get it.'
'I…make them watch it, sometimes. It helps them get out. Let go.'
'You always turn it on? When you…?'
'No. Some of them like it, some don't.'
So the camera worked right through it. It wouldn't matter if she turned it on or not— if she was telling the truth.
Time to find out.
'Turn that off,' I said. 'And come over here.'
She did it. Walked over obediently enough. I slapped her hard enough to make her sway on her high heels. Her hands flew to her face. 'What…?'
'Shut up, bitch. Put your hands down. Put them behind your back.'
Her gray eyes widened. I slapped her again, harder. 'It's about time you learned the truth about yourself,' I told her, my voice flat and hard. 'Are you going to do as you're told?'
'Yes.'
I slapped her again.
'Yes sir,' she said that time, in the zone where she wanted to be— somewhere between turned on and scared— but maybe just a little too close to the far edge.
I grabbed her shoulders, spun her around, pushed her forward until she was bent over the bed. I pulled her skirt up roughly. 'Don't you move,' I warned her, unthreading the belt from my slacks, doubling it up in my hand.
It took a long time before I was through. Then I stood in the corner, my shoulders past the shadow box's camera–eye, watching Fancy, her wrists lashed to each corner of the bed, her bottom elevated by a couple of pillows stuffed under her pelvis, harsh red stripes from the belt standing in bold relief for the camera's eye.
I smoked a cigarette all the way through. Then I untied her. I opened her purse, stuffed her bra and panties inside, told her to put her dress on. Then I walked her out of the room holding the back of her neck.
Outside, I waited till she locked the back door.
'Follow me in your car. Don't say another word. Don't get out of your car, understand?'
'Yes sir.'
I found a pay phone on the highway, dialed the Mole.
'It's me. Was it there?'
'Yes.'
'Everything worked?'
'Yes.'
'They're still around?'
