Chapter 45 – Mosaic
by Kleo EriliThompson. John. John Thompson. Are they talking about my stepfather?
Her mind screamed, spun, questions exploded. But she didn’t let on, forcing herself to take him deeper and making an extra effort to leave no doubt that she was here for nothing else but to satisfy him, that she cared about nothing but giving him a good time.
And while her mind was still racing, George came, panting, his hand clawing at her hair, and he spilled himself into her mouth in thick, salty, bitter spurts. As he leaned back with a sigh, she tried to swallow his load as quickly as possible.
“Mmmm, yummy.” She pulled back, wiped her mouth, and smiled as brightly as she could. “Was that good?”
“Not bad at all,” he said, stuffing his cock back into his pants and patting her head. “You’ve got talent, kid.”
They said Thompson helps them with logistics, but John has a construction company. They must mean someone else. That must be it. The name isn’t that uncommon.
“You have to try her too,” George said to Roger, pushing it slightly in his direction as if passing a joint. “She’s really good.”
Chloe slid over between Roger’s legs. His cock was a little longer, but slimmer. He didn’t bury his hand in her hair or stroke her head but just leaned back and enjoyed being pleasured by her instead.
But what if they do mean him?
“I don’t want to pressure you. Just think about it, Roger. But don’t take too long. The partners in Dubai are very happy with the merchandise. Demand and prices have risen a lot in recent years.”
“My main concern is actually, what if the girls… hooo boy, she’s got a tongue… I mean the risk. It’s not a very simple, um, supply chain.”
“Have you looked around to see who’s here tonight?” George laughed.
Chloe tried to remember everything, to memorize every word, but the effects of the champagne made it difficult to retain it all. Roger groaned softly, his cock twitching in her mouth, and he came. She swallowed the second load too but had to fight her rebellious stomach a bit.
“You didn’t promise too much,” Roger said to George, dabbing his forehead, pulling Chloe back up onto the sofa, and putting his arm around her. “Good girl.”
She just smiled a silly smile. Dubai. John. Girls. Shit.
On the other side of the room, Elena was being led through the curtains from the lounge back to the main room by the old guy who had taken her from behind, while Heather was passing them on her way inside and moving toward her sofa.
“Gentlemen, excuse us, but Valeria would like to talk to Chloe for a moment.” Heather gave them a sugary fake smile.
“Maybe you’d like to stay here instead of her?” Roger said to Heather in a way he probably thought was smooth.
As if you could get it up again today, you wannabe stud.
Heather’s smile grew a touch colder. “Sorry, but I’m not part of the entertainment.”
“See you around, Chloe!” said George, giving her a pat on the butt as she got up.
“Bye bye, see you next time!” She followed Heather out of the lounge, through the curtains, back into the main room.
“Well done,” Heather murmured quietly, and for the first time ever, there was something like appreciation in her voice. “You’ve got a bit of cum on your chin.”
Chloe hastily wiped it away.
When they reached Valeria, she put a hand on Chloe’s shoulder. “George asked about you last time, and today he brought this guy who might want to invest. Did you make them happy?”
“They seemed pretty satisfied, I think,” Chloe replied smiling.
Valeria looked at Heather, who nodded in agreement, and then smiled herself. “Well done, Chloe.”
Chloe flashed her Chloe Heart smile. “It was my pleasure.”
Valeria’s dark eyes studied her for a moment. Then she nodded, clearly satisfied with what she saw.
“We definitely need to reschedule that shoot with you at the earliest opportunity. I’ll send over a few dates, and Benjamin will contact you with the details.”
“Thank you, I’m looking forward to it!”
“Good.” Valeria gave her a quick squeeze on the shoulder and then she was gone, disappearing back into the crowd, presumably to strike up the next deal with the next guest.
Chloe exhaled.
The next few hours consisted of more hands, smiles, and even more pink champagne, but luckily no one else wanted to take her to the private area.
Chloe floated through the rest of the evening as if on autopilot, enduring the investment guy with beads of sweat on his forehead, the tech guy with the too-tight shirt who wanted to know if she had ever shot VR porn, and the old guy who slapped her butt so much that she even lost count of how many times exactly.
She just smiled, laughed, and let them touch her.
That’s the job. Goddamn petting zoo.
Later, she sat in the dressing room and pulled the bodysuit off her sweaty body. The thing stuck to her like a sausage skin. She stuffed it into the laundry basket provided and put her underwear and black dress back on.
In the mirror, she saw that her own eyes were just as glassy from the champagne as Elena’s had been. But Elena was nowhere to be seen. She had probably already left, like some of the others. Chloe couldn’t blame her.
In the main room, the lights were slowly being turned up, the universal signal for “party’s over, get out.” The last guests said their goodbyes loudly, some of them considerably drunk.
Chloe grabbed her purse and quickly made her way outside before she ended up running into anyone of them.
~
Chloe sank into the back seat of the taxi and leaned her head back against the headrest, exhausted. The driver, in his mid-fifties, with three-day stubble and tired eyes, glanced in the rearview mirror. His gaze wandered over her dress, her legs, and lingered on her for way too long.
But she ignored him and stared out the window. The taxi fell silent, and in the silence, the pink fog that had made it so difficult for her to think slowly cleared a bit.
They work with Thompson for logistics. Those had been George’s words, all businesslike and casual, while she was giving him a blow job. John knows exactly what’s going on.
She couldn’t get her thoughts away from it, from the fact that her stepfather’s name was John Thompson.
That’s a coincidence. It has to be a coincidence. Thompson isn’t a rare name. Not exactly Smith or Miller, but…
But the way they had talked about him. Plays the puritanical conservative for the public. That sounded a lot like John. The John who had called Samantha a slut, a whore, who had literally driven her out of her home. The John, who had forbidden Chloe to even mention her sister’s name after he found out how Samantha earned her money in Valley City.
But behind closed doors he’s more than happy about the juicy returns. What returns? Returns from what?
The taxi driver turned a corner, and Chloe was pushed lightly against the door. Her stomach rebelled. She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe.
You don’t know anything yet. You only heard fragments of a conversation. Everything could mean something else.
But the fragments felt more like puzzle pieces that formed a picture she would rather not see.
~
The apartment door closed behind her, and Chloe just so made it to the bathroom before her stomach finally gave way.
She knelt in front of the toilet and vomited until only bile came up. The pink champagne, the salty, bitter cum of two men, the memory of George’s hand on her head, of Roger’s cock in her mouth, of a hundred hands on her body, all came up together in a single, gagging gush.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
When it was over, she lay on the cold floor for a moment, her cheek pressed against the tiles. Then she pulled herself up on the sink and turned on the cold water.
She drank straight from the tap, greedily, as if she could wash away the whole shitty taste of the evening, as if she could dilute the memories with it, make them less bitter. Then she washed her face with ice-cold water until she felt her thoughts running straight again and not circling around and around.
Okay. Okay. You have to think. You have to write this down while it’s still fresh.
She dried her face, went into the bedroom, and grabbed her laptop.
The document opened, the cursor blinked expectantly at the end of her last notes, and she began to type.
Valeria Cruz Private Party #2
Tonight: George and Roger in the lounge. Business talk while I gave them blowjobs. Important terms that came up:
“Inventory” – Roger asked about “inventory.”
“Supply chain” – Roger talked about a complicated supply chain
“The girls” – they used the word, but it sounded different, as if it didn’t refer to us performers, but some other girls
“Merchandise” – “the merchandise” is going to Dubai, demand and prices are rising
“Thompson” – George said they “work with Thompson for logistics”
“John” – first name came up later: “John knows exactly what’s going on”
John Thompson. My stepfather’s name is John Thompson.
Coincidence? Thompson is a common name. But George said, “plays the puritanical conservative for the public, but behind closed doors…” – that sounds like John. Just like John.
Her fingers trembled slightly.
She scrolled up to older entries.
Ben’s envelope conversation: “catalog complete,” “delivery,” drugs?
At the time, she had thought it was about drugs. Now…
She scrolled on.
Other stuff: Women in the bathroom were talking about someone who had disappeared (who? why? does it matter?)
Someone had disappeared. Some woman. She had dismissed it as gossip.
Moving on.
Elena’s warning about things you “shouldn’t get involved in.”
Moving on.
“Catalog,” “delivery,” “inventory”… “girls”… “merchandise”…
Chloe leaned back and rubbed her eyes.
A catalog of girls? Mayve not a drug delivery, but a human delivery? Is it trafficking?
She couldn’t be sure. It was all coded, veiled, ultimately deniable. But the pieces fit together.
And if the John Thompson they were talking about really is my stepfather, if he really is part of it…
The thought was like a knife in her chest.
Did Samantha find out? Is that why she died? Is John involved in her murder?
Her cell phone vibrated on the nightstand and Chloe flinched violently. She reached for the phone. A message from Valeria Cruz.
Chloe stared at the words.
You helped me convince an important investor.
She probably meant Roger. She had given Roger a blowjob while George talked him out of his reservations, and now Roger was apparently on board. She had become part of the deal. Getting a blowjob from her was like the little welcome gift you get with a new magazine subscription.
She put the phone away.
I’m in.
But “in” probably also meant too deeply involved to just get out again. Chloe turned back to the laptop and typed one last line.
I need real evidence. Not just overheard conversations and assumptions. But how do I get that evidence? I couldn’t even smuggle in a recording device, and anyone who might know something is either part of it themselves or will be too afraid to talk. And I can’t ask anyone without giving myself away.
She closed the laptop. She would have to think about how to get something concrete without risking her life.
But not now. Not with the remnants of whatever was in that fucking pink champagne still in her blood, clouding her thinking.
That was a task for a clearer mind.
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