Maxwell Ten a Penny Tart

1. Auflage 2025
ISBN: 978-3-7116-0098-1
Verlag: novum publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 222 Seiten

When Max's buzz for business fades, he looks for and finds his thrills in the sordid underbelly of London. Following a chance encounter with a cheap hooker called Brenda, and after suffering a heart attack during a hook-up with a young girl called Sarah, his destiny is changed forever. Shocking revelations about Sarah and her past abound, forcing Max to face the way he leads his life and to use the power of money, and lies, to protect Brenda and Sarah when their lives are threatened by their evil pimp Seaton. Will Max be able to recover his reputation and his company? Will he be able to save Sarah from the demons of her past and the sordid life she has been forced into? And what do the fates have in store for Max and Sarah's relationship after their first traumatic meeting, if anything?

Autoren/Hrsg.

Maxwell, John

Leseproben

Chapter 2

Fate makes a call

Max sat silently and lonely in his car, waiting dejectedly for the welcoming bleep, bleep from Suzy. He had been forced to park up until he got her call, or he would have been in danger of wandering around all over the place and getting totally lost. Fortune dictated that he ended up parked on a double yellow line, and it was pouring hard. Grimacing, he concluded that the rain was the only reason the traffic warden who had spotted him had not ventured out of the shopfront in which he was sheltering to give him some verbal and move him on. Go on. Try it, thought Max, looking in his rear-view mirror, hazard warning lights flashing. Just fuckin’ try it mate!

After the grilling Max had experienced in the city, he was ready for a good fight! The analysts had been a pain in the neck, and as usual, he had felt the full responsibility of his position as chief executive. Always explaining and justifying. Never completely satisfying their demands. Now he felt as he usually did after one of these visits––like a tightly wound spring with nowhere to unwind. He knew he needed a drink and a chance to relax and contemplated that he would have argued with the very devil himself if the infidel had dared to oppose him right now. That traffic warden can count his blessings that it’s raining, thought Max. ‘Just fuckin’ try it,’ he mumbled again, eyes glued to the rear-view mirror. The guy was watching him, pen poised, ready to pounce as soon as the rain eased off!

The clock nudged forward silently. Max drummed his fingers on the dashboard and started to think. Not a good idea at times like these. ‘So, where’s my loyal city-based financial advisor and fellow director now?’ he grumbled. ‘Is he sharing a relaxing drink with his chairman? No chance! Just buggered off! “Gotta dash, Max. Dinner with bankers,”’ Max mimicked, mentally cursing the man. Yes. No doubt, thought Max.

There had been just enough time for the usual, ‘Well done, Max; nice one, mate,’ and a pat on his shoulder as he waved down a passing black cab. ‘Gotta rush, boss. Would have liked to stop and buy you a drink, but you know what it’s like. Busy, busy!’

Max had stood there open-mouthed, watching as he gave instructions to the driver. ‘22 Carillon Street, please, driver; see you in Leeds for the next audit and board meeting, Max. Make a change to get out of town.’ Max had barely heard him over the din of the traffic and smiled insincerely. Then the bugger had gone.

‘Busy, busy,’ Max had repeated as his colleague’s taxi was swallowed up in a sea of black cabs.

‘Dinner with bankers, my arse,’ muttered Max. ‘More likely off for a cozy tete a tete with some fancy London lady!’ He couldn’t help but be envious of the guy. Max fumbled in his coat pocket for his car keys, shivered, and headed for the underground car park. ‘London bloody accountants. Worse than bleedin’ politicians. I must have been crazy to put the guy on the board. Last time I use a city firm to run my finances. Nothing wrong with the Leeds boys. I’ll get in Galland & Galbraith. Good crew.’ He shrugged his shoulders against the cold, sniffed, and descended into the bowels of Piccadilly.

Now, sitting in his Jag, tired and parked at the kerb in the rain, he reminded himself to consider some board changes at the first opportunity, and then see how Mr busy, busy liked it when he lost his job! Bleep, bleep. Max reached over and picked the phone up off its cradle and scrolled to NEW MESSAGES and read Clarence Hotel. Camley Street. WC1A 7LW. Reservation No. 006. Sleep well Max. Suzy x.

Max smiled and calmed down as he punched the details into his navigation system and set off through the traffic. He was blissfully unaware of exactly where he was, which pleased him. Sometimes, he experienced a strange pleasure from blindly following the instructions given by the computerised voice on his dashboard. No decisions to make. He could be its obedient servant. He was sure that if it said, ‘Turn round and give the finger to that traffic warden’, he would probably do it! It did also occur to him, that it was in fact a she, and that she had the sexiest voice he had ever heard, which probably largely accounted for his submissive attitude. She relaxed him, and he started to imagine what she looked like and if she would fancy him. ‘That’s better Max, now lie on top of my naked body and make love to me,’ he imagined her saying. Nice feeling, thought Max. Sexy bitch! Makes me feel randy.

Yes, randy, but also frustrated and far from home, he thought to himself. Here he was, on his own in London, imagining his accountant contemplating the possibility of having sex with some expensive piece of skirt and doubtless adding her substantial costs to his own fee. At the same time, here he was, a simple country boy from the nicer side of Leeds, off to find a friendly minibar in a backstreet hotel room, and if he got really lucky, some soft porn on a late-night TV channel. After such a difficult day, Max wanted more. This was not life as he wanted to live it. This was not what he had envisaged the struggle being for. This was not why he had beaten the Americans at their own game. This was just a void; a nothing.

‘Turn right in 200 metres,’ instructed the darling of the dashboard.

‘What?’ Max exclaimed. ‘Into a one-way street going the other way? You stupid bitch!’ he muttered as he cancelled his indicator. Jeepers, he thought to himself, these street layouts change by the day. He reminded himself to buy the updated software for the satnav and gunned the Jag past the junction, waving an apology in his rear-view mirror to the guy in the Saab behind. The driver responded by gesticulating with his middle finger and giving Max the benefit of his xenon headlights on full beam. Max made the next right turn that he could, glaring over his shoulder at the driver of the disappearing Saab.

Aware that he was close to his destination, Max started to look around for street names, but with the lack of adequate lighting, soon realised he was lost. The satnav was silent. He glared at it. ‘Yes? Well?’ he muttered.

It remained silent as if to say, ‘Don’t ask me, mate––I told you turn right and you took no notice. You’re on your own now, pal!’

And then suddenly, there she was, in his headlights.

Looking back, Max thought he had known at once that she was a tom. Standing shivering at the edge of the pavement. The long thin legs with no stockings, tottering on 5-inch white stilettos. The skintight micro skirt. The more than ample display of breast that only a working girl would want to expose on a cold November evening. He knew that he was looking at a tart. A lady of the night. A slag. A slapper. A whore. All the descriptions fitted. He also knew that she was exciting him and that he wanted her.

She had spotted him slowly crawling down the road and was already approaching the Jag before he had time to collect his senses. He was genuinely lost, and therefore, had a legitimate reason to talk to her. He also knew that he was feeling an excitement he had not felt for years. He drew up alongside her and enthusiastically lowered the nearside front window hesitatingly, unsure what to say next.

A northern businessman lost in London. What could be more innocent than that? thought Max. Who wouldn’t ask a stranger for directions to their hotel? At the same time, Max recognised that the excitement he was feeling was making an appearance in his nether region! He knew there was danger here. The unknown. God, this is making me feel good, thought Max. Better than I have felt for many years!

He realised he wanted her.

He wanted everything about her. He wanted to know that she was a slut who had probably been screwed several times that night already. He needed the rawness of her sex. He wanted to know that grubby hands had pawed her breasts that night and that he would get his chance as well, if he played his cards right. He wanted to know that there would be others like him, using her and abusing her, long after he had finished with her.

Max also realised that he needed and wanted the fear associated with the risk of being with this woman. If he got caught, it would be over. He would have thrown it all away. But it would have been his decision. Not an accountant’s. Not some kid of an analyst. Not corporate strategy. Not exorbitant bank charges or shareholder revolts. Just a stupid silly decision; a quickie with a tart. Max chuckled and knew that he would...