Jessamy Beech Ch. 13: Newlyn

"You're new ent ya? Nice skinny ass on ye though."

"Think you've got me mixed up with someone else," Jessamy turned away and reached out to push the door open. She suddenly felt a hand squeeze her thigh.

Without conscious thought, Jessamy spun around, grabbed the man's index finger and snapped it back with a popping crunch, "FUCK! Ya little bitch!"

Lupita Mpenzi's unarmed combat classes back at Woodvale were still useful.

"Don't. Touch. Me," she glowered down at her victim nursing his wounded hand and pushed through the peeling pink painted door into Eleanor's.

. . .

The first thing that struck Jessamy was the style, or lack, of clothing worn by the dozen or so young women lounging about on huge leather sofas and armchairs in the main room. Stockings, corsets, satin bras and panties and the ridiculously impractical stiletto shoes like the ones she'd been ordered to wear that night back on Mull. Each woman looked literally plastered in makeup and watched her silently through a curtain of false eyelashes.

It was like no pub she'd ever been in. The air in the dimly lit room was heavily perfumed with incense, sweat and a dense, lingering fog of cigar smoke. A few men, more or less clothed sat in the shadows and at the bar, but as Jessamy's widening eyes grew accustomed to the gloom she became aware of other things.

The woman in a leather basque kneeling between the legs of one of the men, her head bobbing rythmically up and down as he twined a hand in her bleached hair. The redhead that reminded her of Merida from a distance squirming in the lap of another man, making plaintive little moans as she ground herself against him.

"You after a girl?" called a stoutish older woman wearing a voluminous flowery dress. She was about fiftyish Jessamy guessed, with a painted on smile that didn't quite reach her cold, pale eyes. But what made Jessamy really nervous was the enormous, shaggy grey wolf standing obediently alongside, eyeing her with a baleful yellow gaze.

"Um, nice wolf. I ... I'm looking for a man."

"Just girls here," the woman sneered, then studied Jessamy more closely, appraising. A heavily ringed hand gripped Jessamy's jaw and turned her face into the light, "you ent the new girl are you?"

Jessamy ignored her, one eye on the wolf that was currently sniffing curiously at her jeans and making a low rumbling sound in its throat, "I'm looking for someone called Geoff, er ... Jiff."

She wondered what the woman fed the wolf to keep it so sleek and healthy looking, then realised that she preferred not to know.

The woman released her, "I'm Eleanor," she announced in a gravelly voice, "Jiff's not in yet but if you wanna talk to him you take a room like everyone else. Charge what you like but I get fifty percent cut for the room. Gold only. We don't take guns, food or barter. Any questions?"

Jessamy shook her head, realisation slowly dawning that Eleanor's wasn't a bar. At a glance from the older woman, the wolf sat on its haunches and watched them both intently.

Eleanor reached for a peg board beside the main door and pulled down a tarnished key fob, "Room six is empty. There's ..." she looked Jessamy up and down, "more suitable clothing, toys and ... precautions, in the big chest of drawers up there. You pay for breakages and anything torn or stained. What's yer name?"

What was her name? If Ox and Morwenna's murderer had Jessamy and Mpenzi on their list, it wasn't going to be a good idea to give her real name.

"Uh ... M-Merida."

Eleanor huffed, "Pretty name ... if it's really yours. Now. Room Six, first floor on the left. I've got stuff to do so see me when you're done."

With that Eleanor stumped away, taking her wolf bodyguard with her, leaving Jessamy to it.

"I'm in a fucking brothel," she muttered to herself as across the room one of the men grunted, thrusting his hips as he ejaculated glistening ropes of cum in the face of the leather corset wearing girl kneeling meekly before him.

. . .

Room six was dingy. Large enough for a lumpy double mattress on the bare floorboards and an enormous oak chest of drawers decades past its best. The single window had been roughly boarded over and one plasterboard wall appeared to be a recent addition to partition the building's rooms into smaller ones.

Crude graffiti had been scrawled across it in black marker.

As Jessamy stood listening, a rhythmic squeaking noise started up from the next room. A muffled female voice, "Harder, harder, that's it ... fuck me!"

The low rumble of a man's voice sounded to Jessamy as if it was asking a question, to which the woman responded impatiently, "I don't usually do that. It'll cost you extra."

Jessamy tuned the sounds out as she decided how to proceed. I'll wait for Geoff ... Jiff, she corrected herself, to arrive and ask him about his passenger ... then get the fuck out and back home. She pitied the women who through circumstances beyond their control were forced to make a living in a place like this. But realised quickly that if fate had dealt her a different hand she could just as easily have been one of them. If Tobermory had taught her survival, Woodvale had taught her how to be the equal of anyone else and not just survive, but thrive. Jessamy was quite capable of looking after herself.

She browsed through the drawers. Condoms in every conceivable colour and flavour. Ribbed and bobbled. Long past their sell by dates. She'd used condoms with Ross and Merida when they'd been on the run from the Reivers and hated the texture and feel of the things. It seemed unnatural to put a barrier between oneself and a lover.

The second drawer held things she couldn't identify. Some similar to Mpenzi's birthday gift but with suckers at their bases, switches to control speed and once again in every colour she could imagine. Lubricants, oils, long strings of plastic beads and objects resembling chrome and glass cones in various sizes. Jessamy shook her head and slammed the drawer closed.

The third drawer was full to the brim with underwear. Satin, lace, PVC, leather. Much of it still packaged with hangers attached. Jessamy guessed that this Eleanor had completely cleared out a store like the Ann Summers they'd encountered in Bristol, and was now reaping the benefits.

She sat on the mattress, wondering what sordid acts had taken place on it over the time Eleanor had been here. Was this Jiff character one of their regulars? He sounded to her like the shady kind of mercenary character who set morals aside whenever there was money to be made. An altogether unsavoury person.

Jessamy looked down at herself. Stout Mammut walking boots, jeans, leather jacket and softshell. It was likely that if and when Jiff eventually turned up, he'd take one look at her and run. With her dreadlocks she looked for all the world like one of the bounty hunters outside The Swordfish. Her gaze flitted to the bottom drawer ...

. . .

Fifteen minutes later, Jessamy shivered as she tried unsuccessfully to loosen one of the shoulder straps on the padded push up bra she'd opted for. She'd never been big busted and reckoned that showing a nice cleavage might catch the Jiff character off guard. She needed to blend in. The thin black strap cut into her skin leaving a red welt. What indignities some women willingly suffered to look desirable she thought.

Matching black panties that rode annoyingly up between the cheeks of her backside and lace trimmed black holdups completed the ensemble. Jessamy refused to wear anything as ludicrously uncomfortable as stilettos on her feet. Her Glock was tucked in easy reach beneath the mattress.

She was about to snuggle under the stained duvet to warm up when there came a tentative knock at the door.

"Uh ... come in?" she called. Jiff was likely to be a barrel bellied mysoginistic pig with halitosis, scars, a lazy eye and sweaty palms she assumed. She'd get the information, put her own clothes on over the lingerie while she kept him covered with the handgun and be out of Newlyn before it was dark. Easy.

The door was opened by a tall, sandy haired man in his mid to late twenties. Sparkling blue eyes regarded her from a suntanned face locked in a puzzled frown, "Uh, y-you're not one of the usual girls."

Jessamy stared. His grubby t-shirt stretched taut across a muscular chest and wide shoulders.

The stranger stepped into the room and quietly closed the door, "I uh, said you're n-not one of the usual g-girls."

Jessamy closed her mouth. She detected a nervous hint of a slur in the man's voice, and when he put a hand on the doorframe to steady himself it became clear he'd spent some time drinking in The Swordfish first.

"I'm Je ... er, Merida," Jessamy stammered, "I'm new."

Jessamy had never set eyes on such a fine specimen of masculinity in her life. Her eyes roved hungrily over his ruggedly handsome stubbled face, the six pack clearly visible under the stretched cotton of his top, the bulging thigh muscles filling out his faded jeans. But whoever he was, she had to get rid of him quickly before The Demelza's skipper showed up, "I'm sorry, but I'm expecting someone else."

"Oh, thit's a shame. M-maybe some other time eh?" he held out a huge, calloused hand, "I'm Jiff by th-the way."

"Jiff!" Jessamy sat bolt upright, alert, "you're Jiff. I was waiting ... I mean, er ... why don't you stay? I'm as capable and um, experienced ... as any of the other girls. Just tell me what you want ... to do?"

She patted the mattress next to her, inviting Jiff to sit, while the fingertips of her other hand checked once more that the Glock was there. This was the beamer's captain? How would she play it if it transpired Jiff was in league with the mystery assassin?

Jiff sat, with a long sigh as he slouched next to Jessamy, "I'm n-not really here f-for the six."

"Six? Six what?"

He laughed, a deep musical sound that sent a subtle shiver of pleasure up Jessamy's spine, "The SIX. I just like to have a p-pretty face to chit to for a while. I'll st-still pay if thit's wh-what you're worried about."

It suddenly occurred to her that the tall, impossibly handsome kiwi was saying sex. Despite his easy smile it was clear he was very nervous.

"L-love the dreads. Th-the underwear doesn't r-really go with the surf chick thing ya got goin' on there though," Jiff nonchalantly pulled a battered hip flask from a back pocket and unscrewed the lid, "wh-whisky?"

Jessamy realised she had to relax a little or she was going to mess up the whole purpose of being there, "Yes. Please."

She took a quick swallow from Jiff's flask, feeling the fiery spirit burn its way down her throat, then immediately regretted it. If he was in league with Ox and Morwenna's killer, what easier way to kill her than with poison?

Jiff took a mouthful from the flask too then wiped his lips on the back of his hand, oblivious.

"So, um ... lemme get this straight," Jessamy began, feeling relieved that she can't have been poisoned after all, "you pay to come in here and just ... talk, to the wh ... to the girls here?"

Jiff nodded blearily, "To till ya the tr-truth ... I'm kinda shy. I like f-female company but ... I'm no good around w-women. I dr-drink a skinful down the pub then come here for an hour or t-two and just ... chit. I miss my family, a-and the blokes on The Demelza are great an' all but ... they're thick as fuckin' pig sh-shit."

Jessamy found it impossible to believe that this handsome young man with the body of a god was ever short of female attention, "So you um, skipper a fishing boat? So I heard. Apparently."

"Yip. The Demelza. Sh-she may not look like much but sh-she's got it where it counts eh? We take goods to and from Fr-france across the channel and fish the bay the rest of the time."

Jessamy nodded, drawing the duvet around her shoulders.

Jiff immediately noticed, "Awh babe, you c-cold? Here let me."

Jessamy allowed his strong hands to tuck the duvet around her, "You ever take passengers?"

Jiff nodded, studying her, "Yis we do. As a matter of f-fact we brought someone down from Looe a c-couple days back. Paid us enough to get our engine repairs done."

It was true what they said about alcohol loosening tongues. Jessamy pondered a second. She was on the right track, "Was that a lot then that she paid?"

"Yip. She offered f-five hundred but I told her we didn't have the space and we were stopping off along the way. Sh-she said she'd up it to a thou if we came here direct ..." Jiff looked her in the eye, "how ... did you know it was a she?"

"Mmm? Oh you must have mentioned it," that was really fucking stupid, thought Jessamy. Hopefully the kiwi skipper's brain was so pickled in beer or moonshine from The Swordfish that he couldn't remember what he'd said.

Jiff frowned.

"Anyway," continued Jessamy brightly, "she must have been pretty desperate to get here if she was willing to pay through the teeth, eh?"

Jiff shook his head, "She was a strange one. St-stayed up on deck all the way and didn't say a word to me crew. Dressed all in black she was like some fuckin' ninja. Couldn't even see her face. Wh-when we docked she just fucked off without even a bloody thanks."

This was getting seriously spooky, "Did she give you a name?" Jessamy asked.

"Yip. Nemesis, she called herself. Wasn't carrying any gear excipt for a sniper rifle and a coupla big fuck off huntin' knives."

. . .

In Madron, Mpenzi, John Beech, Jake Pengelly and Bob Davy were sipping strong black coffee around the kitchen table after a hearty meal of homemade venison pie and buttered new potatoes. Candlelight cast flickering shadows like looming trolls and ogres leaping menacingly around the whitewashed walls.

"Everything alright with you and Jess?" Jessamy's father asked.

Mpenzi nodded cautiously, "Yeah ... but, I think she's starting to get a bit suspicious. You've got a very bright daughter there John."

"That's her Mum's genes. Brainy an' beautiful."

Mpenzi placed a hand over his, "We need to tell her."

John huffed, "We will. When the time's right. But for now I'm gonna do all this washing up."

Jake Pengelly pushed his chair back, barking it noisily across the bare floorboards, "No ye won't John Beech. You've fed us good an' proper an' the least we can do is the washin' up."

He quickly stepped in front of Mpenzi to retrieve her plate ...

BLAM!

... and his head painted the wall with a violent red splat.

For a second there was stunned silence ...

"GET THE CANDLES OUT!" Mpenzi screamed, "GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR!"

The sound of one of the kitchen windows imploding accompanied another large calibre bullet thunking into the heavy oak beam just above the table. Splinters showered her as Mpenzi pinched out the last candle between thumb and forefinger and somersaulted nimbly across the room, snatching her loaded SA80 from beside the coat rack.

"WHO THE FUCK IS IT?" Bob Davy shrieked. He'd probably never been shot at before, thought Mpenzi and was on the verge of panic.

"Sniper. Outside. If he can't see you he can't hit you. So stay down."

"And what are you going to do?" John asked incredulously from under the kitchen table.

Mpenzi thumbed off her assault rifle's safety and pushed the handle on the front door slowly downward, "Gonna give this piece o' shit a taste of his own medicine."

. . .

"So, you uh, fr-from here ... uh, Merida?" Jiff asked her.

Jessamy had had another swig from his hip flask to help ward off the cold that seemed to permeate Eleanor's, and was considering how best to make her excuses and leave. She had as much information as she was going to get. An armed woman calling herself Nemesis. Obviously some kind of mercenary or bounty hunter. Had someone paid her to kill Ox and Morwenna? If so, who?

Nemesis. Wasn't that the Greek goddess of ...

"H-hello, Earth to Merida ..."

"Wh ... oh sorry, I was miles away," Jessamy answered, her head feeling a little woozy from the alcohol, "yis ... I mean yes, I'm from here. Where are you from?"

"Little town called Hobsonville across the bay from Auckland. I've not been home since before this fuckin' Thanatos shit began."

"You got family back there? A wife, girlfriend?" Jessamy asked, then mentally kicked herself. Why had she asked a question like that? It didn't bloody matter if the guy was married, celibate or gay, he was an information source, nothing more.

"Folks, brother, sister. I was only f-fourteen when I got stranded."

That would make him twenty six, thought Jessamy. Yum.

Stop it, stop it, stop it. He's a a fucking fishing boat skipper.

Yes, but he's got gorgeous eyes and all his own teeth.

To cut short her dilemma, Jessamy considered grabbing her Glock and holding Jiff at gunpoint while she got dressed. Unfortunately he'd done such a good job of wrapping her in the duvet, her arms were completely immobilised.

Jiff gently lifted her face with a finger under her chin, "Y-you're ... even nicer than the usual girl ya know that?"

If she'd been wearing stilettos she could have at least stamped on his foot or something, Jessamy thought.

"I usually c-come here just to t-talk," Jiff continued nervously, "but, uh ... would you mind ... if I kissed you?"

As her self control steadily crumbled, part of Jessamy wanted to grab her weapon and get away as quickly as possible, running through the dangerous streets of Newlyn in just her borrowed bra and panties if necessary. Another part however quivered with excitement as Jiff slowly slipped a hand behind her head, "Sorry Lupita."

Jiff paused, "What was that babe?"

Jessamy shook her head, "Nothing, yes, uh ... kiss me. If you really want to."

"Oh I really want to," the first kiss was so deep that Jessamy would have collapsed if Jiff's arms hadn't been holding her. She shivered as his tongue traced patterns inside her mouth, exploring the insides of her lips. She sucked on his tongue, moaning. He was one hell of a kisser.

All thought of snatching up her Glock and fleeing home to her father's evaporated as Jessamy pressed her body against him. Or at least as well as she could in the duvet coccoon. Her breasts already ached for his hands.

"You t-taste better than that sh-shit they serve up in The Swordfish," Jiff whispered.

"Is that so?" Jessamy looked into his eyes, like clear mountain tarns on a summer's day, "best you stick to just a glass or two then, eh?"

"F-fuck that. Now I've had a sample, I'm gonnae drain the whole barrel," he gently pulled back Jessamy's head by her dreadlocks and kissed her throat, "if it's okay with you?"

This hadn't been the plan at all. But now the gorgeous kiwi had her in his arms, Jessamy found herself melting.

And apparently he was awkward around women. Bull. Shit.

Jiff lifted her without effort and unwrapped the duvet as if uncovering some precious gift. Unable, or unwilling to resist, Jessamy put her hands around his neck, marveling at his strength.

"You, are absolutely b-beautiful Merida," he said. Jiff laid her gently back on the mattress, gazing down at her as he quickly pulled off his work boots and faded Billabong t-shirt.

"Fuck, you don't mess about," Jessamy purred. Her mouth was dry as she stared at him. She hadn't slept with a man since Ross back in Threlkeld and suddenly ached for what she'd been missing.

Jessamy reached out to touch him, but Jiff smiled and pushed her hand away, "Not yet. I w-wanna see you naked, little lady."

"I can't get much nakeder," she protested, looking down at the scraps of expensive satin covering her modesty. They had met only minutes before but Jessamy already knew that she wanted to feel this lovely man inside her, feel his weight bearing down on her.

He started to ease one of her bra straps down off her shoulder, "Merida. Thit's a b-beautiful name."

It might have been the bourbon, or the fire of lust coursing through her body. Or it might have just been her upbringing that had taught her never to lie, "Merida's not actually my real name. It's Jessamy."