Chapter VIII: Pinched and Pinioned Policeman
Friday 12:00 P.M.: Westmount, Montreal, Quebec: The Depths Below the Estate of Michael Palaiologos
“Ah! Inspector Reginald Percy of the Metropolitan Police Mounted Branch in London – so it was he – or rather a Brother of our Order who assumed his identity – who infiltrated the offices of the Vancouver Royal Canadian Mounted Police to gather intelligence on Inspector Simon DuWright and Johnny Trudeau.” Peter deVere mulled over Michael Palaiologos’s revelation of the identity of the very well-built man strapped into the decommissioned and repurposed electric chair next to its pair with Canada’s Olympic swimming dynamo Danny Warwick strappled similarly therein.
“Yes,” deVere’s Master replied, “That phase of our mission has worked well. The Force in Vancouver did not suspect the switch, even though our operative is somewhat different in appearance from the real Inspector Percy here. For instance, our agent is a few inches taller, and he is leaner than the brawny copper here. And there is the obvious…” Palaiologos paused for a moment. He stroked the muffled Mounted Policeman’s cheek before continuing, “difference in their complexions – but even that escaped notice, since no one in Vancouver had ever met Inspector Percy in person. We took a gamble – a game of craps if you will – but we calculated the odds, rolled the dice, and came up with boxcars!”
“My compliments, Sir.” deVere saluted his Master.
“Well – our mission is not yet complete, Brother deVere, but Simon DuWright will all too shortly fall into our trap alongside his studly swain Johnny Trudeau. The busybody bronco-buster Bucky Johnson will join them here, as will young Warwick’s brother.” Palaiologos stared over at Percy’s correspondingly constrained companion. The poor lad – deafened with silencing sludge in his ears and destitute of vision with a mask over his eyes – sat senseless to the scrutiny from the sinister swami. Palaiologos carried on. “The Mountie from Manitoba does our bidding now in hope that we release his kid brother once he hands over his fellow constable to us. Little does Inspector Hugh Warwick know that we have no intention of delivering Danny Warwick back to him. No – we will drag the incredulous cop into our dragnet as well. It is far too dangerous to the success of our mission to leave loose ends untied. After all, Brother deVere, as members of the Order of the Black Rope, we know that loose ends must always be clinched and knotted around dapper dudes such as these manly men.”
The Grand Prior stepped back from the chained cellmates for a last look for now. “Come, Brother deVere. We still have much to prepare. We will leave Inspector Reginald Percy once more to contemplate the karma that led him here. And we will let Danny Warwick remain blindfolded and dumbfounded to his destiny.” With that Michael Palaiologos and Peter deVere left the cell. The guard attendant activated the mechanism that moved the steel grid door shut, and the two men were left in that confounded cage to brood over their abductions.
Reggie Percy let his boiling anger cool, and he focused instead on a way to bring the law down on his capricious captors. His anger had already almost loosened his grip on his sanity – he had barely hung onto it earlier in his captivity during a harrowing time confined within a cruel cage. Over the past several weeks, there were other times when he despaired of release. Reggie dug deeper and deeper into himself to hold on to hope. But he knew that he could not only rely on the hope of rescue. He needed to plan an escape from this hellhole he was incarcerated in. Reggie had been held captive there since mid-March, but he had little understanding of time now. His gaolers released him from the most restrictive bondage a few times each day – for nourishment, loo visits, exercise, and at times during the examinations of that wicked quack Dr. Richelieu – but he always remained in some fetters and always “collared” when free from the most confining bondage such as he found himself in now. “The Collar” – Reggie grimaced at the thought of the electric shock it delivered. The first time the guard attendants freed him from being bound and gagged, they placed “The Collar” around his neck before undoing any knots. It was similar in looks and design to shock-collars used on dogs to train them. Reggie had always thought such methods to train animals cruel. He never used pain to train and discipline his pet dogs or the horses he road as a Mounted Police Inspector in London. His kidnappers and gaolers were no gentlemen, though. They took such joy in inflicting pain, whenever they hitched knots when tying Reggie back up, pulled the tape over his mouth to gag him, or activating the juice that sent pain through his body from “The Collar.”
When the guard attendants brought Reggie’s meals each day, they would put “The Collar” around his neck and lock it in place, before they ungagged him and unbound his hands. They first demonstrated “The Collar’s” shock – or “kiss” as they sad*stically called it – by adjusting its level of pain not to its “low” setting – no – that they considered unnecessarily kind. The guard attendants regarded “medium-high” to be the lowest level to set that nefarious necklace! After administering the first couple of shocks to him, Reggie soon learned obedience to their rules. It was only during meals or when they shaved him that Reggie was ungagged. During meals he remained handcuffed. As for the meals themselves, his gaolers fed him a tasteless gruel – concocted and cooked under Dr. Richelieu’s direction. It was a mixture of necessary protein, carbohydrates and fats to provide the nutrients and supplements for nourishment. After the meals, he would be led to the loo to relieve himself. Reggie couldn’t bring himself to detail that humiliation. His ablutions were an even worse degradation.
For two hours each day, six days a week, Reggie—wearing only a jockstrap – used a gym on a lower level below the cells. Four guard attendants – each armed with a remote control for “The Collar” – accompanied him there, remained with him during exercise, and escorted him back to his cell when done. They surrounded him as he weight-trained and did cardio, following a regimen again devised by Dr. Richelieu – an hour of weights for specific body parts followed by 30 to 45 minutes of cardio on a treadmill, spinning bike, or the Stairmaster. Reggie remain in shackles when pumping iron and during his cardio routine. The shackles were of such length to allow him full movement only for the particular exercise. And he remained gagged during the duration of his workouts – always with a perforated-ball-gag to facilitate the type of breathing caused from strenuous activity. During one gym session early in his captivity, Reggie attempted a breakout. He tried to clobber one of the guard attendants with a 45lb. dumbbell. He immediately crumbled to floor of the gym writhing in agony from the “kiss” of “The Collar.” Further punishment was promptly administered. The guard attendants bundled him back to his cell, where a very narrow standing, iron-barred cage awaited him. Reggie was stripped nude, bound in a web of that black rope that further constricted him when he fought to break free of it. They poured that gooey substance into his ears that prevented him for hearing a sound, stuffed the jockstrap that he had worn while working out into his mouth, tape-gagged it in place, and then plastered a mask over his eye – sending him into utter silence and darkness. The brutal binders then shoved him into that cramped cage and locked him in.
Reggie had no idea how long he remained in that pernicious pen. He lost all sense of time and space. Such nightmares it produced! Reggie came close to a complete breakdown. All he could see in his mind’s eye were those black-clad guard attendants tying and untying him in every conceivable manner – gagging and ungagging him with black tape or black bandanas – stripping his Bonds briefs and singlets from him or dressing him back in the same underwear – taking a jockstrap off him or putting it on him – Reggie thought he’d go mad in that cage. Yet – he survived. He did so by calling upon what strength and spirit he could muster to focus on freedom, who he was, and his dedication to law enforcement. During those dark, long, silent hours that he spent hobbled, suppressed from speaking, and kept in that close-confining cage, he initially thought of revenge. Reggie dismissed those dark thoughts by remembering who he was – the son of Winston and Anna Percy whose parents had immigrated to Britain from Jamaica after the Second World War. Reggie’s family had faced great prejudice, but his grandparents, his parents, and he all built successful lives in Britain.
Reggie hailed from Lewisham in South London. He won an academic scholarship to Ampleforth College, where he also played in the Back Row on the rugby pitch. The toffs he encountered there at first turned their noses up at him, but his excellence in academics and on the playing-field soon commanded their respect. A kindly Benedictine monk reinforced the values instilled by his own family – hard work, kindness, empathy, charity, knowing the difference between right and wrong, and giving back. From Ampleforth, Reggie went on to Kings College, Cambridge again on scholarship, where he read history, continued chasing eggs on the rugby pitch, graduated with the highest honors, and won the Thirlwall Prize.
After Cambridge, Reggie Percy embarked on the career that he had dreamed of since childhood in South London. On Saturdays or Sunday afternoon, Reggie’s Pops and Dad often took him to Hyde Park, where he’d see the King's Troop Royal Horse Artillery and the Life Guards, training and exercising on horseback. For a special treat, his father once brought him to Surrey to see the Metropolitan Mounted Police Training Center there, and Reggie was drawn to them almost naturally. He fell in love with horses and the police from that young age. His Pops persuaded his Dad and his Mum to allow him to take horseback riding lessons. Of course, Reggie was expected to help pay for the lessons from his earnings doing part-time work, such as odd-jobs and small home repairs around the neighborhood. That money was well spent. Reggie Percy became an expert rider, and his dedication to horsemanship grew from those early childhood lessons. After Ampleforth and Cambridge, he wanted to combine his love of horses with a commitment of service to his country and community. He therefore joined the Metropolitan Police Mounted Branch, where he quickly made a name for himself, receiving accolades from colleagues and superiors alike.
Reggie Percy overcame the tortuous time in that cold, iron crate by concentrating on the values that made him into the man he was. He vowed to himself that he would get free from the calamitous clutches of this criminal cabal. He would expose their petty plots to put men in peril. And Reggie would see to it that these devilish delinquents faced justice. His anger still rose at times, but now he refocused that anger on his objectives.
Once they were alone in that cell, belted in like manner to those “hot seats” side by side, and silenced, Reggie wracked his brain for a way to reach out to comfort Danny Warwick, who in all probability had no idea that Reggie shared the cell with him. Their chairs were bolted to the floor adjacent to each other, but a space of just over a half centimeter was between them. Reggie began to stretch his harnessed left arm towards Danny’s right arm strapped in like manner to his chair. Reggie fought against the leather bindings holding his arm in place, and he tried not to grunt through his tape-gag to avoid the attention of the guard attendants outside their cell. After much effort, Reggie succeeded. His left lower arm brushed against Danny’s right lower arm. Danny winced at first, no doubt thinking that Palaiologos had returned to torment him. But Reggie – concentrating his strength against the strong leather straps binding his left arm in place – kept his arm touching Danny’s. And Reggie prayed with all his might that the young man would come to realize Reggie’s touch was meant to comfort and not to afflict him. As he continued pressing against Danny’s strapped arm, their time wore on in that cell. Reggie Percy’s thoughts turned once more to the events leading up to his kidnapping and imprisonment within this lockup.
Mid-March Some Weeks Before: Montreal, Canada
Reggie Percy stepped off the flight from London, and he was so happy to be here in Canada. Apart from a holiday to France once when he was a boy with his family, he had never been outside the United Kingdom. Now, here he was in Montreal before flying on to Vancouver. Reggie had taken some holiday leave time to stay a few days in the city. Arriving in the late afternoon on Thursday, Reggie had two full days to sightsee before leaving Sunday evening for Vancouver, so he could get settled before reporting Tuesday morning for the orientation of the program, which was the purpose of his trip.
Counter Terrorism Command had contacted Reggie’s superior officers in the Metropolitan Police Mounted Branch about a counter-terrorism educational and training program under the direction of the Vancouver Division of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Since the Mounted Branch often dealt with crowd control at large events around London and the recent rise in terrorist activity there and at other cities of the UK, the higher ups decided to send an Inspector from the Branch to complete the eight-week program. Reggie was their natural choice. He had experience in the investigations of several cases of suspected terrorism, and he had begun preparation work in researching several terrorist organizations. Reggie’s superior officers had pegged him as an inspector with great promise.
Reggie wanted the few days in Montreal to enjoy pleasure before getting down to business in Vancouver. He was sure that he would have plenty of opportunities in Vancouver to enjoy what that western city could offer, but Jerry, a friend from his Cambridge days, told him that he would find a particular neighborhood of Montreal worth visiting. That was “Le Village” – the Gay Village of the city. Reggie Percy realized he was gay while at Ampleforth. He first confided that knowledge to the Benedictine monk there who had taken Reggie under his wing. Reggie was from a very religious family, and he feared they might not accept him. The monk – Dom Columba – told Reggie that we must see ourselves and each other as God sees us. God sees us with love, he said. He went on to quote St. John, “Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them.” That kindly man told Reggie to live his life proudly and never be ashamed of who he was. With his help, Reggie broke the news to his family, and they embraced him as a gay man, because it was the content of his character that mattered most to them; and they knew he was a good man. His family was gone now. Dom Columba was still alive. Reggie wrote to him often, but he worried that he could not visit that wonderful man more often. Recalling his words still brought a tear to Reggie’s eyes.
Reggie had dated very little at Cambridge, and even less so after joining the Met. He used his studies first and then his work as excuses. His friends told him to stop with the excuses. Maybe, it was, he thought, because he was shy and thought that he wouldn’t measure up to another man’s expectations. A good friend, a fellow inspector – Sylvia Townsend by name – told him he was a fool to think that. “You’d be like catnip in a gay bar, Reg,” she laughed, “you’d have guys all over you. The fact that you don’t know how attractive you are, makes you all the more desirable.” Sylvia told him that he bore a striking resemblance to the actor who played that superhero in a movie a couple of years ago. She had taken to calling him “T'Challa” after the character in the movie, and she enjoyed needling him, “Cool it with the rugby, Reg. You don’t want to break your nose or get cauliflower ears. Although I’d suspect anything broken on you would just add to your charm.” Reggie blushed, whenever she teased him like that.
So, Reggie decided to do some exploring while away from home, and he looked forward to seeing what “Le Village” had to offer. He booked a room in a moderately priced hotel in the neighborhood. He would spend the two full days sightseeing around Montreal and eat out at night at one of the trendy restaurants in the area around his hotel. Reggie might even find the courage to overcome his shyness and go to one of the nightclubs in the Gay Village. Before he left on his flight from London, he made sure that his Borough Operational Command Unit (BOCU) was aware of his planned stopover in Montreal ahead of his Vancouver commission and knew his itinerary whilst there. Little did Reggie suspect, however, that someone in that BOCU would use that information and send it on to those planning to kidnap him.
When the Shuttle Service from Montréal–Trudeau dropped him at the hotel after 7 Thursday evening, Reggie grabbed his luggage and walked into the hotel towards the Reception Desk. At the same time another man entered the hotel with identical luggage. Like Reggie, he wore business casual – well-fitted, no break chinos, an athletic-fit dress shirt, and a blazer. Reggie preferred a rugged Chelsea boot, while the man had loafers on. Reggie’s chinos were a dark blue. The other man wore neutral-colored, slim trousers. That day Reggie had a sharp, white athletic-fit dress shirt with blue accents on, and it still looked crisp after the transatlantic flight. He wore a gray wool blazer and with a nod to the climes of Canada – a whaleback waterproof jacket. The man had an extra slim comfort knit dress shirt in a classic plaid. A classic navy blazer completed the man’s look, and he carried a dark gray mid-length winter coat with him.
Even on his salary with the Met, Reggie was aware that looking sharp mattered, so he spent wisely on his wardrobe. A well-built man like he had a hard time finding trousers to accommodate his slim waist, meaty thighs, and beefy bum, but he found a good tailor to take material in and out where needed to fit over his muscular frame. Reggie had brought along jeans, sport-shirts, tees, trainers, underwear, socks, and the various other essentials with him. And of course, he had packed his uniform in his luggage – his “dress blues” for the ceremonial dinner to be held at the completion of the course in Vancouver. Representing the Met, he needed always to be professional, clean and neat. And he was – his clothes complimented his good-looks and athletic build well.
Reggie and the other man reached the Reception Desk at the same time and waited for the clerk to finish attending to other guests. Standing side by side, Reggie glanced over to observe his companion discreetly. He was a good-looking man. He was a few inches taller than Reggie – about 6’3” Reggie reckoned. He was lean and fit. He had blond hair, that had begun to recede. He wore it tapered and conformed to the overall shape of his head. Reggie noticed that his ears stood at an angle just a bit from his head. Reggie thought that that feature added rather than detracted from his overall good looks. The man noticed Reggie, and he nodded and smiled at him. The man had a nice smile.
“May I help you, Sir?”
“And may I help you, Sir?”
Reggie and the man walked up to the two clerks and stood at the reception desk with their luggage between them. The luggage was so identical that one needed to look at the travel tags to tell which piece belonged to whom. Reggie introduced himself to the clerk and presented his passport and credit card for identification and confirmation. He noticed the blond-haired man present a British passport to the other desk clerk, but Reggie was soon occupied with getting the pass cards to his hotel room that he turned his attention away from anything else.
“Here you are, Mr. Percy. Room 425. Shall I call for a bell hop to help with your luggage, sir?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. Thank you. If you could direct me to the lifts?”
“To the left and around the corner, sir. Your room is on the fourth floor. Enjoy your stay with us here in Montreal, Mr. Percy.”
Reggie thanked the clerk, took the luggage at his feet, and headed to the lifts. He left the other man still getting sorted. He entered a lift and proceeded up to his room. Reggie found the room easily enough. Once he entered it, he took in its details. The hotel was an older one that had undergone renovation recently. The bathroom was on the right as you entered. It was small, but the facilities were all upgraded. There was a closet opposite the bathroom. As an older hotel, it had been designed for function over space. Reggie didn’t need the space. Next to the closet was another door – apparently it connected to the adjoining room. Reggie checked whether it was locked. It was. Then he took in the rest of his quarters. The queen-sized bed dominated the room with two end tables on each side of it. Opposite the bed was a console/dresser/desk combo with a flat-screen television mounted over it. A small round table and two easy chairs in front of the window completed the furnishings. He could see the lights of the city beckoning from behind the sheer curtains.
Reggie had no intention of exploring the nightlife that night. He was exhausted from the flight here and the jetlag. All he intended was to take a hot shower and slip between the sheets of the bed for a good night’s sleep to be refreshed for an early start in the morning. He threw his gear on the bed, took his jacket off and hung it and his winter coat in the closet. He next took his shirt and trousers off and carefully hung them up too. Stripping his white Bonds briefs and under-tank off, he went into the bathroom for a quick shower and was soon under the soothing spray of the water. After briskly soaping himself up and rinsing off, he grabbed a towel to dry himself off, and then wrapped the towel around his waist. The material was luxurious, but the maker skimped on the size. It wrapped around Reggie’s slim waist, but it covered only to just about the middle of his thighs. No matter, he thought. Reggie went out to open his bag. He then discovered that he had picked up the wrong piece of luggage. “Bollocks!” Reggie thought – he must have grabbed the blond-haired man’s gear, and he must be in possession of Reggie’s. He went to the telephone on one of the end tables to call Reception to sort out the mix-up.
He was just about to punch the number in, when he heard a knock at the door. Reggie put the receiver down, went to the door, and looked through the peephole to see who it was. It was the blond-haired fellow guest with Reggie’s gear in tow. Reggie looked down at his state of dress – or undress as it were.
“Oh! Bugger it!” Reggie opened the door.
The man stood for a moment without speaking, looking Reggie up and down – like he wanted to devour him on the spot.
Reggie broke the silence. “I’m sorry. I took your luggage by mistake. Come in.” Without a thought, he opened the door wider to allow the man in.
“I’m Patrick Penrith,” the man said as he came into the room and turned to face Reggie in the somewhat narrow space between the bathroom and the closet. He glanced down at Reggie’s chest still glistening wet from the shower. “Here’s yours. I suppose you’re wondering how I found you. I overheard the clerk at Reception tell you your room number. Hope you don’t mind? Thought I’d pop around and not bother the lot downstairs.”
Reggie stood there for a moment and looked at Patrick Penrith. He had blue eyes, Reggie thought, before answering, “Oh…no. Of course not. It was all my fault. I’m Reggie Percy.” Reggie moved to retrieve Penrith’s own bag from the bed. As he did so Reggie brushed against Penrith, loosening the towel around Reggie’s waist, and it fell to the floor. Patrick Penrith got a full view of Reggie’s full moon.
“Well…Hello, Reggie Percy!!” Penrith replied in flirtatious surprise.
Reggie blushed and cupped his basket with both hands before turning to face Patrick Penrith.
“No need to shake hands, old man,” Penrith chortled, as he bent down to retrieve the fallen towel. He handed the towel back to Reggie. Reggie slipped it around him, but not before Penrith got a glimpse of the Percy Family Jewels.
Reggie stammered a bit, “Err…mmm…How do you do,” he finally got it out.
“Well, I’ll just take my bag, leave you yours, and say Good Night.” Penrith put Reggie’s bag on the bed and took his. “I’ll see you around, Reggie Percy.” He gave Reggie the once over again, before turning to leave and headed towards the door.
Reggie roused himself from his fluster and moved towards the door too. “Yes. Good Night. Again…my apologies for the mix-up.”
Penrith opened the door. He turned to face Reggie once more before leaving. “Maybe I’ll see you again. Good Night.”
Reggie looked the door after him. He shook his head and thought, “Brilliant…What a botch up job you’ve done, Inspector Percy!” He walked back towards the bed to open his gear, thinking about what had just occurred, recalling how blue Patrick Penrith’s eyes were. Reggie looked down and was a tad surprised to see the towel around his waist had tented.
Friday Montreal
Reggie rose early to catch the buffet-style breakfast in the restaurant off the lobby downstairs. After showering and shaving, he dressed in jeans, white tee, a tight-fitting, merino wool V-necked jumper over it, and his Chelsea boots for the day of touring. As he was returning to his table from the buffet with a plate of assorted fresh fruit, fat-free, plain yogurt, and muesli, Reggie spotted Patrick Penrith in a business suit waiting for the hostess to seat him. Penrith saw Reggie, and he walked towards him. Reggie rose from the table to greet him.
“Good Morning. Glad to see you dressed in some clothes for a change,” he chuckled.
Reggie flushed a shade or two of red. “Good Morning. Sorry about that.”
“Please, I’m only giving you the business…And do call me Patrick. Mind if I join you?”
Reggie looked at him and saw those blue eyes again. “Please…Patrick…by all means. And I’m Reggie,” as he offered his hand. They shook. He motioned Penrith to take the seat opposite. Reggie asked a waiter to bring another place setting. The server did so. He also brought them coffee, while Penrith went to see what the buffet had to offer. He returned with a western omelet, fruit, and two blueberry muffins. He offered one to Reggie.
“Thank you…but no. Even on holiday, I try to maintain my diet.”
“Well done you, Reggie. So…you’re here on holiday?”
“A short one – I fly on to Vancouver on Sunday evening. My work takes me there.”
“What type of work are you in?”
“I’m in law enforcement…I’m an Inspector with the Metropolitan Police Mounted Branch in London.”
“Off to Vancouver to thwart a crime, Inspector?” Penrith leaned in closer.
Reggie laughed. “No. A few weeks in a training program there. Thought I’d spend a few days enjoying myself here before the program begins. How about you, Patrick? What line of work are you in?”
“I work in the import/export business. I’m here in town on business.” Penrith reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, took out a business card, and handed it to Reggie.
Reggie read it. “Patrick Penrith, Byzantine Imports, V. P., Procurement” And he noticed the company logo of two crossed wrists bound in black rope.
“What do you procure for import and export?”
Penrith gave Reggie the same look that greeted him when he opened his door wearing only a towel the night before – as if he would grab a hold of him and never let go. It made Reggie a tad uneasy…yet intrigued all the same.
“I source and acquire goods to service the company. We’re engaged in various operations – sports apparel and equipment for instance – I’m here in town to gauge the desirability of some goods the CEO of the company has recently shown an interest in. I need to size them up and seize them for him.”
“And these…goods…you’re inspecting them today?” Reggie asked, and he grew somewhat nervous as Penrith kept staring at him intently.
Penrith thought back to what he had seen of Reggie the previous night and answered, “I’ve done some inspections already. From what I’ve seen the goods are very promising – very promising indeed!”
“And that’s a rather curious logo. What does it represent?”
“Byzantine Bonds create links around men that are unbreakable.”
Patrick gauged Reggie’s reaction to see if he understood the underlying meaning of those words. Reggie appeared unfazed, merely interpreting him to mean the company was unswervingly loyal to the pacts into which they entered. He never suspected that Patrick had another meaning of links in mind.
“Well – enough about me. What do you intend to see today in Montreal?”
“I thought I’d explore Old Montréal, Notre Dame Basilica, the Fine Arts Museum, and walk around the campus of McGill University.”
“That should keep you busy. And tonight?”
“After that, I’ll head back here. I was going to ask the Concierge to recommend a restaurant in the Gay Village and take it from there.”
Penrith leaned in very close over the table to Reggie. “May I make a suggestion?” He inquired.
“Of course.” Reggie politely answered him.
“Have dinner with me. I know a delightful bistro nearby. And we can hit a nightclub – Club Renegade perhaps – afterwards, if you’re up for it.”
Reggie thought for a moment. He remembered his friend Sylvia’s encouragement to get out and explore a romantic life. And then he agreed, “Sure. I’d like that.”
“Good. I’ll be in meetings all day, but I should be done by 6…6:30. Let’s plan on meeting downstairs in the Lobby here at 7:45 tonight. Don’t worry about how to dress. You look great as it is. You don’t have to change. Sound good to you?”
“Yes. I look forward to it, Patrick.”
With that, Reggie and Patrick finished eating, settled their respective bills, and parted ways for now – Reggie for a day of touring and Patrick to attend to his business.
Reggie thoroughly enjoyed Montreal’s Old Quarter and the sights it offered. He thought he’d be exhausted by the end of the day, but the prospect of dinner with Patrick Penrith – and looking into those beautiful blue eyes – kept him energized all day. He made it back to the hotel just after 6 – which left him enough time for a brief lie down and to freshen himself up before meeting Patrick in the lobby at 7:45. Reggie listened for the most part to Patrick’s advice about dressing for the night. After waking from his nap, Reggie showered and changed to a fresh white tee before donning the tight-fitting navy blue, Merino Wool jumper and jeans once more. Before leaving his room to go downstairs, Reggie took a look at himself in the full-length mirror at the back of the bathroom door. Once again, he recalled Sylvia’s words, and he thought, “Okay…T’Challa – yeah, there might be a resemblance.” Curling his arms and doing a bit of flexing, he spoke to the man staring back at him in the mirror, “My suit is good…Wakanda Forever!” He laughed, then grabbed his winter coat and headed out of his hotel room to meet Patrick in the lobby.
Patrick was there waiting for Reggie. He had dressed in grey, slim trousers and an extra-slim, blue dress shirt unbuttoned just so to reveal his very smooth chest and rolled up a bit on his arms. He flashed a smile, as he rose to greet Reggie. Patrick had made reservations at a local joint. “I hope you like Spanish?” Reggie responded that he was up for any food, as long as it was good. “Good…they make a mean paella,” Patrick assured him.
The restaurant was close to the hotel, so they walked the short distance. The maître d'hôtel greeted Patrick as he might a valued customer, and he seated the pair in a quiet alcove. Patrick asked Reggie, if he could order a bottle of wine. He ordered a Bodegas Muga Reserva 2016 – a tempranillo from Spain. Reggie complimented him on the choice, and they decided to share a traditional Spanish paella. Once they ordered and were enjoying the wine, Patrick wanted to know about Reggie’s background. As he had at breakfast that morning, Patrick leaned in, as if he did not want to miss a word Reggie said. Whenever Reggie asked a question about Patrick, the man answered in general terms. He grew up in the north of England, and still carried a British passport. He started working for “Byzantine Imports” straight out of university. Apart from those few details, Patrick remained vague about himself. He had a way of turning the conversation back around to Reggie’s life. As an inspector with the Met, Reggie remained discreet, but he overcame his natural reserve and modesty, and he opened up about his romantic life.
“You’ve never had a long-term relationship? A man to bring home to meet the family?” Patrick appeared incredulous.
Reggie reddened a tad. “Never more than a few dates, and no one serious enough to meet the family…” He looked off as if into the distance before continuing. He turned and faced Patrick. “My family’s gone now…”
“I’m sorry, all alone in the world…” Patrick replied in comfort, but he already knew that detail of Reggie’s life.
“Apart from good friends from my schooldays and the Met.” Reggie thought of Sylvia, Jerry from Cambridge who had recommended the Gay Village, and Dom Columba at Ampleforth.
“And your first time outside the UK? Do you know anyone in Canada?”
“One holiday trip to France, when I was much younger. And no, I don’t know any Canadians.”
Patrick sat back in his chair and took a good look at Reggie. “So – no one here in Canada has met you?”
For a moment Reggie thought that was an odd way to phrase a question. Patrick saw his puzzled look and acted quickly to steer Reggie away from any suspicions. “Well, I mean I’ll have you all to myself…at least while you’re here in Montreal,” he remarked suggestively with a wink. “Are you up for dessert or are you sticking to your diet again?”
“I’ll pass on the dessert.”
“Well, are you up for clubbing, then?”
“It’s been a long day, and there so much I want to see tomorrow. Do you mind if we pass on clubbing?”
“Certainly not.” Patrick looked for the waiter, found him, and motioned him over. He was a nice-looking, young man, probably working there to pay his way through school.
“Did you enjoy the paella, gentlemen?”
“Excellent,” Patrick said.
“Delicious,” offered Reggie.
“Our chef is from València, the paella is his signature dish.”
“Our compliments to him, then. The check, please.”
“Very good, sir.” The waiter walked off. Penrith watched him, examining the young man’s bubble butt in the tight, black trousers of his uniform. He would file a memory of the server away for potential procurement at a later date.
“He does have a nice bum,” Reggie observed Patrick following the waiter with his eyes, as he left them.
Patrick turned back to Reggie, “But not as nice as the one I saw last evening!”
Reggie reddened once more. “That was a bit awkward.”
“Not at all. You have nothing to be ashamed of – our waiter cannot hold a candle to you…in any department!”
The waiter returned with the bill of fare. Reggie reached for his billfold.
“Put that away,” Penrith protested, “Allow me…besides I can justify it as a business expense.
Reggie tried to give Patrick his credit card, but he wouldn’t take it. In the end, Patrick gave in. “I don’t know how you might justify dinner with me as a business expense?”
“Well, I will validate it as procuring stock for the company!”
“Stock?” Reggie chuckled. “What type of stock am I?”
“The kind we most value at Byzantine Bonds – like a precious jewel that we want to keep under wraps. Or I’ll write our dinner up as sizing you up as a recruit whom I wish to entice into Byzantine Bonds!”
“Recruit me? I am happy as a clam at high water with the Met. There’s no chance you’ll lure me away.” Reggie avowed.
Taking Reggie’s analogy further, Penrith replied, “Well, as with clam-digging, I’ll just have to wait until low tide to harvest you!” Penrith paid, and he and Reggie walked back to the hotel together.
“Look, tomorrow’s Saturday and I have no plans. May I join you sightseeing. Since I’ve been to Montreal many times, I could lead you to some real treasures.”
Remembering his friends’ advice to take chances, Reggie only took a moment before replying. “I’d enjoy your company, as long as you’re up for an early start. I want to hit the hotel gym about 5, then breakfast and be off by 8.”
“I’ll be in the lobby by 8 am sharp.”
By then, they had arrived back at the hotel. Reggie thanked Patrick for dinner. “I’ll see tomorrow down here at 8. Good Night, Patrick, I had a great time.” They hugged and parted, Reggie to head straight up to his room. Penrith held back, claiming that he needed to talk to the Reception clerk about a matter.
After Reggie had left, Penrith made a call on his mobile. “We’ll make the switch Sunday morning…No…He doesn’t suspect a thing, and he has no idea I’m in the next room to his…I’ll call you once I have him well secured, packaged, and ready for transport.” Penrith ended the conversation and retired for the night.
Saturday
Reggie had a great workout early the next morning. The gym was well equipped for a hotel, but – then again – it was a hotel that catered to a gay clientele. Afterwards, he stripped down to his tackle trunks for laps in the swimming pool on the same floor of the gym. He had the water to himself apart from the lifeguard, and he mulled over his dinner with Patrick Penrith the night before, as he swam back and forth the length of the Olympic-sized pool (a highlight that was a marketing feature of the older hotel). Reggie had had such little experience with dating, he didn’t know whether he had followed the correct etiquette or rules of the game. But he had enjoyed Patrick’s company, and he looked forward to spending the day with him. Finishing up, he put on the bathrobe the hotel provided over his swimming racer, collected his other belongings, and headed back to his room to shower and dress. He had the western omelet and fruit that day for breakfast, and he was waiting in the lobby, when Patrick met him precisely at 8.
The two spent the day exploring various points of interest around the city – McCord Museum , the underground network – Patrick insisted that Reggie had to forget his diet for the time being and try the provincial specialty. Reggie enjoyed the poutine – the hearty mixture of chips, cheese curds, and brown gravy. Reggie enjoyed the company of another man. And even though, it might be just a fleeting, travel romance – he still wondered where it might lead. Little did he deduce that it would to lead to his detention!
Returning to the hotel after a busy day close to 7 pm, Reggie made plans to meet Patrick in the lobby once more at 8:30 for sushi at a local place and then head to Club Renegade to spend Reggie’s last night in Montreal dancing it away. He decided to wear a V-Neck, slim-fitted, blue Henley tee-shirt. It fit snugly over Reggie’s muscular shoulders and chests, but it showed off his guns really well. He wore a pair of Levi’s 541 jeans. Reggie had found that this style was best for his meaty thighs. And the denim conformed over his bountiful booty very nicely. And, of course, his Chelsea boots. Checking himself out one more time in the mirror before grabbing his coat and leaving to meet Patrick by 8:30, Reggie thought that Black Panther was ready to make his move!
Patrick was just finishing a phone call, when Reggie met up with him in the hotel lobby.
“Business?” Reggie asked.
“Just confirming a pickup of some goods for Byzantine Imports tomorrow morning,” Patrick explained.
“Business on a Sunday morning? Those goods must be worth a pretty penny.”
Looking at Reggie from head to toe, Patrick declared, “I’d say so.” He quickly added, “You look great. Business will wait. I want to make sure you enjoy a memorable time on your last night…”
“In Montreal!” Reggie finished Patrick’s sentence.
“Yes, of course” Patrick smiled back at Reggie, while he thought to himself, “…of freedom.”
The sushi joint was, like the restaurant the night before within walking distance of the hotel, and despite the late winter chill they decided to hoof it. It was a busy night for the eatery. After checking their coats, the host directed them to their table. Patrick led the way, and Reggie took the opportunity to check him out. Like Reggie, Patrick wore jeans that fit well but not too tightly on him. He may not have had a bubble bum like Reggie, but it was nice all the same. He had on a slim-fitting, pink shirt tapered at the ends to be worn untucked. He had rolled the sleeves up to reveal his wiry arms dusted with fine blond hair. Once they were seated, Reggie noticed that Patrick’s s shirt was unbuttoned just so to reveal the smooth plane between his finely chiseled pectoral muscles.
They shared a mixture of Shrimp Tempura, Boston, Dragon, and Spicy Tuna Rolls, washed down with a bottle of Provençal Rosé. Patrick steered the conversation, asking Reggie about his school days and his love of horses. Under the spell of Patrick’s blue eyes, Reggie did not notice that Patrick still remained a bit of a mystery, when it came to details about himself. Enthralled with letting himself relax in the company of an attractive man, Reggie pushed aside his policeman’s almost natural inquisitiveness – something he would have much time to regret later on. Soon, it was 10:30, and Patrick reminded Reggie that they were headed to Club Renegade. Reggie excused himself from the table to visit the lavatory. When he returned, Patrick had already settled the bill.
“That’s not fair, Patrick. You’re making me feel like a kept man.”
“Well…maybe I’d like to keep you, Reggie. Again, I can write it off as a business expense. I’m reeling you in for Byzantine Imports.”
“But still…” Reggie started.
“How about it we call it even, if it is your signature on the breakfast tab tomorrow?”
“You’re a very optimistic businessman. So, you think you will have reeled me in by morning?” Reggie answered provocatively – surprising himself at his forwardness.
“Oh! I have no doubt that I will have caught you by morning, Reggie,” Patrick retorted seductively. “Come on, let’s go dancing.”
From the sushi joint, they made it to Club Renegade. The bouncer apparently recognized Patrick, and they entered the club ahead of a group of men waiting to gain admittance. And the manager comped the “membership” fees after greeting Patrick like an old friend. “I’ve often recruited for Byzantine Imports here before…some wonderful acquisitions,” he offered Reggie as an explanation.
“Recruited in a nightclub? Acquisitions?” Reggie’s curiosity had begun to awaken.
“I meant I have brought clients here before. To show them a good time.” He fibbed, as they were escorted to a table.
Reggie unwittingly accepted the fib, and he was soon seated alongside Patrick on a bench with a cushioned back against one wall of the club opposite the dance floor. They ordered drinks – seltzer with a twist for Reggie, a Tito’s and tonic for Patrick. Reggie took in the surroundings. Like all dance clubs, the lighting was dark except on the floor, where strobe lights and a disco ball illuminated the dancers. The deejay was in a booth above the crowd “spinning” a mix of music from disco, New Wave, punk, tech, house, to contemporary tunes. After a few sips of their drinks, Patrick rose and offered Reggie his hand. Reggie accepted it, and Patrick led him through to the dance floor.
Reggie swayed to the beat of the music, and Patrick slid easily into the rhythm. They danced to several songs, before the deejay switched to Rihanna -- This is What You Came For. Patrick grabbed the arse-cheeks of Reggie’s muscular hindquarters and pulled him in tight. Reggie was soon grinding back to Patrick’s own rubbing into him. Reggie began to get aroused, and he felt the same reaction from Patrick. Patrick worked his arms under Reggie’s Henley, and Reggie’s hands were also exploring Patrick’s torso. Their swaying had slowed when the song ended, but their exploring of each other kept up. Above the din of the next song, Reggie heard Patrick suggest in his ear,
“Had enough?”
Reggie looked into those blue eyes and nodded his assent. They made their way back to the table, and Reggie left enough cash to cover the drinks and a generous tip. The men collected their coats; and with Patrick again leading Reggie by the hand, they made their way to the exit, grabbed one of the taxis outside, and headed back to the hotel. Once back in the lobby, Reggie now led Patrick by the hand to the lifts. Entering the first open one, Patrick grabbed Reggie in an embrace and pushed him against a side wall. He pressed his lips into Reggie’s in a kiss, as the doors closed. Somehow through all the fumbling, Reggie hit the button for his floor.
Once the lift brought them to Reggie’s floor, Reggie again led Patrick by the hand to his room. After shutting the door, Patrick resumed charge. They let their winter coats fall to floor by the door, but not before Patrick removed some packets of protection from his coat’s pockets and left them on the credenza within easy reach. Standing at the end of the bed, Patrick and Reggie began pressing their lips together in ever deepening kisses, as they explored each other’s mouths, necks, and ears. Reggie began to remove his Henley, when Patrick put his hands on his chest and told him to stop. “Let’s go slow. And l want to undress you. And you can take my clothes of me?”
Reggie whispered, “Okay.”
Patrick grabbed hold of the bottom of Reggie’s Henley, and peeled it up with Reggie reaching his arms upward with it. He let it drop to the floor. Taking in the sight of Reggie’s broad shoulders, muscular chest with the tight, very curly, black hair spread across his mocha-colored skin and trailing downward over his well-defined abdominal muscles, Patrick nuzzled Reggie’s neck with love bites and pinched his nipples between his thumb and forefingers. “You’re exquisite – such valuable goods,” he murmured.
Reggie let out a small laugh in reply. “So, you’re continuing to assess me as an acquisition for your company – you don’t give up!” He took the buttons of Patrick’s shirt in his own fingers and slowly undid them, then pushed the shirt off him. Patrick was well-muscled, but wiry and lean, as opposed to his own bulk and brawn. Apart from blond tufts of hair in his armpits and the fine hair of his forearms, Patrick’s torso was hairless until the light brown manscape teased out from his 501’s. Reggie smothered Patrick’s own neck with kisses and nibbles.
“Byzantine Imports won’t give up until you’re ours, Reggie,” Patrick seemingly teased. He reached down to unclasp Reggie’s belt, opened the top of his jeans, pulled his zipper down, and then slowly nudged the blue jeans down. Reggie’s hardness strained against his tighty whiteys. Reggie returned the favor, unhooking Patrick’s belt, unbuttoned his 501’s and slid them down his slim hips. Patrick wore no underwear – his Johnson popped straight up as it was freed from the denim. Patrick tugged at Reggie’s underwear and freed his thunder junk.
Somehow the two men extracted themselves from their trousers, pants, and socks, all the while still standing close and exploring each other’s bodies with lips, tongues, and fingers. Patrick pushed Reggie down on the bed, and he reached back for a packet of protection on the credenza. Reggie reached over to a nightstand where a bottle of lube stood ready…
Sunday Morning
Reggie awoke first. Patrick was asleep next to him, nestled into his left side. Reggie’s left arm cradled the sleeping, blond-haired man. Reggie reached for his watch on the nightstand. It was 7:30. He gently laid back into the pillows and thought about the past few hours of love-making and drifting off to sleep in another man’s arms. The discarded packets of protection spoke to the longevity of the session, whereas a gentle soreness in his matako attested to its intensity. Before they drifted off to sleep, Reggie – as an attentive lover – retrieved face flannels and used one to carefully cleanse his spilled man-seed from Patrick’s body. When he was done, Patrick took the other cloth and washed his ji*zz from Reggie. Reggie smiled as he thought back at his time with Patrick. He decided to leave his number and particulars with Patrick before he departed for Vancouver. Reggie hoped this would be more than a one-night stand.
“Good Morning.” Patrick was looking over at Reggie with those beautifully blue eyes. He reached in for a kiss. Reggie made it more than only a morning peck.
Breaking the kiss, Reggie returned the salutation. “Good Morning back at you.” He held Patrick tightly in his arms. “I’d like to lie here all day holding you in my arms. Shall we? Or shall we dress and head downstairs for breakfast. Today’s my cheat day. I usually have a stack of blueberry pancakes, maple syrup, a side of bacon, and OJ on Sunday mornings as a cheat meal to balance my attention to diet at other times.”
Patrick sat up on the bed and looked at Reggie. “I have a better idea. Why don’t we order room service and have breakfast here?” He saw the menu on the nightstand and grabbed it. “Look, you can order your blueberry pancakes from room service. After it arrives, I can clasp onto you. You said that you wanted to pay for breakfast. Your signature will be on the bill here.” Patrick smirked salaciously at Reggie.
Reggie thought for a moment. “Okay,” he agreed. Patrick picked up the receiver of the phone and “dialed” for Room Service. He ordered for them – Reggie’s cheat meal, a western omelet and sausage for him, coffee and two OJs.
“I’ll shower, and then you,” Patrick suggested, “I don’t think that shower is big enough for the two of us. By the time you’re done, the breakfast will have arrived.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Reggie sat back into the pillows and watched as Patrick got up and walked towards the bathroom. He took time to admire the man’s dapper duff. Reggie was glad Jerry had suggested taking the weekend here in Montreal before heading to Vancouver. He was leaving later this afternoon, but perhaps he could spend the next few hours with Patrick. Patrick soon emerged from the bathroom, toweling himself off. Reggie rose from the bed to jump into the shower after him. As they passed each other, Patrick goosed Reggie on one cheek of his magnificently muscular hindquarters.
“Cheeky Bugger!” Reggie slapped his hand away.
“Well – those are cheeks I’d love to bugger again,” Patrick cooed.
Reggie shut the bathroom door, relieved his bladder, and stepped into the shower. As the water cascaded over him, he quickly soaped up – eager to return to Patrick’s company. Freshly showered, he brushed his teeth and applied dabs of his “stink stick under his arms. While still in the bathroom, he heard Patrick answer the door for the room service waiter. The man wheeled the breakfast cart in, set it by the window, and thanked Patrick.
“Thank you very much, Inspector Percy. Enjoy your meal.”
Reggie waited until the server had closed the room door behind him, before exiting the bathroom. He was still naked and using the towel to dry the dark, tightly curled hair of his head, as he walked towards the table by the window with their breakfast laid upon it. He did not notice that the lock on the door to the room next door was unbolted. Patrick had put on his 501’s, but he remained shirtless. Reggie stopped at the low bureau. He gathered a clean pair of Bonds briefs and fresh singlet from his gear bag, and he slipped into his underwear.
“Did I hear the waiter thank you, thinking you were I?” Reggie asked. Patrick was standing by the table at the chair nearest the nightstand. He had draped a napkin over one forearm, holding the chair out for Reggie, as if he were about to serve him.
“Since it was I who answered, I expect he thought it was I who was the guest of this room. And since it’s registered to Inspector Reginald Percy, I expect he believed I was Inspector Reginal Percy.”
“I see,” Reggie accepted the explanation, as he took the seat Patrick offered him. Patrick sat down opposite him. Reggie noticed Patrick had placed his mobile next to him on the table. Patrick picked up his glass of orange juice and raised it in a toast. He waited for Reggie to do the same.
“To the bonds that tie men close!” Patrick acclaimed and drank the juice down.
Somewhat puzzled at the meaning of the salute, Reggie nevertheless followed suit - he downed the libation and put the empty glass down. Patrick stared at Reggie in silence for a few moments, before he picked up his mobile and keyed in a pre-set number.
“I’ve acquired the goods. In a short while, I’ll package him. He’ll be ready for pick-up in ninety minutes. Yes – Room 425. I’ll be waiting with him.”
Reggie didn’t understand. He stood up from the table. He then saw the bill of fare for the breakfast. It had been signed “Inspector Reginald Percy,” but the signature was not his. Patrick ended the call.
Picking up the bill, Reggie held it out to Patrick. “Patrick, what’s the meaning of this? And what was that phone call about?”
“You will be briefed soon enough. But may I strongly suggest you sit back down. You are about to lose control of your body.”
Before he could say anything more, Reggie felt his legs grow weak, and he collapsed backwards into the chair. He soon lost sensation in his arms, and they dangled over the sides of the chair. Reggie began to slump in the chair. Before he slid completely from it, Patrick came over and boosted him up in the seat. Reggie’s head lolled back, but Patrick made sure that Reggie didn’t hit anything. Soon Reggie was completely unable to move a muscle of his body. He couldn’t speak. Yet he remained conscious. Making sure Reggie was settled in the chair once more, Patrick then resumed his own seat.
“I promised you, Reggie, that your signature would be on the breakfast tab, and indeed you signed…I’m sorry…I signed it…as you. I’m assuming your identity, Reggie. And Byzantine Imports has acquisitioned you. We’re a branch of the Brotherhood of the Black Rope. And you will shortly feel our rope’s embrace.” Rising from his seat, Patrick continued, “I’ll be right back, Reggie. Stay right where you are.” He laughed at his own joke.
Reggie watched Reggie walk to the door that was the access to the adjacent hotel room. He gazed in silent wonder, as Patrick opened it and opened the door on the other side to the other room. Patrick disappeared into the other room. With every fiber of his being, Reggie tried to get out of the chair. He couldn’t. Reggie was paralyzed.
Patrick soon returned with a rather large black, nylon haversack, which he placed at the foot of the bed. He went over and stood over Reggie. “Glad to see you’re still here.” He sneered down at the poor man. Patrick squatted down and grabbed hold of Reggie under his arms. He lifted himself up with Reggie along with him. He pivoted Reggie over to the side of the bed and softly laid him onto the bed – resting Reggie’s head onto the mattress after removing the pillows and then pulling the incapacitated inspector’s legs up onto the bed. Patrick straddled Reggie and maneuvered him away from the edge but not quite to the center of the bed. Patrick next adjusted Reggie – crossing his wrists one over the other to rest atop his bo-jangle and placing his legs side by side.
Patrick climbed off him and went to retrieve the duffel from the floor, which he then placed on the bed at Reggie’s feet. He unzipped the bag, and began to extract coils of black rope, black bandanas, a roll of black duct-tape, and rolls of clear cling-wrap. Reggie mutely observed Patrick deposit each item onto the bed. Patrick uncoiled lengths of rope and began to tie Reggie up. First, he bound Reggie’s crossed wrists, ankles, knees, and thighs together, before he pinioned his arms to his sides by knitting the rope around Reggie’s chest and back, carefully threading the fibers around each bicep. He next crocheted the bundled areas together with more strands of the black fiber. He pulled Reggie to one side and then the other, as he weaved him into a well-woven web. As he did so, Patrick began to explain the predicament that had caught Reggie off guard.
“After the server left earlier and before you had come out of the bathroom, I slipped a few drops of a narcotic – a derivative of curare – into your orange juice. It’s very powerful and acts within minutes of its application. As you now know it cripples its victim. It’s very effective, but not long-lasting. As you might be soon experiencing, movement returns within a short period of time. The dosage I added to your OJ was just powerful enough to keep you prostrate until my packaging of you is complete. But you will not regain your full strength for at least 24 hours. By then, though, you will be completely enmeshed within Byzantine Import’s bonds.”
Indeed, Reggie had begun to fell a tingling sensation returning to his toes. He listened as Patrick went on. “You may slowly be realizing that Byzantine Bonds does not acquire just any old goods. No, Reggie old boy, we amass a very special breed of goods – men – like yourself – young, athletic, and good-looking. You should consider yourself lucky, Reggie. You’re becoming part of a very special breed of men. You’re joining world-class athletes, who are the specimens in an experiment that will set my Brotherhood upon a course of world domination.”
Patrick stepped back to take in the now netted Reggie, checking a knot there and a braided cable here for its security. Satisfied with the malicious mesh he had knitted Reggie into, he picked up a roll of cling-wrap and started to swaddle Reggie up in the very sticky cellophane.
He laid out the plan for him to replace Reggie. “The key member of our breed of men is an inspector like yourself. His name is Simon DuWright. He is an inspector with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police in Vancouver.” He looked up at Reggie to register a reaction from him. The sedative still kept him somnolent. He went on. “You might be beginning to surmise things now, Inspector. Our Brotherhood needed a mole to infiltrate the RCMP – the Force – in Vancouver to gather information on what Inspector DuWright and the Force know about our operations. When we learned about the Interagency Counter-Terrorism Program, we discovered the perfect opportunity to place such a mole within DuWright’s field of work – someone we could remove easily once we gathered the necessary intelligence. That would be me. An operative of ours within the Metropolitan Police in London – the tentacles of our Brotherhood reach everywhere, Reggie – learned about your participation in the Program. So, we learned everything we could about you, and we decided to replace you with me before the start of the Program. Your attractiveness – you do look like that actor by the way who played Black Panther – your intelligence, your athleticism – all those attributes made you an ideal candidate for our Brotherhood’s program too. So, we decided not only to replace you but to keep you.”
Patrick had unfurled several rolls of cling-wrap by now and rolled Reggie up in the clear, sticky film up to his shoulders. He used more of the wrap to envelop him further across his shoulders and around his torso. “That was no accident that you took my luggage and not yours the other day at the Reception Desk. The clerk who registered me in the hotel is a member of our Order. He arranged the room adjacent to yours for me. And Club Renegade belongs to our Order too. We often use it to procure goods for Byzantine Bonds. We already intend to procure the waiter there from the restaurant the other night – you remember him, don’t you Reggie? He had such a cute bubble butt! We’ll send him a complimentary “membership” pass one evening. Young, attractive men can never pass up a good time at a popular nightspot for free. Once we’ve baited and hooked him, he’ll remain reeled up, as you find yourself reeled up now.”
“Our original plan was to abduct you from the Club last night. However, after I saw you in all your glory that first night, we changed plans. I am a Prior of our Order. I must answer for my decisions to my Grand Prior – the CEO of Byzantine Imports – but I may still alter plans, if I wish to sample the goods – the men – we want to collect. You are an extremely handsome man, Reggie. You take care of yourself , and it shows. You’re well-muscled from your shoulders to your toes. Your man cakes have few rivals. And your meat and potatoes cook to perfection. I needed to sample your wares. And I am well-satiated. Thank you for indulging me.”
“You dirty bastard.” Reggie feebly mumbled, but Patrick heard it all too audibly.
“Ah! You are recovering your ability to speak. It’s almost time for us to part, Reggie. Yes – I’ve been called a bastard by many men – most of whom find themselves in the position you’re in now. But let me warn you. As you regain the movement of your muscles, you will struggle to free yourself from this bondage. As you strain against the ropes, they will tighten around you. The cling-wrap that mummifies you has an adhesive that constricts as it is subject to the exertion you employ to break out of it. Take my word, Reggie – all that your struggles will produce is ever-tightening knots around your limbs and envelop you hidebound to the wrapping – even more than you are at present. Ours is an Order going back to ancient times. My chapter of the Order of the Black Rope dates to the early Middle Ages. An ancestor of mine – from northern England as I told you I hailed from – found himself in service to a powerful family of the Byzantine Empire. That family – the Palaiologos – produced several emperors. Another branch produced artists of the highest order. They were skilled in the art of bondage – binding men in inescapable bonds. Every few generations, my family is called upon once again to serve the Palaiologos, as I now serve Michael Palailogos. You will meet that great Master of Subjugation soon. But do not strain against the Byzantine Bonds that chain you, Reggie. Your efforts are futile.”
“You’ll never get away with this, Patrick.” Reggie’s voice sounded stronger and some movement in his mummified state hinted at his testing of Patrick’s heeding. As if it were alive, the clear wrapping shriveled around his body.
“Ah! Reggie, if I had a penny every time a man said that platitude to me!” He patted Reggie’s cheek as he told him that.
“They’ll come looking for me! There’s the obvious difference between us…”
“But Reggie, you will be away for several weeks in Vancouver, where no one knows you. By the time your London Mounted Unit discovers you missing, you will have long disappeared from the radar. And – yes – you are a Black man, and I am not. The Brotherhood risks much, but we expect a big pay off with our program, so the gamble is worth the risk. But enough talk – my associates will soon be here for you.” Patrick bent over Reggie to kiss him on the lips. Reggie attempted but could not move his head away from him. Patrick kissed him softly. “You will see me again, Reggie, after my mission in Vancouver – taking your place there – is complete.”
“To complete your bondage, I must gag you with this.” Patrick showed Reggie a clumped-up bundle of black cloth. “It is scented with my essence, Reggie. Now open up like a good man.”
Reggie again attempted resistance. Weak from the sedative as he still was, Reggie could do little. Patrick simply held his jaw open and pushed the cloth in. Reggie tasted Patrick’s musk – a potent potpourri of pheromones and sticky protein. Patrick then cleave-gagged Reggie, sealing that bundle in place, and added another black bandana over his entire mouth. Patrick picked up a roll of black duct-tape and swathed Reggie’s already gagged lips and head with several strips.
“There now -- You’re all set for crating.” There was a knock on the door of the adjacent room. Patrick left to answer it. Reggie tried to move on the bed, but it was a vain attempt. His fate was as sealed as his body was under the cling-wrap. Patrick returned with two men dressed in casual attire. Taking Reggie by his shoulders and feet, the two carried him to the room next door. The room was a mirrored reflection of his. A crate, much as one that holds equipment lay open there. The men settled Reggie within the cushioned hollow of the box. Patrick appeared above him with a diver’s mask and breathing apparatus.
“It’s farewell for now, Reggie. This will allow you to breathe while crated in this trunk. It’s an ordinary trunk – much like those that roadies use to transport band equipment. As a matter of fact, that is how you will be leaving the hotel – with band equipment from the group that played here in the hotel last night. You won’t be travelling to the band’s next gig, though. A roadie in our employ will detour to deposit you at my Master’s residence nearby. I will now assume your identity and fly out later today to Vancouver to begin our mission against our prized target, Inspector Simon DuWright, under the guise of you, Inspector Reginald Percy of the London Mounted Unit of the Metropolitan Police. No one will suspect that I am not you.” With that, Patrick placed the mask over Reggie’s face, and he stepped out of Reggie’s sight. Reggie saw one of Patrick’s associates shut the lid closed, and Reggie was cocooned in darkness.
Friday: Westmount, Montreal, Quebec: The Depths Below the Estate of Michael Palaiologos
Reggie had replayed these events over and over again, ever since he was unlocked from that trunk, and he saw the lights of this prison to which his kidnappers had taken him that day. Reggie went over every detail of the time he spent with Patrick Penrith. He now recognized what that malevolent man’s actions and words held in store for him. Penrith lured him into a snare and then tightened the trap around him. Penrith’s spoke in riddles, whose meanings should have alerted Reggie to his intentions. Reggie continued to kick himself at his naivete to fall for Penrith’s appeal. But now he vowed to maintain his focus on breaking free of this prison and bring Penrith and his pernicious posse down.
Shackled and silenced to a former electric chair alongside a blindfolded and deafened younger man in an identical chair – similarly shackled and silenced – Reggie continued to strain against the leather straps to hold his arm against the strapped arm of his cohort captive within this cell. The lad’s arm remained against Reggie’s arm. Reggie realized that Danny Warwick understood that Reggie was there to support him and help him past the suffering. How they would ultimately escape that servile suffering, Reggie hadn’t quite yet figured out.
To Be Continued…
