The Final Veil: Who had kidnapped America's favorite belly dancer? Read online

  The Final Veil

  A John Bowman Mystery

  Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright 2016 By Pat Powers

  Cover Art by Graphics of Hottitude

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Author, except where permitted by law.

  Chapter 1

  One of our dancers is missing

  After work, I liked to stand on the walkway outside my office and look at the colors reflected on the lake and drink a cold bottle of hard cider before going home. That particular night, the air was hot and heavy with the rains of early summer, and mists were already rising from the surface of the water.

  A covey of women burst from Lady Astra's dance studio in a spray of happy, lilting voices. The first evening class was over. It was always a pleasure to hear so many happy female voices. They were a motley crew, of all ages, races, and shapes. The older ones especially tended to have a little more weight on their bodies than you'd normally associate with dancers, but they all had a certain bounce to their step and a wiggle in their hips as they came out of Lady Astra's class, that was a pleasure to see. Especially since quite a few were wearing the beledi dance costumes they'd been dancing in. It was in its way as naturally beautiful a sight as the lake, and I enjoyed it to the full, just as I'd enjoyed the sight of the lake to the full a few moments earlier.

  You took your pleasures where you could find them, in my line of work.

  Lady Astra came out of her studio, flanked by several apple-polishers who had to get in a last word before leaving. Astra was a middle-aged woman, a tall but wide-hipped and well-endowed blonde who had the most graceful, sinuous walk I had ever seen in a human being in my life.

  Astra saw me on the walkway and very deliberately headed toward me. We sometimes talked in the evening after her classes. Somehow Astra managed, without being abrupt or dismissive, to see the apple polishers off before reaching me. She was good that way.

  "Good evening," said Astra, favoring me with one of her friendly smiles.

  "Good evening to you," I replied, smiling back at her. One of Astra's smile could last me a week. We often met out here after class, chatting idly. I hadn't asked her out, though.

  "I hope you will not mind, but I have given your name to someone," said Lady Astra.

  "Well, so long as he is not with the IRS," I said.

  "No, nothing like that," said Astra. "He is the boyfriend of one of my former students, April Dancer."

  "The dancing slavegirl?" I asked.

  "Yes, her," replied Astra.

  "So, this would be her master as well?" I asked.

  "Yes," Astra replied.

  "Why did you give him my name?" I asked.

  "He is concerned because she has been missing since last night," said Astra. "The police have told him that they will not even begin searching for her for another 24 hours, and he's certain she's not just out on a lark. So I told him about you."

  "Well, thanks," I said, "I can always use some new business."

  "You're welcome," said Astra. "I know you will do everything in your power to find her."

  "You have a personal interest in Ms Dancer?" I asked.

  "Yes," said Astra. "We kept in touch after she left my studio. She is a serious student of beledi dance, you know."

  "I saw her a couple of times on the Dave Linnaugh Show," I said. "She impressed the hell out of me."

  "As a man, you mean," Astra said with a smile.

  "Well, yeah," I admitted, grinning, "she is spectacularly beautiful and very sexy. But she also danced with a certain ... oh, I'm not sure how to say it. Grace. Expressiveness. Conviction."

  "That is getting close," said Astra. "She dances as the spirit of her womanhood moves her, and her spirit is very powerful and very well served by her body."

  "That's what I was going to say," I said, "...eventually."

  "Well, in addition to being a great dancer, she is a very strong and good person, and she has publicly credited much of her success as a dancer to my teaching," said Astra. "As a result I have added three new classes each day, and still I must turn students away. As you can imagine, I feel very grateful to her. And I know that you will find her, if she can be found."

  "I will do my best, if I'm hired," I said.

  "I know you will," said Astra, favoring me with one of her big smiles again. "I remember how well you did with that missing boy."

  "That was largely a matter of luck, not investigative skill," I said, knowing that she was referring to the Turner case.

  "I imagine luck is a great asset in your line of work," said Astra. "Do not assume it is of no worth simply because you cannot control it."

  "Oh, I'll always take whatever Lady Luck throws me," I said.

  "Good," said Astra. "Sometimes something good will be standing right in front of someone, and they won't even reach out to take it, because they don't recognize their own good fortune."

  I smiled back at Astra. The ball was in my court.

  "You know, you're right," I said. "How about going out to dinner with me and telling me more about my fortune? I think you may know more than you are admitting to."

  "I have classes most evenings, with barely time for a handful of rice between them," said Astra, "but I have kept Monday evenings free."

  "Monday works for me," I said, fighting an instinct to pull out his phone and check his calendar, knowing it would be the wrong thing to do.

  "I shall look forward to it," said Astra.

  And so I had a date, which was a propitious way to start a case.

  I went back inside my office and hung around a bit to see if Dancer's boyfriend would call. He did, about fifteen minutes after I sat down to spin through a few web sites.

  April Dancer had a website, I discovered that easily enough. The opening page had an image of her caught in mid-whirl, her veils billowing, adding their curves to the sinuous curves of her body to create an impression of flowing beauty.

  The site's text and subsequent pages were mostly promotional images about what a great dancer she was, the history of beledi dance and how to contact her for appearances. It looked like the sort of thing that her business manager had put together.

  There was also a brief bit about her life as a slavegirl, though it was next to nothing. It was a brief paragraph at the bottom of the page labeled "About April." It said, "Slavegirl: Yes, I have chosen to live my life as the slave of Master Jeff, a wonderful man I love and respect, or rather, he has permitted me to live as his slave. There is no coercion or force here, it is a completely consensual relationship that I am free to leave at any time, but which I know I will never want to leave, because I find it so rewarding. More than that I will not say, except to say that love is a beautiful thing and I hope everyone has the chance to experience it in its fullest flower, as I have and do."

  The slavegirl thing bothered me, I had to admit. But it wasn't my job to judge anyone morally, nor my inclination. All I had to do was find out what was happening with her.

  The phone rang a few minutes later. It was Master Jeff, seeking an appointment. I told him I was open and gave him directions, then sat down and looked up a few more things whil
e I waited.

  Master Jeff Reynolds turned out to be a short, wide-shouldered man in his late 20s with a firm handshake and extremely good manners. He also moved like someone who was in shape and coordinated. His dress was casual but neat -- jeans, a collared shirt and sandals. He wore a goatee and had his hair trimmed short, giving him a geeky appearance that was belied by the slope of his neck muscles.

  "Lady Astra has already told me a little about your case," I said. "She says your girlfriend, April Dancer, has been missing for two days, and you're concerned that it's not intentional."

  "It's not," said Jeff calmly.

  "How do you know that?" I asked. "I have to tell you, the vast majority of missing person cases involving attractive young women have them turning up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, with a new man in their lives. Turns out to have been a lark, 999 times out of a thousand."

  "I know, I did some research," said Jeff. "But there is much that you don't know about April. She is not particularly in need of a lark."

  "Look, I don't mean to be offensive," I said. "If you want to hire me I will gladly take your money and devote my every waking moment to finding her, assuming that she has been abducted or is lost in some way -- it does happen. I charge $500 a day plus expenses for this service. I'm just telling you, the most likely way this case will resolve is, I'll take your money, work hard to find April, and she'll show up at some point thereafter, but not as a result of anything I did."

  "I am OK with that," said Jeff. "The money isn't a problem for me. I want someone with some resources and know-how working on this case, and that would be you."

  "We're agreed, then," I said. "Now, exactly when did you first suspect that April was missing?"

  "Last night," responded Jeff. "She had a gig at Athena's Palace and she didn't show for it. We got a call from the management around 8 p.m. that night, wondering where she was. Haven't seen or heard from her since."

  There was real unhappiness in Jeff's voice as he spoke. He was worried. Could be that he missed her and feared for her safety. Could be that he feared for her income. Could be that he feared being caught out, if he were playing games with me.

  I went with the "missed her" theory, not just because Jeff was my client, but because he seemed to have little to gain and much to lose from April's disappearance.

  "Does April have any enemies, people who might want to harm her?" I asked.

  "No," Jeff said, without so much as a thought. "She has an incredibly sweet disposition, everyone who knows her loves her."

  "What about people who don't know April?" I asked. "I imagine she gets fan mail as a result of her TV appearances, does she ever get hate mail?"

  "She gets lots of fan emails, and a little hate mail with it," Jeff said. "Most of the hate mail comes from feminists and other bluenoses who are upset with her for publicly identifying herself as a slavegirl, and for displaying herself for the pleasure of men."

  "Any of the hate mail ever contain any threats?" I asked.

  "Nothing specific," responded Jeff. "Sometimes the emails say stuff like, "You will regret your foolish choices," and "you harm the cause of all women when you call yourself a slave to men."

  "Anybody in particular seem angrier than the others?" I asked.

  "There were some sharply worded emails from people in a group called the Angry Lesbian Feminist Alliance and from the Mothers of Propriety," said Jeff. "But nothing I'd classify as a threat. I'd have turned anything like that over to the police."

  "Did April read any of the emails?" I asked.

  "None of the angry ones," said Jeff. "I vetted all of her emails and passed along any that seemed interesting. She gets a lot of fan mail along the lines of 'you're the most beautiful woman in the world, I love you, please send me your panties.' She doesn't see any of those, unless they're amusing in some way."

  "They're pretty amusing as things are," I commented.

  "After the hundredth one, the novelty wears off," said Jeff. "After the thousandth one, they're just landfill fodder."

  "How did you and April meet?" I asked.

  "I'd seen her around at various Gorean meets," Jeff said. "Then her master, Gnocchus of Veldisium, put her up in the battle circle. So I put Kitten up in the battle circle and challenged him. He wanted Kitten pretty badly and he thought he could take me, so he accepted my challenge. We fought, and I won April."

  "Whoa," I said. "Back up a minute. What's a Gorean meet?"

  "OK, Goreans are people who have, in one way or another, adopted the fantasies of a writer named John Norman as a guide for living," Jeff explained. "It's sort of a Roman slavegirl fantasy with a lot of Conan the Barbarian thrown in. The Goreans have meets, which are a lot like science fiction conventions, except there are slightly more naked women present and a lot less drunkenness. And there are the battle circles. It's a sand ring measuring about five meters in diameter. You go in wearing gloves, foot shields, helmet and mouthpiece. And a cup, of course. The fighter who is knocked unconscious or knocked out of the ring for ten seconds loses. Each fighter puts up a prize, and who fights whom depends on who wants what prize. Most of the time, the prize is a slavegirl."

  "What does the loser's slavegirl have to do?" I asked, though I had a pretty good idea.

  "She becomes the property of the victor, sometimes for a period of time as short as a single evening, sometimes for good," said Jeff. "Most of the time, for a week or two."

  "So, you and Gnocchus put your respective slavegirls up for keeps, and you won," I said.

  "No," said Jeff. "We fought for two weeks' use rights. It's very rare for slavegirls to be put in the circle for permanent exchange. But after two weeks, April elected to stay with me and Kitten instead of going back to Scormus and Lita and Fifi."

  "Who's Kitten?" I asked.

  "She's my other slavegirl," Jeffrey said matter-of-factly.

  "Your other slavegirl," I said. "How does she feel about April?"

  "She loves April more than I do, I think," said Jeff.

  "And how does April feel about Kitten?" I asked.

  "Kinda worshipful, to tell the truth," said Jeff. "She admires and loves Kitten."

  "No jealousy between the two?" I asked.

  "No, thank God," said Jeff. "That would put me in a hard place."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Because my first instinct if they started to act jealous would be to throw one of them out," said Jeff. "Problem is, they like each other more than they like me. Not in a lesbian sex way, more in a personal way. If I tried to break them up, they'd just find a new master who would accept them. And most would."

  "So you're kind of in a precarious position," I said.

  "Not really," Jeff said. "They do like each other more than they like me, but they really, really like me."

  "OK," I said, thinking that with the kind of dynamics he was talking about, there were all kinds of things that could have happened.

  "So has April ever disappeared before?" I asked.

  "No, not ever," Jeff responded. "In fact, like most slavegirls, she's got a thing about being prompt. She's never even been late to meet with anyone."

  "Has April shown any changes in behavior lately?" I asked.

  "What do you mean?" Jeff responded.

  "I mean, has she acted more depressed, less depressed, been more active, less active, changed her eating habits, sleeping habits, taken up new activities, anything at all," I said.

  "Not really," said Jeff. "Dancing and sex are her life, she hasn't changed her behavior or her attitude at all. Basically, she has fun 24 hours a day, seven days a week."

  "So she's been happy," I said.

  "Very happy," Jeff said.

  "Some people find becoming a celebrity stressful, especially if they're controversial in any way," I said.

  "It didn't bother April," said Jeff. "She doesn't watch the news on TV or read the papers, and I screen her mail, email and phone calls, so she's well buffered from the freaky stuff people do. Basically, she goes to gigs,
dances and comes home, where she either stays or goes out with Kitten and I. I try to screen her from most of the crap and I think I've been pretty successful at that."

  "Was she alone when she went to her gig at Athena's Palace?" I asked.

  "Kitten drove her in the Jeep," Jeff said. "Let her off at the front door of the club and drove away."

  "So Kitten saw her go in the door of the club," I asked.

  "No, I asked her about that," Jeff said. "She let her out in the parking lot and saw her heading for the door of the club. She was just a few yards away from the door when Kitten drove off. She didn't see anyone lurking near the door or anything. You have to understand, this isn't a strip club or anything like that. Basically, it's a restaurant serving Middle Eastern cuisine that has dancing several nights a week. They're April's least profitable gig, but April still comes in because they gave her her start and treated her well."

  "I may want to talk to Kitten later," I said.

  "That would be fine," said Jeff. "I'll tell her to expect you."

  "Does April take any drugs?" I asked. "I don't mean just street drugs, but prescription drugs as well."

  "She has an Allegra prescription, she gets hay fever now and then," said Jeff. "That's about it. You have to understand, as a dancer, she has enormous respect for her body. She won't drink or smoke or take drugs, it would bug her a lot if I ordered her to as her master."

  "But she'd do it if you ordered her to," I said.

  "A couple of times," said Jeff. "Any more than that, and the relationship would be over."

  "It sounds like you pay a lot of attention to April," I said.

  "Of course I do," said Jeff. "There's a lot of bullshit out there about master/slave relationship. Fact is, the successful masters are the ones who understand what their slaves want to do, and tell them to do it."

  I got names and addresses out of Jeff and got him to sign a contract and give me my first day's pay in advance.

  "When do you start, tomorrow morning?" Jess asked.

  "No, right now," I said. "Unlike the police, who generally operate on the assumption that a disappearance is intentional unless proven otherwise, I'm operating on the assumption that it's not intentional. If that's so, the sooner I get to work, the better. None of my current caseload is particularly time-limited, so you go to the top of the heap. While I'm awake, I'm on the case, until it resolves."