'Left.'
'Got it in one.'
'Then I think I know who he is.'
9
DI Steel had her feet up on the desk, a cup of coffee in one hand, and an unlit cigarette bobbing about between her lips as she spoke. 'So how come Rickards recognizes this guy's arse then? He been there?'
Logan shrugged. 'Says he saw it on one of the DVDs they confiscated from that brothel raid. He's getting it out of evidence now.'
'Excellent. Nothing like a spot of hardcore porn in the morning to set you up for the day!'
They convened in the board room, Rickards fighting with the DVD player while Steel examined the case. ' James Bondage ?' She peered at the small print on the back, holding it at arm's length to get it in focus. 'Hey, this is shot in Aberdeen! Brilliant! Never knew we had our own dirty film industry.'
The constable sat back on his haunches and smiled as the TV flickered into life. 'They do quite a few titles. Not bad actually, once you get past the accents. They ...' He drifted to a halt as he turned and saw the look on DI Steel's face. Then he went bright red. 'I mean, that's what the guys we arrested said. Em ...' He coughed, fidgeted, then said, 'We're, em ... ready to go ...'
'I'll bet you are.' Steel plonked herself down on the end of the conference table as the screen faded to dark blue, then there was a copyright notice, and a warning that this presentation had been rated R18 by the British Board of Film Classification. And then the production company logo appeared and Logan couldn't help laughing: CROCODILDO FILMS LTD! featuring what could only be described as a rampant, battery-operated reptile. And then the titles started, along with a thinly-veiled pastiche of the James Bond music.
Rickards stabbed the buttons on the remote control, and everything whirred into fast forward: sports car, house, what looked like Balmedie beach, people whizzing about at sixty-four times normal speed. Suddenly the screen filled with pink and the inspector shouted, 'Play! Press play!', but Rickards didn't.
'It's coming up in a minute.'
'But I want to see this bit!' More cars, a fancy house, a brunette in a bikini, a fat man with a goatee, and then more pink. 'Oh come on! Let us see something!'
'Just a... this is it!' Rickards hit play and the jerking figures settled into something more recognizable. And explicit. It was clearly meant to be a take-off of the old 'Secret Agent is captured and tortured for information before being left alone to escape' routine. Only this time the man in the tuxedo was being strapped, face down, onto a customized massage table by a very busty redhead in a rubber nun's outfit. And then spanked. 'Here ...' said Rickards, tapping the screen as the nun ripped James Bondage's trousers and pants off. 'The henchman.' A figure emerged from the shadows - mid-twenties, short blond hair, dark glasses - dressed like a priest.
The man pulled off his shades and said, ' There's no point in resisting, Mr Bondage, you will tell us everything! ' as the nun stopped spanking and pulled on a neon-blue strap-on. Rickards hit pause and everything stopped. 'See - it looks just like him!' He held up one of the IB's touched-up morgue photos. Logan had to admit he had a point.
'What about the scar?'
PC Rickards hit fast forward again, much to DI Steel's displeasure. Pink, more pink, figures whooshing about, and play: the priest-henchman thrusting away at the back-end of the nun while the front end was busy with Mr Bondage's erection. In, out, in, out, in, out - freeze. Caught mid-stroke the crescent-shaped scar was easy to spot. Rickards looked expectantly at them. 'Well, what do you think?'
Logan checked the post mortem file: the victim's scar was identical to the one currently filling the television screen. 'It's definitely him.'
'So who is he?'
Logan didn't think it was possible, but Rickards actually went redder as he said, 'According to the credits he's called Dick Longlay.'
'Aye, that'll be bloody shinin'. "Dick Long Lay"? Porn star
'Got it in one.'
'Then I think I know who he is.'
9
DI Steel had her feet up on the desk, a cup of coffee in one hand, and an unlit cigarette bobbing about between her lips as she spoke. 'So how come Rickards recognizes this guy's arse then? He been there?'
Logan shrugged. 'Says he saw it on one of the DVDs they confiscated from that brothel raid. He's getting it out of evidence now.'
'Excellent. Nothing like a spot of hardcore porn in the morning to set you up for the day!'
They convened in the board room, Rickards fighting with the DVD player while Steel examined the case. ' James Bondage ?' She peered at the small print on the back, holding it at arm's length to get it in focus. 'Hey, this is shot in Aberdeen! Brilliant! Never knew we had our own dirty film industry.'
The constable sat back on his haunches and smiled as the TV flickered into life. 'They do quite a few titles. Not bad actually, once you get past the accents. They ...' He drifted to a halt as he turned and saw the look on DI Steel's face. Then he went bright red. 'I mean, that's what the guys we arrested said. Em ...' He coughed, fidgeted, then said, 'We're, em ... ready to go ...'
'I'll bet you are.' Steel plonked herself down on the end of the conference table as the screen faded to dark blue, then there was a copyright notice, and a warning that this presentation had been rated R18 by the British Board of Film Classification. And then the production company logo appeared and Logan couldn't help laughing: CROCODILDO FILMS LTD! featuring what could only be described as a rampant, battery-operated reptile. And then the titles started, along with a thinly-veiled pastiche of the James Bond music.
Rickards stabbed the buttons on the remote control, and everything whirred into fast forward: sports car, house, what looked like Balmedie beach, people whizzing about at sixty-four times normal speed. Suddenly the screen filled with pink and the inspector shouted, 'Play! Press play!', but Rickards didn't.
'It's coming up in a minute.'
'But I want to see this bit!' More cars, a fancy house, a brunette in a bikini, a fat man with a goatee, and then more pink. 'Oh come on! Let us see something!'
'Just a... this is it!' Rickards hit play and the jerking figures settled into something more recognizable. And explicit. It was clearly meant to be a take-off of the old 'Secret Agent is captured and tortured for information before being left alone to escape' routine. Only this time the man in the tuxedo was being strapped, face down, onto a customized massage table by a very busty redhead in a rubber nun's outfit. And then spanked. 'Here ...' said Rickards, tapping the screen as the nun ripped James Bondage's trousers and pants off. 'The henchman.' A figure emerged from the shadows - mid-twenties, short blond hair, dark glasses - dressed like a priest.
The man pulled off his shades and said, ' There's no point in resisting, Mr Bondage, you will tell us everything! ' as the nun stopped spanking and pulled on a neon-blue strap-on. Rickards hit pause and everything stopped. 'See - it looks just like him!' He held up one of the IB's touched-up morgue photos. Logan had to admit he had a point.
'What about the scar?'
PC Rickards hit fast forward again, much to DI Steel's displeasure. Pink, more pink, figures whooshing about, and play: the priest-henchman thrusting away at the back-end of the nun while the front end was busy with Mr Bondage's erection. In, out, in, out, in, out - freeze. Caught mid-stroke the crescent-shaped scar was easy to spot. Rickards looked expectantly at them. 'Well, what do you think?'
Logan checked the post mortem file: the victim's scar was identical to the one currently filling the television screen. 'It's definitely him.'
'So who is he?'
Logan didn't think it was possible, but Rickards actually went redder as he said, 'According to the credits he's called Dick Longlay.'
'Aye, that'll be bloody shinin'. "Dick Long Lay"? Porn star
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