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It was Ron’s first day on the new job. It looked like it would be a terrific day. It wasn’t too hot, but the sun was out, and rising. London looked beautiful.

Ron had to look after a group of businessmen from Saudi Arabia. He had recent military experience. His platoon commander, Toby, had given him this job. They’d happened to run into each other in the street. Ron hadn’t been doing well; he guessed that this was apparent from his appearance and demeanour. They’d gone for coffee and Toby had explained how he’d got out of the army and started up a security company catering to VIPs and wealthy people visiting London. He didn’t ask Ron how he was doing, or what he was doing. He offered him a job. He said he’d been able to trust him when they’d been overseas, that he respected his ability to handle situations effectively. He’d been frank with Ron, told him he’d need a haircut, a wash and a shave, and a passable suit.

There were eight of the Arab gentlemen. When he’d been told they were from Saudi Arabia, he’d assumed that they’d wear headdresses and robes, but when he’d met them at Heathrow, they were just Arab men wearing very expensive suits. Only a few of them could speak English, and they’d been drinking on the plane.

He was driving them through London, in the company’s luxury minibus. The group had rented a townhouse in Kensington for a week. They were nearly there. This was one of the finest parts of London, and driving through it on a morning like this, even with the traffic, was a pleasure. Most of the houses were white, which seemed to reflect the sunlight. It was still early, so the sun was quite low in the sky. There was an orangey light falling over everything. Now and again, they’d drive past a square or little park, with trees and greenery surrounded by beautiful houses and buildings. The scenery looked and felt bright, and Ron felt bright; and hopeful. He was starting a new job with good money, and there didn’t seem to be much risk to the work, it was like a new chapter opening up for him.

One of the Arabs, Ibrahim, seemed to be in charge, organising things. He sat in the passenger seat next to Ron.

‘This is very nice. This is Mayfair, Ron?’ he said.

‘No this is Kensington. Mayfair is that way,’ Ron pointed north-eastwards, behind him. ‘We’re almost there, couple of minutes away… Is it anything like this in Saudi?’ Ron said with a smile, gesturing to their surroundings.

Ibrahim laughed.

‘No’ he said. ‘Sand in Saudi Arabia.’ He leaned back over the seat and translated Ron’s question for the others. They also laughed.

‘Not like this in Saudi Arabia’ said one of the others.

They were driving through a street lined with expensive looking shops and cafes. Ron had to stop at traffic lights. There was a fashion boutique across the road, on their right. Two attractive young women, carrying shopping bags with the boutique’s logo on them, emerged from inside and began to cross the road. The women were dressed for the hot weather. Every one of the Arabs seemed to be staring intently at the women as they crossed in front of the car. Ron looked at Ibrahim as he watched the women. He imagined that a Jack Russell terrier seeing a space shuttle taking off would have a similar facial expression.

‘Not like this in Saudi Arabia,’ said another voice from the back.

Their town house was in a compact but nonetheless lovely square. Ron had seen places like this before, it was spitting distance from some really busy shopping streets and tourist attractions, but it was still somehow quiet and serene. It didn’t remotely feel like you were in the heart of a city.

The Arab men had gone inside. Before he started taking their luggage in, Ron took a moment to look around. The houses around the square were very elegant three-story white stucco townhouses, with uniform pillared porches at their fronts. The sunlight seemed to give the trees, grass and foliage in the park in the middle of the square, an almost brilliant glow. Ron could almost feel his spirits being physically lifted up just being in this place. He was enjoying his first day.

It took a while getting all the luggage in. The house was beautifully furnished. Everything inside, furniture, rugs, ornaments seemed to be of high quality; it felt like being in a palace. The Arab men claimed rooms for themselves. They were all polite and thankful as Ron brought their bags to their rooms. They seemed like decent guys. Most or all of them had consumed alcohol on the plane, and they were looking fatigued. People were starting to disappear into their rooms. Ibrahim came up to speak to him.

‘Ron, we will sleep now. We are very tired. We will go out to eat later, then we will have a party here, it is arranged for us. People are coming. You are welcome to watch television, or you can leave and come back, or you can sleep too. There is a room for you to sleep in.’

The television in the large front room had Netflix installed. Ron had been following a sex hikayeleri TV series that his young niece had recommended to him, about a monster from another dimension who killed children. Ron had thought that it sounded ridiculous, but on reluctantly trying it out had found the programme to be entertaining. He watched more episodes, sat on a mahogany Chesterfield couch (which was probably worth more than everything he owned) while the Arab men slept off their flight. The sunlight was coming in through the windows, and he could see the shadows of trees from the square shifting on the walls above the television.


A table had been booked for a restaurant in St James. The restaurant was in a tiny courtyard, accessed through a narrow, covered walkway which Ron would not even have noticed from the street. Their table was outside in the courtyard. Ron looked for a place away from the table from where he could sit and discreetly watch over proceedings, but Ibrahim and another of the men beckoned for him to sit with them. A waiter asked if they required drinks. One of the Arab men who could speak English (Ron thought he remembered that the man was called Faisal) told the waiter he very much liked the look of the restaurant, and the little courtyard. The waiter pointed to windows above the mouth of the walkway behind them and said that a famous author, who Ron hadn’t heard of, had once lived in one of the flats there.

Ron ate the nicest meal he had had in his life. The Arab men enjoyed themselves. He noticed their impeccable manners, and courtesy towards the staff. They mostly spoke in Arabic, but Ibrahim and the other English speakers would often translate for Ron. They spoke about football. The Arab men were all supporters of Manchester United football club, despite being from Saudi Arabia, and lamented the team’s recent poor form. Ron told them about the south-east London club that he supported; the Arabs had not heard of it. Ron drank no alcohol, but the Arab men all drank from a succession of bottles of expensive, vintage Scotch whiskey. Ron politely refused a dessert, not wanting to feel bloated. As his companions ordered theirs, Ibrahim started to receive text messages on his phone.

‘We are late,’ he said.

‘Then they will wait,’ said another English speaker.

‘She is saying we are late. We must pay if we are not there soon,’ said Ibrahim.

‘So, we pay’ said the other man. The man translated for the rest of the group. Almost all of them were showing at least some signs of being affected by the whiskey. The man Ron thought was called Faisal asked a passing waiter if the desserts could be hurried.

‘I’m sorry, we are late for our party,’ he said apologetically.

The men rushed through their desserts. Ibrahim received another text message which made him frown. He spoke in Arabic to the man on his right, and word seemed to go around the table, to be greeted with a degree of consternation by the men. The message was not translated to Ron.

The bill was swiftly brought to them and paid. Ron thanked the group profusely for his meal, which he hadn’t expected. Ibrahim put his arm around Ron and smiled warmly, saying it was nothing. The sun was setting as they walked out of the courtyard on to St James’ Street.


Ron was surprised at how much traffic there was in the west end this late in the evening. Ibrahim kept anxiously checking the time on his smartphone as they drove. He received another couple of texts and replied to them. Often one of the others would ask Ibrahim a question in Arabic, and Ibrahim would reply.

When they got back it was almost dark. Inside, all the Arab men gathered in the lounge. Nothing was said, but the men closed the curtains, and began to push the furniture, settees, tables etc. to the outside of the room, against the walls. It was a large room. One of the men, Ron remembered he was called Mo, left the room briefly and came back.

‘There is no wine,’ said Mo.

‘You looked in the cupboards?’ said Ibrahim.

‘I cannot see any wine, and there is no time for it to be cold,’ said Mo.

Other members of the group enquired in Arabic, wanting to know what the issue was. Ibrahim explained with a degree of impatience. He looked at Ron.

‘Ronald, my friend. Please could you go to buy wine for us? White wine.’ During the meal at the restaurant, Ron had explained that ‘Ron’ was short for Ronald. All of them said they preferred Ronald, and collectively resolved to call him that from now on, it would be their running joke. Ibrahim looked back at Mo.

‘Do we have everything else? Do we have whiskey?’ he said.

‘We have whiskey, but it is red label Johnnie Walker,’ said Mo. Ibrahim rolled his eyes.

‘Ronald, could you also get us some good whiskey. We would like some good Johnnie Walker whiskey, blue or green label, or black if you cannot find. And some vodka, some Stolichnaya if you can. I am sorry my friend, we asked for these drinks to be here porno hikayeleri for us.’

‘That’s no problem at all,’ said Ron. He didn’t have any idea where he would get gourmet alcohol at this time of night. Ibrahim casually took a wad of bank notes, with an elastic band holding them together, out of his inside pocket and handed them to Ron. It was all twenty-pound notes and it was a lot of money.

Ron made for the door, but Ibrahim came out into the hallway and stopped him.

‘Ronald. We have some…’ he paused before whispering, ‘Cocaine,’ he looked sheepishly at Ron as he said this. ‘So, we will need many bottles, is this ok?’

‘No problem at all, I’ll be back soon,’ said Ron. He did not want to appear ruffled, but the drugs were a potential problem. Had they been doing cocaine at the restaurant? If they had then they’d been discreet, which was good. He wished he’d known they were into it before.

Sitting in the van on his smart phone, he found there was an upmarket off-licence fairly nearby in a back street near to the museums which was open for another half hour. This was a godsend. The square still seemed to look lovely, just lit by streetlights. It occurred to Ron that he could probably find the red label a decent and loving home if it was not good enough for Ibrahim and the chaps.


The traffic had been quieter. Ron had made it to the shop in good time and had spent a king’s ransom, much to the evident pleasure of the staff. On returning, he managed to get all the booze into the house in one trip. A young woman was in the lounge with a few of the Arab men as he walked through. He didn’t see any other new guests. He noticed there was a large, plush-looking camel coloured fur rug in the middle of the room now. They were stood around the rug, not on it.

In the kitchen, one of the Arab men, also called Ibrahim (at the restaurant Ron had found himself thinking of him as Ibrahim 2), fished into a bag and found one of the bottles of Blue Label. His eyes lit up when he saw it, and he patted Ron affectionately on the arm. Ibrahim 2 immediately reached for nine glasses and began to pour measures. The fridge made ice, so Ibrahim 2 found a bowl in a cupboard and filled it with ice. He pointed at Ron and gestured towards the drinks.

‘You will try,’ he said, smiling.

‘I can’t, I’m working. Thank you anyway,’ said Ron.

‘Oh no!’ said Ibrahim 2. ‘Just try Ronald, just a little.’ Ron smiled. He took a sip from the nearest glass. The bottle had cost £137 pounds. The whiskey was absolutely delicious.

He and Ibrahim 2 took the drinks into the lounge. The men applauded Ron, laughingly, and promptly grabbed glasses. He wondered where Ibrahim was. Ibrahim 2 introduced the young woman as Annabelle. She did not take a glass.

‘Could I offer you a drink Annabelle?’ Ron said. He’d sort of taken her in in his peripheral vision as he’d entered the room and put the drinks down, but now he looked right at her, and almost felt intimidated. She was blonde, but a kind of dark blonde, more golden than yellow, Ron thought. And she was pretty, very much so, beautiful even. Her eyes made him pause. They were blue, very bright blue, and alluring. She had a deep tan, it didn’t look like it was sprayed, Ron assumed she had been abroad. She wore a tightly fitting floral dress which was mostly navy. She had an impressive figure, her waist was exceptionally thin, and Ron felt an immediate urge to grab hold of her. She smiled brilliantly at him and he found himself feeling slightly uncomfortable.

‘I’d love one, but I can’t drink this horrible stuff,’ she said, gesturing at the whiskey. Her accent was upper class, clipped. Ron guessed that she had been to boarding school, and probably to a very good one.

‘Is there any gin?’ she asked. Ron didn’t fucking want to go out again.

‘We have some excellent vodka,’ he said.

‘Vodka would be lovely. Anything to mix it with, any tonic? She said.

‘I’ll have a look in the kitchen’ he said.

As Ron walked back to the kitchen, the doorbell rang. He turned and started back towards the hallway to answer it but could hear that someone else had gone. The tonic water had been in a cupboard, so was room temperature, which wasn’t ideal, but he made the drink for her and took it back in. There were two more women in the lounge, taking their coats off and greeting the men. They looked late twenties like the other one and they were also attractive. One was blonde, the other brunette, both were slim. Both the women were just as tanned as Annabelle. Ron noticed that the brunette was busty, surprisingly so for her build. The brunette was pretty, but the blonde was something else. Ron would have described her as beautiful, and he had to consciously stop himself from staring at her face. They had the same accents as the other girl, they were upper class. Ron was introduced, as Ronald. The brunette was called Victoria, the blonde was Emma.

‘Drinks ladies?’ he said. He seks hikayeleri avoided eye contact with them.

‘Lovely, is there any gin?’ asked Emma. Ron didn’t fucking want to go out again.

‘No, I’m afraid not. Vodka? White wine?’

In the kitchen Ron made another vodka and tonic, for Victoria and poured wine for Emma. He’d briefly made eye contact with the brunette. There was mischief there. He’d put the tonic water in the freezer before but of course it was still basically room temperature after such a short time, which wasn’t ideal. Before he could take the drinks back Ibrahim appeared behind him.

‘Ronald, my friend, we need you. She has asked to speak to you.’ Ron didn’t know who ‘she’ was.

‘Let me take the ladies their drinks and I’ll be right back,’ he said. Emma smiled at him and thanked him for her wine. There was a sweetness about her, in her eyes. She was dazzlingly pretty.

Ibrahim was in a little room towards the back of the ground floor of the house, talking to another of the Arabs, Yousef, and a lady Ron had not seen before who must have arrived while he was out getting the booze. Yousef was older than the others. The rest of the Arabs all seemed to be in their early or late thirties, whilst Yousef looked to be late forties at least. He didn’t speak English, or hardly any. He had seemed to Ron to be more serious minded than the others. Ibrahim introduced the lady as Katie. Katie was older than the girls in the lounge, but no less alluring. She had cherry red, long dyed hair. She was dressed more conservatively than the others. She said hello to Ron when they were introduced. She sounded posh, but perhaps not quite as posh as the other girls. Yousef spoke in Arabic to Ibrahim.

‘We did not choose this lady, what is her name, Mary?’ Ibrahim said, presumably translating Yousef’s words. Katie looked rather perplexed. Ron heard the doorbell ring in the background.

Katie smiled, with a look of slight exasperation, ‘Helena, not Helen, and that will be her now… Ibrahim, we’ve been over this. I’m sorry that Allegra couldn’t come. She had an emergency she had to deal with. Helena is gorgeous, and she’s young, you’ll love her!’ she said. Ibrahim translated for Yousef, who spoke back in Arabic.

‘But Helena, she does not do anal, yes?’ said Ibrahim. Ron had had suspicions about the nature of the ‘party,’ reinforced by the arrival of the women without any male guests. Now the state of play was confirmed. He was struck by the way Ibrahim had pronounced the word ‘anal’, with a flat ‘a,’ like in the word ‘and,’ rather than like in the word ‘aim,’ as a British person would.

‘No’ said Katie, ‘but she is gorgeous, she really is, you’re all going to love her.’ More translations.

‘We pay less, no anal’ said Ibrahim. Again, the pronunciation.

‘You pay less for no anal,’ said Katie. ‘But you were late getting here. We were waiting in a pub, buying drinks.’ Ibrahim translated.

Yousef spoke in heavily accented English, ‘How much we pay?’

‘Wait, I want to see this Helena,’ said Ibrahim.

‘Be my guest,’ said Katie. Ibrahim left. Ron felt awkward; he didn’t really know what he was doing there. Ibrahim came back in.

‘Ok. Very good’ he said. Katie smiled, and titled her head slightly, with a knowing look. She named a sum of money, and after Ibrahim translated for Yousef, Yousef paid Katie in cash. It was a great deal of money. Ron tried not to look surprised or shocked by the amount, or by the fact that Yousef had the money on him. Did he have all this cash on him at the restaurant?

Ibrahim and Yousef made to leave the room and Ron went to follow, but Katie reached out and pulled his arm to keep him there.

‘You’re security, Ronald?’ she said.

‘Ron please’ he said, ‘and yes I am.’

‘Great. Now, I’ve worked with Ibrahim and Yousef and the guys before. There’s always security around, I just wanted a quick word about a game plan,’ she said.

‘Ok’ said Ron.

‘Basically, I just need you to make sure that nothing’s going too far. The girls have do’s and don’ts, I’d want the guys to respect them, and with the booze, and probably some other stuff going on, I would hope that you’ll make sure the girls are safe and comfortable. I’m sure you wouldn’t want any unpleasant scenes or unwelcome attention’ Katie said.

‘No’ said Ron.

‘It’ll start in the front room, then there will be stuff going on in different rooms, and it would be great if you could be looking around, keeping a discreet eye on things’ said Katie.

‘No problem at all’ said Ron.

‘We have a safe word. It’s Caledonia. Like I said, I’ve worked with the guys before, they’re lovely, and we’ve had no problems, but it would be great if you could be on the ball, just in case,’ said Katie.

‘No problem’ Ron said. There was a quiet assertiveness about her, and he liked her voice. The women he’d seen in the lounge, who were presumably about to get up to God knows what, were all gorgeous. The blonde was, in his opinion, stunningly beautiful, but Ron would have taken the boss over all of them.

‘I’ve got my own guys I could call in, but I’ve somehow got a feeling you can handle things’ she said. Ron felt flattered. It was true though.

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