Reckoning Point, стр. 8

Her face flushes a shade of beetroot and unwelcome tears leak immediately from her blue eyes. He stands for a moment, regarding her ice-blonde beauty, spoiled by her blotchy red face, screwed up in angst. He moves forward, hooks an arm around her shoulder and ushers her into his office, where he closes the heavy panelled oak door behind them.

“They found Gabi,” she blurts before he has even sat her down. “Dead, butchered!”

Yes, Gabi, that was her name. It had escaped him earlier. Gabi Rossi, a relative newcomer to the area and a patient he had only seen once, although that once had been enough, so it transpired.

“What happened?” he asks Amber, turning away to busy himself with the test packs, though they are already set out and waiting.

“They found her in an alley down near China Town. She’d been … skinned!” Amber breaks into tears again, her slender white fingers cover her mouth and Bram turns back to her, watches her chew at nonexistent fingernails, interested again in the detail that had captured his attention before, so much so he’d had to go look again.

“Skinned?”

She nods, brings her knees up to her chest and turns her face away, her small chest heaving with sobs that she tries unsuccessfully to stifle.

“Hmm, well I’m sure the police will clear this all up and everything will be fine.” Bram moves closer and pats Amber’s denim clad knee. “You mustn’t worry, dear, I’m sure it’s just a one off. A drug deal gone sour, perhaps?”

She removes her fingers from her mouth, shrugs off his hand and glares at him. “Gabi didn’t take drugs.”

Bram finds himself staring with distaste at the sore blighting the corner of Amber’s full lips and a feeling of frustration simmers low in his belly. He does his very best to take care of these girls, why can’t they look after themselves with the same thoughtful, caring touch as him? And in the event that something crops up, such as a cold sore, why can’t they go to the pharmacy and pick up some cream? It’s like the thrush that he identifies on so many of the girls, it’s so easily treatable, yet they ignore it, let it fester and grow, even though it must be uncomfortable for them. For the majority they are fastidious about their sexual health, but it seems that it comes at a price and they sacrifice all their other basic needs. He doesn’t understand it, but no matter how much he lectures them, few of them pay him any heed. To the girls, he’s sure he’s just the old guy who is to be tolerated who pricks them and swabs them and keeps them on the street or behind their windows.

“Come on then,” he says, withdrawing to his couch. “Let’s get this done and then you can go home and rest up.”

Seeming more sulky rather than upset now, Amber divests herself of her jeans and underwear and climbs up on to the couch.

“Feet,” Bram instructs as he snaps on his rubber gloves.

She puts her feet in the stirrups and lays back, turning her face to the wall. Bram moves deftly with his swab, recoiling a little from her and the unwashed aroma that hits him.

Silently he hands her the bottle and she vanishes into the toilet. While he waits for her return he disposes of his gloves and wanders over to the window, trying to cool his growing anger.

Amber is a nice enough girl, but honestly, knowing that someone was going to be in contact with her body today, he’d have thought the least she could do would be to take a shower, and that sore on her mouth, it’s just poor hygiene, really. Soap costs hardly anything, nothing if she takes it from a public washroom or a bar toilet. She lives with other women, they share a bathroom, he’s sure between them they could afford a bar of soap. There’s really no excuse at all.

He turns as she comes out of the bathroom and hands him her sample. He takes it gingerly between thumb and forefinger and places it next to her swab. Quickly, because he wants her gone now, he takes her blood, ignoring her when she flinches at his first failed effort to locate a vein. It makes his blood boil too, for he prides himself of withdrawing blood without leaving as much as a bruise or blemish. With a final glare she pulls down her sleeve and picks up her bag, all set to leave.

“Wait, Amber,” he says, inspiration striking, and he moves speedily around his office, grabbing one of his ‘starter packs’ and topping it up with two bars of soap and a feminine deodorant which he then passes to her. “It’s an old batch, I’d hate for it to go in the trash just because the date expires soon.”

She looks down at the bag, a flush staining her neck, and grabbing it, she walks quickly out of the office without so much as a thank you.

“Dirty bitch,” Bram hisses as he hears the outer door slam closed.

He sinks into his leather chair, clutches at the arms until his knuckles turn white and looks over at Amber’s swab and sample, waiting to be sent off.

He half hopes she’s picked up something with the attitude she had towards him today. It’s a childish thought, but he can’t pretend that he’s okay with Amber’s ways.

These girls, his girls, when will they learn? Will they ever learn?