Monique smiled complacently to herself as she had entered the taxi several hours earlier in front of the hotel. She had reason to be satisfied. After all, she mused, this was the fourth girl she had brought to Marseille in the past month and the market for them was good. Since the tourists had stopped going to Algiers because of the Arab takeover, the demand for young white girls to fill the Arab brothels was almost unlimited. They were bringing up to two or three thousand American dollars each, particularly the young fresh unused ones like the girl she had back at the hotel. She was certain she could get a premium for her. She was her best catch so far and she had to play her cards just right and get the right buyer. She thought she had him in Gamal. He liked the innocent ones and was willing to pay well for them. He would get his personal pound of flesh and then ship them off to Algiers for the Arab market. She almost hated to see this sweet young American turned over to a sadistic beast like him but money was money and his perverted depravity should be no concern of hers. She had to be cold and calculated about it, after all, she was a business woman and if she played her cards right could retire in a few years on a substantial income from her earnings.
The cab followed the Rue Marriane outside the city along the coast for several miles and pulled into the grounds of a large ocean front villa. The iron filigree gate was guarded by several dark Algerians with pistols strapped to their sides. Upon recognizing her, they waved the car through without trouble. She was well known by them as a frequent visitor so did not have to go through the usual formalities required to get into the fortress-like walls.
The cypress drive leading to the main villa was almost half a mile long and they passed several of the familiar patrols that roamed through the estate. The patrols all traveled in twos and had a pair of viscous looking black Alsatian dogs with them. They were trained to kill and Gamal had confided to her that they had done so several times when Interpol agents had tried to penetrate the grounds. They, of course, had disappeared without trace and Gamal had allowed the local police to enter and search the premises. This was a token search and all evidence of the various illegalities he was engaged in had been removed to a secret subterranean cellar. Besides, he had also confided that the police chief of the area was a frequent visitor of his and kept him dutifully informed of any official action that might be brewing against him. The system had obviously worked well as Gamal had been doing this since the end of the war and had become a very wealthy man. It was rumored that he had connections in the higher ministries in Paris and even among the staff of Interpol itself. Monique believed this, due to the immensity of his operations. No one could exist so long and on such a scale unless he was receiving important political protection from somewhere higher up than the local police.
The cab rounded the curved drive and pulled up in front of a huge white stucco house. It had a typical Mediterranean red tiled roof and was surrounded by the most beautiful tropical gardens Monique had ever seen. She enjoyed doing business with Gamal just to be able to pay these periodic visits to this fabulous villa. It must have cost him at least five million new francs to build it in the old days. At today's prices, it would be impossible to calculate the true value.
Monique was met at the door by one of his burly guards and escorted to Gamal's study. She knew she wouldn't have to wait to see him as he was always anxious when she came. She had made it a point early in their relationship to bring him only the best of the young females she lured to Marseille. She had never disappointed him yet and did not intend to now. She knew he would be overjoyed with this tender young Jean because of her almost unbelievable innocence and the fact that she was an American. There was something about Americans that seemed to appeal to the Arab nature. Perhaps it was because they were so much more naive than European women and always seemed to have such an untouched clean appearance. This gave them something to soil and humiliate. They all seemed to enjoy this and gave them something upon which to unleash the full vent of their natural base nature. Monique was only too familiar with the degradations they would force upon their own women much less a poor foreigner that was completely defenseless. She had seen some of the poor wretched girls she had sold them after a few months in their hands and had she not been so desperate to be financially independent, she could not have had the stomach for the business. In fact, as of late, she had found herself becoming more and more like them. Perhaps, she would make it a condition with Gamal that she would get to see the initiation of this Jean into her new life. This thought coursed warmly through her as the guard held the door open for her to enter.
"Hello, my dear Monique," the short fat obsequious looking man said, rising from behind the large oaken desk. "It's so good to see you again. You haven't paid me a visit in such a long time."
"Oh, Gamal, you silly man, it's only been a month since I've been here. You know it takes time to find the right ones for you. Your tastes are so special and refined that it takes a lot of screening. You wouldn't want me showing up here with just anything I run across, now would you?" Monique flashed her warming coyish smile at him, fluttering her eyelids slightly in a mock scolding manner.
"Of course not, my love, I understand your concern for my welfare," the Arab said, drawing his arm around her waist in a friendly hug, his dark balding head reaching barely to her shoulders. "If I didn't know this so well, I would think it was just my generous presents to you that caused your deep concern."
"Now, now, Gamal," Monique admonished as she pulled his creeping hand from behind her buttocks, "save yourself for the little bird whose wings I've clipped for you. She's just what you've been after."
Gamal's eyes lit up perceptibly at the mention that Monique had something for him. He knew her well enough by now to know that she, unlike most women or people who had something to sell him, didn't exaggerate. If she was enthusiastic about it, then she was worth listening to.
"Come, my dear, let us sit down with a small aperitif and discuss this little bird. I've tired of the last one you sent."
"Gamal," Monique kidded, "you mean you didn't like her?"
"Oh, yes my dove," he cooed. "I liked her very much, but one month with the same girl is a little too much. You know they tire so quickly when left in my care. A pity too, just when I have them trained well to appreciate my little playful sessions, they seem to lose their fire."
"I suppose you have passed her on to your playmates in Algeria as usual," Monique said.
"Yes, she went rather reluctantly, but I am a businessman and can't let my investments sit too long without making a return on them. Must keep the money moving, you know," he said slyly. A secretive grin directed at Monique. "I have some excellent movies made of her that will go well on the British market though, you'll have to see them later."
"I'd love to some other time, Gamal," Monique replied, sipping at the whiskey he had poured her. "Right now, I think we had better discuss my new little donation to your pleasures. I think you will be very interested."
"Tell me about her, my dear. When I see so much enthusiasm in your eyes, I know it must be something special," the Arab chided, his face brightening at the thought of what was in store.
"First, Gamal, you know I only bring you the best, correct?" Monique asked, looking at him over the edge of her upraised glass.
"Yes, I feel you do well for me, but I have had problems with some of them," he added the last sentence quickly, sensing that the bargaining was beginning. "You know, they are young and so unworldly, I must do much training to prepare them for my clients."
"Why you old lecher," Monique laughed, "you know very well that's why you're in this business, so you can sample the merchandise before you pass it on to your friends."
"My dear, my dear," the Arab objected, raising his hands, "it is not for I, Gamal, that I do these things. I must do them to make certain my reputation as a businessman is respected. My clients are the wealthiest in Algiers and I dare not send them something that I myself have not trained to perfection."
"Yes, Gamal, you train them until they lose their fire, you said?" Monique chided, raising an eyebrow toward him.
"Ah, but there are ways of restoring that to them. This is where my drug business assists me."
"Like doping race horses, my dear," she replied. "They have enough for one last dash and then useless."
"Monique, my dear, you are unkind. Let us stop this silly bickering," he said sadly. "You know I am a sincere man and honest. I am in a very competitive business and profits have not been good for the last several years. Do not take advantage of my helpless position, I beg you."
"There, there," Monique consoled in a motherly tone, laughing inside at the show the Arab was putting on. She knew him well by now and knew she would have to sit through his weeping sessions each time she came. All Arabs are the same, she mused to herself. They never grow away from the rug-sellers mentality. It doesn't matter if they, are dealing with one franc or one million, their approach is always the same. Business is bad and your price is too high but because you are a friend they will sacrifice and give you half the price you ask, even though they cry it will drive them to bankruptcy. Well, Monique knew enough by now to ask exactly double the price she expected to get and many tears later they would arrive at that figure. Strange that they weren't more original than this, but they weren't. Perhaps the practice was instilled too deeply in their heritage to ever change.
"Gamal," Monique paused after speaking his name and then said casually, "she's an American."
There was a moment's silence as she let the thought sink into his mind. She observed a slightly perceptible twitch in the corner of his mouth as he grasped what she was saying.
"Ah, that is too bad, my dear, I thought you had something special for me. You know they have no native abilities for the finer passions. It is a long expensive process to train them well. My investment would be tied up for several months. It would mean such a strain on my meager finances." His face had contorted into its usual piteous plea and he had placed his hand against his forehead in classic sufferance.
"Gamal, my love," Monique purred, "this is no time for theatrics. You know as well as I do that you could buy the Eiffel Tower and it wouldn't dent your purse in the slightest. Besides, you must think of the expenses I have incurred and the danger in bringing her to Marseille." This was all part of the game and they played each time she came. The Arab knew she hadn't spent a franc and would only have to pay the hotel bill when the poor unfortunate girl disappeared, but he had respect for the protocol of bartering and played his part with her.
"I know, my love, and I am willing to help you in this matter but I must watch my expenses. The last one cost me a great deal and I did not receive nearly as much as I paid for her. It was a sacrifice."
Monique knew that he had at least doubled his money after taking a months pleasure for himself and including all expenses of smuggling her out of France and into Algeria. She also could detect that when she had dropped the statement about her being an American it had won her battle. She would get her price and perhaps more. A plan began forming in her mind as she watched the concerned look on Gamal's face. He wanted this girl and Monique now just had to put him in the position where his decision would be made under more emotional circumstances. She knew his weakness of desire to humiliate and if she could arrange it so that the girl would be in a helpless position defenseless against his lust, she could sell her on the spot for a goodly sum.
"I understand your concern, nay dear Gamal," Monique said, still turning the thought over in her mind. "One should never buy without seeing the merchandise first. I think I can arrange this."
This was a new approach and the Arab suddenly sensed that this clever French woman was up to something. He changed his tone and spoke more softly.
"Now, now, my sweet Monique, we needn't go to all that trouble. You know how valuable my time is to me. We can just settle for the same amount we did for the last one, even though she was rather weak. I trust your judgment explicitly."
"No," Monique said, sensing his eagerness, "I want you to make the decision after you see her. She may not be worth that much to you and I want only your happiness. I won't accept a franc more than you think she is worth. Unless, of course," she added slyly, "your opinion does not suit the true value, but I don't think a man with your good eye will make that mistake."
Gamal knew the bargaining was over for the day as he detected a note of finality in Monique's last statement. He knew she had something this time or she wouldn't be so certain of her position. He knew also, that he would probably have to pay dearly for whatever it was she had. Well, he would take a look. He had been doubling his investment on the others she had brought him and perhaps he could do even better with this one. He might even get her down to a lower price than before. At any rate, he gloated to himself after Monique had left, he could hardly wait to get his hands on an American bitch. He hadn't had one in almost a year but he could still remember the pleasure he had in converting her reluctant mind to accept his perverted acts. In fact, he had been forced to almost destroy her mind first. He hoped this one would not be so difficult.