Free Another Life by Andrew Vachss

closet yourself, Burke? Good timing. Rejji was due for a punishment tonight anyway.”

“When I do, you’ll be the first to know, Cyn,” I told her, playing off her long-standing joke—if that’s what it was—that I was hiding my true nature from myself.

“You’re so lucky,” she hissed at the brunette, who shivered her bottom in mock terror.

“Cyn…”

“Yeah, I know. Business. Sit down over there and tell us what you want.”
    * * *
    W hen I was done talking, Cyn said, “I don’t think you’re looking for a risk-taker.” She glanced over at Rejji, who was sitting next to her on the loveseat. They were holding hands.

“That’s right,” Rejji said. “It’s all about the lines.”

I looked from one to the other, waiting for them to decide who should lay it out for me. On their Web site, Rejji spent a lot of time being “disciplined” by Cyn; that’s what their customers paid for. Cyn owned Rejji. They lived in a world you could look in on, provided your debit card had enough for the ticket. But all that would let you see was a small slice of the globe—like the tiny little tattoo on Rejji’s right hip, or the dog collar she wore on special occasions. The rest of it—the never-for-sale part—was that they loved each other. I didn’t know what they did when they were off camera; I didn’t know where the acting started or stopped. But I knew the love was unscripted.

Our accounts had been squared years ago; I was there to put myself back in their debt. There was never a question in my mind that they’d tell me whatever they knew. And not because the pendulum is always swinging, and they might need me again someday. That’s the way it is in Pryce’s world, but even he knew he couldn’t buy his way into this one.

“You know how it works,” Cyn began. “We don’t do stills—just our video library and some real-time. Pre-pays only. The client sends in the scene he wants, and we play it for him. We’ve got a lot of stuff stored. Usually, we can just click-click and they’re ‘watching’ what they asked for. Sometimes, over a thousand of them at the same time—like an afternoon matinee. Subscribers get a discount, and we pay a lot of money for the encryption.”

“They’re not all men,” Rejji put in, and caught a look from Cyn. “Well, they’re not, ” she said, pouting. “One woman, she always asks for—”

“He’s not here about that,” Cyn said, more sharply than before. She turned to me, said, “Everyone in our business has a ‘line,’ okay? A client asks for…well, it doesn’t matter, just something you don’t want to do. So you say no. Sometimes, that’s it. Sometimes, they offer you more money. After all, we do it for money, so, the way people like them think…”

“I get it.”

“With me and Rejji, regulars know better—you don’t even ask. And for newbies, it’s right on our site: Just click the ‘Don’t Even Go There!’ banner and you get an ‘Out of Bounds’ list. Ignore that even once, you’re barred for life. But some stuff, well, it’s marginal, and we have to make a judgment call.”

I made a “like what?” gesture.

“Lots of clients want to see naughty-schoolgirl stuff. That’s okay, but if the dialogue goes wrong…”

“I know!” Rejji said. “Like that foul—”

“Shhh,” Cyn said, patting the other girl’s thigh tenderly. “He wanted Rejji to be a little schoolgirl,” she explained. “I mean, she’s never going to look like some ten-year-old, not built the way she is, but this client wanted her to talk like one. And I wasn’t supposed to be the headmistress of her school; I was supposed to be her nanny.”

“I know you didn’t just let that one—”

“If you’ve got more than a screen name—like say a credit card—it’s amazing what kind of information the feds can come up with,” Cyn said, solemnly. “Apparently, enough for a search warrant.”

I bowed slightly, said: “Beautiful. But I need to go darker than that one.”

They exchanged looks.

“You’re looking for a kid?” Rejji finally