Free One Last Lesson by Iain Cameron Page A

appreciate a return to some of his old favourites, particularly the sixteenth-century French boudoir with the luxurious four-poster bed.
    He visited Ho llingbury as little as possible as even though he liked to watch the photographic and video sessions, the permanent resident of the place, their computer operator and systems designer, DeeZee was an odd character with questionable cleanliness habits and always left his server den smelling of his body odour and the crap he was continually throwing down his gullet. He couldn’t remonstrate with the fat runt as he had been warned to tread carefully by Alan Stark since he was not only a valuable employee of the business, but also the nephew of Dominic Green, a fellow investor in the business.
    To the public at large, Green was a respectable, millionaire property developer with many landmark shopping centres and office blocks to his name, but it was no secret to those in the know that he received his leg-up in business by housing DSS claimants in seedy conditions and using violence to ensure they kept their mouths shut. Green not only supplied his nephew, DeeZee but the team that developed the software used by the site and so he was an important member of the management team, but if rumours were true and Green had been involved in at least two murders, Stark’s warning to tread carefully was a wise one.
    Today, there was genuine reason for him being there. Normally he was sent an email from DeeZee once a month with all the web stats, the numbers of people visiting the site, how many clicked on pictures, how many were joining on a weekly, monthly or annual subscription basis and how long they stayed, but this month he didn’t receive it.
    It wouldn’t be sensible to come in here all guns blazing as it was not beyond the bounds of possibility that the email was in fact sent to him but deleted in a drunken haze. To save him the journey he could have called, but that would deny him the joy of seeing his ‘baby,’ and it gave him another chance to prove to Stark that he was not a useless drunk and taking his small, but important role as Finance Director seriously.
    The fat slob grunted something he couldn’t quite hear, probably talking as much to the equipment as to him, while slurping a large cup of Day-Glo coloured goo, which probably contained as many toxic chemicals as a bottle of toilet cleaner, while tapping the keys of the computer keyboard in response to his request. A few seconds later, his report began to appear in the out-tray on one of a number of laser printers that were lined up on a table at the back of the room.
    Close to the printers and pinned up on the wall was the photographic shoot schedule. The shoots usually took place whenever a new model agreed to pose for them or a popular girl returned to freshen up her portfolio. When that happened, freelance photographers Graham Roffey or Jeff Joham would come in and set-up their stuff under the watchful eye of a close associate of Dominic Green, John Lester.
    If one or two weeks went by without a new shoot, either because the photographers were unavailable or no new girls had come forward, it wasn’t a problem. The web site was stocked with thousands of pictures and several thousand more were stored on back-up servers and so no one would ever feel short-changed, although some punters were more easily satisfied than others as they didn’t browse much and came back time and again to their old favourites.
    He picked up a chair and placed as close to D eeZee as the aura of his aroma would allow. His real name was Brian Calder but he rarely used it, as life in a council estate in Worthing with a girl exhibiting severe Bulimia issues was no match for his exciting and dynamic on-line persona. He was a member of a loose computer hacking network that targeted organisations whose actions rocked the strict moral compass of their members by employing child labour in Asia, dumping toxic waste in poor African countries or raping