SCENE THREE

In The Palm of His Hand

Alain Danvers moved brusquely into the X-Club, letting his eyes survey the dimly lit S&M lounge, while feeling a familiar titter of excitement and revulsion surface. He couldn’t remember when he’d last been in a place like this and he wasn’t too happy about being there now. Too many past associations. An air of darkness seemed appropriate for the nasty activities of a club like this; the ambiance of chains, the smell of leather and burning incense, and heavy metal music with a good strong beat. His flogging arm reflexively began to twitch, but his quick perusal of the club was dampened by the lack of anonymity his official looking presence produced. He’d managed to climb back into yesterday’s suit and had tossed on his tan raincoat to fend off the cold drizzle and late night winds. He stood inside the X-Club posing a stark contrast to the present clientele.

The place was crawling with curious subs and Doms and switches, most dressed in some rendition of fetish attire. He could well imagine that the mood of the night had been broken by the girl’s disappearance. Everyone seemed to be milling about now with little to do, waiting – perhaps waiting for his arrival as the next chapter of this drama unfolded before their eyes.

Seeing neither Meredith nor Ana he turned toward the nearest observing female – obviously a Domme, who took a moment to scrutinize him as if she were inspecting her next victim.

“I’m looking for Ana Argentine—” he stated calmly with an official ring to his voice.

“Right here, Alain!” Ana’s deliciously rasping voice suddenly called to him from the far side of the room.

He nodded to the female, who hadn’t bothered to respond, and strode to Ana’s side, fending off the woman’s customary and affectionate hug. Every eye in the place sought them out, while for a moment the tableau of kinky characters froze with their eyes glued to the scene between the police captain and the Grand Dame of their private dungeon.

To avoid their further scrutiny, Ana waved off her minions, and the two moved directly into Ana’s office, which was tucked behind a Japanese screen – a half office, half boudoir, furnished with the gaudy elegance required by Ana Argentine’s over-the-top persona. Lots of gold, black, splashes of red and vibrant scarves, definitely Oriental in style, ex