Double Take

I wanted to try to write something that was, from my point of view, a bit different. I therefore set myself the challenge of writing a murder/mystery story within a gay setting. It is for others to decide whether or not I succeeded. It contains some descriptions of a fairly unpleasant nature. Be warned!

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Double Take

Paul Black had always been close to his brother, Simon. Although the twins were not identical, they had always seemed, since their earliest days, as close as identical twins. And now Simon was dead. He was found completely naked tied to a tree in a wood on the outskirts of Amsterdam, with a bullet through his head. Paul could think of no explanation as he waited outside the office of the Police Inspector who was in charge of the investigation.

Paul had only seen Simon once in the year since he went to Amsterdam. That had been at a family Christmas celebration a little over seven months previously. Simon had not spoken about any problems, although he had seemed a little withdrawn. He said that he was enjoying his job and his life in the Netherlands. He did not seem to have any real worries, although Paul noticed that the earlier invitations to come and visit were not renewed. When Paul had raised the possibility himself, Simon had said that it would be a good idea but he had too much work on at the moment. Paul had felt at the time that that was as an excuse.

While they had always been close, the move to Amsterdam was the first major change in direction that Simon had ever initiated in his 24 years, and was the first thing that he had ever done completely on his own, without Paul being somewhere in the background. As children, they had, of course, gone to the same schools and had many of the same friends. They went to the same University, although they studied slightly different subjects in gaining their degrees in history. Paul loved his brother and did not resent the fact that Simon wanted to keep him away from this aspect of his life. Paul had always been more dominant than Simon. He had been sure that when Simon felt completely secure in his new life, he would invite Paul over to see what he had achieved. And Paul had promised himself that when that invitation came he would not be the slightly overbearing older brother (by 26 minutes) that he recognised that maybe he had been in the past.

But Paul's visit to Amsterdam had been to identify his brother and to make arrangements for his body to be taken back to their parents.

The police Inspector invited him into his office. They shook hands and the policeman introduced himself as Inspector de Jong. Paul sat down facing the Inspector across his desk. Inspector de Jong said "I wish to say how sorry I am that your visit here is under such sad circumstances." Paul thanked him. "What do you know about your brother's life here?" Paul began to explain about his job with an advertising firm and where he lived. The Inspector cut him off, "No about his private life." Paul was puzzled.

He said, "Do you mean did I know he was gay? Yes I did. We both are." He still used the present tense.

Inspector de Jong said, "Partly that. Please understand that what I have to say may be difficult for you, but I have to explain. On the night your brother died, he was seen in a number of leather bars. The reports say he was wearing, em, let us say he was dressed in keeping with the establishments."

Paul said, "No please tell me everything you know. I can't bring him back, but I would like to try to understand exactly what happened."

Inspector de Jong said, "As you wish. He was wearing a pair of leather chaps and a rubber tee-shirt. He also had on a studded leather jock strap." Paul could picture the scene but not with Simon's head above the body. "We have not found any of these clothes. Witnesses say that he was seen engaging in sexual acts with several people over the course of the night. Of course, these places can be dark and they could be mistaken. But the story would be consistent with what a number of barmen have told us about your brother. And they usually can be relied on to know what is going on in their bars. He was seen leaving a bar called 'Leathermen' at about 1.30am. He had his hands secured behind his back. He was being led on a chain by a big man dressed in leather. The man has not been identified perhaps because he was wearing a leather mask. Although I have to say that I am surprised that no witnesses have come forward to identify him. The gay scene while large in terms of numbers in this city is geographically fairly compact. Someone should have recognised him, unless of course he was a visitor to our city."

"Is there no CCTV footage that might help identify him?" Paul asked.

"We do not go in for CCTV to the same degree as you do in the UK. There is some, but none have the scene of the two leaving recorded. The nearest camera, which was above the door of the bar was, it seems, broken on that night."

"Could it be that people just don't want to get involved and are therefore holding back?" Paul said.

"Possibly" the Inspector replied. "The witnesses who have come forward remember them leaving and said that your brother went willingly. We have found no witnesses who saw your brother after he left the bar until his body was found the next morning. We believe he was taken to the wood by car. What happened in the wood has to be speculation, but speculation based on experience. We believe that the two - and it is of course possible that more people were present - were involved in a game. Probably your brother was stripped and tied to the tree and someone took shots at him. Some people get a sexual thrill from such games. There were 8 bullets found around the area that came from the same gun, two of which were in the tree itself. Forensic evidence suggests your brother may have got sexual excitement from the experience, although it is equally possible that the semen found on his penis, legs and jock strap was produced earlier. But we think that he was, in all probability, a willing participant. We think what happened was a tragic, but no less stupid, accident."

The policeman looked at Paul, who looked as if he was having difficulty comprehending what the Inspector had said. Paul was silent for a few moments and then he looked de Jong directly in the eye and almost shouted "You mean you are saying it was not murder, and that because he was gay it does not matter."

The Inspector replied in a quiet voice, "I did not say that. It certainly matters. Whether what happened was murder or something else is not for me to decide. We simply investigate what happened, look for evidence and search for those involved. We are treating this as a murder inquiry. But without more witnesses or perhaps the gun we have very little to go on. It is only 3 days since...." Paul looked sharply at the Inspector thinking that he was about to say 'the accident'. If he had been about to say that, he corrected himself and said, "since your brother died. I just do not want to give you the impression that this will be an easy investigation or that if we find those involved, it will not cause you and your family a great deal of pain. We have already had some of your British newspapers enquiring about what happened. We have given them and the Dutch media very few details as that enables us to better judge the truth of any witness statements. But if what we suspect is true, and we find those involved then the British press may get more interested. You probably know more about that than I do."

Paul said, "Yes, they will enjoy relating every fact, and if that is not enough they will make things up. My poor parents." Paul cried for the first time since his arrival in Amsterdam.

The Inspector left him alone. He returned a few minutes later carrying two mugs of coffee. By then Paul had stopped crying. He just sat there looking completely dejected. Inspector de Jong said "At this stage in the investigation we cannot release the body. But I will of course keep you informed of anything significant, if you let me know where I can contact you."

Paul said, "I am planning to stay here for a while. I will arrange for the body to be shipped home when you tell me that I can. I am not sure that I wish to go to Simon's funeral. That would be too painful. I would like to find out more about the brother I thought I knew so well, and obviously did not."

The policeman looked down at the papers on his desk as if deciding what to say next. He said, "there is one more thing that I was not going to tell you as it does not seem relevant to the case. But his friends might tell you. Your brother took cocaine."

Paul said "You mean he was a junkie?"

The Inspector replied "Drug taking is not as simple as many make out. Yes cocaine and other drugs are highly addictive and can be very destructive. But so can cigarettes and alcohol. But just as some people can smoke the occasional cigarette and not become addicted, so it can happen with hard drugs. Your brother seems to be have been an occasional user over the past 6 or 8 months. That is not to say he would not have become addicted. But there is no evidence that he was, as you put it, 'a junkie'."

Paul did not want to talk to the Inspector any more. He just wanted to get away. He said, "Have you finished with Simon's apartment. I thought I might stay there."

Inspector de Jong picked up some keys and gave them to Paul. He said, "Yes. We found nothing that helped us among his possessions. You may find things are a bit of a mess." Paul thanked the Inspector and left. As he went out of the building he wondered why he had thanked the Inspector. It seemed to him that De Jong had told him that his brother was some sort of perverted junkie and that they might not find who was responsible for his death. And if they did, the British media would have a circus around his dead bother and at his family's expense. But Paul still loved his brother. He was not perverted. He was not a junkie. He was just Simon. And Paul loved him.

Paul got into a taxi outside the Police station and gave the driver the address of Simon's apartment. The apartment was in an old building in the Jordaan. The second key he tried opened the front door. He knew the apartment was on the third and top floor of the building. He started to climb the steep stairs. It was fairly dark as Simon had not thought to turn on the lights. A door opened as he reached the landing on the second floor.

"Simon?" The lady who appeared in the doorway was probably in her 60's with long straight blond hair and was dressed in a colourful caftan. To Paul she seemed like a hippy who had never moved on. "Oh," she said, as Paul came closer "I thought you were someone else. You look very much like him." The half smile and half shock on her face that Paul had noticed as she came out of the door changed to a deep frown. "You look very much like one of my tenants. I am sorry. If you are looking for Simon I am afraid....."

Paul interrupted her by putting his hand on her shoulder and said "I know. I am Paul, Simon's twin brother." The lady surprised Paul by putting her arms around his neck and kissing him on the cheek.

"I am so sorry." She released Paul and said "Please come in and have some coffee."

Paul followed her into her apartment that was in a style that dated from long before the summer of free love. Paul sat on an old sofa while the lady went to the kitchen area in the corner of the room. "My name is Ingrid. This is my old family home. I rent out the upper and lower floors. This is quite big enough for an old woman, and I enjoy the company of having young people in the house."

"My brother told me how lucky he was to have found this apartment as most places in the centre were so expensive."

"At my time of life I need good company more than money and I am not sure I do not overcharge my tenants for the amount of their time that I take from them."

She returned with two mugs of black coffee on a tray with a bowl containing small bags of sugar and little plastic pots that said 'Koffee Melk' on them. Paul emptied one bag of sugar and two pots of the thick creamy liquid into his coffee. He took a sip and his face lit up. Maybe it was just the terrible day he had had since arriving in Amsterdam early that morning. But to him it seemed to be, just possibly, the most delicious coffee he had ever had. Ingrid could see the delight on his face.

"Simon always said that the British could not make coffee and the Dutch could not make tea. So I made him coffee and he made me tea. I even got to like his strong tea with milk. You must try one of these," Ingrid said holding out a plate of large round biscuits that looked like wafers. "They are called 'stroop wafels'. They contain butter and sugar syrup and cream and are quite wicked and quite delicious. Simon loved them."

Paul took one and bit through the crisp wafer and into the sticky caramel inside. "They are delicious and I can feel my arteries hardening up as I eat it." Paul smiled at Ingrid.

"Do you know how Simon died?" Ingrid asked.

"Yes. I guess from the way that you asked that question that you do too. Were you not shocked?"

Ingrid laughed out loud and it took all the lines from her face and Paul, perhaps, caught a glimpse of the young hippy. "You mean the leather clothes and the outrageous things he got up to? Why should I be shocked? It was his life to lead as he wanted to. No one has a right to pass judgement on others."

"Yes I have heard that is the Dutch way," Paul replied.

"I wish that that was always true. Yes most Dutch people say they believe in 'live and let live'. But not all practise it in their hearts even when most would not be prepared to challenge someone to their face. I try to live it. After all I was young once. Simon and I became very close. He would come down here and model for me the new leather clothes he had bought. Most Sundays we had breakfast together at around two in the afternoon - uitsmijters and champagne - and he would tell me about what he had got up to the night before."

"Uits...I'm sorry?"

"Fried eggs on top of bread and ham or bread and cheese. We always had both. He loved them as long as the eggs were not over cooked. I was very very fond on Simon." Tears came to Ingrid's eyes and she dabbed them with a tissue that appeared from her sleeve. "Were you shocked by the manner of his death?"

"I don't really know," Paul said looking vacantly out of the window." I suppose Simon often went to extremes. When we went skiing he always had to take the fastest course at the greatest speed. That he went in for extreme sex would fit his personality although I don't think he did anything like that in the UK. I suppose I can't yet equate what the police told me with the Simon I knew. Did you know he took cocaine?"

"That is nonsense. Simon hated drugs and particularly cocaine."

"The Police seemed very sure that he was taking drugs for the last few months," Paul replied.

"Then they are wrong. Of that I am certain. After Simon had been here for a couple of months he met a Dutchman and they fell very much in love. His name was Marc de Vries by the way. He told me that he had not told his family about Marc as he was not sure how you in particular would take it. They both sat where you are sitting now and you could see how wrapped up in each other they were. Marc used to stay the night quite often and....well in these old houses you hear everything. They enjoyed each other if you understand my meaning."

Paul nodded that he did.

"Marc lived with his sister over in De Pijp on the other side of Amsterdam. She has a mental condition that means she can get very depressed. So Simon and Marc could not live together. But they lived for each other. A few weeks before last Christmas, Marc was found dead. The verdict was that he had taken cocaine that had been adulterated with rat poison. I was never sure that it was true that Marc took cocaine. I never noticed anything. But maybe if he did it was because he found it a way of dealing with his sister. But there is no way Simon would have taken it after that tragedy."

"Do you know the sister's address? I would like to go and talk to her."

"I am not sure that she will see you. Simon only went to their home a few times before Marc died and Suzie - that is her name - became resentful. If you really want to go, I think I should go with you. I went to Marc's funeral with Simon and I spoke with his sister for a few minutes. So at least she knows me."

"Can we go tomorrow? I am very tired and want to get some sleep. Oh, do you mind if I stay in Simon's apartment?"

"Please do" Ingrid replied. "I tidied up yesterday after the Police left and cleared out the fresh food from upstairs. So come and have breakfast with me at 9.00 tomorrow and we can go after that."

Paul accepted another wafel, but declined any more coffee. He left Ingrid and went upstairs.

He took a deep breath, opened the front door and went in. The apartment was, not surprisingly, very similar to Ingrid's in size and shape. It was one large room that included a small kitchen area with two doors off. One led to the bathroom and the other to the bedroom. It was furnished in an IKEA style with bright curtains and other modern furnishings and a pine wood floor. The apartment was clean and tidy - very much as Simon was. Paul recognised a number of books on the shelves and the pictures of their parents and the large collage of pictures of himself with Simon in a picture frame that hung on the wall.

Paul went into the bathroom which was small with shower, sink and toilet. The bedroom was also quite small with a double bed and two large clothes cupboards, one with a mirror on the front. There was no room for very much else. Paul opened one closet and saw Simons suits and shirts and casual clothes, together with drawers for his underwear. He opened the other. The smell alone would have told him that that was where Simon kept his leather and rubber apparel. Paul shut the door quickly. Maybe he could face it in the morning. He felt very tired and took off his clothes and climbed into bed. For the first time since he arrived in Amsterdam, he felt close to his dead brother. He cried until he fell asleep.

When he awoke in the morning it took him a few moments to remember where he was. As memory returned so did the feeling of emptiness. He got up and showered. The towel he dried himself on had been used before and Paul raised it to his nose. He wondered if it was imagination that he could smell his brother. Even though he had brought a few clothes with him, he left them in the backpack on the sofa and went to the drawers in one of the closets to find clean underwear and a clean white tee-shirt. He selected a pair of his brothers jeans and then put them back. He went to the other closet and found a pair of black leather jeans that he pulled on. They had always worn each other's clothes as they were the same size, and the leather trousers fitted him snugly. At the bottom of the closet were several pairs of boots. He chose a pair of black sendra cowboy boots with pointed toes and harness straps. He sat on the bed and pulled them on. Then he went and looked at himself in the mirror.

"I suppose if I am to understand you dear brother, I have to understand this," he said out loud. It was now a little past nine and he left the apartment and went downstairs and knocked on Ingrid's door.

"Come in, it's open,", she called. Paul went in. Ingrid came and took hold of both his arms and kissed him on each cheek. She stopped Paul moving away after the second kiss and gave him another on the first cheek. "In Amsterdam it is 3 kisses." He smiled at her and then hugged her.

"Sit down and pour yourself some coffee. I will do the eggs." Paul did as he was told. In very little time Ingrid placed a plate with two slices of wholemeal bread, one with ham and one with a slice of cheese on and a fried egg placed in the middle of each. "Eet smakelijk."

"I'm sorry? " Paul said.

"It means 'eat well' or maybe 'eat tastily'. Sort of 'Bon Appetite'. You will quickly pick up our funny ways."

They ate their breakfasts and drank coffee. Paul helped Ingrid wash up the dishes and they chatted about inconsequential things such as the weather. Paul then went back upstairs and got his own denim jacket and went down again to find Ingrid who now had woollen shawl over her caftan.

"I hope you don't think me rude" Ingrid said, "but I always thought Simon looked happier and freer when he was wearing leather. You look the same. It suits you."

Paul smiled. "I have only known you a few hours but I don't think I could ever think you rude. I am not sure I would wear these in the UK, but I feel quite happy wearing them here." They walked to a tram stop and were soon on their way to the other side of Amsterdam.

They got off the tram and walked down a side street."That is her house. Could you wait here and I will go and talk to her," Ingrid said. Paul waited on the other side of the road while Ingrid went and pressed the door bell on the house opposite. The door made a buzzing noise that Paul could here from where he stood, and it opened a fraction. Ingrid pushed it further open and went in, shutting the door behind her. Paul looked up and could see a face looking at him through the net curtains. Then the face disappeared inside. A couple of minutes later the door opened again and Ingrid came out and waved to him to come over. Paul crossed the road, went inside and followed Ingrid up to the middle floor. Inside the room they entered was a tall and very thin young woman sitting on a sofa, wearing a large cardigan with long sleeves that she used to hide her hands and that were wrapped around her front as if she was freezing cold. She looked up at Paul.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me. I know how difficult this must be for you." Suzie said nothing but kept looking at Paul. He went and crouched down in front of her. "I am...."

"I know who you are. I agreed to see you as I owe it your brother. I was not very nice to him when Marc was alive. I was afraid of him. Afraid he would take Marc and I would be left alone." Suzie must have realised that was what she now was and she started to cry. Paul looked at Ingrid who shook her head. Paul got a tissue from out of his pocket and held it out to Suzie. She took it and dabbed her eyes.

"After Marc's death," she continued "Simon kept coming to see me to try and help me. And now he is gone too." She started crying again, this time louder. Paul got up and sat down next to her on the sofa and took hold of her hand. She tried to snatch it away but Paul kept hold of it and gently stroked it with his fingers.

"The police told me," Paul said " that Simon took Cocaine. Do you know if he did?"

"They said the same about Marc. But Marc hated drugs. He detested them. They told me that he died of an overdose or something and they said that they found lots of the stuff here. They said he was a dealer. But it's a lie. A man came to see him the day he died. I think it was that day, but I sometimes get confused. The Police said that they had found fingerprints of someone I heard them call 'The Kraut' in his room. I think that was the name they used although they were talking quietly amongst themselves. They said he was big in the drug trade. But he had never been here before. Never. And all they did was argue. I could hear them shouting. There is no way they were in business together." Suzie looked directly into Paul's face. "Why do the Police tell such lies?" She started sobbing again and put her head in her lap.

Paul looked at Ingrid who beckoned him over. "Simon spoke once about someone he called, I thought,' a kraut'. But it could be' The Kraut'. I don't think you will get anything else useful from her today. Leave her to me. You can find your way home?"

"Yes, I think so," Paul said. "If I get lost I can always get a taxi." Paul went over and gently kissed Suzie on the back of her head and left. He started to walk home. He had been walking for a few minutes when he suddenly stopped. Then he got out his mobile and the card Inspector de Jong had given him. He called the number.

"Can I come and see you? I have a few questions for you." He listened for a moment. "Thank you, I will come straight away." Paul saw a row of taxis in the main street and went and got in the front one. He showed the driver the address on the card and he was driven back to the Police Station. He had to wait a few minutes before the Inspector called him into his office.

"Thank you for seeing me. Who is 'The Kraut'?" Paul had decided to use a direct tactic in order to see the Inspectors reaction. Whatever he expected, he was disappointed.

"I am sorry I do not understand you."

"The Kraut. I think he might supply cocaine. My brother mentioned him to his landlady and the sister of a friend of my brothers - who died of either an overdose of cocaine or an adulterated dose, I am not sure which - says she heard the Police say that he was at her house probably on the day her brother died. I wondered who he was. I want to find him and speak to him."

"That would not be very wise," the Inspector replied.

"Then you do know who he is."

"He is quite possibly the person who was the source of your brother's cocaine. He would not have supplied him directly. There are others lower down the food chain to do that. But over the last couple of years he has tried fairly successfully to monopolise the supply of drugs - all drugs - to the gay scene. We believe he has been responsible for a number of beatings and murders to achieve a dominance. Although the battle - if that is the right term - is still ongoing. But so far we have no proof of anything illegal that we can connect to him. We spoke to him after the death of Marc de Vries but he said he went to see him as Marc had been involved in a fight in a bar he owned in which his barman had been injured. The barman later backed up his story although we found no other witnesses to a fight. We have in the past arrested a number of his underlings, some of which we have successfully prosecuted. But they have told us nothing about the man and so we have nothing on him. He seems to generate a very successful web of fear. We have no grounds to arrest him. But even so I strongly suggest you do not try to find him."

"But he could have killed my brother. And whatever you say he could have killed his boyfriend."

"That is very unlikely. People like him rarely do their own dirty work. If he was responsible for Simon's or Marc's death, then it is likely to have been a professional killing and we are unlikely to find who did it."

"The Kraut?"

"You British think you are the only ones who have old issues with the Germans. There is still a great deal of resentment here. After all we were occupied by them for nearly five years. When it is used by a Dutchman, 'kraut ' is a term of abuse. But this man uses it as a badge to create fear in others. Very strange."

"What is his real name?" Paul asked.

"Our German colleagues warned us some years ago of a man called Richard Smits, who tried to set up a drug supply system in Hamburg - again in the gay bars. But he was forced out by bigger rivals. The German police thought he had been killed as he disappeared, although no body was ever found. But the fingerprints found in Marc's home matched those supplied by our German colleagues. The description given to us fits the man we interviewed. He is in his early 50's. The gay bar association also fits as Smits is gay. The German Police say that he is a sadist and enjoys sadistic sexual practices. When we interviewed the man after Marc's death he told us that his name was Hermann Blau. His driving license said the same thing. We felt it better not to follow that up as we would rather him not know that we know about Smits and his connection to Hamburg. I am telling you this in confidence, you understand."

"Could he have been the person in the mask leading my brother out of the bar?"

"No. Smits or Blau is about 1.75 metres and of normal build. That man who took your brother was much taller and quite fat. I implore you to leave this to the Police. We do not need another dead body in our City."

"One other thing. You say my brother took cocaine. My brother's landlady - who knew him very well - says that that is not true. That he hated drugs after what happened to Marc. Why do you insist that he took drugs? Were traces found in his system?"

"When his body was found, traces of cocaine were found around his nostrils. In addition we have witnesses that swear he bought cocaine from time to time."

"But that does not mean he actually took cocaine. Did your pathologists check for cocaine in his system?"

Inspector de Jong opened a file on his desk, took out a document and read it. "Actually no test was done. It was not considered necessary because the actual cause of death was clearly the bullet. I will ask for a test to be performed."

Paul thanked the Inspector, once again not knowing why, and left. He thought he knew the direction of his brothers apartment and so decided to walk. On the way he passed an Albert Heijn supermarket and went in to buy some groceries, which he carried back home. He knocked on Ingrid's door but no one answered. He went up to the top floor. After putting the groceries away, he put the kettle on the gas stove to make a cup of tea. As the old fashioned kettle began to whistle there was a knock on the door. Paul opened it and found Ingrid on the other side. They hugged and they kissed the statutory 3 times and she came in.

"Cup of tea?" Paul asked.

"Yes please. Milk no sugar," Ingrid replied. "Suzie seemed a little brighter when I left her. But I think she might be better off in a clinic. She can't cope on her own. But I am not sure there is much I can do. I believe her parents are alive although they were not at Marc's funeral. I might see if I can contact them to see if they could help."

Paul gave Ingrid a mug of strong steaming tea. He also put a plate chocolate cookies on the table.

"I went to see de Jong again. It seems that the police have no real evidence that Simon took drugs. But they say that they are certain that he bought cocaine. But why would he buy it and not use it? De Jong has agreed to request tests to establish whether there are traces of the substance in his system. So hopefully we will get an answer quite soon. It seems that 'The Kraut' is probably a German drug dealer called Smits who is trying to monopolise the trade in the gay scene."

"If Simon did not take drugs - and I am certain that I will be proved right about that - then maybe he was buying drugs to try to find out about Marc's death. The other choice would be that he was buying them for someone else. But he would have told me about that, I am sure," Ingrid said. "So what do we do next?" she asked.

"I shall be going to the leathermen bar this evening to see if I can find anything out there. We really need to find out who was on the other end of the chain leading Simon out of the bar. You know I have never actually been to a gay bar before and certainly not to a leather bar. I wonder what it will be like."

"From what Simon told me, Leathermen is a cavernous place, most of it pretty dark and some of it actually pitch black. And everything you can think of goes on within its walls. You need to be careful, Paul. Don't let anyone tie you up the way they did poor Simon. You only have the Police's word that he went voluntarily. You know I would come with you if I could." Paul lent across and kissed Ingrid on the cheek.

"I know you will be there in spirit."

"Simon did not usually go until at least 10.30 and very often waited until after midnight."

"I think I will get some sleep this afternoon. I still feel quite drained."

"OK. Come down when you wake up and I will give you something to eat before you go." Ingrid finished her tea and then went back downstairs. Paul took his cowboy boots off and lay on the bed. The events of the morning went around and around in his head before he fell into a deep sleep.

He woke with a start to the squawking noise of birds in the tree outside the bedroom window. He went and looked and saw a number of green and red parakeets in the branches. Their flamboyance seemed out of place in the sober Dutch city. He looked at his watch. It was a little after 7.00pm. He took the rest of his clothes off and went into the bathroom to shave and shower. He opened the closet containing the leather and rubber gear. He was not sure what he should wear. He found a black leather tee-shirt with a leather thong fastening at the neck. There were two more pairs of jeans - one black and one brown - in addition to the pair he had put on this morning. There were 3 leather jackets, two more leather tee-shirts and a leather waistcoat. There was also a pair of leather chaps. Paul took a cursory look at the rubber clothes. That seemed a step too far for him - at least at the moment. He decided that he should be rather conservative in his choices - if that was the right word to use for all these leather articles. He put on the black leather tee-shirt. It had a zip up one side which was necessary as the shirt was too tight to pull over his head. He pulled on a pair of black leather jeans with laces up the sides. He was a little surprised to find that it had both a zip at the crotch and one in the rear. He looked at himself in the mirror and shrugged. At the bottom of the wardrobe he found a pair of steel toed lace up boots. He thought they might be useful if there was any trouble, so he sat on the bed and laced the 20 holed boots up and pulled the jeans down over them. Then he got a leather biker jacket out from the cupboard. He put his wallet in his jeans and went downstairs to Ingrid's apartment.

He knocked on the door and Ingrid came and answered it. She looked him up and down briefly before they hugged and kissed.

"Come in. You look very handsome. Simon would have been proud of you." She opened a bottle of red wine and poured two glasses, one of which she handed to Paul. They sat together on one of the old sofas.

"A word of advice Paul, as you are a novice at this. Do not take your wallet with you. Only take money you need to buy drinks and put that somewhere safe. Split the notes up if possible. Simon was robbed once. He told me that a guy had come up to him in a dark area and started kissing him. Within a few seconds he was gone, as was Simon's money. It had been taken from his wallet in the top pocket of his shirt."

"Simon must have been pretty angry."

"Well not as much as you might think. He was impressed that all the guy had taken was money but left the wallet and his credit card and house keys without him ever feeling a thing." They both smiled.

"Did I really see wild parakeets outside?"

"Yes indeed. We have lots in Amsterdam. The story says that someone let a pair of pet birds free and the result is a plague of them. I believe that some have now crossed to England. So you may soon see them at home. Are you hungry? I have made some Dutch pea soup. It is my grandmother's recipe. Every Dutch family has its own recipe for pea soup. They are all different and all think theirs is the best. Mine actually is the best."

Paul went and sat at the small dining table while Ingrid went to the kitchen and ladled soup into large bowls. She placed one in front of Paul who looked down at the thick olive green liquid flecked with tiny pieces of something orange and something pink. When Ingrid sat opposite him with her bowl of soup, he picked up his spoon. "Eet Smak....Eat sma....bon appetite," he said.

"Eet smakelijk," Ingrid replied.

The soup was hot and delicious. "What are the orange and pink bits?" Paul asked.

"Oh that is carrot and ham. There is lots of ham in my Oma's recipe."

"Is Oma Dutch for Grandmother?" Ingrid nodded. "This is truly wonderful, although I have to say my family recipe is equally good."

"Are you making fun of me , young man" Ingrid said without trying to conceal a broad smile.

"Never! We have a soup like this in England. It is called 'London Particular' and my granny made it for me when I was a child. She died a few years ago. I have her recipe book - although I am sure she never actually used it when cooking. I will have to make it some time. I seem to remember that her soup had quite an effect on the digestion."

"You mean it made you fart? So will this. Think of it as a weapon of mass destruction if you have problems in the bar tonight." They both laughed and drank their soup and ate the thin slices of buttered black bread that was on a plate between them on the table.

The two friends - who had met for the first time the day before - sat and chatted after they had eaten, while drinking glasses of wine. They told each other a little about their lives but mostly they talked and laughed about Simon. Paul enjoyed talking to Ingrid about Simon. He felt no need to display false solemnity. He could just be honest and laugh if something was funny.

Paul looked at his watch. "It is 10.15. I had better go."

Ingrid took both his hands in hers and looked earnestly into his eyes. "Promise me that you will be careful. Do not even think of taking any drugs. And knock on my door when you get back whatever time it is. I will want to know that you are safe."

"I promise," Paul said and kissed her on the cheek. He went back up to his apartment and left his wallet having taken five 10 Euro notes out which he divided up among three of his pockets. He walked to the taxi rank in the main street and told the driver to take him to the Leathermen.

The door to the bar was open but covered with a pair of heavy leather sheets acting as a curtain. He pushed the gap in the middle and went in. It took his eyes a few moments to adjust to the comparative darkness. On the right hand side near the door was a bar. There were a number people sitting or standing by the bar, most clasping a bottle of Heineken. The barman was looking expectantly at Paul, who moved a little closer to the counter and said "Beer please." The barman opened a bottle that he retrieved from a fridge and put it on the bar in front of Paul. Paul gave him a 10 Euro note and the barman put a 5 Euro note and two 20 cent coins on the bar. Paul picked up the note and pushed the coins towards the barman who picked them up and dropped them into a metal jug behind the bar. They clattered loudly as they fell to join their friends at the bottom.

Paul turned so that he could look into the dark recesses further into the room. Beyond the end of the bar the most he could see were a few dark figures. He looked at the people at the bar. Unsurprisingly they were all men, most in their 20's or 30's and most had made some effort to dress in accordance with the name of the place. They seemed to be in pairs or sometimes threes.

As his eyes moved to the person nearest to him, a guy slipped between Paul and his neighbour and sat on the empty stool. He sat holding his beer bottle looking up into Paul's eyes. The first thing Paul noticed was his short and very blond hair. From the look of his face Paul thought he must be in his early or mid 30's. Paul's gaze moved down and he saw that the guy was wearing a faded denim shirt under his heavy black biker jacket, faded blue jeans over which he was wearing black leather chaps, and knee high black engineer boots over the top of his chaps and jeans. Paul stared back into the blue eyes of his companion at the bar. He felt rather uncomfortable and wondered whether he was doing the right thing by coming here. But the guy spoke to him and the slight unreality of their first words broke the ice.

"Henk-Paul" the guy said.

"You know me?" replied Paul.

"I'm sorry?"

"Yes I am Paul."

"Oh. No my name is Henk-Paul. I was named after both my grandfathers. But just call me Henk."

They both laughed and the Dutchman (his better than perfect English clearly made him Dutch) held out his hand which Paul shook.

"I haven't seen you here before," Henk said "are you on holiday?"

Paul kept his answer vague. "A short trip," he said.

Paul felt the guys knee move carefully into his crotch and under his balls. Paul's immediate thought was to move away. But if he were to get any information he needed to interact with people in the bar so he opened his legs a little and moved his crotch deeper onto the inviting knee. It was no torture for him to do so as he certainly found this guy attractive and realised that he had an erection. Henk put down his beer bottle and propelled Paul towards him by putting his left hand on his buttocks. With his right hand he felt and fondled Paul's crotch. Paul looked into Henk's eyes. He clearly expected to be kissed, so Paul moved his mouth to cover his companions who quickly pushed his tongue into Paul's mouth in a deep invading kiss.

Their lips parted and Henk got up. "Come on," he said and walked towards the darkness at the back of the bar. Paul followed him. He could make out a wooden shelf that was obviously designed as seating as several guys were already sitting on it. There was a space at the end in the corner which Henk indicated Paul should sit at. When Paul was seated the Dutchman moved in, effectively trapping Paul into the corner. They kissed again and Henk felt Paul's chest, squeezing his chest muscles. Paul moved both his hands onto Henk's buttocks which he kneaded with his fingers. Henk removed one hand from Paul and undid his jeans and got his cock out. He broke their kiss and pushed Paul's head down onto his solid cock. Paul took the tool into his mouth and licked it and sucked it. Henk held his head on the cock and started fucking his mouth. Paul felt that he could not escape the face fucking. But, if the truth be known, he was not sure he wanted to. He kept licking and sucking the Dutch meat until Henk stiffened and shot his load into Paul's mouth. Paul, who had never been face fucked to a climax before, had no choice but to swallow the spunk, as his head was firmly held against the Dutchman's cock as he descended from his climax.

Henk released his head and sat on the wooden shelf beside Paul. He took a swig from his beer bottle. "Oh that was good. I hope you enjoyed it."

Paul was a little nonplussed by the speed of the previous action, how impersonal it had been, and by the fact that Henk seemed interested in his enjoyment. "I think so," Paul said. "I have never done anything like that before." Henk frowned.

"Don't get me wrong. I have been with guys and sucked cock. But it is usually with someone I know and certainly not in public." Paul wondered if he might have offended the Dutchman. "But I did enjoy it. You have a nice cock and I liked the way you held my head on it."

Henk looked a little happier. "Did you not know what sort of place this is and what goes on here?" he asked.

"Well not entirely. I have never been to Amsterdam before or to a place like this. I found it in my gay guide book and as I like leather I thought I would give it a try."

"Oh the innocent Englishman abroad! I think the least I can do for that great head job is give you a little tourist information. Let me get you another beer first." Henk went to the bar and came back with two bottles, one of which he gave to Paul. They clinked the necks of the bottles together. Henk sat down close to Paul and put his hand on his thigh and proceeded to rub it gently.

"Well first things first. This is a leather bar. I guess that as you are dressed in leather and look so horny in it that you are really into leather." Paul nodded. "Take my advice, avoid people who are not dressed in leather or rubber or something manly like skinhead gear as they will at best be a waste of time and at worst they will be trouble. You are a good-looking guy so you can afford to be choosey. Don't let anyone force you to do anything - unless of course that is what you want."

"You mean like backing me into a corner and shoving their dick in my mouth?"

Henk looked hard at Paul and then smiled. "The English sense of humour. I just love it. Most of the time you are no damn good in bed as you take sex so seriously. But then you make outrageous jokes about serious subjects. Mind you I think you are probably good at both," he added while squeezing Paul's thigh. "Let me show you around this place. There are no hard and fast rules, so you should take what I say as a guide. If you want to be picked up, you are best to stand in the better lit area so guys can see what you have on offer. Unless of course you are ugly, then the rule is the darker the better. Same if you want to pick someone up. Unless of course you are not too choosey. This area is mainly for people who have found someone or are waiting for someone they know."

He led Paul further into the gloom. "There's the toilet. It is all open . None of your discrete English stalls and certainly no doors on the WC. There will almost certainly be guys in there who like looking at - and trying to touch - all the cocks and almost certainly some guys on their knees who will be happy to drink your piss or have you piss on them. Not a place for the squeamish. Through that door" he said pointing to the opposite wall "is what is called the 'Dark room'. It is actually pitch black. If you like totally anonymous sex then that's the place for you. Go in and grope around. A cynic might say that you will only find fat and ugly people in there. But you might get lucky. You could also end up having your hands cuffed behind your back before you know it. It's then difficult to say no to your captor."

They went deeper in and it got even darker, but Paul could still see the outlines of people from a distance and their features when up close. "Over there are 6 private cabins. Three of them have a got a sling in them. They are popular and you have to wait for one to become free before you can have it." They went in deeper still. "That big room to the left is usually the group sex area. You just join in any action going on. Personally I don't like it as it is difficult to keep guys hands off you that you don't want to touch you. Finally this is the cruising area. It is a number of passages with lots of corners. Stay in there and if you are lucky you will get groped or even more. Walk around and take your pick of the guys on display. " Henk led him though the passages. Paul watched as his guide stopped at various guys and sometimes touched them, sometimes kissed them. But he did not stay with anyone for more than a few seconds. "Oh and through that door is a room showing hardcore porn films although for my taste the real action among the clients is better than the phoney stuff on screen. That's the full 10 euro tour."

The maze of passages came out near where they had started. As they moved back towards the bar area, the door on one of the private cubicles came open and two skinheads walked out, both with their cocks pointing out of their tight bleached jeans. Henk grabbed Paul's arm and pulled him towards the cubicle. He elbowed aside a couple of smaller guys who had the same idea. "Fuck off" he said as he and Paul passed them. He closed the door behind them and locked it with the bolt. It was a little brighter inside than in most of the bar.

Henk walked towards Paul, who thought he was about to kiss him. Instead he grabbed his right wrist and quickly secured it to the thick chain supporting the sling in the room with a handcuff he had removed from his belt. He got a piece of rubber from another pocket. "If you make a noise, you will find this is a very effective gag. Now sit on the end of the sling and put your other wrist up to the opposite chain." Paul obeyed. His other hand was soon secured and his arms were now effectively useless.

"I think I'll gag you anyway."

"No please" was all Paul managed before a large lump of rubber was filling his mouth and was secured by a thick band of rubber behind his head. Henk undid Paul's belt and leather jeans and pulled them down to his ankles, together with his underpants. He pulled Paul's knees apart to form a sort of circle which he stepped into. Realising what was going to happen, Paul tried to speak and his eyes opened wide.

"Are you a virgin?" Henk asked. Paul, who was not a virgin but had not been fucked very often and certainly not in the last year, nodded his head to say that he was. He thought that might make the Dutchman change his mind. It had the opposite effect. Henk got out his cock and stroked it until it was really solid. He pushed Paul back a little so that his back was at an angle of 45 degrees as he hung from his manacled wrists. Henk lifted Paul's thighs a little to expose his cherry and he moved the head of his cock to the hole. Paul clenched his buttocks to deny entry.

"Relax, you know you want this. It was obvious from the moment I saw you that you not only want to be had, you want to be taken." He got a little bottle out of his pocket and removed the cap. He placed the bottle at one of Paul's nostrils and pinched the other one shut. With the gag in his mouth and the fear he was feeling he was panting a little. This meant that Paul had no choice but to take a deep breath of the sweet smelling liquid. He went light headed for a few seconds which made him relax his arse cheeks. That was enough for Henk to force his way into him. They looked at each other and Henk had a huge grin on his face as he started to move his cock in and out. Periodically he would take a sniff from the bottle himself and then let Paul sniff. Paul began to inhale deeply as it lessened the pain he was suffering. After what seemed several minutes Henk put his arms around Paul and held him tight as he came deep within him.

It was at least a minute before he released his grip. He looked at Paul. "I can see you enjoyed that. Let me bring you off." He stepped out of the circle made by Paul's legs, boots and body. He took hold of his cock and started to wank it. He stopped after a few seconds and got a rubber tube from his pocket. He used the precum on Paul's cock to lubricate the entire length of his prick and then pushed the thick black rubber tube down Paul's shaft. He felt his cock head reach the end, and Henk forced Paul's balls into a rubber bulge at the other end. He began to wank Paul again. The feeling was glorious and Paul relaxed as he felt the stimulation of the hand through the thick rubber which slipped a little up and down on his slimy cock. His climax when it came was massive and Paul sat there with his arms cuffed to the chains of the sling trying to suck enough air into his lungs through just his nose.

Paul opened his eyes and saw Henk looking down at him. "I think this is a good start to your holiday," he said. He removed the gag from Paul's mouth and put it back in a pocket. Then he undid the handcuffs and released Paul, who stood up. Henk helped him pull up his leather jeans leaving the rubber cock sheath in place. "I will buy you another beer," he said. As he was about to leave he got a card out of his pocket and gave it to Paul. "This is my number if you fancy meeting up again while you are here."

They left the private cabin and went to the bar where Henk bought two more beers. They clinked the bottles and said cheers. Paul wondered if this guy, who obviously knew both this place and probably the whole Amsterdam leather scene well, would have any information that might help him.

"Do you ever wear leather masks? Paul asked.

"No. I am sure only ugly people wear them. There was a guy in last week, a big fat man, wearing a mask. It made him so hot that you could see the sweat running down his neck. He was only about half a metre from where I was sitting at the bar. He was quite repulsive. But he was leading a cute looking guy out on a lead."

"Yes I know. He was my brother on the chain and I think the fat man might have killed him." Henk looked startled. "And before you try to run remember that I have your card."

"I saw nothing more than that," Henk protested.

"You saw more than many people. But I guess you did not go to the Police."

Henk put down his unfinished beer and said "We can't talk here. We might be overheard. Come I will take you somewhere quieter."

"OK" Paul said, finishing his beer "but let's stick to the main streets as I don't fancy being jumped in a dark alley." Then he had a thought. "Better still, give me one of your handcuffs. We can join our bodies together again."

"Another English joke?" Henk said as he fastened one end of the black handcuff to himself and the other to Paul. They left the bar holding hands as it seemed the best thing to do. Paul was amused at the thought that not only was he dressed in leather gear, nor that he had just had sex in public with a complete stranger, but now he was walking down the street of the Dutch Capital hand in hand with an attractive Dutch leather guy. He also remembered that he was wearing a tight rubber sheath that was full of his spunk. They walked in silence.

Henk said, "Let's go here" pointing to a bar.

"Is it a gay bar?"

"No, but this is the centre of the Dutch sex industry so they won't care. Money is much more important than moralising. Can we remove the cuffs?"

"No" Paul said. "Just think of me as your new boyfriend. It's natural for us to hold hands." Paul was not being entirely honest. He had actually enjoyed walking down a public street hand in hand with this guy who had recently fucked him. He was in no hurry to let him go.

They went inside and Henk indicated a table in the corner. The bar was not very busy. A waiter came up. "Two Duvels please. Oh and some bitteballe." The waiter nodded and went away. The two guys were close together and Henk put his free hand behind Paul's head and brought their lips together for a kiss. Once again Paul's mouth was invaded by the Dutchman's tongue and once again Paul relished it.

"What was that for?" Paul asked.

"You looked as if you wanted it." Henk smiled.

The waiter brought the two beers and two glasses and poured the beer into each before placing the glasses and nearly empty bottles in front of his customers. As he finished a young lady brought a dish containing a dozen breadcrumbed balls about an inch or so in diameter. She placed it down with a pot containing paper napkins and a small bowl of mustard. Paul fumbled to get a napkin with his free left hand. He was naturally right handed. Henk picked up one of the balls with his right hand and pushed it half way into the mustard. He bit the ball in half, before holding the other half in front of Paul's mouth who opened his lips. Henk put the morsel into his mouth and Paul licked the Dutchman's fingers as he pulled them out.

"Very tasty," Paul said.

"They are a Dutch speciality. I am not sure how much meat they have in them but they are good."

They finished the bitteballes with Henk feeding the man he was handcuffed to and Paul never failing to suck his fingers.

"Let's get down to business," Paul said. "I still do not know why my brother was killed, but I am sure it was murder. The police seem to think that it was some kind of sex game. Simon might have been into extreme sex but he was not stupid. He would not have willingly got into a game that involved guns. He was seen being led out of the Leathermen bar. And it sounds like the guy who led him out was the one in the mask you saw. I need to find him."

"I really know nothing. Until you mentioned it I did not even know about the murder. I do not read the papers."

"Now I know you are lying," Paul said. "You went a very funny colour for someone who knew nothing when I mentioned my brother to you back in the bar." Paul looked into Henk's eyes. "Look I can understand that you don't want to get mixed up with the Police. But if you do not tell me what you know, I will tell the Police about you. They are still looking for witnesses, they say."

"You can't do that." The Dutchman sounded almost frantic. "The word in the bars is that no one saw anything and if they think they did then they had better forget it or nasty things will happen to them. I was friends with a guy who crossed these faceless beings. He was beaten to a pulp, left blind and crippled and eventually took his own life."

"Who is putting 'the word' around?"

"I don't know. I certainly did not ask. You just hear things. I don't want to die. So I saw nothing."

"Henk, I like you. I liked being fucked by you. But I have to find who killed my brother. The Police don't even seem to be trying. I will tell them about you unless you help me. Or maybe I will go and talk loudly about you in the bars. Do you want to start living in fear?"

"Of course not. But you have no idea what people like these can do, Police or no Police. I will help you if you promise to keep me out of it. I have never seen the guy in the mask in the Leathermen before. But I have seen him before. He usually goes to 'The Anvil'. It is a rather more S&M bar."

"And he goes there to pick guys up and inflict pain on them?"

"No that's the funny thing. He is the one who likes the pain. I have never seen him take control of a guy before."

"And you are sure it is the man you saw leading Simon outside?"

"As sure as I can be," Henk replied.

Paul thought for a moment. "We will go there tomorrow and if he is around you can point him out to me."

"No I can't," Henk said and then realised that he had little choice if there was to be any chance of his name being kept out of this mess. "OK I will meet you here at 10.30 tomorrow."

Paul asked his companion to undo the handcuffs. When his hands were free, he called the waiter over and paid for the food and drink. They went outside and Henk gave Paul a passionate kiss before they walked off in opposite directions.

Paul went to the main street and found a taxi to take him home. He walked up to the middle floor and gently knocked on the door.

"Paul?" Ingrid said.

"Yes, it's me. I am OK. Any chance of breakfast tomorrow?"

"Of course. Come down when you are ready."

Paul went upstairs. He stripped his clothes off. He looked down at his cock and realised he was still wearing the rubber sheath. He went into the bathroom to remove it. He washed it and his cum covered cock before cleaning his teeth and crawling into bed. Once again the day's events circled his mind until he fell asleep.

Paul did not sleep well. He woke at 7.30 with a slight headache. He realised that he had drunk more the previous night than he normally did. He got up and showered and his head was no better. So he dressed again in the leather jeans with the thong ties up the side, and black pointed cowboy boots. Even at that early hour it seemed warm and pleasant through the window, so he just pulled on a pale blue polo shirt. He went out as quietly as he could for a walk. He walked somewhat aimlessly for nearly 2 hours thinking about what had happened. His mind kept returning to the Dutchman he had met and found his memories to be pleasant ones. When he thought about how, basically, he had blackmailed him into giving him information, he felt a little guilt. But his determination to get to the bottom of his brother's murder - he had no doubt that it was murder - had not dimmed, even as he remembered the handsome face and firm body of Henk.

He found himself by one of the many backstreet canals in Amsterdam where a flower stall was being set up. He looked at the multitude of beautiful blooms. He thought the roses - in many different colours - looked particularly magnificent. The flowerman asked him if he could help.

"Could you make me up a bouquet of roses?"

"As a present?"

"Yes please and for a very special lady."

The florist set to work selecting blooms from the buckets of roses from which he removed the thorns with a special tool. He put them together with some ferns and flowering plants Paul had never seen and certainly did not know the names of. The whole was wrapped in paper with a large ribbon tied in a bow. Paul took the flowers and smelt their fragrance. He paid the flowerman and headed home. He stopped outside Ingrid's door, held the flowers behind his back and knocked. Ingrid - who must have been near the door - opened it immediately. Paul presented her with the flowers. Her face lit up as she took them.

"They are beautiful. I won't say 'you shouldn't have bought them', as I love receiving flowers. Simon bought me flowers and he always tried to hide them behind his back as you did. And he always favoured roses. In so many ways you are so alike. Come in."

Paul followed Ingrid into her apartment. She took the flowers to her small kitchen and went and selected a large delft pottery vase in blue and white from a shelf. She filled it with water and poured in the little sachet of flower food attached to the bouquet. She needed to do very little to arrange the flowers once they were in the vase. The florist had done a good job. She took the vase and placed it in the middle of the coffee table near her sofas. Then she came and hugged and kissed Paul.

"I want to hear everything that happened last night. You have a sort of sparkle in your eyes that Simon sometimes had when he first moved here. You met someone I think."

"Pour me some coffee and I will tell all. It is strange but I am quite happy to tell you things I would not dream of telling even my closest friends at home."

"That is because you know that I will not judge you or even try to understand what you do. If you had a good time then I will be happy with you and if you had a bad time, I will be sad with you." Ingrid said this as she poured two mugs of coffee. She put one sugar and two pots of the creamy milk into one mug and gave it to Paul. They sat side by side on one of the sofas.

Having told Ingrid he would tell her everything, Paul wondered how actually to begin an explanation of what happened.

"Well I went to the Leathermen and met a really gorgeous Dutch guy. We went into the back of the bar and had sex. No preamble, nothing. Does that shock you?"

"How many more times are you going to ask that? Now go on with your story."

"Well after.....well you know....he bought me a beer. He realised I was a novice at those places, so he gave me a tour and what he called tourist advice. Then we had sex again." Paul stopped and looked at Ingrid for a moment. "I don't know if this makes any sense, but on both occasions he kind of forced me to have sex with him."

"He raped you?"

"No. He kind of took control. And it was wonderful. I loved the feeling of being in his power. He did what he wanted to. But at the same time I knew I could trust him. If this does make any sense to you, perhaps you could explain it to me. As I am not sure that I understand it."

"Your brother was just the same" Ingrid said, while rubbing Paul's arm. "In his first month or so here, he kept meeting guys who were sexually and physically dominant. I think he fell in love with all of them. Although in truth they were really only anonymous sex in dark places. I remember he told me that one of the guys he met reminded him of you as you had always been in charge and looked after him and even bullied him a bit." She smiled at Paul who suddenly looked very sad. "Then he met Marc. I believe it started the same way in a bar. But at the end of the evening Marc gave Simon his card and told him to call him if he wanted to. Simon sat where you are and kept arguing to himself about whether to ring him. He made his mind up both ways at least a dozen times. In the end I got a little angry and gave him my phone and told him to ring him. He did and....well you know the rest. Are you going to see your Dutchman again?"

"Yes" Paul said with a dejected look on his face.

"Well that's good, isn't it?"

"He gave me his card and while we were having a beer by the bar I thought I would see if I could get any information out of him as he was obviously a regular on the gay leather scene. He was wearing chaps. He has a lovely arse."

"And."

"Oh yes. Well he had been in the bar and seen a big fat guy in a mask lead, he said, a cute looking guy out on a chain. It had to be Simon. But he had not been to the Police. So I forced him to tell me what he knew or I would give his details to the Police. I feel rotten about it."

"Don't. He probably knows he should have gone to the Police. And remember what Richard Nixon said."

"NIxon?"

"The American President. 'When you've got them by the balls, their hearts and minds follow too'. You are just encouraging him to do the right thing by hanging onto his balls." They both laughed.

"But he is scared. It seems he has heard that no one saw anything if they know what's good for them. What if something happens to him?"

"Well let's hope nothing does. But if someone did murder Simon, I want them to pay for it. I know what I would do to the bastard if I had a chance."

"And I would give you a large gin before you met him."

"What's gin got to do with it?"

"Well you know what Mrs Black used to say - the British mother - 'don't mess with grandma when she's had a drink'."

They both laughed again.

"Not so much of the grandma if you don't mind. What happens next?"

"Henk told me that the masked man frequents a place called 'The Anvil'. I am meeting him tonight and we are going there in the hope of identifying him."

"I don't like the sound of that," Ingrid said. "You should tell the Police."

"No. I have promised Henk that if he helped me I would keep him out of it. I won't go back on my word. And what are the Police going to do? Let's get the information and then think again."

Ingrid turned her head to look at her front door. "I think someone is going up the stairs to your apartment."

Paul got up and opened the front door and looked up the stairs. "Inspector de Jong! I am down here." De Jong came down and stood on the threshold to Ingrid's apartment.

"Can we speak somewhere privately?" the Inspector asked.

"Better you say whatever it is you have to in front of Ingrid. It will save me having to repeat it to her afterwards."

Ingrid got up and holding out her hand said "I'm Ingrid Bergman." Both men looked at her.

"I am 63 years old and I have heard every comment possible about my name. It really is Ingrid Bergman." The Inspector shook her hand and they sat down.

"I have got the results of the tests on your brother. It seems that you are right. There was virtually no trace of any intoxicating substance - including cocaine - in his body."

"I knew it!" Ingrid did not try to conceal the triumph in her voice.

"I have double checked our witnesses and they maintain that your brother did buy cocaine. So either they are lying or we have to figure out what he did with it."

"I wouldn't waste your time, Inspector," Ingrid said. "He was clearly buying it for a purpose. It is that purpose we need to understand. He probably flushed the actual stuff down the toilet, or disposed of it some other way."

"But what if he was buying it for someone else?"

"He was not. I suppose you know what happened to Marc? Well trust this old woman. He would not have given that evil powder to anyone."

"Not so much of the old," Paul said with a smile.

"Do you have any other information?" de Jong asked Paul.

"Well I went to the bar the Leathermen last night. But I did not see the masked man there. I had a look around and a few beers then I came back here. I found it a bit intimidating. I might go there again tonight or maybe I will try somewhere else."

The Inspector got up. "Well do remember that this is a Police investigation." The Inspector shook hands with Ingrid and Paul and left.

"Lying to the Police?" Ingrid said.

"I told the Inspector only the truth. Maybe not the whole truth, but I did not lie. I thought we were going to have breakfast?"

Paul had not noticed that the table had a cloth on it obviously covering something. Ingrid took a corner and whisked it away to reveal a basket of breads and plates of meat and cheese. She went and got two fresh mugs of coffee and they sat down and ate.

"Was there a Mr Bergman?" Paul asked.

"No I was born Bergman and I have never been married. I have loved many men, which is probably why I am still alone. None of them ever had everything I wanted. So I kept looking and looking until, I suppose, people stopped looking back. And from the look on your face, young man, I think I may have shocked you."

Paul smiled and reached across and held her hand.

"And I would have been a terrible mother. I am far too selfish."

"Unless you have changed radically, one thing you are not is selfish," Paul replied. "What about Suzie?"

"I found a telephone number and address for her parents. They live in Utrecht."

"How did you find their number so quickly? I am impressed."

"Don't be. One thing the Dutch are masters at is keeping records. We record everything. I just called someone I know and well....we were lovers long ago. I think he gave me the information to get me off the 'phone, in case I offered to come round and see him."

"Well one up to the bureaucrats."

"Not really. During the war our neat and tidy record keeping sent many Jews to the gas chambers. Our efficiency cost many lives. The Belgian records were in their usual chaos, so a greater proportion escaped." Ingrid frowned.

"But the Dutch did not send them to the camps. That was evil people who did that."

Ingrid brightened. "We tell jokes about the Belgians the same way you do about the Irish. I guess all nations have someone they make fun of."

"Yes, although I believe the Irish tell jokes about the people from Limerick. I wonder what that says about them? Tell me your favourite Belgian joke."

Ingrid thought for a minute. "Did you know it was a Belgian that invented the toilet seat? Of course it took a Dutchman to put a hole in it."

Paul smiled. "You were telling me about Suzie's parents."

"Oh yes. Well I called them. I spoke to her Mother first. She seemed to be a bit confused. Then her Father came on and apologised and said his wife had dementia. So I just pretended I was selling something and rang off. I think they have enough to put up with. I am wondering whether to invite Suzie to come and stay here. The lady downstairs is leaving. She has not been here much recently. She has a new boyfriend. What do you think?"

"I can't make that decision for you. It would be taking on an awful lot. Of course you could put her upstairs."

"Yes. But that is yours for as long as you want it. And when you do leave Amsterdam, don't think that you will be able to get rid of me completely. Once I get my claws in, I don't let go."

After breakfast Paul went out for a long walk around Amsterdam and saw a lot of the typical tourist sights. But he knew he was putting off going to the place that in his heart he realised he had to visit. Eventually he plucked up the courage and got a taxi to the Amsterdamse Bos where his brother had died. He had no real idea where the fatal shot had been fired, so he just walked around lost in dark thoughts. Near a lake he came across a patch of trees that were taped off, clearly by the Police. There was no one around, so he ducked under the tape and soon found a tree with bullet holes in it. He knelt down to look at the place his brother had died and stroked the tree. He stayed there for a few minutes. He did not cry. Then he got up and walked out of the wood.

Paul had no real idea how to get back to the centre of the city or where to get a taxi. But he knew in general terms the direction of the city centre so he set off walking. After about 10 minutes he found a metro station and got the metro back to Central Station, changing once. From there he walked back to the apartment. He lay down on the bed and thought how best to handle the night ahead.

At 8.30pm he got up and made himself a sandwich and some tea. Then he showered and shaved. Deciding what to wear was a little harder. In the end he chose a leather shirt over a white tee shirt, blue jeans and black leather chaps. He selected a pair of black leather cowboy boots with pointed toes and high underslung heels. In a drawer he found a pair of silver coloured spurs. They had a small rowel at the back and he attached the spurs to his boots. In the same drawer he found a black leather collar with 'D' rings on each side and a pair of leather cuffs that had clips that meant they could be attached to chains or railings. He stuffed them in the pockets of a biker jacket, which he put on. He put some 10 and 20 Euro notes in his pockets and went downstairs.

Ingrid must have heard him coming down. He was still not quite used to walking in two and half inch high heeled boots with spurs and made quite a noise. She opened the door as he was about to knock. They kissed each other's cheeks and he went in.

"You get more and more handsome" Ingrid said. "Are you out to impress Henk?"

"I am not even certain he will turn up. If he does I am not sure he will like what I have in mind."

"He will turn up. A glass of Jenever? You know, Dutch gin."

"I am not really a gin drinker."

Ingrid got a bottle from out of her freezer and poured two small glasses of clear, slightly yellow, liquid. "Try one," she said. "It is not like English gin."

Paul took the glass and sipped it. The freezing cold liquid tasted really good and he could feel the liquid as it went all the way down to his stomach. "Oh that is very good."

Paul did not stay long as it was past 10.00 as he had to meet Henk. On his way out Ingrid again told him to let her know when he got back.

Paul was not sure of the address of the bar he was to meet Henk in. So he got the taxi to take him to the Leathermen and then he followed the route they had taken the day before. Henk was sitting at the bar. He was wearing the same denim with chaps and leather jacket as the night before, although this time he was wearing black square toed harness cowboy boots. He got up as Paul entered and went over. Paul gave him the 3 cheek kiss as part of a big hug. They went back to the bar. The Dutchman had already got two beers in.

"I was not certain you would come," Paul said.

"I don't have much choice. In any case I wanted to see you again. You might be a blackmailing bastard," Henk said with a big grin "but you are a nice guy. And in a bad city like this, you need someone to take you in hand and look after you."

They went and sat down in the corner alcove again.

"I have been thinking about what to do tonight. You said the masked man was more on the submissive side. If I am going to get his attention, I need to be dominant." Paul got the collar and cuffs out of his pocket and put them on the table."

"Oh no. I fucked you, remember?"

"I remember very well. But you will have to trust me. I will only do what is necessary to get masked man's attention."

"Then what."

"I'll play that one by ear."

They finished their beers and Henk led Paul to 'The Anvil'. The place was about as dark as the Leathermen and the bar was once again near the entrance. Paul bought two beers and they moved into the bowels of the building. Paul noticed the strong smell of sweat and urine. The bar was quite busy and both he and the Dutchman kept being groped. Paul decided to take on the role of dominant leather man and slapped away the hands that touched him and those of his new friend. "Hand's off. He's mine," he told a couple of guys.

As they moved further back they found men chained to rails along the walls. Some were being beaten on their backs and naked backsides and one was being fucked by a big man in leather.

"Don't get any ideas," Henk whispered. At the back of the bar the cause of the urine smell became obvious. In a large white tiled corner there were a number of guys - some dressed and some naked - who were being pissed on by a number of guys dressed in leather. They just stood there with their cocks out, relieving themselves. By the look of the naked guys erections, they were enjoying the shower although Paul could not see the attraction. They turned to move back to the bar when Henk stopped.

"That's your man. Grey hair on the left."

Paul looked. The man was not wearing a mask. He was dressed in pair of denim shorts and what looked like army boots. Paul thought he must be in his late 50's. He had grey hair on his head and very hairy chest. He had thick gold rings through the nipples of what Paul had heard described as 'Manboobs'. His weight meant that his nipples pointed downwards. He had a leather collar padlocked round his neck.

Paul turned the Dutchman round so that he could observe the fat man over his shoulder as he started kissing him. In a loud voice he said "I felt your teeth. You will pay for that." He got the collar from out of his pocket and fastened it around Henk's neck. Then he fixed the cuffs around his wrists and attached them to the 'D' rings around the collar, so that he was holding his hands alongside his head. He then slapped Henk around the face. He did it with a flat hand so that the noise was loud but the slap rather soft. But the surprise - or maybe good acting - made Henk yelp with pain and he tried to rub his face with his elbows. Paul moved in to kiss again and whispered 'sorry' as he got near his ear.

As he kissed Henk, he pushed him back in the direction of the masked man until his back was against the wall. Paul deliberately lifted his left boot and ran the rowel of his spur down the fat mans bare leg. The fat man felt Paul's arse with his big pudgy hands. Paul broke off from the kiss long enough to move the man's hand and say "Lick my boots but keep your hands off my arse until I give you permission." He grabbed the man's hair and pushed his head downwards. The fat man got on his knees and started licking Paul's boots. Paul went back to invading the Dutchman's mouth while he pondered what to do next. Eventually he broke the kiss.

"It's time I took you home to my dungeon and gave you the flogging you have been begging for," Paul said.

"Please no, Master," Henk said a second part of an Oscar winning performance.

"Take me Master," the fat man said. Paul looked down at him and at his left boot that was shiny with the man's saliva. Paul grabbed the man's hair, which seemed greasy to the touch, and pulled his head back so that he looked up at him.

"You're too soft to take the kiss of my whip."

The masked man visibly shuddered. "No Master. I need to be whipped. I need as much pain as you can inflict. I deserve to be punished. I beg you, Master."

Paul pulled him up by his hair and while still holding it smacked him with the back of his hand, and with all his might, around the face. "Thank you Master," the man said. Paul pulled him towards him and kissed him. He coaxed the man's tongue into his mouth and bit it sharply, and then broke away.

"This is my prey tonight slaveboy. If you haven't chickened out by then, be here tomorrow at 11.00 and I will take you to my dungeon for a night you won't ever forget. No limits, no safewords, and certainly no mercy." Paul smacked the other side of the man's face and grabbed his balls through the denim shorts and squeezed them viciously. He then took hold of Henk's arm and dragged him outside. He pulled him around a nearby corner. When he was sure that they were not being followed Paul threw up on the pavement.

"That kiss was revolting," Paul said.

"When you have finished throwing up, can you release my hands?"

Paul then noticed that the Dutchman was still holding his hands up to his neck. He undid the fastenings so that he could take his arms down. Then he removed the collar and cuffs and put them in his pocket.

"Let's get away from here." They walked away quickly and back to the bar where they met that evening. The Dutchman ordered some beers. Paul intervened to ask for a glass of water. That was poured first and Paul drank it down in one. His mouth began to feel a bit cleaner. They went and sat down in a corner.

"What are you planning? To get the Police to pick him up?"

"No," Paul replied. "He only has to deny everything and they will have to let him go. I suppose if I let it be known that he has been talking to me and the Kraut is behind my brother's murder, then our masked man might find himself with a bullet in his brain."

"But what if he did not do it? What if I am wrong?"

"True. I guess I need him to tell me what happened. Do you know where I can rent a dungeon?"

"No."

Paul drank his beer while he thought about his options. Then he brightened.

"Will you help me?"

"To do what?"

"I want to take him out to where my brother died. Then I will make him talk. If I hire a van, you could have it somewhere near the bar. I will get him out of the bar and into it."

"I guess I will help you. Staying out in the van at least means you don't get to slap me around again. But I think we will both end up dead or in prison or both."

"Sorry about that. Did I hurt you?"

"Not as much as I intend to hurt you. Let's go back to my place."

"Ok," Paul replied, but then remembered his promise to Ingrid. "I am sorry I can't. I promised my friend Ingrid that I would be back tonight. She is worried about me and won't sleep until she knows that I am safe. If you like you can come back with me."

The Dutchman smiled. "I will deliver you home and then you can be on the receiving end of the collar and cuffs."

"Do you promise to be gentle?"

"Nope."

Paul smiled. They finished their beers and went and found a taxi to take them back to the Jordaan. When they reached the second floor of the house, Paul knocked on Ingrid's door. "I'm home. I'll tell you everything tomorrow."

"That's good. Don't break the bed springs." Paul could hear the smile in Ingrid's voice.

Paul looked at the Dutchman. "I think she knows all the sounds this house can make." To Ingrid he called out "Goodnight" and the two men went upstairs.

When they had closed the door to Paul's apartment, Paul took the collar and cuffs out of his pocket and gave them to the Dutchman. He smiled and fixed the collar to the willing neck of Paul, who held his hands out to be cuffed. The Dutchman helped Paul remove his jacket shirt and tee-shirt and then fixed his wrists to the collar. Henk took Paul's nipples in each of his hands and twisted and squeezed them. Paul wriggled but could not break free from the Dutchman's grip. Their mouths joined in a long deep kiss.

Henk took a couple of steps back and slowly did a strip. He removed his jacket and denim shirt. This was the first time that Paul had seen his hairy chest and the thick gold rings that adorned his nipples. His nipples pointed forward from his muscular chest, standing out erect. He played with each in turn while Paul watched and licked his lips. Then he sat and removed his boots followed by his chaps and jeans. He turned so that Paul could see his arse while he removed his black leather jock strap. He put his chaps back on again and then his boots. He turned and Paul had the first good view of his erect penis. The night before it had been dark, although he was sure that he remembered every contour from having it in his mouth.

The Dutchman took two steps back to Paul and began chewing his nipples. As he did this he undid Paul's chaps and jeans. Then he sat him on the bed and removed his boots and other clothes until he was naked. Paul lay back on the bed groaning as the Dutchman took his cock head in his mouth and started to lick and gently chew the tender meat.

"Fuck me," Paul pleaded.

"In your position I think you should ask - or even beg. It's not your place to tell me what to do. I am in charge now."

"Please fuck me Henk. Long and hard. Please take your pleasure out on my arse, oh little bossy Dutchman."

"That's slightly better. I think." He pulled Paul by his legs so that his arse was at the edge of the bed as he stood beside it. Then he lifted Paul's legs to his shoulders exposing his still red arse hole. He wiped the dripping pre-cum along his shaft and moved towards Paul's inviting entrance. He entered him in a single lunge. Both gasped at first the pain and then the intense pleasure of their coupling. He immediately began thrusting long, hard and deep. Paul, who's hands were still up by his neck could not touch his cock. Even so he came first in great spurts that flew into the air before landing across his chest. As his body stiffened as he shot his load, Paul clenched his buttocks on the invading cock which caused the Dutchman to come deep inside Paul. When his spasms ended he let go of Paul's legs and they fell to the floor. Then he went down on Paul and they kissed again. He left his cock inside Paul's hole and Paul could feel it still gently throbbing.

Henk pushed himself up on his hands and looked into Paul's eye's and noticed that tears were running down the sides of his face.

"What's the matter," the Dutchman asked. "Have I hurt you too much."

"No I enjoy what you do to me. It just does not seem right that I am only here pleasuring myself because my brother is dead."

The Dutchman moved to lay alongside Paul. He undid the fastenings that joined the collar to the cuffs and removed the leather bands. He held Paul tightly to him as he cried. They both fell asleep where they lay.

Paul woke a couple of hours later. He was feeling a bit cold. He shook Henk who groaned a little but did not fully wake up. So he pulled the duvet from underneath the sleeping figure. He then cajoled the once again groaning Henk to turn and lay on the bed with his head on the pillow. Paul got back into bed and pulled the duvet over them both. He went back to sleep with his head on the Dutchman's chest and his hand on his cock.

They were both woken by Ingrid banging on the door. Paul called out 'yes' and Ingrid took that as an invitation to use her key to come in. She was carrying a tray with three cups of coffee on it which she placed on the table and carried two cups into the bedroom, the door of which was wide open.

"Thought you two lover boys would like a cup of coffee. She noticed one of the Dutchman's boots sticking out from under the duvet. "You'll dirty the sheets if you wear your boots in bed."

She then went back and got her own cup of coffee and went round the bed and sat on the edge alongside Paul. She noticed the dried spunk on his chest which she flicked with her index finger, wrinkling her nose. "You need a shower."

All this time the Dutchman had been watching Ingrid with his mouth wide open. "You must be Henk," Ingrid said. "I am Ingrid." They shook hands. "Sorry I could not wait to hear what happened last night and I guess I used to bring coffee up for Marc when he stayed with Simon. He hated Simon's coffee only slightly less than his tea." The three all burst out laughing together.

"We found the masked man," Paul began. "To put it simply, I have a date with him tonight. I intend to take him to the wood where Simon died and there I shall do whatever I have to in order to find out what happened."

"What does 'whatever I have to' mean?" Ingrid asked.

"It is better that I do not tell you."

"You had better tell me. I can't let you just murder someone who just may be innocent. Tell me or I will call the police."

"I won't kill him I promise. But I will hurt him."

"But he is a masochist. He might actually enjoy you torturing him," the Dutchman ventured. "Have you thought of that?"

"I suppose he might. But I am not sure he will like having me carve things onto his skin."

"Call the police," Ingrid said.

"There's no point. He will just deny everything. I cannot let this chance go. If you loved Simon, you must not interfere."

"That is not fair," Ingrid said. "You know I loved Simon. But I love his brother too. And I owe it to both you and Simon to try and keep you safe."

Tears formed in her eyes and the magic tissue appeared once again from the sleeve of her caftan. "I will not interfere, but I think I had better get the name of a good lawyer. Breakfast in half an hour." She got up and left.

The two guys finished their coffee in bed and then started kissing again. Paul broke the kiss as he could feel how amorous the Dutchman was feeling by the way his cock began to leak. "She meant half an hour and I don't want her to bring breakfast up here."

They got up and showered together. But Henk was not to be denied his early morning conquest. He pushed Paul to his knees and pushed his cock in his mouth as the hot water cascaded on them. He soon came in Paul's mouth. Paul had been playing with his own cock and came onto the shower tray and his seed went with the water down the drain.

They dried and dressed in their clothes from the night before, although they both left their chaps off. They arrived in Ingrid's apartment with a few minutes to spare. She opened a bottle of German sparkling wine and poured three glasses. They clinked the glasses together and took a sip. Then Ingrid went and made the eggs for their uitsmijters.

Ingrid quizzed Henk about his background, his job, his political views. Everything. Eventually Henk said "You sound as if you are interviewing me for a job. I'm a good guy, I promise." Ingrid visibly relaxed and smiled.

"I was very very fond of Paul's brother and in the short time I have known Paul I have become very fond of him. So please try to understand why I was asking so many questions and forgive an old woman."

"You might have been born long ago, but you certainly are not an old woman," Paul interjected. "Let's talk about the weather." They finished their breakfasts and Henk said he had to get off to work. He was already a little late. Paul and Henk went upstairs to retrieve the Dutchman's jacket and chaps. They came down and stood outside Ingrid's open front door where they hugged and kissed. The Dutchman then left and Paul went back into Ingrid's apartment to finish his third cup of coffee. He sat on one of the sofas and Ingrid came and sat opposite him.

"What are your plans for today?" Ingrid asked.

"I have to buy a few things for tonight. Henk thinks he can borrow a van from a friend. Otherwise he will hire one. He will come here tonight to pick me up at about 10.00."

"I am not very happy about what you are proposing. But I can't see any alternative course of action. I think I should come with you tonight."

"Certainly not. I don't want you involved in this. In any case what could you do that we cannot?"

"I am involved. Very involved. What can I do? You are going to have to hurt this man to get him to speak. Probably hurt him a great deal. That might sound an easy thing to do. But I think you will find it very difficult. A tough old bird like me might find it...if not easier....then possible."

Paul finished his coffee and got up. He kissed Ingrid on the forehead. "No. I will be alright. There is still plenty of hate in me."

Paul went shopping. He went to an ironmonger and bought some lengths of chain and heavy duty padlocks as well as two large battery powered torches. In a kitchen shop he bought a couple of small sharp knives. In the chemist he bought some heavy duty spray liquid bandage. Then he went to a leather shop and bought a leather sack with draw strings around the opening that would serve as a hood. He took his purchases home. He spent the next few hours reading through Simon's papers and having a long telephone conversation with his parents to whom he told absolutely nothing. Then he lay on the bed and slept for a few hours.

He was awoken by a knock on the door. It was Ingrid. "Dinner time," she called though the door.

"Be with you shortly." Paul got off the bed and went into the bathroom and washed his face. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and for the first time wondered whether he could really go through with his plan. He shook his head to dismiss the unwelcome thoughts.

He sat at the table. Ingrid offered him some wine, but he said he would prefer water. She poured herself some wine and got a jug of water which she placed on the table with a glass. Then she went to the oven and got out a large oval dish which she placed on the heat resistant mats between them. She placed two warmed dinner plates in front of her.

"Smells good," Paul said.

As she spooned out the food onto a plate Ingrid said "I managed to get some white asparagus. Probably the last of this season. It is a simple dish of asparagus with some ham and cheese in a white sauce. Nothing fancy." She put the plate down in front of Paul who could not resist taking a forkful while Ingrid served herself.

"This is wonderful. If this is nothing fancy then I would love to try something you made that was fancy." He put the fork down until Ingrid was ready to eat.

"Eet smakelijk" Paul said with a grin as if he had been practising it all day.

"En je zelfde, jonge," Ingrid replied. When Paul just looked at her. "It just means 'you too, young man'. If you are going to stay here permanently I can see I am going to have to teach you Dutch."

"What makes you think I am going to stay here?"

"The young man you were in bed with this morning. I don't think he would like to move to England, do you?"

Paul decided not to answer. They chatted while they ate. They talked about anything that did not involve Simon or what was going to happen that night. At nine O'clock Paul went back upstairs to shower and change. He chose the leather shirt and jeans with the steel toed lace up boots. They might provide a useful instrument of torture. He put the purchases from the morning, together with the leather collar and a pair of handcuffs he found in a drawer into a backpack he found in a cupboard and went and waited in the street for Henk. He did not say goodbye to Ingrid and she did not come out of her apartment to wish him well. They both seemed to know it was better that way.

Henk arrived a little after 10.00 and they drove to the centre. Paul had borrowed a small van from a friend in the decorating business. Paul explained that the business name on the side should make it a little easier to park in a side alley near the bar without attracting too much attention. They waited in the van until nearly 11.00 and then Paul got out with his backpack. "See you in hopefully less than 20 minutes."

Paul entered the bar and bought a beer. He looked around but could not see his target. He walked deeper into the bar, his heart racing. Then the fat man came out of the shadows. He was again wearing the cut off denim shorts and no shirt. Paul went up to him and took his chin in his hand pushing his head back. "Didn't think you had the balls for this. I might have got some mud on my boot" Paul indicated the shiny steel toecap. "Clean them." The fat man got to his knees again and started to lick the heavy boots with relish. Paul got the leather sack out of his backpack and when the man looked up, he put it over his head and pulled the drawstrings together around his neck which he tied in a double bow. He took the man's left bicep to indicate that he should get up. When he was standing, Paul pulled hard on each of the thick gold rings through his nipples. The man exhaled deeply but did not resist. Paul went behind him and secured his hands in the handcuffs. He then led the fat man out of the bar and into the street. Paul was amazed at how easy it had been.

Henk saw Paul as he turned the corner. He opened the back of the van and Paul pushed the fat man in - who made no effort to resist. Paul got in with him and a few moments later the van was heading for the woods. Paul kept playing with the fat man's nipples and squeezed his crotch and told him what treats he had in store for him. The man moaned softly when Paul described his whips to him and what he planned to do with them. It took them nearly 20 minutes to get to the wood. Between them they got the man out of the van and started to bundle him towards the area cordoned off by the Police.

The man must have started to get suspicious. "What's going on? Where are we?" he asked. In response Paul pulled at his nipples and said "You will like it, I promise you." It took them a few minutes to get to the spot. Paul used one of the large torches to shine the way. They sat the fat man down at the base of the tree where Simon had died. Paul got the chains from his bag and secured the man tightly to the tree. He left his hands cuffed. By now the man was beginning to struggle. He must have realised that things were not right. But it was too late.

Paul removed the sack from the man's head and put his face close to that of the fat man, holding the torch below their chins to illuminate their faces. Then he shone the torch around the clearing. "Recognise this? This is where you killed my brother."

"Your brother? I didn't know....I had nothing to do with it."

Paul got one of the knives from the backpack, which he made sure glistened in the torchlight. "We both know that that is not true. You are going to tell me what happened. If you do not I am going to cut you. If that fails then I shall start to cut bits off you." He bent down and felt the man's crotch in order to make his meaning clear. "It is up to you when you tell me. But tell me you will."

"I don't know anything about it." Paul tutted and took hold of the man's left ear lobe and cut it off with a single swish of the blade. It bled profusely with the warm blood running down the man's side. Paul showed him the piece of flesh and then threw it in his face. He got the liquid bandage from his bag and liberally sprayed the wound until the blood stopped dripping.

"I can't tell you anything. It was not me that led your brother out on a chain."

"Who mentioned a chain? The Police never released that detail. It certainly was not in the papers," Paul said. "In any case I have a witness. It was you."

Paul knelt down in front of the man and used the point of the knife to cut into the man's chest. He called the letters out as he carved them. "K...I...L...L...E...R." The blood trickled down his chest. He sprayed the liquid bandage on the wound and shone the torch on the word that looked as if it was made from children's small wooden letters suspended in jelly.

"We have all night," Paul said. "I am enjoying this." Paul kept the torch from his face as he was certainly not enjoying it. He wanted to puke. But instead he took a deep breath to steady himself. He used the knife to cut up the leg of the man's shorts. He then used the knife to cut them off completely. The man was not wearing underwear. Paul used the point of the knife to play with the man's balls and cock.

"I am not sure that you won't bleed to death if I cut your cock off. So I think I will start with one of your balls. Just think, you can be a eunuch before the night is out."

The fat man began to sob. "If I tell you anything they will kill me."

"No. If you tell me what happened they might kill you and they might not. If you do not tell me, you will definitely be leaving here minus your crown jewels." Paul lightly slid the blade of the knife from left to right about half way down the man's penis. If was not a deep cut but it quickly dripped blood.

"OK I will tell you. Release me first."

"You know that is not going to happen. Talk."

"I was made to bring your brother here. I owe a man a debt. A lot of money. I lost a lot gambling and he bought my loans. He said it was an act of friendship. But later he said I either had to pay him back or else do what he said. He promised that if I did what I was told it would cancel the debt. I did not know he was going to kill him. I swear I did not. I thought he was just going to frighten him."

"Who is this man?"

"His name is Pieter de Wild. He is about 25 or 30 years old. He is the boyfriend of Hermann Blau who is something to do with crime or drugs I think. I don't know. But I had no choice."

"Smits?" Paul said without realising that de Jong had given him that information in confidence. "Tell me what happened."

"I managed to drug your brother's drink and then led him out of the bar and took him to a car waiting around the corner. I laid your brother down on the back seat. Pieter was driving. We brought him here. We stripped him and then tied him to the tree. Pieter then stood over there, about 2 metres away and shot him in the head. He did not say anything. He just killed him. Then he fired some more shots. He said it would make it look like a game that went wrong. Oh and he pushed his nose into some powder. That's the truth. I swear it."

"Then what happened?" Paul asked.

"We left in the car."

"You took my brothers clothes with you?"

"No. No. He got a sack from the boot of the car and put the clothes in there together with the gun. He gave the sack to me and told me to throw it in the lake. It was heavy and the lake is quite deep. I think it had some metal chain in it. Then we drove off."

Paul shone the light in the man's eyes wondering whether he had told him the whole truth or even any of the truth. But he felt there was not much more he could do without actually cutting off one of his balls. He called to Henk "Did you get that?"

The Dutchman came out holding his 'phone in front of him. "The pictures are not so good, but the sound should be OK. But there is enough on this to send you to prison alongside that bastard."

"I don't care," Paul said with a heavy sigh. He got out his own mobile phone and used the torch to find De Jong's number from the list of previous calls he had made. He speed dialled it. He was not sure if de Jong would answer, but he did.

"Inspector I have the masked man. I have his confession. I think I know where the gun and Simon's clothes can be found."

He listened for a moment.

"I am at the place Simon was murdered." He emphasised the word 'murdered'. No one could now call it a 'tragic accident'. He hung up.

"I think you should leave," he said to the Henk. "You don't have to be implicated."

"We are in this together." The Dutchman came up and put his arm around Paul and gently kissed his cheek.

A Policeman on a BMW motorbike with blue light flashing on the top of a pole at the back of the bike arrived about 10 minutes later. He drove across the uneven ground to where Paul stood. As he looked at the man chained to the tree Paul could hear the sirens of two more two police cars in the distance. Eventually the 4 men from the cars came running through the woods preceded by the beams of their torchlight's. Paul gave one of the men the keys to the padlocks securing the chains and to the handcuffs. He stood and watched while one of the Police radioed for an ambulance.

Paul saw Inspector de Jong walking through the woods. He looked down at the man who was still sitting against the tree trunk although now with his hands free. "I knew that you would never just leave this to the Police" he said to Paul accusingly.

"And I knew that you would do much and achieve nothing. He was my brother, not yours." There was pure venom in Paul's tone. He handed the Inspector the 'phone. De Jong watched the playback of Paul's torture of the man, occasionally nosily sucking in small breaths at what he saw. While he watched the footage and listened to the dialogue, the ambulance arrived and took the man away. The Police motorcyclist followed the stretcher and then the ambulance.

The Inspector put the phone in his pocket. He gave some orders to the remaining Policemen in Dutch. Then he turned to Paul and Henk who were holding hands. "What you did here was quite monstrous. I think you should go to prison if not a mental institution. But I can only report the facts. Your fate will be for others to decide. Do not try to leave the country. I will come to the apartment to see you tomorrow. Please be there." He turned to Henk. "Who are you?"

The Dutchman took out his wallet and got out his identity card. The Inspector noted the details in a little black covered book. "We will be in touch. Is the van I saw yours?"

"Yes. No. I borrowed it."

"That might be evidence. Give me the keys." Henk handed them over and the Inspector gave them to one of the Policemen. "Come. I will drive you home."

No one spoke during the drive. As Paul and Henk got out, de Jong said "You have both been very foolish." He drove off.

They went into the house and up to Ingrid's apartment. She opened the door. Her face was full of concern. She had seen de Jong bring them home from her window. "Come in. Sit down." They did as instructed and she poured two large glasses of brandy which she gave to the two men. She then poured a small one for herself."

Paul drank in silence for a minute of two while Ingrid looked at him and stroked his hand. She recoiled slightly when she saw spatters of blood on his skin and clothes, but soon resumed her soothing.

Finally Paul looked into her eyes. "It was murder. The masked man said it was a man named Pieter de Wild who actually fired the shot. He also told us where the gun is. So there is a good chance that they might be able to prosecute him. We were also told that de Wild is Smit's boyfriend. Let's hope he can be prosecuted as well."

"What happened in the wood," Ingrid asked.

Paul just shook his head. "De Jong will probably arrest me tomorrow. But I don't mind as long as they get de Wild." Paul looked at the blood on his hand. "I think I need a shower."

"I will take him upstairs and sort him out," Henk said. They put their unfinished glasses of brandy down and the Dutchman led Paul to the door and up to his apartment. It was probably exhaustion, but Paul seemed somewhat disconnected from the world. Henk stripped him of his clothes and then removed his own. He put his arm around Paul and they went into the bathroom and into the shower. The shower was not a large one, but the Dutchman managed to wash them both. He got out and dried himself quickly before helping Paul out. He sat him on the toilet as he dried him with the same towel. Then once again he put his arm around Paul and led him into the bedroom and into bed. Paul soon fell asleep with his head on the Dutchman's chest.

Henk woke. He looked at his watch. It was 6.00am. Paul's head was still on his chest, but the movement must have disturbed him as he opened his eyes.

"Good morning," the Dutchman said. Paul rolled over so that he was laying on top of Henk. He put their mouths together and they kissed with passion. Then Henk rolled Paul over so that he was on top. He sat straddled across his lovers body with his knees pressed into Paul's waist."From now on I am in charge. Always." The Dutchman moved Paul's arms so that his hands were about 8 inches from the sides of his head and secured them there by holding his wrists. Then he moved down to kiss Paul invading his mouth with his tongue. He got up again and surveyed his boyfriend. He turned his attention to his neck which he sucked and bit leaving red marks on either side, all the time holding Paul's wrists tightly to the bed. Although in truth he need not have bothered. Paul had no intention of struggling. He adored being in the Dutchman's control and power. Henk moved his attack to Paul's nipples which he chewed and which made Paul rock his head from side to side as he moaned. The Dutchman looked down again at Paul, who's eyes implored him to fuck him.

The Dutchman released his wrists and moved down the bed so that he could hook Paul's knees over his shoulders. Paul had not moved his hands and the Dutchman took hold of them again. Paul could feel the magnificent cock at the entrance to his body and soul and pushed down to encourage him to enter and take ownership. The Dutchman needed little encouragement. He applied a strong steady pressure to his engorged cock and they were soon joined together.

"That must be the best feeling in the whole world," Paul said.

The Dutchman decided to take his time. His thrusts while as deep as the two bodies could make them, were slow. Very soon Paul was groaning and once again rocking his head from side to side. Henk could feel Paul coming to climax and he bent down to kiss him and so that Paul's spunk would mainly spurt onto his chest. He maintained the slow rhythmic thrusting for another couple of minutes and then he came inside Paul in what seemed like an explosion in slow motion. He fell back onto Paul and they lay chest upon chest slowly descending from the mammoth heights both their bodies had reached.

The Dutchman raised his head and looked into Paul's eyes. "Will you marry me?" he asked. Paul pulled his wrists loose from the Dutchman's tight grip and levered himself up onto his elbows so that he could look into his face.

"What?" he said.

"Marry me. I want you to belong totally and legally to me."

"You forget that that might be our last fuck for a long time or maybe ever. I will probably be in prison by tonight."

The Dutchman rolled off Paul and lay alongside him on his back. "That is an even better reason to marry me. We Dutch are very civilised and allow spouses conjugal visits."

Paul rolled over on to one elbow and looked into the Dutchman's eyes. "I must be quite mad. But yes I will marry you. Can I promise to love honour and especially to obey you?"

"That would be most un Dutch for you to have to say that in front of a public official. But don't worry I will keep you in line."

They both laughed and then kissed some more. Soon they were exploring each other's bodies again and it was no surprise that each used their hands to bring the other to a second climax.

But twice was to be their limit as at that moment there was a knock at the door. "I could hear that you were up and busy. Coffee and breakfast in 30 minutes. I won't come in." The boys could hear the almost girlish giggle in her voice.

They showered and dressed. The Dutchman's clothes were somewhat muddy and damp from the evening before. He asked Paul if he could borrow some jeans and a shirt. Paul went straight to the leather wardrobe and got out a black leather shirt and black leather jeans with lace up sides. Henk put them on and was about to reach for the trainers he had worn the night before. Paul kicked them away before he could reach them. He fetched the Dutchman a pair of knee high engineer boots which he told Henk to wear outside his jeans.

"So much for me being in charge!" Henk said.

"I like seeing you in leather," Paul replied.

Henk went to the same cupboard and got out a leather tee-shirt which had thong ties up the side and showed off the wearers flesh. Paul pulled it on and the Dutchman tightened the laces so that it was snug on his body. He went to the other cupboard and got out a pair of faded and slim legged denim jeans. They were tight and it took Paul some time to get into them. They felt like a second skin. Henk handed him a pair of knee high cowboy boots with stacked heels and pointed toes. He put them on with the legs of his jeans inside the boots.

They came together and kissed. They heard Ingrid's door open and she shouted "Breakfast" up the stairs to them. They had one more short kiss before they released each other and went downstairs. The Dutchman went in first and went and hugged and kissed Ingrid. In her ear he whispered "We are getting married." Ingrid broke away to look at him before hugging him again. Then she went and hugged and kissed Paul. "I am so pleased. It was obvious that you are made for each other." Then she frowned and looked to the floor. "Just like poor Simon and Marc." Ingrid made an effort to brighten."I will get the champagne."

They ate a breakfast of bread and cheese and meats. They drank the champagne and then followed it with coffee. They talked about the future. But none of them raised the looming question of their likely arrest. They stayed with Ingrid the rest of the morning. If they embarrassed Ingrid by their constant touching and kissing each other she did not show it.

At just after 3.00pm Ingrid got up and looked out of the window. "De Jong is here," she said as the buzzer went. She went to the front door of her apartment and pressed the automatic door release. She opened the apartment front door and when de Jong came into the house she said "They are up here with me." De Jong went up and into the apartment. The two boys were sitting on one sofa side by side with Paul's hand clasped by the Dutchman in his lap. Ingrid asked the Inspector to sit down.

De Jong looked at the two lovers and then at Ingrid who had sat alongside the Inspector. "We found the gun in the lake together with what seems to be your brother clothes. There are fingerprints of de Wild, who is well known to us, on the gun. I have to say I was surprised when it was suggested he might be the killer. He is not the physical type and had only been involved in low level crime before. But we arrested him this morning and he quickly confessed."

"What about Smits, who we were told was his boyfriend?" Paul asked.

"De Wild is his new young lover. It seems they had been living together for about 3 months. My guess is that de Wild murdered your brother to impress Smits. He is a good looking boy but none too bright. But even if Smits got him to do it, de Wild denies that he knew anything about it. So we have no grounds to arrest Smits. It might not be sufficient for you, but it is the best you are likely to get. Please don't think of doing anything else on your own."

The comment reminded Paul of de Jong's comments the night before. "Are you here to arrest me?"

"Under the circumstances it has been decided not to take any action against either of you."

"Circumstances?" Henk said.

"The fat man threw himself out of the 4th floor hospital window this morning. He is dead."

"Jumped or was pushed?" Paul asked. De Jong did not answer.

"And if you charge Paul and Henk," Ingrid said "it would cause the Police embarrassment."

De Jong got up. "Please don't do anything foolish. You are unlikely to be as lucky a second time." Ingrid got up and showed the Inspector out. When she came back the two were kissing.

The Dutchman broke the kiss "You will still marry me?"

"Yes," Paul replied.

The Dutchman said to Ingrid "I am going to take my boyfriend out to show him my apartment and start looking for rings. We will be back in a couple of hours and then we will take you out to dinner.

Ingrid watched as they left hand in hand. She moved to the window and watched them walk down the street. Then she got her shawl and went out herself.

Paul and Henk returned in less than two hours and stopped off at Ingrid's apartment to show her the two plain heavy silver bands that each had on his finger. "Guess that makes it official," Ingrid said. "Are you going to live in Henk's apartment or do you want to stay on here?"

"I shall move in with Henk as soon as we can arrange to move Simon's things out."

"I went to see Suzie after you left. I wanted to tell her about what had happened. She has agreed to come and live here. And if you don't want it, she can have your apartment. I will be able to keep a better check on her upstairs."

Paul kissed her on the cheek. "You are a good woman," he said.

"Don't be silly and get out of here. I need to get ready for our dinner date tonight. And at my age that takes a long time."

The two boys left. They went upstairs. They were laughing as they opened the door and went in. The laughter soon stopped when they saw a man sitting on the sofa pointing a gun at them.

"Come in and shut the door," the man said quietly. "My name is Blau although I think you know me as Smits." He got up and indicated that the boys should take his place on the sofa. He moved back keeping the gun pointing at a spot between them. Paul and Henk sat down and tightly gripped each other's hand.

"The Kraut?" Paul asked.

"You do know of me. That is good. It might help you understand why I am going to kill one of you and kneecap the other so that they never walk again. I was going to kill you both, but I think this will be better. Your irresponsible actions have resulted in the man I love being arrested . He had become my life and you have unfairly taken him from me. That fat fool told me about you two before I ....ermmm.... encouraged him to fall out of the hospital window. One of you will die and one of you will suffer all I am suffering and much more. While you hold hands think about which one I will choose to shoot dead and which one will have to keep on existing. I won't call it living. I have killed before so please be in no doubt as to my seriousness."

Henk moved closer to Paul as if trying to cover a little more of his body to offer the man he loved the safety and protection he had promised.

"You had better kill us both. Whichever one of us lives will find a way to get revenge," Henk said.

"I cannot stay in this godforsaken country without my Pieter. You will never find me."

"You killed Marc, didn't you?" Paul said.

"That stupid boy was interfering in my business. He did not like the way I was introducing people on the gay scene to the delights of cocaine. So when he could, he would tell the Police about my people. It was only a small irritant as they did not matter. You can always find new people. So I went to see him to warn him off. He would not listen. He just kept shouting at me and making threats. It is a pity he was a good looking boy. I would have liked......well never mind. So he had to die. I forced him to sniff the poisoned cocaine. His sister was clearly far too gone to know what was really happening just above her. Then your equally stupid brother tried to find out what had happened. He was getting too close to the truth. He had been talking to too many people. He was trying to get hold of CCTV footage for the area around Marc's house. So he had to go too. I was arranging for a contract killing. But out of his true and deep love for me Richard decided to deal with my problem. And now you have interfered and the love of my life is in prison. So you must go too."

Smits raised the gun a little higher. At the same moment the door burst open and Ingrid stood just outside pointing a Lugar at Smits. Smits took a quick glance at the woman and then turned his attention back to the boys on the sofa. "You Dutch are such cowards. If you ever point a gun, you can't find the trigger and if you find the trigger you can't shoot straight."

Ingrid's voice was quite clear and calm. "This is a German SS officer's gun. My mother took it from one after she strangled him with a bicycle chain with her own bare hands. We may be a small nation but we are not cowards."

In the background they could all hear a police siren coming in their direction. Smits turned and fired his gun at Ingrid. She dropped to her knees. Behind her the boys could see a puff of dust where the bullet had gone into the wall. From her kneeling position Ingrid fired in return. Smits dropped his gun as he clasped his neck. The bullet had severed an artery and blood gushed through his fingers. The front door to the house was forced open and footsteps could be heard running up the stairs. De Jong was in time to see Smits fall to his knees with blood still pumping from his neck. He fell forward, dead.

De Jong pushed past Ingrid and went to take a closer look at the body which was lying in a huge pool of blood. In a very matter of fact tone de Jong said "If your aim had been even further off you might have missed him altogether. You should never aim for the head. The body is a far better target."

"I hit him exactly where I was aiming. He was responsible for the deaths of two of my friends and probably many more I don't know. Filth like that needs to die, and to die slowly and in full knowledge that they are at the end. She dropped the gun and went to the sofa where Paul and Henk were holding each other. She helped them get up and shepherded them downstairs.