The Streets of Bucharest

THE STREETS OF BUCHAREST

By

Gerard Whittaker

The Streets of Bucharest.

By Gerard Whittaker

Smashwords edition.

Copyright by Gerard Whittaker, 2010

Dedicated to my wives, past, present and future.

Who taught me things that I really did not want to know.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Prologue

Outside the icy winter curled through the streets of Bucharest, bringing the sub artic weather from Siberia towards the Southern Balkan states, covering the mediaeval city with an enchanting blanket of snow that lasted from November to April. It hardly mattered to those in the small room that was heated by a single electric heater dating back to the days of Stalin. In that dark place nothing mattered at all.

There was no window in the curving stone wall that arched overhead, and the only light came from an energy saving bulb that left the chamber in perpetual gloom. The door was of sheet steel that could only be opened from the outside, and a row of single iron beds was wedged against one wall, with only the odd crumpled blanket on the straw stuffed mattresses to provide a little comfort to the lost inhabitants.

The air was thick with the musty smell of stale sex and boiled cabbages, dirty bedding and rank urine that was turning to ammonia in the slop buckets.

Catalina gazed hopelessly at the other twelve girls who sat or squatted together for warmth in the tiny room. Most wore little more than an odd item they had managed to scrounge from their pimp. She was the new girl, and as such had the privilege of being handcuffed to the stout iron bed by her right wrist; until they finished breaking her will totally by the usual tactic of starvation, abuse and torture. The other girls, from about twelve to twenty five could hardly dare glance up as the pinp brought clients to the room. Most girls were Romanian but there were a couple of Russians and one girl who they could not understand at all. Catalina thought she was a Serbian.

The majority of clients were locals but the odd American did have a chance to examine the girls before dragging one from the room. Some came back, an hour or two, perhaps a day or a week later. But some did not. Whether they had been sold or killed was never explained. New girls bought from impoverished parents, thrown out of the intuitional state orphanages, or simply kidnapped off the street, soon replaced the missing girls. A week ago Catalina was surprised to see six girls of about twelve who had been bought straight from an orphanage. They were all bright eyed and bushy tailed on first arriving at what they had been told was a good job in a hotel. She had to watch as they were raped repeatedly, tortured with a belt and had their wills broken until they begged to please their new masters. When she woke in the morning the children were gone, no-one had dared mention them since.

She had once tried to work out the profit margin on each girl: prostitute or slave. Call them what you will. But all she knew was that there was an endless supply of dollars going into the pimps' pockets, and the only outlay was a couple of bowls of soup a day. They were just about the only commodity of any value in many of the bankrupt ex-soviet states.

Irena stumbled into the room, carrying her usual bundle of plastic bowls and wooden spoons. She came back a few minutes later with a bowl of thin cabbage soup. She served the girls as her tiny daughter collected the washing up.

I'm being sold, Irena blurted to Catalina. And Stela. Tiberiu just told me.

Your daughter as well! Catalina gasped in surprise. Any idea where?

Anywhere is better than here. It must be!

What did he tell you? I've never known Tiberiu to be talkative.

Only when he's had too much vodka. Then he gets very maudlin, starts singing foke songs about a glorious Romanian past that never was, She chuckled. Believe it or not he's quite fond of me. But business is business. He'll have to train another girl to please him.

That's one job I can live without, thanks all the same, Catalina gasped in horror.

I was sold on line, Irena whispered in confusion. Some crazy foreigner: he must have thought he was on a dating site and bought me.

Just like that? Catalina blurted out, E-Bay for the perverted!

But he wanted Stela too, Irena sighed.

Why? I mean, what for?

Tiberiu said domestic. I'm only going to be screwed by one man, instead of a hundred. Who cares what he wants or how he wants it. I'll give it to him by the bucketful to get out of here.

And Stela? Where does she come into this? Does this crazy guy want you or a four year old?

God! Irena gasped in horror.

Are you just there to get her through customs? Or will he want to screw you both?

You don't think so do you? she gasped sickly. Not really?

He could have picked anyone of a thousand, probably fifty thousand. Why would he want a girl with a child?

What can I do? Irena spluttered in horror. I can't let that happen to Stela. Not yet. Oh God no.

Does Tiberiu still take you to the market? she asked in sudden hope.

He's not going to go himself. Yes I can get there. They know I'm too scared to escape. The last girl who tried that they beat her to death with a red hot chain. They made us all watch. It took her a week to die.

But that is what you must do, Catalina insisted. To save your daughter you must escape.

But there is nowhere to go. No-one to turn to. The police all turn a blind eye, for a few bucks or a quick fuck, Irena sobbed hopelessly. The courts will never convict a business man over the word of a prostitute.

There is a new force in Bucharest. Part UN and part EU. Some of the brightest cops in the world are starting to clean up this mess. Catalina whispered forcefully, But only if you can find the courage to ask for help.

How do you know this?

Irena, how long have you been here? How long is it since you've read a newspaper?

I, I don't know. I've never read a paper, in the orphanage we were not taught to read. I don't even know what year it is.

Then trust me in this. When Romania joined the EU the world was forced to face up to your nightmare. But Human Trafficking and Exploitation is even harder to tackle than we thought. It's far too engrained in your culture. But we are trying.

Can't you go? Irena whimpered.

Catalina shook the chains that held her to the bed. Would that I could, but I'm a little tied up right now.

In the morning one of the brothers who ran the brothel took the terrified girl to the open market. But not before Catalina had given her a wisp of freedom. A quick spray from a tiny jar of expensive perfume, the only thing she had managed to smuggle past her kidnappers. A gift from a special friend.

Irena struggled through the icy wind, slipping on the slick cobbled road as they walked through the centuries old market that had hardly changed since the days Vlad Tepes had gone through the neighbourhood impaling on long wooden stakes anyone he thought was aiding the invading Turks.

Since Ceausescu had decided to increase the workforce by millions through the simple tactic of banning birth control, and encouraging families to have five children each, even though they could not afford to feed one child, millions of unwanted children had been dumped on an overstrained and under funded state orphanage system. Irena was one such child who had grown up moving from one institution to the next, never being treated as a human being or shown any kind of love. At fifteen she was thrown out onto the streets, uneducated, barely literate, and unemployable. She spent a year or two begging and stealing on the streets, living in the sewer system in the winter or shop doorways in summer.

Then one day she was offered a meal for sex, and she jumped at the chance of a full belly. She entered the new car and a world of sexual exploitation she never could have imagined. It did not take long to break her spirit; her upbringing had already taken care of that. A few beatings, two weeks of starvation locked naked in a dog cage in a freezing winter, and then the sight of a girl being tortured to death, did wonders to break her to the point of a trained animal. She knew there was no-one who cared if she lived or died. There was almost no-one who knew she even existed. The hundreds of clients didn't come into it. They never saw her as a human being. Irena was a thing. Just a collection of holes to please them however they liked.

For years she had believed that, until one day a condom had split at the wrong moment and Irena found she was pregnant. Tiberiu had tried to induce an abortion, but he was too mean to pay a surgeon to kill the foetus. And no amount of blows could stem Stela's will to live. Slowly and painfully Irena leaned how to love.

She slipped from the guard and disappeared into the crowd before he noticed she was gone. Using a slip of toilet paper as map she stumbled in terror through the old town.

The new police headquarters was just where Catalina had promised, she was almost dying of fright as she stumbled up the steps. She pushed the rotating doors open and slid into an alien world of mirrored steel and polished glass.

The enquiry desk sat in what looked like half an acre of gleaming gold flecked marble, but the officer in charge glared at her in quite rage. Her kind did not belong here, she should be back living with the rats.

Can I help you? the desk sergeant snapped in disbelief. What he really meant was: 'Get out before I throw you out!'

The task force, Irena gasped. I have to see the Combined Taskforce. Commander Trainer, I have to see him, she almost screamed.

Several officers were walking past and Sergeant Lucian had no choice but to guide Irena through the maze of offices.

Five minutes later his mobile rang. He hung back to take the call. Yeah, she's here. Look, this is different. I'm at work for Christ's sake. Ok, but it'll cost you- big time.

Irena was almost at the Taskforce door when the first bullet destroyed her heart. The second entered the