Cecconi's Whirlwind

Susan, dressed in a floral print Cavalli, packed the last of her clothes and zippered up her suitcase. “Let’s go.” She tipped the case onto its wheels and turned towards the door, when she saw the three men standing there, striking an operatic frieze. Her face went pale with fear.
Betty, oblivious to the danger, stared out to sea in her multi-colour wave-stitch Missoni, a sundress folded over her arm. “I’m going to start a whole new life, learn Spanish and go native,” she said wistfully. “My dream...just you and me...”
“What about me?” Cecconi snarled.
Betty swung around as if she had been struck in the face. Susan dove for her handbag, but Skeet pounced on her with the force of 180 pounds and threw her savagely onto the bed. He kicked up the lid of the suitcase, whipped out a silk girdle and tied her to the bedpost.
Betty stood transfixed, an exotic bird caught in a trap.
“Going places, ladies?” Cecconi asked sweetly and turned the crocodile skin handbag upside down. A packet of Kleenex, lipstick, hairbrush, passports and two airline tickets tumbled onto the bed, followed by an antiquated revolver. “Nice way to greet friends,” Cecconi picked up the gun as if it were an ugly insect. “Where’s the mutual respect, Susan? I trusted you. You needed cash and I gave you a business. I feel so fucking used.”
The women were petrified as dreams of a new life shattered before their eyes. “We’ve done nothing wrong,” Susan gulped. “We’re going on holiday...to Mexico.”
“What about the 900 G’s you owe me? When were you thinking of repaying me? You forget Susan, I keep tabs on all my dealers. To prevent something like this from happening.”
“We’ll pay it back. This is a holiday for God’s sake.” Susan gave Betty a stern look that was not missed by Cecconi.
“Is that so? If that’s how you want to play it...search the fucking place!”

In a hotel room diagonally opposite, on the sixteenth floor, a ruddy-faced woman with reddish-brown hair tied in a French braid, wearing jeans, cream-coloured blouse and a blue blazer, seated herself by the window with a cup of steaming coffee. Detective Constable Bronwyn Chatworth tore open two packets of sugar, poured in the contents, gave a quick stir and took a sip. She wore no earrings but studs, light on make-up so as not to attract the dogs she worked with, and low heels on shoes that tied up because she needed to run at speed. Her Glock pistol was tucked into her shoulder holster hidden by her blazer.
She took a sip and in a reflex motion pulled the telescope towards her and peered through the eyepiece. What she saw sent shockwaves down her spine. “Haggerty!” She yelled. “It’s Cecconi.”
It was the word Haggerty had been waiting for, for more than two weeks. A tall, good-looking man, tightly built, with a face that showed little emotion, ran from the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. He grabbed the binoculars and stared through the eyepiece.
Susan was tied to a bedpost and Betty was manacled by Fan to the second bedpost.
“Cecconi, you beautiful bastard,” Detective Sergeant Haggerty muttered. “Now fuck up, brother. Fuck up real good.”
Bronwyn glanced at him sharply. “What do you mean, fuck up?”

Cecconi nodded at the two suitcases, which Skeet and Fan attacked like animals, flinging clothes in every direction.
Susan and Betty watched helplessly as Fan unzipped a Hermés carry-bag and turned it upside down. Bundles of $1,000 each, made up of ten $100 bills, fell in a pile.
“That’s our money we saved,” Susan exclaimed in desperation.
“Your money?” Cecconi snorted.
Fan counted the notes like a bank teller. “One...two...300 grand.”
“Look at him, he’s a freaking machine,” Cecconi said in admiration. “Not bad, except we’re short. 600K short. Find it, boys!”
“Fuck you!” Susan cried.
“Take what doesn’t belong to you and reap the whirlwind,” Cecconi's voice curdled.
“Go away! Leave us alone!” Susan stammered as Fan untied Betty and held her in a vice, while Skeet ran his fingers down the front of her dress, which he tore open.
“You swine. Don’t you dare touch her!” Susan screamed.
“No breast implants here boss, it’s the real thing,” he said fondling her.
“How dare you!” Betty shrieked, tearing herself from his touch.
Skeet was unperturbed as he went under her skirt and along her thighs.
“Take your hands off me, you filthy pig!”
“I’m thorough, doll, got a good training as a cop.”
“Another move and I’ll snap your arm,” Fan warned.
“You fucking bastards, leave her alone!” Susan raged. “Get out of here!”
“She’s clean, boss.” Skeet calmly turned on Susan, “Your turn, baby.”
But Susan was stronger and as soon as she was untied, threw herself off the bed.
Fan gave a low circular kick, which slammed into her jaw and flung her against the wall, where she fell in a heap.
“Oh my God!” Betty cried. "Stop that!"
“Jeez, you’re accurate,” Skeet looked at Fan in admiration.
“All you got to do is bend your knees like so,” Fan demonstrated the kick in slow motion, “and whammo!”
Cecconi marched from room to room, ripping out drawers and opening cupboards, but all were empty. “Goddammit!” He roared. “Where’s my money, woman?”
Skeet scraped a sullen Susan off the floor, and while Fan held her arms, tore open her blouse.
“You bastards, fuck off! FUCK OFF!” She struggled as Skeet searched her body in the same meticulous manner.
“Stop! Get away from her!” Betty bawled.
“Fuck...off!” Susan stammered as she kicked and shoved, trying to force him away from her.
“It’s that time of month, boss—for both of them,” Skeet sneered as they tied her to the second bedpost.
Cecconi slammed the last of the cupboard doors shut in irritation and stomped back into the bedroom.
Susan glanced at Betty. Both were tight-lipped. The money they had saved, the years of hard work could not be jeopardized now.
“We’ve had enough!” Susan cried. “We worked hard and now its over.”
“I wasn’t forcing you. You could have settled up and gone your way,” Cecconi replied evenly. “But you kept telling me you had these great fucking clients, all your rich lawyer friends—smack is in, just keep it flowing. Remember? That’s what you told me.”
“Well there’s nothing left.”
“Do you think I believe you?”

“Those girls are up to their fucking eyeballs,” Bronwyn muttered in the hotel room opposite. “We have to move in.”
“Not so fast, Bronny dear,” Haggerty drawled, pulling on his brown suede jacket. “We ain’t moving nowhere,” and he holstered his Glock semi-automatic pistol. “Not yet. Not until I say so,” and he stared through his binoculars.