Empathy is not a Colour. Chapter 8

Rosemary arrived in London in late 1983 while Thatcher was still

basking in the glories of the slaughter she committed in the Falklands

and planning to use it to win the 1984 election.



Rosemary was broken. Her dreams finally, irrevocably shattered.

She was in London, had achieved a single goal in her dream. But at

what cost. Dada Acacia had Rosemary now.



The two decades of the 60's and 70's were good to Dada Acacia. She

was in her 70's when Rosemary first met her. Her ruthlessness,

cruelty and devoted service to the Ola's had made her affluent, feared

and admired. The Prima Donna of madams. Her girls sought after.

Her strategy for a successful prostitution business had proved right.

Get the best looking girls who can hold a conversation, target the

directors of international companies, diplomats, overseas

delegations, minor aristocracy and MPs and you can build up a

formidable bulwark of protection against detection. A Deputy

Commissioner or two would not go amiss. Respectable white society

has its own rules of 'Omerta' and can afford to pay well for the exotic

of a beautiful African whore.



The diplomats, the charge d'affairs from the newly independent states

of Africa were Dada Acacia's first targets. The guinea pigs of her

strategy at the beginning of the sixties. They of course preferred the

white girls in the stable, saw them as exotic and the sex as

confirmation of their new found power and place in the world. They

could now join the elite world's white society and sink their faces in

the same trough of pig swill.



Dada Acacia made added value of the contacts for the Ola's. Enabled

the 4A's to extend their corrupt influence to Nigeria's immediate

neighbours and then the whole region from the information gleaned

by her expert whores. Sitting alongside prostitution in the pews

devoted to mammon, blackmail was just another obligation needing to

be redeemed in the Ola's favour.



Amari was the leader in London. Omotunde Ola, his uncle had died

an unpleasant and lingering death in the mid seventies. He just

seemed to waste away six months after returning from a visit to

Lagos. Skin lesions, tumours appeared on his skin and in his mouth

and nose that were diagnosed as Kaposi's Sarcoma. The disease is

fairly common in equatorial Africa, about 9% of men get it.

Omotunde's tendons in his knees were attacked, laming him. He had

lesions that penetrated from the skin to the bone. He died in agony.

Kaposi's Sarcoma on its own is not usually a killer, it could be

disfiguring and painful, but with the right treatment it isn't life

threatening. The best private doctors the Ola's money could buy

never worked out what was wrong with Omotunde Ola. They flew a

witch doctor in from Nigeria on the insistence of Dada Acacia, but his

libations and chants, like the Anglican priests prayers just a load of

mumbo-jumbo to Kaposi's Sarcoma. It carried on eliciting screams

from Omotunde till he died an exhausted skeleton.



Akinyemi Ola was upset at Omotunde's death. They weren't familial

brothers as such, but brothers all the same. They had met when

Akinyemi was five and starting his life on the street, had been

together ever since, took an oath of blood brothers, cut their

thumbs and mingled the blood. Akinyemi named them both Ola at the

ceremony. He brought Omotunde's body back to Lagos for the

funeral.



It was Omotunde Ola who was introduced to the Krays in early 1965.

The twins had noticed the Robinson firm's links with the the Ola's

and, saying they were curious, approached the Robinsons wanting to

met them. It was six months before the relationship between the

Krays and Robinsons turned sour. Bringing both their firms down.



Anybody working the East End knew of the Krays. Their protection

rackets, thieving and general thuggery. The terrorising of the poor.

The Krays main earner was fraud. They were good at it, their one

non-violent crime. Mostly.



Except for the fraud, the Krays were a white version of the Ola's

without the international spread. Small fry really. They had a few

tenuous links with the Mafia, but no outposts in other countries like

the Ola's. Not all that organised really.



Most would accept such an invitation and worry. Some had accepted

and not returned. Omotunde took Amari along, positioning his

soldiers near the meeting place - The Lion in Tapp Street - just in

case. Two of the Robinsons came along as escort and surety and

were the first to enter the pub.



Three hours later, back at the shop in Shadwell, Omotunde and

Amari couldn't contain themselves any longer. Hysterical, they

laughed for an hour, so hard their sides ached for a week. The

pain a constant reminder that made them laugh some more.



It hadn't taken long to find out the reason for the invite and meeting.

The Krays had been approached by some Nigerians saying they

represented the government of Western Nigerian. The initial contact

had come via the Western Nigeria office in Portland St, giving the

idea a touch of respectability and legality. A partnership had been

proposed that would require an investment from the Krays in land

speculation, banking and sugar in Nigeria. A newly independant

country could offer untold riches for those prepared to take a risk

had thought the twins. The negotiations were getting a little difficult

and the Krays suspicion antenna was starting to twitch. When Ron,

or it may have been the other twin, Omotunde and Amari could never

remember, asked them if they knew of the Nigerians involved,

Omotunde Ola supressed his desires to laugh, enjoy the moment.



Straight faced and serious, enunciating each word in his best English

he said, “Yes. We know them. They control and lead the fraud

rackets in Lagos. The cleverest of the fraudsters in my country. We

have had trouble with them in the past, trying to encroach in our

areas, but we've managed to convince them to stay in fraud and out of

our businesses. If you've already put any money into the scheme it is

lost.”




He had been quick and straight forward in laying out the situation

while distancing the Ola's from the fraudsters, hoping to diffuse the

expected explosion from the twins or get it out of the way as quickly

as possible. But he and Amari were suprised to see the twins look to

each other, sigh and weakly grin in a forlorn sort of way, then turn

and beckon a flunky.




“Get him back from Lagos.” The Kray twins instructed in cockney

harmony.



Fleeced. Taken for a ride. Turned over. Scalped. The East End's

most notorious, the victims of a sting. Over the next months they

were to tell the London underworld that none of them can teach

'those Nigerians' anything. Maestros in the game of fraud, and

anybody getting involved had been warned. The Kray's openness to

having been taken, a sign of respect.




The rest of the meeting was taken up with small talk and a succession

of visitors to their table. Local criminals offering respect to the

Krays, making requests or seeking permissions for crimes. Each new

visitor was introduced to the Ola's with, “Meet our new friends from

Nigeria.”




By 1983 the Ola's were firmly ensconced in London and the twins in

gaol half way through a thirty year tariff. They have never had trouble

from the white underworld since the meeting with the Krays, instead

the Ola's are always referred to when questions need answers about

West Africa, or international deals arranged.



Rosemary was standing, shivering in the centre of a room in the

Pimlico house. She stood in front of Dada Acacia. Whether the cold

of a late autumn day was responsible for her shivering or it was her

fear of what was happening to her, she didn't know. She had been

shivering since being taken to Akinyemi Ola's in Lagos.



Dada Acacia examined her from head to toe as she circled the young

and beautiful woman, sizeing-up the quality of meat before her as

though studying a prize heifer at a cattle market, estimating the

income she could derive, the clientelle to offer her to. Dada Acacia

liked the money she saw.



When she finished her visual appraisal Dada Acacia called in the

'Doctor'. He conducted an intimate genital and anal examination and

the report he gave Dada Acacia annoyed her. Rosemary had to go to

hospital. The brutallity of the Ola's gang rape had damaged her, the

anal sphincter had been torn, was bleeding and she was leaking faeces.

Only the copraphiliac would touch her if she smelled of shite and

there were to few of them for Rosemary to be economic. A private

hospital bed was arranged, the operation performed and Rosemary

was given a couple of months reprieve before being placed with her

first client. She was also found to be HIV negative to everyones

relief. The tryst with the Gawk hadn't infected her.



Dada Acacia used the time to instruct Rosemary in the basic wiles of

the prostitute. Knowledge she had acquired in a long and fruitful

career.



“The first thing you must know is that to me you have to be honest

and not steal. If you are you will not be hurt. Otherwise. Well, you

have probably heard of my reputation.” Said Dada as she kept her

eyes on Rosemary's, like a black mamba preparing to spit and strike.



Rosemary just nodded. She had hardly spoken a word since arriving in

London. Was monosyllabic and scared of everybody, even the nurses

who had attended her in hospital.



“Speak.” Demanded Dada raising her voice.



“Y-Y-Yes.” Responded Rosemary. The tone in Dada's voice was

ominious and frightening. It was the first time that she had heard it.

Dada Acacia had been easy with her till now, had been gentle since

the 'Doctor's' report. It was down to business from now on.



“Yes what!”



“Y-Yes. I won't steal and will be honest.”



“Good. For the next two months I'm going to teach you, pass on

some of my not unconsiderable knowledge so that you can repay your

family's obligation.”



“I don't have any obligation.” Said a plaintif Rosemary.



This was met with a slap.



“You do, and never answer me back.”


“Right. Men. So you've been fucked by a 17 year old boy and think

you know everything about sex.”



The image of the dead Gawk flashed before Rosemary but before

she could dwell on it Dada continued,



“He was hardly in you before he finished I bet?”



Rosemary nodded remembering the awkward fumbling and unsatisfied

want she had been left with.



“When you are introduced to a client and they first talk to you lower

your eyes and always respond in a soft voice. Act coy and

occassionally glance at him alluringly. When you laugh, which you will,

do not gape you mouth and let all see inside. It makes you look ugly

and to keep a client you need to look beautiful at all times. When

you eat, never eat with your mouth open. There is nothing more off

putting to a man than seeing an open-mouthed woman masticate her

food. Always sit up straight at the table and bring the food in small

portions to the mouth. Never bend towards the plate. Never swear

or discuss money. That is my responsibility. Now show me you can

act coy and glance alluringly.”



For the next hour Rosemary practised. For any mistake or if not upto

the standard that Dada Acacia thought good enough she was verbally

abused or slapped. Rosemary was going through a crash course at a

finishing school for whoredom. By lunch she had practised coyness

and alluring glances enough to gain the grudging approval of her

madam. Then the trauma of learning to eat in a 'lady-like' manner

started.



There were four other girls at the lunch table, two white and two

black. They all looked toward Rosemary when she entered the room

with a mixture of pity and envy in their eyes. Pity at what she was

going through and envy at her beauty and the rich clientelle she would

undoubtedly attract.




Dada Acacia stood behind her while she ate. The first time her head

leant forward toward the fork, Dada Acacia whacked the back of her

head. The other girls said nothing, kept eating properly as taught by

Dada Acacia. Her mouth opened once when she chewed and was

noticed by one of the white girls, a hard faced, once pretty 25 year

old jealous of Rosemary's youth, who pointed it out to Dada Acacia.

She was whacked again. Eating became a trial and its enjoyment would

be lost on Rosemary for a long time.



When not receiving instruction in the age old arts of seduction,

Rosemary would be skivvying in the brothal. Cleaning rooms and

changing beds after clients had left. On more than one occassion

clients noticed her youth and beauty and tried to grab her. Her

yells would bring Dada Acacia and who would usher the client away

saying, “She is not ready yet, ” and, depending on the wealth of the

client, “You will be told when she is.”



One of the rooms in the brothal had a two way mirror. Every day

Dada Acacia insisted Rosemary spend an hour watching and learning

from the experienced women. Initially she found it repulsive, watching

people contort to screw, but she gradually acquired a clinical

approach to looking that bordered on the boring. A voyeur she was

not. She laughed once, involuntary, had to place a hand across her

mouth to stifle the noise. An obese and sweaty white man, six foot

six inches of grey from hair to suit to tie to shoe, in his fifties and

weighing at least 150 kilos. He followed a black whore into the room.

She was five feet two inches and weighed no more than 40 kilos.



“He will crush her to death.” She said to Dada Acacia.



“Shut up. Watch and learn.” Was Dada Acacia's abrupt reply. She

was pleased though. Rosemary had laughed and given a sign to her

Madam that she was relaxing, coming to accept her situation. She

would soon be able to be put to a punter and start earning money for

the Ola's.




As he undressed great rolls of cellulite rumbled down his torso, his

gigantic belly criss-crossed with stretch marks. He'd obviously dieted

once but had put the weight back on in record time. It had been an

age since he had seen his dick except in a mirror His inner thighs

seemed stuck together as the flaps of lard intertwined, rubbed and

created large red sores.




The whore did all the work as usual. Mr Obese lay on his back as she

searched for his dick, eventually finding it amongst the flab. It was

small. Four and a half inches when fully erect. An expert blowjob

followed. After sucking for ten minutes, she stuck a finger up his ass

and the suprise as he came was registered on his face. It soon turned

to anger as he tried to roll of the bed and grab her. She just laughed,

side-stepped his lunge and left the room.



“We could have trouble.” Said Dada with a wry smile, leaving

Rosemary alone.



Rosemary watched in growing amusement as Mr Obese struggled to

get dressed. It took him longer than it took him to come.



Rosemary's time carried on like this for two months. Learning

whoredom, skivvying and watching people fuck. She never left the

brothal. Hadn't seen London at all, except on the drive from the

airport and a hospital bed.



Dada Acacia and her girls taught Rosemary many things at her

academy of whoredom and she picked up a lot by her own initiative

when with clients.


Dada Acacia had been very shrewd with her choice of Rosemary's

first client. A gentle and wealth Italian restraunteer with a fixation

on Black women. He liked to talk about his work and his taste in sex

was straight. Though a strain for Rosemary, knowing she was being

watched to see how she performed, she carried through her role to

Dada Acacia's acceptance. In fact she was told by Dada Acacia that,

“You did well.” The highest compliment that Dada Acacia would ever

give.


For two years Rosemary worked on her back becoming profficient at

enticing and exploiting mens naivette of women. She was especially

indemand by the East Europeans who saw in her the epitomy of why

they were conducting the Cold War against the Americans as a hot war

in Africa.


Dada Acacia's strategy for increasing the Ola's wealth was brilliant as

far as it went. But it came unstuck with a vengence. Being involved

with the Soviet Union's, and their satellite diplomats got the British and

American Secret Services worried. Initially they had been quite happy

while the Ola's had confined themselves to exploiting the African

diplomats. The information they gleaned from the bugs planted in the

whorehouse were useful to their operations in Africa, but working the

East Europeans was whole other ball game.


The British and Americans desperatly wanted the information that

Rosemary and her colleagues could probably get from the East

European diplomats, especially if it concerned Africa, but could not afford

any Africans to have the same information. It could compromise their

operations against the Russians in the African Wars.


The Ola's were raided. Their American and British operations shut

down. Adan, Akin, Amari and Dada Acacia were deported from both

America and Britain back to Nigeria. They were kept and questioned

for months before being escorted all the way to Lagos airport and

handed over to the Nigerian police. The East Europeans had not

been coming to their brothal long enough to pass on anything of

significance but the Nigerian authorities had cut a deal with the

British and Americans to ensure they wouldn't be heard of again.

Their wealth and power had gone. Confiscated and was now lining

the the pockets of a new generation of gangster. The 4A's were

disappeared.


Rosemary and the other women had a different fate. They were going

to be used by the Americans and British to sting the East Europeans.

The brothal in London would be kept on and run by SIS. It didn't take

much to convince the women that they would be better off under British

control. If at anytime they fucked up then prison and deportation. For

their cooperation they were offered a basic salary of £15, 000 a year as

long as they signed the Official Secrets Act.


Rosemary, no longer the frighten girl raped by the Ola's was starting to

appreciate a sense of freedom of sorts. She could leave the brothal

during her spare time. Though always followed it allowed her to see

some of the sites she had dreamed of as a child. Her minders reports

portrayed her as 'a sightseer', and they were right.


The bugging and photographing of Soviet diplomats who visited the

whorehouse proved quite useful. A few were turned and one or two

agreed to defect. But it still came as a shock when the Berlin Wall fell.

None were expecting it, least of all the East European elites living in

the West. Gorbachov had suprised everybody when he instructed East

Germany not to intervene against the peoples demolition of the Wall. He

recognised very quickly that to try and supress this popular revolt that

spread through Eastern Europe would require measures even Stalin

would have baulked at.


The new independent states changed their diplomatic representatives

time and time again and the contacts for the brothal dwindled. The

operation was reorganised and all the women became freelance with

their own flats paid for by the British tax payer. They would work as

directed by a Controller who would identify a likely target. Instead of

having different clients to service, Rosemary now had the opportunity to

service just one person once or twice a week for upto six months. It was

starting to get easy but she was starting to get towards the end of her

career as a high-class call girl. Time is cruel. Her beauty had increased

as she matured toward her thirties but her youth was what attracted the

men and this was fast dissappearing.