Footsteps on the stairs. Two men. Jessica’s hands were numb, unusable, all the blood in her body rushing to her heart and her head. She managed to get the buckles at her wrist, ribs and waist undone. But as she reached for the straps at her ankles the door to the room burst open. She sank into a crouch to protect her naked body, the table too close at her back, tipping her forwards so that she had to steady herself against the floor with one hand. The buckles cut into the front of her ankles, painful, a distraction she tried to savour as she felt their eyes wander over her.
‘Police! Let me see your hands!’
‘I can’t.’ Jessica cradled her breasts with one arm, her face turned away from the men at the door. ‘I can’t.’
‘Let me see your hands right now!’
‘Turn your body cams off!’
‘Ma’am, I won’t ask you again!’
‘I’m a cop, you assholes! Turn your body cams off!’
She heard the sound of a taser being pulled from its holster. The distinctive snap and flick of the safety. Devastatingly clear images whirled through her mind, of her body twitching and writhing under the electric pulse of the taser, all of it recorded on the patrol officer’s body camera. Being naked on video was better than being tasered and naked. She let go of the floor, released the cradle she’d made for her naked chest and rose up slowly. She wasn’t going to put her arms up. That would be an indignity she couldn’t bear. She stood there, strapped in place, finally turning her face to meet the men she didn’t recognise standing in the doorway with their tasers out.
‘I’m a cop, you complete – fucking – assholes,’ she said.
One of them was staring at her crotch. The other, her breasts. They both looked at her eyes at once. Jessica could see the two little red lights of their body cams still blazing in the glowing mood lighting of the room. Somewhere downstairs, other officers were dealing with Goren. Doors were slamming open and drawers were being pulled out. She could hear him yelling in protest.
‘If you’re a cop, what the hell are you doing here?’ one of the men in the doorway asked, a tall, young patrolman with a thick black beard.
‘It’s none of your business what I’m doing here,’ Jessica said.
‘We have reason to believe there are drugs and activities involving prostitution occurring on these premises,’ the officer said. He paused, looked at his partner, and the faintest hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. ‘You’ll be placed under arrest pending further investigations. Ma’am, would you please, uh . . . free yourself from . . .’ He pointed at the straps. ‘Or maybe you need help—’
‘I don’t need any goddamn help,’ Jessica said. She bent to undo the buckles at her ankles. Her whole body was submitting to trembling waves of humiliation, the stinging sensation of the cameras, their eyes, recording her every move. When she rose again she caught them smiling, laughing silently, the smaller one turning away. More officers were arriving in the hallway. She cupped a hand over her crotch and covered her breasts with the other arm.
‘Can I retrieve my clothes from the other room?’ she asked.
‘Of course.’ The tall officer finally had a hold of himself, his face barely straight. ‘Guys, let her through.’
The officers in the hall parted. She couldn’t look at their faces. She dressed alone in the bedroom, listening to their laughter.