It had rained all day and even the grass along the side of the path looked limp as if it had been drowned. The track itself was of hoggin and that too was soggy underfoot adding to the grey damp atmosphere of the dingy disused railway siding.

To her left was a long graffiti-marred brick wall and here and there tufts of hardy dank green burst through the mortar. All along this wall there were bricked-up railway arches, although some of them had steel doors clamped over more recent added doorways. Recent being sometime in the last 50 years; yesterday to a mid-Victorian edifice in its dotage.

It was strange to find such a place left undeveloped in North London, especially when less than half a mile away was a stylish and busy shopping parade. That fashionable leafy inner suburb was much more her world.

Carrie had left the car three streets away where no one would associate it with this place. It was better that way, far better. She just wanted this business done with.

She looked down at a puddle, shocked at the stranger looking back in rippled reflection. Her once carefree young face looked drawn and the blonde pile of hair looked less than immaculate. The 36-year-old had dressed in a hurry that morning and it showed. But when Osterman called people, they usually didn’t keep him waiting. She wished that she had never become one of his clients, as he liked to call people like her, the stress was killing her. But the money was good, very good and the risks were low. After all she supplied strictly category C merchandise on a wholesale basis. She never met the dealers direct, it was a sweet deal; or at least it had been up until now.

Finally she reached the far end where a mess of runaway oaks and inner city birch trees grew; a haven for sneaky urban foxes like Osterman. Outside the last arch was a steel grey S-Type and one of Osterman’s suits leaning next to an open door leading into the last cavernous lock-up set under the old railway arch.

“Is he inside?” Carrie asked the suit.

She had seen him before, but had forgotten his name, not that they used proper names these people. One of Osterman’s associates was called Fish for Christ’s sake.

The man grunted and offered her a non-committal shrug. Maybe he thought sharing simple information would make him a grass. Carrie toughed it out with a hard look of disdain and pushed past him.

*

Osterman was sitting back in the shadows, his smile almost friendly as Carrie walked in. He was a big man who unlike his associates filled out his suit well. There were grey flecks in his hair, but otherwise he looked young; not much older than she was at a guess.

“I thought we had a deal,” he said calmly.

Carrie hated him calm, she felt sick. She thought about the recent news about a body found in the river.

“We do,” Carrie addressed him firmly as if he were a boy in the pub who had dared to make advances.

“You are still sitting on 30 kilos or else you haven’t paid me,” Osterman continued.

“So, business is slow this month. The Lemon Tree is closed for refurbishment and in case you hadn’t heard Astral Green burnt down last week,” Carrie replied in a bored voice.

Both were nightclubs that together were where the dealers sold almost half her business.

“That’s not my concern,” Osterman gaped, a rare show of emotion. “You run the franchise.”

Carrie let her mouth hang open as if she might speak and then closed it again to glare at him.

“What do you want me to do?” Carrie said at last, “I can’t just find new ground overnight, not without straying into rival territory.” She crossed her arms and rested on one hip to face him down. “I have a couple of new angles and by the time the Lemon Tree opens again I will be able to…”

Osterman leaned forward and fixed her with a deadpan stare.

“I am certain you will, but that still leaves us with the shortfall and we had a deal.” His voice was edged in unrelenting doom and Carrie shuddered.

“Deal,” she gulped, her breathing now becoming audible.

“You either meet your targets or there are consequences,” he rasped.

Carrie was losing it and what had been butterflies gently gnawing at her stomach lining had become positively vampiric. She thought about the body in the river again.

Then Osterman frowned and seemed to relax a bit.

“Hey, you’re a big girl, a deal’s a deal, but it’s not like I’m going to get my associates to work you over,” he laughed, “Anyone would think I was going to…” then he laughed as he got it. “You did didn’t you,” and still chuckling he added, “Hey I’m a business man.”

“You said consequences,” she blurted almost relieved but still not quite feeling safe.

Osterman nodded.

“Half the profits on the shortfall until we are back on schedule and… a little incentive to keep you on your toes,” he said.

*

Carrie remembered the deal they had made, but in her hasty greed she had assumed it was a euphemism. In any case she had been so cocksure of herself that she had not thought it a problem.

“You’re not kidding are you?” she said with a cotton dry mouth.

“About handing out a little spanking if you ever crossed me? Oh no, I am a literal sort of guy,” Osterman said casually.

“You handle your male clients like this?” the accusation was a bitter one.

He snorted. “No, not exactly, they tend to get a little spank at the end of a fist,” he said, “Otherwise my reputation gets a little weird.”

Carrie sucked in air through her nose as if she was considering his offer, but he hadn’t really made her one; he was calling all the shots.

“Is that why you don’t want to beat up a woman?” she asked, now stalling for time.

“You catch on fast,” he said, almost with regret, “Besides I still have to look my mother in the eye.”

“Yes Osterman you do, and what would she say about this?” Carrie’s brave was holding up but her vampiric butterflies were back and the inside of her mouth felt like sandpaper.

“Little rich girl get’s out of line and gets a spanking; oh I think she would laugh, don’t you?” Osterman chuckled.

Carrie eyed the cane he held and blanched.

“Can’t we talk about this?” she said in a voice that was increasingly leaking any confidence she had left.

“But we are talking about this?” he said. “Want to surrender all your profit for a free pass this time?”

“No,” Carrie whispered with a shake of her head.

“I never had you pegged as a welcher,” Osterman said with a shrug. “I mean you wouldn’t rather my associates handle this in the usual way?”

Carrie’s intake of breath was fast and she let it out slowly with resignation.

“Good and good, because we get to do it my way anyhow,” he said dryly.

Carrie nodded and then with all the dignity she could muster asked him, “How do you want me?”

“Just the needful,” Osterman shrugged.

Carrie glanced back in the direction from which she had come, they were alone. So kicking off her shoes she reached back and unzipped her dress and without a hint of false modesty or giving him the satisfaction of coyness, she stepped out of it.

Osterman looked embarrassed and Carrie was thrown. She didn’t know what was worse; assuming this was just business or assuming it wasn’t. He gestured to her brief underwear and made a half turn as if he were really a gentleman.

“Bastard,” she said as she firmly seized her waistband and decisively slid her knickers down to step out of them.

“You little self-righteous bitch,” he growled and turned on her.

At least he was still calm. Instead of bending her face down across the table or chair, he sat down again and hauled her over his lap. Then his hand came down with bite across her bared bottom.

“Jesus Christ,” she gasped.

But the spanking didn’t stop there. It wasn’t an elegant affair nor measured. Hands that were used to pommelling opposition were now open blades of justice and blasted down in rapid angry slaps over and over until Carrie was yelling.

“Bastard, you bastard,” she yelled, her legs kicking as she struggled.

Even then he didn’t finish, but spanked her on and on until angry grunts and gasps had become wet wailing as Carrie spluttered for breath.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she repeated over and over in a sobbing wet voice. But this heartfelt mantra did not save her either.

Maybe 10 minutes later Osterman finally dropped the sobbing woman to the floor and left her to cry.

“We had a deal,” he said in an awkward tone.

“Yes,” she panted as she brought her tears under control. “I am sorry I swore at you.”

He nodded.

“You still going to cane me?” she asked, now with a humble demeanour.

“Not this time,” he winked.

She smiled and clambered shyly to her feet.

“I’ll get things back into line by next month,” she told him, her voice slow and pained.

“You had better, or I will be the one getting you into line,” he said with a smile and a motion to the cane.

“Yes Sir,” she said ruefully as she nervously bit at her lower lip.

*

By the time Carrie emerged there were three more men in a huddle around a black Merc now parked alongside the Jaguar. But not one of them gave her glance or showed a sign that they knew she had just been spanked. Carrie liked that just fine.

Now all I need is a drink and a big bag of ice for my tail end, she thought, as she surreptitiously rubbed her bottom. But as she took slow ginger steps back up the hoggin path she felt as if a weight had been lifted. She had screwed up and paid the price. But now she knew the worst and she could handle that. Besides Osterman wasn’t such a bad stick. maybe there were other deals to be made.