Chapter 8
Like many things he’d rather not think about, John first discovered the BDSM scene when he was in the CIA. It didn’t bother him exactly but he didn’t find it particularly enticing either.
“Just as well,” Mark Snow had told him. “You're less likely to be distracted by having too much fun.” Reese had snorted but he had to admit it made sense. He could fake enthusiasm while still keeping his mind on the job, so he ended up being the point man when a case called for it.
He hadn’t thought about it years, not until Finch had remarked that their latest number seemed to be an avid practitioner.
“Yeah? In what way?” John had asked sorting through the intel Finch had already acquired about the number. He’s not seeing any red flags in the guy’s business life.
“He has a fondness for being tied up and spanked.” John raises a brow at the disapprobation in Finch’s tone.
“You have a problem with that, Harold?” He asks. Finch gives him one of his looks.
“The act itself? No. But, hiring unknown and un-vetted professionals to come into his home and incapacitate him at his own request? That I consider foolish in the extreme.” John has to agree.
“Ah, that explains the payments to Nightlife Services Inc.” John flips through the records. “He seems to have been using them pretty regularly for the past few years without any trouble.” Still, they should check it out. The turnover at those places is high, something he and Kara had used to their advantage.
“It’s not even as if it would be difficult for him to meet a like-minded individual if he wants to indulge.” Finch is still fuming over the number’s lack of security consciousness. “There are seventeen reputable clubs in Manhattan that he could go to get exactly what he wants safely.”
“Uh huh,” John grunts his agreement before it occurs to him that seventeen is a pretty specific number.
He turns so he can look at the other man. “Finch?” When Harold turns toward him, John asks, “Did you know about those clubs before the machine gave you this number?”
“Does it matter, Mr. Reese?” Finch’s expression is cool and his voice is even but John see the faintest traces of chagrin. He realizes he’s revealed more to John than he intended but that’s the extent of his embarrassment Whatever Harold has to do with those clubs, he’s not ashamed.
“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” John turns back to the records. The number comes first, he can consider the implications of Finch’s expertise afterwards.