Great Short Stories

by Stan Mason

  ‘No, no police,’ she cut in sharply. ‘You see those photographs will ruin my reputation and lose me my job. Whatever the police do, they’ll still be a threat to me.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ he told her bluntly. ‘Three thousand pounds is a lot of money. It’ll take a few days to get it.’

  She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him firmly on the lips. ‘Oh, darling,’ she said in her soft sultry voice. ‘Thank you! Thank you so much! You won’t regret it. I promise you. The problem is that the blackmailer set a deadline for the end of the week. Do you think you could have the money by then?’

  ‘I should think so,’ he told her, worried that the story didn’t sound true. On the other hand, they had enjoyed a sexual relationship together and she had told him that she like him. Surely she wouldn’t be pulling a stunt to get the money out of him like that!

  After she had gone, he rang Tom White, one of his close friends at work, relating the whole story to him.

  ‘You’ve been set up,’ returned his colleague. ‘Well and truly set up. Firstly, you know nothing about this woman. You don’t know where she lives, her telephone number, or anything about her. Secondly, don’t you think it’s suspicious that the moment you made love to her there was someone with a camera outside your house taking photographs through your window. It smells fishy to me to say the least. Thirdly, why does she have to pay the blackmail money? You’re both single agents. Who cares about the two of you having sex? I don’t buy the story that she’d lose her job over it. More likely, if it is the case, she has a husband and doesn’t want him to find out she’s having an affair. I mean, it’s a chat club. Anyone, whether they’re married or not can join. No, I’d say it smells like a scam to me. I’d get back to the dating agency and make further enquiries about her.’

  Prentiss wasted no time, ringing the dating agency without delay. ‘I’m dating a female member of the Club called Carol,’ he began and I have something urgent to tell her but I haven’t her ‘phone number or address,’ he began, hoping to succeed in his quest for information. However, the matter proved to be far more complicated than he imagined.

  ‘We can’t give information like that out to anyone,’ came the voice at the other end of the line.

  ‘But I am a member,’ he bleated hopefully. ‘I joined the Chat Club a short while ago.’

  ‘That’s as may be,’ returned the voice, ‘but we can’t give out personal information on members to anyone. It’s up to the members themselves to advise other members of their personal details. Under the Data Protection Act we’re obliged to keep our records secret. Otherwise we’d be breaking the law.’

  ‘Well what about the name of your managing director and the Club’s address?’ he demanded angrily.

  ‘We deal only on the telephone,’ came the reply. ‘We don’t ask for fees from members and therefore it’s totally unnecessary for us to give out our address.’

  He was stunned at the reply and plodded on for a while, becoming more depressed as the conversation continued. In due course, he replaced the receiver into its cradle no wiser than when he first began. What the hell was wrong with these people? He was a member of the Chat Club after all! So why couldn’t they give him her number? Then he recalled Jack Adams, his late wife’s cousin, who worked for British Telecom. Prentiss had helped out the man when he had fallen on some bad luck and had lent him a substantial amount of money. It was eventually repaid but Adams owed him a debt of honour. They hadn’t spoken for about two years but it might be possible to get the information he needed from him. Looking up the man’s telephone number in an old address book, he rang him and started a conversation. In due course, he moved on to the topic of importance.

  ‘You know you still owe me one for the time I helped you out, Jack,’ he ventured. ‘Well I need the address of the Chat Club. It’s very important. I’m a member and I have their telephone number but I need to write to them. For some strange reason they refuse to give me their address.

  ‘Hey, you know that kind of stuff’s confidential,’ exclaimed his old friend cautiously. ‘I could lose my job if someone found out.’

  ‘I know,’ responded Prentiss, ‘but I’m well and truly stuck. How about settling the score between us?’

  Adams paused for a short while toying with the idea in his mind and then relented. ‘Okay,’ he replied uneasily, ‘I’ll get it for you but then we’re quits.’

  It took a full day for Adams to communicate the address to him and as soon as he became aware of it Prentiss squared himself up for conflict. He intended to visit the Club’s premises, refusing to budge until he was given Carol’s address. There was no alternative but to get to the bottom of it all. The location was seventy miles away and he drove there to arrive at a small cottage in a tiny village. Surely this remote place couldn’t be the address from which the Club operated. After all, it advertised on television therefore it had to be larger. Knocking on the door, a voice told him to enter and he stepped inside. To his astonishment, he stood in a small lounge with two people sitting in front of computers. The first was a dark-haired slim woman he had never seen before; the second was Carol. She leapt to her feet at the sight of him, staring at his face with an element of guilt.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ he demanded almost in a whisper.

  ‘Welcome to the Chat Club as advertised on television,’ cooed Carol in her soft sultry voice. ‘Now that you’re here you’ll want to know what’s going on. You’d better sit down.’

  He complied with her order and the other woman took up the baton. ‘My name’s Clara Beau. Carol and I are both widows who wanted to have a little fun in life. We started the Chat Club and advertised it on television for members but the benefit for members is that they don’t have to pay any fees. There are six other six women on the Club’s committee and we select people like yourself who are single, divorced or widowed with their own properties and some money behind them. The ultimate aim is marriage. In the meantime, we go out with members, have a good time wining and dining with them, and do anything we think suitable for the occasion.’

  ‘Suitable for the occasion?’ he repeated incredulously. ‘What exactly does that mean?’

  ‘Anything the goes on between men and women,’ she replied.

  He shook his head in disbelief. ‘I can understand the aim of the Club although, in my view, its like taking a sledge-hammer to crack a nut but why try to get me to pay five thousand pounds on a trumped up story about a blackmailer.’

  ‘Ah,’ continued Clara Beau coldly. ‘I mentioned that we don’t ask members to pay fees so we try to get money from our clients in other ways. How else can we fund the Club? How else can we afford to live? We can’t live on air pies! When Carol suggested you might be a good candidate, I came along with a camera and photographed the two of you through your front window.’

  Prentiss turned to Carol demanding an explanation. ‘When you blackmail someone, like you did me, does that mean it’s the end of the relationship? That you don’t consider the person for marriage any more?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she retorted. ‘Giving me the money shows your commitment to me. It creates a bond between us. Most men shy away from such matters. They try to melt into the woodwork. I’m positive you are different. You’re the only person who found out our address. How did you do that?’

  He ignored the question and stared at her fully in the face. ‘So where do we stand after all this? Is it your intention to see me again or is it all over?’

  She paused for a few seconds. ‘You’re wrong about me... about us. We’re honest people at heart although I have to admit we’re taking advantage of some of the people who join the Club. But, as far as you’re concerned, I want us to continue our relationship.’

  ‘Even if I don’t give you three thousand pounds?’

  ‘That was the test, Douglas. You don’t have to pay it.
But I do want to go on seeing you.’

  ‘With marriage in mind?’

  ‘With marriage in mind,’ she repeated earnestly.

  ‘You are a strange person,’ he managed to say. ‘So lovely, so beautiful, but how can I trust you?’ He wanted the woman to share his life so much that each moment was one of anguish.

  ‘Do you honestly believe I have a sexual relationship with every man I meet on the second date? I don’t think so. You can believe it or not but that was a commitment on my part. I think we have every chance of making it together.’

  ‘Not if you don’t dispense with the Club in its entirety. No more dates with other men. No more blackmail.’

  She looked at Clara Beau. ‘What do you think, Clara?’

  ‘We can managed without you, I’m sure,’ said the dark-haired woman. ‘In fact, you might be lucky enough to be the first of all of us to find happiness. That’s what it really is about, Mr. Prentiss. Happiness!’

  ‘By the way,’ declared Carol turning to Prentiss and taking his hand. ‘I’m not poverty-stricken as I told you. My husband left me quite a tidy sum when he died. So it’s not your money or your house I’m after. It’s all a matter of trust, Douglas.’

  He looked at her beautiful face and thought about her sultry voice before making a decision. It was extremely hard for him to make up his mind but he shortly came to a conclusion.

  ‘In order to make money,’ he began slowly, taking his hand away, ‘you embarked on an adventure that was both unethical and irresponsible. It led you into a world of make-believe whereby you were willing to seduce men and blackmail them for their money. You say it’s all a matter of trust but the truth is that I don’t honestly believe I can trust you after what you’ve done. In my opinion, it’s quite clear you have no conscience to do such things with men and to men and even though you tell me you’re willing to give up the Chat Club I cannot believe that to be true. Consequently, I don’t think we could ever enjoy a proper relationship together. I’d be on tenterhooks all the time, watching, waiting, for you to do something which we would both regret. I’m afraid I’m going to leave you with the Chat Club and ask you never to contact me ever again.’

  With that, he turned on his heel and left the cottage, driving away from it as fast as the car would go. The barrage of his indictment was extremely painful for him to issue but he knew in his heart and his mind that he was well rid of the woman. Anyone with such thoughts in mind to make money wasn’t worth consideration let alone a relationship of any kind.

  Back in the cottage, Carol screwed up her face in anger. ‘Damn!’ she cried, staring at Clara Beau. ‘Damn! I could have really had a great life with that man. He was everything I wanted in life. What an opportunity missed! The chemistry was so right.’

  ‘Don’t mind him,’ returned Clara Beau, ‘I’ve got a real beauty for you here. A man of the same age as you, handsome, a widower, with money to burn. Do you want to contact him or shall I put him on to Gracie?’

  Carol’s face changed from anger to interest. ‘You bet I do!’ she exclaimed. ‘What’s his number?’

  The past was quickly obliterated from her mind. She was an opportunist and nothing would stand in her way! At the same time, Prentiss sat in his lounge watching television. Life was lonely and he realised that he had to watch out for predators. Nothing in life was ever easy...especially relationships with the opposite sex!!

  Moment Of Truth

  Henry Schwarz was a fine-looking young man, twenty-two years of age. He had grown to a height of six feet, sported a shock of beautiful blond hair and a very pale face. Although still very young, his fortune was that he had turned out to be quite a distinguished person, capable of leading a nation in a great career. Together with an aura of pride and passion he sometimes tended to fascinate most people who became intoxicated by his orations on a soapbox in the town square. He would have been a perfect candidate for a long life in the House of Commons except for the fact that he was absolutely, totally and conclusively an afficionado of the Nazi regime which had attempted to conquer Europe in the 1940s. Despite the fact that the Second World War had ended some sixty-three years earlier, he, and his disillusioned gang, were determined to bring the Third Reich back to its former glory starting, initially, by using terror tactics to make his point locally. He readily recognised that all major events, such as the return of Nazism, took a great deal of time to culture and mature. However as a young man, with a great deal of time ahead of him, he was willing to wait patiently until the movement progressed to national proportions as his idol, Adolf Hitler, had succeeded seventy-five years before.

  In order to establish his intentions firmly to all and sundry, he had been tattooed all over his body with the names of German cities, adorned by a great black eagle which spread widely across his chest, but most obvious to everyone was the large black swastika imprinted firmly in the centre of his forehead. He was so intense regarding his ambition that he didn’t care for the way other people reacted when they saw the hated insignia on his face which had previously represented the death of millions of people. Nonetheless, despite such adverse views, and an element of humiliation from those who despised the Nazis, he was a natural outstanding leader full of autocracy, audaciousness and arrogance. Colloquially termed as the New Fuehrer, he directed his gang, who obeyed every order he gave with alacrity, and they regularly terrorised the people in the local neighbourhood.

  Schwarz enjoyed menacing the innocents, threatening them, causing them fear by means of violence, and vandalising much of the area whether it was owned privately or belonged to the local authority. His gang comprised ten stalwart young men, some of whom bore similar tattoos on their bodies, each one of them revelling in the antagonism and belligerence shown by the other members of the gang. Their reputation soon grew as neo-Nazis and they were hated by everyone in the town but the authorities were never able to detain, arrest or charge them with any criminal intent or subliminal activity through the absence of proof. At the same time, the gang was certain that none of their victims would dare to inform on them to the police about anything that had been done either to them or their property... not without the expectation of horrendous swift and violent retaliation. Consequently, no one spoke out against them and they remained free to roam the area at random doing further damage, scaring and frightening everyone who stood in their path.

  On this Friday evening, they stood outside an Indian kebab take-away in the town ready to inflict damage on the owner and his property. The only customers inside were people waiting for their food to be cooked and they stared at the gang coming towards them with trepidation. However, they were quite safe on this occasion because Schwarz wasn’t interested in them. His aim, in particular, was to intimidate the Indian owner. He would have preferred to have attacked a shop in the area owned by a Jew, in the style of the old Nazis of the late 1930s, but there was none in the town of which he knew. Subsequently, he intended to vent his anger on an Inidan shop which, in his mind, would do just as well. The Aryan cause disliked the Jews, gypsies and menatal patients but their hatred extended to black and coloured people especially after the humiliation meted out to them at the Olympic Games in Berlin in 1936 when Jesse Owens, the American black athlete, won four gold medals in athletics, spiking Hitler’s anticipated German success.

  At a sign from their New Fuehrer, armed with baseball bats, lead piping, and wooden batons, the gang swung their weapons at the window of the take-away smashing it instantly into smithereens. Not surprisingly they quickly gained the reaction they desired for the Indian owner ran out of the take-away to face the mob, boldly remonstrating against their action. He was met with the broad base of a piece of lead piping to the back of his head which immediately rendered him unconscious.

  ‘Anyone else want the same?’ shouted the New Fuehrer at the top of his voice, waving his baseball bat wildly.

  The staff inside the restau
rant melted quickly into the background while the terrified customers ran out of the shop without their food in a panic to escape into the twilight.

  ‘I thought not!’ continued Schwarz callously. ‘You’re a lot of lily-livered dark skinned bastards! You don’t deserve to be in this country. Long live the Aryan race.’ He turned to the rest of the gang. ‘What do you say, guys?’

  ‘Long live the Aryan race!’ they chanted in unison. ‘Long live the Aryan race!’

  Schwarz walked towards the body of the Indian owner and kicked him firmly in the ribs. ‘You shouldn’t be in this country!’ he yelled angrily. ‘You Indian bastards ought to go back to where you came from and die there like you deserve to!’

  He turned sharply, moving his head for the rest of the gang to follow him, however before doing so some of them kicked the prone body of the take-away kebab owner as he lay unconscious on the ground. The gang continued to chant ‘Long live the Aryan race’ as they walked the short distance to a nearby inn where they laid down their weapons in a corner of the room and approached the bar. The landlord was less than pleased at the additional custom knowing all about the activities of the gang but he wanted no trouble so he faced them directly.

  ‘What can I get you fellas?’ he asked unwaveringly, although his heart began to beat a little faster than usual at their presence in his inn.

  ‘Eleven pints of good ale, landlord,’ returned Schwarz casually. ‘And don’t make us wait long to get them!’

  The landlord called his assistant over to help him and they began to pour out the beer into pint glasses. Schwarz looked up at the mirror behind the bar and pursed his lips thoughtfully.

  ‘You’ve got a Union Jack at the top of your mirror,’ he stated curtly. ‘How about putting up a German flag beside it?’

  The landlord stared at him indolently allowing silence to reign for a short while. ‘Why should I do that?’ he ventured.

  ‘Because of your support for the Third Reich!’ came the quick insolent reply.