by Mick Norman
He began to move towards Brenda, when Gerry’s voice stopped him. ‘I’m going out for a bit of a walk round. See what sort of defence this place could put up. I’ll be back in about an hour. I hope you’ll be finished by then. If anyone still wants to go on after that I might have a bit of a word with them and try and persuade them to change their minds.’
Without waiting to see what effect his speech might have on the Angels in general and on Vincent in particular, he walked through the door of what used to be the great hall. He pushed past the Angel on the main door and out in the cool of the early Saturday morning. Behind him he heard the tearing of clothes and a short scream, quickly muffled.
The smear of blood on the right toe of his boots was soon brushed off as he walked through the thick carpet of dead leaves that covered the gravel drive. Then he was in amongst the trees and all noise from the house had faded. The dominant sound was the morning chorus of blackbirds, starlings and pigeons, reacting to the sun that was crawling painfully over the edge of the world. It was quite idyllic.
Her hands had been tied behind her with a leather belt. To stop her screaming, her torn blouse had been forced into her mouth and held there with her tights. Terry’s body had been dragged away and she was the centre of attraction. Mealy and Dylan held her legs, fingers digging into her ankle bones. She was completely naked.
Gerry broke through the last of the fringe of trees and stood looking across the Lee Valley. The sun was not yet up properly and he could see the lights of a station, peering through the white mist down in the water meadows. He sat down, with his back against a tree and waited.
She wanted to shut her eyes, pretend it was all a dreadful fantasy, but morbid fascination kept her eyes open. Vincent towered over her, his eyes on her body. His Levis were round his knees and then he had knelt between her legs and rammed himself into her. His teeth gouged at her neck and his fingers twisted her breasts and clawed at her nipples. His body began to drive into her as he neared the straining speed of his climax. Her body arched away from him as he shuddered into her, his hands tearing red furrows down her stomach.
From up the valley, in the direction of Hertford, Gerry could just hear one of the early trains, worrying through the mist, snarling at crossings and fussing through half-awake stations. The birds were quietening down a little and he could see some traffic building up on the arterial by-pass round the village.
By the third one, Brenda was past screaming and the gag had been torn out of her mouth.
To pass the time more quickly, Gerry had smoked a joint. It had helped him to relax a little and the adrenalin flowed more slowly. He looked at his watch and stood up. It was time to go back. If Brenda had performed all right, and hadn’t cracked, they were in. Even is she had fucked up completely, he reckoned that he had done enough to ensure his acceptance. He started back to the house, his heels dragging in the leaf mould.
For Brenda it was over. All of the Angels who could still raise an erection after the weekend’s drinking, and some who couldn’t, had panted and spent their animal lusts between her thighs, or in her mouth. In one nightmare coupling, a tall, saturnine Angel, known simply as The Priest, had explored other avenues of her body. All told, and allowing for those who had come back for a second and even third try at her, Brenda had been used by a total of thirty-one men in just over the hour. The count did not come from her, for she had soon been unable to tell how many men were having her at any one time, never mind what the running total was.
It had not all been as she had imagined. She would never have dared to think that the sixth Hero would make her aware that she was enjoying it, or the ninth bring her to screaming orgasm.
Then Gerald was back and he took her home and it was over for that weekend.
Four – Midnight Review (Two Years Ago)
Judith Parsons: But, can you not put in more simple terms, just why you found it necessary to wreck the festival and cause so much disappointment and unhappiness to the young people?
Vincent: Nobody’s going to kick my bike and get away with it. Nobody.
Judith Parsons: Did that really justify the killing of three people and the injuring of many more?
Vincent: I’m not here to ... justify anything. I told you what ... happened and I don’t care whether you like that or not.
Judith Parsons: Well let’s change the subject to something a little less provocative. Your name. I understand that you have taken the nickname ‘Vincent’ because you are a great admirer of the French painter Van Gogh. I also can’t help noting that you have suffered an injury to your left ear. Would you like to tell us about that?
Vincent: No.
Judith Parsons: Oh! I see we are running out of time but I did want to ask you for your opinions on the subject of the Female Liberationalists. They are now becoming a force to be reckoned but I believe that your gangs do not subscribe to any concepts of female equality.
Vincent: I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.
Judith Parsons: Have you no message at all for the ladies who might aspire to join your groups on equal terms?
Vincent: Yes.
Judith Parsons: If you could keep it as brief as possible, Vincent. We are over-running a bit.
Vincent: My message to the lovely creatures is dead brief.
Judith Parsons: Well; what is it?
Vincent: Let them eat cock.
Fade-out
Five – In The Course Of A Robbery
A smooth, pale, delicately-manicured finger reached across the green leather top of the executive desk and depressed one of the keys of the ‘Inter-Office Communication Device’.
‘Yes, Mr. Pinner.’
‘Miss Nolan; would you ask Mr. Vinson to step in?’
‘Oh, Mr. Pinner?’ Hesitatingly.
‘Yes, Miss Nolan?’
‘Mister Vinson has someone with him. His accountant. A Mr. Priest.’
‘Very well. Ask both gentlemen to step in.’
Depressing another key on his mahogany intercom, Reginald Pinner sat back in his Norwegian chrome and leather chair. He placed his finger tips together and assumed his best bank manager’s face. Expression eight – getting ready to greet a new customer who didn’t sound as though he was going to be all that important. Although he was generally a good manager of the United Merchant Bank, Holloway Road Branch, Reginald Pinner had just made the worst miscalculation of his long (Twenty-two years and never a day off) commercial life. He assumed that Gerald Vinson wasn’t important.
There was a brisk knock on the office door. Reginald always made people wait for the psychological couple of seconds until he fluted a ‘Come In’. It had been in the U.M.B. executive training manual, that he had played such a large part in drafting. ‘Always keep customers and subordinate staff waiting before admitting them to your office. It creates the correct atmosphere of their being “one-down” and will make any dealings that much easier.’
To that end he had a large notice on his door that said tersely ‘Knock and Wait’.
Mr. Vinson having knocked, he expected Mr. Vinson to wait. Poor Reginald! Right from the start it wasn’t his day.
Straight on the heels of the knock, the door crashed back, chipping the mimosa emulsion that he had chosen with such care. In walked two young men of the type he didn’t usually meet. The first one, who introduced himself as ‘Vinson’ and sat down across from the desk without any invitation, was not tall and not particularly ill-dressed. But he had an air of not being prepared to take any nonsense from anyone. His hair was a little longer than Reginald would have approved. Compared to his companion, Mr. Vinson was a paragon of neatness.
Crammed into a suit that seemed to have done service in meat market, Priest was a sight to blow the mind of any straight, never mind Reginald Pinner – bank manager. His hair was thick and long, with heavy grease clinging to his scalp. His face was angular, and scarred across the temples from a collision with the gravel of the North Circular Road some years back. The same co
llision had damaged his left eye, leaving it with a milky-white iris and a bloody white. His hands were large, accentuated by his black silk gloves.
‘Oh. Please, er, please sit down Mister ... Mister ... ?’
‘I’m sorry Mr. Pinner. I should have introduced you. This is Mr. Priest, my financial adviser.’
‘How do you do, Mr. Priest. Could I ask which firm of accountants you work for?’
‘He works as a sort of a freelance, Mr. Pinner. He doesn’t actually work for anyone. Not officially. Just as a freelance.’
‘Really. Well, do sit down, Mr. Priest and we’ll get on. I’m afraid I have a lot to get through this morning and we haven’t got all that much time.’
Reginald was beginning to recover a little of his self-possession. He could handle a couple of jumped-up lads without any trouble. Probably in the popular music or film business. That would account for their informal appearance. Still; mustn’t give away how much I dislike lads like them. Never have them in my bank! They may have a lot of money, though.
‘Mr. Priest. Won’t you sit down? Over there.’ Pointing to a low and rather uncomfortable chair against the wall.
‘I think Mr. Priest would rather stand, if you don’t mind, sir. He’s had a lot of trouble with an old rugger injury and he finds it more comfortable to stand.’
‘Rugger! Who on earth did he used to play for?’
‘Harrodians. That’s the team of people who work for Harrods. You know, the big store.’
‘Of course I know Harrods. My late wife had an account there for many years. I intend to give my daughter one as a coming-of-age present next year. But, well, quite frankly, Mr. Priest doesn’t quite look the sort of person who I have always associated with Harrods.’
‘Yeah, well, he was a porter wasn’t he? Not one of your creepy toadies that poof around in the shop.’
That wasn’t how Reginald would have described the assistants in that noble Knightsbridge edifice. ‘Perfect gentlemen’ is how he would have described them. Only the other day he had been talking to his wife’s sister about them. ‘The thing I really enjoy about shopping at Harrods, Clarys, is that the assistants there still know how to cringe.’
Gerry sensed that the conversation was slipping away from him a little.
‘A daughter, Mr. Pinner. Is that her picture there? May I say that she is a most strikingly attractive young lady, Mr. Pinner. Is she still at school?’
‘Yes. She takes her Advanced Examinations later this year. If she does well enough, and I can say with all due modesty that I’m sure she will, then she will go on to read Modern Languages at Saint Hilda’s.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Oxford. It’s a ladies’ college. Anyway. Enough about Angela. What can—’
‘Fond of her, are you?’ The first words that Priest had said since they arrived.
Reginald turned round at the unexpected interruption and forced a rather thin smile for the figure, leaning casually against his afromosia teak veneer bookcase.
‘I’m sorry. Fond of her? Yes, of course I’m fond of her.’
Before he could go on again, Gerry interrupted him. The slightly formal tone was gone from his voice and the change penetrated even through Reginald Pinner’s wall of smug self-assurance.
‘Of course he’s fond of her, Priest. Any father would be fond of his only daughter. I would be. So would you – well, I don’t know about you. A pretty, tall, dark-haired like Miss Angela Pinner, who’s in Form Six Alpha at the Roseberry Convent.’
‘What the bloody hell?’
‘Shut up, Pinner. I haven’t finished. The question I would like you to answer, Mr. Pinner, is this. Just how fond are you of your daughter?’
‘Look here. It’s perfectly clear that you two thugs have come here for some despicable reason to try and frighten me. Well, I can tell both of you that I don’t frighten easily. My daughter is perfectly safe at school at this very moment. I will give you just ten seconds to get out of my office and out of my bank before I call the police.’
His hands pressed at the green leather desk top, starting to rise self-righteously to his neat little feet.
‘Don’t fucking bluster at me you fat bastard. Now you’ve made me bloody angry and you’re going to be bloody sorry about that. Sit still and answer my question. How fond are you of your simpering daughter? I’ll make it easier. Is she worth twenty thousand pounds?’
Pinner sat suddenly quiet. As though someone had miraculously slotted all the pieces of a difficult jigsaw together in front of his eyes. He was in the picture. He now knew the name of the game they were all playing and he knew the price. The room seemed large to him. Larger than he remembered.
‘Come on. I hope you think she’s worth that much. Because we think that’s what she’s worth.’
Conditioned by society to believe that all policemen were his friends. Men of super-human ingenuity and brain, able to outwit even the most cunning criminal. Always ask them for help as soon as possible. That’s what the films said on television. They were infallible. Under George Hayes, all films and plays that showed the police in an adverse light had been ‘suspended’.
Of course. Call the police! They would arrest these animals and his money would be safe. Oh, and his daughter as well, of course. His soft hands relaxed. One tugged at the edge of his virgin executive blotting-pad. The other spidered off the side of the desk toward the small plastic alarm button.
‘Priest!’
The tall figure moved smoothly from the wall, until he was right behind Pinner, and slightly to one side of him. A black-gloved hand was laid on the manager’s shoulder – oh, so gently – and he shuddered uncontrollably. For the first time in his sheltered life he tasted real gut fear. He felt the wings of the Angel of Death flutter the air around him and he sat very still and quiet.
‘He’s sweating like a fucking pig.’
That’s good. Show’s he’s going to listen carefully and quietly. Aren’t you, Reggie?’
‘Yes. Yes, I am. But—’
‘Gently. No questions. Not till I’ve finished. And wipe some of that sweat off your face. No need for the manager of the Holloway Road Branch of the United Merchant Bank to sweat like that, just because he’s had a visit from a couple of reporters from the Highbury Advertiser is there? No! I said no questions. What time do you make it, Reggie? Reggie!’
‘It’s twenty past ten.’
‘Wrong. Wrong and sloppy. And inaccurate. It’s twenty-two minutes past ten. That’s one of the few good things I learned in the army, Reggie. Always be accurate. And always plan ahead.’
‘Look, just what the hell do you want. And what the hell is the connection between twenty thousand pounds and Angela?’
Gerry sighed, soft as a razor-cut, and leaned back in the chair, looking worriedly at the bank manager. He shook his head and spoke to Priest. ‘It’s what I said, isn’t it? These white-collar bastards are as thick as shit. You have to keep on telling them. Keep our Mr. Pinner nice and quiet and we’ll explain it to him in nice simple phrases even his semi-detached suburban brain can comprehend.’
One silk-gloved hand went blackly round his mouth, crushing his soft, gentle lips against his porcelain-capped teeth. The grip was so hard that Pinner actually heard his teeth creak protestingly in his jaw bone. He tasted his own blood inside his mouth. Priest’s other hand clutched him, surprisingly in his left arm pit, the knuckles forcing up under the socket of the joint.
‘Christ, Gerry!’ cursed Priest. ‘He’s sweated all the way through his bleeding jacket.’
‘Yeah. That means he’s frightened and that means he’ll listen. Reggie, him and me, we’re members of the ‘Last Heroes’ – that’s a chapter of what’s called ‘Hell’s Angels’. Don’t wriggle like that, mate! He’s only got to push his knuckles up a bit harder and your shoulder joint’ll pop apart like a rotten walnut Just keep fucking still.’
‘Now, I joined them about five months ago, and they were really close to the end of the ro
ad. Right, “Priest”?’
‘Right, Gerry.’
‘All you middle-class vigilantes and that reactionary sod, George Hayes! Nearly snuffed us all. Well, I used to have a sergeant in the army, Newman his name was. Middle-aged bloke but tough as a year-old turd. He used to say: “A man what hasn’t got any discipline when the going’s easy – he won’t have any chance of discipline when the going gets harder.” So, I helped out. Gave the boys that bit of discipline. Toughened them up in the right way. This, today, is by way of an exercise. It’ll show that my way’s right and that Vincent’s way ... rather, that anyone else’s wrong. A guerrilla army, fast and mobile.’
‘Now, it’s just twenty-five minutes past ten. In exactly five minutes that phone’ll ring. And you’ll take the call, and you’ll be careful. You dig me, Reggie? If you aren’t very careful, then things will start to happen and the first will be that Priest will waste you. Then the second thing will be that your living doll of a virgin daughter will cease to be a virgin and will probably cease to be living any more.’
‘Let him go, Priest. But, stay with him. All right Reggie?’
Reginald Pinner touched his hand to his cut lip and stared blankly at the smear of blood that marked his fingers, It was the first time since ... Oh, longer than he could remember, since he’d seen his own blood. Yes, he remembered the last time. It was when he had been trying to replace a broken string on Angela’s cello and it had snapped and cut the back of his hand. When he spoke, his voice hardly rose above a whisper.
‘Angela. Have you hurt her? Please, have you?’
‘Not yet. Now sit quiet for three minutes and just think about how you can help her. We’ll all sit quiet.’
