Bank
Also by Nicholas E Watkins
Tanker
Dealer
Oligarch
Steel
About the Author
Nicholas Watkins lives on the Coast with his wife and has four children He is a retired Accountant and has a Degree in Economics. He worked in the City of London for many years.
Copyright © Nicholas E Watkins 2017
The right of Nicholas E Watkins to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and patent Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication my be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor may be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictional and any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Bank
Chapter 1
The Sun beat down on the three man, scorching their skin and evaporating the moisture from their bodies. The ropes binding them cut deeply into their wrists and ankles. They lay on their backs facing the sky, the Sun blinding them and blistering the skin on their faces. They had been in the back of the flat bed truck for three hours as it bounced over the arid rocky terrain driving deeper into the Mexican countryside.
The two men upfront, in comfort in the air-conditioned cab, were listening to the music on the radio. “Stop I need a leak,” said the passenger.
The driver pulled over and they both stepped from the truck, stretching their legs. The passenger climbed up onto the back of the truck. He stood over the three captives in the rear. “Are you thirsty my friends?”
There was no response. They were barely conscious, with lips cracked and large blisters on their foreheads and noses as their skin burnt in the Sun. He unzipped his trousers. Looking at the driver for approval, who laughed at the sight, he began to urinate on the captives. “Drink my friends.”
He rotated his body from side to side ensuring that each of the unfortunates received their fair share. They hardly had the strength to move their heads as the stream of yellow urine splashed down on them. They were almost grateful. The piss cooled as it evaporated in the mid day Sun. With a final shake he climbed down from the rear of the truck. Getting back into the cab they continued their journey along the rough track, kicking up a dust cloud as they drove. The dust stuck and clung to their damp bodies in the back, irritating their eyes and skin further as the Sun continued to beat down.
The hut stood on its own with pink mud plastered walls and faded paint peeling wooden shuttered windows. It was the only shade for miles around. There was a well to the front, which had run dry years before, making any form of farming untenable. Abandoned, it had become a useful hideout from prying eyes for the Drug Cartel these men worked for. To one side of the hut was stacked a pile of old truck tyres.
The extreme poverty in Mexico made the rise of the drug industry easy. It was now the direct employer of half a million Mexicans. Mexico was the gateway to the United States for hash and cocaine from Latin American. It was truly big business, with another four million people indirectly dependent on the trade for their livelihoods. With such big stakes the various Drug Cartels would go to extreme lengths to preserve their share of the business. One such Cartel was headed by Jesus Rojas and it was for him that these men worked.
The three men were dragged from the truck into the darkened interior of the adobe hut. They were left bound on the compacted mud floor, while their captors opened the shutters letting in shafts of sunlight illuminating the single room. “Do not die my friends. At least do not die before the boss arrives,” said the driver as he poured water into each of the men’s mouths in turn. Their captors lit cigarettes and settled down to wait.
Rojas sat on the back seat of the limo. Alongside him was his seventeen year old companion, a stunning beauty with long black hair, slim long legs and prominent small breasts. She wore very little, an almost transparent white dress through which, when the light shone, her dark nipples were visible. She never wore panties. She loved the feel of eyes on her body. She was an exhibitionist and Rojas loved it that way. The sight of his men furtively looking at her body aroused him and he encouraged her to indulge herself to the extreme in her tendencies.
Rojas was in his mid fifties and did as he pleased. He had risen in the drugs world through self determination and a passion for violence. He liked killing and he liked to be hands on. He had taken time out to come to the isolated hut in the middle of nowhere to personally take charge of these men’s punishment.
The three men were his employees and had worked for him, transporting hash across the border to the US. They had felt they were worth more than the money Rojas paid them. They had wanted to branch out on their own and start their own little business empire. Rojas wondered why these people thought he was stupid. Surely they must realise he did not stay number one by letting every peasant who wanted to just walk in and steal his business. He reasoned that it was time to send a message to all those thinking of competing against him.
“Nobody fucks with me and gets away it,” he thought. “Not even the Yankees.” On the pull down table, in the back on the limousine, he had a large bowl of cocaine which his companion had been helping herself to on their long drive. He pulled her dress down exposing one breast fully. He could see the driver looking at her tits in the rear view mirror. He positioned her so he could get a better view. Taking a small spoon he laid a line across the top of her breast and inhaled. He felt the rush of euphoria and power. He knew at that moment he was invincible. She made no attempt to cover her breast and left it exposed for the driver to admire. Smiling and aroused she pulled her dress up. revealing her dark pubic hair. She gently masturbated. The mix of cocaine and the anticipation of the violence to come stirred her lust and aroused her.
“No body fucks with Jesus Rojas,” he repeated. He thought of how the CIA man had died only two weeks before. He had been down in Mexico working with Drug Enforcement as part of America’s war on drugs. He had made a nuisance of himself. This had annoyed Rojas. So he sent a message to the CIA in the form of his decapitated head.
The car pulled up at the hut. A second car pulled in behind them and discharged four men armed with light machine guns. His bodyguard did a sweep checking in and around the hu
t before opening the door to his heavily armoured car. His companion made sure that the guard, who opened the door on her side, got a glimpse of her breast and pubic region before pulling her dress up and letting the skirt fall as she stepped from the limo.
As Rojas’s eyes became accustomed to the darkened interior, he could see the three bound unfortunates sitting in the centre of the room. The smell of shit filled the air and it was clear that the younger of the bound men, no older than Rojas’ female companion, had defecated in fear. “You should shit yourselves my friends. I would shit myself if I were caught stealing from Jesus Rojas.”
Addressing his men he said, “Get them outside, it stinks in here.”
The bodyguards had moved the truck tyres about two hundred metres from the hut and arranged them in a neat line about fives metres apart. The captives were pulled, still bound from the building. They blinked in the full Sunlight. The young boy was crying and pleading. The older men just looked grim faced at the row of tyres. They knew that Rojas would show no mercy and begging was a waste of time. They knew his reputation as a sadist. They also knew how debauched and corrupt the young whore, who he liked to exhibit, was. So young, but so perverted, her every fantasy indulged by Rojas.
The men still tied were lifted one by one into the centre of the stacked tyres, their heads and shoulders poked from the top. A can of gasoline was taken from the boot of the second vehicle and part of its contents was poured liberally over each tyre and its captive filling. Necklacing was the name they penned for putting the victim in a tyre, filling it with petrol and setting it on fire. The young girl, wide eyed was becoming increasingly sexually aroused as the gasoline was poured over the first victim, the next and then the next. She reached between her legs. Pulling her skirt up she began to rub herself. In her state of cocaine induced heightened sexual arousal, she was indifferent to the men looking at her.
A piece of cloth was round tightly around a charred stick that had clearly been used many times before as a torch. It was dipped in gasoline and lit. The horror in the eyes of the three victims was clearly visible. They knew what their fate was to be. The remains of previous burnt tyres were scatted around them, dispelling any doubts.
Rojas’s bodyguards and his driver left in the second car. “Come back in an hour,” he said. The girl, impatient, pulled her dress off without waiting for the departure of the truck that had delivered the three prisoners for execution. Eagerly she picked up the burning brand and set fire to the first capture. She rubbed her cunt and watched him scream and slowly roast. She was in a frenzy of lust and drug induced euphoria.
Rojas stripped naked, his penis fully aroused as he watched her set fire to the second and third piles of rubber and flesh. He lay on his back with his feet pointing towards the burning and screaming men. She thrust down hard onto his erect penis, her facing towards his head and she, facing the screaming, burning men. She fucked as she watched the men roast in the flames.
The distant scene unfolded in the scope of the sniper’s rifle. He saw the look of ecstasy on her young face as she fucked. He pulled the trigger and a red dot appeared on her forehead. She slumped, toppling forward onto the knees of Rojas. He without realising she was dead carried on thrusting.
Her lack of response finally and slowly entered Rojas’s consciousness. He pushed himself upright. She slid to the side. He now saw she was dead but he hardly had time to process this information before he too died from the sniper bullet, fired from nearly half a mile away, entering through his left eye and exploding his brain.
The assassin lay the riffle down on the ground beside him. Abandoning it, he started the engine of the motorbike and drove across the rough terrain towards the two dead bodies. He reached them in a matter of minutes. He inspected Rojas’s body, ensuring he was dead. He could hear the screams of the young boy burning. He pulled out a pistol and shot him, in the head, ending his suffering.
He looked down on the two intertwined bodies and reached into his pocket. He pulled out two white feathers and placed one on each of them. He started his bike and drove off. He had done his job and would soon be on a plane heading for the next contract killing.
There was a knock on the Director’s office door at CIA headquarters in Langley. The door opened and the deputy director walked in. “Just thought I would let you know that Jesus Rojas seems to have met an unfortunate death.”
“It would seem you can’t fuck with the CIA and get away with it after all,” said the Director.
Chapter 2
Mrs Routledge and her daughter Jacqueline, were out shopping on Muswell Hill Broadway in North London. It was a Saturday and the shops were crowded. She had driven over from the family home in Pinner and had stayed with her daughter the previous evening, so that they could get an early start.
“Tim seems to get on so well with Daniel.” They had taken a break and were sitting in Starbucks. Mrs Routledge had moaned about the price of the coffee as usual.
“They get on like a house on fire. Daniel is so happy to be like the other boys and loves it when Tim drops him at school,” said Jackie. She had meet Tim Burr after she had gone out for a drink with work colleagues. Her drink had been spiked by a couple of louts who had been intent on ending the evening with a bit of non consensual sex. Tim had intervened and taken her home. They subsequently met up and the relationship had quickly grown from there.
“Does he ever see Jimmy?” asked Mrs. Routledge. James Milligan was Daniel’s Father. Daniel was nine years old and his Father had not seen him for years. They had been officially divorced for two years. Jackie had now changed back to her maiden name, Routledge, to purge herself of the taint of her husband. Jimmy had been twelve years older than her. To her aged twenty two, he had seemed handsome, sophisticated and more grown up than the students with whom she had been going out with up to then. He was always well groomed and looked successful. He told her that he had been married before but his wife had cheated on him and left him for another. He said he had no children. She believed him. Her Father did not. He did some checking and it turned out that Jimmy had two daughters and his wife had a restraining order granted against him. Of course being young Jackie knew better and believed Jimmy.
They got married and he, having nowhere to live and having no means of supporting himself, had moved in with her and her parents. They were happy and despite her Father’s misgivings things seemed to go alright. Jackie spent the next three years qualifying as a Chartered Accountant and they eventually moved out of her parent’s home.
As her earnings increased they bought a flat with the help of a deposit provided by her parents. Then things changed. It began small. There would be criticism as to the way she dressed, then her time of getting home or where she had been. The signs were there but she ignored them and blamed herself and tried to please him. She fell pregnant with Daniel and by then, Jimmy was going out drinking. He started to come home drunk and would lose his temper when the food she made was not to his liking. That was the first time he hit her. She was seven months pregnant
He was so sorry the next day and bought her flowers. He promised that it would never happen again. It did of course, regularly. She tried her hardest to please him but she just couldn’t get it right. She believed that it was her fault and she knew that after Daniel was born, her husband was not getting the attention he deserved
The rapes began two weeks after the birth. She was not ready for sex yet but Jimmy came back drunk, as usual and called her a bitch and raped her anyway. She knew things were not right but she was ashamed. She hid or thought she hid the bruising from her work colleagues and pretended all was normal. The restrictions grew and her freedom and her will were gradually being sapped. She had to keep her eyes down when they took Daniel out. If Jimmy thought he saw her looking in the direction of another man, that was cause for a beating. She would be accused of being a whore, a tart and a slag, if she even spoke to the postman.
It was Daniel’s fifth birthday party and his friends from sc
hool and their Mums were there. Jimmy had promised to be there, but he found he had urgent business in the pub with his drinking mates. He arrived back at about half seven very drunk and wanted sex. She was bathing Daniel prior to putting him to bed. Jimmy came in the bathroom furious that she had not stripped and gone into the bedroom. Daniel was still in the bath. Jimmy punched her in the face and pushed his sons head under the bath water. “If he takes up so much time I’ll drown the little fuck,” he screamed at her.
She fought like only a Mother can for her child. Eventfully, she had her son and got him to his bedroom and settled him. She was bruised and battered and knew that this was the end. She had to endure another beating as he raped her and blamed her for his inability to ejaculate. She sucked his penis until her lips were swollen. It was her fault he could not come and not the all-day drinking binge and the vast amount of whisky he had consumed.
With Jimmy passed out naked on his back, snoring and stinking of whisky, she eventually managed to muster the courage to leave. She turned up on her parent’s doorstep, with two carrier bags containing her and Daniels clothes, Daniel and their cat.
Jimmy did not give up easily and over the following months he did everything from threats to faking a suicide attempt and threatening to kill her in order to get her to come back. She was done with him. The attack on Daniel was the key that opened her eyes to the nasty, wife beating bully he was.
“No, he has never had an interest in him,” said Jackie in reply to her Mother’s question as to if, Daniel had any contact with his Father.
Her romance with Tim could only be considered whirlwind in anybody’s book. Dinner, passionate love making, days out with Daniel, passionate love making, evenings out together, passionate lovemaking, dinner with friends and passionate lovemaking. They knew they were in love from the start. It had been natural and easy. He had made the World seem brighter. Tim and Daniel had taken to each other and were now inseparable.
Bank (A Tim Burr Thriller Book 2) Page 1
