The strong smell of cheap disinfectant hit him as soon as Michael entered the toilets. He frowned, gazing at the four urinals and the two cubicles in the corner. It looked a bit big for the size of the cafe. He had expected a single cubicle.
It had to be the museum next, he decided. The low lighting, gentle commentary explaining the history of the town would put them both at ease. It would be just what the doctor ordered. He'd leave the visit to the standing stones for another time. Besides, they were only supposed to be popping down here for breakfast before heading back to the farmhouse. He grinned to himself. Michael couldn't wait to show him some of the gear that he'd found in those barns. He hadn't even told Jodie about the stuff he'd uncovered in the barn furthest from the house, she would have seriously freaked. He wasn't entirely sure about showing it to Trevor, thinking about it. Not today anyway. Maybe next time, when the lad wasn't acting so out of it.
He stopped by the urinal in the corner and looked into the bowl, wondering when the last time health and hygiene paid a visit. This place really was gross. This was more like a nightclub toilet at three in the morning. There were even dried blood stains on the wall, close to his feet.
Maybe he should have a quiet word with the fella who runs this place. No wonder it's empty. One look in here and their customers are hardly likely to return, even if this was the only cafe in town.
He couldn't even bring himself to unzip. The museum could have the contents of his bladder. Michael turned around, then stopped. He cocked his head, sure that he could hear something. It sounded like somebody getting whipped, followed by muffled yelps. He hurried back to where he'd stood and leaned closer to the wall. He could definitely hear something. What the hell was happening in that other room?
Michael reverted back to pretend pissing position when the toilet door opened. Three youths ambled in. Their smirks dropped off their faces when they saw him. He turned to face them, looked the three of them up and down and did his best not to crack out laughing. These guys must be the town bad boys. All dressed in identical leather jackets, pale blue denims, complete with slick back greasy hair. All three of them looked like throwbacks from the movie Grease.
Now this was something Michael could handle. He'd tackle aggressive thugs over weird sounds in walls and mates acting odd any day.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?”
The tallest boy, Michael assumed he must be their leader, rested his thick arms on his mate's shoulders and looked him up and down. “Don't think so, mister. Unless you want to hold my cock while I piss.”
His mates chuckled.
Michael walked over to the three of them, and stopped in front of the leader. “I'd love to, sweetheart. Thing is, there's no soap in the dispenser. How would I clean myself after touching your filthy body?”
It was a joy to watch the colour drain from the boy's face. Michael guessed that the last person to insult this goon was either his domineering father or probably a teacher.
“You're going to pay for that insult,” growled the boy.
Michael shook his head. “Sorry, don't give money to beggars. Now, are you going to let me pass, or do I start breaking fingers? To illustrate his point, his hand whipped forward, his fingers wrapping around the leader's thick wrist. This boy obviously worked out. His body was packed with young lean muscle. Not that it made any difference to Michael. If the lad didn't know how to use it, then as far as he was concerned it was just dead weight.
He spun the lad around and pushed his arm up his back. “Lads, I bet you that I can have your mate weeping like a big girl before I finished playing This Little Piggy went to Market. Michael took the boy's little finger and gave it a sharp twist. Not enough to break it, just to show that he meant business.
I'm sorry,” cried the boy. “Please let me go. I didn't mean it.”
He grabbed the boy's index finger. “Do you know who I am?”
“I do.” said the boy on the left.
He looked younger than the others. Michael guessed that he was probably just about to leave his teen years behind. There were blond roots showing through the black hair dye, just behind his ear. “Oh? Then surprise me.”
“You have the farmhouse. My dad told me.”
“Correct. That means I'm sticking around.” He let the boy go. “I'll be watching you three. “ Michael grabbed the door handle. “Appearances can be deceptive. You need to remember that.” He turned around and pulled open the door, quickly hiding the smile.
He walked over to the empty counter and leaned across the top, trying to see into the next room. What had he heard in that toilet? The mental image of some guy beating the crap out of that waitress became stuck in his head and wouldn't shift no matter what he tried. “Excuse me?” he shouted.
The girl pushed through the curtains. He watched her face closely, looking for any signs of distress. All he saw there were signs of a faint smile as well as a tinge of confusion.
“You okay, Mr Sandhurst?”
He nodded. “I just want to pay up.”
She smiled at him. “It's fine. Your friend's already paid.”
Michael turned around and saw Trevor waving at him with one hand while his other hand held a large chocolate éclair.
“It's a freebie,” he said, when Michael sat opposite him. “Oh, well that wasn't very nice. Three lads just left the bogs and gave you the finger.”
2
Greg James stared into his coffee when the two young men left the cafe. His dark reflection reminded him that his beard was getting a little out of condition. Nothing that a trim wouldn't solve. After all, Greg needed to look his best for the town meeting tomorrow night. The real hotel owners were coming out of retirement. This meant big things for his town. He couldn't wait! It was about time too. This town had been slowly dying ever since the boy took over the running of the place.
That scary man sure did have a pretty car. The kind of vehicle that he'd sure like to own. Greg felt himself getting hard again. Perhaps, that particular dream wasn't all that unlikely?
He watched the car manoeuvre out of the parking spot, he didn't need to turn around to know that the rest of the folk in here were watching that car. Even big Dave would be there, leaning across his counter, no doubt thinking if he would be seeing them again.
The man didn't give a hoot for their well-being, he just wanted their money. “And I want that pretty car,” murmured Greg.
The conversion coming from the other table picked up again, leaving him free to risk a peak at Katie Overton. That car wasn't the only thing he wanted. He'd have both if he could, they were both very pretty. He sighed, not that he'd be able to have both. According to rumours, over plans had already being finalised for that particular Overton. Greg believed that what she'd just spouted out today would be the final straw.
He inwardly cringed when the silly girl opened her fat gob and spewed out all the hateful bile about the town's bread and butter. Then again, what else would you expect from an Overton? That family had been a thorn in this town's side ever since the Godless fuckstains settled here over two hundred years ago.
They've always been eager to accept the perks but not so happy to follow the rules. They're basically just a bunch of free-loading parasites. It beggared belief why the lot of them hadn't already been buried up at the hotel already.
His cup was empty, Greg waited a moment before asking for a refill. He was too busy watching the girl clean the stranger's table whilst quietly sobbing. She'd wouldn't get any sympathy from anyone in here, that's for damn sure. He wasn't the only ones enjoying the girl's tears. On the other side of the cafe, sat Mr and Mrs Belmont, enjoying their morning jam scone and tea. Greg winked at them. Joyce Belmont flushed red. The poor dear. She was obviously still thinking about his little spontaneous treat he'd performed when that scary man had gone into the toilet.
They owned the antique shop on Dell Bottom, next to the fish and chip shop. They always closed for a couple of hours at lunch time, waiting for the queue outside th
e town's only takeaway to dissipate. No, they wouldn't be giving that girl a hug. The Belmonts and the Overtons had history that went back to the last century.
Katie must have noticed she'd attracted an audience. She glared at all of them before retreating behind the counter. Greg wondered what Jack had done to her. It must have been quick, and quiet. Jack couldn't afford to cause a scene. Both the men looked like they'd be able to handle themselves. If he wasn't sure about the scary-eyed man before, then he was once the Bakersfield boys left the toilet. He'd not seen young Terry Bakersfield look so shaken ever since Old farmer Jones had given him a bloody good hiding for killing that cow.
He was willing to bet a last wage that the guy was ex-army. Their car had stopped beside the town's war memorial and Greg couldn't help but to grin. Talk about synchronicity. Scary-eyed man was probably paying his respects to the brave men who lost their lives for their country. Not that was hilarious, considering nobody from the town had ever had to go fight any war for centuries. Yet another one of the perks of being protected by the real hotel owners.
He stood up, picked up his trilby and nodded to Jack, smirking at the sight of the child's frightened face poking through the bead curtains. Greg guessed the big man hadn't quite finished punishing her just yet.
Jack nodded back and turned his head, snapping off a short burst of insults. The girl skittered out of the kitchen, picked up her cloth and headed over to Greg. He waited for the young Overton to bend over to clean the table. Greg looked up at the cafe owner who smiled back.
Excellent, he'd being given permission. He leaned over her and pressed his hips hard against her firm bottom, pushing her into the table. She carried on cleaning the surface as he pushed his calloused fingers under her skirt and up her back.
Katie released a quiet yelp when her smooth skin revealed a very recent ridge. So, Jack really had whipped her. He reached around and roughly grabbed her firm breasts and gave them a savage squeeze, feeling his erection push hard into her soft parts.
“You're nothing but a dirty little slag,” he whispered into her ear.
Jack tapped on the counter top and he reluctantly let her go. Greg tipped his hat to the Belmonts and opened the door, deciding to have a cup of tea at home instead.
He wandered down Dell Bottom, heading towards the fish and chip shop. Having his ritual grope really did make him hungry. Thing is, what was he going to do about that girl? Greg knew that he should be reporting her comment about the hotel to the relevant authorities. Jack wouldn't do it. That much he did know. What, and get rid of his unpaid worker? Greg knew for a fact that it wasn't just cleaning up that the cafe owner was getting from that pretty little girl. What a dilemma! He stopped in front of the newsagent, took off his cap to mop his brow. Things in town were about to go through the biggest change that they'd experienced for over two decades. The real hotel owners had already promised that the flow of luxuries from the guests would be greater than ever. Not just money, jewellery, clothes and watches, but smartphones and tablets. Greg had to be shown what they were.
Apparently the world outside the town had moved on a lot faster than they'd anticipated. They'd all knew that of course they did. That much was obvious from the smattering of tourists coming into the town. Seeing and experiencing were two different things though.
That brought him back to the new residents in the old farmhouse. He so wished he knew what that was all about. Since when did they allow new people to move into town? There was more to this than they were letting on. He sighed again, still unsure of what to do. One thing was clear in his head though, Greg James would be getting his hands on the scary-eyed man's car.
3
What was wrong with the lad? Trevor hadn't said a word since leaving the cafe. He just stared out of the car window, not moving. He was in two minds whether to just say fuck it and head back home. He had enough beer left to last him for the next few hours. If Trevor wanted to stew in his own self-pity, or whatever the fuck it was then fine. He could do that.
He slowed down as the car passed the fish shop. Bloody hell, that was one long queue! It kinda reminded him of his youth, when his father used to drive him into the nearest town solely to buy him fish and chips, wrapped in newspaper. It was one of their secrets. They both knew just how much mother frowned upon them eating takeaway food, pronouncing it only fit for the common people.
This whole place was like nostalgia central, like it had been ripped from the past.
“We're nearly there, dude,” he said. “You’re so going to love this museum. I don't think it gets that many visitors though, well not folk out of town anyway.”
“I'm not bloody surprised.”
He started at the sound of Trevor's voice. “He'd honestly thought his friend had gone to sleep.
“I still can't work out why you and Jodie want to move out here, in the middle of sodding nowhere.”
“Are you serious? Just look at the place. It's beautiful. Clean air, plenty of green, peaceful. It's just what the pair of us need.
Trevor sighed. He turned to look at Michael. “I know, dude. You're right, I'm sure you are.”
This wasn't like Trevor at all. He normally looked on the bright side of everything.” How's the headache?”
He shrugged. “About the same, I guess. Here, did you spot that old guy sitting by the window in that cafe?”
“Yeah, looked a bit odd.”
“You don't know the half of it, mate. When you nipped into the gents, that freaky bastard started beating off.”
Michael blinked. “Did I hear that correctly?”
Trevor nodded. “Yep, there he was, his hand going ten to the dozen under that table, while leaning over and drooling into his cup.”
“Okay, dude. Way too much description.”
“I'll tell you what's even weirder. The woman on the other table was watching, her eyes were wide open. At first, I thought the woman had been shocked into silence, you know? Then she stared to smile.”
“Come on, man. This has got to be a wind up.” Michael reversed the car into a spot in front of the building. “Normal people don't act like that.”
“That's what I've been trying to tell you. Nobody in this town is normal. Look, man. Come back to the city, find a place on the outskirts. This place is just too freaky. Don't look at me like that, I'm serious. These are the type of people who roll cheese down hills for fun or pray to Pagan Gods while sacrificing babies at midnight.” Trevor grabbed the door handle. “Or they have public masturbation contests in cafes.” He stepped out of the car. “You can sense the open hostility. Well, I can anyway. They probably tolerate you. It's there though, they'll make your life and Jodie's life a living hell. God help any of your future kids, buddy.”
Michael kept his mouth shut tight. He knew they'd end up scrapping if he did respond. To keep his hands busy, he reached into the glove-box, retrieved a bottle of water and drunk half the contents, whilst watching Trevor stare at the museum entrance. The fella slouched like one of those teenagers he encountered in the toilets. He even had his hands thrust in his pockets.
Michael wasn't totally blind to the curious gazes and the sly winks. This was a small, insular town, and judging from what he'd witnessed in the few short weeks he'd been here, this wasn't exactly a place known for its exciting nightlife.
Were all the locals as black as Trevor painted them? Of course they weren't. The girl behind the counter in that cafe seemed pleasant enough. There were always a minority of those who lived against the grain. That was just how it is. It didn't matter if you lived in a village or a city, it's just human nature.
He left the car, locked the doors and wandered over to Trevor, doing his best not to emulate his friend's posture. Trevor had used the time to evacuate a shallow depression in the chalky, white stones. “You do know that Fern will have your gut for garters?” He pointed to the thin layer of dust now staining Trevor's trainers. “She'll probably have a go at me too for not keeping an eye on you.”
“
Good point, Mickey. The last thing I'd want is for you to get into trouble. Perhaps I should have taken a bit more care with them,” he replied. “Considering it's unlikely that she'll be buying me anything ever again.”
“What do you mean?”
Trevor kept his eyes on the museum doors. “We're getting a divorce,” he whispered. “That's why.”
Michael felt as though the Earth had just tilted on its axis. That he'd just been whacked with a sledgehammer. He just didn't know how to respond to that.
“Fern promised me not to say anything to you, Mickey. I mean, the last thing you want to hear on a house-warming party is that your best mate's leaving his wife.”
“But,” he took a deep breath. “I don't understand. I thought you guys were kinda made for each other. What the fuck happened, Trevor?” Michael held up his hand. “Shit. Wait, no. Scratch that. It's none of my business.”
“It's okay, buddy. It's not like either of us had an affair or anything really major. We just fell out of love with each other.” Trevor shrugged. “Shit happens, I guess. Sorry, all that stuff I said earlier about you guys moving into the Village of the Damned. I didn't mean any of it. Just take it as the ramblings of a sad, pathetic guy who's just insanely jealous of his mate's incredible good luck.”
“Pardon?”
“Give over, man. Don't give me the false modesty routine. It doesn't suit you. Jodie's made for you, man. Kind, smart, pretty. Someone to keep you on the straight and narrow. She's a strong one, you can see that.”
“You can?”
“Yeah, it's those eyes. Like she's already lived a couple of lives before this one. Jodie's not had the best of starts, has she?”
“What do you mean?” he said slowly. Michael's heart began to beat a little faster. He was sure that nobody he knew had any idea about Jodie's secret history.
“We once had a rescue dog when I was a kid. Tiny, we called him. Dead smart he was. Thing is, if anyone in the house raised their voice, he'd flinch, then piss himself then dart under the table.”
Depravity Page 9
