by Rachel Lynch
He’d made enough money to retire, but he wasn’t ready to go yet. He enjoyed staying at grass roots; that way he had more control. Start giving responsibility to those who couldn’t handle it and that was when cracks appeared. He ensured he was at every meeting, every shipment, every tasting and every decision. One day he would hand over to Sasha, but not yet.
The drive was short; he rented several warehouses in and around Penrith. The town was small enough to lack resources but big enough to stay anonymous, and he kicked himself for not moving sooner. Merseyside was crowded with people doing the same thing, and the drugs had got out of hand. Here, he could smooth off rough edges, polish his services and take advantage of the huge untapped potential of the place.
Darren had compromised him, but Marko always gave second chances; never third, but always second. The boy had potential, and had already got rid of a couple of mistakes for him. That was the other thing about this area: dozens of deep lakes and dark fells to dispose of waste. There’d only ever been one mistake in cleaning up, and the guy responsible had been punished for a good couple of hours before being weighted and thrown into a disused mine shaft full of water.
Marko had known Curtis for fifteen years and trusted him with his life. Curtis had gone ahead to check the delivery. The girls had all paid for passage to the UK; some of their families had contributed too, though Marko cared not how they got the money. The average was three thousand sterling. That got them the whole voyage. What they didn’t know was that they were paying to belong to Marko. Their passports were destroyed on arrival, along with their hopes, and replaced with the realisation that they’d been tricked.
He stopped short of the warehouse and looked around. The streets were deserted. He flashed his lights and Curtis stepped out of a metal side door. If there was trouble, Curtis wouldn’t appear. Marko left his car and walked to the building.
Curtis had three brothers and they’d all proved themselves to Marko. All four men looked the same: over six foot tall, dark shaggy hair and huge hands; only Curtis wore his in a ponytail. They stood when Marko came in and Marko saw that there were around ten girls sitting on the floor. They huddled together, terrified and cold as the four brothers circled them, fondling baseball bats to heighten their terror. It worked. Each one was gagged for now, but they made little noise anyway, believing they’d be saved should they behave. Marko could tell that Curtis was pumped, as he always was on nights like this, though he knew that the girls were off limits for now. They had to be delivered unmarked and still possessing some form of hope; it was more attractive that way.
The girls came from all over Europe, and further afield, and so the men didn’t bother speaking, using gestures instead. It was made clear that Curtis wanted them to stand up. Two of the girls were crying. Marko nodded to Curtis, who walked over to one of them and slapped her face. It wasn’t hard – not enough to leave a mark – but it was vicious enough to shut her up. Now a hush descended, and Marko approached the group and began to examine the girls individually, lifting their chins, assessing their bodies and calculating what each might be good for; which would earn him the most money. He was attracted to one in particular who hadn’t made a sound; her eyes were defiant, and she’d be difficult to crack. He couldn’t decide whether to send her straight to a holding house or to trust Teresa again. She’d go for a decent price, and he decided to give Teresa another chance.
He approached another who looked perfect for entertainment, though not to his own taste. She tightened her jaw as he stared into her eyes. Too much of a loose cannon, he decided with regret; she’d only be good for a holding house. He gestured to Curtis, who came to stand beside him, then began pointing at the girls, indicating where he wanted them taken. There were two options at this stage. The girls deemed to be low grade would be taken directly to one of numerous holding houses he owned in the Lakes. Those he thought suitable for his elite clients would be taken to an old farmhouse near the A66, where they’d be ‘developed’. Either way, they’d soon begin their path towards drug dependency and demise. The longer they lasted, the better. The ones destined for the holding houses would be good for around ten appointments per day for as long as their bodies held out.
Once the girls had been separated into two groups – one of seven and one of three – the larger group was instructed to follow Curtis and one of his brothers. There were the usual attempts to resist and Curtis had to use his brutishness again: that was what he was employed to do. The remaining three followed the other two men without much fuss. Vans waited outside for them, and they’d be strapped together for the journey.
With business concluded, Marko thought about the evening ahead. He had a gathering to go to where he was showing off some girls who’d been recently broken in. There was a lot of money at stake.
He’d rented a fifteen-bedroom mansion near Ullswater from a discreet company that never asked questions, and he was excited as he drove there. It was secluded, legitimate and quiet. The house had been stocked with booze and drugs, and clients could please themselves: they could remain with the main group or go off to their own rooms. The girls would do as they were told. The clever ones learned that if they behaved, they were rewarded and the abuse subsided. If they broke the rules, they got a beating – or worse. There really was no way out.
The main road skirting Ullswater’s northern shore was quiet, and the moon bounced happily off the water. Marko preferred it out here in the sticks; it was like his own little kingdom. He negotiated the tight bends and felt the power of the engine, heightening his anticipation. After a while, he turned off onto a single-lane road, with barely enough room for cars to pass each other, and slowed down. There was little ambient light, and he flicked his headlights to full beam. The house sat at the end of a long driveway, and Marko parked on the gravel outside the front door. His guests would be comfortable in their rooms, preparing themselves for the night ahead. He checked his hair in the rear-view mirror and got out of the car.
Teresa was at the house already, making sure that everything ran smoothly. She watched over every event like a wolf tracking a flock of sheep. She could tell if a girl had had enough and needed a break, or if someone needed to be escorted to their room, and she kept the booze flowing. She was Marko’s right-hand man, and he paid her well.
Marko never drank or touched drugs when he hosted, and he never touched the girls either, though he did watch. He also filmed. That was his insurance. Mr Day was a wise man to do the same. But recently the old fool had grown sloppy and arrogant. He should’ve handed over the business to Marko years ago but he just couldn’t let go.
As Marko stepped through the front door, Teresa was there to greet him. She wore a long black dress that showed off her figure, very high heels and lots of diamonds. Her blonde hair was recently styled and her make-up well done. She wasn’t Marko’s type, but she impressed his clients and gave him the whiff of legitimacy. There were several important guests staying with them over the next couple of days, and he was charging wildly different prices depending on how wealthy they were. Tonight he had a Canadian, a Texan, two Italians, five Russians and three Englishmen. The richest was the Texan, who was paying twenty thousand for three nights. Marko had paired him with Sofia, a fine bitch from the Ukraine, but he could take whoever he liked, of course.
Teresa lined up the girls as the first guests arrived and they served the clients drinks. Marko introduced each pairing, as well as the spares. Some of the men took an instant liking to their bitch and others fancied someone else, but it all worked out in the end. They had seventy-two hours to try everything on the menu.
As conversation started to flow, Marko noted with satisfaction that everybody seemed to be relaxing nicely. The girls had been given enough drugs to keep them calm but not so much that they’d be no good. They knew that they needed to perform or face the consequences.
‘Sofia,’ he called.
Sofia nodded to show that she knew what to do. Teresa turned the music up, and th
e bitch began to dance. The men fell silent and turned to watch. Marko was a man of his word.
Chapter 23
The sky was dark and the wind had picked up. Darren smoked and blew it out of the window. Sasha was silent. There was no need for conversation. They’d both looked at the photos. Darren’s pulse quickened. The nicotine helped his nerves, but it also stimulated his bowels, and he wondered if he had a problem.
They had agreed to do Cottrell first; he was in charge and knew the most, they assumed. The day manager lived alone, and a light shone through his first-floor window. Sasha fiddled with the radio, and when he couldn’t find what he was looking for, he switched it off angrily and turned off the engine. They hadn’t discussed a plan and Darren was beginning to regret his involvement. He felt like an idiot. He had no idea what he would do if Sasha intimated that he wanted him to execute the deed; he had brought no weapon and neither Sasha nor his father had given him one.
They didn’t have long to wait. Kevin Cottrell left his apartment building and walked towards the car park. Sasha got out of the car and Darren followed his lead. Kevin stopped, immediately suspicious, and looked at the two men; they were perhaps five metres away. The exit from the car park lay beyond them and Kevin knew he was cornered. He approached them slowly.
‘Get in,’ Sasha ordered, and nodded to the car.
‘Look, whatever it is you want, I don’t have it. I’m going to my car now and I won’t hesitate to call the police,’ Cottrell said.
He started to move, but Sasha took two steps and hammered his fist into the other man’s gut. Cottrell bent double and collapsed. His phone fell to the ground and Sasha picked it up and put it into his pocket. Darren helped Sasha bundle Cottrell into the back seat of the car and they jumped in and drove away with their captive groaning behind them. Darren’s heart pumped.
‘Get in the back and shut him up, I’m sick of his fucking noise. And put this round his wrists,’ Sasha demanded, handing him a plastic cable tie.
Darren undid his seat belt and climbed over into the back, putting his hands around Cottrell’s throat until his face went red, his eyes wide and frantic. The man was terrified, and a thrill burned in Darren’s veins: someone was scared of him and it felt good. He wondered where Sasha was heading and wished he knew what was expected of him. He hoped they’d be alone for whatever was to come.
He went over Marko’s words in his head. He hadn’t exactly used the word ‘kill’, and even now, spinning into the darkness, Darren wondered if they would just scare the guy. The anticipation churned his guts and he farted.
‘For fuck’s sake!’ said Sasha, and pressed a button to let his window down. Fresh night air filled the car.
After a while, they slowed and turned off the main road. Darren recognised the abandoned Kirkstone slate quarry. The car stopped and Sasha jumped out and opened the back door. He grabbed Cottrell, who looked petrified, and started to drag him to a building, calling to Darren to get a torch out of the boot. Darren’s eyes darted around. He couldn’t work out if they were alone; anyone could be waiting for them. He concentrated on following Sasha, but couldn’t help looking back several times.
The building was a ramshackle tin shed. It stank. Something had died in here, Darren thought.
Cottrell pissed himself and started to beg.
‘Please… I don’t know what you—’
Thump. Sasha hammered his fist into the guy’s face and his nose spewed blood. He fell to the floor and rolled around, groaning. Sasha looked around and found a piece of old iron machinery that looked heavy. He passed it to Darren, who looked at the torch.
‘Give it to me.’
Darren knew what was expected now. I can do this, he thought. He’d got rid of Nush, hadn’t he? But she was less messy. Come on, Darren, he willed.
He thought of his mother. He thought of Marko. He thought of his old English teacher, who’d said he had potential.
Cottrell put his arms above his head and started to whimper. ‘Please… please…’
Darren stood over him, lifted the hunk of metal, and brought it down, crunching through soft flesh and bone. He did it again and again until the thwacking simply thumped soft meat. There was blood everywhere, together with pieces of human being; his hands were slick from it and he looked at Sasha, who stood smiling at him.
‘Good job,’ was all he said.
Sasha went to the wall and unhooked a hosepipe, and began washing the mess off to one side. The bloody water ran into a drain.
‘Show me your hands,’ he commanded. Darren did so and Sasha rinsed them off too. He then emptied Cottrell’s pockets and dragged his lifeless body over to the wall of the shed, where he manhandled it onto a tarpaulin. The stench was worse here, and Darren thought it might be coming from a rolled-up carpet that was lying nearby.
‘Come on, I don’t want to be at this all night,’ said Sasha. He indicated for Darren to help him wrap the body.
Cottrell was still warm, and Darren held back bile. As he was bending down to secure the tarpaulin, he caught sight of a head inside the rolled-up carpet and shot upright. It was badly beaten, but he could still tell that it was Tony’s. Proctor wore a large gold hoop through his left ear and Darren spotted it clearly, and that, along with the white hair, left no doubt in his mind. So, he’d been taken care of too. They finished wrapping Cottrell and pushed his body next to that of Proctor, and left them there.
In the car, they both smoked as Sasha drove. He was a handsome bastard, thought Darren, like his father; he had a straight jawline and a strong brow, his hands were muscular and his shoulders filled his jacket.
Sasha laughed.
‘What?’ asked Darren, nervous.
‘Did you see the way his head came apart? You were an animal. I’ll tell my father.’
As they drove back the way they had come, Sasha’s phone rang. He nodded several times, then hung up.
‘The girl is waiting for us. My father told them to wait; he wants you to do it. Well, my friend, after that, I don’t think you’ll have a problem.’ Sasha was smiling.
Darren did have a problem: it sounded like there would be more people there – a fucking audience. They’d expect a show. He guessed that Sasha would have thought it through, so he decided to simply follow his lead.
He looked at his hands. He hadn’t cleaned away all the blood, and dark brown stains had formed on his jeans and shoes. He marvelled at Sasha’s coolness; he didn’t seem to think there was the remotest possibility that they’d be pulled over by the police. His mind whirred.
They were just outside Ambleside when Sasha stopped the car. He jumped out and again Darren followed. Sasha obviously knew the place. They entered a barn that was attached to a stone house. Darren wished he’d had a shot of something. Marko’s man Curtis was here, and that always meant someone wasn’t getting out alive.
The girl was tied up and gagged and the arrival of two more men made her thrash about. Darren swallowed hard. She was tied to a chair, and underneath it was spread plastic sheeting. He guessed it could get messy.
The girl was trying to scream but the gag was too tight. Curtis unfolded his arms and kicked the chair; it fell sideways with a loud clatter and the girl writhed on the floor. Sasha nodded and Curtis handed Darren a large knife.
Oh Christ, he thought. Sasha passed him a hip flask and Darren drained it. It made him feel slightly better, though his hands shook and the girl was still flailing about on the floor. Curtis went to her and held her by the arms, picking up the chair with her in it as if it were a handbag. He sat her upright, then went behind her and jerked her chin up, exposing her neck.
‘I can’t do it,’ Darren said. Sasha looked at Curtis.
‘If you don’t do it quick, I’ll do it slow,’ said Curtis, whose hold on the girl was vicelike. Darren told himself that it wouldn’t take long, and that he didn’t, after all, have a choice. It was the girl or him.
He had bragged to Nush on several occasions that he’d slit her throat
. Well now was his chance to actually do it to someone. He tightened his grip on the knife and walked to one side of the chair. Curtis bent the girl’s neck the other way, offering him plenty of space. It also meant that Darren didn’t have to look into her eyes.
He blocked the girl’s face out of his mind, holding onto her hair with one hand and placing the knife under her left ear with his other. The blade went in easily but the sound was sickening and the blood spurted like a hosepipe.
She stopped struggling and Darren stood back. His body began to shake and he forgot where he was. There was so much blood. Curtis asked him to move off the sheet as the girl was untied from the chair. He dropped the knife and it was wrapped up along with the body. Another man emerged from the shadows and helped Curtis tidy up, rolling the girl in the sheet. The floor was clear; they’d contained it. The men looked as though they were packing up camping equipment.
‘Come on, there’s showers through here, and I have spare clothes,’ Sasha said from behind him. ‘We need to get rid of these.’ He indicated their stained outfits.
The adrenalin began to leave Darren’s body and he fought vomit back down his throat. He followed Sasha and found a shower room next door with fresh towels on a chair. He stripped and piled his stained clothes into a bundle, then stepped under the hot water. He scrubbed his body, lathered his hair and used a brush under his nails. The dried blood from earlier liquefied and slipped off him. He held his hand over his mouth.
After he’d dried and dressed, choosing from the clean pile of garments on offer, he took his soiled bundle of rags out to where Sasha was waiting. Sasha beckoned him outside to their waiting car, where he opened the boot and threw the clothes in next to the girl’s body.
