“I wonder what she’s doing,” he muttered to himself, and started to imagine all kinds of sexual scenarios involving the forty-year-old woman. It was too cold to be turned on, and Macdonald quickly turned his attention to the job in hand.

  It only took a few minutes to reach the first target, as it was only a few streets away. Aiden was surprised, yet pleased, that the street was desolate with no sign of life. The dark nights and the cold weather had forced people indoors.

  Aiden pulled out a piece of paper, which had a list of car registrations and addresses on it. He scored the first line off with a ballpoint pen and put the paper back into his pocket. He pulled out a bunch of rolled up A4 papers that were inside his jacket pocket held together with an elastic band. He put one of the papers underneath the windscreen wiper of the first target.

  It read: You have been caught using a phone while driving! Your recklessness may cause injury or death to the residents of Rugeley. You have been warned.

  Macdonald, then pulled out his newly purchased dagger, and put the tip of the blade against the passenger’s side of the door and ran it slowly across the body of the car. He looked around once more, making sure the street was still dead and that there was nobody peering out of their windows. Macdonald then turned around and headed out of the street. The next target was nearly half a mile away, so he decided to walk briskly to the next target, as he wanted this job over and done with as soon as possible.

  *****

  Sally Page moaned in delight as Brian Jenkins continued to thrust his penis inside her. He was kneeling on the bed; Sally had her back to him and was bent over with her rear sticking up, her forehead resting on the sheets of the bed. Her head rocked forward as Brian pummelled her from behind. The climax for him was near, and he grabbed both cheeks of her behind as he furiously fucked her, and his rhythm began to increase as he got nearer and let out a long moan as he climaxed inside her. He continued to fuck her while his penis remained hard, seconds later, she also climaxed and her moan of delight was a lot more restrained than her lover's.

  They both eventually fell on their backs and continued to breathe heavily for almost a minute before one of them decided to speak.

  “Pretty good, Mr. Jenkins,” Sally beamed. “Pretty good.”

  “Well, I'm not one to gloat,” he quipped with a thin smile.

  “I better clean myself up.”

  Sally rested a minute, then got out of her bed and walked naked onto her landing and headed for the bathroom.

  Jenkins reached for his phone on the side table and turned it on. It took a few seconds for the phone to come on, and as soon as it did, a text came in. It was from Trisha Ganley, a woman he regularly had sex with. He hadn’t seen her for days and now she was pestering him.

  Before he had chance to reply to her message, his phone started to ring. It was a call he wasn’t expecting, but he took it anyway.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thomas had been at the club for nearly an hour and was enjoying it immensely. He was knackered, but that was because he was out of shape and wasn’t used to the exercise. It was the pad work that exhausted him, and although his experienced partner seemed okay, another member by the name of Luke Beattie seemed to have taken an instant disliking to him, and was giving the youngster some grief.

  Luke Beattie was two years older than Thomas and was extremely fit, in good condition, and knew how to fight. Thomas, however, spent his days doing very little, drinking soda, and imitating his favourite rock stars.

  Thai boxing couldn’t have been further from his mind, after all, it wasn’t very rock n roll, but he was enjoying it despite being the least fit person there and the less experienced.

  After a succession of shin kicks to the pad, Thomas dropped his head, bent his body over and placed his hands on his knees.

  “You okay?” his partner asked.

  Before Thomas could answer he could hear Luke Beattie in the background. “Come on, Tommy. You’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

  “It’s Thomas,” Thomas responded timidly. As a matter of fact, he wished he had never responded at all, as his response was pathetic and his voice surprisingly went up an octave when he replied and challenged Beattie’s mocking.

  “It’s Thomas,” Beattie teased in an exaggerated voice.

  Beattie’s verbal bullying brought about muffled laughter amongst the boys, as. Beattie was reasonably liked by the members of the club. Although, because of his age, some of the boys thought that Beattie shouldn’t be at the club anymore, as he was the oldest one there. For whatever reason, Waters seemed to have a soft spot for the young man, and was allowing him to stay on. Maybe he felt sorry for him?

  Waters stood at the front of the hall with a whistle in his mouth, and glared at Beattie. Young Luke noticed the disappointment on his trainer's face for mocking Thomas, and his smile diminished.

  Waters blew the whistle and the boys stopped what they were doing. “Right boys, get yourself a sparring partner. And make it fair!”

  Beattie flashed a smile and walked over to Thomas.

  “No, Luke,” Waters snapped. “Thomas is a novice and I said, make it fair. Go with Johnson, he has similar ability to you and you need to stay sharp."

  It seemed that Thomas had no partner because of the odd number of people that had attended.

  “I don’t mind.” Thomas shrugged at Waters, noticing he had no one to train with. “I’ll have a go on that punch bag.”

  “Punch bags can’t hit back, Thomas. Sparring is not just about hitting the other person, it’s about getting used to being hit as well.”

  David Waters began to put on a pair of boxing gloves, which made Thomas fear the worst. Surely he wasn’t going to spar with the expert?

  “Right.” Waters smacked the gloves together. “Let’s go.”

  *****

  The boys got undressed in the changing room of the hall and the cacophony of tumultuous and rash voices coming from the excitable youngsters, was giving Thomas a headache. Thomas had quickly got undressed and remained sitting on the wooden bench; his head still throbbing from Waters' lesson. The harsh punishment from Waters for dropping his guard had put Thomas in a vile mood.

  “You’ll get better,” came a voice by the side of him. It was a boy Thomas had never met. “When I first came here, one of the lads broke my nose."

  “I’m not gonna quit,” Thomas said in a voice that wasn’t very convincing.

  “You shouldn’t," the boy responded. “I see Luke Beattie has been giving you some grief.”

  Thomas nodded.

  “Luke was quiet when he first came here. Then as soon as he won his first fight in here, he became cocky and arrogant."

  “He’s a dick,” Thomas snapped.

  “Is that right?” Beattie wasn’t standing far away from Thomas, and heard Thomas’ derogatory remark towards him. With Thomas still sitting on the bench, Beattie stood over the sixteen-year-old and glared at him. Thomas prepared himself for the worst.

  Thomas had never been hit full force with a bare fist before; he had never had a black eye or had a broken nose. He thought that that was going to end in a matter of seconds. He feared Luke a little, and knew that fighting him would be pointless. It would be like the Brazilian national football team playing Andorra. There would only be one outcome, but Thomas realised that if he cowered before him and pleaded him not to hurt him, he would look ridiculous and his time in Rugeley would be scarred for life.

  Two of the boys in the class went to the same college as he did, and he knew that they wouldn’t be able to keep their mouths shut. He could see images of cruel boys coming up to him in the college corridor in front of the girls and pleading, please don’t hurt me! with the girls laughing and mocking young Thomas. He would be a virgin for life if he were to back down now.

  Rugeley was a small town of eight thousand or so, and wherever he would go in future, in the workplace, to the pub for a drink, he would be reminded of that incident forever. He had already been a coward in the past and had paid the price; he couldn’t do it again. He would be better off getting a severe beating from Luke, rather than plead for forgiveness. His bruising would eventually heal, but at least his pride would still be intact.

  Thomas responded, “I don’t really think you’re a dick.”

  Luke smiled at his potential victim. He felt a sense of power over the rookie and grabbed a very nervous Thomas by the shirt. “So you’ve changed your mind, Tommy. I’m not a dick after all.” Beattie smiled, opened out his arms and looked around to his audience, and his intimidated audience laughed with him, although none of them thought the situation was humorous at all.

  Thomas nervously smiled. “Nah, I think you’re a cunt!”

  The dressing room fell silent apart from two boys who released laughter behind Beattie’s back. Beattie’s face turned red with rage and Thomas gulped hard and thought, whatever he had in store for him, wouldn’t be as damaging as what Waters had done to him earlier. Thomas closed his eyes waiting for the inevitable fist, but it never materialised. Waters saw to that.

  “Come on lads, I wanna get home tonight!" The middle-aged man bellowed into the changing room.

  He stood and glared at Beattie, who was reluctantly walking away from the intimidated Thomas Campbell. Waters lifted his chin up and said, “Everything okay, Thomas?”

  “Sure,” Thomas replied with added confidence because the trainer was now present. “I just realised that there’s a village missing an idiot.”

  The snickering continued from at least three individuals, and Beattie’s face flushed with rage once again. Waters smiled and nodded, almost as if he was impressed with the young man’s reaction. He reminded him of himself.

  *****

  Aiden Macdonald had two more leaflets to hand out, and was dreaming of escaping to the gym and working off some of the animosity he was feeling. His routine was to do a split workout, and although it was Sunday—a day he never worked out on, he was prepared to do his Monday routine a day earlier.

  He had left the town centre and headed for the Pear Tree Estate, a place where he grew up and had many a fight when he was a kid. It was the toughest place in the town, but compared to most rough places across the globe, like the Bronx, it wasn't too bad.

  Aiden walked past the abandoned pub that he had spent many years in when he was an out of control youngster; the place was boarded up and there was a sign stating that the building was soon to be demolished. Aiden entered the estate, where already he was greeted by six bored teenagers who were sitting on a wall near the shops that were now shut. Aiden remembered what Brian had said to him at the barbecue, about sticking to the criteria and not attacking people just for the sake of it. He knew Jenkins was right. He hated it when he was right.

  Aiden wasn’t scared of his punishment if he continued to become a wayward member, what did bother him was that if he continued misbehaving, he would be kicked out of the fold and that would be hugely disappointing for him, as the last month he had never been busier. He had made more money in the last month than in three months of plastering. Every month, the odd job would turn up, but he had never known it to be this busy. Either Rugeley had become a more unsafe place to live over the last few months, or the boss was becoming a little over zealous.

  Aiden didn’t mind the violent side of the work, but what he detested was the minor misdemeanours that had to be dealt with. He thought that scraping peoples' cars for using a phone while driving was a trivial job that should be given to youngsters.

  Fortunately, he managed to walk past the group of teenagers without receiving any verbal abuse off them. Aiden thought that maybe his tough looking appearance was enough to quench the bravado of these youngsters.

  Long may it continue, he thought.

  He walked up the steep hill of Coppice Road and turned left to reach his next destination. Yet again, it seemed too easy. The street was empty and the people of the area preferred to stay in and keep warm away from the cold. He stood under the orange glow of the streetlight and pulled out a piece of paper to make double sure he had the right car. He scraped the car with his dagger and punctured the front tyres, before making a brisk exit out of the street to his final target.

  Aiden’s walk remained brisk, as he entered the highest point of the Pear Tree Estate called Flaxley. He passed two teenagers walking the other way; he couldn’t smell anything off them as he walked past, but from their speech, it sounded like they were on something.

  “Oi, slaphead!” one of them shouted as he continued to walk. “Baldy! Kojak!”

  They continued to deride him, and Aiden took a slow deep breath outwards to curb his anger. It was a sign of the times. Youngsters seemed to disrespect other adults more these days; they had no respect for the police, and some of them had a feeling of invincibility. Little did they know that Aiden Macdonald was a man with a history of violence, a short temper, and was also carrying a dangerous weapon. Jenkins advice at the barbecue seemed to be working, but Aiden still felt a little let down that he never bothered to show up. The drunken boys didn’t realise how lucky they were as Aiden continued to stroll through the dark streets and chose to ignore their immature jibes.

  He felt his phone in his pocket vibrate; he pulled out the phone while walking simultaneously and saw that it was Jenkins.

  “It’s the shirker,” Macdonald greeted.

  “Sorry mate,” Brian apologised. “I felt like shite. How you doing?”

  “Nearly done, what you calling for?”

  “We got another job for Tuesday night.”

  “Christ! They’re keeping us busy this month. Last year, it went quiet for about two months. Remember?”

  “This is a big one.”

  “How big?”

  “Huge. See you at seven on Tuesday night. I already have the necessary details.”

  Aiden’s phone went dead.

  “I hate it when he tells half a story,” Macdonald sighed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Frank Samson was two days away from his 40th birthday. Some people claimed that life began at this age, but Frank was unsure about this comment. Sure, he was now out of prison, but the authorities were still keeping tabs on him, so it was like being in a huge open prison. One thing that he had missed immensely was a pint of cold beer, and no one was going to stop him from having a few of those.

  He had been inside for four years, and dreaming about alcohol, amongst other things, had kept him going while he was doing his time. He was in a prison where it was mixed. There were murderers, thieves, rapists and other violent criminals all mixed in to the prison he was in. Frank had been in Winson Green prison situated in Birmingham; one of the roughest in Britain.

  Frank was abhorred in the prison immediately and was spat at during his arrival. A frightened Frank requested to be away from the rest of the prisoners and to remain inside for twenty three and a half hours a day. The supervisor told him that that’s what was going to happen anyway for his own safety. He was older than the rest; he was overweight, and he was an easy target for prison bullies.

  He was allowed out for half an hour for his lunch with some other prisoners that were despised by the rest of the wing, while the rest of the population remained locked up. Then he would return to his cell after finishing his lunch, and the rest of the wing would be opened up. Frank’s door was constantly banged during the day by other inmates and verbal abuse could be clearly heard also.

  There was much verbal profanation through his door, so much, that Frank had noticed that the prisoner’s originality wasn’t that great. Amongst other threatening sentences, the following three seemed to have been the most popular: WHY DON’T YOU KILL YOURSELF! DIE YOU FUCKING ANIMAL! and WE’RE GONNA GET YOU!

  It didn’t seem so bad at first, but after a few months it really got to him, and as a result, he had a nervous breakdown, had lost some of his hair and was put on stage three suicide watch as he made a poor attempt at hanging himself from his toilet door with a bed sheet, resulting in the door coming off its hinges and resulting in Frank spraining his left ankle. He sometimes thought that the officers wanted him dead, too. The prison psychologists put him on a critical suicide watch, which meant he had to be checked every fifteen minutes, but sometimes he was hardly checked every hour, let alone every fifteen minutes.

  When he was finally released, the first place he went to was the local library. The books in the prison library were awful and sub standard; he liked the classics, and although he managed to get The Turn of the Screw in prison, he fancied a good old Dickens book to reawaken his numbed brain. Frank left Rugeley library with Little Dorrit under his arm, and headed for his bed-sit. Now he was ready to test his alcohol tolerance for the first time at the local pub near the bed-sit that was situated near the town centre.

  *****

  Aiden sat nonchalantly in the darkened car park in his white Transit van that was situated next to the Pig and Bell pub. His head was back resting on the headrest and his radio was on, playing out Lennon’s, Instant Karma. What he loved about living in a small town centre was that, even in this big brother world of CCTV, there wasn’t a single camera in Rugeley. Most people in the UK probably didn’t even know the place existed, and this made his 'second job' so much easier.

  Aiden watched the occasional reveller walking past his van, not knowing he was there sitting in the darkness. The town was fairly quiet but then again, it was only Tuesday night, which along with Monday night was probably the quietest period of the week.

  He looked at his watch and saw that only two minutes had passed; he turned Lennon down and closed his eyes. Time for a crafty nap.

  *****

  It was getting on for 8pm and Frank Samson was supping on his fourth beer. The pub was exactly the way he liked it; it was quiet and had only four other hardcore drinkers in there, and he even had the opportunity to sit at the bar. The four other drinkers also seemed to be individuals that just wanted their own company. One man stood next to a jukebox adding more tracks to the ones that were blasting out, another man sat in the corner nursing a pint of Guinness, a dishevelled looking fellow sat near the door reading a newspaper and the fourth man sat next to Frank. The man had only been there a few minutes but Frank never uttered a word to him.