Vengeance, p.1
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       Vengeance, p.1

           Donald Phillips
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  (A Copper’s Revenge)

  Copyright  Don Phillips 2005

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

  “It is often said that revenge is a dish best eaten cold, but who wants to wait that long”

  Chapter 1

  The girl stepped down from the bus into the Bristol City Centre and strode off down the street with the hip swinging confidence only the young can have in themselves and their youth. She stopped at the traffic lights and waited for the green light to show in her favour before crossing the road to the large central roundabout, smiling boldly at the drivers of the waiting cars as she went. She was dressed to attract attention and was receiving it from the groups of youths hanging around in the City Centre where they waited for the Mecca dance hall to open for the Friday night dancing. They watched her walk by with hot adolescent eyes, wiping suddenly damp palms on the legs of their trousers and unnecessarily nudging each other to make sure their companions had seen her. They'd seen her.

  Her long dark hair had been curled into individual strands in the modern, deliberately casual look and hung freely almost to her waist. She wore a sheer, long sleeved black silk blouse, buttoned to the throat and edged with lace at neck and cuffs, with a black lace brassiere clearly visible beneath. Neither were doing anything much to hide the fullness of the firm young breasts or the thrust of her nipples, which could be clearly seen as darker rings through the layers of fine material. Over the blouse she wore a tiny bolero style jacket of a shiny black, plastic material while a matching skirt hugged the firm young backside like another skin before stopping some four inches below the crotch of her black lace panties. Sheer black tights and shiny black high heeled; knee high boots completed the ensemble. She wore little make up except for a dark purple lip-gloss and a little dark purple eye shadow.

  She stood about five feet four inches and you would have put her age at between eighteen and twenty, although her large brown eyes were as old and knowing as life itself. Her only jewellery was a small gold watch and the two tiny gold stars in her pierced ears. She carried a small clutch handbag in the same material as her jacket and skirt. At the other side of the giant roundabout she once more waited for the lights to change before again crossing the road at the pedestrian crossing, where more middle aged men sat in their cars waiting for the lights to change and dreamed their carnal dreams as she passed in front of them.

  Satisfied with impact she had made in the street she turned into the City Gent public house and entered the saloon bar, the public bar usually being full of noisy teenagers on Friday nights and that was not what she was after. She bought and paid for a glass of cold white wine and finding a free table in a corner sat down so that she could see the entire room and slowly sipped at it. In the half an hour she was there she was three times seen to shake her head to the different well dressed young men who approached her and offered to buy her a drink before returning sheepishly to their business companions to talk about the problem of women who were only prick teasers. Finally she glanced at her watch and picking up her handbag, left the pub and walked the two hundred meters along the street to the Mecca dance hall.

  Opening her bag at the ticket desk she handed over the ten pounds entrance fee and went inside. Here she went straight to the bar, pausing on the way only to smile for a photographer. He was photographing all the prettier girls in order to display their photos in the big glass frames on the outside the building the following week. This was a useful ploy used by the management that kept the male customers interested in attending every dance. Once at the bar she bought herself another glass of white wine before finding herself a table to the left of the dance floor where she could see, and be seen, from the stage. In less than twenty minutes three other girls, all perfect strangers, had asked if they could join her, there being more safety in numbers. To each she had smiled and nodded her agreement without getting into any prolonged conversation.

  For an hour and a half she sat and watched the DJ perform, sometimes swaying in her seat to the music when the fancy took her, but mostly just waiting. She refused all offers to dance from the various interested youths and young men who approached her until they finally got the message and left her alone, puzzled that she should have taken such trouble with her appearance if she was not available. She left the table only twice to visit the ladies powder room. The first time to relieve herself of the white wine and the second time, after the DJ had announced that the band would be live on-stage in twenty minutes time, to check her clothes and her make up. Satisfied with her appearance she returned to her seat and waited. Eventually, after a build up from the DJ that seemed to go on for another twenty minutes the curtains behind him opened and with a blast of sound that would have caused an older age group concussion, the band were on-stage.

  Metal Heaven were fairly lightweight as amateur heavy metal groups went in that buried among the screaming guitars and crashing drums there was some iota of musical talent. The group was made up of three engineering students from the Polytechnic and a car body repair and customising specialist from a small garage in West Indian enclave of St Paul's. Racially they were a mixture of most of the different ethnic groups to be found in the city and musically they were up and coming, as the full hall testified.

  Rasta Fairbrother was a pure blooded West Indian Negro. He was the ebony black usually found only in the hottest parts of Africa and was fond of telling the others in the band that he was probably the only member who wasn’t a mongrel. At five feet ten inches he was not a tall man, but was built like a heavy weight boxer with massive shoulders and thighs separated by a narrow waist. He had large, deep-set brown eyes and heavy lips separated by the wide flaring nostrils of his nose. His hair was worn down to the shoulders in a multitude of thin plaits ending in small ties of brightly coloured rags. If you had dressed him in a loincloth and put a spear in his hand, most people would have said that the African plains were his natural environments, despite the fact that his family had been snatched away from them over two hundred years earlier. A natural drummer and full of the rhythms of old Africa, he was a major part of the bands sound and its rapid success. He was also a genius with sheet metal and was responsible for many of the weird and wonderful customised cars being driven around the city by his fellow West Indians. Rasta was twenty-two years old and enjoying life. The band and his cars were his whole world. Sure he liked girls and liked screwing them even more, but he was intent on remaining footloose and fancy-free. No semi detached and two and a half kids for Rasta. No way man, he was going to make it in the music business. He certainly had the talent

  Ali Khan was an Anglo Indian. His father had been forced to leave his native Bradford and set up a shop in Bristol after committing the sin of marrying a girl who was white and not of the Hindu religion. Of an equal height to Rasta he was built like a whip and moved with a grace that was foreign to most men. He had a natural talent for playing keyboards and the kind of coffee coloured good looks and dark eyes that made many girls almost wet their knickers when he decided to notice them. However, he was still two years from obtaining his engineering degree and any love in his life at this time would not be serious. He felt the same way about his music. It was to be enjoyed, but it was not his chosen career. He dreamed of building massive bridges and dams and when not practising his keyboards was usually to be found with his face in a textbook. Ali was twenty years old.

  Sean Combes was Celtic mixture of Scots and Irish from Northern Ireland and looked it. There was muc
h of the wild colonial boy about Sean and although he was doing well in his civil engineering course he would have chucked it all in tomorrow for success and fame in the music business. Sean was highly sexed and apparently with his moral conscience surgically removed. Sean had been known to almost miss the second half of a gig when he had managed to get some willing young groupie to climb into the back of their converted bus with him for a leg over. Once on stage however, he was a better than average bass player and song writer and was an essential part of the bands sound and image, favouring the Keith Richard look and making sure that his clothes and hair always looked scruffy and unwashed. He was the tallest member at just six feet, thin to the point of painfulness and with cold grey eyes and dark brown hair. He spoke with a broad Ulster accent and you would not have been pleased if your daughter had brought him home for there was definitely something of the night about Sean. He also was twenty years old.

  Jason Goodwell was the lead guitar/vocalist. Also five feet ten he was a blue eyed, blonde haired Adonis. He had only to smile at the audience when the curtains went up to reduce the younger female element to trembling, screaming hysteria. The fact that he actually had a voice and could hold a tune was an added advantage. Jason worked out for at least thirty minutes every day in a local gym and as a result had the build of a lightweight boxer. He was also the best engineering student in his year and was not as eager as Sean and Rasta for recording success. He realising that it was a long and heartbreaking road to the top of the music business and because of the lifestyle and temptations on the way, many in the business many had died before and after making it. However, the band did give him great social standing at the Polytechnic and made sure he was never short of female company. Jason was born of an English father and a Swedish mother, from whom he had inherited his looks and his wavy blonde, shoulder length hair. Tonight, like the rest of the band, he was dressed in black leather trousers while over his chest he wore a small leather waistcoat, opened to allow the audience to gaze at the well-developed muscles. The Fender Stratocaster guitar he played was worn low across the hips like a giant phallus. They went through their well-rehearsed opening number that gave each member of the band a chance to solo out above the others and show the audience what they could do. Written by Sean Combes it would never have made the charts, but as an icebreaker and mood setter it was a winner. It lasted fifteen frenetic minutes.

  The girl knew the band’s repertoire well and waited until the first crashing number was over before she stood up and went to stand in front of the stage. She did not stand right against the footlights with the teenies, but some eight feet behind them, although still in the overspill from the stage lights. When the next number began, a slow and heavy rock ballad, as she knew it would be, she swayed gently to the music and waited. First to notice her were the predatory eyes of Sean Combes. He leered at her and pulled the bottom of his bass guitar into his crotch, making his fingers stroke up and down it like a giant phallus as he watched her. The girl stared him in the eye and then ignored him. Sean sidled backwards until he could catch the eye of Rasta and nodded in the girl’s direction. Rasta, looking at the straining breasts of the girl and the long slim legs, grinned and nodded back to Sean. At the end of the number he caught her eye and gripping his right bicep with his left hand, clenched his right fist at her in an unmistakable gesture. The girl ignored him also.

  Jason Goodwell had just started announcing the next number and was lifting the mike from its bracket when he first saw the girl. He smiled back at her and would have looked away except for what she did. First she beckoned with her right index finger to hold his attention. When she had it she dropped her left hand to her skirt and lifting the hem high enough to expose the black lace panties, she then pushed her crotch towards him and gently rubbed herself between the legs with the middle finger of her right hand, all the while slowly running her tongue back and forth between the purple lips, her eyes never leaving his face.

  He was used to getting the come on from the teenies, but this was different. It had him stunned and transfixed. He lost the announcement half way through as his head filled with visions that washed everything else away. At the back, sat on his drums, Rasta watched it all and felt his own penis harden in sympathy. The girl then smiled and nodded at Jason and dropping the skirt back over the panties walked slowly back to her seat at the table, her hips moving in a way that has fired men's lust for thousands of years. On the way to her table she glanced just once back over her shoulder to make sure he was still watching her.

  The rest of the dancers in the crowded room had turned to the stage to see what the interruption was about and the growing silence jerked Jason out of his shock and back into the world. He shook his head and repeated the announcement. The girl remained at her table for the rest of the band’s two-hour stint, never moving from her chair. Whenever Jason looked at her, which was frequently, she smiled a small secret smile and running her tongue backwards and forwards across her lips, slowly nodded her head. Then just before the last number he glanced once more across at her table and to his bitter disappointment, she was gone.

  When the curtain had finally come down the band only packed up their own individual instruments, leaving the rest of the gear and amplifiers to Colin the Roady who carried them out to the old converted single-decker bus that was their transport. It was painted with psychedelic angels in armour flying all over it with the words Metal Heaven in Gothic script interwoven between them. A project carried out with enthusiasm by the Polytechnic Art Department. They stowed their instruments in the racks and then collapsed onto the two lower bunks of the four that had been installed in the rear to allow them to catch up on sleep when returning from distant gigs, while Colin the Roady drove. Jason opened a cooler box and handed out cold beers. He took a long pull from his tin and gave a deep sigh of satisfaction.

  “Not a bad gig that, I thought we went over very well. If that guy from Reliable Records chose tonight to come and watch us I don't think we could have given him a better performance.”

  Reliable Records were one of the better independent labels that had been showing an interest in them. The others just looked at him and said nothing, waiting to wind him up as they had agreed between themselves earlier on while packing away their instruments. Jason tried again.

  “What do you think Rasta?”

  Rasta gave him a look of disgust.

  “No chance, man. I mean you blew most of the announcements. I mean man, you would get half way through and then you would just stop dead. Most unprofessional, Jason, extremely unprofessional.”

  He pronounced the last word syllable by syllable for emphasis while the corners of his mouth turned down in what looked like disgust, the others nodding their agreement.

  “Perhaps one of us should do them from now on if you're having so much trouble remembering them, Jason?”

  This innocently from Ali and Jason realised suddenly realised what was happening.

  “Aw come on Guys. I wasn't that bad and you saw what she did to me. I bet none of you could have kept going with that happening.”

  The others were all for carrying on with the wind up, but Rasta's face took on a dreamy expression and he blew it.

  “That was the sexiest thing I have ever seen in my life. Man, if she had done that to me I would have jumped down and shagged her right there on the dance floor. Jesus, every time I looked at her after that I could still see her standing there rubbing her fanny and I started to get a hard on again. Fucking dangerous for a drummer, man, with those sticks thrashing about.”

  Sean sat back with a leer on his face.

  “If I ever get the chance to bump into her at a party or somewhere where I can get her alone, I am going to screw the arse off her.”

  Ali smiled. He spoke quietly.

  “You're all forgetting one thing, you guys. Its Jason she was after.”

  “That's because she has never had the pleasure of receiving the cock of a man with pure blood.”

Rasta was back on his superiority kick. They broke down into laughter at this and Jason passed around more beers while they waited for Colin to finish loading the van and the conversation turned to some of the girls they had picked up in the past. Sean, with his back to the door, was remembering one that had managed to stow away in the bus during a gig in Brighton. He had been lucky enough to be the one to go out to the van to get the cooler box of beer for the interval and he had discovered her. When the others had finally tired of waiting for him and had themselves arrived at the bus, he had already had her three times and was knackered, but the girl had been quite willing to take the rest of them on. Sean shook his head at the memory.

  “Christ, when you guys switched the lights on and I saw how old she was I nearly died. If she was a day over thirteen I'll eat my guitar strap. Jail bait, pure Jail bait.”

  He broke off as he realised the others were no longer listening to him. They were staring over his head with their mouths open. He turned his head and there standing in the doorway was the girl.

  When she was sure they had all noticed her she walked straight past them and stopped in front of Jason, who was the furthest from the door. She reached down and taking his hands pulled him gently up onto his feet. Then putting a hand on each side of his face she pulled his head down to hers and opening her mouth, kissed him hard. For a moment he was too shocked to respond, but then his instincts took over and his hands clutched at the smooth round globes of her backside under its tight plastic covering. He smelt the subtle musk of her perfume and body odour, mingled with the taste of her lip gloss and he felt himself starting to grow and harden as the incredible eroticism of what was happening came home to him. The girl pulled her head away and smiled at him. She had even white teeth, long dark eyelashes and her breath smelt sweet as honey. She lowered her hand to his groin and felt him while she looked up into his eyes. She said just two words.

  “Very good.”

  Stepping back a pace she shrugged her arms out of the shiny black jacket and placed it on the top bunk. Next she unzipped the skirt right down one side and peeling it off like a sweet wrapper, placed that with the jacket, at the same time stepping out of her shoes which joined the growing pile of clothes. There was complete silence in the bus except for the sound of hoarse breathing. She put her arms up to his face and again pulled his head down to her lips. This time driving her tongue deep into his mouth and grinding her soft belly against him before releasing him once more, her nipples now hard and thrusting against the material of her brassiere and blouse. She once more dropped her hand to his groin and felt his by now, full-blown erection. The voice was soft and husky.

  “Oh that is very good.”

  She stepped back again and slipped her tights slowly down her legs, bending almost to the floor as she released each foot in turn. The perfect orbs of her behind and the outline of the lips of her womanhood through the lace panties were only inches from Rasta's face and he groaned softly as he struggled to get his swollen penis comfortable in the tight leather trousers. The girl ignored him. She straightened again and undid the buttons on the sheer black blouse before slipping it from her shoulders and placing it with her other clothes. No one moved or spoke, frightened of breaking the spell. She turned her back to Jason and reaching back and pulling her long dark hair forward over one shoulder, bent her head forward and offered the clip of the black net brassiere for Jason's attention. Like a man in a trance he unclipped it and the other three were given a close up as the beautiful full breasts sprang free, the nipples swollen and erect. Rasta by now had undone his trousers to give merciful release to his throbbing manhood and was gently squeezing it while talking softly to himself under his breath.

  The girl turned back to face Jason and her hands found the buttons on his leather trousers. She undid them slowly and then pulled the trousers down from his buttocks to his thighs to reveal the bikini slip he wore underneath. This too she eased down to his thighs, allowing his swollen penis to spring free. The sounds of breathing were louder now and Jason was reduced to leaning back against the top bunk for support, his eyes were squeezed tightly closed. The girl knelt in front of him and taking him in both hands, stroked him gently. She smiled up at him and then opening her purple lips, lowered her head and swallowed him as deeply as her throat would allow. He convulsed like a man in electric shock and cried out as if in pain, his hands going instinctively to the back of her head. She drew back again until only the tip of his penis was still between her lips and then swallowed him deeply once more, before finally releasing him.

  Reaching up to his hands she pulled him down so that he was sat on the lower bunk in front of her, his hands out behind him for support, while she proceeded to remove his trousers and bikini slip the rest of the way down over his feet. When he was completely naked she stood quickly and lowered her black lace panties to the floor before stepping out of them. Then, kneeling on the bunk straddling him, she took his throbbing penis in her fingers and guided its head between the moist lips. When it was centred to her liking and Jason was straining upwards in frenzy, she suddenly lowered herself fully with a cry of triumph.

  It was over very quickly. Three frenzied thrusts and his orgasm spurted from him and left him moaning his saviour’s name, as if he himself was experiencing the agony of the cross. The girl stayed down hard on him until she was sure he had finished and then keeping him inside her, leaned forward to kiss him gently on the lips. Rasta's voice, very soft and low, broke the silence.

  “Is that it lady, or are you going to be doing that for all of us?”

  The girl answered without taking her eyes from Jason's face. It was only the third time she had spoken and her voice was still even and low.

  “I don't put it out for ugly gorilla’s. Go and find one of your gorilla women.”

  The sudden silence seemed to stretch for minutes until it was broken by Jason's voice, rough edged with anger.

  “Don't you dare talk to him like that, he's a person like you and me and is also my friend, so you be polite to him you bitch.”

  The girl leaned forward and kissed him again.

  “Don't be silly, he's nothing like you. You're beautiful. That's why I wanted you for my collection.”

  She turned and gave Rasta a look of loathing. “He is just a big ape. I can smell the difference from here.” She spat the word at him. “Animal.”

  The reference about adding him to her collection along with the spite in her voice snapped something inside of Jason. He lifted her from his now flaccid penis and grabbing her by the hair, rammed her face down to the blanket so that her legs shot backwards and she was kneeling over the edge of the bunk across his knees. He looked up and catching Rasta's look he nodded. The big West Indian grinned and dived to his knees behind her. Grabbing her under the back of her thighs he lifted her easily and pulling her legs apart slid his long hard penis into her with a savage grunt before she could twist or struggle. The girl then wriggled and fought furiously, but Jason kept hold of her hair, forcing her face into the blankets while Sean rushed in to pin her hands. Rasta's face was a picture of savage glee, as holding her off the floor as easily as if she had been a baby he proceeded to take her with long driving strokes until he too burst within her, before dropping her to the floor and collapsing over her bent back.

  After that Rasta held her hair while the other two took their turns. By then she had ceased to struggle and knelt there quietly sobbing while they violated her. Rasta watched them both with a joyful satisfaction on his face, although Jason was beginning to worry about it all now that the first flush of savage anger had worn off. He found the girls bag while Ali was taking his turn and placing five, ten pound notes inside it, he put it quietly back with her clothes. He had dressed by the time they had finished with her and told the others to go away while he tried to help the still sobbing girl to dress. She pushed his hands away and lifting her now blotchy and tear-stained face up she hissed at him. The voice no longer sweet and low, it was hard and bitter.

  “Don't touch me, you bastard. I thought you were something special. I gave myself to you and you let that, that gorilla, rape me.” She glared at Ali. “You let two of them rape me, because the other ones half gorilla.” She struggled into her skirt. “I'm going to get you bastards, all of you. They will throw away the fucking key when I have finished. I am a white girl and you let those two rape me.”

  She whirled as Jason put a hand out to calm her.

  “Get your hands of me, you bastard. Just don't you touch me. I'm going to report this to the police as rape, because that is what it was.” Her look was all animal fury. “All of you.”

  She turned to go, but he put his hand across the door to prevent it.

  “Don't be so stupid. Lots of people saw what you did in the dance hall tonight when you gave me the come on. Then you followed us out to the coach and screwed me in front of the others. I was just another scalp for your collection. No one will believe you are anything other than you are just another groupie trying it on.”

  She slammed his arm away from the door and jerked the middle finger of her left hand up in front of his face.

  “Get stuffed.”

  She ran out into the night. Jason watched her go and then went to find the others. He didn't think she would actually go to the police once her anger had worn off and she had thought about it, but it might be as well if they all agreed on the same story. At that time he had no idea of the horrors their actions of that night were to bring to themselves and others.


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