by Preston, Ken
Coffin dropped to the floor like a sack.
Gosling placed a foot on Coffin’s chest. When Coffin’s vision cleared he saw that Gosling had a shotgun trained on him.
‘Stilts is tougher than he looks,’ Gosling said. ‘Ain’t that right, Stilts?’
Stilts said nothing.
‘Here, look after him for me, I need a piss,’ Gosling said, handing the shotgun to Stilts.
The little man climbed on Coffin’s chest and stood there, holding the muzzle of the gun under Coffin’s chin.
Gosling walked over to the bar and unzipped. Coffin heard the spatter of liquid hitting the floor.
‘I tell you something Joe, I’m starting to think I need my prostate checked, I’m having to take a bloody piss every five minutes. Then again, I don’t fancy having some stranger stick his finger up my arse, so what am I going to do?’ Gosling finished and zipped up again. ‘Bloody hell that feels better.’
Duchess stopped singing.
Gosling clapped, and shouted, ‘Beautiful, darlin’, just like you!’
Coffin stared at Stilts. The shotgun’s twin barrels were jammed right up underneath Coffin’s jaw. He couldn’t speak.
‘Right, come on you two!’ Gosling shouted. ‘Let’s get this place ready.’
Although he couldn’t twist his head around, Coffin could move his eyes enough to see Duchess and Bananarama girl with large jerry cans, splashing what smelled like petrol over all the furniture and across the floors.
‘We’re going to have a little bonfire,’ Gosling said, looking down at Coffin.
Coffin gestured at the gun.
‘Ease up on him a little,’ Gosling said to Stilts. ‘I think he wants to say a few final words.’
Stilts released the pressure on Coffin’s jaw.
‘I’m going to kill you,’ Coffin snarled. ‘I’m going to kill you all.’
Gosling tipped his head back and bellowed with laughter. ‘You hear that, Stilts? Joe says he’s going to kill us. How about that?’
‘Yeah, one thing though before I do that,’ Coffin said. ‘Tell me who hired you. Who wants me dead?’
‘Oh, there are lots of people out there who would’ve hired me to kill you, Joe,’ Gosling said, and chuckled. ‘You have to be one of the most unpopular men I’ve ever met. But as for who actually hired me, that was Tsung Ti Lee.’
‘And who the fuck is he?’
‘Tsung Ti Lee is chairman of the Jiangchi Corporation.’
‘Yeah? Never heard of them,’ Coffin said.
Gosling leaned over Coffin. ‘My God, you really are out of the loop, aren’t you? It’s probably for the best that you’re out of this mess now, Joe. Because it looks to me like you’re in way over your head.’
Stilts jammed the shotgun under Coffin’s jaw again.
‘Goodbye, Joe,’ Gosling said. ‘It’s been fun, right? All right, Stilts, give him both barrels.’
emma
Emma wrenched her free hand out from under her back and went for Gilligan’s eyes, but he was too fast. He took his hand off her mouth and grabbed her other wrist and they rolled over, tumbling down the slope and getting tangled in the undergrowth. Brambles whipped at Emma’s arms and face, drawing tiny beads of blood. They came to a halt against the trunk of a tree, Gilligan on top of her. Scratches criss-crossed his face in a crazy pattern. He stared at her with bulging eyes, his teeth bared in a snarl.
Panting heavily, Gilligan pressed his body on top of hers. He pinned her wrists to the ground above her head.
‘You should lie there and be a good girl,’ he whispered.
She writhed and bucked beneath him, trying to throw him off, but he was too heavy and strong.
‘Lie still!’ he snapped. ‘If you don’t, I’ll break your arms. I could do it, you know.’
Emma jerked her leg up, trying to smash her knee into his balls. There wasn’t enough room for her to move and the kick was ineffectual.
‘Oh you silly bitch,’ Gilligan whispered.
He rolled Emma over onto her front and yanked her arm up behind her back. Emma cried out in pain and Gilligan increased the pressure a little more.
He leaned in close, his mouth beside her ear. ‘Now what did I say? Be a good girl, or else I’m popping this arm out of its socket.’
Emma nodded, jerkily, bits of twigs and bark scratching against her cheek.
‘Good, that’s my girl.’ He relaxed the pressure on her arm a little.
Emma breathed hard, kicking up shreds of bark and grass in front of her face.
‘What the hell am I going to do with you?’ Gilligan said. ‘You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?’
‘You could let me go,’ Emma said, between gasps.
‘Oh I could, couldn’t I? Except you’d be straight down the cop shop telling all the coppers what I did.’
‘You said it yourself, you’re a dead man anyway,’ Emma said.
‘Now I did that, didn’t I?’
‘If you go to the cops, they can offer you protection.’
Gilligan chuckled. ‘Ah now, young lady, you’ve got no idea what life is like on the inside, have you? I’d be dead before the week was out, that I would.’
‘What’s the alternative?’
Gilligan leaned in close, increasing the pressure on Emma’s arm once more. ‘The alternative is, we have a little fun out here, and then we go out together. It’ll be so romantic, like a suicide pact.’
‘Please, my arm!’ Emma gasped.
Gilligan leaned back, easing up on the pressure again. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I forget myself sometimes.’
‘Isn’t, isn’t suicide a sin in the church?’ Emma said.
Gilligan threw back his head and laughed. ‘Oh now, that’s a good one. So it is, but do you really think I’m going to be with the good Lord himself anyways, after all the things I’ve done? I’ve got a lot of repenting to do if I’m going to make the pearly gates, a lot of repenting.’
‘But you don’t have to do this!’ Emma said. ‘You don’t have to hurt any more people.’
Gilligan let go of Emma’s arm and stood up.
‘Turn over,’ he said. ‘Let me see you properly.’
Emma rolled over on to her back, moving gingerly. Her shoulder felt like it was on fire where Gilligan had wrenched her arm up her back.
‘Now you see, we’re back to square one,’ Gilligan said, standing astride over her, his hands on his hips. She could see the bulge in his trousers.
He began undoing his belt buckle.
Emma closed her eyes.
He was stronger than her. She could fight him, she could kick and scratch and punch and bite him, but he was still stronger. All she could hope to do was hurt him. But that would probably make it worse for her.
She could submit, try to get it over with as quickly as possible. But would that make her feel any better?
Fight or submit? Were those her only two choices?
Either way she lost.
She could plead with him, beg him to stop, to reconsider. That wouldn’t do any good, and even if he listened, even if he did as she asked and walked away, she still lost.
Gilligan had already done the damage. It was as though the violation had already happened. That he had reduced her to this pathetic thing, this despicable piece of shit. Even Gilligan would realise how worthless she was when he had finished with her because that’s when he would discard her.
That was when she would die.
‘Open your eyes,’ Gilligan said.
Emma opened her eyes. Gilligan had not removed his trousers. He had unlooped his belt and was holding it, coiled in his right hand.
‘Stand up,’ he said.
Emma climbed stiffly to her feet. Gilligan grabbed her by the arm and hauled her with him to the nearest tree.
‘Cross your wrists over that branch,’ he said.
Emma lifted her arms up and crossed her wrists over the branch above her head. Gilligan reached up and began looping the belt around her wrists a
nd the branch, pulling it tighter and tighter. His body, up close to hers, gave off heat. And she could smell him too. The rancid stink of unwashed flesh, of sweat and cigarette smoke.
Gilligan pulled the belt tight until he could buckle it up. Emma’s hands had turned purple from the pressure.
Gilligan stuck his face in front of Emma’s and grinned. ‘Now, don’t go anywhere.’
She watched him as he walked away, head down, kicking his feet through the undergrowth.
He was looking for his gun.
Emma yanked hard on her wrists, but the belt hardly budged. It was so tight, already she was losing feeling in her hands. She took a swift look at Gilligan. He still had his head down searching for his gun, completely oblivious to Emma right now. Bracing herself for the pain, Emma lifted her feet off the ground. The pain was too much, and she had relieve the pressure on her wrists almost instantly by standing up again.
Placing her forehead against the inside of one elbow, Emma bit back a sob.
Something tickled her ankle.
Lifting her head a little, Emma looked at her feet. A white haired cockapoodle was sniffing at her feet. It looked up at her and shook itself.
Emma snapped her head up. The dog’s owner had to be somewhere nearby.
And then Emma saw the path. Not the one they had been on, another one. Gilligan had tried to lead Emma somewhere out of the way somewhere he wouldn’t be disturbed, but they weren’t that far away from a path of some sort at all.
The dog began wandering away, sniffing at the ground and following a trail of something.
‘Hey, no, come back here!’ Emma hissed.
If she could keep the dog with her, the owner might well find Emma.
Gilligan had bent over, rifling through the grass and the weeds. It was almost as though he had forgotten Emma.
How much longer would he look for the gun before he gave up?
The dog was sniffing at Emma’s feet again.
‘Good boy, you stay with me, all right?’ Emma whispered.
The dog looked up at her and wagged its tail.
‘Oh!’
There she was, the dog’s owner. An old lady, but obviously fit and healthy. She had walking boots on her feet and a small rucksack on her back. She was holding a walking stick. Something she used to help her up the steep slopes perhaps, as she certainly didn’t look as though she needed its support.
‘Please, help me!’ Emma hissed. ‘But don’t make a sound.’
Emma looked over the old lady’s shoulder at Gilligan, his back to them.
The old lady saw him. Turned and strode towards Emma.
‘Did he do this to you?’ she said.
‘Yes, but please, you have to be quiet, he’s looking for his gun.’
The old lady leaned the walking stick against the tree. She pulled at the belt, trying to work it free.
‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘This is very tight, and my hands, they aren’t as strong as they used to be.’
‘Please, hurry!’ Emma whispered.
She glanced at Gilligan again. He was further away, Emma could just make him out between the trees and she was sure he had gone past the point where the gun might have landed. If only he would keep his back to them for the next few seconds.
Gilligan turned around.
Locked eyes with Emma, his mouth opening.
‘He’s seen you,’ Emma said. ‘Run!’
Gilligan dashed towards them, stumbling through the undergrowth.
The dog began barking.
The old lady picked up her stick. ‘I’m too old to run.’
She swung the stick at Gilligan and smacked him in the side. Gilligan grabbed the walking stick and wrenched it out of the old lady’s hands. He turned it around and smashed the grip over her head, the impact cracking her skull. Crying out in pain she fell to the ground. Gilligan smashed the stick into her skull again.
Emma lifted her feet off the ground and kicked out at him.
‘Leave her alone!’ she screamed.
Gilligan slashed the walking stick at Emma’s shins. Emma screamed as her shins exploded in agony. Grabbing her hair and yanking her head back, he then slammed the end of the stick into Emma’s abdomen. Emma’s instincts were to double over as a sickening pain blossomed through her stomach, but her hands tied above her head prevented her. Instead she brought her knees up to her chest for a moment and then back down again.
Everything hurt, and she thought she might throw up.
Through the pain, through the nausea, she heard Gilligan delivering blow after blow onto the old lady’s skull. The dog was yapping and snarling. Suddenly its yapping stopped as it let out a yelp and then it was silent.
When Gilligan had finished, he threw the stick away and swung Emma around to face him. Sweat poured from his face. Blood spotted his forehead and his cheeks.
‘Now,’ he said, panting, ‘now you are going to give me what I need.’
Through the pain and the nausea, Emma gathered up all her concentration and spat in Gilligan’s face.
He wiped his face with the back of his hand. Licked at it where he had wiped the spit off his face.
Looked at Emma and grinned.
‘I’m going to take you there, right where you are,’ he said.
Emma shook her head, her tousled hair, damp with sweat, swinging across her face. ‘No you won’t. I will kick you, I will bite you, I’ll bite your ears off and your nose and your tongue right out of your mouth if you come near me, I swear.’
Gilligan kept grinning. He unzipped his trousers and put his hand inside. Pulled out his engorged cock.
Emma shook her head again and kicked out, kicked and kicked until he grabbed her by an ankle. Gilligan pulled at her leg, and Emma screamed at the pain coursing through her wrists. Her hands were swollen and numb.
Gilligan let go, and she swung backwards and then forward again.
‘Give it to me now!’ he growled and grabbed hold of her jeans’ waistband and yanked her jeans down around her knees. He pulled at her knickers, his fingers scratching the flesh under her abdomen, and ripped them off.
Emma tipped her head back, stared at the beautiful green leaves, at the patches of blue sky she could see. She felt exposed, powerless.
She sensed Gilligan drawing closer.
Lifting her knees up high she kicked out, her feet connecting with Gilligan’s stomach. With a strangled yelp he fell and landed on his bottom.
A bird trilled somewhere in the branches high above.
Gilligan stared at Emma. Without taking his eyes off her he wiped an arm across his face.
He climbed to his feet.
‘When I’m done with you I’m going to enjoy killing you nice and slow,’ he said.
‘You’re pathetic!’ Emma hissed. ‘Look at you, you can’t even get it up.’
Gilligan looked down. He had gone flaccid. He took his penis in his hand and began massaging it.
‘Oh, I’ll show you how hard I can get,’ he said, drawing closer. ‘When I stick my cock up your sweet cunt, you’ll cry out because it’ll be so big, that you will.’
He drew closer still. Emma could feel the heat on him again. His head was by hers as he placed his hands on her buttocks.
Emma twisted her head and clamped her teeth down on Gilligan’s ear. Screaming, he tried to pull away but Emma held on, grinding her teeth together with all the strength she had left. Gilligan tore at her hair, trying to yank her head back.
Still Emma held on, the warm blood spilling into her mouth, the gristle of his ear between her teeth.
Gilligan punched her in the side of the head. His scream had settled into an agonised moan.
He punched her in the head again. Lights flashed in her vision, a grey curtain descended over everything and then lifted again.
Suddenly Gilligan staggered away, free. He had a hand clapped over his ear. Blood spurted from between his fingers.
Emma spat out the piece of ear left in her mouth. Blood dribbled down h
er chin.
‘You bitch!’ he shouted. ‘You stupid, fucking bitch!’
Screwing her eyes shut and then opening them again, Emma worked at staying alert. She felt like she was on the edge of passing out. There was a tremendous roar in her ears as though a steam train was passing through her head.
Gilligan picked up the old lady’s walking stick. The grip end was a mass of matted hair and flesh. He tried snapping the stick in half across his knee, but it wouldn’t break. Instead he leaned it against a tree trunk and stamped on it.
After two attempts, the stick snapped in half.
He picked up one half, the broken end pointed at Emma.
‘I’m going to fuck you,’ he growled. ‘And you’re going to let me, or I will gut you with this.’
Gilligan drew close, pressing the sharp end of the broken walking stick against the flesh of her abdomen.
‘Now hold still,’ he whispered.
Emma was shorter than Gilligan, and the Irishman had to squat to try and get himself in position. He placed one hand against the branch above Emma’s head to help steady himself, but still he couldn’t get into the right position. Emma had to bite down on her lips as his cock rubbed up and down against her stomach.
Finally he stepped back, uttering a howl of desperation.
‘Fuck it,’ he hissed.
He reached up and pulled the belt around Emma’s wrists tight. She cried out, but then her wrists were free as the belt untangled and she dropped to the ground. When her numb hands hit the ground she screamed as white hot pain shot through them and up her arms. Pins and needles began fizzing through her hands as blood was allowed circulation again.
Gilligan pulled his trousers and pants completely off and got down on his knees. Pushing her knees apart he lay down on top of Emma and placed the tip of the broken walking stick against her neck. His breath was stale and hot on her face.
‘Now don’t you try anything stupid again, like biting my other ear,’ Gilligan whispered. ‘You’re going to take this like a good little bitch.’
Emma’s arms were outstretched behind her, her hands tingling painfully where they lay in the long grass.
She spat blood and saliva in his face. Gilligan flinched and then grinned at her.