Harry's Justice

by Andy Wiseman

  He was about to turn away, when movement caught his eye; four people passing the end of the corridor before disappearing from view. Four people who he instantly recognised: Earring, leading the way, closely followed by Stephen, then Izzy, with Eyepatch bringing up the rear. Four people heading in the direction of the gymnasium... and the swimming pool.

  Harry’s vision was blurred with the effort of concentration. He blinked hard, trying to focus. The corridor was empty. Had he just seen what he thought he’d seen? Or did he imagine it? With all that’d happened in the last two weeks, Harry had, on more than one occasion, found himself doubting what was real and what was not. Why were Stephen and Izzy at the club? Harry didn’t suspect Stephen was there on official business, not dressed in a tuxedo and with a civilian in tow - and a reporter, at that. What he was sure of was that it was bound to be trouble.

  A voice cut through his thoughts, drawing his attention. He turned to see an anxious looking Mollie, staring at him, her arms wrapped around her upper body to ward off the evening’s chill. After removing his leather gloves and car key from his coat pockets, he then draped it over Mollie’s shoulders, turning up the collar and pulling it close. ‘Mollie, there’s something I need to do before we can leave. It won’t take long, I promise. Then I’ll take you home, okay?’ She responded with a tentative nod of the head, and even managed a tiny smile.

  Harry pointed the electronic key fob across the car park to where he’d left the car, and then pressed a button. When a clunk was heard and the car’s hazard lights had flashed on to indicate the car was unlocked, Harry gently pushed Mollie in its direction, again promising he wouldn’t be long. He watched her walk across the car park and climb into the car, before turning to re-enter the club.

  CHAPTER 51

  Eyepatch paced back and forth, the electric stun-gun swinging in his hand, impatient. He momentarily paused to check his wristwatch in the singularly lit overhead light, before recommencing his pacing, the stun-gun now rhythmically tapping the side of his leg. Where the hell was Victor, he wondered. Until this unforeseen “business” had arisen, Eyepatch had been on a promise with Irana, one of the hostesses, and at this rate he wasn’t going to make it. Victor didn’t allow the hired help to fraternise with the girls unless they were prepared to pay for it, but the young Russian had never paid for sex in his entire life, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now. What Victor didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  A noise from the far side of the swimming pool drew his attention. He peered into the darkness, the powerful overhead light restricting his range of vision. He called out, demanding a response from his comrade, who he’d sent to adjust the lights and tend to the dogs. The useless fat bastard has probably fallen over, he told himself, not getting an answer.

  Turning his back on the gloom, he looked down at the two inert and hooded figures bound to the plastic chairs, and wondered at the Victor’s constant need for dramatics.

  He circled the chairs, the stun-gun twitching impatiently, as he came to a halt behind the seated figures. He looked down at the hands of the policeman. They were crossed and bound at the wrists with duct tape. He could see a reddening of the skin where the tape was biting into the policeman’s exposed flesh.

  Reaching out, he gently pressed the tip of the gun against Steve’s wrist. He watched with sadistic pleasure as Steve’s body bucked and writhed against his bonds, fighting to escape from the point of pain, his cries of protest muffled. Laughing softly, Eyepatch applied the gun a second and then a third time for good measure. Only when the convulsions had finished coursing through Steve’s body, and he was slumped forward, hooded head hung low and barely conscious, only then did the Russian tire of his victim, to then move on to the next.

  Looming over Izzy, Eyepatch looked down on the hood that covered her head, remembering the faint sprinkling of freckles on her clear complexion, and the big blue eyes that had stared back at him in fear and anger, as he’d taped her mouth and bound her to the chair, but not before she’d lashed out with her foot, catching him in the groin, both surprising and yet arousing him with her fighting spirit. Once each foot had been secured to a chair leg, he’d taken the opportunity to run his hands over her shapely trousered legs and up to her crotch, where his thick fingers had roughly rubbed at her through the cloth that covered her modesty, taking great delight at the look of disgust in her eyes, before then placing the hood over her pretty head. He wondered whether Victor intended to feed the female reporter to the dogs, along with the policeman: probably. It just seemed such a waste. Maybe Victor would let him fuck the bitch, first, he hoped: probably not.

  As he reached over Izzy’s shoulder to undo the single button that held her jacket, she flinched at his unexpected touch and the anticipation of unknown harm. The jacket fell open to reveal a cream satin camisole that shimmered in the light as her body trembled.

  Eyepatch checked his watch once again, to then look up and out into the gloom, only to be greeted by the sounds of scrabbling.

  Placing the stun-gun on a section of scaffolding, he returned his attention to Izzy. Carefully taking the edges of her jacket in his large hands, he gently, almost ritually, peeled it open and back to expose her shoulders, his fingers lightly tracing the line of her collarbone, marvelling at her young, flawless skin.

  Izzy flinched yet again at his touch.

  Eyepatch’s rough hands slid down, catching the delicate fabric, to cover and then grasp Izzy’s breasts. He squeezed hard, his thumbs tracking back and forth over her hardening nipples. His breath caught in his throat as he became aroused to the point where it was painful, his hardness pressing against the nape of Izzy’s neck as he leaned over her. He could feel the blood coursing through him, and with it, a desperate urge that needed to be satisfied.

  Izzy was terrified. She had never been so frightened in all her life. These guys weren’t messing about. They were playing for real. When the huge bald man with the earrings had opened the office door, he had - after his initial surprise at finding them there - calmly taken a mobile phone from his pocket to then make a brief call. At that point, Izzy thought the worst that might happen would be that they would get roughed up a bit, before being thrown out of the club for snooping. That was until the second large bald man with the eye patch and the cruel grin had turned up. That was when Izzy knew they were in serious trouble.

  Izzy was suffering from sensory deprivation. The hood over her head was thick and heavy, making it stiflingly hot and difficult to breathe, and as well as blocking out the light completely, it also muffled sound to an almost inaudible level: though not inaudible enough to block out Steve’s cries of pain as they tortured him. And torture was exactly what it was. She didn’t need to see it to know that. As hard as she tried, she could not block out the images of what they might do to her. At the very least, they would probably rape her, at worst, they would kill her. She just wanted to cry. The grip on her breasts was hard and bruising. She felt a sob welling up in her throat, but swallowed it down. She promised herself that if she were to survive this, she would try to be a better person: a good employee, a dutiful daughter.

  Releasing his grip on Izzy’s breasts, Eyepatch stepped around and in front of her, to then plant a foot either side and straddle her chair. Slowly and methodically he undid the belt to his jeans, followed by the zip, to then ease down both his jeans and underwear, allowing his penis to spring out. He was well-endowed and proud of it. He always enjoyed the look of fear and excitement on a woman’s face when she saw his size for the first time, and he was particularly looking forward to seeing the reaction in the big blue eyes of this feisty young woman.

  Taking his rigid cock in his right hand, he stroked himself, feeling a slight bruising from where the girl had caught him with her foot. Maybe he should make her kiss it better, he thought, with a smile. Enjoying the anticipation of what was to come, he reached out and grasped the cloth hood to remove it, but then hesitated when the thought that the bitch might bite him crossed his
mind, until he remembered the stun-gun and its persuasive powers.

  With his smile turning to a broad grin, confident that the gun would teach the girl some manners, he released his grip on the hood, to then turn and reach out for it.

  But it wasn’t there.

  With his cock still in his right hand, his left arm still outstretched and with a look of confusion and bewilderment upon his face, Eyepatch stood frozen, unmoving; questioning his own sanity and memory. That was until a faint sound caught his attention, breaking the spell. The faint sound of a click. The faint sound of a repeated click. A ratchet type of sound.

  As he frantically searched the gloom, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound, he felt a brief and unpleasant sensation: unpleasant because it was the sensation of fear, brief because he wouldn’t have to experience it for too long.

  A black tubular shape shot out of the darkness, lunging towards his head. Torn between pulling up his jeans to allow himself greater mobility and defending himself from attack, the big Russian hesitated before finally throwing his hands up to protect himself.

  He hesitated too long.

  He felt the tip of the stun-gun being brutally rammed up against his remaining eye, the agonizing pain from its impact becoming seemingly paltry the moment Harry pressed the button and five hundred thousand volts burnt out his cornea and part of his brain.

  Izzy had felt her tormentor move from behind her to stand somewhere in front, where, she couldn’t be sure, but guessed he was still close. She held her breath: body taut with tension and fear, ears straining until he suddenly moved, making body contact and causing Izzy to cry out in response.

  For a heartbeat moment, nothing happened. She sensed he was facing towards her and she sensed she knew the reason why, just as she’d sensed an urgency as his large rough hands had moved over her body; she knew he was aroused.

  When she heard the muffled yet unmistakable sound of a zipper, she knew what he intended to do, and she felt sick to her stomach at the thought of it. She felt a hand on the cloth that covered her head. She braced herself for what was about to happen, unsure what to do. Should she fight? Should she comply? She had to survive.

  She felt sick.

  But then something happened. She sensed a change. The hood stayed on and her tormentor’s hand moved away. He was completely still. Unmoving. If his legs had not been making bodily contact, she would not have known he was there. Then, as she heard what sounded like a muffled cry of pain, she felt the man standing before her violently move, stumbling as though in a hurry, body contact completely broken.

  Silence.

  She sat still, straining to hear. Waiting.

  Nothing.

  Was this a trick, she wondered. Had he gone away? Was this just another way to torment her? She couldn’t hear a thing. She couldn’t sense anything - or anyone. She wondered how Steve was and if he was okay. She had the awful feeling they’d killed him. She felt a huge wave of remorse. She felt responsible for involving him in this foolish and now fatal escapade.

  She felt a pair of hands touch hers. She gasped. She heard a faint ‘snick’, sound. She went rigid with fear.

  He’d come back.

  Yet the touch felt different, as the tape that bound her wrists was being cut. It felt gentle, almost caring. She then felt the same gentle hands carefully cutting through the tape that bound her ankles.

  Her bonds had been cut. She was free.

  Or was she?

  She held her breath, her body still taut with tension.

  And still she waited.

  In one quick and fluid movement, the cloth hood was whipped off, the overhead light suddenly blindingly bright, forcing her to clamp her eyes tightly shut. Just as she did so, the ‘gentle’ hands ripped off the tape that covered her mouth, causing her to squeal in pain and raise her hands instinctively towards her face, using them, now in absence of the hood, to shield her eyes. She blinked rapidly, eyes stinging with tears, unable to focus on the dark shadow that towered over her, before it moved to crouch over another figure, slumped on a chair a few feet away: Steve.

  She saw the crouching figure release Steve from his bonds, saw it check on his physical condition, and then - with their heads close, their foreheads almost touching -talk to Steve in a low and compassionate tone - to which she was sure she heard Steve respond - before standing and turning back to her.

  Izzy was still sitting and still squinting through spread fingers, as the back-lit shadowy figure moved towards her. Something tugged at her memory. Something seemed familiar.

  She tentatively rose, taking a hesitant step backwards, unsure. From a standing position she found the angle and intensity of the overhead light eased considerably, and her vision start to return.

  The tall shadowy figure started to take form. It was a man with close cropped hair, and who appeared to be smartly dressed. She still couldn’t quite make out the facial features. She watched him take another step towards her. Instead of retreating, she stood her ground, frowning as she did so and blinking hard, trying to focus.

  Something familiar... confident... swagger...

  Izzy could see facial features starting to become clear. The first was a lazy grin. A big lazy grin. ‘Oh-me-God!’ she exclaimed, her hands flying to her mouth, her eyes going wide, beginning to fill with tears. ‘Harry? Is that you?’

  ‘In the flesh,’ he said.

  Without warning, Izzy threw herself at him, locking her arms tightly around his neck, and then burying her face deep into his shoulder.

  Harry felt her body heave under the muffled sobs. He felt the tears of relief on his neck. He wrapped his arms tightly around her. She felt good. ‘Missed me?’ he said, quietly into her ear.

  Izzy’s response was a muffled, ‘Fuck, yeah!’

  After a moment, she stepped back, self-conscious, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand, smearing her mascara. Her vision fully restored, she looked Harry up and down, taking in the well fitting suit and the new haircut - and the leather gloves. ‘You look... hot! ...different,’ she said, finally.

  ‘It has been said,’ he replied.

  ‘You look... like Jason Statham.’

  Both Harry’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I think I can live with that,’ he said.

  A polite cough caught their attention. Steve was now standing, but leaning heavily on the back of his chair for support. Seeing him, Izzy hurried over to embrace him in a concerned, sisterly-type hug.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ said Harry to Steve, joining them.

  ‘A little unsteady,’ replied an ashen looking Steve. ‘What did they do to me?’

  ‘Electric stun-gun,’ replied Harry. ‘You were lucky. They had it on a low setting. They were only toying with you. They were probably saving you for the final act. The grand finale.’

  ‘Which would be what?’ asked Steve, with a look of puzzlement.

  With half a glance over his shoulder in the direction of the swimming pool, Harry replied, ‘Feeding time.’

  Izzy started to speak, ‘Feeding -’

  ‘You both have to leave, and you have to leave now,’ interrupted Harry. ‘All the players aren’t here yet, and the final act has yet to be performed. It’s better if neither of you are here when it is.’ Harry looked into their faces. He saw doubt and he saw resistance. Turning to Steve, he said, ‘You’re not here in an official capacity, are you? You haven’t got a warrant, have you, Steve?’

  Steve shook his head, reluctantly. ‘No. We’re here unofficially. It was my idea,’ he said, briefly flicking a glance at Izzy before carrying on. ‘The funny thing is though, Harry, neither of us is carrying ID, just in case we did get caught, yet they seemed to know who we were.’

  There was no doubt in Harry’s mind as to whose idea it had been to visit the club, but now was not the time for blame. ‘There’s a lot going on here. A lot has already gone on. And there’s more yet to happen. Believe me, you do not want to get involved. This could ruin your careers. You’re best off out o
f it. I’ll deal with this. I’ve got nothing to lose.’

  When Izzy opened her mouth to protest, Harry shook his head. Both Steve and Izzy could see that Harry’s mind was made up.

  ‘I want you both to leave, and I want you to leave now,’ he continued. Then, to their surprise, ‘Mollie’s waiting in the overspill car park. Take her home.’ Turning to Steve, ‘She doesn’t know about her father, yet.’

  Steve nodded, understanding and accepting.

  Harry then reached behind and under his jacket to the small of his back, to withdraw a cream clutch purse from the waistband of his trousers. Passing it to Izzy, he said, ‘I’m guessing this is yours. I got it off a fat bloke with a Russian accent.’

  Izzy quickly dug into it, before triumphantly bringing out the memory stick which she then held aloft. ‘Evidence!’ Then, seeing the look on Steve’s face, she added, ‘Okay, I’ll send it in as an anonymous tip-off.’ Steve nodded. ‘Oh,’ she then said, remembering. ‘I did a Land Registry Search on this club before we came here. I know who owns it,’ she told them, looking at Harry, while avoiding Steve’s curious gaze, whom she’d ‘neglected’ to tell. Harry looked back, waiting. ‘Henry Solomon,’ she said, and when Harry simply nodded, ‘You knew?’ was her response.

  ‘Let’s say, I’m not surprised.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Izzy, again, having another thought. ‘I’m driving a Smart Car.’ When both Steve and Harry looked at her blankly, she continued, ‘It’s a two-seater.’

  ‘Black and red?’ asked Harry. When Izzy nodded, surprised, Harry said, ‘We’ll swap. You take mine. Mollie’s already sitting in it.’

  ‘You’ve got a car?’ said Steve, a little surprised. ‘I thought you’d given up on those kinds of trappings?’

  ‘Err, sort of,’ said Harry, while searching his pocket for the car key, before then holding it out towards Steve.