UNCONSECRATED GROUND

by Mark Woolridge

  As she didn't smoke Penny hadn't lingered over the small print. Instead she'd concentrated on the option for immediate delivery (in plain brown paper, of course) and taken no notice of the size.

  Fifteen inches!

  And two and a half in diameter!

  When she'd gone back online to double-check, she found she'd been on a large dildo site. And that she'd been fooled by the pictures, going for shape without even considering dimensions, specifications or recommendations.

  Fifteen inches!

  Even Rick didn't have fifteen inches . . .

  Maybe nine or ten . . .

  At first the toy had been too much. She couldn’t possibly imagine herself ever using it, so she'd locked it away and pretended it didn't exist. Even now, ridiculously aroused as she was, she wasn't tempted to try.

  Well . . . not much.

  Twenty-five pounds though . . .

  Excited and more than a little shocked by her impulsiveness, Penny had done some research while she waited for her purchase to arrive. Being thorough by nature, she'd visited fifty different porn sites and discovered a hundred and one different ways for a dildo to be used, as well as the obvious. So . . . ooo . . .

  Smiling a brave, determined smile, every muscle in her belly fluttering, she ran the toy along the inside of her leg.

  It's Rick's thingy, she thought. That's what made me buy it . . . because its picture reminded me of how Rick's thingy looks. No, not his thingy . . . if I'm going to behave like a naughty porn star it's not his thingy, it's his cock. And he's still up and ready for more.

  ‘So am I,' she said aloud. 'But you're too big nowadays. We'll have to do something else.'

  The fantasy version of Rick moved his cock off her leg, onto her tummy.

  ‘My, my,' she breathed. 'You are bold!'

  Still smiling, Penny realized she had an audience. Looking over Rick's sweating, muscular back she could see Captain Jack and half of his crew standing to the left at the foot of her bed. The three most enthusiastic Amazonians were standing to the right.

  ‘Go on,' one of girls cried, like a cheerleader. 'Give it some!'

  ‘Go Penny!' the other two yelled. 'Go Penny!'

  Penny prodded her bellybutton with the tip of Rick's cock before slowly rolling it up her body, finally nestling it between her boobs. Acting impulsively again, she used her right arm to pull herself tightly around him, using her left to sort of wiggle him up and down.

  Instant ecstasy.

  ‘Oh yes,' the chief cheerleader enthused, 'he's going to cum.'

  Penny hadn't used the word cum since she was a teenager. And, seeing as Rick's cock wasn't even a real one, she knew it wasn't possible for him to cum. Her imagination was, however, a powerful thing. While the cheerleaders cheered he squirted at least half a pint of make-believe semen over her, coating her neck and most of her face.

  ‘No flopping,' she said, laying Rick's (almost) imaginary hardness along her cheek. Then she pointed it at the ceiling and kissed it. Starting at the base and moving up, an inch at a time. Counting him off at two pounds a kiss. Oh yes, talk about value for money!

  ‘Cum for me again,' she said, using her tongue to lash the big helmet at the end of his . . . his cock.

  Captain Jack was applauding sardonically, his eyes blazing with glee. His crew looked less gleeful; they were all grim-faced and engaged in frantic self-abuse. The Amazonians were dancing up and down, screaming, 'Go Penny! Go Penny!'

  During her research Penny had been bemused when she saw girls fellating artificial thingies. How can they get anything out of that? she'd wondered. Right now she was getting every thrill in the world out of it.

  ‘Go Penny! Go Penny!'

  Penny swallowed another make-believe squirt of semen then moved Rick's cock back down her body. It was as hard and eager as ever. So was she; she had two buzzing bell-pushes crowning her breasts and an even harder bell-push throbbing between her legs.

  ‘You're so big,' she sighed. 'I couldn't possibly . . .'

  The fantasy muscles on Rick's back rippled beneath her fingers. Penny noticed the duvet was slipping again and helped it on its way with a kick.

  ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘What’s this?’

  It was Rick’s cock. Somehow it had bypassed the lower bell-push and was storming her gates.

  ‘Go Penny! Go Penny!'

  ‘I can't,' she grumbled.

  But Rick pushed against her and, amazingly enough, she found that she could.

  * * *

  Barney had got the back-up genny going, lighting the interior of The Black Horse in spite of the boarded-over windows, making it look like a pub again. Even the electric beer pumps were glowing on the bar top. It was a shame there wasn’t any booze on the premises; they could have had an aperitif.

  Save that for tonight, thought Harry, we can drink when the war is won.

  He grinned as he stood there, the centre of attention. Victory was close now, so close it tasted better than best bitter.

  After all these years . . .

  Jonjo had done a good job with the recruiting. There were thirty guys present, gathered around on stools and chairs, not a tosser or waster to be seen. They were tried and trusted to a man and his state-of-the-nation had been well-received. Everybody was primed for the attack. All that remained was to tell them how and when.

  ‘Right,’ Harry resumed, ‘if anyone's got a pressing engagement, now's the time to stand up and confess.’

  There was plenty of laughter but no takers.

  ‘Most of Dwyer's business is invisible,’ he went on. ‘So we're going to fuck the bits that aren’t. I want a team of four to hit that new eating place of his at half eight, when it's busiest. There won’t be any of Dwyer's lads there, so nothing extreme. The team leader takes a shotgun with him, to do that fancy plate-glass window on the way out. Everyone else takes cans of spray paint, to do the customers' nice jackets and dresses. Okay?’

  He waited to see the nods before continuing.

  ‘No physical violence on that job. Not unless Marco Pierre tries anything, then a good kicking is the dish of the day. And don't go soft on fucking Marco. He might look like a harmless fat puff, but he's got his hand on the waitresses' arses all the time. Only the really young ones, mind. He should be put on a list.’

  Glowers from the audience; there'd be no shortage of volunteers for fucking Marco.

  ‘Okay,’ said Harry. ‘The serious action goes down next door, same time, in The Kings Head. That's where we're likely to find some opposition, so I want a team of eight in there. And they all have to know Dwyer's lads, because we're blasting everyone we recognize.’

  A murmur went round at that. Harry waved his hand to stop it.

  ‘I'm only expecting two or three of the bastards, no more. So only three of us are carrying. The other five are taking Louisville Sluggers. Jonjo’s leading that team. He’ll give the final word whether to shoot or not. And listen to him, for fuck’s sake. We don't want any mistakes. If in doubt, don't do it. Trash the pub instead. Pretend you're closing down a speakeasy in a black and white film.’

  Pride burnt inside Harry’s chest. Nobody gave a monkey’s about the late Bunny Burrows but that didn't matter, he still had enough wannabe shooters to fill a dozen places.

  ‘There’s a special prize at stake in The Kings Head,’ he said with another grin. ‘For Dwyer’s head. Jonjo will explain the details later. All right?’

  Enthusiastic voices confirmed it was indeed all right.

  ‘The fun job is at Kings Cars. There won't be anyone there late on, so I only want a team of four. We're going to cut the locks, ignore the alarms and torch every motor we see. Might as well torch the office too. Let’s burn the whole fucking deal to the ground. That's sixteen of us on the front line. Plus eight more as support, ready to chip in if needed. And drivers for six cars. Does that make sense?’

  Another unanimous set of nods made Harry grin yet again. He was in tune with everyone and with what they were thinking.
Expressions didn't come into it. They were all trying to look keen but he knew exactly what each wanted to do. Today nobody was going to be disappointed. This was the big one and no time for experiments.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘The other team leaders are . . .’

  Gunfire interrupted; an eerily muted hailstorm of gunfire. Wood splintered and glass shattered as a torrent of otherwise noiseless lead came in through the window behind Harry, narrowly missing him.

  ‘Fuck me!’ he yelled, throwing himself to the floor.

  Pub furniture tumbled as everyone followed suit, pressing their bodies as flat as possible while bullets ripped over them and punched into the opposite wall. The onslaught was fearsome but brief. When it stopped there were bewildered shouts and some of the idiots started to get up.

  ‘No!’ Harry bellowed. ‘Stay down, all of you! Down!’

  Most obeyed but Baz didn’t seem to understand. Doing a fair impression of The Scream, he panicked and ran in ever-decreasing circles in the middle of the room. Jonjo, keeping low, tried to grab him but was too late; a fresh burst cut Baz in half.

  ‘Shit!’ Jonjo cried as blood and intestines spilled over him.

  The second burst ended and, before anyone could make a dash for the back door, Mike McGuire announced his presence by kicking it open. There were two other guys with him but it was Mike who caught everybody's attention. He was wearing combat gear that showed off his muscles, and was carrying a machine gun that must have normally taken two men to operate. Mike let them know he meant business by firing into the ceiling, letting the chain feed itself through. There was nothing muted about that fire; its sheer power was terrifying. Chunks of plaster and bits of floorboard rained down on the cowering men as gaping holes were torn above them.

  Silence descended. Well, relative silence. The car park outside suddenly sounded to be full of pneumatic drills. Harry guessed that was the McGuires’ cover for all the shooting. It would blend in with the contractors who were hammering away at Leeds Road, as per always.

  What the fuck is this, he wondered helplessly.

  Mike blocked the only exit while his more lightly-armed comrades fanned out. ‘Try it,’ he roared. ‘Come on you English bastards, just fucking try it!’

  * * *

  No-one tried anything. The pride of the Williamsons stayed where they were, lying among overturned stools and chairs, slivers of broken glass and piles of wrecked ceiling, watching Joey arrive with a very ill Arthur Laing over his shoulder. Joey dumped Arthur in front of the bar then produced a gigantic handgun.

  ‘Desert Eagle,’ he said to Jonjo, who was lying under a slice of Baz's corpse. ‘Fucking ace, isn't it? I've always wanted one of these.’

  Leaving Mike and the other two controlling the situation, the older Irishman checked out the rest of the building.

  ‘We're alone,’ he announced as he strode back into the lounge. ‘Apart from the Shipley Dodgers’ set of baseball bats. And a shedload of weapons in the beer cellar, a lot of them strangely familiar.’

  ‘You mean our fucking weapons,’ his brother growled.

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘You robbing twats,’ Harry snapped, unable to contain himself.

  ‘Us?’ Mike laughed harshly. ‘Ask Laing who's a robbing twat.’

  Arthur was still lying where Joey had dumped him, bleeding into the carpet and not moving. He didn’t look good.

  ‘I loosened his tourniquets,’ Joey said, making his way behind the bar. ‘Although probably too late. You shouldn't use them for long. A mate of mine lost a leg like that in Armagh. Sad to say, Mr Laing's headed in the same direction. He’s probably going to lose 'em both. Not that his legs should be his major concern just now.’ He tapped the bar top like a jovial landlord. ‘Right lads, what are we having?’

  ‘Just get on with it,’ snarled Harry.

  ‘You mean cut the small talk?’

  ‘I mean just fucking get on with it. Whatever it is.’

  ‘Okay then’ Joey pointed down at Arthur. ‘That bastard did our safe last night. Twelve grand, he got. Or rather, his mate got. All he got was shot up while our security guard was getting whacked. He's stubborn though. Won't tell us who was with him. Or who told him about the safe in the first place.’

  He nodded at Harry and Jonjo before continuing. ‘Now, there are two people in this room who knew about the safe. It’s fair to say they could have guessed it was stuffed with cash. But they’ll save. What I want right now is the bastard who whacked Dave Peters. I don't suppose anyone's going to admit it? Or grass him up?’

  Nobody said a word.

  ‘That's what I thought,’ Joey said. ‘You . . .’ he pointed the Desert Eagle at random, picking out Driller Killer, ‘on your feet.’

  Driller slowly got up.

  ‘Come to me,’ Joey said. ‘The witness has permission to approach the bar.’

  All eyes moved to Harry. Expectancy hung heavy.

  ‘Go on,’ he said in a strangled voice. ‘Do what the man says.’

  Driller was subservient to Harry but no-one else. Or so he claimed. Keeping up the front, he strutted forward and stopped a yard from the beer pumps, glaring defiantly at Joey.

  ‘Were you involved last night?’ the Irishman asked, jovial as ever.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me who was?’

  ‘Fuck off. I'm no grass.’

  Joey laughed. ‘Is that your final answer?’

  Harry saw just the faintest flicker of doubt in Driller's eyes as he said, ‘I told you, I'm not a fucking grass.’

  ‘Good on you,’ Joey said, still smiling as he pulled the trigger.

  Driller's head exploded like something out of a movie. Or maybe not. Harry was startled by the violence of it. There was no neat circle and polite jet of blood. Oh no. The gun fired and suddenly a hand grenade went off inside Driller’s skull.

  Fuck, thought Harry.

  Driller’s body remained upright for a split second then toppled to the floor, gushing gore and scrambled grey matter across the carpet.

  ‘Right,’ Joey said, pointing the Desert Eagle at the youngest lad in the room. ‘Come to me.’

  Harry wanted to scream. Norman wasn't even twenty-one. He was capable and keen but had been heading for tonight's back-up team. He was white-faced and physically shaking as he halted at the bar.

  ‘Were you involved last night?’

  ‘N-n-no.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me who was?’

  Norman took a desperate glance at his cringing leader before saying, ‘I don't know who did it. Honest, I don't.’

  ‘Okay,’ Joey said. ‘Go sit over there.’

  The lad looked uncertainly at Joey then set off where he’d indicated, towards some still upright seats against the far wall. Joey let him go a few paces then called, ‘Hey, kid . . . I forgot something.’

  Norman stopped in his tracks. As he turned Joey blasted him twice in the chest and he flew backwards before dropping like a brick.

  Mike calmed Harry's enraged men with another burst over their heads. He was still holding the massive gun as if it was weightless and the chain of ammunition still looked virtually full.

  ‘Try it,’ he bellowed. ‘Just try it!’

  The impact of this latest burst was as terrifying as the first. Although it went into the front wall plaster fell from above and splintered beams creaked and groaned. There was more chance of the roof caving in than of anyone resisting. The overhead lights, which had somehow survived throughout, swung wildly.

  ‘For fuck's sake,’ said Harry. ‘Stop this madness. If you're going to top me, just do it. This lot haven't done your safe.’

  Joey rounded on him. ‘Is that a confession?’

  ‘Is it fuck.’

  ‘In that case we'll carry on a bit.’ The fearsome handgun settled on Barney. ‘You there; please approach the bar.’

  Barney was incredibly cool. He matched Joey smile for smile.

  ‘Were you involved last night?�
�

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me who was?’

  ‘Nobody here,’ Barney said evenly. ‘Not with Arthur. I've known him all my life and he's a good lad. But the booze has taken over. He's let us down too many times. Harry blew him out ages ago.’

  ‘Is that your final answer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay,’ Joey said. ‘Sit over there.’

  Barney's smile became pitying. ‘I’ll say the same as Harry. If you're going to top me, just do it. Don't play games.’

  ‘No games. Go sit down.’

  Everyone in the room waited for the shots but they never came. When Barney was seated Joey summoned Harry.

  ‘I'm touched by the loyalty,’ he said. ‘You're volunteering to die to save your boys. Your boys are standing by you with guns in their faces. It's a proper little love-in. And not a mobile to be seen. I didn’t even need to warn ‘em about making calls, did I?’

  Harry couldn't decide if he was trembling through fear or rage. Rage was probably edging it. For the first time in his life he bit his tongue and said nothing.

  ‘Right, Harry, I know you were involved, so only one question for you . . .’

  ‘Was I fuck involved.’

  ‘What's this then, Scotch mist?’ Joey held a beer mat up, waving it for everyone to see before putting it on the bar top, letting his latest witness read its message. ‘Isn’t that your invitation telling Arthur to come back, all is forgiven?’

  Harry couldn't believe his eyes. He'd know that writing anywhere. There had to be some mistake.

  * * *

  It was mid-afternoon by the time Penny showered, choosing the main bathroom because the shower there was spacy and she was accompanied by three Amazonian cheerleaders and a still-fully-aroused Rick. Eventually, however, she'd had enough so, one by one, she kissed them goodbye and waved them away.

  ‘Alone at last,' she muttered, and then glanced at the sex toy clasped in her left hand.

  ‘Penelope,' she said sternly, 'whatever you do, do not leave that in here. Jamie might see the funny side but the girls would go spare. And as for Geoff . . .'