101 People to Kill Before I Die

by Anthony O'Connor

  "Frank, do you mind having a look at these? See if you recognize anyone."

  Frank took the sheet and looked at it carefully. He responded almost immediately. He pointed to the third image on the top row.

  "That's him. That's him."

  Branton asked him,

  "Are you certain? You were ah … upside down. Not a clear line of sight."

  Frank replied angrily,

  "Absolutely certain. I'll never forget that face."

  Branton passed the sheet to Morton, pointing to the third image on the top row. David Morton grunted,

  "Brian fucking Samuals." He paused. Then he asked Branton, "Do you think he did the other four as well?"

  Branton nodded.

  "I'd say so. Four CEOs of the four major banks, and an unfortunate house guest. And four fucking Chihuahuas. All in one night. A political statement, maybe. We'll see what forensics comes up with. Then there's all the traffic cams to go through. but it'll be him. And of course, we’ll check the car. But it’ll be stolen."

  David Morton scowled,

  "What is wrong with this cunt?"

  Branton nodded. Then he asserted firmly,

  "Don’t know. No fucking idea. But we'll get him."

  They were both angry now. Brian Samuals was making a fool of them and killing a lot of innocent people. They started walking out of the room. Frank remained seated on the chair. They turned back towards him, finally unable to contain their amusement and contempt. Branton asked him,

  "Hey Frank. Did your wife make you wear panties the rest of the time? You know, when she wasn't fucking you or whipping your ass."

  Frank didn’t reply. They were openly sniggering as they left.

  Chapter 13. Joint Task Force.

  I slept in Sunday morning, didn’t get up until 9:00 or 9:30 AM. I was tossing and turning all night, assaulted by an endless barrage of cruel and twisted nightmares. A pack of whip wielding giant-sized dominatrices hunting me down through endless variations of time and place, large dogs with ... ughhh. I woke up with a jump. Natasha was waiting for me. She'd put on the soft white negligee she'd purchased earlier in the week. The top part nicely emphasized the shape of her tits and underneath at the bottom I could still see a glimpse of the little silver chastity belt between her legs. Standing at the side of the bed smiling at me sweetly, she blew me a kiss. And then she simply said,

  "Good morning Brian."

  I replied, still a bit groggy,

  "Good morning Natasha."

  I remembered. Oh yes. Today was the day. I got out of bed, had a quick shower. Natasha left me alone for once. She'd ordered up some breakfast. We sat down together. Bacon and eggs, orange juice, toast, coffee. We took our time, enjoying it, not saying much. Finally, Natasha, who had been remarkably patient so far, spoke out with barely restrained enthusiasm,

  "Ready for the second exercise Brian?"

  I looked at her. So radiantly beautiful and on this morning so oddly demure. I started getting a boner. A big one. I grunted back,

  "Oh yeah."

  I unlocked the chastity belt and threw it into the corner of the room. Natasha giggled with delight, moving her hips around, luxuriating in her sudden freedom. Then with a gleam in her eye she advanced towards me. I was equally excited. There was no way on earth this was going to last seven hours.

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  Police Commissioner Sally Brown had called an emergency meeting at the new Victoria Police Headquarters in Spencer Street. They met at 10:00 AM on the Sunday morning, December 15th. A large number of senior law enforcement officers were present, including : Deputy Commissioner John Merton, Assistant Commissioner Michael Branton in charge of the Major Crimes Command, Assistant Commissioners Smith and Jones in charge of the Eastern and South-Eastern Commands respectively, Bobby Fuller head of the Australian Federal Police Counter Terrorist Unit, Pierre Moreau the head of Interpol’s Paris office, Boris Harlow an adviser from the British High Commission, Chuck Miller an advisor from the American Embassy, Commander David Morton in charge of the Special Operations Groups and several of his senior officers and Detective Chief Inspector Jack Williams acting commander of the Organized Crime Division. The commander of the Organized Crime Division Nigel Field was now confirmed to be dead. His body was found discarded in a stream only the day before. Jack Williams' permanent promotion to the more senior role was now a formality but not yet finalized. There were many others present as well.

  The conference room was crowded. There was just enough room to fit everyone in. The topic under discussion was the recent and ongoing spate of killings by Brian Samuals and how best to capture him or kill him. He was becoming a real pain in the ass. Pressure from above had ramped up exponentially overnight. You do not kill bankers, or for that matter US Ambassadors or State Premiers. They all knew that talk of capturing him alive was merely a polite fiction. They were going to kill the son of a bitch. The sooner the better.

  Sally Brown waited for them to quiet down. Then she addressed them.

  "Thanks everyone for getting here on such short notice. We have a serious problem."

  There were several expressions of assent. Sally continued,

  "I'd like to make a special welcome to our foreign visitors, Pierre Moreau from Interpol, Boris Harlow from the British High Commission and Chuck Miller from the American Embassy. They'll be working with us on this case in an advisory role."

  A few of the police officers turned and looked in their direction. Everyone in the room knew that Boris was MI6 and that Chuck was CIA. Pierre was probably DGSE. There were several anonymous Australian officials present wearing suits rather than uniforms. Everyone knew they were ASIO or ASIS. This case had gone up to the highest levels. They all knew that their political masters and their masters above them wanted the situation dealt with as quickly and efficiently as possible. You really do not kill Bankers. That was cutting it too close to the top. Brian's head on a stick would placate them, just barely.

  Sally pointed to Michael Branton who got up and joined her at the front of the room. Sally said,

  "You all know Assistant Commissioner Michael Branton. He'll be leading this investigation. I'll hand over to him so he can get us all up to speed."

  She stepped back. Branton moved so as to be in front of the microphone.

  "OK. Welcome everyone. I'm having folders prepared. They'll be in your inbox by the time we finish here. But we'll just go over a few things verbally."

  They all sat there, waiting patiently. Branton rolled down a screen and turned on the projector. The first picture was one of Brian Samuals taken when he was imprisoned three years earlier. He looked a bit haggard and not happy. They all stared at him. Branton said,

  "This is our suspect, Brian Samuals. He's now forty-five years old. All his details are in the folder. He did thirteen years in the Army, the Infantry, straight out of school. Promoted to sergeant. Saw combat in Iraq and Afghanistan. Resigned when he got back home. Ten years with the Victoria police. He was a detective senior constable on the Fraud Squad - his partner was Jack Williams."

  He pointed to Jack Williams, who just stared back at him. A few of the officers turned to look at Jack, curious. Branton continued,

  "He was married, one child - a seven-year old daughter. Three years ago, he was convicted of Fraud. Stole two million dollars from the Fraud Squad’s secret informant’s fund. Or tried to. He was dismissed from the Police. He was sentenced to three years, sent down to Barwon. But he was out on parole in one."

  There were a few groans in response to this. All too familiar. Branton ignored this, and continued with his summary.

  "His wife divorced him and he was declared bankrupt. After a year on parole he moved to Sydney. Somehow, and we're not sure how, he got a NSW government job in Sydney. Department of Education. Middle management. Desk jockey. Been there a year. We've interviewed some of his co-workers. They all thought he was a bit of an asshole. Complete misfit. Hated his job. Most of them h
ated him."

  He paused. Looked around. They were all listening carefully. They were all keen to get some understanding of their target - anything that would help them hunt him down and kill him. Branton spoke again.

  "So, two weeks ago, Saturday November 30, he started up on his killing spree. We have no idea what kicked it off. But we're checking out everything we can. On the Saturday, he drove down to Melbourne - we've got him on traffic cams. On the way, he stopped off at Wagga Wagga to kill Mr. and Mrs. Williamson. Killed them with an axe." He selected the next picture which showed the first murder scene. "As you can see a very savage attack. No restraint at all. A motorist was also axe murdered, just a block away. Same time. Had to be Samuals. We have no idea why he killed the motorist, but as for Mr. and Mrs. Williamson we know that he has always accused them of stealing a winning lottery ticket from him. Seven million dollars. People have been killed for a lot less than that."

  Many of the officers were nodding in agreement. They all remembered various cases.

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  I was sitting on a chair, well balanced, straight back. Natasha was straddling me, sitting on my lap, facing me, legs apart, fully impaled on my dick. She was kissing me and moving herself up and down, slowly, very slowly. I was assisting with this, cupping her bottom in my palms, gently helping her to move. We'd been at it for some time. The whole point of the Nava-Tantra is to take it slow, very slow. With just enough contact and friction to keep the relevant bits interested. You are meant to empty the mind and meditate, get all spiritual, while rubbing up against each other, massaging each other, licking, kissing, etc. etc. I wasn’t that big on meditation or getting spiritual. But I did have to distract myself from the obvious. I thought of the books we'd downloaded on Tantric Sex. There were some beginners' guides which were basically rubbish. Cheap knockoffs. The Mahanirvana Tantra (the Tantra of the Great Liberation) was interesting though. It was an ancient Hindu text - or possibly an 18th century forgery. In it the God Shiva and the Goddess Shaki get together and have a discussion on how to have the most epic, most monumental fucking shag in the history of the universe. Get all that kundalini energy flowing through all those fucking chakras. Lingam and yoni yearning for each other throughout the ages. If you don’t know which is which it’s pretty fucking obvious just from the sound and the shape of the words. Lingam and yoni yearning to embrace and merge and become as gods. Just be careful you don’t blow your fucking eyeballs out at the end.

  Natasha moved in an unexpected direction. I groaned. I became acutely aware of our relative body positions. Distract. Distract. Yeah, right! God! I could feel everything. Sometimes I wonder how my dick even fits all the way in! I've got a decent sized one, just a fraction over ten inches, a good width too. Sometimes, with smaller girls it doesn’t fit. That’s a deal killer. See you babe. Next. But usually it does. Sometimes I wish my dick was bigger. Rules out a few more girls but it would be worth it. Another inch or two. That'd be something. But oh well you can’t have everything. As I said the Mahanirvana Tantra recommended meditation and vacating your mind in order to let the pleasure grow slowly and steadily. Yeah, fuck that. But it was certainly necessary to let the mind wander, get distracted. Get too aware of, too focused, on 130 pounds of soft, gorgeously feminine Natasha moving her sweetly curved ass up and down on my penis, milking it, her breasts rubbing up against my chest. Yeah well, I wasn’t going to last too fucking long if I did that, was I?

  The longer you go the better it is though. I groaned. The second exercise recommended seven hours for beginners. There's no fucking way I was going to make that. Natasha smiled at me and whispered,

  "Don’t worry, honey. Empty your mind. Just be. Let it flow."

  Let it flow! Yeah it was gonna flow like fucking Krakatoa any minute now. I glanced at the clock on the wall. One hour down, six to go. Fuck! Natasha did seem to be enjoying it though, purring and murmuring the whole time. She'd had two or three orgasms already. I think that the Mahanirvana was definitely written by a female. The whole concept of Tantric Sex was a conspiracy devised by them for their own benefit. But I'd agreed to this. I wanted to keep her happy. So, stare at the roof and think of England! Think of anything else. How is that even possible? The naked female body hijacks the male brain, right in the fucking brain stem. You cannot think of anything else. You cannot want to think of anything else. My mind was the exact opposite of calm and empty. Growing fucking turmoil, aching desire building up and up, endlessly, explosively. I began to fear that this was too much, the pleasure was too great already, that this could even kill me. I was a fucking dead man. But then again, I already was and this was a better way to go than any other. But Oh Lord don’t let me go before I blow - that'd be just fucking unfair.

  ------------------------------------------------

  Michael Branton was still speaking, showing pictures as he went through the list of victims.

  "On Wednesday night at a strip club he shot and killed Constantine Alexandrovistch the son of Dmitri Alexandrovistch, a Russian gangster, one of the worst. There were two hit men with him - Boris Ivanov and Vadim Smirnov. They work for Alexandrovistch. We think they were abducting the girl, Natasha Brown. She was the girlfriend of Wayne Cummings a hacker that probably had just been murdered by Boris and Vadim. Brian Samuals intervened. You've all seen the video. He used a Glock. Between Saturday and Wednesday, he must have been in Melbourne getting the weapons. We don’t know where from but we're investigating that. Of course, as we all know by now, on Friday afternoon December 6th, a week and two days ago, he killed Premier Smith, Ambassador Glendale and ten Protective Services officers using an RPG-8 rocket launcher. The bastard used thermobaric rounds. We found the weapon discarded on the roof of the Collins Building just across the street. We have some fingerprints and some DNA from hair. They’ve been confirmed against his prison records."

  He showed pictures of the carnage - the charred, burnt bodies. There was a strong response to this. Various comments. No-one liked cop killers. Branton pushed on.

  "We don’t know what his motive was. We’re still looking into that. He doesn’t appear to have any political connections. No known extremist views. Frankly it’s a puzzle why he chose them as a target. In the week after that we've linked him in with two murders. The first looks like pure revenge. Russel Goodman. He did time with Samuals in Barwon for drug offences. Possession and dealing. He stabbed Samuals with a shiv, nearly killed him."

  Branton put up a picture of Goodman’s bullet ridden corpse.

  "Payback. I'd say"

  They all agreed. No-one gave a shit about a pot-head and a convicted drug dealer. Branton shrugged. He put up the next picture.

  "All right. The next victim was Tony Jensen, a research and development manager at one of the banks. Beaten to death with a baseball bat. There are traffic cams and a couple of witnesses saw Samuals go in. We're sure it was Samuals. We have no idea why he did it or what his connection with the victim was."

  They all looked suitably puzzled. It took a lot of anger to beat a man to death with a bat. Generally, wasn’t done on a complete stranger. Branton put up a few more pictures.

  "We also have three road range incidents in Melbourne that we think were done by Samuals. Two were shortly after the murder of Goodman. And the other was shortly after the murder of Jensen. And as you can see from the pictures in each case a shot gun blast to the head from close range. They had no known connections to Samuals. We think they just pissed him off."

  Someone from the front row joked,

  "Obviously wouldn't want to do that."

  There was some laughter. But they were all beginning to get the picture. Samuals had wigged out. Gone troppo. He was killing anyone. The only way to stop him was to put him down.

  Branton waited for a few moments. Then he got their attention back. He changed the picture to the first of the bank killings. The first victim, Mr. Abernathey, was tied to his kitchen chair. Head hanging down. Throat torn a
nd cut. Well and truly dead. Branton took on a more serious tone.

  "Last night as you all know he killed Mr. Abernathey, Mr. Bennet, Mr. Charleston and Mrs. Dawson. He also killed a guest of Charleston’s, Mr. Paul Winton. Abernathey and Bennet were both done with a garrote. Charleston’s guest was shot. Charleston had his throat cut. Charleston’s daughter escaped and alerted police so we think he was in a rush after that. Probably intended to garrote all four CEOs. Dawson fought back. Got shot.”

  He showed a picture of Dawson, and unintendingly a picture of Frank Dawson tied over the bench, naked, ass up. There was laughter. Branton was not distracted by it. He ignored it and continued speaking.

  “And let’s not forget that at Mr. Bennet's house he machine gunned to death four chihuahuas. All the details will be in your folder. Again, we don’t really know why he’s doing all this. Doctor Hill will help shed some light on that next. Needless to say, it’s become very urgent that we get this asshole."

  He'd been flipping through various gruesome crime scene shots as he spoke. He finished up with a picture of the four dogs, shredded, scattered about the living room floor in Bennet's house. One of the senior officers in the front row couldn’t contain himself. He spoke out loudly,

  "He shot four unarmed chihuahuas. What a fucking bastard!"

  There was some laughter in response to that too. Most of the officers present opened the laptops in front of them and accessed the information folders that had now arrived. They started going through the contents in great detail, spontaneously forming into small groups. Discussing anything that caught their attention. Looking for any detail that might help. Speculating on any possible connection between the victims or between the victims and Samuals. Some pattern to his attacks. Anything.

  The CIA Station Chief, Chuck Miller, watched all of this as it unfolded. He was not impressed. They didn’t seem to understand that the only victim of any real consequence was the US Ambassador, Walter Glendale. He didn’t give a shit about the others. Well, bankers maybe. But they weren’t American bankers. This was not just a police matter. It was political. It was a form of terrorism. He'd exchanged discrete glances with some of the other spooks present. He could see that they felt the same way. The police hadn’t yet focused on the only thing that mattered to them. Location. Where was Brian Samuals hiding? Only yesterday Chuck had been called personally by the US President who had demanded an update on his progress. It had been very disappointing to reply with next to nothing. The President was not impressed. The President had made it very clear, without actually saying it, that the only acceptable outcome for him was Brian Samuals' blood splattered, bullet ridden corpse hanging on a hook somewhere. He wanted to see pictures. And he would be much happier if it was an American who killed him. Chuck Miller glanced over at Detective Chief Inspector Williams, who looked back at him warily. Yes! There was an opening there. He'd found out a few things about Williams which might be very useful. He knew that Williams knew a lot more than he was saying.