The Hack

by Will Patching

  He’s right, thought Sir Jeremy. His own depravity was somehow more acceptable, more normal in his mind. God, what a mess! ‘I admit, I do find the thought of what you do uncomfortable.’

  ‘I’ve offered to help you understand.’ The lizard smile was grotesque. ‘But you are too pig-headed, you won’t even try. You despise me because I prefer a tight little brown star to a slimy slit.’

  The gross imagery spoken with such venom shocked Sir Jeremy. How had he ever liked this man? And he had no idea his erstwhile friend felt so strongly about him, his antipathy to gay sex. For years Sir Benjamin had gently tried persuading him to bed. Had finally given up, to Sir Jeremy’s relief, when he had discovered his friend had other cravings. Through George.

  Was Benjamin jealous? Sir Jeremy was shocked at the thought. He was! Benjamin was jealous of his lusting after little girls. His sluts.

  The thought reached his mouth and was out before he could stop himself. ‘You’re jealous! Of Kylie! And the others!’

  ‘Don’t kid yourself, you arrogant sod! I like much fresher meat, take a good look at yourself. You can only get sex if it’s locked away for you. Compliant little girls for the great Sir Jeremy.’

  The taunt worked. Sir Jeremy lost control, hissed back, ‘And you, little boys locked up suffering God knows what? You’re... you’re wicked!’

  Sir Benjamin stood, towered over him, hands gripping the arms of the chair as he lowered his face, his nose almost touching Sir Jeremy’s. The eyes with their yellow streaks were a shock to Sir Jeremy this close up.

  ‘How dare you presume to judge me!’

  Sir Jeremy flinched as the man’s saliva spattered his face. Sir Benjamin stood, poured yet more drink and sat. The silence between them an awkwardness they had never experienced together before.

  ‘I’m not judging you, Benjamin. I’m judging myself. This last few days has brought home to me what I’ve been doing. What I’ve become. I don’t know what I’m saying any more.’ Sir Jeremy was even more confused. He felt the man was evil, but who was he to judge – admittedly his profession for years – yet all the while he was committing crimes against young girls?

  ‘I think it best if you go home, Jeremy. Get a good night’s sleep. Get everything back in perspective.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right.’ Sir Jeremy puffed his cheeks, an exaggerated sigh. ‘I’m dealing with Kylie though. I know you said you’d sort the loose ends, but I’ve got that one tied up, okay?’

  The yellow chips in Sir Benjamin’s eyes glowed at him. ‘What? You have the money to pay her off? Without help from George? I thought Patricia held the purse strings, that’s what you always said! Just leave it to me, Jeremy. George and I were, close, let’s say. I’m picking up where he left off. I’ll clear the Palace. Pay them all off. Let things blow over. Then, it’s business as usual. I just need, we just need, to be sure there’s nothing to expose us right now. I’ll deal with the girl.’

  Sir Jeremy had no idea how close his friends had been. Partners? Lovers too? Whatever, he had made his decisions and would not be diverted. ‘I’ve sold the apartment. The money’s Kylie’s.’

  The jolt spilt Sir Benjamin’s whisky. He brushed the liquid off his tie. ‘Are you totally barking mad, man? That place is worth millions. And you want to give it to a street slut!’

  Sir Jeremy stood. He’d had enough. Wanted nothing more of this man, the Palace, the other perverts. ‘I think it best if we don’t speak again, Benjamin. I wish you well. Goodbye.’

  The fresh air revived him. He just had to get out of there, Benjamin had given off an air of such malice it had shocked him. Sir Jeremy could not help but wonder, would such a greedy man really use his own money to pay off the other children in the Palace?

  Or would he kill them? Could Benjamin or George really murder youngsters?

  His judge’s mind said ‘yes’ but he could not be sure.

  Sir Jeremy considered going to the police. But what if he was wrong, what if the children weren’t in danger? Talking to the police would ruin his life, and Pat’s life, forever. And she didn’t deserve that. His confusion was total.

  He made a decision, the only decision that seemed sensible. He would get Kylie out of the Palace tonight. That much he could do.

  First he had to go home. Pat was waiting to go to dinner, he had promised to take her out tonight. It was almost 8.00pm. He would eat out with his wife and then find an excuse to leave her. Or wait until Pat was sleeping and then he would sneak out.

  Even if he was wrong about George, and Benjamin, he wanted Kylie somewhere safe.

  Tonight.

  Just in case.

  ***

  Sir Benjamin helped himself to another whisky and sprawled back on the sofa. He had half an hour to wait for his next meeting and he was enjoying the club’s scotch. He was in a reflective mood, and felt very relaxed considering how angry Sir Jeremy had made him. Just because he was a homosexual.

  He had discovered his liking for other boys, like many upper class young men, at school. His place at the exclusive public school had been guaranteed by generations of his ancestors before him. Tradition.

  And tradition dictated he had to perform duties for a senior boy, a tradition that was regularly abused. The younger boys, acting as servants to the seniors, were called ‘fags.’ Sir Benjamin, like many of the other younger boys, had been sexually abused by his seniors. He had discovered he enjoyed it. He became a ‘fag’ in both senses of the word.

  In his mind, although far from egalitarian in any other respect, Sir Benjamin believed all boys should have the same opportunity for sexual enlightenment. He had been doing his best to help whenever possible.

  He had also wanted to help his old friend Jeremy understand.

  Sir Benjamin downed his fifth whisky, and poured another. Jeremy was now a problem. Would he blow the whistle, go to the police? He was panicking, a loose cannon.

  He would have to go.

  Sir Benjamin was already a killer. He had crushed the larynx of a young boy while in the crazed hold of lust and amyl nitrate. The first time it happened had not been a deliberate act, the boy’s throat had been between Sir Benjamin’s bicep and forearm, the elbow tightening and squeezing the life from the young lad as Sir Benjamin reached orgasm.

  The surprise for Sir Benjamin had been his total lack of remorse or concern. If anything, it thrilled him, the perfection of death and orgasm occurring together was an enormous turn on. And for the boy, he felt nothing. The death, the corpse, was just a problem to be dealt with. Simple.

  Some garbage to be removed.

  Young boys, and girls, were easy to come by on the streets of London, offering to do favours for a tenner. The prospect of shelter, a shower, food and a warm bed was enough to tempt a rent boy, or even a hungry innocent, back to the Palace. The promise of largesse was often enough to keep them there until the club members tired of them.

  And sometimes, for particularly deviant sadistic behaviours, the club had to resort to holding boys captive. Of the five boys in the Palace at the moment, two were in chains.

  Sir Benjamin was aware the other rich men who belonged to Simm’s Young Boy Network did not know the extent of the other members’ perversions. Each paid an amount reflecting their desires. All were concerned about exposure, some wore masks while others were convinced their substantial fees were contributing to pay offs for the sad creatures they abused. Most were like Sir Jeremy, obsessed with their sordid needs while blocking out the realities during their daily lives. They did not want to think about it. Did not think about it. George reassured them. And nothing had ever gone wrong.

  Until George’s trip to Thailand.

  Sir Benjamin regretted his friend’s death, but was incapable of feeling strongly about other people. Just another problem really, he thought. Something to resolve.

  Like the Palace. He had to continue with it – it allowed him to indulge the ultimate high. The one he had discovered when he reached a perfect orgasm at the moment
of a young boy’s death.

  Runaways, missing kids that no one gave a damn about. They were so gullible. Tempt them in. Promise them the earth. Chain them up if they would not play. And enjoy them. Before disposing of them.

  Sir Benjamin didn’t care for anyone but himself. He had been born into wealth and privilege and it showed in his attitude. He considered poor children to be nothing more than toys, to be destroyed and replaced when boredom set in. He was genetically superior. The runaways, inevitably working class, were there for his pleasure and profit.

  It was just the way of the world.

  George’s plan had been to set up Palaces in other countries. He wanted to start in Asia, the ready supply of youths, the lack of effective policing and the possibilities of the most extreme perversions luring them on.

  And money.

  Though Sir Benjamin and George were fabulously wealthy men, they were still driven by incredible levels of lust and greed. George had his legitimate internet travel operation and also had an illicit website trading child pornography. The plan was to create a new operation, combining the two elements and to bring a select band of similarly wealthy perverts from around the world to their Palaces. George already had thousands of customers purchasing images over the internet. And so he had wanted to extend his Young Boy Network worldwide.

  He had told Sir Benjamin they stood to make an ever greater fortune, adding, ‘The internet brings together people who, until recently, believed their desires, their secret dreams, their wildest fantasies were unique. The web allows people to find likeminded individuals, to create groups whose deviation from the norm would’ve left them isolated in the past. There’s a huge market for someone with the balls to supply what they want!’

  Sadly, George was gone and while sitting in the private room of the Cromwellian Club Sir Benjamin wondered if he really could continue the plan without George. He needed to find a way, but that was not an immediate problem.

  He would give it more thought later.

  Right now, his main concern was the Palace. It had always turned a very nice profit. A profit Sir Benjamin had no intention of giving up just because his friend was dead. In fact, as he sipped his whisky, he congratulated himself on the extra money he would make from George’s share. The whole operation was outside of George’s estate, the Palace held anonymously in an offshore trust. Sir Benjamin could continue controlling it as he was a trustee.

  Wonderful.

  And after the initial shock of hearing about the missing laptop, he had received some excellent news. The mercenaries in Thailand had located it already, along with the expert who would be able to unlock it. He wondered what other goodies George’s Pandora’s Box would reveal.

  There was a knock at the door interrupting his reverie.

  ‘Come in.’ Sir Benjamin turned to see the man entering. ‘Ah, right on time as usual. Help yourself to a drink and take a seat.’

  Sir Jeremy was a liability. It was time to discuss the matter with the man who could fix things.

  At Sir Benjamin’s exclusive gentlemen’s club.

  ***

  Kylie heard the key rattling in the door, bounced off the bed and went to unbolt the security locks installed yesterday. She pulled the top bolt and called out, ‘Just a sec Jerry.’

  There was no answer and she held the bolt in her hand. The prospect of her ‘lottery win,’ together with a ‘happy’ pill, had dulled her sense of self-preservation. Sir Jeremy had frightened her, but that was earlier, before euphoria set in.

  She called again, ‘Is that you Jerry?’ Then she stood on tiptoe to peer out the spy hole. A man’s voice replied, ‘It’s okay kid. Jerry sent me. Let me in. He can’t come.’ His flattened forehead and boxer’s nose loomed at her, distorted and frightening in the fisheye of the spy hole.

  ‘Who are you and why ain’t Jerry here?’ Kylie’s hand hovered over the bolt, unsure, her sense of danger blunted but still there.

  ‘Just let me in kid – I’ll explain.’ The man moved and she glimpsed a second man behind him. Both were dressed in black and she shivered, her survival instincts awakening.

  ‘No way. Fuck off!’ She slammed the heavy bolt back across and backed away from the door. She wished Jerry was here.

  The door crashed, the paint around the frame cracking with the force, the vibration visible in the wall. She heard the man say to his colleague, ‘Why the hell don’t the keys work?’ as he launched himself at the door again.

  She jumped. Then she screamed at them to ‘FUCK OFF! Or I’ll call the police!’ Another crash hit the door. The screws holding the newly installed bolts shuddered but held.

  Silence.

  Kylie was safe.

  For now.

  ***

  ‘Good night Pat.’

  ‘Good night Jeremy. Thank you for a lovely evening.’

  The meal had been wonderful. Pat was aglow with excitement and unable to stop chatting about his new plans, the prospect of early retirement and more time together. They talked until almost 1.00am.

  Sir Jeremy closed his bedroom door. He wanted to get to Kylie, but could not think of an excuse to leave the house at this time.

  He waited.

  ***

  ‘Fuck it!’ The brute gave the door a final kick.

  His colleague touched his arm and said, ‘Leave it mate. We’ll have to come back. That door’s solid and it ain’t gonna give. We need a little Semtex.’ They started down the corridor. ‘Let’s get moving, we’ve still got lots to do.’

  They had not come prepared for breaking the doors down, they did not think they would need to. Certainly did not expect resistance from a girl.

  All the other keys had worked. And five other kids were now carcasses, zipped into body bags, awaiting disposal.

  Sir Benjamin’s loose ends were being tied up tonight.

  ***

  Chapter Six

  Sir Jeremy watched the clock, the minutes crawling. At 2.00am he judged it safe. Pat would surely be asleep by now.

  Her light was off and he heard no sound from her door as he crept downstairs to let himself out. The square was quiet as he slipped across to his parking bay and started up his Range Rover. In less than fifteen minutes he was at Kylie’s apartment block, the traffic almost non-existent at this time of night.

  Sir Jeremy thought Kylie would be safe in his Cotswold cottage, just until the funds came through from the sale of the apartment. Then she would be on her own, and Sir Jeremy’s conscience would be as clear as it could ever be.

  He drove round to the rear of the block and down the ramp to the basement car park, punching in the access code to raise the roller shutter. He rarely used the car park, preferring to travel anonymously by tube. There were just two spaces, one for his use and one used exclusively by George. Sir Jeremy was surprised to see a transit van, its windows blacked out, and wondered who had parked in George’s space.

  Not to worry, he thought, as he climbed the stairs. He hoped Kylie would be ready to go. The drive would take two hours each way and he would be cutting it fine to get back in time for breakfast with Pat.

  He reached Kylie’s floor and opened the door to the corridor just as a very loud firework exploded. What the hell was that? Then he saw them. The smoking door to Kylie’s apartment was being kicked wide by one of two men dressed in black.

  Kylie’s scream, the terror and anger combining in her throat, acted on something deep in Sir Jeremy’s lower brain, as if his own flesh were in mortal danger. He launched himself at the nearest thug without a thought for himself, ignoring the silenced pistol the man was holding.

  Sir Jeremy’s sudden appearance was unexpected, the entry system on the front door and coded access to the car park ensured privacy and security inside the building. The man was taken totally by surprise as he was knocked to the wall, cracking his head as Sir Jeremy’s full fourteen stone bulk crashed into his kidneys.

  Kylie, at exactly the same moment, ran into the other man as he came through the
door. The twelve-inch carving knife, sharp from disuse, slipped into the man’s belly, puncturing his liver. He screamed, the sound joining Kylie’s own, and collapsed.

  Sir Jeremy tried to disentangle himself, and seeing Kylie drop the bloody knife from her hand yelled at her, ‘Run Kylie, they’ve got guns. Run now!’

  She did.

  The man with the stomach wound pulled his own weapon from his shoulder holster and shot at her fleeing back. He was something of a marksman, but the incredible pain in his belly, the shock and tears in his eyes, sent the shot wide, the bullet tearing through Kylie’s left earlobe. Her renewed screams followed her down the stairs to the street.

  There was another sound, a muffled phttt, and Sir Jeremy’s heart exploded with pain.

  He tried to move his legs, his arms, but nothing would work. The world seemed unreal, the corridor was squeezing closed around him.

  He was in a tunnel. A light at the end.

  It was bright and Sir Jeremy reached for it.

  ***

  ‘That little bitch stuck me.’ The man was a veteran of the Gulf War and had seen action in numerous lesser conflicts in his five years as a mercenary. Hand to hand combat was his forte and he had killed many men with a knife. And he did not like the look of the deep rich scarlet oozing from the slit in his gut. ‘I need a hospital now Flynn.’

  His colleague had returned from the street. ‘Yeah. This bastard’s dead, but that girl’s gone.’ He grabbed Sir Jeremy and half rolled, half dragged the corpse into a body bag. A pool of blood smeared beneath the body, the shot having pierced Sir Jeremy’s ravaged heart, the silenced gun still warm in Flynn’s pocket. ‘What a balls-up!’ He grabbed a sheet from Kylie’s bed and did his best to field dress his friend’s wound.

  It was obvious Flynn’s colleague was dying, and would not survive the night without medical intervention. Flynn shook his head in despair. He would have to do this alone. He had six dead bodies to dispose of and the girl was gone.

  Definitely a balls-up.