Savage Moon

by Chris Simms

  'True what?' He reached into the glove compartment, trying to find a pen.

  'True Vision. It's a web site we run for reporting hate crime.'

  'We? Some sort of a group you belong to?'

  'Yeah, it's called the police force.'

  'No shit? We've got a web site for reporting this kind of stuff ? No one told me. What was the other name you mentioned?'

  'Stone... look, shall I just meet you at Longsight station?'

  'Yeah, nice one. When can you get over there?'

  'About half an hour?'

  Derek Peterson waited until the copper had shut the front door behind him, then he stood up and went over to the window. The movement made his head wound start throbbing all over again, and as he watched the policeman through the dirty netting, he pressed the fingers of one hand against his temple in a futile attempt to dull the pain.

  Meddling bastard police. He couldn't believe the guy in the car park had supplied them with his car registration. Typical of his luck. The officer was now walking towards his car parked out on the road, examining it as he did so. Peterson hoped the bunch of ferals on the street corner had at least put a side window through and emptied the contents of the glove compartment, but the copper seemed satisfied no damage had been done. His type probably left the glove compartment open to show would-be thieves there was nothing of value inside. Following their own sensible advice on crime prevention, living boring, stilted lives. Everything done according to the rules. Well, it was an approach that held precious little interest for him.

  How could it, given that his sexual preferences made him a criminal in the eyes of the law.

  The car pulled away and Peterson turned from the window. The room was dull and silent without the light and sound from the telly. He switched it back on and lowered himself into his chair, but soon his thoughts returned to the night of the attack. That little git with the crowbar. How the hell had he tracked him down? And what was his name? He couldn't remember, there had been so many like him over the years – sallow complexion, smattering of acne, pathetic attempt at stubble. Hardly the bronzed and beautiful boys of his dreams. Still, you took what you could get, even if it was some skinny-arsed little weasel so defeated by life he had given up trying to control what happened to him.

  That's what confused him. In his time working at the care home, he'd been careful to pick out the ones he sensed would keep their mouths shut. The ones with a numbness in their eyes, who no longer questioned what authority dictated. Often, when he got them on their own, the ease of their submission surprised him. He came to realise that these were the lads who had been through it all before. Uncles, older brothers, babysitters’ boyfriends – someone else had broken them in, making everything so much easier for him.

  But this one had obviously decided to fight back, even if it was after a delay of several years. Peterson stared at the floor, weighing up the situation he was now in. He'd taught the lad a lesson all right. After disarming his attacker, he'd used a restraining hold he'd learned at the care home to bend the lad over. Of course he was wearing a shell suit, so yanking his trousers down had been easy. Then, as he worked him with the metal bar, he'd explained once again all about the need for not getting any stupid ideas. By the time he'd finished, the lad was a sobbing mess, humiliated and broken once again. He would never talk, shame would see to that.

  But the other man in the car park was a different matter. How much had the bumbling idiot seen? Peterson thought he'd fled as soon as the lad had appeared with the iron bar, but perhaps he'd watched for a bit before running to his car and ringing the bloody police. Had the name of the care home come out? He'd certainly not mentioned it and, as far as he could remember, the lad hadn't either. As long as the witness didn't come forward, all the police had was his car registration, and that was it. Even if they somehow traced the lad, what could happen? There was no way he could prove anything about what had gone on all those years ago.

  Peterson jabbed the off button on the remote and flung the control on to the sofa. He'd never got his blow job the other night and he was pent-up with frustration. Listlessly, he climbed the stairs and turned the computer on in his bedroom. From his favourites list, he logged on to the appropriate site and went into the forum room to see if there was any local action being arranged for later on.

  Some general stuff about the police being at Silburn Grove car park. From the postings, it sounded like they were talking about the copper who'd just been sitting in his front room. Nosey big bastard. Peterson scanned the comments, stopping at a suggestion to use a nearby car park instead. Someone said he'd be going there tonight and another had immediately replied that he'd be there too.

  Peterson added his own comment then logged onto streetmap.co.uk to find out exactly where Daisy Nook Country Park was.

  Five

  Jon had just sat down with a cup of coffee when Rick walked through the door, eyes sweeping the room before settling at Jon's raised hand. As he started to cross the room Jon took in his trendy suit and fashionably messed-up hair. There was a take-out cup from some flashy coffee bar in his hand. 'Still drinking that frothy shit with chocolate powder on the top?'

  Rick smiled. 'Still taking yours black like some sort of frigging cowboy?'

  Jon stood, and as they shook hands, the other officers in the room turned back to their computers.

  'You're not looking that knackered,' Rick said, sliding over a chair.

  'Really?' Jon answered, aware that the purple smudges below his eyes seemed to have taken on the permanence of tattoos.

  'All right, I lied. You look shit. Happy though, but still shit.'

  'Cheers.' Jon tested his coffee and it nearly took the skin off his upper lip. 'Jesus! That machine must heat the water with a nuclear reactor or something.'

  Rick crossed his legs and took a sip from his own cup.

  'Wouldn't drink that stuff if they paid me. So you've got a witness to the attack?'

  Jon nodded. 'Here, you can listen to him.'

  He took a tape recorder out of the bottom drawer of his desk. A cassette with a recording of the 999 call was already in.

  Rick listened to it, eyes focused on the opposite wall. 'Sounds nasty. Are you checking registrations that correspond to the attacker's?'

  'Were. It wasn't the attacker who drove off, it was the victim.'

  'You traced him?'

  'This morning. He lives in Clayton. Thing is, he's bullshitting me about whoever jumped him. I think they knew each other. If I could trace the caller it would be a massive help.'

  Rick put his cup down. 'So you haven't contacted Stonewall or True Vision?'

  Jon opened his palms. 'Never heard of them. I put an A board up in the car park appealing for information, approached a few cars one evening. Nothing.'

  Rick raised an eyebrow. 'You hung out in the car park? I bet that was interesting.'

  Jon looked at the floor. 'You could say that. To be honest, the whole business of loitering in car parks is lost on me.' He glanced up. 'Apart from asking to get beaten up, why do they do it?'

  Rick sighed. 'They're not asking to get beaten up. Would you say that if it was a young lad and his girlfriend shagging in their car?'

  'I doubt it.'

  'So it's OK for heterosexual couples to have a bit of fun in a deserted car park, but not gay males?'

  Jon leaned back. 'All right, don't get arsey. But you've got to admit people are more likely to take offence to a couple of men doing it. Besides, they're not travelling there as couples, they're travelling there alone, looking for casual sex. Why do they do it?'

  Rick shrugged. 'The thrill of it I suppose. It's not my cup of tea, in case you're wondering.'

  Jon gave a quick shake of his head. No, but I wonder what is?

  'Besides, haven't you and Alice ever been tempted to indulge in a bit of outdoor action?'

  A memory of one Sunday afternoon on a remote hill in the

  Lake District flashed into Jon's head and he could
n't help smile.

  'Maybe, but I do know her for Christ's sake.'

  'But not knowing the other person is what it's all about for some people. Especially if they haven't come out. Anonymity would be vital for them.' He shot a glance at the computer.

  'What?' Jon asked, knowing something had just occurred to his friend.

  'There's quite a community for this. It's all linked up to the dogging thing that's been in the papers.'

  'Dogging? I thought that was men watching other couples have sex in their cars?'

  'It was originally, but it's more part of the swinging scene nowadays. All sorts are at it. Log on and I'll show you.'

  Jon typed in his password and moved his chair to one side, allowing Rick access to his computer. He went on to the internet, then typed 'Swinger's Haven' into the search field.

  A home page came up with a paragraph of writing in the middle. To the side was a panel of boxes. Jon leaned forwards to read them.

  Real Wife Swaps. Swingers Cafe´. Chat Room. Forum. Dogging Sites. Personal Pages. Sexual Health. Terminology. Contact Us.

  'Who runs this site?' Jon asked, reaching for his coffee.

  'God knows. I heard about it a while ago. I've never actually visited though.' He clicked on 'Dogging Sites' and an inner screen came up with a map of Britain inside.

  'Here we go,' murmured Rick, clicking on the Manchester area. A new screen appeared listing locations in the area. Rick scrolled down the screen, stopping at a panel titled 'Middleton'.

  Jon scanned the text. 'The car park at the bottom of Silburn Grove is good for dogging action most evenings after nine. Especially popular with gay men.' He shook his head as Rick went back to the home page and clicked on 'Forum'. He then selected 'North West'.

  General discussion, news and chat for swingers and doggers in the North West. Please don't post anything here about specific meet ups, use the chat room for that.

  Rick clicked on the link and a grid format page came up with an entry in each left hand box.

  Are you a newbie needing help?

  Photos from Mark and Jo's Munch Party

  In a quandary and need advice? My new boobies!

  Rick started moving down to the lower entries before Jon had even read the first. 'Hold up. I don't understand all this.'

  Rick glanced at him. 'It's just a standard internet forum. You've never used one before?'

  'No.'

  'OK look, the discussion topic is here.' Rick pointed to the uppermost left hand box. ' “Are you a newbie needing help?” ' He ran his finger over the adjacent boxes. 'The author was TopCat, there've been 9,532 viewings and 376 replies. Last one was posted today at three-o-four p.m. by Fair Maid.'

  Jon looked at his watch. 'That was six minutes ago.'

  Rick nodded. 'People are logged on all the time. See?' He pointed to a line of text at the base of the screen. 'In total there are seventy-two users online, twenty-nine visible, eleven hidden and thirty-two guests.'

  'And these are all people in the north west?'

  'Not necessarily. But if you've entered this region's chat room, you're probably local. We are one of thirty-two guests. If we want to add a topic, we'll have to register with the site and become a member.'

  'Add a topic?'

  Rick sighed. 'This cyberspace stuff confusing you, Jon? Think of it like the notice board in your rugby club. Only this is a club for people who like to have sex in car parks. We can pin up a piece of paper asking if anyone's got information about what happened in Silburn Grove.'

  Jon bounced the heel of his palm off his forehead. 'Sorry mate, I'll try and get with it.'

  'Right, it's your computer, so you should register.'

  Jon's eyes shifted uneasily to the other officers in the room. 'I don't want my bloody details on there!' he hissed.

  Rick's eyes were on the screen and a smile was breaking out on his face. 'I think you may feature already. Look at that entry. Policeman at Silburn Grove. It was posted last Friday at nine forty-eight p.m.'

  'Shit. What does it say?'

  'Let's see,' Rick clicked on the box to open up a fresh page. Beware. In the light of the assault in the car park on Silburn Grove yesterday, the police have taken quite an interest. I drove there just now, only to have this copper approach my car asking for info. While he's there I suggest using the car park at Daisy Nook, it's a lot more secluded anyway. PubDog.

  I saw him too! Big bastard with a crew cut? I was getting my hopes up until he flashed his badge!!! Tall'n'Hairy.

  I know what you mean. I was hoping he was about to give me a flash of something else. PubDog.

  The car park at Daisy Nook it is then. I'll be there 2nite at 10, if

  anyone wants some action. SXi.

  See you there, Angel-from-heaven. Likewise. Mr P.

  Jon knew his face was bright red. At least the one with his cock out hadn't posted anything up. He took a hesitant sip of coffee, waiting for his blush to subside.

  Failing miserably to suppress the grin on his face, Rick said,

  'Looks like you made quite an impression.'

  'Ha fucking ha,' Jon replied, still unable to look directly at his colleague.

  'Word travels fast on the internet.'

  'Too right. There wasn't a single car turning up there by

  Saturday night. Now I bloody well know why.'

  Rick clicked back a screen. 'There may have only been four replies, but eighty-two people have viewed that topic. I reckon we should add an appeal for help.'

  Jon shifted in his seat. 'Can you do it? I feel like a right pillock having sat there scaring everyone off. Maybe you could say you're a colleague on the case.'

  Rick's fingers hovered over the mouse. 'OK. Let's do it then.'

  He clicked on register, accepted the site's agreement terms and went through to an on screen form. 'We need a username. How about Big Jon?'

  Jon shook his head. 'No way. Let's go for Slick Rick.'

  His colleague grinned. 'Maybe we'd better keep it straight.' He typed in DS Saville. After entering a password and his email address, Rick completed the rest of the form, then clicked on submit.

  A screen popped up telling him confirmation had been sent to his email address. Rick closed down the screen, logged into his email account, clicked on the confirmation number waiting there, following the link back to the web site and entered the number in. 'OK, we're a new member. What do you want to say?'

  At five-thirty on the dot Jon turned his computer off and headed for the door. As he crossed the room he could feel a few of the other detectives watching him enviously. None looked like they were getting home early.

  He was nearly at the door when he heard a voice behind him.

  'That officer in earlier. Was he going on about gay sex?'

  Jon turned around. The detective who'd spoken was leaning back in his chair, gut straining against the buttons of his shirt. Several other men were looking over with smirks on their faces.

  'What if he was?' Jon answered.

  'What is he then? Some sort of shirt lifter himself ?' He glanced at his mates, finding approval in their eyes.

  Jon felt a surge of anger. The bunch of cowardly pricks had suddenly found the courage to start on Rick. He stepped closer to the officer. 'Why, you've got a problem with that, you fat fuck?'

  He kept eye contact until the other man looked away. 'No, I didn't think so.' He walked out of the room.

  A short while later he pushed his front door open. A delicious aroma greeted him as he stepped inside. Voices in the front room. Alice's and his mother's. Punch looked tentatively round the corner then gave a snort of delight and bounded towards him. Jon crouched down and reached both hands round his dog's head to rub behind its ears. Then he straightened up and walked into the front room. Alice was on the sofa with Holly at her breast, folds of a baggy purple jumper half covering the feeding baby.

  He looked across to his mum who was perched on the edge of an armchair. 'I've been waiting to cuddle her for twenty
minutes. Even you never fed this long.'

  He smiled at the sight of her. She measured five-foot-two at the most and people always had trouble accepting that she had produced someone of Jon's size. Despite being in her mid- sixties, she was sprightly and trim with bright eyes and surprisingly smooth skin. Only her hair belied her years; the white strands that had started appearing a few years ago were now gathering in number, creating a silver sheen over the russet tones below.

  'Mary's brought us round a lamb casserole,' Alice said, looking up with a tired expression.

  'Oh, it's nothing.' His mum waved a hand, eyes still on Holly.

  'Is she finished yet?'

  Alice directed her gaze at the opposite wall for a second. 'I think so.'

  How the hell can you know? Jon thought, baffled by the mysteries of motherhood.

  Mary immediately sprang out of her seat and almost yanked Holly off Alice's breast. 'Look at you, you gorgeous little thing,' she cooed, expertly flipping the baby forwards and burping her with miraculous speed. She then positioned Holly on her shoulder. 'Don't they smell so lovely at this age?' she murmured, planting a kiss on the back of Holly's neck between each word.

  Jon felt pressure against his legs and looked down to see

  Punch eyeing him hopefully.

  'Will you take that silly dog of yours out? He's been pacing around like a prisoner,' Alice said.

  Jon glanced down at his wife. Silly dog of yours? A few weeks ago, he was our big baby. 'OK, I'll pop out with him now if that's all right.'

  'Yeah.' Alice's eyes didn't go anywhere near the animal.

  Jon looked out the window. The day was fading fast. It didn't seem like yesterday when it was light until ten o'clock at night.

  'What's Dad up to?' he asked, loosening his tie.

  Mary gave a theatrical scowl. 'There was some rugby match on the box. Who are they, Salford Red Socks or something?' Jon grinned. He was certain his mum purposely got the name of the rugby club wrong – after all, her husband had played for them in the days before everything turned professional.

  It amused him how the sport was a source of constant ribbing between him and his father. His dad had played Rugby League, a version of the game made popular by the men who'd laboured in the region's mines, mills and docks.