by Harry Blue
He had heard hints over the years about this particular club in the north of England, always whispered, never spoken about in detail, and Rick had put the word out that he was interested in receiving an invitation. If one was forthcoming, then he would show his proper appreciation, but it had taken eleven months before a whispered conversation with Slow Jack had resulted in the pair of them driving northwards on an auction buying trip that would be combined with the satisfaction of his curiosity.
He had known Slow Jack since his spell in prison, and they had bumped into each other on many occasions over the years at various antiques markets and illegal as well as legal auctions. Rick Thomas was well known on the shady illegal antiques circuit, both as buyer and seller, and one auction was arranged for that Saturday night in a town close to the Scottish border, after their night in the club.
As they drove north, Jack said ‘tonight’s on me. They know me, as I have been to this club a few times before, and I have had to vouch for you. You can’t even get in without them having your credit card details, bank details, home address, and a lot of background checks. There’ll be no money changing hands tonight, but in a few days time a hefty sum will come out of my account. But whatever happens, don’t react. I’m not allowed to even hint at what occurs, though I’m quite sure that you have a good idea, otherwise you wouldn’t have asked for the invite.’
‘Okay, I won’t ask any questions, just let the night happen. What did you have to tell them about me?’
‘I’ve been a member for over five years, and you’re the first guest that I’ve taken. It’s so exclusive that we have to ask permission to bring along a guest, and I told them who you were, and how we met. They already knew that I did bird, and they have access to so much information that they know all about you already, so they must be satisfied. Be aware, they are very careful people. Take them very seriously. But I have to warn you very very strongly about something here. It’s not too late to back out, even now, but once you have been to the club tonight, you are in with some very seriously bad people, and there’s no turning back. Once you are in, you are in for life, and you are theirs. Don’t say anything, I know that you have been so curious to come here for years, putting the word out, and it’s only now that they are satisfied about you that you’ve been accepted. Be under no illusion. Once you enter that industrial estate complex, that’s it.’
Slow Jack did the driving, and Thomas was surprised when they arrived on an industrial estate gone nine o’clock. It was dark, the estate was in the middle of nowhere, with a pair of blue-jacketed security guards on the gate, accompanied by a black, ferocious looking German shepherd guard dog. Their names were on a list, and the head guard said to Slow Jack
‘Evening guvnor. Different building this time. Take the first right, second left, and the warehouse has the name ‘Spencer Logistics’ on the side. Park where you see the other motors.’
As Jack drove off Rick Thomas heard the security guard on his walkie talkie give the car’s make and registration details to another guard. He looked up and saw security cameras everywhere, moving all the time. He was impressed.
When they got out their car, the warehouse door opened, with two more burly men ushering them through. One escorted them to the club area, where they were taken by the maitre d’ to their table, in front of the stage. The two men nodded to the two men already seated, one who was tall and huge. Without being asked, a server brought four bottles of lager beer to the table.
By the limited light they could see that they were the only four men at this particular table, but some in the building had eight, most had six, and only the select few closest to the stage had only four. The tables were basic collapsible ones, each with an off-white cloth, a battery low powered lamp, and a very large ash tray.
There was just subtle background music, something Rick thought being played by an obscure Chicago trumpet player of the thirties. He looked around, seeing only men present, with almost all the forty tables full. He and Jack didn’t speak, assimilating the atmosphere,
Rick looked at his other table companions, and said to the big man ‘we’ve met before. I bought a trumpet from you about four years ago at Kempton.’
‘Nah, not me, you must be confusing me with someone else.’
‘Never forget a face. No problem.’ Rick turned away towards the stage, as the music was dimming, with the lighting. The curtains were still closed, the club area was almost dark, with only a glow from the bar area at the back. A steady drum beat started, insistent, getting louder, building and creating an atmosphere, sinister, warning, expect the unexpected, the four men looking at each other, with two obviously uncertain what to expect, the others sweating with anticipation. The build up took what seemed like a long time, but in reality was five minutes, with the curtains gradually coming apart, a few inches at a time, the audience straining to see through the gap. Nothing, just blackness. Suddenly the curtains separated fully, in what Rick thought was a flash, and there, standing in the middle of the stage, was a man, stark naked, with the spotlight showing on his upper torso and a dimmer light on his lower half.
He looked to be in his seventies, was unshaven, as Rick could see from his close proximity, with an unpleasant odour coming from him. It was shit, and Rick could not help himself by looking down to see that the man had released his bowels in his fear. Because the man was standing upright with his arms in the air, with manacles round his wrists, the upper end disappearing into the heights of the stage. The man wasn’t just scared, he was beside himself with fear.
The drum beat stopped.
‘Gentlemen, welcome to Club Sadist,’ boomed a deep voice over the loudspeaker system. ‘If you are of a nervous disposition, you are welcome to leave now. If you can.’ This was followed by loud, deep laughter. The old man on stage frantically shook himself in his chains.
A tall black man dressed in black came out of the stage wings, holding the microphone. The man shook himself even more violently, to no avail. The subtle jazz music of Charlie Parker’s saxophone quietly started playing Summertime. The master of ceremonies whistled along to the tune as he held the microphone in his right hand, and it wasn’t until he raised his left hand that you realised that he held a knife, glinting in the spotlight, with the sharpness only too evident as the old man in chains flinched away. The m.c. slowly placed the knife on the left breast of his victim, who immediately stopped moving, frightened that any thing he did would result in pain. Quickly there was movement, and before you knew it there was a line of blood across his chest. Suddenly there was another movement and a second line of blood appeared, this time lower down the man’s torso. He started bucking away, still held in the chains, and his movement was so staccato that you could see the pain in his face from the manacles holding his wrists. The audience of men was mesmerised, and the next hour was spent with the man suffering more and more pain, with the music getting louder and louder, but unnoticed as the spectacle increased. More drinks appeared in front of the four men at the front table, and without thinking they just drank them. Heavy irony was that people were openly smoking in public, as if the spectacle they were enjoying made all acts acceptable.
‘Gentlemen, you have just experienced the ultimate that Club Sadist can offer. Now, I offer you an auction for the ultimate experience we can provide our membership. The act of killing. In public. As fast or as slow as you desire.’ Each sentence was spoken louder, as he came to the end. This was shouted. ‘How much am I offered for this victim?’
Someone from the back shouted out ‘£1,000.’
The m.c. immediately shouted back ‘too cheap. Is that all you think a human life is worth?’
‘£5,000.’
‘£10,000’ the bidding got higher.
‘Now come on, I am sure you can manage more than that. I am looking for bids in excess of...’ he paused, and then shouted ‘FIFTY THOUSAND POUNDS’.
; Silence from the crowd. He waited. Then a well dressed man at the next table said in the quiet room ‘one hundred thousand pounds.’
The m.c. immediately said ‘bidding closed.’
The winner used the side steps to come up on stage, with the man in charge holding out his hand with the knife.
‘That’s okay, I have my own’, and he went inside his jacket, bringing out an eight inch knife inside a sheaf.
No messing, he went straight up to the victim, and plunged the knife in his chest, with an upward thrust under the fourth rib on the right side of the man’s body. The old man looked completely shocked, as if he hadn’t been expecting this outcome, then slumped in the chains, dead. The crowd were completely silent.
Chapter Six
On the way out in the car, they both said nothing for at least fifteen minutes, then Slow Jack turned to Rick and said ‘now do you understand why you are now committed to the club?’
‘Yes, but, how did they know that he was good for the winning bid?’
‘Rick, Rick, my boy, you can be so slow sometimes. Don’t you remember, I said club membership was all about commitment? They KNOW what you are worth, they KNOW that man was good for the hundred K, they KNOW that he was going to be bidding. He’s been there many times before, but never used the knife before this evening. THAT’S why you’ve been accepted. Because now, you’re just as guilty as the rest of us. And they also know that when you’ve saved up sufficient funds, you’ll want to be the man on the stage with the knife.’
‘Okay, I understand all that, but there’s one last question. Who was the victim?’
‘A member who volunteered. He’s got terminal cancer, and his widow gets half the money.’
Chapter Seven
A few- weeks later Thomas was at his market stall when Cedric came up to him.
‘Years since I’ve seen one of those,’ he said, looking at the instrument in the big man’s hand.
‘Yes, it’s like a large oboe, but I’ve no idea what it’s called.’
‘It’s called a cor anglais. You are quite right when you say it’s a type of oboe, and it’s quite rare these days. My dad had one, but he never let me play it, as he said it was quite valuable. Mind if I give it a go?’
Cedric shook his head. Thomas lifted the instrument to his ear, shook it, listened, and then put it to his lips. He wiggled his fingers over the keys, checking that they all opened, and when satisfied started playing. He obviously knew what he was doing, because he played the recognisable tune to the ITV soap ‘Emmerdale’. His playing attracted others to listen, and trade ceased at surrounding stalls. When he finished, there was an impromptu round of applause. He took a bow.
‘What was that song?’ asked Cedric.
‘Theme to Emmerdale. Interesting history of this instrument. It’s traditionally been used for classical pieces, but also jazz, Paul McCandless, Sonny Simmons, Vinny Golia.’
Cedric looked puzzled.
‘Never heard of them? Okay, remember Send in the Clowns, it was used a lot in that, as well as various other pieces. All right, it’s not one of the most popular instruments, but can be used in a lot of musical genres. Is it yours?’
‘Sort of.’
‘What do you mean, sort of?’
‘Well, a friend has asked me to look after it for him, and he’s not coming back, as he’s otherwise detained.’
‘How much do you want for it?’
‘How much is it worth?’
‘More to you than it is to me. I’ve got to take a punt on it, as there’s only a limited market for one of these. I will have to find a buyer, but before I do, will have to take it to pieces, make sure it’s in top bollock condition, replace anything that’s not quite right, which isn’t easy as parts are hard to come by, and then satisfy the buyer that it’s not hookey.’
‘Okay, you’ve got a hard job on your hands before you can even consider making anything out of it. Spare me the sob story, bottom line, what’s it worth to you?’
‘I’ll go to a carpet.’
Cedric laughed. ‘Double carpet and I might be listening.’
‘I’ll shake your hand on a monkey.’ Thomas put his hand out.
Cedric took it, with five hundred pounds handed over.
Rick Thomas looked Cedric directly. ‘Okay, what’s the real reason you’re here?’
The big man stared right back. ‘There’s a message for you.’
‘Who from?’
‘The men who own the club.’ No further explanation was necessary.
‘What do they want?’
‘You and me to go into partnership. Find a band, a silver band, and take over. Nothing too grand, doesn’t matter how good, or bad, they are, just a band, and we’ll arrange trips out of the country. The men then tell us what to do.’
‘What’s in it for me?’
‘Same as for me. A healthy life, a long life, and lots of money.’
‘And if I don’t want to do it?’
‘Don’t even go there. Serious consequences for me, as well as for you.’
‘Do I have any options?’
‘Yes. Live or die.’
Chapter Eight
Thomas and Cedric did their homework, and decided on a seaside town on the south coast of England. They researched how many bands were in the locality, and were delighted to see that the town had all the right ingredients. It had a pier, it had a bandstand, it had a lot of seafront hotels, there was a lot of visitor footfall as well as residents, the local council was very pro-active as far as tourism was concerned, and the icing on the cake was the fact that there was only one silver band in competition within a five mile radius. Perfect. The two men travelled in Thomas’s car, as Cedric was too fat to drive. It was the middle of January, so they hadn’t bothered booking in advance, and when they drove along the seafront, Cedric asked
‘what sort of hotel are we going to be staying at?’
‘Not the best, the budget won’t allow for that, but we can certainly push the boat out a little. We’re going to be here for two or three nights, and I’m pretty sure that these places will be desperate for a couple of cash customers.’
They stopped outside an imposing stand-alone building with a welcoming looking entrance.
‘I like the look of this one. There’s almost a dozen steps, so there’s no allowing the disabled. They always demand so much, and this visit is going to be a pleasure.’
‘Yes, but I struggle with my breath, walking up too many steps,’ said Cedric.
‘You shouldn’t be so fucking fat, then. Stay there while I check it out.’
Thomas walked up the steps into the reception area, and was instantly greeted with a smile by the attractive young lady standing there.
‘How many I assist,’ was her greeting.
‘I would like two small doubles, sea view, two, maybe three nights, best rate you can manage.’
‘Certainly sir.’ The smile failed to waiver against brusqueness. ‘Would you and the other person be requiring an evening meal?’
‘Don’t know. Reckon on yes, and we’ll see how we go.’
‘Very good sir, for two nights’ dinner bed and breakfast I could manage fifty pounds per room per night.’
‘Come on love, I’m not that green. This is the middle of winter, you’ve got no trade, and the central heating’s costing you a fortune. Try again.’
‘One hundred and eighty pounds, cash in advance, no refunds, and the restaurant is table d’hôte.’
‘That’s more like it. Let’s have a shifty at the rooms, and as long as they’re okay then we’re up and running.’
She escorted him to the first floor in the lift, showing him both the rooms. Bath and shower in each room as en suite, both beds were 4ft 6in, more than enough for his requirements
, and if Cedric wanted a bigger bed, well, it was up to him to sort it out.
‘They’ll do, love. Let’s go downstairs and I’ll weigh in.’
They walked down the stairs, he paid the cash, she gave him the room keys.
‘Breakfast is between 8 and 10am, dinner is at 6.30pm. The bar is open only lunch time and evenings, closing at 11pm.’
‘No problem, thanks. Can you send somebody to the car outside to bring the bags in.’
He went out to the car, and then returned with Cedric and an elderly hotel employee who carried the bags. They spent the rest of the day acclimatising themselves with the town. They drove to the church hall where the band practised, being pleased with what they saw, and the whole impression was of a seaside resort that catered for the more mature guest, with a pier that didn’t necessarily cater for the younger crowd. There were amusement machines, but also a Victoria tea room. There were market stalls, but also an upmarket bar. Security was there, but not in your face. They liked what they saw, continuing to meet the profile they were looking for in a seaside resort that could cope with a silver band. Cedric returned to the hotel rather than walk around the town centre, but Thomas saw the obligatory shopping centre, with most shops occupied, and a thriving metropolis supporting a population close to 100,000. He walked to the train station, which had excellent connections, and then through to the bus and coach garage. This had transport to many destinations, all of which would go in his report to Busy Mick.
He went into the tourist information centre.
‘Afternoon,’ he said, ‘wonder if you’ve any information about the town’s silver band?’