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Return From The Dark SideChapter 32: Time To Kill free porn video
Christina had to go to the police station, to give her statement. Pat and Megan, accompanied by Henry, went along figuring they might as well get it over with. Henry put his foot down when Tammy wanted to join them. He would not risk exposing her to questioning yet. She stayed with Josie and the prospect of helping with the baby mollified her.
Tammy had performed the first change of nappies for little Christopher under the guidance of a nurse and she proudly presented the freshly dressed baby to Josie.
In the meantime, Henry and the twins were sitting with a female constable and the girls gave their account of the events. A protocol was typed and the girls put their names under the document. Henry had to countersign in his capacity as their stepfather.
Chris' deposition was finished too by the time they were ready and Inspector Crawley asked them all into his office. He closed the door and sat behind his desk putting on an official face.
"Ladies and you, Colonel, I want to brief you on what we have found out so far and on what happened since yesterday.
"We were able to identify the three men who tried to abduct the young ladies yesterday. They are all members of a gang of pimps who are running a chain of brothels, both here in England and in a few East-European countries.
"The driver you killed, Miss Hernandez, is the brother of one Milan Yorkaev, the leader of that gang. The other two men are known enforcers for Yorkaev. The surviving man gave us some information whilst he was under the influence of heavy painkillers. Nothing we can ever use in a court of law, but important nonetheless.
"According to him, the plan was to kidnap the young ladies and bring them to a foreign country to auction them off. I'm sorry, but there is no way to sugar-coat this. You were meant to be sold into slavery, white slavery. You must understand that blonde twins with your, err, physical attributes can fetch astronomical sums in certain circles.
"At the same time, ransom demands were also planned to extort even more money. That money was to go to the informer, the man who gave the Yorkaevs all the information."
"James Elrin!" Henry exclaimed, suddenly clairvoyant. The weasel had done it again.
"Precisely. Unfortunately, we cannot question Mr. Elrin anymore. He was found strangled this morning, in his cell. We know that he shared his cell with the younger Yorkaev for a few weeks. We suspect that he was killed in retribution for the incomplete intelligence he gave the kidnappers. We believe that Yorkaev blamed Elrin for the death of his brother. We have already placed your wife and your daughter under protection at the hospital."
"You mean, he will try to avenge his brother?"
"We have to assume that much, Colonel. Yorkaev is in a power struggle right now. He cannot afford to lose face. The Russians are moving in on him and any show of weakness could be fatal for him."
"What can you do about him, Inspector?" Chris asked, quite composed. "We have to assume that I'll be the prime target."
Crawley bent over and handed Chris a laminated card and her Heckler&Koch.
"First of all, your license is renewed and the magistrate would look favourably on an application from you, Colonel. With your background, you can both provide some protection. We will also place you under temporary protection at your home. You have a rather big family, so I must ask you not undertake too many activities."
"You mean, we are under house arrest waiting for those goons to strike?"
"There's not much else we can do. You see, the testimony of the surviving gang member is invalid in a court of law and he will never testify voluntarily. We can't arrest Yorkaev for having a criminal for a brother. We'll pull him in for questioning today and we'll try to put some pressure on him, but he is not easily scared from what I hear."
"Can I see him when you question him?" Henry asked. "It would be good to know his face."
"We can arrange for that. Colonel, don't try to intimidate him. He won't be impressed by your military record; he will simply kill you."
"That's been tried before, but I'm not easily killed, Inspector," Henry smiled grimly catching a fleeting ironic smile on Chris's face, "but you are absolutely right. Talking to him would be a sign of weakness. Where does he hail from?"
"There are rumours that he served in the Croatian militias, over in Bosnia. He's extremely brutal. The Bosnians wanted him for murder and rape, but the evidence was not good enough for an extradition."
"Why is he allowed to stay when he's such an undesirable character?" Henry asked.
"He was smart enough to marry one of the girls who worked in his club. She's a British subject..."
Henry's jaw set at this information. Murder and rape in Bosnia. Attempted kidnapping of Pat and Megan. Mr. Yorkaev's tab was filling fast and Henry felt a sudden urge to present the final reckoning. Up to this moment he had been content to let the police do their job. Yet Crawley had all but admitted that they were powerless. He looked at Chris, a long look, and he saw understanding and agreement in her black eyes.
The lousy pimp had some nerve Henry decided, driving up at the police station in a chauffeured Bentley. The driver remained seated whilst a bodyguard jumped from the car and opened the curb side door.
The bullet-headed man who alighted from the car radiated danger signals. He was squat and powerfully built. He strode into the station house with his tame solicitor as if he owned it, whilst the bodyguard remained outside watching the pavement. The Bentley had to leave because of the no-stop zone in front of the station house and the driver parked some 200 yards farther along the street.
Henry had seen enough. He would call Crawley later and apologise for being a no-show. He walked along the street and climbed into the Honda where Chris was waiting for him.
"I got some good snapshots of him. Let's drive down the street and see what the chauffeur is doing," Chris suggested.
The Bentley stood in front of a Starbuck's where the driver was drinking coffee with his cell phone in front of him on the table. They shot a few pictures of the chauffeur and watched him.
Two days later, Milan Yorkaev was working late. His day had been filled with controlling the fallout of this stupid kidnapping business. He had been against it, had felt that kidnapping those girls was too high profile. But his brother Radovan had insisted on having it all planned. His cellmate, that American wimp, had given him all the information or so he thought.
Now Radovan was dead, killed by a bodyguard. A bodyguard, appearing out of the blue and blasting away at Radovan and hitting him four times in vital spots. A bloody dyke bodyguard to top it off! That wimp Elrin had said nothing about bodyguards. Well, he had been the first to feel Milan's wrath.
Now the coppers were putting enormous pressure on him and his organisation. Milan contemplated postponing any revenge against the Ruiz-Costa family to wait for things to cool off. Not that this would change anything. Radovan had already received an advance payment for the twins and he, Milan, had to deliver on the promise. That Dago cunt would pay for shooting his brother. He would personally make sure that she would suffer for a week at a minimum. That little slant-eyed cunt who had smashed Josef's nose, well, she would learn what it meant to cross Milan's path.
Josef. Another sore point. He was squealing to the coppers. Luckily, Milan had got wind of it. Now Josef had to be taken care of.
A rhythmic chanting from the street made him look up from his desk. Always careful, he killed the desk lamp before he opened the curtain. Damn! It was that church group again. They were picketing the entrance. Nothing kills a brothel's business more quickly than people with banners and TV cameras in front of the entrance! He pressed the intercom button.
"Crik, take Rudlov and chase those scarecrows away! Do your job, damnit!"
Crik was his bruiser and Rudlov was good at looking scary. The two of them could chase those ninnies away easily!
A few moments later, the chanting increased and Milan heard the noise of breaking wood. His men were at work he thought, grinning smugly. Well, at least they could handle a few church people and lesbians.
Two sharp gun reports made him dive under the table and pull his own gun. People were shouting in panic outside. A woman screeched hysterically. He knew already that those shots had not been aimed at him since the glass of his window was not damaged. Carefully, he peeked over the windowsill.
Crik and Rudlov stood around like idiots with their guns drawn. An icy feeling ran down Milan's spine. Idiots! Had they really shot at the protesters? On a public street? Fuck!
The protesters had withdrawn of course, but now the first sirens could be heard. Crik and Rudlov withdrew back into the club. He could trust them to disappear through the rear exit. He would deal with them later. Cursing, he picked up the phone and called for his solicitor. The coppers would question him and he needed Tanner to stonewall for him.
Tanner arrived fifteen minutes later as was proper. After all, Milan was responsible for over 50% of Tanner's business. Plus, he owned him. A few years ago, Tanner had been a little rough with a young girl in one of Milan's brothels. The end result had been a crushed windpipe. Milan had seen to it that the girl's body disappeared, but he had kept enough evidence to bring Tanner to heel.
"What happened?" Tanner asked when he entered Milan's office.
"I sent the boys out to scare those fucking lesbians away, and then out of the blue, boom-boom. I don't know what got into them."
"They'll want to question you at the station."
"Who would have guessed that?" Milan asked with heavy sarcasm. "When?"
"Half an hour."
"Shit," Milan cursed. Another night shot to hell.
He picked up his phone and pressed a speed dial. His driver answered sounding sleepy.
"Wash the sleep out of your face and be here in ten!"
"Yes, boss," came the grumbling response and Milan chuckled. In his present state of mind he enjoyed causing inconvenience to his underlings.
Ten minutes later, the Bentley was indeed waiting for him. His bodyguard Rade stood on the pavement scanning the surroundings. He gave Milan the thumbs-up sign and Milan stepped from the entrance and walked briskly to the Bentley. Rade opened the door and climbed in after Milan and Tanner.
"The fucking police station!" Milan commanded.
Nothing was said during the ride, but when they arrived, Milan gave one more order.
"You wait here!"
"Can't, Boss. I'll be along the street at the Starbuck's."
"Okay, but keep that phone switched on."
Rade was already watching the surroundings and gave him the sign to alight. With Tanner in his wake, he walked into the station. At the front desk he had to wait for almost ten minutes and it took him all the self-restraint he possessed to refrain from smashing things.
That loser Crawley and one of his dyke sergeants sat smugly behind that rickety table. They asked him stupid questions for thirty minutes. Whatever they asked, Tanner spoke for him either denying an answer or feeding them bullshit. Tanner was good at this and although he worked for Milan under duress, he very much identified with his client. At the end of the thirty minutes, Crawley abruptly dismissed them. That fucking little shit, who did he think he was? Still steaming, Milan dialled the driver's number.
"Pick me up!" he barked and ended the call not waiting for an answer.
The Bentley pulled up in front of the station promptly and Rade checked the pavement as usual. Then he opened the door and Milan again walked briskly over to his car and climbed in. The others followed and the Bentley took off.
"We need to speed things up," Milan commented, his round face red with suppressed rage. "Those twins must be delivered to Budapest next week. I need the money now. I also want that dyke who shot my brother. We'll fuck her to death. I'll fuck her with a bloody cricket bat and then with a fence post. I'll cut her fucking tits off and eat her eyes with a spoon. She'll beg me to kill her."
"What about the others, boss?" Rade asked.
"I want that Chink slut too. You'll get to train her."
"Can I have a go at her?" Tanner asked hopefully. "You know, little China girls are just what the doctor ordered for me."
Milan snorted contemptuously. "You're a despicable old lecher, Tanner. You can have the Chink, but don't damage her. She can earn a lot of money once she's been trained properly. Right, Rade?"
"Sure thing, Boss," Rade chuckled. Among other tasks, Rade was responsible for breaking in raw recruits in Milan's brothels.
"And then, when I'm finished with these people, I'll deal with the bloody Russians."
They were speeding along, as they talked, and suddenly, Milan became aware that they had to be way off course.
"Hey, Luka, where the fuck do you think you're going?"
Luka, the driver, slowed and brought the Bentley to a stop at the curb. As he turned around, Milan heard the distinct 'Plop!' of a silenced gun, and Rade slumped forward in his seat. Milan gaped at Luka, who wasn't Luka at all, but a man he had never seen before. Black hair, blue-grey eyes and Hispanic features. The man smiled at him over the barrel of a silenced automatic. A .22 as Milan noted with professional interest.
"Hey, Yorky, old boy! This is a mighty-fine car you've got here. Sorry 'bout Luka, but he sort of had an accident when he left Starbuck's, and it suddenly looked like you had no driver."
"Who the fuck are you and what do you want?" Milan snarled in an attempt to show his bravado. He thought that this must be an attempt to scare him. Probably from the Russians.
"I'm the man whose daughters you plan to sell," the man answered in a soft voice.
Milan felt his stomach tighten. That Ruiz-Costa character was supposed to be a retired officer and Milan had nothing but contempt for British officers. He had certainly done what he wanted, right under their noses, back in Bosnia. But this man was different he sensed. He certainly had nerve pulling this stunt.
Tanner at Milan's side felt that it was time for him to intercede.
"You Mister, are in big trouble already. You just killed a man!"
Ruiz-Costa smiled coldly at Tanner.
"Look, who's talking! Didn't you just ask for a go at my underage daughter, sleaze ball?"
"That, err, I was joking! Yes, just joking. Humouring Mr. Yorkaev, that's it. Men's talk, nothing to it, really."
"Well, old boy, now the joke's on you."
'Plop!' the muffled gun said.
Milan looked at Tanner who had grown a Cyclops' eye right over the bridge of his nose and then back at the man who leaned over the driver seat. The gun was pointing at Milan again.
"Oops!" the man said.
Milan leaned back. It was over. In a fraction of a second he knew that this man was here to kill him and that nothing would deter him. With his mind in overdrive he noted that the man had killed without even blinking. This was not some parade ground officer. Probably SAS or some other commando. It was check and mate. He had lived well at the cost of other people. He had taken what he wanted and when he wanted it. Now he had to pay. He might as well die with dignity he thought, as if that mattered one bit.
"Get it over with," he said, licking his dry lips for one last time.
Henry drove the Bentley slowly along the dark streets. He obeyed all traffic laws meticulously, doing his utmost not to draw attention to himself. He was driving along the northern shore of the River Thames. He breathed a sigh of relief when a sign told him that he had reached idyllic Marlow. The small drive way was barely wide enough for the huge Bentley.
The houses on both sides of the drive way were empty, having recently been sold to some Saudi businessman. Henry had read about it in the local section of the newspaper. The drive way ended at the embankment where Henry knew the water to be at least fourteen feet deep.
He stopped the Bentley and made sure that the dome light was switched off. He slipped a black balaclava over his head. He made sure that his three passengers were buckled up and rolled down the windows. Then he stepped around the car and opened the boot. To drag Luka's lifeless body from the boot and to put him behind the wheel was work and Henry was breathing heavily when he finished the grim task.
The engine of the big Bentley whispered quietly when Henry started it. Leaving the driver side door open, Henry disengaged the brake and put the selector into 'drive'. The Bentley started to roll down the short road and accelerated steadily until it drove cleanly over the embankment. A big splash sounded when the car impacted the surface of the water.
With the driver's door open, the big car sank like a stone. Before any neighbours awakened by the splash could rush to their bedroom windows, the Bentley was gone. Only bubbles showed its resting place.
Staying in the shadows, Henry made his way to the other end of the property where a small float had been forgotten by the previous owners. There, in the weak light, he saw the Klepper folding kayak.
"Jesus, Harry! That was loud," Chris whispered from the front seat of the boat.
"It's a big car," Henry answered. Quickly, he took off his shoes and dropped them into the boat. Chauffeur's hat and coat followed. The trousers came next. Henry was standing in the neoprene dry suit he had worn under the uniform. He donned a life vest and sat down in the rear seat of the kayak.
"How did it go?" Chris asked when Henry shoved off.
"They never knew it was me until it was too late."
Chris shook her head. "Unbelievable!"
"Always go simple if you can. If you go fancy, a lot of things can go wrong. Of course, I could have taken him out with a rifle at long range, but that would have screamed 'military'. With luck the police will think it was a rival. The Russians, or somebody else. Besides, they'll be mostly relieved."
Chris had to agree, but four men had been killed this evening. Her conscience was making itself known. Henry sensed her mindset and pulled a tiny flash memory recorder from his pocket. He pushed the replay button. While Henry paddled to the middle of the river, careful to avoid any splashing, Chris listened to the recording.
'We need to speed things up, ' she heard 'Those twins must be delivered to Budapest next week. I need the money now. I also want that dyke who shot my brother. We'll fuck her to death. I'll fuck her with a bloody cricket bat and then with a fence post. I'll cut her fucking tits off and eat her eyes with a spoon. She'll beg me to kill her.'
'What about the others, boss?' another voice asked.
'I want that Chink slut too. You'll get to train her.'
'Can I have a go at her?' a third man asked hopefully. 'You know, little China girls are just what the doctor ordered for me.'
Milan snorted. 'You're a despicable old lecher, Tanner. You can have the Chink, but don't damage her. She can earn a lot of money once she's been trained properly. Right, Rade?'
'Sure thing, Boss, ' the second man chuckled.
'And then, when I'm finished with these people, I'll deal with the bloody Russians.'
Henry switched off the small recorder.
"See, Chris? Those were the people we just dealt with."
Chris felt slightly sick after hearing Yorkaev's rant, but her conscience weighed less on her now. Her involvement had been indirect, anyway. She had played information into the hands of a church-supported women's rights group and they had predictably picketed the entrance of Yorkaev's club. It was Chris who had fired into the air to cause the stir. She had screamed along with the others before she ran away with them. Since then, she had prepared the get-away.
"So it's over?"
"Likely. The Yorkaevs have an uncle, but he is serving twenty-one years in The Hague. No danger from there."
The sleek boat made its way downstream. After a few minutes, Henry dropped the weighted clothes bag with the uniform and his shoes into the river. The parts of his automatic were distributed over more than a mile of riverbed and Chris's Makarov handgun shared the same fate. Chris was handling the navigation with the GPS and Henry paddled. They had a brief scare when they barely missed a river barge. Yet within an hour, they reached the riverbank behind Oxford House.
The boat was stowed away again in a garden shed. Henry led Chris to a trap door at the back of the house that connected directly to the wine cellar. They crept upstairs in the dark and into their respective bedrooms. Henry looked out of the window of his study and he could see the police car in the drive. They were still guarding the house.
Josie was still in the hospital, Tammy was staying with her and the twins were sleeping in their bedroom. Or so he thought. He tip-toed to his bedroom, avoiding the creaky floor boards and opened the door.
"Where were you?" came Pat's urgent whisper from the dark bedroom.
"We were close to calling Mom!" Megan assisted.
Henry felt his heart sink. That would have killed his alibi.
"What are you doing in our bedroom?" he asked trying to change the topic.
"This isn't working!" Pat whispered angrily. "Where were you?"
Henry stood very close to them.
"You were sleeping and for all you know so was I. Do you understand?"
"What ... you were... ?" Megan stammered.
"Yorkaev?" Pat asked.
"You don't want to know," he said tiredly.
"I do want to know!" Pat hissed furiously. "That man wants to sell us as fuck toys. I have a right to know!"
"Let's just say he won't bother us again."
"So it's over?"
"Most likely. We'll have to remain cautious, but I believe that this particular threat has been snuffed. Now, girls, go to bed. I'll have a brief shower in the dark."
Yet when he returned after his shower, the Twins were still sitting on the bed.
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