Chapter 1

Hi everyone, anyone,
I've been busy writing a book, I'm up to chapter 20 with more swilling around in my head.
Here's the first chapter, I plan to publish a chapter each week.

Let me say sorry now for the many spelling, gramical errors, we didn't all get a fancy education!

Anyway I hope you enjoy it

m



Chapter One 28/03/15

Early one stifling hot summers evening, a Thursday evening to be precise,lost within the vast city that endures, nestling near the mighty river, stood the ruins of forlorn abandoned warehouses, yesterdays essentials, now discards of today.  Hidden deep in one secluded basement, dark, dank with a wet musty twang, a naked; once beautiful young man hung by his arms, his legs secured and stretched wide apart.  Light came from the many candles dotted around, flickering, casting dark shadows where evil hid, watched, consumed, tasting the pain, the terror the despair.
He sobbed; tears flowing down his face, the chains that tethered him rang and clinked as his aching muscles frantically strained in his futile attempt to escape from the small cook's gas blow torch that was creeping slowly back towards his exposed flesh.  He gazed into the gleaming emerald eyes that studied him, the eyes that were coldly calculating the exact point when his torment would resume.  He pleaded and begged; offering everything, promising all he had, all he was, unable to accept his life was ending before it had really started.  She listened to his words and was amused, happy, in rapture with his shear terror, feeding, savouring the fear, watching the sweat running down his fried ruined torso.  Her lips formed into a mean smile, she licked them; her eyes deadened, absently mindlessly she brushed a stray blonde strand of hair away from her youthful features before suddenly thrusting the blue flamed torch into his face, flesh burnt and with a final jerk and stifled scream his five hours of living hell was curtailed.  Clinically she turned off the torch; packed her briefcase with the toys of torment she had used.  Smoke was rising from the burnt carcass, the smell starting to finally irritate her senses, even annoying them.  Glancing at her watch she noted she still had time and left. Gliding away she started to hum a favourite tune softly, a haunting melody.

Later that same evening a white  Boxed Luton Van glided to a gentle halt outside the rear of a large fake Georgian residence. A huge garage nestled beneath; spreading underneath offices that were also above and fixed to one side of the residence.  The driver was careful to park over a particular manhole cover.  In the rear three men, clothed in black glanced at each other; the leader, clean shaven, dark brown hair; early to mid twenties nodded.  They pulled the manhole cover up through the hole that had been pre-cut in the floor of the van.  One by one they climbed cautiously down the creaking off white rope ladder that they had had to first lower.  The dark was full of deep blackness hiding menace and worry.  Once they had got inside the round concrete drain; each man had switched on a lamp fixed to his head.  They moved slowly; paddling in the effluent that covered the bottom of the pipe.  A powerful pungent aroma of rotting waste tinged with bleach assailed their senses.

Progress was slow inside the oppressive rising serpent but after a couple of minutes they arrived without a word being spoken at a metal railed gate covered in toilet paper and slushy gunk.  Cutting through the rusty padlock with the cutters the second man, Fat Malcolm, had carried; they entered a brick lined chamber, forty feet square. They still had to stoop a little, but not so much as before.  Smaller pipes terminated here, each coming from a building above.  Suddenly one of the pipes emitted an offering of shit and spoil, splattering the floor in a shower of brown dark sludge.  Ignoring the increase in stink, the leader; David Stantz pulled out a map from a chest pocket. Together the three studied the drawing, they twisted this way and that trying to get their bearings. Above them were four trap doors, each spaced equally from each other. For a long time they pondered and pointed before agreeing on a door.  With bit and brace the third man, Calum drilled a small hole, a camera on a flexible pole was slipped through.  A quick look at the screen attached to the other end of the pole proved that the room above was in darkness.  A battery saw was used to allow entry through the middle of the wooden trap door and they crept upwards; David pleased to note that the alarm door contact fitted to the trap door and the frame had not been disturbed.  He professionally stripped the outer sleeve of the small white alarm cable leading to the alarm contact and studied the coloured wiring.  Pulling a small multi-meter from the other breast pocket he laid it down and peeled back the inner sleeve of each of the four cores of the cable.  Using the meter, he then tested each core before nodding to himself and smiled.  The black rucksack that he had brought with him was opened to reveal a Megga, that standard electricians tool of the trade used normally to send a high voltage around a circuit to test the circuit was ok.  Leads were attached to the blue and yellow cores, directly onto the exposed copper of the stripped cores of the cable.  A button was pressed, lights on the unit went from green to red and back again, 500 volts had briefly powered its way rounds the alarm circuit which was not designed to be treated in this fashion, as the far too high voltage reached the alarm control panel it destroyed the alarms main processor.  All three listened out straining their ears for any sound.  Putting the Megga away David lowered the rucksack back through the trap door.  Moving quickly they went to the only door in the room and cracked it ajar, David desperately using the camera trying to see if there was an Alarm Contact on the door, there was.  He looked at the other, they both gave a brief "yes"nod and he opened the cheap wooden door a little more.  They stood in silence again, no alarm came.
"Fried the fucker!" David murmured.  They were in!

Another camera check followed and then they fully opened the door before moving along a dimly lit passageway, many of the bulbs were out or switched off. The tension was almost unbearable, each man was taught and sweating.  Looking quickly at the map David pointed to a door and they slipped into the large garage, the rows of lights flicked on automatically as a light saving sensor picked up their body heat.  Rows of cars, big and expensive lined up as ready for inspection, each covered in a white shroud to protect against dust.  Also David observed two white Transit Vans were positioned right in front of one of the garage doors.  The men got to work removing the catalytic converters.  Working as fast as humanly possible  the units began to stack up, each piece taking one of them about five minutes or so to remove.  Calum kept up a steady pace transporting them; four at a time out of the Underground Garage, along the passageway, through the stink and slime all the way back to the van, the first time he also swept up the rucksack and the rest of the used equipment as he passed.  The other two continued; hard at it, it was hot heavy work and all three were soon dripping in sweet, the air conditioning not helping much.  Crime takes too much hard work reflected David as he worked.  Finally they had removed a total of thirty one converters.  David looked at a smart nearly new Blue Skoda parked at the front of the Garage nearest one of the other doors.  They had not touched it as it was a diesel, it didn't have a converter, David noticed the keys were in the ignition.  A note in bold type stated 'Must be available at all times for use by the duty chef'.  Silly buggers he thought; surely a van would be better to get vitals in.

Finally mission completed they re-entered the passageway, Fat Malcolm carrying the last three items of booty was in the lead followed by Callum, David last in line.  As David got halfway down the passage a piercing alarm started to sound, all the lights went off plunging them into darkness, panic gripped them, they ran adrenalin kicking in, the last three converters were abandoned.  As he move David had the presence of mind to switch on his lamp.  The other two were ten to fifteen feet ahead of him when a door was flung open into the passageway, David was just in front of it as it opened and had no chance to avoid it, he hit the door and bounced through the opening then colliding heavily with someone inside.  Both parties sprawled onto the floor.  As he raised his head he saw a wooden fruit bowl sliding across the tiled floor and disappearing under a large stone statue of a Woman dressed as a Warrior, closely followed by some fruit which bounced against the statue and rolled back towards him.  The Warrior, he noted,was adorned with sword, slightly curved and a shield with a red dragon spitting fire.  Feeling, more than hearing ,a movement to his right he turned his head, the beam from his torch locked onto the face of a Woman, blonde, young with emerald green angry eyes, a scowl forming on her face, he clocked a small crossed scar on the forearm of the woman; then a dagger long, thin, sharp and very pointed appeared in his beam.  She was holding it in her right hand, it was pointing at him.  David slithered backwards, crying out in fear.  She moved rapidly towards David with intent and malice.  Rolling backwards across the threshold he heard the door slammed shut, looking up David saw Calum sliding a bolt across.  The door was hit from inside; repeatedly, it was clear to both of them the bolt wasn't going to keep the door secure for long.  Pulling David up Calum shouted in a harsh Glaswegian accent "Run you twat" they did.  Behind them the could hear the door giving way.  Charging back the way they had first come they flung themselves through the opening in the trap door and legged it into the pipe; splattering shit onto the ceiling and themselves.  Yelling in fear they sped along at full pace.  Malcolm who had already reached the van pulled them up and then the rope ladder.  Chucking the manhole cover earthwards back into its original position David screamed "Drive, drive you fucking cock sucker, just drive".
The van moved, picking up pace then faster and faster; the stolen converters shifting and sliding with each turn of the van. Eventually the driver slowed down after a good five minutes. As the van stopped briefly at some traffic lights they could talk.

"What the fuck was that?" demanded Fat Malcolm, the broad Scots accent harsh and evil.

"We're so fucked"said David moaned softly.

"Come again" Malcolm asked.

"It was a Warrior I've just swopped spit with" David snapped back.  "A female warrior, you know a member of the Mistress Hood, Order or what ever else you want to fucking call them twats".

"What the fuck was she doing there? And what the fuck is the Mistress Hood?"
Fat Malcolm demanded his accent getting broader revealing the stress he was under.

"I don't know why she was there" came David's glum reply, "But I've come across them before, I know what they're like, we're dead meat, I mean it, we're dead meat!"

The rest of the fifteen minute journey was in silence mainly due to the roaring noise of the van's engine.  Malcolm and Calum exchanging worried glances, David slumped down; head in hands.  His mind a whirl of questions, worries and half-cocked what ifs.  What the fuck was she doing there he kept asking himself.  This was meant to be an easy blag.  The fence said it was a piece of cake.  I should never have agreed to this David reflected ruefully, always better on my own.

Flicking a butt out of the window, Ahmed exhaled the last hot smoky drag and turned into a car breakers yard.  Pulling to a stop he jumped out and walked quickly towards the rusty dented sheet covered metal double gates; banging on the side of the van as he past.   "Out you wee cunts" he shouted as he closed the gates; snapping the padlock shut.  His accent more the wrong side of Edinburgh.

There then followed a fierce discussion come argument in the yard, bones picked over, blame apportioned, fingers wagged.  Finally after ten minutes or so they went into the not so new once olive green portacabin David switched on a desk light revealing a well thumbed last years Topless Model Calendar hanging on the dirty wall a faded penned penis sketched artfully entering the smiling mouth.  David shook his head in a no gesture as Fat Malcolm went to switch on the main lights.

"Look guys" he said, "No ones seen you lot so let's go our separate ways, you don't know what's coming, I think I do, if we're caught we're going to get a right good pasting!"

Calum said for the fifth time, "Will you fucking clearly spill the shite and stop being a dick, you ain't made any sense so far".
Ahmed and Malcolm joined in clamouring for an explanation.

David sighed rubbing his eyes, "All right you cunts" he said in a strong clear firmer voice; "Pin back you lug holes, this ain't no shit, straight up".

"I grew up in a small village in the sticks, well in the sticks, in fact it was in Wales, it was a Mistress led village".
"Come again bro" said Calum.

"Shut up and listen" David flung back, spraying a bit of spit that landed on Ahmed's bold head. No one seemed or cared to notice.  "Let me try and get it stuffed into your brainless Jock minds, don't you know dick?  A Mistress led village is one where some, most; if not all the houses are owned and run by women.  Most are members or affiliates of the Mistress Hood, Order, bla-bla-bla, whatever.  They live in FLM or FLR's".

Ahmed's black, neat eye brows rose up asking the question that the other two were about to ask.

"Female Led Marriages or Relationship.  The woman own everything, even the men" said
David.

"Bullshit", screeched Calum and Malcolm both at the same time.  Ahmed just blow out noisily through his lips like he was smoking another fag.

"Look" pleaded David, "I grew up a village just like that, my next door neighbours both sides were just that.  Half the kids I use to know are like that.  Fuck me you couldn't shit in the woods without the Coven Council knowing.  All women, mean, old and fucking nasty bitches, all twelve of them".  

"So" mocked Ahmed "What were the men, slaves?  The woman witches?".

"Sort of, maybe, I don't know" said  David, "But more than that, their men were called Slave-Dogs.  Two of my mates when I was younger were like that.  Good guys until you got the wrong side of their Sister, then they could be real funny, not in a Ha Ha way you know.  Look, they think differently, have their own rules, laws".

"I ain't seen this shit on the Discovery Channel" said Ahmed, "Your taking the piss you lying ball bag".

"Straight up" David answered throwing up his hands in a pleading action.  "I don't know why but they're for real you've just got to believe it.  Why the government don't do dick, fuck knows, fuck cares.  I thought this was some posh rich gay bankers house".  Scratching his balls David joked "Nobs all round".

"You sure we went through the right trap door" asked Calum, Malcolm nodded in agreement.

"Bollocks" said David going a little more pale.  "Do you think we ended up in the wrong pad?, the alarm was just as described, old and a bag of poo". Easy to fry the processor"

Fat Malcolm rubbed his lardy stomach, patting it to release some trapped wind before farting loudly and shook his left leg.  "Not another fuck up, ay?, why the alarm go off?.

"Maybe the Tart set off another alarm" David answered, more to himself than the others.

David frowned, groaned and slumped into a leather chair that was the wrong side of its chuck it away date.  "You don't get it, one of them saw me, I'm fucked, they will find me, look just leg it.  I never understood it all, Mum took me away from the village when I was thirteen just before my next birthday.  We move to this great shitty city.  There was a man in the village, called Shaky George, he walked like a spaso on drugs, hunched and twisted, muttered all the time.  Terrified of his own shadow, couldn't look anyone in the eye, we use to take the piss as kids".
David wished he still smoked as he watched Ahmed light a tab and inhale the first crisp vapour of death.

"Shaky George", David continued, "Was rumoured to like a drink, one winter's eve, just before the longest night he got wasted and drove his pickup.  It was said that he crashed into some woman's car, she and her kid got hurt.  Not killed, or even badly hurt mind.  The cops got called, took them two days to find him.  He weren't pissed by then, cleaver lawyer got him off.

The following week he disappeared, six weeks later he was back, fucked over for good.
It seems the woman also lived in the village, didn't know her name, she was a Mistress, so the Mistress Coven did their own thing".

Funny David thought to himself, woman in the village use to smile as they went past George, did they all know he wondered.  He dwelt and pondered on this for a few minutes before becoming aware that Malcolm was talking.

"Bollocks to this guys I'm off, I stink like last weeks wee turds, let's talk tomorrow, I've got an appointment with a shower then four wee tinnies and Babestation xtra".

After a few more minutes chatter the agreed to meet at ten in the cafe opposite the yard before moving the goods.  As they left, each one walked off in a different direction.  Ahmed was the last to leave, locked up and lit another cigarette before drugging off pulling his coat collar tight around him as it started to rain.

None of the men looked up to the skyline as the left.  If they had they might have seen a figure perched on a roof top studying them with great interest.