Quince Roper drove through the darkness towards the red-light district of Huddersfield with feelings of trepidation. He didn’t usually feel this way; in fact, he’d always enjoyed his excursions to the area in the past. But recent events had brought about a change in the way he viewed it.
He’d picked up a ‘whore’ as he liked to call them, and gone back to her place on Canal Street. He’d agreed on the service she’d provide, then he’d slapped her around a bit to make things more interesting, as he liked to think of it. Usually when he did this, he’d be able to offer his victim more money to shut her up, but the last time, he hadn’t been so lucky. She’d started mouthing off and threatening to go to the police. There’d been a scene, and she’d ended up dead.
That was six months ago. Somehow, he’d managed to avoid being caught, or even questioned by the police. As a family man with an impeccable middle-class pedigree, he wasn’t an obvious suspect.
For six months he’d stayed away from the area. He’d gone to other towns to satisfy his needs. But that involved a drive, and he hadn’t got time tonight for a long drive. He needed dick action, and he needed it quick.
As Roper approached the viaduct near Garrard’s Timber Yard where he knew some of the girls would be plying their trade, he wondered if he really should be doing this. He’d abused quite a few of them. What if one of them recognised him, remembered what he’d done to her, and tipped off the police? What if she were to take a photo of him with her mobile and show it to the police?
That was the trouble with modern technology. There was always the possibility of a photograph being taken of you, or — heaven forbid — a video, when you least wanted it.
These concerns began preying on his mind and at the last minute he turned down a side-street, took a couple of turns, and headed away from the viaduct. He couldn’t risk it. But he was horny as hell. What could he do? He considered stopping his car in a quiet lay-by and tossing himself off, but that was a last-resort in Roper’s view, and wouldn’t, in any case, satisfy his cravings for violence with his sex. There was always his wife, but she’d threatened to go to the police when he’d tried his tricks on her a couple of decades ago.
Whichever way he looked at it, he had no alternative but to go out of town. But he couldn’t do that, not tonight. The pressure inside him was building up. It needed relieving quickly.
He drove in no particular direction, hoping he might see someone, anyone, who he could coax into his car, and cart off somewhere quiet. It didn’t have to be a whore, in fact it might be better if she wasn’t; more satisfying, somehow. Funny how he’d never thought of that before.
He drove up Halifax Old Road, cursing at the speed bumps, took a left turn, and found himself driving along Grimscar Avenue. The place seemed deserted. He slowed down, hoping there might be a woman going somewhere on her own.
That was when he saw her.
A startling vision of beauty.
She had black hair, cut-glass cheekbones, and a face that was somehow haughty. She was tall, at least six foot, and the way she was dressed left little to the imagination. Even so, his imagination began working overtime. She saw him driving towards her and smiled at him. Roper couldn’t believe his luck.
That’s a come-on if ever there was one, he thought.
He imagined what he would do to her, and how he would do it. Images of the woman’s haughty face pleading for mercy flashed through his mind.
He pulled up next to her, wound down the side window of his car, and leaned towards her.
“Are you looking for business, love?” He asked.
“Yes,” she purred. “What would you like?”
He looked her up and down.
“Everything you do,” he said. “What would you charge?”
They negotiated and struck up a deal for De Vine’s services. She opened the passenger door and climbed in. The driver put his hand on the handbrake to release it. She covered his hand with hers and stopped him from doing so.
“Not so fast, Mister,” she said.
His eyes widened. He was shocked at how strong she was. He heard the rear door of his car open and turned his head to see Fletcher getting into the back of his car.
“Now just hang on a — ” he said.
Fletcher got hold of the man’s neck and squeezed it between his finger and thumb.
“You hang on,” he said. “You’re going to do exactly as we say, or your head is going to look very silly, because it’s going to be flopping around at the end of a broken neck. Turn your car around and drive back the way you’ve come.”
Roper did as he was told.
De Vine put her hand on his thigh.
“There’s a good boy,” she breathed. “You and I are going to have a good time tonight, if you just do as you’re told.”
Roper felt himself getting aroused and scared at the same time. He was pretty sure that De Vine’s idea of a good time wasn’t quite the same as his idea of a god time.
My steering lock’s in the foot well, he said to himself. I’ll grab it first chance I get and whack them both with it. Then I’ll show the bitch what’s what. I’ll show her who orders who around.
The thought comforted him.
“Turn left here,” said Fletcher, when they reached the T-junction at Halifax Old Road. “Then take the first right turn you come to.”
The right turn was South Stonker Lane. When they were about half-way up it, Fletcher said:
“Stop here and leave the engine running.”
Roper obediently pulled up and De Vine got out of the car.
“Get out,” said Fletcher.
Roper knew it was now or never. He reached into the foot well, grabbed his steering lock, and leapt out of the car taking the two zombies by surprise.
“Come on,” he said, whirling around and swinging the steering lock as if it was a medieval weapon, “I’ll fucking take both of ya on.”
Fletcher opened the back door of the car and climbed out, quite unhurriedly. Roper took up a guard position with the steering lock raised above his head, ready to meet Fletcher’s attack. But Fletcher didn’t attack him. Instead, he got casually into the front of the car and wound down the window.
“See you later, Kat,” he said, and drove off.
Roper was left holding his makeshift club over his head, and wondering how he could get his car back. Kat smiled at him.
“You seem jumpy,” she said. “Whatever is the matter?”
“You know damned well what the matter is. Your friend has just stolen my car and I fucking well want it back.”
“He’s only borrowed it. He’ll bring it back, and in the meantime you and I could get to know each other; how about it, big boy?”
Roper slowly lowered the steering lock.
The woman was a funny sort of colour — he could see that now, even in the darkness — but at the end of the day, she was only a woman, so he surely had nothing to fear from her. He could play along, wait till they were safely off the street, overpower her in private and have a little fun at her expense. Fun of the sort she wouldn’t expect or appreciate. Then, when her friend showed up with the car, he’d get what was coming to him, which was at the very least concussion, courtesy of the steering lock.
“That’s better,” said Kat, when she saw him relax.
She sauntered over to him and linked his arm.
“You’re coming with me,” she said, and Roper felt himself getting excited about what was to come.
She led him through an impressive gateway, down a path to a magnificent house, and put her mouth close to the side of his head.