Dick Longg: Sexual Saviour of the Universe (27 page)

‘No!’, exclaimed the Leader with more than a trace of annoyance in his voice. When I say ‘Fabric’ I mean the fabric of society. I mean I feel a disturbance in the energy that binds everything together in the universe and controls how it all works’.

Carter nodded and asked, ‘You mean like ‘a Force’. Like a ‘disturbance in ‘The Force’?’

The Leader’s eyes instantly widened.

‘Shhhhhhhhhhhh!’, he exclaimed. ‘Don’t use that word!’

‘“Force?”’, asked a confused Carter.

‘I said “don’t say it!”’ This time the Leader shouted.

‘It’s just that I think that talking about a disturbance in the Force is better than talking about a disturbance in the Fabric’, Carter added, quite reasonably. ‘A disturbance in the Fabric could be misconstrued as a flaw in the weave or defective stitching’.

The Leader hit the window hard with his fist before speaking through gritted teeth. ‘I know… but we have to use a different word to…’ He looked conspiratorially from side to side before whispering, ‘Force’.

‘Like “Fabric?”’, Carter proposed.

‘Yes, like “Fabric”’, the Leader agreed, his patience fast wearing out, ‘Because there are certain important legal issues involved, all right!?’.

The Leader had a way with his delivery that made it crystal clear when a matter was closed for discussion. This was one of those instances. Not only was the subject closed, it was boarded up with a sign saying ‘Keep away’ and two more that said ‘Enter at your peril’ and ‘Beware of the dogs’. The Leader continued. ‘Now where was I?’

‘Mr. Brunel and the Fabric, sir’, prompted Carter, with an almost unnoticeable inflection of contempt in his voice when he used the ‘F’ word.

‘Yes, of course’. The Leader said, turning back from the window, ‘I’ve instructed Vera to monitor his progress carefully’.

He studied a photograph of Dick that was fixed to the inside cover of the folder. ‘He is a most interesting fellow who reminds me of someone else though I can’t, for the sake of me, think who it is’.

Before the Leader could think any more about Jeremy Brunel, Carter had pulled a gun from his pocket and pointed it at him. In a flash the Leader almost simultaneously picked up a heavy table lighter from his desk and hurled it at the weapon, while throwing himself into his chair and propelling himself backwards. The lighter struck Carter on the wrist with a sharp ‘crack’. He gave an exclamation of pain and dropped the gun, then in a move that belied his age, hurled himself over the desk straight at the Leader. The chair toppled over, dumping both men unceremoniously on the floor.

Rolling over and over on the thick pile carpet they both fought for supremacy and the chance to inflict serious physical damage on the other. The Leader was younger and more agile but Carter was a larger man and physically stronger. The two men rolled back and forth and would have rolled some more if the Leader’s head hadn’t thumped against the one of the substantial desk legs, causing momentary concussion. Exploiting this moment, Carter used his weight to pin the Leader to the ground, managing to shuffle up his writhing body until he was astride him. Restraining the Leader’s arms with his knees, Carter now had both his own hands free to strangle him and in fact, this was exactly what he did.

All the Leader could do was feel Carter’s thick fingers slowly choke the life force out of him. He stared at his would-be assassin, seeing the hate deep in his eyes. He wondered what his own eyes looked like. Did they express pain or hopelessness? Or were they calm, waiting for the inevitable? No! There was still much work for him to do. Summoning a last ounce of strength, with his final gasp the Leader jerked and twisted his body. He heard his spine protest with a loud and unpleasant ‘Click’, but despite the pain, he managed to free one arm. Carter’s strong hands were still gripped firmly around his neck but with his free arm, the Leader groped blindly around on the desk top. He could feel his windpipe slowly being crushed. Breaths were now laboured and infrequent. Then he felt what he’d been looking for and grasped it as if his life depended on it, which in fact, it did. Half a second later Carter felt the cold, sharp blade of the ornate letter opener pressed hard against his sinewy neck. This was the signal, and the persuasion he needed, to instantly remove his hands. Both men lay there panting; Carter from the exertion and the Leader from the fresh breaths that filled his lungs.

Carter got up and helped the Leader to his feet.
 
‘You did well, sir’, he said, breathing heavily.

‘And you…’. The Leader was now taking in deep, measured breaths. ‘You’re a good bodyguard and an excellent adversary. Your attacks always keep me on my toes’. He picked Carter’s gun up from the floor.

‘Or in this case, on your back, sir’.

‘Very good, Carter. Very good!’. With that, the Leader punched Carter playfully on his arm.

‘I need to be on guard at all times against assassins. They could be anywhere, even people among us right now. For all I know Carter,
you
could be my assassin!’

The Leader pointed the gun at Carter’s head. If Carter had been alarmed at this action he didn’t show it, not even when the Leader squinted along the barrel and cocked the gun.

‘Sir, I’m not your assassin. You have my word on that as a gentleman’.

The Leader smiled, then un-cocked the weapon and handed it to Carter, handle first. Carter took it and placed it back within his jacket.

‘I know Carter, I trust you. I’m always glad to have you by my side particularly when there’s a disturbance in the Fabric’.

‘Ah yes, sir. The Fabric’. Carter nodded, this time thinking about a linen tablecloth.

- - o O o - -

Jack’s second victim was a sweet, smiling girl named Harriet. She smiled when she met Jack in bar called the Royal Sovereign on
Bethnal Green Road
and he offered to buy her a gin. She smiled as they joked and laughed in the corner of the saloon bar, warmed by the flames of a roaring fire and two or three other gins within her. She smiled when he agreed to her proposition and followed her out to the deserted narrow cobbled mews at the back of the bar. She stopped smiling however when Jack plunged his long sharp knife into her abdomen several times in quick succession.

Harriet’s body was found later that evening by two well-to-do gentlemen using the mews as a short cut to
Dunbridge Street
. Like
Elizabeth
, Jack had made sure her body was found in what the police would officially call a ‘distressed state’. The tabloid newspapers, fed by ‘anonymous but reliable Party sources’ (AKA Dick) didn’t exercise restraint in their descriptions of the body. The papers’ owners had seen circulations rise after the first crime was committed which is why they took it in their own hands to elaborate on this latest murder to make it even more sensational. Depending on which report you read Harriet’s body had been found with her liver, spleen and kidneys removed and arranged in a neat pile on her chest (or as neatly as you could pile various bodily organs), her pancreas, small intestines and appendix tucked in her jacket pockets, or her nose and heart shoved up her rectum. Or all of the above.
 

It didn’t really matter which version of events was most widely believed. What was important was that in a very short space of time two harlots had been murdered and mutilated by an anonymous killer. Prostitution was scandalous enough in this puritanical society, but prostitution linked to what seemed like a mentally deranged serial killer ensured the bloody attacks became the talk of the town and the country. Ordinarily, if the prostitutes were real flesh and blood women they’d be absolutely terrified and would stay off the streets until the killings stopped but these man-made women didn’t operate with real logic or emotions. Their programming meant their prime directive was to entice men into having sex with them at any cost. That’s why deaths three, four and five followed later that week. And six and seven the week later.

By this time the deaths were making prime time television news. Dick had drip-fed various reports into the media to promote pro-Party messages. Rumours were rife that the vicious killer was a member of the Resistance, that he was someone who had avoided his monthly injections, a foreigner, a philanderer, an atheist, or a chronic masturbator. Once these stories had been planted speculation spread like wildfire, fanned by the winds of public interest and a circulation frenzy

‘Serial Slasher Slays and Slices Seventh!’ screamed the most recent front page headline. The Leader smiled, placed the paper down on his desk and leaned back in his chair. He’d been reviewing Jack’s progress on a regular basis via Vera’s reports and decided to commend Mr. Brunel on his good work once all the prostitutes had been terminated. He thought that as long as he could manage his unbelievably hectic workload he would try and meet Jeremy in person. As he contemplated this, the Leader shivered and looked around his office. He had that niggling feeling again and his foot was irritating him. If he didn’t know better he would have sworn there was a small pebble in the toe of his shoe.

CHAPTER 22

It was Susan who next intercepted Dick on his way home one evening and, after the usual blindfolding procedure, took him to the resistance headquarters. Dick was a little frustrated that the location still had to be kept a secret from him but Susan explained that it had been two years before she had been trusted enough to be told.

‘So
Taylor
doesn’t trust me?’, Dick asked over the hum of the hovercar.

‘Of course he does’, said Susan. ‘He has every confidence in you’.

‘Did he have every confidence in Benjamin too?’, Dick asked.

‘That colleague of yours at the Ministry?’

‘Yes’. Dick replied. ‘My colleague who, it turns out, was also in the Resistance. You must know him. In his mid-thirties. About five eight. Slightly built. Dark hair’.

‘Do you know the name he used in the Resistance?’

‘No’, Dick admitted.

‘Well I can’t help you. His description is too general. And besides, even if I can’t identify him by his appearance, I would know something as important as us having another member working alongside you at the Ministry’. Susan thought again about Benjamin and shook her head. ‘You’re wrong about him being in the Resistance’, she said. ‘Definitely wrong’.

Dick was confused and wondered how
Taylor
had even managed to conceal Benjamin’s identity and role from even his closest colleagues.

‘As far as I know’, Susan continued. ‘You’re the only man we’ve got on the inside’.

‘Would you like a man on the inside?’, Dick asked, making a very clumsy come-on. He rested his hand gently on Susan’s thigh and squeezed it, finding it hard and unyielding. Susan picked up his hand, took it off the metal transmission tunnel between the seats of the hovercar and placed it in her lap.
 

‘Yes please. After tonight’s meeting. Can you teach me something new?’, she asked.

‘I’m sure I can. Tonight’s lesson can be the Three R’s: Role Play, Rimming and Reach Arounds’.

If the Party had been keeping Susan’s hovercar under surveillance that evening they would have been confused by its very erratic flight path as it jerked and jolted around. This wasn’t a result of any control problems with the vehicle but rather the fact that Susan found it difficult concentrating on driving given what Dick was doing with his fingers between her legs. When they eventually arrived at the resistance headquarters Dick was surprised to learn that
Taylor
wasn’t there. Surprised and pleased. Edward and Grace were going about their business, Susan had gone off to have a shower and there was a member, Clifford, who he’d never met before, who was studying intelligence reports on the recent movements of Party hierarchy. Dick wandered around and eventually found
Alice
in the small dimly-lit library, engrossed in a newspaper with a pile of several others close by.

‘So, no Taylor?’, Dick asked, shutting the door behind him. He guessed the answer but was seeking comfort in its confirmation.