Chapter Five

 

It had all started a few months ago. Thomas and Cedric were amateur musicians, not particularly good despite many years of practice. Rumours had circulated in the world of blues jazz for many years that there was a club that offered more than the conventional, but that was as far as the rumours went, with it being almost impossible to obtain an invitation. The club’s location was also a closely guarded secret, and it was a complete co-incidence that both men had made their first visit to the club on the same night.

Cedric was on the fringe of criminality, in his late thirties, with a huge appetite for everything in life that had danger. He simply did not care what he looked like, indulging in vast quantities of excess food and alcohol. He never exercised, and hadn’t seen his prick for years, only holding it when performing body functions. His gut hung over his waistband, he had not been on a set of scales for years, so he had no idea how much he weighed, but to the casual observer it must be in excess of twenty two stones. He was a tall man, over six feet two inches, so he managed to carry his weight better than many would, but as he had been a successful criminal he always had money so he could afford to purchase good quality clothing. Most men would have been slobs, but not Cedric. He had heard of this club for many years, but never known its location until a casual conversation with Busy Mick, who had said that he was going up north on Friday to his club. It had taken quite a lot of wheedling for Cedric to get an invitation as well, and there he was, sitting in the small darkened room, front row table close to the stage, sharing with Busy Mick, and two strangers.

Rick Thomas, on the other hand, was known to the police, had served a three year sentence for handling stolen goods, but had not been caught or questioned for over ten years. He was now in his late forties, thin as a rake, and was fortunate that his metabolism was such that he could eat and drink all he wanted, without it affecting his frame in any way. He also had a perverse sexual appetite, one that he rarely indulged in, so when the opportunity to visit the club had presented itself he had jumped at the opportunity.

Rick was a London man, through and through, going to markets to sell on as many items as he could lay his hands on. He had a very wide circle of contacts in the antiques game, specialising in musical instruments, which he was an expert in, and silver items, where he knew even more. He always had a stall at the Kempton antiques market every other Tuesday, which was held at the racecourse in north west Surrey on the fringe of west London. Most times he would be asked his opinion on an item, and he had a reputation as a fair trader, prepared to value something without necessarily buying, but the seller usually accepted his offer. These items would either be silver, or from a brass band, such a cornet, trumpet, or maybe woodwind instruments as well. He was a basically competent musician, not particularly good, but able to hold a tune, so his stall would be a popular one with other sellers, who would hear a tune being played on something that Rick might want to buy. He always bought with a seller in mind, never speculating, as his list of contacts was so extensive that he would know who would buy each instrument he looked at, and at what profit margin.

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.