Chapter 5: Recce

Alfie was as good as his word, and a couple of days later he rang and said to come to The Crown as he had some news. I quickly made my way to the pub. Alfie pulled me a pint, and as I took a swig he gave me the information I needed.

"There are two pubs in the Chigwell area where Hodges does his deals. The Lemon Tree, where he deals on a Saturday, and The White Swan, where he deals on a Friday," Alfie said. "It seems he keeps to a strict timetable, and spends about two hours in each pub, dealing with six buyers at each place. Each buyer has a particular time slot. None of my informants seem to know how the stuff and money is passed over, but you can be sure that Hodge keeps out of the limelight."

I clapped him on the back. "Alfred Tupper; you are a star." And bought him a triple Scotch.

I decided to recce both pubs the next day.

The first pub I visited was The Lemon Tree. CCTV cameras covered most of the large car park, but it appeared a new extension was not yet similarly protected. The time was about 11am, and the lounge bar was as quiet as a grave.

I stood at the bar, seemingly to be idly looking around but in reality searching for a spot where I could scope the place without being too obvious.

"Yes?" This 'greeting' came from a flinty faced woman in her mid-40's standing behind the bar. She looked me up and down, and didn't seem overly impressed by what she saw.

"A pint of Bombardier, please, and have something yourself." I smiled my most winning smile, and what with that, and the free drink, she softened somewhat.

"You're an early one," she said, pulling the pump handle, but with nothing like the style or eroticism Maggie brought to the task.

"The early bird catches the worm," I answered, playing the cheeky chappie.

"Plenty of worms around here." She sniffed with contempt and nodded her head towards a large, florid faced, man who had come into the bar from a room behind the counter. I noticed a smudge of lipstick on his shirt collar, and looking past him into the room he had just vacated I caught a glimpse of a black girl dressed in chef's whites.

"Good morning to you, sir. A lovely day for it, wouldn't you say?" He said, helping himself to a whisky from the optic behind the bar. I saw he wore a Royal Artillery tie, and by his accent I pegged him as a former officer, who had invested his gratuity in the pub. The flinty faced female was obviously his wife, now come down in the world, as she had probably spent most of her service life overseas, with servants waiting on her hand, foot and finger.

She may well have been a pretty young wife, but discontent with her lot had etched lines around her mouth and eyes. She handed me my pint, served herself a gin, and said "Cheers" as it went down in one, adding "I needed that."

"Have another," I invited.

"Oh, no, I couldn't," she said with a smile. I sensed she was beginning to thaw towards me.

"Perhaps I could buy you one later," I said.

"That would be most kind of you. I'm not often treated ... to anything." The remark clearly directed at her husband busily helping himself to another chota peg.

I left the bar as I could sense an undercurrent of tension between the two of them, and I had better things to do than have a ringside seat at a domestic row. I sat in a chair from where I could keep the room under observation, and figured this would be a good position to keep tabs on Hodge during Saturday evening, not that I was going to make my move this week. Today was to view the ground at each venue, and Friday and Saturday would an operational recce to note how Hodge carried out his 'trade'. The action would take place a week after the operational recce.

The lunch time crowd was filling up the room; the flinty faced female had disappeared, and an older woman had taken her place behind the bar with the florid faced gent.

I left the room and went to find the bogs, not to use but to get the lie of the land. Both the Ladies and Gents were situated in a block outside the main building, and the path to the block passed the kitchens. The open door showed two white coated chefs, one the black girl I had glimpsed earlier. If florid faced gent was giving her one he was punching way above his weight. She was absolutely gorgeous. She caught me staring at her, and gave me a wide, white, beautiful smile.

"All you men fancy her, don't you?" The florid faced gent's wife said in a rueful tone of voice. She was standing on the pathway, either on route to or coming from the Ladies. "Her name is Angelica, mine is Angela, so near yet so far away." She swayed as she spoke, and I realised she had consumed several more gins since the one I bought her.

"The trouble is," she continued, "I fancy her as much as any man." If her remark was meant to shock me it did. I hadn't come across any officers wives who fancied black girls, although I'd met plenty who fancied black boys.

"I'm sure at her age you were well fancied too," I said, trying to boost her self-esteem, and it seemed to work.

"Do you fancy me, then?" she said, and leaned into me.

As a matter of fact I was beginning to. She wasn't my usual sort, but I'm a sucker for a posh accent, and she was slim, petite and moved well. Her hair was cut short and a shade of pale blonde. Not much tit, but her mouth, when she smiled, promised to be kissable and fuckable. She reminded me slightly of Emma from Aldershot ... I wonder if the police ever caught up with her.

Angela stood on tip toe and, wetly and eagerly, kissed me. I tasted the gin on her tongue as it filled my mouth, and responded by thrusting my tongue down her throat and grabbing the cheeks of her pert arse. Her arms came around my neck, and we spent a good five minutes in old fashioned snogging.

She was an excellent kisser, with a greedy sucking mouth, soft, sweet, mobile lips, and a questing tactile tongue. Her hands caressed the back of my neck with an expert's touch, and all this sexual stimulus, coupled with a month long abstinence, caused a mountainous growth in my underwear.

Angela felt the Kraken wake; she disengaged her tongue from my mouth and pulled her face away from mine. "I can tell you certainly do fancy me, and I want what you're packing inside your underwear inside me. Now."

Being on a pathway on the direct route to the toilets wasn't an ideal location to gain further carnal knowledge of each other, and Angela took my hand and hurried me into one of the nearby Ladies cubicles, first putting an 'Out of Order' sign on the door before locking us in.

Ladies bogs are better equipped than gents. Besides having a WC there was a wash basin and a counter, with a mirror on the wall.

I first sat on the WC pedestal and Angela straddled me. I pushed her skirt up to her waist but didn't pull off her knickers; I figured she'd do that herself when the time came. We resumed French kissing, something I've always enjoyed. Angela rubbed my prick through the material of my trousers, from time to time removing her mouth from mine to whisper horny things in my ear, something else I enjoy.

"I want your truncheon all the way up inside my cunny," she said breathlessly, as I returned the favour and ran my fingers over the gusset of her Marks and Sparks white knickers.

Truncheon? Cunny? Where do the middle class get their sex education?

"I'm going to milk all your cum into my sucking, fucking, cunny." Her smutty words, spoken in a posh, middle class accent, were a mega turn on for me.

She pulled at the zipper of my trousers, but I had to stand up for her to fully unzip and wrestle my stiff and inflexible knob out of my straining, restraining, shreddies. She pulled down her knickers, opened her thighs and straddled me, as I sat on the lid of the WC. Her cunt, or cunny as she referred to her vagina, was dry and not yet conducive for a successful entry. I stood up, swiveled around and plonked her on the counter, she squeaked as her bare bum landed on the cold surface.

I knelt down and started licking along her outer lips of her twat, while rubbing my thumb over her clit, which was a bit difficult to find. She seemed to like the tonguing, and started up with the dirty talk again. "That's it lick and bite and suck on my cunny."

I needed no more encouragement, and introduced her to Dewey's Marvellous Minge Munching Experience. My lessons in cunnilingus had been taught me by an expert, Annalise the German bargirl, and I further honed my skill on the minges, cunts, pussies, fannies, quims, twats, gashes, slits and honey pots of a host of other females, learning from them how to improve my prowess.

I draped her legs over my shoulders, then homed in on her reddened, love moist, fair hair fringed cunt. I licked the plump outer lips with the flat of my tongue, and her clit I flicked with the point, and, with her opening sealed by my sucking mouth, I caressed her clit with my thumb and nibbled sundry parts of her succulent fleshed inner lips.

Angela possessed one of the tastiest cunts ... cunnies ... I had ever eaten. She must use expensive douches because she smelled and tasted of cinnamon, clove and nutmeg ... and, as her juices flowed unchecked, of rampant lust.

With Angela now sodden with love juice, and moaning and whimpering with undisguised pleasure, I deemed it time for another attempt at penetration.

I slid in, slowly and deliberately. The breath came out of her as from a deflating balloon, and her eyes lit up like lights on a pin ball machine. Her slender legs wrapped around my waist, drawing me further into the hungry maw of her cunt. I started pushing in, and she met my thrusts, hesitantly at first but soon getting into a rhythm, heaving together, making moist slapping sounds as we gathered pace, her hands at my hips urging me on.

Someone entered the adjacent cubicle, and I froze in mid thrust.

Angela, the evil minded bitch, continued pushing in to me, her eyes fixed on mine, and wearing a wicked grin on her face. She whispered in my ear, "imagine you're fucking her next door as she's peeing." Where did she get that sort of imagery from?

We heard the tinkle of urine hitting water, and Angela started gasping and groaning, shaking her head from side to side as an orgasm started to blossom in her churning depths. Next came the sound of tissue being wiped over the damp cunny of the female in the other cubicle. This erotically charged experience brought me to the boil, and although I had been lodged in Angela's cunt for less than five minutes I could feel my balls hanging low, heavy with bubbling cum; ready to be discharged; waiting to be set free. I gritted my teeth as she rotated her hips and clenched her pelvic muscles.

"I'm going to milk you with my cunny," Angela whispered into my mouth, and as the next door's toilet flush was pulled she carried out her threat.

It was amazing how she flexed and clenched her muscles, and it did feel as if soft, expert, hands were squeezing and caressing my prick, milking me of my semen. The door of the adjacent cubicle banged shut as I exploded in an unexpected climax. I cried out "Fucking hell!" while shooting a gushing flow of sperm into the sucking, gulping, aperture of Angela's cunt.

She quietly exhaled into my mouth as she came. No shouting or swearing, but I knew she had reached a shuddering orgasm.

We stayed breathless in each other's arms for five minutes before replacing and rearranging our clothing.

"Thank you very much," Angela said, "that was something I really needed."

She spoke as if I had just finished digging over her garden, which of course I probably had if florid faced gent had not been cultivating her of late.

"I have Saturdays off, come here early a week next Saturday ... not next Saturday as I have already arranged for some young stud to take me to his flat and bonk me senseless ... let's say at nine a.m., and we will book into a motel for the day and screw our brains out. I want to suck on your lovely truncheon, and also have my bottom penetrated," she said as we walked back towards the bar.

"Aren't Saturdays your busiest times?"

"They are" she replied, "but I take the day off, and Rolf engages more bar staff and security people. He also gets to shag Angelica."

I assumed Rolf was florid faced gent, and he was a lucky sod to get to shaft that black girl Angelica. He was also a silly sod for not fucking his delightful wife ... she was bloody fantastic.

However now I knew Saturday's at the Lemon Tree meant security staff it was no longer in the frame for an attack on Martin Hodge.

I gave some non-committal reply to her Saturday invitation; a week next Saturday I might be in jail or hospital, or still waiting to get a crack at Hodge.

I gave her a kiss, which she returned with interest, and left to recce the other pub where Hodge conducted his business. I hoped I wouldn't have to shag anyone there as I was well knackered.

If the next pub proved to be unsuitable for my planned attack on Hodge I would need to work out another strategy. The sooner I knew the score the better.

The White Swan was in a far more countrified setting, about three miles north of the Lemon Tree. As I drove into the car park I saw no signs of CCTV coverage. It was late afternoon and the place was quiet. There was one long room, split by a partition into two separate rooms with seperate bars. A long, wall sized, mirror ran behind both bars so it was possible to be in one room and still observe what was happening in the other by glancing into the mirror.

Good first impression.