Chapters 14-16

Note: Each chapter is from the POV of the named individual.

Chapter 14: Vince

After two tours of front-line duty, one in Iraq and one in Afghanistan, I’d had my fill of continual danger and violence. I’d seen too many friends and colleagues killed or injured by religious fanatics who seemed to have no idea what they really wanted, therefore nobody else could have what they wanted either.

Getting a job after the army proved to be a problem. With my record and experience, I had plenty of offers from contractors who wanted to send me straight back to the front line again for double the pay but without all the politically correct bullshit from pretty boy Sandhurst-graduate officers, but that was the last thing I wanted to do.

I approached the police. Once upon a time they would have jumped at the chance of recruiting healthy men with military experience. But with policing becoming more about politics than crime-solving, police chiefs were targeting graduates and ethnic minorities for recruitment and I failed on both counts.

Eventually I lucked out. Someone I served with in my first tour had started a private security firm and, on hearing of my problems, offered me a job at quite decent pay. As he explained, they solicited high-end work: no peering through grubby windows with a camera or grappling with drunks as emergency nightclub bouncers. And I’d built a nice career with the company, establishing a reputation for trustworthiness and efficiency.

The office called me to say a Sunday job had come in at short notice. A rich couple were running a well-publicised charity event in town and they wanted a security guard for their house in case of a burglary attempt. As far as I was concerned, this sort of job was money for old rope: I’d never had any problems from them in the past. Plus, being on a Sunday, it was paying double time during the afternoon then triple time in the evening.

The Cypresses seemed like an okay couple. Well, Mr Cypress was okay. Mrs Cypress was a snob, but that would have no impact my ability to do my job.

“We should be back by midnight,” said Mr Cypress, “but if we’re delayed, would you mind staying on?”

“No, that’s fine,” I replied. “The company will invoice you accordingly.”

“Are you armed?” asked Mrs Cypress.

“Yes, ma’am.” I gave her a quick flash of my company-issue Glock 17 inside its shoulder holster. “But luckily I’ve never had to use it.”

“Oh good. We wouldn’t want riff-raff taking any liberties.” Her predatory smile was like that of a cat playing with a mouse.

Then a very pretty teenager with a stylish blonde bob made an appearance.

“This is our daughter Millie,” said Mrs Cypress. “She’ll be home all day, but she’ll probably go out to the paddock to exercise her pony later.”

I turned to smile a greeting at the daughter, but the look I saw on her face was every bit as venomous as a jihadist suicide bomber. Clearly she didn’t want me there and I guessed my presence had probably put a spoke in her plans for the afternoon. Still, my remit was to protect the house against burglars so I reckoned I’d be able to have minimal contact with her.

Everything went smoothly until mid-afternoon. I saw Millie go out the back wearing her riding gear and decided that was a good time to do a perimeter sweep of the house. If anyone watching saw Millie leave, they might assume that the house was deserted and now would be a good time to strike. My walking round the outside of the house would provide a visible deterrent.

A few minutes later I heard a blood-curdling scream, rapidly joined by other voices screaming and shouting. I raced round the house and down towards the stables. Millie was standing, screaming her head off, and two males were lying on the ground, apparently injured. A large dog was running in the other direction.

I instantly guessed what had happened. Millie hadn’t wanted me around because she was meeting up with the males, most likely to do drugs. A mad dog had attacked them and savaged the two males. I drew my Glock 17 from its holster and fired two shots in the direction of the dog. I had little chance of hitting it at that distance but hopefully I’d deter it from coming back. To my surprise, the dog gave a deathly howl, then crawled into some bushes.

For a moment I was full of the self-congratulatory glow of having made an impossible shot. Then Millie attacked me, punching my chest and accusing me of killing her saviour. That’s when I noticed the males were wearing ski masks, and I realised I’d got the situation horribly wrong. I sensed my career going down the toilet and I did something I had never done in all my time in combat zones: I froze.

What brought me back was sight of the inch long, thin trickle of red bubbles on Millie’s neck.

“You’re bleeding, Miss,” I said, swiping a finger across my own neck to indicate where.

“That bastard must have cut me when he held a knife to my neck,” spat Millie. Going over to the prone male who was nursing his wrist, she kicked him full-force in the kidneys.

“STOP!” I ordered in my best military voice, not wanting the situation to get any worse.

That worked. Millie stood still.

My company smartphone had the 24/7 Control Centre on speed-dial.

“Hi Vince,” answered Anne, a middle-aged no-nonsense woman who was good in a crisis. “Everything going okay there?”

“Situation Orange,” I replied, giving our code for a clusterfuck with casualties. “Two perps assaulted the clients’ daughter. Minor scratch, possible shock. Perps are neutralised and injured. Need police, medical attention for three and a vet.”

“A vet?”

“I discharged my firearm next to some stables and I may have killed the pet dog.”

“Fuck! I’m on it. Call me back if you need anything else.”

“Chardonnay!” cried Millie, rushing towards a stable after overhearing my phone call.

“STOP!” I ordered again. “Don’t go in there while the horses are agitated, wait until they’ve calmed down.” Since there was a physical danger to Millie, I was prepared to restrain her if necessary but she stopped again.

I photographed Millie’s neck with my smartphone, then I noticed the red marks on her arms. “Did they grab you by the arms?”

She nodded. “One of them held my arms behind my back, the other held a knife to my throat. They were taking me into the hay shed to rape me. The dog saved me.”

I photographed Millie’s arms before the marks could fade, then I took photos of the whole scene. I saw the knife lying on the ground. It was within reach of one of the males so I photographed its location, picked it up using an inverted evidence bag like a glove, then sealed the knife inside the bag. Judging the males were no longer a threat, I sealed my Glock inside another bag: the cops would want if for forensics.

I went over to the male who was nursing his wrist, pulled up his ski mask and photographed his face. He was only a boy.

Millie gasped. “I don’t know him but I recognise his face from somewhere.”

I went over to the other male, who lay there clutching his thigh. I lifted his ski mask and photographed his face too. I had seen such a ghostly pallor many times before and I realised he was in serious trouble. I felt the tracksuit bottoms round the boy’s injured thigh. They were sopping wet and my hand came away bloody. The boy was bleeding out. I ripped off the other tracksuit leg and used it to tie a tourniquet as tightly as I could just above the thigh bite.

I speed-dialled Anne again. “Need a rush on those medics. One of the perps is bleeding out.”

“They’re on their way, but I’ll chivvy them,” said Anne.

“Thanks. I’m about to e-mail you a load of crime scene photos because the cops will probably confiscate my phone.”

“Okay. I’ve alerted the householders and I’m arranging for legal representation at whichever police station they take you to for your statement. And I’m organising a relief to watch over the house.”

“Thanks Anne, you’re a lifesaver.”

I turned to Millie. “How old are you?” I asked.

“Fifteen. Why?”

“Perfect. You’re still a minor. That means anything you say without a guardian present can’t be used as evidence. They probably won’t try to talk to you until they get you to a police station. But if you give your account first, you’ll dictate the shape of their enquiries. Ambush them when they arrive and tell them what happened. Keep it simple and don’t elaborate. Okay?”

Millie nodded.

“The horses seem to have quieted. You can check on them now but I wouldn’t go in a stable with them, they might be injured.”

As Millie went over to a stable and said soothing words to its occupant, I heard the sound of approaching sirens.

Chapter 15: Penny

The trouble with this type of charity fundraiser was that the rich people who could afford the extortionate price for the tables often assumed that the waitresses’ favours went with it, especially since the uniforms we had to wear were ridiculously short and revealing. After the first charity fundraiser at which I waitressed, my butt ended up being black and blue from being pinched so often, and what had started out as a neatly pressed uniform looked as though it had been out in a hurricane, particularly at the front where my boobs had been frequently groped.

The money was good though, and I picked up lots of useful advice from the other waitresses on how to avoid the worst of the attentions. That included wearing a very thick pair of granny panties and a bra padded with chicken fillets: if anyone groped my suddenly impressive cleavage, they’d be feeling mostly silicone. And there were ways of exacting revenge, although some had to be used sparingly.

Overall I was grateful to Mrs Cypress for introducing me to the catering company. I had learnt a lot that would help towards my degree and whatever branch of the entertainment business I subsequently chose for my career. It also confirmed my desire not to be directly involved with food preparation: the whole process was too frantic.

As a head of the sponsoring company, Mitchell Cypress opened with the introductory speech. Sadly he wasn’t a natural orator, but he attracted a round of polite applause.

Eileen Cypress took over. She was a much more accomplished speaker. She iterated the programme of events, then declared that the bar was open and waitresses would take orders and continue serving throughout the afternoon. Then, as people started summoning waitresses to fetch them drinks, the lights were dimmed everywhere except for the stage and Eileen Cypress introduced the children’s concert.