The Group, page 1
The Group
By
Bill Golden
Bill Golden
Copyright Bill Golden 2014
Published by Butanben Media at Smashwords
CHAPTER ONE: GLASGOW, AUGUST 24TH, 7.00PM
CHAPTER TWO: GLASGOW, AUGUST 24TH, 9.00PM
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR: DUNDEE, AUGUST 24TH, 9.00PM
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT: GLASGOW, AUGUST 24TH, 10.00PM
CHAPTER NINE: DUNDEE, AUGUST 24TH, 11.00PM
CHAPTER TEN: EDINBURGH, SEPTEMBER 12TH, 9.00AM
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE: GLASGOW, SEPTEMBER 2ND, 10.00AM
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: DUNDEE, SEPTEMBER 12TH, 9 .00PM
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: GLASGOW, SEPTEMBER 17TH, 9 .00AM
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: GLASGOW, SEPTEMBER 17TH, 9 .00PM
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: SEPTEMBER 17TH, 10.00PM
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: GLASGOW, OCTOBER 8TH, MID DAY
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: DUNDEE, OCTOBER 8TH.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: GLASGOW, OCTOBER 8TH, 1.00PM
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: GLASGOW, OCTOBER 9TH, 8.00AM
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: DUNDEE, OCTOBER 13TH, 9.00PM
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: EDINBURGH, OCTOBER 15TH
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: DUNDEE, OCTOBER 15TH, 8.00PM
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: DUNDEE, OCTOBER 16TH, 10.00AM
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: EDINBURGH, OCTOBER 16TH, 1.00PM
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: DUNDEE, OCTOBER 16th
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: DUNDEE, OCTOBER 16TH, 9.00PM
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: KENMORE, OCTOBER 17TH
CHAPTER FORTY: EDINBURGH, OCTOBER 18TH
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: BEN LAWERS, OCTOBER 20TH
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR: DUNDEE, OCTOBER 19TH, 0.30PM
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE: EDINBURGH, OCTOBER 20TH
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: DUNDEE, OCTOBER 21st
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN: DUNDEE, OCTOBER 22nd
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT: GLASGOW, OCTOBER 22nd
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY: EDINBURGH, OCTOBER 25th
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO: EDINBURGH, OCTOBER 23RD
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR: DUNDEE, NOVEMBER 1ST
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE: GLASGOW, AUGUST 24TH, 7.00PM
A trail of water led from the shower cabinet, through to the front door of the flat, as it followed the young man rushing to answer the unremitting hammering.
“This had better be bloody important.” He shouted as he struggled to hold the towel round his waist and open the door at the same.
He was confronted by two men who apparently found his attire amusing.
“Can I help you or do you need a hammer to knock down the door?”
“Are you Davie?” The taller of the two men inquired.
“Yes, why and who’s asking?”
The tall man stepped forward, gripped him by the hair and in quick succession head butted the young man twice. The first blow produce a loud crack and a spray of blood as it broke his nose, the second split open the skin above his eye making the man’s vision blurred by the secondary flow of blood. As the young man staggered back into the flat he instinctively raised both hands in an attempt to protect his face from any more damage being inflicted, but in doing so found his legs getting tangled up in the descending towel. As he stumbled to the ground the second man entered the fray and kicked him solidly in the groin, just to make sure there was no fight left in him. Satisfied, the men stepped over the now naked man lying on the floor closing the door after them. The second of the man now knelt down beside Davie’s semi-conscious body and grabbed his victims hand and forcing it palm downwards so it was pressed hard down against the wooden floor. Forcefully he spread the fingers before turning to his companion.
“John, would you be kind enough to hand me the hammer.”
John smiled at the young man as he produced a hammer from inside his coat.
“It was nice of you to offer us the use of your hammer sonny but as you can see we always come prepared. We’re like a pair of old Boy Scouts.”
As Davie lay there dazed, his confused mind tried to work out what had just happened but his eyes were fixed, albeit with blurred vision, on the large square lump of steel in the man’s hand.
“Now Davie, I hope that you’re still paying attention because this bit is really interesting. Some folk call this a lump and others a mash hammer, but we prefer mash. So young Davie, have you ever wondered why a hammer would come by a name such as mash?” John went quiet for a second or two as if waiting for an answer before continuing. “I’ll take it by your silence that’s a no. But don’t you worry because my colleague here is about to explain everything to you by way of giving a demonstration.” He turned to his companion, “In your own time Dougie.”
Dougie held the hammer up in front of his face as if he was admiring it and then when he seemed satisfied by its weight and balance, he began. Blow by vicious blow the hammer crashed down, each time crushing one of the splayed fingers until eventually the hand was completely unrecognisable.
“John would you like to do the honours on the other?”
Without a word John accepted the hammer and bashed away.
The young man had thankfully had slipped into unconsciousness before the end of the mutilation of his second hand. He would have screamed for help or mercy but for the wet bath towel rammed into his mouth.
The two men stood up and admired their handy work before physically lifting the man and unceremoniously dumping him into a chair next to the kitchen table. After a quick search of the flat a duffle coat was found lying next to a pile of clothes by the still running shower. John picked it up and draped around his victims shoulders to help cover up his nakedness. Then without a word the two men lifted the unconscious man up and dragged him out of the flat. Once in the hallway they propped him against the wall as John searched the coats pockets and produced a set of keys and a wallet.
“Best if we lock the door, don’t want his stuff getting nicked.”
A quick look through the wallets contents brought a smile to Johns face, “Well Dougie, it looks like the pints are on him tonight.” Laughing he locked the door and then together and without a care in the world they dragged the unconscious man out of the building to their car where he was thrown unceremoniously into the vehicles boot. No-one saw them or if they did then they pretended not to notice. It was always this way.
CHAPTER TWO: GLASGOW, AUGUST 24TH, 9.00PM
The derelict corrugated iron building had lain abandoned for years and tonight its rundown condition was offering its guests very little shelter from the relentless wind and rain as they ripped through the gaps in its fragile structure.
In one of the building’s corners a well-dressed man wearing an expensive dark blue overcoat stood waiting. His gloved hands were plunged deep into the coats pockets in an effort to keep the cold at bay. He stared silently out of glassless window at the rain as it lashed at the deserted and bleak landscape that lay beyond the buildings walls and on to where the cold, dark waters of the River Clyde flowed.
“Bloody Scottish summers, looks more like the middle of winter.”
He felt a cold shiver run up his back. “And it feels like it.”
Tonight, Charlie Stewart was a deeply troubled man. As he stood there attempting desperately, to give the appearance of someone in full control of his feelings. But by his silence alone he could not mask the rage that he felt coursing through him. From his body language it was obvious that he was struggling to hold everything together. The signs were all there to be seen from the whitening of his knuckles, caused by the tightly clenched fists to the throbbing angry veins in his neck. It was plainly evident that Stewart was a man living on the edge, someone who was completely pissed off and tonight especially he was someone best avoided.
Today was meant to have been special, it was his daughter’s birthday, a day when friends and family get together and celebrated. With a look of disgust he looked around at his dismal surroundings and groaned. This was not the way he had planned to spend the evening. Glancing down at his watch he cursed.
“Shit! Look at the bloody time. I should be home by now, sitting back next to the fire with a large glass of malt helping to keep me company, not fucking about here in this godforsaken dump, freezing my bollocks off.”
He cast his eyes around the room until they eventually came to rest at the make shift table in the centre of the room. There a large man appeared to be totally engrossed in his work as he bent over the bloody body of a young man.
Stewart smiled.
“But then, sometimes there are those little things that you have to put right, personally.”
His train of thought was momentarily interrupted by the sound of someone being slapped, swiftly followed by a pitiful cry emitting from the body on the table.
The large man turned and addressed him.
“He’s conscious again, boss.”
Stewart grinned as he realised
“Excellent Jake, I’ll be straight over.”
The blasts of wind were making easy work of penetrating their way through the old building, while high up in the rafters the single light bulb over the table swung erratically backwards and forward in their wake. The moving shafts of light fell onto the wet, oil covered floor and reflected the colours upwards to illuminate Stewart in what appeared to be a ghostly glow, so that he resembled some old style demonic character from an early Hammer horror movie. He looked down at his reflection and smiled, this was an image he liked.
Stewart was proud of his position in society. So much so that he now considered himself to be a successful businessman. Now this was a description that most right minded people would disagree with, although none of them would ever say so straight to his face. There was no doubt that he was a self-made man, someone who had successfully dragged himself up through the filth and dirt that was the Glasgow crime scene. His notoriety had gained had been recognised by the press who had crowned him with the dubious title of Scotland’s most feared and vicious crime lord. He had worked hard to attain this position and now he was enjoying the fruits of his ill-gotten labour.
During his long ascent to the top, he hadn’t giving a toss about hurting anyone, either physically or mentally. For those unfortunate souls who found themselves in his path, well that was their tough luck. To put it in simple terms Charlie Stewart was your classic psychopath who was quite rightly feared by all. People who crossed him or for whatever reason failed to give him the respect that he felt he deserved, well they had a mysterious way of either ending up dead or crippled. Either way, it would be a mistake they would never make again.
Stewart had found out early in his career that when it came to killing, no matter whether it was a man, woman or a child, then it came oh so easy to him. None of his actions ever caused him any loss of sleep or gave him a sense of regret. It was like nature had bestowed upon him some sort of sick gift. Basically, he lacked any sort of conscience.
Over the years, he had surrounded himself with a close knit band of associates, not friends, made up of mostly foot soldiers and minders. These were men who had stuck by him during the early desperate years, and now they along with Stewart were reaping some of the rewards and notoriety that came with the territory.
The police had attempted on numerous occasions to bring him to book but each time failed to have any charges against him stick. Witnesses would suddenly develop lapses of memory mostly brought on due to the fear of what the future, if any, would hold for them and their families. His notoriety was well known to most readers of the Red Tops and had gained him headline Grabbing names such as The Prince of Darkness and Mad-Dog Stewart the Glasgow Butcher.
Publicly he had made it known of his annoyance about these so called nicknames and how he found them personally hurtful to both himself and his family. Although privately, he enjoyed the unsavoury reputation it brought. Complete loyalty was expected from his men and he received it. It was uncertain whether this loyalty was because of their respect for the man or being aware of the fact that he could just kill or maim anyone, including them, at the drop of the proverbial hat.
Stewart crossed the wet floor until he stood next to a blood soaked table where his so called Chief of Staff, Jake Peters, stood patiently waiting. Jake stepped forward and handed him a plastic pocket raincoat.
"Here boss, this will help keep the blood of your coat, that’s a nice piece of material you’ve got there and you wouldn’t want to ruin it."
Stewart looked the flimsy piece of plastic, smiled and slipped it on.
“Now that’s what I would call very thoughtful of you, Jake, very thoughtful indeed. I appreciate that.”
He stroked the lapels of the coat and smiled as he felt the quality.
“Pure cashmere Jake, expensive, bloody expensive but it’s the best you can get. Anyway we can talk fashion some other day, let’s get back to the business in hand.”
He looked down at the whimpering lump of naked bloody flesh laid out on the table in front of him and turned to the big man with a concerned look on his face.
“Jake are you sure he can he still hear me?”
“Of course he can, boss. Look, I’ve only cut off one ear, so far"
Jake proceeded to pick up a piece of bloody flesh from the table top using the point of the knife, the same knife, that minutes before he had used to saw the aforementioned appendage from their victim.
“I remembered what you said, about not to hurting him too bad, at least yet.”
“Good lad Jake, let’s hope he wasn’t deaf in one ear because with your luck, it I could guarantee that it would be the one you’ve just cut off. By the way, Jake, before I forget, I take it you are still okay for the party tonight?”
Jake’s face once more broke into a wide grin.
“Boss, you know I wouldn't dream of missing young Katie’s birthday."
Stewart looked at the blood covered knife in Jake’s hand.
"Oh oh, I hope they don’t need that knife later on for cutting the cake!"
Both men burst into laughter.
“You're a good man, Jake, one of the best. I always know that can rely on you to do a job and do it properly.
Stewart turned away from Jake and the smile immediately left his face as he returned his attention to the table and the body strapped to it. He gripped the young man viciously by the jaw, pulling the man’s head as far from the table as the restraining straps would allow.
“Right then, sonny, I don’t have all night. Have you any idea who I am and why you’ve found yourself in one shit load of trouble?”
He shook the man’s blood spattered face from side to side as if that would speed up a response.
“Come on, lad, speak up! I don’t have all fucking night.”
He turned to Jake and grinned, before he continued.
“You see, sonny, I’m expected home for a party but it looks to me like you received an invite to a different type of one which would explain your fancy dress.”
The two men laughed loudly while the young man continued to stare unbelievably at his ear speared on the end of the knife and cried.
Stewart released the man by pushing his head violently back against the table surface causing blood from his mouth to spray everywhere. Stewart took a step back from the table, looked at the young man and shook his head slowly.
“Jesus Christ, sonny, that’s a lot of blood on your face, but don’t you go worrying about it. You still have some left, just not that much.”
Smiling he turned to Jake. “Dear me Jake, what have you been doing? How is he meant to explain himself without this?”
Charlie carefully placed a glass beaker containing the severed tip of a tongue down onto the table next to victim’s face. The terrified young man took one look at it and attempted to scream, but with the blood filling his mouth it made it come out as more of an anguished gurgle.
Stewart once more gripped the boy’s face, sadistically squeezing his cheeks together.
“Right, you little sod, playtime’s over so let’s get down to business.”
Violently he slapped the man’s face, causing yet more blood to spurt from his mouth and over the floor before gripping him by the throat.
“You’ve been shagging my young lass you little bastard. When you did that, you went and broke all the rules, all of my rules. That’s right sonny, I make all the rules around here and by God you have to play by them, even if you don't know what they are. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
A combination of fear and Stewart’s clamp like grip made any sort of reply impossible.
Stewart leant forward over his victim until his face was virtually touching the man’s blood covered features. He continued.
“I take it you have nothing to say, no amusing answers? Fair enough then, I’ll try and explain what happening. To put it simply, you’ve shagged my daughter and that means you broke my rules.”
He looked up at Jake. “Isn’t that correct Jake?”
The big man simply nodded his head. Stewart returned his attention to the young man. “There you are, all explained. So now all that’s left for you to do is pay the fine.”
Without taking his eyes off the man, Stewart asked Jake, “Do we have any more of these jars? Because it looks very much like this little sod’s going to die dickless.”
