Dick Longg: Sexual Saviour of the Universe (26 page)

Jack paid for the drinks, picked up his briefcase and the new couple exited the pub.
Elizabeth
looked nervously about her and taking Jack by the hand, led him up a dimly-lit
Brick Lane
towards Shoreditch. Noticing a police patrol on the corner of
Hanbury Street
they doubled back and after a few minutes, reached a deserted and squalid alleyway near Spitalfields Market. Making sure they were concealed from anyone who might pass by the alley entrance,
Elizabeth
grabbed Jack’s head with one hand, pulled him towards her and kissed him passionately on the lips. Her other hand moved skilfully down between his legs and felt the rock hard bulge in his trousers (his pneumatic valves were operating faultlessly).
Elizabeth
gasped. After releasing him she leant against one of the walls and began undressing. Despite the cool night air
Elizabeth
seemed comfortable opening her jacket, then her blouse, before hoisting up her skirt and dropping her red lace knickers.

 
Jack smiled at the display he’d just witnessed.
Elizabeth
watched intently as his hand slowly reached into his jacket pocket. What she saw next made her eyes widen and for the second time in a few minutes she gasped again. Jack was holding a bulging wallet. He playfully removed a fresh, crisp banknote and handed it to her.
Elizabeth
smiled back and with the skill and dexterity of a seasoned conjuror snatched it from his hand and, before his very eyes, made it disappear into her bra. As he began to unbutton the fly on his trousers,
Elizabeth
looked left and right in the alleyway, listening intently to make sure no one was aware of their presence. By the time she glanced back at Jack he was holding his weapon.

She gasped for the third time that night but her gasp wasn’t as a result of looking at Jack’s ten inch penis but rather at his seven inch knife. This gasp was the only sound
Elizabeth
could make as Jack’s free hand immediately covered her mouth. The moonlight reflecting off the bright stainless steel blade was the last thing she ever saw.

- - o O o - -

Jack was safely away from the scene of the crime when
Elizabeth
’s body was discovered early the next morning by a street sweeper. His shouts alerted a nearby policeman who ran into the alley to see what all the commotion was about. Slumped on the floor, covered in blood and vomit, was
Elizabeth
, or rather what remained of her. The blood wasn’t real of course. Jack had a large bottle of it in his briefcase and had poured it liberally over and around his victim before he left. The vomit however was real but Jack had nothing to do with it. It had been deposited by the shocked street sweeper when he first laid eyes upon the mutilated body. In fact, he had been so sick that the policeman slipped over in a puddle of it, causing him to fall on top of the dead body. Being covered in her remains and blood caused the policeman in turn to be violently sick so that when the State Police arrived shortly afterwards they were faced with what resembled a scene from a ‘slasher / vomit’ movie (if this niche horror genre ever exists).

Jack had performed exactly according to plan.
Elizabeth
had been carefully mutilated in order to give the casual observer, whether it was a member of public or a local policeman coming across the body for the first time, the impression that she had been attacked by a madman. Various body parts had been sliced off and arranged around her in a way that was either highly symbolic or completely random, depending on your point of view. Two of her toes had been inserted in her nostrils, her severed left hand was resting in her armpit and if you were brave or disturbed enough to gently prize open her bloody mouth you’d have been greeted by the sight of her left ear. Unlike the demonstration that took place in front of the scientists, Jack was careful not to leave any internal mechanical parts on view. To add to the horror and mystery of this bizarre killing, fake intestines were draped over the victim’s head like bizarre colon dreadlocks. The State Police were under strict orders to dispose of the body – and any subsequent bodies – before the local police could conduct a post mortem, but after enough photographs had been taken for the media.

Jack’s first mission had been a triumph but as successful as this was, it was just the first part of Dick’s master plan. Now that Benjamin was out of the way and he himself had apparently been cleared of any suspicion, Dick could perform his next task effectively and with gusto. Effectively managing the media following this attack would both ensure Jack’s notoriety and Dick’s fame.

CHAPTER 21

‘Harlot Hacked To Pieces By Mystery Assailant’. The man in the expensive wool suit sitting in the expensive burgundy leather chair in the expensive oak-panelled office read the front cover of the Daily Morning News, then laid the paper down on his expensive walnut desk. Picking up the Daily Herald and The Chronicle he continued to read aloud the front page headlines. ‘Satanic Streetwalker Slaughterer On The Loose’. ‘Prostitute Disembowelled in Dastardly Disembowelling Attack’. Discarding these papers he smiled a smile that was half a smile of amusement and half a smile of approval. He turned to a smart, tall, distinguished-looking silver-haired gentleman wearing an elegant grey tailcoat.

‘These reports. The handiwork of Jeremy Brunel at the Ministry of Information I assume, Carter?’

The man replied in a refined accent, ‘Yes sir’.

He was about to say something else when there was a timid knock on the door, so timid in fact that it took twelve more knocks of increasing magnitude before it became even slightly audible.

‘Sir’, the silver haired man continued, ‘I believe there is someone at the door’.

‘Is there?’

Both men looked towards the door and listened intently.

‘So there is’. The first man spoke to the door. ‘Come!’

It opened and an attractive but meek-looking woman in her twenties entered carrying a thin folder.

‘Good morning Leader. This is Vera Darling’s updated report’, she said hesitantly. ‘It has just arrived’.

The Leader smiled again. This time however, it wasn’t a smile of amusement or approval. Or even a smile of fulfilment or joy. It was a predatory smile. The sort of smile you’d give a young, attractive and impressionable girl in the knowledge that you were the most powerful person in the country. The sort of smile that implied that if she knew what was good for her, she would pander to his every whim.
 
Then the smile changed into one of whimsy. A smile that reflected on earlier times. After a moment the smile vanished and the Leader sighed, conscious he must concentrate on the job in hand.

‘Come here’ Miss…’

‘Hav… Havering’. The shy girl stammered and diverted her eyes from the Leader’s steely glare.

‘Come now. I won’t bite!’. Despite this assurance, the Leader gave her a look which gave every impression that he was being very economical with the truth.

The girl walked cautiously towards him and stopped when she reached the imposing desk.

‘You’re new aren’t you?’

‘Yes Leader. I started yesterday’. She said, gingerly handing him the folder.

‘Good, good. I’m sure you’ll soon get used to me and my, er, how would you describe my working practices, Carter?’

The words Carter had in mind, but dared not say were, ‘bloody strange’, ‘freakishly abnormal’ or ‘hellishly weird’. Instead he said, diplomatically,
 
‘Idiosyncratic, sir?’

‘”Idiosyncratic?” Yes. An excellent choice of words, Carter’.

As the Leader took the folder from a very nervous Miss Havering he gently held her chin and tilted her face up so he could look straight into her deep green eyes.

‘That word, “idiosyncratic”, it’s a difficult one to get your tongue around isn’t it? Could you get your tongue around it Miss Havering?’

Miss Havering gulped and nodded. ‘Y-Yes sir’.

‘Splendid!’ said the Leader. His fingers moved from her chin and caressed her smooth, soft cheek just for a moment, but long enough for her to feel very uncomfortable. It was a very flushed-looking Miss Havering who left the office, closing the door behind her.
 

The Leader turned to his manservant. ‘Carter, when we’re done, tell Miss Havering that I want to see her back here at
six o’clock
’.

‘Yes sir. And if she asks what for?’

‘I don’t care. Just tell her any old bullshit but make sure she is dressed appropriately’.

Carter raised his eyes and sighed inwardly at the same time as the Leader gently turned a hidden switch located under his desk. With a whirring sound, a piece of the wall panelling slowly and precisely slid upwards revealing a clothes rail which glided smoothly out into the office on castors. When this was fully extended the Leader rose and examined various items hanging there, feeling and smelling them, mentally weighing up their pros and cons.

‘What do you think, Carter? Nurse or ballet dancer. Or maybe the cat woman?’

‘It’s a very personal choice, sir’, Carter answered, shaking his head imperceptively.

‘That it is, Carter. That it is’. The Leader continued to peruse everything on the rail, fingers deftly flicking across hangers. He’d almost examined every single item when his fingers stopped and his eyes lit up.

‘
Eureka
! I forgot about this one. And it looks like it’s her size’.

The leader removed a garment and looked at it admiringly before placing it in a bag and handing this to Carter.

‘Very good choice, sir’. Carter replied, placing the bag at his feet and wondering how on earth he’d manage to persuade a young and impressionable new member of the Party’s administration staff to meet with the Leader that evening dressed as a milkmaid.

Seated at his desk again, the clothes concealed once more behind the panelling, the Leader flicked though the folder.

‘Vera’s found herself a good protégé in this Mr. Brunel. I liked his plan for Jack but the follow-up is even more ingenious - capitalising on all the murders. The public have an insatiable appetite for scandal and gossip and seeding these stories in the media will spread the word like wildfire. The rogue mechanical harlots will soon be destroyed and over-sexed women and men will be too frightened to consider becoming prostitutes or indeed, visiting them. All in all, a terrifically good result, wouldn’t you agree?’

Carter nodded. ‘I would, sir. This Mr. Brunel seems to be quite skilled. It is fortunate that he has come to our attention’.

‘It is indeed’. The Leader put the folder down. This time he frowned. ‘He has demonstrated that he thinks very differently to his colleagues’.

Carter, who had been pondering whether Miss Havering would believe the ‘You’ve been enrolled on a farmyard familiarisation course’ story, was slightly taken aback by the Leader’s tone. ‘Thinking differently?’, Carter asked. ‘Well that’s commendable, isn’t it sir?’.

The Leader stood and looked out of his wide office window high up in the Party headquarters, lord over all he surveyed. He looked down at all the citizens going about their daily routine, a happy, content, but most importantly, controlled, population.

‘I’m not sure. Mr. Brunel worries me slightly. He’s conscientious, efficient and highly intelligent, all attributes the Party can exploit. Despite this, he makes me feel slightly uncomfortable. Something about him keeps irritating me. He’s like a tiny pebble in my shoe’.

The Leader closed his eyes and clenched his fists by his sides. He took a deep breath and shuddered.

‘I can feel… I can feel… a disturbance in the Fabric’.

Carter looked confused. ‘Does sir mean the curtains?’

The Leader sighed. He opened his eyes, sighed again, and turned to face Carter. ‘No. I mean the ‘Fabric’’.

‘As in cushion covers?’, added Carter.