Scunthorpe, June 2011.
The ring tone that Tariq Hasni used was slap my bitch up by the prodigy. His i-phone rang as he sat at home watching the music channels on his sky TV and enjoying a beer. He had furnished his house very nicely. He looked around and saw what he had earned. A really nice Technics mp3 and Bose speakers, fifty four inch flat screen television with a full sky package, the sound was channelled through the Bose speakers and gave him really good surround sound on the music channels he liked to watch. The keys to his BMW lay on the smoked glass coffee table in front of him. He was starting to think that he might upgrade the car. He had moved on and up in the world. He felt he needed something with a bit more style about it. Maybe an Audi Q7, yeah for sure, they were nice cars and right for a guy of his status to drive. Tariq picked up his phone and looked at the display.
It was his friend Abdul Mohammed.
“Asalaam Alaykum” he spoke with a traditional greeting.
“Wa ’Alaykum Asalaam”, replied Abdul.
“How is business, Abs?”
“It is good, thank you my brother. How is yours?”
“Alright, I am thinking that I might have a new car more befitting to me, I really like the look of the Q7.” Tariq said.
“Very nice, business must be good”
“It is, the boys are doing us proud, they have a really good thing going now. They have started to get their names known and started to run the streets around there. I will tell them to give one of the piss heads a good kicking to up their cred a little bit more.”
“Are they making much with the dealing, Tariq?”
“They are making a killing. They have just about taken over the brown and rock business in this part of town.” Tariq replied.
“Good, they are so much more reliable than the Kafir junkies we used to use.”
“Yeah, they won’t rip us off for our profits and shoot it up their arms.”
“Tariq, I have had a call from randy old Ranji, He wants another white girl to be taken to Sheffield to give to his brothers over there.”
“I wondered how long it would be until they wanted another one, I have got the boys working on one now. They will like her, she has yellow hair and blue eyes.”
“What happened to the black haired whore that I saw Kharon with the other day? She would be ok.” Asked Abdul, referring to Jasmin, he didn’t know her name, he didn’t care if she had a name.
“The boys used her to make a film with, when it has been edited, formatted and burned onto the DVD it will be seen by Randi’s friends and they won’t be happy that before she went there after she was used in the film with all of the boys.”
“No, we cannot show them that disrespect”, agreed Abdul. “Not if we want to continue to do well”
Tariq laughed at this. “Mate if the money keeps rolling into the pockets of the old goats they couldn’t give a fuck where it comes from”
“I guess not. Is there much to be made from the DVD market?” asked Abdul.
“Mmm, it’s not quite as profitable as the drugs but, you know, it’s pretty good. And if it is going to happen in Scunthorpe then I want to be the one doing it. I don’t want anyone else starting to get their fingers in.” replied Tariq.
Tariq continued, “Once she is out I will have her on the street and I will let Kharon run her, see how he does. He has to learn to do business as we all did in our turn”
Abdul exhaled loudly, “Do you think he is smart enough? He seems to like to throw his weight about and use violence, when we need him to but do you think he has the acumen to actually make money?”
“Abdul, you worry too much, I will keep a close eye on him and we will keep him straight. If he starts to cause us to lose money then I will rein him back in.” Tariq reassured him.
“I had that copper in the youth centre the other day, will you have a word with Ranji see if we can get him sent somewhere else to fuck someone else’s business up?” Abdul asked Tariq.
“Yes for sure I will. I don’t think he is smart enough to bother us. If he starts we will just get him on his own and cook up a story about how he racially abused one of us. That will take care of him”.
“Tariq, I want in to this video gig, I have got a lock up in Bradford, it’s full of fags at the minute but they are going this week. I can venue the films there. My cousin, Rashid, has a scrap business in the city with a crusher and incinerator, if we need to get rid of anything we can take it to him”.
“Ok Abs, that sounds good, it is a better investment to keep hold of them and put them on the street. Once they have a good enough habit they will do what I want. I get the cu from their heroin requirement and also from the punters. It is a win, win scenario for me. What do you want for the use of the lock up?”
“I reckon twenty percent of the net profits from the DVD?” Abdul asked.
“Fuck off, you are living in a dream world my brother. After Ranji’s percentages and the cost of production it will leave me with fuck all, the best I can do is ten percent?”
“Let’s meet in the middle and agree on fifteen?” Abdul knew this was the deal that Tariq was looking for.
“Ok my man, but can you also point Kharon in the right direction when the whores come into your place on Frod road?” Tariq knew that this part of the deal would be far more important than a small cut from the lucrative video market. This was about sustainable business growth.
“Of course I will, anyway brother, it is time for me to get on with shifting these fags from my lock up. Do you want in on that?” Asked Abdul.
“No thanks, I already have them sorted out on my patch. The boys are taking care of that for me too and they come in from a man who would be less than happy if I went with a different supplier for fags.” Replied Tariq.
“Fi Amanullah” said Abdul.
“Fi Amanullah” replied Tariq as he switched his phone off.
Tariq reached for another beer and flicked through the channels of the TV. He found nothing that he liked so he opened the MP4 file of the boys taking that black haired, skinny, white whore. It was ok, but she was too pissed or high, she was hardly fighting. Next time he wanted to see about more physicality from the boys.
He picked up his phone from the table. He scrolled down the numbers until he reached Kharon. As he opened the contact he looked up at the huge flat screen and saw a close up of Jasmine’s face as she pitifully cried, the video panned down her body and zoomed in on her violation. Tariq opened an SMS to Kharon.
Tariq: “I want you round here now.”
Kazzy: “On my way.”
Tariq: “I want a whore - bring one.”
Tariq got up and went through to the stairs and up to his room. He slipped off his casual track suit and put on a silk robe. He walked through to the second bedroom of the house. The room was no longer as described by the agent when he bought it. The window was now covered in thick black curtains. There was a single divan bed centrally in the room. It was covered with a red plastic sheet. He pushed it to one side and from the drawer in the base of the divan he removed a box around sixty centimetres square and only about 10 centimetres deep. The box was of black cardboard. He turned the lights out and returned down stairs.
He switched the TV off and pulled the memory stick from the back and placed it in his robe pocket.
Kharon arrived within just a few minutes and knocked gently at the back door of the house.
Tariq took his phone from the table and text.
Tariq: “come in”
Kazzy: “Yes uncle”
Tariq was not his uncle, but it was a term of respect that Kharon would always use when speaking to Tariq.
Kharon came into the lounge, he had left his trainers near the back door. Behind him was a woman that Tariq had never seen before. She looked nervous. Her bleached blonde hair was starting to show dark roots, her blue eyes looked scared.
“Uncle, this is Nadia.” Said Kharon.
“Take this upstairs. Turn right at the top of the stairs and go into the room up there. Open the box and put on what is inside, do not come down, wait until I come up”. Tariq said to the woman.
“Ok,” she said in a strong eastern European accent.
“You call me master, bitch.” Tariq growled at the woman.
“I am sorry master,” She replied, looking at the floor. She was confused, she didn’t know what was going on.
He passed her the black box and she turned and went out and upstairs. When Tariq heard the doors shutting he said to Kharon, “How long has she been working for you?”
“Just a few weeks, she does not inject drugs. She is illegal and I have her to stop her being sent home.”
“Mmm, that’s fine then.” Tariq said.
“Uncle, how is it I can help you tonight?” Kharon asked with respect.
“How close are you to getting another Kafir whore for Sheffield?”
“I am working on one at the moment but it is quite difficult with her, she has no respect for men, she has no respect at all.” The young man spoke quietly.
“She sounds ideal for what we want, in the video you boys made the girl was too doped up. I want to take one to Sheffield that will struggle a bit whilst she is being used, this is business and we both know that to make the most money we must provide the right service to meet the demand.” Tariq spoke quietly to his young protégé.
“Yes uncle, give me a couple of weeks and I will have her eating from my hand then she will be ready to go to Sheffield.”
“That’s fine. Make sure you do. There is something else I need you to do.”
“Yes uncle what is that?”
“I want you and your boys to move the stinking alcoholics away. I want you and your boys to go and give them a hammering. I want people to see you do it. I want the people to see that we are more powerful than the pigs”.
“I don’t understand.” Kharon replied. Tariq wondered if he was bright enough to progress within the community.
“Ok,” Tariq explained, “the police go there twice a day and try to move them on. The drunks don’t move, they stay there smelling like piss. If we go there and move them away you have shown that you have more power than the police so that we are then the top dogs in the street.”
Kharon understood how important that could be, he knew he would hand out a kicking in broad daylight and in front of the whole street. He was quite excited by the thought of it. He had figured out the extent of the CCTV coverage along the street and knew that there would be room for him to operate quite easily if he stayed close to the wall of the church. The road was well covered but the pavement, on that side, was not.
“I understand this now, uncle.”
“If you do this right for me I will give you the girl to run on the streets and I will only take a reasonable slice”. Tariq waved the carrot of added responsibility in front of him.
Tariq had actually hoped that he would be able to take more of a back seat and let Kharon take more on and just take a healthy slice of his profits. More of a senior manager rather than a supervisor.
“Thank you Uncle. I will not disappoint you.” Kharon replied.
“Kharon, fuck off back out there and start selling drugs to the junky scum”.
“Yes Uncle, I will.” Both laughed as he left the room and soon afterwards Tariq heard the door shut quietly.
Kharon walked into the dark alleyway. He took his Blackberry from his tracksuit pocket.
He sent a message.
Kazzy: “I have been thinking about you all day sexy”
A reply came back in just a few seconds.
Rhianna: “I have been thinking of you too, top boy”
Kazzy: “You wanna hang out just me and you?”
Rhianna: “Yeah, I want you bad. I will sneak out when the old bitch is asleep”
Kazzy: “Do it baby x”
Rhianna: “I will.”
Kazzy: “Bet you don’t”
Rhianna: “I will show you how serious I am”.
Kazzy: “Yeah right”.
Rhianna sat in her room on her own. Her mum was drunk down stairs with the latest boyfriend. John, Pete, Wayne or Kev; she didn’t know and she couldn’t care less. She stripped off her t shirt and bra, stood in front of the mirror and sent Kazzy a selfie of her tits.
Kazzy: “Baby, they are fantastic”.
Rhianna: “Told you I meant it”.
Kazzy: “Can’t wait to see them for myself”
Rhianna: “Tonight might be your night”.
Kharon knew that he had her now. The picture on his phone was what he needed to ensure that she would always do what he said. It was leverage.
Tariq went upstairs to his ‘play room.’ As he walked in he saw that Nadia was sitting on the bed against the wall.
“I did not tell you to sit down, did I?”
Nadia was now dressed in a tightly fitting PVC basque with low cut cups. Her still ample breasts bulged from the top of the cups.
Tariq opened a small wardrobe and from inside took a length of chain. The chain was just over a meter long. On each end was a separate locking cuff. Like those from a set of normal handcuffs. In the centre of the chain was a clip.
“Come to me, bitch” Tariq commanded Nadia.
She took slow and faltering steps towards him. She averted her eyes from him. She understood the BDSM rules and new her place in this game.
“Yes master, what can I do for you?” She asked him.
“Hold out your hands, bitch”.
She did as she was instructed straight away. He put the cuffs on her wrists. He put them on tight.
“Master, is there a word?” She asked. It was normal that there would be a safe word that could be used if either felt uncomfortable.
Tariq reached up and clipped the chain to a ring on the ceiling. Nadia stood in front of him. He thought she was a good looking woman for a white whore. Her arms were unmarked by needles. They looked strong and trim. She maybe did some sort of manual labour when she wasn’t selling herself for silver. Her hands long and graceful tipped with red nails. Her blonde hair flowed onto her smooth white back and on to the back of her basque. He looked and studied the contrast of the blonde hair and the black shiny garment. The basque was tight around her waist. He didn’t care if it fitted her or not. Comfort was not on his list of priorities when it came to selection.
He moved behind her. Her full and rounded buttocks, so smooth and rounded. There was a small gap at the top of her thighs. He liked that. He raised his right hand and slapped her hard across the buttocks. She let out a sharp cry of surprise and pain.
“The word is America.” He looked down at her white buttocks and he could see the red hand print start to rise above the surrounding skin.
He moved round in front of her and stood back to look at her. He examined her face, her blue, tired eyes. He looked at her blood red lips and at her gracefully long neck. Her collar bones stood clearly and her breasts swelled amply from beneath them and into the cups of the basque. Below the basque her hips curved down and onto her thighs. Between her thighs was her shaved pussy, freshly shaved and smooth. Tariq liked what he saw. He turned his back on her and walked to the wall mounted TV. He took the memory stick from the pocket of his robe and plugged it into the back of the TV set. He started the unedited footage of that he had been watching downstairs. He saw Nadia’s eyes open widely as she struggled to take in what she saw on the screen. The volume was set low so that she could hear, but the sound would not travel far. She would be able to hear the slaps of hands on her skin. She would be able to hear the sobs and moans. She would be able to hear the boys laughing as the girl was hurt so bad.
Tariq turned away and walked out of the room. He made his way downstairs and turned on the lounge TV again. He switched it back to the music channels and sat down with another beer.
He text Abdul to let him know that he should be able to supply the girl they wanted in a couple of weeks. He knew that Kharon would not let him down. If he did he would tell Kharon’s uncle Abdi. Abdi was an old time friend of both Tariq’s and Abdul’s. They did business together. Abdi brought the heroin into the area. He was a big player in the north of England supply network. He didn’t get his hands dirty anymore. This was where Tariq wanted to be. But Tariq new better than to try to displace Abdi. He had too much respect for that and he also knew what a tough customer Abdi was. Abdi need only make a phone call to his associates in Manchester and anyone could just disappear. So Tariq treated him with the utmost courtesy and respect.
Only ten minutes later he received a text from Abdul saying that Ranji was very happy with what he had done and would speak to him at the Mosque about the arrangements on Friday, after prayers. Tariq knew that the arrangements in question would be the payment.
Nadia could see into the wardrobe that the man had got the chain from. The back panel of the wardrobe had hooks and pegs attached to it. On the hooks were all manner of BDSM implements. She could see small and light leather straps and cuffs. She could see more heavy duty things in the wardrobe. There was a real cat-o’-nine tails with heavy plaited leather straps. A heavy strong leather bound handle. She saw a cruelly and heavily studded leather paddle for spanking. She saw a variety of phallus shaped dildos and vibrators in the cupboard. Masks and gags. She saw on the floor of the cupboard a large blue roll of industrial tissue paper. She could not help but keep watching the terrible images on the screen in front of her. She recognised the girl, she had seen her in the area before. She knew the boys, the film occasionally showed their faces. She knew that in its final draft the video would be edited and the boys’ faces would not appear. She saw one of the boys in the street regularly. He thought he was a big tough guy. He was nothing just a little small town thug. Back home in Bulgaria these boys would be sorted out by the real criminals that ran the towns. They were lucky that the British police protected them from the people who were sick of them.
She watched on the video as one of the boys took a broom handle. He forced it into the girl. She was crying out in pain. The boy pulled it back out from her. It was streaked in blood. Nadia thought the girl might have some nasty injuries because of this violation. The boy on the video laughed. It was the boy that had bought her to this place tonight. She thought “If I make it out of this place alive I will find a way to get that shit”.
She heard the volume of the television down stairs increase. Then she heard the door way at the bottom of the stairs shut. She knew why the TV had been turned up. It was to drown out her screams.
The door behind her opened and the young man that had tied her in the room walked in. He circled around her. He was naked now. His body was trim, he was not fat. He had the physique of a boxer or a rugby player. He had no hair on his body. His body shone with oil and accentuated his well-defined musculature. As he walked in front of Nadia she was surprised to see that he was flaccid. She thought he would be aroused but he showed no signs.
“How can I be of service to you, Master?” She asked him. She had done this BDSM role on a number of occasions and new how this worked.
With no warning and with extreme force the man punched her hard in the kidney. The impact was crushing on her right side. She stifled her cry, but still it escaped her lips.
“You don’t talk to me you Kafir whore.” He growled.
He walked in front of her to the wardrobe and took out the heavy studied paddle. She wept as she saw him walk back to her. The pain from her bruised kidney rolled in waves up and down her injured side. She could not roll up and shield herself from him. He still remained flaccid.
He walked to her side, she tried to watch him and prepare herself for what was to follow.
The pain of the impact on her buttock was sharp, hot and immediate. There was no escape from pain. It was all around her now. Pain radiated from her side, from her bum. She felt sick and her breathing came in ragged bursts. She was light headed.
“America, please stop, America”. She begged him for a release from the torment.
“Fuck you,” was his response. He walked round in front of her so that she could see him. She tried to look away from him and look at the floor. He had become semi excited now. As she looked down to the floor she saw small trickles of blood on her inner thighs and running down her ankle bones and pooling under the arches of her feet. For just a second she was fascinated by the way the two small puddles began to grow and expand. They joined and merged together. The next impact on her other buttock rendered her unconscious. The faint provided her with some respite from the waves of pain. The respite was short lived and soon she regained consciousness to find herself looking down as her head hung to her chest. Her wrists hurt as she hung by them. The pool of blood near her feet had been diluted by her urine. When she was unconscious her bladder had voided.
He kept her there and used her for a while, she had no idea how long it was.
He left her on the floor in her urine and in her blood.
“Clean up.” He said to her as he threw her the blue roll from the wardrobe. She did not cry. She did as she was told.
The boy that had taken her to the house came in and helped her get back in her clothes. She could not do it on her own now. When she was taken into the alleyway she turned round and looked at the house. She wanted to remember.
“This is how we are gonna do it”, said Kharon to the assembled Acheron Crew. It was early for them to get together. But Kharon knew that on a Friday the police all came on duty after lunch time.
The two young Skuja boys were there, Mo Nuelleh and a couple of other boys that were trying to gain acceptance into the gang. Rhianna didn’t want to come and be a part of it. That was ok, Kazzy didn’t mind that. He had spent the night with her and she had crept off home in the early hours. She said it was her first time. He hoped it was.
“Skujas, One of you go to West Street, the other one to Ferry road. If either of you see the pigs coming then you ring New Mo straight away. Ok?” Kazzy asked.
The two boys were eager to please and they did as they were told straight away.
“Ok, Kazzy, we can do that.”
“Ring Mo when you are in position.”
Mo and Kazzy, went into one of the newsagents on the street and helped themselves to a can of redbull each. They didn’t pay. Old Mr Singh would not challenge them. They walked back onto the street and waited for a few minutes.
“Mo, you have to start to step up your business.” Kazzy spoke quietly.
“Yeah, I am looking at taking the trade for the West street whores”.
“Yeah good idea, some of them have junky boyfriends as well, they could be ideal.” Kazzy approved of Mo’s idea. Kazzy thought that he would be able to sell the whores on the street so they could feed their habit and then deal to them and their boyfriends to maximise their profits. It seemed like excellent business.
Mo’s phone rang.
“Yo, it’s Mo”. He said into the blackberry.
“Ok”. He ended the call.
“West Street is covered”, he turned to Kazzy.
The phone rang again. He turned and nodded to Kazzy.
“You are on Kazzy Mad Man, time to show your thing”. Mo understood what this was all about.
Kazzy put a bandana over his lower face and pulled his hood up. He walked over Frod road and went over to the drunks.
“You are a load of fucking filthy bastards!” Kazzy stood amongst the drunks shouting at them.
People walking along the street either hurried on or stood still and watched. Kazzy continued to shout. “Why don’t you all just fuck off somewhere else so you don’t bother decent people?”
Robin Chamberlain stepped forward and said. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Kazzy took a couple of steps forward to make sure he was out of the view of the CCTV cameras. He pulled down his hood and took off his mask.
“You know who we are, you know who I am. You scum can fuck off this street. This is our manor. We look after it.”
He looked around himself and saw that there was a crowd of shoppers and passers by watching from across the street. He walked up to Rob and stood just inches from him. They stood face to face.
“You are a waste of humanity”. Whispered Kazzy.
This tipped the old drunk over the edge. Rob’s face flashed red with anger and he prodded Kazzy in the chest once with his right forefinger.
No one saw the knuckle duster in Kazzy’s tracksuit pocket. This was what he wanted. He slipped the duster onto his right hand and launched a savage uppercut into the jaw of Chamberlain. The old man shook as the bone in his jaw was smashed. Kazzy put the duster back into his pocket and stepped to his left. As he did he swung a short left hook into the temple of the semi-conscious man. The old man slumped forward now and as he dropped down. Kazzy met him with another uppercut into the nose. Rob Chamberlain fell to the floor, his face a bloodied mask. There was nothing more coming from Chamberlain. He was unconscious. As he lay on the ground the younger man kicked him brutally in the back. He didn’t know but the kick ruptured his already inflamed kidney.
This had taken only two or three seconds. The other drunks in the group realised what was happening and one of the women lurched forwards towards Kazzy. She held her vodka bottle by the neck. Kazzy knew that this could be a disaster.
She raised her bottle above the head to hit him. He knew with this amount of people watching it would be counterproductive to hit her. Her clumsy swing was easy for Kazzy to deal with. He grasped her wrist as the bottle came down with his left hand and took the bottle with his right hand. He pushed her away. She staggered back but did not fall.
“Now, the rest of you go away. The next time you are here someone else will get what that old fuck did.” The young man pulled his blackberry out of his pocket and called for an ambulance for the old man. He made the call loudly so all of the watchers could hear.
“Time to go.” Shouted Mo. He had received a call from one of the boys, the police were on their way.
Mo and Kazzy ran into the alleyway behind Acheron Street. As they did they were met by Abdul Mohamed. Kazzy stripped off and passed his clothes to Abdul. Abdul passed him fresh clothes. “I will wash the others and you can pick them up from the youth centre tomorrow.”
“Ok, thanks. Where now?” said Kazzy
“Go to Uncle Abdi’s he will give you an alibi and let you shower”.
Stu Hicks stood in his back bedroom window and watched this unfold below him.