The Good the Bad and the Dead

By Brian J. Benton

With only a few days left at the Police Academy Jake Newton thought the hard slog was all but over. He soon discovered that being a Copper in Australia's largest city was definitely no walk in the park. Not only was the work rugged, he had to contend with the partying and that was even harder! How was he expected to juggle that as well as put the moves on the little glamour he'd just met?

Newton would soon cross paths with 'The Company' and the notorious Mr. Deep. Just what was it about Deep that frightened so many others?

And how did the illegal Casino figure into all this? Was there a connection between Deep, the Casino and the Drug manufacturing warehouses? And why were there so many suicides at The Gap lately?

Oh yes... for young Newton the worst was yet to come...

The main Police character somehow finds the time to impress and hook up with a glamorous female singer.

The singer innocently introduces him to the mysterious 'Mr. Deep' not knowing he is a major player in 'The Company'. Her companion, whilst rubbing shoulders with members of the so called 'high society' makes an interesting discovery when observing several of the organized crime figures he's already looking into are at the very same party.

The book explores how the young police and syndicate members inevitably cross paths.

'The Boys' decide to take on some investigating in their own time. The players soon discover that they are being watched and subsequently take action by ensuring somebody disappears.

This only heightens the eagerness of the other young Police to expose what is really going on in Sydney. Their surveillance operations escalate and culminate in a confrontation between 'The Good' and 'The Bad'.

From organized murderous hits to alleged suicides... from major drug deals to Drag Queens and Bank accountants... corruption goes all the way to the top... there's blackmail... an Illegal Casino... and a variety of stand-over tactics... and all in a day's work.

From top class restaurants to Hotel Counter meals... from alcohol binge sessions to late night strip clubs and wishful sexual confrontations... there's even a Gay Night Club... and the young police are exposed to the lot in their quest to identify those individuals responsible...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jan 25, 2007
• ISBN: 9781466956117

Brian J. Benton

BJ Benton spent a number of years living in the eastern suburbs of Sydney, Australia then served more than a decade as a member of the New South Wales Police. He now resides on the Capricorn Coast of Queensland, Australia with a strong desire to write several more stories including some of the characters we have been introduced to in this, his first novel, thereby allowing the reader to take part in the journey with them in many more new, humorous and dangerous adventures.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Slowly regaining consciousness Deep’s eyes began scanning the room. A stale smell emanated from the room’s muddy walls. It was damp and musty, a legacy of continual water seepage. The pungent odour of rotting plant roots and other vegetable matter was most unbearable for Deep. He lay there alone, trapped in the stagnant atmosphere and longed to feel the sunlight and fresh air that he used to take for granted.

With what little light the cracks in the huge trapdoor above provided, Deep could just make out a small trickle of water. He watched as it ran down the crudely constructed walls between the matted plant roots and soil before finally settling in small puddles on the lower areas of the uneven dirt floor.

He’d awoken only to find himself strapped to an old rough wooden table. Longing to break free of the rope that bound his wrists and ankles he struggled violently. Contorting his body he groaned with pain as the rope cut into his already raw flesh. Again and again he tried despite the pain, but try as he may, the knots that held him in captivity refused to relinquish their grip.

Exhausted Deep finally gave up his struggles. His body slumped limply back onto the table. He closed his eyes and waited for his rapid breathing to subside. A bead of sweat slowly trickled down his brow across his face then down through a small crack in the table. It landed on the ground mixing with the muddy puddles of water that lay below him. And outside above him the torrential rain continued. Relentlessly it pelted down.

Deep heard a noise in the corner of the room. Detecting a sudden movement his eyes narrowed upon a rat scampering across the dirty floor. The rodent jumped between the puddles, pausing briefly every few seconds as it twitched its nose then rubbed its paws across its mouth before sidestepping off again. The rat kept Deep amused, helping to pass the time until it disappeared into its hole. Deep longed to scratch a persistent itch that was unfortunately out of reach. His frustration only grew as the seconds ticked slowly by seemingly in time with the dripping water.

It had been several hours since his captors last paid Deep a visit. What was taking so long? His parched throat craved water. He wondered what was happening to his companions and hoped they had not met the same fate as he. These and other thoughts continually passed through his tired and confused mind in the loneliness of the pit. Contemplating his fate, he resigned himself to the fact that he should formulate some sort of escape plan should an opportunity present itself. As feeble as this seemed it had to be done. It kept his hopes alive and at the same time helped pass the time.

Somewhere above the muffled sound of foreign voices grew louder just as the huge trapdoor opened. The rain had temporarily stopped and when the door was raised a bright stream of sunshine beamed down directly into Deep’s eyes. Having grown accustomed to the darkness the light was both difficult and painful. He squinted in the direction of the trapdoor and heard somebody walking down the steep wooden staircase,

So have you had time to think over our little proposition eh? Deep refused to answer his aggressor.Well are you going to answer me? this time the question was presented a little louder and with a thick South American accent.

It doesn’t pay to be so stubborn in my Country my friend. You will realise this in time or you will die! the man spat.

Deep remained silent. All he really wanted was to get out of the hole they had buried him in but to cooperate with them would mean certain death if ‘The Company’ learned he had betrayed them. He would no sooner arrive home than be killed. No he must play the waiting game and hope ‘The Company’ would send in assistance. That’s if ‘The Company’ actually knew what had happened.

So you wish to stay in here then? Very well my friend, I will call on you later. the man said again with his thick accent. Then lighting a huge cigar he exhaled several billowing clouds of second hand smoke across his prisoner’s face before climbing the staircase and securing the trap door.

Deep was alone once more. What was he to do? Stay silent and be surely murdered? Or give up his associates in ‘The Company’ and blow their whole operation down there, which had taken a considerable amount of time, lives and money to organise. He recalled his first trip down into Colombia. It had been several years ago. Both ‘The Company’ and Deep had prospered very well since that time. Colombia was so different to home. Yet in as many ways as it was different, it was also alike. It was possible to do anything one wanted, providing one had the right ingredient. And that ingredient was money! Money bought power and with power it was possible to practically do anything. Deep’s first trip had proven an expensive one. He had been provided with a Government contact that, for a price, would overlook certain activities. His price was very expensive but in the long term very necessary for their operations to succeed and prosper. Unfortunately the powers that be were exposed to constant conflict and revolutionary upheavals. There were many groups struggling for power. This was a risk Deep and his associates had been prepared to take but unfortunately for Deep it had landed him where he found himself now.

Wondering once more if he would ever get out of this predicament Deep’s thoughts grew incoherent with the lack of water his thirsty body was craving for. Entombed alive his hopes of rescue slowly faded.

The rat poked its head out of the hole again. Its beady black eyes surveyed the room wondering what all the fuss and noise had been a few moments ago.

After several more desperate attempts to free himself from the table Deep finally gave up. His wrists were bleeding. The blood trickled down in tiny droplets to the floor. The smell of the fresh blood was too much for the inquisitive hungry rodent. It scampered out from the safety of its hole before leaping under the table. It began to taste what its pointy nose had drawn it to. The cuts on Deep’s wrists began to sting as his salty sweat mixed with the dirty rope that bound his limbs. Exhausted and dehydrated, he finally fell asleep.

The sound of the opening trapdoor roused Deep from his sleep. The light this time was not as strong as it had been earlier. He wasn’t sure if it was morning or afternoon. The rat shot across the floor back to the safety of its hole. Its paws and whiskers were tainted red with blood.

Well now, have we changed our mind yet my friend? the South American inquired puffing on his fat cigar.

Still so stubborn eh? Let’s go for a little walk then. he suggested signalling to one of the soldiers at the top of the staircase. The soldier clambered down the steep steps and pulled a knife from his belt. He grinned bearing a twisted set of yellow incisors. Deep winced with pain as the soldier slid the knife between his wrists tightening the rope. The blade sliced through as if it were butter. Deep made an attempt to sit up but the Leader struck out with the back of his hand in a swiping motion, sending his prisoner back to the table with a thud.

Don’t be so impatient my friend; you will not miss the show we have in store for you! the fat leader exclaimed looking at the soldier next to him. Together in unison they broke into a fit of laughter. He waited for the rope on Deep’s ankles to be cut away. Drawing back on the huge cigar he blew a thick stream of smoke into Deep’s face. This caused his prisoner to cough and gasp for fresher air. His lungs were already depleted after his imprisonment in the pit.

Now you may get up. ‘The Fat Man’ prompted.

Get up! Get up I said! his fiery temper flared.

The soldier half dragged Deep up the steep staircase into the daylight above. The bewildered rat propped just inside its hole. The rodent’s body quivered nervously at all the commotion. ‘The Fat Man’ followed them up the stairs, pausing on the very last step he turned to discard his cigar into the darkness below. It narrowly missed the startled rodent who jumped backwards just as the trapdoor slammed shut.

Deep stood up and for the first time in many hours felt the cooler fresh air blowing in his face. He inhaled deeply relieved to escape the fermenting stench below. Wiping some of the sweat from his brow he examined his wrists. They were still trickling with blood. He had no sooner done this than he was prodded in the back with the muzzle of an automatic rifle. Turning, he saw two more soldiers behind the one doing the prodding and knew that any attempt to retaliate would be futile. The soldier pushed him in the back once more mumbling some sort of order in his native tongue.

Move! heard Deep from somewhere behind. He recognised the voice of ‘The Fat Man’ and obediently began shuffling forward. They escorted him to a hut that had been converted into some sort of shabby makeshift office. ‘The Fat Man’ shut the door behind them and walked across to a well-used wooden desk where he plonked himself into the chair raising his boots onto the table. There was a large rather ancient looking Two Way radio in the middle of the old wooden desk.

Relaxing back into the chair ‘The Fat Man’ removed his cap and pulled another huge cigar from his khaki shirt pocket. He lit the cigar then leaned back even further in the chair exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. Deep silently wished the chair would break under the huge leader’s weight. This vision brought about a smirk. The expression on the face of ‘The Fat Man’ falling on his arse was the first thought in days that had induced a smile.

‘The Fat Man’ mumbled abruptly to his subordinate who then struck Deep across the back of his head. The force of the blow sent him sprawling to the floor. He stood up casting a long resentful stare at the soldier. An already large lump began to throb on the back of his head.

So you think this quite funny my friend? what do you find so amusing then?" Deep remained silent after the questions had been put to him. The soldier standing beside him raised the butt of his gun once more in readiness to tame Deep’s insolence but his leader waved it way mumbling another order in his native tongue. Although he was angered by the uncooperative nature of the prisoner standing before him, he couldn’t help but admire his demeanour. After all, he had tortured many others before and never had he struck one with such determination. These types of men were rare and he would have enjoyed employing soldiers with such character. Puffing on his cigar ‘The Fat Man’ muttered,

If you want, you and I can work out a deal you know. I will let you live if you agree. I know that the people you work for pay big money for their little operations down here. But this is my Country you see, and I want something from you bastards! Who do you think you are coming down here making your wallets fat while my people live like sewer rats! Talk to me; let’s work out a deal eh? What do you say? ‘The Fat Man’ stood up from behind the desk and placing his hat upon his fat head stomped out of the office leaving the soldier alone with Deep. Was this his opportunity of escape? Deep eyed the soldier up and down and glanced at the automatic gun he was brandishing. No it would be impossible to disarm the soldier before he raised the weapon and pumped him full of lead. Grabbing the gun was not the right way to go. After all he was unaware exactly how many soldiers were outside. Deep longed to return the favour the soldier had delivered a few moments earlier, but his time would come. At least that is what he hoped for.

Checking the room out, he noticed several more weapons on the wall behind the desk. At that moment the old weather-beaten radio began to crackle signalling an incoming message. The soldier called out to ‘The Fat Man’ prompting him inside. He picked up the microphone and began transmitting a message. Deep couldn’t understand the conversation but felt sure it was about him. He began to theorise. What had happened to Jose’, the Official ‘The Company’ had been paying? Had ‘The Fat Man’ killed him? Perhaps if a deal was made then he and the others could get out of this situation alive. But he was not empowered to make such a deal without consultation. His associates back home may only see this as a plight to undermine their operations. Perhaps some sort of take-over bid.

His thoughts were interrupted when the fat Colombian slammed the heavy metal microphone down onto his desk. Deep noticed the rage in ‘The Fat Man’s’ face beneath his layers of dust and sweat.

Your slimy friend is proving hard to contain. Twice now we have cornered him and his weak little band of loyalists. How do you say it? Ah yes. He is like a cat with nine fucking lives! But he has already used up quite a few of them my friend…and he will soon be dead, as you will be if you do not cooperate.

Suddenly a tiny ray of hope flickered somewhere inside Deep. After all, as long as Jose was alive, there remained a chance of freedom.

Removing a large bottle of cheap whisky from under the desk ‘The Fat Man’ lay back in his chair and took a gluttonous gulp. The sound of the whisky gurgling down his throat was not unlike storm water in a downpipe thought Deep, watching the leader swilled on his bottle again. Some of the whisky ran down the cheeks of ‘The Fat Man’s’ portly face.

Would you like some my friend? Come let us celebrate. But what shall we celebrate eh? Let me see. he reached under the table and removed a rather dirty well used glass. Pouring some of the whisky into the glass he slid it across the table towards Deep.

Ah yes, let us drink to the death of your friends shall we? And to the prospects of you saving your own pale skin if we make this little deal eh? ‘The Fat Man’ took another swig from his bottle. A raucous belch quickly followed this. He wiped some whisky from his cheek then puffed on his cigar blowing several clouds of smoke towards Deep waiting for a reaction.

Deep stood motionless. He stared at the gun rack above ‘The Fat Man’s’ head, then visualised himself pulling one of the weapons down from the rack and shoving it into ‘The Fat Man’s’ face. How pleasant it would be to see him beg for his life. To see the cocky barbaric air of superiority leave his uneducated lazy tongue.

Can’t you see I am trying to do you a favour? muttered ‘The Fat Man’. He mumbled something else in his own tongue then polished of the remnants of his whisky before tossing it at his prisoner. Although the bottle struck Deep in the chest he stood his ground and barely flinched. He was unsure if this was an act of defiance or not. Maybe it was due to sheer exhaustion. Either way it enraged ‘The Fat Man’. Deep noticed a hint of fear in the eyes of the soldier standing beside him.

This is getting us nowhere. Let us have some fun!

With that ‘The Fat Man’ rose up from the table and left the room. The soldier prodded Deep with his gun nodding towards the door. He walked cautiously outside behind the Leader.

The last orange rays of sunlight sank across the countryside around the camp. They left a combination of long dark shadows. This brought several chills up Deep’s spine. There was a sinister, almost eerie atmosphere mingling around them. This was probably brought on by the uncertainty of what was about to transpire, but he wasn’t so sure.

They marched him towards a large wooden pole protruding from the bare ground in the centre of the camp. Along the way they passed several soldiers. Some were standing, some sitting around a fire. Each was as filthy as their leader. A few were eating something out of a tin, using their long pointed army knives as spoons. They paused and looked up at Deep. Another soldier standing near them was smoking a cigarette. He muttered something that brought about a chorus of laughter from the others.

A dog trotted warily across the path of Deep, pausing to see if he had any food. Although darkness was approaching and the first stars had appeared, Deep noticed that the dog was undernourished, as were most of the other inhabitants surrounding him. Its ribs protruded along the bridge of its belly resembling a sheet of corrugated iron. The hungry dog was unable to detect any form of food on Deep. It trotted off continuing its hopeful search, but not before pausing to cast a long disgusted stare back at him.

When they had reached the pole ‘The Fat Man’ sneered to one of the soldiers. The man quickly jumped into action presenting several sections of rope. Realising their intentions Deep began to protest. This only initiated a strike to the back of his head with yet another rifle butt. He hit the ground with a thud.

When he awoke Deep found himself bound to the pole. The sunset on the horizon had now completely disappeared. He looked up towards at a night sky filled with a billion tiny stars.

‘The Fat Man’ stood in front of his prisoner raising his dirty hand. Deep braced himself half expecting another back hander, but there was none. Instead, ‘The Fat Man’ clasped his fingers around his prisoner’s tired jaw turning his head slowly from side to side as if studying it intently.

Ah so the one with the strong will is weakening eh? Well gather your strength my friend. I have a little show in store for you tonight. he snarled before signalling to another soldier who immediately trotted off into the darkness.

Deep honed in on some sort of skirmish in the distance. He tried to focus across the top of the campfire and beyond where the noise was emanating but could see nothing. He heard the noises again. They were much louder this time and were quickly followed by the appearance of another prisoner. It was his friend Jeremy. The man was shoved forward by the soldiers towards their campfire. His hands were bound behind his back. His shirt had been torn completely from him and Deep noticed several painful looking marks on his friend’s chest. Jeremy’s eyes were weak and filled with hopelessness.

‘ The Fat Man’ struck Jeremy in the back with such force it buckled his knees causing him to fall forward. Grabbing the prisoner’s hair ‘The Fat Man’ then raised his head upwards so that Deep could look straight into his eyes.

So my friend, are we gonna make a deal?

This was quickly followed by a murmur from Jeremy,

Don’t do it. You know they will kill us anyway.

Jeremy’s retort angered ‘The Fat Man’ intensely. Reaching into the fire he removed a poker. He cast an evil smile at Deep then spat on Jeremy. A lancing blow with the poker quickly followed. It slid across the bare skin on Jeremy’s back. Deep flinched at the deafening scream. It startled the sleeping birds high up in the treetops above the camp. In a mad flurry of flapping wings they took to the air in fear. He eyed the black silhouetted shadows rising in the moonlit sky.

When Deep looked back down Jeremy lay motionless. He was face down on the ground next to the fire. He noticed the already swollen welt on his friend’s back.

What do you think of that my friend? inquired ‘The Fat Man’. Deep was unable to reply. The Colombian knew what he was doing when it came to brutality. It was a skill obviously honed by many practice sessions and obviously many more victims. The poker had been heated sufficiently to inflict painful burns, ‘The Fat Man’ careful not to heat it too much as this would only deaden the tiny sensitive nerve endings of his victims and therefore lessen the pain they felt. His appetite for cruelty was ravenous and it was clear to Deep that he enjoyed his work immensely.

‘The Fat Man’ was playing mind games with Deep but he also knew that to make peace with this man would not guarantee the freedom of he and his friends. Jeremy had been correct implying that they would probably die either way.

Deep’s silence initiated another spate of torture. After being removed from the fire once more the poker was sadistically scraped across Jeremy’s back several more times. The sight of his friend repeatedly fainting with the agonising pain made Deep ill in the stomach. He resisted his urges to vomit or cry out knowing that this would only reward ‘The Fat Man’s’ actions. He showed know outward signs of emotion.

Half an hour must have passed when a bucket of hot salty water was cast across Jeremy’s back. He screamed as the salt stung into his open wounds. Finally ‘The Fat Man’ decided to give Jeremy a rest. They dragged him off into the darkness only to return with another of Deep’s associates.

Will you not agree to at least discuss my proposition with your bosses? Let us make a deal and you will save your friends eh. ‘The Fat Man’ repeated. Once more, Deep chose to remain silent. ‘The Fat Man’ turned towards the other prisoner and smashed him to his knees. Deep prepared himself for another bout of senseless screams, pre-empting the affliction of the poker but was shocked with what transpired so quickly.

This time ‘The Fat Man’ raised the head of Deep’s associate so he could see the terror in his eyes. Without another word ‘The Fat Man’ removed his pistol quickly from its holster then fired a shot straight into the prisoners head. Deep flinched and the rope cut into his wrists as blood splattered onto his face and skin. He felt the blood trickle down his brow then onto his lips. It was warm and salty. The body of his friend slumped lifelessly to the ground with the sound of the shot echoing off the nearby hills surrounding the camp.

Nooo! Deep screamed, vividly shocked by his friend’s sudden death.

Ah so you do talk then? ‘The Fat Man’ waved his hand and two soldiers dragged the prisoner’s body off into the darkness.

With the aid of the firelight Deep’s eyes followed the trail of blood left in the drag marks of his friend’s body. Feelings of hatred and despair filled his mind. These emotions were magnified by his present physical state, having had no water or food. His body craved water while his mind craved revenge.

Have I made my intentions quite clear now my friend? ‘The Fat Man’ inquired. Deep stared back, his gaze continued past the leader and on into the night with thoughts of reprisal. These thoughts were interrupted by another barking order from ‘The Fat Man.’ His requestwas quickly fulfilled with the emergence of yet another prisoner.

Gary HOWMAN had accompanied Deep to Colombia merely as an advisory. He was a man of small stature who wore thick rounded spectacles and nearly always displayed a nervous disposition. He dealt with the accounts and other bookkeeping activities for ‘The Company’.

Deep gazed at the nervous little accountant before him. Howman’ s hands had been bound behind his back. His glasses had been twisted across his face. One lens was shattered, hiding the nervous pupil behind it.

Mr Deep, tell them I don’t know anything. Please tell them I can’t help them. Howman begged, in a shaky broken sentence.

Yes do tell us Mr Deep. And tell your little friend you could save him if you wanted!

The accountant looked up at Deep in dismay. The one eye that was still capable of seeing was frightened and dilated. A tear slid slowly down his cheek. Clinging hopelessly to ‘The Fat Man’s’ hollow promise he again begged Deep to save him.

If only I could, thought Deep as he watched the soldiers’ stake the little accountant out in front of him. Howman had never hurt so much as a fly. He had never raised a violent hand in his entire life. He began to scream,

Do something Mr Deep! D-O S-O-M-E-T-H-I-N-G!

They are going to kill us anyway Gary. sighed a tired Deep.

No! He said we could live! We just have to talk to.

Gary shut your mouth! Deep cut the accountant short.

Talk to whom? Who do you want to talk to? ‘The Fat Man’ inquired eagerly.

Gary if you talk you are as good as dead anyway. He was reminded by Deep of ‘The Company’s’ policies in such matters. The little man heeded his friend’s words despite the glimmer of hope the Colombian leader so teasingly offered. Howman had made up his mind. He would conduct one final act of bravery. He would rather dieunder those circumstances than die as a traitor.

‘The Fat Man’ had waited long enough. This was getting him nowhere. He stooped down and removed the little man’s shirt. Smiling once again at Deep he drew his knife lowering the point of the blade into the accountant’s belly. Slowly and deliberately he cut a careful incision across Howman’s abdomen. It left an open wound of about 5cm exposing several layers of flesh. He screamed more with terror than agony as he watched on helplessly.

One of the soldiers looking on carried a small cage over to his leader. From out of this cage ‘The Fat Man’ removed a large rat. They had starved the rodent in the cage for this very purpose. Carefully he forced its whiskered nose into the wound that he’d just created. Howman screamed as the rat dug it’s talons into his skin. The rat began to gnaw away tasting Howman’s blood and flesh ignoring his screams and wriggling protests. It momentarily slid of Howman’s heaving body but its hungry taste for more blood overpowered its desire to flee from the noise. Scampering back on board it dived straight into the open wound and continued to feed.

Deep looked on in horror at the blood soaked rat. Howman’s frightening screams finally convinced the rat to flee into the darkness. The little accountant’s lungs heaved for air after his exhausting ordeal. His blood oozed from the wounds on his stomach. Deep felt as though he should have been crying but surprisingly there was no tears. Perhaps ‘The Fat Man’ had gone too far. The pleasures and luxuries of his world back home were a misty memory of the past. They were overshadowed by the cruelty of ‘The Fat Man’s’ world.

The leader poured a bucket of the hot salty water onto Howman. His entire body jerked up against his restraints threatening to snap them. Arching his torso he screamed as the hot salty water rushed into his wound.

Have you reconsidered your options my friend? inquired ‘The Fat Man’. He stood before Deep waving the hot poker he had removed from the campfire. It was only inches away from his prisoner’s face. Trance-like, Deep maintained his silence under the shimmering heat of the poker. ‘The Fat Man’ shrugged his shoulders and turned his attentions to Howman once more. This time he placed the red-hot poker into his wound momentarily before returning into the very centre of the fire.

Deep shut his eyes as the accountant’s terrifying screams echoed about the camp. He wondered if Jeremy was still alive. Reopening his eyes he saw ‘The Fat Man’ kicking out at the defenceless little accountant. ‘The Fat Man’ paused taking another swig from a whisky bottle handed to him by one of his soldiers. He poured some of the whisky into Homan’s wound. The alcohol enhanced the pain of his fresh poker burn and as his prisoner continued to scream ‘The Fat Man’ laughed loudly gaining pleasure from his work.

How long must this continue? Deep wondered angrily. For God’s sake just kill him and be done with it! His silent demands continued. He dare not request ‘The Fat Man’ to finish it aloud knowing that this would only encourage him to prolong the ordeal.

‘The Fat Man’ removed the poker from the campfire. The shimmering tip was glowing with heat. He quickly walked across to the accountant then looking at Deep, smiled bearing a gruesome set of stained yellow teeth. ‘The Fat Man’ stomped his boot onto Howman’s head forcing it to one side before thrusting the poker into his prisoner’s exposed cheek. The hot metal easily slid through the skin tissue like a knife through warm butter.

Deep closed his eyes in horror, the torment unbearable. He turned away attempting to avoid the smell of burning flesh filtrating through his nostrils. Howman had passed out and was totally unaware of the sizeable gaping hole on the side of his face. Momentarily there was an eerie silence as ‘The Fat Man’, Deep and the soldiers’ all watched the limp body lying near their campfire. Deep secretly hoped his friend wouldn’t regain consciousness, knowing that if he did then he would only suffer more of the same treatment under the evil hand of ‘The Fat Man’.

Unfortunately Howman did regain consciousness, courtesy of a bucket of water tossed across his head. He instinctively moved his tongue feeling the gaping wound however he was too tired to utter a single protest despite the searing pain, choosing instead to lay motionless. He sobbed quietly like a small child and awaited further torment from his aggressor.

‘The Fat Man’ steadied himself taking another swig from his whisky bottle. At that moment Howman turned his head slowly towards Deep so he could see his friend’s face. The dirt on the ground had mingled with the bloody wound on his cheek.

I didn’t tell him Mr Deep, I…didn’t…Te…ll he sobbed.

I know Gary, I Deep’s sentence was cut short by the soundof gunfire. Howman’s body convulsed as if in some kind of epileptic fit. A hail of bullets rained into him and the barrage of spent shells spewed on the ground and over DEEP. He turned eyeing ‘The Fat Man’ brandishing his automatic rifle, not satisfied until two magazine clips had been emptied into his victim.

The smell of gunpowder wafted around the camp and as the smoke slowly cleared, Deep felt saddened at the loss of his friend. As shocking as it had been seeing his body hammered by the bullets, at least his suffering had been brought to an end.

Once again you see I am very serious my friend, but I grow weary of your insolence! screamed ‘The Fat Man angrily’, his attentions now turning towards Deep. The whisky had also started to take affect. He moved closer towards the next victim he’d chosen but was suddenly interrupted,

Generale! Generale! came a cry from somewhere in the dark. The call came from one of the soldiers near the hut.

It must be the radio again, thought Deep then wondered if it just might be Jose and his men. ‘The Fat Man’ spat on Deep before barking out an order in his native tongue. This prompted one of the other soldiers to his feet and he quickly untied the prisoner’s hands. Whilst being untied, Deep noticed a slight sway in the walk of ‘The Fat Man’. For some reason he’d temporarily forgotten about his torture session and stumbled off in the direction of the hut.

The night seemed incredibly silent now that the torture had been halted. The heavy rains began falling again as Deep was led back to the pit. After his hands and feet were strapped to the table and when the trapdoor closed he let out a sigh then shut his eyes. Although exhausted, he was unable to sleep. Visions of Howman’s pleading face and warm blood spraying onto Deep continually haunted his mind as he lay there all alone apart from the rodent hiding somewhere below him. Gradually the horrible visions faded and he drifted into a reckless half sleep only to awaken amidst another hellish nightmare. During this dream, instead of his associate being murdered by ‘The Fat Man’, Deep witnessed his own murder. The very sight of his blood soaked body falling slowly to the ground under the smiling gaze of ‘The Fat Man’ invoked a sickening cry of terror. He awoke in a lather of cold sweat. After realising it had all been a dream, he relaxed and waited for his rapid breathing to subside. The sound of his breathing was suddenly drowned out by a loud noise in the distance. What was it? He listened carefully until it happened again, then a few moments later it continued and he recognised the sound immediately. It was gunfire.

Hopes of a rescue mission initiated by Jose quickly grew inside Deep, but they just as quickly subsided. After all, even if Jose did arrive on the scene, the chances of getting out of the pit alive were minuscule. It would only take seconds to fire some quick rounds into the pit from the staircase above and ‘The Fat Man’ would undoubtedly see to this if such a rescue attempt was made.

The gunfire subsided and then there was nothing but silence once more. Deep lay there alone in the darkness, staring into the black unknown for what seemed an eternity before he finally drifted into another restless sleep.

He awoke somewhat startled, unaware that the trapdoor had already opened. Deep watched the soldier busily removing the ropes from his wrists and ankles. He was led up the narrow staircase into a wonderfully bright and sunny day. The rains had passed during the night leaving the fresh morning air a little humid. The sunlight hurt his tired eyes and he shielded them with one hand squinting up at the sky. Deprived of food and water for the last couple of days his legs were considerably weaker now and he found it difficult to even walk. Perhaps it was his subconscious preparing himself for another series of torturous events.

What followed was most unexpected. Rather than leading him to the pole in the centre of camp where the atrocities of the previous evening were still the foremost and most prominent thoughts on his mind, Deep was taken to a long wooden table and instructed to sit. A soldier poured water into a battered tin cup then nodded at him. Deep raised his eyebrow inquisitively at the soldier and then down at the water in disbelief. The soldier nodded towards the water again and barked something that was indecipherable to Deep. He got the hint in any case and quickly lunged for the cup gulping it down as fast as he could. When he plonked the empty tin cup onto the table its contents were replenished by the soldier. Again Deep emptied the cup. Water flowed down his chin and neck as he greedily gulped in the precious fluid. When he had finished quenching his thirst Deep was given some sort of meat on a tin plate along with a large although somewhat stale bread roll. He softened the roll in the meat and gravy before he hungrily went about devouring the entire plate’s contents. He hadn’t a clue what the meat was but he knew one thing, it tasted absolutely fantastic. Breaking another piece of bread he continued shovelling the remnants of the brew sopping up the last little bit with the bread. When this was completed he gratefully accepted another cup of water, and relaxed feeling totally satisfied. Wiping the excess gravy from the corners of his mouth he glanced around half expecting to spot ‘The Fat Man’ nearby holding a piece of paper and pen, extending the latter to him in order to close some sort of contract. Deep wondered was it some obscure start to another torture session? He awaited further punishment curtesy of ‘The Fat Man’ but there was none?

A few minutes later his friend Jeremy appeared and he too was shown to the table where he went about satisfying his famine-like hunger. He finished his meal before even acknowledging Deep was there.

Gary is gone isn’t he? he inquired with a mouth full of food.

Deep nodded an acknowledgment.

And what about..

They are both dead.

Shit! I wonder what the fat bastard’s got in mind with us then? continued Jeremy, gulping down a cup of water.

Your guess is as good as mine. Deep returned as a soldier approached and spoke to the guard standing over them. The other man turned staring at both of the prisoners then informed them,

The Generale will return this afternoon.

What is happening? Where has he gone? Deep asked inquisitively hoping that Jose was the reason.

That is no concern of yours. the soldier replied, before marching away.

Deep and Jeremy were allowed to sit at the table for a while longer. They enjoyed the early morning sunlight and it warmed their skin. Chatting away for most of the morning uninterrupted by the soldier they suddenly heard the muffled sound of gunfire in the distance. Prospects of being rescued arose in their conversation but Deep was quick to point out a more realistic outcome, should Jose arrive on the scene whilst they were still imprisoned.

The gunfire grew steadily louder. Deep believed it was somewhere to the north, beyond the expanse of jungle over a rather large ridge behind them. The Soldier that had spoken to them earlier in the day quickly returned to their table. He escorted both prisoners’ back to their respective pits. Deep watched as the trapdoor once again closed above him.

Lying on his table, a feeling of contentment came over him now that his painful thirst had been quenched. The neighbourly rodent scurried across the muddy floor in search of more food. This invoked memories of the previous night’s atrocities. Haunting visions of ‘The Fat Man’ burying the rat into the wound of Gary Howman flooded Deep’s mind. Closing his eyes he tried unsuccessfully to quash the memories finally falling into a restless and haunted asleep.

Several hours passed until the trapdoor was reopened. Deep wondered if this would be the last time he clambered up the stairs. He was led to the hut where ‘The Fat Man’ sat smoking another cigar. He greeted his prisoner with a grunt and seemed a little agitated.

Did you enjoy your meal my friend?

Yes…err… thanks. Deep cautiously replied.

Good. Very good. ‘The Fat Man’ continued as he puffed on the cigar.

I suppose you have heard the recent gunfire. You understand then that both you and I are out of time. I haven’t the patience or the time for any more of your insolence. Can we now make a deal and stop this awful business my friend?

I am unfortunately not in a position to make any kind of deal with you or anyone else unless my superiors… Deep was cut short.

SILENCE! ‘The Fat Man’ roared shoving Deep out the door and across towards the pole in the centre of the camp.

Immediately thoughts of the previous night came flooding back. This time Deep was forced to the ground. They stretched his limbs outward tying them to the very same stakes that they had used on Howman when he met his demise. Forgoing any hope of rescue Deep prayed his death would be sudden. He lay helplessly at ‘The Fat Man’s’ mercy, waiting for an insurmountable level of torment that he felt sure the General would shortly bestow upon him.

Firstly, his shirt was torn from his chest and immediate thoughts of the rat surfaced in his mind. Then Jeremy appeared accompanied by two soldiers who tied his friend to the pole. Deep gazed up at his friend casting a pitiful stare then turned his head the other way in silence, awaiting his awful fate. He knew now that ‘The Fat Man’ had given up his efforts and his role had been reversed. ‘The Fat Man’ was obviouslygoing to torture him hoping to secure some sort of deal via Jeremy.

‘The Fat Man’ approached Deep carrying a large tin. Standing over his prisoner he suggested one last time that they ensure a deal with some fiscal gratification knowing full well that the man lying before him was one of principal and as stubborn as a mule. Sighing as if the act he was about to commit was onerous and difficult, and one which he wasn’t terribly interested in, ‘The Fat Man’ opened the tin pouring its contents onto Deep’s chest. Deep looked down as a mass of angry carnivorous ants darted across his bare skin. He let out a series of agonising screams as the insects began nipping away. Wriggling his legs and twisting his hips, Deep made a feeble attempt to dislodge the ants but it was useless. Jeremy watched on as the huge ants continued to sting and bite away at his friend. Massive red welts began appearing all over his chest and face.

Stop it! Stop it you fat ugly prick! cried Jeremy. He was silenced with the back of ‘The Fat Man’s’ hand.

Several minutes passed before ‘The Fat Man’ threw a bucket of salty water onto Deep, washing the ants away. Gazing down along his chest Deep inspected the mass of swollen lumps. There were literally dozens of tiny bleeding wounds where the ants had relentlessly nipped at his flesh.

Still no Deal my friend? ‘The Fat Man’ inquired smiling at Jeremy. Deep lay in silence. Biting his lip he refused to allow a single utterance knowing this would only heighten ‘The Fat Man’s’ pleasure.

The guns that they had heard earlier now grew noticeably louder and for the first time ‘The Fat Man’ appeared concerned. In fact it was the first time he seemed worried and immediately stopped his antics. Then there was a sudden long silence.

Hmm, he muttered, believing his troops had defeated the present threat near his camp. He returned his attentions to Deep. Picking up another large tin, he walked slowly towards Jeremy then back to Deep. His prisoner eyed the tin pondering nervously at what it might contain. His curiosity was short lived. ‘The Fat Man’ emptied the tin onto Deep and began to laugh loudly at the horror in his victim’s eyes.

Numerous jungle leaches began slithering along his chest. Slowly each organism squirmed into position and utilising their suckers they began feeding on his blood. Deep let out another scream as some of the leaches slithered attaching themselves to his neck and face. Jeremy looked on in horror, as each organism grew longer, filling with Deep’s blood. ‘The Fat Man’ stood back and laughed hideously. Deep longed to silence him. He desperately wanted to kill him but knew he himself would be the one to shortly die. ‘The Fat Man’s’ laughter seemed to continue for an eternity.

Just as Deep had given up all hope there was a large whistling sound quickly followed by an explosion in the camp. This was followed by several more explosions in quick succession. ‘The Fat Man’ drew his revolver pointing it at Deep but before he could squeeze the trigger another nearby explosion erupted, sending him tumbling to the dirt. He stood up barking orders as the whole camp slipped into panic mode.

Deep let out a joyous cry! Indeed perhaps he had lost his mind, but he would rather die like this than at hand of ‘The Fat Man’.

What the fuck? yelled Jeremy.

It’s Jose! It has to be! cried Deep.

Around them, soldiers were running in all directions. Deep saw several of them blown into the air in a cloud of blood and limbs. The sound of machine gun fire began to mingle with the shellfire. The noise of the machine guns grew louder and the shelling stopped as suddenly as it had started. Jeremy flinched when several men burst through the trees at the edge of the camp. With guns blazing they fired upon the other soldiers dropping several of them where they stood. Some of the others were cut down running away for more cover.

A jeep roared into the camp skidding sideways almost out of control to a halt beside Jeremy and Deep. The erratic driver jumped out and Deep recognised him immediately.

Holy shit! Jose! It is you! exclaimed Deep as the driver quickly untied the two of them. And quickly was the optimum word as whole area around them erupted into more gunfire. It was flying in all directions. Deep removed the remaining leaches from his chest and face and the driver tossed him a machine gun.

Quickly, we must make good our escape. he added.

Not so fast Jose. I have a score to settle! Deep madly spat.

But we have no time! his words went unheeded as Deep raced across the camp towards the hut. Jeremy looked at Jose shrugging his shoulders before running off after Deep. Jose shook his head and swore in his native tongue before jumping back into the driver’s seat, ducking as several more bullets whistled past his head with some of them striking the jeep.

Deep kicked the door of the hut open pointing his machine gun firstly at the desk then quickly about the rest of the room searching eagerly for his target. He was disappointed. The hut was empty.

Come on Deep! yelled Jose as Jeremy grabbed his friend by the arm urgently.

Come on, it’ no use! We haven’t time. Let’s get out of here while we still can!

Frustratingly, Deep followed his friend out of the hut into the awaiting Jeep. Jose roared off at full speed amidst a cloud of muddy dust and gunfire. A hundred yards out of the camp their windscreen shattered. A figure standing on the track ahead was firing directly at them. Jose drove on swerving from left to right in a desperate attempt to avoid the bullets that were deflecting off the jeep in all directions. Drawing closer, they identified the figure on the track. It was ‘The Fat Man’. Jose flattened the accelerator to the floor driving straight at him. He jumped sideways only when the magazine of his automatic had been emptied. Jose swerved managing to partly collect him.

As the jeep continued onwards Deep turned to look back at ‘The Fat Man’. He was shocked to find the blood soaked body of his friend Jeremy slumped in the back of the jeep. He had taken several of the bullets that Deep had so narrowly avoided.

Turn around! he barked at Jose.

What? Jose returned.

I said turn us around! Now! Deep insisted forcing Jose to comply with his request. Leaning into the back of the jeep he held the head of his dying friend. He watched the life slowly slip from Jeremy’s eyes. Dropping his blood soaked hands he wiped them on his pants before pulling Jose’s knife from his belt.

The jeep skidded sideways under the heavy breaking of Jose. Deep jumped clear and raced towards his enemy in a fit of rage. ‘The Fat Man’ was lying on the edge of the track propped up against a tree. Some of his insides were obviously ruptured as a result of the collision. His breathing was rapid and it was obvious to Deep that he was in a considerable amount of pain. Still in a fit of rage Deep raised the muzzle of the machine gun intent on pumping him full of lead but then lowered the weapon slowly. Instead he drew the knife and drove it cruelly into ‘The Fat Man’s’ groin, before twisting and pulling the weapon harshly. This brought about a horrifying scream of agony. ‘The Fat Man’ looked down at his crotch and watched as his pants filled with blood. He glanced back up at Deep but before he could utter a single protest Deep placed the tip of the knife into the socket of one of his eyes. He twisted the point and removed a portion of the eye that had fastened itself to the blade.

Jose witnessed the whole incident in horror. He saw how Deep sadistically waved the knife just in front of ‘The Fat Man’. He taunted him,

How do you like that you fat pig! And now this is for my friends, I hope you enjoy it! Deep screamed raising the machine gun and pointing it at the Fat Man’s belly.

This is for all of us you ugly fat bastard! I hope you rot in hell! and with that he unleashed a full magazine into ‘The Fat Man’.

Come on, hurry please! Jose urged fearfully, looking behind half expecting the General’s men to retaliate. Satisfied that his score had been settled, Deep turned jumping back into the jeep. Jose roared quickly off somewhat uncertain that he had left all the evil behind him.

They drove on until the guns could no longer be heard. Jose evidently knew the area well for he drove through dense scrub onto another track and crossed several more hills before he finally stopped the jeep.

I have some important news. ‘The Company’ has sent another operative. He will be here in the morning. informed Jose.

Deep nodded in acknowledgment. He was exhausted after the ordeal and the adrenalin had now worn off. He slumped back further in the jeep and closed his eyes then remembering Jeremy was still in the back he stated,

We have to bury him.

I will organise it, you get some rest. Jose insisted, and then drove on until it was almost nightfall.

His retreat was far from the clutches of ‘The Fat Man’s’ army and far from anywhere else for that matter. The main house was nestled into the side of a large hill protecting it from view to the west and providing ample warning of any approaching enemies from the east.

Jose assisted Deep out of the jeep and into the house. Exhausted, Deep examined himself in the bathroom mirror shocked at what he saw. Although covered from head to toe with mud, blood and sweat he chose to plonk himself down onto the comfortable mattress Jose had provided. It was a far cry from the hard wooden table he had recently been forced to grow accustomed to. Totally exhausted he fell into a coma-like sleep.

Early the following morning, believing he was still in the dark pit, Deep awoke in a cold sweat. He had relived the same hellish nightmare once again. The dream was so damn real he’d broken into a loud protesting scream. Sitting up in bed he found himself alive and well. He was later to find that the recurring nightmare, a legacy of ‘The Fat Man’, would stay with him for the rest of his life. The mental afflictions would soon alter his disposition so much so that the demeanour of the man prior to his visit to Colombia would be lost forever. The scars would soon mould a totally new and evil persona not unlike ‘The Fat Man’ himself.

Wandering into