The Voodoo Mambo: Trust Casefiles, #0.1

By Lee Cushing

Alexandra Glinyeu has been in England long enough to gain a small following as a Voodoo priestess while working as an operative for an organisation that fights the varied species of vampires and monsters that lurk within the shadows, unseen by the majority of the world's population.  There are those among her colleagues who distrust her, especially the agents who have had experience in opposing the darker aspects of her religion but with the fate of humanity hanging in the balance, will her colleagues rally behind her to save the world

 

David Marsters was a celebrity TV chef but when he was witness to his sister's suicide he embarked on a desperate crusade to help others in debt, actions which led him and those helping him into the sinister secret of a local bank, a secret which will change the balance of power in favour of the vampiric Upierczi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee Cushing
• Release date: Jan 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393349631

Lee Cushing

Lee Cushing is a paranormal thriller author and a lifelong fan of the occult. Having become obsessed with supernatural folklore and the world of horror from an early age, Lee has spent years studying tales of the occult and immersing himself in stories of otherworldly phenomenon. He’s also the owner of a number of vampire and horror-related groups in Facebook, where fellow fans of the supernatural come together to celebrate and discuss all things paranormal.  His debut novel, Voodoo Mambo, blends high-stakes action and shadowy agencies with a dark underworld of demonic creatures and their insidious plots to attack humanity. Lee draws his inspiration from classic horror movies – including Hammer and Universal – as well as beloved TV shows including Doctor Who, Supernatural, The Avengers, and Buffy The Vampire Slayer. 

Book preview

Chapter One

The teenage girl smashed through the farmhouse window.  She was drenched by the torrential downpour before hitting the ground.

The bright flames erupted behind her as she rose and looked back.  There were darkened figures moving past the shattered glass, she couldn't tell how many. 

She would have tried summoning help from the farm across the road, but the neighbours were holidaying in Turkey.  She couldn't even try attracting a passing car, not at this time of night.

Screams from inside the farmhouse made her glance back.  Everyone was being butchered by those things.

The hard gravel dug into her bare feet as she backed away, searching the yard for any sign of them.  The shadows were creeping toward her from every dark corner.

The street lamp went dark.

It had to be them.  She stood alone in the darkened yard, the creeping shadows making her back into a barn.  She pushed the wooden doors shut.  She wasn't going to let them get her.

An explosion shook the timbers of the barn.  The girl turned her rain soaked face toward the wooden doors in time to see a man crashing into the field across the road.  Nervously not wanting them to find her, she scrambled up a ladder onto the platform.

Everything used for the experiment was stored here, she was surrounded by dozens of tall crates.  She realised how easy they could hide here, brushing her soaked blond hair out of her face.  She had to make sure she was safe.

Something grabbed her cardigan.  She turned.

Her soaked cardigan was caught in a nail from one of the crates.  It was such a relief that they hadn't found her.  She ripped herself free and began searching around the crates until she felt satisfied she was alone.  It made her feel safer.

It didn't last long.

She heard footsteps on the gravel outside.  She concealed herself behind the crates as the woman entered, the woman's soaked leather armour glistening from the rain.

The woman approached the ladder.  She paused and turned suddenly, returning out into the downpour.

It seemed like an eternity until the girl could no longer hear the screams coming from the house.

The shadows continued to feel menacing as she climbed down from the loft.  She reached the doors and peered through the narrow crack.  The flames in the house had almost been extinguished by the rain.

She stepped out into the downpour and headed toward the house.  The heat made her halt, then she felt that someone was watching her.

It surged through the air toward her.

The sight of it made her leap through the flames and smashed through the door.  There was ash covering everything and the smell, the stench of burnt flesh was everywhere.  She knew it was all that was left of everyone else working here and forced herself to ignore it.

The floorboards above her creaked and she froze.

A large shadow appeared on the wall as she retreated.  The man she knew as Adam rushed down the stairs.  A large fireball from outside smashed him against the wall, his body turning to ash as she watched.

She heard leather boots on the gravel outside as a large shape became silhouetted by the flames.

The woman's red eyes were staring directly at the girl.

The girl dashed for the kitchen and slammed the door behind her.  The sight of the two women in leather armour on the floor made her halt, their flesh decomposing before her eyes.  Her attention focused on a large bag of potatoes on the table.  She couldn't leave that here, even if she died to keep it from being discovered.

The girl grabbed the bag and rushed through the side door.  She scrambled over a wooden fence into a ploughed field, tearing her skirt to shreds on the nails.  The heavy rain struck her legs as she ran toward the barely visible road, her feet sinking into the mud with each step.

She smashed against the fence at the other end and scrambled over it.

It slammed into her, smashing her down into the steep gully.  She rolled into a stream as she saw it flashing through the air, spewing flames.  Engulfed, the girl collapsed against the bank and screamed as she turned to ash.

Chapter Two

It was impossible for her to hide herself in the sparse vegetation covering the volcanic landscape.  Jessica Poloma did the best she could by moving behind the large outcrop of rock as the two naked men walked past her position.

Their greyish blue skin and long talon like fingernails made it easy for her to identify them as Herlethingi.  She recalled the previous missions where she had encountered them and smiled, satisfied the team had defeated them each time.

The last village she has passed was more than an hour's hike away.  It comforted her a little knowing innocent people weren't under threat.  She hadn't allowed herself to consider it before, but the silence was unnerving.  The small lizards she had seen near the village in abundance crossed her mind.  She hadn't seen any for the last twenty minutes, it meant she was getting close.

She remembered her objective as she brushed her short black hair out of her face.  Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that thing butchering her parents again and again.  It was satisfying that she could finally kill that monstrosity.

Poloma unzipped her leather jacket and removed her Ingram sub-machine gun from the holster.  She slid a clip from her back pocket and slammed it into the weapon.  Her brown eyes focused on the way ahead.  It didn't matter how many she killed to reach that thing, she would fight to celebrate its death, to die if necessary.

The two Herlethingi disappeared behind the jagged rocks and she ran forward.  She stopped as she reached another large formation of rocks.

It was too easy.

The heavy boots of approaching feet made her lie flat on her stomach.  She held her breath until the four armed soldiers had walked past.  It relieved her to think she wasn't going to be able to simply walk in.

She watched them head the way she had come and then looked at the crumbling fifteenth century fortress they were leaving.  It was magnificent, set on the steep cliff overlooking the ocean.  She carefully assessed her target.  The small gorge would provide her enough cover to reach the entrance.  It was a vulnerability that shouldn't be unprotected, but she shouldn't ignore that thing's stupidity.

Flattening herself against the stone wall as she reached the fortress, she checked her Ingram sub-machine gun again.  She moved stealthily and peered through the open archway at the two buildings within the courtyard.  She calculated it would take fifteen seconds to sprint across to the next point of cover, fifteen seconds where she would be vulnerable.

She had to risk it.

Several people emerged from one of buildings and she retreated into the shadows.  She peered round the corner to see if they were reacting.

The roar of an approaching Land rover made her glance back.  She knew the driver would see her and that there was no chance to survive this.  She decided to take as many of them out as she could and raised her Ingram sub-machine gun for a futile gesture.

The opening of a door under the archway attracted her attention.  As she saw it begin to open, she kicked it open and rushed inside.

She was on the surprised soldier in an instant and slid a large knife from her boot.  She slammed the door shut with her foot and thrust the thick blade into the soldier's neck.  The gushing blood mixing with the dead woman's red hair made her turn away.

The Land rover’s engine fell silent just outside the door and she raised her gun.  The best she could hope for now was just one shot at that thing.  Able to overhear a gentle feminine voice giving orders, she knew immediately it was that bitch.  It was right outside, she had her chance.  She would kill that thing, nothing else mattered.

She reached for the handle, knowing she would die almost instantly.  She stopped.  This was too easy, she felt like the fly in a web waiting to be devoured by the spider.

Poloma dived onto the marble floor as the automatic weapons began firing.  She felt a barrage of wooden splinters showering her as the door buckled.  The gunfire roared over her head as she scrambled behind a desk and prepared for a futile attempt at retaliation.  She knew she had failed when she heard the door creaking open, but she would be damned if she would let them take her alive.

She rose quickly and began firing.  The gunfire from her sub-machine gun drowned out the screams of the first three she killed and the others retreated rapidly.  She tried assessing what they would do next, rubbing her chin with her thumb.  They were being stupid, she knew she wouldn't last five seconds against a determined assault.

The surprise of a faint scraping on the marble behind her made her hesitate for a second.

A tight wire was dropped over her head and she felt it digging into her throat.  Gasping for breath as it constricted, she thrust her fingers between her throat and the wire.

Feeling the wire tightening further, she pinned her attacker against the wall and flung him over her shoulder.  Free to act, she slid her elbow round his neck and held him tightly, constricting her muscles until she heard his neck crack.

The Ingram was back in her hands when she focused on the opening in the stone wall.  It gave her the hope that she still had a chance to feel that thing's blood on her hands.

The heat from the passage was overwhelming as she descended a flight of stone steps.  The passage ahead would lead her closer to that thing and she ran along it.  She emerged into the dungeons beneath the fortress, a sickly smell breezed toward her.  It was foul, the stench was that strong that she almost found it impossible to proceed.

As she reached a flight of wooden steps, she paused and glanced at a white tiled room beyond.  The stench was disgusting, but she forced herself to enter.

Corpses were dumped on the tiles.  The sight made her want to puke her guts out.  She made herself go closer, sickened at the maggots and cockroaches crawling over the putrid flesh.  This was the result of that thing's hunger.

She couldn't bare being here any longer and retreated back to the stairs.  Climbing the stairs, she ducked when she saw the dark haired teenage girl standing at the far end.  Just one shot.  That was all she needed to kill that thing.

The arrival of two soldiers made her curse.  She watched them accepting instructions from the girl and watched her hurry away as the soldiers began advancing.  She cursed herself again.  She should have taken the shot when she had the chance.

The soldiers fell as she fired the Ingram.  She ignored the blood covered corpses as she rushed forward.  She had to find where that thing had gone.

The thundering reinforcements made her glance back and she tried thinking for an alternative to dying.

She noticed a half open door and retreated inside a small office.  Her weapon focused on the door, she began glancing over the desk.  The invoices for medical and scientific equipment attracted her attention and she thrust them into her jacket.  She looked back at the door, the thundering soldiers were getting further away.

The passage was clear when she checked it.  She began heading along the passage again, stopping as she realised she had fallen for the trap.  She heard more boots behind her and rushed round the nearest corner.  She was staring at a dead end.

The iron grill offered the only chance of survival.  She approached it and stared down the cliff.  The sea air was overpowering, even at this height.

The crashing boots became silent and she turned.

There were at least a dozen automatic rifles aimed directly at her.  She made the gesture of raising her weapon.

She saw the girl standing behind them and spun round, her boot smashing open the grate.  She began to step toward the edge.

The door behind the soldiers exploded in a fury of fire and smoke.  They were taken completely by surprise.

Poloma was flung back.  She caught hold of the grate and hung over the chasm, recognising the faces storming into the passage.

As one of the soldiers made an attempt to approach the grate, Melissa Watermoon removed a steel tomahawk from inside her denim jacket and flung it.  The blade thudded into the man's neck and he fell past Poloma.

Michael Blackfeather rushed forward and grasped Poloma's wrist, his black hair blowing in the strong breeze.  Letting her fall would mean the Major would kick his ass instead.  Get your feet up.

Poloma braced herself for another reprimand, watching an athletic woman in combat fatigues and long black hair approach.  She came so close.  I almost had that bloody bitch.

Grateful none of her team had been were killed, Major Ayita Kachina hastily addressed them.  Check the dead, make sure none of those things are still breathing.  She watched them scatter and eventually turned toward Poloma, making sure the others were out of earshot.  That was stupid.

The disappointment she saw in her superior's eyes made her briefly think about jumping.  Poloma forced herself to remember her promise, That bloody bitch has to die.

Kachina knew that nothing could comfort Poloma about losing her sister.  Instead, she thought about trying to make something good out of the mess.  Give me an assessment of their objectives?

Poloma felt grateful for the reprieve and removed the crumpled invoices from under her jacket.  There's something going down in England, some place called Shadwell Green or some crap like that.

––––––––

Alexandra Glinyeu drove past the houses on each side of the Reisman Pharmaceutical Estate.  The amount of traffic and houses she passed faded the further she got away from the town.

The winding road began to straighten out as she turned into the farmyard.  She parked her red Toyota between a large pond, driving between a grain silo and a badly burnt farmhouse.  A smile appeared on her face when she saw the mobile trailer and the Mitsubishi Shogun parked next to it, she knew he was here.

The faint trace of burnt flesh was still hanging in the air when she opened the car door.  She ignored it and glanced at the muddy yard.  Her expensive high heeled shoes sank into the mud as soon as she climbed out.  Marvellous.

She had been living in this godforsaken country for nearly four years now and she guessed she was still used to the New Orleans climate.  She was never going to get used to the constantly changing weather.

The large fishpond caught her eye when she removed a black leather jacket from the back seat.  She slipped it over her gold sleeveless jump-suit and wrapped it tightly to keep her warm.  The hope that the any fish were okay popped into her mind.

The cool breeze made her zip up the jacket and gave her a whiff of the strong bleach being used by the sweepers.  She glanced at the barn, casually twirling her fingers in her long curly red hair.  There were about a dozen people in there, all of them dressed in heavy protective suits to protect them from the fumes of bleach.

She gave a rusted and dismantled motorcycle a glance when she approached the main house.  The stench of the burnt flesh overwhelmed the bleach from the barn as she reached the front door.  It fell with a bang when she gently pushed it and she snatched her hand back hastily.  Marvellous.

The interior was worse than she expected.  She glanced at the ash littering the stairs and stepped further inside.  The muddy footprints on the blackened wood floor had to have been made by the fire-fighters that saved the house.  A quick glance outside confirmed that the forensics team hadn't gotten round to the main house yet.

Alexandra pulled a large strip of wallpaper off the wall as a woman in her late thirties entered.  She smiled with amusement and spoke with a soft New Orleans accent.  Be a honey and rustle me up some boots?

Irritated by the strong aroma of Alexandra's expensive perfume, Vicki  Goodman brushed her short blond hair from under the collar of her long leather coat.  It had taken a lot of hard work during the seven years to earn the respect she deserved.  She stared at Alexandra, determined to give her a piece of her mind.  Just one bloody minute.  What do you think I am, a bloody hotel maid?

She liked any chance to show off her photographic memory, You're a detective sergeant with twenty years of experience in the police force just like my brother.  You were recruited into the Trust in January 1990 and are considered to be something of an expert on the occult.  You have interests in gardening, playing pool and mountaineering.  You're a volunteer at a local Citizens Advice Bureau, you are a competent pilot.  You reside at 7 Green Lane, your favourite movie is Gone With The Wind.  You cannot stand  foreign food and like spending your spare time at a pub with a glass of lager, please tell me if I have I left anything out?

Vicki clenched her hair in her fists.  She wasn't going to take this from anyone, let alone some Voodoo know-it-all from America.  Don't give me bloody orders.  I've worked bloody hard to get where I am, I won't throw any of that away to get you a bloody pair of boots.

Amused by Vicki's irritation, Alexandra twisted her finger in her hair.  Easy, honey.  I just don't like frittering away precious time.

She was forced to nod.  Aware of how behind schedule they were, she realised helping Alexandra would speed things up.  It didn't mean she had to like it.  I'll get your damn boots.

Watching Vicki storm outside was the best thing Alexandra had seen today, but her amusement faded when she entered the lounge.  She ran her hand over the scorched furniture as she looked around.  The room looked like someone had used a flame-thrower on it.  If she didn't know better she would have assumed the Trust had cleaned out a nest of Upierczi disciples.

Alexandra approached a couch and knelt to begin sifting through the ashes.  Vicki's footsteps made her look back and she saw a pair of sturdy Wellington boots being offered to her.  Wellies?  Marvellous.  She smiled as she returned to the search, Just pop them down by the door.

Walking around the charred made Alexandra wonder if the farm's owner was among the debris.  She kept going over all the possible theories in her mind.  But from first impressions, it appeared to be something she had never encountered.  Who exactly is the proprietor of this charming place?

Vicki continued to watch Alexandra going about her business of searching the room.  It pissed her off when Steadman told her to watch this Voodoo whacko, Traci Marsters, she resides in one of those council tenements near the river.

The information file was instantly stored away in her mind when her attention drifted to a skeletal finger under the couch.  Alexandra changed her mind, she had seen something like this before.  She just needed to narrow down her theories.  Her voice became solemn, Be a honey and lend me a hand.

It took Vicki a couple of seconds to decide to help.  A rotting corpse in leather armour was exposed when she finally did move the couch.  She had seen mutilated corpses before, but nothing like this.  She realised how little she had experienced, there must be hundreds of demonic cults out there.

Alexandra knelt to examine it and made a few quick observations.  The skeleton looked like it had been decomposing for months, the putrid aroma from the rotting flesh was sickening.  A brief examination confirmed the victim was female and she concluded there had been a battle, resulting in the victim being killed and then hidden under the couch.  Fancy announcing our little discovery to Johnny?

She didn't look back when Vicki hurried outside.  Her interest focused on a locket around the skeleton's throat.  She tried prying it off and realised it was jammed shut.  Okay, honey.  What little secrets are we trying to keep?  The locket had a small piece of hard metal pierced through it, preventing it from being opened.  She lifted it to get a better look, the rotting flesh squelched when she removed it.  The piece of metal was longer than she thought and she concluded it must have pierced the brain.  It was one more piece of the puzzle falling into place.

Her interest in the locket faded as she decided to check out the kitchen.  She pushed her way inside.  There were two more skeletons on the floor.  The flesh had rotted completely, leaving only the leather armour covering the bones.  At last, she remembered where she had seen similar deaths.  It was Greece, about eight years ago.

The exact details filled her mind as she returned to the lounge.  She took in another look round and noticed something half hidden in the fireplace.  She approached it and prodded the coal with her gloved hand, a piece of paper fell onto the ornamental tiles.  She retrieved it and gave it a quick glance, Marvellous.

She exchanged her shoes for the Wellington boots and headed outside, carrying her shoes in her hand.  It smelt good to be in the fresh air again.  Returning to her car, she deposited the shoes on the back seat, twirling her finger in her hair as she tried pinpointing Steadman.

Halting by the barn, Alexandra entered and took a quick look round.  Apart from the men and women conducting their forensics search, it appeared the battle didn't reach here, satisfying her there was nothing of interest.

Her attention fell on an almost bald man with a nasty scar covering his left cheek standing by the trailer.  She avoided the puddles of rainwater as she approached him, holding the piece of paper triumphantly.  She figured if he didn't know what it was, then no one else would.  Fancy perusing this?

Jonathan Steadman tore it from her grasp and glanced at it.  Irritated that she expected him to find a meaning in it, he shoved it back into her palm, annoyed to be bothered with something so trivial.  It's a paying in slip.

The Uzi holstered under his jacket made her nervous as she leaned against the fence surrounding the farm.  She tried ignoring it, the gentle rustling of leaves helping her stay focused.  From a bank.

He examined it again, the angry scowl appearing permanently etched onto his face.  So?

Alexandra felt the damp wood soaking her butt.  Back in New Orleans, she remembered you could rely on the seat to be dry.  I imagine I should ponder opening a few  accounts, see if I can rustle up where it came from.

The trailer door opened automatically as Steadman entered.  He glanced back to check that Alexandra was nipping at his heels.  This was as good enough time as any to tell her his decision.  You've been short listed for my assistant.

The strong antiseptic odour reminded her of a hospital as she entered a small room, dominated by a table facing a massive monitor.  She hadn't expected this promotion, not even in her wildest dreams.  She was only here as a consultant on Vodun practices and rituals, nothing more.  I'll take a wild stab at this, but I suppose this isn't you being witty?

Steadman sat down at the table, pausing to sign a report on a clipboard.  I do not play practical jokes, Glinyeu.  He didn't want her making a big deal about it, It's between you and Goodman.  I haven't made my final decision yet.

Alexandra watched the people continuing their search, carefully thinking about her beliefs or their reaction to her if she was their boss.  She shook her head.  They didn't understand the things she believed in.  Vicki would be a more fitting candidate.  It's taken me nearly four years to put together my Hounfo, I have an obligation to settle their concerns first.

Nodding, Steadman checked the personnel list, pretending he didn't give a damn.  Fine.  He looked at her, a rare smile appearing on his lips.  It was gone the instant he realised she could see how proud he was.

Chapter Three

The man with short black hair watched the few locals kneeling between the rows of wooden chairs and the church altar, sliding his hands into the back pocket of his jeans.  The faint aroma of strawberries drifted through the open window behind him.

He turned when Poloma emerged from the cramped confessional booth.  David Kangee watched her climb the steps, reaching the wooden platform.  He hoped she had learnt that nothing is gained by revenge.  You okay?

She managed a faint smile.  She had to know why she wasn't helping search the fortress, I suppose the Major's pissed?

Moving forward, Kangee's muscular physique was barely contained by the denim shirt.  Sure is, but she'll calm down.  She understands what you're going through, she's been there.  We all have.

Poloma approached the sturdy wooden railing and looked down.  She scratched her chin with her thumb, sliding her jacket over her tight green vest.  Is this bloody worth it?

Kangee fell silent.  Her question made him regret everything he had done.  The faces of the families of the two men he murdered flashed through his mind.  He had accepted they could never forgive him.  No.  Andie had still been raped and killed by him, I thought killing him might make some kind of difference.  But it just ruined everything I had, until the Major came along.  I lost twelve years of my life because I let hatred consume me, just keep a clear head and don't sacrifice anything.

––––––––

The children shouting made Monique Avenall gaze through her bedroom window seemingly entranced.  Timothy was out there, playing with his friends in the yard between the two school buildings.

Tugging on her long brown hair, she made herself believe she did the right thing.  She smiled gently, focusing her brown eyes on the blond haired boy near the gate.  He was enjoying himself, playing football with his friends.  He was happy.  It seemed like he had grown up so fast during the last thirteen years.

She watched the children scatter when they heard the school bell, vanishing through the various doors of the buildings.  Everything came back when he vanished from sight.  She didn't know why she did this every morning.  It tore her apart every time, remembering everything she had lost.

Monique glanced at the photographs on the bedside table, showing the boy growing up.  It was painful, just thinking she had to take those from a distance or how she would never talk to him.

Her watch alarm went off, she was late for work.  She forced herself to forget about Timothy.  It hurt, almost becoming unbearable.  It felt like she was giving him up all over again.

––––––––

Lisa Suchet paused on the Pilling Lane Bridge, her gaze watching the ducks on the canal.  She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans, hearing the thundering traffic behind her.  Brushing her long blond hair out of her intense blue eyes, she watched a pair of horse riders leaving the stables on the other side of the road, disappointed she got the short straw for this tedious assignment.

The footsteps of her photographer, Billy, made her turn.  She decided to get this piece of crap over and done with.  Descending from the bridge, she followed the path alongside the canal.  She reached the raised walkway next to the restaurant and purposely stepped in the few remaining puddles from last night's downpour, just knowing fake crop circles would be more fun.

She checked Billy was at her heels as she removed a small notepad from the inside pocket of her imitation leather jacket.  Stopping near the doors at the rear of the dazzling building, she detected the strong aroma of various spices coming from inside.  It really smelt delicious, it was just annoying she didn't have the time.

Lisa gave herself a moment to enjoy the aroma before glancing down from the walkway and memorising her scribbled notes.  Okay, let's get this crap over with.

The sight of several protesters with umbrellas made her notice the dull clouds overhead.  The idea of getting soaked as well made all this seem really worth while.  Eventually seeing a tall man with short brown hair standing behind the crowd, she watched him direct the protesters toward the restaurant doors.  That's the guy.  Come on, the sooner this is do, the sooner I can get back home and get some sweet monkey love.  She descended the concrete ramp and squeezed her way through the tightly packed crowd.

Lisa reached the other end and approached David Marsters, Hi, I'm Lisa Suchet.  From his puzzled expression, she figured he must have forgotten about the interview.  From the Sunday Herald?  You see, you tell me things and I write it all down, and then finally it's comes out on this big sheet of paper which people buy.  She felt relieved when he finally nodded.

Marsters walked along the restaurant, removing an antique pipe from the pocket of his jeans.  He halted by the canal and carefully contemplated what to say.  Folding his sleeveless arms in front of his bright white shirt, he heard several cars stopping and turned.  The police cars parking on the concrete between the restaurant and the road left him fuming.  This was supposed to be a peaceful demonstration, he wouldn't forgive himself if someone got hurt.  Damn, I didn't want any trouble.

Approaching the bank, Lisa paused by a bench facing the still water and brushed her hair out of her face.  She placed a small tape recorder on the bench as she sat down, ignoring the damp wood soaking her jeans.  She immediately distracted him from thinking about the police, You were the head chef at Austin's in London, right?

He had been through all this before, every time he helped people make a stand for their beliefs.  I did have to spend about nine years as an assistant.

Lisa struggled to remember the few notes she had been bothered to make, And now you're one of those cheesy T.V. chefs on one of the satellite networks?

The talk about his past was making him impatient.  Marsters stood up and began pacing next to the canal, toying with his pipe.  Could we please hurry this up?

Grateful that she could get this over with quickly, Lisa nodded.  Just start from where you feel easy.

The arrival of more police cars