Fore: Shades of Prey

By Stephen K.

How life changes in an instance. An single event can irrevocably change not only ones destiny but ones persona, psyche and outlook.

Meet

Ben: Thief, bodybuilder and Arnie fan with visions of being The Terminator. Undergoes a life changing event that takes his destiny in a whole new direction.

Russell: Ageing boss of an East End firm struggling to stay in charge for a few more years.

Tomo: Feared general in the firm with ambitions to take over. Instigates a power struggle to depose the boss.

Richter: Hardened enforcer, Tomos right hand man, philosopher, pervert.

Shaz the spaz: The unlikeliest antihero.

Guy: Accountant, financial whizz kid, scamster; Russells number two - being groomed to take over. Plays a pivotal role in the power struggle when a life changing experiences turns the world upside down.

Nav: The man with the golden hand; A fashionable and sophisticated gangster with three testicles. Reputed to be able to procure anything at the agreed price, at the agreed time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Apr 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504934985

Stephen K.

Born and currently living in England, K. was educated at Kings College London and the Universities of Manchester and Bristol.  His background is psychology and philosophy.  K. travels extensively and his influences include Ali, Dali, Freud, Hitchcock, Kafka, Python, Muhammad PBoH, Orwell and Zappa. K. became a writer in 2000 and has been described as having a fiendish imagination.  He has written four novel to date. His work explores unconventional, surreal, thought provoking - sometimes disturbing concepts.  he relishes in leading his readers through a tortured pathway lulling them into a sense of comfort or confusion only to shock in an instant.

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AuthorHouse™ UK

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© 2015 Stephen K. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/27/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-3491-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-3498-5 (e)

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Born and currently living in England, K. was educated at Kings College London and the Universities of Manchester and Bristol. His background is psychology and philosophy and has been described as a social anthropologist. K. travels extensively and his influences include Ali, Dali, Freud, Hitchcock, Kafka, Python, Muhammad PBoH, Orwell, and Zappa.

K. became a writer in 2000 and has been described as having a fiendish imagination. He has written four novels to date.

His work explores unconventional, surreal, thought provoking - some times disturbing concepts. He relishes in leading his readers through a tortured pathway lulling them into a sense of comfort or confusion only to shock in an instant.

Also by Stephen K.

Jinn Rummy

A Pound of Flesh

Work Isn’t Working

Coming soon:

A Standard Screw or

Predators, Parasites & The Likeable Fool

Big fleas have little fleas

On their backs to bite ’em

B en Collins to the manager’s office, Ben Collins to the Managers office. Ben couldn’t help look up at the ceiling speaker whenever his name was called over the PA. Only an hour ago he had fiddled a pair of headphones with the sale of a hi-fi and he could never control the customary butterflies that accompanied his beckoning. Had he been spotted? His method was tried and tested; most of the sales staff at Amtrak Electronics Ltd employed it but common as it was, it was still grounds enough for dismissal if ever caught. He would give away a small accessory item with an expensive item which would be listed on the invoice as complimentary but on taking the items to the car, he would send this extraneous item to the sanctuary of the boot of his car only to be sold later. The scam had become a nice little earner supplementing his income allowing him to afford the nicer things in life, hardly possible on his meagre basic wage.

He finished off with his customer the second he realised that the couple weren’t going to buy the television he was demonstrating today and made his way to the manager’s office as ordered. He had a few scams on the go and if caught on any of them, it would signal the end of his employment and possibly freedom if the company decided to press charges. These thoughts always ran through his mind whenever he was summoned to the manager’s office; he knocked on the door and waited to be allowed entry. As he held back he was reminded of that day, almost a year ago when he was cheated out of his Yamaha Christmas Bonus and Samsung Miami Holiday both in one meeting. Christmas last year had been a bumper time for him and his colleagues; the economy was in an unprecedented boom, HDTV and home cinema was all the rage and there was an abundance of cheap and easy credit, allowing for generous commission payouts.

Come in. Ben entered as instructed and stood in front of the floor manager Alan Hudson. Alan was fifty with an equally aged beard who was permanently resentful of the fact that after a whole lifetime spent in electronics retail he was still only a floor manager. He had always wanted to own and run his own store but his managerial career was as unremarkable as it was short lived; during his brief tenure as store manager, a major cloned credit card scam came to light. Although as straight as a die and never actually implicated, the scandal meant a full police investigation and closure of the store resulting in every future employer viewing him with suspicion. He never managed to get into retail management again. The short but muscular Ben stood in front of him was under suspicion of theft but no-one could catch him at it. The store manager had defrauded him unashamedly last Christmas and ever since, the disappearances of stock and money had increased. Although the store had been haemorrhaging for years, Alan, due to the fact he had been overlooked for the position of store manger many times; head office preferring to bring in an outsider every time, just turned a blind eye. It wasn’t his problem and so long as no-one actually did anything in front of him, he would clock in, clock out and fuck off, leaving the store manger to take the rap. He secretly hoped that maybe one day he would lose his job leaving the path clear for Alan.

Ben, we’re a bit short staffed at our Halifax store next week, head office want you to cover there. Ben smiled to himself, the security at Halifax was a joke and his friend Rennie was the warehouse manager; he would have a ball there, getting a chance to fill his own personal coffers.

Yeh sure, for how long? Alan leaned back in his chair putting the end of his pen in his mouth. Most people would moan about being relocated but this fellow was raring to go. Alan knew damn well, there was no staff shortage at Halifax, Ben was being sent there so that the Bradford store could perform a secret stock take to see how much stock had actually gone missing. Jim the warehouse manager had been screaming for weeks that there was stock missing.

About a week, is that OK?

Yeh sure…… There was an uneasy silence. Ben wanted to go and Alan was in no rush to dismiss him; he viewed him with suspicion and knew that the more time he spent with him, the more chance there was of him giving himself away, after all lies, deceit and dishonesty had an unerring habit of being exposed without conscious effort.

Is that all? Can I go now? There was nervousness in Ben’s tone, which was not wasted on Alan. The uneasy silence seemed to last an eternity, Ben held his breath whilst Alan squinted trying to stare a confession out of him.

Yes……..go to lunch……….. Alan knew Ben was on the take but just couldn’t prove it. It was common knowledge amongst the sales staff that a little bit of baksheesh was par for the course – almost expected. If only he could catch him, he would go over his manager’s head, straight to head office and maybe then he would land his elusive store manager’s position. Ben turned, relieved and as instructed went to lunch.

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H ey Tomo, come on in. how the hell are you? Drink? Tony Mowbreen aka Tomo sat down and indicated that he did indeed want a drink. Russell Ambrose the sixty two year old boss nodded to his trusty bodyguard Kingy who had just shown Tomo in to prepare drinks.

Scotch? Tomo nodded, Russell was famous for his scotch; one was always guaranteed a smooth and exclusive single malt at the very least. Kingy turned to enquire,

Ice? Both Russell and Tomo tutted and raised their eyes.

Neat, no junk in it. The idea of polluting a single malt with ice or water was sacrilege to both Russell and Tomo. Kingy poured generous measures of the fifteen year old Linkwood single malt whiskey and placed them in front of his boss Russell, his number two, Guy and his able lieutenant; the much feared and respected Tomo. Tomo reached over and slugged half the glass down his gullet; good scotch indeed.

So what’s this all about Russ? Russell preferred to sip his drink to savour every mouthful and gesticulated with his finger for Kingy to leave the room. It was not often Tomo was summoned, he would usually get his orders from Guy Peters: Russell’s accountant and second in command.

Tomo, it’s Filsta, I think he’s skimming off the top……… I want you to go and have a word with him, see what you can find out. The Filsta Russell spoke of was Phil Stevens and all Tomo officially knew about him was that he worked at the HSBC bank and was a good source of income for his boss.

How d’ya want me to play this? Tomo knew protocol only too well, having been in for Russell’s employ for over twenty years.

Nothing too heavy for now, go and arrange a meeting with him, away from work and see what you can find out. See if he’s bought anything big recently, a car, property, holiday villa, expensive watch, jewellery for his slag, anything. Tomo saw here an opportunity to expand his official knowledge and what he was going to ask was absolutely appropriate at this time.

So what’s the deal papee? Russell took another sip and leaned back in his chair as he usually did when he was scheming and plotting. From this retroclined position, he would try and suss out the other guy; motives, feelings and emotions becoming easily and obviously apparent to him. He decided that Tomo was ready to receive the relevant information now so motioned to Guy who was stood behind him to explain. He made sure his minions never knew the full deal; that was the best way, they couldn’t get too clever or greedy even if they wanted to and he made sure he gave fragments of jobs to different people, preferably who didn’t know each other so that there could be no collusion. This avoided subversion and reduced the chance of mutiny, disorder and most importantly of all: takeover.

Well, Filsta as you know works at the bank. What he does is find dormant accounts that haven’t been accessed for over a year and starts to siphon small amounts from them into a feeder account. The holder of this account has taken a loan from an overseas country, and makes regular repayments to service the loan. The final destination account is obviously us.

Nice little earner hey? Russell was proud of this arrangement, his accountant Guy was a creative and resourceful man. His nicer feelings however gave way to nastier ones as he recalled the purpose behind summoning his main muscle Tomo.

Yeh, but the only problem is that the amounts coming through are less than they were before. Guy’s spoken to him and he’s saying that some of the dormant accounts have been lost as they’ve been accessed but I’m not fucking buying that. You go see him, he’ll realise that I’m not impressed. Tomo now furnished with the relevant information showed no expression. He knew damn well what Filsta was up to, if Russell treated his team better then maybe they wouldn’t rip him off. He recalled the dying words of a former associate who had dared speak up, when the game is over, the king and the pawn are put back into the same box – Russell just didn’t see it like that. Now equipped with his official brief, Tomo decided to ask for leave, he didn’t like spending time with his boss anymore especially in the presence of his annoying and overbearing number two. Guy had not risen through the ranks like everyone else; he was a pet that Russell had nurtured for his own ends. It was obvious that he harboured desires to take over once Russell abdicated or died, and this was a source of great resentment to Tomo the old school general. It took balls to give orders and Guy Peters just did not have the required sphericals to fulfil the role. He had vowed that if ever Guy rose to be the boss, Tomo would crush him with his bare hands and assume the position; when one had the support of the legions, all else followed.

Well, I better be off boss, I’ll be in touch. Russell dismissed him with a derogatory wave of his hand; the gesture always served to inflame Tomo but Russell revelled in its use; it kept him on top. He believed that the day he sensed opposition to it, heralded the coming of mutinous times. Tomo tried not to look at his boss, he finished his drink, rose from his perch and made a point of turning his back on Russell; something he knew Russell didn’t like and this knowledge only caused him to do it more. Touché.

Tomo left the showroom which served as the offices and front for his boss and the firm and strode over to his car and partner. Tomo’s ride was a silver blue Jaguar XJR. He loved Jags and although this one was long due for replacement, its smooth and serene ride coupled with the large boot and ferocious acceleration was an addictive blend which kept it in his service.

Hey Tomo, so what’s it all about? The driver of the blue Jaguar was Ricky Turpin aka Richter, Tomo’s street partner. It was a common joke between members of the firm when discussing the severity of violence to be administered, what the score on the Richter scale would be; a ten being self-explanatory.

He’s starting to ask questions about Filsta. Richter was in on the scam within a scam and both Tomo and himself were getting steadily richer. They had both secretly bought villas on Jumeirah Beach in Dubai with the proceeds and they were both looking forward to the time when they could take over the firm; if the truth be known, they ran the show anyway. The advent of Guy was the only reason they had not made a move already. Guy was an unparalleled wizard at financial plots and scams and the pair knew that if they made their move prematurely, their financial clout would be severely diluted; they needed to find all the pies that Russell had his fingers in and that was proving more difficult than they had envisaged, taking up more and more of their time and efforts. Russell was stubbornly clinging onto power and without Tomo and Richter; the other numerous smaller gangs in London would have had him for breakfast years ago.

So what’s going down?

He wants us to go and have a word with him.

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I ’ll be back. Ben sat riveted watching his favourite movie for the hundredth time. It was Sunday evening and he had spent the entire day watching movies. He had just started Terminator 2, a frequently used demo favourite as it really showed off the quality of all home cinema systems due to its quite excellent sound track. Ben was a chronically frustrated individual who used weight training as a release to neuter his dissatisfaction with the world at large and harboured a secret desire to actually be The Terminator, to right the wrongs of modern society. He hated how violent thugs ruled the streets, how loud mouthed individuals would push in straight to the front of bank and supermarket queues, how aggressive drivers would barge in and steal parking spaces, how bellicose motorists would change lanes indifferent to the needs of their fellow road users, how belligerent individuals would park unashamedly in disabled bays, parent and child spaces and on private property. According to Ben, society today needed a terminator, a vigilante who would go and bring those people back down to earth. The nanny state and political correctness made untouchables of individuals who would and should be beaten into compliance.

Ben finished watching Terminator 2 and put on Pumping Iron, the obscure Arnold Schwarzenegger body building movie from the seventies; he loved having it on in the background as he pumped iron himself. After spending the entire day watching movies, he decided to indulge in some training. Sunday was pecs and back day and he got to work on his bench press, his pec’ deck and lateral raises. Ben was of diminished stature and for some reason just couldn’t gain mass; his obsessive weight training served only to make him extremely lean and supremely strong. He could bench press 100kg easily, no mean feat and was always a good bet when it came to hustling at arm wrestling; he could and would easily beat much bigger opponents and he relished doing so frequently in pubs.

Monday morning meant going to the Halifax store and he had already alerted his friend Rennie as to his coming. He and Rennie would have a great week emptying the stock room and then going to the car boot sale on Sunday to sell their ill gotten gains. Ben’s scam was simple when he was at Halifax; when an order went for delivery, extra equipment would be loaded onto the van and provided the van driver Eric was looked after, he would drop off the extras at Rennie’s house. So instead of one HDTV, two would be loaded; Plasma televisions, home cinema systems, blu ray players, camcorders, hard drive recorders, digital cameras, play stations, games consoles would all be hoarded in Rennie’s ever filling garage.

Ben drove up Great Horton Road in his new Fiat 500 Abarth. He had only just taken delivery of this white with red decals vehicle and thoroughly enjoyed the free revving engine and agile acceleration. The lads at work were a bit confused when they saw it, identifying it initially as a bit of a girlie car but once they had been treated to its savage and eager performance, they were all converted. Ben had paid for this car using a shaving bag full of cash, much to the surprise of the salesman. No-one paid cash for anything nowadays and to see thirteen thousand pounds in used notes was a novelty; a blast from the decadent past. The source of the cash was Ben’s overtime activities at Amtrack. His scams and blatant theft had accumulated a tidy sum indeed and it was not uncommon for him to clear two thousand pounds every month.

Ben accelerated and braked erratically all the way to Halifax, irritating other drivers who did not appreciate being tailgated so closely. Although short on stature, Ben made up for it with gusto when behind the wheel. He hated being overtaken and as he slowed to find a track on his iPod, a black BMW 3-series saloon took its chance and began a death defying overtaking manoeuvre. Ben caught the sudden motion late out of the corner of his eye; he rammed the gear lever into third and dumped the clutch causing the nimble Fiat to lurch forward with increased momentum. The driver of the BMW was also taken by surprise and instead of making his turn in, he found himself staring into the headlights of an oncoming bus forcing him to brake savagely to tuck in behind Ben and avoid early morning carnage on the road. Ben smiled, he wasn’t going to be taken so easily but the driver of the BMW did not share his mirth, the little upstart in the white Fiat had almost got him killed and he wanted retribution. Ben was again late noticing that the BMW was tailgating within inches of his rear bumper; flashing its lights with the driver gesticulating furiously with his hand. Ben increased his velocity once again in order to shake off this troublesome distraction but the BMW was resolute in its pursuit. Eventually as he passed the sign that indicated that he was entering Queensbury, he realised that just after the next bend was a crossroads and traffic lights; they were red.

You fucking idiot, you almost got me killed, get out….. The BMW driver had leapt out of his car immediately it had stopped and was wrenching on the white Fiat’s door handle in an attempt to pull the driver out of the car to give him a proper dressing down. Ben was flustered, he did not relish a confrontation and although he would have loved to have jumped out to confront the driver, he just looked the other way praying for the lights to change so he could charge on unimpeded to work. Accepting the fact that the young upstart in the white Fiat was not going to get out of his car, the BMW driver lashed out and kicked the driver side door causing it to dent. Ben for a millisecond was incensed but seeing the lights turn from red to green, he decided to floor it and get on his way. The BMW driver satisfied with his retribution stood shaking his fist and shouting after Ben as he sped off.

Fucking wanker! Ben raced away through the narrow Queensbury High Street, a totally unsuitable venue to be travelling at this velocity and as he glanced in his rear view mirror, he was relieved to see that his early morning tormentor had turned left. This sight had the effect of slowing Ben down but his heart was still racing. He would have loved to have jumped out like The Terminator and boxed the guy’s ears in, how would he have felt then? But as he fantasised about the vengeance that never was, a line of school children crossing the road filled his field of view. The lollipop lady knowing full well that the white Fiat was travelling too fast and devoid of any common sense had decided to step out in front of him; Ben slammed on the brakes and the savage deceleration triggered the ABS causing his new car to skid to a halt merely inches from disaster. The lollipop lady totally oblivious to the consequences of her actions continued with her ushering. Ben’s heart not even slowed from its previous tachycardia, started to race once again; he sat there palpitating and fuming. Had the idiot in the BMW still been chasing him, there would have been carnage on the road that morning. Some people were just stupid; they needed a terminator to expose and correct their shortcomings.

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F ull 1080p HD, 3D compatible, 100 hertz, built in free-view tuner, three HDMI sockets and if you go for it today, I’ll throw in a free wall bracket worth another £100…….

Err, does it have scart, component and sVideo inputs? The tall balding customer had Ben stumped, who on earth wanted scart and sVideo inputs nowadays? Ben was annoyed, he frowned as he looked the customer up and down; was he going to buy today? If so, he would take the time and trouble to check but if he wasn’t, then he would just blag his way to the finish line and end the encounter.

When were you thinking of buying? It was the customer’s brow which now furrowed involuntarily; he resented