Terminal Descent: Dark Alleys

By Don Kakriki

In Terminal Descent, the fine line between ambition and obsession blurs, as the magnetic pull of wealth and the libertine allure of promiscuity weave a culture veering on the precipice of moral decay. The path once tread in pursuit of lofty ladders now morphs into dark, enigmatic alleys leading to a slippery slide of relentless descent.

As the veils of societal decorum thin, the narrative plunges into a whirlpool where unchecked desires and unrestrained indulgences set the stage for a haunting spectacle of human nature stripped bare. Terminal Descent is an evocative exploration of how the seductive dance between aspiration and moral compass can spiral into a fall from grace, narrating a tale where every choice made casts a long, indelible shadow.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jan 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9781398460638

Don Kakriki

Most people would describe Don Kakriki’s past as being colourful, but when Don looks back, he sees it as being very colourless, lots of black and whites fading into shades of justifying greys. He has written this story that represents twenty-plus years of the new chapter in his life, a new chapter where he has spent the majority of his time working with disadvantaged and at risk youth. In both these chapters, Don has witnessed the darker side of life, and his hope is that readers of his story will come to see the relevance and need for society to place greater value and importance in positive interventions into disadvantaged young lives, interventions that will lead them to ladders, rather than snakes.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Lair

February 1999

With the swelling ripples slapping against the alloy skin beneath his feet, the two-stroke Evinrude outboard gurgling in his ears, Kusu Murray stretches his eyes across the blue vastness between himself and the horizon. That the sun is rapidly melting into the fire-stained turquoise blue brings an accumulating concern, a concern that is steadily removing Kusu’s spirit from the serenity. The Ocean, she is warning him, it is time to leave, her mood is changing, soon she will turn from tranquillity to an aggression, from harmony to hostility, a pitiless determination to sweep his little dinghy to the dreaded shores of Papua New Guinea. Kusu has no wish to challenge her, for he knows he would likely loose and be driven to perilous shores, the very shores from where his hunted prize originated.

Dancing in the vastness, the sight of a time and salt stained black buoy brought immediate comfort to his face and a twist of his wrist on the accelerator, bringing him astride. Gaff in hand, he stretched to retrieve the lonely buoy and with exerted effort hauled the anchored prize aboard. Kusu’s labours rewarded by two deeply submerged tightly sealed plastic shoebox-sized chests. Once aboard he freed them from their shackles and replaced them with three twenty-litre pales and returned them to the safety of the ocean depths. Kusu then turned his little craft from the face of the bleeding sun and galloped across the growing swells, back to one of the South Pacific’s secret jewels, back to Thursday Island.

His, but one in a trail of hands through which the chests will journey. Come tomorrow he will take them to the little airstrip to be flown from Thursday Island to the city of Cairns on a Tropical Air’s Navaho aeroplane. From there, transferred to another pair of hands and driven further south to Brisbane City, to more hands for further distribution.

But Kusu Murray, a skilful fisherman, has no idea what the little chests contain, he just knows enough not to ask questions. He just knows that this catch remunerates a great deal better than the steadily decreasing amounts of fish being caught in his nets.

***

March 2012

But that’s not how this story began, well not for me at least.

As I fumbled through the meticulously ordered A4 folders, each one leapt at me, I remembered them all, all too well. One clipping after another I found myself reliving the succession of attention-grabbing headlines, none more so than the last. It had made front page news worldwide, it seemed as though every journo in the world, like a swam of vultures stripped the bones of this story.

I remember thinking the whole thing was like something out of a Hollywood action movie, even the given headline titles sounded like movie titles, ‘HELLFIRE FRIDAY’, another, ‘THE DEVIL’S DAY OUT’, and then my favourite, ‘BLOODBATH! BRISBANE IN TERMINAL DESCENT’.

Man, it was truly crazy; it wasn’t until I had examined every folder in every rubber band bound cluster that I realised what I had been sent. Now in a pile beside me was a trail of interconnecting jig-saw pieces, jig-saw pieces connecting a big picture, a picture that no-one but the mysterious sender had ever seen. No one else had made the connections back then.

Shit sorry, I’m a real ADHD fucker, I’m getting ahead of myself, again, I’ll rewind for ya.

My name is Joseph MacKenzie, most probably described by my peers as being a lazy and under-achieving clown, a disgrace to the profession. Not that that concerns or offends me, that much, as I consider them to be nothing but a pack of self-indulgent, ego-masturbating wannabe’s, so there! Seemingly beyond their comprehension, though being a journalist I am proudly devoid of their ambition of becoming a notarised frontpage hero. Along with the absence of such ambition, I just don’t have the required unprincipled ruthlessness needed. I can however boast once having an article on our newspaper’s, The Melbourne Times, second page, it was a story I wrote on prosthetic limbs for domestic cats and dogs.

Now, I don’t want this to sound as though I thought I was some sort of threat to any higher power or anything, but at first I was gravely suspicious of the parcel that the courier dude presented me. After assuring myself that there was a definite absence of any ticking sounds, and that surgical gloves would remove the threat of any powdered contamination, I took the parcel from his impatient hands, and carefully, placed it on my desk. Still, I must have stalked around it three or four times before daring to touch again. It was an old wine carton, wrapped in brown paper and fastened together with string, real old-school style; there was just something about it that shouted dogginess. But with the encouragement of Anne, who I was ever trying, but never succeeding in impressing, not to mention the lure of my own insatiable curiosity, it was eventually opened. As I rummaged through the neatly packed Manila folders, parcelled in bundles with string, I found a pocket-sized leather diary, and lots of handwritten notes, then newspaper clippings and photographs. In the next folder, casefiles with a list of names all numbered in some sort of prioritised order, then a folded A3 document with the names displayed on a pyramid chart. The next bundle of folders I opened contained even more intriguing things, like copies of CIB files and a laboratory analysis’s.

It was Anne who suggested spreading them out across my desk, just hearing her say the words spreading out on my desk had me agreeable, to anything. But it was a touch of brilliance, a touch of brilliance that tipped my uninspired life on its head, the mysterious wine box was in fact a treasure chest that took me on a life changing journey.

***

I was told she once said it was like an alignment of two dark planets, like the Universe farted and for a finger-click moment the whole world fell into the stench of death and darkness.

June 1994

Their prayers were unrequited, they were still alive.

He first came into view from behind the clutter of her remedial restraints, she was being wheeled into the hospital elevator at the time. That’s when it happened, when their concaved souls were introduced in a collision of eyes. His mirroring her own, slashed, and muddied with disconsolation and pain, reflecting the pungencies of death and hospital sanitation. Their faces had been well publicised, not so their pain.

She had confided; she had instantly recognised her void in the eyes of this prominently wealthy and powerful man, she could feel his emotional bankruptcy, feel the weight of despair that his human inadequacies had saddled him with. Like her, he had become just another darkened soul whose passion for life had been swallowed in the revelation of the temporariness of time and mortality. The apples of their eyes had fallen from their trees, mournfully, left cold and lifeless.

Her fragility of youthfulness’s failing to comprehend the sudden empowerment of the gravity, the heaviness now unbearably upon her, the coldness griping her every heartbeat. No longer young, no longer resilient, her enthusiasm for life and impulsiveness had faded, her dreams emptied of girlish ambitions. Now, in the aftermath of disbelief, denial and feelings of failure, all comforting arms and caring words muted. Only that her entire world had been left drowning in hopelessness was acknowledged, only the arms of hopelessness and inexorable desperation could now embrace her, vengeance the sole medication willing her to life.

This was an alliance birthed in vengeance, a destiny engraved by pain.

***

November 1999

Piercing through the reflecting tones and scents of oak and New Zealand Rimu gleaming with furniture polish, Mr Antony Siciliani’s spasmodic glances to his desktop phone were rewarded, it rang.

With the phone now held receptively to his ear he rose from his Pininfarina Arseline office chair and strode across the lavish lounge to the ceiling to floor window. The penthouse apartment’s sprawling city view regularly employed as a reassuring elixir, with his name boastfully inscribed into a number of plaques throughout Melbourne, reinforced with the investments of a number of influential dignitaries subjugated by handsome imbursements, in Siciliani’s eyes, this city was his city. Having for the most part conquered the state of Victoria, and confident that all assurances were being made to keep it that way, Antoni Siciliani was now seeing his empire crossing state borders. However, now sensing those ambitions being placed in jeopardy as he removed his thought-soaked eyes from his thirteenth-floor inhaling, he voiced his concerns into the phone. This is all very well Figliuolo, but this woman you speak of, how sure are you of her? It seems to me that you are placing a lot of trust and expectation in her, to say the least. This woman’s inclusion into such a senior position in the Family appears rushed, and that comes with considerable risk Figliuolo.

Turning to face the lavishly large gold framed family portrait, taking prominent place on the feature wall, the attentiveness in his eyes distanced, he smiled and replied. Okay, I leave it to you then, but I warn you Figliuolo, proceed with patience and caution. A pause, then. Okay, I put my faith in you, but my son onto another matter, do not let the whispers in my ears grow louder, Figliuolo, do not make enemies out of allies, okay. And with that Siciliani ended the call and returned the phone to its desktop cradle.

Wearing a look of uncertainty he reached across his cumbersome and lavishly carved and wood-turn desk and fumbled into the gold trimmed Imperiali Geneva humidor, then as he lit the end of his Cohiba Robusto cigar and folded back into his accommodating office chair, without need of mindfulness he broke the matchstick in four places to resemble the letter s, before dropping it into the crystal ashtray. Though Siciliani strongly believed what doesn’t grow eventually dies, he therefore, in principal, he not only endorsed but shared the ambition. However, also believing impetuosity paves the road to failure and disappointment, Mr Siciliani wasn’t entirely at ease with the speed and methodologies being employed, however anchoring him from taking fuller charge he took a great measure of chest swelling pride in seeing such progress in his prodigies, and he wasn’t so far removed from memories of his own youthful days to have forgotten how passionate he had once been about his own lofty ambitions. Therefore he acknowledged that giving them the opportunity was required, beyond the ability of any amount of hands-on mentoring, Siciliani believed that only with time and life experiences come the most valuable and exponentially gained knowledge and wisdoms. So with some degree of hesitancy, Siciliani had chosen to keep his hands from the tiller on this one, but he would certainly be keeping a close eye on things, and only intervene when and if necessity governed. But Antoni Siciliani was never a man without a safety net and plan b, he rose from his lounge chair and made his way back to his desk for his phone to make the necessary calls.

***

October 1999

So ecstatic about her requested inclusion, Regina had been like a bursting bubble all week, it was her very first such meeting with her dashing Regional Manager, and clients.

However, it hadn’t at all followed the path of her preconceptions, the actual time spent with the clients had been much briefer than expected, leaving her in an arguably inappropriate situation, but anyway, such things were never greatly mulled over. The food and wine were excellent, all complimenting the obsequious delight of his undivided attention. So with such considerations and distractions anaesthetised Regina was given licence to melt into the seductive ambiance.

The anxiety over her previous conflicts had been firmly castigated, there was no longer indecision, the extended time spent in front of mirrors this morning now proving not to have been in vain. Receiving yet another endorsement from his eyes, she blushed and covertly giggled, Regina now congratulating herself, compromising professional considerations for baiting attraction was now being applauded.

From her first inhaling of his Jaguars luxurious comfort, to the expensive wine and the restaurant’s lavish Mangiardino inspired design, gold and diamonds began melting from Regina’s finger.

Being deliciously accosted by the debonair sophistication of his charm Regina felt herself liquifying, surrendering to the abduction, surrendering to a tantalising insight into another world. The more of this new world she was shown, the more her appropriate contending’s were being comatose, the more her peripheral considerations were rapidly fading from her consuming and consumed eyes. Blending with his charismatic charm, his peacock display of decadent boasting had elevated her fascination, wooing her into accepting yet another Chardonnay replenishing.

In the sedated lighting her desirability had illuminated, reflecting the seduction to its contriver. But with the heightening of his interest came more predatory observations, the suspicion of a beguiling attraction to the romance of cornucopian pleasures, was being confirmed. Like a big cat bearing over its captured prey Michael internally sneered, no greater valued jewel of insight could have been gifted him.

***

Gordon Goodson took a step back and rubbed his face in his hands, then steered back to the letter dropped on his period boasting second-hand desk. Normally a man of impeccable order, to be drenched in suspicion and indecision, neither a common nor preferred situation for Gordon Goodson. He reached again for the three-page letter, written on logo embossed paper by a skilful hand, the old fashion way with a fountain pen. The letter contained a demon from his past, but it also came with the promise of profit.

As for that demon, the letters author was unnervingly intuitive, and that he had somehow managed to get his hands on more information than entitled, had Goodson torn between investigative curiosity and weariness.

With an eyebrow raising remuneration offer, this would reopen a can of worms, a case that Goodson had never been able to completely close the lid on, in truth, it was a case that haunted him.

Despite his apprehensions, despite his suspicions and despite the war of indecision going on in his head, what was causing Goodson the gravest concern, was that deep down he knew, this wasn’t an opportunity he would be able to refuse.

Lowering his reading glasses from his brow, he read the concluding paragraph once more. According to the letter this offer should be seen by him as not only a chance to close the file on this case once and for all, but it also as being a two-edged opportunity for himself. Goodson wasn’t entirely certain what was meant by that, most probably a reference to the promise of handsome resourcing, if he were to take the case.

Everything about the letter, from the embossed logo to the thick expensive Petal paper it was written on, suggested wealth, which in-turn, to Goodson, immediately suggested authenticity. Goodson gathered the pages and returned them to the envelope, he had decided, it was at least worth looking into. He’d start by doing a little digging into this mysterious Mr Adrien Polanski, for some reason that name rang a distant bell.

With his face suddenly bunched around squinted eyes, Goodson thoughtfully griped his chin, wiped the shine from his brow, compliments of the oppressive heat, with a neatly folded handkerchief, then reached for his phone.

***

With the excitement of a child on Christmas morning Ricky Wharetoa tore the airmail envelope open, wrestled the letter free and eagerly read. His face beamed cheerfulness, Jessie seemed up-beat, between the lines Ricky was reading leaked hints of excitement, repeating that he may only have to be in Long Bay for another four-months before serving the rest of his sentence in a low security prison farm just out of Townsville. But when his eyes arrived at the next line of the letter Ricky’s face became chiselling with concern, ‘I can’t wait to get out of this fuckin’ place, these fucken sorry-arsed gangster’s and their bullying stand-over tactics in here is really getting under my fucken skin.’ Like a bug stumbling into an army of ants, Ricky’s heart dropped to his feet. It suggested that yet again Jessie’s intolerance for gang-members had completely brewed over, and remembering the last time Jessie had an altercation with one of them resulted with him being slapped with an additional twelve months to his sentence, this was definitely disturbing Ricky. By all accounts Jessie had beaten the dude within an inch of his life, and considering Jessie had once been a gang member himself, chapter-vice-president in-fact, the whole thing with Jessie and gang members baffled Ricky.

Or perhaps that’s why, Jessie had once told Ricky that the gang-scene was the only place he felt he belonged, so when things went bad for him and Davis there, it cut him deeply. Ricky never really knew what that was actually all about, but that they ended up on the run because of it said a lot. If there was one thing he knew with certainty, it was that neither of them by nature ran from anything, so it had to have been some serious shit for them having done so.

Despite his wayward ways, Ricky’s love and loyalty towards his brother ran deep. As kids Jessie always looked-out for Ricky and his younger siblings, always protecting them from the harm ever lurking in their environment’s shadows. It seemed to Ricky that Jessie just had way too much responsibility placed on his shoulders, back then. Perhaps that’s what attracted him to the gangs in the first place, that whole thing of looking out for one another, like extended whanau.

Yeah, true, Jessie and Davis had certainly been involved in a lot of crazy shit, and some of that shit was pretty brutal, but Ricky loved his brother, he had a lot to thank him for, so to Davis for that matter. Everyone else in their community looked away when Ricky said anything like that about Jessie and Davis, and wouldn’t you know it, they’re the same people who had always just turned a blind-eye to things they bloody shouldn’t have. Our mother might not still be living if not for Jessie’s interventions, and just as Jessie was always there to protect his family, Davis was always there for Jessie, and where Davis went Jessie went.

As he dropped the letter to the old scared Rimu tabletop, Ricky was tossed into a bit of a dilemma, he really wanted to be there when Jessie got out, wondering how he was going get the finances to get him across the ditch to Aus had him tearing his scalp. But that wasn’t his biggest presenting problem, how he was going to tell Awhina was easily the greater of the challenges. Ricky was all too aware that his wife never really liked Jessie, but then, she never really got to know him either. Awhina had only ever seen Jessie as the gangster-kid, she never saw that beneath the gang-patch there was a heart as big as a watermelon inside his brother.

Ricky placed his hand on the letter, closed his eyes and offered up his karakia. "Oh Great One, please put some protection around Jessie, don’t let the bro go doin’ anything stupid please, don’t let him blow-it now. With humility I ask this in the name of Karaiti Oh Great One."

***

Regina’s emotional embezzlement still twisted inside her, like two prize fighters in her head, pounding her thoughts with hooks and jabs. Every time she met with Davis’s eyes her heart was stung with persecution, yet every time her perpetrator’s eyes arrived in her thoughts it danced with excitement. She adjusted the showerhead to her face, hoping it might blast the conflict from her mind.

Regina, her naked beauty still bewitchingly stirred Davis as much as she had the first time his eyes had been given the privilege, she was still an absolute stunner. Between swipes of his disposable razor he flagrantly pried on his eye-catching wife through the glass shower-bay panels. The islands of foaming shampoo, gliding over her flawlessly milky skin tugged like a leash on Davis’s drooling eyes, following them as they slid down her neck. His journey stalled, eyes spellbound as they travelled her deliciously figured breasts, delighting over their permeations of cajoling desirability.

Feeling Davis’s admiring eyes Regina played the moment, and automatically swung into seductive mode, it was a welcomed distraction, a relieving penance. She still thrived on her ability to arouse her man so easily, it was more than just flattering, it was empowering.

She leisurely swung her body, treating Davis’s eyes to another view, whilst slowly skimming her hands over her breasts, before lingering them suggestively down her body. Then, turning to further face him, she arched back towards the showerhead, provocatively twisting, and swaying her body as she washed the suds from her hair. Regina certainly knew how to extract desire, of all her giftings this one had always served her well.

‘Aww shit!’ A sudden and stinging intrusion, Regina’s seducing had completely distracted her from avoiding shampoo entering her eyes. Yet in the mindset of a seasoned performer, the show must go on, with a provocative sway in her hips, she turned back to the shower head. She tilted her head and stretched her eyes open, and visually gulped the relieving streams.

Davis, mesmerised, his attentions conclusively stolen as she entrancingly swayed her delicious physique from side-to-side. She moved so rhythmically that her long honey-blonde hair swung across her back, alluringly caressing her skin. Davis’s enslaved eyes continued following the islands of soapy froths down her glistening body. The combination of Regina’s looks and her slender yet generous curvatures, yet again, reaching into the deepest part of his primal depths, desirously screaming, drag me into your cave, and take me.

Now with his arousal visibly apparent, Davis discarded his towel and joined Regina in the shower. But to his unconsidered dismay, his amorous intentions were, once again, met with immediate resistance. We can’t Babe, I’ll be late for work.

Davis pathetically pointed to his arousal, and wearing the face of a sad-puppy he protested. Awwww but! A perceived prompting, Regina responded with teasing, she knelt before him, took hold of his impressive swelling and apologetically said. Sorry Big boy, we just can’t, mama’s gotta get to work.

Following her hastened exit from the shower, Regina, still in the aura of the flattery further tormented her husband with ex-rated postures as she towelled herself dry. She threw a cheekily discerning glance back across her shoulder, and then secretly congratulated herself.

Davis’s finely chiselled features, along with his sexy brown almond shaped eyes, gave him an immediately striking appearance. A returned Splash of her eyes down his physique brought further complement, the physical demands of his work partnered Davis’s genes well. In total defiance of the customary mid-thirty’s demolition, he was still deliciously firm and muscular, his dispersing’s of cultural tattoo’s taking her eyes on a complimenting journey down his tanned and athletic frame.

Separating herself from the mirror, Regina dropped her towel to the floor and applauded herself. ‘Yep she was could still push all his buttons’. But during her little show Regina’s envisaging had wandered, wandered to other eyes enjoying her.

Davis, rigidly stepped from the shower bay, dropped his eyes to the floor and mumbled his grumbling. Could have at least picked-up your fuckin’ towel.

***

Claire, not a morning person, mornings always arrived far too early and far too frequently for her. But once revived by coffee, the sun began to emerge through her cloudiness.

Opening the fridge door presented a midge of a dilemma, she needed more milk, oh, and wine, definitely more wine. To Claire, whether it be in her fridge or her social life, half-full and half-empty always meant the same thing, there wasn’t enough, she needed more. Be it wine or life, not having enough and needing more, not entirely an infrequent occurrence for Claire. Also to Claire fun and adventure were life necessities, as important to her as breathable air, and most often to be found in bedrooms.

Enjoying the warming rays of the morning sun peeking through her high-rise windows, she perched on her stool. Once satisfied with adjustments to her towel been skilfully crafted as a turban, she mindlessly fiddled with the cord of her thigh length white towelling robe. She smiled with the thought of the new day’s expectation, a thought revitalising what lay behind her hazy-deep-blue eyes. Then. Oh fuck! She squawked, as she frantically brushed the splash of scolding coffee from her white towelling robe. Her dash towards the kitchen sink was suddenly redirected by beeps from her phone, with another cuss she dropped her robe to the floor and kicked it in the direction of the sink, then raced to her phone.

The greeting causing her to giggle. It was a texted message from Michael, starting with. Morning two-tits. ‘Memory of an elephant that clown’, she chuckled as she read on. The greeting title a reference to when a spectacular dive into a crowded resort pool had not only dislodged her bikini top but had rendered her bottom half clinging to an ankle. Her smile suddenly dampened as she read further. Bloody Michael! She muttered. What the hell’s he up to now?

Yet it again, it seemed Michael had let his enthusiasm run-over common sense, and patience. Claire’s mind summersaulted with concern, ‘What was he thinking? The Family gathering was just a few months away, there’s no way the girl would be ready by then’. Oh my God Michael, seriously, what the hell are you thinking? She muttered into her mug. But there was no use continuing to argue with him, when things like this were buzzing around in Michael’s over-active head, you just had to go with it, and hope. She dropped her phone on the benchtop and smiled, thinking. ‘As crazy as it all is, it definitely does sound like fun Michael’.

Sipping quietly from her coffee mug, Claire’s face steamed with deep and provocative thought, with Regina flavouring every molecule.

***

6 April 2000

Feeling as though life was exceeding fair allocation of difficulty and confusion lately, this morning’s rush-hour was frustrating Regina more so than usual. As if they had seen her coming the traffic lights changed from green to red ahead of her, Regina cussed aloud. Oh for shit-sake! Fucking on-ramp traffic lights! What possible fucking point are they? She slapped the steering-wheel as she growled again. Stupid fucking things.

Adding to her intolerance, being stationary, even for the briefest moments freed her mind to wander, and that was exactly what Regina had been battling against.

From an early age Regina had developed a fool-proof shield of refutation, normally an effective deflection of such things as fault, guilt, and acknowledgement, but that had been proving ineffective lately. Beyond her ability of denial Regina had been emotionally cartwheeling with unlawful desires, causing her to anxiously fizz with impermissible excitement, constantly nagging in her belly.

With a laboured blast of her horn she shook the thoughts from her head, and angrily hissed at her windscreen to the dawdling car ahead. Oh, come-on you stupid bitch, the lights green…Fucking move!

As she merged into the motorway traffic she checked the time, and yet again found herself regretting her earlier antics in the shower. It was supposed to have been a quick splash, not a drawn-out X-rated show for Davis, and certainly not with the sinfully imagined addition. And that did it, that’s all it took, her unthinking admission presented a flash of discriminating self-examination, an uninvited weighing-up of preference between the actual and imagined. As she brushed against the realisation of her possible predilection, Regina suddenly squirmed with a twinge of culpable admission, and immediately raised her shield. ‘After-all, it wasn’t as though she was actually ’doing’ anything wrong, was it?’ She argued. Anyway, the traffic was now moving at a steady pace, and a glance at the time reassured her, she was going to arrive in time.

Having successfully negotiated her way through her morning’s quandaries Regina manoeuvred her faded blue nineteen-eighty Mazda 808, into her usual parking space. As always, being so engrossed in her endeavours she hadn’t noticed her morning admirer waiting for her to arrive, and now rubbing his hands together with the expectation of her usual little treat.

After her mini-skirts customary indulgence when scrambling from her car seat, Regina’s hurried retrieval of her handbag, slung to the passenger seat treated him to a visual delight that exceeded his hopes and expectations. Regina had most certainly added hot MILF’s to Justin’s appetite.

Justin had been totally distracted, not until his eyes had stalked Regina’s scurry across the carpark and out of view was he able to unglue his face from his windscreen and return it to his pencil and notepad. As he pencilled in the date, time, location, and necessary description Justin shook his head and sniggered, thinking. ‘Yep, just gotta love this job.’ He took a final peek through his windscreen then back to his notepad, smiled and muttered. One down, two to go.

With Regina’s departure, the binoculars peering through the partially opened window of the white AU Ford Falcon were lowered. His eyes then turned to his proudly worn Tag Heuer wristwatch, then to the age worn white Holden Ute, parked across from the little blue Mazda. With his binoculars now placed on the passenger seat he took another sip of coffee from the waxed paper cup and patiently waited; the little green MG shouldn’t be too far away from arriving.

***

Wait-up girl! No pay-rises for early arrivals you know. It was Claire, arriving behind her.

Regina internally cussed. ‘Aww SHIT!’ Today she was feeling far-less obliging to Claire’s obligatory dawdle to the office. Not thinking to mask her annoyance, Regina turned to face her.

Stalling Claire, Regina’s face was shaped as though she had just stepped into an elevator occupied by someone with flatulence. Willing her feet free of the knee-deep insult, Claire snapped her retort. Oh, so sorry Regina, I completely forgot. Don’t wanna miss out on your little playful morning indulgence, right. Like a capricious Artic fog, the perceived splash of insinuation in Claire’s tone momentarily stung the air. Then in defensive repudiation, and sensing that she may have offended her friend, Regina dismissed the notion and sheathed her sword. Oh sorry Claire, it’s just been a shit of a morning.

In the comfort of her cup of steaming green tea Regina leaned against the kitchen bench, as always, silencing her complaint from its neglected, stained, chipped and cracked surface Claire’s detailed account of her weekends impious activities had Regina engrossed.

On cue, complying with his usual morning protocol, Michael charismatically bounced into the room. In the wake of a cheek-riddled wink, he greeted Claire with a typical bantering remark. Nice to see you’ve crawled from the claws of weekend depravity to join us this morning Two-Tits. Virtually acknowledging the accusation, Claire submerged her suppressed smile into her mug of coffee and simply responded with an extended middle-finger. Curtailing his self-gratifying chuckle Michael then fixed his attentions to Regina. And good morning to you Ms Delicious. Then following a laboured head-to-feet examination, with his alluring blue eyes, though a teeth-bearing grin he added. Hmmm Yep, as usual, looking breakfast, lunch and tea appetising this morning Regina.

Regina always got so annoyed with herself when Michael complemented her like that, he always made her blush profusely, no matter how hard she tried not to, she just did. Standing about one-ninety centre-metres tall and lithely built, Michael was a chameleon of beguiling appeal and flattering charm, and once again her boss’s sycophantic flirtatiousness had Regina completely liquefied. Now contending with her rush of delicious unease, her head downcast in the effort of hiding the rush of blood to her face, she snatched at the first obtainable thought, and with it timorously replied. Good morning Michael, I like your shoes. ‘Oh God, did I really just say that?’ She inwardly cursed and sunk further into her wounded composure. Furthering her annoyance of there being no rock to crawl under, was Michael and Claire, neither making any attempt at masking their obvious ridiculing, their unbridled chuckling’s salting her affliction.

As Regina snarled at herself for losing the plot, yet again, predictably, Michael pounced. Well hey, Regina, since you like them so much, I would never refuse you being on my bed helping to put them back on tomorrow morning. Her face now outshining a new fire engine, Regina attempted a salvaging retort, meaning to say, ‘Oh goodness no, from what I’ve heard, there may be any number of very contagious life forms crawling in your bed Michael.’ Well, that’s what was in her head to say, but in her flustering she said. Oh goodness no, I heard that being in your bed is very contagious Michael. It was the burst of laughter, not just from Claire but also Ruby who had walked into the kitchen, hearing it all being said, that made Regina rewind through her words. She responsively flashed her panicked eyes to Michael, big mistake, his big dreamy blue eyes flirtatiously beckoning her, his conceited grin predatorily devouring her, Regina inwardly crumpled and outwardly bleached. ‘Oh God!’ She cringed. ‘I’m such a fucking clutz!’ She took a needed breath and moved towards a much-needed and immediate separation, and with her eyes on her own shoes, she said. Anyway, I’d better get to my workstation, some of us here actually have work to do. Regrettably, despite her best concealing efforts, the scarlet eruption impregnating her face discredited her attempt of a salvaging her self-possession.

"Agggg!" Following her still amused friend through the door Regina snarled to herself. ‘Why did I have to lock with his eyes when I walked by?’ Michael’s swooning-blue eyes were always so flirtatious and suggestive, and naughty, and frustrating Regina such encounters were disobediently relished. Michael had this way of making her heart flutter so dramatically that it felt as though she was experiencing a minor seizure every time she fell into his eyes, every time!

The arrival of her desk seemed to settle her nerves and equanimity came to being somewhere near restored. Regina sat comfortably amongst the usual orchestra of keyboard tapping, ringing phones and the generous flow of muffled dialogue. The little office she worked in four days a week was always a buzz of activity, it was an environment in which Regina thrived.

Her phone beeped, it was a text message from Claire, simply saying. ‘Let’s do lunch in Ziggy’s Café.’ Regina’s responding glance to Claire’s workstation was met with a playfully saturated smile peering above the cubical partitions. But there was something about Claire’s face that reminded Regina of what she had just witnessed, the rush of heat to her face must have been quite obvious. It somehow seemed to marry what Claire had earlier said, and it had opened the door to an uncomfortable thought. It may not have been the first occasion that Claire had witnessed her flustering’s from Michael’s flirtatiousness. But it was quickly dismissed, she was making a mountain out of a molehill, and there had never been any suggestion of disapproval from Claire.

***

Davis arrived at the last of the list before heading North, as always six pallets of floor tiles from FloorTold, a large building supply warehouse. Again, as always his arrival was enthusiastically met by young Riddles, given that name because he really did tend to speak that way, in riddles.

With his usual cheery reception, Riddles, as always, climbed onto the step of Davis’s Isuzu Gigamax cab and sprayed his ears through the window with an accosting of welcoming. Hey, it’s my favourite Kiwi driver, How’d ya be goin’ matey?Yeah, all-good man, all-good. How about you Ridds, all-good? Davis always asked, but for a twisted-lipped smile, Riddles never really answered that question. Yeah matey, yeah. And that was it, that’s all Davis ever got before he quickly redirected with unrequired instructions. Matey we gots us six pallets of them premium bathroom tiles ta Cairns for ya. We’re gunna want ya ta back it inta bay three, up there by the rack of six-rib colour-steels, that’s where we might wantcha matey. Yeah I reckon I can do that for you Riddles". Davis obliging replied, even though his delivery-notes contained everything Riddles had just incomprehensibly told him, comprehensibly.

With the efficiency of a well-oiled machine, and between the usual exchanges of distracting banter, Riddles, on his weather-beaten Clark forklift had skilfully placed the pallets into the accommodated space on the tray of the trailer. Then after helping Davis close the trailer curtains he handed him the clip-boarded, delivery documents for his signature, and small exchange. Once all was completed Davis bid farewell and climbed back into the cab, and with Riddles snarling a smile in his mirrors the Gigi Max crawled out of the yard onto Revel Road.

***

Flustered, Regina snatched her handbag from beneath her desk, dashed from the office and hurtled around the block towards Ziggy’s Café. As she bustled her way through the pavement dawdlers Regina could just see Claire’s eyes rolling after snatching her phone for another peek at the time.

Obeying the command of the café’s frontage windows she stopped, took a breath, and inspected her reflection. With all seemingly in order she threw the strap of her handbag across her shoulder, inhaled another breath of composure, then stepped through the cafe door.

Regina ‘had’ previously noticed that the ends of the gold-plated rings attaching her handbag straps had separated, however unbeknown her, and soon to be regretted by her, the separation had gifted her handbag with extraordinary gripping ability. Regina causally wafted into the busy café baring a lot more than she had intended.

Deluded in the delight of the wide-eyed attention she was receiving, especially from the male patrons, Regina paraded the longest possible route to where Claire was seated. But when arriving at the table Regina was baffled, Claire was stricken with hysterical laughter, and her eventual greeting proved equally intelligible. Oh Hunny, you’re just one-in-a-million. Which confused Regina, but although her tone reeked of ridicule, Regina decided perhaps Claire was, in Claire’s strange way, for some reason complimenting her. That assumption was quickly proved wrong, and seriously wrong at that.

Claire was being completely unhelpful, her method of sharing the needed information surely could’ve have been delivered in more whispered and in far less theatrical fashion. Honestly, rather than laugh and tease, she could have given more than her vague explanation, and could have at least suggested Regina quickly face the other way as she detached the hem for her skirt. No, Claire appeared to be extatically enjoying Regina’s humiliation, and just continued to enflame the situation, laughing loudly drawing unnecessary attention to Reina’s dilemma. Completely dislodging her, Claire was thoroughly undermining Regina’s wish for invisibility. And you would’ve have thought once the back of her skirt had been returned to fall where it should and Regina was finally seated the embarrassing situation could have been laid to rest, but no. Claire just kept going on about it and Regina really wasn’t appreciative of her teasing remarks, but rather than desisting she just got cruder, seriously, Claire was getting way over the top. Regina protested. Will you stop it, please? With a laugh Claire playfully replied. Well, no, probably not.

Oh God. Regina huffed. You’re such a bitch.

Well yes, hello, I’m Claire, remember. Claire mockingly replied.

For some time now Claire had been noticing things about Regina and had come to know more about her than Regina realised, in fact possibly more than Regina knew about herself. The giggling rush of blood to Regina’s face Claire saw as being further vindication of her strongly held suspicions, and with those suspicions being constantly reinforced Claire was unable to keep the smirk from her face. Aware that they had been given an eyeful of her bum cheeks, Regina’ eyes seemed totally incapable of refraining from wandering to the two salivating young studs seated at the neighbouring table. All in all affirming Claire’s intuition that hidden beneath Regina’s wedding ring lurked a naughty little tiger, ever pacing in her cage. Claire couldn’t help herself, she whispered across the table. Hey Regina. Having caught her attention she then mischievously looked Regina in the eyes, and tossed her head towards the young studs, smiled, and said. Those young hunks can’t keep their eyes off you. She chuckled then added. Obviously still excited by the little eye-candy treat you gave them Regina. Seeing Regina instantly look as though a vibrator suddenly hummed in her knickers, she turned the screw, with noting their ages, she added. I’ll bet you anything tonight with their eyes tightly closed they’ll be furiously flogging their young logs with that hunny butt of yours in their minds. Regina’s blood instantly flooded her face, her eyes stretching their sockets, and as though being suddenly filled with lead her bottom lip dropped her chin. Claire marvelled, and feeling as though she had been dealt a Royal flush, she raised the stakes. And you know what is really sexy about that. She added. I once had a wee fling with a young stallion, take it from me Sweetie, if they actually got to have what they’ll be fantasising about tonight, they would leave you breathless and gasping for more baby.

Regina’s face suddenly resembled a masochist goldfish being tasered, and that she had been so painfully shocked and delighted had Claire wondering how much more of that tiger she could get to see, and her mind ran riot, scheming.

Claire was on a roll, and with the joy of an outback pig wallowing in mud, Claire wallowed; revelling opportunistically she decided to test the depth of waters, there was simply no way that she could resist adding a daring taunt before leaving. Hey girl. She mischievously ribbed. Up for a dare? Regina’s face became sucked of expression, which was as good as a yes to Claire, wearing a maliciously roguish grin, she added. What’s say we give them a double-barrelled treat before we leave, huh? ‘Oh God, what now?’ Regina internally gasped. Leaving no space for opposing reply, with a playful wink Claire giggled and said. You know what, it’s truly amazing how men, especially young stallions like those two get-off on lesbianism. With face and eyes oozing mischievousness she leaned across the table and added. Let’s have a bit of fun with his huh. How about we give your horny young admirers more to fantasise about tonight, huh. Open-mouthed and blank faced Regina returned her eyes from another flashed glance to the two young men and profusely blushed, a response encouraging further enticement. Come-on. Claire giggled. Just for a lark, as we leave how about we lift the back of our skirts by grabbing each other’s butts. Come on, a little extra treat for the boys, imagine the look on their faces. It’ll be hilarious, don’t you think?

Torn in a tug-of-war between admit disapproval and surrendering to the excitable urge to do it, Regina mummified. Appraising the arguing dilemma on her face, Claire assisted. Go on girl, it will be such a lark to leave those young studs with hard-ons. She laughed then added. Hey, I wonder how long it will take before they’d be able to leave the café, it could be an age before the bulges we make in their trousers go down.

Regina darted her eyes to the two young men and her pounding heart jumped to her throat, she had met with their ogling eyes, eyes looking at her like tongues licking candy from a stick.

In the effort of forbidding her amusement to leap across her face, Claire was almost internally combusting. To her delight, Claire could see Regina considering it, but another wee nudge was obviously needed. Reading Regina like a Mills and Boon novel, being so captivated by the venerating attention she was receiving, Claire added to her coercing spices seasoning it with a threat of attention theft. With a ferocious smile she bunched her face and teasingly spouted. Oh but don’t fret over it Sweetie, if it’s too daring for you I’ll just give them something to fantasise about on my own. She chuckled then added. Because hey, I’d be more than happy to close my eyes tonight with the thought of having two strapping young stallions tugging-off while imagining they were fucking me. Like fuck, I’d be doing a bit of fantasying myself, with my dildo.

Being bombarded with forbidden visualisations Regina dizzied in emotional turmoil, she looked up from the table to Claire, and gasped. Claire had slid her chair back from the table, and with blatantly naughty and suggestive eyes fixed on the two young men she had parted her knees, like, perilously apart. Regina swung her eyes to her two young admirers and seeing them unapologetically enjoying Claire’s shameful exhibiting her face instantly crumpled to a frown.

With a clink she returned her cup to its saucer, in a rush of electrified and gut-wrenching surges suddenly what had been seen as ridiculous and thoroughly impermissible mutated, walls of prohibition started to crumble into a pile of willingness. Regina immediately began to justify. ‘Like shit.’ She defended. ‘It’s not as though I’m actually giving myself to them, is it? No, of course it isn’t.’ And with everything adjusted allowably, what Claire had suggested became no more than a silly and outlandish bit of harmless fun, she smiled.

Claire all but fell from her seat, Regina stretched across the table towards her, her face, and her eyes excitedly enflamed, beaming at her like circus festoons, and as she spoke Regina’s voice giggled. Okay, lets fucking do it then. But it’s not a show-and-tell, it stays our little secret, right. Thinking, ‘Oh yeah right, sure I won’t tell. Of course I will you silly bitch.’ Claire answered. Of course it is, what happens in Ziggy’s stays in Ziggy’s, right. As Regina prepared to make her move, Claire slyly tossed her eyes to Regina’s near emptied cup of tea, and smiled.

Without further need of encouragement, following Claire’s lead Regina rose to the challenge, succeeding an exchange of giggly school-girl smirks, as they took their first steps Claire whispered a count of three. Instantly feeling her skirt rise much higher than anticipated Regina internally summersaulted, she bit her lip, again beyond what had been anticipated Claire’s hand was being quite active. Regina sucked a breath then slid her hand beneath Claire’s skirt, and her knees slightly buckled, somewhat disturbingly with feeling the soft smooth skin and fullness of Claire’s butt cheek a shot of arousal raced through her.

Yes, in such a circumstance feeling all eyes on her was certainly thrilling, and yes, the feeling of being so naughtily immodest and unlawfully admired and desired was certainly exhilarating, just the same, Regina wished Claire would desist from dawdling and hasten her steps.

Just as Regina inhaled the respite of their final steps to the exit Claire squeezed it from her, she stopped. In self-admonishment Regina rolled her eyes. ‘What was she thinking.’ Of course, bloody Claire just had to go that one step further, Claire whispered. Okay, now on the count of three we both turn to face them, smile and wink at them, alright. Giving her no opportunity to oppose Claire counted. One, two, three. Okay, now? Regina’s knees almost buckled, it wasn’t until they turned that Regina’s vision breeched the walls of her tunnelled focus. Oh God! She muttered, suddenly aware that in addition to the two young men there were other patrons in the café, looking at them. Claire giggled, and through her fixed vixen’s smirk she whispered. Wow checkout the way those young stallions are looking at us, they’re like fucking us with their eyes. Through startled eyes Regina had noticed, but would’ve preferred Claire hadn’t. But with no available rock to crawl beneath she followed Claire’s lead and looking them in their lustfully bulged and drooling eyes she smiled and winked, then fretfully leaped from her skin. Claire seemed to be without boundaries, her hand was suddenly felt forcefully cupping Regina’s neck, pulling her face to hers, and before Regina could offer resistance their lips met with a smacking kiss.

In hindsight grasping Claire by the shoulders probably wasn’t the best of reactions, but to remain vertical Regina needed the support. It was if her brain had blown all fuses, everything was flashing around her, whereas she was frozen, motionless, in the middle of scattered comprehension, what the hell had just happened?

Recapturing her breath Regina spun on her heels and dashed through the café door, then looked to her feet, and was surprised to see them not walking on air.

Having the firmness of the pavement beneath her the deluge of blood drained from her face back to her brain, she turned to Claire and with a quivering voice she reprimanded. Fuck you’re so fucking outrageously inappropriate Claire, that was just taking things way too far! However if not for the little burst of giggling accompanying the smile that tore the scolding frown from her face, she ‘may have’ been taken seriously by Claire. With a little jab to Regina’s shoulder Claire winked and replied. But hey, you have to admit, I’m a great kisser huh. Momentarily muted by the chill that had slithered up her spin, Regina shook her head, and then retorted. God, you’re just impossible. What if a client had been in there? Claire laughed and replied. Well, considering most of them are male, unless their balls are as pointless as priests I think they’d now be on their phones expressing interest in meeting with us to discuss additional services. Sensing that she had encountered a brick wall with Claire, Regina rolled her eyes and implored. Just fucking promise me you’ll never do anything like that again, please.

Hmmm, no can-do babe. Claire answered. I just can’t help myself, whenever I’m confronted with stiff dicks the inner bitch in me just comes leaping out, and you seem to be like Viagra to dicks Regina. That Regina’s face suddenly glowed red was noted, embracing a more serious tone Claire then said. To me Regina having a lark or two is as necessary as food, I see life like toilet paper, because in life you’re either on a roll or taking shit from someone.

With regaining composure Regina wiped the residue of hysterical laughter from her eyes, she was really taken by Claire, Claire was so funny, and so naughty, and so much fun. She felt as though her heart was on a bungy rope, and like a shaken bottle of champagne the lid on her emotional inhibitions popped free with a bang. Being anything like so daringly playful and naughty had been like another lifetime away to Regina, and Regina couldn’t get over how desirable and sexy it made her feel. However, as they scurried back to the office Regina wasn’t entirely comfortable with what was constantly flashing through her mind. The thought of being like visual Viagra to males combining with the thought of the two young men lustfully fantasising over her, while masturbating, had become an unmovable visualisation. More to the point, how arousing she was finding that was causing her the greatest of unease. ‘Anyway.’ She concluded, it was just a silly thing, and it’s not as though it happens every day, like everything it will come out in the wash.

Little did she know, Claire’s fun had only just begun. Regina’s little tiger had shown its face and Claire had become more determined than ever to set it free.

***

Not entirely sure what to make of what he had just witnessed, Donovan Strange wiped his mouth with the paper napkin then rose from the café table. But at least he had gained a line of information for his report, an insight into the character of this mark and perhaps one that would prove valuable.

As he made his way to the exit he shook his head, from the moment he received his brief this assignment strongly suggested having parameters beyond the norm, and Strange wasn’t feeling entirely comfortable with that. The rush of heat that met him as he stepped out onto the busy street almost slapped him off his feet, fortunately his Ford wasn’t parked too far away, the comfort of its air conditioning was being looked forward to. From here his next mark, a private detective whose activities had been causing his employer concern.

***

Blaze tried to shake the frustration from his head, Stitch’s inanity was absolutely baffling him. The things Stitch believed, and worse, stubbornly argued was seriously mindboggling. Blaze was convinced that Stitch needed to get off the drugs, and fast. He had thought getting Stitch his patch would sort him out, a bit, sadly not so, if anything Stitch had gotten worse. His head had become full of these crazy theories and things, and there he was like a ranting idiot arguing about things like, heat doesn’t come from the sun but from beneath the Earth, and according to Stitch, that’s why it’s so cold at the top of mountains, and why it was so hot when he was working underground in the Mt. Isa mines. ‘Don’t know how he explains away the hot Mt Isa sun though’, thought Blaze, but there you go, that’s Stitch. Oh, and according to Stitch, the wind doesn’t blow, it sucks, and the tides have nothing to do with the moon, they rise and fall because the Earth wobbles when it rotates on its angled axis. But for Blaze, Stitch’s latest argument took his stupidity to a whole new level, now trying to convince Blaze that trees don’t get water and nutrients from their roots, but through their leaves. A trees roots, he adamantly argued, were simply for anchoring them in the ground, to keep them from falling over. And where and how was this incredible foresight obtained? Well, a tree had told him so. Like of course it did, how else, it’s not as though he ever reads anything?

No, getting Stitch patched with the Fearless Foe turned out to be something Blaze hadn’t really thought all the way though. He had failed to consider how being a Foe member came with access to an endless supply of drugs, and Stitch had fallen in love with the new party drug Euph, which probably wasn’t in his best interest. And it just didn’t seem to register with him that if either Damage or Venom got wind of how much of the shit Stitch was going through, well, that would definitely not be in his best interest.

But on the up-side, considering their current task, that their disagreement had gotten them so wired and grumpy probably wasn’t a bad thing when debt collecting. As for that fucking little idiot Riddles, he had deserved the whack in the mouth he got from Stitch. Riddles should never have fronted these clowns with that much gear, it’s not as if he didn’t know Damage’s strict cash for stash only policy. Blaze was yet unsure if the little clown realised it, but he and Stitch were about to save Riddles arse big time.

***

The apartments were worse than his and Stitch’s, something Blaze hadn’t thought possible, and they stunk as bad as Stitch’s morning shits, again, something Blaze hadn’t thought possible.

Number fourteen, with the four barely maintaining its grip on the bruised and battered door, was a welcomed sight to their eyes, no more stair climbing. They refilled their lungs, and before knocking on the door Blaze recited the plan of action to Stitch, one more time; repeatedly going over the plan with Stitch had become an experience taught exercise for Blaze. Another thing experience had taught Blaze, never let Stitch do the door knocking. To Stitch it seemed to mean try to bash the fucker down, and that always incited instant panic on the opposite side of the door, a panic seeing all illegal substances flushed down the toilet, and mass evacuation through anything that remotely resembled an exit-point. Not what Blaze was wanting.

Okay. Blaze whispered. Remember, there’s probably a bunch of these losers in there, but the only dude we’re interested in is a prick named Barry, okay. And Stitch, let me do the talking, alright, and if the fucker starts being uncooperative, only then can you give him a couple of slaps. And for fuck-sake Stitch, this time, don’t get fucking carried-away, the fuckers no good to us if he’s fucking unconscious, remember. Stabbing Stitch’s eyes with his own, Blaze waited for Stitch’s acknowledgement, which reluctantly came with a barely noticeable nod of his head.

Sometimes Blaze really pissed Stitch off. ‘He seems to conveniently forget that its only because he’s Damage’s fucking nephew’ that he got given his stripe, and gets to be in charge of things.’ Stitch secretly grumbled. ‘But it sure does go to his fucking big head sometimes’.

Blaze continued re-issuing his instructions. And if that don’t do it, his Mrs is a slag named Karen, who according to Riddles, this Barry fucker thinks is some sorta trophy chick. Riddles reckoned this Barry dude would cough-up his mother’s twat to protect her. Blaze looked Stitch hard in the eyes, and with a finger aimed between their point of contact he barked his directive. But again Stitch, for fuck-sake, don’t lose the fucking plot with her. And fucking remember Stitch, we aren’t after everything this fucker’s got, just what he owes Riddle’s, one-K of Ice and five-hundred caps of Euph, Euph, alright.

Uncertain as to how much of this was actually entering Stitch’s ears and how much was bouncing straight off his thick skull, Blaze took a calming breath, then continued in a subdued tone. Apparently, this fucker can move heaps of shit, so the whole point of this exercise mate, is to teach him not to fucking mess with Riddles again, or he’ll be messin’ with the Foe. Me and you bro, we’re gonna turn this fucking muppet into Riddles prospect, the amount of shit this fucker will end up moving for us, it’ll make us look fucking good buddy, not to mention what it’ll make our pockets look like mate.

Now reasonably confident that his pit-bull had been muzzled, Blaze turned to the dilapidated door, rapped it with his knuckles, and added. Fucking pathetic cunts these fucking junkies. When they’re strung-out they’d sell their baby’s soul and their mother’s twats for a fix. So try and remember some names and faces aye, they could be useful to us one day.

Contentiously replaying the fiasco of events through his mind, Blaze towed his shadow from the last step of the piss-reeking stairwell, fucking Stitch had done it again, totally lost the fucking plot. The scummy little flat had been turned upside down, left looking more like a fucking warzone than the refugee camp they barged into. And God only knows why Stitch decided to use that poor junky fuckers head as a hammer. "For fuck-sake Stitch. Blaze grumbled. What part of ‘don’t get fucking carried-away’ didn’t you fucking get, for fuck-sake."

But what was pissing Blaze off the most was how Stitch just couldn’t help himself, he just had to dip his fucking big smelly paws into the dude’s stash of ice and weed. He thought that Blaze hadn’t noticed, but Blaze certainly had. "Fucking idiot, tell me, how is ripping the dozy fucker off gunna help him fill our