Monarchs Clashing
In this fictional narrative, we dive into a world where mature audiences will enjoy the combination of police procedurals, eroticism, fantastical elements, and vigilante justice. With tags like MF, group, interracial, oral, romance, exhib, voy, and casual polyamory, along with themes involving murder, violence, extrajudicial punishment, and heroism in cohesion with law enforcement, this is not for the faint of heart. It's a thrilling story that connects to some of the author's previous works, even if it can be read independently.
Please note that this isn't for those who oppose graphic sexual content and the aforementioned tags. If you're uncomfortable with the notion of violence and its consequences, you might want to skip this tale. Set in London, England during Winter 2001, in a swingers club named Rovers, our story centers around a bartender being questioned by his boss about a crying woman.
The barkeeper shrugs, managing to avoid disturbing the woman. He says, "I don't know. If she wants to tell me, she'll let me know. I don't want to push her further."
Ford Maddox, the club owner, understands this response. He reflects on how you can't always approach a weeping woman, especially in such a place like Rovers. As a swingers club, it serves as a space for explicit sexual exhibitions. Despite this, proper etiquette is still a must at the establishment, and consent should be obtained before engaging in any sexual activity. Maddox, at sixty-three, is short, burly, bearded, and visibly weathered; he's known for being handsome or charming among some individuals, though many keep their distance from him. He's grown accustomed to being scorned.
However, on this night, he can't help but feel concerned about the lone brunette, her beautiful face streaked with tears, her slender figure dressed in a black evening gown, and her premature aging. Having lived through decades of being part of the nightlife scene and intimate with the nitty-gritty of London's underworld, he understands the toll it takes on people, evident in her demeanor. He can't help but want to investigate her situation.
Maddox considers that there are only two single women in the entire club, both of whom have no regular presence there. The first is the one crying--a stunner in her mid-thirties. He is determined to uncover the reason behind her tears.
His first observation is that Rovers isn't exactly the easiest place to approach an unfortunate soul. It's a venue for sexual exhibition, not a brothel, but rather a way for people to socialize, possibly engage, and watch erotic acts in private rooms. The entrance fee is expensive while the drinks and such are reasonably priced. Sadly, it doesn't often see much action in the way of liaisons, with most taking place in the invitation-only areas. It's run on hundred-year-old rules of consent and respect.
Ford Maddox, born six decades ago, strives to understand why this woman hasn't joined them in their activities. With his own worn-out look and having witnessed the destruction caused by the nightlife, he relates to her pain. Having built this club with support from London's criminal underground, he's spent his entire adulthood entangled in London's nocturnal scene. He feels the lure of vengeance and disapproval, showing his connection with the criminal world.
Both the elite and the desperate gather at Rovers in an attempt to satisfy their needs. It's a space that encourages indulgence, but it remains detached from sexual trysts most of the time. There are different signs reminding patrons to approach engagement with caution and emphasizing consent as a necessity. In the background, a pornographic film is displayed on a screen; a couple of rough-looking men watch it without any interest. Other people are clustered in groups, sipping drinks or sitting at the bar. With all this happening, Maddox can't refuse the opportunity to investigate the root cause of her distress.
As he monitors the crowd, he notices various customers: women in their forties wearing stylish outfits, several couples, an older man watching the film with disgust, a young man nervously awaiting a woman to join, a pair of women in their sixties laughing together, and a group of men drinking and discussing the doors to hidden sexual havens of La Casa Dorada, whispers about some mystical portal called Voyardis D&D. Occasionally, a patron slips into one of the secluded booths to claim a bed.
Maddox, human at his core, cares for the welfare of the crying brunette and, with curiosity surrounding his actions, he decides to intervene. Thus, he begins his journey into the mysterious world of London's nightlife and the heart-wrenching story of this enigmatic woman.
Maddox gazed at the other woman quickly. She shared a similar age and figure to the first, but dressed differently; sporting a tan pantsuit with a matching blazer. Her hair was prematurely white and cascaded around her shoulders. Maddox noticed the woman flashing predatory grins at various patrons. She revealed all her teeth when she smiled. The woman seemingly deterred most people from approaching her, either intentionally or not. She'd likely choose someone herself at some point and enjoy a quick affair, as Maddox had witnessed before. In fact, this scenario was the best outcome for many of his patrons lacking charm. Therefore, he permitted her to stay. She didn't appear to harm people willingly, as far as he could tell.
The weeping woman worried him more. At some point, someone would inquire about her well-being. If she divulged her story, it might fall into the wrong hands. Discretion was paramount in places like Rovers. After all, intense emotional displays posed a risk. Many patrons donned real or figurative masks. So Maddox decided to take proactive measures. Discover the woman's issue, and if she couldn't compose herself enough to enjoy herself, recommend she depart.
He walked up to her and offered a reassuring smile. "Hello, may I sit down?"
The woman used her white silk handkerchief to wipe her eyes and then frowned. "Um, sure."
"If you don't mind my asking, what are you, a charming lady, doing in a place like this?"
The woman winced when she heard the line for a split second, but then smirked and looked away. "I'm reminiscing about happier times," she said. "I'd prefer to recall them on my own."
"Alright, ma'am," Maddox replied. "If anyone bothers you, please let me know. This club is mine, and I want my patrons to avoid any trouble."
"Thank you," the woman said, but didn't revisit his gaze. Maddox shrugged and strolled away to inspect other areas of his club before returning to his office. After all, there were papers to sort through.
At the bar, Jessie Marlow Kurtz requested another drink. Why am I here? I came to reminisce about happier times from my past, yes, but I can't stop weeping. Maybe the times weren't truly joyful. Nor is my current life. I used to frequent places like this, tempting men into giving me a good time. I dated men, welcomed their kindness, and occasionally charged them for a brief period for a small sum. I engaged in this lifestyle because it seemed like fun, and it sometimes was. A promiscuous woman possesses a certain power over men, despite what women in denial might say. I relished wielding that influence. I gained my remuneration in both virtue and revenue. My family struggled financially, and I had no other option.
I carried on with this lifestyle for a while. There were some unfavorable aspects, but I preferred it to the alternative. However, I knew it couldn't last indefinitely.
A few years ago, I met a man who intended to extricate me from the lifestyle I enjoyed. He had Belgian heritage, stood short with a crow-like face, and was in his late forties. He earned a substantial fortune quickly through measures I learned too late. I performed my services for him in this club, liked how he treated me. He was respectful, sincere, and lavished money on me. Somehow, I succumbed to James Kurtz, a pseudonym he adopted based on characters from Joseph Conrad, a writer he admired who imparted truths about life. He valued our mutual enjoyment. He was considerate in bed, and that made matters difficult when I discovered his true identity.
He kept returning to me, and I developed greater feelings for him. One day, while crossing the street, a lorry rounded a corner too quickly and nearly struck me. James moved me aside, sustaining a broken leg in the process. He bawled in my arms while awaiting the ambulance, relieved that I survived. Following that, I accepted his proposal to become his wife. We married in a small ceremony, and I vowed to love him exclusively for the rest of my life.
I should've clarified what exactly my husband did for a living. He claimed to be an entertainment mogul and a financier, but his responses were mysterious. After conducting some research, I found out that many people owed him money, but no one would reveal the reason behind it. One night after our wedding, I observed my husband meeting with other men in a smokey room at his club, Conrad's, which served bar food and drinks. Conrad's was a shady location. I crept closer and overheard their conversation. They spoke of past-due loans, fraud, gambling rackets, and various smuggling operations. Their true identities were evident, as they acted like characters from a mafia film. They all deferred to my husband, acknowledging him with nods of respect. He gave orders, demanding the forgiveness of debts in exchange for favors, increasing rates with warnings, and even suggesting the breaking of someone's legs for a major debtor. A Russian named Igor Ivanov agreed to carry out this order.
The revelation was alarming. My husband was a crime lord.
I confronted him about his occupation and asked why. He shrugged and said, "I made this decision and acquired the authority. Don't ever question me, Jessie, about my work. Simply accept that it provides the luxury lifestyle you now live."
He then grabbed my arm roughly. "Understand that you must never betray me. Should you do so, you'll understand what it means to suffer."
His words were unquestionable. I couldn't deny his threats. Throughout our marriage, he became distant and cold. Although our lovemaking didn't change, he allowed me to endure pain in various forms. He marked my body with finger and teeth pressures, creating bruises in places where I couldn't display them. Despite my fears of revealing these marks, he reminded me of my indebtedness to him, the guilt and scandal of my past, and how he could easily strip me of my luxurious life.
For several years, I indulged in my husband's wealth. It's easy to accept luxurious gifts without knowing their origin or implications. The victims are unknown to me, and it's too late to reverse any crimes. His legal and illegal connections secure his financial success. However, the guilt consumes me, and I grew tired of living this deceptive lifestyle. My heart longed for good men who didn't harm others.
One evening, I sought comfort in another club. The memories of predators from my past returned. Reflecting on my choices, I desired to leave my life with a crime boss. It was no longer possible: my husband would never allow it.
As I walked out the back door, I made three mistakes. First, underestimating my husband's cold, manipulative nature. Second, not recognizing the woman following me. And fourth, smoking outside in a secluded area.
The back door of Rovers led to a tiny smoking area fenced off from the alley behind the club. Patrons could smoke there before exiting through an unalarmed exit door. It was empty at the time. Believing she was alone and safe, Jessie decided to have one last cigarette to calm her disappointment and disgust with her current life.
Unfortunately, that was her fourth mistake.
A soft voice sounded behind her, "Can I borrow a lighter?"
Jessie turned to face the tall, white-haired woman in tan pantsuit from the bar who was now standing behind her. She smiled warmly with her lips shut. She held an unlit cigarette between her fingers.
Jessie's heart sank as she recalled the woman. "Do I know you?" she asked while giving the other woman a light.
The woman nodded. "I work for your husband and have a present from him."
One moment, Jessie was totally unaware, about ready to let out a cry for help when her assailant's hand came into motion. A shiny item in the light made her gasp in horror, realising the distinctive black gloves she wore - a dead giveaway for the profession of her attacker. The next few moments were unfortunate - three precise, rapid stabs - one to her right lung, one to her left and lastly to her heart. The finality of these swift strikes left Jessie defenseless, helpless.
Her attacker couldn't help but smirk, the gleam of her teeth glistened brighter than the knife she held. At this point, she almost felt a sense of fulfillment - like she was connected to her influences. But she didn't linger, understanding the etiquette of her business. Instead, she dipped her gloves in the oceans of red that spilled from his victim's chest as a memento. Leaving behind the life she'd taken, the woman swiftly departed.
The task was accomplished.
***
Inside Out Lounge.
Eight Years Later.
Doug Ramsay savoured the moment he shared with two equally intimate companions. Stripped down, their bodies enmeshed in his penthouse bed, they'd spent the last hour locked in a passionate embrace - trading kisses, caresses and calls of ecstasy.
He was a 30-year-old American citizen, settled in London. He affected a British accent to counter a speech impairment and create a sense of comfort in those around him. An enterprising man to the core, Doug owned and operated his own lounge and love hotel, acquainting all walks of London's social circles. His aesthetic comprised dark blonde hair and a short beard, light blue eyes, and features that could melt hearts. Doug was neurodivergent, but his wild side enabled him to adjust to each situation. He possessed wealth due to his success in lawful gambling and the sales of his bestselling science fiction thriller novels, accompanied by a multitude of close friends.
Two of those companions were currently entwined with him. Jodie Lee Nichols, a freckled, lissome Australian brunette, maintained a sunny disposition and enchanting visage. Presently, she played the role of Doug's business's Assistant Manager. A past life saw her as Doug's high school girlfriend and a decorated member of the Australian Special Air Service. Hence, her leg bore a tattoo - a winged dagger and 'Who Dares Wins' - as testimony to those days. After a mission that was doomed but successful, the unit seeking disgrace, Jodie Lee bid adieu to the perilous life. She found solace in an existence that paid much better and was mostly safe. A covert operations specialist akin to James Bond, Jodie Lee still indulged in secret agent work - occassionally and on her own terms now. She remained an agent of Doug Ramsay and his partner-slash-security boss, Clarke, two men who frequently partook in liaisons with her.
The third woman in bed was a black-haired, Caucasian woman from New York, amid her thirties. Tess Winfield was a physician by profession, operating a little clinic in the same edifice as Doug's hotel. Similar to Jodie Lee Nichols, Tess employed to be in an anti-terrorist UN unit with Doug during a prolonged period. She'd stitched Jodie Lee after innumerable missions and felt a deep connection with her ripe lips against hers. Now, Jodie Lee initiated a passionate embrace, sending their intimate acquaintance sparks of pleasure through their bodies. Tess, shorter than Jodie Lee, rested atop Doug, their bodies pressed together while admiring their distinct curves. Her long curls and Jodie Lee's mingled as the two women's lips clung to each other in a torrid kiss.
"Make love to her, Doug," Tess encouraged, smiling brightly. "Then it's my turn."
Aroused by Tess's anticipation, Doug was eager to take her up on the offer. His experience with Tess stretched back to their college days when he dated her high school sweetheart and best friend, Lisa Coleman. Tess had been a part of Lisa's large circle of lovers, offerings herself on several occasions. They'd spent three visits to New York, engaging in three-somes and public romps. Tess cherished these moments with her friends - Doug and Lisa. After her stint at medical school and completing her residency, Tess rose to the rank of Doctors Without Borders. She'd met Jodie Lee aplenty during this journey, forming a professional association, as well as intimate relations. They sizzled in erotic pleasure, pampering Doug and the two women they shared.
Tess moved around Jodie Lee, leaned in and kissed Doug passionately. After that, she situated her private area near his lips. Doug understood the hint and positioned his tongue in-between her folds. Tess had a light sprinkling of hair in her nether region, which didn't hinder someone's attention. Jodie Lee's area was shaven, a contrast to Tess's. Both women had tanned areolas on their comparably large breasts.
They gyrated against one another, licking, pushing, touching. Tess hugged Jodie Lee from behind while Doug licked her buttocks. Simultaneously, he pushed into Jodie Lee's folds. Their hands explored each other, with fingers often brushing. Screams of passion filtered from their mouths. Fingers intertwined and convulsed.
Doug's tongue located a particular spot inside Tess, which sent ripples of momentary pleasure. Tess emitted a deep moan, reaching climax. Jodie Lee experienced her own climax within the next moment, laughing with delight. Doug pressed against his groin, letting loose a bit of semen into the condom encasing his penis. Jodie Lee could still sense his emissions, and she adjusted her own actions to match them. Tess gently slid off Doug's face, sat next to them as Jodie Lee twisted herself around, and embraced Doug, kissing his lips.
"Thanks for that, Doug," Tess giggled. "How about you?"
"Always," Doug answered, still slightly winded. "Give me a few minutes, Tess. I'll be ready again."
"It's fine," she replied, dismissing him. "I can wait for a bit."
Doug stared at them both and smiled. "You know, we've been engaging in activities such as these for many years. I should marry someone."
"We're not the only people you've been involved with, Doug," Tess mentioned, reminding him. "Nor are we yours alone. I'm engaged to another man. I'd be with him tonight if he wasn't working. You're fortunate he allows us to keep our prior connection intact."
"And you, Jodie Lee?" Doug inquired. "I've known you longer than any other lover."
"And I'm not cut out for marriage," Jodie Lee exhaled, her distinct accent evident. "I love you, but I adore my independence more."
Doug looked dejected, then sighed. "Would you have married Tanya?"
Tanya Brown was the mutual girlfriend they shared at the start, a blonde woman of Kiwi and Ukrainian descent. She had excelled as a sniper in her mother's country's army before being killed in a terrorist attack in Afghanistan. Someone he'd known Tessa with, and Jodie Lee as well. He spoke carelessly.
"It doesn't matter," Jodie Lee stated, her face clouding. "She's gone."
"Yeah," Doug asserted, then realized the impact of his statement. "Sorry."
Jodie Lee brushed away his concerns. "Don't sweat it." She viewed Doug, at Tess, then back at Doug again. "Should we expend our pleasure again or get dressed and head downstairs?"
Doug contemplated, unsure what to do. They all had the night off and he didn't want to sleep just yet. Jodie Lee and Tess didn't appear tired either. He knew they'd enjoy intimacy with him again, even after his recent words. He could also consider going downstairs, grabbing a bite, and interacting with others. Inside Out's amenities included chatting, dancing, and video games. Doug was unsure of the best course of action.
Then his bedside phone buzzed, drawing his attention. Doug checked the caller ID, then answered. "Yes, Clarke?"
His security chief laughed. "Caught you in an intimate situation again?"
"Not really. We just finished." Clarke had been known to burst in on Doug in the past to talk about his varied emotions- a common occurrence among recovering addicts. He'd improved lately, though. "What's up?"
"Someone who shouldn't be here has snuck in," Clarke revealed. "Our new doorman let him in."
"One of the club's patrons who has no right to be here?"
"Yes, Chief Doug. And he's acting like he owns the place. Like we didn't beat him to get it fairly over half a decade ago."
Doug thought for a second, recognizing who Clarke referred to. "Lord Jim Kurtz is in my club?"
"Yes, Sir Doug. He wants to discuss important business as soon as you have the chance."
Doug activated the speakerphone, then began dressing while talking. Tess and Jodie Lee followed suit. "How long has he been down there?"
"About fifteen minutes," Clarke responded. "Igor's with him. They waited at the bar, requested beverages. Ray's serving them." Ray Coleman is a retired Marine sergeant and one of Doug's assistant managers. "He stated he wants to talk to you."
"I'll be right there," Doug stated. "Please keep an eye on him, Clarke. Don't provoke him. I'll determine the necessary action."
"You got it, boss."
Doug hung up the phone with a frown. Six years ago, he'd relocated to London and set up Inside Out. He'd done so while being aided by the Friendship, a secret organization promoting global enlightenment by supporting events promoting education and entertainment. Kurtz was struggling financially at the time and wanted to sell some West End real estate. Doug purchased it, and Kurtz wanted to fight a fierce street battle to conclude the transaction. Doug prevailed through perseverance and allies from the Friendship, which included Clarke's commando crew and the citizens of London. Kurtz had booby-trapped the building with explosives prior to the fight and attempted to activate them when it was obvious he had been defeated. Fortunately, Mike Hernandez, a former Mexican Army bomb expert who worked for Clarke, had dismantled the explosive devices before Kurtz triggered them. If so, Doug could have lost his fledgling business and even his life.
Doug never quite understood why Kurtz was after him, though. He had never met the guy before that incident. The Friendship had schemed their confrontation. The entity is led by Silvan Farrow, a Faerie Alien Hybrid who oversees the secret society. Farrow believed Doug had to prove his right to be a successful entertainment entrepreneur by battling London's underworld. For the record, Doug had zero interest in joining the mob. He had easily thrashed Kurtz and thereafter ran his company without associating with him. Kurtz would end up being arrested the next day, and he spent two years in prison for engaging in street brawls and attempting arson. Doug had sworn that if Kurtz continued to hunt him down post-release, he would be willing to do battle once more. For the moment, Kurtz was quiet.
But why didn't Kurtz simply collect the money Doug shelled out for his building and leave him alone? Doug mulled. Does Kurtz harbor a grudge against Americans? Maybe he's got a beef with individuals who've ever worked in law enforcement. I know the type- he's a London gang boss, operational primarily in the East End. He's connected to loan fraud, drug trafficking, and a host of other illegal activities. He employs goons like Igor Ivanov, a Russian Spetsnaz alumnus, to carry out his dirty work. He also worships Joseph Conrad, fashioning himself after the heinous characters from the author's books. Conrad's villains were amoral villains, champions of colonialism and imperialism. I devoured Conrad's novels as a child, marveling at his psychological insights. I respected his protagonists more than his antagonists. They engaged and triumphed over men like Kurtz.
And now, Doug thought, tightening his belt and throwing on a black jacket over a red shirt and black pants, I've got to grapple with him again. It better not be a lengthy bout.
Jodie Lee and Tess both clad themselves in black gowns for the evening. Jodie Lee secured a small weapon case under her sleeve. "You think you'll need that?" Doug inquired of her.
"I might. I only knew Kurtz for that one night, but I barely survived when one of his goons tried to whack me from behind. This time, I plan to be ready."
"I'm aware of that knife," Tess noted. "Tanya used to wield it."
Jodie Lee nodded and unsheathed the knife swiftly, conducted a few flips with it. "It's elite." She attached the blade to her sleeve and stowed it.
"Sweet. Thanks for keeping it concealed," Doug remarked as he retrieved the blade.
"I'll oblige," Jodie Lee returned, pointing at the knife.
Doug tucked an extendable rod in his belt and stepped out the door.
The trio took the elevator to the club level. They entered a space that resembled the street with an asphalt dance floor covered in stationary vehicles and simulated moonlight. A food and beverage establishment was stationed at the edge of the dance floor. A gaming center was in close proximity. Famous faces were plastered on the walls, featuring movie stars, the British Royal Family, sports personalities, and musicians. Through the Friendship, Doug was acquainted with all these figures.
The patrons of the club came from a wide range of sectors of society. Student hipsters, Goths, police, tourists, company executives, and soccer fans. A few individuals in costumes were also present. Doug greeted those who gave him a friendly wave as he traversed the room, but he didn't stop. He had set his sights on the short, crow-faced man leaning on a cane near the bar. Jodie Lee and Tess blended into the throng to monitor the situation closely. A large, hairy guy- Clarke- watched from the DJ booth on the dance floor. A small mustached Latino man operated the console, tweaking the music tone and volume. Doug nodded at Mike and Clarke, and continued to the bar. The man tending it had a prematurely gray beard that had once been a rich, chestnut brown. Doug's staff sported black polyester waiter uniforms. Ray Coleman put two of Doug's patented vodka cocktails in front of Doug and Jim Kurtz.
Before meeting the newcomer, a burly Russian man with a bushy mustache blocked Doug's path. Igor Ivanov was dressed in a blue and white striped workout shirt and black work pants, while his boss, Kurtz, wore a black coat, top hat, and tie. Igor scolded Doug, "Be polite, American."
"This is my place," Doug responded. "I'll treat it with respect for my guests."
"Get out of the way, Igor," Kurtz instructed. "We need to discuss business."
Doug nodded, relieved, as Igor stepped aside. "It's been a while, Mr. Kurtz," Doug said, sitting at the bar. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yes. I'm here to reclaim my building. I don't approve of how you've used the site."
"It's not a brothel. It's a combination of a bar, nightclub, arcade, and love hotel. The rooms are rented out for political and business conferences as often as private meetings. And it's a much better use than what you've done with it."
"Don't try to justify it. I've transformed this place into a warehouse and tenement for low-income residents. You helped people."
"I exploited them. I was told they were thrilled to be rid of you and delighted when I helped them find new homes. If you recall, you even tried to demolish the building. Why did you do that?"
"It was my building, and it will be again. Five million pounds."
"It's worth more than twice that amount now that I've renovated it. It's not for sale."
"That doesn't matter. You could use some extra money to keep this place going. I also have experience running similar operations. Why not let me help you?"
"No way. I don't want to work with you, Mr. Kurtz. You're not a person I'd like to associate with."
"What about a bet then?" Kurtz gestured to Igor. "Let your man fight mine. The victor will receive ten million from the loser, and they'll get to keep the establishment."
Igor pointed at Clarke. "That means I get to fight you again. I've been practicing for this moment. I'm really excited about it, hmph!"
Clarke said nothing but nodded and began walking towards them. His expression showed his displeasure at the idea of a repeat bout.
"You want this?" Doug looked at Clarke, then back at Igor and Kurtz. "Fine. We'll hold a boxing match in three days. If your man defeats mine, I'll consider your business partnership offer. I've built up this club, and I don't want to lose it."
"I'm not concerned about losing. I am a King of London's dark side. You're aware of the saying about challenging kings?"
"I've heard it. But why this hostility? Why must you go so far out of your way to oppose me?"
Kurtz didn't respond at first, then nodded. "Years ago, Silvan Farrow aided my rise to power. I was an officer in Her Majesty's Army, lost my position, needed a new life. I spent much of the 1990s helping various underworld lords with various tasks. Then, a few years ago, Silvan told me to sell you this building. A young man who couldn't handle law enforcement, who was given success by a mysterious benefactor, who fancies himself as a millennial playboy."
"I actually rather like that description."
"You're missing the point. I worked hard for my success. I wasn't just going to give my property to you. I wanted to see if you could earn it. Only after you recognized my power would I truly test your ability to succeed."
"It seems you're quite confident in your abilities."
"I am. I expect to win in three days. Doug Ramsay, against someone like me, you don't stand a chance."
"Are you that sure?" Doug set down his drink. "Sounds like we'll meet again in a few days. Any more business?"
Kurtz drained his glass and rose to his feet. "No. It's time to go, Igor." He made his way toward the entrance of the club. Igor held a finger to his neck and gazed at Clarke before following him.
Doug watched them depart, then turned his attention to Clarke. "We didn't need to agree to that."
"Yes, we did." The bouncer shook his head and walked over to Doug. "People like Kurtz and his cronies are like roaches. They'll keep threatening ordinary folks until you crush them. I devote my life to stopping these types of people. We should've taken Kurtz out long ago."
"First, we had to establish this club," Doug argued. "And we're not like him. There are better ways to operate. Also, don't you remember the days when you served under Kurtz?"
"I don't have to remind you," Clarke said, fixing his gaze on the club's entrance. "I can't believe that weakling was in the Friendship."
"Every now and then, our Organization makes errors. We need to find out more about him. Is his sworn enemy here tonight?"
"Inspector Marlow from Scotland Yard? I'll look for him. You should contact Silvan. This could be a significant issue for the Friendship."
"I will. Call Marlow if you can't find him. I want to speak with him in my office as soon as possible."
***
"Yes, I helped Jim Kurtz rise as a force in London's criminal underworld," Silvan Farrow responded to Doug Ramsay's inquiry a short while later. "Good men need formidable adversaries, and it looked like he'd help stabilize the city's dark side for a while. And he did. But then he surprised me with his criminal activities. So, I set up various Friends to take him down and promote the rise of better people. Marlow, Clarke, and you, Doug Ramsay. When the perfect moment arrived."
"Then I'm supposed to bring him down?" Doug questioned the being closest to God he knew. "How? Why me?"
"You decide how. As for why, because you're a just person in the right place. What better rationale could there be? Good luck, Doug Ramsay. I'm eager to see your success."
The call ended, and Doug sighed. Frustrating and mysterious as always, Silvan. If I didn't rely on Silvan's support... He shook his head and put the phone down.
There was a gentle knock at his door. "Enter."
A silver-haired, mustached man in a tan suit and a deerstalker hat walked in. "Mr. Ramsay."
"Inspector. Thank you for coming. Did Clarke inform you of the issue?"
"Yes. Kurtz intends to reclaim your building."
"Ten years ago, you arrested him following our clash. You called him 'nemesis.' I presume you know a lot about Kurtz."
"Yes. For a long time, I have been pursuing Jim Kurtz. He was born in a London orphanage and entered the military at a young age. A voracious reader who excelled in Joseph Conrad trivia and explosives fabrication. His parents abandoned him with no other opportunities to succeed. He was chosen for officer candidacy due to his academic prowess and rose to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel by the age of 26 in 1975. He was assigned to help manage the Troubles in the late 1970s. The paramilitary groups there complicated things for the government. Kurtz was tasked with artillery strikes against them. He was relieved of his duties after joining the Glenanne Gang, a secret alliance of loyalist militants and British soldiers who committed bombings of civilians to bring stability to the region. At first, their activities were tolerated. Then, a new leadership took over, and the tactics changed. Kurtz was one of several officers convicted of atrocities. He spent a decade in prison, and then returned to work for the same contacts he'd achieved during his military years. Kurtz excelled in two areas - organized violence and fire. Smuggling and fraud were his long-term investments. He built clubs, warehouses, and low-income housing to launder the profits. His usual method was to buy and renovate a building, sell it, and then destroy it, often with the new owner inside. That may have been what he had in store for you."
"That makes a degree of twisted sense." The man went silent for a moment. "My family would've likely sold to him. We've grown apart, anyway."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"That's okay, I'm used to it."
"Tell me more about Kurtz."
In the year 1994, Kurtz first piqued my interest as the safecracker for a crew that targeted a bank in London. At that time, I had just been promoted to detective. They infiltrated the bank in the dead of night, utilized explosives on the vault, and made off with more than twenty million in cash and gold bullion. I believed Kurtz was involved when I discovered footage from the bank's security cameras of him exploring the vault two days before the heist. He had purchased a safe deposit box in his own name, and I remembered his talent with explosives from my studies on the Glenanne Gang.
Someone enlightened me, "Did you manage to prove your suspicions?"
Unfortunately, no. Kurtz hired a top-notch legal team, building a valid alibi for the actual night of the robbery. I theorized that he had prepared the explosives in advance and enlisted other individuals to carry out the robbery, but I was unable to identify the actual culprits. Following this heinous crime, various underworld figures met untimely ends through explosions or stabbings, and these informants informed us that Kurtz orchestrated their demise. He took over their roles and operated unhindered for almost a decade. However, we lacked any tangible evidence we could use against him in court. Some of the gangsters he eliminated were indeed reprehensible individuals, but their deaths provided him with an air of respectability in the criminal underworld, which allowed him to advance in rank.
"So he then joined the Friendship, did he?"
Indeed, there are some underworld figures who possess an odd sense of honor and aide our Society. As a policeman, I abhor this practice, but it does maintain a certain equilibrium. Kurtz also disseminated cash to various public officials, including police officers, which fostered corruption with tangible advantages. I took every measure possible to undermine him. I captured many of his minions, but it was not until 2003 that I apprehended Kurtz himself. For a period, he lived in fear of me.
"How so?"
Marlow showed a photograph of a brunette woman who bore a striking resemblance to him. "This is my sister, Jessie. We grew up in poverty. I enlisted in the military and later became a police officer, but as a woman, she thought she had limited career options. For a while, she worked in an accounting office, then she was laid off and took to the streets as a... courtesan. I supported her financially for a time."
"Then Kurtz became her pimp," Doug surmised.
"Her client, then her husband," Marlow clarified. "Perhaps he encountered her by chance and learned of our connection. Perhaps he knew of her through one of his police contacts. In either case, he won her affection. I did not know she had married him until their marriage was already a done deal and her relationship with Kurtz was solidified. Naturally, I was removed from the Kurtz case as soon as my superiors found out about our familial bond. Accusations of corruption and collusion were leveled against me, and I barely managed to avoid being charged. Yes, we had not communicated in years, but..."
"I've served as a cop as well, Inspector. I understand."
"Exactly. Strictly impartiality is required of us. I then turned my attention to other matters and climbed the ranks. In 2001, my sister's body was found in the alleyway behind a gentlemen's club dubbed Rovers. She had been killed swiftly and efficiently - one could say clinical - with three precise stabs to vital areas, followed by being left to bleed out. Her lungs had been pierced, ensuring she could not scream. I suspect Kurtz killed her, but proof was hard to come by. Several of the gangsters whom Kurtz had displaced suffered the same fate, each dying in a method reminiscent of my sister's murder. Once again, demonstrating who carried out these killings was a prominent challenge."
"Was Kurtz invested in this club?"
"Indeed. Curious coincidence, if you ask me. When he threatened to detonate your club, her conviction for attempted arson and organizing a street brawl was significantly reduced, despite his previous record. A large number of witnesses, around three dozen, testified against Kurtz in the violence. Some of those witnesses recanted their statements, most likely facing threats or bribes. Kurtz's lawyer is quite skilled in her craft."
"I would've loved to have testified myself." Doug felt a surge of emotion.
"Unfortunately, the prosecution deemed my testimony unnecessary. It might not have made a difference, though. The lawyer is quite proficient at her job."
"Tell me more about her." Doug felt a predatory impulse.
"Her name is Mackenzie MacHeath, she's Scottish." Marlow displayed a photo of a woman with long sharp white hair dressed in a gray pantsuit who bore a dry, smug smile. "Every encounter I've had with Kurtz that nearly secured his capture, she appears and sectioned his escape. If not for her, Kurtz might have been behind bars for a long time."
I've heard about that melody and that criminal. Some claim he was Jack the Ripper, others just a notorious blade man at the start of the previous century. I'm unsure if Mackenzie MacHeath connects to him. She spent her childhood an orphan like Kurtz, but was fortunate enough to be taken in by a Member of Parliament who supported her legal education. Beyond that, how she initially met Kurtz, I couldn't learn.
Marlow displayed two more photographs. "Do these two guys seem familiar from the night you and Kurtz clashed?"
Doug recognized the short bald bearded thug and his tall rawboned acquaintance with an eye-patch. "Yes. Keira Knightley was with me that evening. I recall they fought on Kurtz's side and resembled a couple of minor villains from her Disney pirate movies."
"Their names were Arthur Pintel and Merlin Ragetti. Descendants of pirates that stimulated those characters, probably even their blood. They had been enforcers and go-betweens for Kurtz since the 1990s, worked for the Noonan company before that. After your confrontation, we got them to rat on Kurtz in exchange for less time in prison. They divulged a lot about his organization before both ending up murdered in alleys, stabbed with the same method as Jessie.
"I think his attorney had an alibi."
"And no criminal record. Honestly, I would like for her to be a criminal too, but... she doesn't match our profile of Kurtz's blade man, and we can't convict someone based solely on a name."
Doug considered asking if she'd ever investigated her in depth, but decided against it as he was no longer a cop and didn't want to risk Marlow's good humor by raising the subject. He might be wrong. "I recall another blade wielder that night. A black rascal with dyed green hair and teeth like a vampire."
Marlow revealed another photo. "You mean Maxwell Harris, another of Kurtz's errand boys. He committed some petty crimes in your past stomping ground of Austin before relocating here shortly before you. Perhaps you crossed paths at some point?"
"Perhaps. I did believe he seemed familiar that night. Is he still around and working for Kurtz?"
"He was sent up for assault and long-established robbery charges that night. He got out in 2007 and declared he was going straight. These days, he works in a homeless shelter in Whitechapel. No link to the mob we've developed. He was inside when Pintel and Ragetti died, out of the country at the time Jessie died. He's not it."
"How many additional murders have occurred?"
"At least two dozen, which if it's the same killer surpasses Jack the Ripper. But again, we have no proven case against a hitman. No letters were submitted to the police like the Ripper did, and no one in Kurtz's organization we've turned has been able to identify his assassin. We haven't had a solid case against the guy himself since a drug trafficking incident in 2006, and he got that charge cleared due to a lack of admissible evidence. Blasted MacHeath."
"What about the lameness? How did that happen?"
"An ancient injury made worse by multiple sclerosis. He rescued my sister from a lorry that was taking a curve too fast and nearly took her out. He got hurt instead and snapped his femur. Of course, I later discovered that he fixed the whole thing. The driver was Francois Mercel, another of his goons. Plus, Kurtz had Jessie murdered later on anyway. The guy is wicked, through and through."
Emotions surged through Doug's thoughts. He calmed them. He wanted to take Kurtz down. However, he couldn't be sure of any of his theories, he reminded himself. He had also never met Kurtz's attorney and had no proof of his conjectures. "Where'd he get Igor Ivanov from?"
"Ex-Spetznaz mercenary, quit working for Mother Russia when the Soviet Union fell. He wandered through Africa and Europe, then emerged as a boxer in Kurtz's employ. He was similar to your man Clarke, from what I've heard."
"Clarke once deserted Kurtz's employ and helped me beat him back in 2003. I'm convinced he'll do it again this time."
"I'm also convinced of that. But he's not the only former Kurtz employee operating in your operation." Marlow introduced him to two more photos. "These two have worked at your massage spa slash dungeon club since 2005. Didn't you review their resumes?"
"I..." Doug frowned, considering the photographs of the large bearded Viking and the blonde woman in leather with her spiky blonde hair and a spiteful grin. "I'd need a reminder to recall who these people are exactly. I saw many of Kurtz's employees that night."
Now they're working here, keeping an eye on me for Kurtz. Just great.
I can vet them, maybe even turn them. I didn't know Kurtz would come after me again. I guess he's been having a lot of losses since 2003 and sees regaining his building as a way to restore his wealth. Or he's just getting old - he's in his late fifties now - and wants to settle scores with those who defeated him in the past, seeking vengeance.
Whatever the reason, Kurtz needs to be taken down, preferably for good this time. I'll check out Heyst and Nostromo. Any other suggestions?
The police would be pleased if we could help arrest Kurtz again, though they can't accept evidence obtained illegally.
There's the "fruit of the poisoned tree" problem. I'm aware of that. Thanks, Inspector. I'll be in touch.
Marlow said good luck and left.
Doug turned to his computer and sent out emails. The first was to London's Gargoyle Clan, a supernatural defense group who had helped him before. Next were emails to some old college friends, computer experts. He thought about disguising murder-for-hire payments as attorney fees.
He sent out a summons email to Jodie Lee and another one to Ray Coleman. The latter contained instructions to bring Heyst and Nostromo to him immediately.
One day later.
Conrad's Pub.
Jim Kurtz was uncomfortable in his office chair. Mackenzie MacHeath was stroking and sucking his cock.
They'd been acquainted since 1988 and lovers since 1991. MacHeath was a young defense lawyer when they were introduced through her mentor, an attorney hunting for clients among notorious criminals. Kurtz reached out to him through email, using funds stolen from the Irish Republican Army and stashed away in secret accounts during the Troubles. Her mentor had been unable to help Kurtz - his sentence was almost up - so Kurtz asked her to kill him later. MacHeath, meanwhile, had been useful for a long time.
Kurtz had traced MacHeath's background soon after he left prison the first time. He wanted to know about his lawyer and his new associate. MacHeath's mentor, Theodore Carter, was all ego with no real skill. It was MacHeath's associate who impressed Kurtz. A mole in their office, some observations, and Kurtz found out the murderer was MacHeath herself.
MacHeath was a textbook psychopath, a legal genius with a skill for knives. She had developed her knife skills by killing stray animals as a child and later strays when she grew up. Kurtz remembered the first time she appeared before him, sobbing and confessing her crimes. She claimed to want to stop killing but couldn't.
"You won't stop," Kurtz told her. "Instead, you'll work for me. Kill who I tell you to kill and get a big payday." He'd employ her for her legal talents as well.
The deranged woman was so grateful she threw herself at Kurtz after his offer. At first, he declined her advances, but later accepted them out of curiosity and some attraction. MacHeath was outstanding in bed as she was at murder. I wouldn't marry her, though. That would mean losing her legal services in court. We hide our relationship so secretly. When I discovered Jessie cheating on me, I took MacHeath back shortly after her death. She could've told her brother a lot about my operations. I loved her for a time, and our relationship helped me thwart Willard Marlow, but... it was a mistake on my part.
"You won't leave me," Kurtz told her. "Instead, you'll keep working for me. Perform your duties and earn a huge salary." He also intended to use her legal talents.
The demented woman was so grateful she got on Kurtz after his offer. He initially declined her advances, then accepted them out of curiosity and some attraction. MacHeath became skilled in both murder and lovemaking. I never married her. That would mean losing her services in court. We kept our relationship secret. When I discovered Jessie straying - where else could she have been, in clubs like Rovers? - I took MacHeath back soon after her death. She had to perish eventually. Her brother might have told a lot about my operations. I loved her for a while, and our relationship helped me thwart Willard Marlow, but... it was a mistake.
Doug turned his attention to his computer and sent emails. One was to the Gargoyle Clan in London, which had helped him before. Another was to a couple of old college friends, computer experts. He considered using attorney fees as a cover for murder-for-hire payments.
He dispatched a summons email to Jodie Lee, and another to Ray Coleman. The latter demanded she bring Heyst and Nostromo to him immediately.
Their recent lover was gently biting his privates with her mouth, giving him a touch of pain in her attention. Then her tongue licked him, relieving the sting. Kurtz gasped in thanks and ran his hands through MacHeath's hair.
A few sucks and twitches later, he came in her mouth.
MacHeath gulped down his semen, then released him with a smile. "As always, you treat me so well, Boss."
"And I appreciate your commitment, Mackenzie." Kurtz sighed after releasing his climax. "I have a question for you, Mackenzie. You mentioned how I should take back the Inside Out Building. Why did you want that?"
"Remember Igor? He defeated you. You shouldn't leave him unpunished for his transgressions. However, the club itself is rightfully yours." In addition, Kurtz thought to himself, that upstart American has had more victory with the building than I ever did. That must end.
"I have a plan for Igor," he told his assassin. "You and Igor will first settle their personal feud. Then I will settle mine. I intend to destroy both his club and Clarke's training facility next door. But first, someone particular in his organization needs to be eliminated."
"May I eliminate them for you, Boss? It's been a while since I've killed for you. Desire is building up in me."
"That'll work, yeah," Kurtz agreed, standing up and dropping his pants. MacHeath took off her jacket, undid her skirt, then removed her blouse. She discarded her bra, exposing medium-sized pink nipples. Her panties fell off too, revealing a completely shaven vagina. She stepped out of her heels and joined Kurtz in the bedroom. They both snorted some white powder before getting into bed and holding each other.
MacHeath thanked Kurtz for fulfilling both sides of her nature. She admired how he helped control her urges and redirect them towards serving his purposes, and as a reward, he satisfied her dark cravings. And the people she's had the desire to kill for Kurtz were wide-ranging... her mentor, his unfaithful wife, and his turncoat employees. She hoped their relationship would last for many more years. Despite her occasional thoughts of permanently ending Kurtz, she knew that it wouldn't benefit her to kill the man who was so useful alive and exciting.
Kurtz knew that MacHeath could take his life at any time she desired. But indulging these insidious feelings and allowing her to dominate him psychologically added excitement to their connection. So long as he controlled her path, he thought.
They unified their bodies once again in bed, and their twisted giggles and moans filled the room.
Despite being outside the office, Jodie Lee Nichols frowned while listening to the recording she had caught using her directional microphone.
***
Inside Out Lounge.
After two days.
Doug Ramsay sat in the lounge at Inside Out, hoping his preparations were enough.
He had talked to Axel and Viola. They had once worked for Kurtz and were in prison when he was defeated. When they got out, they applied to work at his club as massage therapists. They were conveniently recruited by Marceline George, the woman who managed the spa in his love hotel. She never figured out they had worked for Kurtz before – Doug had built the spa and hired her a little over three months after he opened his club. Both Axel and Viola had sworn they no longer worked for Kurtz and had no intention of doing so. Doug had taken their word, but had them secretly watched until he solved his disagreement with Kurtz.
Hoping his arrangements would be enough, he listened intently. Igor took his turn at one end of the bar, setting the tone for the night, while Doug's agents listened in, preparing to deliver justice.
However, Asher successfully observed and noted numerous criminals associating with Kurtz and even pilfered a few of their pockets, which contained cocaine and other illegal substances. This action gained Marlow's approval. Kurtz had also discussed plans to assassinate one of Doug's employees with MacHeath. In response, Doug organized a trap by instructing all his staff to carefully monitor each other's actions. Though they were unsure of which employee was to be killed, they were determined to prevent any harm.
Keith Wang-Matthews, Doug's hacker friend, had infiltrated Kurtz's computer system and discovered his bank account details. Although there was nothing that could be easily used in court, the numerous cash withdrawals were suspicious. Accountants Shauna and Tara Shapiro advised Doug that further forensic audits were necessary. The PayPal transactions, however, were traceable, and Inspector Marlow had obtained a subpoena for them in connection to his past experience in drug trafficking investigations. This meant that the bank would have to provide the records to the authorities. Even if Kurtz was alerted, these records could still be used against him. Shauna and Tara would assist Doug in tracing transactions and hopefully discover corrupt officials in Kurtz's payroll.
Doug decided to visit Maxwell Harris at a homeless shelter out of curiosity. Previously involved in a street brawl with Doug in 2003, Harris responded with a "Yeah, we met twice," when reminded. Before that, Harris was a member of an armed gang that robbed a bank in Manor Texas. Doug, a responding officer, had given them the keys to their escape vehicle while telling them that their situation was hopeless, as many other officers were surrounding the building. Their leader panicked and fired a shot at Doug, who managed to counterattack. "I got the Medal of Valor," Doug said. "But I thought we'd arrested all the bad guys that day."
Harris confirmed his former association with Kurtz and stated that they no longer worked together. Doug daydreamed about a strategy to defeat Kurtz, trusting that things would work out and that the fight taking place that day would determine the outcome.
Inside Out had been set up with a boxing ring attracting a large audience. In one corner, Igor Ivanov simmered with fury and spite. In the other, Clarke exuded serenity and anger. Dr. Tess Winfield was wiping Clarke's perspiration with a towel after the eighth of their ten planned rounds. Both appeared bruised, and Clarke seemed more mobile. Doug remembered that Tess had spent over an hour having sex with Clarke before the fight to calm him and reaffirm the support of his friends. Clarke responded positively, stating his intention to win.
Doug inserted himself into the scenario midway through, joining the sexual display where Tess used her mouth and fingers on Doug. They had both been part of various group sex activities in the past, and Doug was aware of Clarke's bisexuality. As they waited for their climax, Tess positioned herself between them, with Doug and Clarke each thrusting into her in turn while she reached climax multiple times. Afterward, they shared a conversation about the upcoming fight and the importance of Clarke's victory.
A bell rang, ringing aggressively as blonde albinist Asher gave it a hit. Quickly, both Clarke and Igor sprang to their feet and rushed towards each other aggressively. They began punching fists wildly, with Clarke focusing on body blows while Igor tried to defend his battered head. Both fighters had utilized wrestling and mixed martial arts moves beforehand, but this round only allowed punches due to the high degree of exhaustion. Clarke and Igor faced each other, throwing jabs, uppercuts, and haymakers, but missing more than hitting.
Right as Asher was about to signal the end of the round, Igor charged at Clarke, fists blazing. Quickly reacting, Clarke dodged the assault and landed a powerful blow on Igor's lower back, sending him crashing to the ground.
Nearby, Kurtz, who sat next to Doug in the crowd area, leaned in as the countdown began. "Watch, your fighter has developed just as well as mine. I'm impressed," he said jokingly.
Doug, standing confidently, nodded. "You'll leave me alone after this, I'm keeping my club."
"I'll see about that. The count hasn't reached zero yet."
Onto the seventh count, Igor tried to stand but failed, collapsing again.
"Igor loses, Kurtz," Doug taunted, standing up while the clapping cheers of the crowd surrounded them. Kurtz's frown sharpened and he gripped his cane tightly. Sliding forward, he handed Doug a check.
"Thank you," Doug responded, accepting the cheque.
"This isn't the end, Doug," Kurtz growled low, his fingers tense.
Without a second thought, Doug let Kurtz go. In his own mind, he knew the underhanded tricks were not over. Earlier in the ring, he had managed to insert a transmitter into Kurtz's coat, something he learned from the Gypsy Asher. With cooperation from Marlow, this recording would be legal.
Approaching the ring with pride, Doug praised Clarke's victory. "You did fantastic! How's Tess, though?"
Tess, standing beside Clarke, assessed the injuries and gave a thumbs up. "Just a little rest should do the trick. We'll delay the party for celebration, okay? Let's keep things low-key for a while."
"Got it, Doc." With a cheeky grin, Clarke waved to the cheerful crowd. "Where's Mike? We need some Queen music for this!"
***
Leaving the building, Kurtz strode past its seating area, which had numerous sofas and armchairs for people waiting in line. expecting to find all his men there. He slid into the backseat of the car, next to the thicker, brown-haired thug named Warhead. A confident-looking Mackenzie MacHeath sat in the front seat, wearing a patient facial expression.
"Well?" Kurtz asked, intrigued. "Is it done?"
She pulled out a blood-soaked glove. "Yes. He stopped after the eigth round to use the bathroom. I've been waiting for this."
"Good job." Turning towards the driver, Kurtz asked, "Were you able to plant your phone?"
"Yes. We planted the triggers as well."
"Excellent. That should sort things out." Kurtz grabbed his own phone, inputting a series of commands. "There. There's a countdown timer set."
"What about Igor? He's still there," the driver commented.
"He should know the consequences of failure."
"Aye aye, sir." The driver took off, quickly leaving the building behind. Two winged figures fast flew after the vehicle. On a different building, a woman adjusted a directional microphone then called Doug on the phone. "You've had a stroke of luck, Doug, but you must find Mike and a stray phone near the stage. It probably has a blasting cap in it."
The staff set out to search for clues. As Doug headed towards the DJ booth, he found Ray Coleman seated there and playing the Queen song requested by Clarke. "I've paid my dues," he sang along. "Time after time..."
"Ray!" Doug grabbed his attention. "Where's Mike?"
"We will rock you," Ray sung, still oblivious to the situation at hand. "He took a restroom break a while ago. What's up?"
"Find him. We need him immediately."
"I'm still in the groove," Ray continued to sing. "You've really got me feelin' small..."
"He's dead," a voice by the name of Asher Stravjan announced. Doug whirled around to see a pale albino man resembling Clint Eastwood. Asher, who had been muted since a seven-year-old injury caused by terrorists, used a cell phone text-to-speech app to communicate. "I found him in the restroom. He was stabbed three times."
"Damn it!" Doug thought. This could've been predicted. But how did Kurtz know about Mike's skills? Forget about that, got to fix this! "Inform Jodie Lee and Clan London. Is there any other bomb expert?"
"I've been trained a bit," Ray said. "I can look at the device."
Just then, a noble-featured Japanese man named Yoshi Aoi dashed up to Doug. "We found the phone, or what we think is it. If there are other triggers..."
"Yoshi and I can search for them," Ray said. "Yoshi's also been trained in Explosives Disarming. We're not as good as Mike, but..."
"It'll have to do. Hurry!" Doug waved them on and looked around. Two Jamaican men were helping Igor Ivanov out of the ring. Doug saw an opportunity and approached them. "Hey Igor! Your boss left you, you could repay the favor."
Igor gazed at Doug with a menacing look. "Kurtz would never abandon me, nor I him. You're lying, American."
"I have everything recorded." Doug pressed a button on his phone, playing Kurtz's voice saying Igor should know the consequences of failure. The two Jamaicans also paled. "Your triggers, now!"
"Daris and Sanka?" Doug asked, remembering the Jamaican men had backed up Igor during the previous fight with Kurtz. "You better show me where you dropped your triggers or we're all dead. Asher! Start the building evacuation, just in case."
Just then, a green flash of light appeared before Doug and a short androgynous humanoid with gray skin and long curly blonde hair draped over pointed ears appeared. Silvan Farrow wore purple robes trimmed in gold and had glowing green eyes. "Regal Ramsay," the Faerie Alien Hybrid greeted Doug.
"Silvan." Doug raised an eyebrow. "Did my Friendship rank increase?"
"Yes," Silvan replied. "As long as you survive this night, I will help with the explosives and remind you of London's strict laws against terrorist activities."
"That became harsher after the 2005 bombings." Doug smiled. "And since Kurtz spoke his plans outside my club where I'm allowed to place audio devices... if we survive tonight, Inspector Marlow is going to be very happy."
On the streets of London.
"We should be far enough now," Kurtz told Mercel. "Pull over. I want to watch the fireworks." He took out his phone and scowled as it began to ring. Hesitantly, Kurtz answered the call. "Who is this?"
"Kurtz," Doug Ramsay's voice replied. "Your plans have failed. Three of your men who knew about your operations have turned on you. Plus, we'll be able to prove charges of preparing terrorist activities. The punishment’s a life sentence in the UK."
Fury surged through Kurtz. He keyed the phone, then realized the number Doug was calling from was Mercel's. "So you found the triggers?"
"Yep. Your Yardie boys led us to two of them. Igor helped us find the third. But that's not all, we also disarmed the backup timer," Doug paused. "I had other suspects, namely the man you killed, whom Viola Nostromo finally confessed to betraying."
Seething with rage, Kurtz ordered Mercel, "Call our man watching Viola's son. He dies at once."
Just as Mercel reached for his phone, a large object landed on the car's hood with a thump and a flash of purple light. "Bigger issue, boss!" the French thug shouted. "It's the monsters!"
Five of London's Gargoyles had landed beside the car and surrounded it. A humanoid griffin in a leather jacket smashed the driver's window with his fist, then seized the door and yanked it from its hinges. The female green dragon who landed on the hood shot another round of magic into the car's hood, stopping its engine. A Gargoyle resembling a humanoid unicorn tossed a handful of dust at Mercel, ordering him to "Sleep!" Abruptly, the French thug slumped in his seat. A gold humanoid lion ripped off the car's right rear door. A female humanoid boar with wings approached Kurtz, her eyes glowing red.
"Catch her!" Kurt shouted at Warhead, who jumped at the flying pig-like creature named Gargoyle. Kurt and MacHeath exited the car through the opposite door. The griffin moved to intercept them, but Mercel broke free from the unicorn's sleep spell and jumped in its way.
Kurt and MacHeath quickly fled, with Kurt dropping his cane as he mustered extra energy. Then two more Gargoyles appeared in front of them. A white humanoid deer named Inspector Marlow dismounted, pointing his gun at Kurt while demanding surrender. A crimson bird-like Gargoyle pounced on him before he could speak. Inspector Marlow's Gargoyle comrades had knocked out Warhead and Mercel.
Mackenzie MacHeath swore and ran in the opposite direction. A woman on a motorbike emerged from an alley, swinging a bat at the woman's back and knocking her off the bike. "You're not escaping!" Jodie Lee Nichols exclaimed, jumping off her bike as MacHeath regained her feet.
The hairy woman snarled, grabbing her knife as it magically appeared. Jodie Lee whipped out her own knife in response.
"You're not faster than me!" MacHeath lunged. Jodie Lee darted left, brandishing her self-firing knife and activating it. The knife pierced MacHeath's throat.
"For Jessie!" Marlow cried, firing his gun, hitting MacHeath in the back one second after the knife struck.
"And Mike," Doug stated, appearing from a green-glowing portal with Silvan Farrow following closely behind. He retrieved handcuffs and walked towards Kurtz. "May I?"
"Please, go ahead," Marlow responded. "I'll read his rights."
Kurtz didn't contest the cuffs being put on his wrists; he just bowed. "Well done."
Inside Out, The Following Day.
Viola Nostromo verified to Doug that Kurtz indeed had someone watching her son Martin. Igor Ivanov managed to approach him without arousing his suspicions and notified him that the babysitting duty was complete. Both men were subsequently arrested by two of Marlow's subordinates.
Congratulating her, Doug said, "I forgive your betrayal. And you can keep your job."
Discussing the events at a bar, Ray said, "I'm thankful your deception worked out. If we hadn't found out about the babysitter, your son might've died."
Doug replied, "Lessons learned. At least, fellow agent Kurtz faces life in prison, and the rest of his associates are in captivity. The club is safe."
Ray somberly added, "I feel for Mike's loss. But we won."
Noticing a lady in a black business suit approaching the bar, Doug asked, "May I help you, ma'am?"
"I'm the new caterer and drink provider for this establishment," the woman answered, extending her hand. "You're the owner?"
"Yes," Doug acknowledged. Feeling heart palpitations at her smile, he responded politely, "Welcome to Inside Out."
Final Thoughts.
Meanwhile, Viola Nostromo confirmed that Kurtz indeed had a mole monitoring her son, Martin. Igor Ivanov bravely informed Kurtz that the spy operation was over. Both men were subsequently arrested by two of Marlow's minions.
"I forgive your betrayal," Doug told Viola, "And you can retain your employment."
Looking back at a successful mission, Ray shared his support, "I'm relieved your deception worked. Had we not learned about the babysitter, your son might've been hurt if not worse."
"Kurtz will be imprisoned for life, while most of his associates have been apprehended," Doug added. "Our beloved club is protected."
Ray sympathized with Mike's loss, "The cost of victory... we won, but must acknowledge the sadness of loss."
Meanwhile, a stunning lady in a black-tailored suit arrived at the bar. "Hello, Mr. Douglas," she said, introducing herself as the new beverage and meal supplier. "Am I speaking to the club's proprietor?"
"I am," Doug confirmed. His heart pounded at her charming grin. "A warm welcome, welcome to Inside Out."
End.
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