I have been tucked up with funerals and the like and am currently away on a little job and will not be back in the UK until Thursday of next week.   I wish I could say it was nice and that I was having a lovely time, but it isn’t and I am not.  Keep watching the BBC website  and the Africa pages, it seems as if the whole continent is hurtling into total mayhem.

Still for us it’s and ill wind that blows no good and there is a lot of money to be made by some, the problem is choosing the right side and I don’t just mean the ones who will win and pay you, but the RIGHT side.

The thing is that I don’t know if there is a right side at the moment.

First Harry The Dog.

Then Eve, my mate Billys mum - she was like a second mum to me since I was 8.  She was always there for a chat and a cuppa if I was passing through York.

Yesterday my sister aged 48 from cancer of the Ovaries.  We didn’t see a lot of each other but we understood each other and got on pretty well.

Death is a big part of my life,  but jeez this is taking the piss.

My next posts will be on the merits of undertakers and the best funeral sandwiches.   Actually Eves are in front.  They do a nice sarnie at the Chase Hotel York should you be interested.  Their lemon cake is pretty good as well.

Sadly my sister had moved south so no lemon cake for me, besides which her old man is a bit of tihght wad

Upwards and onwards.

Initially Gavin seemed as if he was going to be sensible, but then like a lot of people he finds some renewed confidence and changed his mind.  I suppose he had spent so long hanging around with low life scum bags that preyed on the vulnerable that he was too full of shit to realise he was in big trouble.  He was sitting on a rather grubby red settee, his hands were still restrained behind his back while we had a look around the flat.  Our initial search turned up signs of some drug use, a lot of empty Malibu and Alco pop bottles, several vibrators and a video camera.

I was in the living room with Gavin when suddenly he stood up - not always that easy with your hands behind your back.

“You lot are in deep shit you know?” he announce arrogantly

“Oh really, whys that then Gavin?” I asked somewhat amused

“My mum and dad are both barristers, in fact my mums a judge” he announced with chest swelling pride

“Oh that is nice, judges get good pension too from what I understand” I replied

He swaggered over to where I was looking at some till receipts.

“They’re going to have you big time and you wont get a pension” He hissed.

“Oh really”

“Yeah”

“And just how and why do you think that’s going to happen?”

“Cos you haven’t got a warrant and you have assaulted me and ….”

At this point Andy G and Boris came into the room.

“Excuse me Boss, but you better have a look at this”

Andy was holding two hand guns - they looked like walther PPK’s and Boris had three rather nasty looking combat knives.  Not the sort of thing your average run of the mill kid on the block should have under their bed.  This discovery added a new level of seriousness to the proceedings.  I was not going to fuck about, the other part of team need to know that they could be facing heavier resistance than originally anticipated.

“What the fuck is going on here and where are the rest of the crew Gavin” I asked

“Wha?”

“I said what’s going on and where are you’re mates and the two girls”

“I dunno what you’re on about” He snorted

“Gavin, let me explain in simple sentences that I hope you will understand.  We are not patient men. We don’t give a fat frogs arse who or what your parent are or do for a living. With me so far?”

He nodded

“I want to know where are the others and what is going on here?”

Then he fucked up once too often, first off he thought we were the old bill and then he thought he could fight us.

“I’ve got rights, if you want me to talk you’ll have to fucking make me but I’ll have you, you you cunts”

“Always happy to oblige a civil request Gavin.”

I turned  to speak to Boris and Gavin seized his opportunity and lunged at me and head butted me.  I ask you what a shit head, not because he head butted me, although there was that as well, but any dude with an ounce of savvy who has had his door forced open by three substantial middle aged gentleman and then effectively restrained and handcuffed with considerable force and very little effort on their part must surely realise that their situation was not too clever.  But oh no,  Gavin was sprinting down that difficult road.

The head butt got me on the cheek and didn’t connect as well as it might have, but it still hurt. I spun round in retaliation my left elbow drove into Gavins throat. His head shot back his legs gave may and he went down like a sack of spuds.  My booted foot came down onto his face with sufficient force to hurt him but not do any real injury, the blow to the throat would have injured him enough to focus the mind.

I moved my foot and bent down and with my right hand grabbed him by the shirt front and pulled him from the floor and threw him on to the settee.  I would gather from the way he lay there and was gurgling that he was not feeling too grand.

“Now then fuck head I asked you very nicely, what’s going on here and where are the others”

Fair dues to him he had decided to trudge that difficult road and was not going to abandon that decision easily.

“I’m not saying anything till I’ve spoken to my solicitor” He gasped

The fucker actually thought he had rights.

“Last chance Gavin”

“Fuck off”

“I’ll take that as a no then.  Boris the lucky bag please”

The lucky bag is a large black canvas holdall or tool bag and contains and array of hand bits and bobs that we need to gain entry to a property or should we meet with unforeseen resistance.  We also use it for transporting small stuff we might seize such as the guns and the knives.  Now we could just kick the answers out of Gavin, however that is pretty crude and brutal and to be honest the threat or fear of something can be more forceful than the act itself.  Britain and America are obsessed with violent crime, but how many people do you know who have been the victims of violent crime.  I bet the answer is none or on very rare occasions one.  However we lock our selves in our cars in case we are hijacked or robbed on the way to work, we invest a fortune in cameras, alarms, locks and a whole host of other stuff, that we are told we need, but in reality all we are doing is making ourselves scared.

Boris and Andy put the weapons they had found in the open bag.

“Boris the bolts please”

Boris smiled, opened the bag and rummaged around and then produced a pair of wide jaw bolt croppers which I took from him. Boris and Andy moved beside Gavin and without saying anything held him down and pulled his trousers and boxers off.

“What are you doing?” Yelped Gavin

“What do you think big boy?” Asked Andy G “I think the boss is getting low on patience here and you have twatted him, at a guess I would think he is about to cut your cock off unless you get wise and start playing ball”

“He wouldn’t dare, the police can do that”

The silly twat.  We all started laughing.

“What’s so funny” Gavin wheezed

“You” said Boris “You think were the the Old Bill”

“Aren’t you?” Gavin gasped as the penny finally started to drop

“Nope” I said and opened the bolt croppers. ” Boris would you oblige please”

Gavins bladder gave up the ghost at this point and he did a more than passable impression of the Manquin Pisse.  Boris Grabbed Gavin by the head and forced him forward and wiped the remaining urine from his crotch with his shirt and then took hold of Gavins foreskin between his finger and thumb and pulled the honourable member for Catford so that it was nicely extended.  I moved in with the bolt croppers.  Funnily enough Gavin seemed to want to squeal, wriggle around and move about.  Can’t think why!  Unfortunately for Gavin,  Boris and Andy were too strong and too experienced for some scrawny youth to be a problem.

Five minutes later we had left the flat with all the information we required and a much cleared picture of what had been going on and were on our way to join the others.  My cheek was swelling a treat and was bloody sore, but hey ho that goes with the job I am afraid.

We had the weapons and cam corders in the lucky bag and very subdued but wiser, drier Gavin in the back of the van, todger intacticus.

He died doing what was right, so I don’t suppose he will even make page 96 in the Sun.

Thanks for being such a good friend over the last 42 years.

Give A a kiss and say heel to all those that know me.

I will look after yours.

I cant say any more, but you know what I mean

N

Ps

Do remember when we woke your deaf neighbour  up playing the spoons and that wooden deck chair you used to have.

You’ve painted up your lips and rolled and curled your tinted hair,
Ruby are you contemplating going out somewhere?
The shadows on the wall tell me the sun is going down,
Oh Ruby, don’t take your love to town.

Oh Ruby, for God’s sake, turn around

Stay lucky.

I am having a couple of days away for some R&R, but will be back next Tuesday and then should be more attentive for the next couple of weeks.

Have a good weekend

UN

I carried on to make the RV with a Big Mac and the other members of the team.

I was taking a good mouthfull of Big mac (if you will excuse the expression) when I got another call from the Scouser.  You probably don’t need to know this, but in an effort to answer the phone half the lettuce and my dill pickle dropped out of my burger splatting mayo and stuff all over the place which caused much hilarity amongst the others.  Anyway the Scouse Git told me that Danny had been to a school a couple of miles away from his gaff and had “chatted” to a girl aged about 13 or 14.

I need to tell you that our little teams have been doing a lot of work with residents associations in order to obtain ASBOs against certain little shit bags.  For his part the Scouse Git has been doing a lot of work in his native Liverpool and his accent gets stronger.  If you are from Merseyside then please don’t take this too personally but the accent gets right on my fucking tits.  There I’ve said and if you’re offended well - sorry like whack.

“I have to be honest boss and say she looks sort of geeky kid like” quipped Scouser.

“How do you mean?” I asked

“Well she didn’t look the sort of bird who would hang around with a scroate like our boy, but she was all over him like a fucking rash like.  I thought she was gonna shag ‘im in the street on the bonnet of his fookin car like”

“I see” I said

“Oh yeah all her mates were there an all like and he was givin’ her plenty of smelly finger like and they were all well impressed woz the others like”.  Smelly finger, what a quaint turn of phrase, still, say what you like about him but he is succinct and I was left in no doubt about what had been going on.

“Others?”

“Yeah her mates like”

“And this was in broad daylight outside the school?” I asked rather surprised.

“Oh yeah”

“What about teachers?”

“What about them like,  outside school time outside school property, they just wanted to fuck off ‘ome like”

“Where are they now?”

“The geeky bird and ‘im are back at his place”

The pre op briefing had already been done yesterday.  All members of the team knew the basic story and all I had to do was fill them in on the details of who was who and where we were going.  The objective of this job was always very simple, find the girl as quickly as possible and return her to her parents.  If we could not find her then find someone who would probably be able to lead us to her and either follow them to her or persuade them to tell us where she is.

The basic plan was for the address and car to be watched and for Scouse Git and Obo1.  Obo1 being a 100% surveillance bod would get photos or video and any other support we might need.  Should Danny leave then they would follow them off. Support for the obo team would be given by Benny the Boat, BF, Skinny Bob and Andy G who would be in one van and were car three zero.

Myself, Boris, Dave H and Obo2 would then take over the obo on Dannys flat and were  car three one.  Scouse Git (SG) and Obo1 were inn the car and would be Car sixty nine.  Why sixty nine? Well if the truth be known at some stage during the op we are bound to say “Car sixty nine where are you?”  Chortle chortle.  I know, its juvenile but its a tradition and makes us happy, so what the fuck.

Danny would be referred to as the punter and Sam as the fare.

The reason for these call signs was so that when using radios should anyone over hear the transmissions they would simply think we were mini cabs.  For example if Danny moved off and had Sam on board the message would be “Hello three zero, six nine here just leaving the last address with the fare onboard”  If she wasn’t with him the message would be something like “Hello three zero, six nine here I have the punter but he’s not sure of the address”

We hoped that Sam was with Danny at his flat, but if she wasn’t the surveillance should give us some leads as to where she was.

Being winter it was dark early which meant we would have the cover of darkness in which to move less conspicuously, but it was frigging freezing and it is no joke sitting about in a car or van for long periods with no heating going.

At about 19.30 Car 69 called in “Hello three zero, six nine here I have the punter and his black friend and two girls on board but they are not sure of the address”

“Thanks six nine keep us posted”

Boris punted our van from where we were on holding and parked up in Dannys street where we could see the flat.  From where we were we could see there was a light on in the flat.  Scouse Git had said that Danny and the black lad had left with two girls.  I had seen one girl at the window earlier in the afternoon and there was the one that Danny had picked up from school.  I had no reason to believe that there was another girl in there, but it was safe to assume that the other lad - Gavin was still in.

five minutes later the phone rang, it was BF to say that they were in Stanstead Road heading towards Forest Hill.  I told BF that we thought Gavin was still in the flat and that we were going to pop up for a chat and to let us know pronto if the others should start heading back our way.

It was time to get ready.  The youths we were dealing with were a bit of an unknown quantity, but we had no doubt that they were likely to be handy which is why this was a good time to be wearing body armour.   The others had theirs on, but I had to change in the back of the van.  I use a lightweight covert item which offers a high level of protection without being too heavy.  A costly item at £560 but well worth it.  However there is a danger that people can think they are invincible just because they are wearing body armour.  There is no substitute for not letting anyone get that close to you in the first instance and for not allowing a situation to get out of hand.  Its all about controlling the play.  Haviong said that there are times when you cock it up and it all goes Pete Tong.

Five minutes later and I was standing outside Danny’s front door with Andy G and Boris standing to my right out of sight.  I could hear music from inside the flat and tried ringing the door bell.  Nothing happened.  I rang it again and still nothing.  Maybe it’s broken rang again and also knocked on the door when I hear “Keep your fucking hair on I’m coming” and the door was flung open by the youth I had seen at the window and I believed to be Gavin

“Who are you, what the fuck do you want” He barked in a trong south London accent

“Are you Gavin?” I asked.  He was visibly taken aback

“Who are you?” he sneered back and I detected something in his voice.  Actually it was his accent, it was not quite so London and more than a hint of posh home counties.

“I’m Uncle Norman” I said quietly and firmly

He looked dumbfounded “But I don’t have an Uncle Norman”

My right hand drove into his throat as if to crab him but instead of grabbing I pushed through,  whilst at the same time my right leg went behind his legs.  The force of the blow to the throat caused Gavin to shoot backwards and trip over my leg.  He hit the floor like a sack of shit and in one movement I was in kneeling on his head.  Andy G and Boris were in the door was closed and they were into the flat checking to see who else was there.  The force of the blow to the throat, the shock and the pain of having a 105kilo chap kneel on the side of your head meant that Gavin really didn’t feel like fighting.  However there is no pint loosing an advantage and as I said it’s all about control.  I rolled him on to his front and yanked his hand behind his back and restrained them using two cable ties as handcuffs.  There are handcuffs made from this material but for legal reasons we don’t use them.

Boris and Andy were back and confirmed the flat was clear.

Poor Old Gavin was gibbering by this stage and kept saying “You’ve made a dreadful mistake sir, You’ve made a dreadful mistake”  There was no mistaking the public school accent now.

I took hold of the hair on the top of Gavin’s head and pulled him none to gently to his feet and pushed him face first against the hall wall with a hefty thud

“Please don’t hurt me you have made a mistake you have the wrong person”

I spun him round so his back was to the wall

“And just why have I made a mistake Gavin” I asked quietly

“Because I told you I don’t have an Uncle Norman”

I patted him gently on the side of the face.

“You do now my old son”

Shortly after leaving Mr & Mrs B I spoke to Cyclops again and gave him the address for Danny that I was heading to.  He confirmed that the team, vehicles and kit were ready to deploy.  For the purpose of this little job we had hired one small van, two large  vans (Both the vans were white and were the ones with double crew cabs and with the panelled backs and one non descript mid size  car for short term surveillance.

It was the same team we had used in Nigeria for the hostage job last year.   No we did not expect to run into heavy arms fire, but if I was to amble up to Danny’s gaff right this very minute there was a good chance I would encounter fierce amateur resistance from at least one geezer , but probably more.  No doubt these lad would think of themselves as well ‘ard and the scene would be most unpleasant and would be an unnecessary risk and complication.  Far better to go in mob handed knowing as much about your opponents as possible. This way we would gain the maximum advantage from being trained, disciplined, fit, strong, experienced, well equipped dirty fuckers who know that you cannot win every fight.  However the elements of planning and surprise would be our biggest strengths.

A full briefing was arranged for 17.00 at McDonalds in Catford.

Why McDonalds I hear you cry, well who is going to take a second look at a group of likely looking geezers at tea time at a McDonalds in South London?.  Besides which it is warm as is the grub.  Yeah yeah I know there was that geezer who lived on McDonalds for a month and grew a second head or something, but he wouldn’t have been any better off if he tried just eating lettuce for every meal for a month.  I don’t particularly like McDonalds, but I have been so hungry at times in my life that I am thankful for any reasonable meal.  Needs must.

I was on my way to SE6 to have a ganders at the address and to see if I could get a visual on the opposition.  I was lucky and got a cab heading into town and was up near Danny’s address fairly smartish.

Danny’s address turned out to be a low level block of what looked like council flats. There were a few people about but it was not busy busy.   I established that Danny’s flat was on the first floor.  There were two mortice locks and a yale on the front door but the frame didn’t look as if it was braced.  Looking up from the street you could see black sheets or clothes were pinned up at the windows.  The car was parked up in the street.  It was a flash scroates car and spoke volumes about it’s owner.  This was his baby, touch it and he toucha ya face! to quote the bumper stickers that used to abound.

I ambled past the car and started to cross the road.  As I passed the car I gave it a good rock as I did -  WHOOOOWA WHOOOOWA WHOOOOWA -  the alarm screeched into life.  I was across the other side of the road and just looked over my shoulder tres nonchalant like at the car and  carried on walking.  One of the sheets at the flat window was pulled back and a young white man of about 20 looked out into the street.  I could see his bare bony shoulders and he was either having a bad hair day or he was still kipping despite the time of day.  I reckoned that was Danny boy he looked agitated.  Somebody ‘ad touched his wheels like, and he were goin’ to sort ‘em

About half a nano second later he was in the street with a thick set black lad with a serious swagger who thought he was the dogs nadgers.  Danny was ready to protect his wheels cos he was ‘ard.  Boy could that black dude swagger.  Another young lad appeared at the window.  He also looked as if he had just been woken up.  I wondered if he might be Gavin but I was distracted when he was joined by a girl.  I didn’t get a good look at her but it was definitely not Sam, but probably about the same age.  The lad pushed her away from the exposed window.

In the meantime Danny had opened the car and reset the alarm and both he and his black mate were going to dislocate their necks looking up and down the street for who was responsible.  They saw me, a fifty year old fairly smartly dressed bloke,  but didn’t see anything to cause them alarm so they relaxed.

“Oi mate did ya see anyone mucking wid ma wheels” He called to me

“No sorry I didn’t,  I think it just went off” I shouted back and carried on walking

“You sure?” called the black lad

“Yes I am sure” and just walked on.

They chatted to each other and looked up and down the street and were happy that they didn’t see anyone in the street they knew or whom fell into the category of posing a threat, but looks can be deceptive.  Our two boyos assumed, wrongly, that there was nobody there who knew them or was looking at them or intended them harm.  Little did they know just hoe wrong they were.   Danny walked back to the flats whilst his black mate swaggered along beside him.  Even without knowing him I knew that Danny was a thug and that the black dude was a hot head and a violent piece of shit.

What a couple of tossers.  I didn’t like either of them and knew that even without discussing it,  my feelings would be shared by the others.

Still, this little exercise had done what I wanted it to.  I had seen who I thought was Danny or at least somebody who would be able to point me in the direction of Danny and Sam.  It also told me that there was a good chance of their being at least four people in the flat when we called and that if we were not careful they would be up for a bundle.  I waited about 15 minutes and then walked  back past the car and neatly dropped down and stuck a tracker underneath the passenger sill before heading off.  This particular tracker is a little more sophisticated than the ones I use when actually following a vehicle and can be monitored from further away.

I rang Cyclops and updated him on what we had.  He said he was monitoring the tracker now.

In an ideal world it is worth watching your prey for as long as you can, but we don’t live in an ideal world and I really had bad vibes about Sam’s safety and having seen the other girls I wondered about the full extent of what was going on with these herberts.  We would keep tabs on the car for the next few hours and when the time was right for us we would pop in for a chat with Danny and hopefully find Sam and remove her and anyone else who needed our assistance.

Of course Sam may not be there, but I was in no doubt that if she wasn’t, the lads would be more than happy to tell us where she was, but I doubted we would be offered a chocolate hobnob or a cuppa.  Still can’t have it all ways can you?

They had lost their daughter.  No she wasn’t dead, in fact she was still very much alive only they didn’t know where and even if they did,  it wouldn’t make much difference.

The papers are full of stories of sex trafficking.  Papers like The Daily Torygraph and The Daily Wail usually pump out bilge about Eastern Europeans and foreign johnnies being the ones entirely responsible for the countries ills.  I wonder who did all the naughtiness before these Eastern Europeans landed up.  Here’s another thought who or what did we blame for fuck ups before computers.

I digress.

Mr & Mrs Bromley are a professional, upper middle class English couple but they had experienced the horror of seeing their daughter become a victim of sex trafficking.

Up until a few months before they contacted me their daughter who I will call Sam was a happy 13-year-old who enjoyed doing all the things girls of that age normally enjoy.  In her case Sam was a good dancer and fairly nifty on a horse.  Unlike your author who rides a horse with the same dexterity as a kipper plays golf and you REALLY don’t want to see me dance!

That changed almost over night, Sam that is, not my riding or dancing abilities.

Mrs B poured me a cup of tea and offered me chocolate hobnob. Both she and her husband looked ill.  They were tired and had big bags under their eyes.  If you didn’t know better you would say they both had cancer and were undergoing chemo.

“I am so sorry to bother you, but a friend said you would do your best to help us and that if you couldn’t help you would say so” said Mr B

I nodded

“I have seen your website and heard of some of your jobs and we are just frightened this is too small for you to bother with, but we are desperate!”

“It has been three months of hell,” said Mrs B

“What happened?” I asked

“Well about four or five months ago, Sam came home one night and said she had a boyfriend.  Well of course we assumed it was a boy from school. She didn’t say too much and you know how girls can be at that age, so you know we asked a few discreet questions so as to seem interested but not pushy.”

“Nothing too intrusive” added Mr B

Mrs B continued “We were quite pleased as she got more confident and outgoing, which was good because she was a little immature.  She had been bullied a bit at school, nothing really serious more heavy teasing, but she had been a bit, how can I put it, withdrawn.  Maybe that’s too strong, timid would be better, and we just thought she had she’d got some “Street cred” having a boyfriend.”  she did the quotation thingy with her fingers.  Gawd that gets right on my tits.

“Then shortly afterwards she came home and said she had another boyfriend.  I said something like “Oh did you split up with the first boy” and she sneered at me and said “Noooah what’s it to you anyway”. I was stunned.  Sam had never spoken to us like that and her whole demeanour had changed.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, she was like that Vicky Pollard on television for a start and she had stopped showering ever day, but kids do that and I thought she was coming home later.  I didn’t know for sure because we don’t get home till about 6, but I always ring at about 4 just to see how the day has gone.  She would always be in, but she had not answered and when I had asked her where she was or what she was doing she had snapped at me saying I had rung off too quickly or she had not been able to get to the phone.  I actually asked her why she couldn’t get to the phone and she shouted at me ” Cos I was having a shit if you really must know”.  That was bad enough but later that evening I went into the toilet and she had… well… you know”

Yep I knew

“And I know my daughter and she goes once a day.  I knew she had been lying” persisted Mrs B just in case I wasn’t on the right track.  I can’t help looking more stupid than I really am.

Mr B chipped in “It was at this time that it really started going wrong.  We started getting phone calls at odd hours, which to start with we thought were wrong numbers and then cars started parking outside the house with men in them.  These were men not boys and they just sat outside and then she started missing school.  It has gone rapidly down hill from there.”

Mrs B started to cry and her husband put his arm round her. “Soon after meeting her second “boyfriend”, Sam started going missing for longer periods during the day.  Then she started staying out overnight. She would come home smelling of Alcohol and was dishevelled.” He said

Mrs B managed to whisper through her tears “Every night we thought she was going to turn up dead. At times, we really didn’t think we would get her back.”

“Where is she now, do you know?” I asked tentatively.

They shook their heads Mr B managed to say “Not for certain”

I sat there like a big lemon watching two people hearts breaking. I let them regain their composure and after a few minutes started the painful business of dragging information from them.

“The first boyfriend, you said you thought was someone from school, I take it from that remark he wasn’t from school.”

Mrs B shook her head “He was called Gavin and is about 19 or 20″

“And the second boyfriend?”

“Danny.  He is 20 and drives a Renault 21 car.  We have the registration” she passed me a bit of paper with the number on.

“Any descriptions?”

“They are both white and I think Gavin is quite tall and thin with a freckled face.  Danny is about 5 foot 10 slightly stocky, sandy coloured her and a cocky sneery grin.  They are both quite trendy dressers and as I said Danny has a dark metallic blue Renault 21.

“How did she meet these blokes then?”

“At school, I have found out that young men hang round outside schools waiting to pick up girls.  It happens all over the place the girls were attracted to them and genuinely think they are boyfriends.”

“What else do you know about them?”

Mr B shook his head and looked dejected ” Not a lot.  Even before she became really difficult, any time we would raise the boyfriend issue she would fly off the handle.  And when she started staying out every time we tried to question her about it she got angry and aggressive and said she was “chillin wid er mates”. I later found out she’d been drinking with these men and they’d been having sex with her.”

“Did she tell you that?”

Mrs B shook her head and her face contorted and the sobs came from way down.  She gasped and cried and then said in very fragmented sentences which I don’t think I can properly capture here ” She…came home and was drunk…..she went into her room… and was falling over…..I heard her being sick in her bedroom and I went into help her and see if she was all right…(big big sobs) she was…..she was …lying flat on her back…..(big sobs) her skirt was up round her waist and her ….her …..va.. va. vagina was…. all red and swollen aaaannnnd  she was leaking ….and…. and… and …I could smell …….I could smell…..sperm….she was leaking sperm (sob sob sob) lots of sperm”  That was it she was done in and I cant say I blamed her.

Mr B was only a little better but at least he could speak “I would lie awake at night and a car horn would go outside at one in the morning and she would just go. One time, another girl actually called for her well past midnight while the men waited in the car outside. I tried to follow to find out where they were going but they spotted me. By the time I got home someone had put a brick through the rear window of my wife’s car. ”

“so there is more than one lot of blokes” I said

“How do you mean?” said MrB

“Well if you followed the Renault and your wife’s car was damaged at the same time the men in the Renault can’t be in two places at once can they?” I said

“No I suppose not I hadn’t thought about that.  Its obvious really but I know I am not thinking straight”

“Did you report this to the police?”

“Oh yes we told the police all about it before the damage.  They came round the night the car was damaged and were sympathetic, but they said there was no evidence to prove it was these “boyfriends.”

“Didn’t they do anything about the under age sex?” I asked

“The police said she had gone with the men of their own volition and that there was no evidence that the men they were with now were responsible for having sex with her before.  The other thing was they didn’t know where they were.”

“That was useful then” I said rather sarcastically. “I don’t know why they bothered turning up”

“Well actually some good came of it” said Mr B “And I can’t be sure they weren’t being more helpful than they seemed”

“How’s that then?” I asked

“Well you see they did a check on the registration number of the car.  When they had gone there was ascribbled note on a piece of blank paper which just said Renault 21 Daniel Smith and gave the address of Baxxxxy Road SE6.  I know that is confidential information do you think we should use it?”

I wanted to shout “Use it! of course we should friggin use it, what the fuck do you think I am going to do with it? send it to my Gran for Christmas”  I didn’t say that of course because the poor bloke was under stress but I knew somebody in SE6 who was about to be fucking stressed and very soon if I had anything to do with it.

“Catford, not a million miles away.  You’re not going to use that information I am” is what I actually said. “Of course this young man may not be implicated in these recent events, but I am sure if he knows anything he will be more than happy to tell us.  People are pretty good like that”  I didn’t add the bit about how if they weren’t willing to chat we would “persuade them”, but I think maybe they guessed that bit.

“Does that mean you will help us?”

“There was never any doubt that I would try to help you Mrs B, the only question was how easy it would be to track them down and get Sam back home, but I think we have just been handed a very nice short cut.”  I said.

They smiled and started thanking me.  I held my hand up and stopped them.  “Look let me be honest here, I don’t intend to sit round on this and will do whatever is necessary to get your daughter back, but having got her back is only half the problem.  She will need support and care. I have heard of some organisations but will need to look into that aspect.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” said Mrs B looking a lot happier.

“Indeed there is, do you think I could have another cup of tea and a hobnob please whilst I ring an associate to get a few things sorted out”

There have been a couple of posts by Stratford Girl recently which inspired me to relate a couple of incidents.  At first they might seem totally unconnected BUT I hope by the end you will see how they fit together.

You get on a train or a plane and you are surrounded by people.  Every now and then you bump into somebody you know, but by in large they are total strangers. Who are they? what do they do? why are they there?  Some are good people, some are bad, some are perverts, some you could trust with your life and others would slit your throat and leave you for dead.

The things is you just don’t know.

Are you sitting next to a terrorist or the geezer who will neutralise the terrorist?

The fact that you don’t know anyone on the train doesn’t mean to say they don’t know you does it?

When I first got involved in surveillance work I felt like I had a neon light in the shape of an arrow pointing at me and that every one could see it.  Most people don’t and see the arrow, but it is there if you know where and how to look for it.  It always struck me as surreal that the people under surveillance would be up to all sorts of mischief and hardly ever knew that their every move was being watched.

Most of the time we stumble about on our journeys hardly paying any attention to any one else.  In fact most of the time people don’t look at anyone else, they avoid eye contact and lordy if they should make eye contact it is a case of “Oh shit I looked at him/her I hope they didn’t notice”

If I am on a surveillance job this is a great asset if the person is not surveillance conscious.  If they are clued in then their little eyes will be darting around the carriage or cabin like a ferrets which helps us know if the target is up to something.

Every time you are on a train or plane take a look at who you are travelling with and see if you can discern anything about them just from watching.  A bit Sherlock Holmes but it does work, the only trouble is that after a while this little past time becomes compulsive.

Now I need to tell you about my cock.

My cock is big and hard with a purple red head and is quite magnificent, if i may say so myself.

That’s not just me being vain, anytime a woman sees it she has to run her hands over it slowly caressing the magnificent chap and remarking on what a lovely cock I have.

However its not all fun having a big cock I can tell you.  First off, you have to be careful about how you handle it, how you use it and where you put it.  On several occasions it has been put somewhere inappropriate usually when I have had a bit too much to drink, but maturity has taught me to be more careful.  If you don’t handle it carefully it can cause pain and on a coupe of occasions has caused quite nasty injuries.

When I am at home I tend to be a very casual dresser and when visitors come to my flat the woman always notice my cock and its the first thing they comment on.  Its only later do they remark on the view across the River Thames.

Funnily enough blokes never seem to mention it - and if the do its sort of in hushed tones and things like “Shit Norm what a big cock where did you get it?”. Of course I can’t remember not having it, I remember being about 3 and sitting in my bed looking at this monster cock and thinking I wonder if other kids have one as big as this.  Of course they didn’t.

However as time has gone by,  the novelty of having a big cock has worn off and I don’t think L is too keen on it.  Having said that, it was she who suggested leaving it at her entrance to keep it open.

So why is looking at who you travel with on a train and my cock related?  Well normally they aren’t but the world being a small place and coincidence make them inextricably linked for a brief moment added to this another post by Stratford Girl made me feel compelled to tell you my book story.

Are sitting comfortably then let me explain.

At the start of March I was on a job in the North of England and took the train from Leeds to York.  Initrially I was lost in the world of MP3 when I was aware of a young woman sitting adjacent to me who was none other than my old Cyber pal Catherine Sanderson AKA Petite Anglaise.  Pal might not be quite the right word as regular readers will recall Ms Sanderson took umbrage at a comment I made on her blog last year.  Mind you, she dedicated a post to me and called me a shit, I was quite touched.  This was a first,  because nobody had ever dedicated a post to me or called me a shit. Cunt, wanker, twat, thug, tosser, murdering bastard and several other things but never a shit, but that’s all ancient history.

So anyway there she was chugging along minding her own business not realising that the bloke who caused her and her followers so much heart ache was sitting within slapping distance.  I was tempted to amble over and introduce myself, for a bit of a laugh.  I didn’t because I could see she was seriously stressed.  How did I know that? well the bitten nails and cuticles were a basic give away, then there was hands which never stopped moving and she chewed her bottom lip non stop.  That would have been enough, but she kept interfering with her hair and looking at her watch and breathing out very heavily.  When the train arrived in York she was up and off like a whippet out of a trap.  Now then I know I am a nice bloke, but I am told that I don’t look it.  I don’t have anything against PA and so decided to sit still and say nowt. The point is that there was this poor lass stressed out of her mind, sitting on a train,  minding her own business and only a few feet away from her was someone who caused her to get seriously upset and throw a tantrum.  I don’t suppose she will read this and so I don’t suppose she will ever know, but that in itself is spooky and shows how people can be so unaware of who is watching them.

Now then to tie PA to my cock if you will excuse the expression.

L recently hurt herself quite badly on my cock and said I had to do something about it.  The question was what.? I mean yes it’s big but it did a good job and like most blokes I was reluctant to replace it, beside which that wouldn’t b easy.

Well the solution came from Petite Anglaise funnily enough and this also goes back to how peoples on line lives and real life can collide head on.  Let me explain.  PA worked as a secretary for an English Firm in Paris and landed herself a book deal following her being sacked for blogging at work.  Amongst other things she was not too complimentary about some of the people she worked for and admitted on her blog that she had slopped off to have a shag.  Unfortunately for Ms Sanderson at the time the consequences were pretty dire, although I have to say although I think she was naive in some of the things she said her firm were heavy handed in the way they dealt with her.  But, this is another example of how cyber life intruded into real life wit unfortunate consequences for MsSanderson and her little girl.  Despite our differences I am pleased for her that things worked out well and that she landed on her feet with her book deal, but like the Dawn saga, it could have been so different.

So to go back to PA and my cock.  Her first book was published recently and some comedian knowing of my cyber spat sent me a copy.  Very funny Billy.  As a book it really is not my cup of tea at all, but as soon as I opened the package and saw it I knew that PA could relieve my cock.  I grabbed my cock with both hands and slipped in PA and L was happy.

Actually I should say I slipped PA’s book under the living room door and man handled the 19th centuary cast Iron French Cockerel out on to the balcony.  The door stayed open.  Hurrah! now L wont run the risk of breaking her toe again.

So there you have it

However I want to tell a little story that I hope counterbalances the negative with the positive

I along with lots of other people have been an avid reader of a bog called the Domestic Minx.

However Ms Minx has not posted since November and a number of people contacted me thinking that I was in fact her real uncle - I am not so lucky and she couldn’t be that unlucky - and to see whether I had any news of her or could track her down.

I did manage to communicate with her by email back in December she sent me a reply saying that she had had a series of unfortunate events that had tipped her world on its axis and as result she had been very ill. She chose to spare any further details.

There was no further news and in fact no posts either. I have now had a dozen or more emails from people who are genuinely very concerned about Madam Minx.

What is quite incredible is that like me none of these people actually know her, but by virtue of her blog and the internet have formed a bond and are really concerned for her welfare.

A number of people have asked me to contact the Minx or her family to check that she is OK and this is where I run into a problem.

I know who The Minx is. I know her real name and the names of her husband and children, where she lives and her telephone number. I would love to know that she is OK, butI cannot contact her because I am not sure this would be an acceptable intrusion into her real life.

Whilst I am very concerned that she is all right, I have no reason to believe that she is in imminent danger or in a situation that cannot be dealt with by her loved ones or others around her. In the extreme if she has died would the family want a total stranger who only knows the Minx because of the internet poking his nose in to their grief. I might be wrong, but I don’t think they would.

Of course there may not be any problem at all she may have just got ragged off with blogging or simply has not got the time. Lets be honest it takes a lot of time doing these entries and sometimes time is scarce.

The issue raised by my story about Dawn was that problems occur where people loose sight of reality and real life and cyber life cross over or become so inextricably intertwind that the definition of reality is lost.

I had dealings with a client who read over 100 blogs every day and wrote a lengthy blog herself every day. Without realising it she abandoned her family and her real life to interact with total strangers. I became involved because her family who lived in the USA became concerned when one of the younger children rang Granny at about midnight his time to say mummy had not fed them all day and that she had been in front of the computer.

The story of the Missing Minx raises another more optimistic issue.

I see a lot of the negative side of people and a lot of my stories do highlight this trait, but in essence I still believe that people are fundamentally good.

Funnily enough this view is not the view of devout Christians and a very religious person recently told me that if I read my bible I would find that people are really bad because of the Devil and a naughty snake in the garden of Eden. The Bible is true and written by God and was never edited by man to suite himself blah blah. The long and the short of it was that they said it just proved that man was a bad arsed dude.

Right oh so perhaps these knowledgeable people would like to explain why total strangers should be concerned about the Minx, or why do people run into burning buildings or jump into flooded rivers to save people they have never met. No doubt they will say it is free will and if I look in the book of genitals 69 they answer will be there.

When I first joined the army my mother gave me a bullet which I carried in my left breast pocket.

I carried that bullet in that pocket for years anfd then one day I was in Beirut when I was ambushed by a groups of Islamic fundamentalists.

It was a fierce set to during which I was hit in the chest by a signed coy of the Koran. I have no doubt that that religious book would have pierced my chest had it not been blocked by that bullet.

I am reliably informed that bullets stop Bibles as well.

Thought I would just add that to keep the balance.

Lastly a serious note. Minx if you read this  just let me know so I can out a lot peoples minds at rest.