The Qadesh Club Read online

  The Qadesh Club

  David Lashmar

  Qadesh - Egyptian goddess of ecstasy and sexual pleasure

  Chapter 1

  A thick plume of dark smoke belched from another lorry as it slowly wound its way along one of the main arteries that kept the city alive, twisting and turning as it snaked past the shops and blocks of flats that lined its route, poisoning the air with invisible exhaust fumes that polluted the lungs of the old and young alike.

  Occasionally, an impatient driver would sound his horn adding to the already deafening sound of engines that assaulted the eardrums of the local residents.

  The two smartly suited men walked side by side in silence heading towards their quarry. Occasionally, the older one would move to his left or right to avoid colliding with another pedestrian. His stride was that of a confident man, long and purposeful and not afraid to make eye contact with those coming towards him. His younger companion was of a different mindset though. He was arrogant, cocky and self assured making no attempt to move aside for anyone.

  Outwardly, they gave the appearance of being perfectly respectable business gents but inside those tailored suits was a different type of businessman. Their world was one of violence where respect was hard earned and fear meant everything.

  Both were big men each one standing at over six feet tall with broad, strong shoulders with the younger of them slightly taller than his companion. Their expressions gave away nothing about the carnage they were about to unleash.

  The older of the two wore a hand-made suit that fitted him like a glove. He mentally blocked out everything around him; the noise from the traffic, the faces of those passing by, even the screaming child being dragged along by its mother. He was a professional and had only one thing on his mind at that moment in time.

  His younger companion, however, was not quite so focused. His suit, albeit an expensive off the peg one, fitted him well but he did not exude the same foreboding air of respect. He walked with a long-strided, loping swagger, his arms swinging casually at his sides. His lack of discipline, something that irritated his colleague, was evident by his wandering eyes whenever he saw a pretty girl or a short skirt. His mind was not yet trained or disciplined but still he was arrogantly confident.

  The shops that lined the length of the road were dirty, stained from years of exhaust fumes. Their once clean, red coloured bricks now a dull, almost brown tone of their former self whilst the once brightly coloured cream lintels were now grey.

  The young, scruffy-looking man sitting behind a cheap desk looked up as the single chime of the bell sounded as someone entered the shop. His right hand went immediately to the hidden button screwed onto the underside of the desktop and, as he stretched out his index finger to press it, he felt his hand shaking. He licked his lips nervously as he felt the moisture suddenly leave his mouth as the younger of the two who had just entered calmly closed and then drew the upper bolt across the door locking them in.

  He had never seen or met the two men approaching him but he knew who they were. For some men their reputation alone was enough to strike fear into others. These two struck terror!

  Morton, the elder of the two, looked casually around the shop. The walls were lined with mirrors of various sizes, colours and frame designs. Even larger mirrors were being displayed on stands on the shop floor creating a natural walkway guiding customers to the reception desk at the back of the showroom currently occupied by the scruffy young man.

  The young salesman warily brushed his long, greasy hair away from his eyes watching them very carefully his heart pounding against his ribcage. None of them said a word. None was needed.

  The glazing business was a front for its proprietors who preferred to earn a more lucrative income selling drugs.

  Outside, at the back of the shop, in a storeroom that served as a small office, three men sat around a table playing poker. At the sound of the buzzer all heads automatically looked up towards the small monitor linked to the hidden security camera inside the shop.

  A well-built, muscular man in his early thirties wearing a red hooded top stood up and, after taking a deep breath smirked and addressed his two companions, “Show time, lads! Come on!”

  His taller but thinner and younger companion in an off-white, printed tee shirt grabbed the baseball bat that was leaning against the wall next to the door and followed him.

  The third took longer as he took one last look at the man on the monitor. He looked big enough on the monitor what was he going to be like when standing in front of him? He pulled a small square of foil from his pocket and quickly spread its white, powdery contents along the table before bending over and, covering one nostril with a shaky finger, hastily snorted in the powder and waited. He felt the adrenalin rush start to build up in his body. He was not really a fighter and the drugs gave him the Dutch courage needed to face the man now waiting for him. Reluctantly he followed them into the shop.

  The leader in the red top slowed his pace before entering and swaggered nonchalantly into the shop, “So, we finally get a visit from the great Morton!” He stopped roughly ten feet from the big man and looked him defiantly in the eye, “For what do we owe the honour?” he sneered.

  Morton's face remained totally still as he took stock of the red hooded figure in front of him mentally weighing him up. Without moving his head his eyes turned in the direction of the door as two more figures entered the room. He weighed them up immediately, almost contemptuously but he knew from experience that it was never wise to totally dismiss an opponent no matter what their appearance.

  Nodding slowly as though agreeing something with himself he removed his jacket and casually looked around before walking across the showroom floor and hung it carefully on the edge of a very large, gold gilded mirror frame. He calmly removed a pair of tight-fitting, black leather gloves from the pockets and put them on.

  “You arseholes don't seem to have got the message!” His deep voice, as steady as his nerves, seemed to resonate around the room.

  “You’ve got some front, old-timer,” sneered the hoodie confidently.

  Morton looked over at his young lieutenant and then suddenly, without warning, lunged forward at the red-hooded leader the flat of his hand smashing into his nose making his eyes water as blood poured out and run down over his thick lips before dripping off his chin.

  Pivoting swiftly on the ball of his right foot he brought up his left elbow and drove it into middle of the baseball wielding opponent’s chest breaking the breastbone.

  His young lieutenant needed no prompting and swiftly joined in. He lived for violence it was, after sex, his favourite drug! His eyes wide and shining with excitement he charged screaming at the drug high third man, “C'mon, you bastard!” He cursed as his clenched fist connected squarely with his chin knocking him to the floor as he turned his attention on the greasy-haired receptionist.

  Morton heard the familiar swishing noise and from the corner of his eye saw the glint of a blade as it sliced through the air followed by a loud scream of pain. The blade’s path came to a stop suddenly as it embedded itself into the greasy-haired receptionist’s shoulder. Sadistically, his eyes blazing and a sickening smile on his face, he slowly twisted the blade causing maximum pain as it ripped through the muscle tissue leaving a gaping, jagged hole as he yanked the blade out.

  Fear was now replaced by horror as the receptionist emitted a loud, high-pitched scream as the knife was cruelly pulled out of his shoulder. Excruciating pain, the like of which he had no idea was even possible, swept through his entire body. His instinct was to reach for his shoulder and as he did he felt the warm blood running over his hand.

  His scream alone would have curdled most peoples blood but these two were not like most people.
They inhabited a violent world where damaged and broken bodies were the norm.

  With the echoes of the scream still reverberating off the mirrors and around the shop

  Morton grasp hold of the baseball bat wrenching from its owners weakened grasp and swung it upwards into the face of the stooping man before taking a step to the side and swinging the bat with every bit of force that he could muster into the side of his head. There was a dull, sickening thud as the young man fell unconscious to the floor blood running out of his ear. He turned his attention to the muscle in red.

  The drug addict, dazed and trying unsteadily to clamber back to his feet had no chance to defend himself against the cold, vicious onslaught that came his way as the young lieutenant set about him in a frenzied, uncontrolled attack mercilessly kicking him as hard as he could before standing back and, taking careful aim, kicked his head like a footballer taking a penalty forcing his head to snap back violently.

  The cocky leader in the red-hooded top swung his fist wildly in front of him in the desperate hope of hitting Morton but his opponent was an experienced street fighter and knew every move and trick there was. Avoiding the optimistic punch was easy and swinging his own left fist hard into the lower ribcage he broke the bottom two ribs. Two more piston-like punches followed into the same area the excruciating pain causing the recipient to instinctively drop his guard in order to protect his broken ribs. It was the small opening that he needed. Two more short, sharp punches into the stomach followed by his knee into the groin and his opponent was helpless. Grabbing him by the throat he rammed his head forcibly against the wall splitting the back of his skull leaving a bright red blood mark smeared on the whitewashed wall before physically throwing him across the shop floor so that he tripped over the fallen body of his associate.

  A huge glass mirror fell backwards catching the corner of another mirror behind it. Glass shattered covering the floor.

  Morton waited before coldly taking aim and kicked the red-hooded leader as hard as he could in the mouth dislocating his bottom jaw. A shower of blood and teeth sprayed across the room.

  The attack on the long, greasy-haired receptionist was equally as cold and vicious. Unable to defend himself, his right hand pressing hard against the stab wound, Morton's lieutenant showed no mercy as he trapped him in the corner and used him as a boxer would a punch bag, each and every punch producing a painful gasp as ribs cracked until, eventually, unable to physically withstand anymore he slid down the wall and instinctively adopted the foetal position trying his best to cover up and protect himself but the barrage never stopped. Sweating and breathing heavily, his arms beginning to ache from exerting so much sudden energy the weapon changed from fist to feet as he kicked the greasy-haired receptionist unconscious blood flowing freely from his mouth and eyes.

  Morton momentarily turned his attention to the tee-shirted young man lying unconscious on the floor and stamped on his face twice before stepping back and kicking him in the ribs repeatedly breaking several. There were no emotions attached to his actions either anger, hate or revenge. It was just his job!

  Picking up the baseball bat Morton returned his attention to the red-hooded leader. “Hold his arm out!” he ordered his young lieutenant. Gulping in huge draughts of air and grinning inanely the younger man watched wide-eyed in excitement, adrenalin flowing, as the bat came down across the elbow snapping the arm. Not content that he had made his point he smashed the bat down again and again across the hand splintering the delicate bones until shards of bone pierced the skin. “Let’s go!” He threw the bat to the ground.

  The young lieutenant looked at the broken bodies all around them grinning inanely and picking up the bat, raised it over his head brought it down as hard as he could. The unconscious drug addict never felt a thing as his leg snapped.

  *****

  The cleanly shaven Dutchman could be found sitting at the same table outside his favourite street café next to the Scheepvaartmuseum – The Maritime Museum – having his usual breakfast of croissants whilst sipping his morning cappuccino sweetened with plenty of sugar. Underneath the wide brim of his panama hat his dark, alert eyes, hidden behind his expensive designer sunglasses, were busy darting from here to there taking in the early tourists’ crowds as they arrived to start their manic day. On the polished slatted, metal table in front of him lay the daily newspaper neatly folded in half and a digital camera

  This was, without a doubt, his favourite time of year. He was a warm weather person. He hated the cold but what he liked about the summer, more than anything else, was the girls. Warm weather changed the fairer sex bringing out the exhibitionist in them. It was his considered opinion most women liked to be admired, why else would they wear the shortest of skirts or the tightest shorts along with the most revealing tops? And where better to sit back and admire them than Amsterdam.

  He adored women but it went deeper than obvious physical attraction. After losing his virginity at thirteen to a middle-aged, rather plump neighbour he had been fascinated by women; their curves, the way their bodies moved as they walked and even the way they smelled. None were safe from him for he had no conscience. From the more mature women in their sixties and, on occasions, even in their seventies to the young, the very young who still enjoyed that wonderful age of innocence and believed in magic. He preyed on them all! Women were his livelihood.

  Money was his driving force! It was the devil behind his greed and like any drug the more he got the more he wanted! He had learned whilst in his teens that girls, especially young girls, could earn him money and what better place to exploit that new found entrepreneurial spirit than in his home town of Amsterdam, the sex capital of Europe! Women – young and old – were a marketable product.

  The sex industry was one of the main beneficiaries of that wonderful invention called the Internet. For the first time the average man had unlimited access to his most perverted dreams without the fear and stigma of being caught and, for most, that was all they were – just dreams! But for some they were compelled to take it further.

  In the rapidly expanding global sex market there was a growing demand for every sexual taste and perversion and he knew where the niche markets were and how to earn money from them.

  He watched as a group of French teenage schoolgirls passed by their loud chatter mixed with their high-pitched laughter cut through the still morning air. His first thought was that at least one of them was not a virgin but which one? He looked them over but not as a man lusting after a young body but as a businessman deciding which ones he could sell and at what price. A middle-aged couple walking past arm in arm with their two young sons grabbed his attention. The woman was very attractive and even under the loose, light blue summer dress she was wearing it was obvious that she had a well maintained body. For a fleeting moment he fantasised about having sex with her but his thoughts quickly turned back to money.

  His fantasy world was rudely interrupted by the ring tone from his mobile phone, retrieving it from his shirt pocket he looked at the screen to identify the caller. He smiled as he took the call. “Hello.”

  There was no small talk or politeness from the caller who was brisk and to the point in order to keep this call as short as possible. “I have a special order for you. I need three young ones from ten to thirteen,” he thought for a moment, “a young thirteen. Can you handle that?”

  The Dutchman smiled. The Englishman was a good customer, “I would think so. Usual rates?” His English was impeccable to the point of being almost accent less.

  “Of course!”

  “I'll be in touch.”

  “How long?”

  “About six weeks.”

  “Okay.”

  Chapter 2

  The air in the small, dimly lit room was heavy and thick with cigarette smoke. It had permeated into the stained, worn out three-seater sofa and mismatching armchair that, along with a dirty carpet that covered as much of the floor as it left bare, made up the total content of the sparse furniture of
the room. A small group of men stood silently at one end of the room, the acrid smoke from their cigarettes adding to the hazy air as they waited impatiently.

  Eventually the badly fitting bamboo door opened and the group of frightened young girls were hurriedly ushered into the room and roughly manhandled into a straight line.

  A small, thin Chinese man detached himself from the group. His appearance would have been comical if it were not for the natural cruel look on his face. His cheap, cream coloured crumpled suit that was a size to big for him had seen better days.

  His thin, colourless lips formed a perfect straight line as his dispassionate eyes inspected each girl individually. Slowly, with his hands clenched tightly behind his back like an old time schoolmaster, he walked to one end of the line and, without his footsteps making a sound on the thin carpet, silently retraced his steps looking each one up and down. When he reached the end he walked behind them returning to the first girl.

  Back in his position in front of them he looked each one over very carefully in turn. “Strip!” He ordered curtly. The young girls stood still not from defiance but frozen in fear. “Strip!” he barked the order more forcibly. When they did not comply immediately a short, skinny man in a badly stained vest and sporting a thin pencil line moustache stepped forward and quickly slashed through the air with a thin bamboo cane. The sound of the swishing cane got the girls attention and, not wanting to feel its sting on their tender flesh, they removed the thin, cotton dress that each one had been given leaving them as naked as the day they were born.

  The cruel Chinaman stepped forward to the first girl and taking her small, under-developed breast in his hand squeezed it hard making her wince. He looked down at her thin body as his other hand ran down her flat stomach until he reached her hairless vagina his middle finger probing until the young girl yelped in pain as his finger tried to enter her. Satisfied he moved onto the next and continued along the line until he had felt every girl.