The Prince Trains a Slave, Part 7

Between classes at St. Michael’s and things at The Castle, time flew by and before I knew it the break was on us. We had two full weeks away from St. Michael’s and planned to spend most of that time in London. But first, I needed to make a stop at The Castle to make sure that everything would run according to plan while we were gone.

My first stop was to the medical clinic where John was still kept sedated. Claude proudly announced that the successive laser treatments had been successful and that the slave would never again be capable of growing any body hair. I ran my hand over his chin and cheeks, marveling at how smooth and soft they were. Stepping around Brigitta, who was preparing to move ahead with her tattooing, I examined Claude’s circumcision work. Once again, I found myself shaking my head in wonder at the French doctor’s skills. John’s penis looked perfect without any of the extra skin that he’d had. I asked Claude about the plastic tube that had been inserted into the slave’s dick.

“That’s a catheter to remove body wastes,” Claude explained.

“But, it wasn’t there the last time I visited,” I pointed out.

“Well, actually, I had it removed for each of your previous visits,” Claude explained. He gently lifted John’s flaccid penis to one side. “I – ah, also took the liberty of doing a little bit of extra surgery on the patient.”

Examining John’s groin, I noticed that his scrotum seemed slightly narrower. “You made his sac smaller.”

“Just slightly,” Claude explained. “He has only one testicle, yes? He had so much extra skin there – it offended my sense of proportions. I hope you don’t mind that I took such a liberty.”

“What I mind,” I said. “What I really and truly mind is that I didn’t think of it. Claude, you’re a genius!”

“Genius for that? No, no,” Claude protested. “Inspired yes, genius – no, not quite.”

“Stop being so modest,” I teased.

Claude grinned and shrugged. “If you insist – then I admit it, I am a genius.”

I turned my attention to Brigitta, who was busy placing a stencil across John’s lower abdomen just below his navel. Heavy black letters spelled out the word SLAVE across his belly. She already had stencils of chains around each of the slave’s biceps.

“I was thinking,” Brigitta said without looking up from her work. “This pig would look good with his dick tattooed as well.”

“Do you have something in mind?”

“Of course,” she looked up and smiled. “I was thinking about intertwined chains and repeating the word SLAVE across the top of his shaft.” She moved away from the table and went to a folder on one of the counters. “I drew up what it would look like,” she said handing me a sheet of paper.

I examined the drawing, which was a perfect rendition of John’s penis. Staring at the paper, I decided that I liked her idea. “It looks good,” I said. “Do it.”

“When do you leave?” Brigitta asked.

“As soon as I get back to the suite to meet the others,” I said. “Konrad knows exactly what you would like in your facilities?”

Brigitta smiled. “I think he is tired of hearing me tell him what I would like,” she said. “I’ve written everything down as well.”

“I’m sorry that you can’t be going along as well.”

“Are you kidding?” Brigitta laughed. “Had you invited me, I would have begged to stay behind so I can take my time and work on this pig.” She cast a venomous stare at John’s unconscious form. “Remember, I owe this pig.”

“Well, as a way to make up for leaving you here,” I said. “Feel free to pierce his septum. Put in a nice big ring.” Brigitta’s face split into a delighted grin and she hugged me. I kissed her lightly on the forehead and walked out of the clinic.

In the suite, I found that Yoshi had all of the bags properly tagged and ready to go. Malcolm stood to one side of the room, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes cast down to the floor. He came to stand directly in front of me when I called his name, taking up the same position.

“You seem to be doing well, boy,” I said, reaching out and smoothing his hair.

“Thank you, sir,” Malcolm said quietly. “But, the real credit belongs to Yoshi.”

“Are you disagreeing with me, boy?” I asked with mock sternness.

Malcolm’s eyes shot up to meet my own. They were round with fright that he had done something wrong. “No sir! I swear….”

I laughed and stroked his face. “Relax, I was just teasing you,” I assured him. “You didn’t have to give Yoshi any credit for training you, but you did. That’s a good thing – I’m proud of you.” I turned to Yoshi. “You know what to do while we’re gone – keep up the good work and you’ll be appropriately rewarded when we return.

Yoshi bowed. “Yes, sir.”

I had to stifle a grin when I saw Eric, Simon, and Mackenzie come out of the bedroom. The three were dressed casually for the flight in rugby shirts, jeans, and running shoes. It hadn’t been their intention, but the three looked almost like brothers. Coming into the suite, Alexi had the same reaction and shook his head in amusement.

“I have a passport for Mackenzie,” Alexi announced holding it up. “It’s a valid British passport with appropriate stamps.” He handed the passport to the slave. “If anyone asks, you are a student at St. Michael’s with the rest of yes.”

“I understand, sir,” Mackenzie said, taking the passport.

“And, while we’re in public, you are to use our names,” Alexi said firmly.

“I understand, A—Alexi,” Mackenzie said, stumbling over the name.

Alexi smiled. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” he assured the slave. “Konrad is already waiting up on the street level,” he announced. “We need to get moving.”

Yoshi and Malcolm took the bags up to the club entrance, and wished us well before returning to the lower levels. There were two limousines waiting in the street. The drivers quickly had our bags packed in the trunks of the cars and we were off to the airport. The trip to the airport and the flight to London were uneventful and unmemorable, which was how I liked my flights. In London, Mackenzie’s passport passed the Customs check without the slightest problem. As far as the Customs agent was concerned, we were just a group of six wealthy boarding school kids on holiday.

Alexi had arranged for a car to be waiting at the airport and one clear of Customs, we saw a driver holding a sign with YOUSUPOV neatly printed across it. The car turned out to be a large van, which accommodated all of us comfortably. The driver chatted endlessly on the trip into the city, suggesting various sites we might want to see while on our holiday. Alexi feigned interest in the suggestions, and returned the driver’s friendly chat, easily making small talk. At the hotel, the driver insisted on taking all of the luggage from the van and helping the doorman load it on a cart. Alexi’s generous tip left the driver speechless.

After checking into the hotel and settling into our rooms, we actually did do some sightseeing since we wouldn’t be meeting with the agents until the following morning. By the end of the day Mackenzie actually managed to say each of our names without stuttering or turning red in the face.

The following morning, Alexi and I left to meet with the property agent, leaving the others to continue their sightseeing. Konrad knew to keep a close eye on Mackenzie – it wasn’t likely that the slave would try to slip away, but we didn’t want to take unnecessary chances either.

The black Austin taxicab bounced through traffic across the city to the East End, where the driver informed us the bloody work of Jack the Ripper had taken place. He informed us that there were several reputable walking tours to old Jack’s crime scenes if we had a mind to take such a tour. Pulling up to the address we had given, the driver was a bit dubious about leaving us in front of an empty warehouse. Alexi assured him that we were supposed to be meeting someone there.

We stood on the street looking over the building for about ten minutes when a flashy Jaguar pulled up. The driver got out and looked us over carefully – he clearly hadn’t expected to find two young men in three piece suits waiting for him. He had probably expected to find some paunchy middle-aged man waiting on him.

Alexi advanced on the man, his hand extended. “Robin Rice? I’m Alexi Yousupov. This is my associate – Duncan Masters.”

Rice still looked doubtful as he took Alexi’s hand. “I thought I’d be meeting someone….”

“A bit older?” Alexi laughed. “That happens all the time.” He turned to the warehouse. “Could we get started?”

“I don’t know,” Rice said dubiously. “I generally don’t have teenagers wanting to buy warehouses – it’s just not normal business.”

“We’re not interested in it as a warehouse,” Alexi explained patiently. “Mr. Masters and I are looking to open a nightclub – and we are interested in this type of building.”

“I have to tell you, buildings this big are expensive,” Rice stalled, edging towards his car.

Alexi smiled and pulled his cell phone from his jacket. He punched in a number and spoke rapidly to the person on the other end. He waited for a moment and then identified himself and outlined the problem. Smiling, he handed the phone to Rice. “Perhaps you should speak with my solicitor,” he suggested.

Rice took the phone dubiously, and listened for a moment. Then, he broke the connection and returned the phone to Alexi. Pulling out his own phone, Rice called his office and told his secretary to get him the solicitor’s phone number. Dialing the number, Rice’s face took on a stunned expression as he spoke with the solicitor. When he finally hung up, the property agent’s entire demeanor had changed.

“I didn’t realize who you were,” Rice apologized. “You must understand that it really isn’t a normal experience to have such young men enquiring about purchasing such an expensive property.”

“We quite understand,” Alexi said. “I have to admire your zeal in protecting the property owner and your office.” Alexi half turned and extended his arm towards the building. “If we may?”

Rice took us into the building and after a few moments, had the lights on. Aside from a couple of small offices by the entry, the main floor was open. The place was dirty from years of disuse and smelled of old grease, damp, and mold. We wandered around as Rice prattled on about the area, the history of the building, and the renewal projects for the area.

“How many sublevels are there to this building?” Alexi asked, interrupting Rice’s prattle.

“Um, four I believe,” Rice said, slightly taken aback by the question. He quickly opened his clipboard and checked. “Yes, there are four sublevels.” He looked around. “There is a large freight elevator off in the corner somewhere over there.”

Rice looked around doubtfully. “Are you sure this would meet your needs as a nightclub?”

“Actually, it will be a dance club,” I said. “We’re looking for someplace spacious. Someplace with enough room to have a full stage for live entertainment and room for dancing without crowding the seating and bar areas.”

Rice’s face brightened. “Ah, I understand,” he said. “I didn’t realize that you were considering live entertainment.” He looked around. “This building will certainly meet your space requirements. In fact, it may actually exceed them.”

“True,” Alexi agreed. “However, we’ll need office space – which will go upstairs.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “And, we might even renovate the upper floors as living space. I understand that is possible?”

“Oh certainly, certainly,” Rice said. “In fact, many of the smaller warehouses in the area have been developed for just such purposes.”

Alexi and I wandered back onto the street, where he looked doubtfully around at the other abandoned buildings. Rice now nervous that he might lose a sale, followed Alexi’s gaze. “I must admit that I am a bit concerned about these other abandoned buildings,” Alexi said thoughtfully. “We don’t want to be stuck in some crowded neighborhood, but at the same time we don’t want to be tucked away among a block of derelict buildings.”

“Not to worry,” Rice said eagerly. “The buildings on either side of this one are in the sale process as we speak. The one to the left here has actually been sold to a developer,” Rice said eagerly. “As I understand it, the developer in question is planning on renovating the building into something of a marketplace – an emporium if you will. I think stalls will be rented to small businesses and artists.”

“I see and the other?” Alexi asked.

“I’m not sure of the planned purpose for that one,” Rice said.

“I just wouldn’t want to buy a building and find that another club was opening directly next door,” Alexi said.

“Oh no, I haven’t heard of any such plans,” Rice said. “I do believe that the party interested is actually thinking of using the building for its intended purpose – as a warehouse, that is.”

Alexi held out his hand. “My partner and I need to discuss a few things,” he said, clearly ending the meeting. “You will definitely hear from my solicitor before the end of the day.” Turning on his heel, Alexi guided me down the street without giving Rice an opportunity to speak any further.

We walked in silence, each of us carefully examining the surrounding neighborhoods. Just a few blocks away were clear signs of aggressive urban renewal. Trendy shops were replacing the generations old shops; many of the buildings had scaffolding erected in front of them with workmen busy painting and making repairs. Consulting a street sign, Alexi pointed down a narrow side street and we moved off in that direction.

Urban renewal clearly hadn’t discovered this street. Most of the ground floor windows were heavily shuttered and there wasn’t a single building that didn’t have at least one upper window broken out. We stopped across the street from a narrow warehouse. The building must have been one alternate locations Alexi wanted to check out.

“What do you think?” He asked dryly.

“I think it’s a miracle the place hasn’t fallen into the street already,” I said.

“I agree,” Alexi said. “I think the first location is the best choice.”

“I have to say that I’m a bit concerned about the other two buildings on either side of us being sold already,” I said.

“Don’t be,” Alexi said. “The Castle is the buyer – through several intermediaries, of course. The businesses going in will be put to the uses Rice mentioned. But, we’ll occupy the floors below street level in each building.”

“If you’ve already bought the other buildings, why not just buy the third one?” I asked. “Why bother to check this one out?”

“The reports we had on the first set of warehouses were all very favorable,” Alexi explained. “The reports we got through another agent on this block were sketchy. Like I said, the other buildings will be used for the purposes Rice has been told about.”

“So, The Castle makes a good investment in either case,” I smiled.

“Exactly,” Alexi admitted. “And, the last warehouse on the block is represented by another agency. They should be showing it to a prospective buyer in about an hour or so.”

“And the prospective buyer is a representative of The Castle,” I added.

“Of course,” Alexi smiled. “In fact, he’s the general manager of the Berlin club.” Alexi pulled out his cell phone and dialed. “Alexi Yusupov here, connect me to Sir Leyland,” he said into the phone. After the briefest of pauses, he continued speaking. “Go forward with the warehouses on the Thames … that’s right, both of them … I want all the paperwork completed and transferred within a week.”

While Alexi’s solicitor went to work finalizing the property purchases, we visited a contractor – one who just happened to be a member of The Castle in Basel – and made arrangements to have renovations to the buildings begin immediately. Alexi made sure that the contractor understood that the offices and living quarters of the club were his highest priority. He wanted them ready for use within four weeks – they didn’t have to be totally finished, but they did have to fit for use by that time.

Konrad reported happily that he had deliberately provided Mackenzie with several opportunities to try to get away from the party and he hadn’t once tried to take advantage of those opportunities. With that news in hand, we were able to spend the rest of our holiday like real sightseers. We actually went to Madam Tussaud’s Wax Museum, the Tower, and all of the other tourist sites so that by the time we returned to St. Michael’s we had handfuls of touristy snapshots.

*****

We returned to Switzerland two days before we needed to report back to the school and went straight to The Castle. After seeing that our bags were deposited in our suite and changing into something more comfortable, I went straight to the medical clinic with Konrad. Both of us were anxious to see Brigitta’s handiwork.

Sam greeted us as we entered the clinic. He didn’t need to be told why we were there, and took us straight back to see John’s sleeping form. I looked down on the slave in admiration of Brigitta’s skills. The inked chains around each of John’s biceps looked amazingly lifelike – she had used subtle shading techniques to give them dimension and body. The word SLAVE on John’s belly and penis, however, stood out starkly in bold black letters, as did the chains that entwined around the slave’s penis. I turned my attention to Brigitta’s piercing work. Large silver hoops went through each nipple and through his septum.

As I was examining the work, Brigitta came bursting into the room and almost swept Konrad right off his feet as she jumped into his arms as a welcome back. Leaving Konrad, she eagerly came over to the table where John lay.

“Well?” Brigitta asked.

“Well, I’m speechless,” I said. “I can’t believe the subtlety of these chains on his arms. They’re beautiful. And, I do admire the starkness of the other ink work – it’s perfect. Hell, it’s beyond perfect.” I tapped the ring in John’s nose. “Couldn’t you have found something a bit larger?” I teased. The septum ring reached down to John’s lower lip.

“I thought that one kind of matched his ego,” Brigitta said impishly.

“Then you did need to find something a lot bigger,” Konrad laughed.

I turned to Sam. “How long will it take to wake this bastard up?”

“I’ll have to check with Claude to be sure,” Sam said. “But, I think we can have him awake by tomorrow.”

“Do that and get back to me in my suite,” I said. “I’ll be there in about an hour.”

Leaving the clinic, I headed up one level to the client playrooms with Konrad and selected a room equipped with a hot tub, wet bar, and comfortable bed before heading to the brothel master’s office. I had him gather a dozen of the available pleasure slaves so I could inspect them. The man moved quickly to fill my orders and within ten minutes had the dozen slaves lined up for me.

I marched up and down the line of slaves, checking each one over carefully and finally selected one of the smaller, slighter slaves with long black hair and bright blue eyes. I led him down to the room I had selected and continued my examination of him. He was totally shaved from the neck down without the faintest trace of stubble.

“In just a little while I’m sending another slave down here to this room,” I said. “You’re going to give him twenty-four hours of physical pleasure. You’ll perform whatever sex acts he desires – massage him, cuddle him, and wait on him. Do you understand?”

“A-another slave, sir?”

“Yes, another slave,” I said. “He is being rewarded for exemplary behavior recently – not that it’s any of your business.”

The little slave shook his head energetically, sending his long bangs whipping across his face. When his head stopped moving, his hair fell almost perfectly into place. “No sir,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to question you, sir. I-I was just surprised is all.”

“I’m sure you were,” I smiled. “But, a slave who behaves well beyond expectations should be handsomely rewarded. I want you to make sure you do a good job.”

“Yes, sir.”

Heading to the suite, I told Konrad to bring Mackenzie down to the playroom and tell him to enjoy himself for the next twenty-four hours.

“By the way,” I said, giving Konrad a sideways look. “After you deliver him, take the opportunity to choose a room and boy or girl for yourself. You did a great job looking after Mackenzie in London.”

“I just did as I was told,” Konrad demurred.

“Of course you did and you did it well,” I replied. “I want you to know how much I appreciate that while we have a chance to relax. We’re returning to London in just a few weeks and things are going to be so busy, it’ll be hard to show gratitude then.”

Entering the suite, I immediately ordered Mackenzie to follow Konrad and follow his orders to the letter. The small slave, glanced around nervously, but followed Konrad without a word of protest. Then, I turned to Yoshi and Malcolm.

“In case neither of you know it,” I said. “I kept close tabs on you while I was gone. Malcolm, Yoshi had to give you ten demerits. Why was that?”

“I-I was inattentive to my lessons, sir,” Malcolm said honestly. “Three mornings in a row, I didn’t shave and brush my hair before presenting myself for breakfast.”

“Yoshi, did he omit anything?”

“No, sir,” Yoshi said. “He told the truth just now. I must say, however, that he did do well in all of his other lessons.”

“I see,” I said thoughtfully. “Should he be physically punished, in your opinion?”

Yoshi stared carefully at Malcolm, who was now trembling. “No, sir,” Yoshi said slowly. “No, sir, I don’t think so. The problem is just correcting an old habit developed before he was a slave. I think Malcolm is trying hard to correct that habit.”

I nodded. “Okay – since I put you in charge of his training while we were gone, I’ll accept your recommendation.” I turned to Malcolm. “You told the truth and risked punishment – you did well. Because you were honest, I’m going to let you have the night off with Yoshi. The two of you earned it. You two can go down to the staff arcade or to the cinema. No duties for either of you until tomorrow morning.” I tossed my keys to Simon. “Remove Yoshi’s chastity device. He’s earned a free night.”

“Thank you, sir!” Yoshi exclaimed. I patted him on the shoulder as I went to the desk to write out a pass for him and Malcolm.

“That was nice of you,” Simon said once the slaves had left the room.

“They deserved it,” I said. “Yoshi’s been diligent and Malcolm is clearly trying to learn his lessons – he’s bound to make little mistakes here and there. Besides,” I grinned wolfishly at Simon, “how else was I going to guarantee that we wouldn’t be bothered tonight?” I took Simon in my arms and lifted him off his feet as I pressed my mouth to his. I carried him into the bathroom and started the hot tub. “I’m going to take you to levels you haven’t reached yet.”

I was stiff and ached in about a dozen places when I crawled out of the bed the next morning. Simon didn’t even stir as I climbed stiffly to my feet. I looked down on him as he slept and thought about how beautiful he was. His tousled hair fell across his forehead above his closed eyes. With his long lashes and smooth, unlined face, he looked like an angel.

In the bathroom, I faced the mirror and twisted around to examine the long furrows Simon’s fingers had clawed into my back as we made love together the night before. The funny thing is that I didn’t even remember when it had happened. The bite mark on my shoulder was another thing – I remembered exactly when he had clamped down on my shoulder in the throes of passion. He had come just short of drawing blood with that passionate bite. Stepping into the shower, I couldn’t help laughing to myself – our sex had always been intense, but we’d never before taken it to such levels. And, while I enjoyed the experience, I wasn’t sure my body could take that kind of use very often.

Simon staggered into the sitting room where I was sitting in a wing chair reading a paper about two hours later, his eyes still puffy from sleep and his hair sticking up all over his head. “You didn’t wake me up,” he complained.

“You looked too beautiful asleep to bother by waking you,” I said. I eyed him thoughtfully. “In fact, even half asleep you look beautiful. Come over here.” I held my arms open and let Simon climb into my lap. Cradling him against my chest, I smoothed his hair down and kissed his face all over.

With my free hand, I reached down and stroked between his legs where his ball sac used to be. Simon squirmed and sighed, as his small cock instantly grew hard. He tried to say something, but I clamped my open mouth over his letting our tongues explore each other’s mouths. I continued to stroke between his legs and run my finger along the underside of his erect dick. When he jerked in my lap, I started to circle my finger around his glans, making Simon squirm even more. Suddenly, Simon’s whole body tensed and he almost sucked my tongue down his throat as he ejaculated all over his smooth belly and chest.

Laughing, I broke our kiss and scooped up some of his white cum on my fingers. He smiled puckishly up at me as I held my fingers to his lips. His pink tongue hungrily lapped at my fingers, licking them clean. I scooped up more of his seed and once more held my fingers to his mouth. I had just about scraped his chest and belly clean when the phone rang.

I hated to put Simon down, but didn’t have much choice. Picking up the phone, I listened as Claude informed me that John had been moved back to a single holding cell and that he was beginning to stir. I told him that I’d be down in just a few minutes. Hanging up, I told Simon what was happening and said that if he wanted to watch from the control room, he’d need to get showered and dressed quickly. He asked if I had time to wait, and I was forced to tell him to meet me there.

By the time I reached the control room, John was beginning to roll his head from side to side and flutter his eyelids.

“I had Sam shave his head and eyebrows clean just about an hour ago,” Claude informed me as I watched the monitor. I nodded silent thanks as I studied the slave’s movements – they were clearly becoming more deliberate.

“Will he feel any pain when he comes awake?” I asked Claude.

“Not at all,” Claude assured me. “He has healed nicely. His penis may be slightly uncomfortable from the catheter, but I had that removed last night.” He thought for a moment. “Yes, he might feel a bit of discomfort – especially when he relieves himself. But, as for pain, no – he will not have physical pain when he awakes.”

I moved away from the control panel and reached for one of the stun guns in the charger rack and then pulled my hand away. Next to the stun guns were several long cattle prods. I took one of those and familiarized myself with how it worked before turning back to the monitors. I had just resumed my seat when the door opened and Alexi came in accompanied by Eric and Simon.

Simon’s hair was still damp – hell, it was more wet than dry. He crowded so close to me that he was nearly in my lap when John’s eyes opened once and immediately closed. He blinked a couple of times, and then his eyes opened again. For several minutes, he just stared blankly at the ceiling.

“Get ready to switch cameras,” Alexi said. “He should be getting up in the next few moments.”

Sam nodded and his hand hovered over the button to switch cameras as John rolled to one side and pushed up from the bed. He tottered on rubbery legs for a moment, looking around. Sam switched to the camera over the toilet. Seeing the toilet, he staggered over to it and standing over it began to relieve himself. As the stream of urine began, John hissed and looked down for the first time.

“This is it,” Alexi said with an amused chuckle.

John’s mouth gaped open as he stared down at his dick. He reached down pulling at himself as if searching for his foreskin – then, for the first time; he noticed the black ink on his cock. He grabbed his dick, peeing all over his hands, and when he did, realized that he’d lost more – much more than just his foreskin. The scream finally made if from his lungs as he staggered back still peeing all over himself and the walls.

“Don’t you think that it’s time for you to make an appearance?” Claude asked.

Alexi turned and studied me carefully as I continued to watch the monitor. I shook my head. “No, no it’s too soon for that,” I said thoughtfully. “He still hasn’t noticed the tattoo on his belly, or the rings in his tits and nose. Things are just beginning to sink in – he needs a little time to process everything and discover the other modifications that have been inflicted on him.”

We watched as John staggered blindly around the cell for about five minutes, both of his hands protectively clutched over his genitals. Finally, he backed up against one of the walls and slid down it to a sitting position. It took another five minutes before he became aware of the large tattoo across his lower abdomen and the rings in his nipples and nose. For the first time since discovering that he was missing one testicle, his hands left his groin as he reached up and fingered the ring. He spent several minutes twisting and turning the septum ring in an attempt to find a way to open it. His hands finally fell back to his crotch.

“It’s going to come now,” I said.

“What is?” Claude wanted to know.

I pointed to the screen that showed John sobbing. “That is,” I said. “It’s the first break in his ego.”

“Do you think he’s broken?” Alexi asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It might be hard – even impossible – to totally break him. But, his wall of resistance is showing clear signs of cracking.” I turned to Simon. “Do me a favor and order some coffee and refreshments brought up here.” I addressed the others. “I’m going to give him another hour.”

After the refreshments came, I leaned back in my chair sipping coffee and snacking on a really excellent crème filled pastry hoping that I looked far more confident than I really felt. Everyone’s eyes were on the monitors staring as John rocked back and forth crying. His sobbing would almost stop and then he’d reach up to touch the ring through his nose, look down at his inked belly and dick, or feel for his missing testicle. Each time he did one of those things, his sobbing would start anew.

It was a little over an hour later when John’s uncontrollable sobbing finally stopped. I casually pushed away from the monitor and handed Simon my coffee cup. I reached down and picked up the cattle prod without looking around and quietly announced that it was time to confront the slave.

Standing outside of John’s cell, I turned and smiled up at the monitor one last time before I pressed the control button that made the door slide back. I stepped into the room and stood there quietly for several moments after the door slid closed waiting for John to look up. Eventually he lifted his shaved head and stared blankly at me for a long time.

“When a superior enters the room, it is customary for a slave to stand,” I said firmly.

“What the fuck have you done to me, you motherfucker?” John asked venomously.

“Nothing much really,” I said evenly. “Just a few minor modifications to help you remember just what you are now.”

“Minor … minor? You call cutting off one of my balls a minor fucking modification?” John screeched, his voice rising to a girlish pitch before cracking. “And what about these goddamn tattoos? That’s not a minor fucking modification.”

“Answering your questions in order – yes, removing just one testicle is a minor modification,” I said firmly. “I could have just as easily ordered that everything between your legs be removed.” For the first time, I smiled coldly. “Of course, that’s still a very real possibility for you. As for your tattoos, yes – they, too, are just minor modifications. There are other slaves more heavily inked than you are.”

John grabbed his dick protectively. “What happened to my foreskin, you bastard?”

“Oh come on, you’re not that dense,” I said. “You’ve been circumcised. You didn’t need it, so I ordered it removed.”

“I’ll fucking kill you, you fucking asshole,” John screamed, launching himself at me.

I had watched as the murderous fire filled John’s eyes. I’d seen the tensing of the muscles and was ready for his attack. In fact, in the back of my mind I realized that I had been expecting it. I raised the cattle prod and jammed it hard against his firm abdomen, activating it as I brought it up. The shock threw the slave off his feet. I let him writhe and jerk for a few seconds before I stepped closer and applied the prod to his remaining testicle, bringing another high-pitched scream from the agonized slave as he curled into a fetal position, his hands protectively over his groin.

“I’d suggest that you remember that you have only one testicle remaining, slave,” I said coldly. “It would be such a shame for you to have it fried by pulling a stupid stunt like that again.” I stepped back. “Now, get onto your feet.” At first, John remained curled on the floor. I triggered the cattle prod again, letting him hear the crackle of the electrical spark that could cause him such agony.

I thought that I’d have to zap the slave again when he rolled onto his hands and knees and climbed shakily to his feet. I offered him a benign smile and congratulated him for obeying. I motioned for him to back up against the wall with the prod. At first, he just stared defiantly at me and then he slowly backed up against the wall.

“You’re learning,” I said. “There might be some hope for you yet.” I nodded towards his crotch, which he kept covered with his hands. “Take the time to feel just how smooth you are down there – in fact, feel your face and the rest of your body. You’ll find that it’s nice and smooth – it’s going to remain that way forever. You’ve been given laser treatments to render you totally hairless from your face to your toes.”

John’s eyes widened in shock as I spoke and his hands unconsciously felt along his abdomen, groin, and thighs to find nothing but smooth skin. He began to shake his head in disbelief. “No….” he groaned.

“Yes,” I said firmly. “Right now the only places you’re capable of growing any hair is on your head and your eyebrows. But, as with everything else – that can change. If it does, you’ll be awake for all of the procedures.” I casually pointed to his groin with the prod. His hands snapped back over his remaining genitals protectively. “If you force a full castration – or even nullification – I promise that you will be awake for the procedure. You’ll get to watch as your precious dick is cut off, leaving you with absolutely nothing down there.”

“You wouldn’t,” John said, his voice an unsure whimper.

I chuckled. “Look at yourself, slave. Look at what I’ve already ordered done to you. Now, ask yourself – do you really think that it would bother me to have your remaining ball and worthless cock cut off?”

Horror and real fear filled John’s eyes as my words sank into his brain. I took a step back as his face went slack when he realized that I wasn’t kidding. The realization frightened him to his very core and he involuntarily peed himself.

“I wanna go home,” he whined in a frightened little boy voice. “I wanna tell my grandpa that I’ll be good – he can fix everything.”

“He already has,” I said coldly. “He sold you. I told you before – you don’t exist anymore. As far as the world is concerned, you died. You are a slave now.”

John began shaking his head as his tears returned and he slumped back to a sitting position on the floor. “No, no, no … it’s not possible,” he cried.

“I didn’t tell you that you could sit,” I said harshly. “Get back on your feet.” I didn’t bother activating the prod and was pleased when the slave shakily rose to his feet. “That’s better. After I leave, some attendants will come to take you to the showers to get cleaned up. If you want to avoid more punishment, you’ll do exactly as you’re told. Once you’re clean, you’ll be taken to the punishment room.”

“Punishment? Why?”

“Slaves do not swear at their superiors,” I replied. “You have to be punished for that.” I deliberately turned my back on him and looked up towards the camera. “Open the door, please.”

In the corridor, I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled up at the camera before heading back to the monitor control room. I had barely gotten through the door when Simon rushed me and gave me a sharp punch in the arm.

“I don’t care if I have to be punished for that,” he said angrily, his puppy dog brown eyes brimming with tears. “You shouldn’t have turned your back on that slave. He might have jumped you from behind. He could have hurt you!”

“Simon’s right,” Alexi said. “You took a big risk there.”

I put the cattle prod back in the rack before turning to face the others and nodded. “Yes, I did take a risk – I admit it,” I said. “But, it was a calculated one. I knew you were monitoring the room and could have help to me quickly.”

“But, why did you do it?” Alexi asked.

“I had to show John that I wasn’t afraid of him,” I explained. “The only way to do that was to turn my back on him.”

“That was risky,” Alexi said thoughtfully. “But, I have to admit that the reasoning was sound.”

I took Simon in my arms and stroked his soft hair. “I’m sorry that I scared you,” I said, hugging him tightly. “But, if you ever raise a hand to me again, you won’t be sitting down for a month.”

Simon nuzzled his face against my chest. “If it makes you think about keeping yourself safe, it’ll be worth it,” he said petulantly.

*****

John’s training progressed – not without more than a few setbacks – but his resistance was weakening with each training session. Of course, his weakening resistance had a lot to do with the many visits to the punishment room. But, progress was progress. Most of my time was spent keeping busy with the final weeks of school – the instructors loaded us up with assignments and kept reminding us of the impending exams.

One night just after exams began; Alexi informed me that the work on the living quarters over the London club had progressed to a point where the quarters would be habitable by the time we were finished in Basel. I asked about the work on the club.

“Progressing nicely, I understand,” Alexi said. He chuckled. “I think we must have every contractor in London working on the project. There’s one work crew working on the offices and flat, another on the dance club, and yet another on the lower levels. That’s not counting the work crews working on the other warehouses.”

Exams came and went without too many headaches. Professor Clarke’s economics exam was a real bitch, but that was offset by M. Guilliard’s incredibly easy French exam. Exams were suddenly over and we had a day to wait before the grades were posted. Checking my grades was no big surprise – I was among the top three in all of my classes. Simon, on the other hand, surprised me – he had been among the lowest in his class in Physics. Checking his grades I found that he had advanced to fifth in his class. In fact, he had advanced his standing in every class.

That night, I sent a little First Year up to Simon’s room with a note telling him to report to my room immediately. When Simon burst through the door, he stopped short and his big brown eyes went round with amazement. He looked from me to Alexi to Eric and then to the table in the middle of the room. The round table where we studied or took our snacks was laden with all of his most favorite treats. There were plates of cherry tortes, pastries filled to overflowing with rich, sweet crème, candied fruits, and chocolates. And in the middle of it all topped with a bright red bow was the new PlayStation2 that he had been wanting so desperately.

“W-wh-what’s all this?” Simon gasped.

“I’d say that it looks like a party,” Alexi said. Suddenly, he let go of his normal reserve and crossed to Simon and gave him a friendly hug. “Congratulations on doing so well on your exams.” He reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out a long, slim package wrapped in gold foil. “This is from me and Eric.”

Ripping open the paper, Simon revealed an expensive Mont Blanc fountain pen like Alexi normally used. I knew that Simon had always admired the pen, but was surprised that Alexi had noticed. Carried away by his excitement and enthusiasm, Simon suddenly leaned forward and kissed Alexi on the cheek. Realizing what he had done, Simon blushed and began stammering an apology.

“Yes, well – I think we can allow that under these circumstances,” Alexi said. He turned to me. “Of course, you know that I think you are just spoiling Simon needlessly.”

“Of course I am,” I cheerfully agreed, as Simon wrapped his arms around me. “And, you wouldn’t ever do something like that with Eric.” I nuzzled Simon’s ear. “Check out the bracelet on Eric’s wrist and the new watch and….”

“Okay, okay – I admit defeat,” Alexi smiled, wrapping his arms tenderly around Eric. “Now that our secrets are out, I have yet another one to reveal.” He paused dramatically as we all looked expectantly in his direction. He motioned to the sweets laden table. “If we’re going to spoil our pets, it needs to be done correctly. I’ve ordered a proper dinner be delivered … it should be here shortly.”

“What is it?” I asked.

Alexi refused to reveal any more of his secret, so we were all forced to relax and chat until there was a knock on the door. Opening the door, Alexi revealed Carlo – the owner of an Italian restaurant that both Eric and Simon loved – standing in the corridor. Behind him, two waiters carried trays. Stepping inside quickly, Carlo congratulated all of us on our success in school. Seeing that the table was already filled, Carlo directed the waiters to unload the trays on the coffee table.

“First,” he said, speaking slowly in Italian for the benefit of both Simon and Eric, who each had only one year of Italian under their belts. "Olive salad because the little one,” he indicated Eric, “is so fond of it.”

Eric’s blue eyes lit up at the sight of one of his favorite appetizers at Carlo’s restaurant. The look he gave Alexi was one of sheer adoration. To my surprise, Alexi put his arm around Eric’s shoulder and pulled him close.

“Then, not one, not two, but three pizzas,” Carlo announced as the waiters uncovered the pizzas. “One pizza is my special five cheeses,” he said pointing at the pizza. “The second; pepperoni and Italian sausage. And, lastly – anchovy with green and black olives.” Carlo looked around at all the pastries and sweets on the table. “How you young men will manage to finish all of this, I don’t know – maybe you each have hollow legs.” He shrugged happily. “But, to finish – my own cannoli and tiramisu.”

Ushering the waiters from the room, Carlo bowed his way from the room, again congratulating us on our success in school.

“Carlo never delivers,” I said in awe as the door closed behind him. “How the hell did you manage all of this?”

Alexi shrugged. “Sometimes it pays to be a prince,” he said. “Even today there are those impressed with noble titles.”

It didn’t take much for us to realize that there was just no way for us to even make a significant dent in the amount of food that we had unless we all wanted to end up violently sick. The solution was obvious – Alexi threw open the door to the suite and called for our neighbors to join us. Before long, about a dozen St. Michael’s students were laughing and shouting as we all celebrated getting through finals.

The graduation ceremonies were pretty anticlimactic after our impromptu celebrations in the dormitory. Of course, I may have been influenced by the fact that none of my relatives had even bothered to send a card. A huge contingent of Alexi’s family showed up – several making a point of greeting me and congratulating me with a knowing wink. Alexi’s family drew Eric into their fold, clearly aware of his relationship with Alexi and accepting it. Even Simon’s parents came to the ceremonies. His father was a brutish jerk and his mother wasn’t much better. She could have been a carbon copy of my own mother. Both were interested in only two things – status and money.

After the actual graduation ceremonies were over, I moved off away from the crowds and made myself as scarce as possible. I found a place near the fountain where I could watch Simon, without appearing obvious about it when a shadow fell over me. Looking up, I found a giant of a man standing over me. He had to be at least 6’7”. His thinning hair was a distinguished salt and pepper. I guess him to be about sixty, but he could easily have been older. The one thing that couldn’t escape my notice was the fact that whatever age he might be, he was unbent by age and looked quite capable of bench pressing an automobile.

“You are Duncan Masters,” he said in Russian.

“I am,” I replied in the same language.

The giant broke into a broad grin. “I was told you speak Russian, but not that you spoke it so well,” he said respectfully. He stuck out a massive paw. “I am Ivan Romanov – Alexi’s granduncle.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you Grand Duke,” I replied with a bow.

Romanov laughed that booming laugh again. “I am even more impressed with you than I was before,” he said. “Come and walk with me.”

Romanov led me down an arbored walkway, initially chatting about school and life in Basel. When he was sure that we were far from any curious ears, Romanov pointed towards a marble bench and we sat.

“I have followed your progress closely,” Romanov said. “I am impressed with your natural abilities. Alexi was totally correct about you – you are every bit his equal.”

“You and Alexi are much too kind,” I said, inclining my head respectfully.

“Bullshit!” Romanov exclaimed jovially. “We are both being truthful and nothing more.” He tapped my chest with a finger that felt like a steel rod. “I expect great things from you in London – great things indeed.” He tapped my chest again. “I am confident that you will succeed where Cyril had failed and restore our interests in London to what they rightfully should be.”

“I shall do my best, sir,” I replied.

“I know you shall,” the old man said. “But, my real reason for pulling you to the side is to invite you to dine with the Family tonight – bring your boy.” He rose suddenly without giving me a chance to reply and headed back towards the crowds clearly dismissing me.

When I finally returned to the Commons, I found Simon waiting for me. His parents had already departed much to his relief. He informed me that aside from a perfunctory congratulation, the only thing his father had said to him was a suggestion to find someplace inexpensive to stay in Basel.

“You should have told him that we’ll be living in London,” I joked.

“God forbid!” Simon said. “If I said that, one of them might feel some kind of obligation to occasionally pay me a visit. Of course, they’d only visit me in order to tell me how worthless I am.”

“They’re fools,” I said a bit more angrily than I’d planned.

Before I could say anything else, Alexi came up behind me and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Uncle Ivan is very impressed with you,” he said. “I understand that you are under royal command to attend dinner tonight.” He turned to Simon. “And, you’re to attend as well.”

“I’m really grateful for the invitation,” I said. “But, I was going to ask you to send my regrets….”

“Out of the question,” Alexi interrupted. “Uncle Ivan has commanded your presence – you have no choice in the matter.” Alexi turned and scanned the dwindling crowds. Finally, he pointed to a tall, powerfully built man dressed all in black. “That’s Sergei – Uncle Ivan’s personal driver and bodyguard. Uncle Ivan has left him behind to chauffeur you to dinner.”

I studied the man. He looked even more powerful than the Grand Duke. “Christ,” I said in wonder. “He looks like he’s made of granite.”

Two hours later, Sergi escorted us to a Rolls Royce that stood waiting outside the main gates to St. Michael’s. After closing the door behind us, Sergei climbed in behind the wheel and pulled smoothly away from the curb. I asked where Alexi and Eric were and Sergei simply said that they had gone ahead. After that, he resisted all efforts at conversation as he guided the car through the streets of Basel. It wasn’t long before we left the city and entered the countryside. After driving through the country for nearly an hour, the car slowed and turned up a long drive, fronted by massive wrought iron gates.

“Bloody hell,” Simon whispered in shock as he leaned forward to stare at the house that we were approaching. Leaning forward in the seat, I stared out the front window at the house – it was more like a small palace in white marble with every window ablaze with light. The Rolls pulled up in front of carpeted steps and a liveried attendant quickly opened the door. He bowed when each of us stepped from the car.

Mounting the stairs, we were greeted by a doorman who opened the ornate front doors and stood aside until we passed through. Once inside the marble entry, we found Alexi standing there waiting for us. He wore a scarlet sash over across his chest, and the left side of his suit was filled with medals.

“What’s going on?” I asked Alexi.

“You’ll see,” he said with an enigmatic smile. “Now, you mustn’t keep the Court waiting.”

“The Court?”

Alexi’s only answer was to hurry us across the marble hall towards massive doors that opened as if by magic. Crossing the threshold, I almost stopped dead in my tracks. Over a hundred people were gathered on either side of a wide scarlet carpet trimmed in gold that led directly to a raised dais where Uncle Ivan sat on a real throne. As Alexi passed, the assemblage bowed respectfully. He nodded in each direction as he led us straight to the foot of the dais.

Romanov stood as we approached. He was wearing a uniform tunic bedecked with medals. Reaching the foot of the dais, I automatically bowed low and waited for the old man to speak.

“I know that all of you will forgive an old man’s whims and indulge his little foibles,” he said in a booming voice that echoed through the room. “In grander days, the highest honor the head of the House of Romanov could bestow was the elevation to dukedom. It has been over half a century since such an honor was bestowed on anyone. Tonight, it is my honor, pleasure, and will to once again perform that honor.”

My body tingled as the old man produced a large, dangerous looking sword and approached me. Alexi leaned over and whispered for me to sink to one knee. I clumsily did as he said and bowed my head as the old man towered over me.

The old man laid the sword on each of my shoulders and commanded, “Rise Duncan Masters, Grand Duke of Spala, and Duke of Russia.” As I rose, Uncle Ivan handed the sword to an attendant and then took my by the shoulders and kissed me on the cheeks three times. He turned me to face the assemblage, who broke into applause and cheers. Romanov leaned over my shoulder and said quietly, “Of course, it really doesn’t mean much anymore. But, the title is real and you might find it helpful at times.”

The rest of the night passed in a blur of faces coming up to congratulate me and offer toasts to my new title, the Imperial House of Romanov, and Grand Duke Ivan. During the formal dinner, I was forced to sit at to the old man’s right as guest of honor and drink even more toasts. It was late in the evening when Alexi and I finally managed to break away from the crowds and slip out onto the patio.

“Well, how do you feel?” Alexi asked with a grin.

“A little drunk and overwhelmed,” I replied. “Is this some kind of dream?”

Alexi shrugged. “Like Uncle Ivan said – just a whim of his,” Alexi said. “But, it’s all for real and official. The official notice has already gone out to court circulars around Europe. You might even find something in the back of newspapers about it.”

“But, I don’t understand why…”

“Cyril was his son, and Dimitri his grandson,” Alexi replied. “What happened in London hurt him deeply. I think he sees in you the chance to redeem their names.”

“There must be more than that,” I said.

“Uncle Ivan realizes that you are my equal in everything else,” Alexi said simply. “Why shouldn’t you also be equal in rank? That’s how he sees it anyway.” He put his arm around my shoulder. “Don’t let it worry you too much. Like Uncle Ivan said, the title doesn’t really mean much these days.” He chuckled. “Of course, the title will get you party invitations and better seating in restaurants.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, I almost forgot – being Duke can even get you tickets to sold out shows sometimes.”

“All of that, huh?”

“All of that,” Alexi grinned.

I spent most of the next day recovering from the celebrations the night before and staggering around getting the last of my things packed. Simon showed up and giggled as he bowed before me every chance he got. Eventually, he got the giggles out of his system and actually became helpful. Between us, we finished the packing and made sure the tickets and passports were all together for the next morning.

*****

The following morning found me feeling much better as Simon and I supervised the driver of the airport car service in getting the luggage into the back of the van. After one last check for airline tickets, passports, and papers, we were ready to leave St. Michael’s forever. Alexi and Eric were waiting for us at curbside at the airport. Considering the amount of luggage we had, check-in went remarkably quickly and smoothly and it wasn’t long before the four of us were seated in First Class on the plane.

Customs in London insisted on checking every single piece of luggage. As usual, the British Customs agents were politely formal and remarkably thorough as they pawed through each bag. Eventually, the four of us passed through Customs to find a driver holding a sign with my name on it. The driver efficiently took charge of the luggage carts and led us out to the curb where a Rolls sat waiting for us. Opening the door for us, the driver signaled to a van waiting a few vehicles back and pointed at the baggage carts. The passenger door opened and a crop-headed youth came running up to stand by the carts.

“’enry will watch the bags ‘til they’re loaded in the van,” the driver informed us. “Once they’re all loaded up, the van will be right along – they got the address.”

The Rolls had no sooner pulled from the curb when the driver was on the car’s mobile phone. After a brief conversation, he informed us that someone from the solicitor’s office would meet us at the warehouse with keys and some papers to sign. True to his word, when the car pulled up across the street from the warehouse, a short, plump man with a pinched face hurried across the street dodging traffic.

“Good morning, gentlemen, good morning. I’m Evelyn Snelling – Sir Leyland sent me to meet you,” he said eager to please. “If you’ll come with me, I have the keys to the flat upstairs.”

Entering the building, Snelling kept twisting around to apologize for the state of the building, prissily brushing plaster dust from the sleeve of his suit jacket. He assured us that the flat and office block were in far better condition – if a bit bare.

He guided us through the office block first and bare was an understatement. The walls were still unfinished although the oak floors had been carefully sanded and polished. Conduits for bundles of electrical and video cables stared blankly from openings in the wall. The office block was actually on a mezzanine level between the ground floor and the first floor at the back of the warehouse – an arrangement that had worked well for the warehouse managers. Originally, the walls of the office block had been glass and the managers had been able to watch the workers on the warehouse floor. The glass walls had been replaced with soundproofed walls.

“There is a direct entrance to the flat from the street,” Snelling explained. “And, per your instructions, there are stairs leading from the executive offices right to the flat.”

The flat was done on loft style – open, airy, and spacious. It was in a slightly more finished condition that the offices below. The walls had all been painted with a base coat of white paint. Like the office block, the oak floors had been sanded and polished. Islands of furniture surrounded thick carpets to create intimate seating areas throughout the open space. A tall, willowy man wearing a loose Edwardian frock coat turned when we entered the room and immediately approached, his hand limply extended.

“You must be the new owners,” he said with a slight sing song lilt to his voice. “I’m Graham – and I’ve been designing your living space.” He motioned to the walls. “Pay no attention to the starkness of the room so far,” he said. “I’ve been waiting to meet you before committing to a particular design scheme.”

I spent the better part of the day either signing papers for Snelling, or looking over various design schemes with Graham. He had had an entire section of the ceiling removed to create a gallery on the second floor where the master bedroom, bathroom, and guestrooms were located. The master suite was just that – an impressive suite of rooms comprising a sitting room, bedroom, and breakfast alcove in addition to a huge, spacious bathroom. Graham had clearly concentrated on getting the bedroom and master suite ready. Except for a few minor things – mostly in the master bath, the sauna and hot tub weren’t ready for use yet – the suite was ready for immediate occupancy.

It took two days before Graham was satisfied that he had an idea of exactly what kind he was going to do with the flat. During that time, office furniture had been moved into the office block on the mezzanine and the phones had been turned on. But, the office didn’t prove much of a refuge – the contractors from the dance club and the private club were popping in almost all day long to get approval for this or that expenditure or looking for approval to their solutions for various problems that cropped up.

Over the course of the next three months, construction moved along smoothly. Graham finally finished overseeing the renovations and decoration of the flat and the offices on the mezzanine. With the flat finally finished, I was able to bring Yoshi, Malcolm, and Ingo from Basel. For the office block, Graham had chosen an Art Deco style that I found remarkably impressive. The dance club was progressing nicely – the floor was laid, the massive bar, which ran nearly the length of the warehouse, was almost finished. Work on the stage, which filled the center of the back wall, was nearly complete.

By working double shifts, the work on the underground areas of the club – the real reason for buying the warehouse block – had reached a point where it was necessary to start bringing in staff from The Castle. Konrad, Brigitta, and Mackenzie finally came over to supervise setting up their various areas. There were actually three salons in the new operation – one for club members who chose to avail themselves of Konrad’s remarkable skills, one designed for the slaves of the clients, and the last on the lowest level was designed as a total restraint dungeon salon.

Brigitta was amazed by how impressive and state of the art her piercing and tattooing areas were. Alexi had authorized that no expenses be spared to make the facilities as perfect as possible.

The private club – named The Dungeons – was designed by a theatrical stage designer and actually looked like a castle dungeon with stone walls and polished stone floors. As in Basel, the lowest levels contained the staff slave quarters, holding cells, and training chambers.

As an experiment, I put Ingo in charge of the member’s dining room and he surprised everyone by actually doing an impressive job of helping to design a remarkable formal dining room with a number of private alcoves where members could dine in privacy.

Alexi divided his time between Basel and London. During one of his visits to London, he helped me interview potential members of the in-house security team. With his contacts, Alexi had managed to come up with a list of people who were experienced, reliable, and trustworthy. After interviewing several candidates, we both agreed that Oliver Baldridge, a.k.a. The Monk, or simply Monk, should head the security team. Monk was a monster of a man – nearly as wide as he was tall and pure muscle. He was totally bald and resembled a grizzly bear that had been dipped in a vat of depilatory.

Baldridge got his nickname “Monk” during his days in the SAS for his habit of seldom speaking. His SAS companions joked that he had taken a vow of silence. When Monk did speak, though, people tended to listen – although, I have to admit that half of the time, I barely understood what he was saying. Monk was Cockney and naturally used Cockney rhyming slang to communicate. One of Monk’s greatest assets was that there wasn’t anything he didn’t know about the current state of affairs in London’s Underworld.

Since being politely asked to leave the SAS for being too aggressive, Monk had earned a very good living as a freelance enforcer for various criminal interests. He had worked for the Romanov’s in the past and was slightly familiar with Alexi. With Monk’s help, Alexi and I were able to add four more men to the security team – all of them with extensive military or police experience and capable, according to Monk, to quietly handle almost any problem that might crop up. Two were Americans, one was German, and the last was a British lad. None were nearly as big as Monk was, but they all seemed capable and that’s all that really mattered.

It was inevitable that all of the work going on in the warehouses would attract attention – some of the attention was from local media. Surprisingly, all of the press was favorable and our public enterprises were hailed as a needed boost in the arm for the local economy. There were others showing an interest in our activities and that wasn’t quite as welcome as the media interest.

I was working in the office with Alexi one afternoon when Tom, the other Brit on the security team tapped on the door and announced that there was someone to see me. There was something in his voice that warned me that there might be trouble.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Bloke called Sidney Snell,” Tom said. The name didn’t mean anything to me and I shook my head in incomprehension. “Smarmy git what works for Barry Manchester,” Tom explained.

I knew the name Barry Manchester – he was an up and coming mobster who was moving into the area extorting protection money from business owners. He imagined himself as dangerous as the Krays had been in their day – and, I suppose that in his own way, he was.

I nodded my head and motioned for Tom to let Sidney Snell into the office. “This might be interesting,” I told Alexi.

Snell turned out to be a rat-faced hood dressed in a silk suit. His brown curls had been tamed with copious amounts of grease. He strode into the office as if he belonged there and slowly looked around as if appraising the place.

“Nice, nice – you got a nice place ‘ere,” Snell said in a nasal voice that carried the accent of the East End. “Not necessarily my personal tastes, but still nice.”

“I’m glad you approve,” I said. I motioned to a wing chair on the other side of the desk. “Please, have a seat.” I looked over to Tom, who had taken up a position by the door. “Tom, could you do me a favor please and ring down and have some coffee sent up?” I looked back to Snell. “Is coffee fine with you or would you like something else, perhaps?”

“Coffee’s fine,” Snell said. He twisted in the chair to face Tom. “Be a good lad and be sure to tell them I like mine with lots of cream.”

Tom’s lips tightened slightly, but he managed to force a smile to his lips as he slipped into the outer office to put in the order. He returned moments later and softly informed us that the coffee would be up as quickly as possible.

Snell made a point of looking around the room again. “Like I said – this is a real nice place,” he repeated. “All genuine – not a bunch of naff like most would put in a place like this.”

“I like it,” I said. I idly played with a paperweight Simon had given me – a heavy brass replica of some medieval seal of office. “What can I do for you, Mr. Snell.”

“Right to the point, ain’tcha?” Snell smiled, showing uneven yellow teeth, which made him look even more like a rat. “It’s more what my guv can do for you?”

“And, what would that be?”

“Insurance,” Snell. He looked around again. “Place like this – it’d cost a fortune if anything was to happen.”

“I appreciate the offer,” I said pleasantly. “But, we already have the place heavily insured. I wish you had come sooner – we might have been able to get a better deal through you and your employer.”

Snell looked at me as if I was stupid. “Nah – that’s the wrong kind of insurance. That kinda insurance pays off after something was ter happen. Mr. Manchester can guarantee that you don’t have no problems in advance.” He gave me another yellow-toothed grin. “Fer instance – wivout the right insurance, wot’s to guarantee that a bunch of undesirables don’t come in one night and bust up yer customers and place. Mr. Manchester’s insurance can prevent that from happenin’.”

“Well, for one thing – we have very good security people,” I said.

“Wot?” Snell feigned surprise. “Tom?” He rose from the chair and leaned over the desk. “’e might look the genuine article, but it’s all flash.” He looked over his shoulder and then back at me. “’e’s a poof – didja know that?”

“A poof?” I asked, pretending that I didn’t understand the word.

“A fairy, a fudge packer, a Nancy boy,” Snell explained. I stared blankly at Snell. “’e’s a fucking fag. ‘e takes it up the arse.”

I looked across the room at Tom, who was clearly having a hard time keeping himself calm. “Tom, is that true? Are you a homosexual?” Tom looked uncomfortable by the question. I continued on quickly, “Me, too.”

Tom looked surprised by the admission. Alexi’s eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what I was up to. Snell’s smarmy grin grew wider. He had the look of a feral predator closing in on his prey. “Well, I shoulda known – ‘at’s all the more reason you need the insurance I’m offerin’.” He reached out and stroked my cheek before grabbing it and pinching me hard. “It’d be a shame if somethin’ ‘appened to mark up that pretty face o’ yers. I understand you poofs set a big store in the way yers looks.”

Without any warning, I brought the paperweight down hard on Snell’s other hand. The sound of bones cracking was clear throughout the room. Snell’s grin disappeared as his mouth opened in a wide scream.

“Yer broke my fuckin’ hand!” He screeched. Before he could say anything else, I was out of my chair and grabbing a handful of his greasy hair. I jerked my hand down savagely, bringing Snell’s face down hard against the desk. Instead of letting Snell fall to the floor, I yanked him across the desk scattering everything on the desktop to the floor, rolling him over on his back. Blood poured from his broken nose and split lips – he held his hands up defensively in front of his face while sputtering threats of revenge. I pistoned my fist three times into his groin.

Everything happened so fast that neither Alexi nor Tom had time to really react.

“Bloody hell,” Tom gasped, finally rushing across the room to help hold Snell down.

I leaned down, my face close to Snell’s. “Who the fuck do you think you are to walk into my place, make veiled threats, and put your hands on me?” I snarled. “It’s time you learned a lesson, and I’m just the son of a bitch to teach it to you.”

“What are you planning?” Alexi asked calmly.

“I’m going to send Manchester a message,” I said. I turned to Tom. “Call down to Yoshi – tell him to get up here immediately. Tell him I want the Elastrator.” Tom stared at me in disbelief. “Do it!” Without waiting to be told a second time, Tom dashed from the room to make the call as I held the whining Snell down on the desk. Alexi stood on the other side of the desk, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets, casually watching the scene unfold before him.

Tom must have also placed a call to Monk because the big man lumbered into the room just minutes before Yoshi and Konrad appeared in the doorway. Besides the Elastrator, both carried saps in their hands. Seeing me holding Snell down on the desk, Yoshi grinned and relaxed as he approached the desk.

“From the tone in Tom’s voice, I thought you might need a hand getting things under control up here,” he said. “So I grabbed Konrad as backup – I should have known you’d have everything under control.”

“Yeah, well I could still use your help,” I gasped. “Get over here and get this prick’s pants down.” Snell, still not clear on what was happening, started kicking and writing. “Get over here and hold his legs still,” I barked at Tom. He and Monk each grabbed a leg in vise-like grips and held Snell still as Yoshi jerked his pants down. I took the Elastrator and motioned for Konrad to hold Snell’s shoulders down.

I grabbed Snell’s balls as I depressed the Elastrator handles and opened the prongs wide. Snell tried to wriggle away as I worked the thick rubber band over his scrotum and trapped both of his balls below the band. As soon as I released the band from the prongs, Snell screamed in panic.

I leaned over him again. “Understand this you ponce, I just put an Elastrator band around your worthless balls,” I said coldly. “As we’re talking, that band is cutting off the blood supply to your balls and they’re slowly dying. That’s my message to your boss – every time he sends some greasy flunky to try to threaten me, I’m going to send them home the exact same way I’m sending you back. If he wants to talk to me, he can do it like a man – face to fucking face.”

I backed away from the desk and rooted around through the debris from my desk until I found the paperweight. Walking to the end of the desk, I raised the weight and brought it down on Snell’s right knee, bringing another howl of pain from the gangster’s ruined mouth.

“I could cripple you for life,” I warned Snell. “But, this is your first and only warning – if you even think of giving me any aggravation and I’ll smash both of your kneecaps so bad that all the Queen’s horses and all the Queen’s men won’t put them together again.” I turned to Monk. “Do you know where this Manchester hangs out – where this prick is supposed to report?”

“Yeah, ‘e’s got a minicab stand, where ‘e makes his office,” Monk nodded.

“Good, get this prick in a car and take him there,” I said. I leaned over Snell again. “Don’t forget, if you don’t get that band off of your balls, you’ll lose them. You’re slowly being castrated, you prick.” I looked down and shook my head. “You don’t have much time – they’re already turning blue.” Snell’s eyes were round and frightened as I leaned over him. “You do believe me about everything, right?”

Snell’s head frantically nodded that he understood as Tom and Monk dragged him off the desk and out of the office.

“Yoshi,” Alexi said quietly. “Find a couple of the staff slaves down in The Dungeon to come up here and clean this mess up. And, have more coffee sent up.” Yoshi bowed and quickly moved from the room to carry out his instructions. Alexi moved back to the sofa and waved for me to take a seat in one of the wing chairs. “Wasn’t that rather excessive?”

I smoothed my hair back and smiled across at him. “No, not really,” I said. “In fact, it’s just about the right level to get my message across.”

“This Manchester is going to have to come after you to save face,” Alexi pointed out.

“That’s one option,” I admitted. “Or, he can come to see me face to face and see if I’m interested in his extortion offer.” I allowed myself a smile. “Manchester is small time hoping to make the big time,” I explained. “Monk’s been teaching me the hierarchy of the London Underworld. So far, he’s been shaking down only the smallest shop owners – the mom and pop chip shops, take away food places, convenience stores and the like that most of the real gangsters can’t be bothered with. He deals in drugs, small time robberies and the like. Recently, he’s begun to make his move into bigger things.”

Monk tramped back into the office. “Wiv all due fuckin’ respect,” he said slowly, “was you tryin’ t’ get yerself killed? Because if you are, ‘at stunt yer pulled was a good fuckin’ way to accomplish it.”

“Worried, Monk?” I asked casually.

“About meself – nah,” Monk spat. “But, it don’t look so fuckin’ good for my reputation if you gets yerself killed while I’m yer bodyguard.” He lumbered over to the wing chair that had fallen over when I jerked Snell onto the desk, righted it and sat down. “Now, if you don’t mind, what was you tryin’ to accomplish?”

I smiled across at Alexi and then Monk. “Exactly what I did accomplish,” I said. “According to you, Monk, this territory is kind of up for grabs. There are about six different gangs trying to claim absolute control over it.”

“’At’s right,” Monk agreed, nodding his huge shaven head. “All this patch used to be controlled by Jack Scanlon – but, ‘e’s gone semi-legitimate and is sort of retired.”

“Right and according to you, this Manchester is the biggest dog of the pack sniffing around this unclaimed patch,” I said. “The little exercise here earlier just sent a clear message that I think my balls are bigger than Manchester’s.”

“And do you?” Alexi asked.

“No, no I don’t think that,” I said with a sly smile. “I happen to know I do. Manchester doesn’t know that yet, but he’s about to find it out.”

Alexi started to chuckle. “I should have seen it,” he said, shaking his head in awed respect. “I noticed that most of the staff you’ve been bringing over from Basel, were muscle boy types. You’ve been preparing for this for quite some time.”

“You’re right,” I admitted. “At least since Monk explained the way things are currently.”

“So, how were you sure it would be Manchester and not one of the other groups that made a move?" ”Alexi asked.

”He’s the biggest of the lot,” I said. “With Monk clearly in charge of security, it wasn’t hard to figure that the others would stay back.”

Monk’s face broke into a grin that would have made a shark flinch. “Makes sense,” he said almost gleefully. “Take down the biggest bully on the patch and the others leave yer alone.” He lurched to his feet. “I’ll get the boys ready.”

For three days nothing happened – we didn’t get any angry telephone calls from Manchester, no more underlings came to make threats, we didn’t even get an angry letter in the mail. On the fourth day, a liveried chauffeur appeared with an invitation to join Mr. Jack Scanlon for lunch in the Century Club that afternoon.

“This could prove interesting,” I said to Alexi. “Do you want to come along?”

“Do you plan to toss him over the table and band his testicles between courses?” Alexi joked.

I pretended to think about it and finally shook my head, “No, I don’t think that would be such a good idea – I understand that they have the best roast beef in the city and a stunt like that might get me banned from the club for life.”

I told the driver that Alexi and I would be proud to accept Mr. Scanlon’s invitation and politely declined his offer to return later to drive us to the club.

The Century Club was straight out of the Edwardian era of polished wood paneling, thick carpets, liveried servants with silent footsteps, and everyone minding his own business. The doorman rang for another attendant to lead us to Scanlon’s table in the dining room. As we approached the table, Scanlon stood up and politely introduced himself as he waved us to take seats.

Scanlon was short and stocky, with thinning iron-grey hair and a thick, military style moustache. His suit was expensive and conservatively cut, his hair razor styled, and his hands manicured. When he spoke, there wasn’t the slightest trace of his own Cockney origins. He sounded straight out of the halls of Cambridge or Oxford.

Scanlon was the perfect host, offering suggestions about the best choices on the menu. He fastidiously avoided any discussions of what had happened to Snell or his real reason for inviting us to lunch. Instead, he chatted knowledgeably about the importance of a good education and his own regrets that he had neglected getting a proper education when he was young. As Scanlon had promised, the roast beef was perfectly done – crispy around the edges and nice and pink in the center. After the dessert dishes had been cleared away and coffee brought to the table, Scanlon produced an expensive cigar case and after offering each of us a cigar, which we refused, he lit a huge Churchill cigar and concentrated on getting it lit just right.

“I understand that you had a bit of trouble the other day,” Scanlon said from behind a blue cloud of cigar smoke.

“Not really,” I said. “We had a small misunderstanding, but not really any trouble.”

Scanlon studied the glowing end of his cigar, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. “As I understand, one of Barry Manchester’s associates was rather shamefully mistreated.”

I smiled and gently shook my head. “You’ve been misinformed,” I said. “Sidney Snell came into my office, tried to extort money from me, threatened my club and me, and then laid his hands on me. I simply sent Manchester the only kind of message he seems to understand.”

“Snell’s hand and knee were broken,” Scanlon said. “And, I understand that he had to return to surgery this morning to have his testicles removed.”

“Pity,” Alexi said softly.

Scanlon chuckled. “It’s really more of a benefit to the collective gene pool, actually,” he said. “Snell is a stupid, rude man. He’s better off not reproducing.”

“Mr. Scanlon, why do you permit Manchester to operate at all?” I asked. “He’s not much brighter than Snell.”

“Direct and to the point,” Scanlon observed. “That’s your American background. It’s true – he is not very intelligent and tends to be rude. Back in the old days, I’d have moved against him a long time ago.” Scanlon sighed. “But, we’re not back in the old days. Times change and young people have to be given the opportunities to take their place in the world.”

“That’s a very generous attitude,” I said.

Scanlon laughed again. “Generosity has nothing to do with it,” he said frankly. “The truth is that I made more money in real estate and development since I went legitimate than I ever did in the rackets. Don’t get me wrong, I made good money – but I leaned quick enough early on that there was more to be made legally if you were in the right place.”

“But, that doesn’t mean that you’re completely out of the business,” Alexi pointed out dryly.

“That’s true,” Scanlon admitted.

“Which is the real reason you invited us here today,” I said.

“You two are smarter than I was led to believe,” Scanlon said approvingly. “I’ll be honest – I don’t really care what you did to Snell – or what Manchester does to you. Although, I suspect that if he does try anything against you, he’ll be getting the worst end of the deal.” He aimed his cigar at each of us in turn. “What happens between your lot and his is your business – as long as it doesn’t attract too much attention from the authorities. That’s bad business for everyone.”

“Don’t worry,” I assured Scanlon. “If there is any unpleasantness, it will be handled discretely and quietly.” I leaned forward over the table. “Since we have that out of the way, how much are you asking for tribute for operating our business on your patch?”

“I like you, lad,” Scanlon grinned. “Direct and to the point, no hemming and hawing.” He sucked on his cigar, filling the air with more of the aromatic smoke. “Ten thousand a week to start. Once we see how the operation goes, we’ll make adjustments appropriately.”

I shook my head. “No deal,” I said.

Scanlon’s face grew hard, his eyes smoldering with anger. Across the table, Alexi studied me carefully. I could tell that he wasn’t sure whether I had lost my mind or not.

“I’ve just made a very generous offer,” he said, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. “I don’t appreciate having a generous offer refused….”

“Let me interrupt,” I said. “Sooner or later you’ll find out that we’ve bought the entire block and are the ones developing it.

“How do you know that I wasn’t aware of that already?” Scanlon snapped.

“If you did, you’d have asked for a higher tribute from the start,” I explained. “I’m telling you this because you’re a man to be treated with respect.”

Scanlon relaxed slightly. “Alright – let’s hear your offer.”

“We’re not paying any tribute at all,” I said.

Scanlon’s face hardened again. “If you think that I’ve gone soft over the years….”

“No, I don’t think you’ve gone soft,” I said, “you’ve gone legitimate. So, I’m going to make you legitimate business offers. Offering you tribute like you were in the protection rackets would be disrespectful of your present standing in the community.”

“Go on,” Scanlon said the anger in his eyes being replaced by curiosity.

“We’ll start with the club,” I said. “One of your various business interests is beer, soft drinks, and liquor distribution. We’ll give you the exclusive distribution rights – we buy from you and only from you at, say one percent over what you charge everyone else. You’ve also got interests in the meat packing and laundry industries – again, we’ll give you the exclusive contracts for those – with a few minor exceptions – again, at one percent over what you’re charging everyone else.”

“And what are those minor exceptions?” Scanlon wanted to know.

“It is possible that we’ll want certain products that aren’t readily available through your companies,” I said. “Mostly delicacies – but, we have to be free to supply those for our clients.”

Scanlon nodded. “That’s reasonable. Go on.”

“The Emporium will have large banks of vending machines,” I said. “They’re yours – one hundred percent. You supply them, you maintain them, and you take every bit of profit out of them. None of the shop owners, stall owners, or other tenants of the Emporium are to be asked to pay protection or tribute – we’re sincere in giving locals a chance to improve their financial position. We want them to make as much profit as possible.”

“Alright – I can live with that,” Scanlon said. “I remember the days of my misspent youth when times were hard and my mother took in other people’s washing to make a few extra pennies. It’s time to give back a little.”

“On the other hand, you own custodial services,” I said. “They have the exclusive contract for cleaning the Emporium. We’ll need people around the clock keeping the place spotless.”

“For that, I’ll give you flat rate,” Scanlon said. He smiled. “I can be generous, too.”

“I appreciate that,” I replied. “There will be some restaurants – nice ones, on the upper level of the Emporium. We’ll arrange for you to supply their needs – tables, chairs, linens, meats, drinks – you charge them what you charge everyone else and bill us for one percent over the normal cost.”

Scanlon leaned over the table towards me. “I don’t need to be an accountant to know that what you’ve just offered is worth far more each week than the ten thousand I asked for. Why are you being so generous?”

“Like I said – for one thing, you’re a man to be treated with respect,” I replied. “For another, I don’t want problems with anyone. Our business interests are just that – our interests. We want to be left in peace.”

Scanlon’s head snapped over to Alexi and his eyes narrowed. “Yousupov – back in the bad old days, there was a Russian who started a special club. He ran afoul of the Kray brothers. Are you with that lot?”

“His name was Dimitri Romanov – he was my uncle’s son,” Alexi answered.

“You should have said that from the beginning,” Scanlon said. “I’ve dealt with your family on the Continent for years – we could have reached a different accommodation.” He shook his head sadly. “It would seem that my sources of information aren’t nearly as good as your friend’s are.”

“We deliberately downplayed the Family interest in this new operation,” Alexi explained. “I understand that Dimitri was a good man, but a little foolish. Neither I nor Duncan here are foolish – we decided to start this operation with a clean slate and not rely on Family reputations. As far as I’m concerned, Duncan’s offer stands – I wouldn’t consider anything else.”

“It would appear that we have a deal then,” Scanlon said.

“Have the appropriate contracts drawn up and send them to the club,” I said. “I’ll sign them and make our deal nice and legitimate.” I stood. “There is one other thing.” Scanlon looked up suspiciously. “I know that you’ve used your influence to keep Manchester from taking revenge against me and the club. I appreciate that. But, it’s really not necessary.”

Scanlon looked up at me curiously. “You know he’ll come right after you the minute I tell him I’ve removed my protection.”

“Of course he will,” I said. “In fact, I fully expect that. But, there are a few other groups who might think they could succeed where he failed. An example needs to be set to remind them of the foolishness of such ideas.”

“I understand,” Scanlon said slowly. “A bit of advice – don’t expect to get too much sleep tonight once I give him the nod.”

I smiled back. “I’ll be having too much fun to worry about sleep.”

In the car back to the club, Alexi turned to me. “You could have given me a hint about your plans,” he said.

“ I could have,” I agreed. “But, that would have robbed me of the pleasure of seeing the look of surprise in your eyes at lunch today.”

Alexi did something he’d never done before – he leaned over and kissed me hard on the mouth. Shocked, I asked what that was all about.

“Just a special thank you, is all,” he said, resuming his place. “Sitting at the table today watching how you dealt with Scanlon, I had an erection the whole time.” He leaned back and sighed happily. “Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac to me – either my own power over someone else, or watching someone else wield power so completely as you did at lunch.” He chuckled. “God, the things I’m going to do to Eric later to get some relief.”

Back at the club, I called Monk and Yoshi to the office to make plans for Barry Manchester’s move against the club and me in particular. I called the contractor’s office and explained that he should give the second shift the next few nights off – with pay – claiming that I hadn’t been sleeping well and needed a few nights of quiet.

“So,” I said hanging up the phone and turning to Monk. “What can I expect from Barry Manchester?”

“’e’ll come at you wiv everyfing ‘e’s got,” Monk said.

“And that is?”

“’im and about four backup,” Monk said. “’e’s a cheap fuckin’ bastard, ‘e ain’t likely to pay fer any additional backup.”

“What about guns?”

“Shooters?” Monk shook his massive head. “Very fuckin’ unlikely – get caught with shooters and you’re down for serious time. ‘e don’t have the kind of juice to make the cops look the other way if they catch ‘im with shooters.”

“Makes sense,” I said. “I can’t be sure, but I expect that tonight will be the night he makes his move. I want all of us ready. I want Barry in one piece if possible – as for the rest of his gang, I want them taken down hard. No deaths, but I don’t want them able to walk or use their hands for at least six months.”

“’at will be a pleasure,” Monk grinned.

“And, if by some chance Barry leaves anyone behind at the taxi stand, I want them hunted down and worked over,” I said. The ringing of the phone interrupted me. I had barely said hello when I recognized Scanlon’s voice on the other end. His message was short and to the point – Manchester was going to take the club down tonight. Before I could thank him, Scanlon broke the connection. “That’s it – it’s coming down tonight.” I looked over to Yoshi. “Are our staff people ready?”

“They’re ready and eager, sir,” Yoshi said. “I’ve taken the liberty of explaining everything to them and all of them are eager to demonstrate their loyalty and their abilities.”

“Good, good,” I nodded. “How many have we brought over so far?”

“Twenty,” Yoshi said. “Twenty of The Castle’s finest.”

“Excellent,” I stood up. “Well gentlemen, get your people ready. Tonight Barry Manchester and his gang not only cease operating – they cease to exist.”

Monk hung back after Yoshi left. “Look, I ain’t stupid,” he said slowly. “I know the dance club downstairs is just a front for somefing bigger – somefing more private. I ‘ave worked for the Romanov Family in the past, y’know.”

“And your question is?”

“Wot’s goin’ down tonight – when it’s all said and done, wot’s goin’ ter ‘appen to Manchester?” He asked.

“I don’t know that you really want to know that, Monk,” I replied.

“Yeah, yeah I do,” he nodded slowly. “I bin watchin’ you careful-like. You take a personal interest in yer people ‘ere. You shows ‘em respect – even ‘em ‘special’ ones like Yoshi.” He looked around the room as if searching for words. “Wot I’m sayin’ is that I respect you more’n any employer I ever ‘ad before. Normally, I keeps things on a need ter know basis – wot I don’t need t’ know, I don’t want t’ know. I want t’ know, this time – I want t’ be a part.”

“Okay, I’m flattered by your respect,” I said honestly. “That means a lot coming from a man like you. Since you asked, I’ll tell you – Barry Manchester is a mistake that never should have been inflicted on society. Tonight, I’m going to correct that mistake.”

“Yer gonna kill ‘im?”

“No, but when he’s done here, he’s going to wish that I had,” I said.

To be continued….