Brutal Revenge (8 page)

“Now we're going to have some fun, Stewpot,” the man called
over his shoulder. “Come on. Help me get her off
the
road.”

*

Stewart stepped
forward hesitantly and stared down at the helpless wretch of a girl. She was
screaming, struggling wildly, but her efforts proved fruitless. Hodge placed
his
hands under her armpits and started
dragging her to
wards the heather.

She was wearing a thick tweed skirt without tights and
as the hem got caught on a stone the material
tore,
revealing a smooth white thigh.

It caught
Hodge's eye, and he laughed wickedly. Then
he
let go of one of her arms and reached forward to make
the tear bigger. This time the material split all
the way
to her waist, revealing a
pair of clinging white panties
with a cute teddy bear motif.

“What a lovely
sight,” Hodge bellowed. “Come on,
Stewpot.
Put some effort into it for fuck’s sake. I want mine
before the others
get here.”

Stewart was
caught up in the excitement of the moment. Although fully aware that what they
were doing was despicable, he couldn't stop himself going along with it.

Later,
he knew, he'd feel desperately ashamed of him
self,
but he also knew it was something he could live with. After all, it wouldn’t be
the first time he had forced himself on a woman.

He stooped to take hold of her kicking feet and together
they carried her
off the road on to the moor. Her screams were carried away on the wind and her
struggling eased
off a little through exhaustion.

They dropped her on her back in the heather and
Hodge stood
astride her, looking down into her terrified face, his own face glowing with a
crude satisfaction.

“I'm going to
screw the arse off you,” he
announced
hoarsely. “And you'll love every minute of it.
I promise.”

As Hodge began to feverishly rip off her clothes,
Stewart became aware of his own bulging erection
and
he found himself praying that
Parker and Maclean
wouldn't get back before he'd had his turn with the
girl.

“Look at these tits,” Hodge cried out ecstatically.
“They're beauts.”

The girl was
almost naked now. Only shreds of cloth
ing
clung to her arms and legs. But she was still squirming
and screaming,
trying to scratch and punch her attacker whenever he was forced to release one
or both her hands.

“Hold her while I
get my trousers off.”

Stewart sat astride the girl to hold her down. He wasn't
as rough as Hodge had been. He tried not to hurt
her, and
in a ridiculous attempt to calm her told her that if she would
just let herself go it would all be over in a few minutes.

When Hodge was
free of his trousers and underpants, he pushed Stewart out of the way and fell
on top of the girl, pulling her legs apart as he did so. He tried to force
himself into her but found he couldn't because she was moving about too much.

“Keep still, you
stupid bitch,” he yelled.

But the girl
would not give in. She thrust her hips from
left
to right, up and down, crying, screaming, spitting into
his seething
face.

Finally, Hodge
could take no more of it. He slapped
her twice, hard. “Now, be still.”

As he fell
forward a second time, though, he made the mistake of loosening his grip on her
right arm. She lifted it with the speed of a striking cobra and thrust two
sharp fingernails deep into his left eye.

He let out a deafening howl and rolled off her, clawing
at his injured
eye. When he took his hand away to look
there
was no blood, but the pain was abominable. He
stared down at the girl,
oblivious to the fact that Stewart was urging him to forget it and to lock her
up in the hut.

He leant
forward and lifted her to her feet by her hair.

His anger was manic, uncontrolled. He threw his clen
ched fist into her soft, flat stomach, and his knee
he
brought up hard between her legs. She cried out and fell to the
ground.

 
Then he knelt beside her and began to punch.
And punch.

 
And
punch.

Stewart was
horrified. He turned away. He simply couldn't bear to look and didn't dare try
to stop Hodge,
who was like a crazed animal
attacking a still-warm
carcass.

The girl was no
longer screaming. Her body was no
longer white
where the blood from her face had splattered
in all directions. Suddenly
she was limp, like a rag doll,
but he
continued to beat frenziedly at her lifeless flesh.
His eyes were wide,
containing a savage glint, and bile dribbled from the corners of his mouth.

When he did finally stop, after about a minute, he
gazed in wonder at his hands as if they had acted
of
their own accord.

*

Sweat
glistened on Hodge's forehead as he stood at the side of the road waiting for
the van's lights to show at the crest of the hill. He was trembling under his
clothes and it wasn't because of the cold. Stewart was standing next to him,
pale faced, his shotgun at his feet. He, too, was unable to stop himself from
shaking. There was an air of fearful apprehension about the two men which came
very close to being tangible in the cold night air.

Stewart
was near to breaking point. His mind was a shamble of senseless thoughts and
boiling emotions. Hodge, on the other hand, was far less influenced by emotion.
He was reacting to an intense physical sensation which he had experienced
exactly five minutes earlier and from which his muscles still vibrated.

Stewart
turned his head towards Hodge and there was hatred in his eyes. A deep intense
hatred that the other could almost feel.

“Did
you have to do that?” Stewart cried out.

“Shut
up and let me think.”

“But
you're insane. A fucking madman.”

Hodge
reacted violently this time, viciously swinging the butt of the shotgun into
Stewart's stomach. The blow caused the paunchy Scot to double over and drop to
one knee.

Hodge
took a step forward, raised the shotgun above his head threateningly.

“Do
you want some more of the same?”

Stewart
lifted his right arm in a feebly defensive gesture.

“That’s
enough,” he pleaded. “No more.”

“Then
shut the fuck up.”

Clutching
his stomach, Stewart got to his feet. As he paused to catch his breath he
contemplated going for his own gun, but discarded the idea immediately. He was
forced to admit that in a confrontation of this nature he was no match for a
cold-blooded bastard like Hodge.

He
turned and looked at the patch of heather not five yards away which barely
concealed the girl's body.

“What
are we going to do?”

Hodge
turned on him, the whites of his bulging eyes like bright stars in the
darkness.

“We
just leave her there, you idiot. What do you think?”

“But
she'll be found.”

“What
does it matter? No one will come across here until tomorrow and by then we'll
be far away.”

Stewart
groped for words. “But it'll mean they'll have to call in the Old Bill now for
certain.”

“So
what? They don't know any of us from Adam.”

“They
know Mac.”

“That's
his worry.”

“You're
a heartless bugger.”

Hodge
forced out a mirthless clap of laughter. “Ain't we all? Yes, even you, Stewpot,
or have you forgotten already your own part in it?”

This
remark really hit the mark. It caused Stewart to catch his breath. His insides
wound themselves up into a tight ball and a prickly hand crawled up his spine,
touching the raw nerves.

This
was something he hadn't yet considered. His own involvement in the atrocity.
There could be no denying that he himself was almost as culpable as Hodge.
After all, hadn't he just stood by and watched it happen.

Twin lights
pierced the darkness at the top of the hill. Grew larger as they came nearer.

Hodge drew
breath sharply, looked at Stewart.
“If you
know what's good for you, Stewpot, you'll keep
your mouth shut about
what's happened.”

“You don't have to tell me that,” Stewart said, bending
to pick up his
shotgun. “It's one thing to have to live with what I've done and something else
to broadcast it.”

“That's
sensible.”

“Not that they
won't find out. There's no way that the police won't get wind of it now.”

Hodge shrugged
and spat at the ground. “Too bloody bad.”

When the van stopped, Parker's face looked up at them
through the
half-open window.

“Back's open.
Get in.”

They climbed in
and were immediately awed by the presence of the suitcases and wooden crates that
were piled up in the back.

“Why not take a
look,” Maclean said, when they were settled and the van was on its way.
“They’re not locked.”

Stewart opened
one of the cases. A pile of gold and silver coins shone dully in the poor
light. There were also gold rings, a silver plate and lots more besides. He
reached his hand in and scooped up a dozen or so coins.

“As
Bob said back in Glasgow,” Parker put in. “It was like taking candy from a baby.
The old feller didn't even know what hit him.”

 
“How did it go?” Maclean asked.

“Sweet
as a nut,” Hodge said. “We clobbered that place but good. They won't be making
any calls to the mainland for a while.”

 
“No problems?”

 
There was just a split second's hesitation
before Hodge replied, but it went unnoticed.

 
“None,” he said.

 
“So you didn't see the girl?” Maclean said.

 
Stewart froze. “Girl! What girl?”

 
“Ross Mor's daughter. We passed her on the
road. I thought she'd pass you. She must have been going to the village. I'm
not sure if she recognized me or not. Still, not that it matters now anyway.”

 
“We didn't see any girl,” Hodge offered, just
a little too quickly.

 
Stewart began to breathe again and Hodge
winked at him.

 
“So far so good then,” Maclean said after a
moment. “And we're nearly home and dry already.” He looked over his shoulder. “What
d'you think of this weather, Bob? Anything to worry about?”

“Eh
...” Stewart came out of himself with a start. He looked beyond Parker's
shoulder and frowned at the windscreen. “I didn't realize it was so bad.”

 
The wind from the Atlantic had built up
considerably and was strong enough now to cause the van to rattle on its
springs. The long slender grass at the roadside yielded in its path and clumps
of birch fled across the moors in front of them.

 
“Provided we get under way soon we should be
okay,” Stewart hazarded. “The cruiser is big enough to take on a storm this
size. If it does get really wild out there I'll take her in close to Mull. We
could even hold up in one of the bays until the worst of it is over.”

 
The road back to the disused jetty was as dark
and deserted as it had been on the way up. As they passed again through the
village they saw that only three of the houses were now showing light.

They
came to the hill above the jetty and stopped the van. Parker climbed out and
went to the rear to open the doors. Stewart jumped down first and crossed the
road to take a look down the hill at the boat.

He
stared for about thirty seconds, allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the
darkness because he wasn't sure he was seeing correct, and then he turned to
the others and announced in a voice that was remarkably calm, “She's gone. The
bloody boat's gone.”

ELEVEN

The
lethal combination of wind and rough sea had torn the boat from her mooring.
The rope knots had come loose under pressure.