Moved On

Moved On Part Twelve

Anneka Johansen her passport said, from Essex, or Billericay to be more precise.

Sean had found her passport, birth certificate, purse, and by 'found' he meant he'd stolen them from her bag, she had three store cards, two credit cards, one bank, library and gym membership.

Last night he’d watched her on the CCTV, seen the indecision as she battled with herself. Three times it looked like she was going to leave, but eventually she brought her suitcase in and made herself a cup of tea.

Sean picked up the birth certificate from the desk in his study, and noted her age with a grimace. At twenty six he had more nous in his little finger than she had now.

Checking the time on his iPad Sean logged onto Felcher’s Custard and Pudding Emporium Forum, a social network for the criminally minded.

He checked the posts, saw someone had uploaded a tutorial on how to make a shiv with a newspaper. He opened a new thread.

Our moggy Annie's on her arse in Vegas. Her dog Jared binbagged her after he ‘ad off various mush's credit card. Anyone know what's afoot?

The first comment back asked him to explain ‘what the fuck he was talking about’. The second was more diplomatic, and asked him for more information. Half hour after posting, Sean got the answer he wanted.

TraceyStubbsOngar - Get me on the dog mate. (Or, in the Queens English- You can contact me on the phone my good fellow)

Sean flicked to the skype app and entered the name. The profile pic was of the character Tracey Stubbs from the TV show Birds of a Feather. Sean's was the late great John Lennon.

"Hello" A familiar, deep, male baritone rumbled, incongruous with the picture of a middle aged blonde woman on the screen.

Sean grinned, not that Tracey could see it. "Ar'right Trace you soft, bin dippin' fairy."

(Queen’s English - Hello, how are you Sir, you are an ineffectual scavenger of life's daily essentials)

“John you dirty toe rag, I ain't seen you since our last stir. Still detailing bangers in the capital of second chances, good bunce I hear?”

(Queen’s English - John you unclean thief, I haven't encountered you since we last served at her majesty's pleasure in Belmarsh prison. Are you still laundering money in Las Vegas, it's a financially viable endeavour I've been led to believe?)

“Boss la, am brewsted, puts scran on me table and clobber on me back any road. So what's happenin' with this muppet Jared?”

(Queen’s English - I am doing very well my dear friend, and at present am quite affluent, it certainly negates the necessity of scavenging in bins for my daily essentials. Tell me about this miscreant.)

“He's Ronnie Tuckers current bun. Old man sent him to Felsted under the trouble and strifes moniker, that's probably why you ain't heard of him. Then the little berk graduates thinking he's the dogs danglies, strikes out on his Jones without Ronnie's knowledge. Next, sets up your moggy for a mark, and is too busy playing with her Jack and Danny to see he's fucking up the con. Leaves sensitive shit all over the shop. Course, when old bill start taking a butchers at her, they find a connection to the dipstick. Bobs your uncle, Daddy's calling the prodigal home and leavin’ the mark in sin city to carry the lot.”

(Queen’s English - He is the son of notorious villain Ronald Tucker. That esteemed sire sent him to a reputable public school in Essex, under his wife's maiden name. This is why you have not heard of the iniquitous bounder. Then, ignoring his salubrious education, proceeds to establish himself as a career criminal without his father’s prior approval. Your lady friend had been set up to take the blame, but Master Jared, busy engaging in sexual relations, failed to conceal his misdemeanours appropriately. When our fine law enforcers investigated the heinous crime, they discovered a certain complicity, resulting in young Jared's father recalling the rogue to the family estate. I'm afraid Miss Annie has been left to take the full consequences of her betrothed's actions.)

That would explain the connection to Danny Nielsen, who had bragged more than once to Sean about his familial association with the Tuckers.

"Is anyone after her apart from the bizzys?" Sean asked.

"Ah mate." Tracey sounded perturbed. "You always was a sucker for getting your bollocks wet, that's how you wound up in clink to start with."

Not strictly true, Sean had gone to prison because he had put a large package of heroin into his girlfriend's luggage. He’d sent her off for a weekend in New York without her knowing she was smuggling it. As it turned out she wasn't as daft as she looked, that's why he got  five years. He remembered clearly the way she used to curl her upper lip when she thought something was beneath her. She'd done that to Sean more often than he'd liked, and somehow any attraction he had once felt for her had died a chilling death.

Still, he genuinely believed she wouldn’t have got caught. Little-miss-butter-wouldn't-melt, who would have suspected her?

Funny he'd done something like that, and yet knowing Jared Tucker had taken Annie for a mark made his blood boil. But she was a whole different ball game, she wasn't Ellie.

Sean knew how easy it was to manipulate women, this time though, he'd done it to protect Annie. There was no guilt that he'd stolen her sanctuary, a dirty, needle infested house, and knights more interested in crackling foil than shining armour. He could even justify slipping something into her drink, it kept her safe, out of harms way.

Annie would have been a lamb to the slaughter for someone like Tucker. Sean wanted to kill the cunt, especially when he thought of the boy touching her skin, tasting her mouth...fucking her.

"Do me a favour nob'ead, keep your ear to the ground for me. I want to know if Jared Tucker peeks his head over daddy's shoulder."

"Will do, me old mucker."

Sean hung up and changed his profile and account settings, knowing Trace, was at this moment, doing the same.

He tapped the app for the CCTV and flicked through the different camera positions. There wasn't a single blind spot, Sean could see it all, from the exterior perimeter, to each and every corner inside the house. Even though he knew he shouldn't, Sean paused at the camera in her bedroom. Annie was still asleep, in what looked like men's pyjamas. She lay on her belly, one leg thrown over the bunched duvet. Both arms were tucked beneath the pillow, he wondered whether her fingers were curled around that bloody crow bar? Frowning, he tapped the screen and rotated the camera, taking in the dressing table and chest of drawers she had dragged across the room to block access from the bathroom and the corridor. The track marks left on the carpet were the same as he had seen in her bedroom in the mansion. Was it just a habit she had picked up in the abandoned house, or fear of him?

She shifted on the bed, gathering the duvet to her,  clasped it between her thighs. Sean would’ve like to be that duvet, heat struck his loins, blood filling his cock. He hadn't even seen her naked yet, and he wanted to. Hand dropping, he stroked against his length, squeezing the fullness through his jeans. He wanted to strip her bare, lay her flat. But he’d assured her it wasn't all about sex, the process would be organic.

Organic my fucking arse, He wanted to open her thighs and drive into her with the joy of a conquering army.