Eyes of the Raven

Chapter Two

Windsor Gooding was one year older than his brother, Christian, and that put him in charge.

They stood at the entrance to one of the underpasses leading onto Bridgetown, a public housing estate built in the late 1950s, with apartment blocks and rusted playgrounds. They lived on Bridgetown, and ruled it through fear and intimidation.

Both with shaven heads, bent Roman noses, and square jaws, there was no mistaking that they were brothers. Even their muscles, pumped up by daily weightlifting and doses of steroids, seemed remarkably matched. They both wore Britain First T-shirts, jeans, and heavy boots.

Windsor, so named because of their parents' love of the royal family, watched with only mild interest as Christian, so named because of their parents' religious beliefs, turned away an old man who wanted to use the underpass. When the old man complained, Christian lunged at him menacingly, and the old man hurried away, as much as he was able, up towards the main pavements and busy roads.

Windsor glanced back over his shoulder, into the darkness of the underpass, and called out.

"Hurry up! I'm getting bored."

There was a shuffling in the underpass, a man moaning softly, and other, indistinct sounds.

Windsor sneered. He didn't enjoy listening to others getting off, but business was business.

Less than three minutes later, a middle-aged man in a smart business suit walked out of the underpass. He half nodded to Windsor, hurrying on when he got nothing but a cold stare in response.

Windsor watched him go. "Wanker," he said, feeling the man's money in his pocket, reminding himself how lucrative this part of their business was.

He turned as a young girl, sucking a mint and wiping at a stain on the lapel of her school uniform, followed the man out of the underpass. She was seventeen but looked younger, and was a sixth form student at the local high school. At school she was no longer required to wear a uniform, but the Goodings insisted she wear her old one when she worked for them.

"Told you sucking a mint afterwards would get rid of the taste," said Windsor.

"Most of it," mumbled the girl, but she knew better than to talk back too loudly to one of the Gooding brothers.

"When you get home, tell your mum it's okay for the next week or so. We'll leave her alone, thanks to your doing this little favor for us."

Windsor laughed as the girl ran off. He didn't have to pay the girls when all he had to do was promise not to extort money out of their family for a while afterwards. The loss was more than balanced by the amount he charged the clients. They would pay a lot for a blowjob from a genuine schoolgirl. Thank God for middle-aged perverts.