Tag Archives: organised crime

Lies are free. Profits are huge.

As Jay hauled her luggage up the path a small figure darted out of nowhere, grabbed the luggage from her and darted ahead.

“Hi. I’m Lin” she called over her shoulder. “you must be the new tenant”.

“I hope so saying you now have my luggage”.

Lin giggled, then pushed the front door open with her foot. “You are on the first floor, overlooking the garden. Can I help you carry that upstairs?”

Together the two girls walked up the stairs balancing the luggage between them. The room was indeed small, like a student’s study bedroom, just a single bed, storage and desk. But the view  made up for it. A large garden enclosed by mature trees and a tennis/volleyball court. Lin put her end of the luggage down and bounced on the bed. Jay looked at her curiously. The landlords hadn’t mentioned that they had a daughter. Lin looked about 13 and full of life. She glanced round the room which she was obviously familiar with and commented. “A bit of a change from the countryside”.

Jay felt a pang of loss. Open fields, quiet, gentle neighbours, but most of all her parents. It had been hard to decide to move away, but there was no work in the countryside.

“Work or study?” Lin asked.

“Work” Jay muttered. Lin looked at her not understanding her morose response. Her face fell slightly. “Well, OK. I hope you like it here. Most people do”. With that she bounded off the bed and out of the room.


Jay found work immediately and when her first pay cheque arrived took herself out to a local restaurant to celebrate. The Head Waiter was very friendly and Jay told him she was newly arrived and celebrating getting a job. He told her he owned the restaurant and he hoped she would have many more things to celebrate in future. Jay laughed and later a complimentary bottle of wine appeared on her table. The meal was mouth watering, and for the first time since she arrived she felt relaxed and less unhappy at leaving her parents.

The weeks passed and Jay worked, dined out at the restaurant on a regular basis and soon was dating the waiter/owner. The other residents in the house were from every part of the world, some had come for work, but most were students at the nearby university. Apart from the landlords, Jay was one of the few white residents. But the house was friendly. Some evenings groups would turn out to play volley ball or hold ping pong tournaments in the basement.


One evening the landlord came home from work and took his wife aside. He looked worried.

“What’s the matter, Sam?”

“What do you know about the new tenant?”

“Jay? She works hard. Has a boyfriend. Gets on well with everyone. Why do you ask?”

“A policeman dropped in at the office today. He said he needed to talk, privately. Jay isn’t what she seems. She’s a criminal, pet. She takes drugs, and is a prostitute”.

“Oh, Lord”. Sue stand down suddenly on the sofa. She looked worried. “Can we get her out of here? What do we do?”

“The policeman said to let her stay. This way they know where she is and they can watch her. Just be careful. Watch her relationships with the other residents”.

“But what about her boyfriend? He’s a respectable businessman”.

“He’s her main customer, the policeman said. Her bread and butter. He wanted to marry her but she refused. She’s milking him for what she can get”.

Sue nodded her head. “It doesn’t make any sense. Her qualifications – “.

“All lies. She doesn’t have any qualifications. She’s taking her employers for a ride too”.

“I want her out of here. This is a respectable house. Our tenants are all honest people. And what about Lin?”

“I know. I don’t like it either. But the police said it is very important that she stays. They don’t want her to suspect she is under surveillance. They want to catch her out”.

“OK. But I still don’t like it”.


When the new term started some Muslim students came to the house. Jay found when she went into the communal kitchen they stared at her hostilely. She couldn’t figure out what she had done to anger them, but she felt uncomfortable and avoided going into the kitchen and other communal areas.

She was doing well at work but her job was only temporary and she was applying for other jobs. She attended an interview at the polytechnic. Her qualifications and experience were a perfect match. The interview seemed to being going well when one of the panel asked about periods of unemployment on her CV. She was about to explain that being unable to find work was why she had moved to the city when he said “How do we know you were not in prison?” Jay stared at him flabbergasted. Where had that come from? If they didn’t want her for the job, fair enough, but was an outrageous insult really necessary?

Then her boyfriend started to act oddly. One day he took her arm and turned it over exposing the inner joint. “Why the needle marks?”

“I’m a blood donor”.

He humphed, but after that he called to see her less often.

Even the shopkeepers were looking at her in an odd way.

She still had not found another job and the atmosphere in the house was no longer friendly. Jay decided to move to another town where the cost of living was cheaper but there was still plenty of work.

As she was struggling with her luggage Lin suddenly appeared and helped her haul her luggage to the waiting taxi.

“I’m sorry you’re going”.

Jay wondered what was in store for her in the new town, but she nodded. This place had given her a good start.  Her work record was now looking respectable. Moving from home appeared to have been the right decision.


Shortly after Lin went missing. Then her parents received a ransom note for half a million pounds. Desperate to get their daughter back they paid, selling everything they owned and borrowing from relatives. Their house was bought by a property developer who demolished the historic building to build luxury high-rise flats. But Lin was never returned. They sought out some of the Muslim men who had been previous residents to see if they could suggest any contacts. They were treated with scorn. “You were running a brothel” they were told. “You had a prostitute in the house. Your daughter was a whore. You dare ask us for help?”

The northern Controller was counting his ducats. The value of a healthy, well brought up, white Virgin on the Middle Eastern market?

Worth considerably more than a few free lies.


Copyright 2015



Why fight unnecessary wars?

The London Controller and his northern counterpart talked long into the evening. Finally their conversation turned to war.

“We are creating chaos on a grand scale” the London Controller murmured thoughtfully. “Mass movements of people across boundaries. We identify the criminals as they come across and recruit them. These are the experts in enslavement and women-domination. There is little we can teach them”, he went on.

His northern counterpart nodded. “We are installing migrants in every part of the country – even remote rural areas, to provide protective cover for our criminal plants. The market for healthy, white, children in the global paedophile market is huge and expanding all the time. With our help”.

The London Controller nodded. “A large percentage of our soldiers are recruited from workless rural areas. We send them on useful wars…..” the two Controllers shared a smile, “pump them full of health-destroying chemicals under the guise of vaccines, so when they return home they are not fit to fight for anyone”.

“And deny them medical support and war pensions, telling them their illnesses do not exist”.

“Yes” the London Controller summed up, “Our plans are proceeding nicely. Clearing the way to access the product. Getting the obstacles out of the way. Maximising the market and product at the same time. The proceeds should soon be pouring in”.

“I’m off to Thailand next month” the northern Controller said. “A working holiday of course”.

The Controllers laughed.


Copyright 2015


The Career Trajectory of an Honest Man

The Senior Sales Manager was overseas canvassing customers. An evening out drinking with a customer, the client extended an invitation to visit a brothel. The Manager demurred, but as the client was insistent, to humour him he went along.

It was an upmarket establishment, like a luxury hotel. The client disappeared and the Manager waited for him admiring the decor and ignoring the girls. An extremely beautiful young woman approached and asked if there was anything he wanted. He smiled and said – no, he was waiting for his friend. Shortly afterwards an even  more beautiful woman approached him. Again he declined explaining he was happily married. She  then asked perhaps he might be interested in a young man. Spluttering in his drink, the Manager explained, no, he wasn’t interested. He was just accompanying a friend.

When his friend reappeared the Manager was thankful to leave and thought no more about the incident.


The “friend” left his report with his Controller. The Controller was not well pleased. He called the Manager’s secretary to a meeting. She explained her boss was completely above board. His credentials were sound. His technical, business and human skills were first rate and his pre-eminence in his field was well deserved. He ran a tight ship. The least sign of malpractice and that employee was given his marching orders.

The Controller reported to his Superior.

“We can’t have a man of that social rank, pre-eminent in his field not under our control”, he was told. “He stamps on illegitimate activities in his subordinates; he rejects bribes and can’t be blackmailed. We can’t control him”.

The Superior threw the file back at the Controller. “Destroy his career. Any method available”.


A year later the ex-Manager was living in a squalid bed-sit. His wife had inexplicably left him, taking the house. He had hit the bottle hard and had been invited to hand in his resignation. He had worked his way up from nothing, now he was back to nothing. At 49 his working life was over. He took another drink. It was the only thing that took away the pain.

The “friend” reported to his Controller. “And his replacement?”

“One of ours”.

“Good work” said the Controller. “In a year that company will be completely under our control – or out of business”.


Copyright 2015 Prayerwarriorpsychicnot


The Night He Didn’t Die


“Hullo, stranger”.

Debbie turned, her face breaking into a huge smile as she recognised her best friend from Uni.

“Sarah, what are you doing here? I thought you were living in Brum”.

“I was, but my new boyfriend was working down here, so I moved to join him”.

“Me too” said Debbie, then her face crumpled. She took a deep breath, holding back tears. Sarah touched her arm comfortingly.

“I heard about Don.  Cancer is a horrible death.  I am so sorry”.

Debbie nodded, silently.

“Look, why don’t we go to the cafe in the park and we can talk about it”.  Debbie gave her friend a weak smile and they headed down the street together towards the park.

“What a coincidence running into you” said Sarah brightly. “I knew you were in London, but nobody knew where”.

“Well, it’s been twenty years since we finished University. Everybody scattered.”

Sarah nodded. They walked in silence until they reached the small cafe in the park and chose an outdoor table. Usually the tables were filled with parents with children and dog owners. But it was quiet today. Sarah insisted on buying the cappuccinos and Debbie sat watching the ducks waddle into the pond, and the leaves drifting onto the water while she waited.

Sarah returned with the coffees and they sat sipping their drinks watching the ducks trying to cadge food from passers by.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about coincidences lately”, said Debbie.

“How so?”

“After Don’s death I remembered the night he nearly died, at Christmas, ten years ago”.

“What happened?”

“Well, the first coincidence occurred before anything happened. As soon as I came to London, I kept having the same dream. I dreamt Don was walking close to an underground station. Two muggers would set on him with knives . He would attempt to fight back and they would kill him”.

“You’re not psychic, are you?”

“Indeed, I am not. Remember that night we all took that psychic test in the pub. You scored higher than me”.

Sarah laughed. “I remember. We both scored the lowest score possible. Only Andy had a significant score and –

” – he became a bookie” they chorused together, laughing.

“Anyway. Tell me about these coincidences”.

“About two days before the attack, Don told me he had seen two men standing near our flats, watching him”.

Sarah nodded politely. Debbie sighed. “You don’t know Don. Nobody scared him and he was the most intuitive person I have ever met”.

“Also he was a very heavy drinker but never got drunk. On the night he was mugged he phoned me about 7pm and he sounded really drunk. He had only been in the pub for an hour and a half, so he couldn’t have got drunk in that time”.

Sarah looked interested. “That is strange. What happened next?”

“I woke up early next morning and he hadn’t come home. I phoned the hospital and they told me he had been brought in the night before. He had been mugged and he had fallen and cracked his head on the pavement. A motorist had stopped, picked him up and brought him to the hospital”.

“Sounds like a fairly typical mugging”.

“The men who attacked him were the same ones who had been watching him earlier. They only took his money but left his keys and credit cards. The police seemed obsessed about whether the men had been carrying guns. Don told them no, but they had been carrying knives”.

Sarah looked puzzled. ” But what do you think was unusual?”

“All right. Go back to the start. Coincidence one. My dream Don gets killed by muggers in very similar circumstances. Coincidence two. Don sees the muggers two days before the attack. Coincidence three. Don felt worried about it, and Don never worried about other people. Coincidence four. Don, whom I’ve never known to get drunk, is drunk after only an hour and a half drinking. Coincidence five. When the muggers attack he is so drunk he cannot attempt to resist and falls over knocking himself unconscious. The muggers panic and run, just stopping long enough to take his money. Leaving keys and credit cards which could provide a link back to them. Coincidence six. This is London remember, not Good Samaratan-ville. A mysterious motorist just happens to be passing by who decides to stop and take Don, still unconscious and obviously drunk, to the hospital, then disappears into the night. Coincidence seven. The police are obsessed with the possibility of the muggers being armed and don’t even consider the possibility of a revenge attack. Which is more likely than a mugging. We had terrible neighbours and they probably didn’t like us standing up to them.  Coincidence eight. I never have the dream again about Don being killed by muggers after that event. It was as if the dream was warning me what was going to happen, but when it didn’t the risk was past”.

Sarah looked thoughtful. Debbie looked at her. “Sorry, that was rather a lot  to take in”.

“Well, yes. And I am not sure all of those are coincidences. But the events still don’t make any sense”.

“They do make sense when you look at subsequent events. In the ten years after the mugging, every acquaintance of Don, including family, friends and work associates, suffered huge financial losses. People close to him lost their homes, businesses, in some cases, everything they had.”

Sarah looked serious. “That is strange. But what has that to do with the night Don was mugged?”

“What if Don had died that night? Would his friends have lost their businesses?”

“I don’t see the connection”.

“What if Don was meant to die. But that event was prevented from happening because Don, unknown to him, was being used as bait, in a con artist scam? The scamsters had to keep  Don alive until their scams were complete”.

“You have completely lost me. How? How could he have been used as bait? Are you suggesting organised crime, like the Mafia? And how could anyone know that Don was ‘supposed’ to die that night? I can see how spiking his drink would have been easy and that would ensure he couldn’t fight back. But your scamsters would need a pre-cog, like in ‘Minority  Report’ to tell them what was going to happen. Your alternative to coincidence is more unlikely than the coincidence. Have you gone to the police?”

Debbie nodded no. “What with? There is no evidence”.

Sarah took a deep breath. “Feel better for talking?”

Debbie nodded yes.

“That’s the main thing” said Sarah comfortingly. “Don has just died and your brain is working overtime”.

“Thanks for listening. It is just thinking back, the way things happened seemed odd”.

“You will work it out”.

Debbie looked at her watch. “I’ve talked for too long. I should be back at work”.

“Off you go. How about we meet again, same place this time next week?”

“Good idea”. Debbie looked at her friend and smiled. “It is good to see you again. Like old times”.

Sarah smiled as Debbie turned and hurried from the park.



Her phone rang. A cold, male voice asked a question. “She has just left” said Sarah flatly.

“Stay there. Don’t go until you hear the sirens, then leave, slowly, by the other exit”.

Sarah sat at the table waiting, her smile frozen on her face. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

Debbie left the park and was just watching the traffic to cross the road when a mad London cyclist on the pavement sped at full tilt towards her. Instinctively she leapt out of his way straight into the traffic.

When the sirens sounded a few minutes later Sarah left the table and walked slowly towards the other exit.



Copyright 2014 Prayerwarriorpsychicnot