HUNT THE C*NT Read online

  HUNT

  THE

  C*NT

  MATTHEW CASH

  1989

  Rachel leant against the wooden telegraph pole, she had read the Sunday School leaflet five times already, knew the intricacies of the four rusted drawing pins like the back of her own hands. The dress she had put on to go out with had been plenty warm enough when she had left her parents place five hours previously, but now she was freezing.

  She hated the unreliability of the late buses, unlike her other friends who would still be out until quarter past fuck knows, she didn't like being out too late. Plus the fact that she was about the only nineteen year old that she knew who didn't drink alcohol, meant she really didn't want to spend much time around drunken people. Alcohol amplified people's true feelings, gave them less restriction over themselves. Her dad was an alcoholic and it was something she was determined not to descend into. From out of nowhere a cloud burst and she swore out loud heavenwards as the rain soaked her within seconds. “For Christ sake it's 1989, why isn't there a bus shelter already?"

  Her digital watch, pink neon, with a light, told her the penultimate bus of the night was ten minutes late.

  The road was practically dead, just a car now and then, and she felt like a prize pillock for waiting for a bus that may never come.

  I can't get much wetter, she thought, as her naturally ginger hair literally ran with cold rain water. She contemplated the three miles walk home, or going back into the pub behind her to join in the merriment that could be heard through its foggy windows.

  She was about to make a decision one way or another, when a white van screeched to a halt in front of her. The wheels hissed over the wet road and splashed water from the puddle that seemed to always be there.

  Rachel stepped forward, ready to hurl abuse at the complete and utter bastard of a driver, when a man jumped out of the back of the van and in one swift movement, punched her hard in the stomach, before slinging her doubled-over skinny physique over his shoulder and jumping back in the van. The van sped off immediately, the whole process taking less than thirty seconds.

  The man threw her into the van without a care, slamming the doors at the same time as the driver sped away. A crude, loose fitted light was strung up on the van's interior, wires exposed.

  Rachel landed hard on a filthy mattress, her head smashing against the curved arches over the wheels, her elbow scraping on the floor between the mattress and walls.

  Before she had a chance to turn and face her attacker, the man grabbed her ankles and flipped her over onto her back.

  The man was big, the light behind his head made his long blonde hair glow like an aura. She instantly sat up and the man swung a fist into her face. The punch was so hard it knocked her flat out on the mattress, her head swirling on the brink of unconsciousness.

  The man pounced on top of her, his full weight crushing her, as he fastened something around her wrists.

  Rachel fought hard to stay awake and the pinching of the handcuffs' metal on her skin helped. Satisfied that she was secure, the man pushed his weight onto her legs and stopped for a breather. His dark silhouette stared down at her, breath becoming less rapid as he snorted through his nostrils. He banged a fist twice on the interior wall and called out to the driver, "It's secure, go to the usual place." The man's voice lowered, directed at her, “Oh you beauty." He had no accent as such, could have been from any stretch of the country. “Please, let me go." Rachel pleaded, absolutely defenseless against this man.

  He laughed, low and guttural, “Oh we will at some point I'm sure, now you just lay back and enjoy the ride." He slid one hand up her skirt and grabbed a handful of her tights and knickers. With one swift yank he tore the material away and exposed her, pushing the skirt up right over her breasts. As he drank in the sight of young creamy flesh before him, he called out once more to whoever was driving, “Ey Bonzo, I hope you've got it in you tonight, cuz your gonna be raw by the time you've finished with this one."

  The van sped on through the night and the man unfastened his trousers and pulled them down. He laid down on top of her and she made out his facial features for the first time, he wasn't much older than her, three faint crow's feet lines framed his dark eyes. Quite handsome if she had seen him in the street. He snorted phlegm and stuff from the back of his throat and spat in his hand. “My turn first though." He whispered as he smeared and mashed the crap from his mouth against her vagina, “But I'll warn you; I'm a right cheeky fucker."

  Decades spanning interlude

  To Bonzo and Goody it was a game, a way of unwinding after a hard week of working at the building site. They called their little shenanigans 'hunt the cunt', as that was exactly what they did. Both men drove, so they would share responsibility where driving was concerned, and it was surprising how far and wide one could travel when there were two to take turns on the wheel.

  They would always take turns on the cunt too.

  When their needs had been sated, once they had had their fun, they would park at some remote industrial estate and dump their victim, used, abused, raped and bleeding.

  Neither man had partners and were both antisocial, so friendships were rare. No one knew, or really cared what they did in their spare time. At work they couldn't be faulted, concise and precise craftsmanship on all aspects of the building and construction trade. They were both talented and experienced electricians and were continuously praised for their work and attention to detail.

  The same went for their attention to detail on their victims. No orifice was left unpenetrated, no patch of skin left ungroped, untasted or bitten.

  Even though they were frivolous where leaving traces of themselves on the victims, the attacks were so infrequent and widespread it was virtually impossible to catch them. The sheer amount of white vans on the roads since the 1980s just increased every day. There were no

  distinguishing features about the van, no patch of flaking rust in the shape of Africa on its side, no bumper stickers with Baby On Board or other slogans.

  Their reign of terror spanned over twenty years throughout three decades. Their success at

  going undetected never made them too cocky, never made them slip up. Basically, they were too good at what they did.

  When the nineties were well underway and they had made names for themselves for their tradesmanship, they finally set up their own joint business, building contracts from all over the country.

  They were unstoppable.

  2010

  “Oh alright then, we'll give you an eight month trial, just a precaution. And we're saying eight months because we're generous like that and if we decide you're shit, you won't be pissed off just before Christmas." Chris winked at the newbie Dave. The fat man was no more than a few years younger than him and yet Chris spoke to him as though he was a kid. He doubted he'd last, but he was willing to give him a go and his work did look decent.

  “Cheers Chris, you won't regret it." Dave said and shook his new boss's hand. Dave was portly and a skinhead. A white scar curled across the dark stubble of Dave's scalp, a historic reminder of previous troubles. His face was podgy and jowly like a bulldog and he tried his best to hide man boobs beneath sweatshirts.

  Chris patted him on his wide shoulder and grinned cheerily, his face creasing in the deep laughter lines around his mouth, nose and eyes. “Welcome on board mate."

  “Ey up our kid, you told old Davey­Boy here the good news?" Rob, Chris's business partner came into the office, a mug in one hand, a plastic folder in the other. Rob was shorter than the two men, chunky in size and resembled a shaven Brian Blessed.

  Chris nodded, “I sure have."

  Rob sat down at his desk and addressed Dave, “and you sure you don't mind the travelling around when nec
essary?"

  Dave shook his head, Linda didn't mind if he was out and about for a few days at a time, it was good to have some time apart. Absence made the heart grow fonder after all. “Nah. It'll do me and the missus good to not be under each other's feet all the time."

  Rob nodded in agreement, " Yeah it will. You got any nippers?"

  Dave shook his head, “No we aren't able to have children."

  "Lucky you, little fuckers drive me insane." Chris said seriously. “You have children?" Dave enquired.

  Chris chuckled and jokingly punched Dave in the arm, “none that I know of, if you know what I mean. Too old now thank fuck."

  Dave laughed politely.

  “You'll get used to Chris, Dave. Him and the lads are always joking about." Rob said cocking a thumb at his business partner.

  Chris smiled and winked at Dave, “I'm a right cheeky fucker, me."

  1989

  Rachel had been ejected from the van just as quickly as she had been thrown in it. The fall from the double doors fractured her wrist and the uneven tarmac carved furrows from her once flawless face. She lay face down on the cold ground screaming into the asphalt as the van sped away. Even though she hurt, both inside and out, she was relieved.

  Her palms were raw and scraped, wrist broken for sure, her face bloodied from the gritty tarmac. Her left eye was swollen closed, clumps of her hair missing in big chunks, and three of her teeth felt loose. These exterior pains were nothing in comparison to what she felt internally, where they had used her. Everything stung and felt wet and destroyed down there. She forced herself to her grazed knees, not caring that her bare legs were covered with her own blood, urine and excrement, nothing was more degrading than what they had done to her.

  The rain would clean the outside of her at least.

  Through blurred eyes she saw the green rectangle of a road sign. She staggered, zombie-­like on ripped up feet, closer so she could make out what it said.

  Fresh tears began to fall when she read the name of the town, she was so far away from home.

  Lights in the distance. She thought it might be the two men, come back for more, or maybe even to finish her off. She ducked behind a yellow grit box and clutched it's hard plastic surface.

  The lights got closer, she saw they were too high up for a van, it was a double decker bus. 'Not In Service'. It didn't matter much.

  Rachel stood in the centre of the road as the bus drove towards her. It may hit her, the driver may not see. He may stop. She didn't care about either outcome.

  2026

  HM Prison Low Newton, Co. Durham

  "The bus did stop, the driver was so shocked he was almost in tears." Rachel said and crushed the butt of her third cigarette into a foil ashtray. “The thing that freaked me out about the bus, as stupid as it may seem, was the fact that it was another county's bus service entirely. I know that probably sounds stupid, but it felt alien. I was only used to seeing the regular buses, you know the ones around here, so that bothered me a bit. A constant reminder of how far I was from home."

  The grey haired psychologist nodded her head for Rachel to continue.

  “The poor bus driver though, he must have been close to retirement you know? Felt like he was my Grandad or something. I told him what had happened and he gave me his flask of tea, insisted that I drink every last drop, even if I threw it up straight after." She lit up another cigarette. “He took me to the police station and after they had done all they needed to do, my friend came and got me in her car."

  “How did your parents react?" The psychologist asked jotting something down on a writing pad.

  “My mum had died when I was a child, so you know? My dad was an alcoholic, but when I told him, he was all self-­absorbed and making it about him. How it was all his fault, that he was going to quit drinking and that he wasn't going to rest until he'd caught the pair of bastards who had done it. Total bollocks though, he drank even more from then on and what's worse was, I joined him."

  "Was this when your substance abuse began?"

  Rachel nodded, “I suppose so. The alcohol didn't take enough of the bad feelings away, but I managed to keep it together enough for the doctors to still give me my meds."

  “When do you think you became interested in other women?"

  Rachel thought about the question for a minute before answering, "I guess it all sort of happened at the same time. I was low, the drink and drugs; both legal and otherwise, took the edge off it somewhat, but I guess I was lonely. I would never go near another man after that night, well at least not in that way.

  “I'd packed on a fair bit of weight, comfort eating too, you know? I guess it was all self­ harming. And because I'd chopped my hair, people already assumed that I was a dyke. So I sought comfort in other women. Almost all of my regular friends had buggered off to college or had families of their own, plus I was a bitch to be around. The women I befriended wanted more than just friendship and I just wanted to feel safe and sound. So I did what they wanted me to do so I had somewhere to stay. I guess I became a prostitute in some ways."

  “When did you meet Nancy?" The psychologist asked flashing her eyes quickly at the clock on the wall.

  “That was sometime in the nineties, I don't quite remember when, other than Oasis were at number one." Rachel smiled at the recollection and sang a line, “Maybe you're gonna be the one that saves me."

  “Does the tune bring back a happy memory?"

  "Ha!" Rachel scoffed, “the only thing it makes me think of is Nancy's poxy bedsit and us shooting up whilst that baby was on repeat."

  "Do you think Nancy was a bad influence?"

  Rachel shook her head frantically, "No, no way. She was my shining light. My beautiful ray of sunshine. We got through the shit, kicked the junk together. All of it," she paused and grinned sheepishly at her cigarette, "Well almost all of it, but everyone has their vices don't they?"

  2010

  Dave had proven himself time and time again to Chris and Rob and the rest of the fellas at Goodchild construction. He had worked his fingers to the bone and shown dedication to his work. He fit in with all the lads and their banter and was more than capable of matching them pint for pint on a Friday night.

  He soon became close friends with Rob and Dave. They shared a similar sense of humour and even though they hardly ever joined the lads at the pub on a Friday night, they always showed up for a few on Sunday afternoons.

  It was after about a year of racist, lewd jokes and banter amongst the three men, that they invited him on one of their nights out. Showed him what they got up to on a Friday or Saturday night.

  The first time they did it, they used a old red transit van that they had at the warehouse where they kept their equipment. Dave was in charge of the driving and he'd get to have a go last, but it was still all good.

  He drove them to a town that they cruised around, about four hours away.

  The girl they spotted had been having a row with her big black boyfriend outside a chip shop. She was a curvy, big girl, Rob and Chris liked a variety. When they saw her walking on her own through a housing estate, her phone held up inches from her face, oblivious to all around her, Dave pulled up calmly beside her and asked for directions. She knew he wasn't local by his accent. She'd been naturally wary at first, but started typing in information on her iPhone as Rob and Chris quietly got out of the back, put a cloth sack over her head and bundled her into the van.

  The noises that came from behind him in the van's interior were horrific, shrieks and slaps, grunts, groans and the most disturbing of laughter.

  When Chris had banged on the partition and told Dave that she was all his, he found somewhere secluded and parked up.

  He tried to keep his expression neutral as he went round to the back of the van and the doors opened.

  Rob jumped down, grey hair tousled, cheeks red from exertion. Chris followed, fastening his trousers with a wink and a slap on the back. “She's all tenderised for you mate. Have fun." They
had strung the girl up by ropes around her wrists. Rope was bound tightly around her huge pendulous breasts, making them swollen and purplish. Her flabby body was covered in God knows what, plus scratches and bite marks. The sheet of tarpaulin which she knelt on was a quagmire of different excretions. She looked at Dave pleadingly through makeup smeared eyes.

  Dave turned to Rob and Chris and as he hauled himself up and into the van chuckled, "Well you's ain't gonna stand and watch me are you's?"

  Rob laughed wide enough for Dave to see his blackened molars, "Come on Goody, leave Romeo to do his business."

  Chris sniggered and took one last look at the girl, "have fun baby, don't do anything I wouldn't do." He turned to Dave, "give us a knock when you're done and we'll find somewhere to drop it off."

  Dave pulled the doors shut and waited for the van to start moving.