My name is Marijus Vytautas. It is Lithuanian. “Marijus” means manly, virile. Vytautas means a pursuer of people! It is good, yes? The manly pursuer of women! That is me! Only sometimes because of what I do, people pursue me, and that is not good. Not good for them sometimes, like the police bitch in Hertford who stupidly chase me along canal at night.
I am a burglar, but not the miserable type who breaks the front door, grabs the music system and a couple of other things and runs away all in ten minutes with dog chasing after and if not caught, spends the money on drugs. I am a professional. I have class. I do big jobs, carefully prepared. That was my way in Lithuania too, but there is not so much money and police bastards put me in prison once. Not just for burgling, for rape. Well, what should any red-blooded man do when he is burgling a house and a id policewoman with big tits and ass tries to stop him and does not pull her gun out in time? Also the house-owner’s teenage daughter in night-dress trying to hit him with a frying-pan and rescue the policewoman? In Lithuania, many people would say well done. I think the court would have said bad boy, slapped my wrist, don’t do it again too often, but they did not like what I did to the policewoman’s tits. But they were asking for it. So was she.
But they did not get my money and I pay for a new identity from old KGB man and go where there is more money and stupid police do not carry guns, to England. Only after I get my revenge. Police now in Lithuania are looking for Marijus Vytautas for setting fire. They say motive is to save myself because policewoman’s family were seeking revenge. Not true. The stupid policewoman’s younger sister was great fuck. Good memory. Now I am Vytautas Krug and I live a new life.
This time I am studying the house for a week. Only an old professor lives in this big house in Carshalton on edge of London and everyone says he has money and valuable things collected. He is Russian. He has no dog. There is burglar alarm but not hard to deal with.
He very rarely leaves the house, he has foods and things delivered, but he sleeps in day regularly. I break in when he is asleep. The house is full of old things that look valuable – no music system, no paintings, only a small TV and an old computer, but many things that look like they should be in a museum. I pick up the ones that look most valuable, mostly metal, not much gold but some silver and bronze, and put them in my big backpack and the holdall.
Then I hear a mad shout. The old professor has come. Maybe there is a silent alarm and I have tripped it.
“Leave those things! I warn you!” shouts the professor. He has a gun. That is illegal in England, but he is a mad Russian and rich. The gun is old like him, not museum piece but maybe second war German. I am holding a big vase I’d picked up, wondering if it was worth stealing. I throw it at the old fool. He fires and misses. The vase hits him in the face and he falls down. I run at him but he fires again – or tries to. The gun jams. The vase is broken but in big bits. I bend to pick him up and he tries to cut me in the throat with one piece. That makes me angry and I hit him with his gun on the head five times, hard. He lies still and there is blood.
Now I must hurry. I pick up some more things and I go out where I came in through window into big overgrown garden. I get to where Debbie stays with getaway Transit van. It is not there. Debbie is reliable. She has gone for a good reason. At same time two things happen – police siren and text message. The message is from Debbie:
“WATCH OUT PIGS ABOUT HAD TO RUN GOT AWAY RUN RUN RUN LOVE CU D”
Not good. I probably killed professor and now police are here. Maybe he was not so much fool and he had silent alarm. I drop holdall and keep backpack. I turn to side and climb high brick wall into next garden. Next garden is also big but not overgrown, mostly grass and flowers. Wall on other side is also brick but not so high. I am halfway across when girl voice shouts,
I turn. One policewoman is chasing me, I think she has come through gate. I could deal with her, stupid cunt has no gun, but I have no gun and without gun it maybe takes time. There are many police about and others will come. Better to run.
I run but the backpack is heavy and slows me down. Also she is very fast, very fit, maybe top athlete. I start to climb the next wall which is old and uneven, so easy climbing, but just as I get to top and am ready to jump down, she grabs my right leg. I am one leg on each side of the wall, so I cannot kick her. I can just reach her head and I start hitting her, but I cannot hit her hard without falling off the wall and she will not let go. She has good idea: she just has to hold on to me and other pigs will come and I am finished. Maybe they deport me back to Lithuania where they find out I am Marijus Vytautas. I knock her hat off and grab big load of her lovely blonde hair and tug. She shrieks but she does not let go. I pull till some of her hair comes out. She does not let go.
I can hear shouts and more sirens. I cannot see more pigs but soon they will come. This is bad. I take stock of situation. The bitch is very determined and strong for a woman. Also she has sexy golden hair, lovely blue-grey eyes, pretty face, nice tits making big lumps in her white shirt. Can’t see her ass but I can tell it’s good. I like to be free and do things to her.
I have no gun and no knife. I can’t hit her hard enough. But she cannot use her CS gas without letting go of me. If only I had club, axe, iron bar, something long. But I do! In the pack I have many metal things from the mad professor’s house! Some are heavy and long! My hands are free. I get pack off and open it. I pull out first thing that feels big enough and long.
I didn’t know what it was. Made of silver, I think, and looked like a censer, one of those things priests in Catholic church and Eastern church use to send incense about, except it is stiff and not on chain. At my end is a handle with a good grip, then three narrow bars that curve a little in then out, then at the other end a nice heavy round bit, sort of like a ball but a bit flattened, with much decoration, and little figures round outside, lion, dog, snake, devil. I pull up my arm very high and bring heavy ball end down on Miss Piggy’s lovely blonde head good and hard. I hear crunching noise which I recognise and I am happy: it is crunching of bone. But she still holds on to me. I raise the thing again. I see blood coming out slowly. I hit her again. And again even harder. She lets go. She falls in a heap on the grass. I can see now she has wonderful big round ass in tight uniform trousers. A waste, really.
I know it is good for me to get out, but I must watch. Even now she tries to get up to chase me! She gets halfway up and then falls down. She twitches, she kicks a little. I see her head has changed shape. That is good. It means she won’t chase me any more. Probably I have killed her, but I have killed stupid Russian already, so no difference.
Then just as I am about to jump down the other side, something strange happens. Her head and her legs are getting smaller. It is impossible! Her trousers seat that was so full of her nice meaty ass sort of collapses like her ass was a balloon and it has burst. Her hands disappear. I check. Still no more pigs.
I am mad, but I must find out what happens. I am like scientist, you know? Full of curiosity. I jump down. I pick up her clothes. They are empty. But there is something hard inside. I pull her shirt and her trousers apart and there it is. It looks like gold. I pull it out. It is a gold figure of a nice naked woman. Plain pink panties are hanging from it, also a sports bra and one white sock. Shape of head, face, hairstyle, shape of ass are all exactly like the stupid policewoman. There is only one conclusion. It is her, otherwise where has her body gone? I leave the sock. I put the silver censer, the gold chick, the bra and the panties in my rucksack. I climb the wall again. More police appear over wall from the professor’s house but they are too late.
A few minutes later I have lost them. I have turned my jacket inside out so it is different colour and now I wear spectacles. I call Debbie. There is shopping centre car park not far away. By the time I get there, the white van is there.
“You made it! Great!” says Debbie. She has way of saying the obvious. “Lost the holdall, I see.”
“I had to leave it. I got chased.”
“You made it anyway,” she says again, already driving out of the car-park. “Are you all right? You’ve got blood on your sleeve.”
“Not my blood. Pig blood,” I say.
“Wow, well done. Gave him something to remember, did you?”
“Her.” She laughed.
“Fucking hell, I love it when those prissy fucking bitches get it. Did you hurt her?”
“A bit. I’ll tell you more later.”
“Get anything good?”
“Yes. I show you when we get home.”
Debbie is my girl for five years nearly. English girl from Wolverhampton but black like African. Nice tits, nice ass, fucks well, helps me in my work, hates the pigs, can cook a bit. What more can a man ask? Cleaning better, maybe. The house, not her – she is quite clean before we have sex. Good girl. I will share with her all about the pig cunt who is now golden girl.
Back home, I say,
“I’ll show you something special.” Debbie makes joke:
“It is not a joke.” I pull things out of the backpack. I pull out the silver censer and put it down. Debbie shows no reaction, she does not see it as special. I test her and she fails. But when I pull out golden Miss Piggy, Debbie gasps.
“Oh, fuck! Ohmigod! That’s beautiful! Can I hold it?” I give Miss Piggy to her. She holds her up, strokes her, pats her ass, stares between her legs at her golden cunt.
“Fuck, Vy, she’s evil! All that detail! Like a real cunt even!” She gives me a calculating look. “She’s gold, isn’t she?”
“She must be worth fucking millions!”
“Thousands. Not millions unless she’s a rare work of art and some collector wants her. Melted down, only thousands.”
“But I will keep her for a while – also this silver thing.”
I have noticed something surprising. The gold piggy’s head is back the way it was before I hit it. You could not tell it was funny shape. It has repaired.
Debbie is not interested in the censer. Then I tell her what happened.
I can see she loves the story, the excitement, giving the pig cunt what she was asking for. But I can also see she is not sure to believe me. Other times she believes me, but this is like magic and she does not believe in magic. She says she believes but I can see doubt in her eyes. But she picks up the golden pig and keeps touching her. She is fascinated, but she is not sure. I say,
“You do not believe me.”
“Oh, Vy, of course I believe you!”
“No, it is no problem. If you tell me this story I not believe you till I see it for myself. Here are the cunt’s panties, by the way. You like to wear yourself? She did like. It was like joining in my conquest. I say,
“So I have to show you so then you believe.”
“WOULD you?” she says.
Really I do not know if it will work. I can only work out that I hit the pig with the censer and then she changed to gold and I can’t think of anything else strange enough to do that, so I think it must be the censer. You hit her with it and she changes. Maybe only if you hit her on the head, maybe only if you draw blood, maybe only if she is dying. I don’t know but I must find out.
Six days later we go out to test it. Near our house is a stream with trees and a small path. People walk dogs there, also sometimes walk girls. The local girls’ college go cross-country running there and we watch them.
It is early morning when few people are about. We wait for pretty girl on her own. We are on fallen treetrunk talking and a bit kissing. Then she goes by.
She is teenager, maybe student. I think she is a girl from the college, but it is a Sunday and she is not in uniform. But almost she is in uniform, as she wears little white socks, “sensible” shoes not high-heeled, dark green pleated skirt to her knees, quite thin material, and pale yellow short-sleeved top. It is summer and good day for England. We do not notice her till she is past because she is so quiet, so we only see the back of her head – dark brown hair quite short and slim neck – but she had lovely young sexy legs and a pert little ass to die for, the way it moves the pleated skirt, the way it sticks out.
I do not need to say anything. I raise my eyebrows. Debbie nods and grins. We get up and follow.
The pleated skirt is not like tight shorts or jeans, but still you can see how the ass cheeks press against one another and move together. We get very slowly closer. I wear running shoes and Debbie ears trainers, gymshoes, whatever you call them. Not ideal for the mud, but very quiet. The girl does not know we are following. There is no-one else. She has some kind of notebook and she keep stopping, peering at the ground or little ponds and making notes. When she peers she bends and the skirt rides up, but not enough. She is some kind of nature freak, making notes of flowers and stuff. She should make notes of the wild animals behind her or they will eat her.
We are very close. I get ready with the censer. My idea is that I knock her head with it, not hard, then if it does not work, I say,
“Oh, sorry!” and shout at Debbie for shoving me. The girl would be suspicious, but nothing she could prove. I don’t know what makes the thing work, but last time I hit the cunt on the head and it worked. Maybe on her ass would work too, but I don’t know. Maybe we need more experiments.
But then the girl finally hears us, just a twig snapping under Debbie’s foot. She turns around, looks just a bit surprised, then smiles and says,
“Hello! Isn’t it a beautiful morning? It’s so fantastic when almost nobody’s about!”
Yes, I think, it is. I smile back and ask her if she is making nature studies. That keeps her occupied while Debbie slips behind and grabs her. She makes just a very little short scream like she thinks it’s bad manners to scream and shout. She starts wriggling but Debbie is stronger. She has nice tits, not big, but round and very firm like apples, and I see tiny little nipples pressing against her top as she struggles.
I hit her hard in the face with the censer, pushing it straight in her face, not a sideways swipe. I break her nose and blood comes. If this does not turn her to gold, we will have to kill her now, but better if it works and then we have no worries about the body.
I see very quickly that it is working. She is getting smaller and yellower and although she is twitching, the moves are very small and getting smaller.
Then I have a big, wonderful idea. The pig was frozen how she lay when she could not get up. I did not arrange her in the sexiest posture. But this one I can if we hurry. I shout to Debbie to push her down on the ground. She does not understand but she does what she is told. The girl is ass down on the ground now. I get hold of her neat little ankles and push her legs right up and way apart until they’re splayed and on either side of her head. It is very hard work because she is changing. I only just manage it – but I am strong man. So she is made into gold with her legs apart like a whore and her cunt open, except even in gold I can see she is a virgin. Too late to fuck her. Pity. Debbie pops her in duffle bag and we head home. Debbie has golden girl and I have her little white panties and her skirt. The other clothes we throw in the stream.
So now we have two golden girls. Also we’ve found out a lot. The censer works against girls. I don’t need to know if it works against men. I still don’t know if you have to hit them hard or just touch them, or if it has to be somewhere on the head, but this is a good start. The second cunt’s nose was repaired like the first one’s head, so any damage you do them with the censer is made good. Maybe there is money in this. Collect a good number of them, maybe ten or twelve, and sell for melting down. But my first capture, Miss Lovely Stupid Cop Girl, I will keep.
When I have time, I pick her up and feel her, touch her cunt and tits, smack her ass but not hard or it hurt me and not her. She is beautiful. Also she is worth more money than Debbie and does not argue or say stupid things. Debbie sees this and does not like it. She plays a bit with the other girl, but tells me I give more attention to dead cop than to her and it is “weird”. What is wrong with weird? Sometimes I am tired of Debbie. Pity Golden Cop Cunt can’t help me in my work.
But it is Debbie who points out we still don’t know if you can do it by hitting the cunt somewhere else, not on the head. She wants another trial. Sounds like good idea, but maybe not near these parts because there is a bit fuss about brave young cop and Sixth-form star pupil both disappearing. We think about places with a lot of tourists like Oxford, Canterbury, Lake District, but in such places someone else is never far away, I think. It is a nice idea, but maybe for later. We go to a place with plenty of pubs and night-clubs and young people including students – Brighton. We check it out twice and find likely places. Then we turn up there late Saturday night with Debbie’s car which is quite small and ordinary but has big boot.
There were two of them, one in loose, light yellow skirt just above the knees and quite high heels, the other in tight black micro-skirt and very high heels. They are staggering along the pavement arm in arm, away from the pub towards the centre, maybe for late-night bus. It is dark with clouds but there are street-lights. Debbie stops the car at my command. If we draw up to them very slowly, maybe even when drunk they are suspicious. So we get out and walk. Debbie thinks we must creep silently like with the second cunt, but I say no. They are less suspicious if we make a lot of noise. We are also arm in arm, with Debbie giggling and shouting and me shouting,
“FUCK! ANYBODY HEAR ME? FUCK YOU! FUCK!” The two girls look round and nearly fall over except they hit wall and get their balance back, but they are not worried about us.
We are nearer now. The black skirt one is medium height and quite plump, blonde but maybe not real blonde. The yellow skirt one is tall for a girl, slimmer, and her hair is something a bit darker. What exactly I cannot see in the artificial lights. As we get close to them I realise the tall one is not so drunk, maybe not drunk at all. She is holding up her friend and helping her along, saying,
“Come on, Suzy, come on! Not so far now. God, you’ve drunk a skinful! You ought to be more careful, you know, girls in your state are easy meat for perverts.”
Her friend is giggling and slurring her words and saying things like,
“I’m not drunk, I’m jush having a goo time. I wanna go back an find those boys again. Why’d you always spoil it, Tamra? I hate you!” but at same time she is hanging on to the tall one and even tries to kiss her.
We’re right up to them now. Black skirt has an arse you’d love to see on the bed or the table. From time to time as she bends or stumbles we can see tight yellow panties with camel toe. Yellow skirt has fantastic legs. Debbie and I pretend to lose balance and lurch forward and I hit black skirt with the censer on the back, not very hard.
Nothing happen except she turns her head and says,
“Oooh, mate, you mished your aim with that one!”
“Sorry,” I say, “my bird here pushed me”. Then Debbie really does push me and I hit black skirt again but this time on her bare arm.
That time she says nothing but in a moment I can see she’s shrinking. So it needn’t be the head, it needn’t be hard or draw blood, but it must make contact with the body, not clothes.
Yellow skirt doesn’t realise anything is wrong for a moment, and when her friend has shrunk enough that her clothes collapse around her, the stupid bitch just thinks her friend has collapsed dead drunk. She says,
“Oh, Suzy!” disapproving like, and bends to help her up. I see now she is redhead. Her yellow skirt rides up so I see just a peek of white. I like her bending, so I quickly hit her on the back of one leg. I yell to Debbie,
“Hold her head down!” and she does that while I grab her round the waist from behind to stop her falling over. As she shrinks we shift our grip.
We hear noisy people back towards the pub, but they are not near and notice nothing. We got our two victims just by a street-light so we can see to pick up their panties and skirts as well as their golden bodies. We have no bag to put them in, but what the hell? We just carry them openly back to the car, straight past the new lot of drunks.
They go in the boot and then in lay-by on way home we check what we’ve got. Two beautiful golden girls, one sort of sprawled and the other bent like a real whore, maybe for fucking, maybe for spanking or whipping.
Four golden girls we have. Four golden cunts, four golden asses, four golden assholes, eight golden tits.
The TV and newpapers make a big fuss about two students disappeared in Brighton. What is two cunts less? There are plenty more.
Though we have four now, still my special captive girl is the stupid cop, for she is my first, and still Debbie is annoyed. She calls her “your doll” and asks if I find that better than real woman. But she was real woman and I have made her what she is now.
I am practical man and I try to find out more about the censer. I hit it on the golden girls again to see if maybe they turn back to flesh or into something else. They do not. I poke around at it to see if it has a hidden compartment, or a place where you must add liquid or whatever. I have no luck until one night I push the devil figure on the end and there is a click and the figure moves. Nothing else changes. Something tells me not to try anything else while Debbie is around. Next morning when she is shopping and getting benefit payment I tap the golden police cunt with the censer. For a moment I think nothing is happening – but then I see she is growing and softening. She grows until she is whole naked beautiful woman. I am interested to see her head is not back to funny shape.
She does not say anything. She does not try to run. She does not try to hide her nakedness. She looks at me with her big blue eyes. She seems to be waiting for something. I draw a conclusion, being logical, intelligent man, that her body is restored but her mind is not, or at least, it is changed. She is not behaving like angry cop.
“STAND TO ATTENTION!” I shout. She snaps to attention, her tits wobbling. “Put your fingers in your cunt!” I order. She finds this difficult, like she never did it before, but she does it. “Take them out! Give to me to smell!” I shout. But my English is not perfect and I am not specific enough. I mean her to give me her fingers. Instead she lies down, lifts her arse up and spreads her legs. She thinks I mean give me her cunt to smell. Anyway, it will do. It smells good.
She is totally under my command! She is my slave! It is wonderful!
TOUCH YOUR TOES!
STAY THERE TILL I RETURN!” I order. I get a ridged paddle with little gap in the middle that I use on Debbie. Only third time I have thrashed cop’s arse, and first two times was that Lithuanian bitch with belt first time and cane second.
This English whore has wonderful, grade A arse. It is even better in flesh than in gold, though not worth quite so much in market maybe. I take good look and then I start thrashing it. Most girls will jump up, but she is obeying orders. Only she does not make any noise unless you count noise of paddle on arseflesh. She has been made mute! Ideal woman, much better than Debbie!
When her cheeks are bright red, I see she is crying but no sound of sobs. It is time to fuck her, all three holes. She responds like top class whore, except no
“OAAAAAAAAAAAH! OH GOD! OH GREAT!” which is mostly lies. I tell her to stay touching her toes and then click the lion back. Will this work? I try. I tap her with the censer on her lovely red English rose arse. It works. She stiffens and goes small and back to gold, only now she is in better pose. If I sell her to collector and not for melting down, I think I get better price.
So I am full of knowledge! In one position the censer turns girls to gold if you hit them anywhere as long as it hits their bodies, not clothes. In another position it turns them back to living flesh, but turned into willing slaves. With this knowledge I bring back all the other girls and have much fun with them before making them gold again in interesting positions. But the policewoman I keep turning into one thing, then the other, beating her, fucking her. I love her. I even remember her real name from the TV about her disappearance – Cecilia Silver! But she is not silver, she is gold – or flesh!
But Debbie is getting suspicious. She is an observant girl: if she wasn’t, she would not be so much use in my work. I do not seem so interested in our fucking. She comes in early and I am in the house but cannot see her right away. She thinks it is the golden girls and especially the policewoman, my Cecilia.
Gold is gold, so we go and make one more. She is nurse coming home late after night shift at the hospital, nice little blonde girl with big tits. I think she will be nice play when I make her flesh again.
One day I am out of the house and not Debbie: I go to get money from a fence. When I get back Debbie is busy cleaning. Cleaning! It is strange. I go to see my golden girls. Four of them are there, but not Cecilia. I run to Debbie and shout,
“Where is Cecilia? Where is police pig?”
“Oh, Cecilia is it?” says Debbie. “I cottoned on to you getting more fond of her than me, so I threw her away.”
“Threw her? Where?”
“No I didn’t!” she crowed. “I sold her to Lazlo. If he’s in a hurry, she might just be gold bricks already!” Lazlo was a fence who handled a lot of metal things.
I grabbed her and started shaking her. I don’t know what I do if she not speak again:
“All right! Maybe you can save your precious pig! But now I know what you’ve been up to!”
“Stay!” I say, “or I kill!” Then I go out of room and phone Lazlo. He is puzzled. He thinks I am talking about gold statue of horse someone sell him from some lord’s house.
“No, not horse, whore! Police ass and tit!” I cry. “Beautiful woman with big ass!” He insists he has had nothing like that. I believe him. I have gun I keep just in case. I take it back in and point at Debbie.
“You lie!” I shout. “Where is pig? Or I shoot!” She is frightened now.
“In the rubbish bin under half a kebab and some used condoms,” she tells me. I believe her, but I go and check. There is Cecilia, I have saved her. I take her in and pick up the censer. I go back to Debbie.
“Good! You will live! In matter of opinion!” I say, and see she is staring at the censer. She knows. I hit her in face with it, then watch her change to gold. It is quite strange, black girl to change to gold. She was my girl, so I do one thing for her. I not bend her into funny position. Then I clean Cecilia, take her to bedroom and change her into flesh for an hour or so.
I have lost an assistant, but I have gained a love. PC Piggy Cecilia does not say stupid things or say no or make any trouble. She is ideal woman, a bit stupid, but that is nothing unusual.
I take another nurse. Nurses are wonderful. This one is Chinese, so not so much change of colour.
There is too much gold in house. Maybe a burglar comes! So I take two students and two nurses to Lazlo and get good price for them. They will be bricks. No problem because I already fuck them many times.
One day I am watching TV when doorbell goes. I open door and there is pretty blonde girl with big tits and pretty brunette girl with small tits. That is very good thing, except for one detail.
“May we come in?” says brunette. She is pointing gun at me.
Naturally I politely agree. As we go in, the brunette says,
“Police. Special Branch,” and the blonde says, in Lithuanian,
“Lithuanian. Special Investigation Service. Hello, Marijus Vytautas.” This is not good news, but I am surprised that I interest these intelligence people instead of ordinary police.
“You have nothing to fear if you co-operate,” the blonde adds. That surprises me. I am criminal, number two wanted man in Lithuania, and they want something so much from me they will not arrest me if I give them what they want? It is hard to believe. Maybe they both want my cock? If so, they are discerning women – but I think not, I think it must be the censer.
“Don’t get the wrong idea, but we want you in your bedroom,” says the brunette. I could get the wrong idea very easily, she would be good to fuck and even more the Lithuanian blonde. They wave me to a chair and both sit on the bed watching me. Somehow that is very sexy, but I am also puzzled and worried.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“I think you know,” says the blonde.
“My big manly cock?”
The blonde makes a face but the brunette giggles. It is the blonde who answers.
“No, the alchemist’s wand.”
“What?” She looks at me as if I am very stupid.
“The tool which changes people into gold and then back again.”
I see no reason to tell them all I know, not till I work out whether it is good for me or bad. I look very surprised.
“It turns them back again? Really?”
“Yes. You haven’t found that out?”
“No! But once they are gold, why should a man change them back?” She did not answer. Instead the brunette spoke.
“Marijus,” (she pronounces my name very well for an English piece) “this object is of great interest to both our countries’ security services. It is also of interest to other people more ruthless than we are. We know you’re basically a burglar and you took the thing without realising what it was. You killed Professor Kuznetsov, but probably he attacked you when he saw what you were stealing. You used his gun, so we reckon he pulled the gun on you, and we know he’d have had no compunction in using it. He had stolen it himself from his former employers. It was being developed as a Soviet secret weapon, using information from a Mongolian shaman. Where is PC Cecilia Silver, Marijus?”
The answer is staring the stupid woman in the face, literally. If she was only one, I throw Cecilia at her and risk getting shot. But both of them are pointing guns at me.
I show them Cecilia.
“Here she is! You do not recognise her?”
“Good God! I do recognise her! It is PC Silver!” said the brunette. She sounded like she had not really believed before she saw.
“Where is the wand?” asked the blonde, none too friendly. I could not say I did not know. I was waiting all the time for them to make a mistake, but they did not. I pulled out the censer from a drawer by my bed. The girls are both watching me very closely and I realise they are a little afraid I will manage to turn them to gold too. So they will shoot if I make a wrong move. So I do not for the time being. I say,
“Shall I give it to you?” and hold it out. I keep handle end in my hand and point broad end at them. English brunette pig actually holds out her hand before blonde Lithuanian shouts at her and she pulls her hand back. It nearly worked!
“Put it on the floor,” says the blonde. I do so. She picks it up. “It only works if it’s in someone’s hand,” she explains. “Not magic, science. It’s sensitive to the warmth and recognises a hand-grip. Now I’m holding it I could turn you to gold, Marijus!”
She finds this funny, but I do not think she will do it unless she has to in struggle.
“So why all this about me co-operating? Co-operating in what? Why don’t you just arrest me for murder and other things in England and Lithuania and take away this wand?” I ask.
“Good question,” says the brunette. She is recovering from fright when she realised she had nearly been turned to gold. “To us your crimes are much less important than the future of the wand – not just for this one example, but for developing others and more advanced versions. Like we said, other people want it. They’d do a huge amount of harm if they could develop more advanced versions, learning from this one. We’ve studied your record and we think you could be useful to us – but only if you’re alive and relatively free. You have the makings of a good agent – we could use your skills - and you know how to use the wand, at least one part of its work. Besides, apparently it doesn’t work for all operators. As it works for you, we’d like to do some tests.”
I realise she has told me that if they try to use the wand on me, maybe it won’t work. But this is not much use at present as they have the guns.
“Who are the other people who want it?” I ask.
“A Russian mafia group,” she replies, “with Italian, Colombian and Afghan links. Very ruthless people. You’re a pacifist compared to them, Marijus.”
“Three more questions. Why two girl agents and no men? To please me, or are you just short of men?”
The blonde looks contemptuous and the brunette laughs. A little bit she fancies me, I think, but the blonde is maybe dyke.
“Coincidence up to a point, but there are three of us,” the brunette answers. “Sergeant Alan Brown is in the car. Our research did suggest you might talk better to women. What were the other questions?”
“What is so valuable about this wand to you? And to the mafia, for that matter?” It is the blonde who answers this time.
“Gold is a non-renewable resource like anything mined or drilled. For the mafia that is the main thing. For Western powers – and of course, we are a Western power now – the gold is also valuable, though of course we do not use innocent people to make it…”
(So maybe you do use guilty people like me if you have the chance, I think)
“…and for the Soviets the gold was attractive too, of course. But for all political groups the bigger potential is what happens when you turn the gold statue back into a person.”
“What’s that?” I ask, remembering I’m supposed not to know.
The brunette takes up the story.
“You get back a full-sized human of flesh and blood. Say we revived PC Silver. She would look just like she did, talk with the same accent, show the same interests and memories, do everything PC Silver would have done – except she would be totally under the control of the person who last used the wand on her. He could tell her to go back to being a policewoman, to her boyfriend and all, and then after three months to kill someone and then to throw herself under a train – and she would. Can you imagine how attractive that would be to some governments if you could do it on a large scale?”
“Indeed,” I say, looking at her with respect and interest, because I think this fool cop likes me and I can bit by bit fool her. “But surely you’re not saying the British or Lithuanian governments would use it to make obedient zombies? Is ‘zombie’ the right word?”
She actually smiled at me and said it was right. She looked a bit uncomfortable: she was not telling the whole truth and she knew it.
“We need to make it safe so evil dictatorships and Muslim extremists don’t use it. We also need to know all about protections and antidotes.”
“Are there any?”
“Not yet as far as we know. Also, well, it might by agreement be used on, say, serial rapists or irrational killers if we could find how to make it milder, as it were, so it didn’t make them slaves but only made them obey certain basic commands like ‘don’t kill anyone’. We need to have a wand and study it.”
She was not telling the whole truth.
“Are there other wands?” I asked.
“This was a prototype. Some sources say there was only one. Others say there were two more. No more than that.”
“Thankyou,” I say politely and smile at her.
“Then, I have last question. How did you find me? Or maybe I should say ‘how did you know it was me who took the wand?’ I am curious,” I say.
The two of them look at one another. The blonde answers.
“My colleague’s service had started watching the professor. When he was killed and things stolen, they looked for the wand and did not find it. A policewoman had disappeared, no body anywhere but some clothes. That surely meant someone had used the wand on her, most likely the thief, maybe hitting her with it so he could get away.” The brunette continued.
“We had lists of people suspected of that kind of burglary. You probably didn’t realise it, but you were on the list because of various intelligence – but it was a long list. Bit by bit we narrowed it down. It took us a while before we connected it to other disappearances of young women. We’re still not sure if that was you, but if we search the place we may find more statues. When the list was down to a few people and you were still on it, we started watching you and speaking to people who knew you. We were quite surprised when your girlfriend Debbie Robinson spoke to one of our people. She thought the guy was some kind of criminal, but she was looking for a way out from you, Marijus. The guy gave her a couple of drinks with…never mind…and she told us what we wanted to know. Then she disappeared. We carried on watching you, partly to see if the Russian mafia gang would show their hand, but there was no sign of them so we moved in – and here we are.”
“Welcome,” I said. “What next?”
She had just started answering, something about working together and overlooking my crimes if I stayed straight, when a different answer came.
“This is what next!” said a new voice. “Put your guns on the bed – also the wand. Hands behind your heads!”
There were three men and one woman, all armed. The blonde and the brunette stood up, their faces full of shock. I did what the newcomers said. So, a little more slowly, did the brunette. The blonde started to obey and then swivelled with her gun up. They were economical, professional. I respect that. A short man with Mongol features fired just one shot neatly into the blonde agent’s right tit and she fell on the bed. Another man, tall, slim, pale, moved very quickly, picked up the wand and tapped the fallen blonde on the neck with it. There was blood seeping out on to my bed, but not very much and it was slow – slower and slower. The blood was strangely thick and changing from red to like copper and shrinking, falling back on itself.
The blonde agent was a gold statue with some strange bits outside where the blood had flowed. Strange that the blood did not repair like with the police whore and the student girl, but maybe when blood was far enough from the body it did not go back in.
“Oh my God!” said the brunette. I think she had not been Special Branch officer for very long.
I remembered the girls had said there was a sergeant outside with the car, and thought this business was not over. But then the tall, pale man smiled thinly at the brunette and said,
“If you think your friend in the car will help you, forget it. In a few minutes the car will be removed and crushed. Your friend is in the trunk – boot, you call it – with one bullet in his head.”
Again just one bullet, I thought. These people are good.
“You have the pigs,” I say, “but what about me? I am like you people. I hate the law.”
“That is precisely what distinguishes petty criminals like you, my friend, from serious operatives like us,” the tall man says. He has Russian accent but not so strong. “You hate the law. We ignore it, or if we cannot ignore it, we make it.”
“He wants to know what we will do with him, Alexei,” the woman says. She has short blonde hair, nice tits, hard face.
The tall man turns to look hard at me.
“We could liquidate you or we could turn you to gold,” he says and then pauses. The bastard is stringing it out, trying to make me afraid, maybe to plead for his life, but he will not succeed. When they came and dealt with the security people I was glad, I thought it funny, but now I think maybe the security people are not so bad.
“…or we could employ you. People like you are useful in small ways,” he continues. “What do you think, Anna?”
“He could be useful,” she says.
The Mongol-looking man asks him something in Russian and he replies curtly. I understand some Russian but not spoken fast like that. Anyway, there is no mystery, for the tall man gives the Mongol the wand and he advances on the brunette with it while the third man, who is big and heavy and looks like a bouncer, covers her with his gun. The Russian woman is covering me.
The Mongol smiles and raises the wand a little. The brunette kicks him very suddenly, very hard in the ankle, ducks and as the big man fires, wrenches the wand from the Mongol. The Mongol does not resist. He has been shot in the chest by his own comrade.
I think of running, think of jumping at the Russian whore, but she looks ready to fire. The tall man turns and raises his gun, but the brunette has thrown herself at the big man: he has fired and the shot has knocked the wand from her hand, but she has kneed him in the balls also, and they are arm-in-arm struggling. The tall man, quite slowly, as if there is no hurry, manoeuvres to get in position for a precise shot. There is one shot. The tall man falls with a hole in the back of his head. The Russian woman has shot him. One shot again! At this point I could jump her, but I do not know what is happening or why. Maybe it is best to wait and find out. The brunette English cop girl is losing her fight with the big man. His gun is on the floor but he does not need it. He has not seen what has happened to his boss.
The Russian woman says to me,
“Pick up the wand.”
I run across and pick it up. The big man is strangling the brunette. He is enjoying it. Still he does not see what is around him. He has big ass and it bulges from the top of his trousers like English builder. The Russian woman takes careful aim and shoots him through the top of his asscrack. The Special Branch girl crawls from under him. Her face is very red because she was nearly strangled dead.
She sees the other woman holding her gun now down at the ground. She sees me with the wand.
“Oh, my God! Thankyou! Thankyou! I’m alive! Thankyou! Thankyou, Marijus!” she says.
The Russian woman says,
“Yes!” Then she whispers to me,
“Hit her with the wand.”
I smile at the brunette and hit her with the wand. She looks puzzled for a moment. Then she realises what I have done and there is shock in her face. She thinks she has been betrayed, but that is not so, for I never promised her anything, the stupid cunt. She begins to get smaller and to turn to gold. The Russian woman and I watch till it is complete. It is always great fun to watch.
“Well done!” says the Russian.
“Why have you done this? Why have you shot them?” I ask her. “Were they real Russian mafia? What are you?”
“Too many questions!” she replies with just hint of smile, little twitch of eyebrow. ”Let me see. The fourth question was about who I am. My name is Anna. I am Russian and former high-class whore, then girlfriend of Alexei, then agent for him. Third question – yes. Alexei was the boss’s right-hand man, set up to succeed him and ex-KGB. Second question – because I was tired of working for them and hated Alexei. He beat me, and he beat me most when I had good ideas for the business. First question – same answer. But also I decided I would see what you were like and if I thought I could work with you, I would make my move here. If not, I wait and you die. They were going to kill you, if not today, then soon.”
“So you decided you could work with me.”
“Yes. You looked tough, you stayed calm.”
“What now? We’ve got a whole lot of dead bodies including a police sergeant in a car outside.”
“We’ve got to move. How many gold statues do you have?”
“Before you came, seven. Now – nine.”
“Do you have a van? A truck?”
“Van. Big enough to take them all.”
“Then let’s get moving. Take your passport, credit cards, gun, any medicine you need.”
I explain that I need no medicine and I have no gun. She looks incredulous. I explain that for my work in this country, a gun is more trouble than it’s worth, especially if you use it, especially on a cop.
She kicks Alexei. She pats the Lithuanian girl on her golden ass. I think I will come to like this woman.
We load up and she tells me to drive to Bristol, where there are people who will help. Somewhere at the London end of the M4 she says,
“Marijus, do you know how rich you are now, with all this gold?”
“Roughly – but you can be just as rich with the same gold if you like and we work together,” I reply.
“Done!” she says.
TO BE CONTINUED