Ace of Knaves
Avenger
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THE BIG SMOKE
Prologue
December 31st 2008. Rain. It’s always raining here. Both metaphorically and literally. As I sit here watching the murky, polluted rain water cascade down the grimey, uncleaned windows of my 13th floor luxury(dingy) apartment(flat) in the fashionable(poverty stricken) Tower Hamlets borough of London town, I cannot help but wonder “Is this all there is to my life now? Watching the rain fall from the heavens like a purifying shower on the dirt and scum below?” I hope not, but I hope for a lot of things.
My name is Jake Knaves. I’m a private detective, a P.I, a dick, whatever you want to call it. But to be completely honest, I don’t even know what I am anymore. No jobs in months, seems like years. The empty bottles of cheap whiskey and discarded packets of Benson and Hedges Gold strewn all over my **** hole of a flat are the only things that I consider friends. Sad, isn’t it? To think, no more than a year ago I was rolling in it. Money, friends, more ***** than you could shake a newly signed hip hop artists advance at. They seem like distant memories of a past life, but they ain’t. They are recent memories of my current life. Where did it all go wrong? A more suitable question would be…where do we begin?
Chapter 1: One year ends, another begins
December 31st 2007. It’s raining. No, it’s pouring. The rain is synonymous with London. The big smoke as some people call it. Given that name because of the everlasting layer of smog blanketing this cess pool of a city. The stink of political corruption is almost as over bearing as the stink of crack pipes and their users who gather around the blocks of flats and their stairwells. Not that the smell bothers me, I’ve grown up with it really. The crack pipes I mean. But the stench of the fat cats in their Saville Row suits sitting in their beautifully decorated town houses and apartments really pisses me off, the greedy bastards. With false claims of helping out “the working man” making it easy to hate them.
But enough of that, it’s New Years Eve. The chance for a new beginning…again. It’s 11.32 am, an early start for me, but it will be all worth it when I get the moolah I’m owed. The bloke who owes me, David Stewart, is a wealthy Stock Broker. You could say too wealthy for what he deserves, but that’s probably me just being a bitter prick. Or it could be that a man who has his wife spied on for no other reason than he wants her spied on is a dick head who doesn’t deserve anything. Probably the latter, but hey, he’s paying cold hard cash, who am I to complain?
The meet is at a small “greasy spoon” café called “The Delight Café” on Bow’s famous Roman Road. How delightful…
I arrive at 12.47 pm, 13 minutes early. Enough time to knock back a couple of highly sugared teas and eat a sumptuous bacon buttie before we get down to business.
A brand spanking new gun metal grey Audi S6 pulls up outside, it’s him. Stewart enters, his obviously extortionately expensive 3 piece suit dripping with both rain water and class. I can’t help but feel a little jealous, there is no doubt the bloke looks good and lives good. For a 47 year old he looks REAL good. If I didn’t know him there is no way I would think he is older than 35, tops. Well built, about 15 stone I would say. Probably a member of some over the top expensive gym in Belgravia or something, he doesn’t seem like the type of face who would settle for a Fitness First membership.
He’s carrying a black brief case, soon to be my black brief case.
He sits down opposite me, ordering a tea, no sugar. I guess he thinks he’s sweet enough.
“Lovely day out, ay?” I sarcastically remark. Both a question and a statement.
“Yes beautiful, isn’t it?” Is that a question OR a statement? “You know, I love the rain. It relaxes me. Call me mad but I prefer a rainy day over a sunny day.” He explains in his toffee thick upper class accent.
“You’re mad mate” I jokingly reply, but I’m not really joking.
“So, have you got what I asked for?” Stewart eagerly asks as the waitress brings over his tea.
“Yep. You got my money?” I bluntly reply, polishing off my brew as I do.
“Of course. Twenty thousand pounds. Ten thousand in tens, five thousand in twenties, five thousand in fifties” ****, I really am starting to hate that accent of his.
He places the brief case on the seat next to me. I slide a large, brown envelope across the table to him. It contains pictures of his wife. Not anything that could get her into trouble I don’t think, nothing suspicious. Just her and a few of her mates out shopping and drinking in a fashionable bar, what I imagine is the norm for high class wives of rich Stock Brokers. It made me question why such a big pay out for them. But in the end I thought **** it, money is money, I don’t give a toss how or why I get it.
The wife? ****, the definition of “trophy wife”. Medium length brunette hair, flawless complexion, full juicy lips, banging body that wouldn’t look out of place on the cover of FHM or those other lads mags. She was gorgeous. What I would do to get my hands on a piece of ***** like that. I don’t know much about her, apart from her name being Katie, but I wouldn’t mind finding out more.
“I trust you wasn’t spotted?” He asks with a slightly sinister tone.
“Na guv, course not. They don’t call me Ace for nothing” I confidently reply
“Brilliant, just brilliant. Thank you very much for this, Ace. I will be sure to contact you in the future if these…needs ever arise again” Great, more work from obsessive, rich weirdoes.
“No worries. A pleasure doing business with you” Lies, all lies! “But I’ve gotta be going, a businessman like you knows there is always work to be done, and I’ve got some work I need to take care of” More lies on my part.
“Sure. Again, nice work Ace. I’ll be seeing you…”
I leave the dimly lit café, exiting the warm, entering the cold, rain lashed streets of E3, black brief case in tow. Something was strange about the way Stewart said “I’ll be seeing you”. Almost like he KNEW he would be seeing me again, maybe soon. Hmmm…
It’s now 5.36 pm. I’m in my well decorated, 13th floor apartment in Tower Hamlets, Whitechapel to be precise. Most well known for being the hunting grounds of a certain Jack the Ripper back in the day. I step out of the shower. I love showers, it feels like I’m literally washing the dirt and grime of the city off my body. The phone rings, I rush to answer it.
“HELLO BRUVVA!!” Heh, it’s Sadla, one of my oldest pals. Real ghetto child. Grew up in the slums of Stepney Green. If there is anything big going down on the streets of East London, he knows about it. He’s a dodgy ****a, but he’s my dodgy ****a, I trust him with my life.
“Ello my son! How’s it going? Looking forward to tonight?” It’s great to hear from him, no matter what mood I’m in, he’s a guy who can cheer me up. I’m sure it shows in my voice.
“Yes, yes you know that ****! You get your dosh today yea? Gonna paint the town red tonight yea? Gonna get on the ol jack and jills yea!?!” I’m wondering if he is already on them.
“Yea mate, it’s all sorted. You sure you ain’t on those ****in things already?”
“Haha well, you know me!” I do indeed.
“Yea I do know you geeze, so take it easy yea? It’s barely 6 o’clock son. There will be plently of time for that tonight. Who else has got tickets anyway?” The tickets I’m talking about are to the New Years drum and bass bashment at the Alexandra Palace.
“Well it’s me, you, Charlie, Danny boy, Zack, Boydy, Barker and Eggz. Just us lads, gonna be messy”
“It sure ****in is my son!” Now I’m getting excited. “What time we meeting?”
“Bout 8 at the Beggar. That sweet with you?”
“Yes yes mate, no worries. See you there, gotta tart myself up you know? HA!”
“Will do bruv, see ya in a bit.”
Tonights going to be a good night, no doubt. I crack open a bottle of Stella, my poison of choice. I compliment that with a shot of Bells whiskey, then another, then another. It’s about time I get ready.
9.53 pm. We are outside Ally Pally, all of us pretty pissed. I dropped a couple pills in the pub before hand, dropped another one in the queue, checking out the totty on display. It’s the usual mixed bag. Some absolute stunners, some absolute stinkers. Pretty typical for a rave. Sadla, the crazy bastard has already dropped 5 pills, as has Boydy, Zack and Eggz. Charlie doesn’t do e’s, he does his name sake, by the barrow full. I personally hate that stuff. Danny Boy and Barker haven’t done either yet, but they are steaming drunk.
The rush of ecstacy is hard to explain. It starts off like a warm, fuzzy feeling in your stomach, then rises up your spine into your head. They take a while to kick in, but when they do, you know about it. It heightens your senses, especially hearing and touch. It feels like you actually become one with the music, the sound waves.
We get through the doors at about 10.30. The place is packed out already. DJ Nicky Blackmarket is just warming up, starting off with some old school jungle. I love it, we all love it. I’m really rushing now. Me, Sadla, Boydy, Eggz and Zack hit the floor. It’s gotta be done. Danny Boy, Barker and Charlie go to the bar, the former two drop a couple of pills each. The night has officially begun.
Can what we are doing on the dancefloor be really counted as “dancing”? I don’t think it can. I would think when you are dancing in the traditional sense you have some kind of control over yourself. When you are in a rave, moving to drum and bass, you don’t really have any control over yourself, especially when you are on the jack and jills. The music just takes you, wraps you up in it’s waves and drags you about as it pleases. Brockin out. That’s what it’s called. **** knows why, but it sounds cool. By now all of us lads are on the dancefloor, along with about five thousand other nutters like us. It’s just so pure. So many people moving together, digging the same music, digging each other. It’s beautiful. You can just forget about everything outside of the building. No bills, no bank charges, no rent, no responsibility, no nothing. Just pure…love.
11.48 pm. It’s getting close to the big moment, the New Year. By now the place is really rocking. DJ Hype is up there, like a god of some kind. The feeling to be a DJ at a place like this must be phenomenal. Thousands of people under your control, worshiping everything you do. That is what it must be like, being a God. I gotta take a break from the dancefloor, have a little breather, sip some water, get ready for the count down.
I squeeze my way through the sweat soaked bodies to the bar. The bar maid knows what I want just by looking at me. I gulp down the cold, refreshing water, it instantly revitalizes me. I’m ready to get back out there, but I spot something. Some one to be more accurate. It’s her, I don’t know if it’s the drugs making me see things, but it’s her. Katie. The woman I was paid to spy on. She looks beautiful, like a goddess amongst mere mortals. Knee length black boots, a tiny denim micro skirt, which looks more like a denim belt. Those legs, just amazing. Up top? Even better. Tight low cut pink tank top, breasts neatly displayed. Hair all scrunched up, the way it moves as she moves is mesmerizing, truly. I would never in a million years think that a high class bird like that would be at a place like this. I don’t even notice the other people she is with, I don’t even notice that I’m slowly moving towards her. It’s almost like I’m on autopilot. Our eyes meet. She smiles. I return the favour. She puts her arms over my shoulders, I put my hands on her hips, like I’m steadying the boat. She moves, let me tell ya, she moves ****in well. It’s like our bodies are one, moving together in perfect harmony. Eyes gazing into each others. This is heaven, well the closest I’ll ever get to it. I’m completely oblivious to everything else around me, transfixed by this…goddess of a woman. All of a sudden I hear a roar that snaps me out of it. I start to look around wondering what all the commotion is about. Then I realize, it’s midnight. The start of a new day, the start of a new year. But before I can join in the wild celebrations she grabs my head. She pulls my face towards hers, we lock lips, I pull her close into my body. It’s electric, like a pulse is flowing through me, I’ve never felt anything like this before. Her soft tongue probing against mine, moving with the beat of the music. That’s all there is now. Her, me and the music. All three of us as one. Pure…ecstacy.
December 31st 2008. Rain. It’s always raining here. Both metaphorically and literally. As I sit here watching the murky, polluted rain water cascade down the grimey, uncleaned windows of my 13th floor luxury(dingy) apartment(flat) in the fashionable(poverty stricken) Tower Hamlets borough of London town, I cannot help but wonder “Is this all there is to my life now? Watching the rain fall from the heavens like a purifying shower on the dirt and scum below?” I hope not, but I hope for a lot of things.
My name is Jake Knaves. I’m a private detective, a P.I, a dick, whatever you want to call it. But to be completely honest, I don’t even know what I am anymore. No jobs in months, seems like years. The empty bottles of cheap whiskey and discarded packets of Benson and Hedges Gold strewn all over my **** hole of a flat are the only things that I consider friends. Sad, isn’t it? To think, no more than a year ago I was rolling in it. Money, friends, more ***** than you could shake a newly signed hip hop artists advance at. They seem like distant memories of a past life, but they ain’t. They are recent memories of my current life. Where did it all go wrong? A more suitable question would be…where do we begin?
Chapter 1: One year ends, another begins
December 31st 2007. It’s raining. No, it’s pouring. The rain is synonymous with London. The big smoke as some people call it. Given that name because of the everlasting layer of smog blanketing this cess pool of a city. The stink of political corruption is almost as over bearing as the stink of crack pipes and their users who gather around the blocks of flats and their stairwells. Not that the smell bothers me, I’ve grown up with it really. The crack pipes I mean. But the stench of the fat cats in their Saville Row suits sitting in their beautifully decorated town houses and apartments really pisses me off, the greedy bastards. With false claims of helping out “the working man” making it easy to hate them.
But enough of that, it’s New Years Eve. The chance for a new beginning…again. It’s 11.32 am, an early start for me, but it will be all worth it when I get the moolah I’m owed. The bloke who owes me, David Stewart, is a wealthy Stock Broker. You could say too wealthy for what he deserves, but that’s probably me just being a bitter prick. Or it could be that a man who has his wife spied on for no other reason than he wants her spied on is a dick head who doesn’t deserve anything. Probably the latter, but hey, he’s paying cold hard cash, who am I to complain?
The meet is at a small “greasy spoon” café called “The Delight Café” on Bow’s famous Roman Road. How delightful…
I arrive at 12.47 pm, 13 minutes early. Enough time to knock back a couple of highly sugared teas and eat a sumptuous bacon buttie before we get down to business.
A brand spanking new gun metal grey Audi S6 pulls up outside, it’s him. Stewart enters, his obviously extortionately expensive 3 piece suit dripping with both rain water and class. I can’t help but feel a little jealous, there is no doubt the bloke looks good and lives good. For a 47 year old he looks REAL good. If I didn’t know him there is no way I would think he is older than 35, tops. Well built, about 15 stone I would say. Probably a member of some over the top expensive gym in Belgravia or something, he doesn’t seem like the type of face who would settle for a Fitness First membership.
He’s carrying a black brief case, soon to be my black brief case.
He sits down opposite me, ordering a tea, no sugar. I guess he thinks he’s sweet enough.
“Lovely day out, ay?” I sarcastically remark. Both a question and a statement.
“Yes beautiful, isn’t it?” Is that a question OR a statement? “You know, I love the rain. It relaxes me. Call me mad but I prefer a rainy day over a sunny day.” He explains in his toffee thick upper class accent.
“You’re mad mate” I jokingly reply, but I’m not really joking.
“So, have you got what I asked for?” Stewart eagerly asks as the waitress brings over his tea.
“Yep. You got my money?” I bluntly reply, polishing off my brew as I do.
“Of course. Twenty thousand pounds. Ten thousand in tens, five thousand in twenties, five thousand in fifties” ****, I really am starting to hate that accent of his.
He places the brief case on the seat next to me. I slide a large, brown envelope across the table to him. It contains pictures of his wife. Not anything that could get her into trouble I don’t think, nothing suspicious. Just her and a few of her mates out shopping and drinking in a fashionable bar, what I imagine is the norm for high class wives of rich Stock Brokers. It made me question why such a big pay out for them. But in the end I thought **** it, money is money, I don’t give a toss how or why I get it.
The wife? ****, the definition of “trophy wife”. Medium length brunette hair, flawless complexion, full juicy lips, banging body that wouldn’t look out of place on the cover of FHM or those other lads mags. She was gorgeous. What I would do to get my hands on a piece of ***** like that. I don’t know much about her, apart from her name being Katie, but I wouldn’t mind finding out more.
“I trust you wasn’t spotted?” He asks with a slightly sinister tone.
“Na guv, course not. They don’t call me Ace for nothing” I confidently reply
“Brilliant, just brilliant. Thank you very much for this, Ace. I will be sure to contact you in the future if these…needs ever arise again” Great, more work from obsessive, rich weirdoes.
“No worries. A pleasure doing business with you” Lies, all lies! “But I’ve gotta be going, a businessman like you knows there is always work to be done, and I’ve got some work I need to take care of” More lies on my part.
“Sure. Again, nice work Ace. I’ll be seeing you…”
I leave the dimly lit café, exiting the warm, entering the cold, rain lashed streets of E3, black brief case in tow. Something was strange about the way Stewart said “I’ll be seeing you”. Almost like he KNEW he would be seeing me again, maybe soon. Hmmm…
It’s now 5.36 pm. I’m in my well decorated, 13th floor apartment in Tower Hamlets, Whitechapel to be precise. Most well known for being the hunting grounds of a certain Jack the Ripper back in the day. I step out of the shower. I love showers, it feels like I’m literally washing the dirt and grime of the city off my body. The phone rings, I rush to answer it.
“HELLO BRUVVA!!” Heh, it’s Sadla, one of my oldest pals. Real ghetto child. Grew up in the slums of Stepney Green. If there is anything big going down on the streets of East London, he knows about it. He’s a dodgy ****a, but he’s my dodgy ****a, I trust him with my life.
“Ello my son! How’s it going? Looking forward to tonight?” It’s great to hear from him, no matter what mood I’m in, he’s a guy who can cheer me up. I’m sure it shows in my voice.
“Yes, yes you know that ****! You get your dosh today yea? Gonna paint the town red tonight yea? Gonna get on the ol jack and jills yea!?!” I’m wondering if he is already on them.
“Yea mate, it’s all sorted. You sure you ain’t on those ****in things already?”
“Haha well, you know me!” I do indeed.
“Yea I do know you geeze, so take it easy yea? It’s barely 6 o’clock son. There will be plently of time for that tonight. Who else has got tickets anyway?” The tickets I’m talking about are to the New Years drum and bass bashment at the Alexandra Palace.
“Well it’s me, you, Charlie, Danny boy, Zack, Boydy, Barker and Eggz. Just us lads, gonna be messy”
“It sure ****in is my son!” Now I’m getting excited. “What time we meeting?”
“Bout 8 at the Beggar. That sweet with you?”
“Yes yes mate, no worries. See you there, gotta tart myself up you know? HA!”
“Will do bruv, see ya in a bit.”
Tonights going to be a good night, no doubt. I crack open a bottle of Stella, my poison of choice. I compliment that with a shot of Bells whiskey, then another, then another. It’s about time I get ready.
9.53 pm. We are outside Ally Pally, all of us pretty pissed. I dropped a couple pills in the pub before hand, dropped another one in the queue, checking out the totty on display. It’s the usual mixed bag. Some absolute stunners, some absolute stinkers. Pretty typical for a rave. Sadla, the crazy bastard has already dropped 5 pills, as has Boydy, Zack and Eggz. Charlie doesn’t do e’s, he does his name sake, by the barrow full. I personally hate that stuff. Danny Boy and Barker haven’t done either yet, but they are steaming drunk.
The rush of ecstacy is hard to explain. It starts off like a warm, fuzzy feeling in your stomach, then rises up your spine into your head. They take a while to kick in, but when they do, you know about it. It heightens your senses, especially hearing and touch. It feels like you actually become one with the music, the sound waves.
We get through the doors at about 10.30. The place is packed out already. DJ Nicky Blackmarket is just warming up, starting off with some old school jungle. I love it, we all love it. I’m really rushing now. Me, Sadla, Boydy, Eggz and Zack hit the floor. It’s gotta be done. Danny Boy, Barker and Charlie go to the bar, the former two drop a couple of pills each. The night has officially begun.
Can what we are doing on the dancefloor be really counted as “dancing”? I don’t think it can. I would think when you are dancing in the traditional sense you have some kind of control over yourself. When you are in a rave, moving to drum and bass, you don’t really have any control over yourself, especially when you are on the jack and jills. The music just takes you, wraps you up in it’s waves and drags you about as it pleases. Brockin out. That’s what it’s called. **** knows why, but it sounds cool. By now all of us lads are on the dancefloor, along with about five thousand other nutters like us. It’s just so pure. So many people moving together, digging the same music, digging each other. It’s beautiful. You can just forget about everything outside of the building. No bills, no bank charges, no rent, no responsibility, no nothing. Just pure…love.
11.48 pm. It’s getting close to the big moment, the New Year. By now the place is really rocking. DJ Hype is up there, like a god of some kind. The feeling to be a DJ at a place like this must be phenomenal. Thousands of people under your control, worshiping everything you do. That is what it must be like, being a God. I gotta take a break from the dancefloor, have a little breather, sip some water, get ready for the count down.
I squeeze my way through the sweat soaked bodies to the bar. The bar maid knows what I want just by looking at me. I gulp down the cold, refreshing water, it instantly revitalizes me. I’m ready to get back out there, but I spot something. Some one to be more accurate. It’s her, I don’t know if it’s the drugs making me see things, but it’s her. Katie. The woman I was paid to spy on. She looks beautiful, like a goddess amongst mere mortals. Knee length black boots, a tiny denim micro skirt, which looks more like a denim belt. Those legs, just amazing. Up top? Even better. Tight low cut pink tank top, breasts neatly displayed. Hair all scrunched up, the way it moves as she moves is mesmerizing, truly. I would never in a million years think that a high class bird like that would be at a place like this. I don’t even notice the other people she is with, I don’t even notice that I’m slowly moving towards her. It’s almost like I’m on autopilot. Our eyes meet. She smiles. I return the favour. She puts her arms over my shoulders, I put my hands on her hips, like I’m steadying the boat. She moves, let me tell ya, she moves ****in well. It’s like our bodies are one, moving together in perfect harmony. Eyes gazing into each others. This is heaven, well the closest I’ll ever get to it. I’m completely oblivious to everything else around me, transfixed by this…goddess of a woman. All of a sudden I hear a roar that snaps me out of it. I start to look around wondering what all the commotion is about. Then I realize, it’s midnight. The start of a new day, the start of a new year. But before I can join in the wild celebrations she grabs my head. She pulls my face towards hers, we lock lips, I pull her close into my body. It’s electric, like a pulse is flowing through me, I’ve never felt anything like this before. Her soft tongue probing against mine, moving with the beat of the music. That’s all there is now. Her, me and the music. All three of us as one. Pure…ecstacy.
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