This book is written in an easy to read style with no blank pages between chapters, just a small space for your uninterrupted reading pleasure.

 The Author

Living on the Edge

By Michael J Freeman

I Pornographer series

Volume 11

                       Chapters

1. Coke Dealer

2. Murder Attempt

3. Love Affairs

4. Freek

5. Der Dave

6. The Plot

7. Red or Black

8.  Hennie

9. Execution

10. Full Moon

11. Faye’s Visit

12. Honey Trap

13. Bad Trip

Coke Dealer

Chapter 1

The guy was sitting on my settee he was “a friend of Gordon’s” he had said over the phone, “got some business” and I agreed to see him. Perhaps Gordon had found some tasty chick or something who wanted to be a porn star and make some money.

“Hi Mike, pleased to meet you,” he said, sticking out his hand.

 When I shook it was limp. I looked at his faded jeans, the cowboy boots sticking out the ends and the little brown sack that he had leant against the settee and that he had stuck protectively between them.

“Want a drink or puff or anything?” I asked.

“I’ll have a Scotch on the rocks, if you have ice?” he said his eyes looking at the bottles in the drinks cabinet where a bottle of Johnny Walker stood. I didn’t drink much alcohol at this period in my life except for wine with meals!

“Scotch on the rocks it is then” I agreed, taking a glass and going into the kitchen and half filling his glass, walking back in and pouring out a generous measure of whisky into his glass. I sat down listening to the cubes rattling in his glass as he quaffed half the glass in one gulp and wiped his mouth with a silk handkerchief.

“Ah, that’s better,” he said.

I blew a cloud of blue smoke in his direction waiting for him to speak and tell me what was in that fucking little sack.

“Gordon would love it over here” he said, bending forward and patting the sack in between his feet.

A picture of teenage Gordon came into my mind. We were all on acid and with Pat and Susan off to make blue film in Petts Wood, Kent then another picture flashed through my mind of a prematurely white haired man addicted to cocaine and alcohol. The guy on the settee, Dennis, was a coke head I knew, he refused a puff, a sign of brotherhood and took strong spirits and I knew that coke heads usually get paranoid on cannabis. I blew another cloud of smoke his way and he waved his hand clearing it away.

“There is a key of best Peruvian flake here and you can buy scales and little plastic bags in Damstraat,” he explained, patting the sack.

“They are trying to fit me up” I thought danger bells ringing in my head.

“For nothing Mike just to start you off” Dennis said a benevolent smile on his face as though he was doing me a big favour.

“Look I am a filmmaker not a dealer and I have no intentions of being one. I don’t want to be raided by the cops while it’s here Dennis” I said getting up and unlocking the door a hard threatening look on my face.

“I’m sorry Mike, any friend of Gordon’s is a friend of mine” he said moving towards the open door.

“Yes Puff Video” I answered the phone.

“Hello I want a gram” said a voice.

“I don’t sell coke, I sell films” I said.

“Yeah cool man” the voice said then the phone went dead

About ten minutes later the doorbell went and I pressed the entry phone.”Yes who is it?” I asked.

“The guy that phoned you ten minutes ago” the mystery caller said.

I felt angry knowing that this was a set up, made me into a dealer then get me busted. I clipped my dagger to my waistband and walking to the top of the stairs I stood dagger in my hand listening to the guy mounting the stairs.  He got to the landing below and I hid the blade behind my back then as he was a few steps away I brandished the weapon in his face. He turned and leapt down the stairs and then got out the house in a hurry. I looked out of the alcove window and saw him stumble and fall to his knees on the pavement before regaining his feet and running like hell.

“Good, I will show these bastards that I am an honest filmmaker” I vowed.

“Hello,” I said, answering the phone.

“This is the guy who you are half scared to death. Why did you do that?”

“Because you fucking cokeheads have got to learn that I ain't no fucking dealer” I said.

The phone clicked and went dead. Next minute the doorbell rang then some people coming up the stairs and I looked down in between the banisters and saw two guys coming up.

“What do you want?” I shouted down.

“Police, just want to ask you a few questions”

“Show your identification” I said to the guys who were halfway up the stairs and they both produced photo identity cards.

They wanted to know why I had scared the black man although one did all the talking with the big blond guy asking him to ask me and I guessed that he was the only Dutchman I ever met who could only speak a few words of English.  His name was Freek and I could see that he believed my story and I guessed that the first guy that had phoned and asked for coke was a cop too.

We parted friends all shaking hands and Freek said in his stilted English:” I will look after you while you are here and come and see you sometimes, I am Freek.”

“Okay Freek, look forward to seeing you again” I said, pleased that the detectives were friendly here...

As I jogged around the Vondel it was autumn and the carpet of brown and red leaves crackled under my feet and there was a slight chill in the air. I ran past the alcohol junkies who were on the same bench everyday. I passed them noticing that none of their faces bore signs of violence like the ones that I had seen in London and then I saw the tramp cleaning his teeth in a drinking fountain and he waved and I waved back. I knew that he lived in the park and had a little tent deep in the bushes surrounding it. There were lots of people sleeping in the park but Victor the tramp was clean and there was no rubbish around his area. He buried all his organic stuff and if he had any other rubbish he took it to the rubbish bins. I started going for runs at night and once I hit a solid object that let out a moan. I stopped and found a guy sleeping in a black bin liner that was closed except for a breathing hole at the top!  Also tourists put sleeping bags down under the bridges in the park that were well lit at night and no one bothered them. There was a different scene going on at night including a big gay area in some bushes on the canal.  I ran past people who stuck candles in the ground and smoked weed serenaded by the drums and guitars of musicians who played the night away.  Sometimes I watched films at the open air cinema...

The daytime Vondel was completely different with amateur musicians, clowns, restaurants, and an open air theatre. I got to know people like the young genius who had a grand piano pushed into the park and who attracted a crowd of people and I always donated generously. The shows were free at the open air theatre, plays or music concerts and I often attended or dined outside in the Film Museum restaurant by the gates or the more informal self service one in the middle.

Life in Amsterdam was laid back and easy and I started to relive my life doing all the things that I could not do in London like going to night discos dancing high on Es, weed and every full moon on acid. One could do them but the doormen would not let me in because I looked too hard but here I had Ronnie who I became good friends with even after he tried to kill me!

Murder Attempt

Chapter 2

I was in Ronnie’s flat one day when the doorbell rang and I looked at him questioning look on my face.

“Tonner”Ronnie said laconically and ran down the stairs to let him in.

I studied the hand grenade with a length of string attached to the firing pin that Ronnie would throw down the stairs to deter more unwelcome visitors. I had never met Tonner but had learned from Ronnie that he was an Arab and a coke dealer.  I noticed that when Ronnie drew his assistance money using his bank card he would disappear for three or four days until he had spent it all on coke.

I heard them click their heels and greet each other with “Heil Hitler” . I first heard Ronnie use the Nazi salute when he spoke to Tonner on the phone but he had explained that he was just messing about. I remembered doing it myself when I was 14 but I had learned that the Arabs were on the side of Hitler during the 2nd World War and regarded him with reverence.

As they walked up the stairs chatting rapidly in Dutch of which I had barely learned a few words, my right hand checked to see if my dagger was okay and easily accessible. I sensed danger and I was on full red alert as they entered the small living room.

“This is Tonner Mike '' Ronnie introduced me to an Arab dressed in a tracksuit that I noticed was unzipped and I caught a glance of a knife clipped onto his waistband. Ronnie’s top was unzipped too and although I was sitting down on the settee they both remained standing.

“Pleased to meet you Tonner” I said, sticking out my right hand to grasp his and shaking hands. The tension was electric now as I watched them manoeuvre into attack positions. I was lower than them, my throat on level with their sharp blades but I never rose to my feet because I felt myself growing into a giant so that my head almost touched the ceiling and I was looking down upon these two wretched creatures on whose faces was now stamped a look of terror. My eyes glittered as I grasped the handle of my dagger and I knew that I could decapitate them both with one terrible sweep of my arm.

I had imagined that I had hallucinated the incident but later when I questioned Ronnie who I got to admit that he and Tonner had planned to kill me I asked him why?

“We thought that you were a Mossad agent and thought we would get a big reputation for ourselves then we found out you could grow!” Ronnie explained.

I remembered the time that Hawley had me at his mercy my shoulders pinned to the stairs and the glitter of his blade then suddenly I was standing on his shoulders and flying through the air and rolling along the carpet to grasp the battle axe that I swung in a vicious arc to half severe his left upper arm, draw the dagger from its sheave then crouch in the knife fighter position stand my extended arm plunging the dagger to the hilt into his chest. I had gone over the incident many times in my head but avoided the fact, so brainwashed that we are, that I possessed magical powers but now I knew because when I thought that it was my imagination that I was growing Ronnie and Tonner had seen me I knew!

Love Affairs

Chapter 3        

 I met this pretty Yugoslavian chick in The Family Coffee Shop one day and she invited me to her flat for a meal and I was just walking down the street holding hands when Gabriella saw me. I thought that it might spoil my chances then I would think of an explanation.

The next day I went to The Family Gabriella was there with her daughter, a child of mixed blood as one could tell by her coffee coloured complexion and her abundant frizzy black hair which she tied behind her head. She was pretty and not very tall like the Dutch. She was with her boyfriend, a light coloured black man. He was short too.

“Where is the Yugoslavian girl then?” Gabriella asked.

“Yugoslavia she asked me to go-to help run an orphanage but there is a war going on ...” I explained surprised that she had spoken to me

“Oh!” She said smiling her sharp  white teeth contrasting with her bright red lipstick then she turned to her daughter “Go home now and buy a chicken on  the way” she ordered in a tone of one who always obeyed.

“Yes Mum” her daughter replied and left with her diminutive boyfriend.

“Here have a hit on this” I offered her the still smouldering joint. I had bought a gram of Red Hair Skunk and made a big fat spliff of it with some Puntjes crumbled in.

I smiled as she took the offered joint and watched as she took a big long hit making the quick sucking sound of the experienced toker as they cooled the smoke by sucking air round the filter...

“Nice man” she said, stoned smiling and seductively fluttering her heavy with mascara eyes!

“Can I walk you home tonight Gabriella?” the question came from my lips and I awaited her reply with bated breath.

“Yes Mike you may” she replied smiling with a suggestion of sexual promise.

Outside I put my arm around her as we walked along the Overtoom and then crossed to Avenue Constantine. “Shall we catch a tram?” I asked, enjoying escorting a woman and feeling like a man who is ready to protect his woman.

“No it’s not far” she said and we continued walking.

We passed Ronnie’s mother’s house that he had pointed out but which I had not entered yet and crossed another major Boulevard and she stopped outside a street door with a shop above. I pushed her gently against the door and pressed my lips hard against her and felt the surge to my loins.

“No not here, I will see you again tomorrow in The Family” she said the “not here” implying the promise of somewhere else.

She turned and unlocked the street door and disappeared inside...

As I stood there outside with a rapidly deflating penis I heard the sound of celebration, the sound of the excited whispering of her daughter, her boyfriend and the “schuss” of Gabriella. I walked home happy with the perception that she considered me a catch...

The next day she accepted my invitation to show her my studio flat where I cooked her coq au vin, sauté potatoes and broccoli and plied her with a bottle of Nuits St George before pressing my lips against her on the settee, feeling her breasts and attempting to get my hand up her tight black skirt.

“No messing about on the settee-you must conquer me tonight in my bed” Gabriella said, giving me a fierce primeval stare.

Her bed was wide and spotless in white linen, the sheets pulled back invitingly and as I watched her undress I quickly took off my clothes. She disappeared and I heard the sound of running water.

“The shower is running for you” she informed me, hands on hips unashamed, sporting a light brown trimmed bush so that I could see the slit of her vagina.

In the shower I noticed that the floor sloped towards the corner and ran down a hole. I washed my genitalia carefully and strode manfully into her bedchamber to find her naked in the bed, a welcoming space beside her.

I remembered her words “conquer me” and as I pressed my lips against hers I manoeuvred my body on top of her.  I grasped her wrists pinning her down and then inserted my stiffly erect penis into her noticing that she was wet with excitement and levering myself up onto my elbows, my body arched for clitoral contact, I began fucking her slowly at first then speeding up listening to her rapid breathing then her closed eyelids fluttered open for a second exposing the whites flicking up ecstatically then her breathing became faster, small tremors from her pubes and she groaned, writhed and turned in a big orgasm.

She wanted me to stay laying there on our backs, her arms out of the bed when I wanted to pull the sheets over my head so I knew that I couldn’t sleep with her but laying in her bed I could hear the homosexual coupling in the flat about. I heard the sound of fellatio, the unmistakable sound of the orgasmic cry and even a loud gulping sound of the sperm swallower.

“Gabriella I can’t sleep here” I said, getting out of bed and getting dressed.

“Why don’t you sleep with me?” she asked.

“Because I sleep differently from you without letting the mosquitoes feed on me because I have a net and without listening to gays sucking each other off” I replied fastening me dagger to my waistband.

“You can’t hear them” she said adamantly sitting up in bed and I noticed a single lock of grey hair coming from her forehead that I had not before and wondered why she did not dye it like most women would have.

Walking down the Boulevard deserted now at night I felt happy and realised that I had just had the first vanilla sex in my life that I had had with any woman and I knew that I would seek other more adventurous lovers...

Freek

Chapter 4

“This is my girlfriend Angela, she is a police woman” Freek said with a big friendly smile on his face.

“Please to meet you Angela” I said, shaking her hand.

Angela was blonde like most Dutch women and I noticed that she had large breasts and a pretty face as  she snuggled up to Freek on the settee. He had dropped in like he said he would although I thought that he was bullshitting at the time but there he was on my settee as large as life with his girlfriend who was smiling at me.

“Do you like it here in Holland Mike?” she asked.

“Yes I do because I can be an honest man here” I explained. As I spoke I loaded a pipe because I liked to be high when speaking.  I offered Freek the pipe and he took a hit.

“Perhaps you can make something for Angela?” he asked, then spoke to her in Dutch.

“He says if you can make a hash cake for me” Angela explained giggling.

As I cooked hash brownies in the kitchen and made some coffee I marvelled how different my relationship was here with the police.

Freek saw the chinning bar and jumped up and did twelve reps and then I did thirteen.

“Hey I take you to the Johan Voss gym” he said grinning.

The first thing that I saw when entering the gym was a long red martial arts bag and I attacked it delivering a combination of hard blows to the top and lower part of the bag. I had my own style, basically I was a boxer with two knockout punches, a straight left to the jaw and a viciously powerful right hook that would deliver a knockout blow anywhere on the head. I was enjoying the feeling of using a bag again when suddenly a huge Dutchman was speaking to me.

“Here we make a kick like this” he said lifting his leg high he swivelled, opening his thighs wide and kicking the top of the bag with the top of his foot.

“Great” I praised him thinking that I would have chopped his bollocks.

“You try,” he said.

“I have a different style” I said remembering the words of The Way of The Warrior:”Use the top of your body to strike the top of the opponent’s body and the legs to strike at the bottom” and this had suited me.

“I do not use the arts as a sport, I use them in righteous anger” I said the adrenaline pumping through my veins.``He is with me” Freek’s voice rang out across the gym mixing with the sound of his skipping.“Okay what is your style” the Dutchman asked nodding to Freek a smile on his face.“Street Fighter” I replied.``We are the champions of the world” the Dutchman said grinning and leaving the gym.Freek was skipping really fast implementing some professional boxing moves into his routine and the rope whistling in a blurred arc.  In prison I had worked out with several pro boxers and skipping was an essential part of their routine which I took on board. I stopped hitting the bag and picked up a rope and soon the gym was filled with the whistling sound of spinning ropes as we both took pleasure in the rhythm of our bodies. As I skipped I thought about the big Dutchman’s question about what style did I have.

 Really I started boxing as a teenager when my father who thought that I was a coward made me join the Ivy League Boxing Club in Brixton then as martial arts became popular I read books, hardened my hands and practised but always when it came to a real fight I regressed to my own style in which I used fists, elbows, head and teeth and became the victor of many prison fights. I had disliked fighting as a boy and still did but I had made a vow when I was in Borstal at age 19 never to back down and I never had since.

”I train you in pickaxe fighting” Freek offered and I didn’t fancy this at all as he picked up a pickaxe handle and advanced towards me.“Gangsters here use pick axe handles and baseball bats and sometimes they beat people to death. Now I want you to jump” he said, taking a low swing at my legs...“What was I doing here alone in this place with a guy who could kill me?” I thought danger bells ringing in my head. Freek had an evil look on his face as he advanced and swung at my legs again.I jumped and kept on jumping until he stopped surprised at my own agility.“See if you can hit me but the legs are the best” he said handing me the pickaxe handle. I swung a blow at his shins and he jumped.

“No that is no good, do like me, hard no joking” he said a serious expression on his face. I took a blow at his legs and after a while I realized how good he was because I could not hit him.

Afterwards I grabbed a couple of heavy dumbbells and began doing dumbbell bench press. This was the first workout with heavy resistance since I left London and I really enjoyed it. After a nice shower I met Freek in the bar surrounded by tall muscular guys all over six feet tall. I felt like a midget. “I am a midget” I exclaimed giggling.

No one laughed and the big guys dressed in tracksuits wearing loads of bling just ignored me.

“You must not make a joke here, these men are serious,” Freek informed me.

Der Dave

Chapter 5  

I was working in acrylics using it thinned down with water and it was great for visualizing images that emerged from the act of painting and just making patterns and colour harmony. White horses had appeared and I could see their nostrils flaring as they galloped through the surf, they were wild and untamed and symbolized liberty. Suddenly a latent image of Marilyn Monroe developed and became so real, her lips began to move and I remembered when I was tripping with Gordon in the Sixties standing on the Clapham Common Underground Station looking at a poster when suddenly the image of a girl started to move!

“Hey Gordon she’s alive, she's speaking, her lips are moving” I remarked in amazement.

“That’s because images contain the essence of the subject,” Gordon said wisely.

“Hey, Gabriella, do you see some actresses that you recognize?” I asked, pointing with the end of the paintbrush to the likeness of Marilyn.

“It’s Marilyn Monroe,” she said, smiling with an amazed look on her face.

“Yes the spooks murdered her with a barium enema” I said, saying what had come into my mind while looking at the image of her, an image that had become almost photographic.

“You must have looked at many photos of her in the past?” Gabriella asked.

“No they are not from memory I am communicating with the essence of Marilyn herself” I said hand on hip waiting for her reply.

“So as Marilyn is dead you are communicating with her soul?” Gabriella replied, taking a big hit on the spliff she had expertly made and holding it out towards me.

“Whatever, I call it the essence” I replied, taking the joint and sucking greedily so that it burned half way down before handing it back. The room was full of blue cannabis smoke now and sunlight illuminated visions in the smoke and I looked for Marilyn then the phone rang breaking the spell.

“Hello Puff Video” I said.

“Hello Der Dave here, you don’t know me but I want to take you out for a nice meal and discuss some business”

“OK where shall we meet?”I asked.

“I will come to your office.”

“No I don’t meet strangers for the first time in the office” informed this so-called Der Dave.

“Okay, meet me in the Leidseplein at your own time” he suggested.

“Okay tonight outside The Bulldog, 7pm” I replied.

I saw Der Dave immediately sitting at a table drinking a glass of beer. He wore sunglasses at night and was dressed in a denim top and jeans with cowboy boots. He was of Eurasian appearance and I guessed that he was from one of the Dutch colonies. He saw me coming and smiled standing up to greet me, his hand outstretched. Do you want a drink or something or shall I take you straight to the restaurant?” he asked, shaking hands.

He tried squeezing my hand in a strong grip but I squeezed back hard and then relaxed and he withdrew his hand quickly.

“Let’s eat” I said tersely.

He beckoned the waiter and paid by Gold Credit Card issued by the Bank of Hong Kong smiling as though he was a rich man but when the waiter returned bringing back his card he never tipped.

“It’s not service included” I informed him.

“But I don’t have change,” he said.

I put a nice tip on the waiter’s tray.

“Thank you Sir,” he said.

The restaurant was full with lots of Surinamese people and I guessed that Der Dave had some Surinamese blood. “Pick what you want” he offered magnanimously even though some of the shellfish dishes were expensive and then he ordered champagne.

“We must celebrate our first meeting together,” he said, smiling to reveal some gold teeth.

I enjoyed the food tremendously and thought that I would bring Gabriella here.

“So you make all your money from the films?” Der Dave asked.

“Yes but why do you call yourself Der Dave instead of just Dave?” I asked curious.

“Everybody calls me that, it is my real name,” he replied.

“I see Der Dave, but of course I earn all my money from the films, they are the best in my country” I explained.

“Not many pornographers do that here in Amsterdam” he said enigmatically...

“So what do they do then?” I asked.

“Drugs, coca” Der Dave remarked, giving me a piercing look.

“No, I am an artist, a filmmaker,” I insisted.

The Plot

Chapter 6  

 I suspected that Der Dave was a spy and that the Hong Kong credit card he used had been issued to him by some enemy of mine, possibly Chinese. He took me to this restaurant two or three times and always insisted on paying the bill. As we left and crossed the Leidseplein on the way to my flat that he wanted to see and I had reluctantly agreed, I mentioned that my friend Hennie Cornelisse had   started The Bulldog.

“I did not know that,” he remarked.

At my flat I got him pissed on whisky and he begged to stay the night.

“Just this once Mike” he pleaded.

“Okay but you will have to piss out of the window” I said because the bathroom was in the room where I slept and I didn’t trust him.

“I piss out of the window,” he agreed.

I drew the big heavy divider across the middle of the apartment that really was a long room with street windows at the front and at the back that looked out onto the quadrangle of adjoining streets and neighbours gardens, and locked him in. He couldn’t get to the toilet and would have to “piss out of the window” I thought laughing.

I was woken early in the morning with him shouting for me to let him out.

“Breakfast, I must have my breakfast,” he said urgently.

“Well go down to the shops, buy some food and bring it back to cook” I replied.

“I don’t have any cash on me” he informed me.

“Use your credit card” I suggested.

“No, it's only for restaurants,” he replied.

“Here you are but I am late for a business appointment so I am leaving too” I said dismissively, giving him ten guilders sure now that was spying on me... I could see that like most people if he didn’t eat breakfast he would get stomach pains.  I still only ate in the evenings a practice that I had followed for years even in prison.  

Red or Black

Chapter 7

“Why do you always draw eroticism? Gabriella asked.

“Because I always have done!” I replied.

“That is not an answer” Gabriella stated.

“Because if something is art then it should not be censored, Roy Jenkins when he was Home Secretary knew that when he amended the, I think it was the 1956 Obscene Publications Act. He was speaking to the jury because the judge would have to inform the jury if the defence put forward the hypothesis that the article in question was art.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you have looked at the drawings in question but think that they might be or are art, the subject matter is irrelevant” I said trying to sound pompous like an English Lord.

“You sound just like one of the English judges,” Gabriella remarked with a look of disapproval on her face.

“Yes, all English judges are upper class, they talk in a dominant manner like he who has to be obeyed” I said.

“Do you remember Germany during the war before the Russians came?”

“No I was born in Communist East Germany “she said not mentioning her birth date but I had her booked in her Thirties.

“What did your father do in the war” knowing that her parents must have been Nazis and studying her classical features I visualized her in her Hitler Youth uniform.

“He flew the experimental rocket planes,” she replied a proud look on her face.

“Sounds quite a guy he must have been very young” I observed trying to work out how old he must have been.

“He was just a boy and might visit here soon” she informed me.

“What are the East Germans like now?” I asked.

“There is a big neo Nazi movement,” she replied.

“My father was in the desert fighting Erwin Rommel; in the tank corps” I informed her.

“You know all the names,” she commented.

“I know that the average German soldier was a National Socialist and were just as surprised as anyone when it came out about the camps” I remarked.

“I am a Holocaust denier which is a serious crime in Federal Germany and there is talk of reunification but I would get my Dutch residence” Gabriella said with a look of expectancy and perceived happiness on her face.

“Churchill said that the victors write the history books and I certainly don’t believe in the gas chambers” I remarked watching the expression on her face.

“The Russians are pigs raping little girls and imbeciles ripping toilets out the walls to take back to Russia” she said vehemently an angry expression on her face her brown eyes turned black spitting fire.

“But you were too young to remember that but isn’t rape common to all war time armies?” I asked.

“The German soldier was honourable. He would have been shot by his own men” she said emphatically.

“What about the SS?” I asked.

“The most honourable and brave of all” she said, her temper rising.

“What about the Warsaw ghetto?” I asked.

“You believe the propaganda about the SS catching babies on their bayonets but you do not believe in the gas chambers! Why?”

“Because gassing millions of people is not logistically possible, it is easier to make them dig a mass grave and machine gun them and get the Kapos to cover them with dirt. The Zyklon B was a powerful disinfectant to stop disease spreading in confined environments and the ovens to burn diseased bodies...” I said pausing.

“You have certainly summed up the evidence wisely” she replied, her red angry face returning to its normal creamy white.

“Come on, let's stop talking about death and go out to that nice Polynesian restaurant I told you about” I offered.

 Hennie

Chapter 8

I took a big hit on the bong watching the bubbles rising up making that esoteric noise that all tokers would recognize immediately, keeping my forefinger on the air hole, seeing the red glow in the pipe bowl die and turn to black and in that blackness latent figures appearing by magic. I took a drawing pen and a piece of art paper and looked at the white blank screen on which I would make a mark. I started to draw an eye in the middle of the page, first the pupil, it was always a female. I drew a circle around the little black circle and shaded it in, then the eyeball, the eyelid then it became alive and I saw the water glistening. Then I drew another pupil then another eye, nose, nostrils and then the lips that began to smile. Her brunette hair was thick and luxuriant as I crowned her head. The face of a beautiful woman stared back at me but who she was yet. I did not know and then I drew her neck, long and eloquent Audrey Hepburn like, yes she was a goddess. The birth of Venus flashed through my head as she stepped from the giant shell while angels, cherub and cherubim heralded her arrival in the word. But I never feared the Church, the Pope and his evil ilk if I saw naked flesh, tortured and killed, burnt in the fire. Drawings were art and art was the trap for the censors who controlled the sexual energy of the masses. I drew her breasts now then the bee stung puffy nipples and I felt a pleasant sensation in my loins. My pen travelled across her stomach then her thighs, down her legs the graceful ankles back up to her vagina that had begun to glisten with desire. The three ages of women, the beautiful nubile girl, the experienced highly sexual woman, the grandmother. The experienced one had the milky breasts of motherhood. I drew her face looking at the nubile girl then her hand upon a penis that was emerging in the background suddenly the phone rang.

“Hello Puff Video” I replied.

“Mike it's Der Dave I have some very important news for you. I can’t speak on the phone, coming over...” then the phone went dead.

“Fucking bastard what’s he want?” the question ran through my mind as I put down the drawing. “I will finish it later after he has gone” I thought I was getting fed up with Der Dave’s company and he did not like French or Italian food, that is the food I liked the best. Suddenly the doorbell rang and I pressed the entry phone knowing his two short and then one long ring.

“Hello Mike got some terrible news, someone has just murdered Henny and all his family” he said a mournful expression on his face, the harbinger of bad news.

“No it can’t be true” I said in shocked disbelief.

“Yes, an English contract killer, he is leaving the Netherlands tonight” Der Dave informed me.

Anger and thoughts of revenge lit up my mind like a raging fire.

“I know where he is now. I have a rifle in the boot of my car” Der Dave informed me.

“I’ll kill him” I said, deciding to wash first as if one is going to live, kill or die the washing ritual is made. I went into the kitchen and through to the shower putting my wallet and knife on a chair outside the shower cubicle. The hot water rained down on me and I cleansed my body. I stepped outside the shower and there was my wallet on the chair, open and empty. “Fucking hell he has robbed me” I realized in disbelief then it dawned on me that I knew nothing about where he lived except a coffee bar where the bar man seemed to know him. Then I realized that I had set up a deal between him and a guy I knew. I picked up the phone and dialled Terry’s number.

“Hello glad I caught you just to let you know that Der Dave is a fucking con man and I’m going to kill that slag when I find him” I said angrily.

“Der Dave, no he can’t be you must be mistaken” Terry exclaimed.

“No I’m not mistaken, he has just robbed me while I was in the shower” I shouted down the phone.

I went to the Bulldog running all the way overtaking trams on the Overtoom. I quickly descended the steps to the coffee bar and spoke to the dealer. “I am a friend of Hennie Cornelisse and I want to see him urgently” I said.

“What is your name?” the dealer asked, looking at me with the pale blue eyes of a hard man. I had met a few real ones in my time, in prison and in the Soho Underworld and they had this look in their eye. I knew what it meant. I will kill you if you cross me.

“Mickey Muldoon,” I replied, flashing back to the Sixties when my name preceded me as” The Blue Film King.” I had a reputation as an honest villain, a dope fiend who was ready with his fists but only to those who took liberties or tried to pull a stroke. My numerous fights with gangsters in the nick had given me a fearsome reputation.

“Hello Mickey, long time no see” Hennie said sitting down at the table outside the Bulldog. It was cold and he wore a big long overcoat. I leant over and embraced him feeling the old friendship returning but he was unresponsive so different from the guy who greeted me here in the Eighties

trying to give me a big roll of guilders.

“How’s your family?” I asked, remembering his attractive blonde wife and pretty daughter in the “visits room” in Maidstone prison. I saw Hennie’s face harden.“We were divorced, I have a different wife now and she knows nothing of my past” he said in a dispassionate way.

I remembered his wife who used to bring up the best hash every month and throw it over the wall for Bruce Reynolds to collect and felt sad and surprised.

“What about all the chaps?” I asked.“I don’t deal with English gangsters any more-they ripped me off, took my goods, lorry loads on credit but never paid me” he said bitterly.“What Samways” I asked surprised because he owned a haulage company.“All of them, now what do you want, you told the guy that it was urgent and now I am here to listen to you," Hennie said vehemently.“Don’t get angry with me Hennie, I am not a gangster, you know that” I said, fixing him with a cold stare. “Now I tell you there is a half Dutch Chinese guy, Der Dave who tried to get me to kill someone and he told me an English hit man had murdered you and your family knowing that I would take revenge as is the code of honour” I said smiling kindly at my old friend but his face remained unfriendly and I knew that he did not want me as a friend anymore.

“Okay thank you for this information and it will be acted upon. Goodbye Mickey” he said leaving my table and walking off into the Amsterdam night.    

Execution

Chapter 9

I was just leaving my apartment when as I came down the steps waving to the pretty girl typists in the office I saw Freek and his girlfriend walking down the Derde Helmersstraat towards me. I knew that they were cops or agents but I was beginning to realize that they were no ordinary cops. Freek had a big smile on his face and he gestured towards me.“Look he didn’t even know” he said turning towards his girlfriend Angela.

 “Hello Freek” I greeted him glad to see the friendly giant who said that he would look after me smiling at Angela embracing her and kissing her four times on the cheeks as is the Dutch fashion then embracing Freek and kissing him too and as I embraced him feeling his hard rippling muscles.

“Der Dave is dead Mike” Freek said, smiling widely showing his big strong white teeth as though he was giving me some really good news.

“Come up you can tell me about it”

Freek bounded up the stairs touching his girlfriend’s arse as she scrambled quickly up in front of him squealing and giggling. I followed them up laughing, too infected by their happy mood.

I sat down facing Freek and his girlfriend already entwined together on the black leather settee.

“Someone shot him between the eyes as he sat in his Mercedes, it was a professional job, just walked up as he started the engine and fired one headshot at close ranges, blew Der Dave’s brains out, what a mess” he said grinning. Your name came over the radio but I told them no. Scotland Yard confirmed that you are a professional killer” Freek said bursting out laughing then both of them rolled up with laughter as if it was the biggest joke in the world with tears of mirth rolling down  their cheeks.

“Coffee” I managed to say breaking into a heavy fit of giggling myself. I had a job making the coffee. I was laughing so much my sides were aching...

Full Moon

Chapter 10

“Hello, Faye here, I saw your ad in Stage and I’m ringing up about it” she said over the phone.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Twenty six”

“Are you willing to travel to Amsterdam and stay for a couple of days?” I asked.

“Yes I am” Faye purred in a sexy voice full of sexual promise.

“Send me your pics straight away” I said, meaning it.

“Okay I’ll pop them in the post today Mike, it is Mike, isn’t it?”

“Yes Faye Mike Freeman here and looking forward to seeing your pics, put a phone number on the back and I will ring straight away. Goodbye for now” I said thinking that she might be hard up and paying for this call.

“Goodbye Mike, hope that you like my photos,” she replied, putting down the phone.

The acid trip was coming on as I walked past Anne Frank’s house in the Rozengracht I visualized her sad face staring out of the window at the back watching the boats going up and down the canal, barges pulling onto the gracht to unload goods and out of the windows in the front of the house at the people thronging the Rozengracht.  She would sit up here watching until one day the Nazis came and she heard the marching boots of the Waffen SS from miles away and the sound of triumphal music from the German bands. She never looked out the window after that because they were Jews; every window was blacked out and now her ghost haunted the place.  I remembered reading The Diary of Anne Frank in a prison cell and it had led me to study Hitler how he came to power and the philosophy of National Socialism and everything about him. It was trendy in Germany in the Thirties to have a copy of Mein Kampf to sit and read in public. What first struck me about National Socialism was its association of purity and virginity with goodness and sex. Promiscuous sex for pleasure was evil and decadent and the sexual libido was sublimated into serving the state. I was amazed to read in my Kampf Hitler’s censorship agenda of sexual imagery and as I read it was the same as Mary Whitehouse, Thatcher’s bosom friend, in the Eighties. “I will cleanse the cinema, the theatre, the billboards and the magazines of the sweet sickly smell of modern eroticism” I read. All tyrants had to stamp out free love that they called “promiscuity” in order to control the masses and make them obedient and Nazism was a creed of total domination. The officer’s uniforms, the jackboots, the black leather harnesses and the whips. I made pornography of all genres but although the Nazi uniforms were quite popular in the BDSM genre I never ever created any. I remembered the time in an Old Compton Street newsagent’s shop when I was flicking through a popular French magazine and came across a double page spread of bondage photos that were obviously sexual showing a line of women standing on a platform their sexual organs at eye level tied up in ropes.

“Look at these bondage pics Bob!” I said excitedly.

“Mike, they are real,” he replied.

“No they can’t be!” I exclaimed, shocked. But I knew that Bob had several degrees including modern history and a PhD in philosophy and that he was right and I knew the truth about Nazism in a leap of perception because a picture like this is worth a thousand words and I also knew that these type of images were deliberately censored to hide the proof of its real nature by the British Establishment.

The acid was coming on me now as I walked along the Rozengracht and saw the lights of the Mazzo disco in the distance. There were trees outside planted in circular brick flower beds and I sat on the wall and secretly removing my blade from its scabbard I plunged it into the flowerbed leaving the hilt protruding then I joined the queue outside. I had taken the tab of acid about two hours ago and that would last for twelve hours.  I felt the familiar sensation of it releasing all the serotonin in my brain like a flower opening at the back of my head and then a pleasant feeling as it took effect.   I had already vomited the contents of my stomach as usual but that wasn’t much because I fasted every full moon before tripping.

The disc jockey was a woman who seemed to know all my favourites and I smiled and waved up at her as she played a Pink Floyd track, “you painter, you piper, you prisoner” and Richard Gilmour was talking to me “you reached for the secret too soon, suffered on the steel breeze” the space was filled with pulsing coloured lights and the visual field dissolved.  “Pump up the jam, pump up the jam, pump it up” sang the girl and then the hook in that I love so much and a high pitched sound came from my mouth “acid” and my body was synced to the beat. “Brothers sisters we are running up the lawns of the Whitehouse” boomed the lyrics and I crouched over acting out the scenario. “Revolution, revolution in the UK” I cried punching the air with my fist.

I emerged at six in the morning, retrieved my dagger from the flowerbed and ran across the Rosengraacht into the dark narrow streets of the Jordaan opposite and ran all the way home.

As I climbed the stairs I heard the phone ringing and wondered who it could be so early in the morning and when I reached the top I quickly opened the door and picked up the phone.   “Puff Video” I said because even though it had on my ad “ring between 9am and 5pm” the phone often rang from America in the early hours with customers wanting to make credit card transactions.

“Hello Terry here, fucking hell you done Der Dave, it’s all over the news...”

“Don’t be stupid Terry, he had loads of enemies” I replied.

“But you told Mike that you were going to kill him and now he is dead,” Terry said, so I put the phone down because I didn’t want to go on a bummer as I was still tripping. I sat on the bed and opened the window and felt the soft night breeze then the bedspread levitated with me on top and I was whisked out of the window on a magic carpet ride up into the heavens still sparkling with stars and then looking down on the roof of my house then higher until I could see the lights of Amsterdam getting smaller as I ascended.

When I awoke it was late afternoon and getting dark again and as I looked at the clock I saw the hour hand move before stopping and I was reminded again that time is an intellectual construction.

Faye’s Visit

Chapter 11

I showered washing my anus and testicles thoroughly then looking in the full length mirror I began to shave off my pubic hair, the razor kept getting clogged with my fine hair and I kept holding the razor under the shower and watching the fine hairs collect in the outlet in a small fine circular net. My pubes were all pink and smooth like when I was an adolescent boy and looked and felt more erotic making my penis look bigger.  I wondered if Faye had depilated herself and thinking about her smoothly shaved cunt gave me a semi erection. Faye would be here soon and I knew that I would write a film script and fuck her today and I had set my camera up in readiness; I was ready to go sat down and wrote a small working script and printed out four copies...

I got dressed in black latex trousers that had a zip that opened from front to back; as I got dressed my penis began throbbing with sexual energy and I opened a draw took out a leather strap and a big dildo and placed them on the wooden table with mirrors that could be angled at different parts of the bed and room. Both ends of the house length room were windowed and it was a real studio that let in lots of natural light.

I looked at the clock and she would be here soon and I took the camera of the legs then opened the alcove window with the hook outside, hoisted the ENG camera onto my shoulder, angling it down towards the pavement outside in front of the house and focused in on the pavement. I had set a microphone up inside the apartment to pick up the noise of her arriving and her coming up the stairs.

The last film I made with this rig was Buck’s Luck and I wondered where Bobby Buck the country singer was. He really had talent, composing music, writing lyrics, singing his songs and playing live guitar but I had never heard anything of him, the only one to make it into the film world as an actress, was Jenny something or other, her name would come to me later, a Scots lass who wore the tightest skirts I had ever seen and who I had wanted to fuck all through the shoot but never did.  I had sent a copy into Maidstone nick and all the guys went mad over her especially in a scene where she leans forward on the bed showing a bit of her milky white breasts.

The sight of a white Mercedes coming up the road, I pressed record and heard the Umatic deck click into life and it was going down. I tracked the taxi and got a good shot of Faye getting out in a short black split skirt. I clipped the camera back on the legs and ran down the jumping the last few steps at each apartment landing with a thud outside each tenant’s door and sometimes someone in flat 2 would shout out but I didn’t do it very often. Out in the street the taxi driver had already put Faye’s two large suitcases on the pavement.

“Hello Faye babe” I said, kissing her on the cheek, picking up the suitcases and walking up the steps while being ogled by all the office girls.

“Oh my God, can you manage Mike?” Faye exclaimed.

“Yes” I replied, showing off by gripping the cases tightly and manhandling them up the stairs as if they were weightless.

By the time we reached the top I was puffing as I entered the studio and plonked the cases down and collapsed onto the settee.

“Sit down Faye, the first rule of the game is to have a puff” I said picking up the loaded bong on the coffee table and taking a big hit then smiling handing the pipe to her.

“I won’t be able to do anything if I smoke that bong,” Faye said giggling.

“Except suck my cock” I said stoned looking at her breasts going up and down under her clothes. She had big one’s I noticed as she giggled holding her hand over her mouth while giving me a hot look that meant yes. I took the camera off the tripod and pointed at her face, exploring it through the eye of the lens seeing it for the first time.

“Wow, I'm really high, can’t do anything now, told you” Faye said looking up at me.

“Get my cock out and suck it” I replied feeling my penis go stiffly erect.

I saw her fingers grasp the zip of my rubber trousers and felt the electric touch of her fingers as she grasped my engorged penis and pulled it out with some difficulty.

“It’s huge,” she said, waving my penis up and down and then smiling up at me in approval. She began to run the tip of her tongue around the top before her lips closed around and the dirty sound of sucking cock filled the room. I looked down at the audio meter and it was just jumping slightly into the red.

She was an expert fellatrice and watching her suck my cock through the spy hole of the lens made me want to come. “I’m going to shoot all my hot spunk over your face and into your mouth” I said, feeling my approaching orgasm.

“Oh yes, shoot it all over my face and into my mouth,” Faye said, licking her lips in anticipation while masturbating and sucking my penis.

“Oh that’s it, slow down I’m going to come” I said excitedly then watching my sperm spray out onto her tongue and into her open mouth and some trickling like glistening white pearls and she gave me a wicked look that said “fuck me now.”

“What a fucking come shot Faye you are a horny bitch” I complimented her noticing that her vagina was glistening and wet...

Later as I lay in bed with her I wondered if she would be okay for a threesome. She had said that she did “hardcore” but that didn’t mean that she did everything. I cuddled her tight, my hands cupping her big breasts while my lips pressed against the nape of her neck.

“Faye, how would you like to do a threesome with a Dutch friend of mine” I asked.

“As long as he is clean I will love it” Faye replied

“What about anal?” I asked.

“No, I don't do anal” she replied.

The next day I left Faye sleeping and went for a run jogging around the corner to Ronnie’s place, noticing that the canals were frozen over.  I rang the doorbell but Ronnie did not answer so I went into the corner street and threw some small pebbles up at his window until I was rewarded with a twitch in the curtain then his face appearing, his blond hair tousled blinking in the daylight before opening the window.

“Ronnie you want to fuck a nice English girl?” I asked, looking up his face and laughing.

“Yeah man” Ronnie agreed, his sleepy expression becoming a grin.

“Well come for a run and we will talk about it” I promised. I had been training Ronnie since I had met him and he was developing into a good runner now.

“Okay you want to come up for a cup of tea and a puff?” Ronnie shouted down.

I sat in Ronnie’s small flat while he made the sweet weak tea that the Dutch drink and smoked some zero zero Moroccan hash then I was high.

As we ran over the bridge heading towards the Overtoom and the Vondel our breath was white in the cold air. “Ronnie you will be the teenage boy because you look much younger, Faye meets you in the park then we cut to my flat where she seduces you. I am the peeper spying on you and in on the game then I pretend to catch her sucking your knob then we both fuck her” I said.

“Sounds good,” Ronnie exclaimed, turning and grinning at me.

“After the run you come around my place in a couple of hours and we will shoot a movie and wear a tight sweater or something to show your muscles” I instructed.

When I got back Faye was still sleeping, her long brunette hair spread across the pillow, her breathing soft and gentle.  I showered and it wasn’t even eight o’clock. She started to stir as I got dressed.

“Tea or coffee, boiled eggs and soldiers, scrambled,” I offered.

“I would just love a cup of tea” Faye replied, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

I sat down and began to type drinking my morning tea while Faye sat up in bed drinking hers. After ten minutes I had finished and handed her a copy.

As she began to read she giggled and laughed.

“He, Ronnie will be over well before ten because I want to shoot using daylight and end with a natural fade out as it grows dark.  No hurry though Faye have another cup of tea” I suggested.

Ronnie arrived about ten thirty dressed in a T shirt and trackie bottoms. I let him in camera set up and everything ready to shoot; I was fired up to go and started directing as soon as he walked in the door I handed him the script.

“Take a quick read, first we are all going to the Vondel then you are  going to start working out doing pull ups then this English woman comes along and starts talking to you then  she brings you back here  and seduces  you” I said then realized that I had not even introduced them yet.

“Oh Faye let me introduce you, this handsome looking ringer for Woody Harrelson is your willing victim and Ronnie this beautiful English woman loves sucking boy’s cocks” I said with a laugh.

I saw Ronnie’s face light up as he realized that he could have sex with this big breasted sexually attractive woman who was smiling seductively at him.

“Yes I love sucking young boys' cocks and I swallow them right up to the bollocks” Faye said her lines.

“That is nice” Ronnie said beaming...

“Ronnie get your dick out” Faye ordered.

Ronnie blushed then pulled down his tracksuit bottoms to reveal a small cock...

“How old are you, Ronnie may I ask?” Faye asked as per the script.

“Twenty four” Ronnie replied.

“Cut!Ronnie eighteen, Ronnie as per the script “I said in a reproving tone.

“It says here that I am doing press ups in the playground” Ronnie replied sharply.

“Sorry Ronnie but I shoot out of context sometimes, I should have said playground sequence my fault” not admitting that I had meant to shoot the park scene in sequence but had been so stoned I started shooting the sex scene!

“What do we do now?” Ronnie asked.

“If anyone fluffs their lines, no problem, I take two that means I take another shot.  Are you ready for action, eighteen right?”

“Eighteen” Ronnie replied, nodding his head.

“When I say action you ask Ronnie how old he is again Faye and Ronnie will reply eighteen” I said glancing from one to the other.”Action“I said loudly pressing record and zooming into a headshot of Faye’s face.

“How old are you Ronnie?” Faye asked.

“Eighteen” Ronnie replied as per script.

“Cut, that was excellent and now is a good time to do the outdoor shots. Let’s get really high before we go” I said, chuckling, loading up the pipe with the golden colour Moroccan, applying the lighter, taking in a big hit, sucking in air then passing it to Ronnie who took a hit and passed it to Faye.

The Vondel was crowded and the musicians in the park, the drums still beating out their rhythms even on a winter’s day and my body began to sway with the beat...

“Okay Ronnie” I said putting the camera on my legs and looking through the viewfinder I set up the shot zooming up to a semi close-up of the bar that I wanted Ronnie to hang on. “Look through the camera Ronnie, see the bar where we sometimes do pull-ups. I want you to go there now and start to do chin-ups, then when you see Faye enter the play area you show off a bit and she starts talking to you...”

“I know Mike, I have read my script and know that” Ronnie said beaming.

“I love it when people know their lines but I always refresh my actor’s minds. I am going to shoot this sequence without moving the camera so you walk out of the park hand in hand and disappear. That is until the camera can’t see you then you will hear me shout cut” I said.

“I go” Ronnie said, jogging off into the play area as I tracked him.

“Faye look through the camera” I directed.

“Yes I see him,” Faye replied.

Well you will walk into that shot and say hello to Ronnie then taking his hand you walk out and straight past me without looking at the camera and disappearing down the path out of the park until you hear me shout "cut, ok?” I directed.

The story was coming to life as I looked through the lens and entered the magic world of creativity. I was the voyeur watching a sexy middle class woman talking to a boy with a beautiful body in a park. I panned as they approached hand in hand and walked into the distance as I zoomed out to a long shot and faded to black.

I set the camera up in the alcove and ran a line out to a monitor and a picture of the corner pet shop appeared. “Now I want you to go out round that corner, hold hands and come round this corner  towards the house and ring the bell , enter the door and walk up the stairs” I directed.

I looked through the lens and saw Ronnie and Faye walk around the corner and I pressed record.  I was getting some good shots of the Boulevard with streams of cyclists travelling along the sides and yellow trams rattling by in the background.”Where are they?” I began to think then suddenly they appeared in the viewfinder and walked towards the house and the sound of their footsteps mixing with the sound of the street over the cans, then walking up the stairs before Faye entered holding Ronnie’s hand.

“Cut” I said “Well done everybody. Now Ronnie we go back to the scene where Faye tells you that she loves sucking young boys' cocks and that’s where we are” I added.

“Faye you can adlib any time you want, you know some nice dirty talk. I am not going to do much directing on the sex scene and if you see the camera going off ignore it because it’s just me getting a new angle, now suck that cock baby, action” I said zooming into Faye mouth that was wrapped tightly around Ronnie’s cock as she swallowed it down to his testicles while she masturbated him with the other then she turned around.

 “Fuck me you naughty boy” she ordered.

Honey Trap

Chapter 12

Running at a fast pace leaving the fashionable Oud West then we were travelling through council estates and housing blocks.

“Now this man is very big in the Dutch Mafia” Ronnie said, running and chatting without effort and he had the Woody expression on his face that made me smile.

“How long’s he doing?” I asked.

“Nine years and he is two years into it” Ronnie replied.

“Fucking hell man that’s a long time in Holland must have killed someone”  I said a picture of Hans the German bank robber I knew in Haarlem Prison in the Sixties flicking through my mind who got nine years for shooting and killing a police officer during a bank robbery.

“Yeah that’s right man” Ronnie said, his face taking on a Woody expression again that made me smile.

The smacking, rhythmic sound of our shoes announced our arrival in all these council estates and I noticed that there was hardly anyone about except two kids playing on a big wooden structure. I jumped up followed by Ronnie onto a horizontal ladder and swung from rung to rung jumping down onto the tarmac at the end. “No attendant here keeping control” I thought as we ran under an arch into another estate.

“There’s his flat over there on the ground floor” Ronnie said pointing and running over to a ground floor window with me following.

“Ronald Van der Kooy” he shouted and a woman came out on the balcony folded her arms.

“We have come to take Valerie to the Vondel,” he explained.

“Valerie, Ronald and his friend are here” the mother shouted, a washed out blonde with heavy makeup, large breasts smoking a fag.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of two young fit guys running towards me dressed in colourful silk like tracksuits with big heavy gold chains hanging round their necks. I grasped the handle of my dagger but they slowed down smiling.

“Mazzel” they both chorused coming to a halt slightly blowing beaming at Ronnie and me.

Mazzel” Ronnie and I replied.

“This is Mike Freeman” Ronnie introduced me and I was shaking a dark handsome young man’s hand.

“This is Aziz” Ronnie said and the guy smiled a row of white teeth contrasted with his tanned skin.

“Please to meet you Aziz” I greeted him wondering where he was from but he was silent just standing there smiling...

“This is Jay” Ronnie said but he just smiled too.

“Nice to meet you Jay” I said then Valerie, a pretty teenage girl with dark eyes, came tripping down the steps of the block...

“Good Morning” everybody greeted her.

“We are going for a run. Valerie is the Princess and we are her protectors” I shouted remembering leading my school gang a boy again.  

I led them across the Overtoom, its yellow trams clanking and rattling past sparks flashing from the overhead electric cables through a small alley into the Vondel.

“Mike Valerie is getting tired,” Aziz informed me.

“Princess Valerie you mean” I said with a stern voice.

“Princess Valerie” Aziz repeated obediently.

“You and Jay pick her up and carry her” I commanded, watching Valerie’s expression of pure pleasure as they picked her up in a cradle-like manner, their gold chains glittering in the sun sending rays of energy through the air. One was set with diamonds, prisms that split the bright winter light into lots of little rainbows as they jogged along.

“Now you Ronnie carry Princess Valerie in your arms and run with her” I ordered, enjoying the expression of pure pleasure on Valerie’s face...

I could hear some music and headed towards it until I came across an open air theatre show and an audience sitting on chairs and on a big steel auditorium watching, I sat down and the others followed. The play was by Berthold Brecht and as I watched I remembered reading his work in HMP Maidstone when I was studying for A Level German Language. One of the performers acted as a sexy Lolita dressed in black stockings and pulling older men.

The audience were enjoying it and laughing at the funny bits as was Valerie. I pulled out my pipe, loaded it, lit it then passed it to Ronnie and as we smoked the play became real and we were all clapping and laughing until the tears ran down our faces as the play ended.

“Bravo” I shouted.

The audience clapped and cheered and started to drift away.

“Okay I am taking you all for a meal now” I announced.

“Choose whatever you want” I said grandiosity , filtering past all the dishes and picking up a seafood salad, an apple and a bottle of Grolsch lager paying the bill for everyone then carrying my tray to a table followed by the others. I watched them all devour the food that I had provided them with. Starting in my Twenties I had taken many people to dinner, bent detectives, bent lawyers, writers, spies, models, girls and prostitutes. It was a thing I always did when I was rich and I always enjoyed myself like I was now. I wondered why the gangster had placed his daughter in a honey trap and I looked at her eating ice cream she looked at me a naughty expression on her face and looking at the ice cream licking at it in a suggestive way.

“If anyone wants more go and get it” I said happy to treat others but when someone took me to dinner I went into survival mode paranoia like Der Dave, if his hand neared my wine and when it approached me or my plate.  It was tried and men died.  I remembered meeting Bernie Silvers the King of Soho in one of his bookshops in Frith Street, one in which my friend Joey Janes worked. That was the day that I discovered that the guv’nor of West End Central was bent too as Bernie took me to a closed pub in Savile Row where every time he went to the gents he was followed by all the club and brothel owners in Soho until he left the poacher’s pockets of his raincoat bulging with brown paper envelopes reminding me of Alton.

The statue of the nubile young girl stood in a grotto surrounded by trees, a girl who would be betrothed so powerful was her beauty. I knelt before it and examined her body as a warrior would before he claimed her as his future wife as must the artist have the model that inspired him to make this thing of beauty.

I stared up at this masterpiece of eroticism and even though she was made of stone I desired her and placed a kiss upon her mound of Venus.

I heard Valerie’s giggle then everyone started laughing and I wondered what mister “Mafia boss” would think of this and who he would relay this information to because I could not resist playing head games.  I remembered Lord Longford observing are “you are a man on a mission Michael” and when I read “Freeman is a man on a man on a mission” in a document my solicitor had obtained I knew that Longford had written a report on me for the Home Office and sometimes things that one has done or said come back to one and I would learn from whom it came...

A Mafia boss who lived in a council house is a contradiction and so is a Mafiosi who sends his daughter into a honey trap. A surge of anger shot through my head as I thought of some public school old boy and probably into boys, as many of them turn out to be, writing a report on me and faxing it through to the Dutch Secret Services “Freeman is a known paedophile” they had described as violent contract killer, a violent paranoid schizophrenic as I had found out when I had met Peter the Dutch Secret Service agent in the Vondel Coffee Bar and the Dutch and discovered the truth!

It was ironic that they had smeared me as a paedophile, an allegation that “those above” most of them pederasts were guilty of!

The police have their own intelligence coming out of prisons. A guy like the so-called Mafia man was doing a long stretch and he is offered that if he sets a honey trap using his daughter then he will get parole but perhaps the trap was set by someone more sinister...

I wonder what they would have done if I had been a known gay, a homosexual paedophile like most of them and I remember them bringing in a law that made it legal to bugger young boys of sixteen under the philosophy of gender equality and the face of Mandelson and his thick black eyebrows flashed through my mind. If my son had been homosexual I would have known immediately as it becomes obvious in their early teens and if he was gay I would accept it but if he was not and any kind of coercion, force or inducement had been made to bugger him aged sixteen I would kill the perpetrator. I was in Holland now where gays were treated as good as the next citizen but a pederast who buggers boys even in Ancient Greece was a highly disapproved of even though warriors could have love affairs with boys.

That’s how you discover that your son is gay he falls in love with other males. Effeminacy is not always present in fact the opposite may be true. I remembered Freddy Mills the gay boxer who was murdered by gay gangsters the Krays and I wondered what the next set up would be...

Bad Trip

Chapter 13

As I sketched Barbara a guy came into the bar and sat on a stool next to me and ordered a coffee in Dutch but when I looked at his fingers I knew that he was a British ex-con because his fingers were tattooed using blacklead, a substance used in prisons to make tattoos. I ignored him and stared at Barbara’s arse wiggling under the tight black skirt that she wore that showed off her buttocks as she put pressure on one leg or the other.  I could not see a panty line and wondered if she was naked underneath her tight skirt...

Barbara turned with the stranger’s coffee a look of shock upon her face. “Why did you do that?” she asked.

I wondered what he had done and sipped at my coffee...

“He has the mark of Christ upon his hands” the stranger replied.

I looked at my huge hands and saw the many scars that I had suffered during my violent sojourn upon the Earth and then at the television screen that had just been switched on. It was an American show and there upon the screen was a real giant flexing his muscles and as I stared amazed I began to giggle and giggle louder and louder and the owner came out of his office.

“Look at him he is out of his head, we have strong stuff here” he said chuckling.

I put some guilders on the counter including a generous tip for Barbara and left their faces stained on my mind as I went out into the red light district.

The pavement was wet and the blaze of red neon illuminated the pavements as I walked aimlessly. In Amsterdam Centraal you could never get lost because the canals lined both sides were constructed in a huge circle and you always came back to the same place. I was on the Singel and I recognized the flower market and a police station on a barge.        

I went into the bar, it was the evening and looking through the pub windows I could see into the offices the police station on the moored barge on the canal outside.

People at the bar stared at me in a hostile manner and I sensed the negative vibes. Then I heard someone say “Deutsche” and I knew that they thought that I was German.

“I am English” I said turning towards the Dutchmen at the bar and immediately they began to smile in approval.

“Ah welcome to Holland” one of them said but my mind was flashing back to the London Blitz listening to the air raid sirens, I knew the bombers were coming and I hurried out into the night. I saw the Derde Helmersstraat, my road and hurried along it. I passed a huge wagon parked outside the bike repair shop and thought I heard a noise inside. I climbed the set of slate steps to my front door, unlocked it and clambered up the stairs in haste. In my head I saw a huge picture of Adolph Hitler on a screen and thousands of people praying to it. I unlocked the door of my flat closed it behind me and opening the big swivel down studio windows I climbed out onto the gutter up the side of a parapet onto the roof then crouching on the edge looking along the road I saw the enormous wagon and I visualized a Panzer tank inside with a Swastika on the side. I started to shout a warning in a strange mixture of German, Dutch and English that the Nazis had invaded Holland again then I heard a working class English voice.

“Engeland the fucking cunt, he’s right off his rocker, ain’t he Dave”

“Shut up, he might hear you,” another voice said urgently.

I rose to my feet remembering I had just done a massive mailshot from Holland, exercising my legal right to post from within Amsterdam to Britain and all the envelopes spelt England the Dutch way Engeland...

I started to run my feet making a crunching noise as I sprinted over the cobbled roofs intending to run all the way round screaming out my warning “The Nazis are coming” until I had traversed the square and came back to my own roof. Suddenly I stopped, teetering on the edge of a fifty foot drop down onto the concrete below. Horrified, I turned my body by some miracle from the brink of death and ran back to my flat and clambered back inside.

“Police, open the door” I heard the voice shouted outside my flat door on the landing.

“No you will take me to the Koupol” I said remembering the name of the Dutch prison I was incarcerated in the Sixties for importing English pornography into Amsterdam.

“This is the Koupol” one of the cops said laughing.

I didn’t answer and just stood there terrified.

“Are you okay Mr Freeman?” a policeman’s voice asked.

“Yes I am okay I will be all right now” I replied calmly realizing I had survived imminent death once again...      

The End of volume 11

I Pornographer series

I hope that you have enjoyed this book and as my patron I value your continued readership.

If you have any information or questions please email me mike@eroticartist.co.uk

Copyright Michael J Freeman

29th August 2014

www.eroticartist.co.uk

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