Paedophile Hunters
13 pages
English

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13 pages
English

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Description

Imagine: a paedophile grooming a twelve-year old girl, then going to have sex with her.

But it's a trap, and instead, he's confronted by Billy, a twenty-five year old cage-fighter who's been to prison three times and was abused in childhood.

Join Billy, his pregnant girlfriend and their fellow hunters, as they come to terms with their own abuse by posing online as children. Discover a community taking matters into their own hands, snaring paedophiles from all walks of life, from so-called family men and loners, to procurers working for rich and powerful paedophile rings.

Richard W Hardwick, acclaimed writer of The Truth About Prison, spent a year with the most notorious and successful paedophile hunting gang in Britain. This is what he found ...

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Publié par
Date de parution 14 avril 2020
Nombre de lectures 0
EAN13 9781456634650
Langue English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0348€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

PAEDOPHILE HUNTERS
 
Richard W Hardwick
 

Published 2020 by Lapwing Books
 
Copyright © Richard W Hardwick 2020
 
The right of Richard W Hardwick to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior permission of the publisher.
 
All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
 
A catalogue reference for this book is available from the British Library.
 
ISBN 9781456634650
 
What have I become? My sweetest friend Everyone I know Goes away in the end And you could have it all My empire of dirt I will let you down I will make you hurt
 
T Reznor
Ten …
 
She picked the phone up and something inside him fluttered, then reared.
‘ Hey darling. How ’ s things? ’
‘ Alright, ’ she said, in her sweet voice. ‘ How are you? ’
‘ I feel great, now you ’ ve answered Melissa. ’ And proof was available; his hand was right on it. ‘ Do me a favour. Tell me what you ’ re wearing, so I can picture you. ’
‘ I ’ ve got my school uniform on. ’
‘ Trousers or skirt? ’
‘ Trousers. ’
‘ Ah, that ’ s a shame. ’
‘ Why? ’
It was obvious, wasn ’ t it? ‘ I just think beautiful girls like you should wear skirts, ’ Kevin said.
‘ It ’ s cold. Mam said I had to put trousers on. ’
‘ Yeah. But I bet you don ’ t always do what your Mam tells you, do you? ’
‘ No, ’ Melissa said. ‘ Not always. ’
‘ And you know what Mam ’ s are like. Really over-protective. ’
‘ Yeah. ’
‘ Send me a picture, ’ Kevin said, ‘ in your school uniform. ’
‘ My Mam would kill me. I ’ m not allowed on Facebook or Instagram until I ’ m fourteen. I ’ m only twelve, she ’ ll go mad. ’
‘ See. Over-protective. Send me a photograph and delete it from your phone. Then I can see what my beautiful princess looks like, and your nosey Mam won ’ t find it. ’
‘ I look a mess. I ’ ve spilt beans on my jumper. ’
Kevin laughed. ‘ Put your pyjamas on, ’ he said.
‘ I ’ ll have to soon, it ’ s ten o clock. ’
And she was there, in front of him, nervous but curious. ‘ Put your pyjamas on and get under your duvet. I bet its nice and warm in there, isn ’ t it? ’
‘ Yeah. ’
‘ It ’ s great to have a nice comfy bed. That ’ s what mine ’ s like. I love stretching out in it, especially naked. ’
She laughed; he loved it. ‘ I hope you ’ re not blushing, ’ he said. But she would be, if she could see what he was doing.
‘ No. ’
‘ Doesn ’ t everybody like being in bed with no clothes on? ’
‘ I guess so. It ’ s just weird thinking of other people. ’
‘ It ’ s natural though, isn ’ t it? We weren ’ t born with clothes on. ’
‘ Yeah. ’
‘ Take your phone into bed. I ’ m already in mine. ’
‘ Are you? ’
‘ Yeah, and I ’ m naked. ’
‘ Really? ’
Really, but on top of his duvet, his hand moving slowly. ‘ Get into bed. We can have a secret little chat under the covers. ’
‘ I can ’ t. My Mam takes my phone off me when it ’ s bedtime. She says I ’ ll be on my phone all night if she doesn ’ t. ’
‘ Is she right? ’
‘ She ’ s coming up now, I can hear her, I ’ ve got to go. ’
She was climbing onto his bed, wearing a skirt, a very short skirt. ‘ I ’ ll miss you, ’ Kevin said. ‘ I might be older than you, but it ’ s boring when you ’ re not here. And I think about you lots. All good things of course. ’
‘ What do you mean, good things? ’
‘ Well, you know. ’ Her soft skin leading his fingers upwards. ‘ I just like you. I feel comfortable with you. Know what I mean? ’
‘ I think so. ’
Lying on top of him. ‘ Sorry, I hope you don ’ t think that ’ s weird? ’
‘ It is a bit. ’
Manoeuvring herself into position. ‘ I ’ m not like everyone else, ’ Kevin said. ‘ Telling kids they can ’ t do this, they can ’ t do that. You can do whatever you like with me darling, I promise you. ’ Rubbing herself all over him.
‘ I ’ ve got to go. ’
‘ I ’ ll phone you tomorrow sweetheart. What time ’ s good? ’
‘ After tea, when Mam ’ s washing up and I ’ m doing homework. ’
‘ Right darling. Enjoy your bed. And remember, it ’ s always better with no clothes on, especially …’
The little bitch hung up on him.

Thirty miles an hour faster than the law advised, past ancient churches and startled pheasants. Billy took corners without slowing down, his knees centimetres from tarmac that would have stripped his legs to the bone. The land in front a few seconds, dipping to his left, in front, dipping to his right, the NorthPennines wind buffeting his face because visors made him feel claustrophobic.
Stanhope; another childhood disaster. Tow Law and Langley Park; the less said the better. Past that man with an owl on his shoulder. Revving impatiently behind horse and cart, then pulling out onto the other side of the road and throttling it to Witton Gilbert, with a middle finger salute to his boss in the Travelers Rest. And then home to Sacriston.
Billy rode slower now, one-handed, through a County Durham mining village like all others. High unemployment and mines long since closed. Red brick and pebble-dash, fighters and grassers. Drugs and alcohol, do-gooders and nosy cunts. Some lads at a bus stop stared as he rode past. Car break-ins and burglaries were on the rise again. That little kid with black hair, Darren someone; aged fifteen and arrested for aggravated burglary. Past the turn-off for Stanley, scouting the place far better than the police could, not that you ever saw them anymore. One-handed; he ’ d have smoked a cigarette, but he wasn ’ t an idiot and he couldn ’ t afford them anyway. It wasn ’ t easy going straight, surviving on shit wages for long hours, even if it was cash in hand. Down a narrow street of small terraced houses. Billy parked outside his front door and looked five doors down on the other side of the road. No shivering junkie. No smack dealer. Things would change anyway; he ’ d make sure of it.

Stacey dropped her phone on the couch, looked to her stomach and heard the front door. In came Billy, pushing his motorbike, helmet on and visor up, dead flies shattered around eyes. She rubbed hands over her stomach and felt violated. It wasn ’ t the messages; it was the phone calls.
Billy leant his motorbike on their living room wall, shut the door and the light faded once more. The curtains were closed, as always. He moved his bike backwards, where it would block entry and exit until he went back out again.
‘ How ’ s your day been? ’ he asked.
Stacey nodded, then smiled, combed fingers through purple hair.
‘ You ’ ve been speaking to that nonce again, haven ’ t you? ’
‘ Yes, ’ she said. ‘ That ’ s what we do. ’
‘ You ’ re pregnant. ’
She sighed. ‘ I ’ ll stop when this one ’ s been stung, I promise. ’
‘ Is it recorded? ’
‘ Yeah, but we haven ’ t got enough yet. ’
He pulled his helmet off to light brown hair, tennis ball short, threw the helmet on the couch, took his leather gloves off and threw those too. ‘ I need a beer, ’ he said, then walked towards the kitchen.
‘ I need a kiss, ’ Stacey said.
Billy stopped, came back and looked into Stacey ’ s green eyes. ‘ Sorry, ’ he said. He placed tattooed hands each side of her face and kissed her on the lips, the taste of wind and moorland on his breath. Then his hands moved to her stomach and pressed gently. ‘ How ’ s my little princess? ’
‘ Getting bigger, ’ Stacey said. ‘ Seven months next week. ’
Billy grinned, but fear showed through his eyes, it always did. He ’ d saved his life-story until it was too late for Stacey to back out. She didn ’ t blame him, but she knew much of it anyway; she ’ d been warned by plenty of people.
‘ How ’ s my big princess? ’
‘ Tired, ’ Stacey said.
He went to the kitchen, pulled a beer from the fridge and emptied half of it down his throat. ‘ I ’ ll cook. What do you want? ’
‘ Beef Wellington with red wine jus. ’
Billy laughed. ‘ You might have to wait until tomorrow for that. ’
‘ I ’ ll run you a bath, ’ Stacey said.
A nightly routine since he ’ d started work two months ago; Billy in the bath, Stacey sat on the toilet.
‘ What have you been doing? ’ Billy asked her.
‘ Pottering. Cleaning. I spoke to my Mam a few times. She reckons I might need crutches. ’
Billy scooped bathwater and rubbed his face. ‘ What does she know? ’ he said. ‘ She didn ’ t even know she was pregnant until she was seven months gone. ’
‘ So what! ’ Having a dig at her Mam because of their closeness; something he ’ d never had and never would have. ’
‘ What else have you done? ’
‘ Struggled with walking and putting socks on. Been to the toilet a thousand times. Messaged twenty paedophiles and spoke to one on the phone. ’
‘ Just a normal day then? ’
Stacey smiled. Billy put his arm on the side of the bath and she wiped soap off him. Such a change from when they ’ d first met, two years before. Twenty-two and never had a girlfriend. Instinctively recoiling whenever she touched him. Her eyes drifted over his tattoos. The all-seeing eye covering one hand. An owl with flaring eyes on the other. Various symbols on fingers and knuckles; original tattoos from juvenile prison, done with a tattoo gun made with the motor of an electric toothbrush. Mam and Dad and NUFC on his chest. Billy across his shoulders in large letters. Celtic daggers on a honed stomach.
‘ You ’ ve not had a tattoo in the two years we ’ ve been together, ’ Stacey said.
‘ They don ’ t mean anything, except for one. I just liked the needle stabbing me, the idea of covering up my body. ’
The Rottweiler on his ribcage, the name Kaiser underneath. He was hard to love, Billy. He wanted her; Stacey knew he did. But he didn ’ t really know what to do, and every time

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