Page 33 of Savage Protector

It is indeed. Pru Pettifer runs one of the finest whorehouses in Glasgow, and more to the point, she runs it for us. Her establishment is popular, always busy.

The Savage business model for brothels is simple. No pimps, no coercion. The girls are all self-employed and they rent rooms in our houses by the day, for even the hour. They pay a percentage of their earnings in return for a clean, warm place to do business. There’s security to hand, discreet, but there, refreshments for them and their clients, an endless supply of condoms, anonymity, and discretion assured. There’s even access to an STD clinic. They pack the trade in when they want to, if they want to. Most are long-term ‘associates’ of Pru and the others like her who oversee the entire set-up.

It works well, we do okay out of it. So do the women, and there’s rarely any bother.

“Do we know which girl he sees?”

I nod. “Sophie. Glenda on occasions, but mostly Sophie.” Pru has been most helpful.

Ethan’s grin widens. “He appreciates a decent spanking, then?” Sophie’s ‘specialism’ is legendary.

“Apparently. The point is, we know exactly when he’s there and when he leaves.”

“You’re thinking we should waylay him after one of his nocturnal excursions?”

“Yes. On his way home.”

His brow furrows. “You know I don’t appreciate mess on my own doorstep, and Pru certainly won’t. It’s bad for business if punters meet with some misfortune right after they’ve been to her place.”

“I’ll wait until he’s well away. His route home takes him through Finlaystone Country Park. Nice spot, popular with walkers.”

“So I hear. Lonely at night, I expect.”

“Oh, yes. Very lonely. He normally leaves Pru’s at around two in the morning, gets to Finlaystone about half an hour later.”

Ethan considers my proposal for a few moments. “Do you need any backup?”

“I don’t think so, boss. Just me and him, I reckon.”

He inclines his head. “When?”

“Today’s Sunday. I thought tomorrow.”

“Fair enough. It needs sorting before she leaves here. Let me know how it goes.”

I get to my feet. “Thanks, boss. I will.

I’m all set,in position, my equipment primed and to hand. Just waiting for the call…

My phone buzzes at just two minutes past two. I hit the green button. “Pru?”

“He just left.”

“Same car as usual?”

“Yes. Green Toyota. You have the registration number.”

I do indeed, but it’s always worth checking. Best to avoid mistakes. I rattle it off, and she confirms. I thank her and end the call.

I’ve timed him on his regular journey, so I know just when to expect him. He should be on this stretch of country road in just twenty-three minutes’ time. I checked out the location earlier, in daylight, measured the distance, made sure of a clear line of sight. Obviously, things can look different after dark, but my night-vision goggles should take care of that.

It’s now Thursday. I had hoped to do the deed three nights ago, but as luck would have it, there were two other vehicles on the road that night, following my target. I don’t relish having to deal with inadvertent witnesses, so I let him pass. That time.

Now, I’m back.

I’m good at this, in my element. I settle in to wait.

Abdul doesn’t let me down. I detect the faint hum of his engine half a minute before his motor rounds the bend about a hundred metres away from where I crouch. I stiffen in readiness, slow my breathing, and put my eye to the scope. I pick my spot, level the barrel of my trusty M107 Semi-Automatic Long-Range Sniper rifle, and squeeze the trigger.

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