All in One Night

My red light torch scanned the workbench and the tools on the wall, my eyes fully alert for anything of use.

Of course the claw hammer would be useful and in the corner of the workshop that heavy sledgehammer could be handy in breaking bones as well!.

Yes of course, both hammers would be useful I thought, as visions of my heavy blows breaking their bodies were conjured up in my mind!.

Then I spotted the spare "jerry cans" of petrol I used for emergency fuel when travelling.

Always topped up after every long trip, I knew the McLaren had a full fuel tank but the "jerry cans" would be useful in case of emergencies and even to burn his house down if I could get away with it!.

Why not, as he's trespassed into mine home, so why shouldn't I destroy him and what he owns, the same for that slag Holgate too, destroy them both and what they valued, yes why not?.

I then pocketed some "Redhead" safety matches from the workshop cabinet shelf before dashing back to the McLaren with my stores, as time was truly of the essence now!.

Activating the driver's door opening switch saw the door suddenly veer up toward the garage ceiling as it was a dihedral mechanism that automatically swung upwards leaving a clear entry into and out of the car.

Instinctively I reached inside for the boot release switch, which resulted in a whirrr at the front of the car.

That's the thing about most European supercars, the engine is mounted right behind the driver, so the boot is thusly relocated to the front, I half smiled to myself.

I then strode to the front of the car and stood in front of the gaping air inlets before opening the surprisingly voluminous front boot and placed the hammers and fuel cans inside before closing the boot door in a rapid fluid motion.

Time was still of the essence!.

Then, moving back to the low drivers side of the car I reached in and released the electronic handbrake and staying a quiet as possible, leaned into the side of the car with my shoulder and began to slowly push the car outside into the night, keeping my movements as straight as possible and only occasionally needing the steering wheel as I pushed hard to slowly move the car forward.

Fortunately, the McLaren was located on the front row of cars facing the main doors, so it was easy to reverse into the garage when returning home and reciprocally quicker to exit too!.

Moving slowly and once clear of the garage door arc, I then stopped and locked up the garage before I resumed my hard pushing with the inactive McLaren, but now turning the low slung car around 180 degrees via the steering wheel onto the smooth driveway and using the wheel to make the necessary course corrections only where necessary!.

I dared not start up the engine this close to the house as the powerful V8 would immediately betray my presence here, instead I continued to push hard, the strain etched on my face as I put my back into the effort.

Nevertheless I couldn't help but feel increasingly anxious as I edged nearer to the side and then front of the house as I knew that all it would take for my presence here to be realised would be for someone to look out of a window or exiting the front door to finally see me and I didn't want McCulloch or anyone else know I was really here, not yet anyway!.

Nervously, I felt at any moment that I'd be discovered, even though the darkness largely hid me from view and only occasionally did a pebble crunch underneath the tyres of a car which left me wondering if I'd be caught "in the act" so to speak?.

It was hard work, but I really put my back into it and eventually picked up a bit of momentum, as despite being below average height, I was fit thanks to my regular running.

Indeed, despite the chill, I actually began to perspire, but the cooling night air quickly helped make the effort tolerable despite the physical and emotional strain of my covert exit.

The light was low but my eyes were rapidly night adapting and anyway I was used to going about in the dark, as that's what one must get used to when one lives in the country!.

At the front of the house I looked about, seeing no sign of movement or any extra lights on.

'Good' I thought, 'they're still upstairs'!.

I then pushed the silent, sleek McLaren slowly past their cars, from that ugly shit brown PT Cruiser and then the slags abominable Nissan Juke, with the wifey slag's admittedly better looking and performing Renault Clio RS 200 offset to these appalling cars.

Fuck the Juke and PT Cruiser must be the most despicable cars around!

I didn't know much about yank cars as they are seldom seen here, but I dimly recalled that the PT Cruiser was effectively limited to a paltry 200 km/h at best, indeed in reality it struggled to exceed 180 km/h in the real world, due to its poor aerodynamics that were equivalent to a turd on wheels!.

Besides, it really did have a very fat ugly arse for a car!.

Holgate's Juke was equally ghastly and both cars really were shitboxes on wheels and undoubtedly had "slushmatic" gearboxes as well I surmised!.

By contrast my Mclaren 570GT-S that I now pushed past these two piles of automotive excrement was simply "otherworldly" compared to those "loser-mobiles"!.

I again wryly smiled at my own joke where at a time when things really couldn't be worse, it's funny how the mind works when under stress.

Now past the cars, I felt the resisting inertia from the silent McLaren lessen somewhat as I realised that the driveway was beginning to decline slightly.

Despite the struggle, I still felt good as it almost felt as if I was absorbing the latent power that seemed to radiate from within the McLaren.

I then pushed even harder and as the car now accelerated slightly, I quickly jumped in and steered the silent car down the driveway at a quick walking pace.

Feeling satisfied that I was now moving further away from the house and completely undetected as the gloom of the night fully swallowed myself and the car into near invisibility, I continued down the slight gradient, resting briefly.

Admittedly the white paint on the car's exterior didn't obscure us as well as other colours, indeed this McLaren's paintwork actually had a second colour embedded within the exterior paint, comprising of a faint, very subtle pale blue colour which only was visible when viewed for certain angles and lighting conditions.

The paintwork was called "muriwai white" after the lovely old house in Surrey, England where Bruce McLaren and his family lived decades ago that was actually painted white and had blue window shutters.

I liked the colour mixture for my 570GT-S, which was named "muriwai" after the town where McLaren won his first race back in New Zealand.

Still no matter how lightly painted, the darkness increasingly obscured my departure with every second of elapsed time as I and the car gradually trundled stealthily down the lengthy, mostly level driveway toward the public road.

Nearing the main gate now the darkened car was still moving down the slight gradient, but gradually I sensed the deceleration as the driveway levelled out as the black shadows of the main gate entrance loomed ahead.

My breathing rate had decreased now, but I still felt hot even though the cold night air swept into the cockpit around the near vertical dihedral door towering above me and the rest of the car as I prepared to exit the car and push again.

I rapidly climbed out as I passed through the gates and then resumed my exertions, maintaining the momentum before giving the steering wheel a sharp pull to the right as the driveway transitioned onto the dark country road.

No passing cars were present with only the sounds of the night animals and insects faintly audible on this increasingly now foggy night.

Thankfully no car had come up behind me as I made my way down my driveway as that would be a real disaster, but I felt alright now and safer too as I breathed easier and continued to push the car hard along the road, carefully keeping to the side as well as frequently glancing over my shoulder towards the house where the lights could now be dimly seen in the distance amongst the trees and hedgerows.

Finally after pushing the car a distance of perhaps 50 metres down from my front gate, I thankfully bought the inert car to a halt opposite a paddock gate that belonged to a neighbouring farmer, Harry Bribe-Easy.

Good old Bribe-Easy grew commercial poppies that ended up as medical pain killers ostensibly, but oddly, some people actually blamed him and those like him for the "opioid crisis" in places like America somehow!.

Oh well, rather him than me, the wily profiteering bugger, anyhow his paddock gateway was now an ideal place to rest and wait in the dark for my enemies!.

Weary, I finally climbed into the McLaren, closed the door, strapped myself in and waited as calm begin to return to my body and mind.

So far tonight my covert movements had succeeded, despite the at times nerve wracking feelings coming to the fore, I'd nonetheless brazened it out and was confident I had escaped detection from all and sundry!.

I was pleased too that I could move about in the dark with ease, but in truth it was no accident as, for example, with every new car I bought I always made it a point to familiarise myself completely with the controls so I could function instinctively if necessary during a crisis, such as avoiding an accident or driving at maximum speed.

Did I mention that one of my hobbies was driving?.

When I was a lad, I once read how back in the dark days of the Vietnam war, a yank fighter "ace" named Randy Cunningham became effective in the old F-4 Phantom fighter jet by endlessly practicing what he called "switchology" on the many controls inside the Phantom cockpit, which was an apparent ergonomic nightmare in complexity in that era.

That "instinctive" practicing gave him an advantage if he was ever "bounced" by the lighter and simpler North Vietnamese MIG fighters and then engaging in aerial combat.

Sadly, I read much later that Cunningham eventually went into politics and actually ended up in prison on corruption charges, but that's neither here nor there!.

Anyway, it was a practical lesson that I never forgot, so now sitting in my McLaren 570GT-S even though it was my newest car, I nonetheless felt comfortable and very confident that I would acquit myself well tonight as I had practiced my "switchology" with the McLaren until it became completely instinctive!.

I even gave the car a pet name, privately calling her, 'Imogen'!.

Very English name of course, redolent of a sophisticated, well spoken and elegant woman, sinuous, sensuous and of course if you treat her properly then she'll never let you down!.

What kind of man gives his car a pet name?.

A man just like me who likes cars a lot and thinks many cars are more than just the sum of their parts, where some even have a certain "spirit" within them that can't be defined, but one can certainly feel and this McLaren 570 GT-S I called 'Imogen' had it in spades, that's for sure!.

Yes "she" was female, as her sinuous curves clearly attested to that and she was definitely on my side too as I felt that there was definitely a bond between us!.

Pity Sophie ended up so badly though, I could now see that my concerns about her and the slag Holgate were on the mark, indeed I was now sure she'd been systematically brainwashing Sophie against me from the time she appeared some 18 months ago to the present day I now concluded!

I suppose I'll never know the truth, I reflected with sadness as I continued my silent vigil in the darkness, watchful for any movement from my house.

But concentrate Andrew my son I then told myself as remember, 'boys don't cry' and I'd never been one to shed tears no matter how bad I felt, so I certainly wasn't going to start now like some limp wristed homosexualist I told myself and ultimately ending up as some nutmeg-scented piss drinker or worse!.

Absolutely not Andrew my son, absolutely not, I reflected with a wry smile to myself at my own "gallows humour" and Arthur Daley impersonation.

The dark humour cheered me a little during my wait as they say some self-deprecation is healthy, don't they?.

Yes 'Imogen' would see me right as she was just the car for the job tonight now that the electric 'Zoe' was back in the darkened garage, with her depleted batteries now slowly recharging.

By contrast, 'Imogen' had 562 brake horsepower or 419 kilowatts of power within a twin turbocharged M838TE V8 petrol engine capable of 8500 RPM at maximum performance!.

'Imogen' was just the sort of car to best suit my current frame of mind; dangerous, ruthless, powerful and an implacable killing machine when used properly!.

I'd easily be able to follow any of my enemies in this car and when the time was right unleash hell itself onto them all, of that there was no doubt!.

Satisfied and now feeling in greater control, I continued to wait patiently in the darkness, vigilant and alert, still I yearned for a chance to exact some retribution on my enemies as I was tired of sneaking about and second guessing others as I'm not a coward by nature and I clearly had been wronged and demanded vengeance as my right!.

Then I remembered the two phones I "borrowed" from Holgate and McCulloch, perhaps they may reveal some useful intelligence?.

I reached into my pocket and began to check the phones in turn, noting that each was at least over three quarters full of charge, so that meant that I could safely leave them on and not have to worry about secret passwords if I was ever forced to deactivate them to conserve power.

That would work in my favour I reflected with this stroke of luck perhaps a sign that things were now clearly turning my way!.

I decided though to make sure these phones stayed switched on and that meant finding a way to recharge them as soon as possible.

A problem for later though......

I began by reading the text messages from the slag Holgate to Sophie, where for the first time, I could now begin to see the depth of deceitful planning done by these ghastly witches over time!.

"Whist ye", I muttered as I scrolled through the messages, finally seeing that the evil slag was attacking me from day one, just as I suspected!.

Bad mouthing me behind my back to Sophie, but tellingly, all I read in reply was trite, giggly comments from my so-called wife and not even defending me once!.

My anger rose again as I continued to read, now better understanding just what had been happening behind my back over the past 18 months!.

Scanning forward, it seems that McCulloch came on the scene only in the past month and from there I could read the planning between he and Holgate to attack, rape and humiliate me as well as steal my home and money!.

The monsters even mentioned attacking my mum as well!.

My God, what kind of abominations were they I asked myself?.

Holgate I read, also boasted to McCulloch saying how she'd broken down Sophie's defences to a point where Holgate was now in effect doing Sophie's thinking for her regarding her marriage, indeed for over a year now she knew more about the state of Sophie and my marriage than I actually did, due to her constant meddling!.

A few comments revealingly mentioned their real motivation; to break my will and humiliate me before taking all that I had as Holgate apparently got her biggest sick thrills from destroying the spirit of a man and "owning" him completely as a slave, with my wealth and assets the cream on the top as she saw it!.

Also because I was below average height, she thought I was less of a man and thus inferior to larger men, so I should be nothing more than a slave according to her twisted thinking!.

That was her "natural order" as she called it!.

One telling comment less than three weeks ago explained her mindset and rationale in precise detail.

Where because I saw through her from the very beginning, she felt exposed that she couldn't fool or manipulate me, so the slag set about to attack me from behind my back, undermining my marriage and seeking to take my life from me, just because I left her feeling vulnerable under my gaze with her fragile ego upset by my scrutiny and of course Sophie was just a foolish, naïve, manipulated accomplice, she gloated to McCulloch!.

By now I was shaking my head in utter disgust and disbelief, reflecting what a pathetic, little sick loser she really is, I now concluded with outrage!.

Indeed, I now saw with more clarity what had been really happening behind my back over the past 18 months, with Sophie equally culpable, as she knew the difference between right and wrong and frankly it's her duty as a wife to defend and protect her husband from his enemies who sought to attack me from behind my back!.

Worse, Sophie had joined in with the plot with nary any rebuke to the constant insults and disrespect Holgate had spouted against me.

She would pay, they would all pay, of that there was no doubt!.

McCulloch's phone also revealed similar twisted tirades, including the desire to "cuckold" me, which was a term that kept being repeated, but again one which didn't mean much to me.

Of course my assets and cars interested him greatly as well as him looking forward to raping my mother in front of me and then making her his sex slave!.

I had to pause in reading this sheer evil to breathe deeply in order to control my steadily increasing anger.

He boasted of "cuckolding" other men before, but I was a huge prize due to my status and wealth which he now clearly desired as his next target!.

Well I thought, he was only a worthless lawyer and absolutely nothing of any consequence, so although he didn't know it yet, he was in for a very nasty shock soon when I enacted my vengeance against him and indeed all of them!.

That twisted abomination McCulloch would pay for what he'd said and done to harm me I decided.

I then averred that I'd find a way to hurt him, perhaps even kill him at some point in the future, such was the disgust I had for his lifestyle and the vile plans he plotted for my family and I, as clearly, I would never be safe with him alive!.

Then I began to read Sophie's messages;

They seemed at first glance to be the replies akin to that of a hormone addled teenage schoolgirl in response to what Holgate and later McCulloch's were saying and planning!.

Little direct abuse of me from her though, instead just agreeing with her "friends" and stupid inane comments.

Revealingly however, she said nothing to dissuade or rebuke them, which cemented in my own mind her total betrayal of myself with her entirely vapid character clear to see!.

So be it, she too would pay for her wrongs against me I vowed then, including joining the fate of her fellow plotters!.

Now utterly fed up with this tripe, I looked reflectively at the phones and realised that this "electronic war" I was fighting tonight would now have to take into account the stolen phones.

I knew I was going to follow McCulloch shortly, but I realised that too much movement outside of the local phone relay tower would be registered if anyone cared to look, this may then potentially betray my movements too which would help McCulloch and Holgate if time and positional phone signals didn't correlate and so possibly implicate me once I eliminated those two!.

I thought hard.

Currently any signals would use the local relay tower, so logically it would be prudent to leave the phones just here for later retrieval, so I decided that's just what I'd do and not give curious minds any chance to see large movement of the reception signals.

Quickly I made a decision and exited the car, where despite the foggy darkness, made out a bush located a few metres to the side of the farm gate nearby.