Visit from a Lesser God: With a kick a punch and a knock Read online

  Copyright © 2018 A. R. Forte

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

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  Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  Push open the gate, jump over the grate

  The grind of the rust, mingles with the dust

  The Port Cullis is up, you ponder at your luck

  The pathway glows dark, through willow and bark

  The air smells dank, with flusty and kank

  The mansion looks shut, and boarded all up

  But the door is ajar, as you look from afar

  Hop down the path, suppressing your wrath

  Knock on the door, and wonder what for

  But no answer is nigh, you are wondering why?

  Now enter the room, of musty and gloom

  A crash and a boom, heralds your doom

  Sit down on a chair, and look to the stairs

  Why have you come, what do you want?

  You forget who you are, but know where you’re from

  A Spirit came calling, early one morning

  It lurks in the loft, much to your shock

  It is now on the stairs, stepping daintily down

  You are rudely awake, and shudder and shake

  Beg, steal and borrow, and drown all your sorrows

  It has come for your soul, fulfilling its role

  It whispers and sniggers, burbles and giggles

  You scream and you pray, don’t take me away

  The clock strikes nine, now you are mine

  And with a kick, a punch and a knock

  Brings a Visit From A Lesser God…

  A. R. Forte

  CONTENTS

  Harry Bounces Back

  Edgar

  Enoch And Apollyon

  North Clark Street

  The Return Of Mick O’ Mara

  Frantic Antic

  Here Comes The Judge

  Harry Bounces Back

  Edgar

  Enoch and Apollyon

  North Clark Street

  The Return of Mick O’ Mara

  Frantic Antic

  Here Comes the Judge

  HARRY BOUNCES BACK

  Oh! there you are Harry, pushing open the door of a derelict building. I can see you’ve slept rough again last night. You’ve lost one shoe and a sock, and by the way you stink to high heaven. And there is a gaping hole in the seat of your trousers and pants. I shouldn’t laugh, but you are tragically comic, almost burlesque in your appearance now.

  What a terrible crash back down to earth for one of the top finance bankers in the World. It’s a long way to the top of the building, twenty two stories. Twenty two stories should be more than enough to do the job of jumping off to kill yourself.

  Just in case you are interested the building was a massive finance centre before the war, which helped to finance the war that cost millions of people their lives. Do you remember that war Harry? Oh that war. The same war that the international banking system, which you were part of and presided over and had financed through ghost companies and holdings, who’s names of the elite who had a stake in them were kept very secret. You never thought that they would catch up with you Harry, did you? Well it has taken two years and the investigation has finally bagged a name in the top echelons of banking. Your name Harry!

  Firstly they went for the corrupt, bought and paid for criminal politicians. Then the vast weapon companies like Lanz-Tec and Speer-electronics. You weren’t really bothered when a few low rent politicians and chief executives got whopping prison sentences. Because you thought they could never pin anything on you. But they went for the jugular, like an attack dog. It was a tough and painstaking task, but they followed the money. With dogged determination they broke down the smoke and mirrors and misleading corridors or corruption and began to climb the lower blocks of the pyramid. You only realised that you were in trouble when they netted Craddock, Corbett and Lovell all in one probe. To get themselves lighter sentences they just didn’t sing like canaries, they bloody well blurted out secrets that would have taken years to dig up. Oh Harry boy, your name was repeated parrot fashion so many times that they had to open a completely separate file on you. They all got twenty years in the five-bar-hotel anyway, so God knows what you’re gonna get. But they won’t get you Harry, because your fat, disgusting body will be splattered all over the pavement, cheating them out of their biggest and most revolting prize.

  As you climb slowly up the stairs, a thousand thoughts reverberate relentlessly through your brain. Remember old man Golding. He taught you every thing you know about digital forged money, virtual money, with no backing and only underwritten by fresh air, instead of gold, or commodities. His slogan was ‘Keep the people, the useless eaters in a debt based economy and force them to pay us real money.’

  He had big ambitions for you Harry. You were ambitious, aggressive and above all cunning, cruel and merciless. He even introduced you to other people in the industry, who had worked their way to the top. And you learnt a lot of tricks and tactics from them to boot. The problem for you was that old Golding would not retire, because his spirit was completely consumed by greed and power. So after brooding in anger and frustration for three years, you decided to have him bumped off. It all nearly went horribly wrong, when your hired assassin was caught carrying out the deed by Mr Golding’s housekeeper. So he murdered her in cold blood as well. Then he had the audacity to charge you double, which you had to pay out of fear of exposure.

  Now you were right at the top of the vile parasite called the international banking system, and you have underlings like Craddock, Corbett and Lovell, who do anything to gain favour with you. In your game people can be bought and sold, beaten and destroyed like just another consumer product. All that matters is profit. Profit is illegally financing illegal wars through the criminal political system. Or by any means at all. Because all that counts is profit and power. They have even discovered the massive tax dodges that you have managed to cover and hide.

  Everything was going so smoothly for you Harry, but then the unexpected happened. The enemy who you had craftily financed began to win the war dramatically. Even the obsolete QB 101 tanks began to wreak havoc in our own infantry and artillery. The planned ten to twelve year war, which was expected to reap gargantuan heaps of profit for the weapons industry, hence the banks that had lent them the money at whopping rates of interest, looked as though it was going to be won by the enemy, within eighteen months. So the war department in league with the corrupt, criminal politicians frantically threw together The Anti Tank Corp. What a laugh you had, when you went down to their depot to see them when they were first commissioned and
paraded as a fighting unit. Remember those boys, standing there dressed in their bottle green boiler-suits and knee length jack-boots. They all looked like bewildered children, wondering where on earth they were. When the infantry and artillery boys roared with laughter, jeered and derided them as a bunch of Irish square dancers, you laughed the loudest. Standing there, wearing your Party badge and flanked by a bunch of disgusting Swan-Vestas. But cold fear replaced laughter when the Battalions dog handlers marched past with the regimental Irish wolf hounds. When they saw you their hair began to bristle and they all snarled at you, with foam spluttering from their mouths. That’s because they knew who and what you are Harry. The whole house of cards had to fall down in the end Harry. All of the counterfeit, forged money, fractional reserve virtual money, or leveraging as its known in the industry, just could not sustain the false debt.

  The banking cartels thought that everybody higher up in the pyramid could not be touched by any law, because they made the laws and issued them to the bought and paid for politicians. Yes indeed, rob, tax, rob, tax the public and call it austerity measures, rather than theft. Theft may not sound quite so acceptable to the public. They just might wake up and realize what had happened to them. Then force debt, upon debt upon debt onto the public until they haven’t got room to breath, or fart. Steal savings and plunder savings trusts and call it protection trusts, rather than fraud. The plunder, theft, fraud and embezzlement had become so complete, so rapacious that there was no real money left. People were losing their houses, their savings, their jobs, everything. They couldn’t even feed their families. The cap-stone of the pyramid has now decoupled Harry and the eye is not shedding a tear, or even winking at you, to thank you for your services. Because the elite who live up there know that you are just another Goyam, or useless eater. They select, groom and use vermin like you Harry, just like they do with the criminal politicians. That’s because they understand people like you Harry. They fully understand false ego, vanity and greed, that completely blocks out the light of critical thinking and empathy for others. They know very well all of the dark and rotten aspects of the human heart. They know, as they have done for generations, that all of those vibrations on a lower frequency of the spirit, completely blind the human soul to the higher being that watches over us. They know the evil that lurks within the human heart is given an open playing field to the lesser god and gives that lesser god carte-blanch to cause murder, mayhem and misery.

  But one day we all have to die Harry. And then what happens to people like you Harry. Perhaps the higher being that knows everything that you have done in your life will be waiting to greet you. And that being may throw you down into a terrible, blazing hell that has been hidden from you. Then speak words that will resonate through every fibre of your damned soul. “Those who serve evil will burn with it, when it burns.” The cap-stone of the pyramid has now de-coupled and is discharging its bigger expendable containers like you Harry. Just like it did with the Nazis and the Soviets, It’s all seeing eye is now looking around for it’s next project, because the last one has not turned out as successful as expected.

  Before you depart Harry and launch yourself into the great unknown and hope to escape, there are just a few things that I think that you should know. Maggie never did and never could love you. She sure loved your money and all of the trappings of wealth that she married into. Big mistake that, transferring the remainder of your wealth and property over into her name. Because as she signed the papers with one hand, she waved good-bye with the other hand, with gold bracelets and diamond rings sparkling under your nose. Nope, can’t blame her for that. After all, she knew that she would be implicated if the investigations began to creep up the lower blocks of the pyramid, which it did. And you thought that you were in love. Nope, you fell in love with the massive pair of boobs, that were being propped up by a desk when you walked into your office on that fateful morning. You noticed her buzooms before you even saw her face. You couldn’t take your bloody eyes off of them. Of course she was immediately attracted to you Harry. It must have been the way your glasses steamed up and your double chin did a cross between a Hula-Hula dance and a Limbo dance at the sight of those titanic boobs. Not much of a secretary though. But when you’re in bed starkers, with those gigantic boobs, who cares about typing. It hit you like a hammer when she left you Harry, didn’t it? So you hit the bottle and began to frequent back street bars.

  Oh yes, I almost forgot about Angie. I bet you haven’t forgotten her though. She was just another low rent prostitute that used to solicit street corners, after the war. You took up with Angie, because you knew that you were living on borrowed time. But the sexual attraction began to turn into something far deeper, when you got to know her, and you wanted to own and possess her. But she found a job under the new employment scheme and a boyfriend for good measure. You were so angry that you went to his work place, with the intention of beating him up. Big mistake again. He had been a champion boxer in the past and after playing with you, with your head popping around all over the place like a speed-ball in a boxing gym, he knocked you spark out.

  Oh, one last thing Harry, there was no need for you to have had old man Golding bumped off, because he had already signed his own death warrant. In his old age he had become anxious and perplexed. He knew that it was far too late to repent and try to redeem himself, but he had decided to come clean and tell all that he knew. Another reason was that for many years he had yearned and longed to be lifted up into the upper levels of the pyramid by the elite that rule the world. But cold rebuffs and cruel false promises had left him feeling bitter and dejected. When the elite found out that he was about to go on several independent talk shows, to reveal what he knew, an assassin was immediately dispatched to take him out. But your assassin beat him there and was the first to arrive by only two hours. Pity about the unfortunate house-keeper though. Perhaps their assassin may have done a far more professional job.

  Getting tired are we Harry? All of that good living and quite sudden destitution must be a bit of a shock to the system. That’s right, stop for a while and catch your breath and mop the sweat from your tortured brow. The police with the arrest warrant for you should be arriving at your former residence anytime now. Maggie will answer the door and of course act coy and charming, with those stupendous boobs boggling the mind of the Inspector. And of course, she will pout and play the part of the distraught bimbo and deny all knowledge of you and your whereabouts. And after a tantalizing display of bare thigh and cleavage, tell the Inspector that you have left her, left her alone to face the police, because you have done a runner and had left her in the lurch. And you were now no longer part of her life anyway. Now that’s what I call a friend Harry. To completely disassociate herself from you, in your hour of need. But she sure hasn’t disassociated herself from your money and property. All of your money is now in two of her own private accounts.

  Okay Harry, lets carry on. What’s that? Your legs are aching, you’re soaked in sweat and your heart if thumping around your rib-cage as if it’s trying to punch its way out. Oh no, you’d never pass muster for The Anti Tank Corp, because you’re a physical wreck. And what’s this, flashing across your mind? What are those faces and who do they belong to? Oh yes, those are the innocent faces of those boys who were brutally bundled into the ranks of The Anti Tank Corp. And they are looking at you Harry, because they know who and what you are. Most of them are dead Harry, nearly eighty percent of them, buried in far off lands. But they sure changed the course of the war when the allies ammunition had nearly run out. They single handedly took on those monstrous boxes of metal and silenced the roar and thunder of them forever, in lonely blood soaked fields. How could those boys ever have known that you and your kind were directly involved in the building of them?

  Now where are we. The thirteenth floor. Better go up another floor, thirteen is unlucky for some. Ah you see an open door and an open window at the end of an office. You head straight for the window and you have made
up your mind to jump right out without looking back. But as you cock your leg over the window-sill, you are overcome by nausea. What’s this Harry, loosing your nerve? Oh Harry, you’re not quite as brave as you though you were are you?

  You step out onto the shelf and look down. Oh no, it’s a long way down to the street. Your stomach is churning, stinking sweat is drenching your clothes and your legs are turning to jelly. You look down again and see people milling about and traffic weaving and moving about far below. You look up to the sky and notice that dusk is descending. You look over the street and see movement in a darkened window of another derelict building. You look again and your eyes make out a dark silhouette of a very large figure, surrounded by an aura of vibrating crimson. You shout aloud “WHO ARE YOU?”, because you are becoming afraid, very afraid and perplexed. But you’ve made up your mind that you must jump, because you have got nothing to lose. Finally after several minutes you throw yourself out into the chilly air and cry “LORD HAVE MERCY!” But it’s a bit late in the day to become religious Harry. The loneliness and feeling of being completely at the mercy of ‘you know what’ is overwhelming. You are turning somersaults rapidly. Now you are gliding and rocketing through the air at incredible speed. Then suddenly you sink deep into the canvas of a huge trampoline and bounce high into the air. The shouts of “GOTCHA’, ‘HOWZAT, and ‘GOT THE BUGGER’ ring in your ears as you fly high into the air. As you flop down into the canvas again you see the faces of firemen who are holding the rim of the trampoline. You bounce high into the air again. The button bursts on your waistband and your trousers and pants fall down to your ankles. You bounce again and your bare backside wobbles like jelly. Roars of laughter explode into the air, from a group of spectators. You bounce again and your genitals are exposed, as your shirt buttons burst open.

  Finally you are brought to bear, laying flat on your back in the trampoline. The firemen are looking at you in disdain. “Cor he pongs” “Dirty old sod” and “He stinks like a public bog” are the only words that greet you from the firemen. You realise that you are giving the rest of the audience a full frontal, so you roll over onto your front and try to pull your trousers up, and display your fat, bare backside. Two skin-heads are hysterical with laughter and one of them, who is being propped up by the other, has a big wet patch of urine on his jeans. A bunch of school girls are giggling. A nanny with a Scottish accent covers the eyes of a child, who is sitting in a pram and says “Dirty beast!” Oh Harry, looks as though you’re gonna spend an awfully long time in prison after all. See you in Court Harry. Asta La Vista!