one of them banker bastards.’
‘So?’ Zach joined in. ‘What the fuck’s that got to do with us?’
‘Just shut up and listen,’ Hudson insisted, silencing his friends who had no intention of crossing him further, well aware of his reputation on the estate that had earned him the nickname ‘Psycho Mark’.
‘Time to judge this man for his crimes against the people of this country,’ the man on the screen told them. ‘Your job is merely to pass judgement. Once his guilt has been established I will determine his sentence, which I must warn you now – could be death.’
‘Fucking hell,’ Hudson declared, his eyes wide with excitement – a grin appearing on his lips. ‘He’s gonna kill him.’
Gabriel Westbrook leaned in closer to his computer screen when the masked man mentioned death. He didn’t know the victim, but they had plenty in common – high-paid careers in the City, beautiful homes, expensive habits − although he was much younger than Elkins at only thirty-four. He considered summoning his wife to watch with him, but decided that was probably a bad idea.
‘Is this for real?’ he whispered to himself as he listened to the man’s words, rendered all the more disturbing by the warped voice.
‘If there was another way I would not be doing what I have now been forced to do. But it is the only way these people will ever listen to us. Only through fear and terror will they take notice. I have no choice but to do what I have to do.’
‘Christ,’ Westbrook told the empty room. ‘Is this a hoax? Please let this be a hoax.’
‘Come and have a look at this, love,’ Phil Taylor called out to his wife Cathy in their small home in Hull. She sensed the excitement in his voice and walked the short distance from the kitchen to the cramped office. Her husband was sitting in front of a computer screen that displayed a masked figure next to a man taped to a chair.
‘For God’s sake, what are you watching?’ she asked, shocked that he’d want to share it with her. ‘This isn’t pornography, is it?’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ he told her. ‘This bloke’s kidnapped one of them bankers.’
‘Not this again,’ she moaned, rolling her eyes in disapproval.
‘Hey,’ he warned her. ‘Those bastards cost me my business and our home. We wouldn’t be living in this shit house and I wouldn’t be doing my shit job if it wasn’t for their bloody greed and incompetence.’
‘We overstretched,’ she reminded him. ‘That’s why we lost the business and house.’
‘You can believe that if you want,’ he told her with a snarl, ‘but I know the truth. Now it looks like someone else has finally had enough too.’
‘It’s important I make a statement here and now. It’s important we show the rich and the greedy this is their new reality. No more can they steal from us and fear no retribution. From this day on, they will be punished for their crimes.’
‘What’s he gonna do to him?’ Cathy asked.
‘I don’t know,’ he answered. ‘Said he might kill him.’
‘Jesus Christ, turn it off,’ she told him.
‘No,’ he insisted, never looking away from the screen. ‘I want to see what he does to him. I want to see the bastard squirm.’
Father Alex Jones sat in the small office in St Thomas More Catholic Church, Dulwich, watching and listening to the continuing monologue of the masked man. Instinct told him that this was no stunt − the man was deadly serious. His original reason for searching the Internet long forgotten, he pressed his hands tightly together and began to whisper prayers for both the victim and masked man – salvation for both and forgiveness for one.
‘Now I need you – my brothers and my sisters − to play your part. It’s time to judge. If you believe this man is guilty of crimes against the people then simply click on the like icon. If you believe he is innocent then click on the dislike icon. Once the judgement is made, the sentence will be carried out accordingly. One click, one vote. Don’t waste your time trying to make multiple votes. The Your View system only allows one vote per user.’
‘God forgive you,’ the priest whispered as he clicked on the dislike icon, leaning away to watch how other viewers were voting. The like and dislike numbers were growing rapidly – but one far quicker than the other.
Mark Hudson watched the voting just as closely as the priest, but he was praying for a different outcome.
‘What’s happening?’ Danny asked.
‘Shut the fuck up,’ was Hudson’s only reply.
‘The people have voted and they have overwhelmingly found you guilty. Have you anything you want to say?’
‘This has gone far enough,’ Elkins shouted as the masked man momentarily disappeared from the screen. ‘You need to let me go now.’ His face twisted with terror. ‘You’ve made your point.’
There was the noise of metal on metal before the man reappeared with a length of rope – a noose tied at one end while the other looked to go straight to the ceiling, out of shot. The masked man looped the noose over the struggling Elkins, ignoring his writhing and bucking – ignoring his pleas.
‘Please don’t do this. Please. I haven’t done anything wrong. I can give the money back. You can have it. I just want to see my wife and children again. I’m a family man.’ But the man ignored him as he reached for another rope that seemed to hang from the ceiling.
‘The people have judged you, Mr Elkins. Now I must pass sentence. Your punishment shall be … death.’ Before Elkins could speak again, the man pulled the rope he was holding towards the floor, the rope attached to the noose around Elkins’s neck instantly growing taut, vibrating with tension as it lifted him, chair and all, from the floor. Terrible sounds came from behind Elkins’s gritted teeth as he fought desperately for his life.
‘Fucking hell,’ Hudson exclaimed, unaware that his two friends were backing away from the screen, their faces serious and pale while his beamed and glowed. ‘He’s hanging the fucker. He’s really doing it. Ha. This is fucking brilliant.’
Westbrook watched on as the older version of himself hung from the rope, still taped to the chair – the man’s eyes growing increasingly bulbous and grotesque – his mouth now open with his tongue protruding and writhing around like a dying lizard. He felt sick and scared all in the same moment. Someone wanted revenge – revenge against him and all his type. Which one of them would be next? He felt a shiver run up his spine.
‘I can’t watch this any more,’ Cathy told her husband. ‘I think I’m going to be sick. Turn it off.’ She reached for the computer’s power switch, but her husband pushed her hand away, eyes full of hate – although not for her.
‘Leave it,’ he ordered.
‘Please tell me you don’t want to watch this,’ she pleaded. ‘A man’s being killed. Murdered. Why the hell do you want to watch it?’
‘Maybe he had it coming. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe they all do.’
‘Jesus, Phil,’ she told him. ‘No one deserves that.’
‘Don’t they?’ he asked. ‘And what about me? Did I deserve what happened to me? Did I deserve to lose everything?’
‘You just lost money, Phil. This is a man’s life.’ She turned and walked from the room. ‘I won’t be in the same room as this. I hope they catch the bastard and hang him.’ She left him sitting staring at the screen – a thin smile spreading across his face as he watched Elkins’s body finally go limp.
The priest closed his eyes and drew an imaginary