The ranch greeted a new guest. Discretely shown to The Cappy’s main den. The Cappy was behind his desk making plans for what was to happen next.
Owen Ranch in the Great States was a much-storied fortress of power. The Owen family had been a Star State feature for generations, priding themselves on pioneering discoveries and using the wealth they had amassed to make their mark on the world. Their entrepreneurial spirit with political ambitions made them a force. Being an Owen was more than having a family name. Their biggest asset was their propaganda machine. Their ownership of many news outlets was brought into call whenever one of their overindulged family members brought negative press upon them. Gerald ‘Jerry’ Owen was one such user. After the attempted rape of Tabitha as a child, her Baroness aunt had caused such a backlash upon the Reverend Owen that all stories in the newspapers had to be shut down. The only ones allowed to circulate were those that suggested Tawny was an alcoholic with serious mental health issues and Tabitha was a whore in the making who had been removed from so many schools no district would accept her. That’s not to say there wasn’t some truth to this. Tawny did have a history of mental breakdowns and Tabitha led a violent life. But that was what the most effective propaganda was, wasn’t it? Take a little truth and exaggerate it to discredit your opponent. The Owens did that better than anyone. No one – not even the Law Makers – could compete on that level. They had the press – including my old newspaper The Coldford Daily – and whilst they had the press, they had public opinion. Public opinion won wars and when that failed there was always brute strength. There was another area in which the Owens were formidable; money. They had it in abundance and so anything could be theirs at a cost.
“The events in Coldford, sir, are disheartening. I am concerned it is too much of a distraction.”
His guest was a patient listener. He was sprightly, cat-like with a solid spine carved from years of discipline and manoeuvres. His name was Ruud Van Holder. His purpose? His team were an anti-terror group called the Black Bands. They called Van Holder the wrangler and he had been known to bring order to parts of the world overrun by militants. Several dictating leaders had fallen at his hands. Enlisting the services of Van Holder was probably overkill for thug groups like Reginald Penn’s Loyalists and Paddy Mack’s Fleet, but The Cappy would take no chances when his family dynasty was at stake.
“Shameful, sure,” Van Holder remarked, referring to Reginald’s brutal slaying of Robert ‘Bobby’ Owen. He scanned the room, detailing its contents. Whilst his eyes were elsewhere his mind still remained on the task at hand.
On a screen played Van Holder’s curriculum vitae. Horse mounted patrols cut through rioting crowds, long standing rebel leaders brought to their knees.
The Cappy didn’t mind admitting that seeing them brought into action would be thrilling.
“This will be quite a task you will be undertaking. I’m sure you are more than capable but first I must ask, who are you loyal to?”
Van Holder had lifted a whiskey glass from Chick’s desk. It wasn’t a used glass. It was purely for decorative purposes. On the glass was etched an image of the boat that brought Captain Henry ‘Hen’ Owen to his monumental discovery.
The Black Bands were born in the harsh jungles of Southern Subala. Taming large jungle cats was his speciality but for Van Holder any wild animal would do. They were expert in wrangling wild animals and it would appear Coldford had been overrun by wild animals for too long.
The Cappy smiled. He had directed his son Buddy and his brother Ronnie to a public video of Van Holder, showing him with a lioness he named Baba. In the beginning she was snarling, wild, and had taken swipes at him. She leapt upon him but he managed to fend her off before she could wrap her great teeth around his skull. By the end she was playing with her owner like she was no more than a house cat. Ronnie placed trust in his following Doyle’s command. Buddy returned with a range of emoji reactions that made little sense. Either way the Black Bands were going to make their way to Coldford and, like the Weeping King of Kilmaro, those responsible for the death of an Owen would be brought to their knees.
“You brought me here because I’m the best,” Van Holder had said. “The very fucking best.”
The Cappy hadn’t made his name by searching for mediocre.
“You know who is to be brought to account,” said Chick. “I’ll be following you in a week or so but I’d like you to make our move quickly and dispatch with an alpha team immediately.” He stroked his chin as he contemplated what was to come next. “At this stage we’re merely looking at containment. Should anything spark…well that’s a barrier we’ll break should it arise. In the meantime, on that there table is a blank cheque. Take it and find yourself whatever provisions you need.”
Van Holder turned to the table behind him. “You’re a determined man,” he said. The Cappy watched the confident bounce in Van Holder’s step as he crossed the room and collected the Owen Inc. cheque. “I’ll see that it’s put to good use,” he said.
Charles ‘Chick’ Owen, better known as The Cappy, grinned. “I know you will.”
***
“We’re here at Starkland Park for what promises to be a very tense game of football as Coldford Athletic take on their fierce rivals Coldford City. Tensions are already high in the City with the Mack Distillery having closed its gates in Bellfield and the City-sponsoring Auction House seized. We have a whole stadium here so those tensions are going to spill onto the park in what promises to be a very impressive game of football. I’m Peter Daly and with me in the commentary box today is City legend, Grant Miller. Can we expect the players to be putting in their full efforts today Grant? Given what is happening behind the scenes.”
“I think we can Peter. City will be out to prove something today on the pitch and I don’t think they will let what’s happening with the Auction House hold them back. A win today may be just what is needed to raise City Main spirits.”
“That’s true, Grant. We have a lovely game of football ahead and so let’s stay on the matter at hand. The players are lining up now. Athletic captain shakes the hand of the City skipper. They’re showing some sportsmanship here today. There has been so much trouble in the past it would be easy to let things get out of hand. It’s nice to see the players setting an example for their fans. We need some solidarity in the game.”
“The spirit of football is alive and well, Peter. City supporters have always been a spirited bunch but let’s just hope we can leave the trouble at the doors and enjoy the match.”
“Statements have always been made through the stadiums of Greater Coldford but this is one occasion where the fans may be best to just sit back, relax and let the battles remain on the field.”
“The air is thick here at Starkland Park as the players take their places. Sammy Connelly – Athletic’s Golden Boy – is looking super confident. I suppose he will be hoping for an easy day at the office.”
“Well, we’ll be back in just a few moments for kick off. It’s Coldford Athletic versus Coldford City.”
***
Late afternoon and the Doyle home in Kingsgate was quiet. Karyn Doyle had turned the television on and settled into an arm chair to watch. Her view didn’t take her to Hathfield Bay where Kingsgate Albion – her Sergeant Major father’s own team – took on the islanders. Instead, her interest was drawn to the south of the city where all the trouble resonated. The City Main team always brought trouble with them when they faced their main rivals at Starkland Park, and it was the first face off of the two largest teams since the Auction House had been seized.
Micky brought two cups of sweet tea. He laid them on the coffee table. He sat in silence watching his cousin’s reaction. Sammy Connelly of Athletic could be seen on screen patting his captain’s shoulder with a good natured smile as he took his place and prepared for kick off.
The Judge lifted her cup and took a sip of the sweetness. Her focus remained on the match but her expression told nothing.
“I hope it all goes smoothly,” Micky commented.
“Why wouldn’t it?” was his cousin’s reply.
The cat, Margot, circled around Karyn’s legs. It locked it’s glowing eyes on Micky. She meowed and displayed her sharpened incisors.
He lifted his cup and sipped just as Karyn had done. The whistle blew. The ball was kicked.
***
The clash between Coldford City and Coldford Athletic was always heated. Debate over the teams had led to violent clashes in the past. Given recent events and the looming presence of the Law Makers it made an already tense affair even more strained. Two of the largest teams would be battling it out on the football pitch. Fans of the other teams such as Swantin Town and Bournton in the north would be watching closely. The game itself would provide delightful sporting entertainment but what drew eyes on this particular occasion was the talk of heightened security. It had all the makings of a great story.
Back in my days studying journalism I had the option of being a sports writer. A good friend of mine, Harry Corbyne, had done just that and he followed the charitable Athletic team closely writing for the Coldford Express in the Shanties. I asked his thoughts on it. He told me there was nothing like experiencing the match first hand. If I really wanted to see what all the fuss was about I should take myself to Starkland Park and get a good look. I had meant his views on the security measures. I trust he knew this. Wanting to keep focused on the match he didn’t offer much insight on Law Maker presence.
Earlier that morning I saw a couple of coaches leave from the front of the Faulds Park Building in Main. The City fans were chatting nervously. There were some smiles and excitement one might expect. However, I did notice the absence of the Penns had left them a little sobered.
I managed to stop one of the Loyalists named Christian Ivor. He had exchanged his black and belt uniform of the Auction House for a City shirt. He was busy overseeing the fans gathering onto the coach.
“How are you feeling about the game?” I asked him.
Ivor gave a cheery smile.
“Sammy Connelly is bound to cause some trouble. He’s a great lad but he always bloody does,” he said.
“I was referring to the heightened security,” I told him.
Ivor brushed me off.
“Yeah? Where you?” He turned to a couple of boys of about nine years old. They too were wearing City kits.
“Mum didn’t want us going today,” said one of them. “She’s worried there might be some trouble. We wanted to see it though. It’s our first Athletic game.”
Ivor tousled his hair.
“Just stick with me, little man,” he said.
The two little boys skipped onto the coach.
“I suppose Reginald will be taking an interest,” I put to Ivor.
Ivor still kept his composure.
“His Majesty has a lot to focus on right now,” he said. “If he were here though he would want me and the lads to make sure the people get to enjoy the game.”
I suspected this was exactly what Reginald’s instructions to the Loyalists at Faulds was.
***
It was early morning in the Star State.
“I’m gonna be out of commission for a while. Hold all calls,” Chick Owen informed his executive assistant. She noted the orders. She was a beauty pageant girl, much like his wife. She too had been strutting around on stage in a bathing suit wishing for world peace. She was expertly trained in smiling, waving and following the instructions of coaches. She was the perfect P.A.
“How long should I hold them?” she asked.
“Until further notice.”
“Yes, Captain.”
When the assistant skipped out to the office to see that her boss was left in peace, The Cappy turned on his screen. The Coldford City European football fixture between Athletic and City was going to be an interesting one. He had already received notice that Van Holder and his Alpha team had brought in hundreds of suspected loyalists as well as Bellfield fleet members. They had been making their presence felt too at City Main rallies in support of Reginald Penn. There was a lot of loyalty built in the city through a mutual love of the sport so the soccer stadiums were a good place to start.
Reginald Penn was still at large. He was still building a force in his support. A cold blooded murderer couldn’t be given much chance to flex his authority over City Main – not when there was a prominent spot available for Owen assets.
The game commenced. The Cappy smiled.
***
“Another lash out from striker, Andre Luis, there Grant. He’s starting to show his frustration.”
As I travelled from City Main down to the Shanties I listened to the game opening. Sammy Connelly had scored a goal on the eleven minute mark. Through the radio commentary the voices of the Athletic fans could be heard chiming along to their rivals.
I received a call from Harry Corbyne who was already at the stadium.
“Where are you Sam?” he asked.
“I’m on my way now,” I said. “I’m going to try and get some views from the fans as they leave the game.”
“You should have come see the game,” Harry replied. He was yelling over the car phone with the noise of the stadium behind him.
“I wouldn’t to step on your toes there Harry,” I assured him. “The sport report is your thing. I’m just keen on getting the story on the extra security everyone’s been talking about. How are things in there?”
“The atmosphere is rough,” he admitted. “I’ve been to tonnes of these matches. They always have the high vis guys everywhere to make sure the banter doesn’t spill into anything worse.”
“The security been spread out then?”
“Security?” Something had distracted Harry that caused him to question it. “Yeah, there’s plenty of security around. They’re being flooded out.”
The reception began to crackle.
“Harry?” I called. “Harry, did you say the security were being flooded out?”
There was more crackling. When the reception returned it was with an outcry from the stadium. It wasn’t the cheer for a goal having been scored. It was a collective outrage of City and Athletic fans.
“I have to go Sam,” Harry came back to me. “I’m getting outsted. I’m being told to leave.”
Now the outrage was mine. “They’re shutting the press out? Who asked you to leave?”
“Black Bands. There’s fucking Black Bands everywhere!”
***
Harry had closed the call abruptly. By the time I switched the radio to the game it had gone to a couple of pundits. They were discussing there having been an altercation at the game but the details were still incoming. There was talk of the game being called off.
By the time I reached Starkland Park the fans were moving back out in a rush. It was chaos and it hadn’t even reached half time. I had arrived at the away end where the coaches I had seen earlier that morning were waiting. A woman was being led out clutching a bloody face. The man who was with her was yelling at two Black Bands who were following behind them.
According to witnesses the woman had started yelling at one of the Black Bands who had shoved her teenage son out of the way. The Black Band gave no response and showed no remorse. The woman became further irate. She wasn’t the only one within the crowd. The City fans were being crowded unceremoniously by the new security.
The Black Bands still made no response. They did however, assure their presence was felt. Eventually the frustration turned to fury as the woman continued to call for an apology on behalf of her son. He was a mild lad. He never bothered anyone. She tapped on the Black Band’s insignia and that was when it all spiralled.
The woman was cracked across the skull with a truncheon, heavily enough the woman was put into a daze. Other City fans responded on her behalf, yelling their objections. Now the Black Bands felt the had cause to retaliate and shut the game down. There was a crush as City fans clashed between those trying to escape the onslaught and those rushing into it. On the pitch the game had been halted. Sammy Connelly called to the referee as City Captain Phillipe Lala and some of his players had rushed to the away stand.
“Just get in the coach,” Ivor was instructing one of the little boys that had been with him earlier. He was carrying the other one, his arm was hanging loosely, definitely broken.
Like a rush of war wounded, there were more bloodied football fans making their way towards the coach. More Black Bands were following them to oversee their leave.
“What happened?” I asked Ivor.
The young man looked a little numb himself.
“Sammy Connelly,” he said. “What a hero. What a hero.”
The boy in his arms cried out. Ivor tried to reassure him.
“You’ll be alright little man. We’re getting you to the hospital.”
What Sammy Connelly had spotted was a little girl being crushed underfoot. As the City and Athletic players combined their efforts to help those they could and try and bring some composure the Athletic striker had leapt the barriers and pulled the little girl onto the pitch. More followed as the Black Bands pursued them onto the grass.
***
The game had been a complete farce. There were mounted patrols of Black Bands everywhere. The horses they used were larger, sturdier than CPD riot patrols. They were war horses.
The route leading to Starkland Park was filling fast. People had learned of the incident and came in search of loved ones they hoped had not gotten caught up in it. I have never been in a war situation before. I’m not a military man nor could I pretend to be, but as the crowd pushed around me, saying nothing, only expelling frosty breath, I got the sense of the kind of tension experienced before a first charge. The force was ill-equipped and outnumbered by their enemy.
The click of horses hooves along the freshly paved grounds of Starkland were like the ticking of a bomb. One passed. A huge man they called Monsta’. There was an unbearable hush. Click. Click. Click. A snort of the huge horse he rode. No one dared call to them. Live television had already entered homes around the city to show what the Black Bands were willing to do.
Monsta’ stopped his horse. I raised my phone. He turned his gaze to me.
Click.
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