Opening a store in Bellfield was not going to be as easy as Julia Harvester had hoped. It certainly wasn’t as easy as taking a place in the city. By the time Julia returned to Harvester Farm she had all but given herself to a foul mood. She was a nice girl though and nice girls weren’t moody. So she tried her best to shake it off. The van pulled into the farm house. Glenn was driving. Curtis had fallen asleep in the back. Glenn had warned him he was going to steal his kidneys if he fell asleep but Curtis’ self-inflicted hangover won over the warning.
Buddy and his bros were waiting for them. Buddy seemed excited about something. Julia tried to find the energy within herself to care. She was still trying to comprehend the situation in Bellfield. She had been warned the people of Bellfield were dedicated to the Macks. She had hoped her brand could fill the void, now that the distillery had been taken. She could be a friendly shoulder to cry on. It seemed the Macks weren’t so easily ousted and the store was under constant attack before it could even be opened. Julia Harvester was a nice girl. Why wouldn’t they want a nice girl to help put the pieces together? Why wouldn’t they let her help them?
Instead, it was Buddy Owen who greeted her with warmth.
He kissed her cheek clumsily.
“It’s been a long day, Bernard,” she said. “I don’t really have the time.”
“I’ve got a gift for you,” he said. “I figured after a day with the gypos you’d need some cheering up.”
Parked by the farm house was a green Cooper car named Forest. Buddy dropped his arm around Julia’s shoulder.
Julia didn’t really have much of a need for a sports car nor a liking for one but she smiled as any nice girl would.
“That’s very kind of you,” said she.
Buddy gave a nervous giggle again. His brown eyes sparkled with life.
“Let’s go inside, shall we?” she propositioned, shaking his arm from his shoulder and taking his hand.
She led him into the farmhouse and Buddy’s excitement intensified. He was positively giddy when she led him upstairs.
“I haven’t had the chance to thank you for taking care of Nathan,” she said.
Buddy followed her to the bedroom like he was ascending the steps to heaven.
“He was an asshole,” Buddy said, but the hardness in his groin was beginning to take over the conversation. “Sorry about the fence.”
Julia stopped one step above him. She turned back and smiled.
“That’s okay. Gary is still safe and sound,” she said.
The idiotic grin on Buddy’s face went a long way to giving the farm girl the validation she needed.
When they got into the bedroom Buddy hesitated by the door. Julia walked towards the bed, shedding her clothes as she did so. By the time she lay across the bed she was in her most beautiful form. Buddy was wide eyed and eager but like a rabbit caught in the scope of the hunter’s gun he couldn’t move.
“You want this, right?” she teased.
Buddy nodded stupidly.
He peeled off his shirt – swimmers build out of commission, sorry ma’am. He dropped his trousers, almost tripping over them as he leapt towards the bed. She dug her nails into his shoulder, turned him over and climbed on top of him. She slid herself onto him so he could savour the sensation.
“That feels good,” he cheered.
Julia balled up her panties. She gripped his prominent chin. His mouth opened and she stuffed the panties inside.
“Shhh,” she said. “Don’t talk.”
Buddy’s hardness was painful. Never before had he experienced such an intense erection. He didn’t want to disappoint her or mar such a splendid occasion by completing too early so he thought of every possible scenario to prolong himself.
The Cappy’s ass. A cold shower. That time Nola Wong showed him her saggy tits. Frogs.
Julia bucked her hips and he was almost done there and then but he bit his lip. This wasn’t like fucking the Kappa Si coke whores. This was all romantic and shit.
Julia’s phone on the bedside table rang. She stopped writhing.
“Motha’ fucka’” Buddy exclaimed, muffled by the panties.
As though Buddy weren’t there, she answered the phone.
“Yes?” she said.
It was a contact she had left behind at the Love Street store in Bellfield.
“I know about the distillery,” she said. She bucked her hips and Buddy groaned. “That’s unfortunate. We were trying to make everything better.”
Grandma spitting her teeth out. Lectures on muscle torque. Really fucking cold shower!
She bucked again.
Baseball. The body of a maggot infested racoon he found. His grandma’s saggy tits.
None of it was helping. Buddy just wished she would get off the damn phone. He tried to touch her breasts but she leaned back, placing her erect nipples out of reach.
Julia hung the phone up. Buddy’s excitement throbbed but she climbed off of him.
“I have to go,” she said.
Buddy was left alone, naked in her bed, still with a painful hard on. He spat the panties out.
“Dick down my throat!” he complained.
***
To discuss current events Olivia had invited the agents to her office in Harbour House. They were also playing host to Ronald ‘Ronnie’ Owen. As a favour to Olivia, he had agreed to meet with us and discuss a way forward now that a temporary truce was in place between the Cappy and Elizabeth Beckingridge.
“He’s going to pull the Black Bands back as soon as Reginald Penn is apprehended and the Loyalists are disbanded,” Ronnie was explaining to Kim.
“And will he?” Kim put to him.
Ronnie maintained his station. “He’s a man of his word. The only reason he came here is because of the murder of our father.” I was taking note of all that Ronnie was saying.
“He had the Daily slander me,” I reminded him. “What is he trying to cover up?”
Ronnie was unmoved. “No newspaper would allow a journalist to bring it into disrepute, especially when they only have hearsay to go on. You accused his son publicly of murder, again with nothing to back you up. He took that personally.”
I had to admire Ronnie. He didn’t know what reception he would receive with myself and the agents given the current state of affairs in the city, but he approached the task with a dignity and poise that carried the respect of all those present.
Olivia had vouched for him. They had worked closely together for years in her capacity as a social worker and his as a lawyer. It had been she initially who had put the task to him to defend Tabitha, which he did with everything he could. Even the best lawyers could only go so far when the client was clearly guilty.
The door opened. I heard Bellfield accents talking excitedly. It was Paddy who emerged first. He stopped dead when he saw Ronnie. Ronnie was equally as flabbergasted.
“Who the feck let this gobshite in!?” Kieran was close at Paddy’s back.
Ronnie turned to Olivia.
“He’s here to help,” she told the Macks. The Macks themselves there at Olivia’s invitation also. No one had expected them to arrive so soon.
“My arse he is,” Kieran objected.
“Kieran, shut yer mouth.” Paddy was still looking at Ronnie with mistrust but he was keeping a calm mind.
“I’m not here to cause trouble for anyone,” Ronnie told them. “I’m here as a peace maker. Reginald Penn was the one who murdered my father.”
Paddy replied, “He had his reasons.”
Ronnie nodded. “I’m sure he did.”
“I couldn’t stop him,” Paddy added.
A silence fell between them that didn’t suit Kieran.
“What kinda arse bandit is your nephew? You should see some of the gear we picked up at yer chapter house,” Kieran teased.
Paddy slapped his brother’s shoulder. “Really?”
Kieran shrugged. “Just wondering…”
Ronnie hugged Olivia. “I’m going to go,” he said. No negotiations were going to be made and the agents had a job to do.
“1015,” Kieran announced. “Is that the imaginary inches your nephew thinks he has?”
“Where did you see those numbers?”
Both Kieran and Paddy were taken aback by Ronnie’s sudden interest. Kieran fished into his bag and produced Buddy’s golden cock.
“We found it in Paddy’s van. We were starting to think he liked it up the arse.”
Ronnie wasn’t listening. He was examining the item. On the bottom were still the numbers 1015.
“The golden asset!” he gasped to himself. “Buddy, what have you done?”
Kieran continued. “You freak shows keep the strangest things.”
Paddy growled at him. Kieran shrugged but he quietened.
I could tell from Ronnie’s expression that something had gone horribly wrong.
“What’s the matter?” asked Olivia speaking for all of us as we tried to comprehend what had happened.
Ronnie shook his head. “Captain Henry had a whole series of golden artifacts created for the Coldford expedition. Map holder, gun, playing card holder, whiskey decanter – all of which we have – the compass and this. All of them were stamped with 1015. It was the time his ship set sail.”
“Why would…” Kieran began to ask. “I suppose, a sailor and all that,” he decided.
It was already tentative. The agents had been instructed to bring any Macks they found in. It was only parley arranged by Olivia they were given the opportunity to save face. The agents had been told there was a great deal of trouble stirring in Bellfield. The fall of the distillery had drawn vultures looking to peck at the dead meat. As the prepared one of their own to take a closer look the gave Paddy and Kieran a chance to have their say.
“Kieran if you don’t shut the feck up I’m going to belt ye,” warned Paddy. He himself knew the agreement the agents had with Olivia could be rescinded at any time.
“It wasn’t like this,” Ronnie explained but to Olivia. “If this is truly the golden asset then it was Captain Henry Owen’s telescope. It has been in my family for over two centuries and if that fuck up has-” Ronnie stopped himself before he lost his temper completely. “The Cappy is going to be furious.”
Kieran grinned. “Can we tell him?”
“I’m keeping this,” Ronnie said to Paddy. “I’m going to assume that if you have anything to say to Olivia it’s for the good for the city. I’ll also assume that if I were to send the Black Bands to fetch you, you would be gone by the time they got here so I won’t bother. In exchange you will not breathe a word of this and let me handle it internally.”
Ronnie stored the asset away. The agreement was struck.
***
The Chapter House was beginning to look a little like itself again. Most of it was still a construction site where Reginald and Paddy had led their respective groups to wreck the very building.
Buddy was resting easy. Things were finally starting to get back to normal.
“We just have to find the golden cock,” he said. “And I have a feeling I know where it is. The gypos have it.”
Chad stood behind him. He started to massage Buddy’s shoulders. Cooper was reading an email from his dad. The father had sent an invoice for the cocaine they had taken from his stash. He was still at the classic car event in Luen but the Coopers had a very business friendly relationship.
Buddy leaned his head back. Chad’s massaging hands moved down to his chest. Cooper looked up from his phone. Chad leaned his chin on Buddy’s head. Cooper frowned.
“So, what’s the damage?” asked Buddy.
“Two thousand,” said Cooper still looking a little confused at Chad who was resting comfortably.
“What?” Buddy put to Coops with a frown when he noticed him staring.
Coops shook his head.
“Then give him his money, bro.”
Chad went back to massaging Buddy’s shoulders. Their plans were interrupted by Ronnie throwing the door open and storming in in a mighty temper.
“Ron?” Buddy looked up. “What’s-”
BANG!
Ronnie fired his gun catching Buddy in a fleshy part of his thigh. He fell forward in pain.
“You just shot me!” he exclaimed, clutching his leg.
Ronnie pointed the gun at Chad and moved it between he and Cooper.
“Don’t either of you dare move,” he warned. “I will shoot you where you stand and The Cappy will thank me for it.”
Chad and Cooper said nothing. Buddy was still wincing in pain.
“What you do that for?” he asked his uncle.
Ronnie dropped the golden asset. Buddy’s eyes widened with shock.
The golden asset – the telescope of Henry ‘Hen’ Owen on his pioneering expedition – was the pride of the Owen name. Not only was it a centuries-old heirloom, it was a symbol of Owen power. It was kept at the Coldford Chapter House so that visitors of note like Pops could pay homage to it. Buddy – after a disagreement with his father – fell foul to the effects of powder. He started to boast that the Chapter House was his and he could do what he liked. The drugs, the angst and the brothers cheering him on caused him to make one of the poorest decisions he had made among a lifetime of terrible choices. He had the telescope reforged.
“If The Cappy finds out about this I will not have what he does to you on my conscience. You’ve put us both in a mighty tough position Buddy and if you weren’t my blood I’d shoot you in the head right now and leave you a vegetable.”
“Holy Mary, Ron,” Buddy grimaced. “My leg!”
“I only grazed you. Consider it a warning shot. Get your shit together Bernard, for all our sakes.”
Ronnie left his nephew. At least the asset was back in Owen hands. Buddy’s future, however, was reliant on the Macks keeping quiet and given their current struggle with the Owens it was likely they had a lot to say.
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Buddy had returned to Owen Estate at The Cappy’s request.
The den seemed less closed off that day. It was unlike Chick to keep the door open when he was in but that day it was ajar. He was standing with his back turned to him. He was observing the various family heirlooms.
“You wanted to see me?” Buddy asked nervously.
The Cappy turned.
“The agents …” he began.
Buddy took a deep breath.
“I’ve had every agent from here to home fight tooth and nail to bring that compass back to me.”
Buddy sighed with relief. He had meant acquisitions agents. Buddy looked to the space that was supposed to have been filled with the compass.
“I guess sometimes no matter how hard you fight you will always come to losses. Those losses can be great but we carry on.”
He stopped. He narrowed his gaze on his son.
“Are you alright, boy?”
Buddy nodded. A sweat was beginning to break on his forehead.
“Losses and shit,” Buddy repeated.
The Cappy growled.
“Are you on powda’?” he asked.
Buddy shook his head. Truthfully he was sober. His current situation would be a whole lot easier if he weren’t.
“As I said, we all have our losses,” The Cappy went on. “It’s the prickly nature of the competition. We are Owens and we always succeed, even if it takes generations. That is what being a dynasty is all about. That spot on that wall there perhaps wasn’t meant for something from our past. Maybe it stays open for the future. Which brings me to you.”
Buddy clamped his mouth closed.
“We’ve had our differences. We’ve had our problems. I wasn’t there for you as often as I should have been. I had been too focused on taking our family forward. I hoped you would follow my example but I realise now an example could only be set if I were there for you. Times are changing. Times are going to get harder. We need to stick together and be on our A game. Can I trust you with that?” Buddy nodded. The Cappy came from behind his desk and approached him. Buddy flinched as he put his arm out but Chick clasped his son with a grip behind his neck. “You are my boy, Buddy. I will do anything for you. A dynasty is carried forward not backwards. Make me proud. Leave stories for our future generations to tell. »
Buddy sighed. “I’m sorry the dragon bitch smashed your compass.”
Chick’s lips traced a smile. “As am I son. As am I.”
Buddy couldn’t think of what else to say. He asked, “are you okay?”
Chick’s smile spread. “I will be,” he said.
Buddy flinched again as The Cappy pulled him closer but it was into an embrace with some warm pats on his back.
“I love you, son.”
These were words Buddy had never heard from The Cappy before. Mama said it all the time but she said it to everyone. The Cappy on the other hand? He had never uttered those words before. Come to think of it Buddy had never said those words to anyone either. How does a bro respond to something like that? Luckily he didn’t have to. The Cappy smiled again.
“Besides, we still have the golden asset at the Chapter House. I’m going to have to lean on the Fullertons to make sure that site is cleared and returned to us.”
“Sure,” Buddy agreed.
“Alright, go,” he said. “Close the door behind ya.”
Buddy pulled the den door closed.
“What the fuck?” he muttered to himself.
***
There was an icy wind dancing across Owen Estate. It was time for Betsy to breathe some air. She felt snug, like an enthusiatic lover against The Cappy’s shoulder.
Van Holder watched as Chick took aim. The target cracked at Betsy’s bite. Van Holder applauded.
“Good shot,” he said.
“Are you a marksman yourself?” he asked.
Van Holder raised his chin as he took a better look at the target.
“Guns have uses but I’m more of a hands on man myself.”
Chick laughed. “It’s good to let your hands get dirty from time to time.”
Van Holder agreed.
“I hear a lot of noise coming from our warehouses. I trust the investment is being put to good use?”
Van Holder’s lips traced a smile.
“Why don’t you come take a look.”
The Cappy gave Betsy to an assistant to be taken back inside. The warmth of Betsy’s body showed she was eager for more but that would have to wait. The two made their way to a warehouse on the Kingsgate Campus that Chick Owen had given for their purposes. When the warehouse doors were pulled open he was not disappointed.
Hundreds of Black Band appointees were busy building a weapon of the most destructive kind. It would be fatal where necessary and unstoppable. Attention was being paid to a large cow catcher from an old locomotive. Thousands of pounds of power it held. There was not a wall in Coldford that could hold it back.
“Is this the weapon used in Kimaro?” The Cappy asked.
“It had to be brought in for parts. Assembly is taking time,” Van Holder explained.
The device that was used to make a king in Subala take to his knees and weep was but a prototype for what they had before them now.
Charles ‘Chick’ Owen was impressed. Van Holder was only too keen to display their success.
“With your generosity I will be able to make the upgrades we need to tackle the current problem.”
The Black Bands continued to busy themselves with assembly.
Both The Cappy and Van Holder looked at the weapon with admiration.
“She is mighty impressive,” stated Chick Owen.
“She’s called Game Changer,” Van Holder explained.
Chick grinned. “I do believe it is time for the game to change.”
***
Dan had set up the projector in the Filton Press archive room. The old video played. It displayed shaky and grainy images of Old Bellfield over the last century, to Brendan Mack as a young man when he took over. He was without his wheelchair then, standing tall and proud with his two elder sons, Paddy and Kieran. Paddy looked a lot like his father.
What interested me the most was the great wars of last century when the Distillery gates had been last closed. Those walls were built to last.
The distillery had originally been gas works. The great wars brought about a ban on alcohol. There were riots and more violence as a result. Sean Mack who worked for the gas works at the time used a small shed on the site to brew his own booze. When the owner of the gas works discovered what he was doing he was delighted. Soon Sean was brewing booze for the entire city. He brought his sons Darragh and Callum in to help. On the grounds of the gas works began Mack and Sons distillery. The gates were closed to keep the authorities from ousting the booze runners.
Stubborn and refusing to move, the distillery built itself around the gas works, becoming the monumental structure we know today. Generations passed but those gates still stood strong.
***
The bells started to ring. Brendan Mack and his brother Alan made their way to the gates. Alan was pushing Brendan’s chair.
The entrance created during the dry days of last century I previously was still there. Only one of their own would know of it. When Brendan and Alan arrived on scene Paddy and Kieran were being greeted by their workers.
“The scoundrels return!” they cheered.
Paddy was being clapped proudly on the back by some of the workers. Kieran was busy retelling their tales of heroism to the workers when Paddy spotted their father. He went to meet him. He wrapped his arms around him and squeezed him tight.
“You look good,” said Brendan holding back emotion.
“Born this good looking is a curse,” Kieran cheered pushing Paddy aside to hug Brendan too
“We had to pull back,” Paddy explained to the reigning Mack Boss. “We were making our way round to Cooper Garages. Reginald was determined to head to City Main. We would have been crushed. I tried to warn him.”
“I heard what happened to Reggie,” said Brendan. “It’d be hard not to do the same if it were one of me own. It leaves us vulnerable though. Did you find anything on Tawny?” he asked with a little hope.
Paddy shook his head. “No,” he admitted. “Sorry.”
Brendan sighed.
“We’ll have to give some thought to our next move but the boys are raring to go.”
Paddy took over the pushing of Brendan’s wheelchair. They passed through the distillery’s main body. Cheers rang out when the saw Paddy home again. The tables had been turned and the distillery equipment was replaced by weaponry. When the distillery gates opened again they would be ready.
“We’re at war lads!” Paddy called to them as he pushed his father down the main aisle, flanked by Alan and Kieran. Cheers were the response.
“Are ye ready!?” Paddy called. “I said, are you feckin’ ready!?”
The cheers grew louder. The spirit of the distillery was alive. It was boiling over. It was unaware of the danger that rumbled down Love Street towards it.
Kaboom!
***
“The Mack and Sons distillery was brought to ruin earlier today in a Law Maker sanctioned raid as the terrorist group faced off with the Black Bands of Subala. Forty three Mack workers died in the attack as they tried to open fire on the Black Bands. Mack and Sons leader, Brendan Mack, was shot trying to take aim. It is believed that sons Patrick and Kieran escaped and are now concealed somewhere within Bellfield. The distillery has been officially seized and the search for the fugitives continues. I’m Sandra Wake of Coldford Daily news.”
***
With help from the Bellfield natives, Paddy and Kieran had managed to escape the devastation at the distillery. They split just after Love Street. Paddy slipped into a house nearby. He took a deep breath.
“I should ask why you’re breaking and entering but given the noise from the distillery the situation explains itself.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs Shepherd,” Paddy replied boyishly, recognising the old councillor for the Bellfield community. “I didn’t want to bring trouble to your door.”
“And yet here you are,” she replied. “Sit Patrick but wipe your feet first. I don’t want you trailing my garden across the floor.” Paddy obeyed and he took a seat at a small wooden kitchen table. Mrs Shepherd began to brew tea. “There’s no use going anywhere now,” she said. “You might as well have a cup of tea and wait for things to blow over.”
“I’m fine,” he said.
The old counsellor turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “It’s not optional.” She made two cups of tea and brought them to the table. “You’ve always been a troublesome one, Patrick,” she said. “But you’re a good boy really.”
Mrs Shepherd had seen all the Macks grow up. As a counsellor they had been both help and hinderance to her. She knew Tawny well too having met her through Brendan. They had a shared interest in helping the community.
As boys, Paddy and Kieran had spray painted all over the Love Street park. It was she who had marched the boys back and had them repaint it.
“That’s what ye get for being eejits,” Brendan had said when they returned covered in green paint.
“I’ll wring their necks,” Annie Mack had promised. A promise delivered – at least on Kieran.
Mrs Shepherd had also been there to witness Paddy being prepared to take over the distillery. He was cheeky but he had a lot of the Mack endurance.
“I’ll be gone as soon as I can,” Paddy promised.
“That you will,” Mrs Shepherd agreed. “But I wouldn’t forgive myself if I sent you out in that mess.”
Whilst the Black Bands maintained their focus on the distillery, CPD were moving in to catch any who may have ran.
Mrs Shepherd clutched the Albans beads around her neck. They could both hear voices out in the street. There were shouting in Bellfield accents. Paddy hoped Kieran had managed to stay safe. He hoped those left behind at the distillery had survived at least.
The table shuddered as an explosion rattled down Love Street.
Mrs Shepherd took a deep breath. She clutched her beads tighter.
Knock. Knock.
There was a bang on the door. Paddy stood. Mrs Shepherd stood too.
“Stay here,” she said
She went to answer the door and Paddy crossed to the kitchen drawer. He removed a knife. He hid himself behind the kitchen counter and listened as Mrs Shepherd answered to the caller.
“Steve Kramer, CPD,” he said. “This is Peter Finnegan. We’re looking for Patrick and Kieran Mack. Have you seen them?”
Mrs Shepherd closed the door over slightly but slowly so as not to be suspicious.
“I haven’t seen anything,” she replied. “I had to turn off the television with all that noise down at the distillery.”
Finnegan looked her. Mrs Shepherd closed the door over a little more.
“Can we come in and take a look around?” asked Steve.
“Do you have a warrant to search my property?” she asked. She knew they didn’t.
“We have been authorised to use force if necessary but we’d rather you cooperate,” she was warned.
“Maybe rather than hassling old women and the Mack boys you should do your job and go check out that pervert down Dalley Street that sells drugs to all the weans!” Mrs Shepherd’s neighbour had come out and was leaning on her balcony.
“It’s fine, Josie,” said Mrs Shepherd. “They were just leaving.”
Steve and Finnegan stayed their ground. The neighbourhood didn’t much appreciate the officer’s presence. They were being scowled at. It was said among CPD and most of Greater Coldford that Bellfield should be fenced off and allowed to police themselves.
“I told you I haven’t seen anyone. I do, however, believe that some of the young ones are unscrewing the wheels of your car,” said Mrs Shepherd.
Steve looked back. “You little bastards!” he yelled.
A group of kids aged around eight scattered. The CPD officers charged towards the car. When they climbed inside the young Bellfield Fleet began to throw stones at them. The officers pursued them towards the Dalley street exit towards Coldford City.
Paddy was at Mrs Shepherd’s back.
“Thank you,” he said gratefully.
“Get out of here Patrick,” she warned but she smiled and hugged him.
“Are ya gonna move!” a voice called from across the street.
Kieran waved his brother towards him.
When Paddy joined Kieran on the boys antagonising the police came running back towards them.
“They went away in their motor,” he announced proudly.
“Good job,” Keiran said , patting the boy’s shoulder.
The three started to make their way briskly to the quieter part of Bellfield to regroup.
The boy explained, “me and my old fella are going to go down to the distillery. We’ll let you know what’s happening.”
“Thanks,” said Paddy with genuine gratitude. “Just don’t go anywhere near the Black Bands. They’re not like CPD.”
Love Street had quietened but it would hear a great noise again.
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The moment Nathan learned about Nan Harvester’s arrest he made his way straight to Harvester Farm. Julia had a strained relationship with her mother. She had always been closer to her father but she would need someone with her. She would need someone to help her through. Harvester Farm was quiet and none of the farm hands were out on the fields, not even Glenn or Curtis. He was glad of that. The milking sheds the frat boys had made home were quiet too. He had seen Buddy in the news with his father back on Owen Estate. Hopefully he was out of Julia’s life for good.
If Glenn and Curtis were out on deliveries it was likely Julia had stayed behind to overlook things. There was always one of them left in charge.
He drove straight to the farmhouse. He hadn’t been back since that business with Susie. He was keen to check the fallout from it. Buddy may have been grinning for the papers but hopefully Glenn had put the fear of God into him. He would never dare step on the farm again. Susie could have died.
He rang the bell. It was a deep chime that echoed around the house. Through the frosted glass he could see a someone approach. It wasn’t Julia though. It was a man. The door opened. A wide grin greeted. The man was wearing Kappa So attire. The man was George.
“Hello Nathan,” he said. “Come to visit Jules? She’s not in at the moment.”
“Come in. She’ll be home soon.”
George stepped aside. Speechless, Nathan entered the hallway. George closed the door behind him. That was when he heard laughter in the dining room
“Buddy!” George called. “Nathan’s home.”
***
“Well, I’ll be a son a bitch!”
Nathan tried to run. He struggled with the door but George had wrapped his arm around his neck. Nathan threw his arm back and caught George’s face. He tried to struggle but the bros overpowered him.
Bound to the fence Nathan screamed. George’s nose wrinkled as the screech irritated his ears. Buddy shook his own head.
“I ain’t even started yet, bro.”
Nathan pleaded. “Julia would not approve. She would have none of this. Just let me go. I won’t come back.”
Chad handed Buddy a cannister of gasoline used for the farm equipment. He splashed it on Nathan.
“You coked up my little mascot, didn’t ya?” Buddy asked.
“Yes,” Nathan admitted. “It was me.”
Buddy growled, “You could have killed her. You’re a sicko.” He splashed more gasoline on him. “You almost got me my ass kicked and you had powda’ here all along?” Buddy started to become quite upset. “You’re a real piece of work, dude! I’ve seen some real sick shit in my time but you are something else. You see this guy?” Here he indicated George. “This guy wants to eat your face off but he still ain’t as sick as you.”
“I’m sorry,” Nathan begged. “Please don’t do this.”
“Maaaaah!” Gary the goat cried from his pen.
“This is none of your God damned business Gary,” Buddy warned the goat.
WHAM!
“See?” Buddy said to Nathan. “I’ve been learning about these animals and that goat says you’re a dickhead.”
“Maah!”
WHAM!
“I told him, Gary,” Buddy replied. Buddy calmed himself. “Nathan,” he said, “you messed with the wrong bro. I got a ton of shit in my tank right now. For pissing me off you’re gonna sizzle right here on this fence.”
Nathan cried. A wet stain spread across his crotch.
“God damnit!” Buddy exclaimed. “He’s gone and pissed himself. Is piss flammable because I really wanted his balls to burn.”
“No, it’s not,” George explained like quite the expert. “I pissed on my aunt’s cat once and she wouldn’t go on fire.”
Cooper folded his arms and raised his eyebrows. Chad seemed to be picturing it. Buddy’s lips pursed at the image of a cat running away as felines do, soaked in urine. Buddy must have found this amusing because he started to laugh. The image of George chasing after it still trying to piss on it made him laugh even harder.
“You see, Nathan? You see the kind of maniacs you’re dealing with here? I know he’s a bit touched but my bro here told you to stay away. You should have listened.”
“Maaaah!”
“Not now, Gary.”
WHAM!
Buddy’s phone started to jingle. He had no choice but answer.
“Yeah?” he asked. “Kinda in the middle of something here.”
“It’s the crime scene, mucker,” came the voice on the other end. “Agents are investigating it.”
Buddy had been such a bad boy lately he found himself having to ask.
“Which crime scene?”
“The shooting. The little girl and her deadbeat dad. It ain’t CPD who are looking. It’s the agents. This is a whole new breed of shit to deal with but we’re doing what we can to keep it clean.”
Buddy groaned. “Dick down my throat!”
He rang off.
Impatient and eager to hear Nathan’s screams George threw the lighter that had belonged to his father and flicked it onto Nathan.
“I didn’t say so yet,” Buddy complained. “I had a whole speech prepared and everything.”
George lowered his head. “Sorry, Buddy.”
Woooosh! The flames erupted, causing the bros to leap back. Buddy had been so enthused he hadn’t been paying much attention to how much petrol he was throwing.
“Maaaah!”
WHAM!
Gary the goat was distressed. Nathan’s screams as he burned shattered the generally calm ambience of Harvester Farm. There was another cry but it wasn’t from the goat. It was the roar of the bull. Gordon wasn’t liking that fuss the bros were causing on his fields. The flames tore along the fence of Gary’s enclosure.
“Shit!” Buddy exclaimed. “Get water before the whole place goes. Smells like barbeque.”
“Are we going to eat him?” asked George. Buddy frowned. He turned slowly to Brother Beckingridge. “You got some real problems, brah.”
Nathan’s screams softened. All pain and power dissolved from them when he gave himself to his end.
Crack. The fencing broke. The panels holding Nathan were charred and weakened.
They managed to douse the flames and pull Nathan’s body onto the field but the fencing was ruined.
“Maaaah!” Gary ran at Chad, catching him in the crotch.
“Catch that goat!” Buddy yelled.
George leapt at Gary almost catching him by his hind leg. Gary turned, bit him and escaped, running towards the east acre.
“God damnit! We gotta fix that fence. Chad? Coops? Find wood.”
Before the sniggers could start, he said, “Not now, brah. George? Catch that damn goat. We’ve got an hour before Julia gets back. We gotta clear this mess.”
“We’ll put him in the incinerator,” Chad offered.
“Are you trying to get funny? We already cooked him.”
“It’s how Julia gets rid of the bodies – dead cows and shit.”
Buddy gave a dreamy sigh. “That girl just makes me wanna…”
Before chasing after Gary, George asked, “Can I keep a bit of him for my collection?”
Buddy tousled his hair “Of course you can, dude. Go get the goat first.”
Gordon snorted over his fence.
‘I don’t like the way that bull keeps looking at me,’ he thought.
As his bros rushed to bring the farm back into order he looked down at the body of Nathan. There was still a little life left in him. His mouth opened and closed, chomping his last, like a fish out of water. Buddy could have shot him and ended it for him then but he was in no mood for mercy.
***
Buddy had returned to Owen Estate. That morning he had received a call.
“Just been down to the shooting site in the Shanties to get it cleared up.”
Buddy sat forward. His head was pounding and his mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton wool.
“Yeah? So?”
“It’s already been cleared. The agents must have been there. Are you sure you left a milk bottle?”
Buddy thought hard. “I did,” he said. “I had been watching for Kev for so long I got thirsty, bro. I was still wasted.”
CPD had always been looking for the shot from the left. The fake nest gave them everything they thought they needed. The trouble was now the agents were tailing Buddy. Big bro Billy couldn’t protect him from that.
Buddy leaned forward.
“This is a real shit show,” Buddy said to Cooper and Chad.
‘Take the little girl out first. Kev gonna learn a God damn lesson,’ Buddy could still hear his instructions.
Buddy had been so high. He could barely remember pulling the trigger.
***
Lydia arrived waving an envelope excitedly.
“It’s in,” she said.
Lydia and Kim had sampled the bottle that had been collected from the shooting site. Blonde hair from Buddy Owen had been extracted from him.
“This is it,” Kim said. “It’s sketchy at best pet, but it will at least let us bring him in for a closer look.”
Lydia passed the letter to Kim. She watched her expression as she read.
“This isn’t it,” she growled. “It says it’s not a match. I was so sure of it. My instincts were crying out!”
“Maybe the hair wasn’t Buddy’s,” Lydia suggested.
The hair sample they got had come from my coat, attached from the time I confronted him in main.
DNA could have put him at the scene of the crime at least. As Kim said though, it was sketchy at best. A good lawyer like Ronnie defending his nephew would have found it easy to convince the judge to throw it out. It was a start though. No match it said.
“We can’t bring him in with nothing to show for it. Doyle won’t go for that.”
Lydia suggested, “Then I’m going to speak to him.”
“Then tread carefully,” Kim warned.
Word had it that he was on Harvester Farm. If she was going to be able to corner him it would have to be done whilst he was there.
***
The alarms were screaming. Tawny grimaced with the noise as Cooper rushed around trying to switch them off. There were only seconds before CPD were alerted.
“Hurry, Coops!” Buddy was calling. “The last thing we need is Billy down here.”
415 – 29 – 4 – 11 – 12
Cooper desperately punched the buttons. He managed to deactivate.
“I want to speak to your Pa,” said Tawny as though she were telling off a neighbourhood child for running in the yard. She glared as though they were in a lot of trouble.
Buddy was in a lot of trouble. A man hunt was now on for the Baroness, funded by Elizabeth Beckingridge.
“You don’t know who I am lady,” said Buddy petulantly.
Tawny pursed her lips. “Owen,” she said. “Obviously.”
Buddy groaned. The Owens did tend to have a strong familial resemblance but that wasn’t what had caught Tawny’s attention.
“It’s on yer back, honey. Your jackets…” She pointed to Coops. “Cooper. I’m assuming Marshall Cooper’s son.” She pointed to Chad. “Perry. Do your family own the zoo? That’s a nice zoo.”
“Shut up, bitch,” Buddy warned. He was still trying to figure out what the Hell he was going to do.
“Let me talk to yer dad.”
“No way in Hell. Just shut your mouth. I’m a dangerous guy,” he said.
Chad was nodding in fervent agreement. He pointed to Buddy.
“You don’t wanna be messing with my bro, brah!” he warned.
“Thanks, Chad,” said Buddy.
“Got your back, brah.”
Tawny shook her head. It seemed the plan of the frat boys had been so quick to action they hadn’t fully thought out their process. They had just gone along with it. This is no surprise when we’re dealing with three individuals who had spent a lifetime avoiding consequences.
“Hide her away. I need time to think. I need powder,” Buddy decided.
Coops looked a little fidgety. He was anxious. He very much needed some powder too.
“Drugs aren’t the answer,” said Tawny.
Buddy frowned. “Will you shut up or I’m gonna gag ya.” He glared at Tawny and then started to laugh. To Cooper he said. “We should totally put an apple in her mouth!”
Tawny pouted. Cooper’s phone began to ring.
“It’s my dad,” he said.
“Chad, put her away somewhere. I can’t think straight. Coops, try and find out where Marsh keeps the rest of his stash.”
Chad gripped Tawny’s arm and led her to the secure storage cupboard.
“You are in a lot of trouble!” Tawny called.
The door was closed. Tawny took a deep breath. She dropped to a seat on the floor.
***
Lydia stopped in Bournton to have coffee with her sister, Cynthia, en route to Harvester Farm. Agent Lydia Lowe had wanted to wait until close to sun down when the farm hands had left and she would stand a better chance of finding Buddy. Cynthia had been telling her all about their father’s new hobby of watercolours. She showed her sister his first attempts as photos on her phone. Some time with Cynthia had been a breath of fresh air. It gave her a moment to compose herself before venturing on her task to corner Buddy.
Refreshed, she felt ready as she passed the sign to Harvester Farm. She slowed her bike as much as she could so as not to disturb the animals too much. There was one farm hand lingering on the field. He had parked a Harvester van by the paddock of the stud herd.
Curtis had been too busy in his own mind mumbling to himself. He hadn’t heard Lydia approach.
“Whoah!” he gasped when he turned and saw her. There was still a little distance between them. “Stop there,” he ordered.
Lydia stopped. The last thing she needed was to upset the farm hands.
“I’m Agent Lowe,” Lydia explained. “I just want to ask a few questions.”
Curtis raised his eyebrows in an instant mistrust.
“We don’t like cops here,” he warned.
He banged his fists against the side of the van. Lydia watched him as he crossed to the rear which was parked towards her.
Lydia watched the sudden nervousness in him.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
Curtis started to become irate. He banged his fist on the rear of the van.
“We’re working hard here and cops think they can wander onto the farm and ask questions? Let me tell you exactly why that’s not going to happen.”
He crossed to the left side of the van. He clenched his fist again.
BANG. BANG. BANG!
He snatched a cord and pulled the van grate open.
“Go get her boy!” he yelled as he skipped further around the side of the van.
From the van emerged a huge black bull named Gordon. In a rage he charged, catching only Lydia in his sight. The agent ran as fast as she could.
Gordon caught the shine of Lydia’s bike in his eyes. The gleam frustrated him. With his great horns, the bike was thrown and its rear wheel torn away.
Curtis was now arguing with another farm hand. Lydia managed to swing back down from the ledge she had escaped to as Gordon charged towards the east acre where the dairy herd were kept.
“Sorry,” Glenn said when he approached them. “We get a lot of our hands from The Boss. We don’t usually get cops here. It makes the hands nervous. “
“I just wanted to ask about Buddy Owen,” Glenn said.
Curtis, who was still excitable, said, “Why didn’t you say that?”
“I never got the chance to,” she said.
Curtis shrugged. His nerves were eased.
“The way you came at me, I thought you were here to pick me up.”
Lydia frowned. “Should I be picking you up?”
Glenn slapped his arm. “You let Gordon out? Go and get him before he shags one of the dairies.”
Curtis took rope from the back of the van and dashed off to fetch the bull and lead him back to his own paddock. Glenn led Lydia a little further up. They both leaned against the fence, freshly erected.
“Sorry about your bike,” Glenn apologised.
“I just want to ask some questions about Buddy Owen,” she stated.
“He’s not here,” Glenn admitted. “You missed him. He’s gone back to his fancy estate. I’d watch yourself around him.”
Lydia smiled. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
“You’re a Bournton lass?” Glenn beamed when he caught a hint of her northern tones.
“I am,” she admitted.
Glenn seemed pleased by this. He looked up and watched Curtis trying to rope Gordon. Gordon shook the rope from his horns and charged at Curtis. The charge was without malice but it caused Curtis to leap the fence.
“Sorry about him too,” Glenn said. “He’s just a dumb animal.”
“No hard feelings,” Lydia replied. “I like cows.”
Glenn frowned. He had been referring to Curtis.
“Give me a hand, will you?” Curtis could be heard yelling to anyone who would helping.
Gordon was feeling mischievous and charging anyone who came near him. Curtis had been forced to leap the fence again.
“You let him out. You can put him back in,” Glenn returned.
“Fuck you, Gordon,” Curtis growled, raising his finger at the bull.
Glenn shook his head. “I’d better help him. I’ll give you a run back home. I’ll tell you what I know about Buddy.”
“Not a fan of him then?” Lydia asked.
“This farm has seen more than its share of unwanted ludgers,” he said.
With Glenn on scene Curtis leapt the fence and the two of them circled a disgruntled Gordon.
She felt a nibble on her thigh that caused her to step aside.
“Maaaah!” the pygmy goat named Gary pressed his head to her gently through the fence. She patted his head. Maybe before she left she could get a photo of him to send to Cynthia.
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The Chamberlain Docks were preparing for their buy over. Everything had been shut down but it was further into Swantin my story took me that day, to a small church of the Wigan order called St Rowans. I waited outside. That was when I saw him. He had completely lost his natural swagger. His clothes were ill-fitting. He had lost so much weight. His skin was grey. HIV positive. His life could end in two years, it could take fifteen. With modern care he could outlive all of us. Dennis Platt – former manager of the Knock Knock Club, husband of Olivia, but most importantly father of Milo – had been called upon. I had my own reasons for the hatred and spite I bore towards Dennis. I had not long discovered that he was the reason my wife Theresa had died. They had been having an affair but with everything that had happened the needs of the boy outweighed my own misgivings.
The light of St Rowan shone brightly as the afternoon sun caught the colours of the stained-glass windows. New enemies were arising every day. I was now the enemy of my old newspaper. Considered a threat to society and now under the gaze of an Owen Inc. scope. In order to combat that differences had to be put aside. Knowledge was key to completing my story and no one knew the darkest shades of Coldford better than Dennis.
He hesitated at first when he saw me. He stopped. I didn’t call to him. I didn’t say anything. My blood boiled but I reminded myself of the bigger picture. Dennis must have sensed this because he gingerly approached.
“Sam?” he said. “I didn’t think you would be here.”
What was he going to say? Sorry?
I continued to watch him until eventually he became more nervous.
“This has nothing to do with either of us,” I said. “She’s inside.”
Dennis took a deep breath. He started to make his way up the enlightened steps to the church’s main entrance. He stopped by the doorway. “I’m sorry, pal.”
“For which part?” I asked.
Dennis gripped the door. “All of it.”
“When this is over, I will tell your story,” I said in a way of warning. “Every little detail.”
He nodded his head. “You should,” he replied.
At that he pulled the door open and entered St Rowan’s good graces.
Olivia was seated at the front. She was a spiritual woman and seeking guidance.
“I invited you down today so we can talk in a calm, peaceful setting. I know you are not much for faith but I find comfort here.”
“How have you been?” he asked.
It was a silly question he knew, but Rowan’s embrace didn’t make him feel any better.
“I’m not good,” she said. “But I will be.”
“And Milo?”
“He’s such a strong boy. He’s stronger than either of us.”
Dennis smiled. “I miss him. I always have. I swear to God,” he jested raising his hand to the Lord.
Olivia smiled. “I never doubted that for a second,” she said. “He’s missed you too.”
Dennis looked to the altar. The Wigan cross hung prominently, representative of great sacrifice.
“Hickes was more of a dad to him than I ever was. A much better one than I ever would be.”
Olivia clutched his hand tighter. “Joel isn’t here anymore,” she said, not unkindly. “But you still are. That’s why I called you here. I want you to have the chance to know Milo. Milo should have the chance to know you before…”
Dennis refused at first. “I don’t know, Liv. He’s been through a lot. I’m not going to be around forever.”
“None of us are,” Olivia reminded him. “It could be tomorrow, next week, ten years from now, we don’t know. But don’t waste what time is left. Give your son memories of you to cherish. Give your son memories he deserves.”
If there was anything Dennis could do in life it was that.
“I need you to know, Dennis, that I forgive you. It wasn’t easy but I do.”
Dennis fell silent. He turned his attention back to the altar. His brow tightened; his chin quivered.
“Are you okay?” asked Olivia.
Dennis nodded but he couldn’t look at her.
Olivia drew a slip of paper from her pocket. “There’s something I want you to hear.” She began to read.
My dad did a bad thing. Somewhere along the road he went the wrong way. It might make the journey longer but he can turn back.
Written by Milo Platt.
Dennis reached his hand up to his mouth. He still couldn’t look at Olivia but the tears of regret began to spill.
“I can’t,” he began.
“Does it hurt?” asked Olivia. “Is it painful?”
Dennis gave into his despair. “Of course it is!” He resisted the urge to curse.
Olivia spoke softly again. “It should. You did harm to many people but that is your penance and as Milo said, you can still turn back.”
Dennis gathered himself. “He’s a smart kid.”
Olivia agreed. “Too smart sometimes,” she jested. “He’d like to know you.”
“I’d love to see him again,” Dennis stated genuinely.
Olivia patted his hand. “He’d love that.” She rested her hand on her stomach. “There’s something else you should know. Milo is going to be a big brother.”
Dennis eyes widened. Finally, he offered her his gaze.
“Seriously?”
Olivia nodded.
“That’s…” he hesitated. “That’s brilliant Liv, it really is. I’m so happy for you. Can I hug the mum to be?”
***
Thinking about Dennis drove me to contact one of my old sources in Swantin. We had all only just met when I was given the assignment on the Mayor. I hadn’t had the chance to build trust between us but we had been on agreeable terms so I was hoping he would be willing to talk to me. He was operations manager at the Chamberlain docks and he had seen all of the ships come and go, bringing girls from afar. I wondered if perhaps Feltz and Waddle had been customers. Perhaps that was what they were running from. It was a mild lead at best, but one that was worth following up.
As the ringing buzzed in my ear I felt that thrill of the story again, that insatiable bite. I wasn’t at a desk in any big newspaper office but it was making all the difference. Ring ring. Ring ring.
“Hello?”
I smiled. Reuniting with an old source was like reuniting with an old friend.
“Terry! So good to speak to you. It’s Sam Crusow.”
Buzzzzz. The line went dead. He had hung up on me. I held the phone out. “Well, that’s rude,” I muttered.
Agent Kim Adams took the phone from me. She redialled and after a brief wait, she said, “Agent Adams, Terry. The agent you spoke to when the docks were seized?” She smiled. “That’s right, Agent Adams. You just hung up on a friend of mine.” She cheered, “Yeah, Sam Crusow. He wants a little natter with you. Will you listen?”
She passed the phone back to me. “He’ll listen. Go ahead.”
“Sam? I thought you said Tam. We’ve been getting a lot of prank calls from those skater lads since the seizure.”
“Uh huh,” I agreed. There was no use arguing. With Owen Inc. continuing to make me look like public enemy number one he wasn’t the first of my old sources to refuse my call.
“I’m following up on my story on the mayor,” I said. “He and Waddle were friends. I chased Jim Feltz to the Knock Knock Club – well it just so happened to coincide with the Law Makers seizing the club. When I looked into why that was the case, I discovered the owner of the club has gone missing because she may have dirt on someone high up. Those high ups may very well have had dirt on Feltz and Waddle. That brings me back to you, Terry.”
The line had gone silent. I worried he had hung up on me again.
“Are you with me there, Terry?”
The operations manager groaned. “Yeah, I kinda follow you Sam but what use do you think I am?”
“I’m looking for any information I can get on a prostitute Dennis was close to. He took her to the Knock Knock Club. You remember Dennis Platt, right?”
Terry was becoming irate. “Yes, everyone around Chamberlain knows Dennis. Got a dose of aids up his arse I heard. What of him?”
“The prostitute’s name was Chloe Grover. She came to him from Harbour House.”
“Why don’t you talk to her herself then?” he asked.
“I already have. She told me all about what they did to her. It could be coincidence but the name Terry Wilson was one she remembered. That’s strange, isn’t it? What’s your surname again Terry?”
Terry groaned. “What do you want from me Sam?”
“Chloe’s story is unfortunately the same story a lot of girls down your way share. The Reverend Owen was a frequent purchaser of the young girls but I needn’t tell you that.”
“If you want me to testify against an Owen you must be cracked. What they’re doing to you now? That is just a warning. They’ll skin you alive.”
I agreed, “I know. I’m surer now than ever that that’s why the Baroness of the Knock Knock Club is missing but I’m not putting you in the firing line. Your confidence is important to me. I promise whatever information you have given me will be kept strictly confidential.” “I haven’t said anything,” he objected. “I didn’t say anything about the Owens.”
I stayed the course. “But you agree with me that they are deliberately ruining my reputation to shut me up.”
“Stop putting words in my mouth!”
“Thanks for your concerns, Terry. They are giving me a hard time but being a powerful name, it’s hard for people like you and me to combat. We’re just average Joes really.”
“Dammit Sam. I never said anything about the Owens.”
I was just toying with him then for having hung up on me.
“If you are wanting to know anything about Chloe, you’d be best speaking to Gail. She was always the one to handle the call girls. She’s a high-class girl. She operates out of the Weir.”
Of course! The prostitute Feltz paid an obscene amount of money to.
“Can you put me in touch with her?” I asked. Gail Wright was her full name. I called her and set up an appointment. It looked like I was returning to the Weir.
***
The last time I had been in the Weir it was overrun by Kappa So. This time it was so much quieter. Rodney Weir – a Kappa So brother himself – had been trying to keep a low profile. He was probably concerned his hotel would come under fire from the Fleet and Loyalist factions that continued to tackle the city. The receptionist who had checked me out was on the desk again.
“Ah, Sam!” she said remembering my name. “Couldn’t stay away? We do have the best suites in the Shady City.” She beamed. “Do you have a reservation?”
How does one ask for a prostitute’s reserved room without seeming like a customer? If I tried to explain I was covering a story even though my old newspaper was out to slaughter me it would only make matters worse. Luckily, before I had to give an explanation, I felt an arm around my shoulder.
“It’s alright, darlin’” said Rodney Weir. “I’ll get this.”
The receptionist beamed but she went back to her work.
“Here for an hour with Gail, right?” asked the hotelier.
“Eh, yes…” I had to admit.
“Come with me. We have the suite all prepared.”
As far as the Weir was concerned, being shown to Gail was like being shown to royalty. I was given the key to room 605. I didn’t use the key. Instead, I knocked on the door.
“Come in,” a woman beckoned.
When I slipped into the room it was warm. The scent of lavender was enticing but not overpowering. The water was running in the adjoining bathroom.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” she called. “Just make yourself comfortable.”
“It’s Sam,” I said. “I’m here to talk about the article I’m writing.”
The water stopped. From the bathroom emerged a lean woman, flowing red hair and a freckle-filled face. She was dressed in a Weir bathrobe. She removed it to reveal a thin night dress underneath.
“It’s nice to meet you Sam,” she said. “Take a seat.”
Gail sat herself across the bed. The blinds from the window cascaded a pattern across her long legs. I choose to sit at the table.
“I’m here about a girl named Chloe Grover and her handler. A man named Dennis?”
Gail said nothing but her expression tightened.
“I shouldn’t really discuss the ins and outs with a reporter,” she said.
“I’m just looking for whatever you can tell me,” I pushed.
Gail agreed, “Well, I’ll answer what I can.”
“Do you remember Chloe? She was a young girl who came out of Harbour House.”
Gail nodded. “I remember her. She used to be taken to the Knock Knock Club. I found that quite odd. The Boss Lady was never one for allowing that inside the club, neither did her aunts. If she had known what age Chloe was at the time, she would have strung Dennis and the clients up. The girls who worked the Clifton Alleys had the club’s protection, but as for soliciting inside the club that was a no-no. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no angel but Chloe wasn’t given the best deal. She was overworked. I warned Dennis to leave her be. She was still really young. She didn’t have the savvy about her like the rest of us. I told Dennis to leave her with me. I was going to take her off the game. Maybe she could just help out with some of the other girls but Dennis just couldn’t leave her be. The money he was making from her was just too enticing. She said she loved him. How can you argue with that? But Chloe started getting hurt. Girls in my line have to look out for one another. Dennis wasn’t going to listen to me so I went over his head and to the Boss Lady herself. When I told her what was happening, I thought she would have torn him limb from limb there and then but she didn’t. She had a reputation for being a nasty piece of work but she was so calm. She gave me an address to take Chloe to and nothing more was said. I returned to the club to give Tabitha updates on Chloe, and Dennis was still working it. I thought Tabitha was starting to lose her nerve. I asked her about it and all she would say was, ‘I’ve got it taken care of. Just keep an eye on that cunt Feltz for me.’ So my attention turned to the mayor. We spent a lot of time together and he became one of my best clients. It seems Feltz had been one of Chloe’s biggest clients too. City money had been paid to hurt the poor girl. The things he did to her…”
“He had an appointment with you the day he disappeared, is that correct?”
“That’s true. But he never showed. Tabitha had let him come to me for weeks, letting him grow comfortable with his ongoing appointment and then she…well, then she made him disappear. Just when I thought Dennis was getting away with it, I heard he had been infected with HIV. Dinner with Cathy. The Boss Lady does have quite a sense of humour.”
“One last thing,” I asked Gail to indulge me. “The costs of your services are rather steep, even for a high-class call girl. 10,000 deposit. The rest on completion. Just what exactly are those services Feltz was so keen on?”
Gail gave a mischievous grin. “Why don’t you lock the door and I’ll show you.”
That was my cue to leave.
***
Keeping my eyes on the headlines at the Daily, it seemed the pages were becoming more and more propaganda filled by the day.
OWENS ATTACKED
CAPTAIN OWEN DEMANDS PEACE IN CITY MAIN.
It was time for me to return and hit back at my old newspaper. If I truly wanted to finish what I had begun then I needed to return to that fateful day when I entered the Coldford Daily building and was given a lead to chase that would change my life forever.
That morning when I had been going to work I had passed by a homeless man. I gave him what coins I had. He didn’t look too dishevelled. In fact, he was comparatively fresh looking. His change in social status must have been recent but it gave commentary on how things had been in the city since the second recession hit. It was despairing times for most. My wife and I had spent many a night on the sofa wrapped in blankets because we couldn’t afford to heat our home. People were desperate and when desperate people are pushed they are driven to desperate measures, such as pulling a mayor from office or using a newspaper to place blame on every doorstep from Bournton to the tip of Swantin so that people wouldn’t look to the real trouble.
Being a journalist had always been tough enough but when your job is to shed light on so many shades it could become downright dangerous.
The Cappy would no doubt be pulling what resources he had at the Daily and appointing his own trusted writers to make sure the flow of information was to his satisfaction. I had turned to Elizabeth Beckingridge for help from the Filton Press. I still remained independent but she gave the opportunity to use the resources of the Filton Crier.
As expected, the main news floor of the Crier was bustling. There was a lot of news going around. There was still a whole day before deadline but there was writing to be done, stories to share.
“I have permission from Elizabeth Beckingridge to be here. I’m Sam Crusow.”
He gasped. “You’re Sam? Sam Crusow? I’m Danny Larz. You can call me Dan. I’m a huge fan!”
I was taken aback. “Thank you.”
He rested his hands on his head and gave an excited cheer. “I never thought I’d get this chance.” He tugged on his curls but then reached out a hand to shake mine, which he did with vigour. “It’s an honour. I’ve been following you ever since I was a student. I must have read everything you’ve ever written. I have a copy of your book MARBLE MANTLE. Would you sign it for me?” He gave another excited gasp. “I can’t believe it’s Sam Crusow.”
I grinned. Most of my career had been spent putting others in the spotlight. It felt strange being under that glare myself. My book had been purely a passion project. It had only sold ten copies. It seemed Dan was one of those.
“Thanks Dan. That’s always nice to hear. What’s happening here?”
Danny shook his head. “Miss Beckingridge is looking to push out the Daily. She’s declaring media war.”
It seemed the bidding war with Owen Inc wasn’t enough to feed the Beckingridge dragon’s hunger.
“Dan?” I addressed the Crier’s stand-in editor. “We don’t have a lot of time but I’m writing a piece on Coldford. Can I trust you?”
Dan beamed with pride. “Sure, Sam. You’re the man! Anything.”
***
“Come on now, Milo,” Olivia called upstairs to her son. “He’ll be here any minute.”
“Coming,” Milo called back down to her.
Eventually he wandered into the kitchen holding a box of photographs in his hands.
“I was worried about what I was going to say to him,” the boy explained, “so I thought I’d look out some old photos and give us something to talk about.”
Olivia kissed her son’s head. “It’ll be fine,” she said.
She pulled one of the photos of when Milo was a small infant. “Look at your little squishy face,” she teased.
Milo plucked his photo back. He shook his head with humour filled exasperation. The doorbell rang.
“That’s him mum!” Milo announced nervously.
“I know it is,” agreed Olivia. “Just relax.”
Milo sat the box on the table. Olivia went off to answer the door. Milo became even more nervous when he heard voices in the living room. His mother’s and his father’s. The kitchen door opened and there was Dennis. Milo had little memory of Dennis, only what the photos inspired. The man who entered the kitchen was not the man in the photos. They say photographs can obscure but the man in the photographs was on top of the world. He was confident and strong. The man in the kitchen was hunched, thin and more nervous than the boy was.
“Hi Milo,” said the father at first. “It’s been a long time.”
Milo nodded. “It has.” He thought about it. “Should I hug you?”
Dennis took a seat at the table. “Not if you don’t want to.”
Milo nervously fished for more photographs. “Should I call you dad?”
Dennis eased a little. “That’s something I’ll have to earn, I think.”
Milo was content with this.
Olivia patted Dennis’ shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to it,” she said. “I’ll just be upstairs.”
Dennis started to look at the photos. “So, what do you have here?”
Milo gathered some and laid them out. They were mostly typical snaps people would have of their first-born child. Sleeping, walking, first steps and trips to the beach.
“I don’t remember anything from when these were taken. Maybe you can fill in the blanks for me.” Milo handed him a picture of Dennis holding Milo as a baby. Behind him was a large stadium.
“That’s the old Wiseman stand at Swantin Stadium,” the father explained. “It was pulled down not long after.”
Milo gasped. He hadn’t known that. It looked nothing like the new part of the stadium that had been built to replace it.
“Did you take me to the games often?” asked the boy.
“Not as often as I would have liked. You were really little and the noise got a bit much.”
Milo looked at the photo again before slipping it back inside the box.
“Maybe we could go again some time.”
Dennis beamed. His chest tightened. “I’d love that. Do you still go?”
“Sometimes,” Milo shrugged. “Mum takes me but she’s a terrible football fan.”
Dennis laughed imagining Olivia at a football match.
Milo imitated his mother’s voice. “Get right round their goals my son!”
He and his father shared a hearty laugh.
“It’s embarrassing,” Milo jested. “Speaking of embarrassing maybe you can explain this…”
He passed Dennis another photo. This one was again of Dennis holding Milo as a small child but this time Dennis was sporting a moustache and had a head of curls.
Dennis burst into peals of laughter. “Where did you find that one?”
Milo replied, “Among the others. Now explain that hair do.”
“It was the style then,” Dennis gave a protest. “It was fashionable.”
Dennis and Milo continued on looking through the photographs, sharing laughs and a bond between them began to grow with relative ease. The photos showed a rosy past. A picture captured in a single moment can’t even begin to tell the whole story. Dennis had taken Milo to football but that same afternoon a fifteen-year-old girl was given to a life of prostitution. A photo only captures a brief moment of sometimes forced smiles. It didn’t capture the bruises, the abuse or the drugs. The door opened with a struggle. Dennis stood.
“Dennis!” Chloe Grover came running and leapt into his arms.
“You know Chloe, dad?” asked Milo.
A shady past was not so easy to escape when it refused to let you go.
***
Mum had come downstairs quickly when she heard Chloe’s voice. Chloe wasn’t supposed to have been home for another few hours but the social worker who was spending the day with her had been called away on an emergency. Chloe thought nothing of it and came home. Milo had been told by his mum that his dad had made some mistakes. Was Chloe one of those mistakes? Now that he thought about it, it had been after Chloe came to live with them that mum had told him that he should take all the photos of his father and store them away.
Chloe had been abused badly. Had his dad done that to her? Had mum felt responsible for her because of what had happened? Milo was confused. He wanted to know his dad. But what if he couldn’t cope with the truth? He knew his mum had forgiven him but if he had hurt Chloe so badly, how easy would it be for the son to forgive him? Wasn’t it the father who taught their sons how to be men? Wasn’t it real men who protected the vulnerable?
It was. Milo knew this. He had seen it before. He reached onto the shelf and drew off the box that contained the commemorative coin that Judge Doyle had given him.
Joel Hickes. He was a man who protected the vulnerable. Milo lifted the coin from the box and enjoyed the shine of the silver.
COLDFORD CITY. SOULS SAVED. SACRIFICES MADE.
If Milo was to learn to become a man there could be no better role model. He always strived to do the right thing even when that wasn’t easy. He strived to do the right thing even when everyone else was telling him not to. Hickes would never have hurt someone like Chloe. But if Milo was to truly look to a good man, he would see that to be a man also meant forgiving when someone was truly repentant. That meant forgiving Dennis. His father.
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“I think a name change should be the first point of order,” suggested the bailiff Colette as she led The Cappy into his newly acquired auction house.
“The name is already established. It might be a better idea to keep it as is,” suggested Ronnie Owen.
Chick agreed with the bailiff. “It’s a well-known name but I want the people to know that this hall has well and truly fallen.”
Ronnie had meant that it would be a better chance of a fresh start. It would keep already established clients of the auction house sweetened until they got used to the new management. His brother was determined to put his stamp on City Main, starting with the toppling of their king – figuratively and literally.
“The archives list,” Jeremy passed the list of items the Auction House had available. Chick Owen couldn’t disguise his excitement. He had seen Captain Henry Owen’s compass once as a boy. His father had been so proud of it. He had been too. The compass had led Hen to making Coldford what it was. The people owed a lot to that compass, including the so-called King of Main.
The Cappy sat down a box. It was a small, mahogany box that had housed the compass on that fateful expedition. The compass had been lost after the vicious divorce of Bobby from his second wife. Chick kept the box, waiting for the day it would be returned. Ronnie had never seen his brother so giddy.
Chick beamed. “Smile, Ron, you miserable son a bitch,” he cheered. “It’s a good day. When the compass is back in its box, we’ll have the reporters right down here.”
Ronnie laughed. He too was pleased to have such an heirloom returned. Even if it took 4.5 million and the restructure of a Shady City institution to do it. He read the list.
“The compass,” he began. He didn’t know how to break the news. “It was sold on.”
Charles stopped wiping the interior velvet of the box. He closed the box lid over. Embossed in the mahogany was the image of Hen’s ship.
The Cappy turned to Colette. “I apologise ma’am for what I’m about to say.”
Colette frowned. She was a Coldford City Law Maker. She had heard curse words before.
“Where is my compass?” he growled at Jeremy. “You, sir, better hope I get it back.”
Ronnie laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Colette said nothing. Jeremy found himself edging towards the door.
Ronnie read on, “It says here it was sold on to Ernest Beckingridge.”
The Cappy looked to Jeremy. His facial expression showed fury but his vocal tone had calmed again.
“It seems mighty impolite that this information was not disclosed prior to auction. Slipped your mind did it, sir?”
“I’ll talk to Elizabeth,” Ronnie offered.
The Cappy shook his head. “It’s no use,” he said. “She knew exactly what she was doing and she’s tougher than a two-dollar steak. I have mind to watch this place burn to the ground if it were not for the Penn mother. Elizabeth on the other hand, we’re not at auction anymore.” Again, he addressed Jeremy, “You are going nowhere until your little deception is put right.”
***
Elizabeth had asked her driver to take a route home to Beckingridge Manor via Pettiwick. She wanted to look upon it. Hopefully it would spur some ideas on how she was going to get it back. The bidding war had left her exhausted. Maybe an exchange? She could return The Cappy’s precious compass if he agreed on the resale of the school.
The limousine stopped. Elizabeth leaned forward and lowered her window into the driver’s seat.
“What’s wrong, Thomas?” she asked.
“The road’s blocked off miss,” he replied. “I can’t get any further. I have to turn around.”
“Blocked off?” They had driven into the school’s drop off point. The area where she had waved goodbye to Gramps on many a morning and skipped off to her lessons. It should not have been blocked off.
“Construction, miss,” explained the driver.
“No!” Elizabeth barked. “Not happening.”
She climbed out of the car to a bright and dry but frosty day. Just as the driver had said, fencing had been erected around the surrounding area.
FULLERTON – BUILDING BRIDGES. DEMOLITION IN PROGRESS.
“Building bridges, huh?” Elizabeth growled.
Thomas was now by her side.
“In the car, Thomas. I don’t plan on staying long.” Thomas obeyed.
She could see a man through the fence. He must have been a site manager.
“You!” Elizabeth called to him. “You there!”
He either ignored her or couldn’t hear her over the site noise. She collected a stone and threw it over the fence. It hit his hard hat with a clunk. He looked up.
“You!” Elizabeth uttered again.
The manager approached the fence. “Can I help you?”
Boards were up. She was unable to see what was behind them.
“You can start by telling me what’s going on here?”
The site manager was disinterested.
“Demolition,” he said. “We’re busy so clear off.”
Elizabeth scoffed. “Clear off?! You better tell me what you’re pulling down or I’m going to drag you through this fence by your testicles.”
“The Beckingridge Wing.”
Elizabeth shook her head. She thought so. Chick, you bastard.
“You can’t do that,” Elizabeth protested.
“What is it to you?” the site manager asked.
“Because it’s my name that’s on the bloody building.”
Ernest had donated the wing.
“Pettiwick did us well, Liz,” he had said. “Gramps would have wanted it.”
It was one of the best things Ernest had done during his tenure as head of the family. “I’m not here to speak to a minion. Send out whichever Fullerton fucker is heading this up.”
The site manager shook his head.
“Jenna!” he called. “Jenna, you had better come see to this.”
Fullerton contracts were split between the Fullerton siblings. Caleb had gone off somewhere without notice and the eldest, Jake, was serving time in The Boss so it was up to the sisters to hold the fort. No bridges being built that day, they were being burned.
Jenna had had to step up and take what would have been most of Caleb’s contracts.
“Elizabeth?” she sounded surprised. “I thought you lost out on the school.”
Elizabeth clutched the fence. “You have no right to pull that building down.”
Jenna looked to the boards. “I don’t, but the new owner does and he wants it down. It’s just fulfilling a contract, innit?”
Elizabeth growled. “I’ll sue you. Not Owen, you personally. Pull that construction missy.”
Jenna pursed her lips and folded her arms. “No can do, Liz. You know I have all the papers in place, right? I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“Pull this construction now,” Elizabeth ordered.
Jenna removed her hat. “Not a chance, Liz. We’ve already been paid and that building is coming down. Your name may have been on it but it was a gift to the school. It’s up to whoever owns the school what they want to do with it.”
“What reason were you given for it to come down? It was a perfectly fine building. Ernest was good to you.”
Jenna agreed. “Ernest was a sweetie, he was, but we’ve got a job to do and I’d tell him the very same thing. I do have something for you though. I kept it. I thought you might like it.”
Elizabeth thought about Ernest’s memorial plaque. Maybe she could at least hang that in the manor until she got the school back. It had Gramps’ name on it too. Jenna nodded to her site manager. He ran to the office to fetch like a good puppy. When he re-emerged, he wasn’t carrying the plaque. He was carrying a newspaper – a Coldford Daily. He passed it through the fence to Elizabeth.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“This morning’s news. Open it to page 2.”
The headline read:
SMASHING TO SUCCESS.
The story detailed The Cappy’s plan for what was going to be standing in place of the Beckingridge Wing. The image showed Chick Owen and Jenna Fullerton shaking hands in front of the building.
“I thought you might like to keep it and remember the building as it was. You can frame it or something.”
Elizabeth threw the paper down. “Don’t do me any favours,” she snapped.
Jenna shook her head but she was smiling. “I’m just doing my job. It was Caleb who built it in the first place. I’m not happy about it either.”
Jenna scoffed. Demolition was already set. There was no stopping it. Elizabeth could still elicit some damage of her own.
***
When Elizabeth reached Chick, he had been hosting Buddy and his bros at Owen Estate.
“Elizabeth,” Chick had been waiting for her. “I thought I’d be hearing from you.”
Elizabeth smiled but her lips were drained of colour and her fire was now resting in her eyes. The video call gave a good clear view of her expression. Elizabeth could see Buddy and his bros standing behind him. Billy was out of frame.
“I was passing Pettiwick this morning and you can imagine my disappointment when I was informed by Fullerton that my brother’s donated building was to be pulled down.”
The Cappy continued to speak calmly but the icy temperatures of his words made Buddy shudder.
“Imagine my disappointment when, after spending a generous amount on the Auction House, I find out you had my compass all along.”
On screen Elizabeth had set a golden compass on the table.
“You mean my compass? Bought and paid for fair and square.”
Chick frowned. “It is mine and you know it. Those oddballs had no right to sell it in the first place. I am a reasonable man. I will offer you a fair price for it.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I like it. It’s a very nice piece.”
“Tread carefully Liz,” The Cappy warned.
Elizabeth brought a hammer onto her table.
“You better back off bitch!” yelled Buddy when he saw what she was about to do.
Elizabeth ignored him. “If you’re going to wreck property of mine then I guess I’ll do the same. How dare you pull down that wing.”
“I don’t really need a compass after all. I’m quite good at finding my way about.”
Elizabeth lifted the hammer. “Hen Owen, wasn’t it? There is an inscription.” She brought the hammer down as heavily as she could.
CRACK.
“Stop!” Buddy warned.
The Cappy kept his focus on the screen saying nothing.
CRACK.
Elizabeth brought the hammer down again.
CRACK.
The Compass, despite its study build, was damaged beyond repair. Elizabeth stopped for a breath and smoothed her hair.
“Are you finished?” The Cappy asked.
Elizabeth smiled. “I’ll be in touch.”
The call ended. Buddy rested his hands on his head. “Holy Mary that fucked an angel!”
“Charles,” Ronnie warned. “Don’t be rash.”
The Cappy paid no attention to his brother. Instead, he turned to Billy.
“Do you still have the rat boy?”
Billy nodded. He too was quietened by what had just happened.
“Yeah, Captain.”
“Then it’s time for Reginald Penn to see what happens when someone toys with something that belongs to me.”
Ronnie pleaded again. “Chick, please think this through.”
“I have thought about it. I have thought about it long and hard. He murdered our father, he humiliated my boy, and now our heirloom is passed around like a common whore. My fucking compass is destroyed because he sold it away, property that did not belong to him.”
Ronnie knew there was no use arguing with Chick. Heirlooms were precious to most. They were especially precious to Charles ‘Chick’ Owen, better known as The Cappy.
***
Having made their presence felt in the Mid-West village, at a small Kappa So outpost used for registrations and the occasional meetings, they had skipped across the city to the Mid-East.
Reginald was overlooking the area they had taken. They had been met with some resistance, more than they expected. The combined Fleet and Loyalist groups took a moment to catch their breath.
“We’ve got them on the back foot,” Reginald was observing, speaking to Paddy Mack.
Kieran Mack was busy scrubbing blood stains from his jacket.
Paddy agreed, “We’ve been smooth so far but the resistance is getting heavier and heavier each time. We need to move back towards the south before one final push into City Main.”
Reginald nodded in agreement. They had been so successful so far because their attacks didn’t follow any particular pattern, but Billy Owen had been manoeuvring CPD and success was becoming more and more difficult.
“They have Junior, sir,” he said delicately.
Immediately Reginald’s attention diverted. Emmerson passed him a phone. That’s when the screen showed the youngest triplet, Reggie, in pain, screaming and calling for the eldest triplet, Marcus.
“Woooh boy! This whore here likes her ass pounded!” Cheering could be heard. “King Daddy ought to see this.”
The screen showed Marcus held helpless. His support inside The Boss had been gunned down. Simon was flat on the ground with guns to his head.
“Say goodbye to your brother boys. You ain’t ever going to see him again.”
Kieran and Paddy shared a look. Reginald’s lip curled.
“Reg…” Paddy warned. “Think about this.”
Reginald shook his head. “Our next stop is City Main.”
Paddy continued to plead, “That’s why they wanted you to see that. They hope you’ll do something fecking stupid.”
Reginald was not to be consoled. “Those cunts have my boys!”
Paddy, still trying to stay level headed, said, “If it were any of my family, I’d feel the same way but we’re so close, so fecking close Reg, you can’t lose it now. For all our sakes you need to stick to the plan.”
Reginald’s fury was still throwing a tension on his facial expression and across his broad shoulders.
“We’ll get Reggie back. We’ll get all of them to safety I promise ya, but we need to stick to the plan.”
.
Reginald trusted Paddy’s advice. He found his center. He found his calm. Junior’s screams and pleads would be the battle cry that spurred him on. But then the phone rang again. Reginald answered.
“Rita?” he said.
Kieran and Paddy shared another angst-ridden look.
“Rita? My love you need to calm down.”
“My baby!” was all she could cry.
“I’m going for junior right now. I’m going to get him right now.”
“Don’t let them kill him Reginald, please! You can’t let them hurt him anymore. He must be so scared!”
It was then that Reginald heard a voice over a speaker. It was in French. Flight 10SS to Coldford City was now boarding. She was at the airport.
“Rita! Rita do not come to Coldford. I’ll bring Reggie to you. I’ll bring your baby to you.”
It was too late. The phone signal was lost. Rita Penn was to board a flight to Coldford. Coldford City airport, owned by Owen Inc.
Paddy sighed. He leaned his head back. Kieran shook his head. “Feck,” he muttered.
Reginald may have been able to use Junior’s cries to spur him into battle but Rita’s sobs for her baby? Those would signal the end for his enemies no matter the cost.
“My wife has just had to see that,” said Reginald to Paddy.
“I’m sorry,” said the Mack in charge. “But my point still stands.”
Reginald addressed his loyalists.
“We’re going to City Main. If any of the Fleet choose not to follow, then leave them behind.”
***
There was little I could do as events unfolded. I tried to get a statement from Elizabeth Beckingridge but she had locked herself in the Tower. The exchange continued to accumulate. There was still no word from the distillery. Its gates were firmly closed. It was now a race against time for Lydia and her agency team to find any evidence they could on Buddy Owen or once again he would walk away after committing the most horrific crimes.
As I worked to leak the true information to the city, Rita Penn wandered toward danger. Her love for her children had blinded her to the Owen Inc. logos that were darted all over flight arrivals. The plane she had taken from Luen even stopped close to The Cappy’s own Boeing – Dynasty.
“Welcome to Coldford City,” the attendant greeted. Her blue uniform and carefully made-up face was glamorous, inviting.
“Thank you for choosing Luen Air. May I see your passport?”
Rita was in a hurry. She fished into her bag and produced a passport. The check arrivals agent scanned the name Penn and she compared the photo.
“Business or pleasure, Mrs Penn?”
Rita was distracted. She knew Reginald was busy. She knew he had troubles so if she could talk to The Cappy, maybe they could reach an understanding. He had a son. She had a son. They could see eye to eye. Perhaps she could speak to Ida Owen. Surely they could speak mother to mother. Buddy was her baby just as Reggie was Rita’s. If the women could just talk a while, they could find a solution and maybe then the men would make sense. There had been so much harm done already. Reginald would be angry she had come to Coldford but she couldn’t sit at their estate in Luen when the next time she saw one of her boys it could be dressing him on The Tailor’s table.
If Reggie managed to get to safety, he would want to come home. Someone had to be home. Mother would wait for him.
“I live here. I’ve come home to stay for a while,” she told the arrivals agent. The agent smiled. Rita tapped her fingers nervously on the desk.
“That’s lovely,” she said. “Well, you’re all set.”
Rita took her passport and was sent to baggage claim.
Reggie, poor Reggie. He was such a little boy at heart. It was bad enough with Marcus behind bars. Marcus was her big boy. He was ready to take his father’s place one day. He could take the heat. Simon was physically strong. He fought, he trained and he focused. Her boxer boy would be fine. But Reggie? He was sensitive, inquisitive, nothing without his brothers. They were a whole when they were together. Apart, Reggie was the most delicate piece.
She saw her bag, an old-fashioned trunk she had packed in a hurry. She hadn’t even given security time to collect her and escort her. She just needed to be closer to her boys. She heaved her bag from the conveyor belt. The exit was so close. The transport to City Main would be waiting.
She felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Mrs Penn?” an airport staff member asked. “Come with me.”
With that she was guided to safety by Agent Franklin.
The Browning house had a strange atmosphere. It had been inhabited for ten years and yet it felt like no one had dared crossed the boundary. There were some newer throw pillows on the battered old sofa but they too were filthy. The windows had heavy shutters. The curtains were dusty and thick with mould. ‘How could anyone have lived here?’ Winslow wondered to himself. Vincent Baines, his Harbour House resident, had described it to him many times but he never imagined it to be so filthy. The music teacher had thought to go there for safety but that hadn’t worked out so well for him, now had it? It didn’t work out well for the doctor either, trying to help George, and it wouldn’t work out for Julia. George was a special case. He wasn’t quite driven by his lust the way most young men were. He had his desires but they were different. He didn’t quite think with his brain either the way sane people would.
The doctor had come to the Browning house as instructed, he couldn’t stay in the city where the scope of an Owen’s gun could be on him at any time. He didn’t plan on spending much time there. He would be back on top soon enough and when he did he would be putting Julia out of the game for good.
His heart skipped a beat as the cheap phone he had bought at a store in Bournton rattled on the table. One of the chairs had been broken, no doubt by George in a temper. Micky Doyle was the only person he had given the number to in a message that read:
HAVE TO BE OUT OF TOWN FOR A WHILE. I AM NOT ABROAD SO YOUR COUSIN NEEDN’T WORRY. I CAN BE BACK IN THE CITY WITHIN THE HOUR. SINCERELY G WINSLOW.
The doctor quickly answered the phone. The remoteness of the house made everything seem so much louder.
“Yes Micky? Yes?” he welcomed.
“Good gracious Gregory, where are you?”
Winslow looked at a pair of white briefs that had been discarded on the floor.
“Never mind that,” he said. “I hope you have some good news for me.”
Micky chuckled. “I do indeed. My cousin has finished her investigation into Harbour House.”
Winslow clutched his chest. It was a much needed relief. “I’m so glad.” His stronghold was coming back to him. “I trust all was well?”
Micky replied, “If you hadn’t been hiding yourself away you could have been here to witness the entire thing. They found nothing. It was really quite splendid. Now Karyn is annoyed at the resources that were wasted. The keys of the facility are to be handed over but we need you here to sign the documents.”
It had been a long time since Winslow had felt so jovial.
“You’re sure it is safe?” he asked. “It all went well?”
His good friend Micky Doyle assured it couldn’t have gone better. He was Mayor Micky Doyle now and what was sitting on the Hot Seat of the Shady City if you couldn’t help your friends?
“I have an appointment for you with Karyn at one o’clock but you have to hurry. Do not be late, Gregory. You know she won’t reschedule.”
Gregory tried to remember if Karyn Doyle was an early or late luncher. One o’clock could be a time when her belly was full and she was pacified. It could also be the time when she was still waiting with a ravenous hunger.
“Yes, Micky. Of course. I’ll be there right away.”
After Micky rang off Winslow stepped out on the gravel drive way. He gave thought to Buddy. Surely, he wasn’t still watching? The Browning house was isolated but that didn’t matter. Buddy could be hiding anywhere, still with his scope following him. He almost ducked for cover when a blackbird took flight from a nearby tree. He slipped into his car like a snake and drove away. He had an appointment with Judge Karyn Doyle, arranged by his good friend Micky, and The Judge would not reschedule. He had to collect his Harbour House keys or risk losing them for good. As he drove back to the city, his eyes returning to the rear-view mirror contantly, he was still unable to shake that feeling of Buddy watching him. At least he would be safe when he got inside the Court House. He would retrieve Harbour House and he would deal with Buddy Owen then.
***
Things were changing in the Shady City. Things were changing for the dominant names: Penn, Beckingridge, Harvester, Owen. But things were also changing for individuals, those who had sought to make a name for themselves like Winslow and like Tabitha, even reporters like myself. It took a certain distraction from humanity, a certain disregard for the value of life, honour and morals to succeed. This was something the eminent Doctor Winslow had in abundance.
As he raced along the City Main streets, still fearing being caught in Buddy’s scope, he almost collided with a woman who was carrying a load of Harvester goods in Harvester tote bags. The typical snobbish attitude of the people of City Main caused her nose to upturn.
“Watch where you are going!” she barked as she tried to steady her bags again.
Winslow started to help her with her bags but the bang of a car back firing caused him to abandon that pursuit.
The Court House was the Almighty’s waiting room in Coldford. The smell of polish on the mahogany, the brightness of the shine on the marble floor, all screamed power to Winslow. She was a difficult mistress to please but if she allowed you to sample her sweet delights she could pleasure like no other. Winslow knew this and he salivated at the idea of having a taste, having his Harbour House back complete with the stamp of approval from Judge Karyn Doyle herself. He didn’t want to seem over eager, nor did he want to seem complacent. He hadn’t had the chance to groom properly or brush his teeth at the Browning house so he was a little out of sorts.
“Put your best foot forward,” Papa would always say. “No one likes a man who pays no care to his presentation.”
Winslow was in full agreement with that but there just hadn’t been time for him to present himself properly. He needed Harbour House back and then he would present. Then he would present to the entire city.
“Excuse me, sir,” a Court Clerk stopped him. Her name was Diane and it had been she who had been there to meet in him Luen. She was one of Karyn’s minions, clearly an admirer. She was well presented. In fact, she was so well presented she could be a body double for the Judge herself. Well Diane, it seems your attempts to discredit the good doctor didn’t bore much fruit. If Karyn was annoyed at the wasted resources, Diane may just find herself being to blame.
“I have been personally requested by Her Honourable,” Winslow stated with pride. He couldn’t help but enjoy the way Diane’s face dropped. It added years to her. “I’ll head right on in if you please.”
The hall was lined with well equipped men. They were not bailiffs nor were they clerks. They were members of the much fabled Black Bands. They had been brought together by Sergeant Major Doyle with the intention of creating an elite team capable of stopping rebellions, uprisings and extreme civil unrest. Upon sight of them Winslow slowed his walk to a stop. They weren’t paying him any attention but they cast a dark shadow. He was almost at the point of turning and retreating when Micky leaned out of the door to Judge Doyle’s office.
“Gregory!” he called in a hushed but urgent tone. “Hurry. For God’s sake don’t keep her waiting.”
With his good friend Micky Doyle’s encouragement Winslow passed the Black Bands and entered the lair of The Judge. Karyn herself was sat behind her desk. Four pillars bearing the Law Makers symbol like eyes from above stood tall behind her. She had files placed before her.
Winslow took a seat. “It’s a pleasure Karyn. It’s so nice to see you.”
Karyn Doyle was unmoved. Her pale face expressionless. “I’m in office. You will address me with my proper title.”
“Yes, of course. I do apologise, Your Honour.”
The Judge lifted the first of the files. “On October 19th you were given notice to allow my bailiffs to audit your facility. You were also asked to deliver resident 0109 into my custody. Is that correct?”
Winslow looked to Micky first but the mayor said nothing.
“Yes, ma’am. That is correct,” he eventually replied.
“You refused to respond.”
The judge dropped the file on the table and collected the next.
“On October 25th the case was escalated further. You were served notice of audit and a warrant was given for resident 0109. Is that correct?”
Winslow blinked. They had already been through this. “Yes ma’am. That is of course correct.”
The second file was dropped. “Still you refused to respond.”
Winslow tried to explain, “It was a very busy time. I had so much to do and of course personal issues…Your office takes precedent but my residents were sick and in need of my care.”
The Judge scooped up the final file in her hand.
“On October 30th a full summons was granted and my bailiffs entered your facility by force.”
“I do sincerely apologise for that ma’am. I’m so sorry for any inconvenience that this issue may have caused. As I stated at the time I was under a great deal of pressure.”
Karyn Doyle narrowed her gaze. “Yes, we have documented that. We are also taking into consideration your assistance in the search for Tawny McInney. So now I am willing to move forward. After a thorough investigation of the facility my bailiffs found nothing.”
Winslow grinned. “We aim to heal, Your Honour. Harbour House is the greatest facility in Coldford and can help so many when it is reopened.”
The door opened without knocking. Van Holder of the Black Bands and a companion named Monsta’ – a huge man with an animalistic presence – entered. They stood by the door.
“My bailiffs found nothing. That was until one of your nurses, Beverly Myers, stepped forward,” Judge Doyle explained. “Gregory Winslow, you are under arrest.”
Monsta’ pulled Winslow from his chair.
“Wait!” Winslow screamed. “I’ve done nothing wrong! Beverly is a liar!”
Judge Doyle flicked open the last file. “Your charges are as follows. The torture and exploitation of at least thirty two victims including Martin Winslow and Alexander Ferrald. That number continues to grow. Also, for the murder of Mark McKenzie, Scott Cross and Laura Doyle. This number also continues to grow. Finally, multiple accounts of the rape of Julia Harvester.”
“Lies!” Winslow shrieked.”Micky! Tell her!”
“I’m also in the capacity of my office,” replied Micky. “That’s Mayor Doyle.”
Winslow wouldn’t be able to shake Monster’s grasp. After reading him his rights the Judge was not done.
“I hereby revoke your licence to practice medicine indefinitely. You are no longer to assume the doctor title and any attempts to re-register will be denied. You will now be remanded in custody until your trial. Given the nature and magnitude of your crimes no bail will be granted and I am authorising a full psychiatric evaluation.”
“Micky! Damnit all Micky! I am taking you down with me. I am taking you down!” Winslow shrieked as he was pulled from the office of The Judge.
The Penn Auction House, The Knock Knock Club, Harbour House. There were three down and one more to go. As Her Honourable Judge Karyn Doyle prepared for her next appointment her long shadow was cast over the map of Coldford plunging the Bellfield area into darkness, home of the Mack and Sons Distillery, provider of the finest whiskey in the Shady City and the current whereabouts of fugitive Patrick Mack.
***
The sailing was smooth, although Kumala had vomited a couple of times. She didn’t know how long she had been travelling for. Restless sleep had been intermittent. She and twenty other girls had been locked below deck. In the bottom of the boat was only darkness and the smell of rats. She was told she needn’t be frightened but she couldn’t help it. Her village had been celebrating her thirteenth birthday when they came. They took her and many of the other girls. They told them that they would have a better life. They would be like princess brides, similar to the ones she had read about in story books. Some of the girls didn’t want this. They disappeared through the night. The boat they had been crammed into didn’t seem much like the princess carriages from the books but maybe it would all get better when they reached their destination. One of the girls with them had been beaten by their escorts. She probably couldn’t speak their language. She had tried to comfort some of the other girls but communication was a problem. One of them – a twelve-year-old – had fallen unconscious. She was terribly dehydrated. The girl who couldn’t speak collected some of the rain water that was dripping down on them and rubbed it onto the girls dry, cracked lips.
Never had Kumala been enclosed with so many people and yet felt so alone. The boat continued to tear through the sea towards her destination. Kumala was told all of her dreams would come true in the City of Coldford. She hoped so.
***
It was early morning and the phone buzzing woke Nan Harvester. She leaned over and checked.
SHIPMENT 0612 has arrived.
She sat up. This was good. It had been the first shipment for a while. It was still dark outside. The farm would be stirring soon. She patted Jonathan lying beside her.
“Jonathan,” she whispered. “Jon? You have to get up. I have to go and I need you to keep an eye on things on the farm.”
Jonathan didn’t object. He sat up, stretched and slipped out of bed. Nan watched her son’s naked body as he disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. It was going to be a good day. Another shipment of nanny’s little naughties for the pot. She climbed out of bed herself and crossed to the window. She pulled the green curtains open and allowed the world in. The sun was just beginning to climb up to to the horizon.
She felt Jonathan’s arm slip around her waist, having returned from the bathroom. He was now wearing a beige pair of overalls that once belonged to his father.
“Have a good day, mum,” he said.
“I will Jon,” she replied. “The best day.”
***
By the time Nan arrived at Chamberlain Docks the daylight had dawned on Swantin. A beautiful warmth was glowing through the icy air. Nan met Harbour operator Anthony Runetti.
“Good to see you Nan,” he said. “I’ve got the Ferry Way heading to Hathfield at 11:40. It’ll be coming in to Port at nine. We’ll need your ship turned around by eight.“ Nan smiled sweetly. “I won’t even need that much time Anthony. I’ll be in and away before you know it, just like a little fairy.”
It was then he noticed the tote bag she was carrying. It was filled with fruit, vegetables and meat packets.
“This is for your mum,” she explained handing the bag over. “I’ve not had the chance to pop up and see her yet. You can give her this for me. I’ll be up to see her real soon. Let her know I haven’t forgotten her. I missed her at church last Sunday.”
Anthony collected the bag gratefully. He was supposed to oversee all shipments but he knew Nan. She stood as his confirmation sponsor at church when Uncle Roddy and his dad had a falling out. He supposed it would be no harm to let the sweet farmer’s wife through. Widowed, charitable, Christian woman. He had to take the groceries into the office and store them in the fridge anyway.
It wasn’t until she got to the gangway that the skipper opened the door. Light flooded onto the girls’ eyes. Kumala’s legs were weak. The mute girl offered her arm to help steady her.
Nan smiled at Kumala but it didn’t comfort her.
“I see the travel was a little snug girls. I’m ever so sorry. We couldn’t afford better, I’m afraid. We are a charity after all. But none of you should worry.” Kumala was pushed towards the skipper. “Separate the virgins from those sexually active. I’d like them put to work right away.” She rounded on the mute girl. “I don’t know this one,” she clutched the girl’s face. Exotic. Pure.
“A new addition,” the skipper explained. “She was last minute but we thought you would like her.”
Nan nodded. “I like her very much. She’s beautiful. What’s your name?” Nan asked the girl.
The girl looked to Kumala.
“Do you speak English?” Nan asked softly. She surveyed the other girls.
“The dummy has been thrown from the pram,” she said.
Nan frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Move! Move!” Cries were heard. A blockade was thrown down and a fleet of agents descended upon the scene.
Agents Kim, Lydia, Franklin and Reynolds were on the front line. There was nowhere to run.
Kim grabbed Nan’s arm. “Nan Harvester. I’m placing you under arrest for trafficking.”
Continuing to read her rights, the other agents looked to bring Skipper and the crew in.
Lydia took control of Kumala and the other girls.
“It’s okay. You are safe now,” she assured them. Franklin began to interpret in their native language.
“Well done, Agent Ragrag,” Kim congratulated the mute girl. Agent Ragrag was nineteen but given her youthful looks she had been chosen for the undercover mission. She had allowed herself to be taken and moved with the girls. She had been to hell and back but the girls were now safe. The mission was a success.
Like dominoes, the great pillars of Coldford continued to fall.
***
Having stayed away from the farm all day, it was well past dinner by the time Julia returned home. She dressed in something more comfortable and made her way back downstairs. As the door opened into the entry hall, she didn’t call a welcoming to any family or guests. She was expecting a quiet house that night. In a display of despair Jonathan came tearing from the lounge when he heard her footsteps.
“Jules!” he cried. “I’ve been trying to call you. Where have you been?”
Julia leaned casually by the window.
“I saw your missed calls. I just wasn’t answering.”
“It’s mum,” he explained. “She’s been arrested. They have her for trafficking. The Nan Foundation is closed pending further investigation. They won’t set bail. She’s going to prison. What are we going to do?”
“That is unfortunate,” said Julia softly. She took her brother’s hand. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. Nothing. We’re going to let her rot in prison for the rest of her life.” Jonathan pulled his hand away. His eyes widened. Julia went on, “She let him back in here. You have no idea what it is like to have his disgusting, trembling hands touch you, to satisfy his depraved appetites whilst you watch your father imprisoned in hospital. Do you have any idea what it is like to look into the eyes of someone who knows you are just about to end their life?”
“Jules!” Jonathan sobbed. “She was our mother.”
Julia shrugged. “I don’t care. I have and always will do what needs to be done.”
Jonathan pressed, “What are you saying?”
Julia smiled her sweet smile. “I’m saying I gave the Court everything it needed to go after both of them. I’m saying I will bring you down too and I won’t bat an eyelid.”
Jonathan nodded.
She smiled her nice smile. Julia Harvester was a nice girl. She always had been. She took her brothers hand again. Her touch was softer.
“We’ll be fine with poor mummy and daddy gone. I’ll have to work extra hard but the farm will be just fine. It’s late now. I’m going to have some herbal tea and a nice hot bath.”
A tear spilled from Jonathan’s eye. His sob caught her attention. She turned and agilely crossed the hall again. She opened the window to let the stifling air escape the farm house.
“What’s all this fuss about?” she asked. She pinched his cheek. Her grip twisted. “What’s all the fuss about?”
Jonathan gasped. He had no answer for his little sister.
“I’m just putting everything back in its place. Everything is so much neater when things are in their place. Beck Tower, Owen Inc. and all the other little blocks laid neatly in a row. I have much to do Jon and I can’t have you holding me back. Whilst they all went on bickering among themselves, they failed to notice our farmland grow. They were so distracted with what they could have that our trucks slipped around the city unnoticed. They were all so concerned with protecting their own they hadn’t counted the amount of fresh new Harvesters stores all the way from City Main to our latest on Love Street in Bellfield. I’d very much like to take a walk up Love Street. All the little blocks neatly in a row and suddenly the city becomes a much nicer place. Goodbye Jon.”
BANG.
Jon was shot in the centre of his forehead. His body dropped with the weight of slaughtered cattle. She stepped over the body. She wanted to run a bath, relax and shake off all that had happened.
When I began my story into the mayor I had been warned away from it. My fellow reporters told me it would lead me to dangerous places. The events unfolded and now as the largest titans in the city prepared to face off they failed to notice a great monster rising in the north. What was most dangerous about the Harvester monster, was that it was a friendly face everyone welcomed into their home.
***
The Boss was Bournton’s pride. It was now a Kappa So strong hold. For those bearing the name Penn it was not going to be an easy place to make home, not that it was easy for anyone. Marcus Penn was introduced to this when Kappa So members flooded him in his cell and he was forced to fight through the numbers until the guards intervened. Simon they targeted in the showers. He fought back too but it was only going to get worse.
Governor Avery West stepped in. The prison he was placed in charge of had been assigned so many new guards since the arrival of Billy Owen to CPD that he barely recognised most of the faces as he crossed the halls of The Boss to his office. Guards, legal staff, even the medics and admin, all were different. There were so many new arrivals. It made the inmates uncomfortable but random outbursts of violence from the guards kept them pacified.
Inside his office Avery was met by two guards. They had in their custody two of the Penns. Their faces matched and their expressions matched too.
“Take a seat, gentlemen,” Avery invited.
Simon seemed hesitant at first but when Marcus took a seat he followed suit.
“Let me begin by apologising on behalf of my guards for the extra attention you’ve been getting lately. I wanted you to know that I am doing all I can to see that it doesn’t happen again.”
“Why?” Marcus wanted to know. This was his first audience with the governor so he was familiarising himself with the type of man he was.
Avery nodded to the guards. They both took a step back. “I want to make you as comfortable as possible,” he admitted. “When you are inside The Boss you are my responsibility. I take the responsibility of any of the inmates very seriously. I have been here a long time and I’ve seen it all. I’ve seen riots, I’ve seen contraband and I’ve seen men hang from the roof. When you both came in we expected a handful but you’ve caused little trouble and you’ve even kept some of the other inmates in line. If you are going to be with me for the foreseeable future we might as well keep our acquaintance friendly. As a matter of fact, in the token of our friendship I have a gift for you. If you will care to follow me.”
Simon and Marcus were escorted to an exercise yard. It was smaller than the main one the inmates used. Two guard towers were perched, each with a gunman to boast. “This is exercise yard B. The guard up there,” here Avery pointed to the left. “His name is Rukov. I’ve known him for years. If you continue to behave like gentlemen he’ll give you no trouble. On the right up there,” here he indicated the other. “His name is Gorvic. I hand picked him especially for my squad here. He will follow the same rules.”
“Why did you bring us here?” Marcus enquired.
Simon had already spotted the reason. “Reggie!” he called.
On the other side of the fence sat the final triplet for them to be whole again. Forgetting the gunmen and the guards both the triplets ran to meet their brother at the barrier between them.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” asked Simon with snarl.
“I came to find you,” said Reggie. “You could show a little gratitude you know, Si.”
Simon shook his head. “Do you have any idea the danger you have put yourself in?”
Reggie shrugged. He sat himself down on the ground.
“He’s right,” Marcus agreed. “You can’t stay here.”
Reggie folded his arms and remained defiant.
“Well I’m not going anywhere. If you two are in danger, I am too. So you might as well just leave it.”
Simon was still shaking his head but he had softened. “You are a fucking idiot.”
Reggie laughed, “Yeah I know, but I’m the idiot on this side of the fence.”
Marcus turned his attention back to Avery. Avery approached them. “No one else will be able to use this area. It’s not a long-term solution but at least you will have the chance to regroup.”
Marcus frowned. “Why are you doing this?”
“Help keep my prison in order and I will make life as easy for you as I can.” Avery took his leave. The two ground guards remained posted at the door. The tower guards kept their look out on The Boss’ rear approach.
The triplets were given the chance to talk.
“So what you’s been up to?” Reggie asked.
Simon frowned. “Well it’s been bed of fucking roses, Reg. What do you think?”
Reggie shook his head. “It’s not exactly been easy for me you know. It’s been no picnic.” This seemed to trigger something. “Marcus, I’ve got a pack of the Harvester Corn chips. You like those, right?”
He stood and with a great heave he threw the packet over the fence. They landed at Marcus’ feet. He scooped them up. “Thanks,” he replied. He inspected the packet. “It’s bacon flavour. Do you have any cheese?”
“What do I look like?” Reggie asked. “A fucking corner shop?”
All three laughed. The sound almost broke the barrier between them. Almost.
“There’s no pleasing you,” Simon put to Marcus. He closed in on the bars and tried to look behind Reggie into the small fishing tent he had set up. “Got any energy drinks?”
“Fuck off. You get your three squares a day. This is the only stash I have.”
Reggie was the most resourceful of the triplets. Like his rats, he was effective in squeezing from tight places.
“Have you heard anything about dad?” Marcus asked, peeling open the corn chips bag and dipping his fingers in.
“He’s been hitting and he’s been hitting hard. Snooker halls, dance venues and factories,” Reggie explained what he had heard.
“Why didn’t you go to him?”
“He’s not staying stationary. The Fleet have them moving all over the city. I don’t know where he is and if I did he’d be gone again by the time I got there. We’ll be fine here. He knows you’re both here so he’ll come and get us soon enough.”
“You’re going to get the stare treatment when he sees you’ve set camp up at The Boss,” said Simon.
The triplets could be difficult to control but they were raised like gentlemen and taught to respect their mother and respect their family name. If any of them were found to get out of hand, all it would take from their father was the stare. A glance from Reginald Penn that reminded the boys there was a chain of command.
“I haven’t had the stare since that time I wore the makeup,” Reggie said.
Simon started to laugh. Marcus continued to enjoy the corn chips.
“I already told you you looked ridiculous,” Simon remarked.
“Do you remember that Marcus?” Reggie put to the eldest. “I had a bit of a faze going on.”
“You were friendly with the girl from the piercing parlour in those days,” Marcus mused.
“Yeah well I thought I’d try something different. Si, you were the one to start being a dick about it.”
Simon protested, “You looked like a glam rock reject. If you went out looking like that I would have been in so many fights that day. And besides, when you wear make-up it looks like my face with make-up. It’s weird to look at.”
Marcus took another corn chip. He gave a shadow of a smile.
Reggie continued. “I was just expressing myself,” he maintained.
Simon leaned over and fished for one of the corn chips. “You were expressing yourself until you got the stare.”
Reggie nodded. “I was determined. I wasn’t going to listen to you. It was a new me and I had a new shag so I was doing it. It was bold but why the fuck should I care what people think? I grabbed my bag. The shoes were painful mind you. But I was going with it. I forgot I had to cross through the parlour didn’t I? Dad was in there every morning with his first cup of tea. I stopped. He lowered his newspaper. He took one look at me and there it was. The stare. ‘I don’t think that’s appropriate, Junior’ he said. Yeah. I had to change immediately.”
The three boys started laughing again.
Avery came back into the yard. He interrupted them.
“I can’t let you stay here long,” the governor said.
Distance was brought between the triplets again.
“We’ll come back,” Simon assured.
“I’ll just chill here then, shall I?” Reggie called back.
***
The next day Marcus and Simon were taken to exercise yard B. This time the ground guards remained outside the door. It clicked closed but they all brightened when they saw each other. Reggie had kept his camp.
Simon was a few paces ahead of Marcus. Marcus looked up the left. The gunner was was not Rukov. He looked up to the right. The gunner was not Gorvic.
“Reggie,” he said. “Has anyone seen you?” he asked. “Has anyone said anything to you?”
Reggie shook his head. “No, it’s been quiet. The Warden was out but he just looked over and it was like he was pretending I wasn’t there.”
The door open and the man in question stepped out. Avery was smiling. Pleased to see them.
“It’s nice to see family kept together,” he spoke warmly. “With so much going on.”
Simon agreed with an accommodating expression. Marcus however was unmoved.
“There’s nothing quite like brothers,” Avery said. “When you’re a brother you’re a brother for life.”
Simon’s eyebrows raised. Marcus turned to Reggie. “Reggie!” he called. “Run!”
Avery looked up to guard towers. Both the left and the right were pointed on Simon and Marcus. Ground guards flooded the area.
The air quietened. Reggie’s grunting could be heard as he tried to breathe. The views of his brothers were locked on him.
A voice could be heard calling above all of them.
“We are Kappa So,” he sang with a cold softness. “We are Kappa So.” The singing drew closer. “We are Kappa So and we make trouble where we go.” Billy Owen emerged from the CPD who had them surrounded. Buddy, Chad and Coops were trailing close behind him with lowered gazes.
“Wooh eeeh, boy!” Billy grinned. He raised his hand in a gesture to the governor. Avery did likewise. “Fine night. Glad I get to spend it with y’all.”
“I’m Billy,” he introduced. “Your father murdered my Pops. That was one giant motherfucking mistake that will haunt him to end of his days. Pray to Jesus that’s sooner rather than later. Right now, I’m here to make a little point of my own.” He snatched Reggie by the hair and slammed his face against the fence. Simon and Marcus tried to struggle from the guards.
He stroked Reggie’s hair this time. Marcus took note of the details of Billy’s face, from the deep set wrinkles in his forehead, to the dryness of his bottom lip.
“Just let him go!” Simon shouted.
Billy looked to Reggie with a satisfied grin. He resumed stroking Reggie’s hair softly.
“King daddy had bashed our Pops’ brains in, ain’t that right?”
Buddy was hesitant.
Billy gave a deep exhale from his nostrils.
Marcus grimaced. “Let him go.”
Billy stood. “You see, now it sounds like you’re being disrespectful towards me. You will learn some manners.”
He grabbed Reggie’s trousers by the waist band and pulled them to his ankles. Simon shrieked. “Touch him and I will fucking kill you!”
Billy laughed a raspy laugh that almost verged on a cough. “I ain’t going near him. I ain’t no fag. ”
The one to step forward was not a Kappa So brother. They had brought out an inmate to do their bidding. Billy looked to Reggie’s expression as firm hands were clasped around his waist. He looked to his brothers’ expression as Reggie gave a squeal pain as the inmate pushed inside him. Billy grabbed his hair again and slammed his face against the fence.
“That’s what we like from the whores!” he taunted. “We like them to make a lot of noise.” He pulled Reggie’s head back by his hair again. “Tell your brothers just how much you love getting fucked like a whore. Earn your dollar!”
“Billy, bro,” Buddy tried to appeal to him.
“Shut the fuck up, limp dick,” Billy turned on his cousin.
“Marcus,” Reggie gasped an appeal to his brother. A tear began to roll down his cheek.
There was a tear in Marcus’ eye too. There was nothing he good do.
“Woooo! This boy is going at the whore good!” Billy cheered. “Look at him pounding that ass. Does he fuck whores better than big king daddy? I think daddy ought not to miss this.” He pulled a phone from his pocket and flashed it in Reggie’s face. “Beautiful darlin’ just beautiful. Look at the way he’s biting his lip.”
Reggie screamed in pain.
“Oh, he enjoying that shit!” jeered Billy. “What’s this guy in for?” he asked one of the companions of the inmate
“Rape,” was the reply.
Billy continued to taunt. “Give her some that ass slap action. Treat that little whore right.”
The inmate raised a hand. A stinging blow was delivered.
The roar of the Kappa So laughter shook the trees.
They all cheered when the inmate finished. Reggie was pulled away from the fence.
“Say goodbye to your brother boys. You ain’t ever going to see him again.”
Avery West turned to his guard. “Put the both of them in the prayer room.”
***
The Boss Lady was gone. That was what had been said. But if you go to the farthest reaches of Cardyne, you will find a building no one would care to call home. If you go down to the farthest reaches of Cardyne you will find a building you wouldn’t care to visit long. For this building had held Confessions Killer, Tracey Campbell. It had also held the Wood Chip Killer, Ruth Browning.
Confinement room 34. The guard opened the slot to check. He heard a scream but he closed the slot as quickly as he had opened it, drowning the cries of a desperate woman out.
Tabitha, Boss Lady of the Knock Knock Club, hadn’t spoken to anyone in weeks. It felt like forever. With the death penalty slicing ever closer to her neck like a great pendulum her access to anyone was limited. She exercised alone. She ate alone. She bathed alone.
She had always been a symbol. The Law Makers intended on smashing that symbol and any effect it ever had. From the moment the sentence was declared the people who supported Tabitha cried their dismay. These people needed to be reminded of what happened to those who took the law into their own hands. Using the skeleton ruse, they were led to believe the execution had already been carried out. The coffin even being removed.
“This is not over,” the Boss Lady warned.
But it was over. It was over for so many and yet there were still so many more waiting to stand and be counted.
All of this began for me the moment I stepped into the Knock Knock club and as long as Tabitha does still live it can’t be over. I am reporter Sam Crusow, and as I am writing this now, I take a deep breath and I prepare to describe what happened next.
Disclaimer:
If you have been affected by the themes explored in this episode visit rapecrisis.org.uk for more information on support available.
The Beckingridge Tower reached lofty heights. It had been the first time I had crossed the courtyard since reading the details of the Free Fall Massacre. The last time I had been inside it had been to talk to Ernest about the apparent suicide of his wife, Alice.
ALICE BECKINGRIDGE: CHILD KILLER
BILLIONAIRE BOY MISSING.
Had been some of my early articles on the family.
The statue of Jeffrey Beckingridge AKA Gramps was clean and well kept. I wondered what he would have thought if he had to learn that 59 of his clients and staff had been thrown from the window. Would he have let things get that far?
The screen still showed the missing persons report, Tawny’s smiling face and a request for more information. It wasn’t easy to get myself an audience with the granddaughter, but Elizabeth and I had mutual interests and it was time we met in person to discuss them.
“Can I help you, sir?” asked the main receptionist. Poised, polite, welcoming.
“I would like to speak to Miss Beckingridge please.”
The receptionist frowned. She took her task as gatekeeper of The Tower very seriously.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” I admitted. “But I’m working on her missing persons case. She asked me to come in and catch her up.”
A text message. COME SEE ME WHEN YOU HAVE THE CHANCE. That was what Elizabeth had written. The receptionist eyed me suspiciously.
“Name please?”
I passed her an I.D card. “Sam Crusow. Miss Beckingridge knows who I am.”
“Just a minute please.”
Taking care not to harm her manicured nails the receptionist lifted the phone.
“Hi Mark. It’s Marlene from front desk. I have a Sam Crusow here to see Miss Beckingridge.” She awaited the secretary’s reply. “Yes? Yes of course. I’ll let him know.” She put the phone back down again. “I’m sorry, sir but Miss Beckingridge isn’t in her office at the moment. May I take a message?”
“No,” I said. “I’ll catch her another time.”
***
The embalming fluid gave a clinical smell. Eugene Morris’ workspace was chilled. Not just because of the nature of his calling in life, but because of the character he was as an individual. Like death, whenever he was present people paid notice. Whimsical in the sense that he was never going to be escaped, so really should just be embraced. Most people chose to run from him as long as they could. Eugene was a friendly man but he was never overly familiar with his clients. It wasn’t in his nature, nor was it in his work.
The body of Robert ‘Bobby’ Owen was laid out on the table like a king of old, lying in state. He was already dressed in his best suit Ronnie had chosen for him from the luggage he had brought with him. With expert hands and patient due diligence the head injury that had taken his life was patched, powdered and presented as though the man was good as new. He looked as though he could have been in his prime days, ready to address the masses. He looked as though he was ready to be sent back to the heavenly plane he had descended from.
The Tailor observed the body. The son, Charles, was stood behind him. “It’s awful when death visits someone who still has so much to give. It’s even more terrible when someone else brings that death of their own accord.”
“He returned the body?” Charles Owen enquired. “What did he say?”
Eugene inspected the body closer. “It’s not for me to get involved in those kinds of affairs. I’m merely here to pick up the pieces and kiss the foreheads of those who may otherwise be forgotten.”
“What kind of man did you find him to be?” Charles asked, determined to get some kind of insight into the king who had slain his father.
“Quite reasonable in his way,” Eugene responded. He pointed to a beautifully carved oak coffin. “He asked that the deceased be treated with the utmost respect. His carriage into the farther reaches was to be the best money could buy. If that there isn’t to your taste he will give you the cost of anyone you like. The coin for the ferry man would be from his own pocket.”
The Tailor drew Charles’ attention to the lining of the casket which was the finest velvet. The lining of the coffin itself was the thickest, purest gold.
“He said the man needn’t have died and on that I quite agree. Other than that I am not offering commentary. If I were to offer my two cents worth it would make matters much messier than they already are.”
Charles inspected his father’s coffin. It truly was of the best quality.
“He may be an animal,” Charles observed. “But at least he has some manners.”
The Tailor was in agreement with this too but he didn’t voice those opinions. Instead he adjusted Bobby’s tie. In every photo he had seen of Bobby this tie was slightly askew to the left. It was a small trait few people would even notice but Eugene’s job was not to decorate the deceased and strive for perfection. It was his job to make them worthy of memorial.
“People hunt for imperfections, son,” Robert had told Charles. “If all they can find is my tie then I’m doing well.”
Charles couldn’t help but smile when he noticed this little attention to detail.
***
With its damp smell and rustic architecture he couldn’t say he was particularly impressed with the Penn Auction House. The auction hall was empty despite having many chairs laid out. It was empty save for Chick himself and an auctioneer named Jeremy.
Jeremy was loyal to the Penns but the Law Makers knew they needed a familiar face to smooth the transition. The Bailiffs removing items from the auction house had caused quite a stir. Jeremy stepped in to object on behalf of Rita Penn but somewhere along the line Reginald must have gotten word to him to allow the final auctions to go ahead because Jeremy’s mind seemed to have changed quickly. The auction items that day were not artefacts, nor where they ornaments or heirlooms. It was the very landmarks of the city that had been seized by the Law Makers that were placed on offer.
Chick looked about himself. The time had now struck two o’clock and he was the only bidder. Jeremy took his podium with a cough; the dust of the wooden floors was starting to catch his throat. “I guess we’ll just take an offer,” he surmised.
Chick nodded. “I would prefer to move things along.”
The doors opened. A suited man stepped inside and held the door open to allow entrance to a woman – middle age, slim, well dressed. Her pink hair hung with a neat parting.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “Traffic into the city was a bitch and those narrow roads just aren’t meant for limousines.”
She crossed the aisle. Her suited man waited by the door. She chose a seat next to The Cappy.
“Hello Charles. So nice to see you. How are things?”
Chick raised his lip in a smile but there was no humour in it. “Elizabeth,” he greeted. “Always a pleasure.”
Elizabeth Beckingridge – interim CEO of Beckingridge Financial Firm kept on her sunglasses.
“I believe the last time we saw one another was at a benefit for endangered birds, homeless dogs or some cause or another.”
Charles grinned. “You were quite intoxicated as I recall.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Well, if you can’t indulge yourself you kind of miss the point of the party, am I right? Anyway things are different now that I have the responsibility of the tower. I keep a clear head these days. It makes it easier to see when there are sharks in the water.”
“You are a fine adversary, Elizabeth, but it doesn’t have to be that way. Your brother Ernest – God rest his soul – was a dear friend of mine. We worked together well for years.”
Elizabeth read through the auction item list that had been placed on the chair next to her.
“Ernest was a sweet man. He was everyone’s friend. That was his problem. He was too busy trying to be friends with everyone he didn’t see all the little bites that were being taken out of him. When that maniac Knock Knock girl took it upon herself to have fifty nine of my clients and staff escorted from the tower via the window, where were his friends? They buggered off back to the Great States and took any support with them.”
The Cappy stroked his chin. He wasn’t daunted by Elizabeth’s challenge. “The Free Fall Massacre was a personal attack on my family. I had no choice but to protect our interests.”
“Sure,” Elizabeth nodded. “If that shoe were on Ernest’s foot he would probably have done the exact same thing.”
Elizabeth finished scanning the list. She would no doubt have already made up her mind.
“Then we are agreed?” The Cappy put to her. “It would be best to work together?”
“No,” Elizabeth scoffed. She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not Ernest. You’ll find I won’t be bullied quite so easily.”
The Cappy looked back to the podium where Jeremy was waiting to begin.
“Just a moment, if you don’t mind, sir,” he called. To Elizabeth he said, “Your nephew, George, has already come into the fold. Very soon you will have no choice.”
Elizabeth quietened. She gave it some thought then she turned to The Cappy. “My nephew is a psychopath. Torturing kittens, eating babies, the whole nine yards. He’s cosying up with your boy who, word on the street says has a cocaine problem that makes my Aunt Liza’s one nostril look like a charming little party piece.” Before The Cappy could respond she patted his arm. “Rumours Charles. Only rumours.” She spoke calmly. “My point is, before that dynamo duo takes over what we’ve built I have interests to protect, too.”
“If we’re are speaking frankly, I must ask, why are you looking for The Baroness?” He referred to the city wide search that she had funded for Tawny McInney.
“Why not?” replied Liz. “She’s just a whacko old lady who disappeared from rehab. Her niece is gone so what concern is that of yours?”
Chick frowned. “I like you Elizabeth but don’t treat me like a fool. Do not make an enemy of me when I’d much rather be friends.”
Elizabeth pouted. “I perish the thought. The Baroness was in rehab with a friend of mine. George’s old music teacher? You may remember him from such stories as kidnapping and the death of the Weir Hotel boy. He asked me ever so nicely to help find her so I read up on the old show girl. Your brother Jerry was quite a piece of work, wasn’t he? Anyway, her attitude struck a chord with me. Maybe I’m getting old but I find myself feeling quite charitable these days. If you don’t know where she is then you’ll agree finding her would smooth things over in the south. They liked her. I saw some old videos of her and I quite like her too. You’ll see the number on all the of broadcasts should you hear anything. In the meantime let’s get down to business. Our auctioneer here is sweating buckets.” She patted his arm again. “Let’s see who has the bigger … erm … cheque book.”
The Cappy laughed. “May the best bidder win.” He addressed Jeremy, “Go ahead, sir.”
Jeremy cleared his throat. “Lot 0300 – The Penn Auction House.”
***
The Penn Auction house was hot property. It was home to the Penn power and if their sovereignty were to be given any credence the Auction House was their palace. Elizabeth didn’t want it. It meant nothing to her really. She had read the auction list and had set her sights on other prizes. But it was a prime city location. Some would argue it was the final stop before The Tower. If she let it go into Chick Owen’s hands who knows where he would proceed onto next. He had his reasons for wanting it. He wanted it so badly. Elizabeth decided to let him sweat.
Elizabeth Beckingridge had no need for the Penn Auction House nor did she have any loyalty to the Penns themselves. In fact, hadn’t it been the boys who had helped Tabitha commit the Free Fall Massacre? If she even made one bid it would purely be out of spite. Chick’s family heirloom, his very name, was at stake. The Penns stole the Captain Henry ‘Hen’ Owen’s compass. He would have that compass back in the estate where it belonged. To do that he would have the Auction House, no matter the cost.
Jeremy cleared his throat.
“Reserve price is 2.3 million.”
Liz raised her board. 2.4
The Cappy shook his head. She was playing spiteful after all. He knew she was deliberately drawing the price up because she wanted to clear him out before it reached some of the other items on the list.
2.5 million he bid.
2.6 million she returned.
2.7 million. Going in hard. The Penn Palace would be in the hands of Owen Inc. no matter what.
2.8 million. Elizabeth’s interest was waning.
3.2 million. The Cappy struck boldly.
3.7 million Elizabeth countered
3.9 million. The leaps showed The Cappy’s determination.
Elizabeth lowered her board. She had let him sweat long enough, throwing money away on items she wasn’t all that interested in.
Jeremy waited for a counter offer. It was not forthcoming.
“Going once. Going twice.” The hammer slammed. The Penn Auction House was now property of Owen Inc. Jeremy couldn’t disguise his distaste but he carried on.
“Lot 004. The Knock Knock Club.”
Another prime property that anyone with a good business mind could make work. It could become a trendy bar, revitalising the whole area. It could extend Owen reach in the south. With the Boss Lady gone it was the perfect time to make the move.
Elizabeth kept a poker face. The search for Tawny had drawn her to the club. She looked to what the Baroness had been protesting against. She had learned the reasoning behind targeting her firm. She had met with Agnes. Her and her girls were all that were left. The Knock Knock stood for something and for that reason it had to be kept away from Owen hands.
“The reserve price is 1.2 million. It also includes the attached Clifton shelter used for the homeless.”
1.5 million. Elizabeth began this time.
1.7 million countered The Cappy.
1.9 million. Beckingridge Tower was continuing its efforts.
2.1 million. The Cappy was tentative.
2.5, 2.6, 2.7, 2.9, 3.2, 3.5 the numbers continued to roll in. The club was well above its estimation.
4 million was Elizabeth’s final offer.
“Sold.” The Knock Knock Club was now in the hands of Beckingridge Firm.
Jeremy had no time to pause for thought. More items were available.
“Lot 005. Harbour House.”
The unique rehabilitation clinic had caused quite a stir of late. It had been the cause of scandal when its resident 0109 went missing. Control of the facility could mean a final shut down to the rumours of the Owens being responsible for that disappearance, coupled with the fact it was very profitable.
It was Elizabeth’s interests in finding the truth behind Tawny’s disappearance that pricked her ears.
“Reserve price is 3.2,” Jeremy explained.
4.5 million. Elizabeth jumped in right away. She didn’t care she was exposing her hand too soon.
Charles shook his head. He wasn’t even willing to combat it.
“Sold.” Harbour House was also now a Beckingridge Firm holding but the dragon had reared and exposed a weakness in its belly. Steel and determination could break those scales.
“Lot 006. Pettiwick School.”
The Salinger family had been in the control of the school for generations. Lewis Salinger was a friend of Ernest’s. Pettiwick had educated every Beckingridge since its founding. Even Gramps had walked the halls as a boy. Even George has his time there. Lewis was a complete moron and had been caught by Law Maker forensic accountants, skimming money from the school funds it seemed. The Law Makers dug their claws in deeper and discovered the Salingers had been doing it for years. It was now a seized property but that didn’t mean the children had to suffer. It was still the finest school in the city. Chick Owen had no reason to want it but it was home to the Beckingridge Wing, donated by Ernest. Charles’ poker face was indecipherable.
“Reserve price is 6.7 million.”
It was a big property and going cheap. Elizabeth was likely to fight tooth and nail for it but when the dragon had exhausted all of its flaming breath it made it easier to cut the beast’s head off.
7 million. The first Owen bid was tentative.
10 million. The Beckingridge bid was a strike.
20 million. Games were no longer being played.
25 million. The flames roared.
30 million. The shine of the steel returned.
Elizabeth broke the bidding. “Oh come on Charles. What use do you have for a school?”
Chick Owen said nothing. The dragon was down.
“Going once. Going twice …” said Jeremy.
45 million. The dragon was not done.
50 million. Neither was Owen inc.
55 million. The tower was beginning to shake.
70 million. There was still much to do.
Elizabeth had no choice but to bow out. It was a personal fondness that would have kept her fighting for the school but she couldn’t waste what fire power she had on personal fondness.
“Going once. Going twice. Sold!”
The finest school in the Shady City was to now have a Great States face lift.
“Going to ruin the damn thing,” Elizabeth grumbled to herself. Between the Chapter House in Filton and now Pettiwick, the Owens had way more power in Filton than she liked. There wasn’t time to rest on it though. There was more.
“Lot 006. Coldridge Park from the City Main entrance to the Mid East exit.”
For The Cappy it was the perfect addition to the Auction House. It held the area before the Faulds Park building where the Penns were normally resident. It also contained some sports fields used by Kappa So.
Elizabeth always loved that park. Well, she had spent an afternoon there once or twice. If Pettiwick was going to be used to push into Filton then the park could be used to flood the Owens out of City Main.
“Reserve price is 11.5 million.”
11.5 million. Beckingridge began with the reserve. No one was leaping in for an area that was essentially filled with drug dealers and prostitutes
11.6 million. Charles Owen was also being nonchalant.
12.1 million. Owen budget was depleting. He wanted that property but he couldn’t be silly about it. He bowed out gracefully.
“Sold.” Coldridge Park (from the City Main entrance to the Mid East exit) now belonged to Beckingridge.
“Lot 007. St Michael’s Cathedral.”
The parish hadn’t been the same since the Reverend Owen gave up his flock. No verifiable evidence in the rape of hundreds of little girls but the protests that had gone on outside it, led by the Baroness, had made it a very interesting spot indeed. There may have been no evidence then but what about underneath the cathedral’s floor boards? Structures could speak volumes. What would that old church have to say of the confessions the reverend himself had to make?
Proceedings were ending. As far as elder brother Charles Owen was concerned it was time to close the cathedral for good, throw it to the Fullertons as a chew toy for all he cared. With the cathedral gone the talk of Jerry would quiet to whispers before eventually fading away.
“Reserve price is 10.3 million,” Jeremy informed them. He wasn’t given much time before the first bid was raised.
10.4 million. Owen inc. threw their hat into the ring first.
10.5 million. The Beckingridge dragon roared.
10.6, 10.7, 10.8, 11, 12.
The bidding went on. It was starting to overreach what Chick had intended. The Cappy took a sharp intake of breath. Elizabeth spotted what was to come next. She was going to have to cut her losses.
“Sold.” The Cathedral was going back to the Owen family. The skeletons in the reverend’s vestry damned to Hell.
“Final lot for today,” announced Jeremy. “Lot 008. Chamberlain Docks.”
This was it. The dragon was ready to breath every last flame it had. Seized by the Law Makers due to the trafficking, soliciting and illegal trading. Harbour House would be far more use to Elizabeth with the docks. If they belonged to Owen Inc, the facility could very well be of no use at all. Chamberlain was the main access route to Hathfield and the prime spot for spreading wealth and expanding reach.
Owen Inc knew this too. Returning to the kingdom with the dragon’s head would mean little without it. Charles had the auction house; he had the school and he had his brother’s Cathedral. He could afford to take his time and let the dragon strike first.
The Cathedral didn’t matter when Elizabeth had the Knock Knock Club. Whilst the club still existed, the Owens could still be driven from Coldford. They may bite chunks from City Main but they would be enclosed by the pests from the Shanties and their main competitors in Filton. However, to close them in completely Beckingridge Firm needed to hold Chamberlain docks.
“The reserve price is 20.6 million. It includes the Ferry Way brand and terminal, the allotted sea area and surrounding businesses.”
Elizabeth turned to Charles. “Be my guest.”
Chick smiled and shook his head. “Ladies first.”
30 million. The first blow struck.
40 million. The Owen counter.
The dance continued and the bites were taken.
50 million. The Tower would not concede.
70 million. Owen Inc was not walking away.
100, 200, 400, 500 million.
‘Damnit Liz, don’t be so stupid,’ Chick thought inwardly.
600, 700, 750, 800, 825 million.
‘You know as well as I do the docks aren’t worth anywhere near that,’ Elizabeth thought. ‘Give up Charles. You are not having this one.’
The new algorithms at the firm were going to have to work extra hard. All hands on deck for the accounts team and the traders.
The Cappy made no further bid. The docks were a power play but not enough to exhaust his funds completely. He would find another way.
“Going once. Going twice.” Jeremy halted. The phone he had set on the table before him bleeped. He checked it. “We have a new bidder,” he announced. “The bid for the docks now stands at 1.2 billion.”
Chick and Elizabeth looked to each other. Both were equally as perplexed. Elizabeth couldn’t go any higher, not with the costs of the other properties, not without having to close the exchange for a few days causing a knock on effect for the firm.
“Going once. Going twice. Sold.”
The bidding was closed and neither Owen Inc nor the Beckingridge Firm claimed Chamberlain docks.
Chick and Elizabeth stepped outside into the hustle and bustle of City Main. They shook hands.
“Congratulations,” said The Cappy. “I do so admire your moxy. Things are so much more interesting with a worthy opponent.”
Elizabeth slipped her phone from her bag. “Thank you Charles. You fight dirty but I’ve never minded a bit of mud on my face.”
They separated. Chick watched as Elizabeth put her phone to her ear. Her walk started to become brisk. “Where is she parked?” he asked his driver.
“South street,” was the answer as The Cappy slipped into the town car.
“Get me Ronnie. I need to find out who in the Hell got Chamberlain.”
Meanwhile, the Beckingridge security were in a rush to keep up with their mistress.
“Mark?” she was saying on the phone. “I need you to go down to the exchange right away. Title deeds are changing for Chamberlain Docks. Watch them and message me the name of the new owner the minute they update and I mean stand with your finger on the button. Seconds are a delay too long. I’m on my way back now. I was outbid for the docks and I need to know who else in this city has that kind of money.”
Inside Jeremy signed over the deed of purchase.
“Congratulations, Miss Harvester,” he said.
Julia smiled. All the petty squabbles were nothing to her when she had the route to expansion. Owen Inc, Beckingridge firm, even the Penn and Fullerton names knew the Harvester brand was growing but that nice, sweet presence in homes up and down the city had grown far larger than they had realised. Julia was a nice girl and now if the Beckingridges or the Owens wanted to reach outside of Coldford they were going to have to ask her nicely.
***
By day Walden’s in City Main was a wine bar serving expensive drinks to young people with important jobs in the city. It was a meeting place for young professionals looking to escape their responsibilities and drink alcohol in the afternoon. By evening it was something quite different. Decadence, debauchery, licentious behaviour but when twenty eight year old Beckingridge accountant, Raymond, stepped inside it was quiet and calm. The low lighting reminded him of the rectory room at Pettiwick where had gone to school. It had a calming essence. Light jazz music played.
“Good afternoon, Raymond,” barman Gill greeted. “A little pick me up after a long day then?”
“A sherry please, Gill,” Raymond ordered. He had been locked in the offices of Beckingridge Tower since six am working on new algorithms they had been given. He felt he had earned his wind down at the end of the day.
Gill passed the sherry, poured into a perfectly curved glass. Raymond took a seat at the bar, intent on having some quiet time. Liz Beckingridge had stationed herself in the accounting department and despite them all working hard to make the new algorithms profit, she was in a mood about something. Although Raymond could remember her presence being a headache even before she took her brother’s place as CEO.
“You go home, Raymond,” Ernest had said to him once. “If you have a headache you go home incase you’re coming down with something. Go and get better.”
With a similar complaint to Elizabeth she replied, “Headache? What are you four years old? This is your job Raymond and if you haven’t finished running these numbers by close of business you will experience what a true headache is.”
Raymond sipped the sherry. Maybe the accounts department needed Liz’s sharpened tongue. After all The Tower was now performing at the best rates it ever had and the accounts team on the eighteenth floor were what held The Tower up.
He savoured the sherry’s sweetness. His eyes were drawn to a woman sat alone in the corner. She was a little younger than he from what he could tell. Her face wasn’t heavily made up like a lot of the women who came to Walden’s. She had a natural, earthy beauty. When he caught her eye she smiled and coyly dropped her eyes to the phone she held in her hand. Raymond absorbed the image of the green dress she wore. The green swirled with the watery blue of her eyes in an almost hypnotic embrace. Raymond lifted his glass and boldly opted to join her at her table.
“Waiting for someone?” he asked.
She looked up and smiled at him as he took a seat. A lot of women could be put off by over eagerness, so Raymond leaned back to prevent his body from being too much in her space.
“I just thought I’d stop by,” she replied. “The noise of the city was starting to get to me.”
“You’re not from around here?”
She shook her head to the negative. She looked shy, as though she shouldn’t be talking to strange men in bars. “I live on a farm so it’s all quite a change of scenery for me.”
“So what brings you all the way down here?” Raymond asked.
Her soft ruby lips stretched into a grin. “I’m collecting meat,” she said.
She giggled at the coy euphemism. Raymond found himself doing the same thing.
Raymond lifted his glass and took another sip. “I’ll have to keep my eye on you then,” he teased.
The farm girl watched him. “You probably should.”
“What’s your name?” asked he.
She reached our hand out to him. He shook it. “Julia,” she said. “Julia Harvester.”
“I know the Harvester brand really well. I work for Beck Firm and we’re just dying to have you on board.” Raymond could see her eyes glaze over. It wasn’t shop talk she had come for. It was a more personal interaction she was after.
“My name’s Raymond. May I buy you a drink?”
“I think I’ve had my fill for now, Raymond, but if you are so familiar with the city perhaps you could show me around. I’m sure you can look after me and see that I get home safely.”
Raymond swallowed what was left of the Sherry.
“I’d be honoured,” he said. “My friends all say that I make an excellent tour guide.” His eyes fell down to her breasts, to her slim stomach. “May I ask which designer you got that fetching dress from?”
Julia took note of her dress as though it were the first time she had noticed she was even wearing it. “Oh this?” she declared. “This was no designer. I made it myself.” Earthy, modest. Julia was like a cool glass of water on a baking hot day. His parents would certainly like her much more than Tatyiana. “I’m good with my hands,” she finished.
At this Raymond leaned in. His empty Sherry glass now rested under him, causing a shimmer of light to dance upon his chin.
“So what parts of the city would you like to see?”
Julia stood. She reached out her hand and took his. “I’d like to see all that it has to offer,” she stated. She pulled him to his feet.
She led him by the hand from Walden’s wine bar. The bar man didn’t pay attention to the young woman Raymond had chosen to leave with. Perhaps he should have.
***
Julia Harvester liked Beckingridge Manor. Although it wasn’t intended to be, it felt as open as the Harvester Farm house. It had a cool draught blowing through it. The walls were thick. The ceiling was high.
“I love you Julia,” George Beckingridge stated. He kissed her cheek heartily. She discretely wiped the saliva from her face as he danced towards his bed where Raymond had been stripped and laid to rest under the sheets. He wasn’t dead yet but the Beckingridge accountant wouldn’t be throwing any resistance towards them anytime soon.
“He is quite sweet, isn’t he?” she replied.
George collected a comb from a chest of drawers. He dropped to his knees beside the bed and started to comb Raymond’s hair into a neat side parting.
“He looks just like him,” George said excitedly. “I said so didn’t I? He looks just like him but there’s something not quite right. He not wearing glasses. Mr Baines wore glasses.
Julia reached into the pocket of her coat and produced a pair of spectacles. She passed them to George and with a grin on his face he slipped them onto Raymond’s face.
He chuckled. “That’s better.”
“I’m glad he pleases you. I do try my best.”
George stroked Raymond’s face gently. “He looks like him. I’d like to pretend it’s him. You don’t mind that do you Mr Baines? Are you glad to be back with your best pupil?”
Julia wasn’t listening. Instead her attention was brought to stuffed animal that sat on a shelf looking down.
When she picked him up George’s eyes locked on her. He watched closely as Julia stroked the toy’s fur.
“His name is Cecil,” George explained. “I know I’m a man now but I still like to have him close by.”
Julia cradled Cecil delicately. “We all have things from childhood we like to hold onto now don’t we?”
“When I was five there was a little boy in my school named Cecil. He was pale, skinny and completely bald. I didn’t ask why. I just thought he didn’t want any hair. All the other children looked at him like he was strange. They all looked at me that way too so we became friends. Cecil was always the first to say hi to me in the morning and we called each other every night when we weren’t sleeping over. We played for hours in this very room. I can still hear him laughing sometimes. The music room was where he liked best. I still have the toy train he left here. One day Cecil just stopped coming to school. When I called his mum said he couldn’t come to phone. My mum wouldn’t let any of the drivers take me to see him. A week later Miss Matheson – our teacher – told me that Cecil had been sick for some time. He had died. He couldn’t come to the phone because he was dead. I never got the chance to say goodbye. So when I saw that toy and I realised it’s name was Cecil I had to have him. We are going to be best friends forever, just like we promised.”
A monitor whirred with the sound of a baby’s cry.
“That’s my niece, Vicky,” he informed the farm girl. “Catherine, my sister has gone to a party. She asked me to look after her. Will you check on her for me? She’s in the nursery just down the hall.”
Julia laid Cecil back onto his spot on the shelf. His beetle black eyes were watching Raymond in the bed. The fur around the stuffed mouse’s neck was sticky and matted where he had been held so often.
“Will you be having a sleep over with me and Mr Baines?” asked the Billionaire Boy.
“I’m afraid not,” she returned “I’ll check on the baby and then I have to go.”
George’s attention was now back on Raymond. He kissed his cheek. He knocked the glasses askew. Julia closed the door behind her. George dropped his trousers and stepped out of them. He removed the white briefs he was wearing too and climbed into bed with Raymond, wrapping himself around the accountant. He kissed him again.
“Good night, Mr Baines,” he said.
Julia could hear the baby cry out as she approached the nursery. The door had been left ajar. Inside, the nursery was calmly lit with soft night lights flashing stars and planets on the walls and ceiling. Uncle George had left some classical music playing softly on an old stereo. It had lulled baby Vicky to sleep and she had only stirred again when it stopped. Normally her uncle would sing to her when the music stopped. Aunt Liz would sing to her too but that was only to distract her when she was getting changed or dressed. Liz’s voice was bouncy and fun. George’s soft voice always came through the darkness when it was time to close her eyes and bid farewell to the day. It was always gentle. Almost at a whisper. Tonight it was neither.
Victoria Beckingridge, third in line for the Beckingridge Tower looked up from her cradle with wide, engaging eyes. She had large brown ones like Uncle George. Julia had never met Catherine. Maybe she had the same.
The baby had been tucked perfectly for sleep. Her helpless little body had no room to wriggle.
“Gah!?” she exclaimed when she saw Julia. Julia lifted her from the cradle and into her arms. She carried her across to an armchair by the window. It offered a view of the manor’s lawns. She sat and settled Victoria into her arms, loosening the blanket so she could reach out.
“Hello, Vicky,” said Julia softly. “Uncle George is busy right now,” she caressed the little girl’s cheek. “You go back to sleep now, buttercup. It’s very late for you.”
Vicky’s lips twitched into a smile but her eyes started to get heavy as Julia began to rock her.
***
The main entrance to Beckingridge Tower. Statue of founder Jeffrey Beckingridge AKA Gramps.
With it being Friday afternoon Beckingridge Tower exchange was hectic. Everything was beginning to wind down for the weekend closures.
“I’ve got 3.4!”
“I’ve got 6.5!”
“Going down. It’s time to pull out. Hurry!”
To pass the main reception of Beckingridge Tower you would find yourself on the stock holding floor. It was called the Execution Hall because it was where all the deals were cut and a lot of financial fates were decided.
Elizabeth was crossing the hall, keeping a personal eye on the weekend closures.
“Liz,” someone patted her shoulder for attention. She turned to be faced with Dr Gregory Winslow. Before the doctor could offer any further greeting Liz’s secretary, Colin, stepped in the way.
“Can I help you, sir?” he asked with a scowl.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “It’s fine Colin. Just carry on.”
Colin moved back onto the floor to continue to check on the traders and their final executions for the week. After the bidding those numbers were more important than ever.
“I’m busy doctor so …”
“I’m just here to have my weekly little chat with George so don’t mind me. Is he in his office?”
Winslow had been offering some tuition to George to prepare him for business school at Filton. He had also been talking the Billionaire Boy through his kidnapping, the death of his parents and the boy Kenneth. In truth the doctor’s influence was doing some good as far as Elizabeth could tell. There were moments when he even behaved like a real human being.
Liz Beckingridge wasn’t so naive that she didn’t realise Winslow was only taking her nephew under his wing because he had ulterior motives. No one liked to have to deal with George. Even his own father sighed relief when the music teacher took him away. Like many others Winslow probably saw him as weak. The doctor would see George as a way of gaining power himself in The Tower. Sure George would be sat on the CEO chair but it would be Winslow pulling the strings. George’s mouth would snap open and closed but it would be Winslow’s words he would be speaking. He would sound just like a real boy.
Elizabeth had no intention of ever letting George take control of the firm. She wouldn’t risk him ruining Gramps’ legacy by acting like a cruel child with a magnifying glass. But if the doctor was able to hold onto those strings in the meantime and have him behave she had no reason to stop him.
After all, it had been Winslow who talked George out of placing himself in the Penthouse Office.
“I think the Booker office may be more appropriate for you at this stage,” the doctor had said. George had scowled at first, until the doctor pointed out that it had actually been from the Booker office that the Free Fall Massacre had occurred.
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “He’s upstairs. He’ll be expecting you.”
“Splendid!” Winslow cheered. He departed and allowed Elizabeth to return to the brokers.
The Booker office was still on the top floor but just didn’t quite reach the lofty heights of the Penthouse. As the elevator rose through the tower, Winslow began to wonder how he would look atop of the tower and with control at the firm. ‘Perhaps one day,’ he chastised himself. ‘One thing at a time.’
He didn’t fear George Beckingridge. He was well aware of his psychopathic tendencies. After all, it had been he who had signed the death certificate for his mother. He also handled the body extracted from the lawns of Beckingridge Manor. He had talked extensively with Vincent Baines when he was one of his Harbour House residents. Vincent detailed George’s behaviour and the fear that it had struck in the man who had taken the boy away thinking he was protecting him. Dr G Winslow wasn’t afraid of George Beckingridge because Harbour House had seen it all. Not a psychiatric institute but a rehabilitation clinic and that included rehab for all kinds of trauma.
“Good afternoon, doctor,” he was recognised immediately by George’s appointed secretary. A smiley young girl named Michelle. She too didn’t seem to fear George but that was through naivete bordering on stupidity. “Mr Beckingridge is expecting you. You can go right through.”
“Thank you, my dear,” he said.
He found George sat behind his desk. The doctor’s pride swelled when he noticed the business school text books he had bought the young CEO to be opened on his desk. George himself was dressed appropriately in a suit. The tie had a leaf pattern on it. It was a little more whimsical than anything he would have directed the boy to but at least he was starting to find his own style.
“I was going to call,” George began. “But I thought I would like to see you face to face.”
Winslow took a seat. “Something the matter? Are you having trouble with your studies?”
“I’m fine,” he replied. “I just decided I don’t like you.”
Winslow wasn’t sure he heard correctly but he maintained his composure and prepared to work through one of George’s outbursts.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” was the doctor’s response. “Was it something I said?”
“No. I just don’t like you.”
Winslow licked his lips. “That is a shame. We were such good friends.”
“No!” George barked. “I never did like you.”
This wasn’t going to be one of his outbursts after all. This was going to take a bit more calming.
“Whatever has upset you, I’m sure we can discuss it.”
“No,” George stated, softer this time. “I want you to leave and never come back. I don’t want to see you again and I won’t be giving any money to Harbour House.”
Winslow stayed steady.
“May I ask what has brought you to this decision? Surely after all we’ve been through you can offer me that much?”
George reached into the desk drawer and pulled out an expensive bottle of port and sat it on the table. It still had a gift bow on it from when Winslow gave it to him. It hadn’t been opened.
“Take this back,” George ordered.
“Please,” Winslow steadied his voice. “If you don’t tell me why it has come to this I’m just going to spend all evening worried about you.”
“I don’t need you,” said the Billionaire Boy. “You are just using me.”
“Now who would put that idea in your head? His tone snapped a lot more than he had intended it to. At first he thought it had been Elizabeth but she had little to no influence over her nephew and if she did feel that way about the doctor she wouldn’t have let him near him in the first place. “Who told you that George?”
From the adjoining room where a meeting of investment bankers was taking place emerged Julia Harvester.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Winslow stood. He scowled at the farm girl. “You?” he snarled. “You did this?”
“Did what?” she asked. “Tell you to take your poison and spit it in someone else’s ear? No, Gregory. Why would I do that? We’re still friends. It’s George here who says he doesn’t like you. He’s had enough of your pathetic, whining voice. He’s his own man. He’s big enough to make that choice. Who am I to say what happens in his tower?”
George was glaring at the doctor. Julia was smiling.
“You don’t and never will have a say in what happens at Beckingridge Firm,” George stated.
‘Neither will you, young man. Neither will you,’ Winslow mused bitterly.
Julia stepped behind George and rested her hands on his shoulders. She was the one pulling the strings now.
“Leave,” George insisted. “And when you do, take a route past Harvester Farm and remove every trace you had ever been there. Wipe every surface your wrinkled arse has touched and go.” He reached into the drawer again this time he drew out a long, rusted key. “This is the key for the Browning House. I loved it there. It was my home for ten years. A friend at CPD gave me it. You can have it. Go there and be forgotten about.”
“And if I don’t?”
George slammed his fists on the table. “You do it! You do what I say!”
Julia squeezed his shoulders. The strings were tugged. It was the puppeteer who spoke this time.
“Don’t test me, Gregory. I’ve sprayed for vermin like you before.”
“How dare you!” the doctor roared.
Julia raised her hand.
SMASH.
The bottle of port exploded. Gun fire. Why hadn’t Winslow noticed the window was open?
George was grinning excitedly. “Buddy Owen has his eye on you,” he cheered. “Buddy’s my brother and we’re brothers for life.”
Owen Inc, Beckingridge Firm and the Harvester Brand coming together would never be matched. It would be impossible for anyone to compete against that kind of influence in the Shady City. If anyone could make that happen it would be Julia. There was only one person who could step in the way of that and it was Elizabeth. But who was she going to listen to? The man who allowed the music teacher who she considered a friend to be treated abysmally by George whilst he was in his care, or the sweet farm girl who not only had her nephew dancing to a pleasant tune but also spent the night before cradling her great niece to sleep when the child’s own mother had abandoned her. Not to mention, it had been Elizabeth who had raised the interest in Harvester Farm.
Winslow fled The Tower, taking the Browning House key. If it had held George for ten years it still had its uses. He ran to his car. Every step he took, every corner he turned, he could feel an Owen scope on him. Even when he got into his car and drove away, he still didn’t feel safe. Buddy could be anywhere.
Julia clasped George’s head affectionately and planted a kiss on the crown. He giggled. She crossed to the open window, leaned out and took a deep breath of the fresh icy air. She looked across to the Weir Hotel. She didn’t know exactly where Buddy had placed his nest. She wouldn’t be able to see him with her naked eye but she brought her fingertips to her lips and blew a kiss. Either way he would still be watching.
It takes a little bit of extra pizazz to work the KNOCK KNOCK club and to be the manager you got to really have your wits about you. Here’s what our manager, DENNIS brings to the table:
GREET THE CUSTOMERS
There are a lot of regular faces returning to the SHANTIES for the best night in town but as the manger you really need to keep a keen eye out for strangers. The club is invitation only (by orders of the BOSS LADY). Given the nature of the joint there can be a lot of creeps hanging around. Your job as manager is to weed out the miscreants and send them packing. Except if one of those strange faces happens to be a reporter for the COLDFORD DAILY, the biggest publication in the city. Then he goes right on in.
KEEP THE BOOZE FLOWING
The KNOCK KNOCK girls are skilled at flirting with the customers and making them feel special. A horny man will part with cash quicker than his trousers if he thinks he’s getting something out of it. He’s not. Your job as manager is to keep those drinks flowing so the customers are sent home with a smile on their face one way or another.
CHEER THE ENTERTAINMENT
No one loves the BOSS LADY more than the BOSS LADY herself so when she takes to the stage it is always on the HEADLINING spot. As manager you have to make sure the crowds are wild and having a great time. It helps to throw in a little whoop and cheer yourself just to get the ball rolling on slow nights.
PREPARE THE GIRLS
Choosing the girls sounds like a dream job for any hot blooded man but there’s more to our KNOCK KNOCK lovelies than meets the eye. These kittens have got to have claws. There is no use bringing in a new flirty waitress only to have her pack it in a week later. That’s bad for business and its bad for morale. Get those girls prepared, pretty and ready to lash out because in a place like the KNOCK KNOCK club those kittens got to have claws. The SHANTIES are no place for damsels in distress.
WISH YOU HAD NEVER COME
Alright so this one is specific for Dennis. We’re pretty sure anyone would just love to manage the club but when you have had to leave your family life behind and submit all power you once had it can feel more like a life sentence. Should have kept your hands to yourself then Dennis, you dirty fiend.
Do you have what it takes to manage a place like the KNOCK KNOCK club? Have we made it seem like an appealing place for a night out?
After it all you can just sit back, relax and consider a job well done.
COMING 2021
A mysterious illness and a desperate phone call sends Cult Deprogrammer Reynolds’ sights on the Wigan faith of Hathfield Bay island. Time to face the past.
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“You can’t do this!” Knock Knock barmaid Lisa Luren was complaining.
The club had been appointed its bailiff. The club’s assets were now being officially seized so that its starting price at auction could be given.
The bailiff – a woman not much older than Lisa, named Colette – looked down her spectacles at her. “I’m sure you’ll find I can. I have been granted permission by the High Court. Her Honourable Judge Doyle’s signature is on all of it and I have been instructed to close this club and note anything that would be of value.” She raised her phone and took a photograph of a fresh bottle of Macks that had been sat on the bar.
“You’re putting us out of work. What are we supposed to do for work?”
Colette sighed. She took another photo of the bar. A fellow bailiff took note.
“Not my problem. Put on some clothes, get yourself educated and maybe you’ll find yourself a real job. People might start to take you more seriously.”
“Can’t you at least wait until the owner gets here? She needs to be here,” Lisa protested.
Colette smirked. “I don’t think the owner is going to be here anytime soon.”
“I think she means me,” Agnes Wilde stated. She had arrived in a hurry when she received Lisa’s text.
Colette nodded to her fellow bailiff. He handed a copy of the High Court authorisation to Agnes. Agnes was known as The Broker of Knock Knock. She was partner to The Baroness and beloved aunt of Tabitha. The Knock Knock club was all she had left to hang onto.
Agnes folded the document in a single sharp fold. She had a naturally ladylike composure, which she refused to drop. “Before she was taken, Tabitha signed her shares over to me. Unless you are here to arrest me, you can’t take anything.”
Colette was disinterested. She had seen it all and had heard all manner of excuses.
“Check the details of the document I’ve just given you. You will see that I’m not here to collect on Tabitha’s shares. They were already forfeit the minute the investigation into the Headliner Fund was raised. I’m here to collect on part of Tawny McInney. Until she returns, she is considered a fugitive of the law and her name is the first on the Headliner Fund.”
“What about my own shares?” Agnes protested. “I’m the controlling share holder in this club.”
Colette took a photograph of the stage. “I’m sure basic maths will tell you that one third share is not the controlling one. Tabitha’s shares are void and Tawny’s are now seized. This club is going to auction.”
“This is my club,” Agnes snarled. Her irritation was now beginning to show.
“Then you’re most welcome to bid for those shares back. I’m happy to keep you informed as our collection proceeds.”
Lisa snatched Colette’s shoulder but Agnes stopped her.
Colette shrugged her off. “I’m just doing my job. Do not add assault to the charge sheet. The court will have its dues one way or another.”
A group of bailiffs brought out a box of costumes belonging to The Baroness. Agnes’ chest tightened when she saw Tawny’s feather head band peeking out from the top. She loved that band. She had had it for years and despite it having lived its best days she refused to part with it.
“Gives me a classy look, doesn’t it?” Tawny had said.
Tabitha laughed. “It looks like you stole it from a fucking parrot with mange,” the niece teased.
Tawny laughed heartily. She pulled Tabitha onto her lap and squeezed her tight, kissing her head. Tawny looked into her dressing room mirror and saw Agnes watching them both. Tawny wrinkled her nose and kissed at her enjoying how Agnes’ elegant smile turned to a girlish giggle when she did so. Tabitha took her aunt’s head band and put it on her own. She flicked her glossy brunette locks and posed exactly the way her aunt would on stage.
“What do you think Aggie?” the young girl put to her.
“It could at least use a wash.”
Tawny refused. “Not a chance, honey. You wash off all the luck from it when you do that. I got that feather all by myself. Do you realise how hard it is to pluck straight from a gull’s arse?”
Tabitha laughed heartily. “You talk so much shit Aunt Tee,” she taunted.
Few heard Tabitha laugh the way that she did when she and Tawn were backstage. That tatty old feather band had all the luck in the world for Tawny and now that luck was being carried out the door of the Knock Knock Club courtesy of agents of the High Court.
“That’s not worth anything, surely?” Agnes stopped a bailiff carrying one of Tabitha’s signature red dresses. “Do you really need to be taking the clothes?”
Colette shrugged. “Why not? It’s not like she’ll wear them anymore.” Before she could reply the bailiff added, “Custom designed, product of Luen. It all makes a difference.”
“What are we going to do Agnes?” asked Lisa. They had made plans to visit a friend of the barmaid who used to buy drugs from her boyfriend Kev. They had hoped he could shed some light on who shot her daughter, Sarah.
“There’s nothing we can do,” The Broker was forced to admit. “I have to stay here but I’ll get you some help. We’re not done.”
***
I had been in Lydia’s City Main apartment with Franklin when my phone began to ring with a disguised number. Franklin was preparing to leave to rendezvous with Agent Kim. He looked up from pulling on a jacket.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?”
It had been a while since any of my old story contacts fromr the Coldford Daily had been in touch.
“Hello?” I answered tentatively.
“Sam?” a woman’s voice, steady, calm, despite the sound of something of a commotion behind her. “Agnes Wilde. I got your number from a note you had left with Dennis.”
“Yes, Agnes. How are you?” Agnes and I had met before. She had shed a lot of light on Tabitha’s motives. It had been interesting hearing the perspective of someone who loved the Boss Lady like a daughter.
“I’ve been better I’m sad to say. I was going to be helping one of my girls this afternoon but we’ve been met with a swarm.”
A swarm was a common term in the Shady City for when the bailiffs arrived, due to the biblical plague nature of their descent.
“I’m sorry to hear that Agnes but I’m not sure what help I can be.”
“I can’t get away at the moment and this girl really could use some support. One of the agents would be a better fit than I am. It’s the little girl, Sam. The little girl that was shot? I can’t contact the agency directly because I need to be discrete but could you put me in touch?”
“I’ll do what I can,” I agreed.
I owed it to that little girl to do what I could to find her killer.
I looked to Franklin first. Capable and approachable. He would put Lisa at ease.
“Sorry,” he said. “Kim and I are heading to the Court House.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I know someone who might fit better.”
***
Whilst the bailiffs still swarmed their way through the club noting everything that could be of value down to the silver of the cutlery, Agnes opened the door to what little help there was available.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Lisa growled when she caught sight of Agent Lydia Lowe.
“We need all the help we can get,” Agnes warned. “Play nice.”
“That slutty bitch took Tabs away!” Lisa protested.
“I don’t have time for this. Tabs knew what she was getting herself into. It’s too late for her but if you want to find out what happened to Sarah you need to work with her.”
“Fine,” Lisa agreed, pouting.
A bailiff approached Agnes.
“Miss Wilde, we need the key for the upstairs apartment.”
Agnes’ lips tightened. “I suppose my toothbrush is worth something, is it?”
The bailiff didn’t answer. They just stood with their hand out waiting for their key. Agnes dipped into her jacket pocket and handed the key over.
“Right now, I have to concern myself with who is going to buy into this club. When Tawn comes back she will be devastated that Tabitha is gone. If she realises this place is gone too…” Her voice trailed off.
“Miss Wilde?” another bailiff called.
“I’m coming!” Agnes barked.
When she left Lisa and Lydia alone the Lydia asked her to join her somewhere quiet where they could talk. Lydia spoke first. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
She was not apologising for the Boss Lady’s demise. As her own aunt admitted, Tabitha had sealed her own fate. Lydia was offering heartfelt condolences for the death of her daughter, Sarah. If she hadn’t afforded me the opportunity to escape the club with the little girl, she would never have run into the scope of the gunman.
“Fuck you,” Lisa replied but she was starting to cry.
“I can’t bring your little girl back but I want to help you. Work with me and we’ll bring in the one that did it.”
“I thought you were one of us, you fake bitch. You took in Tabitha. She treated you like family. We were all like family.”
Lydia shook her head. She spoke softly. “I think you know that’s not true.”
Lisa smiled a little. It was true that The Baroness, The Broker and The Boss Lady treated all the girls at the club like family but long before she discovered she was an undercover agent, Tabitha made no secret of a dislike for Lydia. Jealousy? Instincts? Either way, Tabitha was not a fan. It had been club manager Dennis who had managed to gain Lydia access to the club.
“She’s good at what she does. She’ll draw in the crowds,” Dennis insisted – probably feeling like he could have a piece of Lydia himself.
“Fine,” Tabitha had agreed. “But keep her away from me. She looks like I might catch something.”
Preparing the girls for the evening Tabitha would do her usual rounds. “Great Lisa,” she would say. “Keep those drinks flowing. We want them pissed before we bring out the tip jars.” To Bette, the matron in charge of the dancer girls she would grin, “Got enough make up on? It looks like you’ve applied it with a trowel!” Bette would laugh at the good-natured ribbing. When Tabitha would turn to Lydia she would sneer, utter an, “Ugh,” and move on.
“I want to bring Sarah’s killer in. Will you let me help you?” Lydia put to the barmaid.
“Fine,” Lisa agreed for Sarah’s sake. “I was going to speak to someone who used to buy from Kevin. He might know something.”
“Good,” Lydia gave a chirpy smile. “What’s the address?”
“He lives in the Mid West now but he was Shanties born. He would never thank me for sending an agent to his door. I’ll go with you. I’ll talk to him first. Hopefully he will tell you all he knows.”
“We’ll get him, Lisa,” Lydia assured. “One way or another we’ll get that shooter.”
Lisa lowered her gaze. “I’m never going to have my daughter back. You lied to us. You lied to me. I thought we were friends.”
Lydia spoke soothingly. “I know I’m the last person you want around right now but I’m good at what I do and I can help find the one who shot Sarah. Let me help you.”
Lisa sniffed. “You’re still a fake bitch and the only thunder you bring is out your arse.”
Lydia shook her head. “Tabitha told you to say that, didn’t she?”
Lisa replied, “That’s the Boss Lady for you. But yeah, she did.”
***
Lisa’s contact had done good from what Lydia could tell. It seemed he had managed to escape the poverty trap of the Shanties and was now resident in a clean, respectable apartment in the Mid West.
“He’ll be a little shy of suits so let me do the talking,” Lisa instructed.
Lydia wasn’t going to complain. She wasn’t bearing any badge or uniform. It wasn’t her intention to cause any trouble for the contact. She just wanted to bring Sarah’s killer to justice.
A drug pusher was what Lydia expected from his association with Kev. He had clearly made a profitable business out of it. With bigger fish to fry she let Lisa take the lead. Lisa pushed the buzzer. Someone answered but they didn’t speak.
“Hey, it’s me,” she said.
The ring of the secure entry door sounded as it opened to them. Lisa stepped in first. Lydia was close at her back. She gave one last check for anything or anyone suspicious before she closed the door behind her.
They were greeted by a pleasantly lit, carpeted hallway. It wasn’t quite the Faulds Park building in City Main nor the Beckingridge Manor in Filton but it was clean. It was a typical Mid West apartment with its soft pastel coloured walls and welcoming plants in the corners. They climbed the stairs to the second floor. Lisa crossed an open landing and knocked on the door of apartment 2F. Their informant had been expecting them so the door was answered quickly.
“Agent Lowe,” Lisa introduced. “This is David Finn.”
Artist David Finn was sleepy eyed and his hair was tousled. He had clearly dressed in a hurry, his trousers and shirt not matching. He looked to Lydia, his mind still resonating on the word ‘agent’.
“Can we come in?” asked Lydia.
“Fuck,” was David’s reply.
***
David let the women into his apartment. The hallway may have been clean and well kept but the apartment itself was not. Clothes, paints, sketches were scattered everywhere. The artist started to straighten up as best he could.
While Lisa spoke to him Lydia took notice of a board that had been pinned to a wall. On it were photos of the Ferrald family who had raised David. There were also some photos taken from inside Harbour House, showing David with Tawny. She was clutching his face and kissing his cheek. David was smiling widely. His eyes were closed and his nose wrinkled. There was another with Tawny centre. She had one arm around David and the other round a well-groomed man wearing spectacles. Lydia assumed him to be the music teacher, Vincent Baines. Also pinned to the board was a photo of Tabitha as a girl. She was grinning, her two aunts standing proudly behind her. The photo was Tawny’s favourite and David had kept it for her. He knew she would be wanting it back when she was found.
“Jesus fucking Christ, lady!” David gasped to the Knock Knock barmaid. “You brought the law?”
“She just wants to ask about Kev,” Lisa explained. “She’s helping me.”
David nervously watched as Lydia inspected his apartment.
“Where did you meet her?” he asked. “She’s not CPD.”
“She was under cover at the club as one of the dancer girls.”
David’s nerves dissolved to a grin. “Really?”
“David? David?” Lisa urged but he was now lost in the neatness of Lydia’s form. “David focus!” she snapped her fingers in front of his glassy eyes.
“Sorry Lees,” he chuckled. “I was miles away there.”
Lisa pouted with good nature. “I’m sure you were. Can you help?”
“Of course,” David agreed.
When Tawny caught wind of Lisa’s daughter, Sarah, being gunned down and it likely being an Owen bullet that had taken her life she had vowed to do whatever it took to expose the killer. David was sure her vow and her disappearance were not unrelated. When he left Harbour House he met up with the Knock Knock barmaid to offer his support. It turned out that when Tawny spoke of Lisa, she had meant Lisa Luren. She and David had gone to school at The Grange together. Lisa was a couple of years above David but she was bubbly, popular and very memorable for a teenaged boy. They hadn’t seen one another in years but they knew each other well. David hadn’t realised the Kev he occasionally bought needles from was Lisa’s boyfriend.
Having given the time to put David at ease Lydia turned away from the board and prepared for her questioning. David kicked a pair of pink lace knickers under the sofa. There was no good explanation for them.
“So David,” Lydia asked. “When did you first find out about Sarah? What did Tawny tell you?”
“She heard from a friend that a little girl had been shot. That was nothing unusual in the Shanties but she insisted that it was an Owen that did it. Kappa So had been after Kev. He owed them money.”
“Did you know Kev well?”
“Uh…” David turned to Lisa.
Lisa urged him. “It’s fine,” she said.
“I used to buy from him when the Kirkton apartments dried up. I haven’t touched anything since I came out of Harbour House though, honest! I’m clean and sober. I haven’t done anything illegal.”
“It’s okay. I’m just here to try and find out what happened to Sarah,” Lydia assured. “Did Kev ever say who in Kappa So he owed?”
“No,” David replied. “But he owed lots of people. He stiffed me a few times too.”
Lydia took note. “Thanks David,” she said.
“So you’re going to make an arrest?” the artist asked. “You shut down Knock Knock. You can shut Kappa So down too, surely?”
“It’s not quite as simple as that I’m afraid,” Lydia admitted. “I need evidence.”
The recent events had left David a little emotional.
“And your looking for Tawn too?” he asked. “She’s loud, brassy, always flashing her tits at people,” he sniffed. “She can’t be missed, right?” he tried a cheerful spin.
Lydia smiled. “If learning about Sarah is the reason she’s gone missing then hopefully it will lead me to her too,” Lydia assured. “Lay low and say nothing to anyone.”
“Even CPD?” he enquired.
“Especially CPD.”
“The rich dragon lady wants to have a word with me. Can I talk to her?”
“If you mean Elizabeth Beckingridge then let me speak to her first. I want to find out all she learned from your friend, Vincent.”
David walked them to the door.
“Take care of yourself, Lees,” he said to the Knock Knock barmaid with a hug. “I’m here if you need anything.”
Lisa kissed the artist’s cheek. “I’m outta work just now so if you want a model give me a call,” she jested.
David laughed, “I will.”
Lydia shook his hand. “Thanks David. I’ll be in touch.”
“Sure, agent.” He leaned against the door frame. “Call me anytime. The more models the better…”
Lydia smiled. Her natural effervescence started to shine through her professionalism. She winked. “Stay safe.”
As they rounded the stairs Lisa looked back to see David still watching on with a raised eyebrow. His eyes were wide. Lisa shook her head with an exasperated giggle when he exhaled. Lydia had made an impression on him.
***
Kim and Lydia met outside the steps of the Court House. The last time they had done so it had been to discuss the raid on the Knock Knock Club. The dust from the debris had settled and through the dust an underlying problem in the Shady City was discovered. It resonated from all four corners of Coldford but that morning it had been the Chapter House the agents were targeting. The icy winter chill was closing in fast. Lydia blew warm breath into her hands. Smiling, she watched Kim approach. She hugged her agency partner. Kim was the self-appointed leader of their group. She was also the sternest but with Lydia close a warmth danced into her eyes.
“Let’s not waste time,” Kim suggested. “We need that signature.”
They headed on inside. An old building, the Court House had seen rulings from the first hanging two centuries before (ironically it had been Judge Jessica ‘Jess’ Owen who delivered the conviction. A man sentenced to death for thieving cattle. The cattle in question belonged to her family) right up to to death sentence of the Boss Lady. It had seen so much and still had so much to do.
The agents were escorted by a clerk on duty. Several members of the black bands were present. They were quiet and structured but their presence was worthy of attention.
Inside the office of The Judge, they found Doyle herself collecting documents.
“I must make this brief, agents,” she said. “I’m due in court.”
“It’s about an investigation I’d like to open,” said Lydia without haste. “With the help of my team.”
Karyn continued to prepare for court. “What kind of charges are you looking to bring?”
“Murder – first degree. Possibly several counts of rape, drug possession, whatever I can find.”
Judge Doyle stopped. “This perp sounds like quite a character. Coldford is no longer your jurisdiction. Why are you doing this? Why not tell CPD everything you know and let them handle it?”
Kim stood firm. “Ma’am, if I leave it in the hands of CPD it will be brushed away. There is a conflict of interest at the department now.”
“Who is this target?” asked Doyle.
“Kappa So,” Lydia stated. “We have reason to believe one of them is responsible for the murder of Kev Marsh and his daughter Sarah. We also have reason to believe one of them is responsible for the abduction of Tawny McInney too.”
“And these reasons are hunches?” the Judge put to them.
It was Kim who had to admit. “It is just hearsay at this point, ma’am, but if we put it to CPD we will never discover the truth, not when the suspects cousin on of them is acting commissioner.”
Doyle gave it some thought. “I’ll grant you two weeks to find out what you can,” she said.
Kim offered the document that required a High Court signature to open the investigation. Karyn used the same silver pen that had been used to sign Tabitha’s life away. Buddy Owen had now come under investigation.
“If your enquiries bring up nothing, be prepared. The Cappy will not stop at having your badges revoked.”
“It’s a risk we’re willing to take,” Kim assured.
“Good,” replied Judge Doyle. “Bring me whatever you find. We will see if a warrant is necessary.”
***
With more Owens arriving for the funeral of Pops even a place as large as Owen Estate was starting to feel crowded. Billy was occupied by his father, Jackson ‘Jackie’ Owen and The Cappy, so Buddy and his bros managed to slip their nanny and head off back to Filton. They had said they were to meet with a Fullerton representative to discuss bringing the Chapter House back in order and they were.
“I’ll handle the Fullerton contract,” Buddy had offered.
Billy laughed heartily and shook his shoulder. “Shit for brains here still thinks he’s Chapter leader. You lost it boy.”
“I can do this,” Buddy pleaded to his father. “I can make it right.”
The Cappy scowled with a narrow gaze. “Close the Fullerton deal and then we’ll talk.”
Billy cheered. He wrapped his arm around his cousin’s neck. “Who’s the leader, shithead?” he asked.
Buddy could feel Coops and Chad’s eyes burning on him.
“You are,” he admitted.
“Damn right I am. Who has the mighty big balls?” he asked.
“You do.”
Billy let him go. “Then let’s head out.”
Luckily The Cappy interceded. “Let Buddy try this one. I would like to see him produce positive results for once in his life. Billy, you and I should talk on CPD.”
“Sure thing Captain,” replied Billy.
So Buddy and his Kappa So brothers returned to Filton but before any meeting with Fullerton could take place they had a stop off to make.
Chad checked his phone. “Susie is out of the hospital.”
Buddy gave a sigh of relief. “Thank the fucking Lord Almighty,” he said. “I should send her something.”
Chad started to tap through his phone. “I have a flower guy I use,” he said. “What kind of flowers does she like? Orchids, lilies, tulips?”
Buddy stopped. “Flowers? She’s a little kid, she likes pony rides and chocolate milk.” He looked to Cooper and scoffed. “Flowers? Can you believe this guy?”
Cooper shrugged. Chad continued scrolling.
“You liked the purple tulips, remember?” Chad put to Buddy.
Buddy groaned. “Bro, they brightened up the place, bro.”
They had arrived at Cooper Garage. Cooper opened up. The annual luxury car auction in Luen was taking place. The Deluxe Drive event was a big deal among the traders and the Coopers never missed it. The garage had been on lock down since before the Loyalist/Fleet attacks began. As they stepped onto the main show room floor motion sensor lights sparked on.
Buddy stopped to admire a shining silver Bentley.
“We’re gotta get back into the Chapter House before Fullerton gets there and finds the golden cock. Then I’m going to the farm, find the one who coked up my little chick and I’m gonna fire ten rounds right up their fucking ass.”
“Yeah!” his brothers cheered.
“Then I’m gonna have my Chapter House back.”
“Yeah!” the brothers continued in their encouragement.
“Then when I’m the new Cappy in town I’m gonna bang that farm girl because I’m Kappa fucking So!”
“Yeah!”
The cheer of the brothers rang through the garage. They climbed the steps to Cooper’s father’s office.
“We are Kappa So! Brothers for life,” Buddy was still ranting. They started in on the Kappa So chant as Cooper opened the door to Marshal Cooper’s office. More motioned sensor lights came on. Buddy pushed him out of the way and stood in the doorway first. He sniffed. He could almost smell victory.
“With everything that’s been going on I almost forgot we had the big chick!”
In the corner, hidden away from the rest of the city was Tawny, the one they called the Baroness.
George knew his aunt was looking for her but he always loved the thrill of a game of hide and seek. He especially enjoyed the admiration of his bros when his Beck Firm informant was able to tell them exactly where Elizabeth was going to be looking next.
Tawny’s caught sight of Buddy and his bros unlocking Marshall Cooper’s cupboard and helping themselves to a generous helping of powder.
Buddy took the first line.
“I feel good!” he screamed. “I feel fucking good!”
“So what are we going to do with her? “ Chad asked Buddy of Tawny.
“Throw a sheet over her, dude. She’s weirding me out.”
Tawny shook her head with a laugh. “You three idiots are in so much trouble,” she said.
***
Agnes and I met in Bobby’s lunch box. Whilst the Knock Knock was seized, Agnes had been staying in her Mid East apartment. We had joined for a coffee, the chance to relinquish our breaths and to discuss the power grabbing that had torn through the Shady City since the delivery of the sentence on The Boss Lady.
Agnes had gotten a text.
CAN YOU COME DOWN TO KK. HURRY.
I couldn’t let her return alone. When we got to the Shanties the streets were filled. I had never seen the place so busy. Even on the nights the Knock Knock was in full swing there still weren’t as many people pressing towards the club.
Lisa got talking to someone she knew in the crowd. She started to push through.
Mounted Black Band patrol pushed through. Agnes and I got crushed between them. Agnes fell into me but I managed to steady her on her feet. I had seen riot patrols before. I had seen them many times in fact but the crowd control that the Black Bands dealt was not the same. Their horses were larger. Thoroughbreds intended for war. A woman’s scream called out as she was crushed between two horses. A Shanties knife fighter pulled a blade and tried to plunge one of them. The horse reared. It’s horsemen came tumbling down with his baton at the ready. The knife dropped from the aggressor’s hands as the baton smashed against his skull.
“She’s dead! They’ve done it. They’ve killed Tabitha.”
The Black Bands swept the crowd back like the ocean over a sandcastle. Agnes roared a cry of despair that still tremors in my ears on dark nights when I’m alone.
From a post outside the club hung that red dress, that red dress that meant so much to so many people in the area. The wearer of the dress was gone. A notice on the door of the club read that the execution of Tabitha had been brought forward. No more appeals. No more pleas. All Lydia and Kim could do was lead the people away from the path of the Black Bands.
Paddy Mack comforted Brendan when they discovered the news. The Mack Distillery owner had known Tabitha since she was little girl. Kieran was pacing. He didn’t dry his tears. He let them flow freely. The bells rang in the distillery from behind the gates.
Agnes wept. It took both Lisa and I to try and usher her away. Don’t look, I hoped she would hear me think. For God’s sake don’t look.
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“Evenin’ central control. This is flight 118 Dynasty. We’re beginning our descent.”
“Copy that Dynasty. We see you. Nice and smooth as always.”
“Bring out the chilled beer, central. It’s been a long flight.”
Air traffic controller Rick Monroe smiled. He watched the blips and bleeps on his radar screen.
“It’s all clear for landing Captain. It’s a cold night here in Coldford but a clear one. The west runway is clear for a landing.”
“Copy that central.”
Rick pushed his chair back from the table. He lifted the phone from the wall.
“Get the landing party out on the west runway. We have incoming. Orders received. Time to greet flight 118 Dynasty. Notify hospitality, they’re going to want to be there.”
A buzz was sent through the airport. A privately commissioned jet was preparing to land and with an important guest on board.
The traffic directors were on the front line. The west runway was one of their longest. It was usually reserved for large commercial flights to the Great States or further afield. When controller Neil was told it was a private jet, he naturally assumed the kind of smaller air craft the privileged class, who found themselves in need of hopping from country to country, liked to use. His excitement lifted when he spotted a Boeing cast a shadow down upon them as it followed it’s directed pathway. The wheels dropped from its enormous body and it touched the ground with the smoothness of a bird of prey snatching its meal from the forest floor.
The hospitality staff were put on high alert. The airport lounge was buzzing with anticipation of the Great States arrival. A kettle of squawking reporters hopped around waving recording devices, ready to peck at the juicy meat of a story being thrown to them.
Freshly pressed uniforms, straightened backs, standing to attention. District manager of the Coldford City Airport, Rebecca, looked on in awe as the gangway slowly approached the craft. I arrived just as they were lining up to welcome the guest of honour.
“Best foot forward girls,” instructed Rebecca.
From the pilot’s cockpit and onto the gangway, wheeling a flight case behind him and in full uniform, stepped Captain Charles Owen. He looked rejuvenated after flying the sizeable aircraft from the Great States. Whilst he wore a black tie to show his family still mourned the loss of Bobby Owen, he beamed and waved to the waiting press core. Flanked by his co-pilot and two finely dressed stewardesses, The Cappy took centre stage.
“Welcome back to Coldford, Captain,” Rebecca stepped forward. As district manner she had the honour of greeting the Owen Inc. CEO. “I’m afraid the press has caught wind of your arrival so you won’t be able to escape discretely.”
Chick removed his hat. “I have no mind to,” he assured her, clutching his hat to his chest. “In fact, I believe I will have a few words.”
“Of course,” Rebecca agreed. She stepped aside to allow The Cappy and his staff to present themselves.
Without allowing himself to be overwhelmed by the flood of questions he had to wade though, Chick spoke to the reporters.
“It makes my heart mighty glad to see all these familiar faces. Peter?” he pointed to one of the reporters. “Nice to have you back. I hope you are well recovered.”
Peter giggled shyly but he still hungrily clutched his recording device. “I’m happy to answer some questions but given recent circumstances I’m afraid I’ll have to keep it brief.”
“Captain! Captain!” cried a feisty female reporter in a skirt suit, she was pushing her assistant who was holding her recorder in front of her.
“Yes, Margaret?” The Cappy chose her first. Sometimes it was best to start by feeding the hungriest of the animals. It stopped them getting too eager.
“Firstly, condolences on the loss of Bobby from all of us at the Coldford Express. He was a lovely man and a sad loss.”
“Thank you,” Charles returned. “Do go on.”
“Is it purely the loss of Pops that has brought you back to Coldford?” the reporter asked. The press had been left feeling sketchy on the details.
The combined Loyalist/Fleet attacks had been kept from public news as much as possible. Covered with stories of random violence that was nothing new to Coldford.
Destruction, asbestos, and rejuvenation of the area were all delivered to the news feeds (Owen Inc. owned) and these falsities were spat back out in the face of the public. Maybe they would learn the truth eventually but in that moment the truth did not suit The Cappy’s agenda. Given that the City Main King had to remain low key as best he could, as well as Paddy Mack, the Owens had the chance to control the information leaked to the public. They stopped their allies from having cause for alarm and their enemies having reason to be emboldened.
“It is my sad duty to bid farewell to a great man, a much-loved man and my father. He will be sorely missed but I do have business in this great city of ours. My family’s heart is at home here so I will always have cause to return.”
“Can you give us some details on your father’s death?” asked another reporter.
“I’m afraid at this time, Taylor, I cannot. I will brief you when the time is right, but for now I ask that you respect my family’s privacy and allow us to deal with our grief.”
Margaret pushed in again. “Will you still be continuing to pursue your investment into Harvester Farm?”
Chick nodded. “Of course, and whole heartedly. Pops would be the first one to say, ‘Boy, family is of the utmost importance and it is in business we pave the way for our family.’ I would be delighted to have Miss Harvester hear the ideas I have for the future of her brand.”
The stewardess to the left, a brunette with a sharply cut bob, gently tapped on his shoulder. She whispered into his ear.
The Cappy turned back to the reporters again with a smile.
“I’ve just been informed that my time is up. I thank y’all for coming out. I will provide a statement in a timely manner. But for now, there is much to be done.”
The reporters clashed as they hopped after The Cappy for one last morsel of meat. With some laughing with his co-pilot, he left them behind and his Boeing craft named Dynasty to be serviced and refuelled. It was to be housed in Coldford for the foreseeable future.
***
Owen estate would seem like a great monster hidden deep in the northern farmlands should one venture that far. Not a tall building but spread wide. It emerged from the wilderness on approach like a hungry predator, its windows like eyes locked upon its prey. A single light was on. The occupier was home.
Back in his natural habitat, Buddy Owen stood in his father’s den. His whole life he had been visiting the estate and he was only allowed in the den by his father’s invitation.
Buddy, Chad and Coops watched on as The Cappy silently cleaned his gun. A favoured Ruger 10/22 with a hardwood frame. He called it Betsy. Buddy much preferred an AR15 for hunting but The Cappy had a fondness for an antique look. The Ruger was after all one of the most successful rifle designs in history.
There was a blank space on the wall behind him specially reserved. Its place was to be given to a compass belonging to Henry ‘Hen’ Owen on his pioneering mission that put Coldford on the map. It had been acquired by the Penn Auction House. The Penns would only return it at cost. Chick was adamant that it belonged in his family and was insulted that he would be asked to pay for such an item that rightfully belonged to him. The auction house insisted that such a historical item should be placed for auction to allow anyone with an interest the opportunity to own it. Lawyers had kept the matter at a stale mate for years. With the Auction House seized, there may still come a chance for The Cappy to complete his collection.
The bros watched as Chick pushed the cleaning rod into the barrel. He was lost in thought as though he had forgotten he had even summoned them and asked them to stand to attention.
When he finally spoke, Buddy’s heart leapt. He had been so drawn in by the silence.
“Chapter House, ruined.” He cleaned. “Our brotherhood, humiliated.” The dampness was drawn out of the barrel. “My father, dead. Those gypos are tricky catching us off guard. I’ve already taken steps to bring the matter in hand. What I would like to know is which one of you geniuses thought it would be a great idea to give your muck powder to a six-year-old child. Weren’t my express orders for you to be on your best behaviour whilst you were on that farm?”
“Yes, sir,” all three brothers replied in synchrony.
“If that is your best behaviour then y’all are bigger dumbasses than I ever gave you credit for. Have you set a challenge with yourselves to disappoint me?”
“No, sir,” again all three replied together.
“Then which one of you did it?”
“We ain’t had no powder since we left the Chapter House,” Buddy maintained.
Chick looked up from his gun cleaning. His eyes met those of his son.
“We ain’t,” Buddy agreed. “Been damn hard but we ain’t. After what happened to Pops, I wanted to stay sober. I wanted a clear head. Someone is trying to make me look bad.”
“Every time you open that mouth of yours, boy, it makes you look bad.”
“I didn’t do it. Someone is against me.”
“Just like those teachers were against you? Just like the local authorities were against you?” Chick’s attention returned to Betsy. He handled her with a gentle, loving hand.
“This time it’s true. I will find out who and I will deal with it,” Buddy resolved.
“See that you do. For now, I am paying for the child’s care privately. I’m told by her nurses that she will be just fine. Whatever the father wishes to do to you I’m not making any of my concern. So, if you aren’t responsible, I suggest you find out who was and fast before the father’s attention is no longer occupied by a sick child. That powder habit of yours may have been charming to some when you were a boy but you are a man now, Bernard. It’s time for you to start behaving like one. If you are unable to kick that habit, I am more than happy to find someone who can help you.”
“What do you mean?” The moment Buddy asked this he regretted it.
“Harbour House. I hear it can do some good. Their twelve step programme is proven to be 90% effective.”
“You wouldn’t put me in rehab,” Buddy gasped, but it was more a plea than challenge.
“I would if I thought it would do you any good. Prove me wrong. Start acting like a man.”
“I will,” Buddy agreed. He was already measuring in his head the monumental mess he was having to clean up. What The Cappy knew was but the tip of the iceberg.
“You are now stripped of any authority you had. If you wish to have the Chapter back you will have to earn it. I have ordered some help for you. You are thirty-four years old and I’m calling in a baby sitter. You should be ashamed of yourself.” The Cappy distracted himself with shining Betsy’s glossy body.
“Who?” asked Buddy.
“When I was last in Coldford I told you if you were to disregard my requests, I would send someone to fetch you proper.”
Cooper and Chad looked to Buddy. They could see his eyes widen.
“Who?” he asked again with a little more desperation. Judging by Buddy’s reaction, his Kappa So brothers guessed he already knew.
“The expected time of arrival for the flight is four pm. You will be at the airport to greet our guest,” said Chick. He laid Betsy down gently, admiring her glow, her shapely form, her willingness to be held. He took in the three Kappa So brothers. “Now get out. The sight of ya’ll is ruining my appetite.”
The three turned towards the door but Chick always had one last thing to say.
“Oh, and Bernard, speaking of Harbour House, while you are finding this mysterious stranger who gave the little girl cocaine maybe you can also find the Baroness bitch. The search for her is heating up and I have not forgotten the artist boy pointing the finger in my face. If you are in any way responsible for her missing status, you and I are going to go on a hunt.”
The den door closed over. Buddy turned to his brothers with a sob.
“What does that even mean?!”
***
“Good afternoon, Charles. I trust you’re well and your flight was a good one?” greeted Judge Karyn Doyle as the staff of Owen Estate showed her to the den. Ronald ‘Ronnie’ Owen was already there. Chick’s younger brother had surprised the Coldford community when he was the one to step up and defend Tabitha during her trial. I myself had been surprised to hear it, when Tabitha’s murder spree had stemmed from the accusations that the Reverend Jerry Owen had attempted to rape her as a child along with countless other young girls. Judge Doyle had no evidence other than the word of the girls the Baroness was encouraging to step forward. Taking matters into her own hands, Tabitha had essentially ended her own life.
What I did observe through the trial was that Ronnie wasn’t there to proclaim her innocence. It was far too late for that. He wasn’t there to seek vengeance for his brother either. He knew what Jerry was. He merely asked the jury to take into account the events that had brought Tabitha to do what she did. They were the actions of a mad woman for the most part but they shed a light on a much bigger problem in the Shady City. Sexual assault was at epidemic levels and as difficult as it was to hear, a great many of these girls were still children. For her part Judge Doyle listened to both sides of the story but when the voice of the girl who called her out in her own court, murdered at least fifty-nine people, taunted the missing mayor and had a history of violence was up against a Reverend from a highly respected family, who had given a lot of charity to the city and had no physical evidence against him, that was how the scales of justice measured up. The Judge had heard the cries of those girls though. No matter how loudly they sang Tabitha’s praises she was not going to be forgiven her crimes. The sentence was death. I just hoped that in Tabitha’s death justice would be found for all those other girls she sought to protect.
“I am much obliged for you coming at such short notice. With the troubles we’ve been having, I fear I’m locked to the homestead for the time being.”
Karyn Doyle nodded. “It’s not a problem. The sooner we get things back on track, the better for all of us and for the city. The death of Joel Hickes and the escape of Reginald Penn Junior not to mention Patrick Mack being at large, has taught me that CPD needs to come under new management, immediately.”
Charles nodded. Ronnie also agreed.
“I recommended that this only be a temporary station,” put in the younger brother. “I stand by that. The Black Bands have been incredibly successful in bringing in known instigators but CPD must have a longer-term goal.”
Charles smiled. “Whilst the murderer of our father is at large I will stop at nothing. Are you agreed on that Ron? I would hate for us to move forward if we weren’t of the same mind.”
“I agree. Reginald Penn must face justice for his crimes. The city has already been torn apart enough,” said Ronnie.
“Then it’s time to do what needs to be done, starting with a stronger hold on CPD.”
Charles ‘Chick’ Owen, better known as The Cappy, slid a paper across the desk to her Honourable Judge Karyn Doyle. She supplied her signature. Ronnie witnessed. In a combined agreement between Owen Inc. and the High Court of Coldford City the police department were to be appointed a new commissioner.
***
“I think the first thing we should do, darling, is check into the hotel. We don’t want to be carrying our luggage around longer than is necessary, now do we?” Mr Johnson said to his wife as they waited in the airport lounge for notification from their transport to City Main. Mrs Johnson held a glass of Macks whiskey, on the rocks. It was early for hard spirits but it had been a bumpy flight and they were supposed to be enjoying themselves after all.
Mrs Johnson took a sip. “The exhibit closes at six. I would have really liked to have seen it. They are moving it on to Luen in the morning. This would be our only chance.”
Mr Johnson took out his notes. “It says here that the museum is just a five-minute walk from the Weir. It’s just gone four now. We’ll have plenty of time to check in, freshen up and pop along and still catch the exhibit.”
As she and her husband looked closer at the City Main tourist map he had brought up on his phone, she hadn’t realised her handbag had been kicked out from underneath their table. A man in filthy clothes who had been hanging around the airport for most of the afternoon, but not caused enough fuss for security to do anything about, closed in. He casually strolled towards the exit as though he had been intending to leave. As he passed Mr and Mrs Johnson he snatched up the handbag.
“My bag!” Mrs Johnson screeched.
Mr Johnson was on his feet but the thief was already at the exit door. As the door opened he ran into a broad man with a naturally muscular physique. His head was shaved. His eyes were heavy having just arrived on a private long-haul flight. He was brought to alert by the woman’s cry though. He snatched the man. He pulled his finger back with an aburpt snap. The man squealed with pain. The man picked up the handbag. He fixed the Kappa So uniform he was wearing.
“You damn near ripped my shirt you weaselling son ‘a’ bitch!”
The airport security swooped in and apprehended the thief. Mrs Johnson rushed up to the man to retrieve her bag.
“Thank you!” she stated sincerely. “How can I repay you?”
The man grinned. “It’s no worry ma’am. No yella bellied thief gonna get by me.”
“At least let me buy you a drink.” She turned to her husband. “Roger?” she cried. “Buy the man a drink.”
Mr Johnson had been so relieved for the return of his wife’s bag he didn’t hesitate. She had been carrying all of their reservations and travel documents.
The man followed her to the table she and her husband had chosen. He stopped her and spun her round so they could meet eye to eye.
“You’re a pretty thing,” his grin widened. “I’m mighty glad to have met your acquaintance.”
Mrs Johnson tried to smile too but he had pushed himself so close to her it made her uncomfortable.
He reached up and clutched her face with a rough hand. “You are mighty pretty,” he said again. “For a negress.”
Mr Johnson returned. He slammed the glass down on the table.
“How dare you speak to my wife that way.”
The man frowned. The wrinkles on his forehead deepened. “Can’t a man deliver a compliment these days?” He placed a hand on Mr Johnson’s chest and shoved him into a chair.
“Sir! I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
The man took a seat at their table, scraping it noisily across the floor.
“You invited me to drink and I got time to spare. Let’s drink.” He looked up to an aghast Mrs Johnson. Her husband hadn’t made any further movement. “Sit down, darlin’ and keep me company. Your pussy assed husband here might like to see what a real man looks like.” Mr Johnson was frowning severely but said nothing. The man gave a roaring laughter. “Where’s your sense of humour?”
“I’m going to call security,” Mr Johnson decided.
The man drank his whiskey. “Don’t bother. You’re just going to cut into your vacation time.”
“Who are you?”
“Billy!” a loud, Great States voice called across the lounge. Billy stood, throwing his chair back.
“Bud!” he yelled back as Chad, Cooper and Buddy Owen crossed to greet him. Billy swallowed the rest of the whiskey and abandoned the table. He charged towards his brothers, catching Buddy in a headlock.
“Hey shithead!” he cheered, rubbing his knuckles roughly on Buddy’s skull. He let him go and turned his attention to Chad and Cooper. “So, this is the cream of the Kappa So crop these days. You look like a couple of fags. What’s with this?” here he imitated Cooper’s usual folded arm stance. Buddy laughed heartily.
William ‘Billy’ Owen was the son of The Cappy’s cousin Jackson ‘Jackie’ Owen. He was close to Buddy, but the Owen lessons over the years had given him a bullying nature. If anyone could hold Buddy to account it would be him. Whether that was a good thing or throwing petrol onto the fire remained to be seen.
“So The Cappy been chewing your ass, huh?” Billy put to Buddy as they started to exit the airport, leaving a flabbergasted Mr and Mrs Johnson behind.
All they could hear was Billy scream, “You lost the fucking Chapter House!”
Billy slapped Buddy over the back of his head. “You are a fucking moron. Pops would be ashamed – God rest his soul. We gotta spray the whole damn house now. A’body knows those gypos bring all kinds of diseases.”
***
Briefing room 40 was filled to capacity. The City Main precinct of the Coldford Police Department was brought together to meet their new commissioner.
“Bryant!” called Archer to old time detective Bryant McGregor.
Archer was younger, more energetic. Bryant was in his early sixties with wisdom etched on his brow. He was nearing his retirement. No one would have blamed him for wanting to rest easy and leave the force, especially after his close friend Hickes had been killed. Bryant wasn’t so easily swayed though. Like the others he waited in anticipation to meet the newly appointed chief of police.
Officer Rolf Wilson was also there. He had a warm hand shake and an embrace for Bryant. They hadn’t seen one another since Hickes’ memorial. Rolf had been partners with Hickes in their early days before he was moved on to a drug task force and Hickes gained his detective badge. Rolf looked stressed out. He always looked stressed. Matched with Hickes’ cool approach they had always made an effective partnership. His chestnut brown hair was greying. They were all getting older, Bryant had to admit. They weren’t newbies any more. Beside Rolf sat Lennon. He looked better than the last time Bryant had seen him. Lennon was a fine detective – probably one to rival Hickes in his prowess but he had been out of the force for a while in order to deal with a gambling addiction. He had lost his house, his car, but Joel Hickes had picked up on the telltale signs before he lost himself.
“Get your fucking shit together,” Joel had warned him. “Do you want your kids living in a fucking caravan? Do you want to lose those kids?”
If anyone else had put that question to Lennon he would have lashed out at them, but from Hickes it made a lot of sense. It was his shit and he did have to get it together.
I wasn’t given the chance to attend the briefing that day. It was internal only but from all I had heard of the fall out as explained to me by Bryant himself, Hickes’ integrity, his influence over his fellow officers had never faded.
The group looked to Bryant for his leadership as the longest serving. They trusted in him. They trusted that he would be true to Hickes’ example.
“Any word on the new chief?” asked Rolf
Bryant responded, “All I could get was that it is a he and they have brought him in from abroad.”
Rolf shook his head. “I don’t like this,” he said. “They should be promoting one of our own. Bryant, that was your spot. It could have been Hickes’ place one day.”
“It should have been you,” Olivia Hickes had said to Bryant on the phone the night before. “But we’ll know better their thinking when we find out who this person is. You’ll know the right thing to do. I trust you.”
It didn’t sit well with any member of the police force to have someone come in from outside to lead them, especially when the privately-commissioned Black Bands were spreading farther and farther around the city – essentially taking the laws the CPD were sworn to protect and uphold out of their control. But the department had become flooded with corruption. Judge Doyle wasn’t leaving it up to a few good men like Bryant, Archer, Rolf and Lennon, to wade through. It would take someone with an outside perspective to clear the way.
Deputy Chief Michelle Crawly took the speaking spot. A hush washed over the nervous police officers.
“Okay, I know you’re all eager to meet the new chief,” she said, “and there’s a lot of work to do so we’ll be brief. Ladies and gentlemen, Police Commissioner Owen.”
A lot of the room erupted into an applause. Whoops and cheers rang out. The doors were thrown open and the overbearing presence of William ‘Billy’ Owen came sauntering through. He had a grin on his face and he could be heard muttering to Michelle, “I’ll take it from here darlin’.”
He clutched both sides of the podium and bared his teeth down on them.
“Well, well, well,” he began. “It’s good to be here. Time to whip y’all into shape. Am I right?”
“You’re right, brah!” one of the officers called back. Bryant shot him a fiery stare but Archer patted his arm and urged him to keep calm. Bryant couldn’t.
“This is not Kappa So,” he said.
Billy glared. “Whatcha say, old timer?”
“This is not Kappa So and this is not your frat house. Isn’t it enough with the Black Bands?”
“Sit down, Mc Gregor,” Michelle warned.
Bryant could hear the rumble of chairs behind him. Like a virulent disease the Kappa So influence in CPD had been spread quickly. It was how it had been so easy to declare one of them as chief. That coupled with Billy’s special ops background, for some he was seen as the saviour the department needed.
Billy laughed, raspy and unkind.
“You let a pussy Penn triplet escape your custody. You failed to find him. You let a bitch in a whore dress murder, steal and call herself a queen. Ya’ll are a disgrace. Worst of all, you let one of your own have his brains splattered all across the side walk. And you have the audacity to wonder why I had to drag my ass all the way over here to put things right?”
Some of the officers cheered. Bryant and his companions were sickened.
“You didn’t know Hickes,” Bryant snapped back.
Billy shook his head in exasperation. “And now I never will. You lost the rat fingering triplet, you lost that hippy dyke they call the Baroness and to cap it all off where’s the god damn mayor?”
Bryant stepped forward but Archer stopped him.
“No hard feelings old timer. In fact, you remind me of my granddaddy. He spent his final days pissing himself and thinking he was an astronaut. You got balls, but you better watch yourself. If you can’t handle the heat then it’s time to drop your badge.”
Bryant growled. He stormed to the aisle and approached Billy. The new chief of police for Coldford held his hand up to prevent any of his Kappa So brothers among the force from intervening. Billy smirked. Their faces were close. Bryant pulled the badge from around his neck and dropped it onto the floor. He walked out but before he had reached the door, Archer, Lennon, Rolf and those others dedicated to Hickes joined him.
“Was it something I said?” they could hear Billy jeer sarcastically.
CPD had its failings but its human element was what gave it the heart it had. That heart was torn from its chest that day.
***
They called it the pride of the north. The Boss looms over the town of Bournton like a great, waiting crocodile. Contained within its maw was the Shady City’s most notorious criminals. Thieves, rapists, murderers all called it home. With the newly-appointed chief at CPD it was about to come under new management.
“Yo Monty!” greeted the new guard.
Monty turned, took his cigarette from between his lips and grinned.
“Ethan? Bro!” he cheered. “How ya doin? I thought you were still in the Great States.”
“Moved Chapter. Coldford needs all the help she can get.”
They shared a lengthy Kappa So hand shake.
“It’ll be good to have some brothers around,” Ethan admitted.
One of the inmates had been playing basketball nearby. He threw the ball but it bounced on the basket and came rolling towards Ethan and his brother.
“See what I mean about this piece of shit scum here?”
They both rolled eyes at one another. The inmate, Tommy, collected the ball.
“You struggling to shoot straight there?” asked Ethan but, given how close they had gotten to the inmate, Tommy was on the defensive.
“Get outta my face,” he warned.
Ethan looked to Monty. He sniggered.
“Would you check the balls on this one?” he teased. “It’s almost like he believes we won’t beat his ass.”
Ethan grabbed Tommy and slammed him against the metal railing face first. The force caused a rattle.
“You’re going to apologise for throwing your ball at my bro here,” Ethan urged. “It was damn disrespectful.”
“I didn’t,” pleaded Tommy. “It just rolled away.”
Monty sniggered. “Are you saying your ball control is shit?”
Ethan slammed his head against the fence again. This time it was his skull that rattled. “Then why the fuck did you throw the ball? You owe us both an apology?”
“Fuck you!” Tommy returned with a spit. “I didn’t do anything, cunts. I just threw the ball.”
Ethan spun him around. He pulled the baton from his belt. He smashed Tommy’s left knee. The inmate yelped in pain but they didn’t let him fall.
“Fuck you!”
Ethan grabbed Tommy by the hair. They dragged him to an enclosure.
“If you’re shit with the ball you ain’t gonna need to be running around. You better slow down.”
The truncheon crunched his right knee. Tommy cried out.
“I didn’t do nothin! I didn’t do nothin!”
He looked up to the guard tower where an armed guard was stationed. He was young, tanned. Tommy had been inside The Boss for five years. He knew most of the guards but the tower guard was new. He had a naïve look on his face but he had seen everything. He had seen that Tommy had done no harm. Police brutality. The tower guard pointed his gun down. The two ground guards – Ethan and Monty – looked up. Ethan grinned and gave him a gesture with his hand that resembled the letter K. The guard with the gun did likewise.
“If he tries to get away, shoot him,” Ethan called up.
The tower guard replied, “I got your back bro.” He steadied the aim of his gun.
“Brothers for life,” Monty said to Ethan.
Ethan swung the baton. The first hit only fractured the tibia of Tommy’s right leg. The pain fired through his entire body. The second hit broke the fibula. Monty cracked his own baton across Tommy’s jaw. Tommy could feel a heaviness in his throat that preceded the need to vomit. He couldn’t feel the pain – although every crack of bone crunched in his ears. He was mostly dizzy and sick now. Even if there wasn’t a gun on him, he couldn’t have fought back. None of the other inmates opted to help him. Even his buddy Carlos looked on in awe but wouldn’t risk the tower guards shooting him. Any of them could be gunned down where they stood and no one would bat an eyelid.
Tommy wasn’t taken to the infirmary. Instead, his aching body was discarded in a room with a damp mud floor and thick metal door. It allowed no light. It was known among the inmates as the prayer room. Many had found Jesus in there. Tommy would only find the pain of his fractures and breaks failing to heal properly. Whether he would have proper use of his legs again remained to be seen. He could be left there in pain for weeks before having a doctor’s attention. It would all be determined by how long the brothers intended to keep him in the rotting hole in the deepest depths of The Boss. The new chief of police in Coldford was a Kappa So brother and they were all brothers for life.
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