In our modern age meeting new people has never been simpler but having the chance to make that true connection still remains a challenge. CONNEX from Coby Inc makes dating simpler. With the strongest algorithms you can find your perfect match within minutes. With just a few short questions a world of romantic prospects opens up to you. CONNEX – connecting the city.
At the heart of technology in Coldford City, Coby Games is at the cutting edge. Providing the most exciting video games as well as social media apps, home tech and much more!
Needless to say, Coby Games aims to pull a city stuck in a wretched past into a bright future. This isn’t always easy and it makes them a target of those who would resist such changes.
Things in the Shady City can get real bleak so you won’t be blamed for wanting to lose yourself in the virtual world that Coby Games provides. Just be careful though, Trolls lurk in there and their malicious intentions can have some real-life consequences.
Coby Games have found themselves a target of a cyber attack. The threats are real and time is running out to uncover the true identity of the one responsible.
Nicholas is the nephew of JEAN LUC PENN making him a cousin of Penn triplets, MARCUS, SIMON and REGGIE,
He is the son of Marion Penn and Jules Fontaine, the fourteenth Marquis de Fontaine. Unfortunately, his parents disappeared when he was a baby, leaving him to be raised by his uncle in relative solitude of the Fontaine Estate.
Having had only the company of his nanny and servants, Nicholas is naive to the real world. His uncle is understandably concerned when he expresses an interest in studying English at Filton University in the Shady City. Nicholas is nothing if not persistent and strong-minded, so his dream of finally expriencing true life may just become true.
The trouble is though. Coldford is a dangerous place and given his background, his wealth and his titles he may become an easy target.
“With his parents gone, many years ago, Nicholas grew up on his fancy estate with just his nanny and servants.
Coming to Coldford City, an internet troll claims to know the truth behind the disappearance of the marquis and his wife.
Reginald Penn, dedicated king, disreputable hooligan and loving husband had certainly lived a full life. From the royal courts of Luen to the filthy streets of Coldford City he thought he had seen it all. Nothing offered him the challenge that being the father of identical triplets did.
When one woke through the night, as infants tended to do, the sound of their cry would always stir the others. Reginald’s wife, Rita, didn’t like them to be in separate rooms when they were so young, despite the penthouse suite of the Faulds building, in which they lived, having ample space.
“When one gets up they look for the others and they get upset when they can’t find them,” was Rita’s reasoning.
“Of course, my love,” Reginald agreed.
It was easier to keep them together when they were infants anyway. They were content that way and stayed settled. They were easy enough to handle until middle boy, Simon, found the ability to pull himself out of his cot.
Marcus, the eldest, was the most patient of the three. He would watch quietly as fuss was made by the youngest, Reginald Junior. Reggie didn’t cry. He just tended to make a lot of noise trying to follow Simon. With some frustration on his little face it would appear Marcus was chastising his brothers for not staying put.
Taking care of babies is a chore for anyone. Then they reach that terrible toddling stage and all Hell breaks loose.
Rita was hesitant to be apart from the triplets. In the few years since giving birth to them she had barely left their side. A trip abroad without them had rendered her nervous.
“Just enjoy the trip,” Reginald told her over the phone.
“I will,” she replied. “The weather has gotten terrible so we are delayed. How are the boys?”
“They’re fine,” Reginald confirmed. “They’re no match for their old man.”
Rita chuckled.
“Don’t let them gang up on you.”
“Don’t worry,” Reginald insisted. “The boys and I will keep ourselves occupied until you get back. Just enjoy yourself. Call me when you land.”
He could hear the warm smile radiate through her voice.
“I will. I love you.”
“I love you too,” he responded. “I’ll speak to you soon.”
When he closed the call, he looked over to his sons, seated in the lounge. Marcus was busying himself sorting blocks by colour. Simon was building them up as high as he could reach and knocking them back down again. Reginald couldn’t be prouder. He really was blessed with wonderful sons. Then he took a closer look.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” he muttered.
Simon chortled. “Shit,” he called back.
Reginald frowned. “Don’t repeat me,” he warned.
He rushed back to the phone and called downstairs.
“Uncle Mand? I’m going to need you to come up for a few minutes. I need your help.” Reginald listened to the booming voice of his uncle return to him.
“Could you just come up, please. Bring Jeen, I could use his help too.”
Uncle Armand and his son Jean Luc arrived at the penthouse suite shortly after.
“What’s the problem? he asked.
Marcus and Simon were still playing blocks in the lounge. Reginald looked a little stressed.
“Take a look,” the nephew beckoned.
Armand glanced at the boys.
“Precious little lads. What more do you want?”
Reginald frowned. “You don’t see it?”
Armand took another look. They appeared to be in good health.
Reginald groaned. “There should be fucking three of them Uncle Mand.”
Simon chortled again. “Fuckin’,” he declared.
“Don’t repeat me,” Reginald warned his son once more.
“Which one is missing?” asked the uncle.
“Junior,” answered Jean Luc. “Always Junior.”
“He’s around here somewhere,” Reginald told him. “I can’t leave the other two to search for him or they’ll be off too. He’ll have fallen asleep in the linen basket again or he’ll be looking for his mother.”
Jean Luc pursed his lips.
“How can you be so careless?” he asked.
“Careless?” Reginald responded. “The minute Marcus learned to walk he taught the other two. Before I know It I’m having to herd them in. Whenever Rita’s here they won’t leave her side. As soon as she steps out they scatter and I’m outnumbered. I’m evening up those numbers. I don’t need your griping Jeen. I just need you to help me round them up.”
Jean Luc glared at his cousin. “Do I look like a fucking collie dog?”
“Fuckin’”
“Stop repeating, Simon!” Reginald warned the middle boy again. Turning back to his cousin he chided, “don’t use that kind of language in front of the boys. Uncle Mand? Could you sit here with Marcus and Simon? Jeen? Just help me find Junior.”
As his son and nephew wandered off in search of the missing triplet, Armand took a seat on the sofa. Enamoured by his great uncle, Simon came wandering over to him. Marcus inspected his brother’s movements from afar. Simon passed Armand a piece of paper he had scribbled on.
“Is that for me?” asked the uncle affectionately, looking at the markings the child had made in blue crayon. “You are a sweet lad,” he chuckled. He lifted Simon onto his knee. “Let’s see what we have here, shall we?”
Meanwhile, Reginald and Jean Luc began to search the linen baskets – Reggie’s favourite hiding place.
Jean Luc voiced objection again when his cousin checked under the hood of a false chimney.
“Can you squeeze in there?” Reginald requested of his cousin.
“I most certainly can not,” was Jean Luc’s reply.
“There’s a ledge in there, Junior climbed up on it before. Squeeze in and coax him down.”
“Fine,” Jean Luc agreed, taking his jacket off.
Being shorter in stature and of slimmer build, Jean Luc was able to squeeze in and look towards the ledge.
“Junior? If you’re up there come down at once.”
On the outside, Reginald was distracted from Jean Luc’s muffled voice by the patter of small feet, dashing past him to the master suite.
“Junior!?” called the father. “Why did you take off your clothes?”
Not realising he had been left behind, Jean Luc called, “I hope you’re paying for the dry cleaning, Reg. It will take nothing short of a miracle to get this filth out.”
Meanwhile, downstairs, Armand held Simon to his chest. Looking over to where he had been playing he could see the blocks Marcus had been sorting by colour, but no Marcus. Armand looked to Simon.
“Where did your brother go?”
“Shit! Shit!” Simon declared.
“I quite agree, lad,” said Armand. Simon laughed as Armand tucked him under his arm and went in search of the other triplet.
As the hunt commenced for Marcus, Jean Luc had climbed back out of the false chimney, wiping dust and dirt from his clothing.
“The filth up there,” he was groaning, only to find Reginald was gone. Standing in his place was Marcus.
“Slipped the old man, did you?” he jested to the boy. He reached his hand out. “C’mon. We best go help your father.”
“Why?” Marcus asked.
“Because he’s looking for your brother. He’s gone wandering again.”
“Why?”
“Who knows? I swear you got all the brains.”
Reginald had chased his namesake to the master suite where the troublesome tot dashed onto the balcony.
Reginald the senior stopped in his tracks as Reggie pulled himself to the ledge.
“Junior! Do not move.”
Marcus must have learned to open the damn locks. What fresh Hell was this?
Reginald managed a smile.
“Don’t you want to come in, my boy? It’s freezing out there. Don’t you want to put some clothes on?”
Reggie looked back at him. The stream of city lights down below was just too enticing. The father was going to have to do much better than that.
“If you come in you can have some ice cream … for breakfast.”
Reggie offered a look that suggested, ‘you’d never let me eat ice cream for breakfast, old man.’
Reggie heaved his bare little backside up onto the ledge. Before he could get a good look at the city lights his father snatched him up into his arms.
“Do not go out there,” was the father’s stern warning. “I swear, boy. You are going to be my life’s work.”
When he got back to the lounge, Jean Luc had returned, leading Marcus by the hand. Armand was carrying Simon, who had rested his head against his uncle’s chest with heavy eyes.
“Ah, you found him,” said the uncle, taking in Junior in Reginald’s arms. “That lad is naked.”
“Why?” asked Marcus.
“Get used to it, my boy,” said Jean Luc. “I have a feeling you’re going to be asking that of your brother for a long time.”
Reginald breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s all three accounted for. I’m going to have to bolt the damn balconies.”
“Why?”
“Because you figured the locks, Marcus.”
“Keep your voice down,” said Armand. “Little Simon is falling asleep.”
Before Reginald could fetch clothing for the youngest of the triplets there was a call from reception.
“Sorry to disturb you sir,” said the receptionist, politely. “I was asked by Madame Penn to let you know her flight was cancelled and she’s returning home.”
“Thank you. I have to go. I’m just dressing the boys.”
“Of course, sir.”
Reginald returned to his uncle and cousin. “Rita’s on her way back. I better get the boys to bed.”
“It is getting late,” said Jean Luc to Marcus. “Past your bedtime, ah?”
“Why?”
“I don’t make the rules. That’s just how it is.”
Marcus yawned. He supposed it was time for bed after all.
After dressing Junior in pyjamas again the three placed their respective triplet in a cot. The lights were lowered. Simon clutched Armand’s arm until the very last minute. Then he gave himself to sleep.
“Papa?”
Reginald turned back to find it was Marcus who had called on him.
“Just go to sleep, my boy,” said the father tenderly. “Your mother will be …”
“Mother!”
Like the word was some ancient incantation, Reggie sprang to life again and started to cry.
“Mother! Mama? Mother!”
This calling stirred Simon.
“Mother?” he asked.
Marcus sat in his cot, already succumbed to the fact he was not to have an easy night’s rest. Reginald was trying to urge them to hush.
“Mama!!!” the three were now crying.
Reginald gulped down his impatience.
“If you don’t go to sleep right now, mother isn’t coming back!”
“Reginald!” Jean Luc scolded. “Don’t be so cruel.”
“Good night, boys,” said Reginald with a more pleasant tone. “The sooner you go to sleep the sooner … for fuck sake, Junior! Keep your pyjamas on!”
“Fuck sake,” Simon raised his head to say.
By the time Rita returned from the airport Reginald was seated in the lounge. He had composed himself as though it had all been a breeze. He greeted his wife with a warm kiss.
“I’m sorry about your trip,” he said. “Maybe another time.”
“Did the boys give you any fuss?”
“They’re good boys. They were looking for you but they settled down.”
Rita smiled sweetly. “I’ll just go look in on them.”
“You go ahead,” said Reginald in a nonchalant manner. As soon as Rita started to make her way to the nursery, Reginald dropped the book he had been pretending to read and followed after her to make sure Junior had remained clothed, Simon remained in his cot and Marcus had kept his hands off any locks.
Thankfully, they were all sleeping soundly.
Hearing his mother’s voice, Simon stirred again.
“Hello, baby,” said the mother softly.
He sat up, wiped the sleepiness from his eyes and reached his arms out to her. She lifted him up and rocked him.
“Did you have a nice time with your dad?” she asked.
Simon yawned. He rested against her and said, “fuckin’ shit mama.”
The Penn family of Main are notorious throughout Coldford City. The triplet princes are all grown up now and find themselves the target of a troll with deadly intentions.
“St Michael’s church of the Wigan faith closed this afternoon when CPD were forced to attend what has been described as a mass suicide where fifty congregates were found dead on the church floor. It is believed that the cause of death was the consumption of cyanide pills. Franklin Rhodes of CPD has offered as much support as his department can provide. I’m Sandra Wake of Coldford Daily news.”
***
“Is he sedated?”
“No,” Doctor Harold Fishman replied. “We wanted him to be consciously aware. As consciously aware as someone in his state of mind can be.”
The woman standing beside him slowly nodded. Harold looked up at her for she was a great deal taller than he. She was broad shouldered, suited and holding a steely expression on her face. When she turned and noticed him staring at her she smiled.
“Did he give you any trouble?”
“He did at first. He seems to be upset that they would separate him from the others.”
Through a window the two were watching George Beckingridge. The billionaire boy wasn’t seated at a table. He was trapped in a cell but not the traditional sense. You see he was being contained in a reinforced glass box. He was laid out like it was his coffin. He had little room to move and this had been his status now for the past few days.
“I’d like to speak with him,” said the woman.
“It’s not advisable, my Lady,” Fishman replied.
The woman smiled again. “Your advice is noted doctor,” she said. “Now open the door.”
Click. Clang.
George had been staring up at the roof in a daze. There was little else for him to do at that point. He heard a tap on the glass of his coffin. He turned his head slowly and found the woman peering in at him.
“Can you hear me?” she asked.
Her voice was a little muffled but George could hear her. She sounded like his mother in a lot of ways.
“You are going to stay in containment for a long time,” said the woman.
George stared back at her blankly.
“I have something for you,” she said. From her bag she removed a stuffed mouse.
George’s eyes widened when he saw Cecil.
“Give me him!” he yelled.
“No,” she replied, sitting the toy on top of the glass. “Toys are for boys who behave. You haven’t been behaving.”
“Give me Cecil,” George demanded.
“When you learn to behave you can have him,” said she.
George sniffed. He pouted like a child of eight as opposed to a young man of nineteen.
“I want Cecil,” he said.
The woman shook her head. “I think you’ve had too many privileges.” She lifted Cecil again. She grabbed him around his neck. George’s head whipped round to her to see what she was going to do next. She clutched Cecil’s left ear.
“Stop it,” George cried.
Rip! The ear was torn off.
“Nooooo!” George was yelling. “Stop it!”
The woman pulled some of the stuffing out. George began to sob. He tried to reach out to grab the pieces as she dropped them on top of the glass. This frustrated him more.
“Are you going to behave?” she asked him.
“Cecil!” George was crying.
She held Cecil up. George could see the Chamberlain wreath on her jacket. Lady Jane Christie nee Chamberlain, aunt to the unfortunate child Francis, grabbed the head of Cecil with one great heave.
“Nooooooo!” George was screaming.
The pieces, the stuffing and the crusty Cecil were rested on top of the glass as the woman made her departure.
“Should we sedate him now, my lady?” Fishman asked.
“No,” Lady Jane stated. “Let him look upon the mess he’s made for a little while.”
***
“The Cappy dying must have given the Owens a change of heart,” Simon Penn suggested as he and his brothers took a look around their Auction House.
“Perhaps,” Marcus responded. “Although most of the more precious items had been removed prior to it being put up for lot and most of the clientele were refusing to deal with Owen Inc so it wouldn’t have been much use to them.”
The door was opened by a Loyalist named Ivor. “A visitor, sir,” he said.
“Good afternoon,” the tall frame of Howard Bergman entered. Seth was by his side carrying gifts of fruit and wine.
Simon embraced Howard first, then Seth with an affectionate pat on the back. The others did too.
“Don’t put yourselves out on my account. It’s good to have you back in Main again,” said Howard.
“Time to get things back in order,” Marcus said.
Simon observed the grander picture. “I hope you’re doing okay, Howard. I heard what happened to you too.”
Howard massaged his temple but he smiled. “It has all been so difficult. I’m so sorry for your loss. I remember the first time I learned there was a figurehead in City Main who went by the title of king. I asked myself, what kind of man would have such boldness? Then I met your grandfather. Reginald was always by his side growing, learning and doing what was best for this area much like a king would.”
The triplets smiled fondly.
“Reginald made a lot of changes here for the benefit of City Main. He was forced to react harshly at times, especially when you were threatened. I hate to say it but those harsh decisions he made … All roads lead to the same place in the end I suppose. I guess what I’m saying is please try to stay out of trouble.”
Reggie and Simon laughed. Marcus managed a smile.
From among the gifts Howard collected an urn.
“Sophie cleared it with the Law Makers. I thought you might like your father’s ashes to lie with your mother’s.”
The three took in the urn. Simon took a sharp intake of breath and hugged Howard again.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely.
“My part was very minimal really.”
The urn was set down. “There you are Reginald. You keep your boys right.”
Seth was getting a bit concerned with how Reggie looked.
Reggie brightened. “We’re back together!” he affirmed. He wrapped his arm around Seth’s neck. “Welcome back dad!” he turned Seth to the entrance and as he escorted him out he started to sing a Coldford City football chant. It was a chant created to inspire the players. It was a chant that demanded nothing less than victory. It was as good as the Penn motto.
When they had cleared the room Howard spoke to Marcus.
“We had a call from Isaac. Thankfully he’s coming home. He sounded well enough. I’m a little worried about Seth though. He’s angry given everything and he really wants to hit back. I don’t want that for him. I don’t want him involved. The reason I tell you this is because you will be the first person he’ll turn to.”
“I’ll keep him safe,” Marcus confirmed.
Howard sighed. “Thank you.”
***
Sat behind the glass and dressed in the kit of a Montefort inmate, Reggie had to look twice to assure himself they had brought him to the right person. Leona still had the same island flare in her eyes but they had cut off her long braid. Her purple ribbons had been removed from her. Her soft features had been stirred into a harshness in her look. She didn’t smile. She didn’t hold any discernible expression at all.
“I hope you can get home,” Reggie told her.
She didn’t soften any at this. She didn’t add any emotion. Reggie supposed time in the Monte would take away the drug addled state she was used to. Article 22 had meant she was to be held until trial. Jean Luc advised it was likely they would sanction her and return her to the bay.
“I’m disappointed,” said Reggie. “I wish it could have been different. I wish it could have worked like we spoke about. I was always told I was a survivor. My brothers were taken away from me. I had to survive without them. My dad was shot dead in the street. I had to go on. It’s what he would have wanted me to do. Tabitha, my closest friend in this world, was there but I was told I couldn’t see her. My mother, my dear mother, died in my arms. I wanted to survive still but I was running out of reasons to. I had nothing left. Every morning I woke up in so much pain, waiting on a call to tell me Marcus and Simon were lost to that place and would never come home. I asked myself why I was surviving. Billy Owen should have just finished the job. Then you came over and I had reasons to survive again. I spoke to a guy, Reynolds. He told me that churches like yours recruit but he did say you probably truly believed it was what was best for me. You were there for me when I needed reasons to survive and for that I wanted to thank you. For that there will always be a part of me that wishes I had just gotten on the damn ferry with you.”
Leona stared back, silent and still expressionless.
“That’s all I came to say,” Reggie concluded as he stood.
Leona called him back. He paused.
“I hope you are saved,” she said
“I hope you get out of here. I hope you get back to the island. I don’t want you to stress yourself for the baby’s sake. We’ll work it out. Just take care of yourself.”
At that he departed. His brothers were waiting for him. Reynolds had told him the healing would begin. There were tough times ahead but if he followed the advice it would all be groovy.
Leona was taken back to the rec hall. She hoped she would get back to the island too. She had no fear though. She had faith. She prayed and Wigan told her she was exactly where she needed to be. She was approached by another inmate. She was an older woman, confident despite the incarceration. Leona knew her face.
“Hello, Mrs Harvester,” she said.
Nan Harvester reached out and clasped the Wigan girl’s hand.
“Will you pray with me?” she asked.
Meanwhile, the triplets had gathered outside, accompanied by Reynolds. The agent stepped politely aside as the brothers embraced.
“We’ve got a lot of work to do. Things are going to get real whack,” Reynolds told them. “But you’re through the worst. The guards in there will do what they can to keep her safe and the baby.”
“How can we repay you agent?” Marcus asked.
“You have a place. You’re a king. Look after your people. That’s all the thanks I need.”
Reynolds phone started to ring. It was an old device he carried, real retro. As long as the people who needed him could reach him that was fine.
“I’m with the Penn triplets,” he told the caller, presumably Kim Adams. “I’m on my way. I’ll meet you at Chamberlain Docks. We’ll head on over from there.”
He closed the call. To the triplets he said, “some heavy news I’m afraid. There’s no real good way to do this and time is not on our side so I’ll dive right in. Harper Lane and Gabriel Dalway, I know they are friends of yours. I’m so sorry but they have been murdered.”
“What about their son, Elliot?” asked Marcus.
“We have reason to believe he’s been taken over to the island. We’re going over there. We’ll find him if they have.”
“We can help,” offered Reggie.
“No can do. It’s too gnarly,” Reynolds advised. “You’re carrying an injury, you have records and all kinds of other baggage. A smaller team will be easier to move. What you can do is work with CPD. Bring some of your guys down from Main and wait for us at the docks. We can be sure of some support with whatever we might bring back. There could be some backlash if we bring Dominick Cole in.”
“You’re going for the church leader?” Simon had to confirm.
“The only way this will stop is to cut off the head off the snake.”
***
We’re all on our way to Hathfield Bay. We’re taking along the family for the day!
We’re going to watch the game. I hope it doesn’t rain.
Either way we’ll have a ball on Hathfield Bay.”
A ball was to be had. A small group of Webb fishing vessel was what brought Reynolds to the beaches of Hathfield Bay, accompanied by the rest of the Good Gang team. They used Nan Harvester’s discrete route that landed them on the east section of the island close to the commune.
“We need you to stay focused,” Kim said to the others.
Lydia seemed eerily calm. Teddy was gathering his thoughts as they approached.
Before their departure to the island, Teddy showed me a most interesting item. Hailing from the Great States and working a ranch he was a true cowboy. He carried the spirit that Chick Owen much admired and his brother Billy would have been jealous of. Teddy was a larger than life figure. Billy, on the other hand, was a bully. He was formidable and when he was in the room you heard him above all others. You fell under his great shadow. He held the room by the throat. It didn’t matter what he did though. If Teddy were to share the same space people were more likely to gravitate towards him. Billy was a despicable creature, and he couldn’t understand why the mild-mannered, warm-hearted Teddy would be preferred. What would have grinded Billy the most was The Cappy’s appreciation of Teddy. Billy had been called upon to carry out the dirty work no one in the right mind would care to do. On the other hand Teddy was a poster child for the Owen family. He was what The Cappy always envisioned the Owen name to be. Teddy was the true blood of Captain Hen Owen.
It was for this reason The Cappy had gifted Teddy the shooters he presented to me. Surprisingly the shooters were embossed with the Wigan cross. They had come into The Cappy’s possession and over the years he had saved them for just the right person. They originally belonged to a man named Bob Colbert. He was better known as Bad Bob. He was a strong follower of Wigan. He grew up in a Great States town named Addersville. In his youth, Bob observed his lawless town, praying to Wigan for it to improve. He prayed for the strength for Bartholemew to carry him. He even called on the spirit of St Michael to determine who could be saved and who could be redeemed.
Bad Bob grew to become the unofficial sheriff of Addersville. The town turned to him for protection and so he gathered a flock that Noah Wigan himself would be proud of. He was righteous and determined to protect them.
One night, the town was raided by a group of bandits. Bad Bob had prayed to Wigan for favour and Wigan blessed him. His hand was faster, his draw quicker and his bullets true. He took out the bandits and brought the people of Addersville to the safety of Wigan’s embrace. They praised Wigan and they praised Bad Bob.
When they were young boys, Dominick and Bart would play a game where they would recreate the adventures of Bad Bob. He was a much admired figure in the church.
Teddy, being the sentimental sort appreciated this gift from The Cappy causing him to read the Wigan texts out of interest. Chick – an avid lover of historical stories – appreciated the awe and respect Bad Bob inspired. If there were any within his own brood who deserved the same it was Teddy. Teddy had holstered his guns before heading to the island. Bad Bob had led his flock well so he supposed he could encourage the same in the church members. Hopefully he could help end their carnage.
***
Far from the cheerful attitude it held during the day for all the day trippers, the bay was quiet. The Church of St Wigan stood high on the dunes. There was a light on within.
As the Good Gang departed the vessel Reynolds pulled Kim back.
“These church goers can get real wild,” he warned her.
Kim agreed.
As Teddy, Franklin and Lydia made their way to the church, Reynolds made his way along the beach to someone who had been waiting him for a long time.
***
“Duh!” little baby Elliot was crying as he was carried around to the bottom of the bay.
He struggled a little in Autumn’s arms. He had liked Autumn. She told him stories in a funny voice. She had a freckled face like the story time presenter from the Savo Pig hour.
“NO!” this time he was screaming his protest. He really didn’t like to be carried to the bottom of the bay.
“Settle down, Elliot,” Autumn warned. “It’ll be all over soon.”
She laid him in the fire pit. He was crying. His full little lips pouting.
“Shhhhhh!” she said.
Elliot was screaming at the sight of her big black eyes.
“You’re going to die and it’s going to hurt,” said Autumn, positively giddy. She already had the matches in her hand. “You are going to die!” she cheered at him.
“No. No. No!” Elliot was shrieking as the lid of the container was pulled over.
She was dancing in merriment as she lit a match. She turned to look out to sea. There was a great glaring light shining onto the beach. The breeze blew out her match. She had others. She tried to focus through her mushroom trip and through the black waters carrying a shipping vessel. It was like a great arc to her drug addled mind.
Autumn stared at first as the brawn of Kim Adams approached her.
“There’s no sense in talking to them,” Reynolds had said. “They’ll all be out of it.”
“Praise Wigan!” Autumn screamed.
Kim shook her head.
In her mania, Autumn ran at Kim. Kim gripped her by the throat. She threw her to the ground.
BANG!
Autumn was shot in the foot. She was writhing on the sand.
“Keep this pathway open,” Kim instructed the CPD officers that accompanied her.
***
Whilst the fishing boats waited on the bay, Reynolds headed to the Church of St Wigan. Standing outside it was Dominck Cole. The agents split. Teddy, Lydia and Franklin made their way inside.
“Good evening, Agent Reynolds. Welcome back to the bay,” Dominick Cole spoke to the cult deprogrammer.
“It didn’t have to go down like this,” Reynolds said to him. “You didn’t have to do any of this.”
Dominick shook his head. “I’m supposed to let this world become overrun with lechers, whores, thieves and murderers? I asked Wigan and he told us all we cannot be saved!”
Reynolds drew his gun.
“Dominick Cole, I’m arresting you for inciting violence,” Reynolds explained.
Dominick stepped back.
“I am not leaving this bay. I’m not going into yer custody so you might as well just shoot me down right now.”
Reynolds cocked his gun and warned. “Enough people have died. It stops now.”
***
Inside the church upon the dunes, the agents found the pews filled. The bodies that filled them weren’t moving though. Fathers, mothers, children and everything in between. They were all dead. At the altar prayed the man they called the Templar, the living blood of St Michael the Punisher.
He stood when he heard the agents behind him.
He pulled the helmet over his head.
***
“Come with me,” Reynolds said. “You can have protection in custody. Your followers don’t need to be doing this. Give them some assurance.”
Dominick raised his chin.
“I’ve thought long and hard about this. I cannot abide a world that would let corruption into high office. I cannot stand a system that would be fraught with such blasphemous lies they would let my people be tortured, murdered and brutalised. I’m not going into yer custody. Just kill me now if you like because I am not going anywhere.”
***
It had been Franklin who had made the first move. The Templar was making his way down the aisle towards Teddy. Lydia had leapt in front of him first. The Templar swung his great sword. Lydia’s tight footwork managed to evade catastrophe but she was sent tumbling to the ground. As the blade was swung at Teddy, Franklin had leapt onto his right side. He used a blade to try and scratch at his neck but the protective gear saved him from too much damage. He threw Franklin off.
Teddy stepped forward. The guns were drawn and a couple of shots sparked. They rattled against the armour. The sword was swung, almost slicing him across the chest. Lydia had leapt again but the Templar threw her off and swung the sword again at Franklin who had just stepped in front of him. Hopping from his right foot to his left he raised his left thigh and whacked into the Templars leg. He noticed a hesitation in the Templar’s step where Chick Owen had inflicted an injury. The other two noticed it too.
***
Kim and the CPD offers were surrounded by Wigan followers. It was going to be difficult to take them down with minimal casualties. They were all drug crazed, fury inspired and guided by what they felt was righteousness.
CPD were instructed not to engage them. Instead they created a perimeter around them and set it alight. As the Wigan followers tried to charge through the fire towards them they were quickly relieved and restrained.
One in particular came for Kim. Bart grabbed Kim’s arm. She landed a downwards jab into his chest which pushed him back. He tried to heave her aside. She turned her stumble into a change of pressure in her stance and jabbed towards his chin. Bart was high so he wasn’t feeling the pain.
***
“Come with me now!” Reynolds cried to Dominick. “This ends now.”
There were more. There would always be more. You see, dear readers, religious fanaticism can spread like a disease. This disease can tear at the morality of people. It is highly infectious and when it had spread too far there was only one solution.
We are the children of Wigan and now our time is here.
He accepts us for our evil ways and strips us of our fear.
“Dominick, it’s over,” the church leader could hear Reynolds call to him.
We are the children of Wigan and even if we die.
Our saint will take us in his arms and raise us all up high.
Oh, we know, we know, we know we can’t be saved but repent and you’ll be in his embrace.
BANG!
His Eminence Dominick Cole was brought down with a bullet to his leg.
***
Bart had tackled Kim again. He had managed to land her on the ground. She climbed to her feet quickly. He charged at her and she landed him to the ground. Whilst CPD rounded up the others, most staying behind the line of fire now, Kim grew tired of grappling. She landed three successive punches to Bart’s face. She gave a jab to his diaphragm and a final uppercut landed him onto ground. With that the carrier was taken into custody.
***
Inside the church the agents remained focused on their target. Franklin moved from the left side to the right where they knew the Templar to be weaker. Lydia took another strike at the injury. The Templar stabbed towards her shoulder but she managed to dodge. As he was distracted Franklin leapt onto his back. He stuck a clipper into his neck. He was balling with rage. The Templar threw his elbow back and caught him in the stomach. Franklin’s own injuries were making him dizzy but he managed to pull the helmet off.
Teddy’s side was torn as the Templar’s sword caught him. He kept his composure as best he could and fired another shot. The Templar stumbled. The great saintly monster fell. Lydia took the opportunity and pulled off his helmet before he elbowed her and sent her crashing into the benches.
“You cannot be saved!” Hissed the Templar.
“But I can be redeemed,” Teddy replied.
BANG!
The living embodiment of St Michael the Punisher fell onto the church floor. The spirit of Bad Bob had come with a message for the followers of Wigan. There was a new light shining.
***
On his knees, upon the beach that had always been his home, in the shadows of the religion that had been his life, Dominick watched as Lydia and Franklin departed the church. St Michael the Punisher was gone. The Templar had been killed. The bloodline had been ended. Emerging from that was something quite different but no less important. Walking behind his companions having completed the task was a tall, fair man. On his belt were the Wigan pistols.
“Bad bob!” Dominick gasped.
Seeing the man crossing the sands towards him, as he was being taken into custody, was like a sign from Noah Wigan himself.
Of all the stories they were told as children, Dominick and Bartholemew loved the tales of Bad Bob the most. He was daring, he was cunning, he was strong and most of all he was righteous. Teddy Owen quite rightly held those attributes and His Eminence himself would agree there was no better man to carry those pistols.
***
“David is distraught,” Tabitha was telling Marcus as they waited for word from the island. “I can’t get to him. Elliot is just a baby. Those cunts took the baby. They beheaded the mothers.”
“You’ll have to calm yourself, Tabitha,” warned the King.
“If anything happens to that kid,” she was adamant.
“Take it easy,” Marcus advised again. “We’re at the docks right now. We’ll be here when they get back.”
The sight of Loyalist presence at Chamberlain Docks caused a stir among the Swantin residents.
“What are you doing here?” The were asked. “Get yourselves back up to Main.
A Loyalist named Ivor had become a particular target. His chin raised and his black and belt attire did make him seem thuggish compared to the Swantin trendsetters.
“We’re just waiting on the ferry, like,” he had said.
“The last ferry left,” he was reminded.
Marcus could see the tension build so he stepped between them.
“Can we help you, sir?” He asked.
“I’m just wanting to know why you’re here.”
Marcus replied, “I don’t believe we know each other well enough to ask questions of our intentions. Perhaps I’m wrong in that assumption. What brings you to the docks? Do you live nearby? Do you frequent here often? Are you in the market for prostitutes?”
The Swantin trendy stared blankly.
“If we’re going to be discussing each other’s intentions we may as well do so thoroughly.”
They eventually scampered off. Ivor gave a laugh.
“Making friends there, Your Majesty,” he jested.
“It has always been difficult to get along with those from Swantin. It’s their jealously, you see,” Marcus replied.
Ivor gave another laugh.
“It must be,” he said. Then he gave some thought to the island.
“Do you think they’ll find the little man?”
Marcus looked out across the sea.
“I hope so,” stated he.
Not so long after they heard the Harbour Master call.
“New arrivals,” he was indicating.
As the Swantin trendy had said the last ferry had departed for the evening. It could only be the return of the Hickes Agency AKA the Good Gang.
“Move back,” indicated the Loyalists as curiosity drew more onlookers. The fishing vessels they had used drew towards the docks. First to alight was Reynolds. In his custody was Dominick Cole, the Wigan church leader. The triplets watched with satisfaction as the church leader who had caused so much carnage in Main was remanded in custody.
Following after was Teddy Owen and Lydia Lowe. Teddy had shown true merit. Owens tended to talk a lot. Most of them would throw themselves into the thick of the action. Teddy did that too but in a humble way that demonstrated for all his only intention was to do the right thing. Stepping onto the docks at their backs was Kim Adams.
There was relief all round when it was seen she carried Elliot in her arms. The child was distressed, clinging to the agent for comfort. He was unharmed though and as sprightly as ever. Kim brought him to the triplets.
“We have some cleaning up to do,” she told him. “I’m trusting you to take Elliot to David at the Knock Knock club.”
“Thank you, agent,” said Marcus. “They will be glad.”
Kim smiled as Elliot relieved his grip on her and reached out to Marcus, climbing into his arms.
“You’ve had quite the adventure, little man,” said Simon to the boy.
“Duh!” Elliot called out for the artist.
“We’ll see him to the proper care,” was Marcus’ assurance.
Kim considered herself a good judge of character. The violence and infamy that surrounded the triplets aside, their father’s killing of Hickes, she judged they genuinely cared for the little boy. The genuinely cared for Tabitha too but that was a judgement for another day.
“Stay out of trouble,” she warned them.
“We will,” they responded in synch.
At that they parted. The Good Gang set about cleaning up, Dominick to seek proper forgiveness from an authority other than Noah Wigan and the triplets to the Knock Knock club to reunite, rebuild and perhaps seek some salvation of their own.
***
“Someone’s coming,” David heard Tabitha call.
They could see a group heading down towards Clifton Alley.
“Who is it?” David asked.
Tabitha took a closer look. “It’s Loyalists,” she confirmed.
The expressions she could make out on their faces were sombre. They looked as though they had been through a lot. I remained at David’s side. We had no idea what the trip to the bay would bring. David was trying to hold himself together. He was breathing heavily.
“I can see Simon!” Tabitha called. “Simon’s with them.”
Tabitha tried to gauge his expression but Simon always looked pissed off. David was afraid to ask but he had to.
“Do they have Elliot? Is Elliot with them?” he stood to check the window himself.
“Reggie! I can see Reggie. He looks bad.”
The empty cans rolled across Clifton Lane. The nearby traffic lowered to a murmur. Tabitha breathed a sigh of relief.
“There’s Marcus!”
The relief spread like a cheer through the club when into view came the little boy the King of Main was carrying in his arms.
David rushed out to collect Elliot, alive and well and seemingly enjoyed his trip to the beach.
“Duh!” he cried out, hugging the artist.
“I was so worried about you,” David said. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he said but his little smile told he was just fine.
As CPD cleared the beaches they uncovered Elliot before he had been reduced to ashes.
Tabitha pulled Reggie aside when everything had settled. She slapped his arm.
“Don’t you think I’ve been through enough!?” the triplet protested.
“That’s for thinking you could join a fucking cult,” she told him.
“Good to see you too,” he replied.
Tabitha grinned. She hugged him.
“You’re going to be okay,” she said.
Reggie smiled. He rested his chin on her shoulder. “I have to be, don’t I?”
“Damn right you do,” Tabitha responded.
There were celebrations aplenty at Knock Knock Club that night. For the first time I could feel why it was such a magical place.
***
“The campaign trails for the city hot seat began this afternoon as bids for the mayoral candidacy open. Given how difficult it has been to hold the mayor’s office in Coldford recently we await with baited breath as the election season begins. Good luck candidates and may the best candidate win. I’m Sandra Wake of Coldford Daily news.”
As the city rejoiced at the end of the religious carnage a new carnage broke out. My story first brought me to the Knock Knock club in search of the missing mayor, Feltz. Tabitha told me she had no idea where he was and the triplets wouldn’t either. The seat then passed on to Mickey Doyle who found himself under the scrutiny of Article 22. He was executed as a result – by order of his own cousin. The Office of Lawmakers had been holding the office until a suitable replacement could be elected, using Blackband militants for this purpose. As election season opened and the light shone back on City Hall again my story would continue.
Cooper cars were the best engineered, best presented and beautifully polished cars you would find in the world. Luxury is an understatement. When you take a ride in a Cooper car you will find her welcoming, warm and ready to take you anywhere you want to go.
Marshall Cooper was the big dog, as they say. He and his fleet of Mad Dog racing cars were renowned. However, his reputation in the Shady City had become somewhat tarnished of late. Coldford hadn’t responded well to his imported Great States enthusiasm. It seemed the city didn’t quite love him as much as he loved himself. This couldn’t be tolerated.
Marshall Cooper was an elder of the Kappa So fraternity and that meant something. It meant he had a place in the city so they ought to show him some admiration, a little bit of fucking respect.
So, Kathleen was called upon. Kathleen was the mother hen of Kappa Si sorority and she was a PR guru. She was tasked with keeping the frat boys at heel. This was no easy task.
When she saw the Cooper brand being slated around Coldford she had no choice but leash up the big dog and haul him into her office for some house training.
“You need to stop pissing everywhere, Marsh,” she told him in no uncertain terms. “You’re making yourself untouchable and you’ll push your garages right out of Coldford. The people of this city are a tough crowd. You need to play the game.”
Marshall had been sour faced as expected sat before her desk. He smiled his bleached grin. He wasn’t liking being told what to do.
“It’s that fucking retarded crotch stain of mine that’s caused it,” Marshall said, referring to his son Dale. “Him and his bros have been shitting everywhere before I even got here. They’ve made the frat a laughing stock.”
Kathleen flipped open her notebook.
“Dale is just following example,” she said. “You’ve got to get him in line. He’s your son.”
Marshall rolled his eyes. “So Chastity says,” he scolded, referring to Dale’s mother.
“Either way,” Kathleen went on, “He’s got your name and he’s the up and comer for your brand. You need him to be ready for that.”
“There’s no way Dale will get my garages,” Marshall was adamant.
“Then who would?” Kathleen asked.
“Missy of course,” he said. “My Princess is smart, she’s got degrees coming out her ears. She’s been Miss Star State two years running, she’s a netball champion and she drives like a real Cooper.”
Missy Cooper, Marshall’s daughter, was one of Kathleen’s sorority chickadees so she was familiar. Missy was what the Cooper brand needed.
“Missy is good,” the maven agreed. “What she needs to do is help bring her brother to her level. I’m going to bring her in to work with Dale. Together they’ll make the Cooper brand something worth taking into the future. She’ll have a couple of weeks to try get him with some of the achievements she has.”
“Oh, come on,” Marshall scoffed. “It would take a miracle worker to have Dale seen as anything but a complete fuck up. What’s he going to achieve that even comes close to Missy?”
Kathleen was adamant. “I wasn’t putting it for opinions. I’m telling you what’s going to go down here.”
Marshall had no response. Dale, who had been sat there the whole time lifted his head.
“Huh?” he asked, sounding a little far off.
“Make it a couple of months,” Kathleen decided.
The Coldford Daily, for which Kathleen was the editor, was Owen owned. The Owen family and the Coopers were frat bros for life, so Kathleen, in her wisdom, decided that the exposure needed to come from an independent. That independent was me. I was in for a wild ride.
***
“The dogs got bite, man. It’s gonna be crazy,” was Marshall Coopers sentiment towards his beloved cars.
Owen Estate was playing host to an event rarely seen in Coldford. The mad dogs mostly kept to the big tracks in the Great States or the tours in Luen so getting to see the Cooper Mad Dogs in legitimate action was quite a boon. Dan, who had formed a friendship with The Cappy through their mutual love of Owen History had managed to arrange for an invite to me.
“Keep a wary eye, Sam,” was the warning from Seth Bergman.
“Slash their fucking tires,” had been Elizabeth’s thoughts.
Either way I passed through the gates of Owen Estate and I found myself overwhelmed but the sheer, monumental ego the place held. A wall of the path leading to the main entrance was bricked in a slightly different shade from the rest. I learned later that this was because the section was younger, with fresher brick. It seemed Buddy, as a teen, had drove a car through it. No doubt he had been high at the time. His mother had it fixed before The Cappy returned from a trip to Tokashima where Marshall had been stationed at the time. There were monuments and plaques to the Owens of old. Special place had been given to Captain Henry ‘Hen’ Owen who founded the dynasty. There was a bronze replica of his ship and leading to the main house was the tread board that had been used. It was brilliantly restored. A crowd had already gathered. I could hear the red car – Cherry –bark in the distance. The excitement was palpable. I was mostly drawn to the green car – Emerald. She was twisting round the track when I arrived. As she rounded the corner her wheels tightened and her body started to swish side to side. The audience applauded in appreciation at her beauty, her technique and the skill of her driver.
Marshall’s voice could be heard above all the others. Austin Perry had been quite accommodating when I paid a visit to his zoo. Conversation with the prickliest member of the Kappa Elders was going to prove a challenge.
“Marshall?” I introduced myself. “Sam Crusow. I’d like to ask you a little bit about the Mad Dogs If I may?”
Marshall eyed me with suspicion at first. A life long playboy he had taken care of himself. He was flash, with a bleached smile and an overly familiar persona.
“Crusow,” he said. “I know that name?” he tried to figure my placement before he decided on how much he was going to help me. I chose to usher him along in his decision.
“You should. I’m the reporter that left the Daily behind. But you probably remember my father, Samuel Crusow? Crusow Autos? He beat you in the Luen Formula races when you were a driver. He also beat you in the Tokashima tracks, the Shady Circuit tracks and the Jole derby.”
Marshall laughed it off. He played it cool. I didn’t want to push it too hard. I was there on Dan’s recommendation after all and didn’t want to stir too much trouble for him. I learned that prodding someone’s ego causes them to step back. It is a far easier position to question from.
Marshall shook his head. “No he didn’t,” he maintained. His bright smile darkened.
He did. It was true. Crusow Autos was my lineage back in Jamestown. My father had produced his own racer from scratch using what parts he could find. The entire town came together to help him. When he was pit against an experienced and admittedly skilled driver – Marshall Cooper – with all the money in the world to back him. The idea of my father winning the Shady Circuits was laughable but with determination win them he did. A simple scroll through archives would remind him of this fact but I was there to prod egos and collect information not have myself thrown out. I wanted to keep him open to talking so I directed his attention to his greatest love.
“The cars are impressive. I heard Sunny can reach nought to sixty in two point four seconds.”
Marshall was swooning at this.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “She’s fast. She’s real fast. Nothing can beat her. She’s a sexy bitch too.”
Gleaming, sunshine yellow and with a sleek body, Sunny was a well formed, stream lined car. She didn’t need the rabbit to chase around the track. She wanted to run. A woman in yellow Cooper Cars gear was walking towards her. She was a Tokashima native. She was a pretty young woman and enjoying the adulation of her fans as Sunny’s driver. Her name – I came to learn – was Miko. She was a champion circuit racer recruited by Marshall and she was very much at home in Sunny’s driver seat. She didn’t speak much of the Coldford language but she engaged her adoring fans well enough.
The attraction of the day was Jewel, Marshall’s own car and Alpha of the pack of Mad Dogs. I watched as he sat in his driver seat, door open and his legs on the outside talking to a group of young teenagers who had gathered around to admire the vehicle.
“She’s got enough G whilst cornering she could drive upside down in a tunnel,” Marshall boasted.
“Wow!” The boys were rightfully impressed. “Have you ever done that?”
Marshall gave a wry smile. “Got a ticket in Luen for it.”
BOOM!
One of the boys jerked at the noise of Cherry’s bark.
Marshall teased. “Don’t mind her. She just gets a little rowdy.”
A rumble sounded. It was a guttural sound that lay beneath the noise of the mad dogs. Miko, who had been putting her helmet on, stopped. Cherry silenced her engine, the noise lowered to a growl. Emerald screeched to a stop.
Swaying smoothly, like the shoulder blades of a prowling tiger, Kitty cantered among the pack. Her engine hissed as it closed off.
“Kitty!” the boys cried excitedly, spotting the much publicized vehicle of Agent Lowe. The publicity – thanks to Elizabeth Beckingridge and the Filton Press publishing house – had spread like wildfire. With Lydia being an attractive, capable agent with a warm, bubbly personality it was easy work.
“Half the work’s already done,” Elizabeth had claimed. “Look at her!”
Marshall’s expression became thunderous as he watched Kitty being swamped by admirers. He approached himself. Jewel locked with a bleep. “Agent Lowe,” he said. “Glad you could make it. It’s good to know there’s nothing better going on in the city for you to be involved in.”
Lydia ignored the self-righteous tone. He knew a big part of the Good Gang presence in the city was publicity. With the Black Bands pulling back they needed faces the people of Coldford could turn to in times of trouble. In that moment, Marshall only had eyes for Kitty.
“She’s a sweet ride, he said. “How fast can she go?”
“Fast enough to catch the bad guys,” Lydia returned in jest. She watched one of the teens reached out to touch the bike. She pulled the accelerator, giving Kitty her signature roar. The teen leapt back laughing.
Lydia patted the bike. “I think she likes you.”
“Can she beat Sunny?”
“C’mon,” Marshall scoffed as though it was a no brainer.
“I think she could,” I decided to put in.
Marshall would have none of it. His pack of Mad Dogs could outrun any cool cat – especially the speedy Sunny.
“Miko?” he called to Sunny’s driver. Fluently in the language of Tokashima he told her to get ready. If any of us could translate we would have heard him say, “this bitch is going down.”
“How fast can Kitty go?” I asked Lydia – not entirely sure of the full scale abilities my mechanical engineer father had given her.
“We’ll soon find out.” Lydia said with confidence as she put on her helmet and drove to the starting line.
***
First lap. Sunny darted off in front. Kitty chased behind her but as they rounded they approached the first corner the bike managed to gain. Inside the car Miko growled to herself. She tapped her steering wheel and jerked to the side. She almost knocked Lydia from Kitty but luckily she maneuvered herself out of danger.
“Fuck,” I could hear Marshall growl under his breath.
Lydia had fallen behind again but as they reached a long stretch of track both vehicles really opened up. Truthfully I had never seen a car drive so fast. Kitty’s hiss showed she was having none of it. With traction under her wheels, she sped on in front.
Second lap. The corners were being taken a little messily now. Sunny was pushing to be in front. She tried again to nudge Kitty off of the track. Kitty did skid into the mud a little and Sunny was offered the chance to speed on ahead.
Third lap. The unbeatable Sunny tore through the track but speed is no match for determination. Kitty opened up to the heaviest speeds she was capable off. She caught up with her. The two were neck in neck. They closed in on the finishing line. Sunny nudged ahead. One last time the Mad Dog snapped at the Cool Cat but in doing so her wheels corrected. The bike was easy to maneuver out of the way so the slight pull was enough distance required to speed on. The race was finished. The winner was Kitty.
Stopping the car Miko pulled her helmet off. She battered her fists against the steering wheel in frustration.
***
Whilst Sophie Bergman demonstrated the law to the circus family, Marshall Cooper wished for some laws in his own hands so he arranged a meeting by special request with Judge Doyle.
“You better not be stirring shit, Coops,” The Cappy pressed. “We only just about got things in order.”
Marshall shrugged it off.
“Shiiiit. I know what I’m doing.”
Chick wasn’t so sure. He knew he was an egotistical man but Marshall could be worse. He always set out to prove a point. Nothing displayed Marshall’s ego better than a pack of speedy, hungry, powerful classic cars. He had been ranting ever since Kitty had beaten Sunny. Miko, Sunny’s driver hadn’t been much better. If The Cappy could speak the language of Tokashima he would tell the bitch to shut up in her native tongue.
Marshall was a dangerous man when his cars were attacked. He responded more to their ridicule than Dale’s. Chick had seen him over the years go to extreme lengths when someone made him look a fool. Sure, he himself was one to talk but Marshall’s bitter streak could turn nasty and cause troubles with the Good Gang.
“I need licenses for weaponry on all my cars,” Marshall put to Judge Doyle.
There it was. Because he lost a race he was going to blow the whole damn city up.
Judge Doyle raised his chin. Even she saw the ridiculousness of the request. The Cappy had attended the meeting with him with the intention of pulling the leash whenever necessary was also taken aback.
“Weapons?” Judge Doyle had to be clear. “What kind of weapons?”
Marshall went off on one of his usual rants.
“My cars got all the power you’re ever going to want. They sync better than any fleet and they can be across the city in no time. They are the fastest.
Judge Doyle interrupted him. “They’re obviously not the fastest if Agent Lowe’s bike managed to best them.”
“Shit…” Marshall groaned. “A bike is always gonna have one up on a car. There’s less traction, more maneuverability. It’s not a fair comparison.”
“Your request is denied,” Doyle said.
This riled Marshall. He couldn’t comprehend someone not admiring his dogs as much they did. The Cappy prepared to tug the leash.
“You’re doing the city a disservice,” Marshall protested. “Think about what my cars could give CPD.”
‘Should have brought a fucking muzzle,’ thought Chick.
“Whilst you are in my office you will address me by my proper title.”
Marshall actually managed to find some civility brought on by Doyle’s battle scarred warning stare.
“They could do some good is all I’m saying, Your Honour,” he said. “If I had the mechanics of that Kitty bike I could mass produce.”
“CPD and Kappa So are already under scrutiny. CPD budget has been slashed. I will not be allowing you to be armed with any further destructive capabilities. The agents are trained, trusted and have already done much good. Your request is denied.”
“You’re making a huge mistake,” Marshall glared.
“Marshall,” Chick warned. The leash had been tugged.
“What would be a mistake is not heeding my judgement,” Doyle declared.
And so Marshall Cooper, the Alpha Mad Dog had been set away without the opportunity of shiny new toys. It was a welcomed relief for most of us in the city. For Marshall Cooper. It was a slap in the face.
***
Marshall had been pacing Harbour House for twenty minutes. He had said he had been there to check on Dale’s welfare as he continued in his rehab program. He had been on the phone the whole time and he didn’t have a word to share with his son. He had been on the call when he arrived and he had been contacted with the next before Cooper could speak.
As Marshall turned Cooper caught the sight of the blue screen against his ear. It was a call from within Sky.
Cooper craned his neck and looked out of the window where Lydia was looming near by.
“I can see the bitch now,” he said. “Call in and she’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
He finally closed the call. He turned to Cooper with a snarling grin.
He slapped his arm where a blood sample had only just been taken. Cooper grimaced in pain.
“Getting all your feeling out?” he teased. “What about the rest of you? Your pathetic pussy asses in rehab over some damn lines.”
“Fuck you,” Buddy replied with a sneer.
Marshall stood. He reached his arms out. “I’m just messing with you boys. You need to learn what happens when you don’t bite back. I’ll see you all later.”
He departed the room. Through the window Cooper could see his father disappear down the corridor.
“Bud?” Coops put to his bro. “I think Lydia might be in trouble. I think their going to pack up on Lydia.”
Buddy pushed his button.
“Beverly!” He called on the nurse.
The Harbour House matron appeared at the door looking a little flustered. “What is it Buddy? I swear to God this had better not be anything stupid.”
Buddy had a choice. He had a difficult choice to make with his history of terrible decision making. Resist the bro’ness.
***
When she reached the warehouse the tip off had suggested, Good Gang agent Lydia hadn’t found anything odd. It was all quiet. She was at the point of leaving when a heavy boom held her.
The mad dogs entered with all the flare they would offer in their shows. Pit crew alighted. Lydia was grossly outnumbered. In Tokashima, the underworld that Marshall frequented, when someone was found to be stepping out of line they were taken care of.
The cars began to circle Lydia. She prepared herself from the inevitable attack. Miko was the first. Hitting her, Lydia threw her out of the way to defend herself from blue. Jewel had followed in close at her pack’s back as Lydia kicked green out of the way. Marshall climbed out of his car. He walked round the front of jewel, leaning on her nose as he watched.
A wash of colours swooped around her as she pushed her body to its limit fending off Miko and once again throwing her out of the way. The colours swooshed round faster, making her feel a little dizzy. She hit blue again, then green, then Miko was thrown to floor once more, making her frustrated. Lydia was pushed further. As she fought back she became conscious of being hit by one of the cars. Cherry boomed her angry bark and Lydia did her best to dodge more attacks. Her adaptability had shown her where the weakest spots were in the Kevlar suits. She was going to win. She was going to make her escape but there is no reasoning with a mad dog. Emerald swept out of the line and knocked Lydia to the ground.
The pit crew descended upon her. She was finding it hard to breath. She tried to get up. She was knocked to the ground.
Bang!
Sky received a bullet to her tire. Upon entry of Theodore ‘Teddy’ Owen and his six shooters, the other cars too had their tires blown. The rest of the Good Gang had come to the aid of Lydia. They fought off the pit crew and they were regretting their decision to pack up on Agent Lowe. Marshall was still barking like a mad dog.
“We were just messing around,” he tried to say. “If she’s as good as you guys think I’m sure she can take it.”
Franklin was aiding Lydia into a car at this point.
“You know, I had a dog when I was a girl, a big fucker, ” Kim started. “He was always barking at me and it terrified the life out of me. Then my dad told me that it doesn’t matter the size of the dog, they all back off with the same thing.”
“Oh yeah? Marshall asked. “and what’s that?”
“A bat to the fucking nose,” Kim answered.
“Is that what you think this is? Marshall went on, still barking away.
“Ye done?” Kim asked.
“I ain’t taking your shit,” Marshall tried.
Kim had heard enough of the Kappa elder’s complaints. His confidence and lack of remorse irked her too.
She swung a strong left hook, catching him on the side of the face. There was some satisfaction as blood spurted from his burst lip.
It was immediately followed by a right jab straight to his nose. The blow drew more blood, spilling onto the car salesman’s shirt. If he weren’t in so much shock his confidence would surely be waning by then.
Kim herself was still not satisfied. Marshall was a mad, barking dog. Mad, barking dogs could be dangerous so she struck his abdomen with her powerful left strike.
She grabbed him by the throat and urged him back. His bark had become a gasp now.
Marshall needed a longer lasting lesson. His mad dog fleet may have been all the rage in Tokashima. They may even be feared there. They were in Coldford now and in the Shady City, disobedient dogs are neutered.
Kim reached down and landed a final, heavy strike direct to Marshall’s genitals. The wheezy, gargling cry Marshall gave then finally did offer some satisfaction.
As they passed the gathered pit crew, Miko glared at her.
“Are you done?” Kim put to her.
Miko shook her head and looked away.
***
WELCOME TO ROSE.
The rose gold Cooper insect was a sight to behold as it pulled up outside Coldford Airport. It stationed itself across two parking spaces at the entrance of arrivals.
Airport lounges are a curious thing in their atmosphere. Much like the train stations they are filled with an excitement unlike anywhere else. The anticipation of long parted family and friends being reunited again can be quite intoxicating. The tension was particularly high on this day as the arrivals board noted flight 293 from the Great States had landed.
A cheerleading squad of Kappa Si filled the area, chanting, dancing and making quite a display. Two burly Kappa So brothers held up a sign for their collect. The sign read Missy Cooper.
Two well dressed Owen Inc. flight attendants were the first to emerge pulling with them the matching luggage.
***
Back at Cooper garages where we were waiting I took note that Marshall was smiling. He really was quite proud of his daughter. Kathleen was already on the phone.
“I need a reservation for two tonight at the Delphine. I need the best seat you got with plenty of space for photographers. Send along one of the Brad Shroeder boys to accompany. Whichever one is most popular right now.”
“Here she comes,” Marshall announced. “Send Rose’s pit crew out there. I want to make sure she’s looking sharp.”
There was a lot of fuss. I was admiring of how well it was all coming together and how important the Cooper image truly was for Marshall. Among all the chaos Dale was stood speechless.
Through the windows I could see a pit crew in rose gold cooper gear readying to welcome their charge. They weren’t kept waiting long. The purr of Rose rounded the corner and crawled smoothly into the garages. From the car emerged a young woman wearing designer glasses. She had removed the sunglasses as she threw open the doors of the garage.
“Daddy!” she cried, rushing to Marshall first. Then she observed him.
“Look at the state of your face,” she commented, paying particular attention to the bandage across his nose.
“Just a little bit of a mishap, princess. That’s why I called you here. I need to look after things for a little while.
“There she is!” Marshall said, lifting her into his arms. “How was your flight, princess?”
“It was smooth but such a drag.”
She kissed Kathleen on both cheeks.
“This is Sam,” Kathleen explained introducing myself.
Missy turned her radiant smile on me.
“Sam Crusow! It’s an honour. I’m actually a huge fan of your blog. I read it all the time. In fact on my way over here I was reading that article you wrote about the Knock Knock club. It must have been quite frightening for you.”
“It was an experience,” I assured.
“Well, I’m super psyched to be talking to you. Just give me a chance to wash the airplane off my hands we’ll have a chat. Daddy? Can we use your office?”
“Of course you can, princess.”
“Cute shirt,” Missy pointed to my outfit and she dashed off to freshen up.
I turned to Dale.
“Won’t you be joining us?” I asked him.
Dale’s first instinct was to look to his father. Marshall had no say in the matter. He would much rather Dale blended into the background.
Missy spoke pleasantly about the Crusow Cooper history. She teased a little but with charm. She had her father’s confidence, talking to me as though we were long acquainted but she managed to not seem overly familiar. She carried herself with flash and style. She was self assured. She had some of Marshall’s arrogance but she managed to carry it in a more amiable way. With Kathleen at her back, after Marshall’s disastrous attempts to get the Lawmakers on his side and bully the Good Gang agents, Missy would be the perfect one to rescue the Cooper reputation. She had a lot of work to do.
***
The Office of Lawmakers had advised me to stay away. All my better judgement warned me to stay away too but I couldn’t. I set out to uncover the story of Mayor Feltz. The Knock Knock Club was where the answers lay. Tabitha was tagged and surrounded by a host of bailiffs. There were also Black Band militants around too but given the sensitivity of the situation Doyle had reduced their numbers. With some protesting I was granted an opportunity of an interview back at the Knock Knock Club.
The main hall was empty. The chairs that had been filled upon my first visit sat unoccupied. Despite my obvious distaste for the place I should note the liveliness and hope that it brought to many people. It was shelter. It was refuge. It wouldn’t be the same without Agnes Wilde. She was a decent woman by all accounts. She was another kind, loving soul driven to desperate acts within a cruel city.
CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
I looked to the stage. Tabitha had made her entrance. The ordeal she had been through hadn’t lost her any of her flair. She watched me at first. Then she started to smile looking down upon me from her platform.
“Did you miss me?” She asked.
“Not even a little bit,” I returned with a scowl.
“Then why are you here? She asked.
“I’m here because this story is unfinished,” I told her. “Where is Mayor Feltz?”
“How should I know?” Tabitha replied.
“You know full well how you should know. They will execute you. They’ll get the job done one way or another. The least you could do now is give over what you know,” I pressed.
CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
Tabitha crossed to the font of the stage. She sat herself on the edge allowing her legs to dangle over. She rested her hands on her lap. She pouted at me.
“I never liked Feltz,” she told me.
“I gathered that.”
“He was self serving. He didn’t give a fuck about the people he represented. He was a typical politician in that sense I suppose. He worked by bribes. He didn’t at first. At first he talked a good game and It looked like he was going to make a real difference. City Hall got to him and he was giving favours to the highest bidder. Look about yourself. Who down here can afford to compete with that? He had promised shelters, free clinics and it almost made me feel sorry I didn’t vote for the cunt. Fullerton were contracted for the work and it was going to change lives. Then word was sent that those contracts were torn up. They weren’t going to build anymore. We tried our best but the recession hit hardest here. People lost their homes. Kids were out on the streets. We begged them to reconsider. They still refused. A letter of appeal was even sent to that old troll Lynette Fullerton. She ignored it. We did our best but there were too many needing help. Kids started to die of exposure. Drugs and prostitution spread rapidly as people became desperate. Illness spread fast too. The bodies piled up. It was like a fever had been dropped deliberately to wipe The Shanties out. I invited Feltz down to see it for himself. His daughter – Amber – turned up instead. She had some Beckingridge Banker with her. I just wanted to ask her a few questions like, where was her daddy and why the fuck was she in my club with his invitation. She told me he was busy. He had a meeting at Beckingridge Tower. I was a little less friendly towards her then. I pierced some holes in her so the truth would ooze out. She told me a new account had been opened in the name of Owen Inc. That’s where the Fullerton had put their money instead. There were plenty others too. Why should they care? The fever was spreading and we’d all be dead starting with the really young, the old and the vulnerable. The fat, greedy fucks were going to be celebrating. Little kids were dying in my arms and those despicable cunts were having a party! The recession was costing lives here and the mayor who was elected to lead Coldford didn’t care. He was too busy making his own money in an Owen investment account.
I don’t care what you or anyone else thinks of me. That money had to be given to where it was promised. That was how me and the triplets happened to find ourselves at their little shindig when they got all boozed and drugged up and fell from the penthouse window.”
“Fell from the penthouse did they?”
“It’s not my fault they built the thing so fucking high.” She went on. “Feltz hadn’t been there. He was skipping out on all kinds of invitations. We managed to catch up with him. He was in Main so I had Marcus with me. He had one way flight tickets on him. Well! I was just so devastated he would run away from me I kind of blacked out and don’t remember much else,” she said with a sardonic tone. “I do remember warning him to never return though.”
“You let him go?”
“Of course I did. What do you take me for? I was sure I had made my point to him anyway. I can be quite persuasive. He was a lost cause. My focus was on which cunt was going to sit in City Hall next.
“You really have no idea where he went?”
“His ticket was to Kuberstan. Who the fuck wants to go to Kuberstan? I took it off of him so maybe he hopped a flight elsewhere. If I still had him I would be shouting it from the rooftops.”
She grinned and started to kick her legs back and forth like a fidgeting child.
“Do you want to hear the best part?” She asked.
What I really wanted was to leave that dreadful cabaret club but I needed to know what Tabitha did.
“When I spoke to Chick Owen, he had no real knowledge of this investment account. He had been told the triplets and I had gone to the party to watch those people eat heethers and tumble from the window out of spite like we were some kind of maniacs. He assumed I was being nasty because of Jerry Owen. Mayor Feltz had managed to close the account with the help of Mickey Doyle before he had had the chance to look into it. Amber told me though. She told me who signed on Chick’s behalf.”
“Did you tell The Cappy who signed for him?”
Tabitha scoffed.
“Of course I didn’t. I think all this snooping around is rotting your brain. You don’t give Chick Owen all your information. That would be fucking stupid. Then he has all he wants and you get a bullet in your skull.”
She put a finger to her head as though holding a gun and then she pulled the trigger.
“I told him as soon as all three triplets were safe back at Faulds, then I would tell him who the co signatory was. Reggie was in love again. Wigans were everywhere in Main. The last thing they needed were those nuts everywhere. Do you know they still stone people to death? Fucking barbarians they are. My grandma attended a stoning once. It was one of Jerry Owen’s pervy pals in the Wigan order. She threw the first rock.”
“What about Melanie Wallace? She died in Clifton Alley. I saw the whole thing.”
“Who?”
“The Lawmaker Tabitha!”
“You were grieving a wife or something weren’t you?” Was Tabitha’s response. “How do you know what you saw?”
“I know what I saw,” I insisted.
Tabitha was unmoved.
“Let’s just say that a Lawmaker did come here. Just for the sake of keeping this conversation going let’s assume it was Mel Wallace. She came here with warrants, threatening to shut us down. At least she would have if she was actually here. Main was threatened too – perhaps. There had been a lot of talk about Chamberlain Palace in Kingsgate wanting to restore it to the real crown, whatever the fuck that means. The Penns have ruled up in Main for a long time. They had real aristocratic titles at one point but the Chamberlains stripped them of that when the people starting calling them kings. The difference between the Auction House and Chamerblain House was the Penn family earned their crown by being among the people, fighting with them and supporting them. Anyhoo, the Penns will guard their place with everything they have. If that Lawmaker happened to be threatening that, Marcus was most likely to just slit her throat and be done with it.”
“I’ll bet he would.”
Tabitha leaned forward. She looked a little frustrated but she laughed.
“You still think we’re the villains in this, don’t you?”
“You’re not exactly a hero,” I told her.
Her upper lip curled.
“Then who is?”
Her comment stirred another question I was keen to gain Tabitha’s perspective on.”
“Joel Hickes was murdered by Reginald Penn.”
Tabitha became solemn.
“Reg Penn was a king,” she said. “Joel Hickes was a real star. They got on well. It’s kind of a custom for the Auction House and CPD to work together. I honestly don’t know what went down between them. Reginald would have been furious the triplets were in The Boss. He could have a temper. He was a real nasty one when he needed to be but killing Hickes makes no sense.”
“What about his sons?” I asked, mostly referring to Marcus. “Does killing Mel Wallace make sense?”
Tabitha scowled. Her instant anger at this challenge took me a little by surprise.
“Get over yourself,” she told me. “You don’t know the triplets. You think you may have, perhaps, possibly witnessed a back alley murder and you’re getting all pissy about it? Welcome to fucking Coldford, Sam. It’ll get much worse before it gets better. One thing I’ll say is none of the Penns would take that kind of action unless it was necessary.”
“Who opened the account in Chick’s name?” I asked her.
She smiled at me. She slipped off of the stage edge. She brought herself close to me.
CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
She raised herself so our heights were more comparable.
A chill was in the air as the funeral service for Mrs Margaret Williams filed out of Chamberlain Crematorium, located in the north section of Coldridge Park.
Margaret’s granddaughter, Marlene, pushed her mother’s wheelchair out.
“She had a good life,” said Marlene. Her mother, Moira, agreed. She had been ninety-three when she passed, comfortable in her bed, still cheering her beloved City football team, and surrounded by family. A goal from Andre Luis had won the game against Cardyne. She rested back with a smile and passed. She had seen so much in her life, too. She had been so many exciting places. What more could someone ask for?
Seth Bergman of the Bergman diamond dynasty, and cousin to the missing Kappa So brother Isaac, extinguished his cigarette underneath the sole of the black boots he wore. His father, Howard, had always warned him, “Try not to smoke when you’re greeting people. The smell of tobacco isn’t particularly pleasant for some and you’re representing yourself.”
Seth approached Marlene and Moira.
“Oh Seth,” Marlene gasped with joy. “Thank you for coming.”
Seth kissed Marlene’s cheek. He then leaned down and kissed that of Moira who clutched his hand and kept a hold of it.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Seth assured them.
He was glad he had blown warm air onto his hands before greeting. No one liked to hold a cold hand, especially whilst grieving. A gloved hand was too impersonal.
“A lovely boy is Seth,” said Moira from her chair. “A lovely boy.”
“If we can do anything for you, please just let me know,” he put to them. “I’ll let you get on and I’ll be in touch,” he said as the crowd from the crematorium began to spill towards them.
He waited aside respectfully for the mourners to clear before following the path round to the back of the building. The door was opened and Eugene Morris aka The Tailor emerged, accompanied by the Holy Brother of the Albans order.
“Seth, my dear boy,” said Eugene. “I pass this now into your care.”
To Seth he gave a ceramic urn containing the ashes of Mrs Williams.
“Thank you, sir,” Seth nodded. “I‘ll see her well.”
“How is your sister?” asked Eugene.
“Elsa? She’s keeping herself out of trouble.”
“Good, good,” nodded Eugene. “And your father? How is he?”
“He’s doing well, thank you,” was Seth’s reply. “This Article 22 situation is a little unnerving.”
Eugene nodded. “He’ll be especially upset at the loss of Reginald Penn.”
Seth agreed. “It was a sad loss but we have to carry on, don’t we?”
The Holy Brother dipped his hands into the opposing sleeves of his robes.
“My concern is with the young one – Reginald Junior. Through terrible circumstances he’s been left on his own. He really needs friends to keep him right,” he said.
Seth replied, “I did contact him online but there was no response, which is unusual for him. Elsa tried calling him too but he was just not to be reached. We both figured after Rita’s burial he wanted to be left alone for a while.”
Eugene lowered his voice. “It’s not for me to comment but I’m sure a visit from a friend would do him the world of good.”
“Yes sir,” agreed Seth.
And so the group parted with Seth Bergman carefully escorting Mrs Williams’ remains.
***
City Main was always a busy place. The noise of it was enough to cover the tick-booming of the City Face clock unless you caught it at a certain time of the morning. That being said, Seth Bergman was astounded to find such a commotion around the base of Faulds Park.
Admirers were gathered to seemingly show their support of the lone prince. Some had laid candles and wreaths for the king and queen. Rita in particular was a very active member of the community. She had the heart of the Baroness and the mind of the Broker. I learned that Rita – as sweet as she could be – was fearless when it came to protecting her people. Of course, Reginald carried out any violence required so his queen wouldn’t have to, but upon research I found that Rita was adept at getting among them.
At the doorway to Faulds Park was stood a man in Wigan robes. He was ringing his bell.
Ding ding. Ding ding.
“Repent before it’s too late!” he was yelling.
The Loyalists seemed to be leaving him be. They were more focused on an imminent clash that would occur when Billy Owen decided to send CPD.
It was a long ride up to the Penthouse but when Seth reached it the noise was worse than the floors below. Music boomed and people flooded everywhere. Seth stopped one of them. “I’m here to see Reggie,” he explained. “Where is he?”
“Reggie isn’t seeing anyone,” the greeter remarked.
Seth frowned. “It doesn’t seem that way now does it?” he passed comment on the gathering with a raised eyebrow. “Where is Reg Junior?”
That was when Seth noticed the purple ribbons of Wigan tied around wrists and necks. The Wigan cross was displayed on chests. The man he had stopped slipped away. Seth watched as he approached what appeared to be a superior. They both looked at him. He stood his ground.
“Seth?” Finally he had an audience with Reggie.
Seth had seen images of the triplet prince in the press. He looked worse for wear but he hadn’t expected to find him so dishevelled. He clutched his face and looked at him closely. His skin was warm, sweaty, feverish.
“You’re taking too many drugs,” Seth stated. “I know you went through a lot but you need to pull yourself together.”
Reggie shook him off dismissively. When he noticed Seth glare at him he laughed.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Top shape. I’m just relaxing, like. Got plenty of people around. It’s all good.”
That was when Seth took note of the young woman who accompanied him. She was holding his hand. She offered a polite smile to the Bergman boy. She was dressed as a true Wigan from the bay.
“This is Leona,” Reggie introduced.
“Nice to meet ye,” her accent confirmed her pedigree.
Reggie groaned. He was starting to feel pain in his leg and the stab wounds in his abdomen were stinging again. The dressings would be needing changed soon. He needed pills.
“Reggie, you need to be careful,” Seth warned. “You don’t know these people.”
Becoming a little frustrated with the pain, Reggie grunted. “I know Leona,” he explained. “She’s been looking out for me. Where the fuck have you been?”
“Now, Reggie,” said Leona softly. “That’s no way to speak to a friend.”
“I have been trying to get in touch,” said Seth.
Leona spoke for him. “Too much contact with the outside world with computers and telephones wasn’t doing him much good.”
“And who were you to decide that?” Seth asked angrily.
Leona was unmoved but her softness continued. “I care a lot about Reggie. I’ve been helping him get better.”
“By plying him with drugs?” Seth exclaimed.
This angered the triplet.
“I’m standing right here. Don’t talk to her like that,” he growled. “I’m not some fucking simpleton. I’m … Look, I’ll be fine.”
“I think you should leave,” said Leona.
“If Reggie wishes me to leave I will,” returned the diamond merchant.
Leona clenched Reggie’s hand tighter.
“Just fuck off Seth,” said the triplet. “I mean thanks for coming down and all that but I’m good.”
Seth nodded. “Glad to hear it. Just call me if you need anything.”
To Leona, Seth said, “If you truly care about him, you will make sure he talks to his brothers.”
Leona smiled. “Whatever is best for him,” she said. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Bergman. Now Reggie has asked you to leave.”
“That’s shit,” Reggie was saying to Leona as the elevator doors closed and took Seth away. “I should have asked him to stay for a joint or something.”
Leona hushed him. She patted his hand gently. “I’m sorry Reggie,” she said. “It’s hard to know who’s good for you and who isn’t. I’m sure he’ll understand when you’re better. I just want what’s best for ye. You need to relax. You’re getting uptight again.”
Reggie agreed. “I can’t thank you enough for being here,” he said. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“I’m happy to be here, although it is really unnerving,” she said.
“I’ll not let anything happen to you,” Reggie assured.
“Wigan bless ye,” Leona replied.
Time for another trip. Transport provided by heether mushrooms.
***
“Bergman Memorial, because life is precious. Your loved one deserves to be remembered in the most shining way possible. No one knows your loved one better than you, so you will be given full support from one of our master cultivators throughout the heartfelt process.”
Seth could hear his father’s voice in the old advert as he took two scoops of Mrs Williams’ ashes to begin the blend.
“With a history of perfection that spans generations, our cutting and polishing is carried out to the highest quality; and because we know how important it is to your family, we take pain staking care that your diamond is worthy of remembrance.”
As Seth prepared to purify the ashes, that was when I arrived and knocked on the door of the lab where one of the merchants in the parade upstairs had told me I would find him.
“Take a seat, Sam,” he offered as he spun around in his stool.
“Thanks for agreeing to see me,” I said genuinely.
During my time in Coldford the Bergmans had managed to be everywhere but nowhere. They had ties to the Loyalists of Main as well as Kappa So and the Law Makers. Not an easy task to manage such varied groups. Seth’s father – Howard – was a well known and loved figure but what was astonishing to me was how cleanly he conducted business. Perhaps I had been in the Shady City a little too long and it was making me sceptical, but even as I passed the beautiful pieces of jewellery I kept searching for the shadows behind the shine. The family intrigued me and given Seth’s attempts to see Reggie I thought it would be good to get his views.
Amicable like his father, Seth was more welcoming than most to a reporter. His dark hair and wild blue eyes much like his Aunt Sophie’s.
He laughed heartily when I told of my discovery of Reggie and Tabitha in David Finn’s apartment.
“When The Tailor shows concern there must be something very wrong,” Seth spoke of Reggie. “When I went to Faulds Park it was strange. Reggie himself seems content for now.”
“The Auction House is being put up for sale again,” I said. “I heard your father made a bid.”
Seth replied, “As much as he loathes business with Chick Owen, he felt it was only right to try and help Reggie get it back whilst the boys are in prison.”
Finally, a break in the armour of the ever-friendly Howard Bergman.
“Bad history with the Owens then?” I asked.
“My father isn’t one to harbour grudges or bad blood but he finds the Owens arrogant, conceited, and too quick to throw their weight around. An Owen killed Reginald Penn. You can quote me on saying that if you like,” said Seth.
“So your family wouldn’t have been happy that your cousin pledged Kappa So?” I pressed.
“My aunt was furious at Isaac. My dad was too, but he’s his own man and has been making some positive changes from within the frat,” Seth explained. “They asked me to join too but I wouldn’t be caught dead inside that Chapter House.”
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Seth beckoned.
The door opened and a short man with wild grey hair bounded in. He was quite upset about something.
“I’m not having this. Is this some kind of joke? Where the fuck is Isaac? Fucking frat boys.”
“Woah!” warned Seth. “Language please, Abe. Can’t you see I have company?”
Abe looked to me. He still seemed worked up but he adapted his tone.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m leaving this with you. I’m not doing anything until I hear from Isaac.”
He dropped a bag into Seth’s lap and made his exit. Seth opened the bag. I watched his expression change to that of one of surprised amusement. He began to laugh.
“I hope you’re not prudish, Sam,” he said.
From the bag he removed a large penis carved in gold. Abe Rothenstein was one of the Bergman’s leading gold mongers. His family had carved some of the most beautiful golden pieces, some of which were worn by royalty.
Seth turned it over and looked at the stamp at the bottom.
“No!” he gasped. Then he began to laugh even harder. “1015. That’s the mark of Hen Owen. This is the captain’s telescope.”
With a warning from Ronnie, Buddy turned to the best goldsmiths in the city for help correcting it. Seeing it as a frat boy prank – which, in fairness to Abe, it was – it had now fallen into Bergman hands. Howard Bergman loathed to do business with the Owens. Those were his son’s words. I could only imagine how Chick Owen would feel about Howard Bergman should he find his golden asset.
“I’m going to need you to sit on this, Sam, ” Seth said. He chuckled when he realised what he was waving at me. “I mean the story, not this.”
***
With an invitation in hand to Howard Bergman’s coming together gathering, I arrived at Bergman estate. The patriarch had been hoping to give the city a chance to heal. I was escorted through the estate in Kingsgate. It was a beautiful place with expansive lawns and a little patch of woodland surrounding it. When I arrived, the party had already begun. Seth himself wouldn’t be there until nine but he promised me some time with his father.
“Just as long as you know you’re probably going to learn a lot about the history of Levinkrantz,” Seth warned in jest.
I was prepared for that providing Howard was willing to share some insight into the bad blood between he and Chick Owen.
Some called it Castle Bergman because of how fortified it was. Inside was like any other family home. On the walls were photos of the Bergmans. There was one of a young Seth. There were others too, of his cousins Isaac and Eli who I still had to meet. Special placement had been given to Seth’s sister, Elsa. She was a rebellious looking girl who clutched her father affectionately in the photo kissing his cheek. A genuine moment of joy had been captured on Howard’s face.
“Sam!” the man himself called to me from across the hall. He politely dismissed himself from the group he was entertaining.
“Thank you for the invitation, Mr Bergman,” I replied.
With an arm around my shoulder he led me to the main hall. I could see Sophie with the large man named Golem who acted as her interpreter. She was smiling, greeting some guests with a kiss on both cheeks. Golem stood obediently by her side.
“If you don’t mind, Sam, I need to get everyone settled. You have a drink and enjoy the party.”
I was seated at a delightful table with Abe Rothenstein and his brother Ike. They had hilarious stories to share, comments to pass on those at the other tables and a penchant for drinking booze by the gallon. Howard stopped by every now and again in between entertaining his other guests.
“You should write a story about my grandfather,” Ike was saying. “The Levinkrantz blitz destroyed his whole building but he still refused to move. He just hung sheets up where the walls had been blasted away.”
Abe put in, “Just swept all that dust and rubble right out.”
“They offered him a new house but he told them to stick that where the sun can’t get to,” added Ike.
“He was ninety-eight when he died,” said Abe.
Ike shook his head. “Still wouldn’t move. We had to bury him there.”
They both started laughing. Their merry chuckles were quite infectious. Abe filled my glass with more Waldens vintage.
By the time it reached 8 o’clock the band was very much in full swing. A pleasant night was being had by all. At around eight ten, that was when things began to turn sour.
“Uncle Howie?” Isaac arrived in a hurry, pulling Howard away from his party.
“Isaac? Where have you been? We’ve all been worried about you.”
“I need to talk to you,” said the nephew. “Right away.”
“Oh dear, Mr Bergman!” cried one of the ladies. “I’ve spilled some wine.”
“Not to worry,” said Howard. “We’ll get that cleaned up.” To his nephew he said, “Whatever is going on, now is neither the time nor the place. Breakfast tomorrow. You and I will sit and we’ll discuss what’s on your mind. We’ve missed you around the estate.”
Before he could explain further, Howard had waved to a new arrival.
“Karyn!” he called. “You look tremendous.”
“Shit!” Isaac grumbled.
The Judge herself was accompanied by his mother, Sophie, and the interpreter, Golem. As Howard fell into conversation with Karyn Doyle, Isaac made an attempt to sign ‘I need your help’ to his mother, but didn’t catch her eye.
A server bumped into him carrying a tray.
“Sorry, sugar,” said the soft voice.
The server passed the tray. Isaac had been too busy looking for an opportunity to get Golem or his mother on their own, he hadn’t noticed the server close in behind him. She pinched his backside.
“Woah!” Isaac jerked around but as he came face to face with her, she pushed him against the wall and locked her lips to his. Isaac could hear whistles from party-goers in the main area where the booze was flowing.
Isaac was led into a small room just off the main corridor. The server woman, not a woman at all. Freddy Stoker pulled off the platinum blonde wig. Irvine Stoker kicked the door closed.
“You want to talk to someone, Isaac? I’m listening. Freddy? Let the Easys in.”
There was already tapping at the window. Freddy crossed the room, opened the window and the two trapeze artists slipped in.
“I always said never trust a Bergman,” Irvine went on. “Now look where we are.”
The Easys pulled rope in with them.
Irvine reached into his pocket and produced a tobacco tin. He opened it and tapped a sample of powder onto a long finger nail and sniffed. Freddy’s hand reached up slowly to sample some but Irvine slapped it away. “Get your own,” he warned his son.
He slipped a metal pole down the sleeve of his patched coat.
“Isaac,” he said. “I’m going to have fun with this.”
“The blood splatter,” warned Freddy.
Irvine danced around Isaac as the Easys laid tarpaulin they had brought in backpacks. Irvine angled himself towards the window.
Whack!
***
Karyn Doyle always attended the parties of Howard Bergman. She was almost as comfortable in the Bergman Estate as she was in her own home. One particular evening, when she was a freshly-appointed judge, she had wandered onto the balcony for some air. It was a pleasant night. The summer warmth and the closing of sunset cast an orange glow across Kingsgate. She embraced a little of the ambience when the door opened and she was joined by Van Holder. She turned. She smiled but her focus went back to the view. He approached her and wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed gently against her.
“You’ve been making me hungry all night,” he jested as he nibbled playfully on her neck.
Karyn giggled girlishly and stroked his thigh. The music and the party sounded behind them. They could hear laughter as one of the Rothensteins tried to get a sing-song started.
Van Holder ran his hands gently down her stomach and hitched her dress up slightly, and began to massage her through the black lace panties she wore until she gave a little gasp. That was the signal to tug the panties down. She turned her head and he leaned forward kissing her passionately. She turned to the view again as she felt his hardness discretely push inside her. Soft, rhythmic, but with a lustful grip around her waist, Van Holder grunted and there they came together as husband and wife.
“A bottle of Macks for the first person who can name all the streets of Main!” they could hear Howard drunkenly call.
“We had better go back inside,” said Karyn.
Van Holder, having righted himself, stepped aside. “After you, Your Honour.”
Van Holder – given the nature of his occupancy in Subala – was kept away from them. Karyn – an army brat herself – knew exactly what that was like. Van Holder made as much time for their son as he could when he was there.
“Bye dad,” said Cameron for what felt like the millionth time in his life. Van Holder clutched his head and kissed it.
“You be good,” he said. “Just need to nip out.”
Just nipping out. It was a phrase Van Holder used to calm the boy whenever he had to leave. Just nipping out could take several months or more but if he was just ‘nipping out’ Cameron knew he would be back eventually.
If Ruud Van Holder of the Subala Black Bands had known that that would be the last time he would see his son alive, he would have stayed that little bit longer.
***
“I can’t stay all evening, I’m afraid,” Judge Karyn Doyle informed her host.
“And how is Cameron? Haven’t seen the young man around. I was hoping to pick his brain about Kingsgate’s chances of winning the cup,” Howard was asking.
The Judge’s attention was snatched by her sister, Ashley, who had readied her table.
“You go ahead,” said Howard pleasantly. “We’ll catch up later.”
To his own sister he signed, “Where did Isaac go? He was upset about something.”
Sophie patted Golem’s shoulder.
“I’ll find him,” agreed the monstrously large man.
I looked over from my table to see Karyn take her seat with Ashley. She looked worried about something. At the time I thought it might have been upholding Article 22 taking its toll on her but I know now it was something much worse.
Without her interpreter Sophie took her brother’s arm, scanning the room keenly. As Golem went in search of the only Bergman to pledge Kappa So, Howard addressed his guests.
“Good evening, everyone,” he said. “It’s good to have you all here and despite the troubles in the city I am very pleased to say the new section of Harbour House, helping those displaced by the violence, will be open very soon. Thank you all for your generosity. There is still time to aid this wonderful cause and I’d like to make a special mention to Elizabeth Beckingridge for beginning this. Ironically, she can’t be here tonight because she’s…well we all know Liz. She’s a little overzealous. Anyway, if you still care to give to Harbour House I’ll happily match any donations made this evening. In the meantime, relax. There’s plenty of food and booze.”
“Wooo!” Abe Rothenstein cheered, filling his glass. “Have another one Sam.”
Indulging in the atmosphere I drank more. I would have refused it if I had known what was to happen next.
***
Whack!
Isaac coughed up blood.
“Aren’t you going to fall out cold?“ asked Irvine, wiping sweat from his forehead.
Whack!
“Fuck you!” Isaac spat as he clambered onto his feet. He charged at Irvine managing to punch him, rattling free some false teeth.
Freddy picked them up. Errol easy wrapped a rope around Isaac’s neck and heaved him back, falling into a painting, sending it crashing to the floor.
Irvine addressed his trapeze artists.
“Get him out of here,” he instructed. “We’ve made too much noise now. That clay boy, Golem, is going to be looking for him. Freddy?” He turned. “Where’s Freddy? Ah there you are.”
Freddy was fixing the painting back to exactly how it was when they arrived.
“Make sure this place is spotless.”
Freddy nodded.
“Hope you’re not afraid of heights.”
Errol wrapped his arms around Isaac and pulled him to the window. Isaac was losing consciousness. He tried to fight it. He thought he could when the crisp evening air hit him but the ground left his feet and he was pulled through the window. Errol’s grip remained tight until they hit the ground again. A white van was waiting to carry him to the centre ring of the Big Top.
Irvine wrapped his arm around Ethel’s waist as they stepped onto the ledge.
“After you, my dear,” the ring master grinned.
She leaned out and with one hand unclipped a rope, laid there by her Easy brother. Entwined, the two leapt into the night and down to the ground.
***
The door was opened.
A blonde server bumped into Golem.
“Sorry, sugar,” they giggled.
Golem scanned the room. There was no trace of Isaac. Nothing would be found amiss.
***
“So, Sam,” said Howard as he joined our table. “My son tells me that you’d like to talk. A story you’re writing?”
“I’d like to ask a few questions if you don’t mind,” I put to him. I was still enjoying the party atmosphere. My voice was a little loud as my head began to swim.
Howard had left an empty glass on the table beside his hand. Abe lifted the bottle to refill it but the Bergman patriarch rested his hand on the top.
“I’m fine for now, thank you Abe.”
Abe shrugged. He and Ike finished the bottle between them.
“I read Marble Mantel,” Howard admitted. “I’m afraid it had me a little lost. I’m more of a history buff. I prefer true stories.”
“I’m actually a journalist by trade,” I explained. “I used to write for the Daily.”
“I said true stories,” Howard jested. “I’ll tell you what though, my daughter loved Marble Mantel. I must get you to sign something for her. She cosplayed as one of the characters last Halloween, isn’t that so Ike?”
Ike Rothenstein looked up. “Was that that green thing she was wearing, with the tentacles?”
I assumed they meant the character Judith and it was extra arms not tentacles, but I was flattered all the same and still a little drunk so I tried to steer the course.
“This bad blood between you and The Cappy, where did that begin?”
“I don’t like to hold grudges,” Howard said. “Life is too short.”
“Don’t listen to him,” said Ike. “He’s a spiteful old fart when he wants to be.”
“Yes, thank you Ike,” Howard laughed off the comment. “It isn’t so much Charles himself but what his family represent. You see the Stokers committed some terrible atrocities but rather than being held to account, the Owens protected them. They’ll do whatever it takes to keep themselves on top and that kind of ruthlessness is like a poison in society.”
If I didn’t know any better I would swear our conversation had been bugged because just as Howard was explaining this, CPD entered the room led by Billy Owen.
Howard craned his neck to check the commotion. Billy went straight to Doyle.
“Ma’am,” he said. “I’m afraid I have some terrible news.”
Doyle stood to be confronted with the information.
“Yes?”
“A body has been discovered and we have reason to believe it might be Cameron. Can you tell me when you last heard from your son?”
Given the sensitive nature of Cameron’s parentage and the potential for terror groups to target him, the boy had never been officially declared missing.
Ashley Doyle covered her mouth in shock. Billy spoke sensitively.
“I’m going to need you to come down and make a positive I.D. as soon as you’re ready, Your Honour.”
“Oh, Karyn!” sobbed Ashley.
Howard had been distracted by the entry of the police to his party.
“Excuse me,” he still had the time to say as he left our table and crossed the room.
“What’s going on?” he put to Judge Doyle.
Billy grabbed Howard’s arm and pulled it behind his back.
“Howard Bergman, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Cameron Doyle. You have the right to say whatever you like but I advise you to shut the fuck up. You’ll be appointed a lawyer and all that shit.”
“Karyn!” Howard tried to appeal to his long time friend but The Judge was preparing to leave. Her sister was hurriedly helping her.
Billy spun Howard round to face his guests.
FLASH!
The image was caught by a press photographer. Sophie was frantically signing to her brother.
“Don’t fight it,” she was saying.
I began my visit to Bergman Estate in awe of how Howard and his family had lived cleanly and quietly with little alliances on all sides. Watching the diamond merchant being escorted from his home in cuffs under the shocked faces of his party guests, I realised being nice rarely bodes well. However, diamonds are not easy to cut and the Bergmans had some sharp tools.
***
Rumours spread across the news floor of the Coldford Daily that the maven herself was in house to take things over and get the newspaper back on track. Eric Waddle wasn’t cutting it anymore. He had been circling the drain for a long time as far as reporter Sandra Wake was concerned.
He circled the drain so much he made himself dizzy and stumbled from the window of the Coldford Daily editor’s office. Maybe it had been the news of Tabitha’s miraculous return that had him feeling a little woozy but I can only speculate on that point.
“Maybe we should arrange some pictures,” Sandra had put to Kathleen in anticipation of her arrival.
“I know what I look like,” was Kathleen’s response. “Why would I want pictures?”
Kathleen’s arrival at the Daily was preceded by three Kappa Si sisters, dressed neatly in their sorority colours. They said nothing to the reporters as they crossed the news floor. Sandra stood from the desk I had once occupied to get a better look but the chickadees offered no comment. They went straight to the editor’s office, closing the door behind them. Sandra had been at the point of knocking on the door to see if they needed anything when the sorority queen did make her arrival, accompanied by more sisters, higher ranking than the first from what could be determined.
“Kathleen!” Sandra cheered. “It’s so good to see you.”
They had met once, at an Owen Inc. Party.
“Everyone in the conference office,” Kathleen called across the news floor. “Drop whatever you’re doing. You can pick it up later.”
When the reporters had gathered around the table, hungry for their feed, Kathleen stood and addressed them. The chickadees she had brought with her stayed in the office to make the editor’s station more to Kathleen’s taste.
“We have the say in the city,” she began. “We still remain the most-viewed newsfeed in Coldford.”
Sandra smiled. She looked among her colleagues for their reaction to the praise.
“We still have a lot of work to do,” Kathleen stated. “We will be looked to first for the news on Knock Knock, Penn Auction House, Mack Distillery, the whole lot of them, so let’s give them that news before someone else does. It’s time the city learned just how much we are mending fences around here. In other words, we are the good guys. I don’t care how it is written just make it so. I want focus on charity work and community service. I want wherever anyone walks – from the Shanties to Bourton – they see another good news story courtesy of the Daily.”
Sandra had been hired by the Daily specifically for her controversial, combative approach to news casting. Some saw it as hard hitting journalism. What it really was, was trouble stirring for the sake of ratings. Her popularity only climbed because morbidly curious viewers tuned in to see what nonsense she was going to spout next. Having to write the news in a positive way was going to prove a challenge for her.
“Sandra,” Kathleen addressed her directly. “I want you to focus on the rift between CPD and the Wigan church.”
“I was following the story on Joshua Coby and the Freefall massacre,” Sandra replied.
Kathleen frowned. “Did I sound like I was asking? Get a statement from Coby, even if it’s ‘no comment’, close it and move on. I want you to calm the heat with the Wigan church.” The sorority queen went on, “Roger?”
The other reporter’s eyes widened at the call of his name.
“The Penn story. I want you to focus on the championships Simon Penn won, the medals he donated. Reginald is gone now so there’s no harm in a story on his tenure. Get some quotes from his supporters. Invite them in, let them lick his ass and print it. We’re changing the narrative people. We need as much positive spin as we can get. I want a piece too on Buddy Owen, Chad Perry and Dale Cooper. I want everyone to know what good rehab is doing them. I want the Daily to be putting smiles on everyone’s faces. I want our feed to be so sickly sweet people will become addicted to it. It’s the only way we’re going to strengthen our position and completely blindside the competition. Any questions?”
Sandra spoke up. “Just one,” she said. “Will you have tea or coffee?”
***
The history of Coldford was a bloody one as I’m sure you can imagine. It stretches back centuries but it really became what it is during the time of Henry ‘Hen’ Owen, who had been commissioned by Queen Eleanor of the Chamberlain family for his sailing and navigation prowess. Hen Owen fought against a knight known as the Greatest Northsider, he helped quash a rebellion from Eleanor’s granddaughter, Francesca Chamberlain, who sought to take the throne for herself. The Castle in Bournton now known as The Boss, was Francesca’s stronghold. From there she pushed her savage agendas. The queen’s grandson, Royce Chamberlain, Duke of Hathfield Bay, involved himself only where it was beneficial to him. Devious Royce held back on the island as long as he could before deciding which side of the family table he was going to take a seat at.
Throughout the ages, the Chamberlain family cemented their story into the very fabric of the Shady City. Chamberlain Docks – you’ll already be familiar with – fell from the hands of Julia Harvester as her stores in Bellfield and City Main caused her to cut her losses. Chamberlain Heights, the retirement community in Kingsgate had been part of the Chamberlain Trust for generations. There’s also Chamberlain library and Chamberlain pond in the heart of Coldridge park. All of these spots served as a reminder of the blue blood that once ran through Coldford’s veins. The Chamberlain Trust mediated the family’s interests as they remained at bay for many years. An invitation to Kingsgate Museum showed they hadn’t quite forgotten their roots.
The museum housed artefacts from the earliest parts of their dynasty. There you would find Eleanor’s crown jewels, Francesca’s gowns, paintings and torture devices. You would also find Royce’s weapons, goblets and opium pipes – giving clues as to the priorities of the man.
What particularly caught my attention was the armour of the Greatest Northsider. I imagined how heavy it must have felt to wear. I thought of the cold air that would have fallen onto it as he rushed into battle. I considered the blood splatter that would have been washed off afterwards.
“It really is something,” someone said behind me.
I recognised the distinctive droll of Chick Owen.
“I can only imagine what it must have seen,” I remarked in reply.
Chick was drinking in the armour worn into battle against his beloved ancestor. As a history enthusiast and especially engrossed by his own lineage, I had fully expected to find The Cappy at the museum exhibit. I wanted to ask him about his thoughts on Howard Bergman but I felt at that point it wouldn’t do much good.
“That battle lasted three days and nights,” Chick went on. “Hen gave them Hell.”
“He was defeated down in Northside,” I commented.
Chick laughed a little. “A tactical retreat.” He gasped with enthusiasm as he recounted the event.
Seeing Chick Owen, better known as The Cappy, in such a light was quite refreshing. In my whole time in knowing him, all the ups and downs we had had thus far, I believe it was the first time I had caught a glimpse of the true man he was.
“Got there eventually though, didn’t he?” I said.
The Cappy grinned. “An Owen never misses.”
“Indeed they do not,” I replied.
“Enjoy the exhibit,” Chick said before departing towards Kathleen who had set up a photo op of Chick with Hen Owen’s portrait.
***
The Harbour Master of Chamberlain Docks was an esteemed position, coveted since the Chamberlain days previously discussed. The title at this time belonged to Master Barnaby Brooke. Brooke was unassuming in appearance. He lived in a little town house on the dock edge, the top of which acted as a light beacon during the night, alerting passing ships to avoid the edge of Coldford.
Gateshead was the name of the little building and Master Brooke lived there with his two lovely daughters, Erica and Becky, their dalmatian dog Ruffus, and his wife Helen. The whole family, including Ruffus, took the early ferry every Sunday across to the bay for the Wigan service. Yes, Brooke was a devout man. He was devoted to his faith, devoted to his family and devoted to his station at Gateshead, Chamberlain Docks, Swantin.
Most of his time was spent overseeing the loading and departure of the Ferry Way liner. There was the occasional fishing vessel and Bergman freighters launched there but for the most part it was all routine. His chief operator, Anthony Runnetti, had been arrested along with Nan Harvester when the trafficking boats were raided. Good riddance to bad rubbish there. They were giving His Eminence, Dom Cole, a hard time when they really should be shutting down thieving vagabonds like the Macks, murderous middens like the Knock Knock girl, and animals like Billy Owen. Police commissioner? He should be behind bars himself. The church was cut off from its parishes in the mainland when that bully with a badge gets to throw his weight around. It’s just not right! They should be dealing with the whores on the docks instead of harassing, beating and murdering God-fearing folks.
Times were changing though. Wigan was going to cleanse the city. It was written and it was promised. In the meantime it was the job of Barnaby Brooke to watch the Ferry Way pass back and forth to the island.
But alas! There was an exciting change afoot and it occurred on the day of the Chamberlain Exhibit.
“Move the ferry liner,” was the Harbour Master’s instructions. “Make way!”
***
Back at the exhibition, museum curator Malcolm Wurst had taken to the stage of the Queen Eleanor auditorium. The screen behind him showed an open book with wave symbols on the pages – the Chamberlain crest.
CHAMBERLAIN – THE TORN DYNASTY the caption read.
“Thank you all for coming,” said Malcolm. “What I present to you is a unique history filled with success and loss, power and struggle, and dare I say it, the real Coldford City as it was formed many years ago. None of that is my story to tell though, so I’d like to introduce you to the living blood of all these fabulous relics we have around us. I believe we have Captain Charles Owen here this evening.”
The spotlight landed on The Cappy. Chick smiled graciously and gave a polite nod as the audience applauded.
“A pleasure, captain,” said Malcolm. “Henry ‘Hen’ Owen’s 10th– great-grandson ladies and gentlemen.”
The audience gave another appreciative applause. I looked along the aisle and that was when I spotted the Wigan priest, Peter Millicent. He was nodding and clapping his hands in a warm, receptive sort of way.
“Now without further ado, I would like to introduce Lord Francis and Lady Charlotte Chamberlain.”
Onto the stage wandered a girl of nine years old, holding the hand of her seven-year-old brother.
Lacking the shyness of a child, Lady Charlotte stepped up to the microphone. She curtseyed. Francis gave a congenial bow with one hand behind his back and the other across his stomach.
“Thank you,” Charlotte said sweetly. “Thank you for being so welcoming.”
***
Chamberlain Docks was experiencing some upheaval at this point. The Ferry Way had already been preparing to collect its traffic when Barnaby Brooke had to call it back.
“We need to halt the crossing,” he announced.
As you can imagine dear readers, Barnaby was met by a lot of disgruntled passengers finding the crossing to Hathfield Bay quite essential. The Harbour Master instructed the ferry liner to remain along the coast. The 6:15 was experiencing some delays. There was a collective groan as the traffic set aside.
“Clear some space,” Brooke requested. “We’ve got incoming.”
“What we got?” Captain Farraway of the ferry liner asked. “A blue whale?”
“Remain off shore,” said Master Brooke in return. “I’ll bring you in as soon as I can.”
The beeping of horns, the creek of the ferry as it remained stationed and the cries of disapproval from the ferry passengers were all quashed when an ear-splitting horn sounded.
***
“We were told so much about Coldford,” Charlotte was telling the auditorium. “My brother and I always hoped to return here and see it for ourselves. It’s been everything we could hope for. We’d like to share with you some never before seen images from the family archives. Thanks to Coby Games we get to share the stage this evening with our ancestors.”
Behind Charlotte flashed a holographic image of Queen Eleanor sat upon her throne. She was dressed in full regalia, a chalk white face and a golden mitre in hand. She bore the Chamberlain coat of arms on her breast. Joshua and his team had done an excellent job with the display. The collective audience gaze widened in awe at the realism.
The next figure was Francesca Chamberlain. In the background loomed the shadow of The Boss. She was in the forefront, seated upon a horse. Her black hair blew wildly around her in a wind the artist had captured.
Taking a walk on stage then was Royce Chamberlain. Prince Royce was smiling a self-assured smile as though to the auditorium. He removed his sword and held it at his side. There was an absence in his eyes though, which I assumed the artist had made deliberate.
Another figure of Francesca emerged. This time she was stood in the Great Hall of her castle which was now where the electric chair, Buzzkill, sat. She raised her arms up and turned her focus towards the sky. Around her neck hung the weight of several Wigan beads. What was most astounding about this image though was the figure by her side, dressed in humble robes. He had a youthful, soft face. He was encouraging in his body language.
“You cannot be saved,” it would seem he was saying to her.
The Saint Noah Wigan’s presence spread to the walls as other pieces of symbology emerged behind them.
Royce returned next and I would be damned to Hell if I didn’t notice the purple ribbons he had tied around the sword he carried.
The two children turned to view the image of Royce. He was a drunken philanderer, a self-preserving narcissist if the history books are correct, but the children seemed to be enamoured by him.
I looked to Peter who was watching the presentation with great interest.
***
As large a craft as the Ferry Way liner was, Captain Farraway could feel it shake upon the waves caused by the approaching vessel. The staff gathered at the windows to catch sight of the monstrous craft as it made its way to the dock.
The horn blasted again as though its presence were easy to miss.
Chamberlain docks bid welcome to a sister of hers. Restored with some of the very boards that Royce Chamberlain himself had walked, was a regal ship flying the Chamberlain flag. The raven’s head – Royce’s personal sigil – ornamented the bow, leading the way as it ferociously tore through the water. On the side of the ship was the name HMS RAVENSEDGE. It was a historic enemy of Hen Owen’s Elgany, rearing its head and returning to port after all those years.
“Would you look at that!” gasped the ferry staff.
***
Back on stage at the auditorium Charlotte spoke of her ancestral connection to the Owen family.
“My brother and I would like to return Hen Owen’s rapier if Mr Owen will accept it. We feel it’s been in Royce’s hands long enough.”
There was an affectionate acknowledgement from The Cappy of the Chamberlain children’s generous offer. It would make a fine addition to his collection.
For a child so young, I had to admire Charlotte’s natural confidence. Her brother was a little more subdued. Francis gave a nervous, ‘thank you’ into the microphone, leaning over to speak. Together they knew the influence they held in their hands. They had been orphaned you see, the details of which aren’t important. What is important though is the city that now was in their control, the wealth and the name. As the exhibit came to a close, Charlotte looked to Peter Millicent who nodded assurance to her.
Aboard Ravensedge, their guardian awaited them. In a flurry of robes he rushed to the walkway where he could see the children alight from a town car down on the docks.
“Uncle Dom!” Charlotte cheered, rushing across to His Eminence to be collected into his arms.
“How did it go?” he asked.
“We did great. Didn’t we Peter?” Francis asked of the priest that accompanied them.
“They did splendid,” Peter assured.
“I wouldn’t have expected anything less,” Dominick encouraged.
“The ship looks beautiful. Do you like it Uncle Dom?”
Dominick admired the gift from the Chamberlain Trust to the church.
“She is a beauty,” Dominick responded with awe. “You should see how she tears through the water.”
Francis laughed. “We had better go back or you’re going to get into trouble.”
Dominick raised an eyebrow. He reached a foot out towards Coldford limits. “Illegal,” he called. “Legal,” he added drawing his foot back. “Illegal. Legal. Illegal. Legal.”
His whimsical tease caused the children to laugh.
“Let’s not hold the ferry up too much longer,” Peter suggested ushering the children onto the ship.
For the time being, the Wigan church left Coldford behind and returned to the bay.
***
ERROR 65. My screen read.
“This is really frustrating,” I exclaimed.
It had been some time by then since the Coby servers went down and I had been locked out of the blog I had been using to keep the city up to date with the real truth.
“Sorry,” Joshua replied sincerely. “We’re starting to get our processing back but we’re still blacked out in Bellfield, Northside and Hathfield Bay. I have to dedicate every bit of RAM we have to our gaming. The Scribble Post software isn’t a priority. I’ll do what I can though. I’ll keep you up to date.”
“Thanks Joshua,” I said. “I appreciate that.”
I was in a race against time with my old newspaper because the truth in the Shady City was quite often the story told first. The Filton Crier press, thanks to Elizabeth, had ensured my words were reaching as many people as possible in print but it was a slower process.
Something must have opened up at Coby games because a message came through.
HAVE YOU SEEN THIS?
It was an anonymous statement. Attached to it was a video file. I pushed play. The moment I did, I wished I hadn’t. My heart skipped to a race suddenly. What consumed me first was the noise of the screaming. Flames licked most of the image.
“It was written,” said a Wigan priest, “that the flames of St Michael’s retribution consumed the harlot’s body.”
“Harlot! Harlot!” screamed a gathering.
This was not taking place on Hathfield Bay where such activity was rumoured to occur. This was taking place on the streets of Northside. I was suspended in disbelief by what I was looking at. What aggrieved me the most was the woman being consumed by flames was none other than Agnes Wilde, the Knock Knock Broker.
Father Renfield was the name of the Wigan priest who was the overseer of the church’s Northside parish.
At The Knock Knock Club Tawny was viewing that very same footage. She hadn’t gotten as far into it as I had before she couldn’t bear to watch any more.
“Tabitha!” she shrieked. “I want Tabitha. Tabby! Tabitha!”
David tried to calm her but she would not stop screaming until she could hold her niece in her arms. David fell into a chair trying to wash the cries of Agnes’ pain from his mind.
“Harlot! Harlot!” he could still hear them chanting.
***
Over on Hathfield Bay, Peter came to Dominick in the church. He knelt before the altar. It was only he and Bart present so the church leader ushered his priest to stand.
“Alright, Peter,” Dominick said softly. He was a little taken aback by the formality. When they were alone they tended to behave with more of a familial bond.
“Your Eminence,” he said, maintaining a formal tone. “There’s something you should see.”
He passed a tablet to Dominick and pushed play. Bartholemew drew down his hood and looked over Dominick’s shoulder.
Peter watched the church leader’s expression as the video played. The flames reflected in his dark eyes.
“Who is this? Who is the harlot?” he asked.
“Agnes Wilde of The Knock Knock Club. It seemed Father Renfield discovered she was passing information to the Bellfield fleet. He punished her.”
Dominick stopped the footage. He knew well what burning looked like. He didn’t need to see any more.
“I don’t remember giving him permission to do that. Did I give him permission?”
Peter shook his head to the negatory. If permission had been granted for such an action on the streets of Northside he would be aware of it.
“I believe he sees himself as St Michael the Punisher.”
Dominick’s eyes blazed. “Does he? I would love to take a gander in whatever fucking mirror he’s using because he’s no St Michael. Does he look like the man in that painting?” Dominick asked pointing to the brooding, broad-shouldered knight who was the actual St Michael. “I don’t fucking think so.”
“My concern is that we’ve worked so hard to build our position in the city and this action could see all of it undone,” Peter’s own temper began to flare. “All of our progress wiped out in an instant.”
“Is he winning this fight against the fleet scum at least?” Dominick asked.
“Not exactly,” Peter explained. “Liam Tulloch is modelling himself on the Greatest Northsider.”
“What is it with the people of that God forsaken city? Kings of Main, Boss Ladies, dragon ladies and every other kind of ladies. Ye’ve got Captains and circus freaks. It’s not just me, is it? They’re all fucking mad.”
“The Law Makers will look to you to answer for what Renfield has done. That’s not the worst of it though. Agnes Wilde was a well-connected woman. This news could very well have us up against a huge part of the Shady City. The Shanties most definitely. Closely followed by Main,” explained Peter.
“Dom?” Bart interrupted with urgency. “Leona’s still over there. She’s right in the thick of it.”
Dominick raged. “Send word to her right away. I want a watch on the weans too. Charlotte and Francis go nowhere unless they have plenty of eyes on them. Tell Renfield to get his arse over here because he’s treading so close to blasphemy and he’ll learn how St Michael truly punishes.”
Enjoy this? Check out these other thrillers. Available now.
Given the new renovations at Perry Zoo were The Cappy’s way of reintroducing himself in a positive light, it was no surprise that the city was buzzing with excitement over its newest attractions.
‘Come meet Snowflake,’ Perry Zoo suggested with tantalising posters all the way from Bournton to Bellfield.
I had been at one of the checkpoints the Law Makers had set up leading from the Fullerton Bridge into Filton. I was following up on a story on Elizabeth Beckingridge. Apparently she had gotten so fed up with her imprisonment inside her mansion home that she made a bid for escape dressed in Gramps Beckingridge’s clothes and driving his old estate car, badly. She got as far as the Fullerton Bridge exit to Cardyne when she was stopped. She pulled the old skip cap off, took a draw of her cigarette, and demanded to know why she couldn’t just nip to Cardyne for a half café frap with cinnamon dusting.
The Law Makers demanded to know why she couldn’t just stay in her home as she was instructed.
“I was coming right back,” Elizabeth maintained. If she was, she wouldn’t have dressed in her grandfather’s jacket. So, the lockdown at Beck Manor was extended and tightened. She would learn, one way or another.
“It’s about time the rich elite got a bit of a lesson,” the Law Maker I had been interviewing gave his opinion on Judge Doyle’s hold on the city. “If that had been any of the rest of us, we’d be getting punished.”
Now that the initial excitement of Article 22 was over and the executions were somewhat slowing to a simmer, that seemed to be the general thinking of the people of Coldford.
“About time the elite of Coldford are held to account,” they said.
It pleased them to see the King of Main put to death for a career of violence when, for too long, his reputation and place in the city had kept him safe. Chick Owen, the man they called The Cappy, was confined to his home and examined closely. All of the money that the Beckingridge family had meant nothing when the picture hit the headlines of Elizabeth throwing her grandfather’s hat at the Law Maker that had dared to stop her.
“None of the rest of us would be getting away with that,” the Law Maker stationed at the bridge was only too happy to announce. It would be easy to assume that the Law Makers did hero-worship Doyle but that same point of view was spreading. The Shanties was still a tougher nut to crack and still believed Tabitha was a saviour. Bellfield wouldn’t see past the Mack family but they were still coughing through the ashes of the Black Bands visit to their distillery, not to mention the continued fight between Bellfield and their Northside neighbours. All in all, Article 22 was truly making a change. The powerhouses of Coldford were having to adapt to new rules and so were leading me on to a phase of Cold War in the Shady City.
As I was interviewing the Law Maker his attention was called to a convoy of trucks heading across the bridge towards Filton. There were five of them in total. The two leading and the two bringing up the rear had the print of Perry Zoo on the side. The one in the middle they were protecting had PROPERTY OF PERRY ZOO. CAUTION LIVE ANIMAL written on the side of it.
I reached my phone up. Click.
Just what Coldford needed when the streets were a circus already – wild animals.
***
Stoker circus originated in the country Levinkrantz. The Stokers have been a circus family for centuries. From the early days of street performing, to the travelling freak shows, to the modern day spectacles.
Irma Stoker was the first to meet Captain Henry Owen. She had stowed away on his ship when it stopped in Levinkrantz on the way to Coldford. He found her playing poker with his crew. She slept in the Captain’s bed that night and by the time they arrived in Coldford, Irma had already arranged for the rest of her family to join them. It was at a time when Hen needed numbers and the Stokers loved drawing crowds.
The Stoker Circus consisted of three tents. There was the red, the blue and the big top, which was set up in the centre of Perry Zoo. Boards had been put up through the night as they settled Snowflake into his new home.
“He’s a little tired from the journey but he’s doing good,” Austin was telling his zookeepers. “Don’t give him any hassle and keep him well fed or he’ll lash out.”
Milo was mesmerised. “When can we see Snowflake?” he asked Austin.
“Soon, lil’ mate,” he said. Austin was quite personable in his way. “We’re keeping him hush just now but he’ll be making his debut soon.”
“Wow!” Milo gasped. The moment he had heard Snowflake was being brought to Coldford he researched online videos of the creature, mostly feeding time demonstrations. I smiled as I noticed the young boy shake with excitement.
“You must be Sam Crusow,” Austin greeted me with a firm hand shake. “Seen your picture.”
“Chick have it on a dart board, did he?” I jested.
Austin gave a hearty laugh. “You’ve been causing a ruckus all round, mate,” he said. “No hard feelings though.”
Ozzy had a disarming charm. He was the kind of man that drew people to him in an organic sort of way. He put people at ease quickly and after only a few minutes of conversation they would feel they had been his friend for years.
“You guys enjoy the day. There’s lot’s to see and do.”
It was then he noticed Olivia’s pregnancy bump starting to show.
“Oh, and a little critter on the way! Exciting times. There’s a lot of ground to cover so if it gets too much you just let one of my guys know and they’ll set you right.”
He indicated a group of young men removing Kappa So jackets to change into zoo coveralls.
“I’d like to ask you some questions about what you are doing here and get your thoughts on current affairs,” I put to him.
Ozzy nodded. “Sure. You caught me at a busy time right now but we’ll grab a brew and we’ll talk it through. Just give me a day or two to get settled in.”
As we left Austin behind and ventured further into the zoo my mind became awash with memories of when I was about Milo’s age and my own father brought me to the zoo. Behind the gates the noise of the city suddenly seemed so far away.
***
The Stoker Big Top was mountainous in size. The striped pattern was intended to be whimsical and fun but the material – having lived through freak show attacks, the spreading of a measles outbreak and the Levinkrantz bomb blitz – carried a particular essence along with it. It was battered, beaten and dragged through a horrible history, still to be erected and entertain the masses. It would be admirable, if it weren’t for the fact that the more I learned about the Stokers, the more I was wary of them.
***
“Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls. Step right up for a knuckle whiting, nail biting, full in your face exciting show. Take your seats. Set your eyes in front and prepare to clap your hands off. I’m Irvine Stoker and welcome to Stoker Circus.”
The audience were pushed closely together inside the Big Top tent. The large man next to me pressed closely. Milo was on my other side.
Irvine, standing in a dusty centre ring, clicked a remote push button and one of two screens behind him flashed on showing a group of clowns with varying make-up styles but in the signature Stoker blue and red.
“Blue tent, Chamberlain Docks, we’ve got some of the funniest clowns you ever did see. Don’t just take my word for it. Go on down and see them. You might just bust a gut!”
Irvine turned to the screen. “Show them what you got,” he said to his clowns.
The main clown, Olga Stoker, stepped up to the screen. She kissed it then spat water at it. As she did so water sprayed down on us in the Big Top crowd. The audience reacted excitedly.
Irvine clicked his button again. The second screen sparked into action.
“Red tent, City Main, we’ve got my boy, my little pride and joy. What you got there for us Freddy?”
Freddy Stoker could be seen on screen in a top hat and tails. He spun, collected a sign and as he turned back to the screen he held it up. It read STOKER CIRCUS PRESENTS: THE BECKINGRIDGE FAMILY.
Irvine laughed. “They might not look like you and I but if you can stomach it, go on up and take a gander.”
The screens disappeared up into the rafters.
“In this tent,” Irvine called with all the circus ring master swaggering showmanship. “Well, in this tent you’ve got me. Bring it on!”
A chorus of trumpets sounded as the lights lowered. Overhead two trapeze artists leapt, catching their swings, and tore across the huge tent from one side to the other.
Milo sat forward in his seat as a troupe of fire breathers danced around the ring. I was keen to keep an eye on Irvine’s whereabouts but I was distracted by the trapeze artists. They called them the Trapeezy Easys. They were a brother/sister duo in matching leotards, Eroll and Ethel. Ethel relaxed her grip as she swung overhead. There was no hesitation as Eroll, holding his own swing by his feet caught her and threw her onto the opposing platform.
I looked up to a balcony that had been created at the higher reaches of the Big Top. I could see Marshall Cooper leaning over with a beer in hand. He was cheering something. Austin Perry and The Cappy himself were sat with him.
Turning my focus back to centre ring, Irvine had disappeared amongst the commotion. The trumpets eased off. A spotlight flashed to the seat directly behind me. Irvine himself was sitting there.
“Don’t stay seated on my account,” he urged. “You need to be on your feet to really enjoy.”
As he leaped with long, insectile legs down the steps back to his ring, a wave of shock ran through the seats. It was just a gentle vibration but it caused the entire audience to stand up and ovate.
The Easys leapt again. This time it was Ethel holding her brother’s feet. As he swung he handed a rose to a young woman in the audience. She was beside herself with the flattery. Swept blonde hair, attractive, muscular tones, the Easys were quite alluring. I couldn’t help but notice Ethel blow a kiss as she passed overhead.
Milo was completely captivated by the performance. His smile was broad as he watched on in awe. Irvine reached his arms up and he was collected by the Easys and dropped onto the platform. He waved his arms comically as though he was going to lose his balance. He tumbled forward and Eroll caught his hands and dropped him safely back in his centre ring.
“Enjoy the show,” he cried.
The lights cut completely.
***
“What on earth is going on?” was Elizabeth’s question as she tried to reach the phone of board member Presley Cage. He had been having a meeting with the board to discuss Elizabeth’s permanent taking of the chair over her nephew.
“I don’t care,” had been George’s response over breakfast that morning as he peeled apart cold toast.
Elizabeth didn’t doubt that. He didn’t really have the ambition to sit at the top of Beckingridge Tower. It was probably one of the few qualities of his that his aunt actually liked. All he seemed interested in in those days were his Kappa So frat bros. What was giving her cause for concern was his work at Filton University was coming back with full marks. Either he had had a sudden spark of intelligence overnight or the more plausible explanation was someone was doing it for him.
The meeting had ended an hour ago. There should have been confirmation by now.
She could hear George giggling in the lounge.
“What has he gotten into now?” she grumbled to herself.
The noise of the laughter chilled her though. It reminded her of when he was a boy. That rotten little giggle never meant anything good.
When Elizabeth found him in the lounge his giggle had escalated, and he was now rolling around the floor in hysterics in front of the television reporting live news from City Main.
“What’s gotten into you?” she asked. “Shut up!” she barked impatiently.
“I’m a little man,” he laughed.
The aunt rolled her eyes. “Yes, you are. A tiny little man. Now shut up. Your laughing is like a hammer drill and I already have a headache.”
“Oh look, it’s dad!”
It was then Elizabeth turned her attention to the screen. Freddy Stoker was introducing the acts from the red tent to the public.
“I’m Ernest Beckingridge,” said a man in clown make up, “and I’m the saddest clown you ever did see.”
A blue tear drop was painted on his cheek.
Set up directly across from Beckingridge Tower, at the entrance of Weir Hotel. The Stoker red tent was gathering a crowd.
“This is my son, George,” the sad clown Ernest went on.
George was played by Fritz Stoker – a sufferer of dwarfism. George pointed at the little person and laughed even harder. Sad clown Ernest sighed and rested his chin on his hand as little George danced around him and chased passers-by. Astounded by the boldness of the performance people were beginning to stop, raising phones and recording.
Sad clown Ernest sobbed. “That’s my boy. I have a daughter too. She’s a princess.”
Here Freddy ushered a young woman wearing a flowing cloak forward.
Hilda Stoker was a beauty. Her make-up was glamorous.
“Princess?” she said. “More like prisoner. I just don’t know whether I’m coming or going and all I want is a bit of attention.”
Here she lifted her cloak as though she were flashing her underwear with her tongue in cheek. Raising her cloak, she presented Tootsie. Hilda and Tootsie were conjoined twins. The upper body and left leg of Tootsie stuck out from Hilda’s abdomen. A mute Tootsie just stared at the crowd.
Ernest – the sad clown – dropped his head into his hands and shook it in despair.
“I’d be able to cope with the children if it weren’t for my dragon of a sister.”
“That bastard!” Elizabeth almost screamed as a woman dressed similar to her slapped sad clown Ernest causing him to fall into a tumble. The gathered crowd roared with shocked laughter at the Elizabeth portrayal as she screamed at them, waving her arm like some pantomime villain. They called her the dragon lady and playing her to maximum effect was Heidi Stoker – better known as the lizard woman in the circus circles. Her entire body was tattooed with scales, her eyes permanently yellowed, her teeth ground sharp and her tongue forked.
“What you staring at?” she challenged the audience as the Elizabeth character.
There were more gasps, more phones and more recording. Rodney Weir had come to the entrance of his hotel and could be seen watching in the background.
It hadn’t been her own portrayal, though, that had Elizabeth seething. In Heidi’s arms was a small infant. Little Edle Stoker was being held out as a portrayal of Vicky. Like her mother, her skin was completely scaled. If she cried out it would be seen her little tongue was forked.
Elizabeth had been so angered by the freak show comparison, she hadn’t noticed Freddy was wearing Gramps’ clothes the Law Makers had confiscated from her until he slipped on Gramps’ old skip cap.
“I’m Jeffrey Beckingridge,” he said. “They make statues of me, name everything after me and this is my legacy.”
Finally Presley returned the call.
“Have you seen this?” Elizabeth asked without greeting.
“I’ve just had to walk through it,” said Presley. “The whole of City Main has turned out. They’re selling bloody merch!”
“It’s outrageous,” Elizabeth responded. “Shut it down right now before I turn that lizard woman into a fucking purse!”
“We have bigger problems,” Presley tried to say.
“Look at that baby. For God’s sake they’re exploiting the poor child,” Elizabeth went on. “Where at the Law Makers when you need them?”
“Elizabeth, listen to me,” Presley had to interrupt. “I’ve been voted off the board. The board is no longer ours.”
Elizabeth rang off from Presley. She looked to George who was still enjoying the Stoker show. The tower was as good as gone.
***
It had been a long morning but Chick Owen was pleased to hear of progress being made. Marshall had a list of potential buyers for the Auction House and as he scrolled down the page the offers became higher. He had hoped – for the sake of peace in City Main – The Auction House would be returned to Penn hands but as Marshall pointed out there was likely more money in having their other competitors bid. At least for now. It would make the Penns nervous and make negotiations easier on their side. Besides he had tried reaching out to Reggie. Faulds Park allowed the call through but he was unable to reach the Penn boy. Instead, a young girl was screaming down the phone at him trying to hear what he was saying over the loud music. It sounded like complete chaos and no one seemed to know or be able to locate the master of the house.
Ozzy had confirmed a huge donation on behalf of Stoker Circus and the zoo to various charitable causes. Helping worthy causes of course, but also helping the public see Owen Inc. and its associates weren’t complete monsters.
Finally, Kathleen stopped by to run the Coldford Daily headlines by him and she had captured exactly the stories the city needed. They were the kind of stories that had attracted me to the newspaper in the first place.
COLDFORD CITY STANDS STRONG.
SILENT MARCH ACROSS FULLERTON BRIDGE SPEAKS VOLUMES.
She even had her little chickadees come over to the Chapter House to boot the boys into very visible community service.
Charles ‘Chick’ Owen was pleased. He was resting back easy in his chair considering his next move. He had just been about to consider all was well when the announcement of his brother’s arrival was made.
Ronnie seemed like he was in a bit of a rush.
“Ronnie?” Chick said. “You look like you’ve been ridden hard and hung up wet.”
Ronnie spotted Kathleen. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“How you doing Ron?” Kathleen asked. “Drink?”
“No, thank you,” Ronnie refused.
Kathleen poured her own, a vintage Waldens merlot that she and The Cappy favoured.
“You look like you could use one,” she teased.
“I’d like a word with Chick, if you don’t mind,” Ronnie politely requested.
It was Chick who refused. “It’s fine, Ron,” he said. “We can talk.”
Ronnie knew full well that Kathleen had been helping air Owen dirty laundry since she and The Cappy were teenagers but he was hesitant.
“You’ll be getting word from the Law Makers soon but I wanted to run it past you first.”
Concern ripped across Chick’s face. “What’s Buddy done now?”
Ronnie shook his head. “It’s not Buddy. It’s…”
The two Kappa Elders were eyeing him closely.
“A decision will be made on Tabitha soon. I wanted to see where the line would be drawn with the Law Makers first before I informed you because I will be providing her defence.”
Chick scowled at first. “That girl is to go back to jail where she belongs and she will consider herself in the Lord’s good mercy that she still has her head.”
“I think she should stay at The Knock Knock Club.”
Chick scoffed, shaking his head. “And I think being in this city too long has driven you out of your mind.”
Ronnie tried to explain his reasoning. “If she stays at her club she will be under serious guard and she’s more likely to keep quiet. If she returns to prison she’s just going to keep gnawing her way out and her supporters will continue making trouble on her behalf.”
“Then I return to my previous sentiment. Cut the damn snake’s head off,” Chick growled.
“Then you make a martyr of her,” Kathleen spoke up.
Ronnie was pleased he had some support.
“Legally, the Law Makers are going to want the death penalty carried out but she will be much less of a problem if she stays home. They kill her, her people won’t stand for it and we’re torn away having to cover our asses. A little show of leniency now, or even support, could go a long way to putting things right,” said Kathleen.
The Cappy asked, “How much leniency?”
Kathleen went on. “I’m no lawyer like Ronnie here, but until Mayor Feltz turns up there are plenty of better candidates to take the heat.”
“I’m not hearing that,” warned Ronnie.
“Of course you’re not. I simply mean that Feltz had enemies, lots of enemies. It seems unfair to single the young girl out.”
Ronnie eased off. That had exactly been the defence he had used for Tabitha.
“She’s a troubled little girl who has her crimes – no mistake – but they should have just let her go to the damn club in the first place. I watched interviews with her as a kid. She was a real wild one but what do you do when an animal can’t be controlled? You can put her to death which we’ve already agreed will make a martyr of her or you can lock her away. She’s not going to gnaw through the cage she’s always wanted to be in and it keeps her cheering spectators happy.”
Ronnie grinned. He was pleased to have Kathleen’s support.
“It’s a tough ask, Chick,” the lawyer put to his brother. “But it means dropping Jerry’s charges.” The Cappy’s eyes widened. Before he could say anything Ronnie added, “Jerry was a piece of shit. I have no doubt in my mind what she says about him was true.”
The Cappy knew this. After all he had been cleaning Jerry’s messes when Ronnie was still running around in his little tightie whiteys. As young man, Chick learned that Jerry had taken a couple of girls into his vestry. Both of them were only fourteen years old. Chick warned the girls’ parents to keep them clear and in exchange for their silence – the girls claimed nothing had happened – Pops had Jerry sent to St Michael’s in Coldford. Jerry had made his bed. Now its piss-stained sheets had to be changed every day, he was spoon fed his meals, and there was no way of knowing if he truly regretted almost dragging his entire family to the bowels of Hell with him.
“Before you make any legal move, this is quite an ask as you say and I would like to speak her. If it’s going to put the minds of those that follow her at rest then it might be a good place to start.”
“I don’t think that’s wise,” said Ronnie.
The Cappy was still confident in his decision. “I think it’s something that should have been done a long time ago.”
“We’re moving on, boys,” said Kathleen. “Time to let sleeping dogs lie.”
Ronnie nodded. He stood. There was no time to lose. Chick was good at looking people in the eye that had done him wrong and still maintaining his composure. Tabitha – on the other hand – was not. However, it was the only sure way of removing that pendulum above her head. She would see the sense in listening to options. He hoped.
“Bye, Ron,” Kathleen called as she closed the door of The Cappy’s den over.
“Also,” she said to Chick when they were alone. “When things are put right again she’ll make an excellent scape goat.”
The Cappy raised his eyebrows.
“Just saying,” she added.
Chick smiled and sighed. “Why did I never marry you?”
Kathleen chuckled. “Because I’ve got the bigger balls.”
Laughing, The Cappy declared, “I love you, Kathleen.”
Kathleen collected her designer hand bag to leave. “I love you too, you old prick.”
***
The car phone was breaking up.
“I can’t hear you,” Jeremy was groaning. “I’ll have to call you when I land.”
The Auction House was being put up for sale again and as the Chief Auctioneer for the Penns and their acquisitions agent, it was important he got the support he needed to get it back where it belonged.
Jean Luc – his counterpart in Luen – hadn’t been happy new king Marcus was unable to see him, and it wasn’t worth having Reggie speak. The youngest triplet was still messed up and kept forgetting things. It didn’t help that he had barely been sober since he got back. His poor mother would be so worried. His father would be too. That was why Jeremy was now having to kiss Jean Luc’s arrogant ass. He wouldn’t be causing such a fuss if Reginald was still alive but the Penns needed the help from Luen. Jeremy was hoping that if he went to Luen he would be able to arrange a call between Marcus and Jean Luc. Marcus would be able to request the help in Coldford that Reggie so desperately needed.
“I’ll arrive around midnight,” Jeremy called to the car phone.
“You are wasting your time,” said Jean Luc. “I’ll speak to Marcus only. It’s disappointing he isn’t able to speak for himself. Too busy being a hired thug for some stupid little girl with a grudge.”
“Enule!” Jeremy barked.
“Pardone?” Jean Luc challenged.
“I said enule. Fuck you! I’m on my way and when we I get there, you’ll talk to Marcus. I’ll arrive around midnight,” Jeremy called to the car phone before cutting it off, hoping that Jean Luc got the message.
The road towards Cardyne across the bridge was thankfully quiet. The Law Makers’ blockade had been removed.
Another call came through. This time it was Reggie.
“Yes, Reggie?”
“I, uh,” he hesitated.
“What’s wrong?”
“A lot of City Main ones in,” he said. “They said they know me but I don’t recognise them.”
“Where are the agents?” asked Jeremy.
“They’re outside. They’re not letting anyone in.”
“Then what’s the trouble?”
Reggie coughed. He had been smoking too much weed.
“It just felt rude if they did know me. Turning people away from the door seemed pretty shitty.”
Jeremy inhaled sharply. “Reggie, we spoke about this. It’s dangerous. Just sit tight until I get back. Stay close to Tabitha and do not let anyone in.”
“I know,” Reggie agreed. He was feeling a little tired. It wouldn’t hurt to lay low. “But Tabitha’s not here.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s still being held at the club.”
“Can no one run anything past me these fucking days?!” Jeremy despaired. “Reggie, sit tight. I’m turning back.” Reggie couldn’t be left alone, not with the state he was in. Not with strangers knocking on the doors. The agents were stretched thin as it was, and they could only do so much.
So Jeremy turned at the junction at the Fullerton Bridge Cardyne exit. As he made his way back across, heaving headlights filled his windscreen from an oncoming car.
Jeremy brought his car to a halt. The car in front stopped too. The Auctioneer raised his arm to shield his eyes from the glare.
BOOM!
Through the light, Cherry jerked forward to take the first gnashing bite.
Jeremy pulled his car away as quickly as he could. He slammed his foot onto the pedals and sped off but he had only just managed to get his car up to 70mph when Sunny zoomed past. She had reached the edge of the bridge just as Emerald charged through the darkness into a spin, completely cutting him off.
Click. Click. Click.
Then came the spotter in blue.
***
Jeremy struggled to catch his breath as he lay in the mud. The Cherry pit crew had beaten him badly whilst Sunny’s watched and Sky click, click, clicked. He thought he was going to drown. He could barely move and with each breath he was taking in a mouthful of mud. He tried to explain such sentiments to his captors but they fell on deaf ears. They were too busy exchanging Kappa So handshakes.
‘Fucking brothers for life. Bullshit,’ thought Jeremy bitterly.
There was quite a group gathering. Buddy and his bros, Jeremy recognised. They had gotten into scuffles with the triplets before and they had been the ones Reginald let go after the execution of Pops.
A door of a white Cooper SUV slammed. Three more arrived. Police commissioner Billy Owen, the circus ring master Irvine Stoker, and his son Freddy.
There was one watching him intently though, as the rest gathered around. The Cappy himself. His attention was stolen by the hand of his cousin on his shoulder.
“Where’s Isaac?” The Cappy asked.
Billy lowered his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “No one’s heard from him.”
The Cappy sighed. “Get your team together Billy,” he warned.
Billy admitted, “I’m afraid it gets worse. There’s something you need to know.”
The Cappy urged him to continue. Meanwhile Austin Perry hovered close to Jeremy.
“What’s going on, Bill?” Chick questioned.
Billy fell into a repenting cry, “I was hoping to be able to clear this so no dirt fell on you but we had an issue with Cameron Doyle. He came looking for rat boy and he pulled a gun.”
The Cappy gasped, “Jesus, Billy, he’s dead?”
“Yeah, I’m afraid so.”
Before Chick could respond further Billy cried, “I’m so sorry Captain. You trusted me with a task and I let you down. You’re gonna be real mad and I don’t blame you. Just tell me what to do to make it right and I will.”
Buddy – so used to disappointing The Cappy – thought to himself, ‘Jeez Bill, reel it in, brah.’
Dale Cooper was busy watching Jeremy, wondering when someone was going to start paying attention to the man writhing in the mud under Ozzy’s boot.
“If you want to put a bullet in my head right now I won’t blame ya,” Billy went on. “I failed,” he said. “I messed up.”
Satisfied with Billy’s repentance, The Cappy clutched his cousin.
“Calm down,” he said, but inside he was thinking, ‘Cameron fucking Doyle!’
Billy opened his eyes to see Marshall Cooper clutching his chest as though to say, ‘Tit.’
“What did you do with the body?” Chick enquired.
“I don’t want to implicate you any more than necessary,” said Billy.
The Cappy patted his shoulder. “It’s fine. I need to know the details.”
“We moved him to an abandoned Bergman mine. It was the only reason I brought that Jew fuck in,” Billy ranted.
“Does Isaac know? Is that why he isn’t here?”
“We’re tracking him down.”
Chick put the question to his team. “So what are we going to do now?”
Irvine Stoker seemed completely undisturbed by the predicament.
“We can stop those sneaky, money grubbing, dirty…Bergmans,” said the ring master with a wry smile.
“Fine we’ll deal with that later,” suggested Chick. “Right now we got more pressing concerns.”
It was then he finally addressed Jeremy.
“You sir,” he began. “I have not forgotten what you did with my compass. You deliberately set out to make a fool of me and I do not take that kindly.”
‘Holeeee fuck!’ Buddy thought to himself. ‘He’s really going to do this.’
The setting – dear readers – which I should make clear now was Perry Zoo. It was a cold night where breath began to escape the lips in a fine mist. Winter was setting in. Jeremy heard something move in the great pool of water behind him. The sign above his head read ‘Snowflake – Coming Soon.’
Austin drew a knife from his pocket.
“Sorry mate,” he said. “War is Hell.”
Jeremy screamed as his Achilles’ tendons were cut. First the right foot, then the left. Jeremy’s shrill cry caused Austin to look back over his shoulders. Ripples were gathering.
“You might wanna step back,” Austin announced to his brothers as he skipped over Jeremy’s writhing body and up the embankment.
“You bastards!” Jeremy managed to scream. “You’ll not get away with this.”
“Dad?” Chad appealed to Austin.
“Just step back there, son,” Ozzy warned.
The Cappy was watching the water.
“C’mon Snowflake, my gorgeous boy. Come and get it,” he muttered.
Buddy shivered. It wasn’t doing him much good watching this sober. Had he been full of powder, it might have been hilarious but with a sober mind his father looked like a real fucking psycho.
Still in pain, Jeremy tried to pull himself up the ledge but kept slipping in the mud. He was losing strength fast. His cries of pain and fear were only drawing interest and the ripples were becoming angrier.
Irvine was grinning, as was Freddy. Billy had lit a cigarette, probably glad he had gotten his own troubles off his chest and could now relax and enjoy the show.
Splash!
Like some monstrous creature Hen Owen was reputed to have fought upon the high seas, an oversized albino alligator leapt from the water. Jeremy tried to scramble away but he wasn’t fast enough. He only kept slipping back down the verge. Snowflake charged towards him. His reptilian limbs stomped through the mud.
Snap!
Jeremy just missed the first bite. It only made Snowflake angry.
Snap!
This time his leg was caught. Snowflake chomped down. His powerful jaws crunched through bone.
“Jesus!” Dale Cooper reacted. Like his bro, he too was having a hard time with the sobriety of the situation. He turned away but he could feel his father’s hand clutch the back of his neck.
“Don’t act like a little pussy,” warned Marshall.
Dale took a deep breath and watched on.
“Wooooh!” Irvine cheered as Snowflake wrapped his jaws around Jeremy’s midriff.
With a great heaving shake of his hefty body and a lash of his tail, he started to drag Jeremy towards the water.
Jeremy’s scream was a gargle of blood and some of the mud he was choking on as he was dragged. The brothers watching him had fallen silent. He could hear the lashing behind him as Snowflake entered the water, pulling him with him. The sudden icy cold chill shocked his heart. Trying to shake free of the alligator’s maw was only causing the razor-sharp teeth to clench down harder. The tear into his abdomen was irreparable so when he slipped under the water, watching the faces staring down at him as he was dragged into the abyss, it no longer mattered.
***
Snowflake – better known as the puppy snatcher in the parts where he had been picked up – had been causing havoc in Swamp State, snatching up the dogs of little old ladies walking past. Unchecked he had grown so big he began to attack the little old ladies themselves. An alert was raised in the local community. Sightings of the albino monster in the local area were registered.
When the residents of the community stopped walking his prey past the General John Swamp he had made home, he grew bored and ventured further into Johnsville.
Nine-year-old local Ahmed Chauncey called the authorities when he awoke one morning to find the fencing around his family’s property had been torn open. Four of the chickens had been eaten and a still-hungry Snowflake lay at the bottom of the muddied-up family pool.
The Perry Zoo in Swamp State sent their best specialists to capture the beast, led by Ozzy himself. The Cappy had been visiting at the time and instantly fell in love with the alligator.
“What a magnificent snappa’” he gushed.
And so. he organised a sponsorship for it to be kept at Perry Zoo in Star State.
A magnificent snappa’ indeed. Now, a razor-toothed resident of Coldford City.
***
Chick had come to Harbour House alone. He was greeted initially by Agent Kim.
“I trust my son has been behaving,” he asked.
“He’s quiet for now,” the agent informed him.
“He’s shown remarkable improvement. I hope you will take that into account during your investigations,” said The Cappy.
Kim replied, “I’m taking everything into account.”
The Cappy nodded, “I know.”
“Before you go see him, Olivia Hickes would like a word with you,” said Kim.
At that Chick was led to the office Olivia held at Harbour House for those the agents brought in for support – violent homes, missing persons, addicts, etc.
They shook hands and sat across her desk from each other.
“Mrs Hickes, it’s a pleasure,” The Cappy began.
She smiled. He liked the way she smiled. It was warm, soft and comforting.
“It’s good to meet you, Charles,” she said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
The Cappy laughed. “Don’t believe all the rumours. So, what can I do for you?”
“There’s something I want you to hear,” she said. “It’s from Bernard’s last therapy session. We’re obliged to hold confidentiality unless we feel the resident is a danger or in danger. I don’t want to abuse his trust but I really think it’s important you hear what he has to say.”
Chick found himself feeling nervous. There was a little flutter of butterflies within his stomach he had never experienced before. He was always so sure of his ability to handle anything. With Olivia, it seemed so much more personal. For some reason it wasn’t quite the same when she seemed to be sympathetic towards Buddy rather than complaining about him.
“What’s he done?” was the automatic question.
“He’s not in trouble,” Olivia stated. “But I warn you, what you are about to hear will be a little difficult to take so if you wish for me to stop I will.”
“If there is a cause for concern,” said the Cappy, “I really should hear.”
Olivia brought the recorder over and pushed play. The Cappy recognised Buddy’s cough.
“So, Bernard,” said Justin, the counsellor. “We made some good progress last time getting to the route of your addiction. You were thirteen when you first sampled cocaine, correct?”
“Eleven,” Buddy replied. He coughed again. His voice sounded a little odd, like something really heavy was hanging on the tones. “My Uncle Jerry gave me some. He pulled me into the store closet of the Star State house and I snorted that shit.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“What? No, brah. Not at first. Who wants to be trapped in a closet snorting coke off another bro’s dick? That’s faggy shit.”
Justin stopped him. “Excuse me?”
“Yeah, it was a game Jerry liked to play when I was a little kid. He said if I liked it enough, I’d snort it off anything. I hated that. I just wanted to play cowboys and shit. I was like, leave me alone brah. But when that buzz hit, woohwee, my eyes were opened. I was in heaven and Jerry was God.”
“It’s funny you should use that term with him being a priest,” Justin commented.
“Yeah. He told me he had God Balls. I’m a kid, balls barely dropped and I’m bouncing off the walls thinking it was the funniest shit I ever heard. He told me he’d show me how to have God Balls too.”
“More games?” Justin asked.
“It wasn’t easy. I mean it takes a helluva lot. He believed in me though. He was damn near the only person who did.”
“You trusted his advice?”
Buddy coughed again. “Man never steered me wrong. He was always there for me. Made me what I am today…”
Buddy paused. He must have been giving thought to exactly what he was.
“He’s the reason I am what I am,” he said, softer. As though he were speaking to himself rather than his counsellor.
“E’body laughs at the idea I could have a chick like Lydia. I get that brah, but I got a lot to offer.”
Calmly, Justin commented, “You seem to have trouble forming connections with women.”
“Jerry told me that having God Balls meant you didn’t have to, chicks just lined up to lick those bad boys.”
“Your first sexual encounter with a female was not a pleasant one?” asked Justin.
“I was scared,” Buddy admitted. “I mean I had wood so hard. The girl Jaycee Miles – you always remember your first, right? – she was screaming merry Hell and not in a good way. Not like in the movies. She was screaming because she was hurt. There was blood everywhere. I thought I had burst her or something. Jerry was there yelling at me to keep fucking her. He said she liked it. Brah, she was not liking it. I wanted to stop. Jaycee was crying for her mama. Jerry was tugging on his own dick, watching us. He said that since it was my first time, he wanted to make sure I did it right. I wasn’t a kid anymore. Not after hearing Jaycee scream like that. She was a kid too. Jerry fucked her first to break her in. So, I’m to take my turn and he’s yelling at me. He knew better about it than I did. I wanted those God Balls so I didn’t complain.”
“Did you tell anyone about this?” Justin asked.
“And make it seem like I’m some kind of whiney pussy?” Buddy went on. “Jerry told me that If I did talk about it, he would tell everyone I was a fag. I didn’t want that. Not after seeing what happened with my Uncle Teddy. Besides, who was I going to tell? The Cappy was never there – travelling everywhere and anywhere that wasn’t home, and my mama? When she wasn’t boning Uncle Walt she was passed out. Who would believe me anyway? Besides, he kept giving me powda’. Jaycee tried to call him out. Her family shipped her off to some Christian camp. I was scared bro. I was drugged, buzzing my balls off on powda’ and trying to drown Jaycee’s screaming out. I figured if I could handle that, I could handle anything. I was invincible.”
“Do you realise now that what happened to you was wrong?” Justin put to him delicately.
Buddy gave another cough.
“I didn’t want him making me scream like Jaycee. I did at first. I learned to stay quiet after that. I started to hate that closet, when that door was closed over. I didn’t want any of that shit. I reckon Bill found out. I overhead him one night telling Jerry that if he found another pair of bloody pants, he would cut his dick off. He might not have been talking about me, I had been so careful to hide my bloody pants, but he did stay away from me after that. Then I came to Coldford.”
The recording ended. Olivia pushed a box of tissues towards Chick but he refused them.
“I’m fine,” he said, although the emotions were flooding his mind.
“It’s a lot to take,” Olivia said. “But abuse survivors often fall into self-destructive patterns and addictions.”
‘He was not abused. He was not abused,’ was all the Cappy could think.
“Because of the nature of this recording it is still kept confidential unless Bernard himself wishes to take it further.”
“Thank you, ma’am. My boy is a handful but despite it all you chose to listen to him. You heard his cries for help, something by his own admission I failed to do.”
“He has a long way to go, I won’t lie to you, but now that you know, you can truly help him,” said Olivia.
“If I may request that I keep that recording?” Chick asked.
Olivia was unsure. “You can rest assured it won’t fall into the wrong hands here.”
Chick realised her misunderstanding.
“At this time that is the least of my concerns. I would like to process this and some day when we’re ready, Buddy and I can discuss it.”
“Okay,” Olivia agreed.
Chick found Buddy having just alighted from the pool. Lydia was escorting him. They both seemed relaxed.
“You brought your time down then?” asked the father.
Chick was pleased to see Lydia giggle at Buddy’s enthusiasm. Despite the nature of their meeting and despite the fact he was still technically in her custody he hoped Buddy would stay clean and create a good impression on her. Or stay clean long enough to cleanse himself of the horrific nonsense Jerry had filled his head with.
“Going to lift some weights,” Buddy announced. “You wanna see how much I’m pressing these days?”
Chick smiled. “Sure.”
“You want some coffee, Mr Owen?” Lydia asked.
“Thank you, agent, but I’m fine. Please, call me Chick.”
The recording in question was given to me by Chick himself. I was surprised at this.
“Why not to the Daily or Kathleen?” I enquired.
“Because they will seek to protect me and whilst Jerry shares my name, I won’t risk them trying to protect him. You are independent and I trust you will tell the right people about this at the right time,” was The Cappy’s sentiment.
With an agreement in place for me to hold the recording until requested, The Cappy took Kathleen’s advice and reached out to another of Jerry’s victims.
***
“Well, hello, cunt,” grinned Tabitha, as she sat down in the room set aside in Harbour House for she and Charles ‘Chick’ Owen to discuss their terms.
Chick was not impressed by her bravado. “My, my. That is mighty foul language for a little girl,” he met the challenge.
“You must have heard worse,” Tabitha retorted. “Or someone hasn’t been passing along my fucking messages.” She looked around her, gauging the exit. “So, what do you want?”
“It occurred to me that whilst we both wish to move forward it makes no sense that we would continue to hold each other back. So, I would like to open negotiations whereby we can discuss terms that are mutually beneficial to us.”
Tabitha pouted. “I know what negotiations means. Why should I?”
“I would help you remain in your beloved bar,” he put to her.
The Boss Lady was sceptical. “Why would you do that?”
The Cappy replied, “Because I believe you will keep your part of the city in order.”
“What’s in it for you?” she asked.
“Peace of mind,” was his response. There was a pause. “There will be a condition attached.”
Tabitha rolled her eyes. “There it is.”
“Should you violate our agreement and trouble stirs, you will be returned to prison or worse. In the spirit of reciprocity, I will make sure your area has no hassle from any of my Kappa So brothers.”
Tabitha was considering her options.
“Here’s the part where you make your terms known,” The Cappy pushed.
Tabitha scowled. She leaned forward on the table. “If you talk down to me one more time, you riddle-spinning cunt, I’m going to open your throat.”
Feeling confident, The Cappy asked, “With what?”
Tabitha’s gap-toothed smile widened.
“I can be very creative,” she assured.
The Cappy looked behind him to check Tawny and Ronnie were still waiting by the door. Satisfied she had made her point; Tabitha leaned back again and folded her arms across her chest.
“I want your son for the murder of a little girl named Sarah,” she requested.
The Cappy shook his head. “Buddy is out of reach. His involvement in any murder was never proven.”
As he looked at The Boss Lady, he couldn’t help but notice the little markings across her nose. It was an unusual thing to notice and such a small thing but it played a huge part in humanising her. He had heard so much about her and now she was sat across the table from him, so close he could see those little markings on her nose. She was so much younger than he.
“I will not give you Buddy. That is non-negotiable. But I will give you Jerry.”
“You would?” Tabitha was liking the direction the negotiations were taking.
The Cappy nodded. “If it will satisfy your vengeance and offer you some closure.”
“Then your son is the one that does it but I want it all documented. I’m not wanting you throwing me to the dogs for it. I’m not that stupid. If any of your freak show family try anything, I put your son down like the sick pup he is.”
“Agreed,” said The Cappy.
“And you will help the Penns – Simon and Marcus – out, too. City Main needs them.”
“And this worries me how?” asked Chick.
Tabitha shrugged. “You said you wanted the city in order. I can speak for the Shanties but City Main will only listen to the Penns.”
The Cappy was given pause for thought.
Tabitha laughed, “How’s that for fucking negotiations?”
“I will consider the Penns,” Chick said.
“It’s the least you could do for killing their dad and don’t get me started on what your lot did to Reggie,” the Boss Lady saw fit to comment.
“Reginald Penn…” The Cappy began, but Tabitha stopped him.
“You killed him, or at least as good as, but if you help Marcus and Simon, I’m sure they might just be willing to keep the peace.”
And so it was, an unprecedented peace agreement was reached, which if anyone had told me Tabitha would be partially responsible for, I would have laughed until my ribs hurt.
“Prison changes a girl, Sam,” she said at the time.
The changes in her and The Cappy were only to show Judge Doyle them playing nice together. They still had their axes to bury. The war between them was far from over. It had just turned cold under Judge Doyle’s hammer.
As he stood to leave The Cappy said to her, “What Jerry did to you was despicable. He tried to steal something from you that should never be stolen from another person. I am sorry.”
Tabitha blinked. It had been the last thing she had expected to hear.
Chick had been thinking of his son when he said, “I just wish you had come directly to me.”
“Would it have made a difference?” Tabitha asked.
“I like to think it would have. Regardless of what you may think, I never condoned his behaviour.”
“I know,” Tabitha agreed. “I wasn’t the one who cut his dick off.”
Chick raised his chin. “Another charge you’ll find removed if you and I can stay out of each other’s way.
“Generous fucker, aren’t you?” Tabitha teased.
“I’m optimistic for the future,” The Cappy told Ronnie as they parted. “We have some kinks still to iron out but we’ll get there.”
Helping the Boss Lady remain at The Knock Knock Club was a bold move for the Owen Inc. CEO. Personally, I would rather swim with Snowflake.
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Whether it’s books or movies we love characters for different reasons. Sometimes we love them because the represent everything that we admire. Sometimes we loath them so much we love to see them on screen because it specifically garners a reaction. The specific traits, looks and morals these characters are written with embed such memorable moments in our minds.
So what makes the character stand out? First and foremost the dialogue they have is interesting and engaging. An example of this would be Orlenna Tyrell on the Game of Thrones series. She became a popular character because she had great words to share. Together with the fact it was terrifically performed she was a stand out. Which brings me to my next point.
The performance of an actor in the role of that character does wonders for that character becoming a fan favourite. Find yourself a much loved part and cast a hunky model in the role and you’ve got a winner.
As an avid reader characterisation is important. Personally I enjoy characters that would be considered villains. Their lack of moral boundaries Is what I find interesting to follow. Who knows what they will do next!
What’s your favourite character? What traits tend to make your favourite character?
Anthony is a vibrant persona standing out among the bright lights of the Cardyne Motherboard, the tech hub of Coldford City. As a lawyer he is known for his out of the box thinking and a fearless approach to cross examining. Specialising in cyber crime, Anthony knows his way around computer programs and is well acquainted with the dark side of the web.
Anthony is a family man. His wife, Grace is a nurse at Coldford General and his seventeen year old daughter, Sue, is studying programming at Cardyne Tech college.
Like most of his Cardyne neighbours, Anthony is considered a neutral and is welcomed by the rest of the City. Most notable he is part of the KLS group or KINGS LOYAL SUBALANS, a civil rights group who were supported by the King of Main, Reginald Penn.
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