It was difficult to tell what time of day it was. The light didn’t shine in much from the outside of the club. TABITHA left me in the empty lounge room DENNIS had showed me to before. She told me to help myself to a drink and wait at the bar for her whilst she went about the club business.
I didn’t know what she had in store for me. She explained very little on the car ride there.
I drank and I thought about how much of mess my life had become after setting foot in Knock Knock. I don’t know how long it was – felt like hours, probably only minutes – until there was a playful tap on my shoulder.
I turned and was greeted by the first friendly face I had met in a while. She leaned against the bar casually. Her leather jacket shone under the dim light.
“You have had a bullshit time of it but the looks of things,” she commented. Her accent was strong. She was attractive and athletic.
“I think Tabitha is going to keep me prisoner here,” I said in jest but I have to admit it was a very real concern.
The woman laughed. “I wouldn’t put that past her.”
It was then I recognised her. I had seen her before. A couple of times.
“You’re one of the dancers,” I stated. She already knew that of course but I had to have confirmation.
“The name’s Lydia.” She shook my hand warmly.
“Sorry,” I replied. “I didn’t recognise you at first. With …”
“Clothes on?” she finished for me. She laughed again and despite everything I laughed too. I wasn’t going to be able to bring Theresa back but at least it gave me time to deal with it all.
“Sam,” I told her.
She raised her eyebrows. “I heard who you are. You have caused quite a stir around here. You ought to be careful. You might ruin things for us poor girls who are just trying to make our way in the world.”
I shrugged off her comment. “I don’t know. I don’t think a girl with your particular talents would be held back much.”
LYDIA laughed. She dabbed my arm with good humour.
I was enjoying the beginnings of what was the closest thing I had had to a normal conversation for some time. It was nice to feel human again. Just when I was about to feel human enough to carry on Tabitha appeared beside us. It was almost like she had sensed our merriment.
“I hope you’re not feeling neglected,” Tabitha said to me, completely ignoring Lydia.
“Not at all,” I replied. “Lydia and I …”
Tabitha finally did acknowledge her dancer. She was smiling but her grey eyes were as cold as winter.
“Don’t you have a set to prepare for?” she barked.
“We were just talking,” I spoke up.
Lydia sighed calmly. I admired how cool she remained. She leaned off the bar and turned towards me.
“Don’t worry about her,” Tabitha groaned, becoming impatient. “She isn’t worth shit unless she’s taking her clothes off.”
The words were harsh and venomous but she said them like an old friend teasing. She waited, with her hands behind her back like a scolding teacher for Lydia to react.
Lydia smiled and shook it off.
“Oh honey, they may come here to see you but we both know I bring the thunder.”
“Oh really?!” Tabitha whined like a petulant child.
Before it could escalate any further Lydia stood. She turned back to me.
“Enjoy the show, champ,” she said with a wink. She dabbed my shoulder with her fist playfully.
When Lydia was gone Tabitha was shaking her head. She pulled me closer like I was one of her toys she really didn’t want to share.
She shouted across to Lisa, the blonde bar maid, who had just come in.
“Gin and Tonic,” she said. “This time don’t be afraid to splash a little gin in the glass.”
The bar maid nodded in agreement.
“Stay away from her,” Tabitha warned me, referring to Lydia. “That girl is bad news.”
‘That’s rich,’ I thought. ‘Coming from you.’
She took a sharp intake of breath and fixed her smile again. In some lights she really could seem quite endearing.
“What am I doing here?” I asked.
“We can chat about that later. You are under the protection of THE HEADLINERS now, so don’t you worry your handsome face about anything.”
She grabbed my chin and shook my head.
“Come with me. I’ll take you somewhere you can get comfortable.”
The way she said it made it sound almost threatening. I didn’t know who these Headliners were or how much I could really count on their protection or what they were protecting me from. I wasn’t sure just how comfortable Tabitha wanted me to get. The thought made me shiver.
“I can’t stay,” I protested. “I have to get back to the newspaper.”
“Sure you can,” she said. “The DAILY isn’t going to blow up without you.” She must have imagined the Daily building toppling because she laughed to herself and sighed.
She started leading me up a staircase at the back of the club to where some rooms lay.
“It’s not like you have a home or wife to go to any more is it?”
As strange as it sounds – despite how cruel her words were – I believe she genuinely thought she was being comforting.
Her heels clicked in a rhythm as we climbed to the second floor. When I saw the corridor darken I hesitated. Her lips puckered as she smiled. Her eye brows raised.
“Don’t go limp on me now,” she said. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”
I took a step back. Now I was really confused as to what she meant by getting comfortable. She laughed. It was a musical, girlish sound that made her lose her front and seem more genuine.
“Come on. I’m giving you one of the best rooms.”
I continued on down the hall. She opened a door at the end to a large room with simple furnishings.
It was eye catching but not because of the aesthetics of the place. It was dark and smelled like the rest of the club.
It was because on the farthest wall hung a full sized picture of the Boss Lady herself looking elegant in one of her signature red dresses. I looked to the real her but she was in a daze. Her head cocked to one side, doe eyed like she was in the presence of some kind of pop idol. I don’t think anyone has ever looked at a loved one the way Tabitha looked at herself.
“Great picture, isn’t it?” she awed.
I frowned. I wouldn’t dare disagree.
She squeezed my shoulder.
“Anyway, you get settled in and if you need anything I’ll send one of my girls up.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I replied.
Tabitha closed the door over. I listened as her footsteps disappeared back down the hall. The large poster of her stared back down at me knowingly.
A short time later I heard more footsteps. They weren’t the determined and self-assured steps of Tabitha. Nor where they the clumsy, over-eager steps of Dennis. They were quiet, quick. Before I had time to react something was slipped underneath the door. It was a phone.
There was a note attached that read ‘keep records but keep it hidden’.
I opened the door but whoever had brought it was long gone.
I would keep records. My time in the Knock, Knock Club was only just beginning.
#amreading the #thriller #graphicnovel #knockknock by @VivikaWidow
Sam is on a mission to find the missing mayor and you can now have the complete season 1 of the Knock Knock series on the go! Download for kindle at the link below. Free on Kindle Unlimited.
Howard Bergman had been on a trip to Subala so his sister, Law Maker Hell Hound Sophie, had left a message at their estate over there to contact her as soon as possible. In the meantime, she had her Golem, Mr Raminoff, seek information on the unexpected freighter the Wigan had mentioned.
“Find out who authorised it,” she instructed.
Speaking in his native tongue of Levinkrantz, the Golem made some enquiries as to the mysterious freighter. Howard was never one to make such an oversight so it was expected that it would be confirmed that no such event had ever occurred and the Wigan was merely making conversation, or was mistaken in some way. Imagine Sophie’s surprise then, if you will, when Golem told her that a Bergman freighter had been sent to the inlet. Not only that, the authority on it was her son, Isaac.
The next course of action was to speak to her son. It seemed Isaac had gone to a girlfriend outside of the city and hadn’t been seen since. A message was left with him, too.
“Call home immediately,” Golem warned.
Isaac didn’t return the call.
***
WELCOME TO VIOLET.
The purr of the luxurious Cooper car with glistening purple paint could be heard approaching CPD in City Main.
PARKING ACTIVATED.
The smooth long body took its place. Emerging from the spectacular vehicle was the long frame of Ronald ‘Ronnie’ Owen. Ronnie entered the CPD building at a dash.
“I need to speak to Billy,” he told the front desk.
The bro that had been placed on such desk obliged. Given the scrutiny The Cappy was under at that time, fast access to the commissioner was given to any who shared his blood. For all intents and purposes, Ronnie’s legal presence was welcome. The commissioner was under a lot of strain.
William ‘Billy’ Owen was on a call with Irvine Stoker who had been informing him of the enquiries that Sophie Bergman had placed.
“Those fucking bead rattlers,” he was complaining of the Wigans.
“It’s lucky we got told, mucker,” Irvine assured. “I’ve had to pull the plug but the body has been moved. We just need to find Isaac. We paid a visit to the girlfriend he was supposed to have gone to see but she didn’t know anything. She says she hasn’t seen him.”
“So, the risk lies in the hands of a Shylock that knows everything?” Billy wanted to clarify with some frustration.
“Even if he does squeal, he’ll have to prove it. That’s where we got your back,” was Irvine’s reply.
Billy nodded. “Keep an eye out for him. Let me know the minute he comes slithering back.”
“Will do,” Irvine agreed.
“A’body knows those Bergmans are all psycho. Ain’t nobody that nice.”
Irvine offered his agreement and then the call was closed. Upon doing this his cousin, Ronnie, entered the scene.
“About time,” Billy exclaimed. “You done anything yet about the damn Cappy?” he asked.
“He’s still on lockdown at the ranch. I’ve asked for Jackson’s proposal. He’s thinking about it.”
“Thinking about it?” Billy growled. “That’s fucking mighty kind of him. My own father. I never thought myself spawned from such a limp dick. Do I look like the spit of a limp dick?”
Ronnie raised an eyebrow. “I’ve not been at the board meetings for a while so I don’t know how all this will go down. I can’t leave Coldford in case they call me in to testify. I’m here because of the complaints that are being brought against the department.”
“I’m getting shit done,” Billy stated.
“On paper you’re doing swell,” Ronnie concurred. “But this Wigan situation needs to be resolved. The office of Law Makers is looking to remove you. I told you when you first got here, they wouldn’t be comfortable letting our Kappa So boys take over.”
“A’body knows those Wigan fucks are needing run out the damn city. I’m the man for the job,” was Billy’s response with a cold raspy laugh. He was still full of confidence despite the dark shadows of stress underneath his eyes.
Ronnie finally took a seat. “I need you to tell me every dealing your department has had with the Wigan church. Peter Millicent is good at what he does so I need to be armed with everything I can.”
Billy grinned. “You ready for that cuz?” he asked.
Ronnie didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic but he was no stranger to the darker shades of Coldford. He was, after all, an Owen.
***
“He’s gotta be removed. After the accusations against Jerry and his side of the family, Chick should have stepped down in disgrace years ago!”
That was the sentiment of Jackson ‘Jackie’ Owen. He had been locked out of his social media accounts several times but each time he kept coming back. The Owen-owned publication, the Coldford Daily, was admitting to a divide on the board of Owen Inc. and their enemies were smelling blood. Not to mention it was surfacing family troubles, which was something the generations of Owens before them would never have done no matter how mad they were at each other. Times were tough. With Charles ‘Chick’ Owen under lock and key by the Law Makers it seemed unwise to air dirty laundry on such a public forum. Jackie seemed confident in his statements, though. All week he had been blasting his views across social media about how Owen Inc. had no business being led by the brother of a known child rapist. He said that The Cappy had been incompetent for a long time. He even posted photos of a dishevelled looking Chick being escorted from the airport by Bailiffs.
“Is this the future of Owen Inc?” he had captioned with a large, bold question mark.
That wasn’t my decision to make. I was merely there to tell the story, but as an outsider I could see Jackson was making enemies. That was how businesses in Coldford were run so I’m sure he knew what he was doing. Still, it seemed unwise but as I said, it was not for me to comment, only observe.
“Jackass!” was all that an email from his son, William ‘Billy’ Owen had said to him.
Some might have thought it was in agreement with his father against The Cappy but that wasn’t it. Billy was on team Chick through and through. Familial loyalty was to his cousin once removed. As far as Billy was concerned his father was being a jackass.
Disruption and chaos on the Owen board was only increased by The Cappy having had his wings clipped by the Law Makers of Coldford.
“I feel for my cousin,” said Jackson in an official statement. “What he is going through is unprecedented. But the law is the law and he should stand down if he values the rest of us. Pops would be so ashamed.”
Jackass!
That had been his son’s cry because as far as Billy was concerned, they were entering a whole new era for Owen Inc. and they needed The Cappy at the wheel to navigate.
“The balls on the man!” Billy said admiringly of Chick. He wasn’t shy of telling anyone who would listen that his cousin had huge God balls like no other. He had what it took to lead Owen Inc.
Jackson had expected his son to come around. It didn’t matter what Billy said though. Jackson was what the company needed. He was not a shy man nor was he a stupid one by his own reckoning. The Owens were having everything thrown at them. He couldn’t have handled it any better than Chick had. He knew that. He was no fool. But that wasn’t for the board to know. So, he spoke to the press of his concerns for his family, his cousin especially, and for the future of Owen Inc.
“I fear he has been using William’s special ops training to bully his way into CPD. Why would you use your cousins like that? What do you have to hide? Do the right thing Chick and resign now! #chickmustresign”
“Jackass!” Billy raged at the quote now going viral. “Throwing me under the bus now, are ya?”
For failing to flock to Jackson’s side immediately he set his sights on discrediting his son.
OWEN INC. CEO NEEDS TO STEP DOWN.
THE CAPTAIN IS DRUNK AT THE WHEEL.
“I’m going to string him up!” The Cappy warned.
“Leave it, Chick,” Ronnie advised. Chick’s younger, lawyer brother had been keeping a close eye on Jackson’s activity. “We’ve got enough to deal with, with Tabitha and Reggie Penn. Not to mention the Law Makers all over the estate. Sit quiet. I’ll see about a gagging order.”
Jackson had already managed to leak some old photos from Billy’s military days, where he was shown to be less than accommodating to Subalan prisoners he had taken. Naked, on their knees, begging for mercy, Billy was shown to be taunting them.
“I’m going to the Great States, right now. I’m gonna see that damn traitor myself,” Billy decided.
Again, Ronnie had to be the level head. “Leave it Bill,” Ronnie instructed. “The moment they see you leaving on a plane they’re going to come down hard,” he said of the Law Makers. “The only reason they haven’t put you under arrest too at this point is out of politeness. You still have a position in this city. Don’t give them an excuse.”
Jackson had attempted to bring an alliance with the Beckingridges. He knew it would be a sure-fire way of gaining influence in The Shady City so he reached out to one of the richest families in Coldford.
“And who are you!?” spat Elizabeth Beckingridge, still frustrated with her own lockdown.
Jackson tried to explain but as far as Elizabeth was concerned it was better the devil you know.
“Jackie Owen ma’am. Think of what we can achieve!” he propositioned her.
“I deal with the organ grinder not the monkey,” she said dismissively. “Have Charles call me if he wants to talk.”
Jackson refused to give up.
“I’m going to be taking over things,” he told her.
She seemed to have been distracted by Law Makers on her lawns. “Fuck off!” she yelled. “The rose bushes assaulting you? Maybe if we weren’t stepping all over them, we wouldn’t get pricked by thorns.”
“Ma’am, if you would…” Jackson tried to call her attention.
Elizabeth sighed, “I don’t really have time for whatever your nonsense is, nor would I care for it if I did. I’m not shopping at the moment but if I ever need whatever it is you’re selling, I’ll call you.”
“Ma’am, if you’ll hear my…”
“Gah! He just won’t shut up,” she murmured to someone else who must have been in the room with her.
“It’s important that we talk,” Jackson suggested.
“Who even are you?” she asked again.
“Jackson Owen.”
“No,” she returned sharply and rang off.
Elizabeth would rather battle Chick on her terms than play nice with a distant cousin she had never met. Presley Cage had already advised her against getting involved in the Owen dispute anyway. Bored under house arrest, she was finally starting to listen.
‘She’s not the real CEO anyway,’ Jackson grumbled. ‘She’s a stuck-up author who’s throwing her grandfather’s money about like she has her own mint.’
With this in mind he turned to George.
“Kappa So!” he yelled down the phone at him. “You ain’t got the God balls.”
Jackson could swear he heard Buddy’s squealing laughter in the background. Weren’t they supposed to be on community service?
“As frustrating as it can be we need to play the Law Maker game right now,” was Ronnie’s suggestion.
Chick groaned but he hadn’t gotten as far as he had by letting things get to him. He may not have been able to get to the Great States and stop his board from abandoning him completely but he still had those loyal to him.
Marshall Cooper – VP of finance and distribution. Austin Perry – VP of marketing. Both of them were Kappa So and Chick’s brothers for life.
***
8am. Star State. The Owen Inc. board was assembled. The smell of fresh coffee was in the air. A plate of pastries that had been baked just that morning was on the table.
Jackson had deliberately kept Austin Perry and Marshall Cooper at bay. He only needed a 70% vote anyway. He was convinced of all but those two. The motion to remove Chick was all but done. What choice did the board have? They were in a sticky situation and things in Coldford were getting worse by the minute. Jackson himself looked pleased. He had it. It was so close he could feel it in their hands. They only had to vote.
“We’ve got a lot to do today so I’m just going to go ahead and get started,” Jackson announced.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Ozzy and Marshall?” Kathleen spoke up. She was an old squeeze of The Cappy’s and the mother hen of Kappa Si sorority.
Jackson frowned at the interruption. After paying a visit to the Sorority House he thought they had an understanding.
“Chick doesn’t care about you,” he had said the previous night. “He only cares about his own damn dynasty. He’ll screw anyone that gets in the way of that.” He had tried to ply her with alcohol but it had been he who had passed out, not she. Still, he figured they had reached an agreement.
“Austin and Marshall have made their feelings clear already,” stated the meeting’s chair.
Kathleen gave a wry smile. “You’re really going to do this?”
“Gross incompetency, criminal activity, allowing profits to fall because of theft from terror groups. Tell me why I shouldn’t do this?”
Kathleen’s smile spread a little wider.
“When you showered this morning did you clean your ass?”
The rest of the board looked to Jackson for an answer to this all-intriguing question.
Jackson scowled. “What’s your point Kathleen?”
Kathleen pursed her lips. “I’m just saying. If you’re going to show everyone else’s skid marks you better make sure your ass is squeaky fucking clean.”
“I’m worried,” was Jackie’s reply, trying to keep a professional tone. It was, after all, to be his first meeting as the Owen Inc. CEO.
“We’re all worried,” was the reply.
Marshall Cooper of Cooper Garage and Austin ‘Ozzy’ Perry of Perry Zoo had decided it was a board meeting worth attending after all.
“We’ve got a word from our real CEO,” said Austin. A thick Southern Hemisphere accent danced on his tongue.
He tapped his phone a couple of times and an image of Chick flicked onto the board room screens.
“Good mornin’,” he greeted with a warm smile. “I’m sorry I can’t be there with y’all in person but I guess we all have to take our turns sitting on the naughty step from time to time. I don’t need to tell you that, huh Dutsy? Been in every penitentiary in the state and still carrying on.”
Dusty – addressed by The Cappy – chuckled nervously.
The Cappy went on.
“I can see y’all are set up quite nicely. CJ, you lay off those pastries now. You know Marsha is worried about your cholesterol.”
CJ shied away. He had probably already been thinking about the pastries.
“I would just like for you all to know that I have no intentions of leaving you. I most certainly wouldn’t be leaving you in Jackson’s hands. Bless him. Snakes don’t have any arms. Those of you who object to that can feel free to depart your stations, no hard feelings. If you do choose to stay, however, you are on the understanding that it is my leadership that you abide by.”
Chick awaited the response from his board. When there was none, he continued. He turned to Jackson.
“Jackie,” he began. “You and I need to have words but I worry that if I begin, I might not be able to curb my cussing. These good people don’t need to hear that. They don’t need to see me having a dying duck fit because you are one slimy, yella, egg-sucking son a’ bitch. So, it’s sufficed to say you are to pack your belongings and, as much as it would hurt our dear pops, you are never to grace my office or my home ever again. In not so many words – you’re fired. The rest of you? Should you choose to continue you will be toeing a very thin line. If those terms aren’t agreeable to you then join Jackson there as he scrambles to pack his suitcase. Need a help there Jackie? Marsh, give him a hand there, will ya?”
Marshall Cooper lifted Jackson’s briefcase and slid it across the conference room table. Jackson caught it just before it fell off the other side.
“Damn it, Chick!” Jackson grumbled.
The Cappy was unmoved. “That’s Captain to you,” he replied with a slight curl of his lip. “If you could slither out of my conference room with a little more urgency, I’d be much obliged.”
“Now that we have that most unfortunate business behind us, I have some ideas for the next quarter that Marshall will be happy to take you through.”
“Then I’ll leave you to it,” said Chick. “I’m only a phone call away and despite what Jackson would have you believe, I’m not in prison. I’m merely helping the Law Makers of Coldford with their investigations.”
Jackson did depart the office. They would still have the vote but there was sure as hell no way they were going to motion for The Cappy’s removal now. His thoughts were to regroup. The Cappy had other ideas.
***
“Barbara!” Jackson was yelling down the phone in a message to the secretary. “Chick has pulled a fast one with the board. The board won’t vote on the appeal. Damn it, Barbara! I need you to book me the next flight out of here.”
ZOOM.
He had fled the Owen Inc. building in such a rush he hadn’t realised how far onto the road he had stumbled. He had almost been hit by a prestigious looking blue car.
“I’m fucking walking here!” Jackson screamed after it sped off round the corner onto Second Street.
“Barbara, call me back as soon as you get this.”
Unbeknownst to Jackson, Barbara was at her table listening to the message but she wasn’t accepting any calls. Instead, she was stood with a group of Kathleen’s Kappa Si around her – her little chickadees.
“Just let the call go,” the Chapter Leader warned her.
Barbara didn’t really have much choice.
The roads were getting busy. The little blue compact car had just turned the corner when a yellow one – stream lined and sleek for speed – came rushing by. Jackson had just managed to get out of its way, edging onto the sidewalk opposite the Owen Inc. building.
“Fucking world’s gone mad,” Jackson was still grumbling but as the road quietened again, he came upon a most luxurious vehicle. A shimmer glinted from Marshall Cooper’s personal car. Long, stately and with a body to die for she was named Jewel and she was Marshall’s pride and joy.
“You fucking prick, Marshall,” Jackson scowled at the car.
He could see his angered expression reflected in Jewel’s tinted windows. It actually helped him to feel a little better.
Zoom.
Apparently, there were no fucking speed limits on the road because this time a green car zipped past. Was that a Cooper badge on its ass? Probably. They were all Cooper cars in these parts.
Jackson took a pen knife from his pocket. The alarms would start screaming the moment he touched the precious jewel like a big old rape alarm but hopefully he could at least get in some deep scratches before she bit back.
The tip of the knife touched the paint.
BOOM!
A car fired its exhaust with gusto. Its bark seemed to bring all other sounds to a halt. The birds in the trees near by hushed their song.
Jackson turned. Shit! It was Cooper badges on those other cars. He should have known. Marshall had brought his show cars with him, the fleet he proudly called the Mad Dogs.
The red one, Cherry, was now facing him. Her engine was growling deeply. Named after the deep red paint on her sturdy body, Cherry was the dog with the loudest bark.
BOOM!
Her exhaust fired again sending angry flames sparking behind her. Jackson backed away from Jewel. He dropped the knife and ran through the alley that led onto second street but just as he got there Sunny – the yellow dog – was racing down the road towards him. He had stupidly dashed towards a quiet section of the area where no one was around. Sunny was sleek and fast. Even Jewel herself would have trouble keeping up with her. That dog was a racer and she loved to run.
At a slower pace, the blue one – Sky – rounded the corner. She didn’t need speed. With a compact, two-seater body, Sky was the dog with the ears. Navigation was her attribute and she was the spotter on the hunt. True to her nature she stopped and she watched as Sunny darted to the bottom of the road towards Third Avenue, rounded on open ground and turned to come back.
BOOM!
Cherry barked her exhaust angrily as she turned the corner from Main onto Second to join her pack.
“There’s one more,” Jackson remembered with a gulp.
Where the fuck was the green one, they called Emerald?
As though in answer to that Emerald came charging through the alley. Stream lined and with a steering system so tight there wasn’t a corner she couldn’t handle. Emerald was the performer of the Mad Dogs and she loved to show how smoothly she could take the sharpest of corners, dance and nip into tight spaces. She charged through the narrow alley which would prove problematic for the muscle-bound Cherry or even the speedy Sunny. The breath escaped Jackson with a sudden whack against his back as Emerald nuzzled him onto the road. Sunny cut his path as he scrambled forward. All the while, Sky kept her eye on her pack’s prey.
BOOM!
Jackson was thrown back by Cherry’s fiery bay. The heat of the flaming exhausts sizzled on the skin of his face.
Still gasping for breath, Jackson tried to clamber to his feet. His heart was racing. The hit from Emerald had blurred his vision. He could hear Cherry’s engine rumble in a low growl. The sun glinted on Sunny’s shining body obscuring the vision of all else.
“Wait!” gasped Jackson.
SCREECH!
Emerald skid. Her wheels screamed and Jackson was thrown forward just as Sunny zoomed past catching him as he fell.
BOOM!
Cherry roared and dashed towards him.
Thud. The full weight of the bulkiest dog crushed his leg beneath her paws.
SCREECH!
Emerald twisted and leapt, only just nudging the body over onto its back. Jackson choked as blood began to gather in his lungs.
CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
Sky rolled a little closer.
The Mad Dogs’ chew toy had just enough consciousness to see the pack of primary colours draw in on him, ready to tear him apart as per their master’s command.
Page Break
***
Bleep. Bleep.
The crash test car appeared excited to be put to use. The motion-sensor lights sparked to life as the Cooper drivers wheeled Jackson to the back of the garage. The Cooper Crash car, Calamity, had already been set up for a frontal impact test.
“Let’s try thirty-five miles per hour,” it was suggested. The excitability of the attack had calmed to cold callousness.
Jackson was placed in position in the driver’s seat. The paint that would normally be splashed onto the high impact areas of the dummy was splashed on the him instead.
The passenger door opened. Jackson’s head dropped onto his left shoulder. The driver of Sunny popped her head in. She raised a phone and took a photo.
“Before and after,” Marshall had requested.
Jackson had no more energy to resist or object. The pain of the injuries they had inflicted on him was starting to intensify as the shock wore off. A dummy was on the seat beside him. Its head was turned towards him. He tried to reach out and push it away but the strength in his arm failed him. There was knocking on the window. The Mad Dogs were watching him. Their faces were covered with their protective gear. The wash of colours of their signature suits seemed quite surreal.
He looked out the window and could see the driver of Sky head to the control panel. The button was pushed. Thirty-five miles per hour. The car smashed into the concrete wall. It was a crushing impact. Don’t try to take the driver’s seat if you can’t keep a hold of the wheel.
***
A week passed after Jackson ‘Jackie’ Owen’s death. When I learned of it, I contacted The Cappy to gather his thoughts.
“An automobile accident,” he said. “That is most unfortunate. I always told him to keep his mind on the road. That is a busy juncture there outside the building. He had been caught short before, I don’t mind telling you. I had warned him he was going to meet an untimely end if he weren’t careful.”
I knew then that there was more to it.
“An accident, was it?” I pressed.
“Now, Mr Crusow, I have answered everything I am prepared to regarding that. As far as Jackson is concerned, I would appreciate it if you allowed me to deal with my own family affairs.”
That had been that. Accommodating enough that he didn’t seem to have anything to hide and dismissive enough to show he was not inviting any more questions.
“Jackass!” was all Billy would say on his father’s death.
The Cappy seemed confident that he had managed to navigate the choppy waters so far. The Law Makers were easing off, finding everything in order as far as Jerry was concerned. It seemed the call made to Jerry the night of the club attack had come from none other than Jackson. Coincidence? Of course. The truth? Highly unlikely. So, whilst Sanjay took a closer look at the call records, Sophie and her Golem were treated to all the hospitality Owen Estate had to offer.
Marshall Cooper had taken a detour from his showcase in Luen to the board meeting in the Star State but was now on his way to Coldford promising the arrival of his Mad Dogs in the city. Joining him was Austin Perry, Ozzy to his friends, and given everything that had happened in Coldford thus far it was actually good to see a little vibrancy and excitement garner around the zoo located in the heart of Coldridge Park.
So, when Jewel pulled up outside of Owen Estate there was a reunion of old Kappa So brothers and one would be treated to seeing Charles ‘Chick’ Owen, respectfully tilted The Cappy, greet his old bro with a Kappa So handshake.
“Coops!” he cheered. “Good to see you, brah.”
A young man with a law maker pin approached them demanding to know the name of the visitor for the record.
“My name?” Marshall scowled. “You little prick. What’s your name?”
“Cooper,” the Cappy answered for him. “He’s Cooper. He’ll provide identification.”
Marshall reluctantly dug into his wallet and showed the Law Maker his driving licence. Satisfied he had completed his duty the Law Maker wandered off to liaise with his superior.
“Little prick,” Marshall grinned. “How you doin’ Chick?”
Chick gave a hearty laugh. “You son a’ bitch. It’s been too long.”
“Kappa So!”
They were interrupted by a Southern Hemisphere voice as Austin arrived on scene.
“Bugger me,” he said. “I just had to show my damn ID to get onto the property. They really got you hemmed in, mate.”
The handshake was shared between them and more reunions were made. It was time to get down to business.
“Hello boys,” greeted Kathleen, who was waiting for them in The Cappy’s den. “You all took your time. When you are done sucking each other’s cocks I’d really like to get things moving. I got an appointment at four.”
“Good to see you too, Kathleen. Flight was fine by the way,” Austin replied in a tease.
The Cappy took a seat behind his desk.
“There’s a lot of trouble going on here in the city and I sure could use your help in straightening it out,” Chick put to them. “Firstly, the Coldford Daily is hanging by a thread, competing with independents and that kitty box liner set up by Elizabeth Beckingridge.”
“Why is she having her say?” Marshall demanded to know. “Where the fuck is George and why hasn’t he taken control? The fucking compass? Bitch…”
“George is in the fold but, well, you’ll see for yourself when you come to meet him. Suffice to say he ain’t got the sense the good Lord gave a goat. Kathleen, I would like you to take charge of the Daily. If there’s anyone I can trust to whip it into shape, it will be you.”
“Sure,” Kathleen agreed. She was a PR maven and most of her Kappa Si chicks were following close at her heel.
“Damage control is priority. Then we permanently remove the competition.”
Kathleen nodded.
“Marshall, I would like for you to take the Auction House. Now that the phoney king is gone and two of his crotch goblins are behind bars, it’s time to make some use of it and by use, I mean money. The Penn line is in the hands of the youngest. He doesn’t seem to remember much from his time with our boys but tread carefully because who knows when he may suddenly spark a brain cell. If he retrieves his Auction House back it will avoid some difficult questions later but I want to make sure we don’t leave the arrangement without recuperating some losses.”
Marshall groaned and bit down on his own cigar. “You’re leaving me to deal with the dim wit? Bro, that sucks.”
Chick shook his head. “I’m entrusting you with the Auction House,” he said. “It’s an important piece of the puzzle here in Coldford and if there is anyone who can get it off of our hands and still gain something from it, you’re the man.”
Marshall relented. He removed his phone from his pocket and immediately started to research the Auction House in City Main.
“Looks like a shit hole,” he commented as he took a draw on his cigar.
“Ozzy, I will need you on your best behaviour because you, my friend, are going to be just what this city needs. You are going to entertain, charm and draw the crowds with the help of them Stokers.”
Austin grinned. “I didn’t realise the circus had come to town.”
Chick nodded. “It never really left. It’s always a three-ring circus around here as you will all find out soon enough. The Stokers need somewhere to set up and your zoo sounds about right. Does that agree with you?”
Austin whole heartedly agreed. “Piece of piss, brah,” he said. “People don’t visit zoos the way they used to. Too many animal activists. Most of them doing more harm to the animals than good.”
The Cappy leaned back in his chair. He had been so long dealing with his son’s antics, he was close to forgetting what it was like to work with a competent team.
“We got a lot of work to do,” Chick assured them. “But I am mighty glad ya’ll are here. First thing’s first. Harbour House are allowing us to visit the boys in rehab. We’ll start by checking just how much those rascals have learned.”
“Spoke to Dale just last night,” Marshall explained. “He said his bed is comfortable, the food is good and he’s got a gym. Shit! He’s supposed to be learning a lesson and that dumbass thinks it’s a fucking resort.”
Kathleen craned her neck and looked out of the window.
“Chick,” she asked. “Was that a Law Maker lady I just saw pass by your window?”
Chick looked behind him. “That’ll be Sophie. Thankfully, she and her colleagues will be making a timely departure. Do any of you speak sign language?”
***
It had been on an afternoon when I was visiting Olivia and Milo that I first became alerted to the presence of the Kappa Elders in Coldford.
Olivia and I were discussing current affairs in the city and her support of Harbour House in her capacity as a social worker. She had been to Faulds Park to visit Reggie so I was keen to hear what she had found.
“Reggie still maintains he remembers as far as getting to Coldridge but it’s blank until he met up with Tabitha,” she said.
“Do you think he’s lying? Covering for someone?”
Olivia shook her head. “I don’t think so. He asked for his mother when he got back. It had to be explained to him all over again. His grief was real. The doctors working with him say that it’s like some loose wiring that will repair over time. They wanted him to look at the video and see if he could remember anything but I didn’t think that was wise. He’s not ready for that. The one who actually committed the rape died in prison the day after Simon and Marcus left the prayer room.”
“How did he die?”
“He was hung in his cell. I don’t think it was Marcus or Simon. I fear if they had gained access to him, they would have done much worse. It was most likely one of the Kappa So brothers covering their tracks.”
“What about Tabitha?” I asked.
Olivia said, “I tried to explain to her that the death penalty is still very real but she’s settled back at the club for now and is teaching David Finn about running the Knock Knock.”
“Dear God,” I gasped.
Olivia laughed. “She truly does want what is best for the people in the Shanties. With Tawny around she’s trying so hard…”
“Mum, look!”
Milo came dashing in, having just arrived home from school. When he realised his mother had company he stopped.
“Sorry,” he said. “Hi, Mr Crusow.”
I smiled at him. The boyish innocence was a breath of fresh air.
“How are you, Milo?” I asked.
“I’m good,” he said genuinely. He had been spending more time with his dad and it seemed to be going well. Reynolds – who had been working closely with Dennis recently – seemed to think the boy was doing him good.
“I just saw this through the letter box,” he passed his mum the flier.
STOKER CIRCUS PRESENTS FUN TIME AT THE ZOO.
Sponsored by Owen Inc.
”Can we go?” Milo asked.
If this was going to be The Cappy’s return to Coldford it was going to be a circus indeed. So, I took up the invitation and arranged to tag along.
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What can we say about Father Gerald ‘Jerry’ Owen? He is the shame of his powerful family and he cares not a jot about that fact. Over the years his decadent behaviour is well documented. Most notably he stands accused of abusing countless young girls, using his place in the Church of St Wigan as a cover.
Church of St Wigan on Hathfield Bay Island.
One of his victims includes the notable Boss Lady of the Knock Knock club, TABITHA. You will be pleased to note though that was where his life as a libertine came to an abrupt end. Details of his very disgraceful exit from society are still sketchy but it was confirmed he came to a grisly realisation he needed to stop thinking with his crotch!
Tabitha was just as feisty as a youngster.
Joining the church was something of a last resort for Jerry. His brothers, his father and his dear mother were all at their wit’s end. When the abuse started to surface more and more thanks to protests outside his church thanks to the Knock Knock Baroness, TAWNY, he realised his number was up. He was not immortal.
The Baroness was quite the Holy shit stirrer.
Jerry had an easy life in the Church. His family were huge benefactors so he had the largest parish and every luxury a Holy man could ever hope to indulge in. Things changed though. The Church fell to the new leadership who weren’t quite as sympathetic to his quirks. As with any cult It was time to follow or lose it all. When the purge came, Jerry Owen could not be saved.
Jerry Owen was sent into the priesthood to be hidden as the family shame. When the Church of St Wigan decide on a zealous new leader it could expose everything.
Dan had arrived in his usual excitable way. He was waving a copy of Marble Mantle in his hand.
“Can I get a signature?” he asked laying the book before me.
With a spark of pride, I obliged him.
“What’s this?” Lydia asked lifting the book into her hand.
“Sam’s book,” said Dan. “Only the best read out there today.”
He was giving a lot of credit, but I was pleased he was enjoying my work.
“Awww,” Lydia chuckled. “Look at your picture. That’s so cute.”
“Well,” I mumbled, “I liked to try my hand at a bit of fiction.”
I watched nervously as the agent opened the pages and started to read.
“It was just for fun, really,” I added.
Lydia set the book down. Kim who had been working on a computer at the time leaned back.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Sam wrote a book,” Lydia called her.
I was beginning to blush by this point.
“A book?” Kim asked with some surprise. She took out her phone and within a few moments she announced. “Found it. I’m ordering a copy.”
“It was a passion project,” I started to say. “More a hobby than anything…”
Franklin passed. “Just downloaded it,” he cheered. “Start that tonight I think.”
I found myself giggling anxiously.
“It was a long time ago. It was quite experimental.”
Leaning on my shoulder Lydia asked Dan, “Can I borrow your copy? I prefer paperbacks.”
Dan agreed with a grin. “As long as you’re not a page folder.”
“Nope,” Lydia returned, “I’m purely a book mark girl.”
“I was just trying something a bit different,” I said.
“Just had a read of the first page,” said Reynolds. “Sounds real bomb!”
TO MY FRIEND DAN. I had signed. KEEP MAKING A DIFFERENCE.
As I was called to step back out into the city, it was time to take my own advice.
***
“Marcus?” Simon Penn whispered. “Marcus?”
He couldn’t see his brother. The prayer room required reflection and for that the sinner was placed in an all-consuming darkness. Marcus could stay quiet. Maybe he was reflecting but it drove Simon to frustration. Had it been days? Hours? Without any natural light it was hard to tell.
He reached out and he could feel his brother’s shoulder. It was unmoving and cold. Had he died? Was he the last triplet?
But alas, he felt Marcus’ hand pat his. Just as he did the door opened.
“Get up,” someone called.
Simon could see Marcus now. His expression was neutral as always. Simon wished he would show some anger or frustration so he could see a reflection of himself and how he was feeling. He made to leave but Marcus held him back.
“You can get up,” the voice beckoned again.
Finally, a hand was extended to help them free of their prayers. On this occasion God hadn’t been at home. The hand was callused. The man himself was dressed in the garb of an inmate. Two guards were with him.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said. “I’m Vincent Baines.”
Vincent Baines – ex music teacher of George Beckingridge – looked calm. Simon and Marcus had heard of him. They were curious as to why he would be there to greet them. There was no sign of the governor Avery West.
“Tawny was a dear friend of mine,” said Vincent. “As a favour to her I wanted to make sure you were okay. The governor doesn’t want the place spilling into riots so he’s agreed to put you back in the west unit. You’ll be safe there, for now.”
“Did they find Reggie?” Simon asked.
Vincent shook his head. “I wouldn’t know,” he gestured towards the guards that accompanied him. Trust was a tricky thing within The Boss.
Vincent had a cart of books. He had been assigned the duty of passing out reading material to the inmates. He handed a copy of a Liz Beck novel to Marcus who instinctively opened it at the page that had been folded. To a casual observer it would seem like a clumsy reader had closed the book incorrectly. Marcus took note of the words that had been underlined in faint pencil.
Mother. Safe. Your. Is.
He looked up at Vincent who pushed the spectacles nervously from the end of his nose.
“Thank you,” said the eldest triplet.
“I’m just passing on the message,” Vincent replied with a smile.
***
The Beckingridge Plaque had been salvaged from the wreckage of Pettiwick. Charles ‘Chick’ Owen had examined it closely. It would be returned. He had already allowed himself to fall to Elizabeth’s level of petulance. The site was still busy. The Fullertons continued on their task of breaking and building things.
“Mr Owen!” a woman was waving from the crowd of onlookers. She seemed eager for his attention. She had a warm, wide smile and rosy cheeks.
“It’s alright,” he said to his security.
He approached the woman and allowed her to say her piece. His father always taught him never to leave someone hanging who wished for his attention so badly. Good or bad, people needed to know an Owen never shirked comment.
“My name is Hetty Lynn,” she said. “My son received one of the Owen Scholarships to Filton.”
The woman was beaming with pride. She clutched his hand and was patting it affectionately.
“That’s mighty nice to hear,” said The Cappy. “What field has he chosen?”
Hetty was excited she had the CEO’s attention.
“Sports science. He’d like to work with one of the big football teams one day.”
“I’m pleased we could help.”
Hetty clutched his hand tighter.
“Without that scholarship he would never have been able to. You’ve given my son an opportunity he would never have had otherwise.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Chick replied. “I’m flattered but if the boy has the mind and determination to shoot for that opportunity it’s all down to his mama’s encouragement.”
Hetty blushed.
“You’re a good man, Mr Owen,” she stated.
The Cappy thought of the plaque again.
“In a world where that ain’t easy, I try to do the best I can,” he stated honestly.
“Why you giving free rides?” he had been asked when the scholarship program had been set up. The truth was if Buddy was going to be put through Filton by the grace of his family name at least some of his classmates should be deserving of the place.
Buddy was overindulged. Chick knew that. He wouldn’t change that if he could. He wanted his son to have every opportunity he could. With the support of Ronnie he liked to put mind to those who weren’t so lucky. With Ronnie’s mind and Chick’s push, Owen Inc offered hundreds of scholarships to low-income families with the exciting option of studying abroad in the Great States.
“You tell your boy to keep his head down and continue to make us proud,” said Chick to Hetty.
She nodded.
“I will,” she said. “I will.”
He waved to the crowds, gave some insight into his vision for the school and shared a coffee and photo op with Filton Crier reporters, who couldn’t find a flaw, as desperately as they tried. When the day came to a close, he passed the plaque to an Owen Inc. Employee.
“Send this to Beckingridge Manor,” he instructed. “It’s no use to us moving forward and I’m sure Elizabeth would like to have it back.”
***
She had lived in Coldford her entire life but Elizabeth Beckingridge had never been in the Shanties before. She had heard many tales spill out from it and she used these tales as inspiration when trying to capture a gritty existence that she herself had never experienced.
“I suppose I should go check on this club of mine,” she had concluded.
She had been advised against taking her usual limo. It would have done her no favours appearing snobbish and car crime was rife in the area. Luxury vehicles that entered the Shanties stood little chance of leaving again. The exception was Tabitha’s red Porche. The personalised B055 L4DY licence plate was the warning.
It was a bumpy ride in Gramps’ old estate car. When Elizabeth finally climbed out, she exclaimed as she took it all in.
‘Wow!’ she thought to herself. ‘People actually live here?’
What had drawn her attention the most was the cries from around Coldford about the good that the Knock Knock Club had being doing under the Baroness and subsequently her sociopathic niece. In a quest to see this for herself, Elizabeth approached the reception of the shelter. A couple of volunteers were doing all they could to restore the facility. An older man was putting cheap flat pack cabinets together.
“I’m Elizabeth Beckingridge,” the financial dragon announced. “I bought over this place.”
A woman who was cleaning windows scowled at her.
“Well, it’s nice for Her Ladyship to come down and join us,” she said with some frustration. “I hope you aren’t thinking of selling this place on.”
“I don’t need business advice from a window cleaner,” Elizabeth hissed back.
A woman named Margaret – according to her name tag – stepped behind reception and called, “Don’t listen to her. Andrea? Shut your mouth.”
She led Elizabeth to an open part of the hall. Elizabeth decided a call to Fullerton would be required. The place was badly needing fixed up. She looked to her phone only to find there was no reception.
“Argh,” she gasped. “Do you have some kind of telephone?”
“No,” Margaret explained. “The Law Makers cut our lines.”
Margaret watched the Beckingridge Dragon look around. It was no secret the Boss Lady had stoked that fire when she had fifty-nine people thrown from the tower. Ernest may have been the dragon with no puff but Elizabeth was quite a different character all together.
“Please don’t close the shelter,” she gave her plea. “People around her are passionate about it. We all take our turns to keep it afloat. We need this place here.”
On the walls hung photos of Knock Knock girls, shelter volunteers and some of the people who had found refuge there. There was also Agnes Wilde and Tawny, wearing Knock Knock t-shirts and posing with some of their rescues like they were family. Finally there was Tabitha, the lunatic.
“We need this place,” Margaret reiterated. “Please don’t shut it down.”
The truth was Elizabeth hadn’t really considered what her next step would be. She had only gotten so far as the look on Chick’s face when he didn’t win it. She had considered using its resources as a means to finding Tawny but then there was also Tabitha to consider.
“People fight for all kinds of reasons,” Gramps had once said to her.
This had been because of an altercation she had had as a youngster with some of the other Pettiwick girls but the words still held weight. Even Tabitha had been fighting for something. Wild creatures can become protective, sometimes viciously so.
“I want to help,” Elizabeth decided.
Her focus fell back on those the shelter had supported. Then she viewed Tabitha again. They had something worth fighting for. That didn’t mean there wouldn’t be differences along the way.
***
The Monte Fort in the far reaches of Cardyne was a lifeless building. Converted from an old prisoner of war camp it now held some of the most dangerous women in the Shady City.
Agnes Wilde had always known she would be a visitor to it one day. Whether it was to see Tawny or Tabitha was up to fate. Fate had decided on the latter. Agnes was glad of it none the less. After her stunt with the screens Tabitha had been moved back from the Annexe. The fallout from the office of Law Makers was still in discussions but for the time being they allowed Agnes to meet with her niece.
In a small room with a swarm of officers outside Agnes was given the opportunity she never thought she would have. Her first reaction was to pull Tabitha into her arms. Her second was to slap her.
“Nice to see you too!” Tabitha pouted.
Agnes hugged her tight again.
“I thought you were dead,” she said.
“So did most of Coldford. Nice to know what faith people had in me,” Tabitha mused. She smiled though. “You’re going grey,” she commented as they both sat at the table.
Agnes’ eyes widened. “I’m not surprised,” she replied. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?”
“Were you sentenced to death though?” Tabitha asked.
Agnes groaned.
“Were you though?” she pushed.
Agnes started to laugh. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “The entire city saw you call Judge Doyle a…” Agnes stopped herself before the foul word escaped. “There are still plenty who don’t believe it was real. They think it was a hoax.”
Tabitha giggled girlishly. “I wish I could have been on the street to see me,” she sighed. “Tee would have loved it. Do you think she saw?”
“Perhaps,” Agnes offered the chance. “She would be screaming.”
Tabitha smiled. She softened when she did so. It stood as a reminder that she wasn’t quite as mature as she could seem by looking at her. She was still a young girl playing dress up at heart.
“What’s happening with my club?”
“It’s our club, remember,” Agnes warned. “When the Law Makers seized everything, they brought in a buyer.”
“Who?” Tabitha asked with a severe frown.
Agnes raised her chin. “Promise me you won’t get upset.”
“Who bought it?” Tabitha pressed.
“Beckingridge,” she admitted.
Tabitha shook her head. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”
“It was either that or Owen inc. Since Ernest Beckingridge is dead and buried it was his sister, Elizabeth, who took over.”
“The one that writes all those shitty books?” Tabitha scoffed. “That’s worse.”
Agnes disagreed. “No,” she said. “What would have been worse would have been it taken completely. That was a very real possibility. At least Elizabeth has agreed to leave it as it is.”
Tabitha folded her arms across her chest and huffed. “I suppose.”
Agnes stood. She crossed round the table and wrapped her arms around Tabitha’s shoulders.
“I’m so relieved your alive,” she said.
Tabitha reached her hand and rested it on Agnes’ arm. Agnes kissed her head. They both knew it was far from over. Tawny didn’t nickname the girl Trouble for nothing.
***
Of course Karyn hadn’t been at her office when he got there. Micky Doyle knew his cousin and it wasn’t likely she hadn’t seen the screens.
“Looking at you Judge Doyle,” Tabitha had said. “Cunt!”
Karyn was going to be furious. One of her clerks, Diane, had taken a statement from him. He tried to explain the coercion he had faced. He tried to place the blame at the feet of Reginald Penn but Diane only seemed interested in one thing.
“Why was the execution not carried out as planned?”
“You should bring Elizabeth Beckingridge in,” said Micky in response. “She helped Reginald Penn. She’s aiding a known criminal.”
Diane tapped on her computer keys with her long finger nails. She looked up from her screen at him.
He had no choice but to admit everything. He was taken to holding. He wasn’t too concerned. It was probably best for his own safety. At least it was the Bailiffs he was dealing with and not the Black Bands.
Excruciating days passed. Karyn didn’t personally appear. Bailiffs and clerks attended him. They had him retell and retell his version of events until he was physically and emotionally exhausted. His tears and sweat and dehydrated him. All the while they asked, “Why was Her Honourable’s execution order not carried out?”
Eventually Karyn did appear. Her ghostly pale face didn’t seem real at first. Micky’s mind tried to wake him up from the nightmare but alas she was still there.
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Karyn. I made such a mess of things.”
Karyn said nothing. She watched him with a cool, predatory stare. “I realise how much of a mess this is. I didn’t want anyone to talk to Tabitha. Reginald Penn threatened me. He was going to kill me.”
Karyn’s expression didn’t change. There was no flicker of emotion on her lips or in her eyes. No anger. No pity. No sorrow.
“Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this better. Please Karyn just say something.”
The Judge’s lips parted. Finally she spoke. “I’m here in the capacity of my office. We aren’t family in here. You will therefore address me with my proper title.”
“Your Honour,” Micky whimpered.
“You disgraced yourself. You disgraced your position as mayor and you disgraced the Doyle name.”
“I’m so sorry,” Micky tried again.
“Not only that,” Karyn went on, but you also have potentially allowed a dangerous criminal to walk free. A criminal my office, my agents and my clerical staff worked hard to bring to justice. Court Clerk Melanie Wallace was murdered. The reporter, Sam, was pit against his colleague. The entire South of the city has been torn apart and because of your ineptitude it could all have been for nothing. Quite a feat I must say, when you have only been in office a few months. So, I ask you, why was my execution order not carried out?”
Micky had almost fallen to the floor.
“I want to make it better,” he said. “Let me make it better.”
“You will begin by making a public address. You will inform the people of Coldford of what you did and why you did it. You will speak the truth to them regardless of how it makes you look.”
Micky agreed. He was finally removed from holding and taken to City Face.
***
Evening had fallen. City Face boomed its ticking across the lawns. Media feeds were set up relaying to all outlets and screens. Because of the part played by Coby Games, they had been sanctioned by the Law Makers. Joshua Colby was cooperative. The signed permission from the mayor was his protection.
The Black Bands had assembled under the control of Van Holder. Monsta’ was by his side. They crowd was held back. They dared not move any closer than the Black Bands would allow them. The football matches, the seizure of Mack Distillery by force, the very presence of the Black Bands was becoming enough of a deterrent.
Micky was brought to the podium. Like the stunt that brought him to the position he was in, Micky’s image was delivered to all parts of Coldford.
“People of Coldford,” he began. He hadn’t prepared a speech this time.
He felt it best the words come to him naturally. “It is with deep regret that I come to you with a confession. I, Michael Doyle, have abused my position as mayor. I have abused the trust you put in me. On advice of a doctor whom I considered a friend.” Here he stopped. He changed his mind. “I was given an opportunity to profit from the death of a criminal who was due for execution. I deliberately concealed this criminal, having you believe that she was already dead, so that the sale of her organs could be arranged. This is a criminal act of which I take full responsibility. I deeply regret my actions and I now throw myself on the mercy of the High Court and I ask for leniency.”
Micky looked through the crowd. His whole body trembled. Where was Cameron? There was someone he recognised though. The figure offered little comfort. Whimsical old-style clothing, long wig-like hair. Eugene Morris, aka The Tailor clutched his hat to his chest. There was a priest of the same order muttering a prayer. They called him the Holy Brother.
‘Why was he there?’ Micky wondered. Before he could enquire, The Judge took over proceedings.
“Michael Doyle,” she said. “You have given a confession here today witnessed by thousands. Your abuse of power has left me with little choice. What we see here today is a waste of talent, of potential and of lives. When I accepted my position in the High Court, I took an oath that said I would make no exceptions. I swore that if those of my own blood were brought before me, showing favouritism is something I would never do. The disgrace you have brought upon yourself and the city will be punished to the fullest extent of the law granted to me. Letting a criminal walk free after giving my signature to her execution is something I would also never do. I hereby invoke article 22 which states that should a member of high office be convicted of a capital crime sentencing can be given immediately without a trial of jurors. For authorising the unlawful killing of a convict you are found guilty. For trafficking human organs for print you are also guilty. For treason against the city by your own admission you are guilty. I hereby sentence you to death by firing squad.
The crowd had fallen so quiet, only the clicking hooves of the Black Band’s mounted patrol echoed, timing with the ticking of the City Face.
Micky screamed. “No! Karyn don’t do this!” His foggy breath trailed in desperation in front of him.
The Judge ignored him. “Due to the nature of your crime, because of the mistrust you have brought to the legal process and because of the obligations of my office, sentence will be carried out immediately.”
Micky was escorted to the killing fields. It was an area in front of the building that had been where the gallows stood in days of old. During the Great Wars it was the spot where those convicted of espionage were executed. It had fallen out of use as legal battles turned more to court rooms and offices but that day as eight gun men rounded on Micky Doyle there was a return to the past.
“Aim,” ordered Van Holder.
Now the clicking of guns seemed to drown out the clock and Micky’s screams.
“Fire!”
Bullets erupted. One tore through Micky’s heart. With that, the second mayor of Coldford in such a short space it time lay dead on the lawns of City Face.
Tabitha had witnessed the execution. She watched Micky Doyle die and for the first time she had been lost for words. It appeared her future hadn’t been written by quite so friendly an author.
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The moment Nathan learned about Nan Harvester’s arrest he made his way straight to Harvester Farm. Julia had a strained relationship with her mother. She had always been closer to her father but she would need someone with her. She would need someone to help her through. Harvester Farm was quiet and none of the farm hands were out on the fields, not even Glenn or Curtis. He was glad of that. The milking sheds the frat boys had made home were quiet too. He had seen Buddy in the news with his father back on Owen Estate. Hopefully he was out of Julia’s life for good.
If Glenn and Curtis were out on deliveries it was likely Julia had stayed behind to overlook things. There was always one of them left in charge.
He drove straight to the farmhouse. He hadn’t been back since that business with Susie. He was keen to check the fallout from it. Buddy may have been grinning for the papers but hopefully Glenn had put the fear of God into him. He would never dare step on the farm again. Susie could have died.
He rang the bell. It was a deep chime that echoed around the house. Through the frosted glass he could see a someone approach. It wasn’t Julia though. It was a man. The door opened. A wide grin greeted. The man was wearing Kappa So attire. The man was George.
“Hello Nathan,” he said. “Come to visit Jules? She’s not in at the moment.”
“Come in. She’ll be home soon.”
George stepped aside. Speechless, Nathan entered the hallway. George closed the door behind him. That was when he heard laughter in the dining room
“Buddy!” George called. “Nathan’s home.”
***
“Well, I’ll be a son a bitch!”
Nathan tried to run. He struggled with the door but George had wrapped his arm around his neck. Nathan threw his arm back and caught George’s face. He tried to struggle but the bros overpowered him.
Bound to the fence Nathan screamed. George’s nose wrinkled as the screech irritated his ears. Buddy shook his own head.
“I ain’t even started yet, bro.”
Nathan pleaded. “Julia would not approve. She would have none of this. Just let me go. I won’t come back.”
Chad handed Buddy a cannister of gasoline used for the farm equipment. He splashed it on Nathan.
“You coked up my little mascot, didn’t ya?” Buddy asked.
“Yes,” Nathan admitted. “It was me.”
Buddy growled, “You could have killed her. You’re a sicko.” He splashed more gasoline on him. “You almost got me my ass kicked and you had powda’ here all along?” Buddy started to become quite upset. “You’re a real piece of work, dude! I’ve seen some real sick shit in my time but you are something else. You see this guy?” Here he indicated George. “This guy wants to eat your face off but he still ain’t as sick as you.”
“I’m sorry,” Nathan begged. “Please don’t do this.”
“Maaaaah!” Gary the goat cried from his pen.
“This is none of your God damned business Gary,” Buddy warned the goat.
WHAM!
“See?” Buddy said to Nathan. “I’ve been learning about these animals and that goat says you’re a dickhead.”
“Maah!”
WHAM!
“I told him, Gary,” Buddy replied. Buddy calmed himself. “Nathan,” he said, “you messed with the wrong bro. I got a ton of shit in my tank right now. For pissing me off you’re gonna sizzle right here on this fence.”
Nathan cried. A wet stain spread across his crotch.
“God damnit!” Buddy exclaimed. “He’s gone and pissed himself. Is piss flammable because I really wanted his balls to burn.”
“No, it’s not,” George explained like quite the expert. “I pissed on my aunt’s cat once and she wouldn’t go on fire.”
Cooper folded his arms and raised his eyebrows. Chad seemed to be picturing it. Buddy’s lips pursed at the image of a cat running away as felines do, soaked in urine. Buddy must have found this amusing because he started to laugh. The image of George chasing after it still trying to piss on it made him laugh even harder.
“You see, Nathan? You see the kind of maniacs you’re dealing with here? I know he’s a bit touched but my bro here told you to stay away. You should have listened.”
“Maaaah!”
“Not now, Gary.”
WHAM!
Buddy’s phone started to jingle. He had no choice but answer.
“Yeah?” he asked. “Kinda in the middle of something here.”
“It’s the crime scene, mucker,” came the voice on the other end. “Agents are investigating it.”
Buddy had been such a bad boy lately he found himself having to ask.
“Which crime scene?”
“The shooting. The little girl and her deadbeat dad. It ain’t CPD who are looking. It’s the agents. This is a whole new breed of shit to deal with but we’re doing what we can to keep it clean.”
Buddy groaned. “Dick down my throat!”
He rang off.
Impatient and eager to hear Nathan’s screams George threw the lighter that had belonged to his father and flicked it onto Nathan.
“I didn’t say so yet,” Buddy complained. “I had a whole speech prepared and everything.”
George lowered his head. “Sorry, Buddy.”
Woooosh! The flames erupted, causing the bros to leap back. Buddy had been so enthused he hadn’t been paying much attention to how much petrol he was throwing.
“Maaaah!”
WHAM!
Gary the goat was distressed. Nathan’s screams as he burned shattered the generally calm ambience of Harvester Farm. There was another cry but it wasn’t from the goat. It was the roar of the bull. Gordon wasn’t liking that fuss the bros were causing on his fields. The flames tore along the fence of Gary’s enclosure.
“Shit!” Buddy exclaimed. “Get water before the whole place goes. Smells like barbeque.”
“Are we going to eat him?” asked George. Buddy frowned. He turned slowly to Brother Beckingridge. “You got some real problems, brah.”
Nathan’s screams softened. All pain and power dissolved from them when he gave himself to his end.
Crack. The fencing broke. The panels holding Nathan were charred and weakened.
They managed to douse the flames and pull Nathan’s body onto the field but the fencing was ruined.
“Maaaah!” Gary ran at Chad, catching him in the crotch.
“Catch that goat!” Buddy yelled.
George leapt at Gary almost catching him by his hind leg. Gary turned, bit him and escaped, running towards the east acre.
“God damnit! We gotta fix that fence. Chad? Coops? Find wood.”
Before the sniggers could start, he said, “Not now, brah. George? Catch that damn goat. We’ve got an hour before Julia gets back. We gotta clear this mess.”
“We’ll put him in the incinerator,” Chad offered.
“Are you trying to get funny? We already cooked him.”
“It’s how Julia gets rid of the bodies – dead cows and shit.”
Buddy gave a dreamy sigh. “That girl just makes me wanna…”
Before chasing after Gary, George asked, “Can I keep a bit of him for my collection?”
Buddy tousled his hair “Of course you can, dude. Go get the goat first.”
Gordon snorted over his fence.
‘I don’t like the way that bull keeps looking at me,’ he thought.
As his bros rushed to bring the farm back into order he looked down at the body of Nathan. There was still a little life left in him. His mouth opened and closed, chomping his last, like a fish out of water. Buddy could have shot him and ended it for him then but he was in no mood for mercy.
***
Buddy had returned to Owen Estate. That morning he had received a call.
“Just been down to the shooting site in the Shanties to get it cleared up.”
Buddy sat forward. His head was pounding and his mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton wool.
“Yeah? So?”
“It’s already been cleared. The agents must have been there. Are you sure you left a milk bottle?”
Buddy thought hard. “I did,” he said. “I had been watching for Kev for so long I got thirsty, bro. I was still wasted.”
CPD had always been looking for the shot from the left. The fake nest gave them everything they thought they needed. The trouble was now the agents were tailing Buddy. Big bro Billy couldn’t protect him from that.
Buddy leaned forward.
“This is a real shit show,” Buddy said to Cooper and Chad.
‘Take the little girl out first. Kev gonna learn a God damn lesson,’ Buddy could still hear his instructions.
Buddy had been so high. He could barely remember pulling the trigger.
***
Lydia arrived waving an envelope excitedly.
“It’s in,” she said.
Lydia and Kim had sampled the bottle that had been collected from the shooting site. Blonde hair from Buddy Owen had been extracted from him.
“This is it,” Kim said. “It’s sketchy at best pet, but it will at least let us bring him in for a closer look.”
Lydia passed the letter to Kim. She watched her expression as she read.
“This isn’t it,” she growled. “It says it’s not a match. I was so sure of it. My instincts were crying out!”
“Maybe the hair wasn’t Buddy’s,” Lydia suggested.
The hair sample they got had come from my coat, attached from the time I confronted him in main.
DNA could have put him at the scene of the crime at least. As Kim said though, it was sketchy at best. A good lawyer like Ronnie defending his nephew would have found it easy to convince the judge to throw it out. It was a start though. No match it said.
“We can’t bring him in with nothing to show for it. Doyle won’t go for that.”
Lydia suggested, “Then I’m going to speak to him.”
“Then tread carefully,” Kim warned.
Word had it that he was on Harvester Farm. If she was going to be able to corner him it would have to be done whilst he was there.
***
The alarms were screaming. Tawny grimaced with the noise as Cooper rushed around trying to switch them off. There were only seconds before CPD were alerted.
“Hurry, Coops!” Buddy was calling. “The last thing we need is Billy down here.”
415 – 29 – 4 – 11 – 12
Cooper desperately punched the buttons. He managed to deactivate.
“I want to speak to your Pa,” said Tawny as though she were telling off a neighbourhood child for running in the yard. She glared as though they were in a lot of trouble.
Buddy was in a lot of trouble. A man hunt was now on for the Baroness, funded by Elizabeth Beckingridge.
“You don’t know who I am lady,” said Buddy petulantly.
Tawny pursed her lips. “Owen,” she said. “Obviously.”
Buddy groaned. The Owens did tend to have a strong familial resemblance but that wasn’t what had caught Tawny’s attention.
“It’s on yer back, honey. Your jackets…” She pointed to Coops. “Cooper. I’m assuming Marshall Cooper’s son.” She pointed to Chad. “Perry. Do your family own the zoo? That’s a nice zoo.”
“Shut up, bitch,” Buddy warned. He was still trying to figure out what the Hell he was going to do.
“Let me talk to yer dad.”
“No way in Hell. Just shut your mouth. I’m a dangerous guy,” he said.
Chad was nodding in fervent agreement. He pointed to Buddy.
“You don’t wanna be messing with my bro, brah!” he warned.
“Thanks, Chad,” said Buddy.
“Got your back, brah.”
Tawny shook her head. It seemed the plan of the frat boys had been so quick to action they hadn’t fully thought out their process. They had just gone along with it. This is no surprise when we’re dealing with three individuals who had spent a lifetime avoiding consequences.
“Hide her away. I need time to think. I need powder,” Buddy decided.
Coops looked a little fidgety. He was anxious. He very much needed some powder too.
“Drugs aren’t the answer,” said Tawny.
Buddy frowned. “Will you shut up or I’m gonna gag ya.” He glared at Tawny and then started to laugh. To Cooper he said. “We should totally put an apple in her mouth!”
Tawny pouted. Cooper’s phone began to ring.
“It’s my dad,” he said.
“Chad, put her away somewhere. I can’t think straight. Coops, try and find out where Marsh keeps the rest of his stash.”
Chad gripped Tawny’s arm and led her to the secure storage cupboard.
“You are in a lot of trouble!” Tawny called.
The door was closed. Tawny took a deep breath. She dropped to a seat on the floor.
***
Lydia stopped in Bournton to have coffee with her sister, Cynthia, en route to Harvester Farm. Agent Lydia Lowe had wanted to wait until close to sun down when the farm hands had left and she would stand a better chance of finding Buddy. Cynthia had been telling her all about their father’s new hobby of watercolours. She showed her sister his first attempts as photos on her phone. Some time with Cynthia had been a breath of fresh air. It gave her a moment to compose herself before venturing on her task to corner Buddy.
Refreshed, she felt ready as she passed the sign to Harvester Farm. She slowed her bike as much as she could so as not to disturb the animals too much. There was one farm hand lingering on the field. He had parked a Harvester van by the paddock of the stud herd.
Curtis had been too busy in his own mind mumbling to himself. He hadn’t heard Lydia approach.
“Whoah!” he gasped when he turned and saw her. There was still a little distance between them. “Stop there,” he ordered.
Lydia stopped. The last thing she needed was to upset the farm hands.
“I’m Agent Lowe,” Lydia explained. “I just want to ask a few questions.”
Curtis raised his eyebrows in an instant mistrust.
“We don’t like cops here,” he warned.
He banged his fists against the side of the van. Lydia watched him as he crossed to the rear which was parked towards her.
Lydia watched the sudden nervousness in him.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
Curtis started to become irate. He banged his fist on the rear of the van.
“We’re working hard here and cops think they can wander onto the farm and ask questions? Let me tell you exactly why that’s not going to happen.”
He crossed to the left side of the van. He clenched his fist again.
BANG. BANG. BANG!
He snatched a cord and pulled the van grate open.
“Go get her boy!” he yelled as he skipped further around the side of the van.
From the van emerged a huge black bull named Gordon. In a rage he charged, catching only Lydia in his sight. The agent ran as fast as she could.
Gordon caught the shine of Lydia’s bike in his eyes. The gleam frustrated him. With his great horns, the bike was thrown and its rear wheel torn away.
Curtis was now arguing with another farm hand. Lydia managed to swing back down from the ledge she had escaped to as Gordon charged towards the east acre where the dairy herd were kept.
“Sorry,” Glenn said when he approached them. “We get a lot of our hands from The Boss. We don’t usually get cops here. It makes the hands nervous. “
“I just wanted to ask about Buddy Owen,” Glenn said.
Curtis, who was still excitable, said, “Why didn’t you say that?”
“I never got the chance to,” she said.
Curtis shrugged. His nerves were eased.
“The way you came at me, I thought you were here to pick me up.”
Lydia frowned. “Should I be picking you up?”
Glenn slapped his arm. “You let Gordon out? Go and get him before he shags one of the dairies.”
Curtis took rope from the back of the van and dashed off to fetch the bull and lead him back to his own paddock. Glenn led Lydia a little further up. They both leaned against the fence, freshly erected.
“Sorry about your bike,” Glenn apologised.
“I just want to ask some questions about Buddy Owen,” she stated.
“He’s not here,” Glenn admitted. “You missed him. He’s gone back to his fancy estate. I’d watch yourself around him.”
Lydia smiled. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
“You’re a Bournton lass?” Glenn beamed when he caught a hint of her northern tones.
“I am,” she admitted.
Glenn seemed pleased by this. He looked up and watched Curtis trying to rope Gordon. Gordon shook the rope from his horns and charged at Curtis. The charge was without malice but it caused Curtis to leap the fence.
“Sorry about him too,” Glenn said. “He’s just a dumb animal.”
“No hard feelings,” Lydia replied. “I like cows.”
Glenn frowned. He had been referring to Curtis.
“Give me a hand, will you?” Curtis could be heard yelling to anyone who would helping.
Gordon was feeling mischievous and charging anyone who came near him. Curtis had been forced to leap the fence again.
“You let him out. You can put him back in,” Glenn returned.
“Fuck you, Gordon,” Curtis growled, raising his finger at the bull.
Glenn shook his head. “I’d better help him. I’ll give you a run back home. I’ll tell you what I know about Buddy.”
“Not a fan of him then?” Lydia asked.
“This farm has seen more than its share of unwanted ludgers,” he said.
With Glenn on scene Curtis leapt the fence and the two of them circled a disgruntled Gordon.
She felt a nibble on her thigh that caused her to step aside.
“Maaaah!” the pygmy goat named Gary pressed his head to her gently through the fence. She patted his head. Maybe before she left she could get a photo of him to send to Cynthia.
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The Beckingridge Tower reached lofty heights. It had been the first time I had crossed the courtyard since reading the details of the Free Fall Massacre. The last time I had been inside it had been to talk to Ernest about the apparent suicide of his wife, Alice.
ALICE BECKINGRIDGE: CHILD KILLER
BILLIONAIRE BOY MISSING.
Had been some of my early articles on the family.
The statue of Jeffrey Beckingridge AKA Gramps was clean and well kept. I wondered what he would have thought if he had to learn that 59 of his clients and staff had been thrown from the window. Would he have let things get that far?
The screen still showed the missing persons report, Tawny’s smiling face and a request for more information. It wasn’t easy to get myself an audience with the granddaughter, but Elizabeth and I had mutual interests and it was time we met in person to discuss them.
“Can I help you, sir?” asked the main receptionist. Poised, polite, welcoming.
“I would like to speak to Miss Beckingridge please.”
The receptionist frowned. She took her task as gatekeeper of The Tower very seriously.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” I admitted. “But I’m working on her missing persons case. She asked me to come in and catch her up.”
A text message. COME SEE ME WHEN YOU HAVE THE CHANCE. That was what Elizabeth had written. The receptionist eyed me suspiciously.
“Name please?”
I passed her an I.D card. “Sam Crusow. Miss Beckingridge knows who I am.”
“Just a minute please.”
Taking care not to harm her manicured nails the receptionist lifted the phone.
“Hi Mark. It’s Marlene from front desk. I have a Sam Crusow here to see Miss Beckingridge.” She awaited the secretary’s reply. “Yes? Yes of course. I’ll let him know.” She put the phone back down again. “I’m sorry, sir but Miss Beckingridge isn’t in her office at the moment. May I take a message?”
“No,” I said. “I’ll catch her another time.”
***
The embalming fluid gave a clinical smell. Eugene Morris’ workspace was chilled. Not just because of the nature of his calling in life, but because of the character he was as an individual. Like death, whenever he was present people paid notice. Whimsical in the sense that he was never going to be escaped, so really should just be embraced. Most people chose to run from him as long as they could. Eugene was a friendly man but he was never overly familiar with his clients. It wasn’t in his nature, nor was it in his work.
The body of Robert ‘Bobby’ Owen was laid out on the table like a king of old, lying in state. He was already dressed in his best suit Ronnie had chosen for him from the luggage he had brought with him. With expert hands and patient due diligence the head injury that had taken his life was patched, powdered and presented as though the man was good as new. He looked as though he could have been in his prime days, ready to address the masses. He looked as though he was ready to be sent back to the heavenly plane he had descended from.
The Tailor observed the body. The son, Charles, was stood behind him. “It’s awful when death visits someone who still has so much to give. It’s even more terrible when someone else brings that death of their own accord.”
“He returned the body?” Charles Owen enquired. “What did he say?”
Eugene inspected the body closer. “It’s not for me to get involved in those kinds of affairs. I’m merely here to pick up the pieces and kiss the foreheads of those who may otherwise be forgotten.”
“What kind of man did you find him to be?” Charles asked, determined to get some kind of insight into the king who had slain his father.
“Quite reasonable in his way,” Eugene responded. He pointed to a beautifully carved oak coffin. “He asked that the deceased be treated with the utmost respect. His carriage into the farther reaches was to be the best money could buy. If that there isn’t to your taste he will give you the cost of anyone you like. The coin for the ferry man would be from his own pocket.”
The Tailor drew Charles’ attention to the lining of the casket which was the finest velvet. The lining of the coffin itself was the thickest, purest gold.
“He said the man needn’t have died and on that I quite agree. Other than that I am not offering commentary. If I were to offer my two cents worth it would make matters much messier than they already are.”
Charles inspected his father’s coffin. It truly was of the best quality.
“He may be an animal,” Charles observed. “But at least he has some manners.”
The Tailor was in agreement with this too but he didn’t voice those opinions. Instead he adjusted Bobby’s tie. In every photo he had seen of Bobby this tie was slightly askew to the left. It was a small trait few people would even notice but Eugene’s job was not to decorate the deceased and strive for perfection. It was his job to make them worthy of memorial.
“People hunt for imperfections, son,” Robert had told Charles. “If all they can find is my tie then I’m doing well.”
Charles couldn’t help but smile when he noticed this little attention to detail.
***
With its damp smell and rustic architecture he couldn’t say he was particularly impressed with the Penn Auction House. The auction hall was empty despite having many chairs laid out. It was empty save for Chick himself and an auctioneer named Jeremy.
Jeremy was loyal to the Penns but the Law Makers knew they needed a familiar face to smooth the transition. The Bailiffs removing items from the auction house had caused quite a stir. Jeremy stepped in to object on behalf of Rita Penn but somewhere along the line Reginald must have gotten word to him to allow the final auctions to go ahead because Jeremy’s mind seemed to have changed quickly. The auction items that day were not artefacts, nor where they ornaments or heirlooms. It was the very landmarks of the city that had been seized by the Law Makers that were placed on offer.
Chick looked about himself. The time had now struck two o’clock and he was the only bidder. Jeremy took his podium with a cough; the dust of the wooden floors was starting to catch his throat. “I guess we’ll just take an offer,” he surmised.
Chick nodded. “I would prefer to move things along.”
The doors opened. A suited man stepped inside and held the door open to allow entrance to a woman – middle age, slim, well dressed. Her pink hair hung with a neat parting.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “Traffic into the city was a bitch and those narrow roads just aren’t meant for limousines.”
She crossed the aisle. Her suited man waited by the door. She chose a seat next to The Cappy.
“Hello Charles. So nice to see you. How are things?”
Chick raised his lip in a smile but there was no humour in it. “Elizabeth,” he greeted. “Always a pleasure.”
Elizabeth Beckingridge – interim CEO of Beckingridge Financial Firm kept on her sunglasses.
“I believe the last time we saw one another was at a benefit for endangered birds, homeless dogs or some cause or another.”
Charles grinned. “You were quite intoxicated as I recall.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Well, if you can’t indulge yourself you kind of miss the point of the party, am I right? Anyway things are different now that I have the responsibility of the tower. I keep a clear head these days. It makes it easier to see when there are sharks in the water.”
“You are a fine adversary, Elizabeth, but it doesn’t have to be that way. Your brother Ernest – God rest his soul – was a dear friend of mine. We worked together well for years.”
Elizabeth read through the auction item list that had been placed on the chair next to her.
“Ernest was a sweet man. He was everyone’s friend. That was his problem. He was too busy trying to be friends with everyone he didn’t see all the little bites that were being taken out of him. When that maniac Knock Knock girl took it upon herself to have fifty nine of my clients and staff escorted from the tower via the window, where were his friends? They buggered off back to the Great States and took any support with them.”
The Cappy stroked his chin. He wasn’t daunted by Elizabeth’s challenge. “The Free Fall Massacre was a personal attack on my family. I had no choice but to protect our interests.”
“Sure,” Elizabeth nodded. “If that shoe were on Ernest’s foot he would probably have done the exact same thing.”
Elizabeth finished scanning the list. She would no doubt have already made up her mind.
“Then we are agreed?” The Cappy put to her. “It would be best to work together?”
“No,” Elizabeth scoffed. She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not Ernest. You’ll find I won’t be bullied quite so easily.”
The Cappy looked back to the podium where Jeremy was waiting to begin.
“Just a moment, if you don’t mind, sir,” he called. To Elizabeth he said, “Your nephew, George, has already come into the fold. Very soon you will have no choice.”
Elizabeth quietened. She gave it some thought then she turned to The Cappy. “My nephew is a psychopath. Torturing kittens, eating babies, the whole nine yards. He’s cosying up with your boy who, word on the street says has a cocaine problem that makes my Aunt Liza’s one nostril look like a charming little party piece.” Before The Cappy could respond she patted his arm. “Rumours Charles. Only rumours.” She spoke calmly. “My point is, before that dynamo duo takes over what we’ve built I have interests to protect, too.”
“If we’re are speaking frankly, I must ask, why are you looking for The Baroness?” He referred to the city wide search that she had funded for Tawny McInney.
“Why not?” replied Liz. “She’s just a whacko old lady who disappeared from rehab. Her niece is gone so what concern is that of yours?”
Chick frowned. “I like you Elizabeth but don’t treat me like a fool. Do not make an enemy of me when I’d much rather be friends.”
Elizabeth pouted. “I perish the thought. The Baroness was in rehab with a friend of mine. George’s old music teacher? You may remember him from such stories as kidnapping and the death of the Weir Hotel boy. He asked me ever so nicely to help find her so I read up on the old show girl. Your brother Jerry was quite a piece of work, wasn’t he? Anyway, her attitude struck a chord with me. Maybe I’m getting old but I find myself feeling quite charitable these days. If you don’t know where she is then you’ll agree finding her would smooth things over in the south. They liked her. I saw some old videos of her and I quite like her too. You’ll see the number on all the of broadcasts should you hear anything. In the meantime let’s get down to business. Our auctioneer here is sweating buckets.” She patted his arm again. “Let’s see who has the bigger … erm … cheque book.”
The Cappy laughed. “May the best bidder win.” He addressed Jeremy, “Go ahead, sir.”
Jeremy cleared his throat. “Lot 0300 – The Penn Auction House.”
***
The Penn Auction house was hot property. It was home to the Penn power and if their sovereignty were to be given any credence the Auction House was their palace. Elizabeth didn’t want it. It meant nothing to her really. She had read the auction list and had set her sights on other prizes. But it was a prime city location. Some would argue it was the final stop before The Tower. If she let it go into Chick Owen’s hands who knows where he would proceed onto next. He had his reasons for wanting it. He wanted it so badly. Elizabeth decided to let him sweat.
Elizabeth Beckingridge had no need for the Penn Auction House nor did she have any loyalty to the Penns themselves. In fact, hadn’t it been the boys who had helped Tabitha commit the Free Fall Massacre? If she even made one bid it would purely be out of spite. Chick’s family heirloom, his very name, was at stake. The Penns stole the Captain Henry ‘Hen’ Owen’s compass. He would have that compass back in the estate where it belonged. To do that he would have the Auction House, no matter the cost.
Jeremy cleared his throat.
“Reserve price is 2.3 million.”
Liz raised her board. 2.4
The Cappy shook his head. She was playing spiteful after all. He knew she was deliberately drawing the price up because she wanted to clear him out before it reached some of the other items on the list.
2.5 million he bid.
2.6 million she returned.
2.7 million. Going in hard. The Penn Palace would be in the hands of Owen Inc. no matter what.
2.8 million. Elizabeth’s interest was waning.
3.2 million. The Cappy struck boldly.
3.7 million Elizabeth countered
3.9 million. The leaps showed The Cappy’s determination.
Elizabeth lowered her board. She had let him sweat long enough, throwing money away on items she wasn’t all that interested in.
Jeremy waited for a counter offer. It was not forthcoming.
“Going once. Going twice.” The hammer slammed. The Penn Auction House was now property of Owen Inc. Jeremy couldn’t disguise his distaste but he carried on.
“Lot 004. The Knock Knock Club.”
Another prime property that anyone with a good business mind could make work. It could become a trendy bar, revitalising the whole area. It could extend Owen reach in the south. With the Boss Lady gone it was the perfect time to make the move.
Elizabeth kept a poker face. The search for Tawny had drawn her to the club. She looked to what the Baroness had been protesting against. She had learned the reasoning behind targeting her firm. She had met with Agnes. Her and her girls were all that were left. The Knock Knock stood for something and for that reason it had to be kept away from Owen hands.
“The reserve price is 1.2 million. It also includes the attached Clifton shelter used for the homeless.”
1.5 million. Elizabeth began this time.
1.7 million countered The Cappy.
1.9 million. Beckingridge Tower was continuing its efforts.
2.1 million. The Cappy was tentative.
2.5, 2.6, 2.7, 2.9, 3.2, 3.5 the numbers continued to roll in. The club was well above its estimation.
4 million was Elizabeth’s final offer.
“Sold.” The Knock Knock Club was now in the hands of Beckingridge Firm.
Jeremy had no time to pause for thought. More items were available.
“Lot 005. Harbour House.”
The unique rehabilitation clinic had caused quite a stir of late. It had been the cause of scandal when its resident 0109 went missing. Control of the facility could mean a final shut down to the rumours of the Owens being responsible for that disappearance, coupled with the fact it was very profitable.
It was Elizabeth’s interests in finding the truth behind Tawny’s disappearance that pricked her ears.
“Reserve price is 3.2,” Jeremy explained.
4.5 million. Elizabeth jumped in right away. She didn’t care she was exposing her hand too soon.
Charles shook his head. He wasn’t even willing to combat it.
“Sold.” Harbour House was also now a Beckingridge Firm holding but the dragon had reared and exposed a weakness in its belly. Steel and determination could break those scales.
“Lot 006. Pettiwick School.”
The Salinger family had been in the control of the school for generations. Lewis Salinger was a friend of Ernest’s. Pettiwick had educated every Beckingridge since its founding. Even Gramps had walked the halls as a boy. Even George has his time there. Lewis was a complete moron and had been caught by Law Maker forensic accountants, skimming money from the school funds it seemed. The Law Makers dug their claws in deeper and discovered the Salingers had been doing it for years. It was now a seized property but that didn’t mean the children had to suffer. It was still the finest school in the city. Chick Owen had no reason to want it but it was home to the Beckingridge Wing, donated by Ernest. Charles’ poker face was indecipherable.
“Reserve price is 6.7 million.”
It was a big property and going cheap. Elizabeth was likely to fight tooth and nail for it but when the dragon had exhausted all of its flaming breath it made it easier to cut the beast’s head off.
7 million. The first Owen bid was tentative.
10 million. The Beckingridge bid was a strike.
20 million. Games were no longer being played.
25 million. The flames roared.
30 million. The shine of the steel returned.
Elizabeth broke the bidding. “Oh come on Charles. What use do you have for a school?”
Chick Owen said nothing. The dragon was down.
“Going once. Going twice …” said Jeremy.
45 million. The dragon was not done.
50 million. Neither was Owen inc.
55 million. The tower was beginning to shake.
70 million. There was still much to do.
Elizabeth had no choice but to bow out. It was a personal fondness that would have kept her fighting for the school but she couldn’t waste what fire power she had on personal fondness.
“Going once. Going twice. Sold!”
The finest school in the Shady City was to now have a Great States face lift.
“Going to ruin the damn thing,” Elizabeth grumbled to herself. Between the Chapter House in Filton and now Pettiwick, the Owens had way more power in Filton than she liked. There wasn’t time to rest on it though. There was more.
“Lot 006. Coldridge Park from the City Main entrance to the Mid East exit.”
For The Cappy it was the perfect addition to the Auction House. It held the area before the Faulds Park building where the Penns were normally resident. It also contained some sports fields used by Kappa So.
Elizabeth always loved that park. Well, she had spent an afternoon there once or twice. If Pettiwick was going to be used to push into Filton then the park could be used to flood the Owens out of City Main.
“Reserve price is 11.5 million.”
11.5 million. Beckingridge began with the reserve. No one was leaping in for an area that was essentially filled with drug dealers and prostitutes
11.6 million. Charles Owen was also being nonchalant.
12.1 million. Owen budget was depleting. He wanted that property but he couldn’t be silly about it. He bowed out gracefully.
“Sold.” Coldridge Park (from the City Main entrance to the Mid East exit) now belonged to Beckingridge.
“Lot 007. St Michael’s Cathedral.”
The parish hadn’t been the same since the Reverend Owen gave up his flock. No verifiable evidence in the rape of hundreds of little girls but the protests that had gone on outside it, led by the Baroness, had made it a very interesting spot indeed. There may have been no evidence then but what about underneath the cathedral’s floor boards? Structures could speak volumes. What would that old church have to say of the confessions the reverend himself had to make?
Proceedings were ending. As far as elder brother Charles Owen was concerned it was time to close the cathedral for good, throw it to the Fullertons as a chew toy for all he cared. With the cathedral gone the talk of Jerry would quiet to whispers before eventually fading away.
“Reserve price is 10.3 million,” Jeremy informed them. He wasn’t given much time before the first bid was raised.
10.4 million. Owen inc. threw their hat into the ring first.
10.5 million. The Beckingridge dragon roared.
10.6, 10.7, 10.8, 11, 12.
The bidding went on. It was starting to overreach what Chick had intended. The Cappy took a sharp intake of breath. Elizabeth spotted what was to come next. She was going to have to cut her losses.
“Sold.” The Cathedral was going back to the Owen family. The skeletons in the reverend’s vestry damned to Hell.
“Final lot for today,” announced Jeremy. “Lot 008. Chamberlain Docks.”
This was it. The dragon was ready to breath every last flame it had. Seized by the Law Makers due to the trafficking, soliciting and illegal trading. Harbour House would be far more use to Elizabeth with the docks. If they belonged to Owen Inc, the facility could very well be of no use at all. Chamberlain was the main access route to Hathfield and the prime spot for spreading wealth and expanding reach.
Owen Inc knew this too. Returning to the kingdom with the dragon’s head would mean little without it. Charles had the auction house; he had the school and he had his brother’s Cathedral. He could afford to take his time and let the dragon strike first.
The Cathedral didn’t matter when Elizabeth had the Knock Knock Club. Whilst the club still existed, the Owens could still be driven from Coldford. They may bite chunks from City Main but they would be enclosed by the pests from the Shanties and their main competitors in Filton. However, to close them in completely Beckingridge Firm needed to hold Chamberlain docks.
“The reserve price is 20.6 million. It includes the Ferry Way brand and terminal, the allotted sea area and surrounding businesses.”
Elizabeth turned to Charles. “Be my guest.”
Chick smiled and shook his head. “Ladies first.”
30 million. The first blow struck.
40 million. The Owen counter.
The dance continued and the bites were taken.
50 million. The Tower would not concede.
70 million. Owen Inc was not walking away.
100, 200, 400, 500 million.
‘Damnit Liz, don’t be so stupid,’ Chick thought inwardly.
600, 700, 750, 800, 825 million.
‘You know as well as I do the docks aren’t worth anywhere near that,’ Elizabeth thought. ‘Give up Charles. You are not having this one.’
The new algorithms at the firm were going to have to work extra hard. All hands on deck for the accounts team and the traders.
The Cappy made no further bid. The docks were a power play but not enough to exhaust his funds completely. He would find another way.
“Going once. Going twice.” Jeremy halted. The phone he had set on the table before him bleeped. He checked it. “We have a new bidder,” he announced. “The bid for the docks now stands at 1.2 billion.”
Chick and Elizabeth looked to each other. Both were equally as perplexed. Elizabeth couldn’t go any higher, not with the costs of the other properties, not without having to close the exchange for a few days causing a knock on effect for the firm.
“Going once. Going twice. Sold.”
The bidding was closed and neither Owen Inc nor the Beckingridge Firm claimed Chamberlain docks.
Chick and Elizabeth stepped outside into the hustle and bustle of City Main. They shook hands.
“Congratulations,” said The Cappy. “I do so admire your moxy. Things are so much more interesting with a worthy opponent.”
Elizabeth slipped her phone from her bag. “Thank you Charles. You fight dirty but I’ve never minded a bit of mud on my face.”
They separated. Chick watched as Elizabeth put her phone to her ear. Her walk started to become brisk. “Where is she parked?” he asked his driver.
“South street,” was the answer as The Cappy slipped into the town car.
“Get me Ronnie. I need to find out who in the Hell got Chamberlain.”
Meanwhile, the Beckingridge security were in a rush to keep up with their mistress.
“Mark?” she was saying on the phone. “I need you to go down to the exchange right away. Title deeds are changing for Chamberlain Docks. Watch them and message me the name of the new owner the minute they update and I mean stand with your finger on the button. Seconds are a delay too long. I’m on my way back now. I was outbid for the docks and I need to know who else in this city has that kind of money.”
Inside Jeremy signed over the deed of purchase.
“Congratulations, Miss Harvester,” he said.
Julia smiled. All the petty squabbles were nothing to her when she had the route to expansion. Owen Inc, Beckingridge firm, even the Penn and Fullerton names knew the Harvester brand was growing but that nice, sweet presence in homes up and down the city had grown far larger than they had realised. Julia was a nice girl and now if the Beckingridges or the Owens wanted to reach outside of Coldford they were going to have to ask her nicely.
***
By day Walden’s in City Main was a wine bar serving expensive drinks to young people with important jobs in the city. It was a meeting place for young professionals looking to escape their responsibilities and drink alcohol in the afternoon. By evening it was something quite different. Decadence, debauchery, licentious behaviour but when twenty eight year old Beckingridge accountant, Raymond, stepped inside it was quiet and calm. The low lighting reminded him of the rectory room at Pettiwick where had gone to school. It had a calming essence. Light jazz music played.
“Good afternoon, Raymond,” barman Gill greeted. “A little pick me up after a long day then?”
“A sherry please, Gill,” Raymond ordered. He had been locked in the offices of Beckingridge Tower since six am working on new algorithms they had been given. He felt he had earned his wind down at the end of the day.
Gill passed the sherry, poured into a perfectly curved glass. Raymond took a seat at the bar, intent on having some quiet time. Liz Beckingridge had stationed herself in the accounting department and despite them all working hard to make the new algorithms profit, she was in a mood about something. Although Raymond could remember her presence being a headache even before she took her brother’s place as CEO.
“You go home, Raymond,” Ernest had said to him once. “If you have a headache you go home incase you’re coming down with something. Go and get better.”
With a similar complaint to Elizabeth she replied, “Headache? What are you four years old? This is your job Raymond and if you haven’t finished running these numbers by close of business you will experience what a true headache is.”
Raymond sipped the sherry. Maybe the accounts department needed Liz’s sharpened tongue. After all The Tower was now performing at the best rates it ever had and the accounts team on the eighteenth floor were what held The Tower up.
He savoured the sherry’s sweetness. His eyes were drawn to a woman sat alone in the corner. She was a little younger than he from what he could tell. Her face wasn’t heavily made up like a lot of the women who came to Walden’s. She had a natural, earthy beauty. When he caught her eye she smiled and coyly dropped her eyes to the phone she held in her hand. Raymond absorbed the image of the green dress she wore. The green swirled with the watery blue of her eyes in an almost hypnotic embrace. Raymond lifted his glass and boldly opted to join her at her table.
“Waiting for someone?” he asked.
She looked up and smiled at him as he took a seat. A lot of women could be put off by over eagerness, so Raymond leaned back to prevent his body from being too much in her space.
“I just thought I’d stop by,” she replied. “The noise of the city was starting to get to me.”
“You’re not from around here?”
She shook her head to the negative. She looked shy, as though she shouldn’t be talking to strange men in bars. “I live on a farm so it’s all quite a change of scenery for me.”
“So what brings you all the way down here?” Raymond asked.
Her soft ruby lips stretched into a grin. “I’m collecting meat,” she said.
She giggled at the coy euphemism. Raymond found himself doing the same thing.
Raymond lifted his glass and took another sip. “I’ll have to keep my eye on you then,” he teased.
The farm girl watched him. “You probably should.”
“What’s your name?” asked he.
She reached our hand out to him. He shook it. “Julia,” she said. “Julia Harvester.”
“I know the Harvester brand really well. I work for Beck Firm and we’re just dying to have you on board.” Raymond could see her eyes glaze over. It wasn’t shop talk she had come for. It was a more personal interaction she was after.
“My name’s Raymond. May I buy you a drink?”
“I think I’ve had my fill for now, Raymond, but if you are so familiar with the city perhaps you could show me around. I’m sure you can look after me and see that I get home safely.”
Raymond swallowed what was left of the Sherry.
“I’d be honoured,” he said. “My friends all say that I make an excellent tour guide.” His eyes fell down to her breasts, to her slim stomach. “May I ask which designer you got that fetching dress from?”
Julia took note of her dress as though it were the first time she had noticed she was even wearing it. “Oh this?” she declared. “This was no designer. I made it myself.” Earthy, modest. Julia was like a cool glass of water on a baking hot day. His parents would certainly like her much more than Tatyiana. “I’m good with my hands,” she finished.
At this Raymond leaned in. His empty Sherry glass now rested under him, causing a shimmer of light to dance upon his chin.
“So what parts of the city would you like to see?”
Julia stood. She reached out her hand and took his. “I’d like to see all that it has to offer,” she stated. She pulled him to his feet.
She led him by the hand from Walden’s wine bar. The bar man didn’t pay attention to the young woman Raymond had chosen to leave with. Perhaps he should have.
***
Julia Harvester liked Beckingridge Manor. Although it wasn’t intended to be, it felt as open as the Harvester Farm house. It had a cool draught blowing through it. The walls were thick. The ceiling was high.
“I love you Julia,” George Beckingridge stated. He kissed her cheek heartily. She discretely wiped the saliva from her face as he danced towards his bed where Raymond had been stripped and laid to rest under the sheets. He wasn’t dead yet but the Beckingridge accountant wouldn’t be throwing any resistance towards them anytime soon.
“He is quite sweet, isn’t he?” she replied.
George collected a comb from a chest of drawers. He dropped to his knees beside the bed and started to comb Raymond’s hair into a neat side parting.
“He looks just like him,” George said excitedly. “I said so didn’t I? He looks just like him but there’s something not quite right. He not wearing glasses. Mr Baines wore glasses.
Julia reached into the pocket of her coat and produced a pair of spectacles. She passed them to George and with a grin on his face he slipped them onto Raymond’s face.
He chuckled. “That’s better.”
“I’m glad he pleases you. I do try my best.”
George stroked Raymond’s face gently. “He looks like him. I’d like to pretend it’s him. You don’t mind that do you Mr Baines? Are you glad to be back with your best pupil?”
Julia wasn’t listening. Instead her attention was brought to stuffed animal that sat on a shelf looking down.
When she picked him up George’s eyes locked on her. He watched closely as Julia stroked the toy’s fur.
“His name is Cecil,” George explained. “I know I’m a man now but I still like to have him close by.”
Julia cradled Cecil delicately. “We all have things from childhood we like to hold onto now don’t we?”
“When I was five there was a little boy in my school named Cecil. He was pale, skinny and completely bald. I didn’t ask why. I just thought he didn’t want any hair. All the other children looked at him like he was strange. They all looked at me that way too so we became friends. Cecil was always the first to say hi to me in the morning and we called each other every night when we weren’t sleeping over. We played for hours in this very room. I can still hear him laughing sometimes. The music room was where he liked best. I still have the toy train he left here. One day Cecil just stopped coming to school. When I called his mum said he couldn’t come to phone. My mum wouldn’t let any of the drivers take me to see him. A week later Miss Matheson – our teacher – told me that Cecil had been sick for some time. He had died. He couldn’t come to the phone because he was dead. I never got the chance to say goodbye. So when I saw that toy and I realised it’s name was Cecil I had to have him. We are going to be best friends forever, just like we promised.”
A monitor whirred with the sound of a baby’s cry.
“That’s my niece, Vicky,” he informed the farm girl. “Catherine, my sister has gone to a party. She asked me to look after her. Will you check on her for me? She’s in the nursery just down the hall.”
Julia laid Cecil back onto his spot on the shelf. His beetle black eyes were watching Raymond in the bed. The fur around the stuffed mouse’s neck was sticky and matted where he had been held so often.
“Will you be having a sleep over with me and Mr Baines?” asked the Billionaire Boy.
“I’m afraid not,” she returned “I’ll check on the baby and then I have to go.”
George’s attention was now back on Raymond. He kissed his cheek. He knocked the glasses askew. Julia closed the door behind her. George dropped his trousers and stepped out of them. He removed the white briefs he was wearing too and climbed into bed with Raymond, wrapping himself around the accountant. He kissed him again.
“Good night, Mr Baines,” he said.
Julia could hear the baby cry out as she approached the nursery. The door had been left ajar. Inside, the nursery was calmly lit with soft night lights flashing stars and planets on the walls and ceiling. Uncle George had left some classical music playing softly on an old stereo. It had lulled baby Vicky to sleep and she had only stirred again when it stopped. Normally her uncle would sing to her when the music stopped. Aunt Liz would sing to her too but that was only to distract her when she was getting changed or dressed. Liz’s voice was bouncy and fun. George’s soft voice always came through the darkness when it was time to close her eyes and bid farewell to the day. It was always gentle. Almost at a whisper. Tonight it was neither.
Victoria Beckingridge, third in line for the Beckingridge Tower looked up from her cradle with wide, engaging eyes. She had large brown ones like Uncle George. Julia had never met Catherine. Maybe she had the same.
The baby had been tucked perfectly for sleep. Her helpless little body had no room to wriggle.
“Gah!?” she exclaimed when she saw Julia. Julia lifted her from the cradle and into her arms. She carried her across to an armchair by the window. It offered a view of the manor’s lawns. She sat and settled Victoria into her arms, loosening the blanket so she could reach out.
“Hello, Vicky,” said Julia softly. “Uncle George is busy right now,” she caressed the little girl’s cheek. “You go back to sleep now, buttercup. It’s very late for you.”
Vicky’s lips twitched into a smile but her eyes started to get heavy as Julia began to rock her.
***
The main entrance to Beckingridge Tower. Statue of founder Jeffrey Beckingridge AKA Gramps.
With it being Friday afternoon Beckingridge Tower exchange was hectic. Everything was beginning to wind down for the weekend closures.
“I’ve got 3.4!”
“I’ve got 6.5!”
“Going down. It’s time to pull out. Hurry!”
To pass the main reception of Beckingridge Tower you would find yourself on the stock holding floor. It was called the Execution Hall because it was where all the deals were cut and a lot of financial fates were decided.
Elizabeth was crossing the hall, keeping a personal eye on the weekend closures.
“Liz,” someone patted her shoulder for attention. She turned to be faced with Dr Gregory Winslow. Before the doctor could offer any further greeting Liz’s secretary, Colin, stepped in the way.
“Can I help you, sir?” he asked with a scowl.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “It’s fine Colin. Just carry on.”
Colin moved back onto the floor to continue to check on the traders and their final executions for the week. After the bidding those numbers were more important than ever.
“I’m busy doctor so …”
“I’m just here to have my weekly little chat with George so don’t mind me. Is he in his office?”
Winslow had been offering some tuition to George to prepare him for business school at Filton. He had also been talking the Billionaire Boy through his kidnapping, the death of his parents and the boy Kenneth. In truth the doctor’s influence was doing some good as far as Elizabeth could tell. There were moments when he even behaved like a real human being.
Liz Beckingridge wasn’t so naive that she didn’t realise Winslow was only taking her nephew under his wing because he had ulterior motives. No one liked to have to deal with George. Even his own father sighed relief when the music teacher took him away. Like many others Winslow probably saw him as weak. The doctor would see George as a way of gaining power himself in The Tower. Sure George would be sat on the CEO chair but it would be Winslow pulling the strings. George’s mouth would snap open and closed but it would be Winslow’s words he would be speaking. He would sound just like a real boy.
Elizabeth had no intention of ever letting George take control of the firm. She wouldn’t risk him ruining Gramps’ legacy by acting like a cruel child with a magnifying glass. But if the doctor was able to hold onto those strings in the meantime and have him behave she had no reason to stop him.
After all, it had been Winslow who talked George out of placing himself in the Penthouse Office.
“I think the Booker office may be more appropriate for you at this stage,” the doctor had said. George had scowled at first, until the doctor pointed out that it had actually been from the Booker office that the Free Fall Massacre had occurred.
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “He’s upstairs. He’ll be expecting you.”
“Splendid!” Winslow cheered. He departed and allowed Elizabeth to return to the brokers.
The Booker office was still on the top floor but just didn’t quite reach the lofty heights of the Penthouse. As the elevator rose through the tower, Winslow began to wonder how he would look atop of the tower and with control at the firm. ‘Perhaps one day,’ he chastised himself. ‘One thing at a time.’
He didn’t fear George Beckingridge. He was well aware of his psychopathic tendencies. After all, it had been he who had signed the death certificate for his mother. He also handled the body extracted from the lawns of Beckingridge Manor. He had talked extensively with Vincent Baines when he was one of his Harbour House residents. Vincent detailed George’s behaviour and the fear that it had struck in the man who had taken the boy away thinking he was protecting him. Dr G Winslow wasn’t afraid of George Beckingridge because Harbour House had seen it all. Not a psychiatric institute but a rehabilitation clinic and that included rehab for all kinds of trauma.
“Good afternoon, doctor,” he was recognised immediately by George’s appointed secretary. A smiley young girl named Michelle. She too didn’t seem to fear George but that was through naivete bordering on stupidity. “Mr Beckingridge is expecting you. You can go right through.”
“Thank you, my dear,” he said.
He found George sat behind his desk. The doctor’s pride swelled when he noticed the business school text books he had bought the young CEO to be opened on his desk. George himself was dressed appropriately in a suit. The tie had a leaf pattern on it. It was a little more whimsical than anything he would have directed the boy to but at least he was starting to find his own style.
“I was going to call,” George began. “But I thought I would like to see you face to face.”
Winslow took a seat. “Something the matter? Are you having trouble with your studies?”
“I’m fine,” he replied. “I just decided I don’t like you.”
Winslow wasn’t sure he heard correctly but he maintained his composure and prepared to work through one of George’s outbursts.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” was the doctor’s response. “Was it something I said?”
“No. I just don’t like you.”
Winslow licked his lips. “That is a shame. We were such good friends.”
“No!” George barked. “I never did like you.”
This wasn’t going to be one of his outbursts after all. This was going to take a bit more calming.
“Whatever has upset you, I’m sure we can discuss it.”
“No,” George stated, softer this time. “I want you to leave and never come back. I don’t want to see you again and I won’t be giving any money to Harbour House.”
Winslow stayed steady.
“May I ask what has brought you to this decision? Surely after all we’ve been through you can offer me that much?”
George reached into the desk drawer and pulled out an expensive bottle of port and sat it on the table. It still had a gift bow on it from when Winslow gave it to him. It hadn’t been opened.
“Take this back,” George ordered.
“Please,” Winslow steadied his voice. “If you don’t tell me why it has come to this I’m just going to spend all evening worried about you.”
“I don’t need you,” said the Billionaire Boy. “You are just using me.”
“Now who would put that idea in your head? His tone snapped a lot more than he had intended it to. At first he thought it had been Elizabeth but she had little to no influence over her nephew and if she did feel that way about the doctor she wouldn’t have let him near him in the first place. “Who told you that George?”
From the adjoining room where a meeting of investment bankers was taking place emerged Julia Harvester.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Winslow stood. He scowled at the farm girl. “You?” he snarled. “You did this?”
“Did what?” she asked. “Tell you to take your poison and spit it in someone else’s ear? No, Gregory. Why would I do that? We’re still friends. It’s George here who says he doesn’t like you. He’s had enough of your pathetic, whining voice. He’s his own man. He’s big enough to make that choice. Who am I to say what happens in his tower?”
George was glaring at the doctor. Julia was smiling.
“You don’t and never will have a say in what happens at Beckingridge Firm,” George stated.
‘Neither will you, young man. Neither will you,’ Winslow mused bitterly.
Julia stepped behind George and rested her hands on his shoulders. She was the one pulling the strings now.
“Leave,” George insisted. “And when you do, take a route past Harvester Farm and remove every trace you had ever been there. Wipe every surface your wrinkled arse has touched and go.” He reached into the drawer again this time he drew out a long, rusted key. “This is the key for the Browning House. I loved it there. It was my home for ten years. A friend at CPD gave me it. You can have it. Go there and be forgotten about.”
“And if I don’t?”
George slammed his fists on the table. “You do it! You do what I say!”
Julia squeezed his shoulders. The strings were tugged. It was the puppeteer who spoke this time.
“Don’t test me, Gregory. I’ve sprayed for vermin like you before.”
“How dare you!” the doctor roared.
Julia raised her hand.
SMASH.
The bottle of port exploded. Gun fire. Why hadn’t Winslow noticed the window was open?
George was grinning excitedly. “Buddy Owen has his eye on you,” he cheered. “Buddy’s my brother and we’re brothers for life.”
Owen Inc, Beckingridge Firm and the Harvester Brand coming together would never be matched. It would be impossible for anyone to compete against that kind of influence in the Shady City. If anyone could make that happen it would be Julia. There was only one person who could step in the way of that and it was Elizabeth. But who was she going to listen to? The man who allowed the music teacher who she considered a friend to be treated abysmally by George whilst he was in his care, or the sweet farm girl who not only had her nephew dancing to a pleasant tune but also spent the night before cradling her great niece to sleep when the child’s own mother had abandoned her. Not to mention, it had been Elizabeth who had raised the interest in Harvester Farm.
Winslow fled The Tower, taking the Browning House key. If it had held George for ten years it still had its uses. He ran to his car. Every step he took, every corner he turned, he could feel an Owen scope on him. Even when he got into his car and drove away, he still didn’t feel safe. Buddy could be anywhere.
Julia clasped George’s head affectionately and planted a kiss on the crown. He giggled. She crossed to the open window, leaned out and took a deep breath of the fresh icy air. She looked across to the Weir Hotel. She didn’t know exactly where Buddy had placed his nest. She wouldn’t be able to see him with her naked eye but she brought her fingertips to her lips and blew a kiss. Either way he would still be watching.
Cult deprogrammer, John Reynolds is called to action when a close friend joins the Church of St Wigan.
With the help of a pandering con man, Reynolds uncovers a much larger problem as new Wigan Church leader, Dominick, sets his sights on cleansing the city.
We’ve all fallen into holes throughout our lives but do we have the strength pull ourselves out of it?
“You cannot be saved but repent and you may, just may, be forgiven.”
Dennis has managed the Knock Knock club and never was there a dirtier job. Would you believe me if I told you he had done worse? Does he now have what it takes to put his past behind him?
L
Coming 2021, from the Author of MAESTRO ; MUSE and HARBOUR HOUSE , step outside the Knock Knock club and head on over to Hathfield Bay Island for a nail biting, knuckle whiting , full in your face exciting glimpse into the lowest depths of humanity.
Available now:
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“You can’t do this!” Knock Knock barmaid Lisa Luren was complaining.
The club had been appointed its bailiff. The club’s assets were now being officially seized so that its starting price at auction could be given.
The bailiff – a woman not much older than Lisa, named Colette – looked down her spectacles at her. “I’m sure you’ll find I can. I have been granted permission by the High Court. Her Honourable Judge Doyle’s signature is on all of it and I have been instructed to close this club and note anything that would be of value.” She raised her phone and took a photograph of a fresh bottle of Macks that had been sat on the bar.
“You’re putting us out of work. What are we supposed to do for work?”
Colette sighed. She took another photo of the bar. A fellow bailiff took note.
“Not my problem. Put on some clothes, get yourself educated and maybe you’ll find yourself a real job. People might start to take you more seriously.”
“Can’t you at least wait until the owner gets here? She needs to be here,” Lisa protested.
Colette smirked. “I don’t think the owner is going to be here anytime soon.”
“I think she means me,” Agnes Wilde stated. She had arrived in a hurry when she received Lisa’s text.
Colette nodded to her fellow bailiff. He handed a copy of the High Court authorisation to Agnes. Agnes was known as The Broker of Knock Knock. She was partner to The Baroness and beloved aunt of Tabitha. The Knock Knock club was all she had left to hang onto.
Agnes folded the document in a single sharp fold. She had a naturally ladylike composure, which she refused to drop. “Before she was taken, Tabitha signed her shares over to me. Unless you are here to arrest me, you can’t take anything.”
Colette was disinterested. She had seen it all and had heard all manner of excuses.
“Check the details of the document I’ve just given you. You will see that I’m not here to collect on Tabitha’s shares. They were already forfeit the minute the investigation into the Headliner Fund was raised. I’m here to collect on part of Tawny McInney. Until she returns, she is considered a fugitive of the law and her name is the first on the Headliner Fund.”
“What about my own shares?” Agnes protested. “I’m the controlling share holder in this club.”
Colette took a photograph of the stage. “I’m sure basic maths will tell you that one third share is not the controlling one. Tabitha’s shares are void and Tawny’s are now seized. This club is going to auction.”
“This is my club,” Agnes snarled. Her irritation was now beginning to show.
“Then you’re most welcome to bid for those shares back. I’m happy to keep you informed as our collection proceeds.”
Lisa snatched Colette’s shoulder but Agnes stopped her.
Colette shrugged her off. “I’m just doing my job. Do not add assault to the charge sheet. The court will have its dues one way or another.”
A group of bailiffs brought out a box of costumes belonging to The Baroness. Agnes’ chest tightened when she saw Tawny’s feather head band peeking out from the top. She loved that band. She had had it for years and despite it having lived its best days she refused to part with it.
“Gives me a classy look, doesn’t it?” Tawny had said.
Tabitha laughed. “It looks like you stole it from a fucking parrot with mange,” the niece teased.
Tawny laughed heartily. She pulled Tabitha onto her lap and squeezed her tight, kissing her head. Tawny looked into her dressing room mirror and saw Agnes watching them both. Tawny wrinkled her nose and kissed at her enjoying how Agnes’ elegant smile turned to a girlish giggle when she did so. Tabitha took her aunt’s head band and put it on her own. She flicked her glossy brunette locks and posed exactly the way her aunt would on stage.
“What do you think Aggie?” the young girl put to her.
“It could at least use a wash.”
Tawny refused. “Not a chance, honey. You wash off all the luck from it when you do that. I got that feather all by myself. Do you realise how hard it is to pluck straight from a gull’s arse?”
Tabitha laughed heartily. “You talk so much shit Aunt Tee,” she taunted.
Few heard Tabitha laugh the way that she did when she and Tawn were backstage. That tatty old feather band had all the luck in the world for Tawny and now that luck was being carried out the door of the Knock Knock Club courtesy of agents of the High Court.
“That’s not worth anything, surely?” Agnes stopped a bailiff carrying one of Tabitha’s signature red dresses. “Do you really need to be taking the clothes?”
Colette shrugged. “Why not? It’s not like she’ll wear them anymore.” Before she could reply the bailiff added, “Custom designed, product of Luen. It all makes a difference.”
“What are we going to do Agnes?” asked Lisa. They had made plans to visit a friend of the barmaid who used to buy drugs from her boyfriend Kev. They had hoped he could shed some light on who shot her daughter, Sarah.
“There’s nothing we can do,” The Broker was forced to admit. “I have to stay here but I’ll get you some help. We’re not done.”
***
I had been in Lydia’s City Main apartment with Franklin when my phone began to ring with a disguised number. Franklin was preparing to leave to rendezvous with Agent Kim. He looked up from pulling on a jacket.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?”
It had been a while since any of my old story contacts fromr the Coldford Daily had been in touch.
“Hello?” I answered tentatively.
“Sam?” a woman’s voice, steady, calm, despite the sound of something of a commotion behind her. “Agnes Wilde. I got your number from a note you had left with Dennis.”
“Yes, Agnes. How are you?” Agnes and I had met before. She had shed a lot of light on Tabitha’s motives. It had been interesting hearing the perspective of someone who loved the Boss Lady like a daughter.
“I’ve been better I’m sad to say. I was going to be helping one of my girls this afternoon but we’ve been met with a swarm.”
A swarm was a common term in the Shady City for when the bailiffs arrived, due to the biblical plague nature of their descent.
“I’m sorry to hear that Agnes but I’m not sure what help I can be.”
“I can’t get away at the moment and this girl really could use some support. One of the agents would be a better fit than I am. It’s the little girl, Sam. The little girl that was shot? I can’t contact the agency directly because I need to be discrete but could you put me in touch?”
“I’ll do what I can,” I agreed.
I owed it to that little girl to do what I could to find her killer.
I looked to Franklin first. Capable and approachable. He would put Lisa at ease.
“Sorry,” he said. “Kim and I are heading to the Court House.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I know someone who might fit better.”
***
Whilst the bailiffs still swarmed their way through the club noting everything that could be of value down to the silver of the cutlery, Agnes opened the door to what little help there was available.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Lisa growled when she caught sight of Agent Lydia Lowe.
“We need all the help we can get,” Agnes warned. “Play nice.”
“That slutty bitch took Tabs away!” Lisa protested.
“I don’t have time for this. Tabs knew what she was getting herself into. It’s too late for her but if you want to find out what happened to Sarah you need to work with her.”
“Fine,” Lisa agreed, pouting.
A bailiff approached Agnes.
“Miss Wilde, we need the key for the upstairs apartment.”
Agnes’ lips tightened. “I suppose my toothbrush is worth something, is it?”
The bailiff didn’t answer. They just stood with their hand out waiting for their key. Agnes dipped into her jacket pocket and handed the key over.
“Right now, I have to concern myself with who is going to buy into this club. When Tawn comes back she will be devastated that Tabitha is gone. If she realises this place is gone too…” Her voice trailed off.
“Miss Wilde?” another bailiff called.
“I’m coming!” Agnes barked.
When she left Lisa and Lydia alone the Lydia asked her to join her somewhere quiet where they could talk. Lydia spoke first. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
She was not apologising for the Boss Lady’s demise. As her own aunt admitted, Tabitha had sealed her own fate. Lydia was offering heartfelt condolences for the death of her daughter, Sarah. If she hadn’t afforded me the opportunity to escape the club with the little girl, she would never have run into the scope of the gunman.
“Fuck you,” Lisa replied but she was starting to cry.
“I can’t bring your little girl back but I want to help you. Work with me and we’ll bring in the one that did it.”
“I thought you were one of us, you fake bitch. You took in Tabitha. She treated you like family. We were all like family.”
Lydia shook her head. She spoke softly. “I think you know that’s not true.”
Lisa smiled a little. It was true that The Baroness, The Broker and The Boss Lady treated all the girls at the club like family but long before she discovered she was an undercover agent, Tabitha made no secret of a dislike for Lydia. Jealousy? Instincts? Either way, Tabitha was not a fan. It had been club manager Dennis who had managed to gain Lydia access to the club.
“She’s good at what she does. She’ll draw in the crowds,” Dennis insisted – probably feeling like he could have a piece of Lydia himself.
“Fine,” Tabitha had agreed. “But keep her away from me. She looks like I might catch something.”
Preparing the girls for the evening Tabitha would do her usual rounds. “Great Lisa,” she would say. “Keep those drinks flowing. We want them pissed before we bring out the tip jars.” To Bette, the matron in charge of the dancer girls she would grin, “Got enough make up on? It looks like you’ve applied it with a trowel!” Bette would laugh at the good-natured ribbing. When Tabitha would turn to Lydia she would sneer, utter an, “Ugh,” and move on.
“I want to bring Sarah’s killer in. Will you let me help you?” Lydia put to the barmaid.
“Fine,” Lisa agreed for Sarah’s sake. “I was going to speak to someone who used to buy from Kevin. He might know something.”
“Good,” Lydia gave a chirpy smile. “What’s the address?”
“He lives in the Mid West now but he was Shanties born. He would never thank me for sending an agent to his door. I’ll go with you. I’ll talk to him first. Hopefully he will tell you all he knows.”
“We’ll get him, Lisa,” Lydia assured. “One way or another we’ll get that shooter.”
Lisa lowered her gaze. “I’m never going to have my daughter back. You lied to us. You lied to me. I thought we were friends.”
Lydia spoke soothingly. “I know I’m the last person you want around right now but I’m good at what I do and I can help find the one who shot Sarah. Let me help you.”
Lisa sniffed. “You’re still a fake bitch and the only thunder you bring is out your arse.”
Lydia shook her head. “Tabitha told you to say that, didn’t she?”
Lisa replied, “That’s the Boss Lady for you. But yeah, she did.”
***
Lisa’s contact had done good from what Lydia could tell. It seemed he had managed to escape the poverty trap of the Shanties and was now resident in a clean, respectable apartment in the Mid West.
“He’ll be a little shy of suits so let me do the talking,” Lisa instructed.
Lydia wasn’t going to complain. She wasn’t bearing any badge or uniform. It wasn’t her intention to cause any trouble for the contact. She just wanted to bring Sarah’s killer to justice.
A drug pusher was what Lydia expected from his association with Kev. He had clearly made a profitable business out of it. With bigger fish to fry she let Lisa take the lead. Lisa pushed the buzzer. Someone answered but they didn’t speak.
“Hey, it’s me,” she said.
The ring of the secure entry door sounded as it opened to them. Lisa stepped in first. Lydia was close at her back. She gave one last check for anything or anyone suspicious before she closed the door behind her.
They were greeted by a pleasantly lit, carpeted hallway. It wasn’t quite the Faulds Park building in City Main nor the Beckingridge Manor in Filton but it was clean. It was a typical Mid West apartment with its soft pastel coloured walls and welcoming plants in the corners. They climbed the stairs to the second floor. Lisa crossed an open landing and knocked on the door of apartment 2F. Their informant had been expecting them so the door was answered quickly.
“Agent Lowe,” Lisa introduced. “This is David Finn.”
Artist David Finn was sleepy eyed and his hair was tousled. He had clearly dressed in a hurry, his trousers and shirt not matching. He looked to Lydia, his mind still resonating on the word ‘agent’.
“Can we come in?” asked Lydia.
“Fuck,” was David’s reply.
***
David let the women into his apartment. The hallway may have been clean and well kept but the apartment itself was not. Clothes, paints, sketches were scattered everywhere. The artist started to straighten up as best he could.
While Lisa spoke to him Lydia took notice of a board that had been pinned to a wall. On it were photos of the Ferrald family who had raised David. There were also some photos taken from inside Harbour House, showing David with Tawny. She was clutching his face and kissing his cheek. David was smiling widely. His eyes were closed and his nose wrinkled. There was another with Tawny centre. She had one arm around David and the other round a well-groomed man wearing spectacles. Lydia assumed him to be the music teacher, Vincent Baines. Also pinned to the board was a photo of Tabitha as a girl. She was grinning, her two aunts standing proudly behind her. The photo was Tawny’s favourite and David had kept it for her. He knew she would be wanting it back when she was found.
“Jesus fucking Christ, lady!” David gasped to the Knock Knock barmaid. “You brought the law?”
“She just wants to ask about Kev,” Lisa explained. “She’s helping me.”
David nervously watched as Lydia inspected his apartment.
“Where did you meet her?” he asked. “She’s not CPD.”
“She was under cover at the club as one of the dancer girls.”
David’s nerves dissolved to a grin. “Really?”
“David? David?” Lisa urged but he was now lost in the neatness of Lydia’s form. “David focus!” she snapped her fingers in front of his glassy eyes.
“Sorry Lees,” he chuckled. “I was miles away there.”
Lisa pouted with good nature. “I’m sure you were. Can you help?”
“Of course,” David agreed.
When Tawny caught wind of Lisa’s daughter, Sarah, being gunned down and it likely being an Owen bullet that had taken her life she had vowed to do whatever it took to expose the killer. David was sure her vow and her disappearance were not unrelated. When he left Harbour House he met up with the Knock Knock barmaid to offer his support. It turned out that when Tawny spoke of Lisa, she had meant Lisa Luren. She and David had gone to school at The Grange together. Lisa was a couple of years above David but she was bubbly, popular and very memorable for a teenaged boy. They hadn’t seen one another in years but they knew each other well. David hadn’t realised the Kev he occasionally bought needles from was Lisa’s boyfriend.
Having given the time to put David at ease Lydia turned away from the board and prepared for her questioning. David kicked a pair of pink lace knickers under the sofa. There was no good explanation for them.
“So David,” Lydia asked. “When did you first find out about Sarah? What did Tawny tell you?”
“She heard from a friend that a little girl had been shot. That was nothing unusual in the Shanties but she insisted that it was an Owen that did it. Kappa So had been after Kev. He owed them money.”
“Did you know Kev well?”
“Uh…” David turned to Lisa.
Lisa urged him. “It’s fine,” she said.
“I used to buy from him when the Kirkton apartments dried up. I haven’t touched anything since I came out of Harbour House though, honest! I’m clean and sober. I haven’t done anything illegal.”
“It’s okay. I’m just here to try and find out what happened to Sarah,” Lydia assured. “Did Kev ever say who in Kappa So he owed?”
“No,” David replied. “But he owed lots of people. He stiffed me a few times too.”
Lydia took note. “Thanks David,” she said.
“So you’re going to make an arrest?” the artist asked. “You shut down Knock Knock. You can shut Kappa So down too, surely?”
“It’s not quite as simple as that I’m afraid,” Lydia admitted. “I need evidence.”
The recent events had left David a little emotional.
“And your looking for Tawn too?” he asked. “She’s loud, brassy, always flashing her tits at people,” he sniffed. “She can’t be missed, right?” he tried a cheerful spin.
Lydia smiled. “If learning about Sarah is the reason she’s gone missing then hopefully it will lead me to her too,” Lydia assured. “Lay low and say nothing to anyone.”
“Even CPD?” he enquired.
“Especially CPD.”
“The rich dragon lady wants to have a word with me. Can I talk to her?”
“If you mean Elizabeth Beckingridge then let me speak to her first. I want to find out all she learned from your friend, Vincent.”
David walked them to the door.
“Take care of yourself, Lees,” he said to the Knock Knock barmaid with a hug. “I’m here if you need anything.”
Lisa kissed the artist’s cheek. “I’m outta work just now so if you want a model give me a call,” she jested.
David laughed, “I will.”
Lydia shook his hand. “Thanks David. I’ll be in touch.”
“Sure, agent.” He leaned against the door frame. “Call me anytime. The more models the better…”
Lydia smiled. Her natural effervescence started to shine through her professionalism. She winked. “Stay safe.”
As they rounded the stairs Lisa looked back to see David still watching on with a raised eyebrow. His eyes were wide. Lisa shook her head with an exasperated giggle when he exhaled. Lydia had made an impression on him.
***
Kim and Lydia met outside the steps of the Court House. The last time they had done so it had been to discuss the raid on the Knock Knock Club. The dust from the debris had settled and through the dust an underlying problem in the Shady City was discovered. It resonated from all four corners of Coldford but that morning it had been the Chapter House the agents were targeting. The icy winter chill was closing in fast. Lydia blew warm breath into her hands. Smiling, she watched Kim approach. She hugged her agency partner. Kim was the self-appointed leader of their group. She was also the sternest but with Lydia close a warmth danced into her eyes.
“Let’s not waste time,” Kim suggested. “We need that signature.”
They headed on inside. An old building, the Court House had seen rulings from the first hanging two centuries before (ironically it had been Judge Jessica ‘Jess’ Owen who delivered the conviction. A man sentenced to death for thieving cattle. The cattle in question belonged to her family) right up to to death sentence of the Boss Lady. It had seen so much and still had so much to do.
The agents were escorted by a clerk on duty. Several members of the black bands were present. They were quiet and structured but their presence was worthy of attention.
Inside the office of The Judge, they found Doyle herself collecting documents.
“I must make this brief, agents,” she said. “I’m due in court.”
“It’s about an investigation I’d like to open,” said Lydia without haste. “With the help of my team.”
Karyn continued to prepare for court. “What kind of charges are you looking to bring?”
“Murder – first degree. Possibly several counts of rape, drug possession, whatever I can find.”
Judge Doyle stopped. “This perp sounds like quite a character. Coldford is no longer your jurisdiction. Why are you doing this? Why not tell CPD everything you know and let them handle it?”
Kim stood firm. “Ma’am, if I leave it in the hands of CPD it will be brushed away. There is a conflict of interest at the department now.”
“Who is this target?” asked Doyle.
“Kappa So,” Lydia stated. “We have reason to believe one of them is responsible for the murder of Kev Marsh and his daughter Sarah. We also have reason to believe one of them is responsible for the abduction of Tawny McInney too.”
“And these reasons are hunches?” the Judge put to them.
It was Kim who had to admit. “It is just hearsay at this point, ma’am, but if we put it to CPD we will never discover the truth, not when the suspects cousin on of them is acting commissioner.”
Doyle gave it some thought. “I’ll grant you two weeks to find out what you can,” she said.
Kim offered the document that required a High Court signature to open the investigation. Karyn used the same silver pen that had been used to sign Tabitha’s life away. Buddy Owen had now come under investigation.
“If your enquiries bring up nothing, be prepared. The Cappy will not stop at having your badges revoked.”
“It’s a risk we’re willing to take,” Kim assured.
“Good,” replied Judge Doyle. “Bring me whatever you find. We will see if a warrant is necessary.”
***
With more Owens arriving for the funeral of Pops even a place as large as Owen Estate was starting to feel crowded. Billy was occupied by his father, Jackson ‘Jackie’ Owen and The Cappy, so Buddy and his bros managed to slip their nanny and head off back to Filton. They had said they were to meet with a Fullerton representative to discuss bringing the Chapter House back in order and they were.
“I’ll handle the Fullerton contract,” Buddy had offered.
Billy laughed heartily and shook his shoulder. “Shit for brains here still thinks he’s Chapter leader. You lost it boy.”
“I can do this,” Buddy pleaded to his father. “I can make it right.”
The Cappy scowled with a narrow gaze. “Close the Fullerton deal and then we’ll talk.”
Billy cheered. He wrapped his arm around his cousin’s neck. “Who’s the leader, shithead?” he asked.
Buddy could feel Coops and Chad’s eyes burning on him.
“You are,” he admitted.
“Damn right I am. Who has the mighty big balls?” he asked.
“You do.”
Billy let him go. “Then let’s head out.”
Luckily The Cappy interceded. “Let Buddy try this one. I would like to see him produce positive results for once in his life. Billy, you and I should talk on CPD.”
“Sure thing Captain,” replied Billy.
So Buddy and his Kappa So brothers returned to Filton but before any meeting with Fullerton could take place they had a stop off to make.
Chad checked his phone. “Susie is out of the hospital.”
Buddy gave a sigh of relief. “Thank the fucking Lord Almighty,” he said. “I should send her something.”
Chad started to tap through his phone. “I have a flower guy I use,” he said. “What kind of flowers does she like? Orchids, lilies, tulips?”
Buddy stopped. “Flowers? She’s a little kid, she likes pony rides and chocolate milk.” He looked to Cooper and scoffed. “Flowers? Can you believe this guy?”
Cooper shrugged. Chad continued scrolling.
“You liked the purple tulips, remember?” Chad put to Buddy.
Buddy groaned. “Bro, they brightened up the place, bro.”
They had arrived at Cooper Garage. Cooper opened up. The annual luxury car auction in Luen was taking place. The Deluxe Drive event was a big deal among the traders and the Coopers never missed it. The garage had been on lock down since before the Loyalist/Fleet attacks began. As they stepped onto the main show room floor motion sensor lights sparked on.
Buddy stopped to admire a shining silver Bentley.
“We’re gotta get back into the Chapter House before Fullerton gets there and finds the golden cock. Then I’m going to the farm, find the one who coked up my little chick and I’m gonna fire ten rounds right up their fucking ass.”
“Yeah!” his brothers cheered.
“Then I’m gonna have my Chapter House back.”
“Yeah!” the brothers continued in their encouragement.
“Then when I’m the new Cappy in town I’m gonna bang that farm girl because I’m Kappa fucking So!”
“Yeah!”
The cheer of the brothers rang through the garage. They climbed the steps to Cooper’s father’s office.
“We are Kappa So! Brothers for life,” Buddy was still ranting. They started in on the Kappa So chant as Cooper opened the door to Marshal Cooper’s office. More motioned sensor lights came on. Buddy pushed him out of the way and stood in the doorway first. He sniffed. He could almost smell victory.
“With everything that’s been going on I almost forgot we had the big chick!”
In the corner, hidden away from the rest of the city was Tawny, the one they called the Baroness.
George knew his aunt was looking for her but he always loved the thrill of a game of hide and seek. He especially enjoyed the admiration of his bros when his Beck Firm informant was able to tell them exactly where Elizabeth was going to be looking next.
Tawny’s caught sight of Buddy and his bros unlocking Marshall Cooper’s cupboard and helping themselves to a generous helping of powder.
Buddy took the first line.
“I feel good!” he screamed. “I feel fucking good!”
“So what are we going to do with her? “ Chad asked Buddy of Tawny.
“Throw a sheet over her, dude. She’s weirding me out.”
Tawny shook her head with a laugh. “You three idiots are in so much trouble,” she said.
***
Agnes and I met in Bobby’s lunch box. Whilst the Knock Knock was seized, Agnes had been staying in her Mid East apartment. We had joined for a coffee, the chance to relinquish our breaths and to discuss the power grabbing that had torn through the Shady City since the delivery of the sentence on The Boss Lady.
Agnes had gotten a text.
CAN YOU COME DOWN TO KK. HURRY.
I couldn’t let her return alone. When we got to the Shanties the streets were filled. I had never seen the place so busy. Even on the nights the Knock Knock was in full swing there still weren’t as many people pressing towards the club.
Lisa got talking to someone she knew in the crowd. She started to push through.
Mounted Black Band patrol pushed through. Agnes and I got crushed between them. Agnes fell into me but I managed to steady her on her feet. I had seen riot patrols before. I had seen them many times in fact but the crowd control that the Black Bands dealt was not the same. Their horses were larger. Thoroughbreds intended for war. A woman’s scream called out as she was crushed between two horses. A Shanties knife fighter pulled a blade and tried to plunge one of them. The horse reared. It’s horsemen came tumbling down with his baton at the ready. The knife dropped from the aggressor’s hands as the baton smashed against his skull.
“She’s dead! They’ve done it. They’ve killed Tabitha.”
The Black Bands swept the crowd back like the ocean over a sandcastle. Agnes roared a cry of despair that still tremors in my ears on dark nights when I’m alone.
From a post outside the club hung that red dress, that red dress that meant so much to so many people in the area. The wearer of the dress was gone. A notice on the door of the club read that the execution of Tabitha had been brought forward. No more appeals. No more pleas. All Lydia and Kim could do was lead the people away from the path of the Black Bands.
Paddy Mack comforted Brendan when they discovered the news. The Mack Distillery owner had known Tabitha since she was little girl. Kieran was pacing. He didn’t dry his tears. He let them flow freely. The bells rang in the distillery from behind the gates.
Agnes wept. It took both Lisa and I to try and usher her away. Don’t look, I hoped she would hear me think. For God’s sake don’t look.
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It hadn’t escaped my notice that the Harvester Brand was spreading fast around the city. It was a swift spread that had happened over such a short space of time. While Julia Harvester hosted both Beckingridge and Owen proposals for investment she, essentially, was the only thing keeping the duelling titans at bay, the only thing keeping Buddy Owen on a low profile and the only thing keeping the city holding a tentative breath.
“You got to watch her, man,” David Finn, the artist, told me. “You never know what she’s going to do next.”
David would know. After he fell in love with her as his muse, he had become so engrossed by her that he failed to see two of his closest friends lose their child. The beautiful art work he produced with her image only brought him to Harbour House.
Regardless of the warnings, I wondered if Julia knew anything about Sarah or Tawny. Perhaps she had heard her guest on the farm brag about the shooting as his brothers had. The very least I could do was make her aware of the kind of person Buddy was, if she wasn’t already.
She was reputedly a beautiful woman, kind, shy seeming.
“That’s how she gets you,” David had said. “Bam! Before you know it, she’s got you by the nuts and your saying sorry to her for the cramp in her hand.”
David’s warnings were taken on board although they were coming from a time when his addiction was at its worst. Even he had to admit the memories were a little faded.
The moment I saw her, however, I realised why she had caused such a stir. Beautiful she was, but with a natural allure. She even had sweat on her brow as she carried a box into the City Main Harvesters store. She was smiling and laughing with the girls who had come out to help her. I followed her inside.
She laid the box on the counter. When she turned we were face to face.
“Julia Harvester?” I put to her. “Sam Crusow. I’m writing a piece…”
She stopped me with a smile and a gentle caress of my arm.
“Yes, I know you. You used to write for the Daily. You’re a terrific writer. I was ever so sorry to hear what happened to your wife. Theresa, wasn’t it?”
I hadn’t expected her to know so much about me. “Yes. Thanks.”
“And still chasing the story? That’s either very courageous of you or proof that you reporters never give up.”
Her smile smoothed. My own expression mimicked.
“I want to finish what I started,” I said to her.
“That nasty Knock Knock girl is gone now. I’m not sure what help I can be to you.”
My story began the moment my eyes set sight on the Knock Knock Club sign for the first time but when the door of the club opened it was to the wider city. There was a much bigger story there.
“I have some questions about your guest, Buddy Owen?” She looked to the phone I had slipped into my hand. “If you don’t mind my asking,” I added.
She shrugged. “I’m really busy so it’ll have to be quick.”
“Has Buddy ever mentioned to you about a little girl named Sarah?”
Julia shook her head. “No.”
“Has he said anything about the disappearance of Tawny McInney? The Baroness?”
“No,” said Julia again. “Dreadful business though. I met her a few times in Harbour House. She was friendly with my dad who was a resident too. She was sweet, laughed a lot, really perked everyone up. Why would Buddy know anything about her?”
“You know the history of the Baroness and Buddy’s uncle?”
“I do,” Julia agreed. “But that was such a long time ago and Buddy isn’t his uncle. Buddy has been really sweet and helpful to me. That’s all I know. He’s overindulged and coarse but he’s just a big pet, really.”
“There is reason to believe he is responsible for gunning down a little girl. You’ve heard the rumours that that is why Tawny was taken?”
Julia stroked my arm again. This time her grip was a little firmer.
“I would tread carefully, Mr Crusow. If there is a gunman going around you never know when you might step into his firing line.”
I wasn’t given time to absorb her threats when she opened the box she had placed on the counter and drew out a meat packet.
“With your wife gone you’ll be having trouble taking care of yourself properly.”
“I have friends around,” I said.
“That’s nice.”
She passed me the meat packet. “Have this on the Harvesters. There’s more than enough to share with friends.”
The meat was thick prime, tender beef. Succulent.
“Thank you,” I said sincerely.
“You’re welcome,” was her reply.
Julia Harvester was truly a nice girl.
***
With the bitterness setting in, Harvester Farm was being prepared for the winter chill. The coldness was always felt more harshly in the north and the animals and crops needed to be readied.
Dr Nathan Watt was waiting in the kitchen. He had spent a very restless night in the guest bedroom and it was now early morning. That didn’t matter. Julia would be joining him soon enough. He heard her soft steps. He hoped she had slept well.
A bowl of oatmeal and a slice of toast – lightly buttered – had been laid out for her. It was her preferred breakfast when a day on the fields beckoned. When she arrived in the kitchen she wasn’t surprised to see him awake but her focus was on a text message on her phone. She gave a giggle as she read. The glow of the screen highlighted her cheek bones, the softness of her eyes shone better then than in any of the images that artist, David Finn, had ever painted of her as far as Nathan was concerned.
Still absorbed in her conversation, still failing to acknowledge him, Nathan cleared his throat. Julia giggled again as she started to compose a response.
“I prepared breakfast for you,” Nathan informed her.
Julia sat down at the table and picked up the cereal spoon. She laid the phone face down.
“You’re so sweet,” she said, finally offering him a glance. “Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?”
He hadn’t told her that Coldford General had ordered him on leave. Chief consultant Dr Ferrald had said he lacked enthusiasm.
“It takes everything you got,” Dr Ferrald had said. “If your mind isn’t on the patients you are going to make mistakes. Take some time and gather yourself. For now though, take a leave of absence.”
It didn’t matter to Nathan. When he and Julia were together, he could open a private practice. When she became pregnant the farm hands would handle the farm work. She wouldn’t be wanting to go back out onto the fields with the children to take care of and house to keep. Her mother and brother would of course still stay at the house. He supposed Nan Harvester would make a good grandmother for the children. Both of them, a boy and a girl. Hopefully the boy would come first. It would be nice to have a protective brother for his little girl. He would like to see the children to be close siblings. He was an only child. He only had his cousin Kelsey and they hated each other. He always wished it was different.
He wanted to approach the subject of their being together again but he had to be delicate. She hesitated as she lifted her spoon. She caught his gaze. She smiled. Words were forming on her lips but before she uttered them her phone beeped its little jingle she favoured. She dropped the spoon he had set for her and lifted her phone. Nathan never thought he would ever find her voice irritating, so sweet it was to the ear, but as she laughed at the response to her text it grated on his nerves.
“Who on earth is contacting you at his hour? It’s only just struck five.”
Julia pursed her lips. She started to compose another text. “A friend. They’re in business so they have an early start too. Early bird catches the worm and all that.”
“Oh?” Nathan wondered. “What’s their name?”
Julia looked up with a slight smile. “It’s not a her, sweetie. It’s a him.”
It was Nathan’s turn to frown. “I got up early. I made you breakfast. I am here for you presently and you barely speak to me? Instead, you spend your time messaging another man. That’s shameful behaviour Julia.”
Julia spoke softly. “But I didn’t ask you to do any of those things.”
Nathan started to become irritable. “I want to look after you, Jules. Why won’t you let me?”
Julia cocked her head. She pouted. “You poor doe. You know I’m not in need of help. I have all the help I need on the farm.”
“Eat your breakfast Jules. I made your favourite.”
Julia pushed her seat out from the table and stood. Nathan stood too.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I have a busy day ahead, Nate. Perhaps you should go home.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he barked. “Stop texting other men and start showing me some appreciation for everything I do for you.”
“Oh Nate,” she sighed. “Go home. I’m going to be on the fields all day and you are not needed.”
“Why don’t we have dinner together?” he tried.
Julia held her phone by her side. “I already have dinner plans. My friend is taking me to Delphine.”
Nathan growled. “Isn’t it enough I have to watch that freak show, Buddy Owen, lust after you but now you tell me you have dinner plans with someone else? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Julia remained calm. She knew his attention would fall to her chest as soon as she took a sharp intake of breath.
“Don’t be so rude.”
The phone bleeped again but before she could check it Nathan lunged forward. He tried to tackle her and snatch it from her hand. Used to the charge of angry cattle, Julia was too quick and pulled away holding her phone behind her back. He was leaning over her. His size was larger than hers but she was smiling.
“Give me the phone,” he demanded.
Julia raised an eyebrow. “I will not.”
Nathan made another attempt to grab at it but her reflexes were too quick.
“Curtis?” she called.
Farm hand Curtis had been nearby, readying himself for a day on the fields. Nathan hadn’t heard him arrive. Nathan stepped back immediately, seeing Curtis appear in the door way.
“You ready?” he asked. He took note of the way Julia was leaning back from Nathan and how he was looming over her but he said nothing.
“I am. I want to get started. We have a long day ahead and I’m sick of oatmeal.”
The winter preparations on Harvester Farm was an arduous task. Curtis glared at Nathan but he and the farm girl left. Nathan grumbled to himself as he cleared the table. That was when he noticed she had left her phone behind. It was a chance for him to warn this friend of hers off.
Delphine restaurant was well lit, a large chandelier sparkled down on the luncheon crowd. All of the tables were filled but an empty one for two by the window. Its view was of the Fullerton bridge. Water, escape, building. All of these things told that Julia would have chosen that spot.
Nathan could see her tell her admirer, “a lovely spot for lunch.”
She had no right making arrangements for dinner with other men. It was disrespectful towards him. They were going to be together and he demanded she begin by cutting out all other admirers starting with her dinner date. It was difficult enough with the Kappa So frat brothers. He knew Julia was just toying with them to keep them in line but he didn’t like the way that Buddy Owen looked at her. He didn’t like how comfortable he was becoming in Julia’s company. More than that he didn’t like that she was laughing with her dinner date as though he – Nathan – was of no consequence. He gave up everything for her. He devoted himself to her and this was the thanks he was given?
It was approaching noon. First he would tell this new beau of Julia’s to back off and leave her alone then he would rid the farm of those frat brothers. Julia would see sense. Maybe a grand gesture like that would catch her interest again and show how much she meant to him.
The admirer had said in his last message to what he thought was Julia.
I’LL BE OUT OF TOWN UNTIL 2MORROW. I’LL C U AT LUNCH. XxCx
Was the C a misspelling? Was that his name? He had been tempted to dig deeper but he had to be careful. A lot of information Julia would already know even if they had just met. Julia had her way of ingratiating herself to people quickly. Before long they wanted to offer her everything they had.
He checked back on some of their exchange. Nothing sexual, thank God. That’s not to say there weren’t deleted messages though. From what he could read they were merely discussing life on a farm. He did ask her if she had ever masturbated a bull but she quickly laughed that off, changed the subject and he sweetened again.
What kind of company was this for her to keep? Perhaps he was reading too much into it but it seemed like Julia was delighted at the prospect of having a meal with this creep. Nathan would set him straight.
The time slipped to two minutes past noon. The date hadn’t shown up yet. He was either running a little late or Julia would have been stood up. She did say he was in business. Maybe business had kept him. Maybe that would be the end of it. Perhaps he had messaged again after Julia came in from the fields and took her phone back. Maybe she had learned all about Nathan’s little deception. But that couldn’t be it. She didn’t say anything about it. But then she wouldn’t. She would let him come to the restaurant and let him look a fool. She and her new ‘friend’ in business would be tittering behind their hands at Nathan’s expense. All he could do was return to the farmhouse, demand she call her friend and tell him they were no longer to be in touch. Then he would take her upstairs and show her how much he cared.
Nathan watched the empty table. The Maitre’d stopped.
“Sir, we are currently serving our luncheon course. If you don’t have a reservation, I really must ask you to leave.”
Snobbish and with the slight hint of a Luen accent. Probably put on. She was a severe looking woman with large sagging breasts that tugged on the buttons of her white shirt. Nathan didn’t know what name the business ‘friend’ would have put the table under.
“I’m meeting someone,” he decided to hang on for an extra few minutes.
The Maitre’d was not impressed but she left him alone to watch the table longingly. If Julia liked that table so much he could book it for them. With his ordered leave from the hospital he wouldn’t be able to afford it for very long so he would have to act fast.
A few more minutes passed. It wouldn’t be long before the Maitre’d would be onto him again. He sighed. Bitterly defeated, he resolved to leave.
Long, pianist fingers clasped his shoulder. A man’s voice hissed in his ear.
“You must be Dr Watt. I believe you’re here to see me.”
Nathan was spun round to face a young man of about nineteen in a finely tailored dark, grey suit. His darkening fair hair was neatly parted. His full lips were stretched in a Cheshire Cat grin. His brown eyes were saucer like but devoid of any warmth.
“George Beckingridge. You’ve been texting me. Let’s eat.”
***
“We might as well use the table if Julia isn’t coming,” said George.
Nathan said nothing. He followed the Billionaire Boy to the table and took a seat across from him. He watched the heir to the Beckingridge Tower closely. Not only was he the richest young man in Coldford, but if rumours were true he was also a brother murdering, puppy torturing psychopath. He had spent ten years missing when his music teacher kidnapped him. The teacher – Vincent Baines – had been a Harbour House resident along with David Finn and the Baroness. They had been close friends. Mr Baines was now in The Boss regretting the day he accepted George as a pupil. His Aunt Elizabeth was still interim CEO of the Tower but it was only the matter of time before the boy who most claim murdered his mother at age eight, became the controlling force behind the biggest fortune in the shady city, with a shark tank filled with hungry board members at his beck and call.
“You look surprised,” George gave a nasally laugh. “Didn’t you want to meet for lunch? I had to change the reservations and everything. You text me from Julia’s phone.”
Nathan could ask how George came about that information but Julia was always far more aware than she would let on. It wouldn’t surprise him if she had deliberately left her phone behind so that he could arrange this for himself. She and her new friend were tittering behind their hands at his expense after all.
A highly trained silver service waitress approached them. Without rudely interrupting them she waited for George to acknowledge her.
“Can I get something for you gentlemen to drink?”
Petite, mid-thirties, skilled at her job. George looked at Nathan though, rather than the waitress.
“A bottle of Cristal, I think. We’re going to celebrate.”
Nathan lowered his gaze. “I should go,” he decided.
“No!” George barked.
If the waitress was taken aback, she didn’t show it. Some of the other diners looked up though. George gave his nasally snigger again.
“A bottle of Cristal and we’ll have two of whatever the chef’s specials are today.”
“An excellent choice, Mr Beckingridge,” the waitress agreed, collecting their menus. “Chef is simply a wonder with veal. You won’t be disappointed.”
The waitress departed leaving George and his luncheon companion alone. “I come here a lot now,” he stated. “The chef at home is on my aunt’s staff. She might try to poison me. I know the chef here though. I know him very well.”
“What do you want George?”
“That’s Mr Beckingridge to you,” George snarled. “I didn’t arrange this. You did. I’m glad you did though. Julia told me what the look on your face would be like and it does look stupid.” Here George giggled boyishly. “I’m acquainting myself with the finer things in life. Julia is quite fine, isn’t she?”
At first Nathan was speechless but then he managed a whimper.
“I’m in love with her. She loves me too,” he said.
George’s lip curled like he was a little boy who still believed girls were a sure way to catch cooties.
The waitress returned with the bottle of Cristal and two finely chipped Champagne glasses. Nathan placed his hand over his before the waitress could offer him a sample.
“I’m not staying,” he informed them as the waitress presented the bottle in a perfect silver service manner.
“Yes, he is,” George insisted. “We’re on a date here and he’s not going to leave me to drink alone.”
Nathan removed his hand from the glass. The waitress poured.
George drank first. He sipped. He held the glass the way lessons in etiquette had taught him. He noticed Nathan looking up to stare at him.
“Do you want Julia?” he finally asked.
George settled the glass down. “You needn’t worry about me. My tastes lie…elsewhere.”
“I shouldn’t have come here.”
George pursed his lips. “Why? I liked the kisses in your text. I liked your sweet words.”
Nathan couldn’t tell if the Billionaire Boy was being sarcastic. He fell to silence again. George started to laugh.
“Drink the champagne, Nathan,” he instructed.
Nathan took a sip of the expensive Cristal but he didn’t savour it.
“Tastes like feet,” George grinned. “Doesn’t it?”
“What do you want Mr Beckingridge?” Nathan asked.
They had never met in person but he had seen him many times on the news. The kidnapping story, the death of his mother and brother, the rumours of psychopathy his aunt wasn’t shy in sharing. He had noted his cold stare through the television screen many times as though he had been addressing him directly. Now being sat across the table from him in person was unsettling.
“Julia is my friend. She’s the best girl in the world. I like her. But she tells me you aren’t happy with the boys on the farm.”
With Beckingridge Firm competing with Owen Inc. for a controlling share in the farm it occurred to Nathan that maybe the Billionaire Boy could be a way of ridding Julia of Buddy and his brothers for good. If Julia had befriended George maybe he could too.
“I worry about those frat brothers around Julia. I’m worried that they will hurt her. Buddy Owen is…”
Nathan curbed his words immediately when he noticed the soft expression on George’s face dissolve into a scowl. “Shut up!” he barked.
Nathan’s lips pursed tightly. George saw how uncomfortable he had made the doctor and he relished it.
“Buddy is a God,” he said. “He says things people are too scared to admit. He leads where most other tiny pissers are afraid to go. He’s a God and you should be thankful your mother opened her legs when she did so you could be there to see him on the farm.”
If George had actually witnessed Buddy trying to work the farm, he may have felt a little differently. This was not for Nathan to argue though.
“Did your dad have God balls Nathan?” The question was rhetorical. “Don’t worry. Mine didn’t either but Buddy is going to show me how to be a God. He’s my brother.” George opened the jacket of his suit to show a Kappa So badge on his shirt. “He’s my brother and we’re brothers for life.”
***
George had insisted the doctor stay and have his lunch just like he had used Julia’s phone to arrange. He insisted the doctor be the one to drink the Cristal and finish it.
“Finish the bottle. I bought it for you,” he said.
He kept laughing as the doctor grimaced. He was drunk by one o’clock and feeling sick. Nathan tried to excuse himself but George was persistent. He tried to summon the Maitre’d to help but when she turned to the Billionaire Boy and asked, “Is this man bothering you, Mr Beckingridge?” Nathan knew it would be no use.
George watched on with a grin as Nathan forced all three courses. He hated veal and despite the meat being succulent and well prepared it still caused his stomach to gargle. By the final bite he could barely speak.
“Drink up,” George kept saying. “Eat up. Don’t play with your food. Don’t waste it.”
“May I be excused?” Nathan asked. “Please let me go. I think I’m going to be sick.”
George’s lip curled. He had chosen a large glass of Jolly Shopper soda pop for himself. It wasn’t usually what Delphine served their luncheon crowds but for their best customer they were happy to make an exception. George took the glass in both hands and brought it to his lips. He glugged, glugged, glugged so loudly some of the other patrons looked up at him.
By the time he left Delphine Nathan’s head was spinning. He emptied the contents of his stomach at the foot of the street where he had parked his car. Luckily the town of Filton was quieter than City Main so he managed to get away without drawing too much attention to himself. He climbed into his car and drove the North route back towards Bournton. A CPD patrol approached but luckily they took the exit to Fullerton Bridge. They seemed in a hurry. They were in too much of a hurry to notice Nathan’s car swaying slightly.
He did catch the attention of Curtis as the car screeched to a halt at the bottom of the east acre. Failing to park in any cohesive manner Nathan stumbled out of his car and vomited again.
“Hey cunt!” Curtis yelled at him. “I hope you’re going to clean that up.”
Nathan couldn’t give him any attention, he simply waved him off and started to stumble towards the farm house. The fresh air dancing around his face was helping clear his head. Julia was nowhere around. She would probably be out on deliveries or maybe she was going on to rendezvous with George so they could laugh about how much of a fool Nathan had made of himself.
Buddy and his brothers were in the east acre tasked with preparing the ground for the winter. They stopped when they saw Nathan. Still drunk on a full guzzled bottle of champagne Nathan almost stumbled. Buddy emitted an uproarious laugh. His brothers followed suit. Chad cackled along with the chapter leader. Cooper watched with a smile on his face and his arms folded.
“You’re wasted!” Buddy called to him. “You gotta get me some of your gear, bro!”
He proceeded to hold his nostril and hop around the field. Chad was now in hysterics. Nathan was in no mood for their nonsense.
“Can’t handle the Charlie?”
Nathan rushed towards the farm house. Still Buddy and his friends taunted him.
“Fucking coke head,” Nathan muttered bitterly when he got inside. He had a plan for ridding the farm of Buddy and his bros. Julia was clearly looking for the next best thing but Dr Nathan Watt could show her she already had the best she was ever going to have. It didn’t matter that Buddy Owen’s family had the chance to make something of the farm that Julia had worked so hard to protect. She would learn who was truly behind her, who truly wanted her and it wasn’t Buddy ‘goddamn’ Owen.
Having just returned from school in the city, Susie was stood in the hallway. Her pink back pack was still over her shoulders. She was clutching a horse doll, playing with its hair nervously. As she watched Nathan she noted he was drunk. She didn’t like seeing people drunk. She saw her dad drunk once and it frightened her. He had been so frustrated with work and he had drunk too many beers. Grandma was yelling at him to get to bed. He calmed down when he saw Susie cry. He kissed her and said he was sorry he was just a big idiot. His breath smelled awful. He told her she would never see him in that state again and he kept true to his word.
“You are better than your father,” Grandma reminded him.
Susie knew no harm would come to her from her daddy no matter how drunk he got but with other drunk men she was not so sure.
“Hi, Susie,” Nathan greeted. He was starting to stand a little straighter. The cloudiness over his mind was starting to dissipate as he collected his medical bag from a locked cupboard he kept it in.
“Where are you going?” the little girl asked.
How to explain it to a child. “I’m going away and I might not see you again.”
“Oh?” The little girl was taken aback. Nathan had become such a feature at the farm house it hadn’t been what she had expected but she wasn’t too upset. She continued to play with the hair of her toy horse. Mimsy she called it because it looked a lot like the real-life Harvester horse named Mimsy.
“Bye then,” Susie replied.
She didn’t notice him reach into his medical bag.
“We’re friends right?” he put to her.
Susie managed a smile. He didn’t look as drowsy as he had before. He even looked a little sad.
“Sure,” she shrugged.
“And we both like Jules, right?” he asked.
Susie nodded. She smiled again. Nathan wasn’t so bad. He was a bit of a blow hard – that’s what dad called him – but he was okay really. He wasn’t funny like Buddy and he was always trying to tell her off but that was just his way. Buddy didn’t tell her off. In fact, he found it hilarious when she said things she shouldn’t. He laughed so hard when she told Chad to ‘Fuck off’
“She’s a feisty little critter cause she’s Kappa So!” he had cheered.
Excitable, fun, with flowing blonde hair and an accent like a movie star. Susie couldn’t understand why Nathan thought Julia would ever choose him over Buddy. She guessed grown-ups looked for different things.
“I’ll miss you,” he said sincerely.
Maybe Nathan wasn’t so bad after all. Julia had always said he was a good friend and he was Susie’s friend too she supposed. He just liked Julia more than she liked him. Grown-ups were weird.
“You’ll look after Julia for me, won’t you?” he asked of her.
Looking after Julia and Kappa So mascot. Susie’s pride swelled with her responsibilities on the farm.
“Sure,” she agreed.
Nathan’s expression became softer. She still didn’t like the drunken look in his eyes.
“Can I get a hug goodbye?”
***
Buddy was returning a bucket to the stables like a good boy. He was laying low. His father would be on Coldford soil soon enough and those loyalist sons a bitches would pay for what they did to him and to Pops. Them and their Fleet scum ass kissers. He didn’t let the frustration boil over though. The farm work itself was humiliating but he realised the harder he worked, the more he pretended to care about dumb shit like the horses, the warmer Julia became to him. That and it kept fucking cave man farm hand Glenn off his back. Chad seemed to be taking a step further and prancing around the farm like he was one of them. He even had a beer with Curtis. He would have to be reminded he was a brother and they were brothers for life.
He dropped the bucket on the shed floor. One of the horses, named Pippen, snorted at him.
Buddy snorted back. Pippen shook his head. The truth was Buddy wasn’t actually annoyed which surprised him. Given the circumstances and the fact that it was now day 7 without powder, he really should have been losing it. Maybe the farm air was doing him good. He never really made the most of ranch life as a boy. He just wanted to shoot the horses in the ass with one of the air rifles. He patted Pippen’s nose as he remembered how fast a little foal had run after he aimed. CRACK. The dumb ass foal tried to leap the fence, got caught and tore the tendon in its front right leg. It had to be shot with a real gun.
“Ah,” Buddy sighed, still stroking Pippen. “Memories.”
He had caught Hell for that one. Luckily not from The Cappy. He had been away on business as usual. But Cousin Teddy was the best rancher of all of them. He made Buddy run across the enclosure and shot him in the ass with an air rifle. Buddy leapt that fence. He leapt that fence real good and he cleared it. He didn’t get caught like the dumbass little horse.
Buddy scooped up some feed for Pippen. The horse munched angrily from his hand. Buddy laughed to himself as he remembered Uncle Walt dragging the wayward preteen back to the ranch house to nurse the wound.
“I have mind to aim straight up your ass, boy,” The Cappy had groaned when he learned what had happened, “but since I wasn’t going to see you spitting bullets I figured, what’s the point?”
The air rifle had done enough damage. Buddy was rubbing the fleshy part of his left ass cheek. Teddy was a favourite of the The Cappy. He was a prominent figure in Buddy’s life. He was the father when The Cappy himself was rarely around.
He thought of Julia. Now those thoughts were stirring. Wait a minute … Wasn’t there naked paintings of her somewhere? An immediate check ensued.
The barn was empty so it seemed no use to waste the quiet time. he reached his hands into his pants. There was a noise of someone stumbling in so he quickly turned.
“Hey, little chick!” he cheered. “How was school? Shit, right?”
Susie mumbled something but it was incoherent. It was then he noticed her already large eyes were even larger. They had reddened like she had ingested a zombie virus. Her pupils were hugely dilated. Her little body was trembling. Buddy was no doctor but he knew a lot about cocaine abuse.
“Susie?” He tried to speak calmly the way the Kappa So coke whores would when they were trying to bring him on a come down. The little girl tried to leap excitedly but she fell on the floor.
He remembered Chad once throwing ice water over home when it looked as though he was overdosing.
“Who the fuck gave you powder?” he asked.
Susie couldn’t answer.
He lifted the water bucket. He had to act fast. Glenn would have seen his daughter wander towards the shed. He always had an eye on her no matter what he was doing. He was telepathic or something when it came to the kid. Who would get the blame? The fucking powder fiend.
“Not touched any in fucking days,” he was growling. “What the actual fuck brah!” He poured water over the little girl but it didn’t seem to do much good. “Damn it, Susie!” he pleaded. He lifted her into his arms and gave her a firm pat to her cheeks. “Snap out of it.”
If Cooper or Chad had given his little mascot coke, he was going to raise all kinds of Hell. There was no way they should have Charlie without telling him. He had been sober for what felt like forever. What the fuck!
The tremors of the little girl’s trembling body became worse with the addition of the cold water. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. She was his little mascot. She was Kappa So and someone had tried to hurt her. No powder in days and the little girl turns up three sheets to the wind. Ain’t no one going to believe he had nothing to do with it. Everything would be ruined. The little girl was sick, The Cappy would be furious but not before Glenn beat his ass. Julia would hate him and all along some asshole had powder on the farm this whole time.
“Get off her!” Glenn came charging towards him like one of the bulls he was used to wrangling.
Buddy tried to stop him moving her. She was now struggling to breathe.
“You’ve gotta get a doctor, bro. She’s taken powder. She’s taken coke!” Buddy tried to warn Glenn. Normally when the coke whores or even one of the brothers had snorted too much they would just be thrown out on their asses. If the exposure got to them before they sobered up that was their own damn fault. This was different. Buddy needed that little girl to live.
Glenn snatched Buddy by the throat, crushing his trachea. He punched him with a blow ‘The Bournton Blizzard’ would have been proud of. Buddy was sent backwards. The force almost broke a board on Pippen’s paddock.
“She needs a doc, bro,” Buddy protested.
Glenn snarled. “I’ll deal with you later.” He picked Susie up into his arms. “You better hope to Christ and everything he stands for that she’s okay.”
Buddy hadn’t picked himself up yet. The hit from Glenn had removed any strength he had had in his legs.
“Get her to a doctor, brah.”
Glenn carried Susie away in a rush. He hoped he could catch Nathan before he left.
***
Deliveries in the city had been more time consuming than Julia had anticipated. Her brother, Jonathan, had taken the City Main ones. Julia had gone further to Cardyne and then on to Swantin.
Darkness was beginning to set in by the time she had arrived back on Harvester Farm. The lights were on in the dining room of the farm house. Her dinner plans with George were cancelled due to Nathan and she was famished. The fields were quiet. Glenn’s own truck was gone. Some of the farm hands were having a beer as they relaxed after a long day’s hard work. They acknowledged her with a smile. She waved back.
A light was on in the milking shed where Buddy and his brothers were still stationed. Chick Owen had told them to remain where they were until he arrived from the Great States. The Owen estate could be unsafe and their Chapter House was still devastated after the combined loyalist/fleet attack.
There was no laughter there which was unusual. Normally Buddy’s voice could be heard above the others. He was certainly nothing if not strong spirited. The warning from Reginald Penn, the loss of his much respected and admired grandfather hadn’t broken him. Why would it when he knew his father would be arriving any minute and would clear the mess in one fell sweep? The Cappy was a powerful man and whilst he was around the son would laugh at the attempts of their enemies to frighten them. But something had given him sobering thoughts.
There was an eery silence as Julia stepped inside the house. There was no laughter, no merriment from the dining room.
“I’m home!” Julia called. “My dinner plans were cancelled. I do hope there is enough for one more setting.”
Julia looked in the mirror that hung by the door. Some strands of hair had escaped her pony tail. She fixed them and tidied her clothes.
“Mummy? Jon?” she called.
From the dining hall emerged Nan Harvester.
“It’s good you’re home, buttercup.” Nan greeted with a warm embrace and a kiss of her daughter’s cheek. “Of course we will have a place set for you. There’s plenty to go around. As a matter of fact, we have a guest. So why don’t you go and get washed up?”
“Who’s the guest?” Julia asked, taking note of her mother’s excitement.
Nan patted her arm. “Just hurry and get cleaned. We don’t want to hold dinner back too long.”
Julia agreed to her mother’s request. When she reached the foot of the stair case her mother added, “Use the new wash. It’s apple scented.”
Julia paused for thought. Nan smiled sweetly as though the words were of no consequence.
Julia changed from her Harvester shirt. Without knowing the importance of the guest, she chose a plain white blouse. She used the apple wash on her hands and face, enjoying how the sweet scent covered the smell of the Harvester van she had been riding in all day.
Returning back downstairs, a warmth was now radiating from the dining room. She could hear voices now. Jonathan was offering their guest an anecdote of his trip abroad. He was telling the story heartily just like their father used to. Jacob could always tell a good story.
“And here she is, the lady of the moment!”
Jon’s story was had been interrupted by their guest. Sat at their father’s place at the table was Dr Winslow – eminent clinician, saviour of her father’s life initially and bullying force she had worked so hard to get rid of.
“My darling Julia, you look so pale. I hope they aren’t working you too hard,” commented the doctor with an accommodating smile.
Julia smiled too as she took her seat. “Well, well Gregory,” she replied. “It’s been a while. How have you been?”
“Terrific,” he replied. “Just terrific. Everything is getting back on track with Harbour House.”
Julia gushed. “I’m so glad to hear that. It did give so many people hope of recovery.”
Winslow’s head dropped slightly onto his left shoulder as he observed her more closely. “It’s just a pity one such person wasn’t my dear friend Jacob.”
Julia’s eyes brightened. “We all have our losses.”
“We might as well forget our losses and appreciate what we do have. Your mother was kind enough to invite me to join you for this lovely meal. I must say, Nan, it smells positively delectable.”
Julia reached out and took her mother’s hand in hers. She gave it a gentle squeeze.
“She’s such a treasure, isn’t she?” said the daughter. She looked across the table to Winslow. “Pass the potatoes please.”
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The Penn triplets were high on the Judge’s list. The only thing higher was their father. As the Shady City darkened, I was conscious of what was to come next. They say omens come in threes. Marcus – taken for the murder of Court Clerk Melanie Wallace – had already had his chance. He had been found guilty. Murder in the first degree would keep him behind the bars of The Boss for a long time. The video evidence I had provided was what confirmed that fate.
Then there was Simon. They called him ‘Punchline Penn’. When he crippled the Bournton Blizzard no one saw the humour in the joke. Anger issues, middle child anxiety despite being born on the same day as his identical brothers. Assault was what confined him to The Boss and would continue to do so for the time being.
Then there was Reggie, the baby of the group. His experience of life was unlike his brothers. He was privileged and over indulged by mother, Rita Penn, but there was something that set Reggie aside. He had the Penn penchant for violence. He also had a softness and curiosity to his nature. That didn’t matter. In the Shady City innocence was a difficult scale to comprehend. Who was innocent? I myself couldn’t claim that. Without his brothers though, Reggie Penn was in a tight spot. Like the rats he was fond of keeping, he would have to squeeze through.
City Main – the busiest part of Coldford – stood silent. Sure, there was the noise of the traffic and the movement of people but there was a calmness, like that after a storm. The closed sign on the Auction House highlighted the wreckage left behind. I drew out my phone and began to take photographs. It wasn’t quite the aftermath yet. I could see bailiffs moving around behind the gates, taking note of everything from antique earrings to large pieces of furniture. Reginald Penn wouldn’t be returning to his castle any time soon. He and Paddy Mack were still combining efforts to flush Kappa So out of Coldford.
“It’s quite sad, isn’t it?” a woman stopped.
I smiled in agreement and took another photograph.
“I’ve known those boys since they were little. Rita Penn will be so upset.”
City Main people were always keen to talk and swap stories.
“Did you see the seizure take place?” I asked her.
“I saw them take two of the triplets away. I guess if you live by the sword you die by it. I blame Reginald. He raised those boys to be thugs. It was only a matter of time before they ended up in jail.”
I couldn’t disagree with that. I had witnessed first-hand what Marcus Penn was capable of and I had seen what Simon had done to Reynolds.
“Would you give a statement?” I asked her.
The woman’s interest ignited. “You’re a reporter? Which paper?”
“Independent for now,” I explained.
She turned her face towards the natural light of the midday sun. “On camera?”
“If you don’t mind,” I urged.
She smiled and waited as I held my phone.
“Go ahead,” I said. “When you’re ready.”
“I had been walking by. I had some bags from Harvesters, just down there.” Here she pointed towards the City Main Harvesters store. “I heard one of the boys shouting. He was complaining to CPD. The police were taking him and his brother away. They had Marcus, the one with the glasses. The other was Reggie. He was doing the screaming. He was yelling merry hell at CPD, at everyone. I don’t know what they were being taken in for but I can only imagine.”
My old sources at The Boss informed me that Marcus and Simon had arrived, been given their induction and now began their time but there was no Reggie. Two out of three was not bad results but if he wasn’t with his brothers it meant he had either slipped CPD custody or had been taken somewhere else entirely.
“Were the two triplets put in the same van?” I asked the woman.
“No,” she said. “They split them up. Marcus was taken in CPD transport. Reggie was put in a black van.”
***
Reggie Penn was lost. He was in a part of the city he didn’t know so he was physically lost. His triplet brothers were in The Boss so he was emotionally lost. He was…lost. It frustrated the hell out of him. Normally he’d be reliant on Marcus’ guidance but he wasn’t around. Simon would be second to step in but they had already picked him up when they raided the Knock Knock Club. Reggie had assumed they would put him in The Boss along with his brothers. He could handle that. It would only be a matter of time before their father, Reginald, would have them out again anyway. He wasn’t going to make a fuss as they removed them from their family’s Auction House. He was taking Marcus’ lead. The eldest triplet by a few minutes coolly followed the agents and accepted their custody, saying very little. Marcus was never one for much emotion showing. Reggie had planned on doing the same but when the CPD officers started to handle him roughly he became annoyed.
“You guys got a gaming room at The Boss?” asked Reggie with some sarcasm, a little genuine wonderment.
“A gaming room?” the officer asked. “Will you listen to this one?” he put to his partner.
“I got some mad skills,” Reggie insisted with a grin. Marcus could show the officers they hadn’t broken him without uttering a word but Reggie couldn’t. He had to let them know.
“Reggie!” Marcus barked. “Stop.”
City Main was at its busiest. Reggie was sure the officers were deliberately making a show of him. They called the Penn triplets the Princes of Main, their father being the King. They were well known in the area and seeing two of them being escorted from their kingdom in handcuffs sure drew attention. There was a mixture of fear and relief on the faces of passers-by. The Penn name was equally feared and respected. A woman in an expensive coat pushing a buggy stopped. She was staring. Separated from his brother and being pulled towards a waiting task force van, Reggie stared back.
“Got a good look?” Reggie asked her. “Fuck off!” he warned.
“Reggie!” Marcus barked again.
“They’re deliberately making a show of this,” complained the youngest triplet.
More distance had been put between him and his brother. Marcus was being pushed into the back of a CPD prison van. It wasn’t black like the one they were taking Reggie to.
“Keep your mouth shut or I break your fucking knees,” one of the CPD officers warned him.
Reggie sighed, not caring for the warning. “Just get us to The Boss already.”
The officer tightened his clutch on his arm. “You think that’s where you’re going?”
Reggie frowned. “What’s he talking about?” he asked the other officer who was carrying out his duty quietly.
“Marcus?” he called to his brother. “What’s he talking about?”
It was too late. Marcus had been put inside the van. Reggie Penn was on his own.
With the Penns in custody the officers had no need to heed any warning from any of them.
“You ain’t going to The Boss,” the officer hissed in his ear with delight. “You ain’t even going to CPD holding.”
Reggie tried to shrug free. With Marcus now out of sight he felt so much more vulnerable. He no longer paid attention to the City Main crowds that were still passing.
“Where are you taking me?”
The CPD officer laughed. “We’ve got an appointment for you with the doc. You’re going to Harbour House.”
Reggie screamed, “No! You can’t take me there. I’m not a fucking druggy. You can’t take me there.”
The CPD officer laughed. “They’re going to dope you up so badly you’ll spend the rest of your life flicking your dick wondering what day it is.”
Reggie screamed again and tried to pull free but the CPD officer drew a taser from his belt and pressed it into his kidney.
“Paulson!” barked a woman. Her challenge made the officer stop dead. His partner maintained his hold on the prisoner but still said nothing.
The woman was Agent Kim Adams. It had been her team that had led the raid on the Knock Knock Club and subsequently brought in the triplets.
“They can’t take me to Harbour House. I’m not going to Harbour House. I should be with my brothers,” Reggie protested. Kim kept her focus on her CPD support.
“We want this done cleanly and as quickly as possible. If I find you deliberately antagonising him again, I will pull you and bring you up on charges. Do you hear me?” she asked.
Paulson lowered his head but his grip on Reggie tightened.
Reggie didn’t expect much sympathy from Kim. She didn’t seem to be holding any personal grudges though. She just wanted to get all three little piggies safely into their houses by order of the big bad wolf, Judge Karyn Doyle.
There was no evidence against Reggie. That’s not to say he was innocent. He had helped Tabitha and his brothers orchestrate the rape and deliberate infection with HIV of club manager, Dennis Platt. That was just his most recent crime. There was nothing that would hold him though. There was no evidence against him but Judge Doyle was determined to complete the entire set.
Diagnosis of Conduct Disorder in his youth was a good place to begin. He was always deliberately violating social norms and the rights of others. With some manias thrown in for good measure, drug addiction, the obsession with keeping rats and the violence he was exposed to through his family name made him a perfect candidate for rehabilitation at the dock side clinic known as Harbour House.
“Not a psychiatric unit,” facility owner Dr Winslow was always careful to remind the public. “A rehabilitation centre for all manner of ailments.”
Reggie’s diagnosis was served up to Doyle on a plate and she wolfed down every last crumb. It wasn’t The Boss, but it would be better in a lot of ways. With the right treatment on hand, they could hold him more steadfastly and longer than the prison should that be her whim. No trial necessary.
Lock him away boys. Drug him up and keep a check on the vitals. The doctor said so.
Even though the eminent Dr Winslow was a good friend of his mother, Reggie was guaranteed nothing and the idea of being hospitalised – possibly for life – was a terrifying prospect.
He was pushed inside the task force van, trapped in a cage like one of his rats.
***
It shouldn’t have taken so long for them to get to Harbour House from City Main if they took the east bypass to the south east where Chamberlain Docks lay. Some work was being carried out on the Fullerton Bridge so the transport was diverted through the west instead. They made their way to the Shanties where they could use the south bypass instead.
Reggie tried to stay calm but all he could think of was who would take care of his rats. They were his pets. They knew him. If anyone else tried to handle them they would probably become irate. They would probably bite. Mother didn’t like them very much. She wasn’t a fan of rodents. What if they bit mother? He didn’t need Harbour House. He didn’t need rehab. He wasn’t a Shanties shooter. If they weren’t putting him in The Boss with his brothers then why weren’t they just letting him go?
The van rumbled to a stop. Reggie waited. He could hear the van doors open. It fell silent for a while. The other door opened. Before long the back doors opened and Reggie was exposed to the night air. A lone officer beckoned him forward.
“Hurry,” he said.
Reggie stood and went to the door hesitantly, waiting for the joke’s punchline to fall. They weren’t at Harbour House. They weren’t even at Chamberlain Docks. They weren’t even in Swantin. They had only gotten as far as the lower reaches of the Shanties. The officer helped Reggie out of the van and uncuffed him.
“What are you doing?” the Penn triplet asked.
The officer spoke low. “He’s gone for a piss,” he said. “Now’s your chance.”
Reggie rubbed the ache from his wrists. “You’re letting me go?”
“For the king,” he said. “Now run.”
“Hey!” Officer Paulson yelled, returning from relieving himself.
Reggie took to his heels just as a gun cracked into the darkening night air. Paulson had been shot dead. Reggie started to run towards the Knock Knock Club. No, he couldn’t go there. The Law Makers had the Knock Knock in their grasp. He turned towards City Main. He couldn’t go there either. Without his dad or his brothers, his kingdom was no longer safe. There was only one other option. The Shanties opened up to the south east entrance of Coldridge Park.
He planned to head out to Seaton in the mideast. Perhaps he could find some help there. Knock Knock owner Agnes – Tabby’s aunt Aggie – had a house there. If Knock Knock was shut down that’s where they she would be.
He managed to catch his breath. He walked a little slower so as not to seem out of place. The park stretched the entire length of the city. He wasn’t sure whether he was heading north or east he just followed the path to what he thought was the centre. For all he knew he could be walking right back into the hands of CPD custody. He had only the black t shirt he had been wearing when the Auction House was raided. The air was starting to nip as it darkened. He rubbed warmth back into his bare arms.
“Fuck it’s cold,” he mumbled to himself.
There was a bonfire lit not too far off. A couple of men in tatty clothes were warming themselves around it. They looked up as he drew nearer.
“You’re all right,” one said. He was old, bearded, black teeth. “You can warm yourself if you want.”
Reggie joined them, grateful for the warmth as the flames of the fire licked onto his face.
“Where you from, kid?” asked the other.
“City Main,” he said. “What about you? Where do you stay?”
The men laughed at the innocence of the question. “You’re in our home, boy,” the bearded one explained.
“Welcome to Hobo Hotel,” cheered the second. He was black, about mid-fifties and waving a cheap bottle of wine. “It’s damp, it’s cold but it’s free,” he grinned. “And a’body welcome.”
Reggie reached his hands out to the flames. “Why don’t you have homes?” he asked.
They both looked at each other and laughed.
“You really are a City Main boy, aren’t you?” the black man said as he passed the wine to his companion.
“We’ve all got our stories. Booze mostly,” he explained before taking his own taste of the wine. “I’m Chuck. This is Carl.”
Carl grinned. He was quite a warm spirited character despite his circumstances. His Great States accent told that he had travelled a far way to be homeless.
“I meant why aren’t you in the shelters. I thought the Knock Knock Club was helping.”
Carl nodded. “They were. We had a nice little bed each but the place had to be shut down when the club went. We had nowhere else to go.”
Carl reached into his sleeping bag and removed a smelly old jacket and a beanie hat. “It’s not much but it’s going to get cold so you had better wrap up.”
Reggie pulled on the coat and hat. He took the bottle. The wine tasted like vinegar but the burning in his stomach was welcomed.
“Do either of you have a phone?”
Chuck and Carl both laughed again. “Sorry, son,” said Chuck. “We don’t stay connected. We’re old school here. Real old school.”
It was Carl’s turn for the bottle. “So, what brings a City Main boy down here to warm himself with us?”
Before Reggie could answer two park ranger officers approached them.
“Don’t hassle us,” complained Carl. “Don’t you think we got it bad enough? We’re just trying to warm ourselves here.”
The first officer looked at Reggie. Having pulled the hat over his head and in Chuck’s jacket he wasn’t instantly recognisable. He kept his head lowered.
“We’re looking for someone. He escaped custody earlier. He is early twenties, dangerous.”
Carl pulled the attention from the Penn triplet.
“Us three have been here all night and we ain’t seen nothin’. We heard some shootin’ though. Maybe you should go check that out.”
“What’s your name?” the officer asked Reggie.
Reggie kept his gaze lowered.
“That’s Pete. Pete Grove,” said Chuck answering for him. “You might recognise him from that old chocolate advert he did as a kid. Have you heard of him? He does great impersonations.”
The officer frowned. “I can’t say I have.”
“You’re a film star?” the other officer asked Reggie, obviously not convinced.
“Not any more ,” Chuck answered for him. “After he broke onto the scene as a kid in those adverts, he was everywhere. That’s what they do though. They use you up and throw you away. Been with us a couple of years now, ain’t ye Pete?”
Reggie nodded tentatively, trying not to look at the ranger directly.
The second circled in on Reggie. “You do impersonations? Let’s see then.”
Reggie stared back. He could run but it seemed unfair to leave his new friends behind when they had been so welcoming. He had to think fast. He pursed his lips, furrowed his brow, glared at the officer and said, “I need a good shag to put a smile on my face because I’m Judge fucking Doyle.”
It was the first person he had been thinking of. It was probably unwise to mock her but his impression had actually captured the essence of Karyn Doyle so well Chuck and Carl were rolling with laughter. Even the first ranger cracked a smile. It seemed to make the other angry though. Mentioning Judge Doyle reminded him that CPD had allowed a valuable asset to escape and now an officer was dead. If they didn’t bring the situation in hand soon the Judge would feel compelled to correct it herself and none of them wanted that.
Rangers on the other side of the park called to them, seemingly having found a trace of the missing triplet leading them elsewhere.
“Take it easy,” warned the other ranger.
The walkie talkie of the second ranger buzzed. It seemed they had apprehended Reggie’s noble rescuer. They rushed off to see what the dirty Loyalist scum had to say for himself.
“You’re not dangerous, are you Pete?” Carl asked when they were alone.
“Lock him away. He’s a danger to himself and others,” Reggie continued in his Judge Doyle impression.
Chuck wiped a tear of laughter from under his eye. “You had better stay with us for a little while,” he suggested. “They’re going to be everywhere soon.”
“I’m…” Reggie started to explain.
Chuck stopped him. “I didn’t ask and it’s none of my business. To us you’re Pete.”
“The way I see it,” Carl put in, “we help out a City Main boy, we got good things coming to us.”
That had been a few weeks ago but rather than things easing off they tightened even further. A group came one night and roughed them up. Reggie fought them off as best he could but there were too many of them. They weren’t CPD.
Reggie had been sat on a bench one afternoon beside a woman. She was smoking a cigarette, busy reading the newsfeed on her phone – celebrity gossip rather than real news. Apparently, actor Laurence DuBoe was linked to an affair with his soap opera co-star Scarlett. Reggie sniffed the tobacco. Chuck and Carl had showed him how to collect discarded cigarette ends and make whole cigarettes out of them but it wasn’t really the same.
“Can I have a cigarette?” he asked the woman. “I ain’t had a proper one in weeks.”
The woman looked at him. His filthy hat, his filthy jacket, his smell. The woman hoped to get rid of him as quickly as possible. She sniffed and tried to hide her disgust. She fetched the packet from her hand bag and passed it to him, along with a lighter.
“Thanks.”
She went back to her phone again. Reggie couldn’t remember any phone numbers off by heart. The line for the Auction House did ring in his mind but that would do no good. Suddenly it occurred to him where he could get some help.
“I couldn’t use your phone, could I? Just to send a quick message?”
The woman looked unsure. She was finding it harder to disguise her disgust. She was a little frightened now too. Wishing she had just walked off the moment he had sat down she reluctantly passed her phone. She had been robbed before. The CPD officer at the time had told her if it happened again not to argue. It put her life at risk.
He didn’t run away with the phone though. Instead, he scrolled onto her app store and started to download the Coby Games app. With the cigarette now between his lips he handed the phone back to her. “It needs your thumb print.”
The woman, still staring, pressed her thumb to the device and the app started to download. He logged into the Lonesome Nights game she had stopped her son from playing.
Reg 3 Online it confirmed.
He opened the chat log.
NEED HELP. CAN YOU MEET ME?
The message confirmed as sent. Read. A reply bubble popped up.
***
Cameron Doyle closed the game down. Mum and her Law Makers were looking for Reggie. Sure, Reggie was his friend but that didn’t matter. Mum still wanted to put him away. He could try and explain Reggie Penn to them but he feared that might make it worse.
He agreed to meet Reggie. He cut the chat off quickly and deleted the log. Mum had the habit of making checks on his browser history without notice. It didn’t matter that Cameron was a grown man of nineteen now. Whilst he lived under the roof of the old Doyle home it was her house and her rules.
He filled a bag with some non-perishable foods, some of his old shirts and an outdoors jacket he never used. He pulled on an old sports jacket and slipped the back pack onto his back. He had to pass through the main lounge where mum was to get to the front door. He took a deep breath and braced himself.
Mum was in her favourite arm chair by the fire. Shadows were cast across her pale face, highlighting her torn eye which she refused to cover. The cat, Margot, didn’t seem to sense the tension. She purred in mum’s lap. The Judge stroked the feline gently. Margot looked up at Cameron as he passed through but she quickly lost interest.
“Where are you going?” asked the Doyle matriarch.
Cameron stopped cold. He clutched the straps of his back pack.
“I’m just going to meet a friend,” he explained.
“Where?” she asked. “What is their name?”
Cameron lowered his head. “Jackson. You know Jackson. He has some new games he wants me to see.”
Doyle continued to stroke the cat but her view was firmly on her son.
“What’s in the back pack?”
Cameron swung the bag back over his shoulder and unzipped it. He pulled out a bag of Jolly Shopper corn chips.
“We might be a while so I thought I’d bring some snacks.”
Doyle narrowed her gaze.
“Fine but be home by midnight. I don’t want you wasting your whole evening with junk food and video games.”
Cameron agreed, “Yes, mum.”
Cameron was glad to have escaped outside and feel the cobbled stones of the Kingsgate streets under foot. Kingsgate was a small part of town. It was also the oldest section of Coldford. Wrought iron fences surrounded a central garden where mum jogged most mornings.
A tall man stood by the Kingsgate entrance sign. A beanie hat covered his head. He was filthy and malnourished but Cameron recognised him as Reggie Penn from the Auction House that his mum had closed down.
“Reggie?” he enquired delicately to make sure.
They had been online gaming buddies for years but had never met in person. Reggie looked up and a look of relief washed over his face.
“Cam? Good to meet you finally.”
Cameron was nervous. He heard a car move on the opposite end of the gardens. “You can’t hang about here. My mum is looking for you. Everyone is looking for you. My mum will have you taken in.”
Reggie had walked into the lion’s den but where else was he going to go?
“I have to go to The Boss,” he told his gaming friend.
Cameron frowned. “Why would you go there?”
Reggie shrugged. “It’s where my brothers are. I need to get to them.”
Cameron passed him the provisions he had collected.
“There’s some food in there and bottles of water, some clothes and a tent too. It’s just a fishing tent but it it’s a start.”
“Thanks,” said Reggie gratefully. “You’re a true pal. Do you know where the bus station is? I need to get to Bournton.”
With both of them being accustomed to being chauffeured everywhere, the bus transport system of Coldford was a new experience for them.
“I have to be back by midnight,” Cameron warned.
The two wandered off in the direction of Kingsgate bus station.
***
Kingsgate bus station was small, but clean and well lit. it was tucked away at the far end of Kingsgate Main Street. A few spaces for buses and a small stand serving coffees was what was on offer. Reggie stopped to look at a schedule pinned to the wall.
“Was this written by fucking scientists? Does this make any sense to you?”
Cameron took a look too but from what he could tell the route was going the wrong way.
Frustrated Reggie turned away. “Maybe I could get someone to explain it,” the triplet decided. “0800. Does that mean when it leaves or when it gets here?”
Cameron could only shrug. He snatched Reggie’s arm though to stop him approaching a member of staff. “We can’t draw attention. If anyone recognises me here, they might tell my mum. They’ll recognise you too and if she learns I was here with you…”
A coach wheezed into station point 3. On its windscreen it read BOURNTON.
“That one,” Reggie pointed. “Maybe that’s it.”
When the last of the impatient passengers alighted, Reggie called up to the driver from the bottom steps.
“Are you going to The Boss?”
The driver looked perplexed. “The Boss?”
“Yeah, you know, Coldford Correctional?”
“I know what The Boss is,” replied the driver testily.
Reggie turned to Cameron. “Is he serious? If he knows what I’m talking about why the fuck is he looking at me like I’m crazy?”
Cameron shook his head.
“I go as far as Bournton Main Street. You’ll see The Boss from there. You can’t miss it,” the driver explained.
Reggie enquired, “How much?”
“Is it a return?”
“Return?”
The driver rolled his eyes. “Are you planning on coming back? Today? Tomorrow? Next month? After a ten year stretch?”
“I’m visiting my brothers. I don’t know when I’ll be back,” said Reggie.
“Of course you are,” the driver sighed. “It’s 10.99 one way.”
Both young men were used to automatically being extended credit wherever they went. Again, it was an alien concept to them.
“Shit!” Reggie fished into his pocket and drew out a handful of coins. His long fingers filtered through them.
“I got 5.20. Cam, what you got? Oh wait, 5.21.”
Cameron produced a Coby Games themed wallet. “I only got five,” he said. He looked in his wallet. “Oh wait, ten. Here.”
He gave Reggie the ten. Neither of them noticed the Bus Driver shake his head in exasperation.
Reggie hugged Cameron again. “Thanks. Your a real good mate. I’ll owe you.”
“Hop on,” the driver instructed.
“Will you let me know when we’re in Bournton?” Reggie requested. He had never been in the northern town before.
The driver positioned himself at the wheel. “Oh, you’ll know when we’re there,” he said.
With a hiss the bus doors closed. Reggie Penn was heading to The Boss after all.
#amreading #knockknock #graphicnovel series by @VivikaWidow
