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Knock Knock: Episode 56: Snapper

“You asshole!” Eddie Weir screamed at his brother, Rodney, as they toured the remains of their biggest hotel.  

Eddie was taller than Rodney, a few years his junior and dressed sharply in a dark grey suit with a light grey waistcoat underneath.

Rodney watched as Eddie kicked a piece of the rubble. He knelt to retrieve a plaque. It commemorated the opening of the first Weir Hotel in Coldford. Eddie threw it down. His temper then was a fiery as his red hair.

“The official statement is the foundations were faulty. That was according to the Fullertons,” Rodney explained. 

Eddie’s nose wrinkled. He had the same Weir rugged complexion but where it was scruffy on Rodney it seemed smoother on the younger brother.  

“The Fullerton’s haven’t done anything official in their lives. I’ll be seeing Jake Fullerton when he’s done his time and he’ll be paying for a new fucking rebuild.” Eddie stopped and picked up another bit of commemoration from their hotel.  

“So what brought their attention to these so called faulty foundations? I thought you cancelled the work?”   

Rodney said nothing but his eyes involuntarily cast towards the Beckingridge Tower. Eddie turned his head. He looked up towards the penthouse. There was a chilling breeze starting to blow at the top of the tower. It would reach the ground soon enough as the heavy clouds continued to pass overhead.  

“Liz Beckingridge? You pissed off Liz Beckingridge?” he shoved Rodney causing him to trip over the debris and land on his backside.  

As Eddie made to storm away Rodney called after him, “what are you going to do?” 

“It looks like I’m going to have to go kiss a dragon’s arse, doesn’t it?” Eddie exclaimed. “You know how temperamental she can be and she’s bat shit!”  

The dust kicked up from the wreckage danced in the air like the smoldering ashes left behind by dragon fire.

Rodney, climbed back up onto his feet. “Don’t walk away from me,” he snarled. “This is my hotel remember. I’m the top of the brand not you.”  

Eddie stopped. He turned back. “Only because you had the foresight to climb out of mum’s cunt first,” he stated.  

“I need your help.”  

Eddie reached his arms out. “That much is clear,” he said. “Look what we’re left with thanks to you. You’ve lost your hotel and you’ve lost your fucking mind!” 

“The hotel is still here. The brand is still here.” 

“Is it though?” Eddie put to him, kicking a pile of rubble towards him. “Good fucking luck with that then because you know what Mr fucking Hot Rod? This isn’t my problem. My hotel is doing good. I’ve got more set up in Tokashima, in Subala and I’m getting a huge one ready in the Great States. You, big brother who seems to know everything, can sit here on your pile of rubble.”  

Rodney chased after him. “Wait! I need your help. You have to help me get our hotel standing again.”  

“So it’s our hotel now?” Eddie replied. He groaned. “I’m going to take care of it.” 

*** 

When I first met Ozzy Perry he told me that they had been having some hassle from animal rights activists. They frequently protested outside the zoo. They harassed the zoo keepers. One of the marine biologists were covered in red paint with the claim it was cruel to keep the animals in tanks.

Stoker circus performers were enlisted to chase them off with hoses, attacking the ARC but in an entertaining way that would draw crowds into the zoo. One of the head keepers, Nigel Torne, had been glad to see the ARC had seemed to have dissipated. They were no longer grouped outside the zoo entrance, wearing their T-shirts and waving their placards. Someone had painted a white alligator on the side intended to look like Snowflake. Thorne shook his head. Snowflake was kept better than most other reptiles in captivity. He saw to that personally. If the blasted students knew anything about the animals they were crying about they would know Snowflake was too wild to be allowed to roam free. Thorne had a passion for his work and that passion came from the rush of looking the wildest animals in the eye. The scar that ran down his forehead on to his cheek told the story of the tiger that swiped him. He got her though. His face was bloodied but he got his girl. She quietened down like a real pussy cat after that. The wilder the better was Thorne’s thoughts on the animals in his care. When he was first told about Snowflake he had thought Ozzy had been kidding about the size of her. It was darn the biggest snapper he had ever seen. When they attempted to catch him, understandably Snowflake snapped at them. He had gone through an entire chicken coop by the time they caught up with him and he was setting his sights on some of the locals, resting in the family pool.

“You’re going to get sick with the chlorine, my beauty,” Thorne had warned the alligator.  

Snowflake lunged at them, intent on a death roll. Sherry Blaze wasn’t as lucky as the rest of them. She lost a leg, at least part of one.

Snowflake was no easy task and those ARC people didn’t realise they were riling the creature up with their protesting.

The habitat in Perry Zoo pleased Snowflake at least. The water birds had ceased to feed there. Snowflake had chased them off and now he would be feeling hungry.  

“You don’t want to get in the way of a hungry snapper,” Thorne told some young visitors that afternoon. They were mesmerised. They could see Snowflake’s white body looming underneath the swampy waters.  

Meat and fish had to be delivered on an almost hourly basis. The Cappy called in specialist veterinarians to take care of his precious pet. Snowflake had a damn good life. Most importantly, he was kept contained. People could marvel at his beauty without being in danger.   

The joy of the ARC having moved on was short lived. The keepers of Snowflake’s enclosure came in search of Thorne with some urgency.  

“What’s the matter?” He asked.  

“It’s Snowflake. He’s gotten out!”  

“Where is he?”

“That’s the problem. There’s a hole in the fence. He must have slipped into Coldridge!”  

“Blast!” Thorne exclaimed.

*** 

Being such an unusual child, Edle Stoker caught Elizabeth’s interest. The scales that had been tattooed onto the infant were fascinating to look at. It was a cruel thing to do to a child. Her sliced tongue too was barbaric.

Elizabeth rarely found herself with sympathy towards others. There were a few vulnerable individuals that garnered her consideration but not many. I wouldn’t say she was selfish as such she just didn’t understand the need to care for others. She cared very little for her fellow man. However, she did take under her wing those she decided were worthy of her affections. Edle was one of those few.

“They’re going to lock you up and throw away the key,” Presley warned her in reference to the debacle with Weir Hotel.  

“Let them try,” she snapped. “I wasn’t having Hot Rod thinking he could smirk at me.”

That was her explanation. Not that it did her much good. Presley would be the one to explain her actions to the High Court and she wasn’t making his job any easier. It didn’t take a seasoned legal mind to predict they wouldn’t accept ‘smirking’ as an excuse for tearing down an entire building, one which had stood in the shadow of Beckingridge Tower for many years.

Presley was no stranger to the Beckingridge fire. He had seen them at their worst. At least he thought he had. He had seen them at incredibly low points at least.  

Elizabeth had no fear of Rodney Weirs repercussions. Why should she? He had surely learned his lesson. Chick Owen wasn’t likely to involve himself, even if he was a brother for life. He was a shrewd enough man to know if you smirked at a dragon you were going to be doused in flames.  

Elizbeth’s concerns lay with Edle, whom she was offering shelter at the Manor. It was a convenience that she happened to match her reptile skin purses.  

Edle seemed to like her too. She flicked her tongue the way she had become used to in the circus performances. She grinned at the sound of the laughter it drew from her new keeper. Olivia had been informed of the child’s whereabouts. 

“She’s safe and well,” Presley had told her. 

“That’s good,” Olivia agreed. “I’ll send someone as soon as I can. Heidi Stoker is in CPD holding at the moment. We’ll have to wait and see what they decide.”  

“The Stokers are slippery fish.”  

“They are,” Olivia agreed. “My main concern is Edle though.”  

“Have you seen what they did to her?” Presley asked. 

“I heard,” Olivia confirmed. “As long as someone is keeping her safe for now I’ll send some help as soon as I can. I’ll be honest with you Presley, I don’t feel comfortable with her in Elizabeth’s care.” 

Presley gave some thought to the Weir Hotel.  

“Neither do I,” he admitted.

Edle was safe with Elizabeth for the time being at least. As it was there were a whole host of people in Coldford who were not so lucky. One such person was Charles ‘Chick’ Owen. Elizabeth had been more interested in the Owen Inc CEO than Edle’s mother. What did circus people matter anyway? Not much by her reckoning. The Cappy? He mattered a great deal because she hadn’t yet forgiven him for the Kick Off riots his frat bros had started at Beckingridge Tower.  

“He made such a fuss about that alligator, didn’t he?” She mused.

She didn’t say much more that afternoon but she was contemplating something. In Presley’s experience, that meant trouble.

It all came to light when her brother in law, Hugo, called. Like Ernest’s wife, Hugo could be insufferable. Although they didn’t much get along, when Elizabeth witnessed Owen Media making such a fuss about Chick Owen’s alligator she called on some help.  

“Blow the damn thing up,” Elizabeth had requested of the reptile.  

Hugo had been outraged. His voiced raised to such an extent Presley could hear his words.  

“I’m not going to blow up an alligator. It’s just doing what is natural to it.”  

“I told you to take of it,” Elizabeth snapped.  

“I did,” Hugo confirmed. “I set the thing free. I already complained to CPD …”

Elizabeth cut him off before you could continue rabbling on. To Presley she said, “I have to go. I’m going to have to take care of that stupid beast myself.”  

*** 

One of the park rangers had been attacked. He managed to escape with his life at least. The horse he road was not so lucky. The horse threw him and with a squeal from the animal Snowflake had lunged from a murky pool and dragged it towards his domain.

“If he’s feeding there at least there’s a chance he’ll stay put,” Thorne had said to the ranger. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”  

Ozzy wished the team of wranglers well.  

“Chick is still deciding just how far he wants to go with the boys after the stunt with the telescope,” he explained. “He loves Snowflake. Let’s get him back in his home, mate. Let’s get him back before he hurts someone and we have Law Makers all over the place.”  

It was easy enough to pick up Snowflake’s trail now that they had an idea of what direction he had gone in. There were pieces of bone he had coughed up. He had had a large meal only recently. His latest attacks were purely through aggression.

‘Blast those activists,’ Thorne grumbled. If only they had actually listened to the keepers.  

When they reached the pool the zoo keepers could see a trail leading down into the water. He could see the white body floating beneath the water line. He raised his rifle. Capture and containment was the order of the day but with a monster like Snowflake you couldn’t take any chances.  

The keepers spread out. They hooked some meat to a nearby tree taking care to step lightly.  

“He’s not going to fancy eating much so we could be here a while,” Thorne warned the others. “We have to try and lure him out though.”

Thorne set himself down for a long wait. Not taking his focus from Snowflake resting under the water. The creature was sluggish now, he would probably be sick. The trail they had followed appeared to show he had been slowing down.

“Let’s get you back home, beauty,” Thorne said out loud.

BOOM!  

An explosion ripped from the pool throwing water, mud and pieces of alligator into the air. The keepers were on their feet lest the be covered in the macabre shower. “What lunatic fed the damn snapper explosives!?” Thorne wanted to know.  

*** 

“What are we going to do about Reggie?” Simon put to Marcus and Jean Luc, seated in the lounge of the Faulds penthouse. 

“He needs to get that girl as far away from him as possible,” was Jean Luc’s sentiment. 

“I agree but she’s his wife. He married her.”  

“There are many reasons to have a marriage annulled,” explained the Luen lawyer.  

“I know. If she’s pregnant though …” Simon protested. 

Jean Luc raised an eyebrow. 

“That I would like to have verified immediately.” 

“He likes her,” Simon went on. “I thought I recognised the name – Leona. She’s the girl he met on the island when we were kids. They used to write letters back and forth to each other. Mother thought it was really sweet he had a pen pal. Dad wasn’t too keen but he saw no harm in it. With us not around he’s panicked and it looks like she’s sunk the claws in.”  

The two turned to Marcus for his thoughts. He had remained silent through the exchange thus far.  

“The girl has to go. I don’t like the influence she’s wielding here,” were his sentiments. 

“If you send her away he’s going to go with her,” Simon advised. “He needs to get some help. She’s feeding him up with island drugs. He’s refusing to speak to a proper doctor.”  

Marcus raised his hand to hush his brother. Looking over his shoulder Simon could see it was because Leona joined them.  

“I heard some voices and I thought I would see if there was something I could do to make ye feel at home.”  

“Us feel at home?” Simon began but Marcus hushed him again.  

“Join us,” the eldest triplet beckoned. “I would like a word if I may.”  

Leona took a seat on the sofa beside Simon who straightened up and leaned forward as he did so. There was space but she chose to sit close to him anyway. He could smell the salty scent of the island from her even though she had been in the city a while by then.  

“We’re concerned for Reggie,” Marcus told her.  

Leona nodded.  

“I know. He’s so broken but we’re putting the pieces back together.”  

“He needs to see a doctor,” Simon grumbled.  

“For centuries we’ve treated all kinds of maladies on the island without doctors. The old methods are doing him good.”  

“Yeah? Looks like it,” Simon returned sounding vexed. 

Marcus gave a warning glare to his brother.  

“As effective as old remedies are,” he said, “we would much rather he sought proper medical attention. He has a substance abuse problem and without proper medicine It will only exacerbate the issue.”  

Leona looked to Marcus as though she didn’t fully understand at first. Then she smiled.  

“I think it’s so sweet that ye still treat him like a baby. He’s content with healing with me. It’s Reggie himself who doesn’t want to see a doctor.”  

“He’s not thinking clearly,” Simon snapped. 

Leona turned to him – closing what little distance there was between them even further.  

“I heard ye say that before. I don’t think you give my husband enough credit.”  

Simon turned to Marcus again. His triplet’s expression warned him to bite his tongue.

At that Leona stood.  

“I’ll talk to him,” she offered. “I’ll let him know ye voiced yer concerns to me.”  

She departed leaving the tension with the others tighter still.  

“We need to get that annulment,” Marcus decided.  

“What about Reggie’s baby? They belong here to kick the ball in the park or go to ballet lessons, whatever,” Simon protested. 

Before Simon could further dwell on the romanticised idea he had about his niece or nephew they were interrupted by Emmerson. He spoke quietly to Marcus. Marcus appeared concerned. He stood and headed to the balcony that overlooked the park. “What’s wrong?” Simon asked following his brother.  

“It’s that damn alligator of Chick Owen’s,” he said. “Someone blew it up.”  

“Who?”  

*** 

“We should be thankful for her getting the club back from auction,” Tawny spoke of Elizabeth Beckingridge. “She did try to help get my arse back too.”  

Tabitha still had her same self-confident air, made even more so by the idea that she was immortal. She was sat at her dressing mirror preparing herself for a meeting with Elizabeth Beckingridge.   

From behind her Tawny started to brush Tabitha’s hair over her shoulder. They were both considering the part Tabitha played in the Freefall Massacre at Beckingridge Tower.  

“Just be nice,” was Tawny’s suggestion. “She won’t be able to resist that gorgeous face of yours.”  

Tabitha stared straight ahead and into the mirror. She grinned.  

“I’ve got the charm,” she said.  

Tawny clutched her head and she kissed it. “You do. We just need to show the dragon woman.” She separated from her niece and started to head towards the door. She pointed back. “On stage in ten minutes,” she said. “Ye better be ready.”  

Tabitha began to prepare herself to meet the dragon lady of Beckingridge Tower. Only one outfit would do and that was one of her signature red dresses. She owed a lot to Elizabeth but she knew she still had a lot to gain. Her freedom could be confirmed with a pardon for the deaths of fifty-nine people at Beckingridge Tower. Only the brightest red on her lips would show the sincerity of her words or the determination of her tongue.  

She passed through back corridors and onto the Knock Knock Club stage. The lights illuminated in a synchronized beat. Tabitha looked out. The tables were empty but there was a reservation right in the center. That was the table she and the dragon lady would air their differences.

*** 

Elizabeth set aside her crocodile skin jacket. She wedged the cigarette between her teeth as she pulled it on in front of her dressing room mirror. She turned to the children.  

Baby Vicky was giving her a confused stare. Elizabeth took the cigarette back into her fingers.  

“What?” she asked, grasping the lapels of the coat. “Too soon?” She grinned. To Edle she said, “don’t worry. It’s not your mother or anything.”  

Edle responded by sticking her tongue out at her. Elizabeth chuckled and stuck her tongue out too.  

There was a knock on the door. One of the housekeepers popped her head in.  

“Your car is ready Miss Beckingridge,” she said.  

“Yes, I’ll be right out,” Elizabeth told her. She approached the girls and kissed them both, waving her smoke away from them. “Now remember what I said, you girls be good for Nanny. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”  

Elizabeth sat in the same car, in the same seat and watched from the same window she had that night she received a phone call from Ernest to tell her of a massacre at their building. The building named after and given to them by Gramps. The Beckingridge’s were an old money family. They had reigned supreme in Filton for centuries but it wasn’t until Gramps came along that their financial strength became something of note in the city. Under Gramps the offices became a tower, the millions became billions and the Beckingridge name became synonymous with power. In a single evening all of that was wiped out because of one little girl with a grudge. Now the tower was seen as a place of corruption and murder, the billions became a target and the Beckingridge name was synonymous with Freefall Massacre.  

“Liz!” Ernest had sobbed down the phone. “Liz, I can still hear them screaming.”  

Elizabeth had been on her way from Swantin. Her brother had been keeping her updated as much as he could. She departed from the friend she had been visiting and was making her way back to the manor via City Main.  

“Ernest, you need to calm down or you’re going to give yourself a heart attack. I’m on my way.”  

“There are people stuck inside the building.” Ernest cried. “I don’t know what is going on!”  

Elizabeth could hear an officer beside him. “Mr Beckingridge we need to finish identifying.”  

“Liz I can’t look at anymore,” Ernest sobbed. “Can I not just wait until my sister gets here?”  

“Ernest?” he could hear Elizabeth’s voice in his ear. “Those families need to be told immediately. It could be another hour before I get there if there’s traffic into Main. What number are you on?” 

“Thirty three,” he said. To the policewoman beside him he confirmed, “that’s right, isn’t it? Thirty three?”  

Thirty-four.  The sheet was pulled back.  

“Oh God!” Ernest exclaimed. He bit his knuckle.  

“Who is it?” Elizabeth demanded. “Who is number thirty four?” 

“John Cunningham.”  

Elizabeth closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m on my way.”  

She had spoken to John earlier that day. She had been drinking. He had been angry. She told him she never wanted to see him again that he was dead to her. She threw her drink and it smashed at his feet. He had told her she would never see him again and that had been a promise kept. Why had they been fighting? It was so silly really. He had asked her to marry him and she became afraid. She became afraid of losing a little bit of herself. She became so frightened by that idea that she laced her fiery temper with alcohol and forced him to see her as the most horrific woman any man should ever have to look upon. Because she was too selfish to share her life with someone else John went to that party. He was mad at her and now there was never going to be an earthly opportunity to make that up to him because some lunatic was causing a riot in her building and now people were lying dead in her court yard at the foot of Gramps’ statue.  

By the time Liz arrived they had gotten close to the end of the carnage.  

Number 59. Lynette Fullerton. 

*** 

“No please! Please! I’m begging you!” Lynette was screaming as she was dragged across the high-ceilinged room of the penthouse.  

She was an old woman. She was a cantankerous woman. She was a symbol of all that was going wrong with Coldford.  

Tabitha was waiting by the window. 

“Thanks for your donation,” she said. “The hungry, the homeless and the weak have some support now thanks to you.”  

“You are not going to get away with this,” Lynette promised. “Please just let me go. I’ll do whatever you want.”  

Tabitha’s nose wrinkled. She pouted. “I don’t think you have been listening to a single word I’ve said. I am not here to negotiate. You had your chance. I’m not here to play games. I’m here to wipe every last one of you greedy cunts out.”  

“Wipe us out? What have I done to you? What am I to you?” Lynette asked.   

 Tabitha stepped closer to her. Lynette could smell the booze and the smoke of the Knock Knock Club on her.  

“You’re in my fucking way,” she said.  

Fullerton was heaved from the window. Her body plummeted twenty stories. Her life was snuffed out that night and ever since then the Fullerton fortune has had to be remade.  

Click. Reggie was keeping count.  

“How many was that?” Tabitha asked. 

“Fifty nine,” replied the triplet.  

“That’s a shame,” said Tabitha. “I would like to have made it an even sixty.” 

She turned back to the table where Joshua Coby was seated. His head was lowered. He was trying to catch his breath.   

*** 

Watching from the Knock Knock stage Tabitha could still remember the noise of the cheers and laughter that filled the club. It was a very different sound from the Beckingridge Tower but armed with new resources the club floor was filled with displaced families whose homes had been torn down by Fullerton in the name of progress. She was able to shelter girls who had been abused by those who would never see justice, people in too high places like the Owens. There were also those people who became more desperate as the Beckingridge Firm made them poorer and the top of Coldford became richer. Freefall claimed fifty nine lives but they were far outnumbered by the people Tabitha extended help to as a result. Tabitha was sure of that.  

“She’ll be here soon,” said Tawny.  

Tabitha hopped off the stage and crossed the club floor.  

*** 

Clifton Lane in the Shanties where the Knock Knock Club lay was a quiet place. It wasn’t a place of booming guns or kingly speeches. It was a place of quiet blades and whispers. Interrupting that quiet was the arrival of the largest Beckingridge limousine in the fleet. Elizabeth had decided quite recently that it was her favorite. She even had the license plate changed to DRA 60N to let everyone know that that was her preferred vehicle. Its length pulling into Clifton Lane almost concealed it in shadow. Tawny and Tabitha were waiting by the door of the club. Elizabeth’s driver, suited in expense, looked out of place in Coldford’s poorest area. He opened the door and his mistress emerged. Elizabeth had a phone clamped to her ear and a cigarette between her lips.  

“Stop crying Eddie. Your damn brother shouldn’t have smirked at me. I think I took enough of his shit. Look I’ll call you some other time. I’m about to go into a meeting.”  

She closed the call. She followed to alley to the club and stopped at the door. Tabitha noticed a slight gait in her step. When they came face to face Elizabeth raised her sunglasses to the top of her head.  

“So, you’re Tabitha?” she said.  

“You’re the one they call the dragon lady,” Tabitha replied.  

Elizabeth smiled. “They do if they have good sense.”  

She looked into Tabitha’s grey eyes. There was life burning in there. There was rage and there was venom. As Tabitha smiled back at her the gap in her teeth gave her grin a snarl. That would have been the last face that John Cunningham would have seen.  

“I don’t want to stand here all day,” said Elizabeth.  

She followed the aunt and niece into the club. Tabitha took her seat at the assigned table. Pulling off her leather gloves Elizabeth joined her. She was still watching Tabitha closely, the so-called Boss Lady. She was the one that caused Ernest so much grief. He vomited the very last drops in his stomach that night. Every sheet pulled back was worse than the last.

“Ye want a drink?” asked Tawny as she headed behind the bar.  

“No, thank you. I don’t really have much to say.”  

David, who had assumed Agnes’ part of the club joined them. He was a little wary of Elizabeth Beckingridge. He took a seat beside Tabitha.  

Tabitha’s eyes widened as Elizabeth pulled off her prosthetic leg. Inside that leg had been stored a loaded gun. She clicked, cupped and aimed at Tabitha before either aunt or niece could do anything.  

“Wait!” Tawny protested.  

“Just stay where you are,” Elizabeth warned her. “This is between me and her.”  

Her hand was steady and her finger was ready, Tabitha noted. 

“Tell me why I shouldn’t blow your God damn head off right now and burn this club to the ground?” 

*** 

“Get that gun out of my fucking face …” Tabitha warned.  

“Elizabeth!” Tawny urged. She started to rush back from the bar but Elizabeth halted her.  

“Stay right there,” she warned. “Or I put a hole in your niece’s head.”  

“You don’t have the balls …” Tabitha challenged.  

Click.  

Elizabeth cocked the gun. “Do not tempt me. Having your death on my hands would mean nothing to me. In fact I might get the best night’s sleep I’ve had in years.”  

“What do you want?” Tabitha asked.  

“Let’s start with fifty nine very sincere, I’m sorrys.”  

Tabitha smirked. “Get out of here.”  

“Whoah, lady!” David interjected.  

Keeping her focus on Tabitha, Elizabeth said, “tell your little boyfriend to keep his mouth shut or I blow his balls off.”  

“What do you want?” Tabitha snarled.   

“I’m not going anywhere until I get some satisfaction,” Elizabeth stated. “You’re nothing like I expected. You’re not frightening. You’re not smart. You’re just a little girl.” Here she leaned forward, still keeping the gun focused on Tabitha. “I eat little grunts like you for breakfast. You want to try me? Go ahead and try. I’m not scared of you.”  

“Elizabeth, what are ye trying here?” Tawny asked. “Get the gun away from them.”  

Elizabeth and Tabitha kept their focus on each other.  

“Those fifty nine people you murdered? Do you even know their names?” Elizabeth asked.  

Tabitha shook her head. “I wasn’t after names. I was there to make a point. People were suffering whilst they danced and laughed. They might as well have been stuffing coins down their throats whilst the rest of the city starved. They were greedy and it was left to me to open their eyes to it. It got your attention though didn’t it?”  

Elizabeth’s brow tightened. “That’s the difference. It was the attention of my dear sweet brother you got. I wasn’t the one in charge then. If you were to attack the tower again under my watch you would find it very different. Ernest had to wade through fifty-nine bodies and he was never the same after that.”  

Elizabeth sniffed. She called to Tawny behind her. “Will you sit down? You’re causing a shadow behind me and it’s irritating.”  

Tawny tentatively took a seat beside Tabitha.  

“Can you put the gun away?” David requested.  

“Not yet,” Elizabeth stated. “I want to know what you think you even have that would make me consider pardoning you. There were friends among those bodies, good friends. Well there were acquaintances at least and some people I liked having around.”  

“As long as I’m here I will do whatever It takes for this area. It’s cunts like you who think they can tread all over us. You funded this club. If you want to help then good. If you don’t I have no issue cutting you up. Make no mistake I can’t fucking stand you. If you were there that night I would have made you number fucking one!”  

“Tabitha!” Tawny cried. To Elizabeth she said, “she gets upset. She’s been through a lot.”  

Gramps once told Elizabeth that in order to navigate life successfully you needed to learn what he called the people smile. It wasn’t a real smile. It was that expression saved for occasions when negotiating with enemies or keeping your spirits up in public when things were tough. She had scolded herself before for having hidden behind the manor walls for so long. She swore she wouldn’t make that same mistake again even if that meant looking the Boss Lady in the eye.  


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Knock Knock: Episode 57: Salvation

Tabitha told Elizabeth that she would have gladly made her number one in the Freefall Massacre and she meant it. Even as Elizabeth held the gun to her face she still didn’t shy from that fact.  

“Go ahead, cunt. Pull the trigger.”  

“I bought this club. It now belongs to me,” Elizabeth stated. “A good friend of mine was keen on your aunt getting back here and there she is. You are in debt to Beckingridge and I will collect on it.”  

“Send me invoice,” Tabitha challenged.  

Law Makers were watching the club closely. They had done so ever since the Boss Lady returned from the grave. A group of them descended upon them. They intervened. Elizabeth started to complain as she reattached her prosthetic leg.  

“You’ve violated the terms of your injunction,” they told her.  

They placed her back under house arrest, to be escorted back to Beckingridge Manor immediately. Tabitha said nothing more. Those that knew her though would know she was thinking if any strings started to be pulled against the Knock Knock Club she would have to visit the Beckingridge Tower again. Clearly she hadn’t made her point the first time. She would get herself the sixty.  

*** 

The Green Eye prison in Northside, a part of the city I rarely ventured into, had been taken over by the Fleet of Bellfield, a group within Coldford, loyal to the Mack family and still with a score to settle after most of the family were wiped out and their distillery taken from them. The Northside constabulary were holding the innocent people of Bellfield in fear with their so called sweeps. Drastic measures brought by Siobhan Mack, the last standing of her name had given her people hope. They could now rest a little easier but as Northside licked their wounds they still counted the Mack Distillery in their control so the hope of Bellfield couldn’t last forever.  

I now bring you to the High Court in City Main where word of this was reaching the ear of Her Honourable Judge Doyle. With information from Agent Reynolds who had bore witness to the events in the west, the truth would reach the city of what was going on in the areas best forgotten about. 

“The evidence of mistrials and murder of the inmates at the Green Eye prison is currently being viewed, Your Honour,” said Kutz. 

“Those protesting on behalf of the Mack girl, did they act legally?” The Judge asked him.  

“As legally as could in those situations I suppose,” Kutz leaned back in his chair across the desk from Her Honour. “The Tulloch’s had control of that jail. If evidence so far is to be believed they abused that trust. One way or another there was going to be violence that day.” Kutz laughed. “Tricky fellows.” 

He removed a statement from his files. 

“A young girl named Kiera Luna was who brought us the evidence captured some footage of it on a phone. Such a young child has seen so much. I admire her spirit though because despite all that she went through she still managed to gain the footage. She has a strong sense of doing the right thing which gives me great hope for the future of Bellfield. The fostering program is being set up.”  

The door knocked and then on scene arrived Law Clerk Diane.  

“The witness is here, Your Honour.” 

She smiled at Kutz who was leaned back in his chair watching her from over her shoulder.  

“Send him in.” 

The Judge and her colleague were presented with a man in a faded track suit. He had a thick gold chain around his neck, his head was shaved and he had a pretty nasty bruising around his face. This was made more unsightly by the large cold sore on his bottom lip. His name was Kez Tulloch. He was a lesser name from a lesser family but since the Tulloch’s were technically ruling in Northside he had been brought in with some interesting news for the Law Makers. He wished to downplay his own part in the Green Eye loss. Having to retreat back to the distillery deep in the heart of Bellfield didn’t sit well with him.  

“Have you signed your statement, Mr Tulloch?” Asked Kutz. Karyn Doyle had no words for him. Instead she watched his nerves hunching his shoulders. Kutz beckoned him to take a seat.  

“I have,” Kez agreed.  

“If you could relay what you told me to Her Honour I would be most appreciative,” said Kutz. “What happened at the Green Eye?” 

Kez leaned forward in his chair. He rested his elbows on his thigh.  

“They told the prisoners they could go free,” he said. “Liam told them they had been released and that they were over capacity. When they started to walk away he gunned them down. They weren’t trying to escape. They were told they could go.” 

Judge Doyle’s lips tightened.  

“Thank you,” said Kutz with a smile. “You have been most cooperative. You may go.” 

Kez stood again. His sight set immediately on the exit.  

“Just one more thing,” Kutz called him back before he could leave. “Your cousin, Liam, said the same thing about you. He said it was you whom told the prisoners that they could leave. He said it was you who gave the order to gun them down. He said it was also you who brought Agnes Wilde into the hands of Wigan brother Renfield,” here he tutted. “They were burned like we live in the dark ages.”  

“That’s a loada shite,” Kez protested. “Liam was the one giving it tight about being the Greatest Northsider. He was the one giving the orders.” 

Kutz stood. “I believe you,” he said. “I am quite a good judge of character and when I look at you I don’t see a man even capable of having people follow orders to that extent. You will not be charged for the slaughter of the Green Eye inmates. You will also not be held accountable for the murder of Agnes Wilde. The Wigan church are calling religious rites which is a whole other set of problems. However, you are but a minnow in this pond and we’re fishing for a larger catch.” 

Kez breathed a sigh of relief. “I can go then?” He asked. He was still wary of Judge Doyle’s scarred eye.  

“Just one more thing,” Kutz saw fit to add. “A knife was given to the Northside Ball Boy during an Athletic and Northside match. A little birdy told me it was you who put it in his hands.” 

“Mr Tulloch, I find you guilty of inciting violence. I hereby sentence you to ten years of servitude to The Boss.”  

“No!” Kez screamed. “It wasn’t me.”  

Kez was at a loss. It wasn’t like he could stay in Judge Doyle’s office forever. The moment he stepped back outside though, his servitude to The Boss began.  

“On to next business,” began Kutz. “Sanctions on the Chapter House …”  

*** 

“Whoever this group is they are sweeping round through Filton if the path we’ve been following is right,” said CPD detective Murray Gaines.  

Billy groaned over the phone.  

“How can be missing this?” he asked.  

“They must be blending in, bro,” Murray suggested.  

“Keep on it,” Billy ordered. “I’m coming in. I got the Office of Law Makers on my ass about this and it doesn’t help with the damn church campaigning to have my job.”  

Billy Owen’s place as commissioner was hanging by a thread. Ronnie was fighting it out well against Peter Millicent but it was only a matter of time before The Cappy suggested he step back so they could regroup. Now, he had some maniac group to contend with slaughtering his officers, most of which where his brothers for life.  

It began in North Swantin it had moved up through Cardyne. At first sights it looked as though the chaos was making its way to Main. Now it seemed a little detour to Filton was on the cards. More police presence had been placed wherever they felt it would hit next. All this did was serve up more of his officers for the slaughter. First instincts told Billy that they had been making their way to CPD. Where would be better for cop bashing than the cop house in Main?  

“Bring it on, motha fucka,” had been Billy’s sentiment.  

“Where you going, dad?” asked Richard ‘Ricky’ Owen as Billy was grabbing his coat and keys for his car. 

“I gotta work,” he said. “Some shit going down. They’re trying to take my job so I have to be on the ball.”  

Ricky looked a little disappointed. He and Billy had planned on spending the day together.  

“We’ll catch up later,” said Billy.  

“As you like,” said Ricky.  

“Ya gonna be good?” Billy asked.  

“Yes, sir,” Ricky replied.  

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” the father promised. “Why don’t you go down to the clinic, keep Bud company. Remind him of how much retard he is.”  

Ricky laughed.  

*** 

The Boss is home to desperate men, each more hopeless than the last. When such wretches have nowhere else to turn they quite often embraced religion. Peter Millicent presented legal counsel and Wigan’s forgiveness. With this he heard the desperate cries of the Boss’ slaves often. His visit this particular day I’m now discussing had been an answer to the prayers of a man named Ross. Ross was caged for the murder of two CPD officers. Slaughter would have been more accurate. He was the brother of Wigan monk Issiah who suffered a great fall thanks to Billy Owen.  

Ross had stabbed the CPD officers on Chamberlain Docks. He had cut out their tongues and their eyes. By the time the corpses were discovered, gulls were pecking in the empty sockets.  

“Will Wigan forgive me, father?” Ross asked. 

Peter, sat separated from his lost soul by bars, replied, “The punishment is the work of St Michael, not for our own hands. Wigan embraces the sinners who repent. Be strong, my brother.”  

Ross took comfort in Peter’s words. As he was leaving he said, “be careful father. It’s not safe for our folks out there.”  

“Rest,” Peter urged.  

There was an uneasy feeling in Peter’s chest that day. Visits to the city were always difficult. He was dedicated to his calling though and no imminent danger would hold him back. The danger wasn’t imminent though. It was present and it followed him across the yard as he made his exit. He was struck on the back. He gasped and fell forward into long thin arms. Those arms pushed him up and helped him steady. 

“Hiiiiiii!” said the young man in front of him with a grin.  

Peter looked around from some guards but before he could call for help the young man had grabbed his face with a sweaty palm. His long fingers curled around his cheek.  

“You should watch your back,” he said.  

Peter called for the guards. 

“You’re a teacher, aren’t you? You teach people things.”  

“I don’t know who you are but I have to go,” said Peter.  

The young man pulled him closer. The guards were descending upon him.  

“Step back!” they cried.  

I’m George Beckingridge,” he said. “You killed my teacher.” He pulled Peter closer and licked his face. He bit into his check and threw him forward. The guards had intervened. 

“Kappa so!” George was screaming.  

Peter departed in a rush clutching the devil’s bite on his face. The chanting still sounded behind him. 

***

We tend to attach value to everything in this world. Everything has a cost. The Penn family held the highest value in sentimental things. As auctioneers they learned the value of people’s stories. They know what people would give for a piece of history. History lay in a ceramic plate Simon Penn held. It didn’t cost much but to him and his brothers it meant a great deal. The plate had been set into three equal thirds. On each third were distinct decorations. One had a blend of colours, vibrant and swirling. One was more erratic. It had a series of splashes. Some of those splashes fell onto the third section which was decorated with some colour but more focus had been placed into geometric shapes. The plate drew a smile from Simon. He heard the scuffling sound of his brother’s footsteps behind him as Reggie joined him in the kitchens. Simon raised the plate.  

“I found mother’s plate,” he beamed.  

Reggie smiled too. “I haven’t seen that in ages.”  

“I was sorting through some of mother’s things. I thought it would help.”  

He didn’t want to say he feared their mother’s things would become destroyed; their history lost.  

“She loved that thing,” Reggie grinned.  

“Remember just last year that art agent, Clover, was here for dinner?” Simon asked. “Dad brought that plate out. He tells Clover we did it so he’s going on for hours about artistic expression. Dad didn’t think to tell him we did it when we were like five years old.”  

Reggie chuckled at the memory.  

“It does show artistic expression,” he maintained. 

“You kept coming over to my section,” Simon noted.  

“Our minds were merging. Our artistic expression became one,” Reggie teased.  

Simon laughed.  

“You just didn’t know how to stay in the lines.” He pointed to a splash of pain. “That was you.”  

Reggie shrugged jovially.  

“I was improving yours. What’s that meant to be?”  

Here he pointed a shape on Simon’s section that was difficult to decipher. Simon inspected it.  

“I don’t know. I think it was supposed to be a flower or the sun or something.”  

Reggie returned his memory to the art agent. 

“That’s right. Clover started to go on about how the boldness of the brush strokes highlighted anguish and inner turmoil.”  

“I was five,” Simon replied. “I was just trying to stop you eating the damn paint. Clover thought it was something we did just that day. Can you imagine, the three of us as we are now sitting around the table painting our plate.”  

They both laughed at the idea. 

“Dad couldn’t contain himself anymore when Clover asked Marcus why he chose those particular colours,” Reggie carried on. “Marcus told him he had been considering the contrast between the calmness of the sky blue and the vividness of the red. It represented the conflicting emotions of life. It was only through the passion of the red you could reach the serenity of the blue.”  

“That’s deep for a five year old,” said Simon. 

They both laughed heartily once more. Reggie looked to the plate again.  

“Do we have to put mother’s things away?”  

Simon sighed.  

“Just to keep them safe, like.”  

Reggie nodded. He was about to say something else when they were interrupted by Leona. She clasped Reggie’s hand. She gave Simon an expression that suggested she was unsure of him.  

“How are ye, Simon?” She asked, pleasantly enough.  

“I’m fine,” he responded in a tone that was a little shorter than he intended. “How are you?”  

“I’m well. The baby is well,” she answered but she was looking to Reggie.  

“Si found a plate we painted for mother when we were kids.”  

“Awww, isn’t that’s sweet?” She said.  

Reggie passed her the plate and she began to inspect it. Simon could feel his fingers tighten as he watched her handle the heirloom of great sentimental value.  

“Over on the bay our faith guides us. We don’t really see things personally the way you city dwellers do. It doesn’t make much sense to me.”  

“It works for us,” Simon said. “It’s me that wants to keep it.”  

Leona smiled again, still with the plate in her hand. 

“Reggie had I have been praying for yer ma and yer pa too.”  

“You know our mother was Albans church every Sunday, right?“ 

“That’s alright,” she replied. “Wigan embraces all sinners.”  

“You didn’t know her,” Simon snapped.  

He wished he hadn’t for Reggie’s sake but Leona’s presence was wearing his patience incredibly thin.  

“She’s honouring mother, dickhead!” Reggie snapped back. Evidently his patience had been wearing thin too.  

“What did you just call me?” Simon wanted to be sure. 

“You’re acting like a dickhead,” Reggie confirmed.  

Simon’s eyes widened and his lips tightened. He bit his tongue. Reggie was never going to listen to him. He was seething though. 

“Things are just a bit …” he started to say but Reggie was still frustrated. His head ached like there was a hammer drill on the inside of his skull. His leg was throbbing and he had a haze in his eyes that was inhuman. Simon took pity on him. He checked his own temper. “I’m sorry, Leona,” said he. Any sincerity was drawn was from the fact it was his triplet to whom he was really apologising.  

“I forgive ye,” she said. “I understand.”  

SMASH!  

“What did you just do?” Simon cried as the plate shattered.  

“I’m so sorry. It was an accident.”  

“Like Hell it was,” Simon growled.  

Reggie shoved his shoulder.  

“Watch how you speak to her,” he warned.  

Simon was so frustrated by this point he didn’t care.  

“Don’t touch me,” he spat at his brother.  

He didn’t want to argue. He didn’t trust himself with the sight of the broken plate. He just wanted to get out of there. He wanted to pick the plate up and see if it could be repaired. It was just a stupid ceramic plate, painted by three over privileged children but it meant so much to mother. He had wanted to keep it. That Wigan bitch dropped it deliberately. He wanted to hurt Reggie then. He wanted to hurt him real bad. Reggie shoved his chest saying something about his wife. Oh how he wanted to hurt him! 

“It’s okay, Reggie,” Leona was saying. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”  

“I didn’t mean it?” Simon snarled. “Just get out of here.”  

Leona’s hand brushed Reggie’s shoulder.  

“Don’t talk to her like that,” the youngest triplet warned.  

Simon had had enough.  

“What are you going to do?”  

Leona squealed as Reggie lunged forward. He grabbed Simon but Simon twisted his arm and shoved him away.  

“You’re already hurt. Sit the fuck down!”  

That haze in his eyes was getting worse. The drugs were hitting hard. Reggie wasn’t easily dissuaded. He was a survivor after all. Seeing Simon scowling at him annoyed him because he knew he was wearing the same expression and it was like looking in a mirror. He lunged again. This time Simon side stepped. Reggie caught his face. He tried for a second hit. Simon shoved him away again. Reggie swiped at him. He could go straight for his leg and put him out of it. He jabbed his shoulder instead. Reggie jerked but he didn’t seem to register the pain. Before it could continue Marcus stepped in the way.  

“Enough!” He barked.  

Leona had taken a step back to observe the scene.  

“Take a walk,” Simon was ordered.  

As he passed Leona he didn’t look at her.  

“Yeah, just you walk away!” Reggie goaded.  

Simon turned back, almost shoving Leona aside as he did so.  

“Are we not done?”  

“I said take a walk!” Marcus cautioned again. “Now.” 

This time Simon did look at Leona. He shook his head and stormed off.  

“He’s a dickhead,” Reggie hissed to the eldest triplet of the middle.  

“I don’t care what happened here. It’s finished now,” was Marcus’ response. 

Reggie sniffed. He lowered his gaze and prepared for an oncoming migraine.  

“Am I clear?” Marcus pushed further.  

Reggie managed a nod.  

“I’ll clean up,” he offered in reference to the plate.  

“When Simon returns you will pick up the pieces together,” was Marcus’ instructions then he departed.  

Reggie crouched next to the shattered memory. Leona had waited until Marcus cleared the kitchens before she consoled her husband.  

“I’m sorry,” she said. “The last thing I would want is for your brothers to turn on ye.”  

Reggie sniffed again.  

“I’m just not used to this,” she continued. “Over on the bay we don’t fight amongst ourselves. We live a peaceful life and I don’t think I would be happy with our baby here. I’d be worried for them all the time. You need to heal too. The pressure from your brothers is getting to you. Marcus is your boss. Simon answers directly to him. What do you have? There’s nothing here for you. It’s not a good environment for a child either. Look what growing up here has done to you. I have to go back to the island. I want you to join me. Come life a peaceful life with me.”  

Reggie lifted the broken plate. It was a chunk from Simon’s section he had clasped. There was a blue splash over his geometric shapes. Reggie remembered the teacher scolding him.  

“Remember to stay in your own section.” 

Simon spoke up for him.  

“He’s helping me,” he had said.  

Reggie leaned his bead back and closed his eyes. The pain wouldn’t go away but he could at least find some peace from the worst of it.   

*** 

“That no good, lying, bead rattling son a bitch!” Billy roared, almost knocking the table aside.  

This particular slur was directed towards Peter Millicent.  

“I can appeal,” Ronnie advised “but they are going to just keep calling for your resignation.”  

“You’re supposed to be good, cuz,” Billy complained. “What you bringing this shit for?” 

“I warned you about this church. I told you it would come to this.”  

What it had come to was Billy being stripped of his title as commissioner of police.  

“With everything you told me you did just be glad its only your resignation they want,” said Ronnie. 

Billy had called The Cappy but the orders from the top were the same.  

“Step down, graciously. They’ll allow you to quote some family trouble. You say you want to dedicate more time to your son.”  

It grinded Billy’s gears. It really fried his bacon and he didn’t like his bacon being fried.  

“No good holy book thumpers!” he was still grumbling as he pulled up at CPD to make the announcement. The press had already gathered.  

Billy gave him the old ‘it’s me not you,’ like he was dumping a bitch who got fat. He gave a shout out to his son Ricky. He thanked the city. He even offered all the success in the world to the one who would take his place like he was slapping lipstick on a dead whore.  

He was met with applause. He danced their dance. Can he go now? No, he couldn’t go just yet. They had to announce who was looking to fill his pants. He also spotted Peter Millicent at the door. He couldn’t leave without having a word.  

Peter watched him approach.  

“Will you be returning to civilian life?” he asked.  

“This ain’t over,” Billy growled.  

Peter replied, “I wouldn’t have thought so.”  

Billy gave his guttural laugh, standing head and shoulders above the Wigan priest.  

“Watch your step,” he said. “This leaves me with a lot of time in my hands and I may just visit.”  

“You look a little stressed out,” said Peter. “I think a day at the beach would do you good.”  

“Looking to the future of CPD and Coldford in general,” was being called behind them. “We are pleased to announce our new Commissioner Frankin Rhodes.”  

Billy’s head turned slowly as Franklin, formerly of the Good Gang stepped up to his position as commissioner.  

“A nigger!” Billy roared.  

Peter frowned at him but he was no longer paying attention to the Wigan priest.  

“I’m being replaced by a spear chucking ass bandit!”  

“William!” Peter exclaimed. He didn’t seem to realise how loud he was being.  

“How can they? How can he even? I can’t… I gotta … A’body knows!” he insisted. “A’body knows …” and at that he stormed out.  

*** 

“Good evening folks and welcome to the Knock Knock Club. I’m your host, Tawny. You can call me Tee.”  

The club door opened. A group arrived. There was a rabble of voices.  

“Enjoy yer night. Enjoy yer grub and above all enjoy what ye have because life is short.”  

Tawny watched from the stage as the new arrivals took a seat at what was normally the Mack’s table.  

“Let’s get the fun started,” Tawny called as the music from the in house band began to rumble. “C’mon girls let’s see what you’ve got.”  

As Tawny stepped off stage the Knock Knock girls began to dance on in a parade of sequins and feathers. At the Mack table a glass of the name sake liquid was slid along. A woman’s hand caught it. She took a sip. When she saw Tawny approach she stood, finishing her whiskey. She opened her arms and the Baroness embraced her tightly. She kissed her cheek. Tawny peeled off the skip cap she wore and playfully tapped her chest with it.  

“Ah Siobhan yer looking gorgeous,” Tawny said. For the woman was Siobhan Mack of Mack Distillery.  

Tawny held her out to get a better look at her. Siobhan laughed. Her hand raised to a scar on her cheek left behind by the troubles she had seen of late.  

“Tabby!” Tawny called. “Siobhan’s here.”  

Tabitha crossed from the bar where she had just arrived from the balcony above.  

“How’s it going?” Siobhan asked the Boss Lady.  

Tabitha held her foot out. The Law Maker clamp made a fetching addition to her red dress attire.  

“Still grounded,” she said. She laughed and she hugged Siobhan. When they had greeted Tabitha pulled David Finn forward. He gave a nervous wave.  

“This is David Finn,” Tabitha introduced. “My co artist.”  

Siobhan laughed. “That painting caused a real fecking stir. I always told Paddy his arse would get him in trouble one day.”  

“Round of Macks!” Tawny called to the bar.  

When they sat to a drink Siobhan asked Tawny, “I’m so sorry for what happened to Agnes.” 

She was watching Tabitha take shots with David. David almost spat his out. He and Tabitha were laughing heartily.  

Tawny managed a smile. She passed a glass to the Mack girl.  

“Go on,” she said. “Get that down ye.” 

Agent John Reynolds was pleased to see Siobhan welcomed to the Knock Knock club. The Whiskey Wars had dampened a great many spirits but that of the Macks was never one easily diluted. 

“How are you doing?” He asked her.   

“It’s good to get into the city,” she said.  

“You’ve had a hard time. It’s been real far out,” he said to her. “You’ve earned the chance to kick back but we have a situation here. Someone has been leading a slaughter. Do you think it could be the same one in Allford?”  

Siobhan considered all that had been lost that night. Their camp in Allford had been raided by Northsiders as the war continued to rage. There was a great knight among them. He had slaughtered most of them in a vengeful fury. It caused her to reach to the scar on her face without much thought.  

“It is,” she confirmed. “It has to be.”  

*** 

Owen Inc. had been responsible for a lot of the issues that faced the city of late. It would be easy to set them as the villains in this case. With Billy taking over CPD, The Cappy feeding rivals to alligators and Howard Bergman being the victim in an insane plot to clear the Owen name from a murder they had committed they would in every way be considered the villains. It wasn’t for me to decide who the villains were. The Penns were equally as deplorable as were the Beckingridges. The Fullertons too had their underhanded deeds to answer for. They all had their reasons and they all had those among them who genuinely wanted the best. For the Owen family this was cousin Theodore ‘Teddy Owen, brother of Billy. He was a good man. He had come to Coldford on Chick’s insistence because he was a good man. This was a rare find among the Owens who were mostly self-serving and dangerously ambitious. Chick had some good intentions as previously mentioned but it could be difficult to trust his natural ruthlessness. Cut throat was what life in the Shady City had to be. It was a pleasant surprise to meet an Owen who was a more considerate man. If you had told me that Teddy and Billy were brothers, I might not have believed it without proof. Teddy was well mannered, naïve in some ways but he had the Owen shot that never missed. There was no better place for him than among the Hickes Agency AKA the Good Gang. I liked to believe Detective Joel Hickes would have been proud to have Teddy among his ranks. He served them well. That being said, carrying the Owen name coupled with the shooters on his belt gave some cause for concern. Such a naysayer was Sophie Bergman who watched Teddy sat across the desk from her looking about himself with a boyish wonderment.  

‘This is a nice office,’ he thought to himself.  

He hadn’t become uncomfortable in the silence that fell between them as Sophie inspected and Golem awaited instruction. Teddy cut the figure of a gentlemen so he clutched his hat on his lap and awaited the lady to address him.  

‘He was atypical of an Owen,’ Sophie thought. The Great States family was blessed (and cursed) with a confidence that stole scenes wherever they went. Teddy was humble though.  

Finally Sophie raised her hands and signed to him. Teddy engaged her in eye contact and despite not knowing what she was saying, he nodded politely to show she had his attention.  

“Ms Bergman would like to know how you are finding Coldford so far,” Golem explained.  

“It’s a mighty fine place,” Teddy replied. “I heard there are parts that are less than desirable but I see that as a chance to make it better. Kim is a fine leader and her team make me feel so proud to be here and be a part of it.”  

Golem reiterated this sentiment to Sophie who took Teddy in again in her blazing stare. She still couldn’t believe Chick’s cousin would be so down to earth, especially not when his brother was Billy. 

“Do you plan on staying in Coldford permantently?” Sophie wished to know.  

Teddy again nodded.  

“I would very much like that, ma’am. There’s a lot I can do here and I’d like to make myself useful.” 

Golem looked at Sophie’s expression. He knew it well. She wasn’t buying a single word. Sure, he had been pivotal in rescuing Reggie Penn. Sure, he had met with the Good Gang in the Great States. He wouldn’t have had to if one of his kin wasn’t causing chaos. This brought her to her next question.  

“Your cousin, Buddy, appears to require some extra attention. Will you be supporting him?”  

Teddy nodded again to show he had heard her words, told through Golem. 

“Ma’am,” he said. “Sir,” he addressed Golem. “That boy has caused a world of trouble. I can’t help but feel responsible for that. You see, we were close. Because of a disagreement with some family members I had to step aside. I wasn’t there for Buddy as I should have been. I’ll always regret that. I’m here now and I would like to make amends all round.” 

Sophie raised her chin as she read the words on his lips. Golem was about to reiterate them but she waved him off. He knew the wrinkle in her nose was her trying to understand an Owen taking responsibility for anything.  

“You have ill will against your family?” she asked of him, flicking her long fingers into the words. 

“We’ve had our troubles but that’s not what’s important to me. What is important is moving forward. Buddy is my concern, and that boy can be deeply concerning sometimes. He can do so much though. I will show him and I know that’s what his daddy wants. If this city is willing to have me she becomes my concern too.”  

Sophie was glaring at him at this point. Where was the Owen bravado. Where was that Owen spin? If the kindly cowboy figure was an Owen, where were the rolling cameras? 

“I’ll submit my arms to your office,” Teddy agreed. “If that will please you, ma’am. I would like to support my team as soon as possible.”  

An Owen willing to give up their guns!? Sophie was starting to feel like she had fallen into another dimension. Are you sure this is William’s brother? She would have to ask Golem later. Never, to her historical knowledge, had an Owen willingly submitted their arms.  

She raised her hand to her chin in sheer disbelief and she signed, “Thank you.” 

“He seems like a nice man,” Golem said when Teddy departed.  

“He’s an Owen,” she reminded Golem.  

She did scold herself for the lack of trust but with the mess that Cousin Billy had caused, believing a soul like Cousin Teddy was a difficult pill to swallow.  

*** 

You had better come up to the Chapter House Ronnie had told his cousin, Billy Owen.  

Billy had been drinking, ignoring his phone. He was trying to figure out what he was going to do next.  

“They took my God damn job!” he groaned.  

He drank some more.  

“Chill, daddy,” his son, Ricky had said. “They’ll find something else for ya.”  

That was right. it wasn’t going to be easy with the Law Makers now wanting to know why he was arguing with Isaac Bergman on the docks. He would swear to the Almighty, the ginger bitch Ruby and the jew were in it together. They were in on trying to make his life harder. To add cherry to that cake, to put the hat on the real turd pile that was his life, his job – which he was damn good at – was given to away to some cross dressing, sword swallowing pansy.  

A’body knows pansys can’t be cops. Shit, a’body knows that.  

“Fucking bull shit,” Billy grumbled as he took another drink.  

His phone rang again. Ronnie had tried to call him twenty times already. He finally answered. That was when he was asked to come to the Chapter House.  

WELCOME TO PEARL. 

The white Cooper SUV sparked into action. He was way too hammered to be driving but luckily Pearl, the sharp girl that she was, navigated safely despite the blurry vision.  

“What’s Buddy done now?” he asked himself as he stepped out of the car to quite a commotion. The crisp cool air sobered him.  

“I’m at the Kappa So Chapter House where the bodies of twenty five young men have been uncovered. The slain twenty five are believed to have been Kappa So brothers. They suffered severe lacerations. Most of them were beheaded. CPD are now arriving on scene to investigate. I’m Sandra Wake of Coldford Daily news.”  

Kathleen, who had spotted Billy arrive gestured to Sandra to cut the broadcast immediately.  

Billy noticed a few of the younger bros look his way.  

‘What’s everyone’s deal?’ he was wondering.  

“Billy!” Ronnie was calling him.  

“What’s going on, Ron?” he asked.  

“Come on,” Ronnie ushered. “It’s bad Bill. You better come with me.”  

Billy followed his lawyer cousin through the crowds. The Cappy himself was present.  

“Bill!” he called, almost sobbing.  

Billy was sobering fast. Even Marshall Cooper had nothing to say and he was always barking his head off. Austin must have come in a hurry. He was still in his zoo gear. He had removed his hat and was holding it to his chest.  

What a mess! Twenty bros killed. It was a fine mess but why was a’body looking at him like he was about to take a leap off a bridge? 

Charles, his cousin, his mentor, whom he looked up to shook his head. Without saying anything he wrapped his arms around him.  

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into his ear.  

Billy was just about to ask what the Hell was going on when over Chick’s shoulder he saw the body of a Kappa So junior. He was hanging by his feet. He was headless. As the body swung Billy read the name Owen on the back.  

It was the red sneakers he recognised. He had told him they made him look like a Dorothy. He had laughed it off.  

“I’m going to the Chapter House,” he had said that morning.  

“Take some whore money,” Billy had said, giving him a hundred bucks.  

The body kept swinging. They couldn’t remove him until CPD got there.  

“You be careful now,” had been Billy’s last words to him.  

He had smiled  

“That’s my boy!” he screamed.  

The Cappy gripped him tightly.  

“That’s my boy!”  

Chick held him steady. Billy was screaming, trying to shake him off but the Cappy didn’t release his hold.  

He was going to be a scientist. Save the world and shit. 

Knock Knock: Episode 55: I Confess

“CPD bodies were uncovered today in what the first responders referred to as a macabre pit of body parts. The bodies appeared to have been run through with a sword.  

The pit in the pier area of Swantin Heights was uncovered this morning by digging dogs. There is no new further information at this point but we will keep you up to date as the situation develops.  I’m Sandra Wake of Coldford Daily News.”  

Leona switched the television off.  

“It’s upsetting ye,” she said.  

Reggie laughed it off but he shuddered. “It’s the shit that goes down in the world.”  

Leona poured them some tea. “We’re taught that when something like this happens, it’s St Michael bringing his temper. Those CPD officers needed to be punished, after what they did to you and to my people.”  

“How do you know what’s St Michael and what’s people just being shit?” he asked.  

Leona smiled at the genuineness of the question.  

“I guess I don’t know,” she replied. “I just trust that whatever happens it is His will.”  

Reggie took a sip of his tea.   

*** 

Spin once. Spin twice. Spin three!  

Little Wigan child, Ivy, felt dizzy. With Dominick’s hands on her shoulders she spun round and round. She was blindfolded so she lashed out blindly with her stick. 

“Crunch!”  

A woman cried out in pain. Ivy lifted her blindfold to see she had struck Barbara Tulloch in the ribs. Barbara was tied to a post on the bay and was being whacked with sticks in a game from the youngsters. The first hits had broken blisters left by the beetles. She wasn’t pleading any more. She could only cry.  

“Hit her again,” said Dominick.  

Ivy screamed and whacked Barbara’s blistered legs over and over again.  

“Letter, Your Eminence,” arrived Peter on scene.  

The priest looked up to Barbara as Dominick tore into the letter with a Penn seal on it.  

“Hasn’t she repented, Your Eminence?” Peter asked of Barbara.  

Dominick looked back over his shoulder. Ivy was still whacking Barbara’s legs with her stick.  

“She’s been repenting ever since she arrived on these shores,” he admitted.  

Peter said calmly, “then perhaps it would be time to consider bringing her back into the commune. I’d be happy to hear her confession.”  

Dominick smiled at him. “Yer a good man Peter. Better than the City Dwellers deserve. Better than I deserve. I’m lucky to have ye keep me right.”  

Peter took one last look at Ivy screaming and whacking the Tulloch matriarch.  

“That’s enough Ivy,” Dominick instructed and the little girl. “Go and find yer mothers.”  

Dominick peeled out a well formed, hand written letter which read as follows: 

Your Eminence,  

I have been told we are bound through my brother’s marriage to one of your church members. That bind was supposedly tightened with the presence of an unborn child that will bear my name.  

The presence of your church in my City Main is a concern. I may have been incarcerated but I do pay attention and I have returned now. As it stands your trouble has been with CPD. This ceases immediately. In Main it is my duty to quash any CPD hostility. Should I find your church members at route cause of any trouble I will have no choice but to react accordingly. If my brother’s bride is of your faith it would make for terrible introductions.  

St Michael’s has stood for centuries. It is important to you so that is where you contain your worship. If you do this, the streets of Main are safe for whomever chooses to walk them.  

My primary concern is Reggie. If anything should fall amiss or my brother is hurt in any way all discussions cease.  

Noah Wigan set forth to the island to find his following. He never returned to the city to live. Do not make me show you why that was a wise decision.  

Sincerely and truthfully 

Marcus Penn 

Dominick folded the letter.  

“He writes a good letter. Really neat handwriting,” he commented. 

Having read the details Peter advised, “he’s firm but he’s not unreasonable.”  

*** 

Harvester store in Main was struggling. Whether it was hassle from CPD under Billy Owen’s instruction, zealous preaching from Wigan followers or general Coldford disturbance. The store in Bellfield was open for now but for how long? All in all, everywhere Julia turned it seemed the Shady City was getting tired of the farm girl’s charm. It didn’t help that the trial for Nan Harvester was all over the newspapers. 

Julia was adept at making friendly conversation. Despite the tension the Wigan cult was causing she was still able to greet Peter Millicent in her Main store with a smile. 

“I bring a message from His Eminence.,” he said. “He wished to have your views on getting involved in the Whiskey Wars by siding with Bellfield?”  

Julia kept an eye on Curtis. Curtis kept an eye on his cattle prod.  

“I spoke to Barbara Tulloch and she told me what her son had been treating the Green Eye prisoners terribly. It was dreadful. His Eminence can understand why you felt the need to intervene and assist. We just want to gain an understanding.”  

“The Mack clan stole equipment,” Julia told him. “I wouldn’t get involved in such a thing.” 

“Yes,” Peter agreed. “Stolen. Either way the Green Eye will hopefully fall into better hands. May I speak frankly?”  

Julia nodded.  

“No one wants the kind of chaos that’s going on down in Northside and Bellfield coming any closer. You’re an ambitious young woman and your father would be proud. On my own behalf I wish you success. Your success feeds a hungry city and what brings families together better than a meal to share.”  

Jacob Harvester had done a lot for the commune from which they still benefited all that time later. He had shown them how to cultivate their land. It had been where he met his wife. Peter remembered the father fondly. With respect to him he treated the daughter with kindness. 

Julia replied, “thank you, Father.”   

*** 

When I first met the eldest triplet it had been with a knife in his hand and blood spilled on the floor so I wasn’t thrilled with being in his company again. I was advised by those that knew Tabitha the best that I should hear what Marcus had to say and perhaps he could enlighten me in some of his motivations. No one in Coldford seemed to be beyond the extreme so really the Penns were just part of the system. That was what I told myself as I rode the elevator to the penthouse apartment accompanied by two Loyalists – Emmerson and Ivor. 

The doors opened and Marcus was found to be waiting in the lounge. He stood and he shook my hand cordially. He knew I was the one that had taken the footage of Mel Wallace’s murder. I knew he knew I was the one that took that footage but there was a story to tell so we shook hands. The Penn family had been through a lot since then. There were many losses and I dare say there were regrets.  

“Why do you insist on enabling Tabitha?” Had been my first question.  

I had noted several questions I wanted to put to the fresh King of Main but as we sat down and I looked him in the eye, it was the one I really needed to ask.  

I thought this would have darkened Marcus’ already typical stoicism but to my surprise it caused a hint of a smile on his lips. I probably wasn’t the first person to ask him about the out of control sociopath in a red dress. I would unlikely be the last.  

“Do you have siblings?” He asked me.  

“No,” I admitted.  

I was an only child living in the suburb of Jameston. Marcus, who grew up in Main, was probably putting my outrage at Tabitha’s behaviour down to naivety. It wasn’t naivety. It was definitely outrage.  

“My brothers and I have always been close. It’s difficult not to be when you have literally spent your entire existence together. Then when Tabitha came along she was like a sister to us. Before I met her I was expecting a vulnerable child. She was anything but. She was, however, In need of help. Naturally, as our sister, we would help her with everything we had. Underneath the bravado is a real girl who has suffered a lot. She is angry and determined to stop others having to suffer as she had. Abuse leaves a terrible taste in her mouth. That taste gives rise to fury.”  

I took note of Marcus’ sentiment.  

“Where is Mayor Feltz and his daughter?” I asked him. 

“I can honestly say without the slightest hint of a lie that he was very much alive the last I saw him,” said Marcus. 

“What about Mel Wallace?” I put to him. “She wasn’t though.” 

There was the darkened expression I had expected. His demeanour fell so heavily and so suddenly I was a little taken aback. He removed his spectacles and wiped the lenses on the hem of the black shirt he wore. He then placed them back on his nose and his lips tightened.  

“I do not pretend to be a benevolent man, as least not as much as I would like to be. I haven’t been afforded that luxury because Main relies on me to do whatever it takes to protect Her. That’s what it means to be Loyal. Over the years I have had to form a certain detachment that allows me to make the decisions necessary for survival of my dynasty and for the people who reside here. The matter was for the courts to decide and for the time being I’m here. Whilst I am here I will continue to do what it takes. I understand your trepidation. I understand your need to question. What I will confirm to you is I would never take such action unless it was necessary.” 

“We disagree on what might be necessary,” I told him. 

Marcus nodded. “I dare say we always will, Mr Crusow. If you ever find an alternative that won’t see this area torn apart I would happily follow.” 

*** 

As Marcus said he was loyal to his sister. At a young age Reginald Penn had made a request of his triplet sons that they take care of Tabitha. For Reggie this was ‘sound’ because he and Tabitha got on like a house on fire. Two unhinged personalities had found solace in one another. There was also the abrasive, Simon, to whom Tabitha was the little sister he never really wanted but he would treat as much a Penn as his triplets. Like most siblings she and Simon did share a bond though. She challenged him in ways few others did. She refused to polish his ego and he knew he couldn’t knock her out so they learned to tease in a way that kept each other on their toes. Surprisingly they tended to bring out the best in each other. When all was said and done and Tabitha had wound Simon’s temper to the point his fists were clenched and his knuckles were crunching she would laugh. With her gapped tooth grin he had to admit she was an adorable little girl. She knew this. She pushed it. In a way she inspired him. She would always voice exactly what was in her head where he had learned to suppress.  

Finally, there was Marcus. Only minutes older than Reggie but he felt it was his responsibility to follow his father’s wishes. 

She didn’t need much looking after from what Marcus observed. Keeping her out of trouble was the more accurate expectance. 

Marcus seemed cold hearted. He was very much so but he wasn’t without his emotions. 

On a night just after Tawny had been admitted to Harbour House, Agnes had gone to Filton to speak to her brother. She was to explain to English professor Henry Wilde that she was going to take care of Tabitha in Tawny’s absence and that news would not be received well. He had already expressed his concern over what Agnes had gotten herself involved in. He had suggested Tabitha required specialist attention for her behavioural problems but Agnes knew her brother would never turn her away.  

Tabitha stayed at the Faulds Building in the meantime. She and Reggie spent most of the time playing video games. Around 1am Marcus had heard some fussing from the lounge. There he found Reggie passed out on the sofa. Tabitha was seated in front of the television screen with her knees pulled up to her chest. The old Queen Corn cereal ad was playing, showing a glamorous actress, Vera Bergman, dancing. It had been muted. Tabitha’s eyes were reddened as though she had been crying. She had been so engrossed in the advertisement she hadn’t heard Marcus join her.  

He eventually announced his presence by asking, “can I get you anything?” 

Tabitha didn’t seem surprised to find him there. 

“I’m fine,” she replied. “I miss Aunt Tee.”  

“We all do,” he assured. “She’s in good hands though. She’ll get the help she needs.”  

Turning back to the advertisement she said, “this ad always reminds me of her.”  

Marcus had to disagree. He loved Tee too but she was no Vera Bergman. Perhaps it was the quirky, fun, lets not take life too seriously tone the had had where she drew the comparison.  

“Aunt Tee was the first person to tell me I could do anything I put my mind to. Rob and the fucking egg donor always said I was good for nothing,” Tabitha mused.  

“She always told me I was funny,” Marcus said. “She said I always made her laugh.”  

Tabitha looked at him with a slight wrinkle in her nose. “She did talk so much shit too, didn’t she?” she chuckled.  

Marcus raised an eyebrow.  

“You don’t think I’m funny?”  

“I think you’re about as funny as a colonoscopy. You know that thing where the camera goes right up …”  

“I know what a colonoscopy is. I would argue a colonoscopy can be hilarious depending on how it is performed and who it is performed on …”  

Tabitha giggled. “What do you know. You can funny.”  

Reggie groaned in his sleep. The two looked over at him. Then they looked to each other. Tabitha gave a mischievous grin. She pulled a red lipstick from her pocket. She passed it to Marcus.  

Marcus painted Reggie’s lips and cheeks. He even drew as accurate a rat on his forehead as the lipstick would allow.  

“You’re an artist,” Tabitha jested.  

Then they started to shake him.  

“Wake up. Wake up! Reg you’re late.”  

Reggie stirred.  

“Huh?” Reggie asked, still in a daze. 

“You have to get going. You’re going to miss the interview.”  

Reggie stood up. “I had better go then …” he mumbled.  

They went as far as to give him a jacket and send him down to the reception. They waited in anticipation watching the elevator lights move from the penthouse down to the ground floor. It didn’t take too long for the elevator to start moving back up again. Reggie came storming out, barefooted and throwing the jacket off.  

“Very fucking funny,” he grumbled. “It’s the middle of the night and I’m stoned off my ass.”  

Marcus and Tabitha were rendered amused for quite some time.  

Marcus knew the Boss Lady better than most. Like he she felt the need to do what was necessary for her people and they were suffering the most.  

*** 

Ding ding.  

The bell of the Harvester Farm house rang around mid afternoon. Given it’s remoteness it was unusual to find passers by. It had been Glenn’s daughter, Susie who answered. Standing on the steps was a girl of similar age to herself. Perhaps she was a little older. Her long brittle, hair hung in two braids that fell by her waist. She was watching with a vacant expression.  

“Hi,” said Susie.  

The girl looked like she was medicated. That was what Buddy Owen called it.  

“Hi,” she finally replied speaking slowly, staring at Susie.  

Susie noticed the purple ribbon that was tied into her braids. It was really quite pretty. If she grew her hair longer she could do something similar.  

“Is Margaret home?” the little girl asked.  

“There’s no Margaret here,” Susie explained.  

“Okay.” The girl nodded slowly. She turned and walked away.  

The farmhands were all busy out on the fields. The little girl must have slipped past them. Either way she wandered back down the path towards the main route.  

Ding ding. 

Susie was finishing her homework late afternoon when the door bell rang again. The farm hands were still out on the fields. Julia herself was in City Main checking on another disturbance. It seemed a Wigan girl had had to be driven from the store there after she made a fuss, screaming about Julia being a whore and sent by Satan himself to punish the people of Coldford. 

“To be cleansed you need to rid of the whore before she consumes you all!” the girl screamed before being dragged out.  

Upon answering the door Susie was greeted by the same little girl from earlier.  

“Is Margaret home?” she asked again.  

“No,” Susie returned. “I told you earlier there’s no Margaret here.”  

She was becoming a little impatient. The girl was spaced out and not listening to a word she was saying.  

“Okay,” the girl responded again with each syllable popping slowly. Oh – kay. She again turned and wandered back to the main route.  

When it reached early evening, darkness would be calling the farmhands in. Before they returned the door bell sounded a third time.  

Ding ding. 

Susie was not surprised to find the same little girl again. She didn’t say anything this time. She didn’t ask for Margaret. She just stared at Susie. Eventually she clenched her teeth and whistled through them.  

“You cannot be saved!” she hissed.  

Before Susie could call on her father she turned and dashed down the path at great speed.  

When Susie told her father what had happened Glenn assured her it was nothing to worry about, just religious nuts trying to play ‘silly beggars’. Darkness fell upon the farm though. 

*** 

Curtis had been having a tough day. Every day was a tough day for a Harvester farmhand but this day was particularly so. You see, dear readers, he had received news that his sister had died. She had been prostituting herself and apparently, she had happened upon a client with particularly depraved tastes. Normally she wasn’t commissioned by other women but she needed the money. After delivering the satisfaction she had been paid for to the client she was stabbed, rupturing her lung. The woman then proceeded to cut out her womb as she breathed her last.  

Curtis stumbled towards the barn, mumbling to himself.  

“Dangerous. Fucking whores,” he grumbled in a somewhat cohesive statement. 

The continued trotting towards the barn, boozed up and feeling sleepy. Debs, the prize Harvester milking cow, shifted over as Curtis clumsily slapped her rump. The farmhand lost his footing, tumbling onto a bale of hay. There he curled up and fell asleep.  

*** 

Midnight came around. Harvester Farm always welcomed an early morning so by then it was all tucked up and fast asleep. There was no-one awake to see three Wigan girls skip along the patch towards the farmhouse. They were laughing among themselves in a quiet snicker. With them they had the little girl from earlier who had been hitting Barbara Tulloch with her stick. 

Autumn, April and River were the names of the grown women with her. They were her mothers. They were lifelong islanders and dedicated Wigan followers. It had been Autumn that Curtis’ sister had met her end at the hand of.  

The farm house offered a small narrow window through which April was able to squeeze through. Her footsteps wouldn’t be heard crossing the stone kitchen floor. The creaks were minimal as she climbed the steps to the first floor.  

*** 

In Debs’ barn Curtis lay quite comfortably in the hay. It was was a warm, dry, cozy place to forget life’s problems. It was a great place to forget his sister’s demise.  

He was stirred from his deep sleep when he felt a woman straddle him. It had been a while but he remembered what it was like to have a woman’s thighs around him. His eyes opened to find a young woman with filthy brown hair. It had purple ribbons tangled within it. Her eyes looked huge. They didn’t look natural.  

She cried a shriek, raising a knife. It wasn’t a specially designed knife. It was the basic kind you would find in any kitchen.  

“You cannot be saved!” she cried, startling Debs.  

She plunged the knife. There was a crunch as she broke through the chest cavity that make her laugh with joy. She stabbed again and again.  

“You cannot be saved!” She called, completely enraptured by her task.  

*** 

Susie had been dreaming about Buddy Owen as chance would have it. In her dream he and the bros had performed a concert. It had been quite something. His full blonde hair, his large smile, his voice. After the concert the bros had treated Susie and some select friends to pizza at Bobby’s diner. All was spoiled when footsteps by her bed awoke her.  

She sat up. There was a woman in her room. She didn’t recognise her. She looked beyond ‘medicated’. She was completely fucked up. She didn’t move any further. She just stared at her with huge black eyes. Susie was glad she had gone to the bathroom before bed because she could have very well wet herself. The woman had a knife in her hand. She examined it. The smile she gave seemed unnaturally large. She had torn, frayed pieces of purple ribbon hanging everywhere.  

She charged at Susie with the blade but before she could inflict a devastating blow an arm curled around her neck and yanked her back.  

Julia grappled the Wigan girl named April, lifting her chin and exposing her neck. She wrestled her to the ground, pulling the knife from her. Julia pulled April’s head back and slit her throat.  

“Get out Susie!” the farm girl called. “Get out.”  

Susie leapt from her bed. Still dressed in her cotton onesie she dashed outside. It was freezing there but she was met by her father. The Harvester horns started to blow shattering the peaceful starry night.  

*** 

The stable door was hauled closed. Autumn and River laughed and cheered as they did so. River struck a match.  

“Ooooops!” she cried, throwing it inside. The hay was an exceptional kindling. The flames erupted.  

“Wigan bless you!” the two girls cheered as the clutched hands and skipped away.  

The horses trapped within the stables squealed as the heat of the flames engulfed them and their flesh began to sizzle.  

“Burn, burn, burn!” the Wigan girls laughed. “You cannot be saved, neither can yer horses.”  

They ran, leaving the devastation behind for the Harvester farmhands to tend to. The stables were consumed, leaving only behind ashes and bones.  

Ding ding. Ding ding.  

The whore would learn the followers of Wigan were Holy people. The people of Colddford were to repent and not be tempted by the whore’s devious ways. She should have stayed out of Bellfield. 

*** 

Peter Millicent had been sat in a confessional booth in the church. The quiet darkness was soothing. Things in the commune were becoming explosive. He had been praying for some solace when he heard someone take a seat to pour their soul to him.  

“I come to seek Wigan’s forgiveness,” he heard the man speak. He had known Dominick his whole life. He recognised his voice. 

“You’ve come to the right place, my brother,” he said. “unburden yourself.”  

“I have a task at hand. I’ve been given a mission but it’s not easy. I find myself questioning it sometimes. I have someone to turn to. My whole life they’ve never let me down.”  

“Do they guide you well?” Peter asked.  

“They do,” Dominick returned. “They’re like a father to me.”  

“Then what bothers you?”  

“Lately I have had trouble heeding his advice. He sees a world that doesn’t exist anymore. My mission asks me to be bold. He’s advising me to be steady.” 

“Perhaps, this father figure just wishes to see that his son doesn’t get hurt.”  

He could sense Dominick smile. “He’s a good man. He really is.”  

“You seem faithful,” Peter said, “otherwise you wouldn’t be troubled. Trust that faith. Listen to the advice you are given.”  

“Wigan bless you father,” Dominick returned. 

Peter met Dominick outside the booth. The said nothing about what they had discussed but Dominick seemed like he had shed some of his burden. Knelt before the alter were River and Autumn. They stood when they heard Peter join them. Nodding to the priest as they passed him in the aisle they exited.  

“Have you spoken to Bart, Your Eminence?” he asked. “He’s deeply concerned about Leona.”  

Dominick shook his head.  

“I’m sure he would be pleased to hear your words.”  

“How can I?” he asked. “Leona was called. Her place was in the city. She’ll return again.”  

“You are losing your focus and you are going to let it consume you. I understand your wish to push forward but you have to listen to me. Here on the bay there are deadly toxins underneath our feet. We have learned to live with them and over the years we have covered them over more and more. Now it’s safe for us to thrive. That city poison we have to learn to live with if we wish to grow.” When the church leader had fallen silent Peter pressed him. “Dominick?” he asked. “Dominick?”  

“I hear ye Peter. I understand what ye mean. I’m trying to steady my hand but I feel the need to push forward,” Dominick admitted. 

When Peter left, Autumn and River were standing in the yard. They were laughing to each other, snickering into each other’s ears. 

“What’s so funny?” Peter asked.  

The two girls giggled. “Nothing, Father,” said Autumn.  

*** 

Marcus Penn was anxious although you wouldn’t know it to look at him. He carried himself in a stoic way but there was a constant tension across his shoulders. He thought it would have eased with some distance between him and The Boss but it didn’t. It was like a the great castle still weighed down on him with reminders of his mother and father. Being back home gave little comfort and he couldn’t let himself be held back by the grief. As it stood he had a lot of people relying on him. He had always known the responsibility would fall to him upon when his father met a grisly fate. His great grandfather, Adelard, had been executed too for fighting back against the Chamberlain Guard. His grandfather, Renaud, had been guillotined by the Luen Courts. Now, Reginald had been taken by a firing squad. The murder of Bobby Owen had been expected, every war has their casualties. Hickes though? That was puzzling. Marcus never doubted his father’s advice was sound. What Reginald advised was Hickes was a trustworthy man. CPD were trusted too with Hickes at the helm. A few years before these events, Marcus, Hickes and Reginald had met to discuss the security in Main. They had sat all afternoon in Walden’s wine bar. Security was discussed and they then spent the rest of the afternoon throwing darts. It had been evening by the time they came stumbling back out. Reginald had an arm around Marcus’ shoulder to hold him steady.  

“When did the lights go out?” Reginald asked in jest.  

Marcus rolled his eyes. Reginald laughed heartily at his own joke.  

Hickes, who was just as inebriated, laughed too.  

“I got to go,” cheered the detective with his arms raised.  

Reginald grinned.  

“Sure thing. Don’t let me hold you back. You treat that lady well.”  

The lady referred to in this instance was Olivia whom Hickes had been close to for a while at this point.  

“I will,” Hickes replied confidently.  

“I’ll get you a car,” Reginald offered. “Ivor? Where’s Ivor? Ah there you are.”  

Reginald turned to face a Loyalist named Ivor. He was stood with his hands clasped, chin raised, ready to accept the King’s orders.  

“Take the detective down to Swantin, would you?”  

“Of course, sir,” Ivor replied.  

Hickes climbed into the back of the car. He blew his cheeks against the window as it drove away which drew even more laughs from Reginald. His arm tightened around Marcus’ shoulder.  

“Come on, boy. Let’s go throw some dice at the casino.”  

Hickes surely would have brought Reginald to see them in The Boss. He would have protected Reggie. None of it made any sense. There had been some talk among the Loyalists who had maneuvered with the Fleet that Hickes had supposedly betrayed them. Marcus couldn’t believe that. The Loyalists had always carried out the dirty work. Hickes would have had to react accordingly to the Freefall massacre but there were agreements in place for that sort of thing. The understanding was the Luen courts would make decisions on the fate of the Main royalty. Reginald believed he would never see a fair trial in Coldford. Either there would be too many against him or too many trying to support him. The Luen courts wouldn’t carry any favour, barons and marquis titles didn’t hold any weight in Luen. The guillotine would fall on a titled man’s neck just as easily as it would any other. The hunger of Buzzkill was an entirely different matter. That would have been why Reginald had gave himself to the Good Gang. Like the Luen courts, their judgement would at least be fair.  

There were so many questions and still so much to resolve. For the time being Marcus had his place to think of, his brothers to care for and the people of City Main to protect from religious zealots.  

He slipped back into the bathtub, allowing himself to become submerged in the warm water. The pulsating in his ears beat steadily as everything else became a murmur. The bathroom’s soft lighting started to dance above him as the water consumed his vision. He held his breath. His chest tightened. He could let it all slip away. He could allow the soft, warm water to fully consume him. It would be the ultimate quiet. He could drown in a proper rest. 

Just as his lungs were about to give an involuntary gasp there was another thudding. It wasn’t in time with his pulse. He sat back up. Standing in the bathroom was the Wigan girl, Leona.  

Simon hadn’t been keen on the girl having free reign around the apartments but she was Reggie’s wife so she had some entitlement. Bathing wasn’t a private affair in the commune. They would shed robes together and walk into the sea. Marcus had to assume that was why she was watching him without shame. She was holding a bag of herbs.  

“Reggie was worried you might be stressed. This is figroot. It’s guaranteed to calm. I could add some to the water for ye.”  

She started to wander towards him. Before she could approach any further, Marcus climbed out of the tub. She stopped. He was watching her closely with a warning in his stare. She took a couple of steps back. He didn’t look in the least bit vulnerable in his nakedness.  

“I’m done,” he said.  

She departed without any further word. Marcus shook his head and snatched up a towel.  

*** 

Chaos was ensuing at the Dalway Lane gallery as preparations for the auction of the Finn painting was underway. Harper Lane was overseeing the packing of the painting to be moved to the Auction House when she felt her son under her feet. The au pair who was supposed to be caring for him came chasing after him.  

“So sorry, Miss Lane,” the au pair lifted Elliot away from her.  

The little boy objected.  

“There’s a lot going on here today,” Harper snapped. “I need you to keep him occupied.”  

With another apology from the au pair she said, “I’m just taking him to the park.”  

Harper relieved herself of the stress a little. She kissed her son.  

“You enjoy the park, sweetness,” she said with a smile.  

“No,” Elliot shook his head.  

It was his favorite word. He said it in response to almost everything.  

“Do you want a nap?”  

“No.” 

“Do you want vegetables?” 

“No.”  

“Do you want a story?” 

“No.” 

Elliot loved all those things. He was just wrapping his little head around the consequences of refusal.  

The au pair caught a quick glimpse of the painting before it was sealed away from view to be taken to the Auction House.”  

Zipping up the little boy’s jacket, Wigan beads slipped from the au pair’s blouse. Elliot tapped the wooden cross on the end and gave a laugh.  

“My name’s autumn. Can you say awwwww tummm?”  

“No,” Elliot replied.  

Autumn dangled her Wigan cross and laughed as Elliot tried to catch it.  

“We are the children of Wigan and we know we can’t relent until the flesh of every sinner burns or we learn to repent!”  

Elliot giggled.  

“You cannot be saved!”  

“No.”   

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Knock, Knock: Episode 5: A Room With A View

171

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.

172

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.”

177

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.

180

“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.

183

“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.

190

“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.

195

196

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.

199

“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.

200

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.

207

#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.

Knock Knock: Episode 51: Tear It Down

Reggie Penn was so confused and so tired. He couldn’t understand why Marcus or Simon hadn’t called. Surely they’d be pissed none of the regular staff were at Faulds Park anymore. He didn’t know who he could trust though. They would only know about Agnes Wilde if The Boss deemed it allowed. Tabitha had sent everyone she could spare down to Northside in search of retribution. When he told her about Leona’s presence she screamed at him. 

“She’s different,” he tried to explain.  

“Different!?” Tabitha shrieked. “They’re all the fucking same.” 

“Your grandma was different,” Reggie stated.  

This stopped her cold. She didn’t like to be stopped cold. He’d probably regret it when they did meet in person. Tawny had a tumultuous relationship with the ultra religious mother she nicknamed bitch of the bay. Tabitha, on the other hand bonded with Dolores Mc Inney in the brief time they spent together. 

 The only thing consistent in his life was Leona. She was taking care of him. She had quietened the world around him. She helped him cope as they both lost themselves in the trips of the heether mushrooms.  

“I don’t understand why folks would say you’re the weakest triplet. You’re the strongest man I’ve ever known,” Leona told him.  

Damn right he was. He had been treated like the baby his whole life despite being born on the same day as his brothers. He had survived better than Simon or Marcus ever would. They all thought he was losing it but he was the triplet that was free. He was the triplet that bore their father’s name. They all underestimated him except Leona. She didn’t pity him. She saw strength in him.   

He found a distraught Leona in the lounge. She fell into his arms.  

“What’s happened?” he asked.  

“Two of our youngsters were found dead,” she said. Their bodies were badly beaten. Their heads had been taken so we can’t bury them properly. They’re lost. They’re completely lost. When is this all going to end?”  

Reggie held her closer. She sobbed on his shoulder.  

“I’m so sorry about Agnes,” she said.  

“She was a good woman,” Reggie said. “Tabitha will be cut up. Tee will be too.”  

“I wish I could have stopped it from happening. I really do. I have to go back to the island. It’s not safe here.”  

“You’re safe whilst you’re with me,” Reggie said. “I’ll look after you.”  

“They hurt ye so badly. Everything was taken from ye and it breaks my heart.”  

“I’ll be fine,” Reggie returned quite confidently.  

“I know ye will,” Leona replied. “You’re a survivor.”  

Reggie gave some consideration to what his father would have done. Growing up he was never to be the one with the authority over the Auction House. That was always Marcus’ place but he was the survivor. Even with Marcus’ strong, calculating mind and Simon’s physicality, Reggie was the survivor. Neither of them would have coped as well with everything he had gone through. Marcus would have snapped by now. Simon would have lashed out and they both would have gotten themselves killed.  

“Stay, please,” Reggie said to the Wigan girl. “At least for now. I need you by my side.”  

Leona smiled. “I know yer not a religious sort but would you mind if I prayed for ye?” she asked gently.  

“I’m going to need all the help I can get,” Reggie jested.  

“I’m standing outside The Channel in Swantin when in the last hour the bodies of twenty men were found slaughtered. The murders appear to be ritualistic in nature. Most of the bodies were beheaded. Although not all body parts have been identified yet it is believed they were all CPD officers. CPD badges were found hanging in a tree nearby. More information to follow. I’m Sandra Wake of Coldford Daily news.”  

Reggie Penn switched off the television and sighed. He felt his wife’s hands clasp his shoulders. She gently drew his head back and kissed him.  

“Ye shouldn’t pay so much attention to the news,” she said.  

“Keeping up to date,” said Reggie. “I have to know what’s going on.”  

Leona took a seat in the sofa beside him. “I’ve got some news for ye,” she said. “Ye know your doctor who was here yesterday? Well I had to ask him a couple of things.”  

Reggie frowned. “You’re not sick are you?”  

Leona shook her head. “No, it’s nothing like that,” she stated. She smiled. “I’m pregnant.”  

Reggie gasped. He smiled excitedly.  

“Really? You’re not shitting me?”  

Leona laughed too. “Not at all. It was confirmed this morning.”  

Reggie threw his arms around her.  

“I can’t believe it!” he cheered. “Where to do we start? We need to get a nursery sorted, like. Is it a boy or a girl? You won’t know that yet. What if it’s triplets?” he asked.  

His excited mind was darting nowhere and everywhere.  

“Wouldn’t that be something,” Leona laughed.  

He loved the sound of her musical laughter. It was one of the things that caught his attention when they first met.  

“This changes everything,” Reggie remarked. 

A Penn baby of Main raised in the Wigan faith of its mother? It certainly did. 

*** 

Just when he was ready to give in to despair another familiar face did arrive.  

“Reggie, baby!” Elsa Bergman greeted. She wrapped an arm around him and tousled his hair. “How ya doin?”  

Reggie grinned. 

“How’s the little trouble maker?” She asked of Tabitha as they both sat comfortably in the lounge.  

The television had a paused game of Coby inc.’s ‘Cage Match’.  

“As well as she can be. She’s still being held at the club,” he said. “You want a smoke?”  

Elsa nodded. “Sure.”  

Reggie passed her a joint which she lit with her own lighter. She was wearing the Bergman uniform – black waistcoat with the diamond logo and white shirt. She must have come straight from the Parade.  

“Is Seth pissed I sent him away?” Reggie asked.  

He was keen to at least hear something from the outside world. He and Leona had been confined to the building for what felt like an eternity.  

“It’s cool,” Elsa assured. “We’re worried about you though.”  

Elsa was something of a black sheep just like him. She would get it. She knew what it was like to have big brothers breathing down your neck. 

“I’m good. I’m good,” Reggie stated, not sure who he was trying to convince. He unpaused his game. “You want a fight?”  

Elsa crossed her legs on the sofa. She passed the joint and picked up a controller. The two began to fight it out on screen. Reggie, a three breasted woman. Elsa, a monstrous man with four arms.  

That was when Leona emerged from the kitchens carrying a tray of tea.  

“Hello,” she greeted Elsa warmly.  

The first thing Elsa noticed was the purple ribbon around her neck. She was familiar with the Wigan order. She had had her experiences with them too. She wore a black wig because her natural hair had been destroyed thanks to an attack on her.  

“Hi,” she said to Leona.  

It had been some time since she had been over on the commune but she was sure she recognised the girl. What she couldn’t understand was why she was making herself at home. Although her presence wasn’t a complete shock. Elsa had to pass through Wigan crowds crying their sentiments between Timeline and Faulds park. The death of Agnes Wilde had caused a wave of attacks against them. The situation in Main was becoming more destructive by the day.  

“I can’t stay,” Elsa announced as their match came to the end with Reggie knocking her to the ground.  

Elsa watched keenly as Leona perched herself on the edge of the sofa close to the triplet.  

As she was leaving Elsa hugged him carefully.  

“What is she doing here?” she asked him tentatively.  

“Her name’s Leona,” Reggie responded with a little frustration. “She’s here for me.”  

Reggie was annoyed that he would have to answer for himself in his own home, his own kingdom. All he needed to know was how much better he was starting to feel since Leona arrived.  

Elsa hesitated.  

“Does Marcus know?” she asked.  

This seemed to irritate Reggie further.  

“What does it matter to him?” he asked. “I don’t have to run my whole life past him you know. If he weren’t banged up in The Boss then he could have a say.” 

Elsa didn’t want to push it any further. “I got to get back,” she said. “But you call me if you need anything.”  

“Sorry,” Reggie said to her, realising he must have come off a little short. “I’m dealing, like,” he said.  

Elsa nodded. “You deal how you have to, baby,” said Elsa. “Just be careful.”   

“It’s been a long day and I realise you haven’t ate. You should eat something,” said Leona when they were alone again.  

Wigan bless the food they would consume. Wigan bless the strength he would build. Wigan bless the sweet girl who had come from the island to help him become the prince he needed to be.  

*** 

It had been a long night with little sleep. I had only just begun to doze off when dawns early light hit the window. I was startled awake with a call. It was a Timeline Main number.  

“Good morning, Sam. Did I wake you?”  

It was Seth Bergman. I sat up in bed, brushing my hair back and trying to wash off the sleepy haze.  

“Seth? What’s wrong?”  

“I spoke to my dad this morning and he asked me to give you a call.”  

“How is he?” I enquired of Howard.  

“How’s doing fine for now. He’s in good spirits despite the mess. He has my aunt looking out for him. There’s a lot to go through but we’re hopeful he’ll be fine. The reason I’m calling is I’m going to Beckingridge Tower to see what can be done about the Stoker tent. My dad believes that there might be a lot of press. He took a shine to you and was quite annoyed he couldn’t finish your conversation. He asked if you would like to join me. If things go awry then at least someone could show the city the truth.  

“What are you planning on doing?”  

He was unable to answer. I don’t know if this was because he wasn’t willing to discuss it over the phone or because he wasn’t sure himself what the Stokers would have waiting. The question of who would be helping him was at least answered when I received another call. This time it was from within Beck Tower. 

“Guess who’s back out to play!” Elizabeth Beckingridge cheered. Her lock down period was finally spent. I caught myself smiling.  

“Yes, but for how long?”  

Elizabeth ignored the question. “Seth Bergman told me he’s invited you up. He’s a dish, isn’t he?”  

“Can’t say I noticed Liz. What are you up to?”  

“Nothing,” she said. “Law Maker rules said I’m not allowed to do squat but there is probably going to be trouble here and if you want the story you had better get here pronto.”  

With George now in The Boss, The Tower had fallen back into Elizabeth’s well manicured hands. With a life long grudge, billions in cold hard cash and diamonds to spare I would learn that money still talks.  

*** 

I arrived at Beck Tower just as Seth too was arriving.  

“Glad you could make it, Sam.”  

“I still don’t know what exactly I’m making,” I told him as he pulled the door open and we stepped inside the main foyer. One of the Stokers had called a comment to Seth from across at the hotel. In credit to the current Bergman figurehead he ignored it. 

“Did you call the Law Makers?” I questioned.  

“They can’t do anything about it,” Seth explained. His aunt had already tried but there was little that could be done when no city rules had been violated and Rodney Weir had given them permission to set up at his hotel.  

Our conversation was interrupted by an almighty crash, almost shattering the windows.  

“You absolute bastards!” Elizabeth screamed in a true vexation I had never heard from her before.  

Gramps’ statue had been brought down. Surely the Law Makers could be called now? A troupe in Stoker jackets skipped back across the courtyard back to their tent.  

The Beckingridge dragon was prevented from rushing out after them to throw her fire by the arrival of another woman. She had long hair, she was full lipped and dressed in a neat skirt suit. I recognised her but I hadn’t been introduced. She had a little girl beside her dressed in a full Fullerton football kit.  

“We’re all set,” said the woman holding a box of communication devices and passing them around.  

“You know Jenna Fullerton?” Elizabeth asked me.  

“Only by reputation,” I admitted.  

Jenna shook my hand. “Seen my movies then?”  

I had meant during my research into the construction family but I was aware Jenna’s main pursuit was the production of adult films.  

“I … errr… Can’t say I have.”  

“Oh sure you have,” Elizabeth dismissed wanting to move on to other things.  

As Jenna finished passing out comm devices the little girl crossed to the window to look out at the circus. She was Lucy Fullerton, Jenna’s niece. 

“There’s a little work needing done. Hopefully that will usher them on.” 

Jenna’s phone jingled. “I’ve got him,” she announced.  

She slipped her comm into her own ear as I did mine.  

“You there?” Elizabeth asked.  

“I’m here,” a man returned. “Haven’t got a lot of time. I might get cut off.”  

From the confines of The Boss spoke Jenna’s elder brother, Jake. He was head of the Fullerton family and currently serving time for aggravated assault. He was stood in the clerical room with his head rested on his arm leaning against the wall with the phone to his ear.  

“Keep Lucy inside the building,” instructed the girl’s father from prison. “Jenna?” He put to his sister. “You better go out and show the foremen where to set up.”  

I could hear the voice clearly.  

“Hello?” I put in.  

“Who’s this?” asked Jake.  

“Sam Crusow,” I said. “I’m at Beckingridge Tower.”  

“Crusow? Hey! I’m talking to a famous bloke here,” he said to the others listening.  

“Are you wanting to make a statement?” I asked.  

“Nah, mate,” was Jake’s reply. “Don’t talk to reporters.”  

Meanwhile, Jenna had been met with a bus load of construction workers. She began to coordinate them to their designated areas.  

Seth stepped out onto the courtyard to watch. The Fullerton team were now arriving with more bus loads. They were quickly erecting fencing. The Stokers were becoming nervous. They started to emerge from their tent. The lizard woman, Heidi, tried lashing out at Jenna but one of the Fullerton crew swung a piece of the barrier he was carrying. She retreated back to her tent screaming at them and wagging her forked tongue. I saw one of the foremen punch Fritz, the little person who was trying to pull his blockade from him. He looked about himself to see if anyone had noticed.  

“Lucy darling, what do we say to the circus folk?” asked Elizabeth. 

“Fuck off, muppets!” the child yelled without hesitation.  

Elizabeth chuckled. “She’s a treasure, isn’t she?”  

*** 

Elizabeth and I joined Seth in the Court Yard just as a press corp was drawing up.  

“I thought the word might spread,” said Seth. “Here come your brethren, Sam.”  

He crossed the yard to greet them.  

“Good morning, ladies, gents. How are you?” he asked.  

The press swarmed him with questions to which he replied he was simply taking a walk.  

Elizabeth had been looking at her grandfather’s statue.  

“It’ll get put back up,” I assured her.  

“Damn right it will.” She drew out a cigarette and placed it between her lips. She lit the cigarette and drew. “You hear that!” she screamed across the courtyard to the Stokers. “You’ve really pissed me off.”  

That was when the rumbling began, as the diggers and bulldozers arrived on site. I had read often of how the Baroness had faced down the Fullerton Bulldozers. I hadn’t fully appreciated just how much nerve that actually took until I heard the noise of the great steel monsters for myself. Twin diggers charged through paying no care to any Stoker who got in their way.  

*** 

Digger driver, Lionel Fullerton, switched on his comm in a hurry. 

“You there, gaffer?” he asked.  

“Yeah, I’m here,” Jake replied. “What’s going on?”  

“I got an honest to God clown on my windscreen. I fucking hate clowns.”  

It seems the Stokers would protect their tent at all costs.  

“Shake them off,” Jake suggested. “It’s their own damn fault being there in the first place.”  

Lionel spun his digger, throwing the performer to the ground.  

Lucy had ran out onto the steps. “Oih! Muppet!” she called to one of the foremen. “You’ve left that open!”  

The foreman – realising there was a gap in the fencing saluted the construction princess and set about fixing it.  

“Lucy! Get back inside,” warned her father.  

“Sorry dad,” Lucy said and scampered back into the building.  

*** 

Rodney Weir had been pulled away from a board meeting to come and check on the commotion. He came to the entrance of his hotel in a rush.  

“Hey!” he barked at Jenna. “What the fuck are you doing?”  

Jenna ignored him at first, focusing on the twin diggers that were taking their first bites, but he persisted. He snatched her and pulled her back.  

“Get your diggers packed up right now you scummy boot,” he spat in her ear.  

One of the foremen took to heel and pulled her away from him. Rodney raised his hands. Jenna landed a heavy slap on the hotelier  

“Do that again and you’ll wish you hadn’t,” she warned. “Get back to work,” she said to the foreman.  

“I’m calling CPD,” he said.  

“Call the cops all you like,” she said. “You wanted work done here and we’re here to do it.”  

Rodney lowered his voice. He didn’t want anyone to hear. “You know fine well I didn’t have the money,” he growled.  

“Well it’s your lucky day, innit? Someone covered the cost for you,” Jenna explained. 

“Who?” he demanded to know but Jenna raised her palm to his face and walked away. At first he thought it might have been his brother Eddy who ran the Weir in Luen but a glance across to the Beckingridge Court yard would give hint to the culprit as Liz wiggled her fingers at him. 

“Hey Rodney,” she said. “Nice morning.” 

“Liz, you crazy bitch! Get them away from here.”  

“No can do. The money has already been paid. It will look fabulous when it’s finished. That I can promise you.”  

Their cross court conflab was interrupted as Heidi Stoker, the lizard woman, was trying to drag Lionel from his digger.  

“Geroff! Geroff!” Lionel was shaking her away. There was blood where she had tried to gnaw him with her sharpened teeth.  

Fullerton workers dashed to help. No one had seen Heidi leave the tent, which was remarkable considering how of much of a figure she cut. One of the foremen punched her. This time he didn’t look about himself. He didn’t care who noticed. The others got inbetween and she rushed back to her tent.  

Whilst Lionel gathered himself the diggers twin continued to tear its way into the ground at the tent. If the red tent wasn’t moved it was being pulled down.  

Capturing it all as best I could I managed to collect varying expressions on Rodney Weir’s face. 

“Yeah Gaffer?” Rodney overhead one of the foremen say.  

“Wait a minute. Jake? Jake’s in jail.” Rodney expressed his concern but no one was listening. “Jakes in the jail, right?” he asked a foreman but he just glared at him.  

***  

The Stokers were not taking the attack on their tent lightly. The Stoker jackets could be seen swarming across the yellow and black of Fullerton Construction as more crew arrived and more equipment.  

Lionel had pulled himself together was back inside his digger.  

“Scary bitch,” he sniffed. He wiped away a tear from his eye with the back of his hand, feeling a little traumatised by the attack from the lizard woman. She had a forked tongue and everything. Yeesh!  

“That’s fucking sick,” he sobbed. But he was a good digger and dig on he must.  

He wished Jake was there.  

“Who’s the man?” he would ask.  

“I’m the man,” Lionel would reply. 

“Who’s the man?” Jake would want to know.  

“I’m the man!”  

Yeah you are Lionel, Lizard lady got nothing on you. 

He pushed the digger deeper. The Stokers were climbing their tent, they were pulling guy ropes but they were stabilising it, not bringing it down.  

Bump. Creek.  

“You there, gaffer?” Lionel said into the comm.  

“I’m here,” Jake replied.  

“We’ve got a problem. If we dig any deeper we’re going to knock the hotel. The structure here is shit. The Weir cheaped out. We need to pull back.”  

Jake grunted. “Did you hear that, Liz? I’m going to need to pull back. We’ve done all we can.”  

Elizabeth watched one of the foremen relay that message to Rodney. She was shaking with rage when he turned that smug expression across the courtyard towards her.  

“No!” she said. “Not happening.”  

“I can’t,” Jake said.  

Elizabeth pursed her lips.  

“One million in your account right now if you bring down that fucking hotel too!”  

“What!” I gasped. “Liz, you can’t do that!”  

“Watch me,” she growled.  

“I’ll match that,” said Seth, “if it means that tent goes with it.”  

Liz took out her phone. “What do you say Jake? I have my finger on the button.” 

“I’m in enough trouble as it is,” the Fullerton gaffer responded.  

“2 mil,” Elizabeth said. “That’s not to be sneezed at. I’ll take the heat.”  

Jake had fallen silent.  

“What do you say?”  

“I’m thinking. I’m thinking,” he said.  

“Can’t stay here all day,” Elizabeth was pushing.  

“Fuck it,” said Jake. “He’s being a dick. Bring it down. Jenna? How far out is the demolition crew.”  

“They’re just arriving.” 

Elizabeth squealed with glee. She called across the courtyard.  

“You hear that? You’re not the only one who can afford contractors! Kill my cat and make a mockery of my family? How dare you! Pull down my school will you? My grandfather’s statue? Well I’m pulling down your whole fucking hotel. Maybe I’ll have the whole place made into a memorial for Susie Winkle.” 

“Liz there are people in that hotel!” I objected. 

“Obviously they are evacuated first,” she replied as though I was the insane one.  

The alarm at the hotel began to rattle. She reached her arm out as though to say, ‘you see?’ 

*** 

The Fullerton wrecking ball was escorted like a great trebuchet of old. Even the greatest of structures in Coldford would struggle under it’s mighty swing, especially when it’s explosive foot soldiers led the charge. The Stokers could pull all the gang ropes they liked. One way or another their red tent was coming down.  

“Stop! Stop!” Rodney was screaming. He was trying to shoo the Stokers off his property now to save his hotel.  

The time had come for wrecker to impart his wrath. The groan of its wheels angrily stomped towards its target causing a vibration underfoot that spread straight across the courtyard.  

“Gaffer?” asked operator, Jason. “Just waiting on your word.”  

“Swing.”  

WOOSH!  The first hit tore into the tent but it didn’t break it. Red had a spine of steel. Jake had gotten that it wasn’t coming down.  

“C’mon mate, swing!”  

WOOSH! The second hit did break it.  

“It’s still not coming down,” Jason complained.  

“How hard can it be it’s a fucking tent!?” Jake spat.  

“You ain’t seen the size of this thing.”  

“Swing!”  

WOOSH!  

With the third hit there was a snap. It was quite a sight to behold as the Stokers scattered.  

“It’s down! It’s coming down!”  

With the nuisance falling away, Elizabeth Beckingridge could have left it at that. There was no need to go any further but she had set her mind on the Weir being reduced to rubble for having the audacity to challenge her. I had only ever seen that level of pettiness in one other person. The Boss Lady. Little red dress had flouted the lustful Owen troll. She had fended off the Big Bad Judge Wolf. I wondered how she would fair against the dragon of Beck Tower.  

As the Hotel crumbled Seth spotted Freddy Stoker darting off towards Timeline. He was no doubt looking to slip into to Coldridge where the Big Top still stood. He didn’t get far though. His exit was blocked by a host of Law Makers led by Sophie Bergman. Breaking and entering, murder, abduction, drugs, whatever they could get on him to hold him.  

That was when they turned their attention to Elizabeth. Not one whole morning away from her house arrest and Sophie Bergman had her cold blue eyed stare on her.  

“You are to return to the manor. You have violated your sanctions,” Golem informed her.  

“I’ll go when I finish with this hotel,” Elizabeth said.  

“You will go now,” she was warned.  

As she was being escorted back to Filton, Rodney Weir called to her, “you crazy fucking bitch, Liz! What have you done with my hotel?”  

“Wrecked it seemed,” Elizabeth responded. “Don’t fuck with me Rodney.”  

Three more weeks at least on house arrest for Elizabeth Beckingridge. The dragon lady considered it very much worth it.  

Before he was cut off, Jake could be heard offering the warden some protection money from the deal that had been done.  

*** 

Seth and Elsa were allowed into CPD holding to see their father. He looked really old, Elsa thought. He looked so tired but when he seen them both he smiled like his old self.  

“Good afternoon, kids.”  

Seth and Elsa took a seat across from him.  

“How’s it going daddio?” Elsa asked at first.  

Howard could see the look in Elsa’s eyes. She was a little shocked so he tried to remain positive.  

“I’m fine. Everyone has been really nice. Asking a lot of questions but nothing I can’t handle. I’m worried for Karyn though. She has lost her son.”  

No one wanted to bring it up but Seth felt he had to.  

“Article 22,” he said.  

“That is for criminals. That’s not for an innocent man. I’ll be home soon enough. The Law Makers just have to be thorough and boy are they thorough. Mustn’t complain though. Their attention to detail will be what gets to the truth of the matter in the end. In the meantime I just have to sit tight and carry out the process. I’ve never been in trouble with the law before. The Rothensteins want a copy of the mug shot for the parade.” 

Elsa laughed at this.  

He rubbed his arms. “I might cover myself in tattoos.” 

Elsa laughed even harder. She herself had a sleeve of tattoos on her left arm.  

“You hate needles,” she teased.  

“Yes but I’m a hard knock now,” the father replied.  

“I have some good news and some bad,” Seth said. “The red tent has been removed and Freddy Stoker has been taken into custody.”  

“I don’t see what bad news there could be to top that,” Howard said optimistically.  

It was then Seth admitted. “They haven’t found Isaac.”  

Howard fell quiet. “They will,” he said. “They will find him.” He addressed his son. “I want you to tread very carefully Seth. It would be so easy to rush out there and lash at those that have done us wrong, but where does that leave us? All that does is put yet another wrong out there in the world.” 

“After what has been done to you!” Seth was outraged.  

Howard maintained his stance. “I don’t want you going down that path,” the father warned. “It leads nowhere good. I’m an innocent man and I have faith that our system will see that and there will be no real harm done to me. But what I don’t want, and I make that very clear to both of you, is my family becoming involved in the chaos that is this city at the moment. Find Isaac, work with the Law Makers and do your best by others. Those are my instructions.”  

The supervising CPD officer knocked on the door.  

“Your time is up.” 

“Don’t worry about me. Take care of each other and I’ll be back home before the milk expires.”  

Seth and Elsa hugged their father.  

By the time they got outside Elsa was weeping. She couldn’t bear to see him in such a surrounding.  

‘Don’t go down that path,’ Seth thought to himself. The filth of the night hides down dark paths though. How would you rid of them if you feared treading them? 

*** 

“Nah bro,” Chad Perry was saying. “It was about this big.” 

He reached his hands out.  

Cooper was shaking his head. “No way, bro. It was about this big!”  

He had stretched his finger and thumb out.  

Buddy and the bros were at Harbour House signing their final papers. Rehab complete. It was a little peace of mind for the Law Makers for the time being.  

“Coops. Coops. Coops!” Buddy – who had been focused on the entrance was whacking Coopers arm. He had clocked the arrival of Seth Bergman, looking furious.  

“It’s one of the Jew boys. Did we piss the Jews off again?”  

Cooper shrugged.  

Seth brought Buddy into sight.  

“I’d like a word with you if I may,” he said.  

The polite words were by no means said with a polite tone.  

Lydia stepped in Seth’s way. She placed a hand on his chest and urged him back. Buddy’s eyes widened.  

“He’s still with me at the moment, Mr Bergman. I can’t allow that,” she warned. 

“Yeah, bro,” Buddy spoke up. “She’s with me.”  

“It’s alright,” Agent Reynolds called to her. Returning to deliver reports on the situation in Bellfield. “You can let him through.”  

With Reynolds’ assurance that Seth was not there to cause trouble Lydia stepped aside.  

“You,” Seth beckoned Buddy. “Come with me. The other two stay here.”  

Reynolds was joined by Golem as he waited the return of the acting Bergman figurehead. Reynolds stuffed his hands inside his pocket as he watched Buddy follow Seth towards the rec room. Golem reached out a large hand, holding a cigarette.  

“A smoke, my dude?” He offered.  

“Trying to quit,” the agent said.  

Golem laughed. It was a low, rumbling sound.  

“You are no quitter, John,” he said in jest. 

Reynolds removed his hands from his pockets again. “Ah go on then …”  

Meanwhile, on the way to the Rec room Buddy and Seth were stopped by Agent Kim.  

“Agent? I am not looking to cause trouble but I would like a word with this man and his father,” explained Seth politely but firmly. 

Kim nodded, stepped aside and allowed access to the rec room. “I’ll be watching though.” 

“Fine by me,” said Seth.  

They found Chick standing by a table. He had been waiting to escort his son back to the Chapter House. His lips curled when he saw Seth and his shoulders tightened but before he could question, Seth swung the bag he carried and rolled out the golden asset onto the table between them. The Cappy had admired it for so long he knew immediately what it was, even with Buddy’s alterations.  

“I was in two minds on whether to give you this back or not after the stunt that was pulled with my father,” Seth began. “But then I realised my father is a much better man than you will ever be. He would never lower himself to your pathetic level.”  

The Cappy scowled. “Watcher tone you little shit.”  

“I want my cousin back,” demanded Seth.  

“I don’t give a damn what you want,” The Cappy assured. “You come in here speaking to me like that? You will learn some manners, boy, before you pull up a chair at the grown ups table. If you need some lessons I will be happy to be your teacher.” 

Seth scowled. “I’m giving you your precious heirloom back and for that you will have my cousin returned. I don’t care how. Just have him taken somewhere safe and we’ll speak no more of it. I’m giving you your asset back in good faith. If you ignore that my aunt will move to lock you down again and this time it won’t be in your home.”  

The Cappy growled. Buddy had never seen him more angry and he had done some shit to piss him off over the years. He didn’t think he could get any angrier. 

“You returned this … item … and because I’m grateful for that I will put out the word for your cousin. But you had better realise I do not take threats lightly.”  

Seth stood his ground. “Isaac comes home and we are done.”  

The Cappy sneered. “Now get out of here before I test just how quick those agents are.”  

“Seth?” It was Kim calling. “Get out.” 

Seth listened to the agent. When he departed, Ozzy, who had been overlooking Chad’s departure approached him. 

“Crikey,” he said. “Who’s that little bastard?”  

“Howard Bergman’s boy.”  

“There’s another meal for Snowflake just waiting,” Ozzy jested.  

The Cappy managed a snicker.  

“Does he like kosher?”  

Chick snatched up the asset. He pointed it at Buddy. It turned out he could get angrier.  

“Buddy … Would you mind explaining to me why some too big for his britches little kike is coming in here, waving a cock in my face, pressing his demands? He seems to believe that he is doing me a favour. What makes about as much sense as tits on a bull is why he’s returning something to my grand knowledge wasn’t lost! I guess the question I put to you, sir, is what … in the seven circles … of Holy Hell … is this!?” 

*** 

Reggie was stirred by a woman’s cries. Moving a little easier every day he was on the mend. He had contacted the Auction House in Luen and they told him Jean Luc would be with him soon. He had word that Simon could very well be joining him again with rumours that Marcus could be too. He still wondered why they hadn’t called. Maybe he had been tripping so much he had missed them. Faulds Park was quieter. The situation in Northside had pulled most of the Wigans back to the island. Reggie was healing and soon enough it would all be under control. So why was a woman crying?  

He wasn’t entirely sure if it was reality or if it was more heether induced hallucinations. He had sat and watched his mother the night before. She was crying too. He knew it wasn’t real but it still chilled him. That was when he had felt a warm blanket being dropped around his shoulders. Then there was a soft touch on his face. Then there was a whisper.  

“Wigan bless her.”  

Mother was Albans but Reggie assumed Rita Penn would appreciate prayers all the same. He never pined for his father though. This surprised him because he and Reginald were close. He was the king’s namesake after all. He supposed it was because ever since they were little the triplets knew Reginald would meet a bloody end. They had come to accept that and the king didn’t fear it. That was why he was so widely respected.  

Reggie had to face the reality of his life. He had responsibility on his shoulders. He was drawn to the woman’s cries.  

The sobbing led him to the lounge. Knelt on the floor by the window was Leona. She was clutching her Wigan cross and praying.  

“What’s wrong?” Reggie asked, padding slowly towards her, unsure if he should disturb her thoughts.  

“Bart wrote me again,” she said. “He wants me to go home.”  

“You’re okay here. I mean you’re comfortable, like?” Reggie responded. 

“Of course I am,” Leona assured. “You’ve been so good to me but it’s not safe for me here. Not whilst CPD run your City Main. Not after what happened to that woman, Agnes.”  

Reggie sat on the floor next to her.  

“I’ll talk to Tabitha again. I’ll make sure she knows it wasn’t your doing.”  

“It won’t matter. I’ll never be accepted here. I’ve ignored Bart’s letters long enough. I really should go home.”  

“No, wait,” Reggie requested with some urgency. “I want you to stay. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”  

Leona leaned over and kissed him. “You are sweet, Reggie,” she beamed. “You really are. I don’t belong here though. I have to go.”  

“You’re all I’ve got,” Reggie protested. “You’re the only one I feel I can trust right now.”  

Leona shook her head. “What happens when you have your family around ye again? Do you really think they would accept me here?”  

The bell rang. 

“I’ll get it,” Leona offered. She stood and answered the call from the front desk.  

“You had better send him up,” Reggie could hear her say.  

When she returned she looked a little unsettled. “It’s Bart,” she informed him. She reached her hand out and helped Reggie onto his feet.  

Ding.  

The elevator opened. Dressed in City dweller clothes stepped off Bartholemew. Leona received him with a warm embrace.  

“I’ve been worried,” he said. “Are ye alright?”  

“I’m fine,” she confirmed. 

“Forget how to write did ye?” Bart groaned. “No telephones about here?” He turned his attention to Reggie and said, “I heard talk of what happened to ye. I prayed for ye.”  

“Thanks,” responded the triplet.  

“His Eminence will hold Father Renfield accountable for what happened in Northside,” assured Bart. 

“He won’t have to,” Reggie replied. “He’ll get his comeuppance.”  

Bartholemew nodded. “St Michael be praised that he gets what he deserves then.”  

To his sister he ordered, “yer coming home,” clasping her arm. 

Leona tugged her arm away.  

“I’ll go when I’m good and ready,” she snapped back.  

“I’ll not ask ye twice!” Bart warned.  

Reggie interrupted. “I asked her to stay. I want her to stay.”  

Bart clasped Leona’s arm again. “This is no place for ye. You’re coming home. Move.”  

He started to pull her towards the elevator when Reggie objected.  

“She’s here for me. If she wants to stay she can,” he said. “What do I need to do to prove she belongs here?”  

Reggie surprised himself by how hard he he took the idea of having to cope without her.  

“I want her to stay here,” he said.  

After much deliberation Bart relented.  

“There’s only one way I’d even consider letting her stay here, ” he said. “There’s only one way you would show you truly mean to look after her no matter what happens.”  

Later that evening, standing before Bartholemew, Reggie clasped Leona’s hands in his and was told, “as yer wife, Wigan asks that you protect her, keep her and provide for her.”  

“Praise Wigan,” Reggie responded as was expected of him.  

Bartholemew tied a purple ribbon around their hands.  

“As yer husband, Wigan asks that you honour him, support him and be fruitful for him.”  

“Praise Wigan,” Leona accepted.  

Bart kissed his sister’s forehead as he was leaving.  

“Dom will be pleased,” he said.  

“I’m glad,” Leona replied with a smile.  

At that the Wigan monk departed, leaving behind his sister and her new Prince of Main husband. 

Knock Knock: Episode 52: Absentee Bid

He hadn’t been in Coldford for some time. However, Jean Luc Penn, Reginald’s cousin from Luen, was not in the least bit surprised to note a completely different air in Main in light of the king’s demise. Two of the triplets were still detained and Simon had sent a frantic message telling him Faulds had been infiltrated by Wigan fanatics. Reggie was home alone which was always recipe for disaster.

Jean Luc had made preparations to come over the moment Reginald had been taken into custody but the king had told him not to. He requested that Jean Luc take care of their hold in Luen. They were going to have to rely on it in the days ahead. He requested that he concentrate on doing what he could for the boys. 

He had received an interesting letter from Ronald ‘Ronnie’ Owen, offering support. Jean Luc had been sceptical of this at first. Finally managing to speak to Marcus he confirmed he was able to work with Ronnie and confirm their release. 

“Keep your head down, keep quiet. I’ll do what I can to get you out of that place. You need to survive in there until I do. Look after each other. I’m in Coldford now. I’ll take care of Junior.” 

Taking care of Junior – a common phrase among the Penns in reference to the troublesome triplet. He would need to see doctors, therapists and undergo some rehabilitation. First thing was first, the Wigan problem. There were followers of St Wigan in Luen but they weren’t a sizeable population. Most of their international worship came from Levinkrantz. The epicentre of the entire religion was on Hathfield Bay island and from what Jean Luc heard it was spilling into Main. The lawyer saw it for himself when he arrived. Travelling from Timeline to De Marques Avenue, there were purple ribbons everywhere. The Loyalists who gathered to greet him at the entrance of Faulds were disorganised. Some of them were arguing with the Wigan followers crowding the doors. 

DING DING!

A bell was ringing. A follower in full robes was crying out about repentance. 

“Can’t someone shut that fucking man up?” Jean Luc snapped.

A high ranking Loyalist named Emmerson helped clear the way for him.

“I’m afraid we can’t, sir,” he said. “They have permission of Reginald Junior to be here.”

Jean Luc scowled.

“Is that so?”

“Welcome to fucking Coldford, sir,” Emmerson replied with some relief in his tone. Finally a Penn with some sense back in residence.

DING DING!

When the elevator brought Jean Luc to the penthouse he wasn’t greeted by Reggie right away. Instead it was Leona with an extended hand and wide smile.

“You must be Jean Luc,” she said. “Reggie told me all about ye. I’m Leona. It’s so nice to have ye with us.”

“Nice to have …” Jean Luc started to repeat to ease his disbelief. “Leona?” He pressed. “Where is Reggie?”

“He’s not been well. He had been resting but he’s just checking to see if we have an apartment for you.”

Jean Luc was unable to contain his frustrations no more.

“What about my own apartments? Reggie? Reginald Junior? Get yourself out here right now!”

He turned to Leona and took note of her shocked expression. Reggie emerged from the kitchens with a phone in his hand. He looked haggard. His hair was greasy, he was much thinner than the last time he saw him and the way his leg caused him to wince was deeply concerning. He was smiling though.

“Jeen!” He cried in greeting, devoid of all its natural warmth.

His voice was hoarse too. He had been smoking a lot. He fell into his cousins arms though and clutched him tightly.

“You had us all out of our minds with worry,” said Jean Luc, clasping his shoulders and kissing both cheeks.

“I’m good,” Reggie stated, some of his old self returning.

“If you are good then you can clear this building, starting with my apartments by the way.”

Reggie tried to explain.

“We’ve been celebrating. We’ve had a lot of visitors.”

This seemed to frustrate Jean Luc more. He gave an ironic chuckle.

“I do look forward to hearing what was so worthy of celebration whilst the ashes of your dear mother and father still smoulder, your brothers rot in that Hell hole up north and the Auction House remains closed with the absence of Jeremy.”

Reggie sighed. Leona kept silent at his side. She supposed he was used to his cousin’s attitudes.

Reggie managed a smile again.

“It’s been tough, like. You met Leona, right? She was there for me. She helped me through. She saved me when I couldn’t be saved.”

Jean Luc took the Wigan girl in. He summoned the most courteous smile he could under the circumstances.

“That is much appreciated, Madame. I’m sure His Majesty will make his gratitude known to you in his own time. You needn’t worry anymore. He’s in good hands. You can return to your place of worship now and take your kin with you.”

Reggie scowled at his cousin.

“I’m not sending her away. She belongs here.” He took Leona’s hand in his. “That’s what we are celebrating. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I love her. Leona is my wife. We got married.”

Leona drew her other hand softly across her belly.

“We’re so happy. We’re going to have a baby and we didn’t want to have a bastard child.”

Not a man often caught unawares, Jean Luc was rendered speechless then. Marriage? A child on the way? Finally, he gathered his thoughts.

“Junior? A word in private if I may?”

Reggie was defiant.

“You can talk in front of my wife.”

They didn’t wish for privacy? So be it.

“Are you out of your fucking mind!?” Asked Jean Luc most sternly. “Look around you at this mess. The Loyal have no idea what they are doing. You are filthy, you have drugs in your system and now you tell me you are married and bringing a child into this? Nonsense, Junior.”

“If you’re not here to support me you can fuck off back to Luen,” Reggie snarled. “Leona was there for me. Where for the fuck where you?”

“Trying to keep your brothers alive,” Jean Luc retorted. “I’m here to bring this place back into order. Do you trust me to do that?”

Reggie nodded, his temper simmering.

“Of course I do.”

“Then stop acting like a love sick dog. Take a bath, clear this building out. As for you Madame, if you truly mean what you say about Reggie then you will agree to send your kin back to the commune or seek refuge at St Michael’s, I don’t really care which. The celebrations are over.”

“Jeen!” Reggie began to protest but he was weakening. He had dropped Leona’s hand.

Jean Luc reached out to steady him on his feet but he fell into an embrace.

“Harsh truths,” said the cousin. “It’s all so very harsh. I care about you, like my own son. I need you to listen to everything I have to say. Get my apartments cleared out. Get trusted men on the doors of this place and for the love of god sober up. I will bring Marcus and Simon home. We will live on. We will fight on.”

Reggie straightened up.

“Do you think Marcus and Si will be happy for me?” Asked the youngest triplet.

“I’m sure they will be ecstatic.”

***

The Knock Knock club was a well-known place of merriment. Even in the darkest times. They would mourn Agnes but Tabitha was known as the Boss Lady in the city and as such she had a reputation to uphold. From the moment Agnes Wilde had been murdered in Northside she had made it her mission to cause as much trouble as she could. Boss Lady, trouble, were all accurate names to describe her as you have come to discover.

“Come on, David,” she was sniping. “It has to be bigger than that.”

Artist, David Finn and Tabitha were working together to build a vision. On this day it hadn’t been the size of the canvas that Tabitha was referring to.

David was one of Shady City’s most renowned artists, had been commissioned for one of his most controversial paintings yet. The Fleet of Bellfield had learned that Northside based, Liam Tulloch’s, mother was a sore spot for him. It caused him to do stupid things when she was taunted and with an echo of ‘Paddy Mack shagged yer ma,’ reaching all the way from Bellfield to the Shanties it gave Tabitha some ideas. As I said previously, it was not the size of the canvas she referred to.

“Did you run out of paint?” Tabitha demanded. “I’ve seen you be more generous to yourself. Come on.”

David looked up. There, with every fine bit of detail he could manage was an image of Paddy Mack, copulating with Barbara Tulloch against a Wigan cross.

“He’s going into battle,” Tabitha decided in her limited artistic knowledge. “He should be raging.”

David could only agree. He dipped more pink and he painted more girth.

“And that ass is too flat,” Tabitha went on, taking a step back to view the painting better. “This is Paddy Mack we’re talking about. Have you seen him?”

David was still busy adjusting the detail to the Boss Lady’s specifications.

“Not in person,” he admitted.

“Well, I’ve been staring at his ass for years and that is not … plumpy enough,” she said.

“Plumpy?” David was concerned it was a technical term he had missed out on.

“Yeah, you know, the kind you just wanna squeeze.”

‘Damn,’ thought David. ‘Why did it have to be Babs Tulloch he was doing?’ It would have been more more, shall we say balanced, if it were at least an attractive female figure. He dared not say that to Tabitha though. She was set on her vision. She hadn’t painted a single picture in her life but she was very set on the image the Red Rebels of the Shanties were taking with them down to Northside to support the Macks in their fight.

Tabitha laughed as David took a step back to observe his work.

“I think this is the best Finn yet,” she said.

That was when the Baroness passed through.

“What the …” she exclaimed. “Is that?”

Tabitha dropped an arm around Tawny’s shoulder and admired her handy work.

“What do you think Aunt Tee?”

Tawny started to laugh heartily. “Very detailed,” she said. “That’s going to piss them off no end. Agnes would be laughing her ass off if she could see this. Babs’ eyes look like they follow ye all around the room. Look at Paddy’s shiny wee arse.”

Tabitha laughed. “That was my idea,” she stated proudly. “I think I might have went a bit overboard with the sky but I really wanted to capture the clouds and things …”

“Ye did a brilliant job. It all looks so … biblical,” Tawny encouraged.

“Thanks,” Tabitha replied.

David looked back from doing the actual painting. He shook his head and continued on with the creation of an image that would stir the Shady City.

 

***

The lashing of the waves broke the silence. An army of candles broke the darkness. Footsteps padded along the aisle of St Wigan’s church in Hathfield Bay.

“They’re here, Your Eminence.”

Dominick stood. The time for praying was over. It was now time for action.

Bartholemew had entered the church, his robes dragging sand from his climb up the dunes. His beetle black eyes sparked in the light. Word of the loss of Green Eye from the Northsiders had reached the shores of the island and it had caused a wave of hush. The followers gathered in the commune to hear what was to be done. What had stirred them was the painting.

“A blasphemous, vile, disgusting abomination,” was how His Eminence put it. Dominick’s eyes turned to the door. “Bring them in.”

It was a Northside priest named Renfield who came rushing. He had Barbara Tulloch at his back, the subject of the painting. Renfield dropped to the floor and began to kiss Dominick’s bare feet.

“Stand,” said the church leader, his voice echoing through the empty pews.

Renfield obeyed.

“Taking matters into your own hands are ye?” Dominick asked. “I mean I like a good burning as much as the next fella but I got to ask, who the fuck do you think you are using my church for yer own gains?”

“Agnes Wilde needed to be punished,” Renfield pleaded.

“Making my mind up for me now are ye?” Dominick challenged. “That’s right. I forgot. You’re the Punisher.”

Dominick growled. He snatched up a candle and threw the hot wax into his face.

Clang!

He whacked him to the ground with the candlestick.

To Bart he ordered, “strip him.”

Bart heaved off Renfield’s robes.

“You want to be the punisher?” Dominick asked him.

Renfield, shivering, said nothing.

“I asked ye a question,” the church leader pushed.

“No, Your Eminence. I’m at your command.”

Dominick grabbed him and dragged him towards the altar. He threw him down underneath the painting of St Michael the Punisher.

Sobbing, Renfield began to pray. He had closed his eyes, seeking forgiveness.

WHACK!

Bartholemew had produced a whip from the pocket of his robes and struck Renfield across the face.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Bartholemew kept striking him until fell to the floor sobbing.

“Please forgive me Your Eminence. Forgive me,” he pleaded.

Dominick circled around him. Renfield remained on the floor.

“You blasphemed the name of Michael. For that you have Hell coming for ye. Get out of my sight.”

As Renfield sharpened off Dominick turned to Barbara.

“You, I will deal with later.”

The church had begun to feel a little constricting so it was a relief to step out into the cool air of the night. The dunes were filled with his flock. As Dominick stepped out they all fell to their knees.

“Please stand,” he called them, they obeyed.

“I am outraged at the blatant disrespect we have been shown by the City Dwellers. Their worship of Patrick Mack makes me sick. He is a heathen, a drunkard and he will burn for eternity.

A thief will lose their hand for their sin, as it is written. Those who take from him will suffer a similar fate. Those who follow his name brand will be bound for torment. He is a spreader of pestilence and he danced on the graves of our loved ones. A demon has been set upon this earth and we must do what we can to stop it. I am here to tell you my dear brothers and sisters that Wigan spoke to me and he told me that all who follow the Mack aberration are cursed!”

The following cheered. “Praise Wigan!”

“So it was written that St Wigan told the sinners they will fall into darkness and that darkness will be all consuming. For at his right hand side was the Patron Saint of Punishers, the almighty St Michael.”

Whack! Whack! Whack!

Screams ripped into the air as Bartholemew hammered the nails into the young man’s hands.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

“Stop, please. Have mercy dear St Wigan!” the boy screamed in pain but Bartholemew continued to nail him to the cross.

“It’s okay,” his mother cried. “You’re going to St Wigan now.”

Dominick laid a hand on her shoulder and told her, “Patrick Mack killed your son today.”

The woman nodded. She wept but she prayed for the spirit of St Michael to come forth.

The cross was raised and just before the boy wheezed his last breath he heard Dominick cry, “St Michael will have them repent or he will spill blood.” 

 

***

 

There were words Marcus and Simon Penn never thought they would hear from an Owen.

“I’m going to help you.”

That was what Ronnie had said. After his meeting with Kathleen, Marcus thought it was Owen Inc’s attempts to calm them. He prepared to keep his head straight and focus on keeping Simon safe until Jean Luc could perhaps help him free. His assault charges were easier to argue and word was Agent Reynolds, the man he had been brought in for assaulting, had experience with the Wigan church and was looking to drop his charges so someone could be by Reggie’s side and help bring Main back into order. They were still looking for further evidence in the Freefall Massacre but as of yet they hadn’t brought anything to them. The footage I submitted which showed the murder of Melanie Wallace, implicated Marcus in a big way so imagine my surprise when a source within the Office of Lawmakers told me Melanie Wallace’s mother, Samantha, had called to confirm she was alive and in Luen. It was one of the greatest Owen cover ups yet. Marcus would agree. He knew what he did. It didn’t matter why. He wasn’t about to reject the opportunity, even from an Owen. Kathleen had been firm, no BS. Marcus respected that. He had had dealings with Ronnie before, mostly minor things like Marshall suing for damage to his cars parked in Main or pranks from Buddy Owen and the inevitable response. Ronnie had always given fair argument. He was a reasonable man. He had had a lot of dealings with Jean Luc, mostly over the phone. What struck Marcus the most was Ronnie stepping up to defend Tabitha. Believing it was out of the goodness of his heart was a tough dish to swallow. Marcus was a logical man though and Kathleen’s logic was sound when she said they had to pull together before the Lawmakers shut them all down.

The Penn name had been prevalent in Main for generations. Without it there was instability. Even the Owen’s had to agree on that.

“Better the Devil you know,” Marcus muttered.

Remar glared at him. He was furious at two of his prisoners departing before their time.

Marcus pursed his lips and shook his head. He collected his box and stripped out of his inmate kit. The removal of the filth and irritating material was instant relief. Simon was behind him with his hands on his head as a guard named Dante codename Perseus searched him.

Simon hadn’t said a word since they were brought from the East Unit to be processed. He had stood at his brothers back as Marcus bid farewell to the other incarcerated Loyalists.

For most, stepping outside the gates of The Boss was a huge relief after having been held there. Marcus and Simon were no exception. The relief was short lived as a looming sense of dread followed them walking towards two waiting town cars.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Simon finally muttered. They embraced, climbed into the cars and made their way home.

***

 

“You cannot be saved!” were the yells outside Faulds.

Jean Luc taking up residence had flushed some of them out. This had caused a crowd to gather outside.

DING DING!

“Long live the king!” someone cried out above it.

“You cannot …”

“Long live the king!” the cry came again.

Before long it was a chorus. That chorus started to drown Wigan’s warning.

“Long live the king!”

Loyalists started to spill from Faulds, anticipating an exciting arrival.

“Step back,” Emmerson warned the preachers. When the Wigans didn’t move fast enough more pressure was applied.

The Wigans grouped their numbers in an attempt to push back into Faulds. The Loyalists stood shoulder to shoulder, scrumming against the intruders. They weren’t alone. Fleet vans arrived to lend support.

Inside, Leona urged Reggie.

“Wake up,” she cried. “You have to wake up.”

Reggie stirred a little but his eyes rolled. She shook him with more vigour. She managed to get him to sit up. She clasped his hands around a glass of water and helped him to drink.

Seth Bergman had stepped outside The Parade when the heard the Loyalists call for the king. Looking down Timeline he could see many of the other business owners had done likewise. The Loyalists became even more excitable as the two town cars began to roll along Timeline towards City Face. It was a somber drive, showing respect for the loss of Queen Rita and King Reginald.

“Long live the king!” they called for Marcus whom the front car carried to Faulds, followed closely by Simon – now the crown prince of the Auction House.

Between the Loyalists and the Fleet the Wigan followers were beaten back. They had no choice but to retreat. They proceeded back into Faulds. Each floor stirred as it was cleared of unwanted guests.

“Your help is appreciated, sir,” said Emmerson to Fleet leader Shane Rogers.

There was a great cheer as Marcus and Simon alighted their cars. Marcus kept his focus ahead but he did register the Wigan followers. Simon watched them closely but remained at this brother’s back. I managed to push to the front.

“Marcus!?” I called. “Marcus? I watched you murder Mel Wallace in cold blood. Do you believe it is fair that my footage was rubbished?”

Simon scowled at me. Marcus kept his focus ahead.

Nearby, Kathleen was becoming frustrated. She urged her Daily reporters forward.

“Get that damn story and get him out of the way,” were her instructions.

The Owen propaganda machine was now reliant the Penns being viewed as innocent. The truth was another matter.

The Daily reporters flooded me. I was pushed out of the way and fell further and further back from the steps.

“What will you be doing first?” asked one of the Daily reporters.

“Going home,” replied Marcus. A warning. A statement. A promise.

“Mr Penn?” pushed another reporter. “Bruce Ling from the Coldford Express. Can you tell me how you feel about being convicted for the murder of a woman who is in fact still alive?”

“My family have been through a lot. It’s time to settle.”

I looked at Kathleen who was now pushing in as many of her own reporters as she could. Her intention was to flood all the other news outlets out. A woman miraculously returning alive was a big ask for the city so it needed Coldford Daily’s spin. So far it was working.

“Will you be returning to the boxing ring?” asked one of Simon, trying to keep the story as positive as possible. It was deliberately designed to detract from the fact that the two men were hardened criminals.

Getting to the truth of the matter wasn’t going to be easy and as always with mainstream media agenda, spin reared its ugly head.

I looked to Kathleen. She reached her arms out as though to say, ‘what can you do?’

Stepping onto the elevator to the penthouse, Simon watched the numbers as they completed their journey from the Hellish prison to the nirvana of their tower.

When they reached the penthouse Reggie had managed to pull himself together. He had been told his brothers were coming home but he hadn’t really registered it. He had tears in his eyes as he rushed to embrace his triplets.

“i thought you were gone,” Simon had cried as he squeezed Reggie tightly.

The younger sobbed on his shoulder.

“Mother …” was all he could say.

Simon stroked his hair gently. “I know. I know.”

Jean Luc joined them, welcoming the triplets warmly. 

Simon held Reggie’s shoulders and took a closer look at him.

“What the fuck have you been taking?” he asked.

“Just some remedies for the pain. I needed something. I couldn’t …”

Before Reggie gave in to despair Simon took him in his arms and embraced him again, gently rocking him from side to side. Looking up he started to take the lounge in. It was good to be home. He never thought he would be. Then there was a sight that made him frown.

“Is that a Wigan cross on the wall?” asked he.

Reggie managed a smile.

“I’ve got some good news,” he told his brothers.

That was when Leona emerged from the kitchens. She smiled at the triplets before lowering her gaze in a coquettish way.

“You’re going to love this,” Jean Luc muttered.

“This is Leona,” Reggie introduced. “She’s my wife,” Reggie explained.

“Wife!?” Simon responded in disbelief.

“She’s helped me a lot. She saved me.”

“She’s with child it seems,” Jean Luc put in.

Both triplets turned to their youngest counterpart.

“I’m going to be a dad,” Reggie confirmed.

 

***

 

“Phone call for you, Miss Lane.”

Harper Lane of Dalway Lane galleries was rushing after her little boy, Elliot. Elliot was now reaching toddler age and finding it easier every day to stay on his feet. He laughed excitedly as he heard his mother’s sandalled footsteps chasing after him.

“C’mere you little monster!” She teased as she snatched him up and lifted him into her arms, nuzzling into his neck playfully.

She took the phone from her assistant.

“Harper speaking.”

“Hey! It’s David.”

“Davey! How are you? We’ve been worried about you.”

“I’m still at the club.”

“Are you okay?” The gallery owner asked with some suspicion. With everything going on in the city she knew him well enough to know he’d be taking things hard. The loss of loved ones, the state of affairs, the trouble at the football matches. He took all these things to heart and he could let his emotions destroy him.

“Clean as a whistle, I promise,” the artist replied. He certainly sounded clean.

Harper shifted Elliot up her arm so his weight was easier to carry. His chubby little body was starting to weigh heavy.

“I’ve got Tabitha keeping me busy,” David went on. “I couldn’t have done it without her.”

Harper smiled. He did sound like he was coping well enough at least.

“I have someone who wants to say hello to you,” said Harper putting the phone to Elliot’s ear.

“Duh?” The little boy cried when he heard David’s voice.

David swelled with pride. “Awww, is he trying to say David?”

Harper laughed. “I think so. He keeps pointing at pictures of you and saying it.”

“I miss you little man,” David told the child. “As soon as we can we’re going to a game.”

“Duh.” Elliot was holding him to that promise.

“Yeah that’s right.”

Harper took the phone back.

“You should come up and say hello. Alex has a new girlfriend and he could probably use your advice.”

David chuckled. “I’m not sure I’m the best one to give advice on women.”

Harper agreed. “Yeah, I know. We figured you could give him examples of what not to do.”

“Very funny,” the artist returned with mild sarcasm. “And here’s me with a gift for you too.”

“What’s that?”

“Hang on I’m sending you a picture.”

Harper checked her phone. Her eyes widened.

“Duh!?” Elliot cheered.

“No, child, that is most definitely not Duh.”

She started to laugh.

“It’s beautiful,” she said of the Paddy painting. “Very provocative. Very detailed.”

“He’s supposed to be raging,” David tried to explain.

Harper inspected the picture closer.

“Yes he is raging,” Harper returned. “Are you sending it to me?”

“The original is a little indisposed right now but I was promised it back. I just wanted to show you. It’s causing some trouble it’s not a good idea to exhibit it?”

“The best art challenges,” Harper assured. “You have to let me exhibit it. I might even send an invite to the Wigan board.”

David laughed but he became a little concerned.

“Just be careful. It already caused enough trouble with the Northsiders.”

Harper had read about the Northsiders having lost their Green Eye prison.

“Don’t see why,” Harper replied. “It looks like Babs Tulloch is really enjoying herself.”

David smiled but he was still concerned. “Just be careful, please.”

Harper shifted Elliot again. “Don’t worry. I’ll not do anything until I have the backing of the Auction House.”

 

***

 

“Praise Wigan for his guidance. Praise Bartholemew for his strength to carry through. Praise Michael above all for his discipline,” Dominick was praying at the altar of his church.

Ding ding.

The church bell cried out. There were drums beating on the bay. Dominick looked up at the cross that hung above him.

“Yer a blessed Saint,” he remarked.

He stood and skipped out. As he made his way onto the bay his arm was taken by revelling Wigan girls as they danced. They laughed and cheered. Dominick joined in the merriment.

“Wigan bless all of us!” Dominick called.

“Praise Wigan!” his congregates cried in response.

At the port waited Bart. He was watching out to sea, shivering despite the heavy robes he wore. His adrenaline was hard to control. He had never felt such excitement. A crowd of exuberant followers chased after the church leader.

“Praise Wigan!” they cried again.

“Look! Look! There it is,” some of the children were calling as Ravensedge was spotted making its way towards shore. The Chamberlain flag could be seen snapping in the wind with the Wigan banner underneath, as the great vessel charged through the water.

“What a day this is!” Bartholemew commented. “I don’t think I slept a whole hour last night.”

Dominick patted his shoulder. “It’s going to be something else. It’s the day you’ve been waiting for yer whole life, my brother.”

Bart grinned as he nodded but he shuddered and pulled the hood of his robes up.

“Look at me,” Dominick gushed. “I can’t stop smiling. Where’s the weans? They really need to see this.”

Arriving on scene at that moment was Peter, escorting the Chamberlain children.

“It’s coming in, Uncle Dom,” Francis pointed out eagerly.

Catching his breath Peter gasped, “I was afraid we would miss it.”

As the boat drew closer the congregates began to chant.

“We are the children of Wigan and our hearts are pure and strong. We praise our beloved saint and so we sing this song.

Oh we know, we know, we know we can’t be saved but repent and you’ll be in his embrace.”

“It was written that St Wigan came to this island to embrace all of us,” Dominick spoke to his followers. “Today is not the day to embrace though, my brothers and sisters. Today is the day to punish. Today is the day to show the city dwellers they cannot be saved!”

“Praise Michael!” the congregates roared.

“Praise Michael,” Francis cried enthusiastically.

Dominick kissed the Wigan cross around his neck and turned his attention back to shore. Over the roar of the waves he could hear Bart take a deep breath beside him.

 

***

 

When Ravensedge landed at port on Hathfield Bay a collective cheer rang out from the beaches.

“Praise Michael!”

The walkway landed with a crash. That was when it all fell silent.

“Go, Bart, go,” Dominick urged under his breath.

Bart headed onto the ship. Dominick pulled his own robes tighter around him as the coastal breeze danced around his face. He noticed the cross had slipped inside his shirt. He reached down his collar and quickly teased it out to be displayed proudly.

Bart emerged from the ship first. Across his arms he was carrying a box, the weight of which seemed to be putting some pressure onto his back. He stepped ashore. The congregates fell to their knees. Bart laid the box at Dominick’s feet. Dominick fell to prayer. Bartholemew joined him. Dominick opened his eyes and raised his head again to spy a towering brawny figure of a man emerge. Like a knight of old he wore armour around his shoulders and chest. He was an older gentleman. His cool blue eyes looked as though they had lived through ages. There was no expression on his face. He stomped down the Ravensedge walkway. The congregates remained on their knees. They didn’t dare look him in the eye.

When the man was on shore the Wigan emblem became apparent on his chest. He stopped at Dominick. Bart opened the box and inside was a sword with a heavy blade. Bart retrieved it and passed it to the man who turned the blade and fell to one knee.

“Your Eminence,” he said respectfully.

Dominick stared at him for a few moments, drinking his presence in. Bart, who had had his head lowered solemnly looked up to check on the delay. Dominick collected himself and laid a hand on the man’s head.

“Stand,” he said. “Your presence is most welcome on these shores.”

The man did stand. Around his neck hung a thick chain. That chain was pierced through the hand of a man, with course black hairs on the back. The hand was gifted to the church leader.

“The hand of the thief Patrick Mack,” he said.

“Praise Michael!” Dominick cried.

“Praise Michael!” was the joyous return.

The man, you see, was a figure the church called The Templar. He was the living blood of St Michael the Punisher. As history lessons flooded Coldford, thanks to the Chamberlains the Church of St Wigan brought their own little reminder of a bloody past.

Playing host to a Saint was a day the island had been waiting for since the days of Noah Wigan himself. Bart, as the namesake of St Bartholemew the Carrier, relished the opportunity to carry The Templar’s sword as the carrier had done for the original.

A saintly presence for a saintly cause. The Templar was not there to bring peace. He was a punisher. He carried a sword because he sought to slay.

“We are the children of Wigan and we know we can’t relent, until the flesh of every sinner burns and we learn to repent.

Oh we know, we know, we know we can’t be saved but repent and you’ll be in his embrace.”


Enjoy this? Check out these other thrillers available now.

Knock Knock: Episode 53: Buzzkill

“Dad!?” Ruby Feltz barked down the phone when the automated answer message kicked in  

“If your message is urgent please call the Mayors office on – “ 

“Answer your fucking phone!”  

Mayor Feltz hadn’t turned up to the office. He had last been seen in public at the Knock Knock Club. That morning he had bid farewell to his wife, Sylvia and no-one had seen him since.  

Younger sister, Amber, had been gone a week by the time of Ruby’s frustrated call no one.  

“She must be at a spa in Luen,” Sylvia had said. “When things get too much for her you know she likes to go there.”  

Too much? She was seventeen. She should still be in school. What could possibly be going on in her life that was too much? She didn’t study, she didn’t volunteer, she didn’t contribute anything to the city and she needed a spa break? 

Ruby tried to tell the authorities that Amber had intended to go to the Knock Knock with her older boyfriend. There was apparently no record of that visit ever having taken place. Just like there was no trace of Jim Feltz. A call had been made to his favored mistress, Gail, though.  

A personal visit to Gail at the Weir had told Ruby she was chasing her tail.  

“You can stay if you like,” Gail offered when she had no more information to share. “I can give you a Feltz family discount.”  

Disgruntled that her father had disappeared – no doubt to cover his own ass for embezzling funds – Ruby knew she had to hold the fort. The Hot Seat may have been vacant but it was up to her to keep the Feltz name synonymous with political change.  

“Get that paid back!” she demanded of her father when she checked the accounts and found them amiss.  

“Just a little juggling, that’s all,” Jim Feltz had insisted. He was struggling to pay the Owen family back the money he owed them.  

“This isn’t a fucking circus,” Ruby barked. “Get it paid back or I take it to the Law Makers. We’re trying to campaign for another term. If you don’t keep your promises you’ll never make reelection. You told the people of the Shanties you’d help them but you’ve done jack shit and that doesn’t go unnoticed. Do you know you’ve been falling behind in the latest polls to Ernest Beckingridge? Ernest fucking Beckingridge. That’s how much faith the people of the city have in you.” 

“It’s hard to be put up against the money he has. He’ll be popular because he can fund projects,” Jim tried to reason.  

“Ernest is not mayor material. It’s a mockery to you to even have him on the ballot. You told me when I was finishing my degree that dirty politics were the reason Coldford was nicknamed the Shady City and it had nothing to do with the weather. When you said that I thought you set out to beat them not join them. Put the money back.”  

“Ruby,” he said. “You have no fucking idea what you’re getting yourself into.”    

The mayoral office had been buzzing with activity the morning the mayor’s disappearance had officially been declared. Campaign recruits, officials and assistants were all dashing back and forth.  

“Find me flight tickets, hotel bookings, travel logs, anything that might give some idea where he went. Anything you find send detective Hickes to CPD,” Ruby declared and they listened.  

Mayor Jim Feltz may have sat in the Hot Seat but anyone working at City Face at that time knew Ruby was the real leader.  

When she heard that Tabitha had returned to Knock Knock club and there still no new information on her father’s whereabouts she arranged to meet with me. When I arrived at Bobby’s lunch box, Ruby was already seated.  

“You’re interview is waiting,” said Bobby, pointing to my usual spot.  

“How are you Ruby?” I asked the auburn haired woman of similar age to myself as I took a seat across from her. 

“Sick to my stomach,” she admitted. “I can’t believe they let that bitch walk. She knows where my dad is and I don’t care what anyone says.”  

“I’m sorry,” I found myself saying. “I thought I could crack the story.”  

Ruby smiled. “You did better than that. You went to the club and you had her brought in. That took nerve. It’s not your fault she got away. The whole city has gone to the dogs. North side is in absolute chaos right now. I know the video I sent wasn’t easy to look at but I needed you to have it.” 

The video she referred to was the burning of Agnes Wilde. As a representative of the Northside area her first priority was protecting her people. The fall out from the Wigan priest, Renfield’s, actions put them all in danger. She also happened to be a defector from the Church of St Wigan which she had been raised in.  

“I never thought I’d see a sitting mayor face firing squad, not in my life time,” she spoke of Mickey Doyle. “Sweet mother! I knew Mickey Doyle was a slithering little cunt. He tried to touch up a friend of mine at a party years ago. I told him to report it but he said it wasn’t worth the headache. Besides, they would just laugh him out of City Face if he did. Off the record Judge Doyle is a cunt. On the record she sure clamped down on things but my father is still missing. Those who are responsible are raising a finger from the piss stained little club in the south. I wouldn’t mind so much if it weren’t for my sister. She was a stupid little girl. She thought she knew everything, typical teenager. I want to get to the bottom of what happened to her.”  

Ruby took a breath. “Sorry, just seeing her on the news really got to me.”  

I had to ask, “why are you so certain Tabitha is responsible?”  

Ruby scowled. “Don’t tell me she got to you?”  

“No,” I assured quite passionately. “But if I’m going to pick up the trail I need to know what brought you to this conclusion. The last time we spoke you said he was last seen in public at Knock Knock. The following morning he set off for City Face but was taking a detour via a mistress. Something you admitted he made a habit of. Apart from having spent the night before at the club why else puts Tabitha in the frame?”  

“Just a hunch, I guess,” Ruby had to admit. “But it’s a damn good one.”  

“I caught a glimpse of what goes on at the club. I got an insight into why she was lashing out but it’s all part of a bigger picture. The Owen’s were funding your father’s campaign. His interests in the Shanties dwindled to nothing and then when the Owens started to push for return, he embezzled funds and planned on skipping town. Unfortunately, none of this means anything without evidence of foul play. If you’re able to tell me anything new we could blow the whole thing wide open.” 

She sighed.  

“It’s difficult with people like Tabitha being able to walk free whilst good men like Howard Bergman are taken in on murder charges,” I commented, still unable to believe Howard would have anything to do with the death of Cameron Doyle. “Do you know the Bergmans?”  

“I do,” she said a little morosely. “Seth and I used to date when we were teenagers. He’s a good guy. His whole family are. When I heard what Howard had been accused of, I laughed. I figured it would have been over and done with by now. Surely even a cunt like Karyn Doyle would have let him go by now.”  

“It doesn’t look that way,” I said. “He could very well go down for it.”  

“I’ll tell you something,” Ruby offered. “Completely off the record.”  

“Go on,” I urged.  

“On the night the Bergman freighter was supposed to have gone over to the island inlet I was on the docks. I saw Isaac Bergman arguing with Billy Owen. I can’t be certain but I think he had Irvine Stoker with him. The Owens have used the Stokers as a front for years. They were up to something.”  

“Did you tell this to the Law Makers?” I asked.  

“No,” was her astounding reply.  

“Why not?”  

“Because official records would show I wasn’t on the docks at the time.”  

I frowned. “Ruby? What did you do?”  

“I was putting a hit out on Tabitha.”  

I shook my head and took a deep breath.  

“An innocent man could very well receive the death penalty. You have to tell the Law Makers what you saw.”  

Ruby shook her head. “It’s not going to make a difference. All that’s going to do is put me next in the Owen firing line.”  

“Ruby,” I urged. “If you know something you have to come forward.”  

*** 

Late the previous evening, Howard Bergman had been taken to a holding room. There Judge Doyle had been waiting for him. He was sat across from her. She held him in an unsettling gaze, scrutinising.  

“I can’t imagine the grief you are going through,” Howard began proceedings. “But you can’t seriously believe that I would ever hurt Cameron? You know me.”  

“Howard, I am fond of you. This is by no means easy for me. I know you, yes, but throughout my career I have seen the most unexpected people do terrible things. There are no limits to what people are capable of. Civilisation might have grown over the years but there is still an undisciplined animal in all of us. Even you. I can only go with the facts and those facts are my son’s body was found in your mine, which Isaac’s signature allowed access to. Issaac is missing and Cameron’s body was stored. Vera was found with him. 

“Vera?”  

“Your ring. Vera’s remains.”  

When Howard’s wife had died by her own request Vera’s ashes had been taken and her earthly light was transformed into precious jewels, which Howard wore on his finger as a ring as did Elsa. Seth wore his ring on a chain around his neck.  

“You are placed at the scene of the crime and two of your transporters were found having hung themselves, Sal Markowitz and Arthur Stiller.” 

“I didn’t have my ring. I told that to the investigators. I told them it had gone missing the day before,” Howard explained.  

“Did you report it to anyone?”   

“No. I just figured it was around the house. You know I’m never without it.”  

“That’s the problem. I’ve never known you to take it off,” said Doyle. She sighed. “Howard Bergman. I hereby sentence you to death for the murder of Cameron Doyle.” 

She watched the dread dissolve through her long time friend.  

“Is there anything you wish to say?”  

Howard shook his head. “Just that I hope they do find Cameron’s killer. I truly hope you find closure.”  

*** 

There was a chill in the air but the sun peeked out from behind the clouds as Dominick walked along the promenade with the two Chamberlain children by his side. Frances was devouring a dark cherry ice cream. Charlotte had opted for a sugar dip. Dominck himself was indulging a sweet tooth with caramel. All was courtesy of McIvor’s Ice Cream parlour, home of the sweetest treats on the bay. 

“When can we go back over to the city, Uncle Dom?” Francis asked. He was beginning to miss life at Kingsgate school. 

Dominick was craning his neck to catch the caramel before it dripped. 

“Soon,” he said. “It’s safer for ye here right now.” 

“I really want to go over,” insisted the little boy. 

“Hush Francis,” Charlotte scorned. “You were told we’ll go soon.” 

Francis did hush and said no more of it. 

“Your Eminence!” a pitiful cry was heard when they arrived back on the commune. “Your Eminence, please!” 

Dominick stopped. He groaned. “It doesn’t sound like you’re repenting, Barbara.” 

He wiped the caramel from his finger tips on the front of his robes. He stormed over to where a deep hole had been dug in the private bay the rear of the commune. It was too deep to climb out of and had been reinforced with wood so there was no digging through. Lying in that hole, dressed in her underwear, was Barbara Tulloch. She wasn’t alone though. She had hundreds of Agar sand beetles to keep her company. They swarmed around her body in waves. Dominick looked down the hole at her. 

“I beg you for forgiveness!” she shrieked. She had been down there for days by then. 

“It’s not for me to forgive ye,” Dominick told her. “I merely pass on Wigan’s word and Wigan tells me ye’r a midden and belong in a hole in the ground.” 

“Ouch!” Barbara yelped as she was bitten by a beetle crawling up her arm. 

Her body was already covered in blisters. The agar sand beetles, commonly known as the bay biters, can deliver sharp, venomous little bites. They begin with with a small patch of redness. Eventually it will blister. By the time you’ve finished your picnic on the beach you could be returning home on the ferry with a pretty nasty sore. Some repellent spray is advised. Cleaning away food, especially sweet treats, is also suggested as it can attract them. 

“Did ye fornicate with a heethen gypsy?” Dominick asked. 

“No, Your Eminence, I swear I didn’t. It’s not true!” 

“Did you desecrate the Wigan cross!?” 

“No, Your Eminence, I did not. Ouch!” 

She had been bitten again. Barbara tried to stomp but it only sent beetles crawling up her leg. 

“Ouch!” she cried again. 

Charlotte peered in the hole out of curiosity. It was shortly followed by a hesitant Francis. 

“Can I pour my dip in, Uncle Dom?” she asked. 

Dominick glared at Barbara. Then his expression changed to one of delight. 

“Sure,” he said. “Why not?” 

Charlotte cheered as she tipped her dip into the hole Babara Tulloch had found herself in. 

The pure sugar sent the beetles into a frenzy. It was a little trick Charlotte had learned from the commune children. Barbara screamed as the insects chomped on her flesh. 

“Repent!” cried Charlotte with a laugh. 

The three walked away. 

“There’s the rain starting,” Dominick commented. Then he said to his nephew, “will ye eat yer ice cream, Francis, its starting to melt.” 

“I got news from Leona,” Bart came to them, still holding the letter his sister had sent. “She’s pregnant.”  

“Already?” Dominick asked. “That’s good news. Always nice to hear of a new wee baba on the way. We should celebrate.”  

*** 

“Open the gate. Heading down the seventh depth!” Jake Fullerton could hear the guards call.  

The seventh depth was the deepest part of the building. It had been a dungeon in its early days. Now it was home to Buzzkill, Coldford’s electric chair. Recently the chair had found many occupants so hearing the guards leading inmates down to the seventh depths was becoming a common occurrence. Breaking the monotony of the day Jake took a look from his cell just as the guards were leading Buzzkills latest ‘light up’ across the gangway. He had to peer closer through his bars. He was a little unkempt and there was a slight gait in his walk but Jake recognized him.  

“Fuck me!” he declared. “That’s Howard fucking Bergman!” he said to his cellmate Matty.  

Matty rushed to join him. “The diamond guy?” he wondered.  

“He’s about the straightest guy in Coldford. He’s getting the chair?”  

“Whatever is going on out there,” decided Matty, “we are better off in here.”  

Jake nodded. “I think you’re right there, mate. Who’s gone and pissed the Jews off?”  

*** 

The Bergman estate was rarely to be found a somber place but the homiest part of it was quiet.  

Seth had combed his hair, brushed his teeth and put on a mournful grey suit. He functioned the same way he usually would but it was like an outer body experience. As he described it nothing seemed real. You see that afternoon was to be the execution of Bergman patriarch Howard, for the murder of Cameron Doyle. The only true innocent person I had seen thus far subjected to Article 22.  

“We’ll see you there.”  

Those were Seth’s last words to his father. What else was there to say? 

Smash.  

Glass hitting the stone floor alerted Seth to the kitchen. When he got there he found Elsa standing by the fridge. A Glass container of milk had slipped from her hands.  

“The milk’s gone bad,” she said. “The milk expired!”  

Seth crossed the kitchen and took his sister in his arms.  

“I’ll be home before the milk expires,” Howard’s optimism had promised. He never broke promises to his family but there was no keeping that promise now.  

*** 

“Hurry Ruby,” Olivia urged. “We don’t have long.”  

Olivia Hickes and Ruby Feltz were on their way to The Boss. When Seth Bergman approached her that morning he helped her realize that she still had the opportunity to save an innocent man from the death penalty.  

She had been passing the Bergman Parade in Timeline when she heard Seth call on her.  

“Good morning Mrs Hickes.”  

Olivia stopped. She had a coffee in hand and was on her way to City Face to meet with Ruby Feltz. She and Ruby had always been close. Ruby, fronting her father’s campaign, had taken a great interest in Olivia when she looked into her work with troubled children. She had been the first one to speak on behalf of Olivia when Dennis’ paedophile ring was exposed.  

“She didn’t know anything about it and you’re not going to stand here and tell me otherwise,” Ruby warned those who were eager to have Olivia fall with her ex-husband. 

Seth looked a little tired as expected. Olivia knew they had been given the worst news and were just waiting out the time but as the clock of City Face tick boomed down the street towards them Seth saw her as one last chance.  

“Mrs Hickes, I was wondering if I could bother you for some help,” he said, sounding a little desperate. “I don’t want to put you in a bad position or anything like that but your ex-husband might have seen something down at the docks with Isaac and the freighter. It’s a long shot but if you could speak to him and ask him if there’s anything that he knows it might help …”  

It was a long shot. If Seth was asking her to reopen those wounds it was a sure sign he had in fact ran out of options.  

When she relayed this request to Ruby, Ruby pursed her lips.  

“Don’t get in touch with that creep,” she suggested. “There is something that might help but if I do this I’m going to need you to throw what support you can behind me because I will have my collar felt for it.”  

That was when Ruby explained about what she saw.   

“Why didn’t you say something before?” Olivia asked. “You know Howard was being held on Article 22 …”  

“So was every one. I honestly thought the charges on Howard would have been laughed out of High Court. Those Owens are good if they set him up. I’ll give them that. I’ll take a lot of heat with this and that’s where I need you to back me. Doyle trusts you.” 

Olivia agreed to smooth things over with Doyle if Ruby made a statement to the lawmakers and let the chips fall where they may.  

“You’ll need to come here and make a statement to Doyle herself, ” Remar said to them over the phone. “I can’t stop anything without her permission so you better get here fast.” 

Ruby was leaving messages at the High Court but Doyle had already left for the Boss. As they made their way north she tried calling again. “This reception is shit,” explained she.  

“We’re not going to make it. We have a half hour to get there and I can’t even see The Boss yet,” said Olivia. 

She spoke into her car phone. “Lydia, are you still with us?” 

Lydia replied in a comm from Kitty. “Yeah I’m right here.”  

“I’m going to need to you speed ahead. We need to stop this execution and we’re not going to make it in time. Tell Judge Doyle we’re on our way with information important to Howard’s case.” 

Zoom!  

Kitty sped past Olivia’s car and she disappeared into the distance. Hoping the speed of Lydia’s bike would be fast enough, Ruby returned her attention to trying to reach someone who could delay.   

*** 

Elsa and Seth had been led to a room where they would view the execution. Elsa hesitated by the door.  

“I can’t go in there,” she said. “I’m not going in there.”  

Seth clutched her. “I know how you feel but if this is going to be the last thing he looks out upon then don’t you think it should be us?”  

“We have to take him home. They can’t do this to him, surely?” 

Seth had been asking himself that same question ever since Howard had been taken in. At first it was an inconvenience. Then it became a nuisance. Now it was dread. The conviction had been confirmed. The sentence had been passed. Their father was going to die.  

I had arrived at that moment as Elsa hugged her brother and tried to pull herself together. It had been a first time meeting in person and I did regret it couldn’t have been under more pleasant circumstances.  

“I’m so sorry,” I said to the both of them. “I’ve lost friends to Article 22. I just wish there was more I could have done.”  

Seth patted my shoulder. “Thanks Sam. Your job isn’t over though. You can continue what you started for others.”  

With that in mind I followed them inside to document one of the most difficult moments I had experienced since arriving in Coldford. I took a seat behind Seth and Elsa. Eli and Sophie hadn’t come. Sophie would still be working to the very last minute on anything she could find that would help. Her son, who was a clerk for the Law Makers, would be also. Isaac was of course still missing, in the hands of the Stokers.  

There sat the empty chair. Old, uncomfortable with the metal hat just hanging about it. Buzzkill looked uncomfortable enough as it was but with the addition of the bars to secure the condemned hands and legs to her gave some impression of a medieval torture device. Straps like tentacles were laced around her wooden body ready to clasp and drag into Hell.  

When they brought Howard out it was a completely different persona from that I had met at Bergman Estate. A little unsteady on his feet, rough, his Bergman blue eyes clouded, his face drawn and gaunt. He attempted a smile when he saw his children but it was weakened. Elsa kissed her fingers to him.  

Remar was leading the proceedings. Howard was sat upon Buzzkill’s lap. Before being secured, before the procedure went any further Remar made clear his charges and his sentence.  

“Howard Bergman,” he said. “You have been found guilty of murder and sentenced to death. A current of electricity will now be passed through your body until you are dead. Do you have anything you wish to say before sentence is carried out?”  

I could hear Seth in front of me whisper, “say something. Say something.”  

Howard looked up and for a brief period it looked like his old strength had returned. For a time I thought he would offer some words. But he didn’t. He chose to remain silent. Whilst the officers prepared to secure him, Remar went to check on the first of Buzzkill’s switches.  

*** 

“I hope she makes it,” Ruby was saying. “I can’t get ahold of anyone.”  

They could see The Boss now. It was the first thing that was to be seen upon arrival in the northern town of Bournton. That being said, time was running out.  

Luckily Lydia was closer. She was now making her way past the tip of the town and onto the ascent towards the great monstrous fortress.  

She arrived at the gates with ten minutes of the clock still to run. She still had to get inside. She still had to find Judge Doyle. She still had to stop the execution from going ahead. Ten minutes slipped by fast.  

*** 

Strapped to the chair. Howard remained stationed. He focused ahead and was mumbling something to himself, words of comfort, a prayer, or perhaps words to his deceased wife saying he would see her soon.  

The sponge, to help the electricity pass, was placed on his head. Then Buzzkill’s jaws started to close slowly on her prey. Her arms wrapped around him in her lethal embrace. I could hear a faint buzz as the first switch was flipped. Howard gasped. The lights overhead began to flicker. Elsa clutched her brother’s arm. Seth leaned forward closing his eyes.  

Then the power died.  

Remar rushed across to consult one of his officers.  

“We’ve been attacked,” Howard heard the guard say.  

“Halt!” Remar ordered the rest. “We’re under attack.” 

*** 

Outside, a chorus of alarms rang. Lydia had sped on Kitty around the body of The Boss to the gates. The clock had almost lost its ten minutes then. There was not enough time to fetch Doyle or even relay her message to the Judge. Olivia and Ruby were still out of reach. Olivia’s car would have more difficulty navigating the town of Bournton than Kitty did. Lydia had to catch their attention and there was only one way she could stop proceedings immediately.  

She aimed at the gates. She pulled the trigger.  

BOOM! 

The blast hit the gates. Immediately the guards came rushing. The alarms cried out. Lydia dropped to her knees with her hands behind her head keeping her badge clutched between her fingers.  

“I’m Agent Lowe,” she said when the guards came to apprehend her. “I have an urgent message for Judge Doyle.”  

*** 

Remar listened to a message relayed from one of the tower guards. He looked out to the family, to the other expectant faces. My own were among a sea of confused expressions.  

“She’s a bitch with real balls,” said Remar of Lydia. “Get her in here,” he instructed the guards.  

He approached Howard.  

“Howard Bergman. You are one lucky man, buddy,” he said. “Today is not the day.” He turned and as though speaking to the volt-spitting monster that was Buzzkill he said, “it’s not today!”  

Seth stood to speak to one of the other guards. I myself wanted to push for more information.  

“The Boss is under attack?” I asked a guard. 

“Someone hit the guard towers and the gates.”  

“Sam! Sam!” Seth came rushing over from making his own investigations. “I don’t know exactly what but a message has reached Judge Doyle. Olivia Hickes is on her way with a statement that could clear my father.” He sniffed. “I don’t want to get too excited but if it’s true …”  

“Your father’s life may have been saved,” I finished for him.  

He squeezed my arm with an affectionate but shaky hand. “Those agents…” he said. “Those fucking agents!” he smiled broadly.  

A commotion sounded. We turned. Howard had fainted.  

*** 

“Dad!” Seth Bergman rushed to greet Howard as he returned home. The Law Makers who had escorted him departed abruptly. Howard embraced his son. His stubble and his unkempt hair made him seen like a poor imitation of himself. He was too pale and already looked a little malnourished. He insisted he had been treated well enough but given the man who arrested him – Billy fucking Owen – was CPD commissioner Seth really doubted that.  

Howard stumbled a little forward. He clutched Seth’s arm. 

“I’m so glad to see you,” said the father.  

“It’s good to have you home,” the son replied.  

“Pour me a whiskey, would you?”  

Seth crossed the kitchens to the liquor cabinet and took out a fresh bottle of Macks. He had started to pour a glass for his dad when the door from the lounge was thrown open.  

“Dad!” Elsa came rushing when she heard her father’s voice.  

She fell into his arms, kissing his cheek and he lifted her from her feet squeezing her tightly.  

“You hungry? I can call Bobby’s or something,” Elsa offered, not much of a cook herself.  

“I’m fine,” he insisted taking the whiskey. “Maybe we can all eat together later.” 

Seth drew a cigarette case, from his pocket, flicked it open and collected a fresh cigarette. He lit it as he watched Howard settle into a stool at the breakfast bar. Taking a draw on his cigarette Seth asked the question. 

“So how are we going to proceed?” 

Howard glugged down the whiskey. The warmth settled in his stomach and his body eased. “What do you mean?” he had to clarify. 

“I mean those fucktard Owens need to pay for what the tried to do to you. I mean I’m going to cut that self important grin right off of Billy Owen’s face!” 

“You will do nothing of the sort!” Howard warned.  

Seth’s nostrils flared with anger. He knew his father would be exhausted. He had been through a lot but he couldn’t help himself. He had contained his anger for too long.  

“You can’t be serious?” he raged. “Dad, we were there to watch you die! They were so close to pushing the fucking button!”  

“Seth!” Howard barked. “Do not swear at me like that.”  

Seth looked away and took another draw of his cigarette.  

Howard addressed his daughter. “Elsa, would you give us a moment. I would like to speak to your brother.”  

Elsa acquiesced and headed out to the gardens to find Eli.  

When they were alone Howard said to his son, “I know you are upset and understandably so but the fact of the matter is I’m an innocent man and I was found as such. Elijah works very hard. Your Aunt Sophie works very hard to keep things in order. Innocent people are protected and those who commit crimes are punished. That is the law. It should not be bent for some vigilante agenda. Violence only begets more violence. Then what do we have? Chaos. We have children being gunned in the street, funeral mourners being attacked by knives and fire, the little McInney girl throwing people from the top of Beckingridge Tower. Where does is it end? It ends with people like us taking a stand and continuing to do the right thing. We’ve lost so much already. Reginald Penn was a good man but he was also an aggressive one. There was only one way his life was ever going to end. He made his peace with that but through his choices Rita died too and now the triplets are without parents. There is also one factor in all of this that you seem to be forgetting – quite possibly the most important part. A young man was murdered. A mother is without her son. The killer is still at large.” 

Seth had calmed but his sentiment had little changed.  

“If it hadn’t been for Olivia Hickes you wouldn’t be standing here right now,” he reminded his father.  

Howard nodded. “That is true. That is why she stands as the perfect example of doing the right thing and why that’s important.”  

Seth lifted a diamond-encrusted ash-tray from the counter and flicked the ash from his cigarette into it.  

“I’ll drop the subject if you can answer me one thing. Would you be saying the same if it were I or Elsa or any of us in that chair?”  

Howard took a deep breath. He had to think about it.  

“I would,” he said finally. “And I would be so damn grateful to Olivia Hickes for doing the right thing.”  

The door to the gardens was opened as Eli came charging in.  
“Uncle Howie!” he cheered almost knocking him from his stool as he wrapped his arms around him. 

Howard laughed, patting his shoulder. “Good to see you too!”  

Eli stepped back. “I thought you were a goner. That’s why the death penalty is bullshit. How many innocent people has it taken?”  

“Well that’s for you and the Law Makers to fix,” Howard relented. “In the meantime I’m going to take a bath, wash off these past weeks and maybe we can start looking for some normality.”  

Elsa said to her brother. “You’re not going to drop it, are you?”  

“Not by a long shot. Those Owen cunts and their Stoker associates have gone too far. They still have Isaac.”  

*** 

The area outside of Harbour House could be considered some of the most beautiful scenery the city had to offer. Even under Winslow the facility put its best foot forward. We couldn’t have visitors arriving at a morbid place now could we? That just simply wouldn’t do at all the former doctor would say.  

Enjoying freedom, fresh air and a chance to distance himself from the city a little, Howard parked the silver estate car he drove in the visitor’s area and made his way to the entrance. As he reached the doors they opened from within and who should alight but Charles ‘Chick’ Owen. Both men stopped in a daze not having expected to meet face to face in such a way.  

“Charles …” Howard greeted politely but with a tension across his brow. 

“Howard?” The Cappy responded. “You’re looking well.”  

“Well for someone who was sat on Buzzkill not a few days ago you mean?” 

Chick managed a smile. “Well, how you like. I never got the chance to thank your boy proper for returning my asset. I’ll show my appreciation someday.”  

“Seth always does me proud,” Howard replied. “If you still need Bernard’s alterations fixed I’m sure the Rothensteins would be happy to take a look.” 

The tension cut across The Cappy’s brow then. He was pretty sure more than enough people had taken a look thanks to Buddy. He had told Ronnie he would join his nephew in traction if he didn’t stay out his way for a while when he learned he had known about it. 

Howard went on. “I hope Bernard is doing well. I heard he had a right hiding from the agents. Anyway, I must dash. I have a lot to catch up on.”  

Howard went inside Harbour House, leaving The Cappy scowling after the merchant.  

Lydia and Kim were at the reception with Beverly and Chloe.  

“Ahhh! There she is!” Howard announced his presence by addressing Lydia cheerfully.  

“Agent, there is nothing I can say or do that could possibly make up to you for what you did for me. But I want you to have this. It’s a little token of my appreciation.”  

Howard presented a Bergman box, opened it and lying in a bed of black velvet was a princess cut diamond necklace. 

Lydia’s eyes brightened. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “So pretty.”  

“It’s the very least you deserve after taking such personal risk,” Howard went on. “It’s from the Scholl mine in Levinkrantz. It was named after one of the most courageous women I have ever known. You see, the Countess Edith Scholl rescued countless children from the blitz, including myself and my sister.”  

Howard took the necklace. Still besotted by the gift Lydia lifted her hair as Howard clipped it delicately around her neck.  

“Thanks to Edith’s selflessness and bravery many lives were saved. She opened her home to us and put herself in danger to keep us safe. I can’t think of another woman so worthy to carry her name and spirit.”    

Lydia blushed.  

To Kim Howard said, “you have a real gem on your team there, agent.” 

Kim took great pride in Lydia’s admiration. “Glad she was able to help, Mr Bergman,” she responded.  

“Howard, please,” he insisted. “Any of your team are welcome at The Parade or my home. If there is anything I can ever do just let me know.”  

“Thank you,” Kim smiled.  

Lydia was admiring her new necklace.  

“Well I won’t keep you. I’ll let you get on with your good work.”  

As Howard left, Franklin had arrived from the main body of the building. He clocked the necklace.  

“Ohhh!” he exclaimed. “Beautiful shiny! Let me see it babe.” 

He rushed to inspect closer.  

Precious gems were few in the Shady City so it was good to see what little there were get the recognition they deserved.  


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Knock Knock: Episode 50: Diamond In the Rough

A chill was in the air as the funeral service for Mrs Margaret Williams filed out of Chamberlain Crematorium, located in the north section of Coldridge Park. 

Margaret’s granddaughter, Marlene, pushed her mother’s wheelchair out. 

“She had a good life,” said Marlene. Her mother, Moira, agreed. She had been ninety-three when she passed, comfortable in her bed, still cheering her beloved City football team, and surrounded by family. A goal from Andre Luis had won the game against Cardyne. She rested back with a smile and passed. She had seen so much in her life, too. She had been so many exciting places. What more could someone ask for? 

Seth Bergman of the Bergman diamond dynasty, and cousin to the missing Kappa So brother Isaac, extinguished his cigarette underneath the sole of the black boots he wore. His father, Howard, had always warned him, “Try not to smoke when you’re greeting people. The smell of tobacco isn’t particularly pleasant for some and you’re representing yourself.”

Seth approached Marlene and Moira. 

“Oh Seth,” Marlene gasped with joy. “Thank you for coming.”

Seth kissed Marlene’s cheek. He then leaned down and kissed that of Moira who clutched his hand and kept a hold of it. 

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Seth assured them.

He was glad he had blown warm air onto his hands before greeting. No one liked to hold a cold hand, especially whilst grieving. A gloved hand was too impersonal.

“A lovely boy is Seth,” said Moira from her chair. “A lovely boy.” 

“If we can do anything for you, please just let me know,” he put to them. “I’ll let you get on and I’ll be in touch,” he said as the crowd from the crematorium began to spill towards them.

He waited aside respectfully for the mourners to clear before following the path round to the back of the building. The door was opened and Eugene Morris aka The Tailor emerged, accompanied by the Holy Brother of the Albans order. 

“Good evening, sir,” Seth approached. “Good evening, Father.” 

“Seth, my dear boy,” said Eugene. “I pass this now into your care.” 

To Seth he gave a ceramic urn containing the ashes of Mrs Williams. 

“Thank you, sir,” Seth nodded. “I‘ll see her well.” 

“How is your sister?” asked Eugene.

“Elsa? She’s keeping herself out of trouble.”

“Good, good,” nodded Eugene. “And your father? How is he?” 

“He’s doing well, thank you,” was Seth’s reply. “This Article 22 situation is a little unnerving.” 

Eugene nodded. “He’ll be especially upset at the loss of Reginald Penn.” 

Seth agreed. “It was a sad loss but we have to carry on, don’t we?” 

The Holy Brother dipped his hands into the opposing sleeves of his robes. 

“My concern is with the young one – Reginald Junior. Through terrible circumstances he’s been left on his own. He really needs friends to keep him right,” he said.

Seth replied, “I did contact him online but there was no response, which is unusual for him. Elsa tried calling him too but he was just not to be reached. We both figured after Rita’s burial he wanted to be left alone for a while.”

Eugene lowered his voice. “It’s not for me to comment but I’m sure a visit from a friend would do him the world of good.”

“Yes sir,” agreed Seth. 

And so the group parted with Seth Bergman carefully escorting Mrs Williams’ remains. 

***

City Main was always a busy place. The noise of it was enough to cover the tick-booming of the City Face clock unless you caught it at a certain time of the morning. That being said, Seth Bergman was astounded to find such a commotion around the base of Faulds Park. 

Admirers were gathered to seemingly show their support of the lone prince. Some had laid candles and wreaths for the king and queen. Rita in particular was a very active member of the community. She had the heart of the Baroness and the mind of the Broker. I learned that Rita – as sweet as she could be – was fearless when it came to protecting her people. Of course, Reginald carried out any violence required so his queen wouldn’t have to, but upon research I found that Rita was adept at getting among them. 

At the doorway to Faulds Park was stood a man in Wigan robes. He was ringing his bell.

Ding ding. Ding ding.

“Repent before it’s too late!” he was yelling. 

The Loyalists seemed to be leaving him be. They were more focused on an imminent clash that would occur when Billy Owen decided to send CPD. 

It was a long ride up to the Penthouse but when Seth reached it the noise was worse than the floors below. Music boomed and people flooded everywhere. Seth stopped one of them. “I’m here to see Reggie,” he explained. “Where is he?” 

“Reggie isn’t seeing anyone,” the greeter remarked. 

Seth frowned. “It doesn’t seem that way now does it?” he passed comment on the gathering with a raised eyebrow. “Where is Reg Junior?” 

That was when Seth noticed the purple ribbons of Wigan tied around wrists and necks. The Wigan cross was displayed on chests. The man he had stopped slipped away. Seth watched as he approached what appeared to be a superior. They both looked at him. He stood his ground. 

“Seth?” Finally he had an audience with Reggie. 

Seth had seen images of the triplet prince in the press. He looked worse for wear but he hadn’t expected to find him so dishevelled. He clutched his face and looked at him closely. His skin was warm, sweaty, feverish. 

“You’re taking too many drugs,” Seth stated. “I know you went through a lot but you need to pull yourself together.”

Reggie shook him off dismissively. When he noticed Seth glare at him he laughed. 

“I’m fine,” he said. “Top shape. I’m just relaxing, like. Got plenty of people around. It’s all good.” 

That was when Seth took note of the young woman who accompanied him. She was holding his hand. She offered a polite smile to the Bergman boy. She was dressed as a true Wigan from the bay. 

“This is Leona,” Reggie introduced.  

“Nice to meet ye,” her accent confirmed her pedigree.

Reggie groaned. He was starting to feel pain in his leg and the stab wounds in his abdomen were stinging again. The dressings would be needing changed soon. He needed pills. 

“Reggie, you need to be careful,” Seth warned. “You don’t know these people.” 

Becoming a little frustrated with the pain, Reggie grunted. “I know Leona,” he explained. “She’s been looking out for me. Where the fuck have you been?” 

“Now, Reggie,” said Leona softly. “That’s no way to speak to a friend.” 

“I have been trying to get in touch,” said Seth. 

Leona spoke for him. “Too much contact with the outside world with computers and telephones wasn’t doing him much good.” 

“And who were you to decide that?” Seth asked angrily. 

Leona was unmoved but her softness continued. “I care a lot about Reggie. I’ve been helping him get better.” 

“By plying him with drugs?” Seth exclaimed. 

This angered the triplet. 

“I’m standing right here. Don’t talk to her like that,” he growled. “I’m not some fucking simpleton. I’m … Look, I’ll be fine.” 

“I think you should leave,” said Leona. 

“If Reggie wishes me to leave I will,” returned the diamond merchant. 

Leona clenched Reggie’s hand tighter. 

“Just fuck off Seth,” said the triplet. “I mean thanks for coming down and all that but I’m good.” 

Seth nodded. “Glad to hear it. Just call me if you need anything.” 

To Leona, Seth said, “If you truly care about him, you will make sure he talks to his brothers.” 

Leona smiled. “Whatever is best for him,” she said. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Bergman. Now Reggie has asked you to leave.” 

“That’s shit,” Reggie was saying to Leona as the elevator doors closed and took Seth away. “I should have asked him to stay for a joint or something.”

Leona hushed him. She patted his hand gently. “I’m sorry Reggie,” she said. “It’s hard to know who’s good for you and who isn’t. I’m sure he’ll understand when you’re better. I just want what’s best for ye. You need to relax. You’re getting uptight again.” 

Reggie agreed. “I can’t thank you enough for being here,” he said. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

“I’m happy to be here, although it is really unnerving,” she said. 

“I’ll not let anything happen to you,” Reggie assured. 

“Wigan bless ye,” Leona replied. 

Time for another trip. Transport provided by heether mushrooms. 

***

“Bergman Memorial, because life is precious. Your loved one deserves to be remembered in the most shining way possible. No one knows your loved one better than you, so you will be given full support from one of our master cultivators throughout the heartfelt process.” 

Seth could hear his father’s voice in the old advert as he took two scoops of Mrs Williams’ ashes to begin the blend. 

“With a history of perfection that spans generations, our cutting and polishing is carried out to the highest quality; and because we know how important it is to your family, we take pain staking care that your diamond is worthy of remembrance.”

As Seth prepared to purify the ashes, that was when I arrived and knocked on the door of the lab where one of the merchants in the parade upstairs had told me I would find him. 

“Take a seat, Sam,” he offered as he spun around in his stool. 

“Thanks for agreeing to see me,” I said genuinely. 

During my time in Coldford the Bergmans had managed to be everywhere but nowhere. They had ties to the Loyalists of Main as well as Kappa So and the Law Makers. Not an easy task to manage such varied groups. Seth’s father – Howard – was a well known and loved figure but what was astonishing to me was how cleanly he conducted business. Perhaps I had been in the Shady City a little too long and it was making me sceptical, but even as I passed the beautiful pieces of jewellery I kept searching for the shadows behind the shine. The family intrigued me and given Seth’s attempts to see Reggie I thought it would be good to get his views. 

Amicable like his father, Seth was more welcoming than most to a reporter. His dark hair and wild blue eyes much like his Aunt Sophie’s. 

He laughed heartily when I told of my discovery of Reggie and Tabitha in David Finn’s apartment. 

“When The Tailor shows concern there must be something very wrong,” Seth spoke of Reggie. “When I went to Faulds Park it was strange. Reggie himself seems content for now.” 

“The Auction House is being put up for sale again,” I said. “I heard your father made a bid.” 

Seth replied, “As much as he loathes business with Chick Owen, he felt it was only right to try and help Reggie get it back whilst the boys are in prison.” 

Finally, a break in the armour of the ever-friendly Howard Bergman.

“Bad history with the Owens then?” I asked. 

“My father isn’t one to harbour grudges or bad blood but he finds the Owens arrogant, conceited, and too quick to throw their weight around. An Owen killed Reginald Penn. You can quote me on saying that if you like,” said Seth.

“So your family wouldn’t have been happy that your cousin pledged Kappa So?” I pressed.

“My aunt was furious at Isaac. My dad was too, but he’s his own man and has been making some positive changes from within the frat,” Seth explained. “They asked me to join too but I wouldn’t be caught dead inside that Chapter House.” 

There was a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” Seth beckoned. 

The door opened and a short man with wild grey hair bounded in. He was quite upset about something.

“I’m not having this. Is this some kind of joke? Where the fuck is Isaac? Fucking frat boys.” 

“Woah!” warned Seth. “Language please, Abe. Can’t you see I have company?” 

Abe looked to me. He still seemed worked up but he adapted his tone. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m leaving this with you. I’m not doing anything until I hear from Isaac.” 

He dropped a bag into Seth’s lap and made his exit. Seth opened the bag. I watched his expression change to that of one of surprised amusement. He began to laugh.

“I hope you’re not prudish, Sam,” he said. 

From the bag he removed a large penis carved in gold. Abe Rothenstein was one of the Bergman’s leading gold mongers. His family had carved some of the most beautiful golden pieces, some of which were worn by royalty. 

Seth turned it over and looked at the stamp at the bottom. 

“No!” he gasped. Then he began to laugh even harder. “1015. That’s the mark of Hen Owen. This is the captain’s telescope.” 

With a warning from Ronnie, Buddy turned to the best goldsmiths in the city for help correcting it. Seeing it as a frat boy prank – which, in fairness to Abe, it was – it had now fallen into Bergman hands. Howard Bergman loathed to do business with the Owens. Those were his son’s words. I could only imagine how Chick Owen would feel about Howard Bergman should he find his golden asset. 

“I’m going to need you to sit on this, Sam, ” Seth said. He chuckled when he realised what he was waving at me. “I mean the story, not this.” 

***

With an invitation in hand to Howard Bergman’s coming together gathering, I arrived at Bergman estate. The patriarch had been hoping to give the city a chance to heal. I was escorted through the estate in Kingsgate. It was a beautiful place with expansive lawns and a little patch of woodland surrounding it. When I arrived, the party had already begun. Seth himself wouldn’t be there until nine but he promised me some time with his father. 

“Just as long as you know you’re probably going to learn a lot about the history of Levinkrantz,” Seth warned in jest.

I was prepared for that providing Howard was willing to share some insight into the bad blood between he and Chick Owen. 

Some called it Castle Bergman because of how fortified it was. Inside was like any other family home. On the walls were photos of the Bergmans. There was one of a young Seth. There were others too, of his cousins Isaac and Eli who I still had to meet. Special placement had been given to Seth’s sister, Elsa. She was a rebellious looking girl who clutched her father affectionately in the photo kissing his cheek. A genuine moment of joy had been captured on Howard’s face. 

“Sam!” the man himself called to me from across the hall. He politely dismissed himself from the group he was entertaining. 

“Thank you for the invitation, Mr Bergman,” I replied. 

With an arm around my shoulder he led me to the main hall. I could see Sophie with the large man named Golem who acted as her interpreter. She was smiling, greeting some guests with a kiss on both cheeks. Golem stood obediently by her side. 

“If you don’t mind, Sam, I need to get everyone settled. You have a drink and enjoy the party.” 

I was seated at a delightful table with Abe Rothenstein and his brother Ike. They had hilarious stories to share, comments to pass on those at the other tables and a penchant for drinking booze by the gallon. Howard stopped by every now and again in between entertaining his other guests. 

“You should write a story about my grandfather,” Ike was saying. “The Levinkrantz blitz destroyed his whole building but he still refused to move. He just hung sheets up where the walls had been blasted away.” 

Abe put in, “Just swept all that dust and rubble right out.” 

“They offered him a new house but he told them to stick that where the sun can’t get to,” added Ike. 

“He was ninety-eight when he died,” said Abe. 

Ike shook his head. “Still wouldn’t move. We had to bury him there.” 


They both started laughing. Their merry chuckles were quite infectious. Abe filled my glass with more Waldens vintage. 

By the time it reached 8 o’clock the band was very much in full swing. A pleasant night was being had by all. At around eight ten, that was when things began to turn sour. 

“Uncle Howie?” Isaac arrived in a hurry, pulling Howard away from his party. 

“Isaac? Where have you been? We’ve all been worried about you.” 

“I need to talk to you,” said the nephew. “Right away.” 

“Oh dear, Mr Bergman!” cried one of the ladies. “I’ve spilled some wine.” 

“Not to worry,” said Howard. “We’ll get that cleaned up.” To his nephew he said, “Whatever is going on, now is neither the time nor the place. Breakfast tomorrow. You and I will sit and we’ll discuss what’s on your mind. We’ve missed you around the estate.” 

Before he could explain further, Howard had waved to a new arrival. 

“Karyn!” he called. “You look tremendous.” 

“Shit!” Isaac grumbled. 

The Judge herself was accompanied by his mother, Sophie, and the interpreter, Golem. As Howard fell into conversation with Karyn Doyle, Isaac made an attempt to sign ‘I need your help’ to his mother, but didn’t catch her eye.

A server bumped into him carrying a tray.

“Sorry, sugar,” said the soft voice. 

The server passed the tray. Isaac had been too busy looking for an opportunity to get Golem or his mother on their own, he hadn’t noticed the server close in behind him. She pinched his backside. 

“Woah!” Isaac jerked around but as he came face to face with her, she pushed him against the wall and locked her lips to his. Isaac could hear whistles from party-goers in the main area where the booze was flowing. 

Isaac was led into a small room just off the main corridor. The server woman, not a woman at all. Freddy Stoker pulled off the platinum blonde wig. Irvine Stoker kicked the door closed. 

“You want to talk to someone, Isaac? I’m listening. Freddy? Let the Easys in.”

There was already tapping at the window. Freddy crossed the room, opened the window and the two trapeze artists slipped in. 

“I always said never trust a Bergman,” Irvine went on. “Now look where we are.” 

The Easys pulled rope in with them.

Irvine reached into his pocket and produced a tobacco tin. He opened it and tapped a sample of powder onto a long finger nail and sniffed. Freddy’s hand reached up slowly to sample some but Irvine slapped it away. “Get your own,” he warned his son. 

He slipped a metal pole down the sleeve of his patched coat. 

“Isaac,” he said. “I’m going to have fun with this.” 

“The blood splatter,” warned Freddy. 

Irvine danced around Isaac as the Easys laid tarpaulin they had brought in backpacks. Irvine angled himself towards the window. 

Whack!

***

Karyn Doyle always attended the parties of Howard Bergman. She was almost as comfortable in the Bergman Estate as she was in her own home. One particular evening, when she was a freshly-appointed judge, she had wandered onto the balcony for some air. It was a pleasant night. The summer warmth and the closing of sunset cast an orange glow across Kingsgate. She embraced a little of the ambience when the door opened and she was joined by Van Holder. She turned. She smiled but her focus went back to the view. He approached her and wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed gently against her. 

“You’ve been making me hungry all night,” he jested as he nibbled playfully on her neck. 

Karyn giggled girlishly and stroked his thigh. The music and the party sounded behind them. They could hear laughter as one of the Rothensteins tried to get a sing-song started. 

Van Holder ran his hands gently down her stomach and hitched her dress up slightly, and began to massage her through the black lace panties she wore until she gave a little gasp. That was the signal to tug the panties down. She turned her head and he leaned forward kissing her passionately. She turned to the view again as she felt his hardness discretely push inside her. Soft, rhythmic, but with a lustful grip around her waist, Van Holder grunted and there they came together as husband and wife. 

“A bottle of Macks for the first person who can name all the streets of Main!” they could hear Howard drunkenly call. 

“We had better go back inside,” said Karyn. 

Van Holder, having righted himself, stepped aside. “After you, Your Honour.” 

Van Holder – given the nature of his occupancy in Subala – was kept away from them. Karyn – an army brat herself – knew exactly what that was like. Van Holder made as much time for their son as he could when he was there. 

“Bye dad,” said Cameron for what felt like the millionth time in his life. Van Holder clutched his head and kissed it. 

“You be good,” he said. “Just need to nip out.” 

Just nipping out. It was a phrase Van Holder used to calm the boy whenever he had to leave. Just nipping out could take several months or more but if he was just ‘nipping out’ Cameron knew he would be back eventually. 

If Ruud Van Holder of the Subala Black Bands had known that that would be the last time he would see his son alive, he would have stayed that little bit longer. 

***

“I can’t stay all evening, I’m afraid,” Judge Karyn Doyle informed her host. 

“And how is Cameron? Haven’t seen the young man around. I was hoping to pick his brain about Kingsgate’s chances of winning the cup,” Howard was asking. 

The Judge’s attention was snatched by her sister, Ashley, who had readied her table. 

“You go ahead,” said Howard pleasantly. “We’ll catch up later.” 

To his own sister he signed, “Where did Isaac go? He was upset about something.”

Sophie patted Golem’s shoulder. 

“I’ll find him,” agreed the monstrously large man. 

I looked over from my table to see Karyn take her seat with Ashley. She looked worried about something. At the time I thought it might have been upholding Article 22 taking its toll on her but I know now it was something much worse. 

Without her interpreter Sophie took her brother’s arm, scanning the room keenly. As Golem went in search of the only Bergman to pledge Kappa So, Howard addressed his guests. 

“Good evening, everyone,” he said. “It’s good to have you all here and despite the troubles in the city I am very pleased to say the new section of Harbour House, helping those displaced by the violence, will be open very soon. Thank you all for your generosity. There is still time to aid this wonderful cause and I’d like to make a special mention to Elizabeth Beckingridge for beginning this. Ironically, she can’t be here tonight because she’s…well we all know Liz. She’s a little overzealous. Anyway, if you still care to give to Harbour House I’ll happily match any donations made this evening. In the meantime, relax. There’s plenty of food and booze.” 

“Wooo!” Abe Rothenstein cheered, filling his glass. “Have another one Sam.” 

Indulging in the atmosphere I drank more. I would have refused it if I had known what was to happen next. 

***

Whack!

Isaac coughed up blood. 

“Aren’t you going to fall out cold?“ asked Irvine, wiping sweat from his forehead. 

Whack!

“Fuck you!” Isaac spat as he clambered onto his feet. He charged at Irvine managing to punch him, rattling free some false teeth. 

Freddy picked them up. Errol easy wrapped a rope around Isaac’s neck and heaved him back, falling into a painting, sending it crashing to the floor. 

Irvine addressed his trapeze artists. 

“Get him out of here,” he instructed. “We’ve made too much noise now. That clay boy, Golem, is going to be looking for him. Freddy?” He turned. “Where’s Freddy? Ah there you are.”

Freddy was fixing the painting back to exactly how it was when they arrived. 

“Make sure this place is spotless.” 

Freddy nodded. 

“Hope you’re not afraid of heights.” 

Errol wrapped his arms around Isaac and pulled him to the window. Isaac was losing consciousness. He tried to fight it. He thought he could when the crisp evening air hit him but the ground left his feet and he was pulled through the window. Errol’s grip remained tight until they hit the ground again. A white van was waiting to carry him to the centre ring of the Big Top.           

Irvine wrapped his arm around Ethel’s waist as they stepped onto the ledge. 

“After you, my dear,” the ring master grinned. 

She leaned out and with one hand unclipped a rope, laid there by her Easy brother. Entwined, the two leapt into the night and down to the ground. 

***

The door was opened. 

A blonde server bumped into Golem.

“Sorry, sugar,” they giggled. 

Golem scanned the room. There was no trace of Isaac. Nothing would be found amiss. 

***

“So, Sam,” said Howard as he joined our table. “My son tells me that you’d like to talk. A story you’re writing?” 

“I’d like to ask a few questions if you don’t mind,” I put to him. I was still enjoying the party atmosphere. My voice was a little loud as my head began to swim. 

Howard had left an empty glass on the table beside his hand. Abe lifted the bottle to refill it but the Bergman patriarch rested his hand on the top. 

“I’m fine for now, thank you Abe.” 

Abe shrugged. He and Ike finished the bottle between them. 

“I read Marble Mantel,” Howard admitted. “I’m afraid it had me a little lost. I’m more of a history buff. I prefer true stories.” 

“I’m actually a journalist by trade,” I explained. “I used to write for the Daily.” 

“I said true stories,” Howard jested. “I’ll tell you what though, my daughter loved Marble Mantel. I must get you to sign something for her. She cosplayed as one of the characters last Halloween, isn’t that so Ike?” 

Ike Rothenstein looked up. “Was that that green thing she was wearing, with the tentacles?” 

I assumed they meant the character Judith and it was extra arms not tentacles, but I was flattered all the same and still a little drunk so I tried to steer the course. 

“This bad blood between you and The Cappy, where did that begin?” 

“I don’t like to hold grudges,” Howard said. “Life is too short.” 

“Don’t listen to him,” said Ike. “He’s a spiteful old fart when he wants to be.” 

“Yes, thank you Ike,” Howard laughed off the comment. “It isn’t so much Charles himself but what his family represent. You see the Stokers committed some terrible atrocities but rather than being held to account, the Owens protected them. They’ll do whatever it takes to keep themselves on top and that kind of ruthlessness is like a poison in society.” 

If I didn’t know any better I would swear our conversation had been bugged because just as Howard was explaining this, CPD entered the room led by Billy Owen. 

Howard craned his neck to check the commotion. Billy went straight to Doyle. 

“Ma’am,” he said. “I’m afraid I have some terrible news.” 

Doyle stood to be confronted with the information.

“Yes?”

“A body has been discovered and we have reason to believe it might be Cameron. Can you tell me when you last heard from your son?” 

Given the sensitive nature of Cameron’s parentage and the potential for terror groups to target him, the boy had never been officially declared missing. 

Ashley Doyle covered her mouth in shock. Billy spoke sensitively. 

“I’m going to need you to come down and make a positive I.D. as soon as you’re ready, Your Honour.” 

“Oh, Karyn!” sobbed Ashley. 

Howard had been distracted by the entry of the police to his party. 

“Excuse me,” he still had the time to say as he left our table and crossed the room. 

“What’s going on?” he put to Judge Doyle. 

Billy grabbed Howard’s arm and pulled it behind his back. 

“Howard Bergman, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Cameron Doyle. You have the right to say whatever you like but I advise you to shut the fuck up. You’ll be appointed a lawyer and all that shit.” 

“Karyn!” Howard tried to appeal to his long time friend but The Judge was preparing to leave. Her sister was hurriedly helping her. 

Billy spun Howard round to face his guests.

FLASH!

The image was caught by a press photographer. Sophie was frantically signing to her brother. 

“Don’t fight it,” she was saying. 

I began my visit to Bergman Estate in awe of how Howard and his family had lived cleanly and quietly with little alliances on all sides. Watching the diamond merchant being escorted from his home in cuffs under the shocked faces of his party guests, I realised being nice rarely bodes well. However, diamonds are not easy to cut and the Bergmans had some sharp tools.  

***

Rumours spread across the news floor of the Coldford Daily that the maven herself was in house to take things over and get the newspaper back on track. Eric Waddle wasn’t cutting it anymore. He had been circling the drain for a long time as far as reporter Sandra Wake was concerned.

He circled the drain so much he made himself dizzy and stumbled from the window of the Coldford Daily editor’s office. Maybe it had been the news of Tabitha’s miraculous return that had him feeling a little woozy but I can only speculate on that point. 

“Maybe we should arrange some pictures,” Sandra had put to Kathleen in anticipation of her arrival. 

“I know what I look like,” was Kathleen’s response. “Why would I want pictures?” 

Kathleen’s arrival at the Daily was preceded by three Kappa Si sisters, dressed neatly in their sorority colours. They said nothing to the reporters as they crossed the news floor. Sandra stood from the desk I had once occupied to get a better look but the chickadees offered no comment. They went straight to the editor’s office, closing the door behind them. Sandra had been at the point of knocking on the door to see if they needed anything when the sorority queen did make her arrival, accompanied by more sisters, higher ranking than the first from what could be determined. 

“Kathleen!” Sandra cheered. “It’s so good to see you.” 

They had met once, at an Owen Inc. Party.

“Everyone in the conference office,” Kathleen called across the news floor. “Drop whatever you’re doing. You can pick it up later.” 

When the reporters had gathered around the table, hungry for their feed, Kathleen stood and addressed them. The chickadees she had brought with her stayed in the office to make the editor’s station more to Kathleen’s taste.

“We have the say in the city,” she began. “We still remain the most-viewed newsfeed in Coldford.” 

Sandra smiled. She looked among her colleagues for their reaction to the praise. 

“We still have a lot of work to do,” Kathleen stated. “We will be looked to first for the news on Knock Knock, Penn Auction House, Mack Distillery, the whole lot of them, so let’s give them that news before someone else does. It’s time the city learned just how much we are mending fences around here. In other words, we are the good guys. I don’t care how it is written just make it so. I want focus on charity work and community service. I want wherever anyone walks – from the Shanties to Bourton – they see another good news story courtesy of the Daily.” 

Sandra had been hired by the Daily specifically for her controversial, combative approach to news casting. Some saw it as hard hitting journalism. What it really was, was trouble stirring for the sake of ratings. Her popularity only climbed because morbidly curious viewers tuned in to see what nonsense she was going to spout next. Having to write the news in a positive way was going to prove a challenge for her. 

“Sandra,” Kathleen addressed her directly. “I want you to focus on the rift between CPD and the Wigan church.”

“I was following the story on Joshua Coby and the Freefall massacre,” Sandra replied. 

Kathleen frowned. “Did I sound like I was asking? Get a statement from Coby, even if it’s ‘no comment’, close it and move on. I want you to calm the heat with the Wigan church.” The sorority queen went on, “Roger?” 

The other reporter’s eyes widened at the call of his name. 

“The Penn story. I want you to focus on the championships Simon Penn won, the medals he donated. Reginald is gone now so there’s no harm in a story on his tenure. Get some quotes from his supporters. Invite them in, let them lick his ass and print it. We’re changing the narrative people. We need as much positive spin as we can get. I want a piece too on Buddy Owen, Chad Perry and Dale Cooper. I want everyone to know what good rehab is doing them. I want the Daily to be putting smiles on everyone’s faces. I want our feed to be so sickly sweet people will become addicted to it. It’s the only way we’re going to strengthen our position and completely blindside the competition. Any questions?” 

Sandra spoke up. “Just one,” she said. “Will you have tea or coffee?” 

***

The history of Coldford was a bloody one as I’m sure you can imagine. It stretches back centuries but it really became what it is during the time of Henry ‘Hen’ Owen, who had been commissioned by Queen Eleanor of the Chamberlain family for his sailing and navigation prowess. Hen Owen fought against a knight known as the Greatest Northsider, he helped quash a rebellion from Eleanor’s granddaughter, Francesca Chamberlain, who sought to take the throne for herself. The Castle in Bournton now known as The Boss, was Francesca’s stronghold. From there she pushed her savage agendas. The queen’s grandson, Royce Chamberlain, Duke of Hathfield Bay, involved himself only where it was beneficial to him. Devious Royce held back on the island as long as he could before deciding which side of the family table he was going to take a seat at. 

Throughout the ages, the Chamberlain family cemented their story into the very fabric of the Shady City. Chamberlain Docks – you’ll already be familiar with – fell from the hands of Julia Harvester as her stores in Bellfield and City Main caused her to cut her losses. Chamberlain Heights, the retirement community in Kingsgate had been part of the Chamberlain Trust for generations. There’s also Chamberlain library and Chamberlain pond in the heart of Coldridge park. All of these spots served as a reminder of the blue blood that once ran through Coldford’s veins. The Chamberlain Trust mediated the family’s interests as they remained at bay for many years. An invitation to Kingsgate Museum showed they hadn’t quite forgotten their roots. 

The museum housed artefacts from the earliest parts of their dynasty. There you would find Eleanor’s crown jewels, Francesca’s gowns, paintings and torture devices. You would also find Royce’s weapons, goblets and opium pipes – giving clues as to the priorities of the man. 

What particularly caught my attention was the armour of the Greatest Northsider. I imagined how heavy it must have felt to wear. I thought of the cold air that would have fallen onto it as he rushed into battle. I considered the blood splatter that would have been washed off afterwards. 

“It really is something,” someone said behind me. 

I recognised the distinctive droll of Chick Owen. 

“I can only imagine what it must have seen,” I remarked in reply. 

Chick was drinking in the armour worn into battle against his beloved ancestor. As a history enthusiast and especially engrossed by his own lineage, I had fully expected to find The Cappy at the museum exhibit. I wanted to ask him about his thoughts on Howard Bergman but I felt at that point it wouldn’t do much good. 

“That battle lasted three days and nights,” Chick went on. “Hen gave them Hell.” 

“He was defeated down in Northside,” I commented. 

Chick laughed a little. “A tactical retreat.” He gasped with enthusiasm as he recounted the event. 

Seeing Chick Owen, better known as The Cappy, in such a light was quite refreshing. In my whole time in knowing him, all the ups and downs we had had thus far, I believe it was the first time I had caught a glimpse of the true man he was. 

“Got there eventually though, didn’t he?” I said. 

The Cappy grinned. “An Owen never misses.” 

“Indeed they do not,” I replied. 

“Enjoy the exhibit,” Chick said before departing towards Kathleen who had set up a photo op of Chick with Hen Owen’s portrait. 

***

The Harbour Master of Chamberlain Docks was an esteemed position, coveted since the Chamberlain days previously discussed. The title at this time belonged to Master Barnaby Brooke. Brooke was unassuming in appearance. He lived in a little town house on the dock edge, the top of which acted as a light beacon during the night, alerting passing ships to avoid the edge of Coldford. 

Gateshead was the name of the little building and Master Brooke lived there with his two lovely daughters, Erica and Becky, their dalmatian dog Ruffus, and his wife Helen. The whole family, including Ruffus, took the early ferry every Sunday across to the bay for the Wigan service. Yes, Brooke was a devout man. He was devoted to his faith, devoted to his family and devoted to his station at Gateshead, Chamberlain Docks, Swantin. 

Most of his time was spent overseeing the loading and departure of the Ferry Way liner. There was the occasional fishing vessel and Bergman freighters launched there but for the most part it was all routine. His chief operator, Anthony Runnetti, had been arrested along with Nan Harvester when the trafficking boats were raided. Good riddance to bad rubbish there. They were giving His Eminence, Dom Cole, a hard time when they really should be shutting down thieving vagabonds like the Macks, murderous middens like the Knock Knock girl, and animals like Billy Owen. Police commissioner? He should be behind bars himself. The church was cut off from its parishes in the mainland when that bully with a badge gets to throw his weight around. It’s just not right! They should be dealing with the whores on the docks instead of harassing, beating and murdering God-fearing folks. 

Times were changing though. Wigan was going to cleanse the city. It was written and it was promised. In the meantime it was the job of Barnaby Brooke to watch the Ferry Way pass back and forth to the island. 

But alas! There was an exciting change afoot and it occurred on the day of the Chamberlain Exhibit. 

“Move the ferry liner,” was the Harbour Master’s instructions. “Make way!” 

***

Back at the exhibition, museum curator Malcolm Wurst had taken to the stage of the Queen Eleanor auditorium. The screen behind him showed an open book with wave symbols on the pages – the Chamberlain crest. 

CHAMBERLAIN – THE TORN DYNASTY the caption read. 

“Thank you all for coming,” said Malcolm. “What I present to you is a unique history filled with success and loss, power and struggle, and dare I say it, the real Coldford City as it was formed many years ago. None of that is my story to tell though, so I’d like to introduce you to the living blood of all these fabulous relics we have around us. I believe we have Captain Charles Owen here this evening.”

The spotlight landed on The Cappy. Chick smiled graciously and gave a polite nod as the audience applauded. 

“A pleasure, captain,” said Malcolm. “Henry ‘Hen’ Owen’s 10th– great-grandson  ladies and gentlemen.” 

The audience gave another appreciative applause. I looked along the aisle and that was when I spotted the Wigan priest, Peter Millicent. He was nodding and clapping his hands in a warm, receptive sort of way. 

“Now without further ado, I would like to introduce Lord Francis and Lady Charlotte Chamberlain.” 

Onto the stage wandered a girl of nine years old, holding the hand of her seven-year-old brother.

Lacking the shyness of a child, Lady Charlotte stepped up to the microphone. She curtseyed. Francis gave a congenial bow with one hand behind his back and the other across his stomach. 

“Thank you,” Charlotte said sweetly. “Thank you for being so welcoming.” 

***

Chamberlain Docks was experiencing some upheaval at this point. The Ferry Way had already been preparing to collect its traffic when Barnaby Brooke had to call it back. 

“We need to halt the crossing,” he announced. 

As you can imagine dear readers, Barnaby was met by a lot of disgruntled passengers finding the crossing to Hathfield Bay quite essential. The Harbour Master instructed the ferry liner to remain along the coast. The 6:15 was experiencing some delays. There was a collective groan as the traffic set aside. 

“Clear some space,” Brooke requested. “We’ve got incoming.” 

“What we got?” Captain Farraway of the ferry liner asked. “A blue whale?” 

“Remain off shore,” said Master Brooke in return. “I’ll bring you in as soon as I can.”

The beeping of horns, the creek of the ferry as it remained stationed and the cries of disapproval from the ferry passengers were all quashed when an ear-splitting horn sounded. 

***

“We were told so much about Coldford,” Charlotte was telling the auditorium. “My brother and I always hoped to return here and see it for ourselves. It’s been everything we could hope for. We’d like to share with you some never before seen images from the family archives. Thanks to Coby Games we get to share the stage this evening with our ancestors.”

Behind Charlotte flashed a holographic image of Queen Eleanor sat upon her throne. She was dressed in full regalia, a chalk white face and a golden mitre in hand. She bore the Chamberlain coat of arms on her breast. Joshua and his team had done an excellent job with the display. The collective audience gaze widened in awe at the realism.

The next figure was Francesca Chamberlain. In the background loomed the shadow of The Boss. She was in the forefront, seated upon a horse. Her black hair blew wildly around her in a wind the artist had captured. 

Taking a walk on stage then was Royce Chamberlain.  Prince Royce was smiling a self-assured smile as though to the auditorium. He removed his sword and held it at his side. There was an absence in his eyes though, which I assumed the artist had made deliberate. 

Another figure of Francesca emerged. This time she was stood in the Great Hall of her castle which was now where the electric chair, Buzzkill, sat. She raised her arms up and turned her focus towards the sky. Around her neck hung the weight of several Wigan beads. What was most astounding about this image though was the figure by her side, dressed in humble robes. He had a youthful, soft face. He was encouraging in his body language. 

“You cannot be saved,” it would seem he was saying to her. 

The Saint Noah Wigan’s presence spread to the walls as other pieces of symbology emerged behind them. 

Royce returned next and I would be damned to Hell if I didn’t notice the purple ribbons he had tied around the sword he carried. 

The two children turned to view the image of Royce. He was a drunken philanderer, a self-preserving narcissist if the history books are correct, but the children seemed to be enamoured by him. 

I looked to Peter who was watching the presentation with great interest. 

***

As large a craft as the Ferry Way liner was, Captain Farraway could feel it shake upon the waves caused by the approaching vessel. The staff gathered at the windows to catch sight of the monstrous craft as it made its way to the dock. 

The horn blasted again as though its presence were easy to miss. 

Chamberlain docks bid welcome to a sister of hers. Restored with some of the very boards that Royce Chamberlain himself had walked, was a regal ship flying the Chamberlain flag. The raven’s head – Royce’s personal sigil – ornamented the bow, leading the way as it ferociously tore through the water. On the side of the ship was the name HMS RAVENSEDGE. It was a historic enemy of Hen Owen’s Elgany, rearing its head and returning to port after all those years. 

“Would you look at that!” gasped the ferry staff. 

***

Back on stage at the auditorium Charlotte spoke of her ancestral connection to the Owen family. 

“My brother and I would like to return Hen Owen’s rapier if Mr Owen will accept it. We feel it’s been in Royce’s hands long enough.” 

There was an affectionate acknowledgement from The Cappy of the Chamberlain children’s generous offer. It would make a fine addition to his collection.

For a child so young, I had to admire Charlotte’s natural confidence. Her brother was a little more subdued. Francis gave a nervous, ‘thank you’ into the microphone, leaning over to speak. Together they knew the influence they held in their hands. They had been orphaned you see, the details of which aren’t important. What is important though is the city that now was in their control, the wealth and the name. As the exhibit came to a close, Charlotte looked to Peter Millicent who nodded assurance to her. 

Aboard Ravensedge, their guardian awaited them. In a flurry of robes he rushed to the walkway where he could see the children alight from a town car down on the docks. 

“Uncle Dom!” Charlotte cheered, rushing across to His Eminence to be collected into his arms. 

“How did it go?” he asked.

“We did great. Didn’t we Peter?” Francis asked of the priest that accompanied them.

“They did splendid,” Peter assured. 

“I wouldn’t have expected anything less,” Dominick encouraged. 

“The ship looks beautiful. Do you like it Uncle Dom?” 

Dominick admired the gift from the Chamberlain Trust to the church. 

“She is a beauty,” Dominick responded with awe. “You should see how she tears through the water.” 

Francis laughed. “We had better go back or you’re going to get into trouble.” 

Dominick raised an eyebrow. He reached a foot out towards Coldford limits. “Illegal,” he called. “Legal,” he added drawing his foot back. “Illegal. Legal. Illegal. Legal.” 

His whimsical tease caused the children to laugh. 

“Let’s not hold the ferry up too much longer,” Peter suggested ushering the children onto the ship. 

For the time being, the Wigan church left Coldford behind and returned to the  bay. 

***

ERROR 65. My screen read.

“This is really frustrating,” I exclaimed. 

It had been some time by then since the Coby servers went down and I had been locked out of the blog I had been using to keep the city up to date with the real truth. 

“Sorry,” Joshua replied sincerely. “We’re starting to get our processing back but we’re still blacked out in Bellfield, Northside and Hathfield Bay. I have to dedicate every bit of RAM we have to our gaming. The Scribble Post software isn’t a priority. I’ll do what I can though. I’ll keep you up to date.” 

“Thanks Joshua,” I said. “I appreciate that.” 

I was in a race against time with my old newspaper because the truth in the Shady City was quite often the story told first. The Filton Crier press, thanks to Elizabeth, had ensured my words were reaching as many people as possible in print but it was a slower process. 

Something must have opened up at Coby games because a message came through. 

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS? 

It was an anonymous statement. Attached to it was a video file. I pushed play. The moment I did, I wished I hadn’t. My heart skipped to a race suddenly. What consumed me first was the noise of the screaming. Flames licked most of the image. 

“It was written,” said a Wigan priest, “that the flames of St Michael’s retribution consumed the harlot’s body.” 

“Harlot! Harlot!” screamed a gathering. 

This was not taking place on Hathfield Bay where such activity was rumoured to occur. This was taking place on the streets of Northside. I was suspended in disbelief by what I was looking at. What aggrieved me the most was the woman being consumed by flames was none other than Agnes Wilde, the Knock Knock Broker. 

Father Renfield was the name of the Wigan priest who was the overseer of the church’s Northside parish. 

At The Knock Knock Club Tawny was viewing that very same footage. She hadn’t gotten as far into it as I had before she couldn’t bear to watch any more. 

“Tabitha!” she shrieked. “I want Tabitha. Tabby! Tabitha!” 

David tried to calm her but she would not stop screaming until she could hold her niece in her arms. David fell into a chair trying to wash the cries of Agnes’ pain from his mind. 

“Harlot! Harlot!” he could still hear them chanting. 

***

Over on Hathfield Bay, Peter came to Dominick in the church. He knelt before the altar. It was only he and Bart present so the church leader ushered his priest to stand. 

“Alright, Peter,” Dominick said softly. He was a little taken aback by the formality. When they were alone they tended to behave with more of a familial bond. 

“Your Eminence,” he said, maintaining a formal tone. “There’s something you should see.” 

He passed a tablet to Dominick and pushed play. Bartholemew drew down his hood and looked over Dominick’s shoulder. 

Peter watched the church leader’s expression as the video played. The flames reflected in his dark eyes. 

“Who is this? Who is the harlot?” he asked. 

“Agnes Wilde of The Knock Knock Club. It seemed Father Renfield discovered she was passing information to the Bellfield fleet. He punished her.”

Dominick stopped the footage. He knew well what burning looked like. He didn’t need to see any more. 

“I don’t remember giving him permission to do that. Did I give him permission?” 

Peter shook his head to the negatory. If permission had been granted for such an action on the streets of Northside he would be aware of it. 

“I believe he sees himself as St Michael the Punisher.” 

Dominick’s eyes blazed. “Does he? I would love to take a gander in whatever fucking mirror he’s using because he’s no St Michael. Does he look like the man in that painting?” Dominick asked pointing to the brooding, broad-shouldered knight who was the actual St Michael. “I don’t fucking think so.” 

“My concern is that we’ve worked so hard to build our position in the city and this action could see all of it undone,” Peter’s own temper began to flare. “All of our progress wiped out in an instant.” 

“Is he winning this fight against the fleet scum at least?” Dominick asked. 

“Not exactly,” Peter explained. “Liam Tulloch is modelling himself on the Greatest Northsider.” 

“What is it with the people of that God forsaken city? Kings of Main, Boss Ladies, dragon ladies and every other kind of ladies. Ye’ve got Captains and circus freaks. It’s not just me, is it? They’re all fucking mad.”

“The Law Makers will look to you to answer for what Renfield has done. That’s not the worst of it though. Agnes Wilde was a well-connected woman. This news could very well have us up against a huge part of the Shady City. The Shanties most definitely. Closely followed by Main,” explained Peter.

“Dom?” Bart interrupted with urgency. “Leona’s still over there. She’s right in the thick of it.” 

Dominick raged. “Send word to her right away. I want a watch on the weans too. Charlotte and Francis go nowhere unless they have plenty of eyes on them. Tell Renfield to get his arse over here because he’s treading so close to blasphemy and he’ll learn how St Michael truly punishes.” 


Enjoy this? Check out these other thrillers. Available now.

Knock Knock: Episode 47: Snowflake

Given the new renovations at Perry Zoo were The Cappy’s way of reintroducing himself in a positive light, it was no surprise that the city was buzzing with excitement over its newest attractions.  

‘Come meet Snowflake,’ Perry Zoo suggested with tantalising posters all the way from Bournton to Bellfield.  

I had been at one of the checkpoints the Law Makers had set up leading from the Fullerton Bridge into Filton. I was following up on a story on Elizabeth Beckingridge. Apparently she had gotten so fed up with her imprisonment inside her mansion home that she made a bid for escape dressed in Gramps Beckingridge’s clothes and driving his old estate car, badly. She got as far as the Fullerton Bridge exit to Cardyne when she was stopped. She pulled the old skip cap off, took a draw of her cigarette, and demanded to know why she couldn’t just nip to Cardyne for a half café frap with cinnamon dusting.  

The Law Makers demanded to know why she couldn’t just stay in her home as she was instructed.  

“I was coming right back,” Elizabeth maintained. If she was, she wouldn’t have dressed in her grandfather’s jacket. So, the lockdown at Beck Manor was extended and tightened. She would learn, one way or another.  

“It’s about time the rich elite got a bit of a lesson,” the Law Maker I had been interviewing gave his opinion on Judge Doyle’s hold on the city. “If that had been any of the rest of us, we’d be getting punished.”  

Now that the initial excitement of Article 22 was over and the executions were somewhat slowing to a simmer, that seemed to be the general thinking of the people of Coldford.  

“About time the elite of Coldford are held to account,” they said.  

It pleased them to see the King of Main put to death for a career of violence when, for too long, his reputation and place in the city had kept him safe. Chick Owen, the man they called The Cappy, was confined to his home and examined closely. All of the money that the Beckingridge family had meant nothing when the picture hit the headlines of Elizabeth throwing her grandfather’s hat at the Law Maker that had dared to stop her.  

“None of the rest of us would be getting away with that,” the Law Maker stationed at the bridge was only too happy to announce. It would be easy to assume that the Law Makers did hero-worship Doyle but that same point of view was spreading. The Shanties was still a tougher nut to crack and still believed Tabitha was a saviour. Bellfield wouldn’t see past the Mack family but they were still coughing through the ashes of the Black Bands visit to their distillery, not to mention the continued fight between Bellfield and their Northside neighbours. All in all, Article 22 was truly making a change. The powerhouses of Coldford were having to adapt to new rules and so were leading me on to a phase of Cold War in the Shady City.  

As I was interviewing the Law Maker his attention was called to a convoy of trucks heading across the bridge towards Filton. There were five of them in total. The two leading and the two bringing up the rear had the print of Perry Zoo on the side. The one in the middle they were protecting had PROPERTY OF PERRY ZOO. CAUTION LIVE ANIMAL written on the side of it.  

I reached my phone up. Click.  

Just what Coldford needed when the streets were a circus already – wild animals.  

*** 

Stoker circus originated in the country Levinkrantz. The Stokers have been a circus family for centuries. From the early days of street performing, to the travelling freak shows, to the modern day spectacles.  

Irma Stoker was the first to meet Captain Henry Owen. She had stowed away on his ship when it stopped in Levinkrantz on the way to Coldford. He found her playing poker with his crew. She slept in the Captain’s bed that night and by the time they arrived in Coldford, Irma had already arranged for the rest of her family to join them. It was at a time when Hen needed numbers and the Stokers loved drawing crowds.  

The Stoker Circus consisted of three tents. There was the red, the blue and the big top, which was set up in the centre of Perry Zoo. Boards had been put up through the night as they settled Snowflake into his new home.  

“He’s a little tired from the journey but he’s doing good,” Austin was telling his zookeepers. “Don’t give him any hassle and keep him well fed or he’ll lash out.”  

Milo was mesmerised. “When can we see Snowflake?” he asked Austin.  

“Soon, lil’ mate,” he said. Austin was quite personable in his way. “We’re keeping him hush just now but he’ll be making his debut soon.”  

“Wow!” Milo gasped. The moment he had heard Snowflake was being brought to Coldford he researched online videos of the creature, mostly feeding time demonstrations. I smiled as I noticed the young boy shake with excitement.  

“You must be Sam Crusow,” Austin greeted me with a firm hand shake. “Seen your picture.”  

“Chick have it on a dart board, did he?” I jested.  

Austin gave a hearty laugh. “You’ve been causing a ruckus all round, mate,” he said. “No hard feelings though.”  

Ozzy had a disarming charm. He was the kind of man that drew people to him in an organic sort of way. He put people at ease quickly and after only a few minutes of conversation they would feel they had been his friend for years.  

“You guys enjoy the day. There’s lot’s to see and do.”  

It was then he noticed Olivia’s pregnancy bump starting to show.  

“Oh, and a little critter on the way! Exciting times. There’s a lot of ground to cover so if it gets too much you just let one of my guys know and they’ll set you right.”  

He indicated a group of young men removing Kappa So jackets to change into zoo coveralls.  

“I’d like to ask you some questions about what you are doing here and get your thoughts on current affairs,” I put to him.  

Ozzy nodded. “Sure. You caught me at a busy time right now but we’ll grab a brew and we’ll talk it through. Just give me a day or two to get settled in.”  

As we left Austin behind and ventured further into the zoo my mind became awash with memories of when I was about Milo’s age and my own father brought me to the zoo. Behind the gates the noise of the city suddenly seemed so far away. 

*** 

The Stoker Big Top was mountainous in size. The striped pattern was intended to be whimsical and fun but the material – having lived through freak show attacks, the spreading of a measles outbreak and the Levinkrantz bomb blitz – carried a particular essence along with it. It was battered, beaten and dragged through a horrible history, still to be erected and entertain the masses. It would be admirable, if it weren’t for the fact that the more I learned about the Stokers, the more I was wary of them.  

*** 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls. Step right up for a knuckle whiting, nail biting, full in your face exciting show. Take your seats. Set your eyes in front and prepare to clap your hands off. I’m Irvine Stoker and welcome to Stoker Circus.” 

The audience were pushed closely together inside the Big Top tent. The large man next to me pressed closely. Milo was on my other side.  

Irvine, standing in a dusty centre ring, clicked a remote push button and one of two screens behind him flashed on showing a group of clowns with varying make-up styles but in the signature Stoker blue and red.  

“Blue tent, Chamberlain Docks, we’ve got some of the funniest clowns you ever did see. Don’t just take my word for it. Go on down and see them. You might just bust a gut!”  

Irvine turned to the screen. “Show them what you got,” he said to his clowns.  

The main clown, Olga Stoker, stepped up to the screen. She kissed it then spat water at it. As she did so water sprayed down on us in the Big Top crowd. The audience reacted excitedly.  

Irvine clicked his button again. The second screen sparked into action.  

“Red tent, City Main, we’ve got my boy, my little pride and joy. What you got there for us Freddy?”  

Freddy Stoker could be seen on screen in a top hat and tails. He spun, collected a sign and as he turned back to the screen he held it up. It read STOKER CIRCUS PRESENTS: THE BECKINGRIDGE FAMILY. 

Irvine laughed. “They might not look like you and I but if you can stomach it, go on up and take a gander.”  

The screens disappeared up into the rafters.  

“In this tent,” Irvine called with all the circus ring master swaggering showmanship. “Well, in this tent you’ve got me. Bring it on!”  

A chorus of trumpets sounded as the lights lowered. Overhead two trapeze artists leapt, catching their swings, and tore across the huge tent from one side to the other.  

Milo sat forward in his seat as a troupe of fire breathers danced around the ring. I was keen to keep an eye on Irvine’s whereabouts but I was distracted by the trapeze artists. They called them the Trapeezy Easys. They were a brother/sister duo in matching leotards, Eroll and Ethel. Ethel relaxed her grip as she swung overhead. There was no hesitation as Eroll, holding his own swing by his feet caught her and threw her onto the opposing platform.  

I looked up to a balcony that had been created at the higher reaches of the Big Top. I could see Marshall Cooper leaning over with a beer in hand. He was cheering something. Austin Perry and The Cappy himself were sat with him.  

Turning my focus back to centre ring, Irvine had disappeared amongst the commotion. The trumpets eased off. A spotlight flashed to the seat directly behind me. Irvine himself was sitting there.   

“Don’t stay seated on my account,” he urged. “You need to be on your feet to really enjoy.”  

As he leaped with long, insectile legs down the steps back to his ring, a wave of shock ran through the seats. It was just a gentle vibration but it caused the entire audience to stand up and ovate.  

The Easys leapt again. This time it was Ethel holding her brother’s feet. As he swung he handed a rose to a young woman in the audience. She was beside herself with the flattery. Swept blonde hair, attractive, muscular tones, the Easys were quite alluring. I couldn’t help but notice Ethel blow a kiss as she passed overhead.  

Milo was completely captivated by the performance. His smile was broad as he watched on in awe. Irvine reached his arms up and he was collected by the Easys and dropped onto the platform. He waved his arms comically as though he was going to lose his balance. He tumbled forward and Eroll caught his hands and dropped him safely back in his centre ring.  

“Enjoy the show,” he cried. 

The lights cut completely.   

*** 

“What on earth is going on?” was Elizabeth’s question as she tried to reach the phone of board member Presley Cage. He had been having a meeting with the board to discuss Elizabeth’s permanent taking of the chair over her nephew.  

“I don’t care,” had been George’s response over breakfast that morning as he peeled apart cold toast.  

Elizabeth didn’t doubt that. He didn’t really have the ambition to sit at the top of Beckingridge Tower. It was probably one of the few qualities of his that his aunt actually liked. All he seemed interested in in those days were his Kappa So frat bros. What was giving her cause for concern was his work at Filton University was coming back with full marks. Either he had had a sudden spark of intelligence overnight or the more plausible explanation was someone was doing it for him.  

The meeting had ended an hour ago. There should have been confirmation by now.  

She could hear George giggling in the lounge.  

“What has he gotten into now?” she grumbled to herself.  

The noise of the laughter chilled her though. It reminded her of when he was a boy. That rotten little giggle never meant anything good.  

When Elizabeth found him in the lounge his giggle had escalated, and he was now rolling around the floor in hysterics in front of the television reporting live news from City Main.  

“What’s gotten into you?” she asked. “Shut up!” she barked impatiently.  

“I’m a little man,” he laughed.  

The aunt rolled her eyes. “Yes, you are. A tiny little man. Now shut up. Your laughing is like a hammer drill and I already have a headache.” 

“Oh look, it’s dad!”  

It was then Elizabeth turned her attention to the screen. Freddy Stoker was introducing the acts from the red tent to the public.  

“I’m Ernest Beckingridge,” said a man in clown make up, “and I’m the saddest clown you ever did see.”  

A blue tear drop was painted on his cheek.  

Set up directly across from Beckingridge Tower, at the entrance of Weir Hotel. The Stoker red tent was gathering a crowd.  

“This is my son, George,” the sad clown Ernest went on.  

George was played by Fritz Stoker – a sufferer of dwarfism. George pointed at the little person and laughed even harder. Sad clown Ernest sighed and rested his chin on his hand as little George danced around him and chased passers-by. Astounded by the boldness of the performance people were beginning to stop, raising phones and recording. 

Sad clown Ernest sobbed. “That’s my boy. I have a daughter too. She’s a princess.”  

Here Freddy ushered a young woman wearing a flowing cloak forward.  

Hilda Stoker was a beauty. Her make-up was glamorous.  

“Princess?” she said. “More like prisoner. I just don’t know whether I’m coming or going and all I want is a bit of attention.”  

Here she lifted her cloak as though she were flashing her underwear with her tongue in cheek. Raising her cloak, she presented Tootsie. Hilda and Tootsie were conjoined twins. The upper body and left leg of Tootsie stuck out from Hilda’s abdomen. A mute Tootsie just stared at the crowd.  

Ernest – the sad clown – dropped his head into his hands and shook it in despair.  

“I’d be able to cope with the children if it weren’t for my dragon of a sister.”  

“That bastard!” Elizabeth almost screamed as a woman dressed similar to her slapped sad clown Ernest causing him to fall into a tumble. The gathered crowd roared with shocked laughter at the Elizabeth portrayal as she screamed at them, waving her arm like some pantomime villain. They called her the dragon lady and playing her to maximum effect was Heidi Stoker – better known as the lizard woman in the circus circles. Her entire body was tattooed with scales, her eyes permanently yellowed, her teeth ground sharp and her tongue forked.  

“What you staring at?” she challenged the audience as the Elizabeth character.  

There were more gasps, more phones and more recording. Rodney Weir had come to the entrance of his hotel and could be seen watching in the background.  

It hadn’t been her own portrayal, though, that had Elizabeth seething. In Heidi’s arms was a small infant. Little Edle Stoker was being held out as a portrayal of Vicky. Like her mother, her skin was completely scaled. If she cried out it would be seen her little tongue was forked. 

Elizabeth had been so angered by the freak show comparison, she hadn’t noticed Freddy was wearing Gramps’ clothes the Law Makers had confiscated from her until he slipped on Gramps’ old skip cap.  

“I’m Jeffrey Beckingridge,” he said. “They make statues of me, name everything after me and this is my legacy.”  

Finally Presley returned the call.  

“Have you seen this?” Elizabeth asked without greeting.  

“I’ve just had to walk through it,” said Presley. “The whole of City Main has turned out. They’re selling bloody merch!”  

“It’s outrageous,” Elizabeth responded. “Shut it down right now before I turn that lizard woman into a fucking purse!” 

“We have bigger problems,” Presley tried to say.  

“Look at that baby. For God’s sake they’re exploiting the poor child,” Elizabeth went on. “Where at the Law Makers when you need them?” 

“Elizabeth, listen to me,” Presley had to interrupt. “I’ve been voted off the board. The board is no longer ours.”  

Elizabeth rang off from Presley. She looked to George who was still enjoying the Stoker show. The tower was as good as gone. 

*** 

It had been a long morning but Chick Owen was pleased to hear of progress being made. Marshall had a list of potential buyers for the Auction House and as he scrolled down the page the offers became higher. He had hoped – for the sake of peace in City Main – The Auction House would be returned to Penn hands but as Marshall pointed out there was likely more money in having their other competitors bid. At least for now. It would make the Penns nervous and make negotiations easier on their side. Besides he had tried reaching out to Reggie. Faulds Park allowed the call through but he was unable to reach the Penn boy. Instead, a young girl was screaming down the phone at him trying to hear what he was saying over the loud music. It sounded like complete chaos and no one seemed to know or be able to locate the master of the house.  

Ozzy had confirmed a huge donation on behalf of Stoker Circus and the zoo to various charitable causes. Helping worthy causes of course, but also helping the public see Owen Inc. and its associates weren’t complete monsters.  

Finally, Kathleen stopped by to run the Coldford Daily headlines by him and she had captured exactly the stories the city needed. They were the kind of stories that had attracted me to the newspaper in the first place.  

COLDFORD CITY STANDS STRONG. 

SILENT MARCH ACROSS FULLERTON BRIDGE SPEAKS VOLUMES.  

She even had her little chickadees come over to the Chapter House to boot the boys into very visible community service.  

Charles ‘Chick’ Owen was pleased. He was resting back easy in his chair considering his next move. He had just been about to consider all was well when the announcement of his brother’s arrival was made.  

Ronnie seemed like he was in a bit of a rush.  

“Ronnie?” Chick said. “You look like you’ve been ridden hard and hung up wet.”  

Ronnie spotted Kathleen. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”  

“How you doing Ron?” Kathleen asked. “Drink?”  

“No, thank you,” Ronnie refused.  

Kathleen poured her own, a vintage Waldens merlot that she and The Cappy favoured.  

“You look like you could use one,” she teased.  

“I’d like a word with Chick, if you don’t mind,” Ronnie politely requested.  

It was Chick who refused. “It’s fine, Ron,” he said. “We can talk.”  

Ronnie knew full well that Kathleen had been helping air Owen dirty laundry since she and The Cappy were teenagers but he was hesitant.  

“You’ll be getting word from the Law Makers soon but I wanted to run it past you first.”  

Concern ripped across Chick’s face. “What’s Buddy done now?”  

Ronnie shook his head. “It’s not Buddy. It’s…”  

The two Kappa Elders were eyeing him closely.  

“A decision will be made on Tabitha soon. I wanted to see where the line would be drawn with the Law Makers first before I informed you because I will be providing her defence.”  

Chick scowled at first. “That girl is to go back to jail where she belongs and she will consider herself in the Lord’s good mercy that she still has her head.”  

“I think she should stay at The Knock Knock Club.”  

Chick scoffed, shaking his head. “And I think being in this city too long has driven you out of your mind.”  

Ronnie tried to explain his reasoning. “If she stays at her club she will be under serious guard and she’s more likely to keep quiet. If she returns to prison she’s just going to keep gnawing her way out and her supporters will continue making trouble on her behalf.”  

“Then I return to my previous sentiment. Cut the damn snake’s head off,” Chick growled.  

“Then you make a martyr of her,” Kathleen spoke up.  

Ronnie was pleased he had some support.  

“Legally, the Law Makers are going to want the death penalty carried out but she will be much less of a problem if she stays home. They kill her, her people won’t stand for it and we’re torn away having to cover our asses. A little show of leniency now, or even support, could go a long way to putting things right,” said Kathleen. 

The Cappy asked, “How much leniency?”  

Kathleen went on. “I’m no lawyer like Ronnie here, but until Mayor Feltz turns up there are plenty of better candidates to take the heat.”  

“I’m not hearing that,” warned Ronnie.  

“Of course you’re not. I simply mean that Feltz had enemies, lots of enemies. It seems unfair to single the young girl out.” 

Ronnie eased off. That had exactly been the defence he had used for Tabitha.  

“She’s a troubled little girl who has her crimes – no mistake – but they should have just let her go to the damn club in the first place. I watched interviews with her as a kid. She was a real wild one but what do you do when an animal can’t be controlled? You can put her to death which we’ve already agreed will make a martyr of her or you can lock her away. She’s not going to gnaw through the cage she’s always wanted to be in and it keeps her cheering spectators happy.” 

Ronnie grinned. He was pleased to have Kathleen’s support.  

“It’s a tough ask, Chick,” the lawyer put to his brother. “But it means dropping Jerry’s charges.”  The Cappy’s eyes widened. Before he could say anything Ronnie added, “Jerry was a piece of shit. I have no doubt in my mind what she says about him was true.”  

The Cappy knew this. After all he had been cleaning Jerry’s messes when Ronnie was still running around in his little tightie whiteys. As young man, Chick learned that Jerry had taken a couple of girls into his vestry. Both of them were only fourteen years old. Chick warned the girls’ parents to keep them clear and in exchange for their silence – the girls claimed nothing had happened – Pops had Jerry sent to St Michael’s in Coldford. Jerry had made his bed. Now its piss-stained sheets had to be changed every day, he was spoon fed his meals, and there was no way of knowing if he truly regretted almost dragging his entire family to the bowels of Hell with him.  

“Before you make any legal move, this is quite an ask as you say and I would like to speak her. If it’s going to put the minds of those that follow her at rest then it might be a good place to start.”  

“I don’t think that’s wise,” said Ronnie.  

The Cappy was still confident in his decision. “I think it’s something that should have been done a long time ago.”  

“We’re moving on, boys,” said Kathleen. “Time to let sleeping dogs lie.”  

Ronnie nodded. He stood. There was no time to lose. Chick was good at looking people in the eye that had done him wrong and still maintaining his composure. Tabitha – on the other hand – was not. However, it was the only sure way of removing that pendulum above her head. She would see the sense in listening to options. He hoped.  

“Bye, Ron,” Kathleen called as she closed the door of The Cappy’s den over.  

“Also,” she said to Chick when they were alone. “When things are put right again she’ll make an excellent scape goat.” 

The Cappy raised his eyebrows.  

“Just saying,” she added. 

Chick smiled and sighed. “Why did I never marry you?”  

Kathleen chuckled. “Because I’ve got the bigger balls.”  

Laughing, The Cappy declared, “I love you, Kathleen.”  

Kathleen collected her designer hand bag to leave. “I love you too, you old prick.”  

*** 

The car phone was breaking up.  

“I can’t hear you,” Jeremy was groaning. “I’ll have to call you when I land.” 

The Auction House was being put up for sale again and as the Chief Auctioneer for the Penns and their acquisitions agent, it was important he got the support he needed to get it back where it belonged.  

Jean Luc – his counterpart in Luen – hadn’t been happy new king Marcus was unable to see him, and it wasn’t worth having Reggie speak. The youngest triplet was still messed up and kept forgetting things. It didn’t help that he had barely been sober since he got back. His poor mother would be so worried. His father would be too. That was why Jeremy was now having to kiss Jean Luc’s arrogant ass. He wouldn’t be causing such a fuss if Reginald was still alive but the Penns needed the help from Luen. Jeremy was hoping that if he went to Luen he would be able to arrange a call between Marcus and Jean Luc. Marcus would be able to request the help in Coldford that Reggie so desperately needed.  

“I’ll arrive around midnight,” Jeremy called to the car phone.  

“You are wasting your time,” said Jean Luc. “I’ll speak to Marcus only. It’s disappointing he isn’t able to speak for himself. Too busy being a hired thug for some stupid little girl with a grudge.”  

“Enule!” Jeremy barked.  

“Pardone?” Jean Luc challenged.  

“I said enule. Fuck you! I’m on my way and when we I get there, you’ll talk to Marcus. I’ll arrive around midnight,” Jeremy called to the car phone before cutting it off, hoping that Jean Luc got the message.  

The road towards Cardyne across the bridge was thankfully quiet. The Law Makers’ blockade had been removed.  

Another call came through. This time it was Reggie.  

“Yes, Reggie?”  

“I, uh,” he hesitated.  

“What’s wrong?”  

“A lot of City Main ones in,” he said. “They said they know me but I don’t recognise them.”  

“Where are the agents?” asked Jeremy.  

“They’re outside. They’re not letting anyone in.”  

“Then what’s the trouble?”  

Reggie coughed. He had been smoking too much weed.  

“It just felt rude if they did know me. Turning people away from the door seemed pretty shitty.”  

Jeremy inhaled sharply. “Reggie, we spoke about this. It’s dangerous. Just sit tight until I get back. Stay close to Tabitha and do not let anyone in.”  

“I know,” Reggie agreed. He was feeling a little tired. It wouldn’t hurt to lay low. “But Tabitha’s not here.”  

“Where is she?”  

“She’s still being held at the club.” 

“Can no one run anything past me these fucking days?!” Jeremy despaired. “Reggie, sit tight. I’m turning back.” Reggie couldn’t be left alone, not with the state he was in. Not with strangers knocking on the doors. The agents were stretched thin as it was, and they could only do so much.  

So Jeremy turned at the junction at the Fullerton Bridge Cardyne exit. As he made his way back across, heaving headlights filled his windscreen from an oncoming car.  

Jeremy brought his car to a halt. The car in front stopped too. The Auctioneer raised his arm to shield his eyes from the glare.  

BOOM!  

Through the light, Cherry jerked forward to take the first gnashing bite.  

Jeremy pulled his car away as quickly as he could. He slammed his foot onto the pedals and sped off but he had only just managed to get his car up to 70mph when Sunny zoomed past. She had reached the edge of the bridge just as Emerald charged through the darkness into a spin, completely cutting him off.  

Click. Click. Click.  

Then came the spotter in blue.  

*** 

Jeremy struggled to catch his breath as he lay in the mud. The Cherry pit crew had beaten him badly whilst Sunny’s watched and Sky click, click, clicked. He thought he was going to drown. He could barely move and with each breath he was taking in a mouthful of mud. He tried to explain such sentiments to his captors but they fell on deaf ears. They were too busy exchanging Kappa So handshakes.  

‘Fucking brothers for life. Bullshit,’ thought Jeremy bitterly.  

There was quite a group gathering. Buddy and his bros, Jeremy recognised. They had gotten into scuffles with the triplets before and they had been the ones Reginald let go after the execution of Pops.  

A door of a white Cooper SUV slammed. Three more arrived. Police commissioner Billy Owen, the circus ring master Irvine Stoker, and his son Freddy.  

There was one watching him intently though, as the rest gathered around. The Cappy himself. His attention was stolen by the hand of his cousin on his shoulder.  

“Where’s Isaac?” The Cappy asked. 

Billy lowered his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “No one’s heard from him.”  

The Cappy sighed. “Get your team together Billy,” he warned.  

Billy admitted, “I’m afraid it gets worse. There’s something you need to know.”  

The Cappy urged him to continue. Meanwhile Austin Perry hovered close to Jeremy.  

“What’s going on, Bill?” Chick questioned.  

Billy fell into a repenting cry, “I was hoping to be able to clear this so no dirt fell on you but we had an issue with Cameron Doyle. He came looking for rat boy and he pulled a gun.” 

The Cappy gasped, “Jesus, Billy, he’s dead?”  

“Yeah, I’m afraid so.”  

Before Chick could respond further Billy cried, “I’m so sorry Captain. You trusted me with a task and I let you down. You’re gonna be real mad and I don’t blame you. Just tell me what to do to make it right and I will.” 

Buddy – so used to disappointing The Cappy – thought to himself, ‘Jeez Bill, reel it in, brah.’ 

Dale Cooper was busy watching Jeremy, wondering when someone was going to start paying attention to the man writhing in the mud under Ozzy’s boot.  

“If you want to put a bullet in my head right now I won’t blame ya,” Billy went on. “I failed,” he said. “I messed up.”  

Satisfied with Billy’s repentance, The Cappy clutched his cousin. 

“Calm down,” he said, but inside he was thinking, ‘Cameron fucking Doyle!’ 

Billy opened his eyes to see Marshall Cooper clutching his chest as though to say, ‘Tit.’  

“What did you do with the body?” Chick enquired.  

“I don’t want to implicate you any more than necessary,” said Billy. 

The Cappy patted his shoulder. “It’s fine. I need to know the details.”  

“We moved him to an abandoned Bergman mine. It was the only reason I brought that Jew fuck in,” Billy ranted.  

“Does Isaac know? Is that why he isn’t here?” 

“We’re tracking him down.” 

Chick put the question to his team. “So what are we going to do now?”  

Irvine Stoker seemed completely undisturbed by the predicament.  

“We can stop those sneaky, money grubbing, dirty…Bergmans,” said the ring master with a wry smile.  

“Fine we’ll deal with that later,” suggested Chick. “Right now we got more pressing concerns.”  

It was then he finally addressed Jeremy.  

“You sir,” he began. “I have not forgotten what you did with my compass. You deliberately set out to make a fool of me and I do not take that kindly.”  

‘Holeeee fuck!’ Buddy thought to himself. ‘He’s really going to do this.’ 

The setting – dear readers – which I should make clear now was Perry Zoo. It was a cold night where breath began to escape the lips in a fine mist. Winter was setting in. Jeremy heard something move in the great pool of water behind him. The sign above his head read ‘Snowflake – Coming Soon.’  

Austin drew a knife from his pocket.  

“Sorry mate,” he said. “War is Hell.”  

Jeremy screamed as his Achilles’ tendons were cut. First the right foot, then the left. Jeremy’s shrill cry caused Austin to look back over his shoulders. Ripples were gathering.  

“You might wanna step back,” Austin announced to his brothers as he skipped over Jeremy’s writhing body and up the embankment.  

“You bastards!” Jeremy managed to scream. “You’ll not get away with this.”  

“Dad?” Chad appealed to Austin.  

“Just step back there, son,” Ozzy warned.  

The Cappy was watching the water.  

“C’mon Snowflake, my gorgeous boy. Come and get it,” he muttered.  

Buddy shivered. It wasn’t doing him much good watching this sober. Had he been full of powder, it might have been hilarious but with a sober mind his father looked like a real fucking psycho.        

Still in pain, Jeremy tried to pull himself up the ledge but kept slipping in the mud. He was losing strength fast. His cries of pain and fear were only drawing interest and the ripples were becoming angrier.  

Irvine was grinning, as was Freddy. Billy had lit a cigarette, probably glad he had gotten his own troubles off his chest and could now relax and enjoy the show.  

Splash!  

Like some monstrous creature Hen Owen was reputed to have fought upon the high seas, an oversized albino alligator leapt from the water. Jeremy tried to scramble away but he wasn’t fast enough. He only kept slipping back down the verge. Snowflake charged towards him. His reptilian limbs stomped through the mud.  

Snap! 

Jeremy just missed the first bite. It only made Snowflake angry. 

Snap!  

This time his leg was caught. Snowflake chomped down. His powerful jaws crunched through bone. 

“Jesus!” Dale Cooper reacted. Like his bro, he too was having a hard time with the sobriety of the situation. He turned away but he could feel his father’s hand clutch the back of his neck.  

“Don’t act like a little pussy,” warned Marshall.   

Dale took a deep breath and watched on.  

“Wooooh!” Irvine cheered as Snowflake wrapped his jaws around Jeremy’s midriff.  

With a great heaving shake of his hefty body and a lash of his tail, he started to drag Jeremy towards the water.  

Jeremy’s scream was a gargle of blood and some of the mud he was choking on as he was dragged. The brothers watching him had fallen silent. He could hear the lashing behind him as Snowflake entered the water, pulling him with him. The sudden icy cold chill shocked his heart. Trying to shake free of the alligator’s maw was only causing the razor-sharp teeth to clench down harder. The tear into his abdomen was irreparable so when he slipped under the water, watching the faces staring down at him as he was dragged into the abyss, it no longer mattered.  

*** 

Snowflake – better known as the puppy snatcher in the parts where he had been picked up – had been causing havoc in Swamp State, snatching up the dogs of little old ladies walking past. Unchecked he had grown so big he began to attack the little old ladies themselves. An alert was raised in the local community. Sightings of the albino monster in the local area were registered.  

When the residents of the community stopped walking his prey past the General John Swamp he had made home, he grew bored and ventured further into Johnsville. 

Nine-year-old local Ahmed Chauncey called the authorities when he awoke one morning to find the fencing around his family’s property had been torn open. Four of the chickens had been eaten and a still-hungry Snowflake lay at the bottom of the muddied-up family pool.  

The Perry Zoo in Swamp State sent their best specialists to capture the beast, led by Ozzy himself. The Cappy had been visiting at the time and instantly fell in love with the alligator.  

“What a magnificent snappa’” he gushed. 

And so. he organised a sponsorship for it to be kept at Perry Zoo in Star State.  

A magnificent snappa’ indeed. Now, a razor-toothed resident of Coldford City.  

*** 

Chick had come to Harbour House alone. He was greeted initially by Agent Kim. 

“I trust my son has been behaving,” he asked.  

“He’s quiet for now,” the agent informed him.  

“He’s shown remarkable improvement. I hope you will take that into account during your investigations,” said The Cappy.  

Kim replied, “I’m taking everything into account.” 

The Cappy nodded, “I know.”  

“Before you go see him, Olivia Hickes would like a word with you,” said Kim.  

At that Chick was led to the office Olivia held at Harbour House for those the agents brought in for support – violent homes, missing persons, addicts, etc. 

They shook hands and sat across her desk from each other.  

“Mrs Hickes, it’s a pleasure,” The Cappy began.  

She smiled. He liked the way she smiled. It was warm, soft and comforting.  

“It’s good to meet you, Charles,” she said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”  

The Cappy laughed. “Don’t believe all the rumours. So, what can I do for you?”  

“There’s something I want you to hear,” she said. “It’s from Bernard’s last therapy session. We’re obliged to hold confidentiality unless we feel the resident is a danger or in danger. I don’t want to abuse his trust but I really think it’s important you hear what he has to say.” 

Chick found himself feeling nervous. There was a little flutter of butterflies within his stomach he had never experienced before. He was always so sure of his ability to handle anything. With Olivia, it seemed so much more personal. For some reason it wasn’t quite the same when she seemed to be sympathetic towards Buddy rather than complaining about him.  

“What’s he done?” was the automatic question.  

“He’s not in trouble,” Olivia stated. “But I warn you, what you are about to hear will be a little difficult to take so if you wish for me to stop I will.”  

“If there is a cause for concern,” said the Cappy, “I really should hear.” 

Olivia brought the recorder over and pushed play. The Cappy recognised Buddy’s cough.  

“So, Bernard,” said Justin, the counsellor. “We made some good progress last time getting to the route of your addiction. You were thirteen when you first sampled cocaine, correct?”  

“Eleven,” Buddy replied. He coughed again. His voice sounded a little odd, like something really heavy was hanging on the tones. “My Uncle Jerry gave me some. He pulled me into the store closet of the Star State house and I snorted that shit.”  

“Did you enjoy it?” 

“What? No, brah. Not at first. Who wants to be trapped in a closet snorting coke off another bro’s dick? That’s faggy shit.”  

Justin stopped him. “Excuse me?”  

“Yeah, it was a game Jerry liked to play when I was a little kid. He said if I liked it enough, I’d snort it off anything. I hated that. I just wanted to play cowboys and shit. I was like, leave me alone brah. But when that buzz hit, woohwee, my eyes were opened. I was in heaven and Jerry was God.”  

“It’s funny you should use that term with him being a priest,” Justin commented.  

“Yeah. He told me he had God Balls. I’m a kid, balls barely dropped and I’m bouncing off the walls thinking it was the funniest shit I ever heard. He told me he’d show me how to have God Balls too.”  

“More games?” Justin asked.  

“It wasn’t easy. I mean it takes a helluva lot. He believed in me though. He was damn near the only person who did.”  

“You trusted his advice?”  

Buddy coughed again. “Man never steered me wrong. He was always there for me. Made me what I am today…”  

Buddy paused. He must have been giving thought to exactly what he was.  

“He’s the reason I am what I am,” he said, softer. As though he were speaking to himself rather than his counsellor.  

“E’body laughs at the idea I could have a chick like Lydia. I get that brah, but I got a lot to offer.”  

Calmly, Justin commented, “You seem to have trouble forming connections with women.”  

“Jerry told me that having God Balls meant you didn’t have to, chicks just lined up to lick those bad boys.”  

“Your first sexual encounter with a female was not a pleasant one?” asked Justin. 

“I was scared,” Buddy admitted. “I mean I had wood so hard. The girl Jaycee Miles – you always remember your first, right? – she was screaming merry Hell and not in a good way. Not like in the movies. She was screaming because she was hurt. There was blood everywhere. I thought I had burst her or something. Jerry was there yelling at me to keep fucking her. He said she liked it. Brah, she was not liking it. I wanted to stop. Jaycee was crying for her mama. Jerry was tugging on his own dick, watching us. He said that since it was my first time, he wanted to make sure I did it right. I wasn’t a kid anymore. Not after hearing Jaycee scream like that. She was a kid too. Jerry fucked her first to break her in. So, I’m to take my turn and he’s yelling at me. He knew better about it than I did. I wanted those God Balls so I didn’t complain.” 

“Did you tell anyone about this?” Justin asked.  

“And make it seem like I’m some kind of whiney pussy?” Buddy went on. “Jerry told me that If I did talk about it, he would tell everyone I was a fag. I didn’t want that. Not after seeing what happened with my Uncle Teddy. Besides, who was I going to tell? The Cappy was never there – travelling everywhere and anywhere that wasn’t home, and my mama? When she wasn’t boning Uncle Walt she was passed out. Who would believe me anyway? Besides, he kept giving me powda’. Jaycee tried to call him out. Her family shipped her off to some Christian camp. I was scared bro. I was drugged, buzzing my balls off on powda’ and trying to drown Jaycee’s screaming out. I figured if I could handle that, I could handle anything. I was invincible.”  

“Do you realise now that what happened to you was wrong?” Justin put to him delicately.  

Buddy gave another cough.  

“I didn’t want him making me scream like Jaycee. I did at first. I learned to stay quiet after that. I started to hate that closet, when that door was closed over. I didn’t want any of that shit. I reckon Bill found out. I overhead him one night telling Jerry that if he found another pair of bloody pants, he would cut his dick off. He might not have been talking about me, I had been so careful to hide my bloody pants, but he did stay away from me after that. Then I came to Coldford.”  

The recording ended. Olivia pushed a box of tissues towards Chick but he refused them.  

“I’m fine,” he said, although the emotions were flooding his mind.  

“It’s a lot to take,” Olivia said. “But abuse survivors often fall into self-destructive patterns and addictions.”  

‘He was not abused. He was not abused,’ was all the Cappy could think.  

“Because of the nature of this recording it is still kept confidential unless Bernard himself wishes to take it further.”  

“Thank you, ma’am. My boy is a handful but despite it all you chose to listen to him. You heard his cries for help, something by his own admission I failed to do.”  

“He has a long way to go, I won’t lie to you, but now that you know, you can truly help him,” said Olivia.  

“If I may request that I keep that recording?” Chick asked.  

Olivia was unsure. “You can rest assured it won’t fall into the wrong hands here.” 

Chick realised her misunderstanding. 

“At this time that is the least of my concerns. I would like to process this and some day when we’re ready, Buddy and I can discuss it.”  

“Okay,” Olivia agreed.  

Chick found Buddy having just alighted from the pool. Lydia was escorting him. They both seemed relaxed.  

“You brought your time down then?” asked the father.  

“One minute fifty!” Buddy cheered. “Kappa fucking so!”  

Chick was pleased to see Lydia giggle at Buddy’s enthusiasm. Despite the nature of their meeting and despite the fact he was still technically in her custody he hoped Buddy would stay clean and create a good impression on her. Or stay clean long enough to cleanse himself of the horrific nonsense Jerry had filled his head with.  

“Going to lift some weights,” Buddy announced. “You wanna see how much I’m pressing these days?”  

Chick smiled. “Sure.”  

“You want some coffee, Mr Owen?” Lydia asked.  

“Thank you, agent, but I’m fine. Please, call me Chick.”  

The recording in question was given to me by Chick himself. I was surprised at this.  

“Why not to the Daily or Kathleen?” I enquired.  

“Because they will seek to protect me and whilst Jerry shares my name, I won’t risk them trying to protect him. You are independent and I trust you will tell the right people about this at the right time,” was The Cappy’s sentiment.  

With an agreement in place for me to hold the recording until requested, The Cappy took Kathleen’s advice and reached out to another of Jerry’s victims.  

*** 

“Well, hello, cunt,” grinned Tabitha, as she sat down in the room set aside in Harbour House for she and Charles ‘Chick’ Owen to discuss their terms.  

Chick was not impressed by her bravado. “My, my. That is mighty foul language for a little girl,” he met the challenge.  

“You must have heard worse,” Tabitha retorted. “Or someone hasn’t been passing along my fucking messages.” She looked around her, gauging the exit. “So, what do you want?”  

“It occurred to me that whilst we both wish to move forward it makes no sense that we would continue to hold each other back. So, I would like to open negotiations whereby we can discuss terms that are mutually beneficial to us.”  

Tabitha pouted. “I know what negotiations means. Why should I?”  

“I would help you remain in your beloved bar,” he put to her.  

The Boss Lady was sceptical. “Why would you do that?”  

The Cappy replied, “Because I believe you will keep your part of the city in order.”  

“What’s in it for you?” she asked.  

“Peace of mind,” was his response. There was a pause. “There will be a condition attached.” 

Tabitha rolled her eyes. “There it is.”  

“Should you violate our agreement and trouble stirs, you will be returned to prison or worse. In the spirit of reciprocity, I will make sure your area has no hassle from any of my Kappa So brothers.”  

Tabitha was considering her options.  

“Here’s the part where you make your terms known,” The Cappy pushed.  

Tabitha scowled. She leaned forward on the table. “If you talk down to me one more time, you riddle-spinning cunt, I’m going to open your throat.”  

Feeling confident, The Cappy asked, “With what?”  

Tabitha’s gap-toothed smile widened.  

“I can be very creative,” she assured.  

The Cappy looked behind him to check Tawny and Ronnie were still waiting by the door. Satisfied she had made her point; Tabitha leaned back again and folded her arms across her chest.  

“I want your son for the murder of a little girl named Sarah,” she requested.  

The Cappy shook his head. “Buddy is out of reach. His involvement in any murder was never proven.”  

As he looked at The Boss Lady, he couldn’t help but notice the little markings across her nose. It was an unusual thing to notice and such a small thing but it played a huge part in humanising her. He had heard so much about her and now she was sat across the table from him, so close he could see those little markings on her nose. She was so much younger than he.  

“I will not give you Buddy. That is non-negotiable. But I will give you Jerry.” 

“You would?” Tabitha was liking the direction the negotiations were taking.  

The Cappy nodded. “If it will satisfy your vengeance and offer you some closure.”  

“Then your son is the one that does it but I want it all documented. I’m not wanting you throwing me to the dogs for it. I’m not that stupid. If any of your freak show family try anything, I put your son down like the sick pup he is.” 

“Agreed,” said The Cappy.  

“And you will help the Penns – Simon and Marcus – out, too. City Main needs them.”  

“And this worries me how?” asked Chick.  

Tabitha shrugged. “You said you wanted the city in order. I can speak for the Shanties but City Main will only listen to the Penns.”  

The Cappy was given pause for thought.  

Tabitha laughed, “How’s that for fucking negotiations?”  

“I will consider the Penns,” Chick said.  

“It’s the least you could do for killing their dad and don’t get me started on what your lot did to Reggie,” the Boss Lady saw fit to comment.  

“Reginald Penn…” The Cappy began, but Tabitha stopped him.  

“You killed him, or at least as good as, but if you help Marcus and Simon, I’m sure they might just be willing to keep the peace.”  

And so it was, an unprecedented peace agreement was reached, which if anyone had told me Tabitha would be partially responsible for, I would have laughed until my ribs hurt.  

“Prison changes a girl, Sam,” she said at the time.  

The changes in her and The Cappy were only to show Judge Doyle them playing nice together. They still had their axes to bury. The war between them was far from over. It had just turned cold under Judge Doyle’s hammer.  

As he stood to leave The Cappy said to her, “What Jerry did to you was despicable. He tried to steal something from you that should never be stolen from another person. I am sorry.” 

Tabitha blinked. It had been the last thing she had expected to hear.  

Chick had been thinking of his son when he said, “I just wish you had come directly to me.”  

“Would it have made a difference?” Tabitha asked.  

“I like to think it would have. Regardless of what you may think, I never condoned his behaviour.”  

“I know,” Tabitha agreed. “I wasn’t the one who cut his dick off.”  

Chick raised his chin. “Another charge you’ll find removed if you and I can stay out of each other’s way.  

“Generous fucker, aren’t you?” Tabitha teased.  

“I’m optimistic for the future,” The Cappy told Ronnie as they parted. “We have some kinks still to iron out but we’ll get there.”  

Helping the Boss Lady remain at The Knock Knock Club was a bold move for the Owen Inc. CEO. Personally, I would rather swim with Snowflake.  


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Forgive Me (A short play)

Cast

Dominick (m):

Head of the Church of St Wigan. Sometimes referred to as His Eminence. 

Confessor (m or f): 

An anonymous member of the church who has come to Dominick seeking forgiveness for a grave sin they have commited. Age, gender and race are all open. 

Location

Set in the cultish Church of St Wigan. 

Time

Takes place in an unknown time. It is modern but with some noir, old fashioned elements to the styling. 

SETTING: A church confessional. 

AT RISE: The stage is set with a partition. DOMINICK is already seated on his side. The CONFESSOR takes their place. A blessing in the Wigan fashion is given.

CONFESSOR

I ask for forgiveness. I am a flawed being. I have committed a great many sins. 

DOMINICK

You’ve come to the right place. St Wigan knows we are imperfect. Our imperfections are the reason he wished to embrace us all and bring us closer to God. 

CONFESSOR

Do you believe that no man is beyond redemption?

DOMINICK

We cannot be saved. None of us can. If we repent though, we may be redeemed. 

CONFESSOR

I’m worried I’ve fallen to far. 

DOMINICK

Then unburden yourself. Confess to me as St Wigan’s ear and He’ll listen. 

CONFESSOR

I’ve been lustful.

DOMINICK

Haven’t we all …

CONFESSOR

I’ve stolen property that isn’t mine.

DOMINICK

Then you must give it back. 

CONFESSORS

Lies have been on my tongue many times. 

DOMINICK

Then you must learn to speak the truth. 

CONFESSOR

I get jealous and angry.

DOMINICK

Unfortunately, that’s what it means to be human. What did you find yourself coveting? 

CONFESSOR

A perfect life. I knew a woman who seemed to have a perfect life. She was beautiful, bright and she sang with the tones of the waves. She would help anyone and she was loved for it. 

At first I wanted to be near her. Her very presence was comforting. Then I couldn’t be without her. I thought I might have loved her but that wasn’t it. I didn’t love her. I didn’t want to be with her. I wanted to be her. She had everything that I myself never had. I’ve always been on my own and she had swarms of admirers around her. Her face was fair where I’ve always been the sullen sort. Her body was healthier than mine. She had it all and she lived a blessed life. The more I thought about it the angrier it started to make me until eventually I couldn’t look upon her pretty features without wanting to hurt her. She didn’t notice any of this. She still wanted to make me her friend. 

Above all things she had a stepbrother who adored her. I guess that was the thing I coveted the most. 

DOMINICK

What did you do? 

CONFESSOR

I think you already know. 

DOMINICK

They found her body. Her heart was torn out. Her tongue was removed. She was burned her remains as a whore because they claimed she tried to run away from the commune. 

CONFESSOR

I know. I told her you had gone to the city. You had left the church behind. She went looking for you, her precious stepbrother. When we got there I plunged a knife into her chest. 

DOMINICK

Why!?

CONFESSOR

I already told you. I coveted everything she had. She was a light in this world and if I couldn’t have that or be that it might as well be extinguished. We’re only human. You said so yourself. 

(DOMINICK remains quite on his side.)

Can I ask you something? 

(DOMINICK sniffs but doesn’t reply.)

If I tell you I repent, can I still be redeemed?

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