Stone Rage

by J. D. Weston

  Luan stepped in front of Harvey. "Do you want to know what I think?"

  "Not really."

  "I think you're with an agency. SO10 maybe? SOCA?"

  Harvey didn't reply.

  "I have been in Britain long enough to know that even SO10 are not permitted to kill without approval. Yet you, my friend, well you created quite a body count in my yard, didn't you? I'll admit that they were not perhaps my best men, good men are hard to come by, but you made it all look so effortless."

  Luan paced around Harvey once more.

  "If you're holding out for rescue, then I am afraid I have bad news for you. Everything you owned, your clothes, your phone, your little devices, are all on a journey a long way from here. So you may be here some time."

  Luan stepped close to Harvey and looked deep into his eyes. Then Harvey felt Luan's hand on his genitals. "How about our science lesson? I'm done talking. Now it is your turn." Luan squeezed hard. Harvey bit down on his lip and breathed out hard through his nose.

  Luan released his grip. "Impressive. You're a real man's man, aren't you?"

  Harvey didn't reply.

  "I think I'll start with something smaller," said Luan. "I'll save the best for last." Luan licked his lips slowly. "An ear maybe? Or a toe? What do you think?"

  "I think you're writing a cheque you can't afford, pal."

  "Is that so?" Luan looked thoughtfully around the room then stepped into the shadows. Harvey heard the clatter of tools on a bench. Then Luan stepped back into the light holding an axe handle.

  "Did you miss me?" said Luan, and then swung the bat.

  "Fast as you can, Jackson. I don't want to miss the party," said Melody. Jackson opened up the throttle on the VW van.

  "Reg, talk to me. How's he looking?"

  "Well, he's on the move."

  "He's moving? Where?"

  "In transit, now. His phone, tracker and earpiece are all moving east."

  "What's he doing? Can we get him on the comms?"

  "Without the antenna on the van, the earpiece relies on GPS or satellite. Looking at the keep-alive report, he went dark ten minutes ago, and is now heading east at fifty miles an hour."

  "Be my eyes, Reg," said Jackson. "Where am I going?"

  Melody was taken back by the phrase ‘be my eyes.’ Denver used to say that in times just like the one they found themselves in.

  "Head to the North Circular Road. You can cut in or out of town from there. I'll keep you posted."

  "We're screwed if we lose him, Jackson."

  "Then we better not lose him." Jackson looked across at Melody. She was a tough girl, but she clearly had feelings for Harvey. They'd shared so many adventures already that somehow she loved him. Jackson was good at reading people. He was intuitive to people's feelings.

  "Reg, it's Jackson."

  "Go ahead."

  "Put me through to a Chief Superintendent Fox with the Hackney Police."

  "What are you doing?" asked Melody. "This is covert. We can't call it in. Do you know what we did back there?"

  "Trust me, Melody. Fox owes me."

  "I'm working on it. It's out of hours, so I'll need to find his mobile, and they like to hide those. Fortunately, I like to find them, and...here it is. Sit tight caller."

  The comms was routed to the phone call and the van's loudspeaker.

  "Fox." The voice answered abruptly.

  "CS Fox, it's Jackson."

  There was a long silence. "I wondered when you'd call it in."

  "I wouldn't if I had a choice, sir."

  "I hear you're on the dark side now?"

  "Dark in terms of viability, but always on the side of the law."

  "Okay, what is it? And why?"

  "A bird, sir. I'm afraid I can't tell you any more than that."

  "I can't just release a chopper without good reason, Jackson. You know that."

  "I thought we had a deal, sir."

  "We did have a deal."

  "And you owe me."

  "I do owe you, but I was expecting maybe you'd use that to release a friend who was caught drink driving or something."

  "I'd never ask you to do that, sir. You know my view on DD."

  "But you can second a police helicopter without good reason? Where are you taking it?"

  "Sir, do you trust me?"

  "I used to."

  "It's covert, sir. If I could tell you, I would, I'd even call you in to help. There's enough glory in this one to hang a few medals off your tunic."

  Fox gave a heavy sigh. "I suppose you want me to clear the bird with ATC too?"

  "It'd save a lot of embarrassing questions, sir."

  "Give me five minutes. Call me back."

  "Dom, tell me where we're at."

  "Bobby, they're cleaned out. Our men are inside now. We've hit every bookie they protect, and we've got men outside all the pubs."

  "Any resistance from the owners?"

  "One or two. Most turned around easy, happy to be looked after by natives, as it were."

  "Good, good. I want twenty good men in the area, I want to be seen, and I want the locals to know that Bobby Carnell now runs the manor, and they no longer need to fear the Albanians."

  "You reckon John Cartwright will strike?"

  "No, Dom, I don't. Right now John Cartwright is probably sitting feeding his greedy face, more concerned with what Gerry and his goon are doing. Leave Doug here with me. He can run things while you're expanding the business. Once the Albanians are out of the way, Dom, I'll sort you out, mate. You've done well."

  "Cheers, Bobby."

  "Remember, any sign of an Albanian in the area, and you take them out. From what Sid said, Gerry and Adeo created an absolute bloodbath, said it was like a scene from a film. Pretty soon, they won't have the men to do anything about it, and they'll have to go elsewhere. Home hopefully. Make some friends, Dom, buy some drinks, work out what local boys we have there, get them on board. You know how it works. Don't say too much, but work out where the extra hands are if we need them."

  "Will do, Bobby. But listen, mate, I've been thinking. This John Cartwright, he's old school, right?"

  "Yeah. So?"

  "So how many times has someone like Cartwright walked brazenly into another firm's boozer, stared the main man in the eye and pretty much forced him to do something, like take on another firm."

  Bobby was silent.

  "You see what I mean, Bobby? I reckon once the Albanians are gone, he'll come after us."

  "Behave. He's not looking for a war between us. He keeps to his turf we keep to ours. Respect, Dom, that's what it's all about."

  "Yeah, but we're not keeping to our own, are we? Here I am on the border of North London, making sure the Albanians don't come back. It's going to piss him off, Bobby."

  "So, we take John Cartwright out. I am not backing down, Dom. Don't get weak."

  "I'm not getting weak. You know me, Bobby. I'm just sitting here piecing it all together."

  "Right, well while you're sitting there, piece together a plan so we can off Cartwright. I'll get some boys in East Ham to have a look at where he's dug in."

  "What about Gerry, Bobby? I don't trust him."

  "Gerry who, Dom?"

  14

  Dawn of Death

  Harvey fought for breath. Luan had just finished another round of wild swings on his back, and his lungs had taken a beating. He could taste blood. His legs had given way from the repeated strikes to his balls, which were now swollen and angry red. He hung from the chains and revelled in the break.

  "Pretty soon I will move to something a little sharper," said Luan. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to tell me your name?"

  My name, thought Harvey. What the hell is my name? Am I Gerry now? Harvey Stone wouldn't be here. He was smarter than that.

  "I'm talking to you," said Luan.

  Gerry may have gotten me into this mess, but it'll be Harvey who gets me out.

  "Bardh," called Luan.

  The door open
ed after a few seconds. A man with a shaved head and tattoos on his face opened the door.

  "Boss?" said Bardh in a deep grumble. He wasn't a particularly big man, not compared to Adeo or Julios, but he looked fit and strong. His skin hugged his unshaved face, and his dark features were prominent in the dim light.

  "Bring me the goon, Bardh."

  The door closed.

  "You're going to enjoy this," said Luan.

  "Am I? I can't say I'm thrilled right now."

  "Well, I'm going to enjoy it anyway."

  The door opened again, and four men brought Adeo inside. Two held Kalashnikov assault rifles, while the other two manhandled him into the room. Someone brought steps in and fixed chains to the eye bolt in the ceiling beside Harvey.

  "Now leave me," said Luan. "Go find some food. I can watch them. Bring me something."

  The door closed, and Luan sat on the single wooden chair in front of Harvey and Adeo. He reached into the inside pocket of his long coat and pulled out a fillet knife. He held the weapon easily, as if he was accustomed to handling that particular knife. Luan flexed it and studied the edge for nicks and small chips on the finest part of a blade, but there were none.

  "When I was a boy, my father taught me to fish," said Luan. The statement wasn't particularly aimed at either one of the two men that hung from the ceiling like carcasses of game. It was an opening line for his story, and he spoke like John Cartwright had spoken of Harvey's parents. Like it was rehearsed. A speech. Verbatim.

  "We had a small house in a small village with a river that carved its way through the fields like snake. My mother was always at home, always something to do, cleaning and cooking or sewing. She made our clothes, you know. We had chickens for eggs, and we grew vegetables, potatoes and such. Money was tight and food was expensive. The horror of the war still hung in the air, and people clung to memories of lost children, parents, family. It was a dark time in a bitter cold winter. Nobody looked to the future, the present was hard to ignore. But my father was a strong man. He taught me to hunt and to fish, so often we would sit in a small rowboat on one of the many lakes, and we would sit and talk and catch fish. We never caught too many, only enough to feed us and occasionally we would catch one for our neighbour. To trade. My father never spoke of the war. I always imagined it was because the horrors were too much for a child to learn of. But since, I have learned that it was he who performed the horrors, and so I surmised that he had been ashamed of his acts. I wonder if he could see me now, if he could see how I understand. Maybe he would have told me those things he did. Maybe he would have taught me. Father and son, sharing a kill. There's something poetic about that, isn't there?"

  He looked at Harvey who had been studying his face as he told the story.

  "I told you, poetry runs through our very existence. I'm sorry, Adeo, I was referring to a conversation that we had before you arrived. How rude of me."

  Luan dropped his head again and continued with his story. "My father did teach me how to use a knife. This very knife in fact. It was his own, and then he passed it to me. A man bonds with his knife, doesn't he? There's something special about a well-crafted knife that surpasses any connection a man may have with a gun or a rifle. My father showed me how to gut a fish. Then he showed me how to clean it by opening it up. When I was expert at both, he showed me how to use my knife to cut the fillet from the bone. At first, I found bones in my food, sharp reminders that my lessons were not over. But after some time, I was practised and moved on to chickens, and then bigger and tougher animals."

  Luan looked up at Harvey who stared back.

  "Am I boring you?"

  Harvey didn't reply.

  "There was a family in our village, rough people, and dirty. They stole from the villagers, and the father went to prison. Soon the family became so poor the mother could barely feed her children. I found her eldest son in our house one day. My mother was feeding the chickens and my father was out somewhere working the fields with other villagers. The boy was older than me by a year, maybe two. I stepped into the kitchen, and he turned to face me, unafraid but ashamed. His pockets were full of the fruit my mother had picked, and the bread she had baked. The boy turned to walk away, and I let him. I watched him leave, and he looked back at me as he closed the door of our house. I followed that boy through the windows as he walked around the side, and then to the front, where he disappeared into the narrow lane that led to their house. I checked my mother was not around then I slipped out of the house after him. His shame had been forgotten in our kitchen. He walked along eating our fruit, skipping puddles of rain. He looked like boy who hadn't care in the world. No father had ever taught that boy to fish, and gather food for his family. No father had ever showed that boy that life can be bearable with a little hard work, that obstacles are there to face on your own, and that stealing from another is not the answer."

  Luan paused and looked back up. "That was my first time. My first kill." Luan held the blade lovingly. "I took all those lessons my father taught me and went to work. I fought the boy and knocked him down with a rock. I dragged the boy into the thick bushes that lined the sparse fields. I cut him open like a carp, and I removed his insides. I filleted the boy, and I ate his liver."

  There was a long silence before Harvey spoke.

  "How did it taste?" He felt Adeo's eyes on him and caught the cold snarly smile of Luan Duri. Just the corners of his mouth upturned.

  "Delicious," said Luan. "Like the first meat I ever really tasted."

  "And you ate more?"

  "They were desperate times. Food could not be wasted."

  "And they were hard times too, wasn't they? A killer could not be caught or he would surely pay the ultimate price."

  "You listen well," said Luan. "Can I ask, have you tried it? Human flesh?"

  Harvey didn't reply.

  "You were doing so well. But you may be pleased to know that my little anecdote is now over. It is now your turn to entertain me with your own stories. I am sure that you both have many, so I will do a deal with you." Luan rose and dragged the chair into the corner of the room. Then he walked behind the two naked men. "Each of you will tell me one story, something horrific. I will judge. I will decide who dies first. But this I will not tell you. I will not tell you what I am looking for. Am I looking for gruesome? Or am I looking to see who has the strongest morality? I may be looking for a story to tell my grandchildren or I may be looking to see who deserves to die first. But I will tell you this, the winner will die fast and relatively painlessly. The other, well, not so fast and not so painlessly. Is that understood?"

  Adeo nodded. Harvey just stared at the floor.

  "Begin."

  Harvey lifted his head and sensed Luan close behind him, urging him to talk.

  "I had a sister once," began Harvey, "when we were young. She died." Harvey closed his eyes and dragged the memories he'd fought so hard to bury back to the front of his mind. “Some bad men took her and raped her. She was just a child, barely fifteen. I was twelve at the time, and I'll never forget the night it happened. I heard her screams, and I heard their breath destroying her with each stroke. I sat in the shadows and listened, helpless. She killed herself a few days later. She stole a knife from the kitchen and took it to her room, where she stabbed herself in all the places they had touched. Squeezed. Penetrated."

  "This is good," said Luan. "Do go on."

  "I found the first man six months later, and with the help of a friend, I took him down. I made him suffer. Eventually, I killed him. I felt a small amount of peace for Hannah. But I hadn't finished. It took me twenty years, but I found the next man. He'd been close all along. I'd seen him every day, and every day as I grew stronger, and the twelve-year-old boy grew into a man, he feared that the day would come when I found out his dirty secret and would bring more peace to Hannah."

  Harvey took a moment to push the memory of Jack aside, and bring forward the memory of Sergio. "Sergio was a coward. A numbers man with long
bony fingers that were in every little nook and crack. He knew everything and controlled everything with his knowledge. I boiled Sergio alive in an antique copper bathtub. I watched his eyes turn pale white, blinded as the liquids inside them boiled. I watched as, one by one, his organs failed. Cooked. Ready to eat."

  "Like a boil in the bag?" Luan smiled.

  "Like a boil in the bag, Luan. As he died, he gave me the name the last man who had been there, the last man who'd raped my sister. Again, I hunted and found him. I took him to the very same place where I had boiled his friend alive. He was a villain, a cold-hearted villain with little sense of morality. We never saw eye to eye. He ran a sex trafficking ring, bringing on girls from Albania, Lithuania and other places. He sold them for sex and charged his punters for the pleasure of killing."

  "And this man's name?"

  "Donny."

  "Donny?" said Luan.

  "Donny Cartwright."

  Luan stepped in front of Harvey with his head cocked in interest and Adeo's eyes bored into Harvey.

  "I saved the girls and took Donny to the basement where Sergio had boiled."

  "Go on." Luan was getting excited.

  "I left him there with the girls he had sold. He was torn to shreds by ten angry women who had narrowly escaped death. They emerged from the dark stairs with his blood on their hands and faces. Donny Cartwright had been mutilated beyond recognition."

  "There is honour in your story."

  Harvey didn't reply.

  "You're a cold man, but you have a warm heart." Luan nodded. "You should hope now that Adeo here is not such a storyteller."

  He turned to Adeo who hung his head, then raised it and turned to face Harvey like Luan wasn't there.

  "I worked once for a man. It was mostly collecting money and breaking bones. But sometimes my partner and I were asked to take care of people, men who got in the way, or who over-stepped the mark. We would make them disappear, quietly and quickly, with little mess."

  Harvey held Adeo's gaze as he told the story. Adeo wasn't struggling to remember the details, they were fresh in his mind like they'd hung there waiting to be told.