by Kolin Wood
“Where’s the murderous bitch?” Jan said, in his thick South African accent, skipping civilities and jumping straight to the point.
Tanner frowned. Already he could tell that this was going to be trickier than he thought. Behind them, several of the other guards turned to watch the exchange.
“She is still being questioned,” Tanner said, opting for a version of the truth.
Jan cocked his head to the side as his squinting, wary eyes searched Tanner’s face for more answers.
“Questioning?” he asked, “Questioning about what? I saw the bitch get carried in there with my own eyes! As did Jay and Eddy; you ask them.” His chest rose and fell faster than normal, and Tanner knew that it was from adrenaline. The Fez and Barrett had been friends, and Tanner’s explanation was not washing with him. “She stabbed him in the fucking back… in cold blood! What is there to question her about?”
“Listen,” Tanner said, with a quick check behind himself, “I know you want justice for Barrett. But nobody saw what happened. And until I question her properly, nobody is getting near her; is that clear?” He pushed up on the soles of his feet, readying his stance in the event of a reaction. The movement was subconscious to him.
Jan the Fez licked his lips and smirked; clearly the power of one morning in his new position was going to his head. With a kiss of the teeth—something Tanner noticed that seemed to be customary among many of the City’s incumbents—he said, “Well, maybe we’ll just see what Mr. Braydon has to say about that, eh? I know what she done and I want justice, as do the rest of the boys behind me here.”
The straightening of backs and turning of heads showed Tanner that the rest of the bridge gang were—in spirit at least—behind their comrade. Their implication was clear: the girl or a mutiny.
“I’m gonna get that bitch. Do you understand me, Tanner? No matter what you say.”
Unimpressed by the small show of backbone from his new minion, and needing to assert authority before things got out of hand, Tanner stepped in close so that their noses were nearly touching. The Fez was well built but the two men were of a similar height.
“Braydon?” Tanner said. “You think I give a fuck what Braydon has to say about it?”
A small gulp from the Fez.
“Let me tell you something that you might need clarity about. I am in charge of this gate. Everybody, everything, that comes through here answers to me… including you, do you understand me? You go see Braydon. You go tell him what you told me, and while you’re at it, you tell him that if he doesn’t like the way that I’m doing things, that he can come and see me personally and we’ll sort it out.”
A small, half-smile crept over the Fez’s unshaven face. Behind him, the rest of the bridge gang had gone back to work, and the effect of being without his shoulder army was obvious. He dropped his eyes down to Tanner’s feet and ran them back up to his face while biting on his tongue.
“Now,” Tanner continued. “If you got anything else to say, I’m all ears.”
The Fez didn’t move.
Satisfied that the situation was contained, Tanner nodded.
“As you were,” he said, turning away.
Without looking back, Tanner strolled away from the bridge, his hood already pulled back over his head. His intention had been to go and see Braydon and then, if necessary, Farringdon, to try to work something out regarding the girl, Clara. But now, witnessing the anger from the guards on the gate, he thought better of it. He needed to think. If nothing else, he’d bought himself today to try and figure something out.
He cut through the boisterous crowd, keeping to the edge as normal to avoid confrontation. Part of the original deal with Braydon and Farringdon had included somewhere to train, and although he had thus far not used the space, with only one fight left to go, he wanted to ensure that there were no hiccups in his plan. Given the surprise of the last fight, he had to make sure that he was ready.
Saturday morning was less than a week from now and, assuming he survived the night, he would take what was owed to him, and get the fuck out of this place, never to return. As he turned up a side street and headed towards the arena gate, the girl once again crept into his mind. She had been doing that a lot this morning. Try as he might to convince himself that it was simply business, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something more; something that he had not felt for anybody in a long, long, time.
Ahead, the mesh gates stood tall above the crowd, and they opened with a painful squeak as he drew near. Tanner didn’t acknowledge the guard as he strode past the stairs to Teddy’s office and down the walkway normally dwarfed on all sides by stalls selling hooch and other paraphernalia.
Now, on a sunny, clear morning and uncluttered with the parasites of the fight frenzy, the space felt calm and strangely comforting. Much of the floor had been cleared of detritus, and while still muddy, had formed a thicker skin which allowed for easier traversing and a noticeable relief on the calves. To his left, the scaffolding of the Pit arena rose up. Tanner turned at the entrance, following a small, overgrown path running parallel to the outer fence. Normally guarded, the route was now clear and Tanner followed it at a leisurely pace, kicking rubbish out of the way as he went. Teddy even had a litter clean-up crew work the main areas on the day following fight night, but these lesser trodden routes were clearly never subject to such beneficial treatment.
Once he had skirted half of the circumference of the perimeter, Tanner stopped next to another gate, beyond which lay a flat, concrete area. A ring of single story buildings, sheds and storage units surrounded it. To one side of the ring, stood a drab, grey garage which was considerably larger than the rest. Its green, wooden, double doors were rotten and flaking from a lack of maintenance, leaving large gaps around the bottom. This particular unit acted as one of the holding rooms for before a fight. It was the same room that Krane had emerged from that very first time in the Pit, and the same one given to him before his last bout with Billy Baker. Although not much, it was a far cry from the space used by the under card, a small square room full of damp cardboard boxes and drugged dog food.
With a grunt, Tanner pulled open the heavy set of doors. An aroma he had always found strangely pleasant still clung onto the fabric of concrete room, permanently stained into the floors and gently tainting the air, a distant reminder to the days of tractors and petrol lawn mowers. Three or four heavy iron vices, stained black with years of oil and grease, had been attached to the old and worn wooden benching that ran the entire length of one wall. Some buckled and rusted blue lockers were bolted to the wall at the other end. Otherwise, the room was completely empty.
At the back of the room lay another doorway, one that he had never looked through before; supposedly the training room. To be fair to Teddy, inside was a pretty decent set up. One large window, still with the glass intact, allowed a decent amount of light in, keeping the space warm. Two heavy weight bags hung suspended from thick chains, each a decent distance from the walls. A rack of gym-quality, cast iron dumbbells were displayed on a stand to one side, and the concrete floor was laid with a patchwork of carpet. Body odour mixed with damp made the air feel stuffy and pungent, but still far sweeter than the smell of the city outside.
On the floor by one of the heavy bags lay a pair of black, worn, boxing gloves. Tanner slipped them on, ignoring the damp at the fingers. Sand filled, heavy and solid, and more than up to the task, Tanner entered his stance, and threw a jab at the bag, a powerful blow that rattled it on its chain.
Dipping his chin, Tanner set to work.
18
Juliana paced the room, rolling her shoulders, trying to shake the stiffness that had set in. The bed Tanner had let her use was a big double, complete with real mattress and blanket, and even though she had slept like a baby in a warm crib, the softness had left her with a dull ache between her shoulder blades. It was a far cry from the beds given to them at the prison and she had evidently grown used to the lack of support.
Tanner had left early, waking her with a modest breakfast and telling her to sit tight until he got back. He had told her that he was planning on going to see the boss of the New Capital, some pompous lord from the old days called Farringdon, to explain her plight and see if he could get her out of the mess that she was in. Something about his gait and the forward hang of his shoulders had told her that he did not hang on to much hope that he could find a resolution, and she had not been surprised.
In the kitchen, she found a bottle of brownish-coloured water in one of the cupboards and she opened it, sniffing first before gulping half of it down in one. The taste was dirty and the texture gritty, but it helped to quench her raging headache; a by-product from the half-bottle of evil that she had consumed the night before. After considering going back to bed—and deciding against it—she sat heavily in a chair at the table and rested her forehead on her arms.
Hopefully Tanner would not be too much longer. Even with all of her barriers up, she had found herself warming to him. There had been a moment towards the end of the evening where, caught in a haze of booze and candlelight, the tension had been such that it had sent butterflies flying around in her stomach. Now, in the after-throws of a wicked hangover, she figured that the feeling could just have easily have been down to sickness or hunger, and she cast the fondness aside. There was no time to pander to soft thoughts or feelings.
Only one thing really mattered; the General was not in the Capital.
The news had come as a huge blow to her. After all, her sole purpose in life was now revenge. She had been blinded with her hate; so sure that he would come here that she hadn’t even considered the possibility that he wouldn’t. And now, even if he did, something inside her told her that she might not get the chance to do anything about it anyway.
She was wanted for murder.
On top of it all, any rash hope that she had harboured about a reunion with her dad had faded to nothing, leaving her feel more than just a bit foolish. Edward Braydon… save her? The man had not thought about anybody but himself in his whole life, and he sure as shit wasn’t about to turn over a new leaf now. Besides, like everybody else that she had ever known, he was probably dead.
Once again, everything felt out of her control.
Suddenly, the door banged open and light flooded into the dark room. Juliana shielded her eyes.
Initial panic was quickly replaced by relief as she saw Tanner enter.
Seeing her sat at the table with her hair a mess and the pained look on her face caused him to smirk.
“Somebody not feeling too well, huh?” he said, setting down another two crushed, plastic bottles of brown water on the table.
Juliana did not reply, dropping her forehead back onto her forearms with an “ugh”.
Tanner laughed. “Keep drinking; it’ll pass.”
“I thought you were going to try to clear my good name,” she mumbled into the wood, “not go for a run in the park.”
Tanner sat heavily in his chair and Juliana looked up at him, watching as he reached for one of the bottles of water. He still wore the dark t-shirt with no sleeves that accentuated the engorged muscles on his arms. His hair was wet and darker than usual, and his skin looked flushed from exercise. He put the vessel to his lips and knocked it back, draining it.
“The boss was busy,” he lied, fixing her with a shifty look, “but I managed to buy you some time from the guards on the gate. We should be okay for the time being.”
His blue eyes pierced hers again and she felt her cheeks flush. She looked away.
Tanner swivelled his chair.
“But,” he continued, kicking off his boots and stretching his toes, “I did go and do some training; just to show myself how rusty I’ve become. Never know what that bastard is gonna throw at me come Friday.”
Juliana looked back and made a face that told him she was unsure of the meaning to his statement. Tanner once again looked shifty in his demeanour, as if he had just said something he shouldn’t have.
“Why?” she asked. “What happens on Friday?”
This time it was Tanner’s turn to look away.
“Nothing,” he said unconvincingly, “Just something I gotta do.”
Tanner stood and Juliana watched him as he moved, the calm and cool exterior suddenly gone, replaced by a man fidgety and on edge. His inner turmoil was apparent; something was up.
“No, there is something. What is it?” she pushed, unsatisfied with his answer. “I mean, come on! What bit of difference does it make what you tell me?”
Tanner looked up. For a few moments he said nothing, his face telling her that he was considering her statement.
Eventually he said “I leave on Saturday.”
Immediate panic stabbed at Juliana’s stomach and left her unable to reply as the words divulged themselves upon her.
“W… where are you going?” she asked, clearing her throat in an attempt not to sound quite so panicked.
Tanner rolled his shoulders, unable to make eye contact with her.
“North,” he said and then went to say something else and stopped himself.
“But I thought you said that there was nothing out there… that it’s all dead… All the same?” she asked.
More pacing.
After a few tense seconds he stopped. “There is a place,” he said eventually. “They call it The Refuge. It’s a trading post, a bit like this one but without all the law and order. It’s up near Manchester.”
“Law and order?” Juliana said in a mocking tone, her eyebrows raised in surprise at his comment.
Tanner shrugged. “You know what I mean. The Refuge… its run by the gangs, not the Lords and Ladies of Canterbury… It means that there might still be opportunities for a man like me.”
She looked at him, confused. “A man like you?” she asked.
Tanner’s look softened. It was clear that he had been of two minds as to whether to tell her about it or not, given her current state of circumstances.
“I’m not one of them,” he said. “This place… it’s not for me.”
Juliana’s eyes remained wide open as her look trailed away from him to the floor. She felt stunned, numb. Images of the General flashed into her mind; of Sarah, Doyle, the numbers, and the blood. The years spent sat in the cell, waiting, hating, coiled tight like a spring ready to explode. She thought about the crowds on the bridge, the uncaring men on the gate, the dirt and the people and the smell. Right then Juliana didn’t care about any of it, she had never felt so alone in all of her life. The words tumbled out of her before she had the chance to stop them.
“Take me with you?” she asked, surprised at the extent of the neediness of her own voice.
Her stomach dropped. She wanted at that very moment to crawl into the deepest darkest hole and never come out again.
Tanner looked at her. For a moment he said nothing.
***
Clara’s eyes suddenly widened and seemed to glass over at the implications of what he was telling her became apparent. After a minute, the clouds there parted and she looked up at him. “Take me with you?” she said, any tiny scraps of hope pinned on this one question.
Outside, the noise of the city suddenly intensified, filling the space between them. Time itself seemed to grind to a halt. Tanner’s brain whirred and spun. Demons a long time dead thrust hands up from under the surface and began rattling at the heavily locked doors in his brain. It had been so long, so long, since he’d felt any sort of connection with anyone or with anything. Guilt and a respect for the dead had left him alone, wandering the apocalyptic wastelands of Southern England, never committing to a cause other than his own and never stopping for long enough to become encumbered with the problems of others. How many had he let die, simply by turning away in their moment of need? How many more would he listen to scream as he walked away without looking behind? The faces were always there, in the night; the screams never ending, never granting him peace.
The woman loo
ked away as a tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped it with the back of her hand, sniffing loudly. After everything that she had been through, he knew that her only hope, however small, lay in him. Once he left, there would be absolutely no chance for her. Jan and the rest of the gate detail would hunt her down and gut her like a pig.
“Okay,” he finally replied. He stopped walking and sat back down in the chair. “But first, there’s something you have to know.”
19
“Well, well,” Teddy said, standing as the door to his office opened and Sal was dragged in and dropped onto the dirty carpet in the middle of the room. “You know how I am about getting shit on my carpet.”
The four mysteriously clothed guards did not laugh or acknowledge the comment. They simply stepped back and stood with their heads bowed.
“Oh, lighten up, you lot, for fuck’s sake!” he said, a small crystal tumbler of scotch in his hand, and a slight furring of his words as he spoke.
Still no response.
Sal, his hands bound behind his back in the customary fashion, looked up at Teddy as he approached, his eyes dark with malicious intent. Thin strands of normally-swept back, grey hair lay plastered against his face. His yellow teeth poked through his down-turned bottom lip and spittle flew as he spoke.
“What the fuck?!” he spat, not taking his eyes from Teddy’s. “You treat me like this? After all I’ve done for you?!”
The smile dropped from Teddy’s mouth. He was now stood right over the pathetic-looking man.
With a tut, he said, “Are you finished?” A bored tone embellished his voice.
Teddy paused to flick something imaginary from his shoulder before continuing.
“You really think… that it is YOU doing me the favour here, don’t you, Sal? You—a piss-stained, flea-ridden bag of pickled hobo bones.”
His voice was playful but undulating with menace, and Sal remained quiet.