‘I’d be a good dad,’ Tommy said.
‘How do you reckon?’
‘No, fair do’s, I’d be a good dad. Like I’d play footy and read and listen when me kids are talking to me.’
‘I’ve never seen you read and you walk like you been riding horses all your life, so I’m guessing you’re shit at football, for sure.’
‘Well, I’d stay, you know? I wouldn’t run out.’
‘Well, as I said, men are shits, for sure.’
Tommy joined her at the fence. He pulled his coat tight and offered both arms a rub against the cold. Loubie stood with him at the fence.
‘What are them huts for?’ Loubie asked.
‘Pigs.’
‘Do they get a house each?’
‘I don’t know. Probably. I mean, I don’t think Mr. and Mrs. Pig set up house and look to extend when the first piglets come along. I don’t know a lot about pigs, except they’ll eat anything. I read once that bad people keep pigs because they’ll eat human flesh, you know. Bones and clothes and all. The only thing they won’t eat is the teeth. If you’re looking to dispose of a body, pigs are good, but you got to dispose of the teeth separate, you know.’
‘Mr. and Mrs. Pig. Are you mad? Pigs are gross. Well, not piglets, but they get sooo fat.’
Loubie leant against Tommy. ‘Are we going across there? I mean, knowing what you just said, are we going to cross that field?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Really? Won’t the pigs eat us?’
Tommy climbed over the fence and held out his hand. ‘I don’t think so.’
***
Ben headed for the music. A low, dry stone wall scratched at his knee, as he eased his body to the field cluttered with caravans. The cloud cover sat low and darkness ruled. Ahead he could see squares of light, but the soggy field offered nothing but black.
A dog barked and Ben stopped in his stride. Motors sounded, and headlights broke up the dark. Shit. Jeep after jeep parked at the front of the site. Car doors opened and flashed light onto the open forecourt.
A chain rattled as a dark shape moved toward him. Men’s voices shouted and van doors banged shut as women ran to the front of the park. Ben jumped the chain, dodged the growling dog, and ran across the dirt road to the caravan opposite the party. Another hound bitched about his presence and rattled its chain in frustration. He moved to the back of the van and found another road, puddles and mud, marking its path. Bikes and abandoned toys littered the ground. To his right, tethered, a horse stood watching his progress. An eruption of clucking caused him to jump and a fox appeared with a chook in its mouth.
As Ben ran for the next van he collided with a child and fell face first into the dirt. The child offered a squeal as he bounced against a van. Rubbing at his hip he found the child and righted him. All around the campsite dogs had erupted and voices shouted as torches searched the grounds. The child ran from Ben, crouching behind a van as footsteps approached. Ben joined the lad, watching the light beams raking the paths between the vans. Voices called out to the dogs and a shot shattered the night. Ben watched the beam settle on Tommy and Loubie. They had frozen as the owner of the torch and his companion with the gun approached. Another large dark figure took the rear with a dog pulling hard on a short chain.
‘Told you she wouldn’t be alone,’ a voice said. ‘Francis said it was going to be a boy. Smart arse boy who needs a slap, he said.’
The torch pointed at Tommy’s face. ‘That’s a boy.’
Tommy grabbed Loubie’s hand and retreated at pace. Ben wanted to help, but he was outnumbered. He crept to the next caravan hustling the child before him and keeping the torch in sight as they headed back toward the pig field.
‘Release the dogs and get my rifle,’ the voice said.
Ben stopped, not sure he’d heard the words. The child gripped his hand and pulled. Ben leant an ear to his mouth.
‘We need to run. They don’t feed the dogs. They kick the dogs. The dogs are always angry.’
Ben still hesitated, as Tommy had tripped and brought Loubie with him. She pulled at his arm, but the dog had them, his jaws snapping at their faces. Ben ran, silently picking his way between the vans. The child had no problem matching his pace. Together they leapt over the dry wall and picked their way through the field. The hounds’ barking had increased. From the field, Ben could hear the shouts, the chains rattling and guns shot up the night.
Ben sprinted with the child across the mucky fields, held the fence, and threw the child into the back of the car.
‘Safe.’
Chapter Fourteen
Winston to the Rescue
Winston stood in the doorway dressed in a tight black top with a subtle turtleneck. The sleeves, rolled to his elbow, revealed red and black ink swirls winding round his forearms. A gun sat snug in his shoulder holster. His head shone in the dim light from the desk lamp.
‘News from Lowlands isn’t good,’ he said. ‘The van found full of dead children was part of John Smith’s cargo.’
‘I should care?’ Max asked from his seat behind the desk.
‘I think so.’
‘You worry too much. You always have. John Smith is no threat and never has been. Our paths don’t cross and should never cross.’
‘He has Lucas.’
‘No, Claudia has Lucas. She’s choosing to use my brother-in-law to hide Lucas from me. Let’s understand the basics, Winston. Our concern is Lucas and John Smith has no control over that boy’s life.’
Max dropped the fountain pen, the splash of deep blue ink blurring on the white blotter. He pushed backward and allowed his head to rest on the padded neck rest. ‘I’m assuming you’re not here to tell me Lucas was in that van?’
Winston gripped the back of the chair facing Max. ‘My source tells me it was Slotvaks, or similar, bound for the mines to counter the strike in Henwell.’
‘He’s still operating in that penny a dozen market?’ Max said. ‘He was never clever, was John Smith. His sister had all the brains.’
Winston nodded to the last statement. ‘It would appear so. The Smiths have a bounty on his head and the law, blue and green, is swarming the area.’
Max exhaled with a low rasping sound rattling the length of his bronchioles. The usual beads of perspiration dotted his pale face and black whiskers colored his chin. The oxygen mask sat on the back of his chair. ‘What’s that got to do with us?’
‘The Lowlands is quarantined. No way in and no way out. All ID is being scrutinized and Street Boy is a person of interest.’ Winston’s low, calm voice contrasted with Max’s high pitched nasal tones. ‘Street Boy has his mug plastered on posters and he’s riding in a stolen motor. I see little hope of him coming back with the child.’
Max leant forward in his chair, thin fingers gripping the armrests as he adjusted his seating. Winston stood stock still, his large, dark hands clasped in front, and waited with patience. Max had a tedious routine when problems landed on his desk and Winston knew to be patient. Max needed to be comfortable, so he could fret a little, before the mulling began. A solution arrived, but Max had to get there in his own time. Winston amused himself as he waited, flexing his biceps and making the red and black snakes on his arms wriggle.
Max closed his eyes and relaxed against the high back of the leather chair.
Winston settled his feet and straightened his back. He fixed his gaze on the painting of Saturn devouring his son hanging behind Max’s head. He’d never understood the macabre piece of art. The eyes seemed so rabid and the gory act didn’t seem appropriate for any wall.
Claudia had sat in the same chair the night she’d run from the house. Winston remembered her glum face when she heard of her father’s desire to see her child in a school cap and shorts with the Ostere emblem. Ostere Boys studied six days a week, ten hours a day. They played posh sports and learnt to be leaders of men without the graft. Max had told Winston he wanted the best for the child.
Claudia sat and shook
her head. ‘Like I don’t give a shit,’ she said. ‘Like I want the worst for Lucas. My child isn’t going to that school of Toffs. Mother had him enrolled in the local school. His best friend is going to the local school. I don’t want my Lucas being subjected to Ostere Boys’ appalling social structure. I don’t want him to have to go through the rights of passage at the hands of boys who will not accept him. I don’t want them to accept him. I don’t want my boy to be a Toff. It’s not going to happen.’
Winston smiled, but Claudia wasn’t smiling. ‘I went to Ostere Boys,’ he said. ‘I’ve turned out okay.
‘Really?’
Winston had felt the loss in the house before he rose the next morning. Claudia had packed and fled and Max’s health went into a steep decline. He suffered a minor stroke and, within the month, his heart had groaned twice and left him chair bound and sucking on a bottle for his oxygen.
Claudia ran with the lad she’d met when Max employed a laborer to pave his back patio. Max never queried the boy’s credentials. He invited the boy into his house and offered him fulltime work. Mostly odd jobs and the like until the boy up and left with Claudia. Had Max known the boy was a Lowlander, he might have been more circumspect with his hospitality. Had he known he was a Smith, he’d have run for the shotgun and peppered him with shot.
Winston turned his attention from the macabre painting to Max’s musings. The eyes remained closed, but the fingers tapped at the padded green of the leather armrest. Max drew closer to a decision. Winston couldn’t understand why Max hired simpletons to look for Claudia. Three separate individuals had failed with the task. Winston believed offering half the cash up front was a disincentive. They lost the hunger once they had the cash in their pocket. The last idiot had filled his veins with the cash before he reached the Lowlands. He’d only found the girl because Claudia tried to run with the child after she’d battered the father. She made so much noise about her child’s abduction the idiot couldn’t help but hear, but he didn’t have the balls, the heart or the brain to complete the job. The Gypsies battered him senseless.
The copper had convinced Max that Street Boy could bring his daughter home. But Street Boy was another waste of space filling his pockets with Max’s money. Two days had passed and not a word about the child or the girl. Winston didn’t trust the copper. Coppers shouldn’t be taking handouts. Finding a missing child should be a service they offered with pride. The whole country should’ve been on the alert. Papers, radio and the internet utilized, but Max didn’t want a fuss. He employed PSO Webster because she was discreet.
Finally, Max looked up, his eyes staring at Winston. They didn’t blink. ‘We need Lucas home now.’
‘Right, but as I said, I don’t think Street Boy will succeed. He doesn’t have the breeding, or any desire nor brain power to bring the child back home.’
‘He’s light.’ Max continued to stare at Winston, the watery eyes unmoving. ‘He’s going to need to make up the cargo.’
‘Who’s light? Are you talking about John Smith? He’s not our problem. You said that. So he’s light. He’ll just take more. Old London Town churns them out, beaten, bled and sucked dry, ready for John Smith to sell. So, sure he’s light, but not for long.’
‘But he might use Lucas. That boy would make up for a shipload of cargo.’
‘He wouldn’t dare.’ Winston said. ‘He doesn’t need to be winding you up like that. Jesus, Lucas is a Gypsy boy.’
‘Have we heard from Street Boy? I gave him two days, and day one is well over, so his time is running out if he wants paying.’
‘No word, yet, but that’s not unusual. He’s gone to ground, is my guess. Plus you gave him half the cash and the boy likes a drink. The girl, the copper, hasn’t heard anything either. She said they’ve gone off radar, but that’s because he’s Street Boy and he don’t do phones. She said that’s Jackie John’s teaching. None of them carry phones. They got old analogue radios. I’ve even heard they use pigeons for long haul messages.
‘Listen, Street Boy’s got to lie low with all the law sniffing about in the area. They’ll comb the countryside clean until they find the driver of that van. The Man has pledged to the world that child slavery will be outlawed in Albion Minor. He don’t care, everyone understands he don’t care, but he’s promised the world and powerful men, leaders of countries want him to show good on the promise. So he needs vans of dead children dealt with. He needs the driver found.
‘So I’m not confident Street Boy has the brawn or brain to get out of the Lowlands with Claudia and the child. His mug was on the news last night with the public warned to keep away from him because he’s dangerous.’
‘Street Boy’s dangerous?’
‘Of course he isn’t. The boy’s a vagrant. Take away his bottle and he might cry, but dangerous is a media stroke copper thing. It shows us the law cares. And the Man still wants him for the lynching of the Mayor and the two coppers found in the dumpster last Christmas.’
‘You need to get up there.’ Max pointed a crooked finger at Winston. ‘Because I think the Gypsies are taking the piss. John Smith has been waiting an age to take me on and Lucas is his chance. My Lucas isn’t growing up in a caravan. No way will I see that happen. He will not be seen racing a clapped out donkey and chocking the wheels to his mobile home when it’s parked on a crappy B-road layby. So you need to go and make things happen.’
Winston sat down in the chair opposite the desk. Lucas’s absence from the house had been eating at Max for years. Winston understood he wanted to share Claudia’s child, but everyday his obsession grew worse.
‘Why now? I could’ve had this sorted two years back. Me and Claudia are close. She mightn’t be happy with you, but she’d have come back if I’d asked. Even if she’d said no, I’d have brought her back. So why are you sending me up there now?’
Max leant forward, the neck stretching taut. He looked at his skeletal fingers, a capillary or something similar throbbing in the back of his hand. ‘You and your sister were close. Too close, really.’
‘We’re not blood.’
‘No, I accept that, but I felt it wrong asking you to bring her back. It wasn’t a job I thought you could do.’
The milky eyes turned to Winston. ‘I’m not a fit man. My lungs are knackered and my heart don’t pump so well. That quack you hired to sort out my health reckons my life is a done deal. No amount of pharmaceuticals is going to keep my ticker beating. All he offered me was pain relief. I’m not leaving before I see that child back here and his future sorted. He will not grow up a Gypsy. You have to make this happen.’
‘I’ll bring her and the child back here. That’s a promise. As the doting uncle I also have a vested interest in seeing the child again. What do I do about Street Boy?’
‘If he gets in the way move him, but smart. Street Boy was a mistake.’
Winston lifted his jacket from the chair. He patted himself down and smiled at Max. ‘This time tomorrow, we’ll be a family again. Trust me on this.’
Max watched him leave the room. He knew he could trust Winston. Claudia and little Lucas would be back in the house by morning. It made him smile, but he couldn’t breathe. He tried to inhale, but lacked the energy to make it happen. He grasped at the mask, fumbling with the plastic. Beads of perspiration edged down both cheeks. With a strangulated gasp his lungs kicked in and sucked air into his bronchioles as a pool of drool leaked from the side of his mouth and slithered through the dark whiskers.
He pushed a button on the phone. ‘Yes.’ The voice asked.
‘Get in here, I can’t reach the oxygen.’
‘We’re about to start filming.’
‘It can wait.’
Footsteps sounded below while Max concentrated on breathing. A small man wearing a baseball cap, jeans, and a sleeveless jacket rushed into the room and stopped in alarm at the drained body sat in the chair. Perspiration dripped from his chin. He ran for the cylinder and turned the knob until the hiss of oxygen sounded.
&n
bsp; ‘Should I wait?’
Max shook his head and motioned with a feeble hand for the man to leave. With the door closing Max sighed, tapped the table, and tried to sit up. His breath quickened and he felt a pain in his chest. He looked to the heavens and shook his head. ‘I’m not ready.’
Chapter Fifteen
Ben, Lucas at the Hangman
The sound of motors echoed and lights flashed on the low dark clouds. The child sat in the back looking out the open door and Ben knelt on the front seat with his back to the windscreen. The soft internal light shone on the child’s pale face and large dark eyes.
‘What’s your name kid?’ The child’s small hands clenched the seat. ‘You going to talk to me, please?’ he said. ‘You need to talk. We need to talk. You were happy to get into the car, so I’m guessing you don’t want to go back to the Gypsy site. And those lights, those engines, are the Gypsies looking for you. I could be wrong, but this is a shit piece of road, so it can’t be getting much traffic, eh?’
He reached forward and pulled at the boy’s sleeve. ‘So what do you want to do?’
‘They hit my mum.’ His voice had little strength and came out as a whisper.
The cars rounded the second to last bend before the straight stretch of road the jeep occupied. Lights raked the thick hedgerows. A thin copse of trees hid the jeep, but once the hunt turned out of the last bend their options narrowed to trapped, chased, caught and punished. Ben stepped out of the car and knelt at the boy’s level by the passenger door.
‘Let’s talk about what we’re going to do about them hitting your mum, but we need to be talking away from this car, eh? If they catch us here, you and me are in trouble? There’ll be a load more hitting if we get caught.’
‘My mum told me to run. She said she’d follow me. We have to wait for her.’
‘Yeah, cool, but not here.’
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