Heroes Don't Travel

by Roo I MacLeod

  Ben worked hard to keep the panic from his voice. He’d been warned at the Diggers pub not to darken a Gypsies life ever again and he wanted to heed that warning. But he was about to be caught sitting in the dark with their boy. He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders and patted the child on the knee.

  ‘She didn’t say to wait with the car, eh? Let’s get off this road and get away from this car, because your mum don’t want you getting caught. She told you to run, eh?’

  The boy took his hand and Ben ran with him through the bush. They crossed the road into the gutter beyond the tree line and hid. The convoy of Jeeps turned into the road and lights lit up the jeep hidden in the trees. Ben placed his hand over the boy’s mouth and kept hold of his hand. A door opened and a torch light shone into the jeep. Dogs ran riot in the back of the truck. Chains rattled as yelps and growls tried to alert the men to the proximity of their quarry. With little fanfare the convoy of trucks pulled out of the layby. Ben had expected them to U-turn, but they continued forward, the engines roaring through the gears. They turned right and climbed a steep black hill.

  ‘What’s up there?’

  ‘Uncle John lives up there.’

  Ben ran along the road with the child clinging to his hand. ‘You got any idea where we are?’ he called. ‘I mean where does this road go?’

  The boy struggled with the pace and ignored his question. After a lengthy period, a good distance covered, Ben stopped. He let go of the child’s hand and sat back on his haunches. His lungs creaked as he inhaled, his abdomen had developed a severe pain, and his legs felt like rubber. Above their heads the clouds broke apart and a scattering of stars brightened the night. A fire danced on the dark hillside. The frozen wind rattled the night. Creatures scuttled beyond sight and on the hillside the occasional bleat of sheep sounded.

  He eased upright, and continued at a slow walk, many times stumbling into the grass verge and overhanging branches. ‘It must lead somewhere,’ Ben muttered. He’d lost faith in their direction of travel. He knew the road behind them led back to Henwell, but their direction offered no promises. They’d passed the driveway to the Smiths’ house, a loan letter box and a long high gate guarding the property. White sagging caravans lined the steep driveway and a large white house with lights blazing peered over the edge of the hill. ‘I mean they wouldn’t build a road just for the Smiths to use, would they?’

  He quickened the pace, the Smith’s house long gone. The child knocked against his legs and skipped beside Ben’s long strides. ‘You don’t say a lot.’

  ‘I don’t like the dark.’

  Ben smiled at the remark. ‘I’m with you there.’

  ‘They locked me up in the dark, they did. It was in a cupboard with some smelly boots. Something kept dripping on me and it was cold. The floor was real hard and sharp bits kept poking at me. I could hear this scratching noise and I moved, but there was this real big furry thing in the way. And it stunk. It was just like our old hall cupboard at Granddad’s. But he didn’t have smelly boots in it. He had guns and wooly coats, he did.’

  Ben ruffled his hair and left his hand on the lads shoulder. He found comfort in the child’s talk.

  ‘Are we going to get my mum?’

  ‘That’s the plan.’

  ‘Why didn’t we take the jeep? It’s silly to walk.’

  ‘The car didn’t have any keys. Your mother took them with her when she went to get you. I’ve done a lot of clever things in my life, but never learnt how to steal a car, eh? It’s the silly things that trip you up. Probably just as well as I can’t drive for shit.’

  ‘You swear a lot.’

  ‘Oh fuck, sorry ’bout that.’

  ‘My name is Lucas.’

  Ben touched the child, found his hand and shook it. ‘I’m Ben.’

  The road bent, the line of trees forcing them to follow its path.

  ‘My mum swears loads, she does. She pretends she don’t but, and tries to make up words so I don’t hear the bad word. She likes bugger, but her favorite is can’t. Boy, she likes that word.’

  ‘That’s not a swear word.’

  ‘That’s what she says, but I know it is.’

  A dark building loomed ahead. A tall swing sign creaked, the roasting pig looking weather beaten and warped. ‘The pig pub,’ Ben said. ‘Cool. I know where we are.’ Ben’s phone bleated, the shrill ring way too loud in the quiet. He sat with the child on the steps to the derelict pub and pulled his phone from his coat.

  ‘Ben,’ Wynona said. ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m doing okay.’

  ‘You on your way back?’

  ‘Not quite ready to come back. Me and Claudia’s boy have got a few loose ends to tie up. But the mission is progressing to plan.’ It was too dark to gage the child’s reaction, but he offered him a smile and a wink anyway.

  ‘Good, I don’t think Ostere is for you just yet.’

  ‘Not proved my innocence? I thought you’d have the Man singing my praises and imploring the King to honor me. I’m still expecting a ticker tape parade when I return. I want the papers reporting my heroism and photographers, lots of pictures, eh?’

  ‘I’m good, but I can’t promise lots of pictures. But I haven’t been idle in your absence, so don’t panic. Listen, the reason I called is Barney knows where you are and why you’re there. I don’t think he’ll leave the borough, but he isn’t giving up just because you’ve left town. Just be careful. He’s ex-military and he knows people who will do his bidding. He had soldiers staking out the pub last night. I use the term soldier loosely.’

  ‘So you’ve rung me to say be careful. Gee, thanks for the heads up, Wolf Girl.’

  ‘No, I was afraid you were on your way back. It isn’t safe here. They’ve trashed the Old Poet, not that you’d notice. And Tilly called me yesterday telling me Barney has been hassling her.’

  ‘What’ve I done to this prick? Why the hard-on for my sorry arse, eh?’

  ‘Power, money, I don’t know. The Man wants a body and Barney is desperate to oblige. I imagine there’s a prize for presenting your head to the Man, so long as it’s on a silver platter. It’s why he’s in Ostere and he’s enjoying his work. There is a hate to his being that is beyond measure.’

  A sound in the pub made Ben and the boy jump from the step and back onto the road. The wind played with a flapping tarpaulin and a shutter creaked and slapped at the wall.

  ‘Where are you? Wynona said. ‘You outside.’

  ‘In the middle of nowhere heading toward a pub called the Hangman.’

  ‘So have you found the girl?’

  ‘Yes. And her child.’

  ‘Good. Call me before you’re thinking of coming back.’

  ***

  Smoke curled from the double chimney of the Hangman, and chinks of light showed at the curtains. A door slammed beyond the thicket of trees bordering the beer garden. An engine ignited and headlights shone as a vehicle emerged from the dark. Ben and the child ducked behind a car as a black sedan traveled the narrow track. The car turned into the road and Ben heard voices beyond the copse of trees at the back of the beer garden. A light showed and drew Ben and the child forward.

  Soft rain masked Ben’s approach. One of the Shepherds stood with his back to Ben. The light from the open door of a long wooden shed exaggerated his big head of hair. Two children stood holding his hands. A voice spoke from inside the building.

  ‘Just the two?’

  ‘They come cheap, these two. There’s issues on the roads and the army have set a roadblock for checking ID’s.’

  He pushed the children forward and a small man, suited in grey, stepped into the light. He brushed his hand over his bald head. The children stared at the ground while he turned them, scrutinizing their faces, their teeth and bottoms. His hands delved in their mouths and pinched their flesh. The first child squeaked and the second flinched at his touch. He removed his glasses and sighed.

  ‘They’ll do. Foreign?’

&nbs
p; ‘Oh yeah. Get ‘em fed and bedded.’

  Ben stepped to his right and a twig cracked. He backed away, pushing Lucas before him. Once they stepped onto the grass, Ben grabbed the boys hand and ran for the pub.

  A sweet smell of vanilla wafted toward Ben as he shut the door on the chill night. Three lads occupied the far end of the bar dressed in the uniform checked shirts and battered fedoras. The landlord sat on a stool behind the bar sucking on his hooker pipe, a cloud of smoke drifting above his head. Two men, dressed casual but smart, sat against the wall to the back corner of the pub. The landlord smiled as Ben and the child walked the length of the bar.

  ‘Where’s your mates, Duck?’ the landlord said. He looked at the boy and smiled. ‘But you picked up a wee one.’

  ‘I lost them.’

  ‘Careless, though on a dark misty night it can happen.’

  ‘Well, they’ve taken up lodgings with a gang of Gypsies.’

  The landlord placed a mug on the bar and slopped the murky liquid. Ben nodded thanks and sat on a stool close to the landlord’s ashtray. The child stood in the middle of the room. Ben pointed to the soft drink shelf and the boy shrugged. The landlord flipped the lid off a juice and stuck a straw in the bottle. He added a bag of crisps and smiled as the lad struggled to get them open.

  ‘So you be having problems with the Gypsies, you was saying?’ He knocked the hot embers from his pipe into the ashtray. ‘We’ve all had problems with the Gypsies, Duck.’

  The lads nodded to his statement. Griff looked up from the sheep to offer his agreement. A phone rang, its shrill bell causing all in the pub to turn to the bar. The landlord reached beneath the pumps and slammed an old, black monster phone onto the worn wooden bar. He shoved the receiver to his ear, grunting and nodding in response to the conversation. His scraggly eyebrows rose and he offered a final grunt before he slammed the receiver back on the cradle.

  ‘The Gypsies are going to war with the world,’ he said. ‘Somethings pissed them off. Henwell’s in lockdown, so you got out just in time. The army has cordoned off the perimeter. Me mate says there’s a Gypsy child gone missing.’

  The boy sat next to Griff and the sheep. He dropped the crisps into his lap and took one out for the sheep, holding it close to its mouth.

  ‘That be the child they be looking for?’ Trev, the landlord, said.

  Ben nodded, and Griff looked up and shook his head. ‘We can’t give him up to the Gypsies,’ he said. ‘That don’t seem right, Trev.’

  ‘They can’t stay here, Griff, mate,’ Trev said. ‘We don’t want no truck with the Gypsies. Last time we tackled them we lost a man and two trucks.’

  ‘Maybe it’s time we stood up.’

  The statement came from the older Shepherd, the mechanic called Joe. He removed his battered brown hat and rubbed his hand through the gray crop of hay on his head. More men entered the back room from the rear door. All wore the checked shirts, jeans, and braces. No one wanted to back up Joe’s statement. They scratched at heads, puffed on pipes and shuffled their feet.

  ‘Someone take Joseph’s drink away,’ Trev said. ‘He’s been at the top shelf again.’

  ‘You guys scared of the Gypsies?’ Ben said.

  Joseph stepped forward, his head leaning into Ben’s space. ‘Not scared of nothing, stranger.’ He glared and wiped at his thick beard. The gaggle of farmers murmured their support.

  ‘Calm down, Joseph,’ Trev said. ‘They drink in theirs, we drink in ours, and the two never meet. It’s just the way it is. Don’t want that to be changin’.’

  ‘We don’t want that to be changing,’ the lads chorused. Mugs of ale rose and clunked with much spillage as all the men drank to times not changing.

  Again the sheep bleated. ‘The boy’s not pissing the animal off, is he?’ Ben asked. ‘I don’t think he should be feeding a sheep in labor crisps.’

  ‘No, I think she be getting a second wind. Sometime tonight, maybe we be having a couple of lambs.’

  As Trev refilled his pipe, he watched Ben’s hands gripping his mug of ale. ‘What you be doing with your fists, Duck?’

  Ben turned his hands over to view the grazes to his knuckles. ‘We encountered some problems at that Diggers pub.’

  ‘You drank in the Diggers?’ one of the Shepherd lads asked.

  The men shifted position to get a better look at Ben. They scratched at beards, rubbed at chins, unsure if they stood in the company of a brave man or a fool.

  ‘Yeah, a quick one. It didn’t turn out so well.’ Ben drank from his mug of Scrumpy. ‘I knew it was a Gypsy pub, because you guys told me about it. And we weren’t ignoring your warning, but Bob told us our girl Claudia, if she’d run with a Gypsy, she might be in the Diggers. And if she’d fallen out with the Gypsy she’d be in Saggermakers. The other two looked in the Saggermakers and I got the Diggers big time, eh?’

  ‘And you didn’t realize you had to fight for your beer?’ Joe said.

  The bar went quiet waiting on Ben’s reply. The sheep lay with its head resting in Griff’s lap. The landlord shuffled up the bar, moving into a huddle with the lads. Tatty cigarette butts stuck to lips as they mumbled a rumbling dirge. Somewhere in the background, a clock sprung to life and ticked, and the wood in the fire spat. The group of men looked at Ben.

  ‘What?’

  ‘They don’t breed you smart up in the city, do they, young man?’ Trev said.

  ‘Easy. It ended up all right. Just had a bit of a scuffle with a bloke called Francis and I got to leave. No real harm done.’

  ‘But they’ve got the town closed down looking for what you got hiding here.’

  ‘Did he say Francis?’ Joe asked. He adjusted his glasses, bending the wire rims to pinch his nose. ‘Francis Doherty?’

  ‘I didn’t catch his surname, but his first name was Francis.’

  Ben straightened, turning so his back rested against the bar. He struck a match along the rough wood and puffed on a butt he’d found in his shirt pocket. The two men sitting alone finished their drinks and buttoned their coats. They nodded to Trev, shook the hands of the lads, and left via the rear door.

  ‘The Gypsies were okay,’ Ben said. ‘Well sort of. They were pissed about losing their dog and they didn’t like me beating up their boy. And Claudia isn’t their favorite girl. When they realized I was employed by Max it all turned a bit serious, eh?’

  ‘Francis is the bare-knuckle champion of the Lowlands,’ one of the lads called out. ‘The Gypsies reckon he’ll win the national competition at Appleshire this year. I’ve seen him at work and I don’t doubt he’ll be winning.’

  ‘And you fought him?’ They crowded forward.

  ‘And you’ve got no scars?’ Heads were shaken in disbelief.

  ‘Oh, me ribs hurt a bit, but no, I’m okay.’

  ‘Hang on,’ Griff said. ‘Did you say they lost a dog?’

  ‘Yeah, Dark Star I think was the hound’s name. They’re a bit funny about their dogs, aren’t they?’

  The bar cheered up with Joe offering to buy a round of drinks. One lad produced a banjo and plucked a fast paced tune while a couple of Shepherds linked arms for a quick jig.

  Trev joined Ben at his table by the fire. ‘Nice kid,’ he said. He leant in close, whispering his remarks to Ben.

  ‘I guess so.’ Ben moved back from his intimacy.

  ‘Who’s he belong to?’

  ‘The boy belongs to Claudia, the girl we come to get. She’s the daughter of Max, a well-known low life and owner of the big notes you saw earlier. He misses her, or the child. I’m not sure which.’

  ‘So where did you say your mates are?’

  ‘With the Gypsies. They’re not happy she wanted her kid back. It’s complicated and I don’t get it. Serious, don’t ask me the details because I couldn’t tell you. But they’ve been keeping her kid from her. Till now, eh?’

  ‘We can put the kid up for the night if you want. He can’t sleep with the sheep. It could get messy if she gets on with the lamb
ing.’

  ‘Yeah, well it might come to that.’

  ‘Can I get him another drink?’

  ‘He’s a good looking lad,’ Joe said. He sat down at Ben’s table as Trev returned to the bar for a round of drinks. ‘He’ll be a heartbreaker when he’s older, won’t he?’

  The landlord approached the child with another bottle. Lucas took his drink and the landlord sat with him and patted the sheep. He pointed out to the boy where the sheep’s baby was hiding.

  Ben took a long drink and wiped the dribbles from the dark stubble on his chin. As he lit one of Tommy’s cigars, he contemplated his next move. He needed to talk to Max, but getting Tommy, Loubie and Claudia back from the Gypsies was his priority. He reached for Wynona’s phone, but left it in place, reluctant to use it. Jackie John’s mantra ‘never carry a phone’, or was it ‘never use a phone’, played loud in his thoughts. Either way phones were trouble because the Man tracked phones and if you wanted to stay off the radar, you ditched phone usage.

  ‘Any chance I could use your telephone?’

  ‘Yeah, so long as it’s local.’

  ‘Is Ostere close enough?’

  The landlord pointed to the black phone.

  Ben turned his back to the punters, stepping past the fire breast, for privacy. He dialed the number on the back of the photograph and jumped when Winston answered with a curt ‘What.’

  ‘I’m well, thank you, and yes, I’m making progress. May I talk to Max?’ Ben felt the pub had quietened, so he moved further up the bar for privacy.

  ‘I’m not at the house,’ Winston said. ‘But I’ll pass on your report. Where’s the girl?’

  ‘Now here’s the thing…’

  ‘Have you got her?’

  ‘Did anyone ever pick you up on your customer service skills?’

  Silence answered Ben’s last question. He turned and found all eyes watching his back. He smiled and hunched his shoulder into the phone. He felt a need to whisper, but that seemed rude.

  ‘No, I don’t have her, but I know where she is. And I have her kid. So I’m close and should be in a position to receive full payment soon.’

  ‘Max wants the child at the house within the hour.’