‘Yes, sir.’ The soldiers answered to his last statement.
Peg Leg took out a half smoked cigar. ‘And I hate posh twats. I don’t get why they want this child.’
The soldier with the red fishing cap stood to attention. Peg Leg looked at him and nodded.
‘Room three to the back of the building resembles a laboratory. It has stacks of hardware, nails, screws and ball bearings along with a container of pipes. A metal table is clean but the bottom shelf contains bulk Hydrogen Peroxide and Acetone. Suggest not shooting up the third room from the rear.’
‘Good work, soldier. Children, bombs and posh twats.’ He stalked back and forth slapping and puffing on his cigar. ‘Not our concern. Find the child. Return to Ostere. Any questions?’
‘Are we going to shoot the place up?’
‘I think so, but keeping in mind, soldiers, thoughts on room three.’
‘Are we going to kill us some posh twats?’
‘That’s a negative. But we panic them a little. Put a couple of rounds over their heads. No one likes a posh twat. A posh twat with a child isn’t right. But our remit is not to kill Posh Twats.’
‘Collateral damage?’
‘That would be acceptable.’
From the top of the hill beyond the Hangman, Peg Leg spied a line of headlights. One by one they spread out along the ridge. He pulled hard on the cigar, clamping on the thick butt at the side of his mouth and smiled.
‘I don’t know who that is,’ he said pointing at the lights. ‘But they’re coming our way.’ The soldiers followed his finger. ‘Night goggles ready.’ The soldiers fitted their goggles and made weapons ready. ‘I’ll take the front. You two,’ he pointed at the soldiers from the jeep. ‘Take the side windows after you hear my grenade.’ He looked at the third soldier. ‘Blow the generator and take the rear.’
Peg Leg stalked towards the pub and stopped with his hands on his hips. ‘When they attack the pub, we’ll attack this shed.’
Chapter Thirty-One
The Gypsies Cometh
Ben stood with Tommy and Loubie in the front room of the pub. Tommy held Loubie, his arms wrapped about her body. She’d spoken, but only to ask for water. Tommy offered cider. Ben jingled the keys, unsure of the steps needed to advance their day. He understood the dead body in the car outside was a problem, and to leave without dealing with the body left them vulnerable to the whim of the Hangman’s Landlord. If they wiped the car of their prints and lost the knife, they could pretend they were never at the pub. The car Tommy had nicked was long gone and long may it stay gone. They didn’t have the child and Claudia was missing in action. The mission was turning sour and Ben didn’t know how to turn it around.
Trev and the Shepherds had exited at the rear of the pub, standing by the door talking with other men in black suits.
‘What are we going to do about Abe?’ Tommy said. ‘I sort of like Loubie, but she’s killed a man.’
‘Don’t be like that, Tommy,’ she murmured. ‘The man was an arse. If you’d seen him touch me, you’d have done the same.’ Loubie smiled and buried her head in Tommy’s chest. A soft humming noise murmured in her chest.
‘We should be calling the law, but…well, I don’t want to see her going to jail. I mean he must’ve done something bad to her.’
They both watched Loubie as she nuzzled Tommy’s chest. ‘Do you think she’ll keep on cutting?’ asked Tommy.
‘I think Loubie’s cutting days are over,’ said Ben.
Loubie nodded, pulled back from Tommy, and smiled. ‘No more cutting.’
‘No. Good.’ Tommy walked Loubie to the fire and sat her in a seat to watch the flames. He stepped back to the bar and reached for Ben’s arm. ‘You’re not going to turn her in before we know why?’
‘We know why, but no, I’m not going to turn her in. But I’m worried about that body in the jeep. I’m tempted to leave it, forget we ever met Abe, but can we trust Pete to keep quiet? Can we trust these guys to not tell all? We need to dispose of the body, Tommy, or Loubie’s going to be in trouble.’
‘I say we leave it. Just run and deny we was ever here.’ Tommy leant with his back to the bar, watching Loubie, but glancing sideways at Ben. ‘What do you reckon? You know, just walk away.’
‘Which leaves another body dead in my wake.’
The landlord stood in the narrow passage to the back door with the silhouette of two men behind him. He called to Ben as three more men joined the group.
‘Give me them keys back,’ he said.
He walked into the pub with two of the Shepherd brothers at his back. He held out his hand, waiting for Ben to throw him the keys.
‘What’s the problem?’
‘You be knowing what the problem is. You need to clean up your shit and the only way you be doing that is to be driving the shit out of my backyard. You understand me? I mean are you listening to me?’
Loubie called out and Tommy sat with her at the fire. Ben drank from his mug and puffed at his butt.
‘You got a stolen Gypsy jeep out there and I don’t want it in my backyard. Just be driving it down the road. But do it now. If the Gypsies be finding out I got one of their motors on my property hell will be raining down on us.’
Griff entered through the front door. He waved to the Shepherds and clapped Ben on the back as he ambled through the pub to stand by the fire. ‘You know there’s a load of lights up on the hill,’ he said.
No one paid him attention.
‘You should be worried,’ Ben said. ‘You killed a child this morning. Connor Smith, I believe the wee tyke’s name was. Your attack on the Gypsy house also took out the woman known as Mrs. Smith. What happened to your stated objective of blowing up a few caravans? “We’ll create a diversion.” You fucking nutters almost killed me and them two.’ He pointed at Loubie and Tommy. ‘Cops and army are all over this parish, so let’s not be worrying too much about the Gypsies’ fucking motor.’
‘Just move the jeep. Now.’ He slammed his pipe on the bar, the hot embers scattering and sizzling on the wet beer towel.
Engines sounded, loud motors revving and headlights flashed against the front windows.
The landlord ran to the front of the pub and pulled the tatty curtain aside. Bright lights bore down on the pub from the paddock opposite, bathing the front room in white light.
‘What’s going on?’ Tommy said.
The landlord bolted the front door and called out to the farmers to secure the back door.
‘Move that fucking jeep,’ he cried.
His voice broke, the hysteria turning his face red, his flame red hair flaring in the bright light. He clenched his fist and pointed at the rear door. The man had lost the plot. He ran to the side windows and drew the curtains. The lights outside grew brighter, and he backed away pointing to the front door.
‘Move the fucking jeep. They see that fucking jeep here, we’re fucking dead.’
Ben remained by the fire watching the bright lights approaching from the field opposite. Loud engines revved, and the spot lights burnt through the threadbare curtains. A horn beeped, followed by an orchestra of horns blaring into the quiet night.
‘Are we under attack?’ Tommy asked.
‘Damn Gypsies,’ the landlord said. ‘They’ve come for us.’ He turned to the men at the back. ‘We can’t let them get to the shed.’
‘Your defense is to close the pub?’ Ben said.
The farmers at the rear door shuffled inside and bolted the back door. Ben downed his drink. ‘Come on, Tommy, we’re out of here.’
‘What about Claudia,’ Tommy said.
‘She’s got to be out back in that shed. We can knock them up before we go, but we haven’t got a fight with the Gypsies. This is for the locals to sort out between them. Get Loubie upright and mobile and let’s go.’
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Trev said.
He and the Shepherds held rifles and barred the exit to the back of the pub.
‘I haven’t g
ot a problem leaving via the front door.’
‘You walk out that door they’ll shoot you. They won’t be asking questions, they’ll just start firing. Trust me, Duck. We’ve been here before.’
Lights splashed against the window as motors headed toward the pub.
‘Jesus, Ben, Armageddon, Gypsy style is heading our way and I don’t want to answer the door.’ Tommy turned to Trev and the Shepherd brothers. ‘This is nowt to do with us, you know, so let us go. Please.’
The glare from the front window dazzled as vehicles hit the puddle splashing its muddy contents against the front of the pub. Two trucks thundered through the car park skidding in the loose gravel and spitting stones at the windows. Headlights glared through the gaps in the curtains and blinded Tommy and Ben.
‘Shit,’ Ben cussed. ‘That be us fucked.’ He turned to Trev, his hands out grasping at air. ‘And your plan is to pretend you’re not here?’
Joe Shepherd stepped forward. ‘We don’t take nothing on our backs.’ He turned to Trev. ‘Get the cellar open.’ Trev ran to the cellar hatch behind the bar and lifted the heavy wooden door. Joe Shepherd turned to Ben. ‘We could use a hand.’
Another set of headlights bore down on the pub as the Gypsies parked up. Engines revved, horns honked, and a loud rebel tune played on the front trucks stereo. Trev and the men descended into the cellar.
‘They are going to trash your pub and now you’re going to hide in the cellar,’ Ben said. ‘This is madness.’
‘Are you going to bitch and whine, or are you going to give us a hand, Duck,’ Joe said. ‘We got an arsenal down here big enough to take over the whole fucking country.’
Tommy held Loubie, wrapping a skinny arm about her shoulders. ‘They’re surrounding us,’ Tommy said. ‘We got to make a move, you know. We can’t be fighting them in here. They’re Gypsies, Ben, they don’t take prisoners.’
‘Let’s see what they got,’ Ben said. Ben ran behind the bar and eased himself into the dim cellar.
More vehicles circled the pub, with shots firing into the air. The music upped in volume, and the horns and engines roared. Tommy walked Loubie to the front of the pub, peering at the action through the gap in the curtain.
One of the farmers coughed and shook his head. ‘If they see a body they’ll shoot. You be best keeping away from the windows, Duck.’
Tommy eased back from the door as a fist pounded on its front. Voices called out and feet stomped on hoods to the music. Tommy pulled Loubie back to the fire, pushing her behind the chimneybreast. Windows rattled as men struggled to break the Hangman’s defenses. Footsteps sounded and shadows flickered to the side of the building. And then fists pounded on the back door.
A truck rammed the building and cracked the glass of the front windows. Loubie cried out, wide eyes staring at the front door. She stumbled back and grabbed at a wooden seat. ‘They’re not going away,’ she said. Her voice forced, but quiet. ‘They’ve come to get me.’
Tommy hugged Loubie to his chest, patting at her dreads and rocking her small body back and forth.
A fist pounded on the front door. The landlord’s face paled in the bright spotlights. Again with the pounding on the door, rattling the windows.
‘Let us de fuck in, or we goin’ to bloooww de place down.’
‘Like the big bad wolf?’ Loubie said. She stood behind the chair, staring at the front door. ‘I hope we’re in the house of bricks?’
Tommy smiled at the fire burning in the hearth. ‘Oh yeah, Loubie, this is the house of bricks. But there’s a pack of wolves out there and that fire,’ he said pointing at the hearth, ‘isn’t going to stop them, you know.’
Tommy, holding Loubie’s hand called out. ‘Ben,’ he called. ‘This isn’t nothing to do with us. Come on, Ben, we need to go.’
The landlord stepped up to the cellar and pointed toward the front door. ‘Off you go, then. You think they’re going to give you a free pass? You stay and you fight. Duck.’ The landlord slapped two baseball bats on the bar. A hand gun followed and an old air rifle.
‘That’s our firepower?’ Tommy said. We’re going to need more than that.’
Downstairs in the frigid cellar Ben watched the Shepherds filling bottles with flammable fluid. A single light swung, moving the shadows back and forth. The room smelt of damp and petrol. A picture of the Prince took pride of place on the wall opposite the stairs. Above the desk a map of Parliament square was covered in a small black scrawl and a big red cross.
One of the shepherds opened a tall metal cabinet and brought out a box of grenades.
‘If we’d got a bit more notice,’ he said. ‘We’d have planted these in the car park. They go bang big time.’
Ben looked over his shoulder and stepped back in alarm. Boxes of grenades and flat metal bombs occupied three separate shelves. Rifles and grenade launchers sat on racks bolted to the cabinet door.
‘The grenades are good, but it’s too late to be booby trapping the surrounding paddocks and road.’ He pointed at the flat round objects. ‘And we got serious guns upstairs. We’re moving out of this place for the Northern Sector, so we’re going to give these Gypsy pricks a fight tonight.’
One of the farmers heaved the box of grenades onto his shoulder and hurried for the stairs. The man called Joe, his hat pushed back on his ginger head, helped fill bottles, and Ben rammed rags into their tops. ‘Help me fill bottles,’ he said. He passed Ben a funnel and a large can of fuel. As they filled, men clattered downstairs to transport the bottles back to pub.
‘It’s a shame we didn’t get more notice. They usually wait another day.’ said Trev.
‘You get grief often.’
‘We hate Gypsies. They steal and take good farming land to camp on. They bleed on our country then move on. They take government money and do nothing for it. Gypsies are lazy, good for nothing foreigners. What is there to like? And yeah, we have problems often. We like taking out their caravans. They like stealing from us. They don’t belong here, Duck. This is a good country and they take the piss.’
‘Ben,’ the call came from the bar. ‘That door isn’t going to hold.’
‘Stuff a chair under the door handle, eh Tommy. We’re almost done here.’
The landlord and two of the farmers ran up the stairs carrying boxes of the incendiary devices. Ben finished off the last dozen bottles and stacked them in a crate. Griff bent to pick the box off the floor. He hoisted the crate onto his shoulders, but stopped as he noticed Ben looking at the framed photo of the Prince.
‘We like the Prince,’ he said.
‘Yeah, I get that. The Kings a bit of a flake, eh? But all this weaponry.’
‘The time’s coming. We need to be ready. The people have had enough. The Man talks Trev says, but he don’t act. Albion Minor needs to be independent. It needs to reclaim its borders. That’s what Trev says. And you don’t want to hear what Joe says. Joe wants to blow the whole fucking country up. He wants to fit people with vests and send them out to kill. Joe’s mad.’ Griff nodded to his last statement as if it were fact.
Ben followed Griff up the stairs and guided him to the front of the pub.
‘Jesus, Ben, you going to torch the pub?’ Tommy said. ‘You know we need to get out first.’
‘They won’t expect that, will they?’ Ben said. He punched Tommy and grinned. ‘Come on, this is Ostere’s local sport. We should be good at this.’
The landlord appeared at the bar. His face no longer held the pale pallor. ‘Man can’t fight on adrenaline alone, eh Duck?’
He poured large whiskies and one by one the Shepherds downed a glass and ran for the stairs to the first floor. Trev stopped at the door. ‘Throw hard and stand back. Two bolts to the back doors. Run hard. If you can’t get to your jeep, take the white beast at the back of the toilet.’
He threw Ben the keys and ran.
Feet pounded across the floor above their heads. Ben grabbed his whisky and tossed it down his throat. He refilled the glass and motioned wi
th the bottle to Tommy. ‘You want?’
‘No, I don’t want. Shit, Ben, this is madness.’
‘Could be our last drink. You sure?’ He turned to Griff as he climbed the cellar steps with a box of bottles. ‘You want a drink, Griff?’
He shook his head and looked to the door leading upstairs. ‘I’m going to help out Joe and Trev.’
‘Ben, what are we going to do?’
‘Attack from the front then run for the back. Get Claudia and drive hard and fast from this part of the world. I told Wynona from the start I didn’t want to come here. I hope my bloody mother is happy now. Her son is going to die a martyr, for no bloody cause but his own precious hide.’
He sipped from his glass and threw the keys to Tommy. Another jeep rammed the front of the pub. The door shook and glass splintered. Dust and debris showered from the ceiling. ‘You ready to drive?’
‘Why am I driving?’
A flash of light exploded at the front window as glass shattered against the cars out in front of the pub. Another explosion and shadows flashed across the window. Shouts and cries and then gunfire as the pub’s windows exploded. A couple more flashes of color and more loud gunfire retorts. Panicked Gypsy voices rose; men screaming, and motors revving in the red zone. Feet pounded on the stairs and the landlord appeared holding his arm. Blood oozed between his fingers.
‘Let’s go.’
‘No,’ Ben shouted.
The door to the pub rocked as a vehicle attempted to drive through the door. Ben grabbed his box and ran for the front, snatching a chair and launching it through the window. Tommy lit the fuses and Ben threw bottle after bottle at the trucks ramming the front of the pub.
‘Tommy, undo the bolt.’
Tommy hesitated with his hand on the large wrought iron knob. ‘You sure?’
Ben had the bottles lined up and his lighter aflame. ‘Now!’
As the bolt slid back and the door opened, Ben lit the rags and threw the bottles at the jeeps. Glass smashed and kerosene flew into the air. Flashes of light exploded against the cars as they retreated from the attack. Bullets began to pepper the front of the building, but the shooters were blinded by the flames. Ben threw the last of the bottles and slammed the door. He and Tommy retreated for the back of the pub with two bottles apiece. ‘Now we fight for the jeep.’
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