by D A Walmsley
Within the crowd a couple of tour guides watch, big smiles across their faces as they think of the large tips they’ll receive later if this continues.
John frees himself, throwing the net to the ground. James, loving the attention, and the excitement of performing, becomes a bit too over confident as he announces “my beetroot faced assistant here will now fold the net.” He turns to John, “properly this time please,” getting more laughs from the crowd. “Then I’ll… ”
“I’m not your assistant.”
“What?”
John, angry and embarrassed, says again “I’m not your assistant, it’s my turn.”
James gives him a long stare, not wanting a scene, but not prepared to give up the spotlight. He puts on his I’m older, do as I say voice, “don’t be silly, now pass me the net.” John can’t stand James when he does that; thinks he can push me around does he, just because he’s a couple of years older? James stands waiting impatiently, “come on.”
John, the anger building up, slowly bends down, picks up the net and hurls it as hard as he can towards James, the weights striking into his body and rocking him backwards making him stumble. John rushes towards James and dives forward, rugby tackling him. It sends them into the cold sea and they land with an almighty splash. The crowd a moment earlier laughing, now stare in disbelief, as the two young men punch and wrestle each other in the shallow waters of the lake. Arms flail and legs kick as John, then James try to get the upper hand.
It takes Officer Michaels all his strength to break up the two fishermen, but once John has looked in the Officer’s eyes and realised who it is he calms down. He and James allow themselves to be escorted back to the office to face their father.
When they arrive at Zebedee and Sons Fishing Company, Officer Michaels knocks once and pushes both lads inside.
Their father who is talking on the phone waves them in. “Okay, yes I understand, thanks for doing it so quickly.” He looks up to see his two sons standing there dripping wet, covered in cuts and bruises. He shakes his head.
“Look I’ll have to go, okay mate, cheers,” he puts the phone down.
“Please tell me this isn’t as bad as it looks?”
Michael’s been here on more than one occasion and has got to know Zebedee and the boys very well. “Well, they’re lucky the tour guide didn’t want any trouble.” Turning to James and John, “try to control yourselves or next time I’ll have no choice but to charge you both.”
Zebedee thanks him, “go see Simon Peter, he’ll fix you up with something as a thank you.”
Michaels leaves the office and closes the door.
John breathes a heavy sigh and braces himself for what is to come next.
“I have been a fisherman all my life, as was my father. The last few years have been the best I have ever known, the business going from strength to strength. Yet God chastens me so I don’t forget how blessed I have become.”
“So, you would say we are a gift from God,” says James.
“You know how hard it was when you two were children, when the country was in a seemingly endless recession.”
Here we go, this again, John sighs. Every time something happens they have to listen to their father go on and on about the past.
“We used to be a proud country, a prosperous nation. Now we are broke and under the control of others.”
John and James know the story backwards and feel annoyed that their generation has to suffer for the mistakes of others. Though their father is doing okay, even employing several fisherman and owning a growing fleet of trawlers, John has seen how his father has to grease palms and suck up to foreigners just to get fishing rights to the lake that their family has fished for generations.
Zebedee gets up from his seat and goes over to a photo of himself next to a fishing boat. “They were hard times, I had to work alone, in seas so rough that I thought this little boat would be my tomb. I would go days never seeing your mother.”
“Lucky you,” whispers James. John laughs.
… “and now you two are the ones trying to put me in an early grave.” He raises his voice, “I don’t know what to do with you both. I just don’t. At this rate you’re gonna bankrupt us all.”
Blood trickles down from John’s nose, he sniffs then wipes it with the back of his hand and shows it to James. “You’ve bust mi nose, I don’t believe it.”
James retaliates, “well you gave me a black eye, I can feel it swelling up already.”
“Will you both shut up” Zebedee shouts.
Under his breath, James adds, “It’s not my fault, he started it.”
“I started it?” John responds. “You deliberately made me look stupid.”
James counters in a much louder voice. “You don’t need me to make you look stupid, you do that all by yourself.”
Zebedee just shakes his head. Calmly he asks, “finished?” They both nod.“Good, because I’m not bothered who started it, I’ve just got off the phone with the boatyard,” he pauses, before adding “you did three grands worth of damage.”
“We’re insured” James points out.
“Oh yes, insurance, thank you for reminding me James. As you say we are insured but thanks to you two we pay the highest premiums of any and I mean any, fishing business in the country. Did you hear that? - In the country! I’ve had a word with Simon Peter and the next time and I’m guessing there will be, it’s coming out of your wages, OK?” Both lads nod. Zebedee just looks at them, shaking his head. His attention is drawn to James’ footwear.
“Are those your brand new trainers? Who in their right mind goes fishing in brand new trainers. Where are your work boots?”
“I dunno, I can’t find them.”
John looks away trying to hide a smile, but James notices. “You hid them didn’t you, I knew I put them by the door, you little…” James aims a punch at John who ducks and pushes him away. John grabs James’ arm and they wrestle with each other before losing their balance and fall forward just missing their father’s desk and hitting the hard wooden floor.
Zebedee exclaims “Oh for the love of God!”
Chapter 3
A few days later Matthew is sitting in his office. From a window he can see the hills on the other side of the lake. A shepherd leads his sheep as the setting sun turns the green hills into golden orange. Matthew has sat watching this scene many times, daydreaming about what the life of a shepherd would be like: peaceful, quiet, only you and your thirty-nine sheep and five goats for company. (He counts them regularly to make sure they’re all there.) One of Matthews earliest memories as a child is of Uncle Eli bent over an old desk counting piles of money. It was in those seemingly innocent years that he swore one day he too would become that rich. Twenty five years later Matthew Levi sits at the same desk in his own office of Levi and Associates. Uncle Eli wouldn’t recognise Capernaum now but he would have been proud of his nephew. Since Matthew took over, profits have grown year on year and as Capernaum grows so does the opportunity to extract more taxes in the form of Excise Duties. Not that Matthew gets to count much of it these days. Most is done through electronic transactions and the cash that is collected is counted by machines; it’s not the same.
Raised voices interrupt his thoughts.
“The boss only asks for what he’s entitled to, and this is how you repay his kindness.”
“Kindness, you call pointing a gun at us kindness?”
Two members of staff, checking the toll booths have brought a young couple into the office and reported to Dave Milo.
“This couple were attempting to drive through the nothing to declare lane. A spot check revealed they were importing two hundred white roses.”
Milo pats them down for weapons, and takes his wallet and her handbag.
“The roses are for our wedding,” pleads the man.
“Importing into Galilee is taxable, you know that.”
“Even for personal use?”
“Especially for personal use
.”
Milo empties the wallet and bag onto a counter. The only thing of interest is an expired credit card. He slides it across a glass partition on the counter to a woman on the other side who swipes it along a card reader. After a few seconds she shakes her head.
“You can’t pay. What a surprise.”
Now Milo and the two security guards gather round the couple like a pack of animals. Milo strokes the cheek of the young woman, who flinches and pulls away. “So darling, tell me how you paid for the flowers?” asks Milo.
“Cash,” replies the man.
Milo glares at him, “I’m not talking to you.”
His focus returns to the woman, he looks her up and down and noticing her engagement ring, he grabs her hand. She immediately pulls it away.
“Not her ring, that was my mother’s,” says the man.
Milo punches the man in the stomach, knocking him to the ground, only to be spat upon by the woman.
“You bitch,” he raises his hand to hit her.
“That’s enough.” Matthew comes out of his office.
“These two…” Milo starts to explain.
“I heard.”
Matthew helps the man get to his feet, “Let me congratulate you on winning the hand of this beautiful woman. I believe marriage is a wonderful thing, two people holding each other close.” He takes hold of the woman and pulls her slender body close to his, “kissing,” he leans forward and kisses her, first on her cheek and them gently on the lips. She knows who he is, everybody knows who he is, so she closes her eyes and doesn’t resist, He presses firmer and surprisingly finds a more than willing recipient. It’s the kind of kiss her fiancé has only dreamed of, a kiss that says more than I’m only doing this because I know what you are capable of.
“What the? hey, get off her.” the man splutters.
Without stopping Matthew takes his gun from his belt and points it at the man. Milo and the other members of staff all laugh, and encourage their boss. “Go on boss, give her one for me.”
Only now does the woman pull away, but Matthew’s arm prevents her and he forces another kiss before relinquishing his grasp.
“Take half their flowers and let ‘em go,” he says to Milo, then to the couple, “If either of you can’t pay me again you know the penalty. I will come looking for you and I will hurt you.”
Behind the counter is the main office. Bullet proof windows let in the morning light and from here you can see along all the six lanes of toll booths, including the commercials only lane. When Matthew enters, his secretary shakes her head at him. He winks, checking his mouth for lipstick residue. A young man is at a desk feeding papers into a shredder.
“Great party last night boss,” says James Alphaeus.
“As always. Hope you’re not too hungover this morning.”
“I can take it boss.”
“Good to hear, and what did I tell you Alphie, I said those girls would take a shine to you.”
Everyone took a shine to him, he was a good kid. If he worked hard like he himself had done, no reason why Alphie couldn’t make it in this business one day.
Matthew’s mind once again thinks of Uncle Eli. He knows why, for now he is the same age as Eli was when he died, stabbed in the back as he collected the tolls. “Grab a vest and we’ll work the commercials for a bit,” he tells Alphie.
A sign on the door reminds staff that bullet and stab proof vests must be worn outside at all times. Alphie sighs, “can I at least get one that fits, they’re all too big?”
“Fine, order one later, but you must wear one now. Remember, one of the hazards of this occupation is people want to kill you.”
The commercial lane splits into two. One is a weighbridge where lorries pay by their weight, regardless of what they carry. Matthew has found this speeds things up considerably and payment, once companies have set up an account, is done all electronically. The other lane is used for spot checks. As they go towards it, Alphie is still fiddling with his vest. Matthew recognises the man stepping down from a white transit van emblazoned with the words Chorazin Honda that has just pulled up. The driver avoids eye contact and goes to the back of the van. Alphie follows him and when the driver pauses to light a cigarette Alphie reaches for the door handle. Matthew puts an arm out, stopping his young apprentice.
“We never open any door or boot ourselves. Always make the owners do that, just in case.”
The driver sighs and opens the door. The back of the van is full of air con units.
“You can close up and drive onto the weighbridge” says Matthew, knowing that they weigh a tonne, that’s why the man has stopped here. He’d been hoping to pay per unit rather than weight. The driver swears under his breath.
Next to enter the weighbridge is a beat up, rusting 7.5 tonne lorry. But instead of slowing down, the driver accelerates towards the commercial lane barrier. There is a crunching of gears and the lorry swerves slightly from side to side, the driver trying to position it in the middle of the lane. Matthew and Alphie have to dive out of the way as it passes them and smashes through the barrier sending pieces of wood and metal in all directions. It immediately triggers sirens and flashing lights. A split second later…POP, POP…POP, POP. Spikes shoot up from the ground puncturing all four tyres. The driver, as if he was expecting that to happen, jumps out and makes a run for it. Matthew, who managed to stay on his feet, takes out his gun and starts shooting at the driver, but he’s too far away. The driver gets in to a waiting car and with screeching tyres it speeds away. Milo and the other staff scramble out of the office door, guns in hand to fire at the car, then pepper the lorry full of bullets, though more out of anger than anything.
By now all the traffic has stopped and is starting to back up. This annoys Matthew, people hate paying to get into the city as it is, he doesn’t want to add to their anger by them having to queue.
“Get it moved, quick,” he says to two of the staff. “Milo, come on let’s sweep the area.”
The two men now high on adrenalin and guns raised, move through the stationary cars, scanning for anyone else intent on trouble.
“Come on, keep moving,” Matthew yells to no car in-particular.
A driver at the front of one queue fumbles his cash, missing the big metallic bucket. Others behind hit their horns as the driver, who is now aware he’s causing a hold up, desperately searches for more spare change. Matthew watches, making sure it isn’t anything more sinister. The driver finally finds more change and the barrier springs up. Matthew shakes his head. Why are drivers of old cars such pricks?
When he and Milo are satisfied there is no more danger, they begin to head over to the lorry, which has been towed to a safe zone, away from the roads and buildings and is just about to be checked over. Alphie unbolts the back doors and pulls the handle down…
“NO,” shout Matthew and Milo simultaneously.
Chapter 4
“People need to find a cause, something to believe in, otherwise life can have no real meaning, just a long slow walk to nothingville. We have a cause, we have a goal and that goal takes back our country.”
The speaker, Caleb G Barnabas, gets a round of applause from the three hundred strong crowd. “We have let this go on far too long, happy to take the mighty Euro in exchange for our very sovereignty. We have helped line the pockets of those thieving collectors and vile leaders.”
The crowd is getting excited, shouting and clapping as Caleb’s voice gets louder and louder.
Standing in the wings at the side of the stage are Simon and Flatpack. They are the special guests and are waiting for Caleb to finish his speech, which has turned into more of a call to arms. A technician checks their handheld microphones and whispers some instructions.
“What did he say?” Simon asks.
“He said Caleb will introduce us when he’s finished his speech and everything’s all set upstairs on the desk.”
“Good, but I still think we should have brought Big Mike, I don’t trust just anybody t
o do my sound.” Simon’s complaining is drowned out by more cheering and clapping.
Caleb’s on a roll now…“My message to Rome is leave us now or leave in a coffin. We don’t want your stinking Euro, we don’t want your high taxes and your corrupt leaders.”
Simon and Flatpack join in the cheering.
“I’ve had enough, and I’ll promise you this, I won’t rest ‘til every one of them has had a visit from an assassin’s knife.”
With those words still ringing round the auditorium, the lights suddenly go out, plunging the whole place into blackness.
“We’re not on now are we? I thought there was more,” Simon takes a deep breath and waits for the music to start. Suddenly doors burst open and there are flashes of light; dozens of police rush in.
“Armed police, everybody get down.”
This causes people to panic, others scream aloud, some try to get out and scramble over seats.
From the stage Caleb shouts “Israel for ever!” as he is gunned down. The shots start the crowd stampeding blindly towards what they hope are the exits, but there is nowhere to go, they are surrounded.
At the first sound of trouble Simon had instinctively ducked down and grabbed for his knife. He had been on edge all night so it wasn’t much of a surprise. At least two officers had rushed passed him but the fact that he was ignored meant they were probably after Caleb. The shots did surprise him and he ran in what he thought was the direction of the nearest exit but slammed into a wall and as he stumbled around he fell down the steps at the side of the stage.
“Simon, you there? You OK? ” Flatpack shouts.
“Yeah, forgot about the steps.”
Fumbling around in the darkness, Simon carefully makes his way to where he thinks Flatpack is.
“Flatpack.”
“Simon,” shouts Flatpack from about two feet away, startling Simon who is not expecting him to be so close.
They both slowly make their way along a corridor, using the wall for guidance. They turn a corner and a voice shouts “freeze, don’t move.” Simon slips his knife up his sleeve, hoping it wasn’t seen.