by Peter Boland
“Fight!” shouted Bluetooth.
His opponent went right, not left, racing towards the scaffold pipe. Savage lost a valuable split second, darting the wrong way. A quick course correction and he was right behind him, chasing the guy’s wide, hairy back.
His opponent was about three feet from the weapon when Savage looped his left arm around the guy’s neck. He interlocked his right arm behind, almost like his arms were folded with the guy’s neck trapped between them. Savage squeezed his forearms together, choking him. Simultaneously he dragged the guy back to the centre of the ring.
Blue Mask was caught off guard. But not for long.
With all his weight, his opponent tried throwing Savage off his back, tossing him left and right. He still had plenty of fight in him. The chokehold was taking too long.
Savage kicked Blue Mask hard in the back of his left heel. The guy’s leg shot out from under him. Savage did the same with the right heel, kicking it out.
Both men tumbled over backwards, and that’s when his opponent struck. As they fell to the floor, the other guy snapped his head back and butted Savage in the face with the back of his skull. The full weight of him landed on Savage, knocking the air out of him.
Savage was dazed and winded.
His opponent seized his chance, got to his feet and went for the scaffold pipe.
Get up! shouted a voice in his head. Not Jeff’s, thankfully. More the voice of desperate self-preservation.
Savage rolled over, came to his feet, right in front of the pike staff. A big, brutal weapon.
Over his shoulder, he saw Blue Mask running at him, scaffold pole in his fists, held aloft, ready to come crashing down on Savage’s skull.
No time for anything fancy. Savage gripped the end of the pikestaff and swung it around in a huge arc. His opponent was too close for the sharp metal pike to be any good, but the wooden shaft collided with the side of his midriff. Savage withdrew the pike, making sure the metal spearhead slid across the guy’s ribs, slicing open a small wound.
When the pikestaff was fully retracted, Savage thrust it forward, hoping to stab his opponent in the chest. The guy was wise to this and sidestepped it. For a big guy, his reactions were quick.
His opponent came at him again, getting inside the useful striking distance of the pikestaff, making it next to useless. Blue Mask swung. Savage lifted up the shaft of his weapon to block the scaffold pole. It came crashing through, breaking his weapon in two and catching Savage on the top of his head. The shaft had taken the brunt of the blow. It still hurt like hell.
Savage sucked up the pain and with the broken end of the shaft, caught his opponent in the jaw. He followed it up by jabbing it into his gut. Savage added a shin kick for good measure.
Savage went in for another. Unlike Truck, this guy read his tactics and took a step back, giving himself room to swing the scaffold pole again.
It collided with Savage’s upper arm, nearly breaking it.
Another swing. This time to Savage’s head. He ducked, just a glancing blow but enough to worry Savage. This guy knew what he was doing. And he was good with his weapon of choice.
Savage kept retreating, uselessly holding two feet of broken wooden shaft in his hand. A poor weapon against five feet of thick cylindrical steel.
More blows came, thick and fast. He ducked and dodged them, one after another. Eventually, Savage’s luck would run dry. He’d get knocked out and then the killer blow would come, putting him out of action for good.
Savage suppressed a tinge of panic spreading from every inch of his marrow. He’d been in worse situations than this. Had to stay positive.
Whoosh. The scaffold pole missed the tip of his nose by inches.
The tinge of panic grew in strength.
Blue Mask had Savage on the back foot. He couldn’t keep retreating forever.
He needed a new tactic.
Breathe. Recalibrate. Deliver.
There wasn’t much time to breathe or recalibrate. Savage thought fast, as he dodged out of the way of each new swing of the scaffold pole.
The large metal tube his opponent held was a far superior weapon than the bit of wood Savage had. He could get another weapon. Go for the samurai sword. He didn’t know how to fight with a sword and this guy clearly knew how to wield a length of pipe to devastating effect. What about the other weapons? He didn’t know how to use any of them. Plus, if he did try to grab a new weapon, even the split second it took could give his opponent the chance to strike.
Maybe the best weapon was already in his hands.
Where was Blue Mask vulnerable? He could only use his weapon if he could keep hold of it. His fists. Savage remembered his school days, of being rapped across the knuckles with a ruler. It was worse than being caned.
The next blow came. Savage dodged it then sprang forward and cracked his enemy hard on the right knuckle with the broken shaft. That would be his target from now on.
Another blow came. Again, Savage darted forward. Hit him across the fingers of his right hand then darted back again.
The next swing of the scaffold pipe, Savage moved sideways, allowing the pipe to catch him in the ribs. He did this on purpose, taking a hit so he could hook his left arm around the pipe, trapping it in place. With his other hand, Savage rained down blow after merciless blow on his opponent’s right hand. Vicious cracks of the broken wooden shaft.
His opponent had no choice. He had to let go. The bones of his right knuckle almost certainly crushed and crumbling. Now his opponent held the pipe with only his left hand. Fifty percent weaker.
The guy didn’t give up and tried another attack. But with just one hand, his blows were slow, clumsy and predictable.
As one came down, aimed at Savage’s head, he discarded his end of the broken shaft and caught the pipe with both hands. Gripping it firmly, he shrugged his opponent towards him and kicked him hard in the groin.
The guy went down on his knees.
Savage wrenched the pipe from him and struck him in the side of his head.
Blue Mask toppled over and onto his back, staring up at Savage, eyes half-lidded.
Savage stood over him, holding the pipe vertically above his opponent’s face, ready to slam it down and put him out of action for good.
“Please,” he said in a small, weak voice. “Please don’t. I have a wife and kids. I just do this to feed them.”
Savage hesitated. Didn’t feel like killing the guy, even before his sob story.
He threw away the scaffold pipe, which clanged on the floor, turned and walked towards the door in the cage.
“Let me out,” said Savage.
No one watching responded.
“I said, let me out.”
There was a scuffle of feet behind him. Savage turned to see his opponent up and running at him. So much for his sob story.
The guy must have still been dazed because he wasn’t thinking straight. He hadn’t thought to pick up a weapon to fight with. “I’m gonna kill you,” he shouted as he ran towards Savage.
Savage ducked low and punched him in his already injured groin. The guy crumpled. Savage straightened up and punched him again, hard in the throat, crushing his larynx. Blue Mask fell over backwards clutching his neck, gasping for air.
Savage turned to the small gathering of men. “He needs to go to hospital. He needs an emergency tracheotomy or he’s going to die.”
The lights on all the cameras went off. Bluetooth approached the cage, unbolted the door and climbed in. He stood over the guy lying on the floor, painfully straining to breathe. Then he raised his boot and brought it down on the guy’s throat. Once. Then twice.
Savage’s opponent lay still and unbreathing. Eyes lifeless.
“He doesn’t need a tracheotomy anymore,” said Bluetooth coldly.
Chapter 39
The
mask was ripped off Savage’s head. The side door of the van slid back to reveal a dank, misty morning outside Tivoli Gardens. After the fight, they’d made Savage stay behind and help dismantle the giant cage. He figured they probably never used the same venue twice. It took them all night to break down the cage, unbolting it piece by piece. At least they had the civility to stop for a tea break half way through. It had been the second night without sleep for Savage. Exhaustion and pain nagged at every inch of his body.
Bluetooth stood at the door and pushed a roll of notes into Savage’s hand. A bunch of twenties adding up to a couple of hundred quid.
“What happened to the two grand?” asked Savage. He had to pretend to keep up appearances, he was a desperate man on benefits.
“You didn’t kill the guy,” said Bluetooth. “Next time, you kill the guy, you get paid in full.” Savage got shoved out onto the pavement. Just before slamming the sliding door, Bluetooth said, “Remember, keep your mouth shut about this or you’ll join the guy you’ve just fought. We’ll be in touch.”
Savage watched the van accelerate away. He turned and walked slowly up to the front door, each step hurting. Now the adrenalin had worn off, the bruises were starting to make themselves known. He’d need to get some ice from the convenience store to put on them. First he needed a cup of tea, half a dozen to be honest, and he needed to call Tannaz.
Up in his room, he supped his tea and felt marginally better. Picked up the phone and called Tannaz.
“Tell me you got something,” he said.
No response from Tannaz.
“Tannaz?”
“I’m here,” she said. “Savage, I’ve got nothing.”
“What?”
“Listen, I scoured the dark web for signs of a fight being broadcast live. There was nothing.”
Savage swore. “How can there be nothing? I saw the guy from the forest. The goth guy who was taking pictures.”
“What was he doing there?”
“He was in charge of the upload. He had cameras set up all around the ring and a laptop. And do you know what the ring was? It was that ornamental cage Wellington ordered from Nortoft & Sons, I’m sure of it. All swirly metal like a bird cage, except it was full of nasty stuff. Bits of pipes and swords and chains. And it was a fight to the death.”
“What? I thought it was a bare-knuckle boxing match. Did you have to kill someone?”
“Very nearly. I refused so that guy Bluetooth, the one we think killed Jenny, stepped in and finished him off. So you can see why I’m pretty pissed off that I’ve just been through all that only for you to tell me you’ve found nothing. What the hell were you doing all night?”
“I’m sorry, there was nothing, I looked and looked.”
“And we don’t have the location of the fight either?”
“No, I tried tracking your phone. It just stayed put.”
“They made me leave it, put a hood over my head. So basically, you got nothing out of this. A big fat zero.”
“Hey,” said Tannaz, her voice suddenly incendiary. “Give me a break. Do you know how hard this is? Do you? Do you think I just hit a button that says ‘find bad guys’? Do you know how big the dark web is, and how difficult it is to negotiate and find what you want, and cover your tracks, so people don’t get suspicious and come after you?”
Savage took a breath. Exhaled. He hadn’t felt this tired for a long time. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ve just had a hard night. I know how difficult what you do is. I can’t do this without you.”
“I’m sorry too. Things sometimes don’t go to plan, you said it yourself. Are you sure the fight was online?”
“Yes. The goth guy had a headset. I heard him speak to people betting online.”
“Did he recognise you?”
“No. I was wearing one of those Mexican wrestler’s masks.”
“So Goth-guy’s working for Wellington?”
“Would seem so…” The line went quiet. “Tannaz? Tannaz?”
Savage could hear her rummaging around in the background. Tannaz came back on the line. “Sorry, I was just trying to find those memory cards we took off him and his girlfriend. You know, the ones with all the pictures of trees.”
“Yes, goths up trees.” Savage could hear something being slotted into her laptop. Then fingers typing on a keyboard. “Tannaz, are you still there?”
“Just give me a moment.”
Savage waited, serenaded down the phone by increasingly fast tapping.
“I think those pictures are about more than goths up trees,” said Tannaz.
“What?”
“I’ve been sloppy,” said Tannaz. “Real sloppy.”
“Just tell me what it is.”
“The photos. I didn’t bother looking at them in detail. Just thought they were a bunch of stupid trees taken by two idiots obsessed with death and spooky places. Didn’t look any further. I’ve just pulled up the metadata on each image, and something’s been added.”
“I thought you couldn’t muck around with metadata.”
“You can’t. Not unless you have the right software or a high-end digital camera like those two goths.”
“What did they add to the metadata?”
“A number. A three-digit number followed by a four-digit number. Savage, they match the numbers on that list we found in Dave’s jacket pocket.”
“Stay where you are,” said Savage. “I’m coming over to you.”
Ignoring the pain signals coming from every inch of his body, he burst out of his bedroom, down the stairs and out the front door, almost bumping straight into Archie coming the other way.
“Fancy a whisky and that?” asked Archie, bottle in his hand, even though it was before breakfast. “Hey, what happened to your face?”
“Not now, Archie. Gotta run.”
Savage caught a bus and was at the airport in thirty-five minutes. At the hotel he sprinted straight up to Tannaz’s room, his stomach grumbled angrily through lack of food. In the last fifteen hours, all he’d had was two cups of tea.
First thing he did when he got to Tannaz’s room was put the kettle on.
Tannaz had her laptop open, the screen was a grid of photos taken by the goth couple. A copy of the printout from Dave’s room was beside it.
“The numbers embedded in each image,” she said, “match a number on the printout. Each number corresponds with a tree in Dead Maids Woods. And you know what else I found?”
“Go on.”
“Now that I know they’re trees, it’s narrowed down the search parameters. I know what the numbers mean. They’re tree preservation orders.”
“Tree preservation orders? What, to prevent them being cut down?”
“Yes. Every tree in Dead Maids Wood has a tree preservation order on it.”
“And the one that’s ringed on Dave’s list?”
“That’s the only number that doesn’t have an image to go with it.”
“Can you find the location of it?”
“Why?”
“Because I reckon the number ringed on that list is the tree Dave used to kill himself.”
Tannaz opened up more windows on her screen, simultaneously searching several at once. Savage found it hard to keep up with what she was doing. Everything flew across the screen in a blur. She settled on one, and said, “Locations of tree preservation orders are shown by local councils on their web portals. Every tree in the country that is preserved is listed online. Weirdly, not the ones on Dave’s printout. They still don’t show up anywhere. That’s why it was so hard for us to find out what they were. I still don’t get why they’re not listed online and every other tree preservation order is.”
Savage thought for a moment. Paced the room, sipping his tea. “That’s because it’s Crown land.”
“Crown land?”
“Yes
, owned by the monarchy. They don’t have to make anything public if they don’t want to—that’s why we couldn’t make sense of the numbers. Unlike local government, which has to make everything public, the Crown is under no such obligation. Queen can do what the hell she wants. Eat a swan. Rob a bank.”
“Rob a bank?”
“Technically she could. It’s her country. Like Judge Dredd, she is the law. The prosecuting force in the UK. She can’t exactly arrest herself.”
“So what do we do?”
“Go to the Forestry Commission. Show them the list. Hopefully if we ask them nicely they’ll tell us where this tree is.” He pointed to the number that was ringed in red pen on Dave’s list. “I bet this is the tree Dave used.”
Tannaz nodded. “We still don’t know what any of this means.”
Savage said, “Well, we know Goth-guy is working for Wellington senior. Remember what he said when we took the memory cards off him? He said, ‘It’s for our work. Now we’ll have to start all over again.’ They weren’t just out there on a goth jolly, snapping pictures of spooky trees. My theory is Wellington had him go there to create an image library of the trees. One of which Dave Mosely was found dead in.”
“I still don’t get why Wellington would do that. Why would he need pictures of preserved trees?”
“That’s what we need to find out. First we go to the Forestry Commission. Confirm whether the one ringed on the list is the one Dave was found dead in, then we find out who cut down the tree. They might know something.”
Chapter 40
They followed the A35 out of the city and into the forest, stopping at Lyndhurst, home to the headquarters of the Forestry Commission for the South of England. A handsomely proportioned three-storey, red-brick building with generous-sized windows, it reminded Savage of a large Victorian schoolhouse. Maybe that’s what it started life as until the population of Lyndhurst grew and its children had to be educated elsewhere.