When the car stopped, he opened the back door. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Flanagan.” He looked at Cailin. “Bye Cailin, see you Saturday?”
“Yes bye Jason. I’ll phone you,” Cailin said. They looked at each other. Jason heard Maude open the front door. Cailin’s mum watched them in her driver’s mirror. He wanted to kiss her goodbye, but too many eyes were watching, and it would be their first kiss. He didn’t want to ruin it. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before letting go and climbed out. He waved them off and almost skipped into the house.
Maude stopped in the hallway and looked at him. “And what’s that on your face?” she asked.
Jason felt his face, he checked in the small mirror that hung in the hall. “What? I can’t see anything.”
“With your eyes shining like that and the biggest smile I have ever seen, I would call it a love struck face.”
“No, it’s the chlorine from the pool. It stung my eyes.” He grinned.
“How are you feeling? We were worried about you Jason. You over did it in that race.”
“As you can see, I’m fine, but I’m tired. I’ll go to bed now, goodnight,” Jason said. He leant forward and gave Maude a hug. It was a small brief hug. To Jason, it was just being nice, and he was in a great mood. To Maude, it meant the world.
“Oh here, you left your teddy bear down here again. Unless now you are all grown up and have a girlfriend you won’t be needing him…” Maude teased.
Jason grabbed Charlie Teddy and ran up the stairs two at a time to bed. He wasn’t sure where his friendship with Cailin was going, but it felt right and helped beat the boredom of the mission.
He turned out his light and jumped into bed. His eyes were heavy, his body still tired from his exhausting swim. He turned to sleep and noticed Charlie Teddy. He picked him up and turned him on and placed Charlie’s mouth by his ear.
This should send me to sleep, Jason said to himself, not expecting anything. He listened for ten minutes and fought off the sleep that called him. He could hear the TV in the background and the theme of the five o’clock news. Jason assumed this was just after he left and doubted he would hear anything as Shamus and Maude left not long after to attend the swimming event.
He could clearly hear Bradan and Shamus talking. “He’s head of SYUI. George Young he’s called. You can’t miss him, big fat guy. He goes out every night around seven thirty with his kid for dinner. The kids about thirteen and apparently a nerdy looking thing. George Young wears the same black suit. If he’s here, it can’t be good for us. If we take him out it will be a boost of confidence for our supporters and show the bloody Brits we mean business. I have someone following him. He will pass the word of where the fat English pig is eating. It’s normally around nine thirty. And when he comes out. Pop.”
Jason sat up. He couldn’t believe his ears. It was Bradan talking. He looked at his alarm clock, its luminous hands telling him it was almost nine twenty. “Shamus said he had something to do tonight,” Jason said under his breath, changing from his pajamas into his clothing as fast as he could.
He sneaked down the stairs. Maude was in the living room watching TV. He gently lifted the phone and dialed the number he was given. After several rings and no answer, panic started to set in. He had to warn George. He dropped the phone down before he grabbed his coat and snuck out the front door.
He ran at the same time zipping up his coat as he left. The night air was very cold, reminding him that winter was on its way. The more he thought about the message, the faster he ran. He sprinted down the street and cut across the park, running as quickly as he could.
The park was silent. The moon had risen and the air was still. The park was caught up in a pale buttery light. The grass and earth beneath his feet seemed to throb with peace, and from above came light from heavens older than man. He had made it halfway across the park playing field.
His silent solitude came to an abrupt end when a pair of headlamps came on. A van, Jason guessed. It was parked on the other side of the park, although blinding the lights gave him the direction of Main Street. He would follow that up into the town and hope to spot Shamus or George.
Two figures or was it three climbed out of the van. It was hard for Jason to say exactly. They were protected by the bright lights that shone in his direction. As he got closer he counted four men.
“What’s the hurry sonny?” one called out. Jason ignored him and kept running albeit in his direction. Two moved forward to block Jason’s path. He slowed down and tried walking fast.
“I asked a question. Now where would a kid your age be going at night and so fast?” the man asked again.
“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. I’m going home,” Jason said. He noticed the other two. They were both carrying what looked like baseball bats.
“We are not strangers, kid. We clean up the area, make sure no one is breaking the law,” The man barked as he paced towards Jason. “What’s your name laddie and where do you live?”
Jason stopped and took in his surroundings. Four men, two carrying baseball bats. “Creggan Cleaners?” Jason asked.
“Smart kid.” The man smiled and looked at the others. “Then you know you had better answer our questions.”
“I’m going home, and I’m late. That’s why I was running,” Jason said.
“And where do you live?”
“I can’t tell you that. I don’t know you.”
“You don’t get a choice. I want your name address and what school you go to? If I have to ask again, I’ll make you sorry.” He was a few feet from Jason. His threat angered Jason. He was thinking about what Shamus had told him. The Creggan Cleaners had kneecapped Haden McGinty’s brother because he was stealing cars and stole from an old lady. Although Jason felt McGinty was wrong, he should have been brought to justice by the police. These men where nothing more than thugs themselves playing at being police.
“No, I don’t talk to strangers. I have to go. We are on the same side, although I don’t shoot kids’ kneecaps so they spend their life in a wheelchair.” Jason raised himself on his toes as they approached.
“Who the bloody hell do ya think you are talking to?” The man cursed, raising his hand.
“Oh big man, gonna hit a twelve-year-old kid now? What’s next, chop off the fingers of anyone who doesn’t flush the toilet properly or clean their teeth?” Jason said.
The four men looked at each other, unsure what to do next.
“You need a good walloping. If I ever spoke to my old man like that—” he was interrupted.
“You’re not my old man. You’re a bully threatening a kid who just wants to get home. Now can I go now please?” Jason said. He tried to walk away. One made a grab for him. Jason blocked his hand and twisted it, pulling it down. For good measure he kicked the man in the groin.
“Ah you little, Git,” the man screamed, falling to his knees.
Jason ran at another man. At the last second, he ducked and ran passed, sprinting away, closely followed by two of them on foot. His pursuers where overweight smokers. Despite their larger, legs Jason was fast, extremely fit, and desperate to find George and Scott. He took one corner at the end of the park into the busy Belfast Street and had lost his pursuers. The cold air sliced him as he fled; his chest was like an oven that burned and stung when he gasped it in and then set off a burning sensation across his chest. He swallowed salvia, trying to ease the burning.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jason ran street after street. Every restaurant he came to he went and looked for George. He turned down Howard Street and had to stop at a pay phone. He called the number he was given again. After five rings and no answer, he slammed down the receiver in anger and set off running again, not exactly sure where he was running, just going to each restaurant and trying to find George and Scott.
*
Three men sat nervously outside the Shaw Restaurant, the famed Belfast restaurant named after Irish Playwright George Bernard Shaw. He often played ho
st to celebrities when visiting Belfast.
Shamus O’Neill checked his American made Smith and Wesson .38 special for the hundredth time. He noticed movement at the exit of the restaurant. He pulled a black knitted hood over his head; it had two round holes cut out for his eyes.
*
George Young and Scott Turner were just leaving Shaw Steakhouse.
“Looks cold outside,” Scott said, zipping up his coat and tucking his hands in his pockets.
“You kids are bloody soft. This ain’t cold. When I was a kid, it was so bloody cold the only thing that kept us kids warm was my mother’s love,” George said.
“Is that back when you lived in a cave afraid to go out because a dinosaur would eat you?” Scott replied.
The two stepped out onto the pavement and walked towards the car. Jason looked down the street. The familiar round shape of George Young was impossible to confuse even for a bat. He started jogging towards them. Scott looked up, trying to make out who the boy was running towards them.
“Is that Jason coming?” Scott asked George.
George looked down the street.
“George Young is it?” Shamus called. George looked to his right. A tall hooded man stood still in the road watching him.
“Who’s asking?” George said. He immediately suspected something was wrong and yanked Scott back by his neck and shielded him behind him.
“Tiocfaidh ár lá.” Shamus shouted the Irish phrase meaning Our day will come as he raised his trembling hand. George threw himself on top of Scott. Jason could see the gunman in the distance and ran as fast as he could. Two shots rang out. Then another. George coughed and collapsed, crushing Scott.
Shamus ran back to the waiting car and jumped in the back door. The wheels screeched as it sped off away from the murder scene. George never moved. People in the nearby restaurant stayed inside. No one ventured outside. A few braver or inquisitive kept low and looked out the windows.
“George,” Jason shouted as he approached. He noticed Scott’s legs underneath George. A large pool of blood was forming. “Scott.”
Jason bent down and felt George’s neck for a pulse. He rolled George over, dark blood oozing from his mouth, his eyes lifeless. His shirt was drenched in blood. Below him lay the thin lifeless body of Scott saturated in blood. Jason fell to his knees.
“Scott,” Jason cried his name tugging his shoulder. Scott moved. He coughed and crawled from under George’s body with Jason’s help. “Are you hurt?”
Scott shook his head from side to side and looked down at George and back at Jason. The tears cascading down his friends face told him what he dreaded.
A waiter from the restaurant approached. “Are you boys hurt?” He stopped and winced, almost taking a step back when he noticed the blood weeping from George’s body. “We’ve called for the police and an ambulance.”
Jason looked up through tear-saturated eyes. A crowd started to gather around. Scott threw up mostly on himself and started to sob.
“He saved me. He threw himself on me.” Scott cried and threw up again.
“Is that your dad, sonny?” the waiter asked.
“No it’s—” Jason stopped himself. He looked at the gathering crowd. A lady bent down and felt George’s pulse. Jason thought she must be a nurse; she seemed to know what she was doing.
“He’s gone boys. Is he your father? Where’s your mother?” she asked Jason. Scott threw up again and didn’t seem to mind his vomit and snot hanging from his nose and mouth. He shook violently, clearly shaken by the experience.
Jason pulled Scott up onto his feet. Scott sobbed and hugged him, his vomit rubbing on the side of Jason’s face.
“Can I clean him up in the restroom please?” Jason asked the waiter.
“Sure son, go on through,” the waiter replied.
Jason took Scott’s hand and led him into the restaurant. Everyone’s eyes followed the two boys. Inside, he made his way to the back, following the signs to the emergency exit. He went out the back way and closed the door behind them.
He stopped and cupped Scott’s face in his hands and focused on his friend’s eyes. “Scott we can’t hang around here. We have to get back to the barracks. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
Scott said nothing. His large brown eyes looked through his friend, not focusing on anything in particular. He wiped his mouth and nose on the sleeve of his coat. It was blood soaked and made it worse. Jason took Scott’s coat off, discarded it, and gave him his own. He took Scott’s hand and pulled him, slowly jogging away from the back of the restaurant.
By the time they made it to the corner, they could here sirens from what Jason guessed would be either an ambulance or the police. The journey was around two miles. Jason pulled Scott along and took him down the embankment. Jason knew it came out near a playing field and across the street would be the barracks.
Scott pulled back. He was crying, exhausted, his body still shaking uncontrollably.
“Scott,” Jason gasped. “We’re almost there, come on mate,” he put his arm around Scott to help him. “We can walk if you’re tired once we get to the barracks. We will get SYUI to help us.”
“He saved my life, and we just left him lying in the street surrounded by strangers,” Scott said.
Jason sighed. “We can’t do anything for him. They think you’re his kid. It’s not safe out here for you, and I don’t know what to do. Let’s get back to safety and go from there.” Jason noticed Scott was looking over his shoulder. He turned to see what Scott was looking at.
“Oh no.” Jason cursed.
“Well look who we have here,” a man’s voice said. It was the same group of men Jason had earlier escaped from, the Creggen Cleaners.
“Leave us alone.” Jason cursed. “I’m not in the mood for you. I have to get my friend home.”
The four men ran towards them. Jason almost threw Scott behind him and concentrated. Scott fell to his knees and seemed unsure what to do. He couldn’t fight a kid his own size let alone an adult. Jason forced adrenaline into his system. He raised himself onto his toes and stood in a fight stance.
The first man raised his hand to hit Jason. It was a foolish move. Jason caught his hand and twisted it. He swung on it and used it as a pendulum. He swung and kicked the man’s legs away from him. As the man was falling, a second approached and punched Jason. He blocked it, but the momentum sent him down on the ground. He rolled over and jumped up on his feet.
One man looked about forty with a large belly caught Scott by the collar and smacked him across the face. Jason witnessed it from the corner of his eye. He watched his friend get knocked to the ground.
Jason’s eyes darkened. He was incensed and seem to step outside himself. Only a few times had he lost his temper this severely. An inferno ignited in his head. He threw himself at the man who hit Scott. In a single move Jason caught the man’s collar with his left hand pulled his victim towards him and ducked a swing. He imagined he had hold of a tennis ball to increase his fist size and threw his right fist. The crack of the man’s nose could be heard from across the street.
Jason span on his left leg, his right leg fired from his body and smashing into the wounded man’s windpipe, sending him back several feet before he collapsed.
A baseball bat cracked across Jason’s right shoulder. Ignoring the pain, he caught the bat, jerked it away from his attacker, and brought it down on the man’s skull. He swiftly span around and used it to block another attack. Jason dived to the ground, rolled, and swung the bat across the face of his attacker. Scott cringed when he heard the crack as it smashed into the man’s face. Blood spattered from his nose and mouth. His eyes closed and he made a gurgling sound, flailing his arms feebly as he fell backwards.
Jason could smell the blood, almost welcoming the next man as he was charged. Jason switched back to his karate stance, took a step forward, and chambered both his hands, palms forward, elbows bent, the right at shoulder height the left at waist height. “Kia,” Jason shou
ted in warrior style and launched a double palm strike focusing through the man’s body. Both strikes landed on prime acupuncture points. But rather than heal and relieve pressure, the savage blows sent Jason’s victim into spasm. To finish him off, Jason span on his right leg and threw a roundhouse kick.
The last man, who Jason suspected was the leader, pulled a sawn-off shotgun from under his jacket. Before he could take aim, Jason dived at the armed man’s feet, swung his legs up, and kicked the gun up into the air. He threw a kick to the man’s stomach, knocking him back several feet. Jason caught the shotgun as it was coming back down, pointed it, and walked forward towards the man. His eyes black as death itself and gritting his teeth, Jason aimed.
The entire fight had taken less than thirty seconds. All four men lay on the ground. Above one man stood one of the scariest sights Scott had ever seen. Jason Steed panting and aiming the gun at the man who looked petrified.
“Jason no,” Scott shouted. He got up and ran towards them. Jason was motionless, his body trembling. “No Jason.” Scott pulled his shoulder.
Jason swung around and caught Scott by his throat. His left thumb bedded deep into his friend’s windpipe. His right hand still pointed the shot gun at the man who was on his back with hands raised, trying to squirm away. It was then when Scott noticed his eyes. It terrified Scott. The look was something no one could describe. George had once told him he had seen Jason ‘loose it,’ as he put it, a few times, and he was pleased he was never on the receiving end.
Scott tried to pull Jason’s hand away from his throat. “It’s me Jason,” Scott choked. Jason blinked and looked at his friend and nodded. He released his grip.
“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” Scott asked, rubbing his throat. Jason threw the shotgun across the field. The man rolled over got to his feet and ran off.
“Um maybe, I thought they hit you,” Jason said rubbing his shoulder. “Come on, we better move.” Jason put his arm around Scott. Sweat and specks of blood covered his face. He was exhausted. Scott felt him getting heavy. They walked halfway across the playing field, and Jason stumbled, falling to his knees. Scott bent down.
Jason Steed Royal Decree Page 6