All the windows were bricked up apart from one, which had loose boards covering it. From behind those planks peeked the moon – its milky glow finding its way into the dust-covered room and lighting it naturally for the copper.
From below, Danny heard the panel in the wall slide open.
Frantically looking about him, Danny decided to hide behind a stack of boxes which were piled up to the beams. He aimed his gun at the opening at the top of the stairs. “Come on. Come on…” he thumbed the gun’s hammer back in readiness.
The footsteps came closer. Much, much closer.
Danny wiped the sweat from his brow as droplets stung his eyes.
The head of the person coming up the stairs could now be seen.
It was covered by some type of mask.
The face couldn’t be seen.
The shoulders emerged.
Then the chest.
Clomp, clomp, clomp…
They were heavy and lethargic.
“Come on, come on…” Danny willed.
When the shape filled the doorway, Danny gasped at the sheer size of the person.
He prepared to call a warning shout, but decided against it.
He took aim.
Beginning to squeeze the trigger, he heard it.
A rattle of chain.
A low growl.
He turned to his right, thinking he’d never heard anyone or anything shriek such a loud or hideous shriek as he did, as the humungous beast come out of the darkness. Boxes spilled, bullets whined…
Chapter 17
Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang…
Porky gave the bell a few more hearty rings this time, hoping he’d covered the sound of gunfire from somewhere inside the building. He knew this lot would be trouble. He just bloody well knew it. I just hope Richard hasn’t been discovered in the garret, or there really will be trouble, he thought.
It wasn’t a lie, when I proclaimed my brother to be dead. He was. Practically. They’d all accepted the fact. Even Baby. It had been her idea to put him up there. After he was bitten by a stray…
“What the hell was that?!” Iain asked.
“Can’t say I heard anything,” Rigs said.
“Me either,” Grace chipped in.
“I did,” Diesel said. “Sounded like a gun being fired to me.”
“You’d know,” Iain said.
“What?!” Diesel snapped. His lip had swollen with dry blood at one corner of his mouth. His nose also seemed to be slightly misshapen, but not broken. Diesel didn’t appear to be in any form of pain as he spoke or moved about.
“I wasn’t asking you!” Iain said who also had dry blood around his mouth. His left eye had also darkened.
“I believe it was the bell,” Porky said, giving it one more clang.
“It was definitely a gunshot,” Diesel protested.
“It’s probably your lot messing about in the lounge area,” Iain said.
“My lot? And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”
“Please!” Porky said. “Enough. Now, are we going to play, or not? I can just as easily give you all your money back and see you on your way? Is that what you want, being this close to winning all that money?”
A grave silence fell over the room.
Porky prayed that no other sound would come from within the pub. Sweat poured down his face as he clenched his teeth and buttocks. What seemed like an age passed by, yet nothing happened. Not a single sound or incident.
“Of course it’s not,” Rigs said, wanting to break the silence.
“And the rest of you?!” Porky said. He looked pissed. Irked to no end.
The others nodded and muttered like scolded children.
“I can’t hear you,” he said.
“Yes,” they said in unison.
“Good. Now would Diesel and Rigs come to the table and play, please? And no more nonsense. If there’s so much as a murmur of banter between you two,” he said, pointing at Rigs and Diesel, “Then I’m disqualifying the pair of you. Understood?”
“Yes,” Rigs said.
Diesel firstly nodded, and then followed up with a “Yes.”
“Great. Rigs, would you like to call?”
“It’s okay, Diesel can call,” he said, whilst chalking his cue.
“Tails,” he called.
“It’s heads,” Porky said. “Rigs, you get the choice?”
“I’ll smash ‘em,” he said, placing the white ball in the D. Cueing, he gave his strike off shot everything, blasting the pack apart and sending balls everywhere. Nothing potted.
“A nice open game,” Diesel said, eyeing his first move. “Stripes,” he nominated.
Porky nodded.
“Not what I would have gone for,” Rigs said under his breath. Nobody heard his statement.
Diesel took his time. Took measured shots. He tapped the first striped ball in, which was hanging over the middle pocket. The white ball screwed back just far enough for him to be able to take out a second stripe which was close to the same pocket.
With two down, he stopped. Picking up the chalk, he walked around the table as he dusted the tip of his cue. He studied the table. The remaining balls. He planned his shots and thought about how he was going to get the one ball off the cushion.
Rigs could see him eyeing the awkward ball. “And that, my friend, is why I would have stayed away from the stripes. The solids are all open, apart from the one right by the 8-ball.”
Again, his muttered musings went unnoticed.
Diesel was off again. This time, he cleared the other middle bag, which had three of his balls loitering around it. After putting two of them away, he cannoned the third off a solid, which pushed Rigs’ ball to the cushion.
“Shit,” he huffed.
That was heard.
Diesel smiled at the trucker.
Porky said nothing. He seemed oblivious to the subtlety between the two men.
With five balls potted and the white in a good position, Diesel went for a ball hanging over the bottom-left pocket. The shot was executed well, with the ball slamming home. He then went for the one stuck to the bottom cushion, which rolled along the side and cannoned the stripe hanging over the bottom-right pocket.
With all his balls slotted home, he gave the 8-ball a hard crack, sending it flying around the table. It missed every hole, clipping one knuckle, before coming to rest against a side cushion.
“Rigs to play,” Porky said.
“Right, okay,” he said. By tapping the white as light as he could, he placed it right behind one of his balls. “Sweet,” he said, looking at the near impossible escape Diesel had on his hands.
Porky stepped in and announced that it was not touching ball.
“You dirty piece of…”
“Ugh-Hmph,” Porky said, clearing his throat. He fixed the biker with a look of annoyance.
“Keep your hair on, man. I was only teasing.” Taking his shot, he missed the black by miles.
“Two shots to Rigs,” Porky announced.
I need to think this through, Rigs thought. He put the white back in the D and took out the two balls which were that end of the table. Both were close to the right pocket. He had to slam the second ball home, just to get enough spin on the white. It zipped down the centre of the table; landing nicely on the one Diesel had nudged aside with his ball.
He dropped that one into the middle bag.
Having given enough bottom to the white with his last shot, it had stayed in the same spot after striking the object ball. With that done, Rigs potted a long, risky solid into the adjacent pocket, which put him back where he’d started.
Rigs then tucked the white ball between the two by the black, making it impossible once again for his opponent.
Diesel didn’t complain this time. Not even after he caught Rigs giving him a cheeky wink and a smile.
Taking his shot, he again missed the black by miles. Only this time, he made it worse, and split the solids and the black. Now all
of Rigs’ balls were out in the open, along with the 8-ball.
“Two shots to Rigs,” Porky announced.
Again Rigs placed the white back in the D and picked his remaining solids off. He only let his clutched breath out, once the number 8 disappeared off the table.
Diesel said nothing. He just placed his cue down, picked up his stuff, and headed out the door with a wry little smile on his face.
“Congratulations, Rigs. You’ve made the final!” Porky said. “Now, let’s find out who you’ll be playing, shall we?”
“Let’s,” Rigs said, beaming.
“Iain. Grace. You know the procedure,” Porky said. A weird grin suddenly appeared on his face.
“When do we get to meet The Champ?” Rigs wanted to know.
“Ah, but only the finalist shall meet The Champ, Rigs.”
“Ha-ha, is his identity some kind of secret?” Iain wanted to know.
“He’s not Batman, is he?” Grace ribbed.
This was met by a stern look from Porky.
“Would you like to call?” Porky asked her flatly.
“Go ahead,” Iain said. His eye was now almost completely closed from the blows he’d received from Slicks and Diesel.
“Are you sure you’re okay to play?” Porky asked.
“Bah, just a scratch,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”
“In that case, I call tails,” Grace said.
“Tails it is, Grace. Would you like to break?”
“No, I’ll let Iain,” she said.
When he bent down, that’s when his vision was worst. The sight in his battered eye was next to zero. It was going to be hard breaking off, let alone potting anything! He thought. But break he did, and in doing so, potted three balls: two solids and one stripe.
“What went down?” he asked Porky, who informed him. “In that case, stripes. He managed another three clean pots before finally missing.
“Oo, that was unlucky,” Grace said, giving his arm a rub.
“Yeah, wasn’t it just? Damn!”
“Grace to play,” Porky said.
She wasted no time in clearing away five of her balls as she whipped around the table. She was a potting tornado. But, like Iain, she too came unstuck after potting her fifth.
“I think you may have me here, beaut,” Iain said.
“It’s not over yet!” she said.
“No, you’re right – the fat lady hasn’t started singing just yet,” he said, pointing at Rigs.
“Hey! Cheeky bastard,” Rigs said, a smile spread wide on his face.
Going back to the table, Iain attempted the missed ball again, but again botched it. His eye had started to water which in turn was making it itch and annoy him.
“Damn it,” he said, wiping the water from off his cheek.
Letting Grace in again, she made no mistake in taking her sixth and seventh, and getting on to the black. This she missed, giving Iain a lifeline. But, like his last two shots, he missed for a third time.
The white settled by the black, which was an easy claim for Grace, sealing her place in the final with Rigs.
“Winner. Grace!” Porky said.
“Well done,” Iain congratulated Grace. He gave her a hug and a peck on the cheek before going over to Rigs and clamping hands with him. “You need to watch this one, mate,” he told his friend. “The best of luck, bro. I’ll see you after you win this thing.”
Picking up his beer, Iain left through the door. He heard Porky say the final would commence in twenty minutes. He smiled as the door closed behind him.
Chapter 18
Not thinking the corridor odd, Iain gradually walked the length of it. The huge smile was still spread across his face. Rigs got it. Definitely. That new truck is going to be ours, Iain thought. It’s awesome. So glad we stopped here.
The smile on his face lessened and lessened as he drew closer to the door at the end of the corridor. Something didn’t seem quite right, not that anything seemed out of place. It was the sudden quietness, as though he was the last person on earth.
Stopping halfway down the hall, he noticed a section of the wall to his right had a massive split down it. On further inspection, he could see that it was an entrance. A door in the wall; a secret tunnel – “Why would there be a…?” his words trailed off. He put his fingers in the gap and tried to slide the wood panelling out of the way. He wanted to know what was behind there.
But it didn’t budge.
He grunted and growled with effort, but it did nothing to slacken the wood. “There must be a button or…” he muttered, again his words derailing, as he fumbled in the dusky corridor. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he was sure he’d know when he came across it.
Nothing.
The wood remained where it was.
“Fuck it,” he said and kept moving down the hall. Eventually he got to the door at the end. Not hesitating, he opened it. “Holy shit!” he mouthed, as he stood at the top of a very short staircase, which led down into a sort of cellar-come-demented-laboratory. All that’s missing, Iain thought, is Norman Bates’ mother!
The floor was awash with spilled blood and many other fluids. The air was rank. Putrid. Small flies could be seen and heard. Slowly, he took the steps one at a time. With this, more and more of the room and ‘trinkets’ came into view – he felt sick. Bile leaped up his throat and scorched his guts.
On a table to his left stood the head of Mandy – her eyes were blank and staring, her mouth agape, her face filthy. The rest of her was nowhere to be seen. Behind her, on a hook, was a torso. The spike had punched a hole through the chest area.
Various jars and containers could be seen dotted around the place, which held a variety of body parts from toes to eyeballs. Tongues and scalps had been nailed to walls. Stepping off the last step, Iain placed his booted foot into a growing pool of blood. He jumped out of it and staggered forward. He was now at the centre of the room.
“What the fucking hell is going on here?!” he choked out. He then noticed all the Boas cuts on the wall. They were blood-spattered and torn in places.
“Help….” the voice croaked. “P… pp… ppp… please….” the voice coughed and spluttered.
Iain grabbed the first thing to come into sight, which just happened to be a rusty wrench. Turning, he noticed it was Diesel. He was suspended off the floor by hooks through his shoulders.
“Oh. My…?”
Diesel struggle to hold his hand up and point to something behind Iain. “Be… be… behind you,” he struggled.
Turing sharply, Iain had just enough time to see a person dressed in scrubs, complete with face mask, come at him with a meat grinder. Now the element of surprise had been lost, the have-a-go-doctor started the power tool.
The disc on the grinder came to rapid life, swirling at a deadly, skin-stripping pace. The noise it emitted was deafening. Iain could barely hear his own screaming thoughts, as the nutter came towards him, brandishing the mechanical device with glee in his eyes.
A smile could almost be seen through the thin cloth covering his face.
“What are you waiting for?!” Diesel choked over the sound, cutting the room in two. “Take the bastard down!”
If Iain had been a split second later in reacting, he would have been dead. He struck out with the wrench and caught the grinder, just as Doc lunged at him with it. It sent the tool crashing to the floor where it continued to whirl against the concrete – sparks and chippings were thrown to the air.
Once the man was unarmed, Iain swing the wrench backwards and upwards, catching Doc under his chin with an uppercut-like blow. The impact took him off his feet and threw him backward.
He crashed against a large, termite-infested cabinet, which held many prizes and trophies in glass jars: male and female reproductive organs, tongues, ears, toes, fingers. The containers burst as they were thrown to the floor. Some were crushed by Doc’s back. Shards dug themselves into his flesh, as they cut his hospital fatigues apart.
&nb
sp; “Ugh,” he cried out, as he went to ground. The cabinet, and what was left on it, crashed down on top of him. His scream was cut short, as the heavy structure slammed his throat, crushing his larynx. Some of his other bones popped and snapped. He lay still under the debris.
“Take that, psycho!” Iain said, as he went over to the cabinet. Pulling it off the fallen man, he clubbed him about the head once, twice, three times, the wrench eventually caving the man’s head in.
“Jesus Christ!” Diesel said, as he looked at the gore-covered wrench.
Breathing hard, Iain spoke. “I had to make…sure,” he said, gulping in as much air as he could. “They always get back fucking up in films. Well, he ain’t,” he concluded, as he watched the man’s blood, piss and brains wash down the drain in the corner of the room. It was mixed with the ‘brine’ from the jars. “It stinks in here!”
“Help me down, man!” Diesel said.
Turning, Iain looked up at him. “Why should I? After all the shit you and the rest of your goons have given me and my mate tonight, I should leave you here for the rest of this fucker’s family,” Iain said, pointing at Doc.
“Get me fuck…. Arghh! bollocks!” Diesel screamed, as he jiggled about on the hooks. The smallest of movements caused the rusted implements to rub against the bones in his shoulders. Flesh tore. Blood trickled and spilled. “Come on, man. Please! I’d do the same for…”
“No you wouldn’t,” Iain said, pointing the wrench in Diesel’s face. “You’d leave me to rot down here, you prick, so don’t go giving me that horse shit,” he raged. He wanted to lash out some more. Hurt someone else. The veins in his neck throbbed as his blood rushed through him.
“Okay, okay, I probably would have, but this is a bloody game changer!”
Iain knew what he meant. In different circumstances, he’d have left the scum on the hook, but this was totally different. They were up against God only knew what.
Looking about him again, Iain made out some of the other ‘losers’ in the room. He couldn’t look again at Mandy’s head. The two semi-pro players could be seen diced and bagged, along with most of the biker crew. It looked like these fuckers had been up to this shit a long time. It was time to close their operation down. “Okay, I’ll let you down, but you help me take the rest of these nutters on,” Iain said. “Including Porky. That’s the deal?”
The Rack & Cue Page 16