She shook her head, and winced slightly.
‘Please be careful.’ Smiler gently patted her hand.
Aunt May placed her other hand on top of Smiler’s, sandwiching his between hers. ‘You are a good, kind, caring boy, Smiler.’
Smiler felt the blood rush to his face. She’s talking about me! he thought in amazement.
‘Yes, I mean you, son,’ she said, as if she’d read his mind.
Smiler’s mind was in a whirl. Oh God! She doesn’t know the things I’ve done.
She thinks I’m nice.
I’m not.
I’ve done terrible things, really bad disgusting things just to get drugs and food.
I’m not the person she thinks I am!
He hung his head, his heart breaking. She’ll hate me, really hate me when she knows what I’ve done.
He looked at the scars on his arm, and for a moment wanted to feel the sharp knife in his hand, feel the release as the blood ran freely and dripped to the floor.
Sensing the turmoil going on inside him, Aunt May squeezed his hand to reinforce what she had just said.
Still staring at his arms, he shook his head. She’s going to hate me. When she finds out, she’ll look at me with disgust. I couldn’t bear that, to see it on her face.
‘Look at me, Smiler.’
After a moment, he lifted his head and looked into her eyes. She smiled. ‘You’re with family now. What’s past is past. You have a future with us.’
His breath caught in his throat, and his heart swelled with emotions he couldn’t ever remember feeling before. Could this truly be so? Could life actually be worth living, instead of just drifting from day to day?
Just then the doctor, arrived, trailing a couple of nurses and Brother David. He was a young, fair-haired man, who chose every opportunity he could to flash his perfect white teeth. Aunt May found herself staring at those teeth. She found the smile that went with them predatory.
For God’s sake, get me outta this bloody place, she was thinking, as the doctor moved closer.
‘Well,’ he said, flashing his teeth again. ‘You’ve given us quite a scare. We weren’t sure if you would make it or not, a head wound at your age.’ He shook his head as if talking down to a child, raising Aunt May’s blood pressure to a dangerous level.
‘But look at you. I dare say you’re on the mend already, yes?’ He grinned at her.
Prat! Aunt May was thinking, but said, ‘Yes, well, I’m fine now, doctor. I just want to go home, thank you very much.’
‘Can’t let you do that, I’m afraid. We need to do more tests.’
‘Why? I’m perfectly all right, young man.’
She’s probably as stubborn as Mike, Smiler thought, remembering Mike’s determination to go home.
‘Aunt May.’ Brother David had moved to her side and rested his hand on her shoulder. ‘Please, it’s for your own good, and our peace of mind. We need to know that you’re truly well enough before we take you home. I’m sure the tests won’t take too long.’
Smiler nodded his agreement, willing her to stay for the tests.
Exhausted, she lay back on the pillows. ‘OK, OK.’ She frowned at the doctor. ‘But I’m home as soon as you’re finished with me, and I would like that to be some time today, thank you very much. Also, I would like you to remember when you speak to me that I’m not a bloody kid, and I have all my faculties intact!’
‘Well,’ he practically snapped at her, ’I am sorry if I’ve offended you in any way.’
‘Oh, you have!’
‘Again, I apologise’- although the apology came from behind his gritted white teeth.
‘Accepted. Now, could you please just bloody well get on with it? Thank you very much.’
‘Of course. Well-a lot depends on what we find. Now, if you gentlemen would leave us for a few minutes? We won't be long, but we need to take some blood and check her blood pressure, among other things.’ He flashed a smile at Brother David and Smiler.
‘No way,’ Aunt May stated, folding her arms across her chest. ‘They go, I go.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘What for?’
‘Well,’ he blustered.
‘Look, Doc, here's the score. These guys are staying. It’s not safe in this dump.’
Brother David’s face was pink as he stared at the walls, but he couldn’t help thinking that she had a point.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The journey back to Wallsend only took ten minutes longer than the one to Durham. Having been driven off a cliff, shot at, and knowing that they would try anything, probably when he was least expecting it, Mike had checked his mirrors constantly as he’d woven in and out of the traffic. He knew he had to be vigilant, because they were probably becoming pretty desperate now, and more than ever determined to finish him off. He‘d had a moment or two thinking a red sports car was tailing him, but after ten minutes it took a slip road, and nothing dropped in behind him for the rest of the drive back to Wallsend.
Now at last he was parked outside Quinn’s pub. He waited a few minutes, watching everything and everybody that came and went in the street, dissecting every snippet of conversation he managed to catch through the open window. Finally, satisfied that he had not been followed, he got out of the car and went inside.
Spotting him immediately, the Boy George look-alike lifted the flap in the bar top and, with a huge smile on his face, ushered Mike behind the bar. Smile still in place, Boy George ran along the corridor and, after a quick one-two knock, flung the door open.
‘He’s back, boss,’ he trilled as, practically bowing, he stepped aside to let Mike in.
Shaking his head and hiding a grin, Mike walked in, noticing at once the large navy blue holdall on the desk.
‘It’s here,’ Quinn said, tapping the bag with his right forefinger. ‘Everything you asked for.’
‘How much?’ Mike asked, striding over to the desk and picking up the holdall. By the weight of it, he guessed that it did hold everything he wanted. He slung the holdall over his left shoulder.
‘On the house.'
‘No. I’ll pay.’
‘No, you won't. I already said. Look, Yorke, you’re the straightest copper I ever met. Don’t know what the fuck’s going on here, but it’s obviously something big. If you need any more help, you just have to ask-no strings attached.’
‘Thank you.’
‘No bother. It feels good to be on the side of the angels for once.’ He grinned at Mike.
Unsmiling Mike stared back. Quinn’s blue eyes looked genuine enough, and Mike guessed that he would probably be a good ally in what was to come. But did he really want to become what would amount to Quinn's friend? Basically, the man was nothing more than a piece of shit, with no morals at all. Well, perhaps one - and that was the main reason why Mike had gone to bat for him when he’d been accused of running a paedophile ring. Quinn was many things, but a paedophile? No.
Rumour had it that Quinn had personally seen off more than one child molester in his time. And good for him if the rumours are true, and Mike suspected that they were.
But now he has a hold over me!
Mike gritted his teeth. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ He turned and walked out.
PART THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
24 hours later
In the small room in the three-star hotel, the Leader sat in a brown wicker chair, his back to the window, his face in shadow and his eyes staring at a stain on the carpet. He raised his head. He glared at the two henchmen for a moment, making them both feel even more uncomfortable than they already were.
‘So, when will the new place be ready?’ It was a demand more than a question.
The Chinese guard replied, ‘Another few days at the most, my Leader.’
‘Another few days. I have to live in this, this,’ he gestured, taking in the whole room, ‘this filthy hovel for a few more days?’ His tone was one of shock, his face even more so, as he stood up
and spat at the stain on the carpet. ‘Are you out of your fucking tiny minds?’
‘Maybe a little less, my Leader. They will be as quick as they can. The English guard said quickly, thinking, It’s not that bad, for God’s sake, quite luxurious to the way some people have to live. But that’s these guys all over. No way could we have put him in a five-star in case he was recognised by a member of the Families, or one of their many servants.
‘We have a lot of people working on it, my Leader,’ the Chinese guard said into the sudden silence. ‘Trust me. Everything will be back to normal before you know it.’
The other guard quickly nodded.
The Leader jumped up from his seat and began pacing the small room. Like the guards, he was dressed in a grey suit and tie instead of his usual monk's habit. His hair had been cut short and brushed back off his forehead with no parting. He was also clean shaven, his ten year old beard gone now. Only someone who had been up close and personal would recognise him.
‘We are losing money rapidly, and the longer we wait to get established, the more money we lose. Don’t you fucking understand simple maths?’ He glared at the English guard.
‘We’ll make it up, my Leader. The drones are on the streets now picking up new workers, just as easily as they did up north, and the chemist has his lab sorted. Production should restart by the end of the week.’
‘Not good enough,’ the Leader snapped. He knew now that all family money was denied to him. He was truly an outcast. For the moment, war had been declared. It was the way. For now, he was fair game. If he made it to the meeting, then by law he would have his final say.
And I will. I am by the rules allowed to state my case. They can’t change that overnight, not without the full consent of every living Family member. For God’s sake, they can’t get rid of me just for living as we always used to. And they can’t shut me up, either.
Fools, the whole bloody lot of them.
Well, they won't use me as a scapegoat, put my life on the line just because things aren’t going to plan.
And they know which way I’ll vote. They even tried to deny me that!
‘How dare they!' he yelled.
He slammed his fist down on the coffee table. Behind him, both guards jumped. It was an automatic reaction in the presence of this man. Every day was a knife-edge existence.
‘You realise,’ he shouted again, ‘that I’ll also have to sort some new links for the slaves, if those fools get their own way, and I’m made an outcast for ever?’ They both nodded.
The English guard was thinking, That won't be too hard, not with the demand for slaves growing more and more with every passing year.
Then, changing tack altogether, the Leader looked each of the guards up and down, and went on in a totally different tone, ‘Any of these new peasants worthy of my attention?’
‘Yes, my Leader. Certainly, my Leader, but-is the risk really worth it?’ the Chinese guard put in. ‘I mean…’ The words stumbled in his mouth, frightened of going too far because no one was safe around the Leader. No matter how valuable you thought you were to him, he could snap at any moment. No one was irreplaceable. ‘I mean, what if you were recognised, or they gave a description to the police?’
The Leader transferred his gaze to him, and said in wonder, ‘Whoever gave you an opinion?’
The guard hung his head. Knowing he’d stepped over the line, he bit his lip as he stared at the floor. But he also knew, if the Leader went down, they would go down with him. That’s why they had him in this quiet little hotel, a businessman passing through. Just an ordinary guy. Though in truth, the Leader would stand out in any crowd - they just hoped he wouldn’t be recognised for who he was.
They took him out every day as if he was going to work, and drove round and round, anything to entertain him, which was not that easy. Out in the open, they had to be careful of which pastimes they indulged in.
‘How about we take you up to the house, see for yourself how the work is progressing?’ the English guard said quickly, hoping to divert the Leader's attention from his partner. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. If not, then you were dead in minutes. One order, and your best friend would kill you. He’d done it himself, more than once, just on the whim of the Leader. He glanced over at his partner, whose skin had turned grey.
A moment later, he sighed with relief as the Leader jumped up and headed for the door. ‘Come on,’ he said, without looking back. ‘What are you waiting for?’
Five minutes later, they were in the car and heading out into the Norfolk countryside.
The journey took twenty-five minutes. The Leader constantly tapped his fingernails on the metal door handle. Both guards were ready to slit their own throats when they finally got there. Jumping out, the Chinese guard quickly opened the door for the Leader. Stepping out of the car, the Leader stared at the huge house. After a moment, he gave a nod of satisfaction. The whole estate was circled by woods, and could not be seen from outside. Like a lot of Family property, If you didn’t already know it was here then you never would.
He looked at the workmen moving in and out of the house. Satisfied that they were working hard enough, he said, ‘It will do, I suppose. And the back of the property, how big are the grounds? Are they landscaped, do they have the sheds ready?’
‘Pretty much the same as the monastery, my Leader,’ the Chinese guard replied.
‘Hmm.’ He strutted back and forth, his mouth set in an arrogant line. ‘Not bad, not bad at all.’
‘And yes,’ the English guard added quickly, ‘a couple of more sheds than the monastery had, as you ordered, My Leader. More sheds, more productivity.’
‘Good.’
Both guards breathed a silent sigh of relief as they followed him up the broad steps into the house. Inside, it was pretty much a carbon copy of the monastery near Holy Island, just as the leader had demanded.
With a smile, he turned to the guards. ‘I think we can move in today, don’t you?’
‘But your rooms aren’t quite ready, my Leader.’
‘Then have them ready by tonight. I am not spending another night in that shambles of a hotel. Got it?’ Without waiting for an answer, he strode out to the car.
The English guard looked at his partner. ‘You stay here and sort it, I’ll try to keep him away from here as long as I can.’
‘OK. Be careful.’
The English guard nodded before hurrying after the Leader.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Cox knocked on Mr Brodzinski’s door. He knew it would take a while for the old man to shuffle along the passageway. He stood here waiting for a good five minutes every Thursday night, when he picked him up for their chess club. He’d been taking the old man for best part of a year now, and actually enjoyed his company. A teller of interesting tales, Mr Brodzinski was, with a storyteller's gift.
The old man peered through the tiny glass spy hole in the door. His stooped body was deceiving-he was still a very strong man. Cox had felt that strength, it was in the shake of his hand among other things. No one knew his first name. He was simply known at the chess club as Brod.
Opening the door, he said, ‘Ah, Jason, come in, come in. You have news of my granddaughter?’
Cox’s heart sank at the look of hope in Mr Brodzinski’s eyes. How the hell am I going to tell him?, he wondered.
‘Why don’t you go and put the kettle on, Brod? A cup of coffee, please.’ He stepped into the house.
Mr Brodzinski nodded. ‘And chocolate biscuits?’
‘Yes, please.’ Cox smiled.
Turning, Mr Brodzinski moved slowly back along the hallway into the kitchen. Urging Cox to sit down at the table, he put the kettle on the gas cooker before switching the small television off. ‘Don’t know why I listen to the news, it’s all bad.’ He looked out of the corner of his eye at Cox who, trying to get right in his head what he was going to tell him, was staring at the mix of brightly coloured pansies on the windowsill.
M
r Brodzinski poured boiling water into the teapot for himself, then stirred Cox's coffee. Sitting down opposite him, Mr Brodzinski said, ‘So, Jason. I can tell by your face and your silence that there is no news.’
For a moment, Cox breathed in the aroma of his coffee, then said quietly, ‘Sorry, Brod. There is some news. Just not the sort of news you want to hear.’
‘Please, don’t dress it up. If she’s dead, just tell me.’ He looked at Cox. ‘Because if you tell me a lie, it would be so unkind.’ With trembling hands, he poured his tea, putting in two sugars and pushing the bowl over to Cox.
Cox stirred his coffee, dropped the spoon on the saucer and looked at Mr Brodzinski. ‘OK. I’m sorry for being so blunt, but we can't say for sure if she’s alive or dead. From what we’ve found out, she was definitely in the monastery -apparently a couple of the kids do remember your Annya-but most of their memories of their time in the monastery are a bit fuddled, to say the least.’
Mr Brodzinski frowned. ‘Fuddled? What do you mean, "fuddled"? Is it a word? What sort of word?’
‘Mixed up, Brod. It means mixed up.’
‘Then say "mixed up"! Honestly, Cox, I’m sure you make words up as you go along.’
Cox sighed. ‘They... I’m sorry to tell you this, but they---- well. they were all of them controlled by drugs.’
Mr Brodzinski gasped. ‘You mean, my Annya…my sweet, beautiful granddaughter...is a drug addict?’ His jaw hung open for a moment as he shook his head in disbelief. ‘No…no. You have it wrong. It’s the wrong girl. It must be… My Annya… No.’
‘Through no fault of her own, Brod,’ Cox added hastily. ‘They were force-fed them.’
‘My Annya is a good girl. Just like her mother. She would never take drugs. You have the wrong girl.’
‘I’m really sorry, but it was definitely Annya. Her name was also on the list.’
Holy Island Trilogy 02 - Nowhere Man Page 9