Amy Lynn, The Lady Of Castle Dunn

by Jack July

  The girl squeaked out, “I think so.”

  “You think so Jennifer? Really? Let me tell you. You have a little egg attached to your uterus. The sperm fertilizes and egg, and you get pregnant. Do you want to be pregnant?”

  “No.”

  “Good answer. Now, have you thought about your future, what you want to do with your life?”

  “I want to be a doctor,” said the girl.

  “Outstanding! Do you think you could do that while dragging around a baby?”

  “No,” she said becoming visibly less fearful.

  “So are you willing to trade your life, your ambition so he can have ten seconds of WHEEEE!!?”

  Jennifer looked at Martin with a little disgust and said, “No.”

  “Now, get your clothes on and get out of my house.”

  They quickly got dressed and started to leave. The boy reached for his beer and weed and Amy said, “No, I don’t think so.” Then she looked at the girl and said, “Honey, med students do not have time to smoke weed. They need all the brain cells they can get. Leave it alone.”

  She looked at Fenian and quickly nodded. They started to the front door, “Oh no, the way you came in.”

  They turned, walked through the bedroom and climbed out the window. Fenian followed them and, as she went to shut the window, she heard Jennifer say, “Get your fucking hands off me.”

  Fenian smiled to herself and thought Well, something good happened today.

  Chapter 32

  Constance and Micky backed up to the dock at the feed store on the outskirts of Shannon. Micky busied himself stacking bags of feed in the old flatbed truck, while Constance went inside to settle the bill. Micky noticed someone familiar near an older motel across the street. He waved, then jumped down from the back of the truck and walked across the street. The girl he saw, Claire Davis, a 15-year-old homeless orphan, turned to run. He called after her, “Claire, Claire!” He sprinted and caught up with her in the parking lot at the side of the building. “Claire, stop, it’s me, Micky.” He gave her a hug, but she seemed cold and distant.

  “Yeah, ah, I’m busy Micky, I have to go.”

  “Where ye staying?” asked Micky with a smile.

  An older man traversed the parking lot, leered at Claire and said, “Tomorrow then,” with a little wave.

  “Tomorrow what?” asked Micky, confused. She looked away in shame.

  It suddenly occurred to Micky what she was doing. Sadness filled his eyes and he said, “No, oh no. You don’t, no.”

  “Micky, stop it. I have to eat. I need a place to stay. It’s cold, I’m sick, please...just, go away.”

  Micky reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and said, “Look, look, I have money. I’ll help you.” He pulled all the cash out of his wallet and tried to hand it to her.

  She looked down at the money and said, “Where did you steal that?”

  “I didn’t steal it. I have a job. I work for the Lady of Castle Dunn. She is my friend. She will help you.”

  Claire shook her head and said, “Now ye a liar too?”

  “No, no really.”

  “Ha, and I’m the bloody Queen of England. Go on, I have to go. Goodbye Micky.”

  A man stepped out of his car, and waved her over. Micky grabbed her and said, “No, no Claire, you’re my friend, and you are not doing this.”

  The man walked toward Micky and shouted, “Let her go!”

  From across the road, Constance watched it happen. The man got to Micky, slapped him to the ground and grabbed the girl. Constance yelled to a couple of the feed store workers, who sprinted across the street behind her. Micky leapt up and attacked the man, who pulled a knife. Constance screamed “NO!” The pimp saw the men running toward him, and swiped at Micky with the knife. He then grabbed Claire again and pulled her toward the car. Micky dove at his feet and tripped him, as Constance and the two men from the store arrived. Constance took hold of Micky and pulled him up. Micky held Claire and stood behind Constance and the two men. Constance announced loudly, “You struck an employee of the Castle Dunn. Don’t make things worse for yourself.”

  The man holding the knife said, “Just give me my girl, and I’ll be on my way.”

  Constance shook her head smartly and said, “That’s not going to happen. Take your leave while you still can.”

  The man stood in a rage. He looked at Claire and said, “I will expect you back this evening.” Then he glared at Constance and Micky and said, “You two I will deal with later.” He turned, jogged to his car and drove away.

  Constance turned to Micky and said, “Who was that?”

  Claire spoke up and said, “Mr. Bartels.”

  Constance nodded and said. “Come Micky, we have to go.”

  “Wait,” said Micky. He turned to Claire and said, “Wait here, don’t move.” Claire nodded and Micky took Constance aside and said. “She has nowhere to go. If he catches her, he will hurt her.”

  “Then she can go to the police,” said Constance.

  “No she can’t. They’ll put her back with her uncle. He is the reason she ran away.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but Mr. Z would be very angry if we were to bring her back with us.”

  Micky shook his head and said, “Aye, but not near as angry as the Lady when she finds out you turned a 15 year old girl out to the cold and prostitution.”

  Constance’s eyes went wide. She said, “Did you just threaten me?”

  “No, no Miss Constance. I would never do that. But you know I tell the truth.”

  Constance watched him for a moment, and he appeared to be sincere. She said, “Well, alright. But what about Mr. Z?”

  “Aye, Miss Constance, you know as well as I do that Mr. Z does exactly what the Lady tells him to do.”

  Constance turned away quickly and put her hand over her mouth. Spittle shot between her fingers as she tried to stop laughing. After composing herself she smiled at Micky and said, “Fine, go get her.”

  Micky and Claire talked while Micky unloaded the bags of feed and carried them into the stable. Claire looked up at the castle and said, “Micky, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. This place is so beautiful.”

  “Aye, but not near as beautiful as the Lady. You will love her.”

  “What’s going to happen to me?”

  Micky pointed across the inner courtyard and said, “Miss Constance is talking to Mr. Z. We’ll know soon.”

  “Who is Mr. Z?”

  “The Lady’s husband.”

  “Is he nice?’

  “Yes, yes he is.”

  Bogus threw his hands in the air and said, “What the bloody hell are we running here, an orphanage?”

  “Well, she’s Micky’s friend. He fought a pimp with a knife in the parking lot of the hotel across the street from the granary to protect her.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes, he was very brave.”

  “Hmm, well, call the police and have them take her home.”

  “Not a good idea. Her parents are dead and her uncle abuses her. She’ll run away again.”

  “How is any of this my problem?”

  “Sir, this may not be. However, when the Lady finds out you turned a 15 year old prostitute out into the cold, well sir, there is your problem.”

  Bogus got a pained look on his face, rubbed his temples and thought, Oh good Lord, she’s right. Amy would have my head. After a few moments of contemplation, Bogus said, “Tell Richard to set her up in the Castle. Make sure she eats...and go get her some clothes. I’ll let Amy handle it when she returns.”

  “Yes sir. She is also ill with problems common to young prostitutes.”

  “Then take her to the doctor.”

  “And one more thing.”

  Bogus sighed and said, “What?”

  “The p
imp, a Mr. Bartels, threatened to harm Micky and me.”

  “He said what?”

  “The quote was, he would ‘deal with us’.”

  Bogus nodded and said, “Take Luther into town with you. I shall talk to Mr. Princeton about that issue.”

  Constance nodded and gave him a big smile. Bogus looked at her and said, “Now what?”

  “I’ve known you for years, Boguslaw. The Lady is very good for you.”

  Bogus nodded and said, “I miss her terribly. I’ve been wandering around the castle all day, lost.”

  “I know you do. You know, maybe when she gets that shelter, she’ll stop bringing them home.”

  “The shelter, yes. Wait, how did you know about the shelter?”

  “We talk.”

  “That’s frightening.” Constance laughed and Bogus continued. “You know, I bet she would be surprised if I had a few properties for her to look at when she returns.”

  “Yes, sir, I think she would like that very much.”

  “Thank you, Constance.”

  “Anytime, sir.”

  Constance turned to look at Micky and Claire, giving them a thumbs up.

  Later that evening, Allister and Mr. Princeton went to visit Mr. Bartels. It was not a friendly visit.

  Chapter 33

  Fenian turned to look in the mirror. The bruise on her back was dark purple and at least twelve inches in diameter. Even through the high tech Kevlar jacket with interlocking gator-skin ceramic, the shot felt like someone had hit her with a ball peen hammer. Had the bullet hit head on, it would have no doubt cracked her scapula. However, since it hit at an angle....

  Tatiana had a theory for such events. She called it the jar theory. Two jars: the luck jar is filled with marbles, the experience jar is empty. Every time you use a luck marble, you had better drop it into the experience jar, or you would not last long. Fenian nodded to herself and said out loud, “CLINK.” She thought about some of the movies and TV shows in which people took round after round into various Kevlar vests and kept fighting. She looked at the damage on her back and grumbled aloud, “Yeah, not so much.” After filling the syringe, she held it between the index and middle finger of her right hand and stabbed it into the muscles over her left scapula. She couldn’t reach the plunger, so she slowly pushed it in by backing against the wall. “OW!” she said aloud and then clenched her teeth until the shot took effect. She pulled the syringe, refilled it and did it three more times.

  This was the morning she would meet Nassar at a coffee shop across from the University of Toronto. She felt wise making the decision to delay the meeting a day. That extra day was spent doing what she should have done before Dawud’s hit: scouting the area around the complex looking for cameras and security, going over maps and intel, studying her notes on Nassar, and icing her back. She had a plan, but first she would pick Nassar’s brain and see what he knew. She put on her favorite disguise, that of a college student named Elle, the name he would know, drove to an out of the way place a couple blocks from the coffee shop and parked. She made a preplanned stop at a bookstore on University Avenue to pick up a used textbook and a spiral notebook.

  Fenian arrived early, got a cup of coffee and spoiled herself with a big cheese Danish. If someone were to pay attention, they would see she did everything with her left hand. Her right hand was never occupied. She sat with her back to the wall able to see both exits in a glance. After extracting the book and the notebook, she left the backpack open on the floor to her right, the pistol grip MP-5, safety off, in easy reach, and her coat open with the .45 in the shoulder holster. After eyeing everyone and being reasonably sure she wouldn’t have to shoot her way out, she opened the book and pretended to write notes and doodle with her left hand.

  Traffic began to pick up in the little coffee house. A chubby young man with thick glasses with a spattering of acne asked if he could share her table. Fenian replied with a single bob of her head. He held out his hand and introduced himself as Ben. She shook his hand and said, “Elle.”

  He took out a book on nuclear physics. Smart kid, she thought. But he couldn’t stop looking at her. She was entertained as he proceeded to lay every college pick-up line on her he could think up. Her favorite, the one that made her roll her eyes and laugh was, “If you could be anything what would it be?”

  She thought for a moment and replied, “Oh, probably a doctor.”

  Then he gave the half smile, half leer of a college boy and said, “If I could be anything, I would want to be a tear, born in your eye, live on your cheek, and die at your lips.”

  Fenian shook her head and said, “Wow, I wonder how you would treat a woman you actually knew?”

  “Can’t say, but I would treat you like royalty.”

  Elle smiled and deadpanned, “Royalty? Wouldn’t that be something? I just can’t imagine.”

  “Oh yeah, you know, I’m not just some poor college student. My family owns the grocery stores in Hamilton.”

  “Impressive,” said Fenian.

  “Do you like fast cars? I have a Porsche 944 Turbo. Come on, I’ll take you for a ride.”

  “Really? Just a four cylinder?”

  “You know about cars?” he said, surprised.

  “A little,” she replied with a shrug.

  “It’s got a bigger turbo, with bigger injectors, and a new performance head with titanium valves,” Ben said proudly.

  “Titanium valves? That’s not cheap,” she said, remembering her brother spent over two grand for a set for one of his engines.

  He leaned forward and said, “Like I said, I’m not some poor college kid.”

  Ben kept talking, and she kept scanning the room. Nassar was late. A few moments later, he appeared from the back entrance. He waited in line for a coffee and found a seat close to the front door. Fenian scribbled a message on a piece of paper. She was not about to hold a meeting in a place he had time to prep. She looked at her clumsy would-be suitor, fashed the smile and said, “Tell you what, I’m impressed by you’re effort. Give me your number and if I’m feeling lonely later, I’ll call you.”

  Ben was in the middle of a sip of coffee when he choked on it. This woman, this beautiful goddess, wants my phone number?! He couldn’t write fast enough. She tucked her things in her back pack, stood up, moved to his side of the table, took the number, leaned over to him then whispered in his ear, “You know I might have to hurt you, right?”

  He physically began to vibrate in front of her. After shooting him a lip curl and her own leer, she walked toward the door and dropped a note on Nassar’s lap. As she hit the door, he opened the note. “Blue Ford Taurus, two and a half blocks south.”

  She watched him come up the street alone. He grabbed the door handle and quickly climbed in. Just as quickly, she drove away. He asked with disbelief, “Are you Elle?”

  She paid as much attention to him as she did the road, watching his every move. He seemed calm enough so she replied, “Yeah.”

  “Wow,” he said under his breath.

  After making a couple of quick turns and a stop to be sure she wasn’t being followed, Fenian pulled behind a Tim Horton’s donut shop. They got out of the car and she motioned Nassar to her side. After a quick scan of the area, she said, “Turn around.”

  “What? Why? I’m not…”

  He was interrupted with the barrel of the .45 under his chin. He locked eyes with her. The stoic demeanor was all gone, replaced with the hard intensity of an individual he was sure had killed before. It was then he knew what he was dealing with. “Turn. Around,” she whispered.

  His hands reflexively went up as he turned around. After a quick pat down checking for weapons, she pulled a disk shaped object from her coat pocket and switched it on. LED’s flashed a test pattern from green to red, and she began to scan him for listening as well as passive and active tracking devices. Satisfied he was
clean, she put her weapon away, switched the detector off and put it back in her pocket. She patted him on the shoulder, gently turned him, and with a much different attitude asked, “Coffee?”

  They walked through the back entrance and got coffee and another cheese danish. These things are addicting, she thought. “Cool Night” by Paul Davis played over the speakers, accompanied by the vocals of one of the workers who sang just a bit too loud. It would have been irritating but he was, really, pretty good. The first thing she noticed about Khalid was that, unlike most men straight out of the Middle East, he bathed. The noxious assault of body odor and cheap after-shave was not there. He was about 5’9” and 150 pounds with a slight beard, but not the thick Muslim growth. He dressed a little more western than others she had seen while walking the streets around the complex gathering info. She got the western vibe from him, which was a good thing. She took a bite of cheese danish, looked at him enough to make him uncomfortable, and asked, “The Akhtars, what do you know?”

  “They are staying in an apartment complex on Hopewell Avenue. The complex is owned by the mosque and is exclusively occupied by Sunni Muslims.”

  Okay, all that checks out she thought. Then she said, “Tell me about the apartment complex.”

  “Twenty-seven units. It’s almost a square with an open courtyard in the middle, two entrances from the outside into the courtyard at the front and rear. The front has an iron gate that stays locked, chain and padlock, while the rear stays open. It has four floors with outside walkways on each floor. It has stairs and elevators but the elevators are broken.”

  Fenian nodded and asked, “Long term occupants, or are they transients? You know, move in and out?”