‘Well go on then, speak.’ Mads insisted, biting into his food.
‘I think I can help you guys. I know who Hades is...’ Kendrick announced, causing Mads and several of his men to take pause. Resurrecting his poker face, he resumed his food, undeterred.
‘Why would you tell me who he is?’ Mads questioned, almost to himself.
‘I’m just a concerned citizen. The city’s crazy enough without wannabe heroes.’
‘I agree. I guess having your concerns addressed needn’t cost us the hundred thousand dollar reward then. So, who is Hades?’ He asked.
‘John Vinyar.’ Kendrick said with a confidence only a man without the facts could pull off. Mads nodded, an oxymoronic mixture of surprise and expectancy upon his face.
‘Well, I appreciate your time but I’m a busy guy so my boys will sort you your compensation. As you can imagine, they love snitches.’ Mads announced, as one of his men gripped Kendrick’s wavy locks and pulled him back off his chair. Mads took a large sip of orange juice as two of his men dragged the unlucky informer away. Onlookers watched as a giant ruffian grasped Kendrick’s jacket, and hurled him several yards off the floor into a parked car, denting its door.
Mads considered the information. With his father forever distracted by the growing presence of the Serbian mafia. Hades was becoming a catalyst for Molar receiving more and more authority and worse, autonomy. Deciding to keep the information to himself for the moment. He sighed as he heard one of his men call Molar with the news.
✽
Biting down on his lower lip. Indy carefully peeled the now-infamous suit glove from his right hand. Extra cautious as it passed his knuckles, each one red-raw. It was evident the gauntlets had proved themselves inadequate to the demands of counter-thuggery. He pondered whether to hit the DIY store for a thicker pair.
The news report on the television loud enough to hear from two rooms away described the vigilante’s antics the last few nights. He listened in as he rubbed antiseptic cream into the broken skin of his weathered fists.
The anchorman detailed continuing arrests. Police interviews of drug-dealers potentially associated to Mads Kane. Indy smiled at the notion, knowing it to be a splinter in Isaac’s aspirations.
The Hades figure was having such an impact that several of the dealers had even turned themselves in. Nervous by the maniac idea of a real-life vigilante hunting them down. Such an intense reaction led Indy to realise he didn’t even need to leave his front door. The city in less than a fortnight had transformed. Hades had flipped Kingsland on its head.
Indy however successful in his endeavour, didn’t feel too revolutionary. Popping ibuprofen like they were Skittles, his limbs constantly numb from events.
The anchor-man continued his story. Interviewing two participants on the concept of a regular citizen taking the law into their own hands. Leading them into the debate, he initiated the panel with some prefacing remarks.
‘This is not the movies. We have drug dealers being battered to a pulp by a masked man. Regardless of the criminal element. This is people being assaulted by another a person. An anonymous person. Is this so-called do-gooder just another sociopath who has watched too many Zorro movies, read too many comic books? Janet Shya we’ll start with you.’
‘Thank you, Tim, I firstly want to point out that I think it’s unjust to associate what this individual is doing by the influence of movies and comics. We own our own minds. We are accountable for the decisions we make. The vigilante, unless ill, is the person and only person culpable for he or she’s actions. With that said, I believe there are two types of people in society today. The people who live their lives entitled and privileged, and the ones who know that society is broken. Excuse me for this harsh truth, but Kingsland has been dying for some time. We have drug dealers pushing their product out in the open now, in the middle of the day. Women getting raped and murdered at such a rate, that people brush passed it on their social media feed. The Worthing killer is still roaming the streets, and we’ve practically ignored him. We live in a selfie-serving, self-entitled world. Where people are too busy pouting in pictures and envying falsehoods to realise that things are seriously broken. Now Hades, this man or woman, I believe emanates from the group who see and believe things are broken. And I believe they’re probably more driven to show people that fracture, then they are determined to fix it.’ She stipulated.
The anchorman was taken aback, expecting her to be the more agreeable of his two guests.
‘Wow, that’s some speculation. Eric Lucas, care for a rebuttal? Do you dare mimic Janet’s attempt to explain the disposition of this so-called Hades?’ the anchorman led.
‘Sorry Tim, but to my own surprise, I’m actually relating with Janet on this. I consider this character, who we will name Hades, for the sake of dramatisation, an ambivalent figure.’ Eric explained, his age denoted by his tired, struggling cough. ‘We say that anyone who takes the law into their own hands is by definition a vigilante. Which by designation makes them a criminal, a person outside of the law. But if we go back to the Tarring Trials of last year.’
‘Ah yes, the infamous inquiry into the city’s supposed corruption.’ the anchorman interrupted, informing any unaware viewers.
‘Yes, we discover several cracks in the vase. Kane-sponsored individuals, corrupt politicians and officials, functioning outside of the law. These are the people meant to represent us. We have to acknowledge the fact that we are now in a position where we have to challenge our previously-rectified ethos. We have to wonder what is required to shake the status quo, to change the state of things, to change the state of play. I don’t know who this Hades is. He may just be another lost soul of this grand, struggling city. But we do know his name, and we know criminals, festering on both sides of the law are becoming more and more afraid of it. So that’s a start.’
Indy focused on the blood slowly leaking from his knuckles. The narrative from the television validated his mania, numbing the pain. Tranquil in his apartment, he sat down on the sofa and slid Hades’s mask down his face. Resting in a meditative and contradictive stream of thoughts. A bizarre image for anyone who might stumble into the home.
✽
George came barrelling through the crowds of the comic convention like a squirrel skipping between tree branches. Grace gave up capturing him some time ago, instead opting to keep a hawk’s eye from a distance as he roamed from afar. A deck of collectable cards in hand, the once inhibited George was on a mission to get the rarest card for the money in his pocket. Sworn to secrecy by John, he had been given two twenty pound notes on the premise he found the coolest cards he could show-off in the car on the way home.
‘I’ve never seen him so happy, thank you.’ Grace noted, watching her son from a small refreshment area the adults had made their base.
‘Don’t thank me, it’s the least I could do for what you’ve done.’ he replied, ambiguous in the particulars.
‘What’s your plans going forward? I assume you’re leaving Kingsland?’ She asked with slight discontent, a feeling she had tried to suppress the last few weeks. John looked back at the boy.
‘I think I’ll stay in the city, for a while. This place. It’s home.’ He declared. She nodded understandingly with a neutral facade. Seeing George wave in excitement, she climbed out of her chair.
‘Looks like he’s seen something expensive.’ she noted, getting up.
‘Would you have told me?’ John asked remaining in his sit. She needn’t read between the lines, knowing the unmentioned subject. An anguishing pause developed. John held his gaze, studying her, as she looked back at him with her trademark defiance.
‘No.’ she replied ambiguous, ‘that’s the price we pay for our decisions, John. You know that better than most.’ She argued, leaving the base. John followed her with his eyes, still in love, desperate for her armour to break.
As George sprinted to her and grasped her hand. Pulling her towards some expensive toy. She took a final glan
ce back towards John, her eyes almost remorseful, in conflict with her words. John caught the glimpse, it was a look that told a thousand rebellious words and left John optimistic.
With the evening closing out. Grace parked in the driveway as John carried a slumbering George to the house. The boy’s arms wrapped tight around his neck, an image that tormented Grace. John marched up the steps to put the child to bed while she continued through to the kitchen.
Tending to the dirty dishes on the counter. She turned on the hot tap. Filling the sink with hot water, leaning over into the steam. Letting the warm moist air clear her airways so that she might better breathe and think.
With the sound of the water hiding his movement, John made his way to her. Standing behind her, an inch at best between them. She could feel his presence. She could feel his hand moving around her, his finger tying around the belt loop of her jeans.
Firm but gentle, he pulled the loop towards him, causing her body to rotate. Saying nothing, he stood rooted in her space. His deep-set eyes making their way closer to her as he leaned forward. His lips slightly above hers, he kissed her forehead, and then her cheek before lingering a millimetre from her lips. On a bold, dangerous discovery mission, he painfully waited, hoping for her to meet him. Weak from the never-ending smokescreen she had to employ. She yielded, collapsing under the memories of their previous affair, lifting her lips to meet his. In those few seconds, time stopped, and everything ceased to matter. Over the years of absence and resentment, nothing had changed. A tear blossomed from her left eye as she felt his remorseful and desiring touch. With the water almost overflowing, and the heat of the steam striking her back. She regathered her senses and gently pushed him away, making an exit.
John alone again looked down. Not knowing how much the moment would cost him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘And where did you hear this?’ Kane asked his son, as the duo walked towards the city’s high courts with Molar in tow. The media had been cordoned off at the front gates. A rare instance considering the press would usually be hounding the group at this point. The extra security was a product of all the unwelcome scrutiny the family was now enduring thanks to the anonymous vigilante.
‘Some punk, a friend of John’s ex, I think.’ Mads explained. Molar caught up to them, almost brushing Mads aside.
‘You think?’ Molar questioned.
‘How do you know this civilian doesn’t just have a bone to pick with Vinyar? I want proof before Molar makes another cock-up.’ Kane noted.
‘With respect boss. What kind of proof will get you to commit to ending the Vinyar brother’s affairs, first Frank and the club, now John?’ Molar provoked, causing Kane to halt a step shy of the main doors.
‘Despite your preface, I didn’t gather a whole lot of respect in that question, Gordon.’ Kane replied. Belittled by Molar’s implication.
He had recognised a shift in Molar’s conduct of late. While well aware that subordination was a side-effect of ambition. Impudence, however, damaged the infrastructure of the family and more importantly Kane’s control.
‘I mean, with the introduction of this vigilante figure.’ Molar justified.
‘Hades’ Mads quipped.
‘Thank you, Mads.’ Molar replied gritting his teeth, ‘With the introduction of Hades. We can’t appear to be lenient with these individuals. Especially the one who murdered your eldest son.’ Molar argued, hoping to light a fire.
Nico was always the favourite son, but his death had long been mourned, and to some surreal level dismissed. Kane’s quest for legitimacy and balance superseded everything, directly antagonising Molar. And Kane could see it in his henchman’s eyes, the pining for violence, a sadist without prey. Molar was like a rabid dog you deliberately starved for the right moment. But you had to throw a bone his way every now and then if you still wanted to command the same loyalty as before.
‘Hit Que Pasa. I want nothing but a building left to acquire’ Kane ordered, heading into the courts for his hearing. Molar fought back a smile while Mads looked to him skittish.
✽
Frank’s birthday extravaganza was a celebration like no other. He was back in Kingsland for one night, and he’d make it count. Hundreds piled into Que Pasa to applaud another year survived by the mischievous fire-starter. Sparing no expense, Frank had the event styled like something out of the roaring twenties. He pictured himself the great neo-Gatsby. Standing on the balcony observing the oblivious guests. And like Gatsby before him, only a few actually knew his real identity and true agenda. And even fewer actually cared.
To his irritation, Grace was deliberately absent. At home with Kendrick, unable to find a babysitter, or so the story went.
Compelled to attend, his brothers parked themselves in a quiet corner of the main floor. John stood absent-minded as Indy questioned him about his upcoming plans for the future.
‘What?’ John asked, interrupting Indy mid-sentence.
‘I knew you weren’t listening. What’s wrong with you?’ Indy asked.
‘Nothing, what were you saying?’
‘I was asking what you thought of this Hades character.’
‘Why?’ John asked, confusing Indy.
‘Why what?’
‘I’ve heard the rumours. You think I’m Hades?’ John asked, considering the timing of both his and the vigilante’s arrival to the city.
‘Are you?’ Indy asked innocently, while guilty in the knowledge.
‘No. The man’s a nut-bag.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Indy asked.
‘Besides the fact he apparently wears a wet-suit? His terrorising the wrong villains for starters.’
‘Wrong villains? He’s trying to get drug dealers off the streets. I’d even go as far as reckon his trying to hamper Kane’s illegitimate interests.’
‘You reckon? You think beating up some low-life drug dealers and mildly blemishing Kane’s nobility will change anything. Isaac Kane is only the icing of the underworld.’
‘Sounds like you’ve been busy in exile brother.’ Indy countered.
‘No, I’ve been keeping my ass away from trouble and mischief. That’s his department.’ John claimed, nodding to an almost grandiose Frank, soaking in the attention.
‘You’re still worried about him?’ Indy asked. John wanted to deny it, but deep down he still held concern and to some level, esteem for his least favourite brother. Indy at times felt like there was a big, bad secret the two shared, that he was not privy to.
‘I’m always worried about him.’ John replied with an almost genuine tone. ‘You best go see him, I’ll grab us some more beers.’ He advised, heading for the bar. Leaving Indy to head toward his twin.
‘Having a good night?’ Indy asked.
‘It’s been alright.’ Frank replied.
‘Guest of honour, why aren’t you down there?’
‘Guest? I’m the host. How are things with John? I assume his staying at yours.’ Frank inquired.
‘He’s been staying with Grace since the attack, much to her fella’s irritation, but I’m not sure what his plans are. He might leave.’
‘He won’t leave Kingsland Indy, don’t worry.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I know. I’m a budding member of a criminal court so dreaded and so gigantic, no one has heard of it. John’s also a member. So I know.’ Frank quipped. Indy shook his head, almost wishing it true in the hope it would give Frank’s some approbation. The kind Indy and others had failed to provide him.
‘Listen bud, I’m sorry I’ve not spoken to you much, I’ve been busy-.’ Indy apologised, only to be cut short.
‘Don’t worry about it dude, we’re not Siamese twins. I’m only in the city tonight, and then I’m off meeting wholesalers again. It’s fine.’
‘Wholesalers huh?’ Indy replied, recognising a euphemism in play.
‘Wholesalers. Besides, I think you should focus your attention elsewhere.’ Frank noted, nodding towards the bar. Indy
followed his guide to an enticing view.
Eva, beating several young suitors away leant against the bar awaiting her drink. Her rear projecting through a skin-tight red dress. She was the epitome of class and sex, an agent provocateur, with vengeance on her mind.
‘If I’m in trouble, I’m in more trouble than I thought.’ Indy commented, appreciating the point she was making aesthetically.
‘Happy birthday.’ Frank smiled, squeezing Indy’s shoulder before leaving him to perve from above.
Eva smiled with the barmaid, as the latter prepared another cocktail.
‘Is he looking?’ She asked.
‘Er, yeah, you could say that.’ the barmaid replied.
‘Good. Now join me for a drink, and we’ll wait for his rather poor excuse.’ She insisted, awaiting Indy’s awkward entrance.
The dress was a mere ploy to coax an apology out of him for his recent neglect. A single evening together in two weeks had him on very thin ice. Indy made his way downstairs to greet her. His movements commentated play-by-play by the barmaid.
A yard shy of apologetic contact, John stopped him in his track, handing him a beer.
‘Here you go, what’s Frank doing?’ John called out concerned. Watching their brother sprint down the VIP stairway. His hands waving at several of his security at the front entrance.
‘I don’t know...’ Indy replied, echoing the bewilderment.
Without warning, the club’s foundations shook hard. The front doors and surrounding walls crumbled and erupted into the air. The large brick and cement debris snipered innocent club-goers. The audio muffled as several of the main hall’s speakers came crashing down. Their collapse causing several electrical fires to ignite. The crowd stampeded for the fire exits. Indy picked himself up as John looked on aghast at the scene. With a large crater originating from where the front doors once were, the club had been bombed.
Persona Non Grata: A Novel Page 15