The Jack in the Green

by Lee, Frazer

  Become your enemy so you might plot and predict his very next move—and the move after that. Wear your prey’s skins and you may move freely among him, lull him into a false sense of security and then strike.

  That was what his Base Commander had told him once, long ago, and the words still rang true for him—truer, even. Cosmo had watched from the sidelines as the American had fallen through the plantation of Christmas trees like a child; had bitten his knuckles almost to the bone to stop himself from roaring with loud laughter as the fool had almost eviscerated himself in the process. He’d watched as the scarlet witch had seduced him so easily it had been as though she were luring a bear cub into a honey trap. Cosmo had felt the blood rush of violence within him as he’d watched them coupling on the most sacred of spots in the forest—his forest.

  Satisfied the pale girl was gone and not coming back, Cosmo risked breaking his cover and stealth-crawled his way through the bracken and nettles to the base of the Jack and Jill Trees. Kneeling at the roots of the twin deities, he held his head in supplication to them and vowed to do whatever was required to protect them and their brethren. It was time to give back, for something had been taken.

  He pressed his fingers to the opening on the female tree and sniffed; scenting his prey. Cosmo knew his enemies, and it was only a matter of time before he could wear their guises, walk among them and make his move—in for the kill. The American was another stag, rutting on his territory.

  It was a time to lock horns; and demonstrate his dominion.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jupiter’s stomach was gnawing with hunger by the time he and the others reached the outskirts of the village. Kegger had tried everything within his limited mechanical powers to get the camper going again, but nothing would work. After a couple of failed attempts at jump-starting the rusty old beast, Jupiter and Denny, pushing for all their might at the back with Charlotte and Amber cheering doing their bit at either side, they had put it to a group vote; the outcome of which was to ditch the vehicle and go in search of sustenance. They hadn’t eaten a proper hot meal since the last town several miles, and hours, back along the road.

  Jupiter remembered seeing a small post office-cum-convenience store on their way through the village, and a pub. They decided to pool their resources at the latter, and then stock up on a few supplies at the former if they had enough cash left. Jupiter was praying to the Fiscal Gods of Void Checks that the pub, and hopefully the store, would accept Charlotte’s bank card for payment. The amount of real cash they had between them was pitiful and, as usual, the smallest contribution came from Denny and Amber. Jupiter had bitten his tongue when they’d laughingly placed their pitiful collection of pound coins and shrapnel on the floor of the camper. Charlotte had been in a great mood all morning, greeting him with deepest and most arousing of kisses, and he didn’t want to waste the opportunity to build on that. He had aspirations to make it to home base with her by the end of the night. Recalling how she seemed to hate him being churlish with the others, he’d simply shrugged and added Denny and Amber’s craptastic payload to the communal pot rather than unleashing a torrent of verbal abuse upon them as he was so inclined.

  He watched Charlotte, bouncing along the track road a little way ahead of him, the cool, damp air making a hot fog of her breath. Imagining the smell of her on him, he smiled. She’d be more than worth the price of his admirable restraint. He just had to get her alone in the camper while the others were fooling around. Sending Kegger off for some firewood, with Denny and Amber in tow, ought to do it. He only needed a half hour at most; it had been a long time—too long—since he’d gotten his end away, and Charlotte was fine. So very fine. Maybe he only needed fifteen minutes after all.

  They approached a turn in the road and Jupiter saw the sign outside the pub, swinging atop its post in the breeze—The Firs. Perhaps sensing his eyes on her, Charlotte turned and smiled at him. His smile grew into a fox-like grin.

  They filed into the pub, noses twitching at the scent of fish and chips coming from the restaurant. Jupiter led the charge past the unmanned reception desk and into the cosy, carpeted enclave of the restaurant. An open fire blazed in the grate, warming them up no sooner than they’d stepped inside. A few locals and tourists sat at the far end, their backs to Jupiter and the others. Jupiter marched up to the little bar situated a little way back from the restaurant area. Like the reception, it was not staffed. A man in a sharp suit was perched on a barstool at the bar. His blonde fringe had fallen over his face and he was gazing into the depths of a whiskey tumbler, clearly on the main course of a liquid lunch. Jupiter cleared his dry throat and called out for service. He was ready to commit murder–of a pint of whatever ale they were selling the cheapest.

  “Landlord will be back in a minute—he’s just gone to change the barrels.”

  Jupiter looked around to see which of the patrons had spoken. It was not the man in the suit; he was still gazing inebriated into his glass. The voice had sounded familiar, with the rough edges of a heavy smoker’s. As he glanced around the restaurant, Jupiter caught sight of a vehicle in the car park outside the window, almost as tall as some of the fir trees beyond. It was Mama Cath’s bus. And even before the fellow crossed to the bar and slapped a faux-friendly hand on his shoulder, Jupiter knew with dread realization that the voice belonged to Bill.

  “What took you so long?” Bill said, sneering. “Denny here told us you were on your way yesterday. Felt sure you’d have hit the pub by now.”

  Jupiter glared at Denny, who avoided his gaze by looking out of the window. His flushed face betrayed the fact that he’d rather Bill hadn’t revealed his treachery. Jupiter would deal with Denny later; right now he had to find out what Bill was playing at.

  Looking over at the corner table, Jupiter saw Mama Cath and a few of Bill’s cronies eating and drinking. Some of the faces were all too painfully familiar—the same grinning bastards who had given him such a harsh beating in the service station car park.

  “When did you get here?” Jupiter asked.

  “This morning,” Bill replied. “Landlord’s cool about us parking up here so long as we put some cash behind his bar. Surprised you didn’t think of stopping here—actually, scratch that, I’m not surprised at all. No tactician, are you, Brian, my lad?”

  Jupiter winced at the sound of his real name and sighed. There was no talking to Bill; he was as single-minded as a rodent on a sinking ship, inseparable from his agenda—which usually involved bringing him down.

  The landlord emerged behind the bar, and Jupiter ordered drinks. To his growing annoyance, Bill leaned in close by him, breathing down his neck.

  “Funny you didn’t mention this little protest plan of yours on the Freak Network,” Bill breathed. “I’m beginning to think maybe you didn’t want us to know. You can’t imagine how hurt Mama Cath was to hear you were striking out on your own like this. Little silver-spoon scrapper like you? You need the support of your peers.”

  “I came up here because I care about the fucking forests, yeah?” The words escaped Jupiter’s mouth before he could think twice about uttering them. “Word is some politicians are going to sell them off, and I’m dead against that. So are my friends—present company excepted…”

  Jupiter looked daggers at Denny and Amber. They backed away, behind Bill.

  “And we’re willing to make a stand,” Jupiter concluded.

  Bill chuckled. “What are you going to do, Brian? Strangle them with your arm sling?”

  The rodent’s cronies laughed along with the barb, adding to Jupiter’s ire.

  Charlotte shook her head in warning to Jupiter, but it had been said now. Jupiter’s vitriol was in full flow, and he was clearly intent on giving as good as he got.

  “I don’t know what the fuck it is you care about, if you care about anything,” Jupiter went on. “But either buy me a bloody drink or piss right off. I’ve had enough of your rat face and your rat whispers. You’re a fucking wind-up merchant. Get
out of my face.”

  A thick silence fell over the dining room, the atmosphere crackling like the firewood that snapped and popped in the grate.

  Bill reached into the folds of his leather jacket, achingly slow. The battered old sleeves of the garment creaked like the timbers of some ancient seafaring vessel. Bill never took his eyes off Jupiter as he did so. At length, he pulled out a crumpled note, which he passed to Denny in one fluid movement.

  “Oh, I’ll buy you a drink,” he said to Jupiter, and then to Denny, “Get a round in, lad. You know what I’m having.”

  Denny did as he was told. Bill waited for the landlord to pull the foaming pints, grabbing them before the contents barely had time to settle. He turned to Jupiter and held one of the drinks out to him—a peace offering. Jupiter licked his dry lips, uncertain of Bill’s smile, then reached out to take the glass. As he did so, Bill threw the drink into Jupiter’s face, blinding him with beer. Before he could react, Bill smashed the other pint glass on the side of the bar, showering Charlotte, Kegger and the drunkard in the suit with its contents. Lightning fast, Bill grabbed Jupiter’s damaged arm, twisting it painfully behind his back. He put the broken glass to Jupiter’s neck, directly above his jugular. Kegger tried to intervene, but Bill jabbed the glass deeper into Jupiter’s neck, a red lace of blood appearing there like a stark warning. Kegger backed off.

  Jupiter gasped at the touch of the broken glass, eyes still stinging from the ale Bill had flung at him. Somewhere in the periphery of his hearing, Charlotte cried out in horror. A warm feeling snaked across his neck and he knew that Bill had cut him. He felt his legs go limp, feeling suddenly cold despite the fire crackling in its hearth. Then, he heard a voice, muffled somehow by the panic overpowering his senses.

  “I said I know you—I’ve seen you before.”

  The voice was European, with a weird American twang. It reminded Jupiter of a sports presenter he’d watched presenting the Super Bowl on telly late one night when he was very, very stoned. Jupiter looked up and saw the tall, blond man who had been sat drinking at the bar when they’d first come in. He looked a little unsteady on his feet and his eyes were slightly red from the effects of three or four ill-advised chasers. For a moment, Jupiter thought the guy had been talking to Bill, but then he realized he was heading straight for him. Great, now he had two assholes to deal with, one psychotic and the other drunk—and also possibly psychotic.

  “You were the one at the airport, the one who attacked my buddy in our car. No-one attacks my buddyinourcarrr…”

  The drink was making it hard for the man to speak clearly, his words blending into one long sound as he tripped over the speaking of them. But Jupiter remembered the man’s face now, as the events at the runway protest came crashing back. This was the driver of the rental car he’d tousled with; when the water cannons and the cavalry had come marching in.

  “You were there too—you’re protesterrrrrs,” the big man slurred, rocking on his heels.

  He was addressing the entire restaurant now, pointing at the diners with an unsteady hand.

  “You did it, didn’t you? Fuckers. You cut the brakes on our car. No-one cutsssthebrakesonmybuddy’ssscarrr…”

  His accusation trailed off into a roar. He sounded like a bear that had been baited to its limit, and then let off of its leash. As he took on the physical aspect of such a beast, the big man launched himself across the carpet at the nearest thing he could hit.

  Bill.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The drive back to Douglass was proving an uncomfortable one. Tom could still smell Holly on his tattered skin, could still feel the memory of her hair and skin beneath his fingertips. They had driven along the bumpy track from Greyson’s farm and turned onto the main road into Douglass before Holly spoke, breaking the ice.

  “Did I offend you in some way, Tom? I hope I didn’t. I get a bit carried away when I’ve… Well, you know…I’m sorry.”

  The smile that played on her lips was almost childlike, and irresistible. Tom had calmed down a bit after his march through the woods. Whatever guilt was gnawing at him was nothing to do with Holly; it was unfair of him to berate her because of it.

  “No, I’m the one who should be saying sorry. I just… Some of the things you said back there affected me, I guess. Reminded me of stuff that’s happened in the past, things I tried to bury.”

  “It’s never good to bottle things up, Tom.”

  “Yeah, I know, but we all do it, don’t we?” He looked her in the eyes and she could see he’d heard her sobbing in her bedroom at The Firs. For the first time since they’d met, he caught a glimmer of vulnerability in the backs of her eyes. Perhaps she was playing a part too; wishing stuff away just like he did.

  She sidestepped his inference, the assertiveness returning to her expression. “If it helps to talk?”

  “There’s not so much to talk about,” Tom sighed, looking at the banks of green firs whizzing by as they drove down the hill. “I’m married—or what passes for married where I come from—my wife and I, we had a bit of a drawback a few months ago. She had a miscarriage. We’ve had difficulties coming back from it, truth be told.”

  “That must be hard to deal with,” Holly said. “But in time I’m sure you’ll get pregnant again—and again.”

  “You think so, huh?”

  “I know so. Couples who miscarry are fertile at least. Maybe it just wasn’t the right time for you both.”

  “I don’t know if there will ever be a right time now.”

  Holly slowed the car’s pace a little so she could swerve around some fallen branches at the roadside.

  “Well, that’s up to you both, surely? These things are sent to test us; they are all part of the cycle of life and death and rebirth. Those couples who live through them together come out stronger for the journey.”

  “You believe that?”

  “I do. In a way I have to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because then there’s some hope in this world. For all of us. Even the damaged ones.”

  She looked at Tom, and again he felt she could read him. He wished he could read himself half as well. Ever since he’d boarded the plane, he’d felt a tangle of emotions regarding Julia. But since he’d met Holly he’d felt more at home than he ever had in his life before. He gazed into Holly’s eyes, trying to find a way to articulate all that he was feeling.

  She let him off the hook.

  “I’m sorry your meeting didn’t go as planned.”

  He looked down at his cut and bloodied hands, his ripped shirt and pants.

  “A tad more exciting than the boardroom. My boss is gonna be pissed I didn’t get to speak with Joe Greyson. If there’s one thing they hate, it’s delays like this one.”

  “If you’ll take some advice, the best way to get Joe on your side is to…get to know him. Make friends.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “There are two Joe Greysons. One you managed to avoid today—for one reason or another,” she said, with a wicked look. “The other Joe only comes out after a few pints. I’ve watched him in the bar enough times to know that’s when a laddie like you would do best to chat him up a bit.”

  “He’s approachable when drunk?”

  “He can be. It’s a better bet than trying to negotiate with him when he’s sober. Look, why not speak to him at the Samhain festival, buy him and his boys a drink. Show him you’re one of us, not one of them. Blend in a bit…”

  “And how do I do that, exactly?”

  “Oh, I’m sure we’ll think of something,” Holly said with a twinkle in her eye as she drove the car into the village.

  They both looked with surprise at the double-decker bus parked outside The Firs as they pulled up.

  “Coach party? Your old man will be pleased.”

  “That he will,” said Holly, looking anxious all of a sudden. “Jesus, I’ve been gone for a long time, leaving him to fend for himself with a bar full of customers. On second thought
he won’t be best pleased at all…”

  She fumbled with her seat belt, hurrying to get out of the car. Tom unclipped his own seat belt and reached across to Holly, grabbing her shoulder gently before she could exit.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “Just, thank you.”

  Her face cracked a smile, then she was up and out of the car.

  Feeling lighter somehow, Tom followed her to the side door leading into the reception.

  “I’ll go and freshen up,” he said.

  “You feel okay now?”

  “Sure. It’s going to be a little odd with your father, if I’m honest. I hope he won’t be able to tell I’ve been getting fresh with his daughter.”

  Holly frowned. “My father? He’s in Glasgow.”

  “I thought you said he was in the bar?”

  “Hope not. Unless he’s dug his way out of the cemetery and hitched all the way here on that bus…”

  Tom was mystified. “But I thought Mr. MacGregor was your…”

  “My Tommy?”

  Holly chuckled. She reached out to open the door with her left hand.

  Tom could not believe he hadn’t noticed the tiny gold band on her wedding finger before. Maybe he had willed it away. Speechless, Tom followed after her like a lost pup.

  Then he heard the sounds of raised voices—and breaking glass—from within the bar.

  They ran inside.

  Tom could scarce believe the scene unfolding before his eyes as he and Holly ran into the heart of the cacophony. The pub restaurant was in total disarray, tables and chairs had been upturned, a baying group of travelers were goading a small group that was embroiled in a bar brawl. It was like something straight out of a Western and in the thick of it stood Dieter.

  He was holding one ruffian by the scruff of the neck, a dreadlocked young man who looked vaguely familiar to Tom. With his free hand, Dieter grabbed another combatant by his long, curly hair and slammed their heads together. The two men recoiled from the impact and fell back, clutching at their sore heads as Dieter let them go.