by Matt Drabble
Earnings had skyrocketed under his new dynamic duo, the streets had fallen in line like never before, violence was down, and police interest had fallen likewise. His business had grown on the back of his illegal income, the stresses and strains were taken off of his plate once and for all. Drake had watched the money roll in, the smoother running of all of the illegal operations, and he had happily taken the credit. His decision to incorporate Jimmy, instead of obliterating him, was seen as a masterstroke. He had taken his eye off the ball as the legitimate side of his expansion required more and more of his attention. He’d dismissed the grumblings and rumours from the street, as idle gossip perpetrated by resentful old women. Unfortunately, by the time he’d listened, it was perilously close to being too late. Whilst Jimmy’s threat had been only too visible, it had been his soundless shadow that had crept up upon him.
Jimmy’s ambitions were plain for anyone to see, Jimmy wanted to be the man, pure and simple. He would toe the party line whilst he ran the streets unopposed, but he would one day want to ascend the corporate ladder. Ghost had been the one to creep into his ear, to whisper dreams of real power, dreams of wealth over richness. Drake was worth money, big money, by any standards, but he did not have wealth nor the real power and influence that came with it. Like most people born of limited means Drake had an inherent desire to show the world that he dragged himself out of the gutter, and made something of himself. His home was large and ostentatious, his car luxurious, his clothes tailor made and expensive. He wore his money on his sleeve and made sure that everyone saw it. Ghost had tapped into this insecurity and mined it for all it was worth. Much as Drake suspected that Ghost led Jimmy by the nose, he found himself in a similar position. He was seduced by the concept of real power, to rule and own, rather than to manage and rent.
Whilst his efforts were concentrated on developing the legitimate side of the company, his eyes had been taken away from his home base. Jimmy was building his reputation; his undeniable charisma and charm coupled with his talent for violence and intimidation, were the building blocks for any general. He inspired loyalty and fear in equal measures; he knew when to take and when to give. He had sown the seeds of discontent and fertilized them perfectly. Soon Drake had heard no more rumblings of discontent; soon he heard nothing at all as Jimmy turned his own crew against him. The more time that Drake spent away from the streets, the more they resented him for it. Whilst Ghost organized meetings with bankers and brokers, Jimmy preyed upon the left behind.
Drake still had enough fire in the tank to want to extinguish Jimmy and his playmate, the humiliation of being played for a fool was almost too much to bear. He had arranged for a meeting with Jimmy and ghost tomorrow here at the house, it was time to set things right and take out the trash.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
April 2012
Rybeck rubbed his eyes and yawned, the coffee kicks were fast losing their punch, and his car was a messy home that offered little in the way of comfort. Food and drink containers littered the seats, scattering aging odours of varying offensive levels. Several changes of clothing lay strewn on the back seat, the pretence of neatness and laundry long since forgotten.
He boosted himself up in the driver seat feeling his spine crack, the building that lay before him was an old church converted into a house several years before. The building was allegedly the operating base of Richard and Bob Parker, and according to his source in the organized crime unit, the Parkers were the next big thing. They were the young pups with ideas of grandeur, and they were taking chunks out of Jimmy’s organization at a rapid rate of knots. Rybeck knew of them from Ghost, he had busted several small operations run by the Parkers over the last year or so. Some dealers, some suppliers, all had seemed relatively small time, but he knew that Ghost was keeping an eye on them, but as yet, was not concerned. As far as his investigations had revealed, the Parkers were the only likely suspects in the attack on Ghost at the casino. They were the only ones even close to being large enough to risk such a manoeuvre, and it was easily plausible that Tank had been bought with promises of rapid advancement with the opposition. He’d had several run-ins with the big bruiser and knew him to be impatient and ambitious, with an over inflated sense of ability. He was muscle for hire, and as such, could possibly be bought, he also knew that the man had little love for Ghost and probably wished to replace him. If Tank had been bought by the Parkers, then they would undoubtedly seek to replace him with another hired gun, and would surely make another attempt on Ghost.
He had been parked here since last night; the only activity had been the returning of a large SUV. Its windows were heavily blacked out, and he had not been able to see the inhabitants. The converted church still retained many of its religious features and the large central tower held an enormous crucifix that shone like a beacon. The windows were still the original stained glass offerings that depicted several spiritual assignations through the ages. The wall that surrounded the property looked newly constructed, and the substantial stonework was topped with vicious looking spikes designed to deter intruders.
Rybeck had never been an overly religious man, but he could see the appeal of placing faith in an omnipotent presence. He could see the attraction of dwelling within sacred walls of comfort. The religious overtones of the building were still very much intact and well maintained. The church also appeared to have a garage built into the ground level. A large automated, retractable vertical door had rolled into life as the SUV approached. The large vehicle had entered into the dark hole that appeared in the church’s wall and disappeared into the black interior. There was only the briefest of moments when one man was visible within the gloom. The man stood for just a few seconds as the door rolled downwards again, Rybeck could have sworn that the man’s face was a picture of longing as the brightening day was shut outside.
Screw it, he thought, sitting here was telling him nothing, and telling him slowly. His mind was tugging and nudging gently at the seams, and he always listened. He got out of the car taking a light blue and worn dog lead from the glove box; he walked briskly with an agitated gate towards the church. He wore wraparound dark sunglasses to disguise his glares aim, and he paced up to the church exterior walls and made a show of pacing back and forth. He paused to flick his head from side to side taking in the grounds and checking the windows for twitching curtains.
“Holly” he called and whistled, playing the part of a lost dog owner looking for the wayward pet.
The converted church sat on a narrow road surrounded by several well kept bungalows, the street was quiet and the neighbours absent. Rybeck suddenly realized that in his tunnel vision for the Parker base, he had not seen nor heard a peep from the rest of the street. There had been no comings or goings of any kind since he had taken his post.
He backed up to the iron gates of the church and eased them open without a graveyard squeal. “Holly, come girl” he called louder as he headed up the stone laid path to the large and imposing dark wooden arch door. The door was split in the middle and studded with large metallic inserts.
Rybeck banged loudly on the door, his fist aching with the effort on the solid oak, and the door was without windows of any kind. The stained glass windows to the side were collared, and formed an impenetrable barrier against the day. Rybeck listened intently and could not hear any movement despite the occupier’s recent return. He pounded again, the noise echoed emptily. Skirting the front walls he headed around the building, the front lawns were sculpted and mowed to perfection and the edges were lined with border plants sitting prettily. He headed around the side of the church, following the weedless path.
The rear of the church ground apparently still held the headstones of the previous occupants. Rybeck shuddered amongst the dead; his imagination was never a positive attribute around such dark reality. He walked up to the closest window and cupped his hands against the days glare as he tried to peer in. The interior was masked by what looked like tinted tape similar to that used in vehi
cles, and the light could not penetrate beyond.
His mind was ticking over when suddenly he realized that he was not alone. He spun around to find three fanged beasts approaching menacingly. The Doberman dogs growled low and dangerously, all three were baring vicious looking fangs that drooled with anticipation of an early dinner. Rybeck backed up slowly; he kept his hands by his sides and made no threatening movements. His legs moved gently backwards as the gravel crunched softly underfoot. He fought every instinct not to turn and run, he knew that the animals would be on him in a flash and would bring him down without much trouble. He steadied his nerve and slipped his hand into his pocket as the dogs moved threateningly towards him. Their pace was slow and steady, and their eyes ever watchful. Rybeck took hold of his mobile phone in his pocket and desperately fumbled his clumsy thumb over the buttons, hoping that he was remembering the sequence correctly. He eased the phone out of his pocket, he had a friend on the canine squad and remembered some advice he had been given about dog attacks in the past. The handler had told him to keep his hands down, to back away slowly, and to make no threatening or large movements. To never turn his back, and not to make eye contact as it would be seen as a challenge.
He watched the three dogs carefully out of the corner of his eye, as they spread out attempting to circle him. He spared a quick look up at the church steeple, thinking that he was in the right place, he prayed that he had set the phone correctly. He depressed the enter button and threw the phone high over the animals' heads. The loud AC/DC musical ringtone music blasted out as it spun through the air. The three dogs all turned at the sudden explosion of interrupting noise, and Rybeck took his one chance as the dog’s attention span was interrupted. He turned and sprinted back around the church heading for the front gate. In his youth he had been a fair sprinter and had played rugby to a decent level. His heart pounded and his breath caught in his throat, and he cursed himself for his failing fitness over the years making a silent promise to get into better shape, if only he wasn’t ripped to pieces. He heard the thunder of paws behind him closing fast and flung everything he had left into reaching the gate. For a split second his hand slipped on the handle, and he felt jaws open and hot foul breath on his neck. His jacket was caught and tore instantly, shredded by ferocious fangs and the pieces devoured by ravenous hunger. A second set of jaws clamped onto his right calf with furious desire, the strength was undeniable, and he fought to control the rising tide of panic. His heavy jeans offered little protection as the teeth sank painfully into his flesh. He pulled frantically on the gate lever as the exit refused to yield. His jacket was pulling him backwards with raging strength, his fingers slipped then grasped again, with a final mighty effort he tore open the gate and fell out onto the pavement beyond.
He kicked the gate behind him and turned to face his attackers, the three dogs were sitting twenty feet away watching him intently. He stood disbelievingly, two seconds ago they had been tearing at his back, and now they were twenty feet away. He staggered to his feet; he twisted around and saw the shredded jacket. He leant over and touched his calf which felt like it was on fire, and his hand came away bloody. His wounds were real; the attack had been real, as was the dog’s ability to transport themselves great distances in mere seconds. The animals sat watchful and wary, and he could feel their eyes boring into him across the distance. His senses buzzed with the thought of being watched from inside the church.
Something was wrong, very wrong, he was suddenly aware of the complete silence of the whole street. He could feel a thousand eyes staring keenly, watching his every move, and waiting. He ran for his car, not caring how he looked to any casual observer, his imagination had gotten him into trouble before. He reached his car and fumbled his keys with shaking hands. He finally managed to pair the key with the lock and fell gratefully into his own safe environment. He started the car and drove quickly away from the scene, feeling the tension lift slowly as he increased the distance. He knew that he had a tendency to over think and over imagine the circumstances that he found himself in, but this was real, he had no doubts, this was very real and very wrong.
Jess’ head swam as she tried to sit up; the room was dark and the curtains drawn. The bed was large and comfortable, the mattress supportive, and the duvet lush and warm. Her shoulder emitted a dull ache as she looked down to see that the arm was in a supportive sling. She gingerly tested her movement and found it unsurprisingly limited. Her senses felt warmly dulled, judging by the expert sling applied, she guessed that the feeling was probably through pain medication. Instinctively she ran a quick check over her clothing arrangements; she was relieved to find them intact. Waking up drugged in a strange bedroom conjured up several dark and unpleasant thoughts.
She carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed, and paused while her vision cleared. The room was sparse and clean. Apart from the bed, there were matching bedside tables and a smallish wardrobe, all in the same shade of pine. The colourings were a neutral magnolia and the carpet likewise. The whole room, she surmised, felt like a quest room, but the question was, in whose house? Her foggy thoughts cleared a little, and she began to remember. The intruder, the struggle, the unbelievable, despite her hazy thoughts, she was certain that it had all been real.
She eased herself upwards and onto her feet, she clutched at her injured shoulder and walked softly towards the door. She gently pushed the door open with a whisper on the carpeting, and low muffled voices floated up from down below, throwing snatches of conversation.
“I don’t except that” a voice that she did not know.
“I really don’t give a shit what you accept Doc, I’m just giving you the facts” she recognized that as Ghost and her stomach tightened, if he was involved then she could be in trouble.
“If it helps I saw it too” the soft low rumble was unmistakably Eddie.
“Such things are just simply not possible; there must be a rational explanation” the Doctor Stated with conviction.
“Well then, why don’t you just head down to the basement after dark, and you can discuss rational with our friend down there” Ghost retorted.
“I saw it too” Eddie chimed in again helpfully.
Jess, tired of sneaking around, and with her own experience to offer, decided to crash the conversation. She pushed open the bedroom door and strode confidently out onto the landing. The hand rails were an attractive dark oak and she used them for support as she descended, “Is this a private party or can any abducted women join in?” she announced.
“How are you feeling Ms Kyle?” the third man who must be the doctor enquired. “How’s the shoulder, I’m afraid that it was dislocated and was out of the socket rather longer than I would have liked”
“Right now I’m more interested in just what the hell is going on, and what the hell I’m doing here” she shouted angrily.
“I brought you Jess” Eddie piped up happily. “Ghost told me to bring you to the cave, and I knew just what he meant” he added proudly.
Forgetting the situation momentarily, she crossed the room and paid her debt with a hug and gentle kiss on Eddie’s cheek, he had saved her life back in her apartment. “Thank you Eddie” she said solemnly.
Eddie’s soft skin blushed under her touch, “You’re welcome” he mumbled staring intently at his large feet.
She looked back at the other two men, the doctor was lean and neat, and Ghost stood with arms folded and an impatient look on his face.
“If you’ve quite finished” he barked.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to the good doctor here” she asked, her gaze locked into Ghost’s as they stared across the room, his challenging, hers defiant.
“This is Dr Thomas Elliot” he announced grandly with an element of sarcasm. “And he’s charmed I’m sure, doc, this is Jessica Kyle, a major pain in my arse”
“I’m glad to see you up and about Ms Kyle” the doc said pleasantly, ignoring Ghost’s brusque manner. He crossed over to her and gently examined he
r shoulder with careful expert fingers. “You’ll be in a fair amount of discomfort for a while I’m afraid, you’ll need to ice it two or three times a day and rest it as much as possible. I can give you some anti-inflammatory tablets and painkillers but go easy with them as they’re pretty strong”
“When you’ve quite finished Nurse Nightingale” Ghost interjected with irritation, “We’ve got bigger fish to fry here than a dodgy shoulder”
“Don’t mind him” Dr Elliot told her kindly, “He’s just grumpy about having to face Count Dracula”
“Is that what that thing was?” she asked.
“Not you too Ms Kyle?” sighed Elliot, “Is there some sort of mass hysteria going on that I’m not aware of?”
“I saw it too” Eddie said eagerly.
“Yes Eddie, you saw it too” snapped Elliot, “You’ve all seen it apparently, the forces of the undead are marching across the city sucking the blood of their victims”
Jess watched as Ghost broke, in an instant he grabbed the doctor by the collar and frogmarched him across the room, his feet barely touching the hardwood floor. He took him to a door on the far side and flung it open and in a flash, the two men were heading down a narrow staircase.
Jess looked at Eddie who seemed unperturbed by this sudden violent turn of events. Jess quickly followed the two men into the darkness below.
The stairs were carpeted in a thick red, and there were small blue LED lights in the tips of the steps. The staircase opened into a large room at the bottom. Ghost paused at a wall mounted screen and pushed the touch screen, lights flickered into life. Wall mounted sconces shone upward and white LED lighting on the floor sprung into life like an airport runway down a centre aisle. She could see several rows of red leather reclining chairs on a descending floor leading to a half moon stage and deep red long curtains above it. The home cinema was luxurious and lavish, large light boxes lined the walls illuminating classic movie posters. Small rotating spotlights were mounted in the stage, and their lights spun and danced. In the centre of the stage chained to a sturdy looking metallic chair, was the nightmare from her apartment. The heavy duty chains were wrapped several times around his torso, and his hands were handcuffed behind his back. Jess watched as Ghost pushed Dr Elliot down the aisle and up onto the stage in front of the restrained prisoner, she rushed down towards the hurrying duo.