by Vance Huxley
“What if you had a time and place where the problem person is conveniently vulnerable. Could you remove them?”
“An air strike? No doubt, but we can do that by hitting their house or strongpoint.” Joshua frowned. “You said no to air strikes before.”
“Something more subtle because we have information on the ground now, people in place. How many snipers are there at the moment in the British Army?” Owen folded his hands together and sat back. Smiles slowly grew on the other faces.
Joshua nodded. “That’s better. If our intel is that good a sniper team can go in, kill our man, and leave. Whoever takes over may also be capable?”
“So then you send a sniper to kill him as well, and the gangs just think a rival has a man who is good with a rifle. Is the intel that good?” Gerard looked at the map and rubbed his hands together.
“Yes. It’s taken time but our shadowy friend has completed his preparations and claims to have a source in every enclave. Tell me when you can have the snipers in place, and how many days’ notice you need, and he will forward times and places.” Owen picked up the single pieces of paper in front of everyone and took them to a shredder. “We will save the Special Forces for less sensitive work.”
The five members discussed the detail, how many sniper teams should be distributed to ensure that a sudden problem could be shot. Nate confirmed that the intelligence would be accurate, but due to the methods of contacting the deep cover agents there might be delays in getting the information to the sniper teams. The meeting broke up with agreement that the method would be reviewed once these first targets had been neutralised.
* * *
Meanwhile in Orchard Close Harold knew he had lost his fight, but still objected. “I said I wouldn’t be a priest again.” He shook his head angrily.
“This is different. Abigail doesn’t want a christening but she wants a naming. Just remember to call the little girl Violet and bid her welcome.” Sharyn fussed around Harold, making sure his medal was dead right even if it wasn’t on a uniform.
“Bid her welcome?”
“Literally, fare thee well in reverse. Say something like ‘Welcome to Orchard Close, Violet’ or whatever comes to mind. Cripes Harold, you knew a week ago.” Sharyn poked him in the chest. “I thought you’d spoken to Liz or Casper?”
“About what? You said we were all welcoming the new baby because she had no dad and her mum was worried about the kid being accepted.” Harold batted Sharyn’s hands away. “I’m not going on parade.”
“Yes you are. This is important as you well know. Abigail escaped from a very nasty little group before turning up here. She had no choice about getting pregnant because the animals used her little lad to keep her compliant. Now she thinks we’ll hold it against Violet, her dad being a nameless gangster.” Sharyn sighed. “Some might, but not after that nasty Solder Boy type welcomes her by name. At least none of the other refugees has turned out to be pregnant, and that’s got to be a miracle. Now smile or I’ll hit you with this.” Sharyn waved Harold’s stick and handed it over.
“All right. Cripes, is anyone else pregnant?”
“No, calm down. I just told you.”
Harold sighed in relief. “No you didn’t, you said no more refugees.”
“We’re all refugees, dope.” Sharyn pushed. “Go.” She turned and called upstairs. “OK Hazel, bring the kids down. He’s respectable now.”
As Harold walked down the street he felt a strange reverse déjà vu. Sharyn had her arm hooked in Harold’s one side with Wills on her other side, while Daisy held his other hand with Hazel holding onto Daisy. Only one short year ago they’d walked up here full of hope, because they’d survived. Harold didn’t have long to think as doors opened and more people came out, until a solid crowd walked down to the gates. The Coven had organised everything, and the gates were allegedly symbolic. Harold had started wondering about a real cauldron.
“Perfect. I think we got everyone.” Harold looked back and Sharyn might be right. “Remember. Welcome to Orchard Close, Violet, since you didn’t sort out something else.”
Harold opened his mouth to ask where Violet had got to when a motor started up, along the neutral road to the traffic island. He smiled as the girl club minibus drove down to the junction with the access road, and turned up towards Orchard Close. The vehicle came in peace, because the renewed paintwork said so. “That explains why you wanted the scroats banned today.” Harold had done as asked, and all the neighbours had been told to stay clear.
He smiled again as Casper got out of the minibus and opened the rear door. Abigail came out and looked towards the gates, at first nervously and then in shock. Casper said something, put out a hand and Rory, Abigail’s son, took it then Casper picked him up. Harold watched the four coming up to the gates with a certain amount of trepidation, since Casper wore a huge grin. “We have a new applicant to join Orchard Close. Will you give her sanctuary, Soldier Boy?”
Harold wanted to swear or call Casper a rotten bastard, because he’d been set up. Worse, he was stuck with it. Sharyn’s elbow hit his ribs so Harold did his bit. “Welcome to Orchard Close, Violet.” Then he jumped because the idiots behind started cheering! Abigail’s face broke into a smile; she took the last two steps to the gates, and held the baby out. Harold froze.
“Hang on Abigail, he’s better with rifles.” Sharyn bent Harold’s unresisting arm up across his chest, and Violet was neatly deposited. “Turn round, idiot.” Sharyn murmured quietly but Abigail heard and giggled, and Harold turned very slowly and carefully. The cheering redoubled, and an aisle opened in the crowd. “To the dance house. Don’t worry, she’s been fed so Violet is happy right now.”
Harold walked slowly and carefully up the road to the dance house, then Abigail reclaimed her daughter and he could relax. “Bl... Cripes Sharyn, I’m better with pipe bombs than babies, let alone a tiny little thing like that. What...”
“Not now Harold. Now we have a party. Not a long one because its cold, but long enough so Abigail knows her baby is welcome. Everyone else gets the message and lets off a bit of steam. Next time you’ll have had practice.” Sharyn swept off to see to something or other before Harold could ask about next times. Instead he smiled and said hello to a lot of people, didn’t drink everything he was offered, and watched as a few of the younger men and women held an impromptu dance in the road. In the road because the warm house had been commandeered for the old folk according to Doll, and as a warmup for Christmas Eve.
As promised the party didn’t last long and an hour later Harold had his chance. “What did you mean practice? Nobody is pregnant.”
“No, but in future we’ll have a proper way to welcome children, and any more refugees.” Sharyn grinned. “You asked us to sort everything out, so we did. You just do your bashing the bad boys bit, as advertised.” Harold didn’t really have an answer.
Though later he found he’d now got an answer to something else. He could consider his temper, and occasionally beating or shooting a scroat, as a way of providing a sanctuary for as many as possible. Harold could get angry if he wanted to, now and again, without beating himself up over it.
* * *
It took a while, but oddly enough Harold’s head finally accepted that. All the scroats and lunatics he’d shot or stabbed or beaten faded from Harold’s dreams. Now all that disturbed his sleep were those he hadn’t protected, the Gabrielas, Hollys and Sandys, and they were entitled. Harold still had troubled nights, but he slept better overall.
After thinking through his options, and remembering what Emmy said about the Ferdinands and their fighting, Harold came up with another way to protect everyone just a bit better. He called together a dozen people who seemed keen enough to hit someone but lacked the skills. “If you really want to stick a scroat, properly, you’ll need a better technique with a machete.
“But the idea is to charge in and hack and bash, isn’t it? That doesn’t take much technique.” Em
my looked at the piece of wood shaped roughly like a machete. “Though some of them have those shields now, stop signs or whatever.”
“Yes they do.” Harold ducked nothing, dodged nothing, blocked nothing and slashed at an imaginary kneecap. “Think how confused they’ll be if you do that?”
“I’ll cut my own leg off.” Billy made a half-hearted attempt to copy. “I think you’ve got an extra joint in your arm.”
Harold grinned. “No, but you’ll need lots of sympathy for your aches and pains while you learn.”
“Pains? I thought the idea is to dish it out?” Emmy scowled. “What brought this on?”
“You. Remember a comment about the Ferdinands being no better at fighting than you are, and the scroats round here being a tougher proposition? This will even up a bit.” Harold mentally reran what bits of his training could be applied to a machete. “If you thrust towards a face, they’ll flinch or duck, then you slice the blade over the bastard’s hand. When he swings down to chop you, move and deflect and choose your target. His machete will still heading downwards when you hack the back of his knee and cripple the scroat.”
A few little smiles appeared, then more, and they grew. Though by the end of the first practice nobody smiled. “Cripes Harold, if someone starts now I can’t lift the machete, let alone defend myself.” Bernie rubbed at his elbow.
“Get Sal to rub you better, then practice the moves again and again.” Harold smirked. “I’ll bet Patty and Emmy don’t feel as bad because they exercise with the girl club.”
“Hey, does that mean I can join the girl club?” Billy raised his hands in defence as Emmy and Patty glared. “Just for the exercises.”
“You could get Gayle to help you to exercise, or is it Suzie you have wicked designs on? Bernie laughed. “Every time anyone wants to find you, you’re round there.”
“Well Barry and Finn aren’t exactly my sort of company on an evening. I can’t even go round with them to keep Alicia company because of Celine.” Billy looked at his practice machete. “Hey, if I learn this I’ll be more reassuring.”
“More dangerous.” Jeremy pointed to his leg which Billy had clouted by mistake. “I’m going to see if Matti will kiss this better.”
“Just remember, all of you, do the exercises. Then when you’ve got the muscles working we’ll move onto the skills. Don’t let the scroats realise though. On the plus side, the worst of the aches might be over in a couple of weeks so you’ll all be demon dancers come New Year.” Harold watched them going up the street, laughing and mock-fighting, with a small satisfied smile. If they built up the muscles and flexibility he could definitely make some of them more dangerous. Now he would talk to Casper and Alfie because they already had the muscle.
Teaching the potential fighters in small groups proved to be the perfect way for Harold to fill in any spare time, and kept his mind off Christmas and dances. On Christmas Day Harold managed to be civil, but spent much of the time polishing lead balls for buckshot he hadn’t the propellant to make up, and similar pointless tasks. Indoor tasks since the rain persisted, dampening everyone’s clothes as well as spirits. Harold even persuaded the keenest potential macheteers to practice between Christmas and New Year, another night spent by the TV muttering ‘mushrooms’ to himself. Especially on the nights when the TV showed the rising floods in some cities, and the state of the victims.
* * *
As usual, the trip to The Mansion early in January gave Harold something else to think about. “What would you charge to shoot a man?” Caddy smiled and held up a hand. “Don’t worry, he’s a truly nasty fucker, sorry, bad person, so your delicate conscience won’t get bruised.”
“Be careful Caddi. If I’m supposed to be shooting anyone who is a truly nasty person, the target list will be extensive.” Harold wasn’t in the mood for another windup from Caddi. The rain kept coming, interspersed with fog or dank, cold days, without any sign of the snow last year.
“Yeah, yeah, but we’ve got a treaty. It’s just that a rumour came my way, from across the city. Some very ambitious gang boss died from a lead migraine. A single shot from anything between half a mile and three miles away according to the version being told. I’ve got a more realistic idea of the possibilities than some, but that low figure made me wonder.” Caddi grinned. “Tell you what, send your shoppers over instead because he’s a Ferdinand and they spanked one lot already.” He sniggered. “You should have let me know about the weapons and I’d have bought them. So what will a bullet cost me?”
Harold grinned. “You, Caddi, can have a freebie, personally delivered any time you ask. I will not solve your gang war problems for you.”
“Pity, but I didn’t expect a yes. Worth a try though.” Caddi rang his little bell. “Tea, coffee, beer, redhead? Oh no, redhead is off the menu. It spoiled.” The dark-haired young woman who arrived wore the short black dress and fishnets but no apron.
Harold ordered coffee and she left. Caddy gestured to Mack. “Get the weapons Mack. Harold’s only got that stick of his and he’s the honourable type.” Mack left and Caddi smiled. “See, I trust you.”
Harold smiled back. “No you don’t. There’s a bloke with a shotgun or rifle pointed at me right now, peeking through a spyhole.”
Caddi turned to look at a bookshelf. “You can see?” Then he turned back, wagging a finger. “Naughty, but smart as usual. I haven’t tried it with anyone else but I will, if it’s someone I want an excuse to kill.” He chuckled. “The types who’ll have a go if I tweak them a bit without Mack in here and I’ll make sure there’s witnesses so it isn’t my fault.” Caddi paused and then chuckled. “Samuel will be disappointed. Your bullet hit his knuckle and fucked up half his hand, so he’d really, really like to shoot you.”
“Still a lot better than his eye. He should blame Bugatti and maybe shoot him.”
The woman brought coffee and Caddi grinned. “Are you open for business again over there, Soldier Boy?”
“Yup, I told your lot we were only closed from two days before Christmas until the third of January.”
“So you lot can have peace and quiet for your parties. We’re really curious about them since you never send out invites. Your lot aren’t very inviting at all.” Caddi put out a hand and stopped the woman from leaving and she froze. “If our lads stop overnight, they’re lonely. Maybe they could bring someone like this to keep them company?”
“Maybe one of our lot would make her an offer she wouldn’t refuse, and she wouldn’t come back.” Harold managed to keep a little smile. If one of the Hot Rods brought an unwilling woman to the overnight house, all hell would break loose.
Caddi’s eyes sharpened. “You aren’t allowed to accept runners.”
“If she’s escorted through our gates by one of your lot, she isn’t running. After all, if any of our women want to join you they can.” Harold shrugged. “Come and ask them.”
Caddi released the woman. “Maybe I will.” As the woman left Mack came in with the weapons for repair and Caddi started haggling as if nothing else had been discussed. Harold heaved a silent sigh of relief because the gang boss did this every time, found something to try and get under Harold’s skin. Though Caddi avoided the one subject that would have worked well enough for Harold to check out the view from that concrete tower block half a mile away. Harold looked over the cleared ground to the tower and smiled as he left the Mansion, because the building would be near enough if the day came to deal with Caddi.
The shot as he came up to the island near Orchard Close nearly stopped Harold’s heart and he floored the accelerator. He raced down the road but as he came clear of the surviving housing there didn’t seem to be an emergency, and a group crossing the empty gardens didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Harold jumped out and called up to the guardhouse. “What was the shot?”
“Hi Harold. You’ll wear out tyres like that. Emmy just shot a mangy dog and they’re going to burn it.” Jeremy sounded puzzled. “Are you all right?” He suddenl
y looked alarmed. “Are that lot chasing you?”
Harold felt the tension drain away. There’d been three mangy dogs now and the preferred solution, shooting as far away as possible, kept any infection out of the resident dogs so far. “No, they’re my escort.” Harold turned to the three cars spilling out alarmed Hot Rods. “Calm down you lot. No panic.” He calmed them down without admitting the reason he’d raced off and left them. Sooner or later, Harold knew, he had to stop assuming every shot meant someone he knew had been killed.
The Hot Rods left after the guns went inside the gate and Harold stowed them in his gun room. When he finally turned the corner to home Harold frowned because the deputation outside his house were the Coven, or half of them. “I surrender.”
“Wimp. We’ve got a solution that needs your glower.” Liz sniggered. “Some people are still impressed.”
“As I recollect, you needed a glower over shooting the sick dogs.”
“I wanted to catch a really nasty stray for in the forge.” Liz frowned. “Though after seeing the first sick one I’m convinced. Yeuk.” She scowled and thumped him on the chest. “Hey, stop that, we’re bullying you not the other way round. Orchard Close needs a canteen.”
“I vote for a pub.”
“Not a chance little brother. Do you know how many people cook their own meals? Or more to the point how many attempt to without convenience and part-prepared ingredients?” Sharyn rolled her eyes. “We’re having to teach the teenagers in the school to make basic pastry, for cripes sake.”
“Pass. I can make chips and burn toast?” Harold stopped smiling because nobody smiled back. “We have a problem?”
“Yes. Some people are perfectly happy looking at a bag of flour, a dead rabbit and a raw spud and saying ooh, yummy, rabbit pie. Some are learning but even more aren’t.” Faith waved a hand towards the rest of the city. “Blame the supermarkets, or schools, or sheer laziness. Worse, there’s no takeaway, no TV chef and no celebrity chef book that doesn’t need a fully stocked collection of spices and herbs and meat already neatly sliced or diced.”