Plaid Nights Anthology

by Torquere Press LLC

  I was marched back up to the flat and he sat me down on his expensive looking white couch before digging into my suitcase, pulling out the book, and setting it in front of me on the hardwood coffee table with a marble top. He had a walnut Edwardian bedroom set, but I hadn’t gotten much of a look at the rest of the house. The man had money. Course, I would’ve known that just by the painting over the mantle. After my quick assessment of the room I thought it best to stare at my hands. Anywhere but at the angry Scot looming over me and the expensive furnishings.

  “All right then. I know Henry Jones isn’t yer real name, Mr. Vaughn.”

  I kept looking at my hands.

  “I know ye to be a thief.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Look at me.”

  I didn’t really want to. I figured that if I kept staring at my hands I would wake up and this would all be a nightmare I was having on the plane.

  He grabbed me by the front of the shirt and jerked me up to look at him.

  “I’m sorry I stole the book,” I blurted. “Please don’t arrest me.”

  “I’m not gonna arrest ye, Caradoc. I might beat ye, but I willna arrest ye.”

  “I go by Cary,” I swallowed. “What do you want then?”

  He dropped me back onto the couch, running a hand through his hair. “I want to know what ye did with the items ye stole from that auction two years ago—Cary.”

  I blinked. “Uh—I dunno. It was two years ago. Fenced it all, most likely.” I shrugged. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “Fine.” He pulled his wallet from his pocket and pulled out a photo, holding it in front of my face. “How about this?”

  I eyed the photograph. It was a brooch. Silver, round, and engraved with Scottish thistles. Set in the center of it was a large yellow stone. By the scale set under it, it was a plaid brooch. I had a hazy recollection of the piece.

  “I—I think I sold to one of my Scottish contacts.” I chewed on my lip. “I’d have to look at my ledger.”

  “Ye keep a ledger?”

  “Aye.”

  His expression told me he thought that was an incredibly stupid thing for a thief to be doing. “How have ye stayed out of prison?”

  “Shouldn’t you be happy then? It means I can figure out who I sold it to. Get it back, if that’s what you want.”

  “I do want it back,” he replied. “Now I just have to decide what to do with ye.”

  “Look, I didn’t start this thinking to steal from you. I saw the book, knew how much it was worth, and—I saw a way of buying myself free of someone.” I slouched. “I am sorry.”

  “Is that someone Jack Draper aka Mackerel Jack?”

  “Aye.”

  “How much do ye owe?”

  “About ten thousand pounds.”

  He stared at me for a long while, mouth a bit open. “Ten thousand pounds. What did ye do?”

  I shrugged. “Turns out I’m not very good at poker.”

  “Yer an idiot is what ye are.” He made a face. “I’ll tell ye what. Ye help me track down the brooch and I’ll help you get free of Mr. Draper.”

  “Really? I mean, I did try to run off with your book.”

  “Yes, but I caught ye, and I need ye, so I’d prefer not to have to chase ye again.” He sat down next to me. “So, do we have a bargain?”

  I considered this. Yes, he’d threatened me, but he’d also offered to help if I responded in kind. There was no harm in helping him find the brooch and much to be gained. Being free of Mackerel Jack… I’d never really thought that day would come. What I’d told Marcas was half-true. I was in debt a bit because of the poker game but most of the money I owed was from another matter entirely. I didn’t speak of it, I didn’t think of it, and it was best for my own heart if I continued in that vein.

  “We have a bargain.” I held up my hands. “Could you take the cuffs off then?”

  “I dinnae, ye left me cuffed to my own bed, Cary. I take offense.” He stared at me. “I think I might like to keep ye this way for a time.”

  I wrinkled my nose and glared right back at him. My own eyes were more the color of mud and I never could seem to glare properly. I looked too much like a puppy. I suppose that was an advantage when fleeing from the law. I had an angel’s face, Jack would say. A choir boy with fire for hair. I was also a fair liar, but that wasn’t going to help me intimidate Marcas. I doubt a tidal wave would intimidate Marcas.

  “Come on,” I wheedled, opting instead for my trademark. Wide eyes, long lashes. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

  He leaned toward me, eyebrows drawn. “Oh do ye now?” He took hold of my hands.

  “I promise.” I felt my chest tighten. I couldn’t help glancing at his lips which I’d been rather occupied with just a few hours ago. I leaned forward slightly. “I know you and I are—I mean to say…I didn’t come to you to steal. I respect you scoping me out to find what I took before. I mean.” I swallowed.

  “I dinnae approve of stealing, no matter what ye intended, ye did steal from me a purpose this time, Cary. I dinnae intend ye to go without consequences.”

  “You’re going to take me to the police at the end of our escapade then?”

  “No.” A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “We’re gonna take care of this right now.”

  I did not like the look in that man’s eyes. I didn’t like it one bit. It was a pleasant enough look—leavened with the intention of violence. I swallowed again. “Uhm…”

  He took hold of the chain between the cuffs and pulled, easily taking me over his lap.

  “Marcas?”

  “I told ye, we’re gonna settle it—now.”

  ***

  He let me out of the handcuffs, but stuck me with an ankle bracelet and a very sore ass. That bastard had a heavy hand. Not that I’d never had my hide tanned before, but I’d been a child. I wasn’t a child anymore. I didn’t deserve to be treated like one. So I was sulking on his couch while he made arrangements for us to go down to my place to get the ledger.

  Well, sulking on my stomach because my fucking ass hurt.

  Marcas set a cup of tea on the coffee table. “For you.”

  “How kind of you.” I took the cup and blew on it. “You’re a bastard.”

  “And you’re a thief—a repentant one at the moment, I hope.”

  “Very repentant.” I took a drink. “How much sugar did you put in this tea?” My teeth ached.

  “About six. You dinnae take it that way?”

  “I stop at two.”

  He shrugged. “It’s been a while since I made tea for anyone but myself.”

  “You take six sugars in your tea.”

  Marcas smiled. “I have a sweet tooth.”

  “I don’t even know how you have teeth. Do you brush every fifteen minutes?”

  He smacked my ass as he passed me. I yelped. He sat down on the end of the couch. He was muttering in Gaelic, and the tone was less than positive.

  “You know I have no Gaelic. All I hear is angry Scottish noise.”

  That earned me another smack and I finished my tea without further commentary.

  “Now then, I’ve booked us by rail to Swansea, eh? We’re taking the morning train to Crewe and we’ve a transfer to Swansea.”

  “A flight would be faster,” I remarked.

  “Yes, but I don’t fly well so we’re taking the train.” Marcas leaned over, setting his own empty tea cup down on the coffee table. “Now then, mo balach ruadh, what do ye want for dinner? I don’t really cook.”

  “Chinese?” I glanced over my shoulder. “Maybe kebabs?”

  “What, ye don’t want haggis?”

  “Not unless you want me throwing up for three days.”

  “Chinese then.”

  I wondered what was going to happen when all of this was over. When he had his brooch and I was free of Jack. Then what? He’d let me go on my way? Cops didn’t usually let known criminals go off into the sunset just because said criminal d
id them a wee favor. I was pretty desperate to get away from my problems, so I wasn’t intending to double-cross Marcas, but I did have to think about the future. I had to think ahead.

  I couldn’t just rely on my luck. That’s what got me into this in the first place.

  ***

  The train ride was uncomfortable. I had to sit with my weight on my hip and it kept falling asleep. The pins and needles hurt a bit more so I settled for half my weight on one cheek at a time to balance it out. Tea on the train was awful. I think Marcas put eight sugar packets in his. That man was going to get diabetes.

  “What’s with the brooch anyway?” I asked as we drew near to the Swansea station. “I mean, if my recollection serves I only got fifteen hundred pounds for it.”

  His expression darkened considerably. “It’s a family heirloom. An idiot cousin pawned it and then it ended up in the auction and then well, ye happened. I lost track of it then.”

  “So what then?”

  “I saw ye in Edinburgh and thought it was a sign. I’d had a hell of a time finding ye. Odd, given how terrible ye seem to be as a thief.”

  “I’ve a knack for staying hidden.” It was more than a knack. It was in the blood. “I’ve no idea how you found me.”

  “Maybe ye aren’t as special as ye think ye are.” He flashed a smile. “Eh?”

  I felt my heart thud faster. It was a fear response. He was a predator, baring his teeth. The bastard. “Oh, I see then, cousin.”

  It was not uncommon for cousins to go amongst one another unknown. It wasn’t like we’re all that different from the rest of the world. I could hide, but it seemed my Scottish friend had a talent for following trails—fresh ones anyway. Bet that helped in his day job.

  “I didn’t know we were cousins when I was after ye. Not until I had to track ye to the plane did I ken. Yer trail was fuzzy. There was a sharpness—like someone had cleaned it up after ye. I understood then why I couldn’t find ye before.” He shook his head. “I’d never had that problem. Made the chase, even as short as it was, more exciting.”

  There was a whole mess of creatures and beings that weren’t what they seemed, especially in the Isles. Those of us in that family just lived with it. It wasn’t like we were all that spectacular. I knew a guy who could start fires once, managed to burn off his eyebrows every other month. There was a girl who could see in the dark lived down the block from me when I was in primary school. That was about it. We didn’t advertise, we didn’t have parties.

  Well, least not in my family.

  “So happy to provide entertainment.” I sighed. “So this heirloom of yours, you tasked to find it or something?”

  “It’s my duty to find it.” He shrugged. “Family Gathering is coming up—I have to have it by then.”

  “Coming up in?”

  “About seven days.”

  “A week. We have a week to find your bloody brooch or what?”

  He bit down on his lip, tapping his fingers on the arm of his seat.

  “Or what?” I repeated.

  “I might end up having to fight my patriarch. In mortal combat. To the death.” As if that final clarification was necessary really.

  “Oh, so this deal we’ve made with each other, it’s your life for my life then. Seems a bit more fair.” I smirked. “Sort of nice to know that behind that perfect face and muscles you can fuck up too.”

  “Yes, well, I like my cousin and he might be a bawheid but he’s family.” He shrugged. “Ye know.”

  “I don’t but I suppose you like your family more than I do.” I sniffed. The train was cold.

  “I like some of them. It’s a big family.”

  The train was slowing down. “Well, with any luck, we’ll be able to track down the brooch before you have to bleed to prove your devotion to this cousin.”

  “I do hope so, mo balach ruadh.”

  “Did I not just tell you I have no Gaelic?”

  The train stopped. “Come on, we’re on a deadline.”

  That man was so lucky I needed him—and he had fantastic ass. I really could pick ‘em.

  ***

  My place wasn’t near as nice as Marcas’ flat. I had a couch, from a rummage sale, and some cartons for my clothes. Oh, and a rug, I got it cheap cause it had been woven with two Ringos and no John Lennon.

  Marcas’ eyes were wide as saucers. “Good lord. I’ve seen crack dens with more furniture.”

  “I’m not here very often.” I shrugged. “I’ll get the ledger and we’ll get lunch. There’s a good chips place down the block.”

  He made a noise in assent and immediately began to snoop around.

  I headed into the back room and opened up the hidden door to the crawlspace where hid my safe. I wasn’t a complete idiot, you know. Ledger in hand, I walked back out to the living room to find Marcas eying my porn collection.

  “You keep it on the shelf next to your cartoons?” He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

  I shrugged. “It’s alphabetical.” I flopped down onto the couch, which sank visibly and started to flip through the heavy, leather-bound ledger until I found the entries from the auction job. “Let’s see. One ivory figurine, one gold watch, one snuff box, a stuffed parakeet…ah, silver brooch. Seems I sold it through Old Martin. Lucky us, he’s not dead yet.” I shut the ledger. “I’ll put this back and we can go.”

  Marcas nodded. It really was too bad he was a cop. The sex had been fantastic. In my top five, easy. Such a shame.

  ***

  After chips we headed to Old Martin’s. He ran a pawn shop two blocks from my flat.

  “Is your whole family Welsh?” Marcas asked as we walked.

  “Nah, just my Da.” I wrinkled my nose. “Mum was Irish.”

  “Was?”

  “She died when I was fifteen. Left me with Da. He wasn’t much a one.”

  Marcas nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Everybody has a sad story, mine’s no different.”

  “No, but it’s yours­­­­.”

  I glanced over at him and saw his eyes. It wasn’t pity there, but sadness for me. He was sorry about my mum. “Thank you.”

  He reached out a hand.

  “Here we are then,” I interrupted the moment and pointed at the door to Pawn’s On Us. The open sign was up. “We should hurry.”

  “Of course.”

  Inside the shop it was dark. There was a thick layer of dust on most of it and the counter was behind glass with a bell. I rang and we waited. The waiting gave me time to think a bit. I sort of wanted to ask Marcas a question. Wasn’t entirely sure it was appropriate, mind you, but I wanted to ask anyhow.

  After about thirty seconds of silence I blurted out, “Why did you fuck me?”

  He flushed—I mean his ears, his face, his neck, red as a tomato—and it looked like that flush probably went down…He raised his eyebrows and looked me in the eye. “Why?”

  “Yes, why? If you were just trying to get the brooch, then why fuck me? What was the point of it?”

  “I—I wanted to.” He swallowed. “It’s nae important.”

  “What’dya want then, Cary?” A voice interrupted the moment.

  I turned to the counter and spied Old Martin. He was eighty or so, and I was constantly surprised to see him still shuffling about.

  “Brooch I sold you a couple of years back, need to know where it ended up.”

  Marcas pulled out the photo and pressed it against the glass for clarification.

  “Oh, and why should I be telling you?”

  “Because I know exactly where you buried—”

  “Fine, fine,” he interrupted. “Keep your knickers on and I’ll look.”

  I waited a few moments, to be certain Old Martin was absorbed in the search, to turn back to Marcas. “I mean, I didn’t mind it. Actually, it was amazing, but why?”

  In that moment, in the dusty pawn shop, I saw the lines of him sketched out in tension. He looked like a stag getting ready to run—and then the mo
ment passed by and he put a hand on cheek.

  “I suppose—because ye made me smile. I didna expect that.” He was smiling now. “Maybe I shouldn’t have slept with ye but I did, and I don’t regret it.” The smile stretched into a smirk. “It was amazing for me too.” He dropped his hand.

  My cheek tingled from the memory of the touch. Damn.

  Old Martin finally returned with a banged up old planner in hand. “Looks like I sold it about a day after you brought it to me.” He pushed up his glasses.

  “Who to?”

  “Jack Draper.”

  I glanced at Marcas. “Well, looks like we’re off to see the fishmonger then.”

  It was official: I was completely out of luck.

  ***

  “He probably sold it to somebody else ages ago,” I reasoned, staring at the dockside warehouse Jack kept to most days. “I dunno why he even bought it. I’ve never seen him wear it.”

  “If he did sell it, we need to know who he sold it to,” Marcas replied. “Ye can wait out here if ye like.”

  “Alone? His goons might see me.” I sighed.

  “Not if ye hide.”

  Right. There was that. The gulls overhead were starting to get on my nerves with their cries, and the color of the sky more than suggested rain.

  Marcas put a hand on my shoulder. “Cary, ye need to calm down.” He tilted his head. “I’ll be back before ye can spit. Hide over in those crates there and no one will be the wiser.”

  I nodded.

  “Good. Go on then.”

  I hunkered down in the crates and watched as he walked away to the warehouse. I noticed then, with no small amount of surprise, the small bulge at his side. I hadn’t seen it before, but I knew without thinking that it was a gun. Well then, at least if Jack was armed, Marcas wasn’t going in helpless. Canty bastard.

  I stayed hidden for a good quarter of an hour before I spotted Marcas coming out. No blood. That was a good sign. I waited until I was certain he wasn’t being followed and slipped out of hiding.

  “So,” he started off. “He sold it.”

  “Oh, now what then?”

  “Well, seems old Jack sold it to a Scot, name of Munro. I’ve a fair idea where to find him.”

  “Good. Where?”

  “Glasgow.”

  “We have to take the train again, don’t we?” I groaned.