by J. D. Weston
“I’m not sure I fully understand the question, Mr Tenant,” said the lady, “could you be more concise?”
"Well, ma'am. We would all like to pursue the opportunity to defend our country using the skills that we have. After all, not everyone has an opportunity like this. So how can we put a circle around our names on that iPad of yours" he indicated at Denver and himself, "just like you have around Melody's name, instead of those lines that you've drawn through Denver's name and my own?"
"How on earth..." she said, picking up her iPad and looking at the back of the device as if it were transparent. She checked over her shoulder for cameras in the room. She glared at him. "The network connection is disabled, blue-tooth is disabled, and the device is encrypted," she said, closing the iPad and laying it flat on the large conference table and turning a deep red. "How?" She pushed it across the table away from her.
"Easy when you know how, I wouldn't want to bore you with the technicalities of tapping into the insecurities of modern devices, it'd spoil the fun. I didn't mean to be intrusive, ma'am, I merely wanted to demonstrate the capabilities we have, and the only way I know how to do that is by, well, demonstrating them." He stopped for another sip of water and raised the glass to his smirking mouth. "By the way, sir," he caught the attention of one of the men, "your wife just Whatsapped you, reminding you not to forget that her parents will be visiting tonight. She's cooking lamb, but you need to pick up a bottle of red on your way home. I can recommend a fantastic South African red if you want, its perfect for lamb, and has a real fruity bite."
The man looked totally distraught, but the other man appeared suitably impressed, nodded his head and made a note in his paper notebook.
“I think we’ve had enough for one day-” the chief interjected, he was worried the charade would ruin the hard work and progress that had been made so far.
"If I may?" continued Reg, "I apologise for my immaturity. If you would like, I can show you how to protect yourselves from others who can do what I do."
"I'd like that," the woman said, slowly.
"I would like to finish with a brief statement,” Frank chimed in, "if we do this, it’s all of us here, the team or nothing at all. That's my terms."
The panel all looked between each other.
"I look forward to your comprehensive report, Mr Carver."
"Thank you, ma'am."
19
LIVESTOCK
Shaun sat in the lounge area of the big office. The muted TV showed images of the news program, the chain of event was easy to follow. The Koreans were mad at someone, China had refused to take sides, and stocks had fallen, and nothing else in the world really mattered.
The van pulled into the courtyard and Shaun watched through the window as Lenny and Rob climbed out and started unloading boxes and bags into the garage.
“Why don't you go help them, Shaun?” said Terry from behind his desk, “I need some time; no distractions.”
There had been no celebrations following the deal. They had got away with it, and it was the wildest thing Shaun had ever done. It had also been the scariest, but the buzz that followed was incredible.
Attention in the office was now turned to Bradley’s funeral; the old man was holding himself together well. Shaun had heard the arrangement being made over the phone and orders being given to Lenny and Rob.
He stood and left the room pulled his hoodie up and left the building. He walked across the gravel towards the two men.
“Capone, how you doing?” asked Lenny in a mock Italian accent.
“I’m okay. I was told to come and help, what can I do?”
“Listen, Shaun, you’re not really a people person are you?”
“Eh?”
“You may have been told to come and help, but you don't need to come out and tell us you’ve been told to come and help. Right Rob?”
“That’s right, Lenny.”
Shaun looked confused.
“See, if you had walked up to us and said, ‘Hey guys, can I help you?’ we would have just thought it was your exceedingly good nature that brought you out here in the cold, and we’d have appreciated the gesture. However, being told to come out means that you are in fact reluctant to help but will do it because the boss said to, right?”
“I guess.”
“He guesses, Rob.” Lenny climbed into the rear of the van and pulled a few boxes to the edge before jumping back down and passing them to Rob.
Rob just snorted but remained impartial and carried on shifting the boxes.
“What are you doing anyway?”
“We’re emptying the van, Shaun, what does it look like we’re doing?” Lenny dropped another box carefully to the ground.
“What is all this stuff?
“Blimey he don't stop asking questions does he, Rob?”
“No mate, he doesn't stop asking questions.”
“You know what, Rob?” said Lenny.
“What’s that, Lenny?”
“I seem to remember something about questions, it was something the boss said about asking too many of them.” Shaun looked at the floor. He had thought that he’d won some respect from the two men, but they were both still as mean as ever.
“Oh, I remember that,” said Rob, in mock thought. He stopped and leaned on a box, “What was it now? Was it, if you ask too many questions you get to lay in a big cosy bed all day, and the boss would pay for hookers to keep you company?”
“No, I don't think so, Rob, that doesn’t ring any bells. Was it, if you ask too many questions the boss will make you a roast dinner with all the trimmings and serve it to you while you watch the match?”
“Hmm, no I don't think it was that either,” said Rob, “I’m sure it had something to do with…”
“Pigs,” they both said at the same time.
“That’s it,” said Lenny, “pigs.”
“If you ask too many questions the boss will feed you to the pigs.”
“Alright, alright, I get it,” said Shaun. The two men laughed at his dejection.
"Look if you really want to help, why don't you grab that sack over there and the gaffer tape?" said Lenny, passing the last box to Rob.
Shaun found an old hessian sack on the floor and the gaffer tape on a shelf. He passed them to Lenny who threw them into the back of the van.
“Is that it?” Shaun asked.
“Easy eh?” said Lenny.
“One day you’ll be as good as us at moving boxes and passing the gaffer tape,” said Rob.
“Is that more guns?” said Shaun, pointing to a wooden crate, identical to the previous one that he’d sold the contents of.
“I don't believe it, Rob.”
“I’m flabbergasted, Len.”
“What?” said Shaun.
The little pocket in the bushes where Harvey stashed his bike sat in the darkness waiting for him.
He took a walk, as he had done once already, through the field and came upon the house. The light from the garages lit the courtyard where the van was parked with its rear doors open. Harvey sat in the spot where the gun had been aimed at him and watched as two men pulled boxes from the van and placed them in the garage. There were boxes of wine, beer and spirits, plus other boxes. They didn't look heavy. Harvey assumed Bradley Thomson's wake would be held at the house.
He walked further down the field to come behind the house on the right side of the road. He slipped silently around the side of the garages where he had stood once before. If anybody were to drive down the lane, he'd be seen in the headlights, but he would see any cars coming and have time to hide, besides he hadn’t seen a single other car on the road both times he’d been.
He listened to the two men chat.
“I don't know how the old man does it. Imagine having your son killed and still being able to hold it together enough to plan the job up north, sell a load of guns to Cartwright and arrange the funeral.”
“Yeah, I feel for him. I did ask if we could help, but he said he’d take
care of it, he wanted to.”
“You think he feels guilty?”
“For what? Bradley? No, he walked the line, we all do, right?”
“Yeah, you ever think about getting out before it’s too late?”
“What do you mean, too late?”
“You know, getting killed. Seems like it’s getting serious again; Bradley’s dead, that guy at the gun deal, I even heard the old man talking to that bloke on the phone, I think he’s going after the Cartwright boy.”
“What bloke?”
“You know,” the man began to talk in hushed tones, “the bloke he gets to take care of business.”
“John? Terry’s going after John?”
“Shhh. No his son, Donny.”
“None of it makes sense mate, and as for getting out, do you really think you could walk away from all this with your knees intact?”
“Hold on, keep it down, Rob.” Harvey heard footsteps on the gravel, “Capone, how you doing?”
“I’m okay,” the new voice said, “I was told to come and help, what can I do?”
Harvey placed the weak voice immediately. Shaun Tyson. He had a perfect opportunity to find the guns, finish Thomson and his target. It needed to be done right. He needed to plan.
He carried on listening. The urge to step around to the front and shoot all three of them dead was strong, but Harvey resisted. He wanted Tyson to suffer. That was the point, he’d welcome death. Suffering would be retribution. A little more for the memories of Hannah and all the countless others, so they could rest.
“Is that more guns?”
Harvey’s attention was grabbed, and a rare smile crept onto his face as the plan formulated.
“I don't believe it, Rob.”
“I’m flabbergasted, Len.”
“What?” asked the simple voice.
Harvey heard the muffled screams and shouts of Tyson. He imagined the scene taking place behind the wall with striking accuracy.
One of the men had his had over Tyson's mouth. The dull thumps of two well-paced body punches quieted the noise, but his feet still scraped on the concrete garage floor. Harvey could see it all take place. He heard the gaffer tape being ripped off the roll; he heard the sharp inhale of air through Tyson's nose as he fought to control his breathing with his mouth taped up. Harvey stepped back into the trees and moved further to the corner of the garage to gain a better view. He saw under the open rear door of the van as Tyson was thrown onto the back, his knees hit the gravel floor hard, and his body lay on the wooden interior. His hands were bound behind him, and his legs were wrapped inside the hessian sack with gaffer taped around his knees and down to his ankles.
“Questions, Shaun, we told you.”
Shaun’s legs were helped up into the van and thrown unceremoniously into the back. The doors were slammed and locked.
“Are we taking him tonight or in the morning?” asked one of the men to the other.
“Let’s just get it done. Tomorrow is a big day for Terry, it’d be one less thing for him to worry about.”
Harvey watched from the shadows as they walked to the front of the van and open the doors. The garage door closed and the courtyard light turned off automatically, plunging the large driveway into darkness. As soon as the van door on the side closest to the road was pulled shut, he made his move.
He pounced onto the back of the van, timing his step onto the rear bumper with the lift of the clutch and the movement of the vehicle. Clinging to the rear doors, he wedged his fingers into the gaps between the doors and the van and pulled himself close as Lenny turned right and took the van along the empty country lane. It stopped at a junction, giving Harvey a moment to adjust his fingers and reposition his hand before they turned left onto a wider lane. They hadn't gone far when they slowed and pulled into a group of farm buildings. It wasn't an old farmhouse converted into a country pad for rich men like John Cartwright or Terry Thomson, it was a working farm.
The main house looked old, dark, and poorly maintained while the barns looked well kept. Fresh mud flew from the wheels as the van passed through the centre of a cluster of barns and pens and onto a bumpy track that ran between fenced off fields.
The driver stayed in first gear, and the ride was jolting. Harvey hung to the edge of the doors and planted his feet firmly on the bumper. The van struggled in the mud, and nearly stuck fast, but the driver kept the power on and turned the front wheels, finding traction. They managed to get through eventually.
He felt the van stop and heard the handbrake. He chanced a glance around the van and saw three massive hogs in a large pen surrounded on three sides by trees. They began to grunt at the arrival of the men. Harvey sensed it was not the first time they had seen the big white dinner van. He heard the passenger door open, so stepped down to the mud and rolled under the van. The driver joined the passenger, and the rear doors were opened.
“Time to meet your maker, Shauny.”
Muffled whines and screams came through the floor of the van, followed by scuffled struggles on the van's wooden floor as they pulled Tyson out and onto the ground. He hit the floor hard, his wide eyes were streaming with panicked tears of fear, and his breathing was short and sharp through his nose. He rolled onto his side when one man kicked him to be quiet, and his eyes fell on Harvey; they pleaded for Harvey to help.
“Don't worry, the noise excites the pigs, they love it. Gets them all horny or hungry, one of the two, I doubt young Shaun would mind if they get a bit frisky, dirty little perv would probably enjoy it.”
Shaun lay on his side watching Harvey. Harvey put his finger to his lips and motioned for him to look away, but Shaun's eyes remained fixed on Harvey until recognition set in and fright took over. He began to panic and kick out at the men.
“Come on, let’s get him in there,” said one of the men, and Harvey saw a hand reach down to grab Shaun under an arm. “Grab the other one then, Rob, I want to get back, I’m bloody freezing. My trainers are ruined as well.”
The other pair of legs moved closer, and another arm reached down to Shaun. He was whisked from view.
Harvey turned under the van, and watched as the men dragged Tyson away toward to the pen; four feet sticking in the mud slipped into the darkness. Tyson’s feet wrapped in the hessian sack dragged helplessly between them.
Harvey quietly rolled out from under the van and moved carefully around to the rear doors, treading softly in the mud behind the preoccupied men.
He stood ten feet behind them in the darkness as the two men called the pigs over.
Pigs do not typically respond to being called, they respond to being fed. The pigs came to the fence and fought for the prime position. Their size was impressive, the biggest swine Harvey had ever seen; bulky shadows wallowing in the dark mud. But the noise they made was the most impressive. The loud grunts and snorts of the hogs gave no indication of the number, but the noise was chaotic as they fought to be at the front. The racket allowed Harvey to step closer to the men.
He drew his knife from his belt and switched the handgun to his left hand. He stepped around behind one of the men, who both stood leaning on the fence, antagonising the hogs.
Harvey reached around and forced the razor-sharp blade to cut the man's throat, his left arm with the gun raised at the other man who was stood on the first rung of the fence, clapping to get the attention of the pigs. He didn't even notice his friend was drowning in his own blood.
The man next to Harvey coughed a lungful of blood into the pen and slipped to the floor clutching his neck. His frantic gargles were lost to the grunts. One of the pigs caught the scent of the fresh blood in the muddy pen and trotted over, greedily scouring the filth. The last man followed its trot and then, with the realisation of someone who had led a life of danger, he stiffened; finally aware of the gun that was pointed at him. He slowly stepped down to the ground.
He looked at his friend on the ground, but gave no effort to save him, or call to him. The shape on the ground stopped twitc
hing and lay still.
“Do you know what you’ve just done?” he called to Harvey.
“Pretty sure, put your hands on the fence.”
“Do you know who we are?”
“I don’t care who you are, put your hands on the fence.”
"Are you going to shoot me or what?" the man said as he placed both hands on the fence. The hogs came to him and increased the noise level.
“The fence. Climb it.”
“What?”
Harvey didn’t repeat himself.
“No, no you’re going to have to shoot me.”
Harvey remained impassive.
The man looked around him into the darkness beyond the van.
"I'm alone, but you won't get far,” Harvey said. “You think you can make it to the other side before they get you?"
“Are you crazy? What are you doing?”
Harvey had seen it before many times. A man who knew that death was imminent asked questions with no answers, their brain somehow buying time.
“You make it to the other side, I’ll let you go.”
The man looked at the distance, the fence on the far side of the pen was barely visible in the black night. The hogs stood jostling for position and reaching their heads up eagerly.