The Tale of the Wolf (The Kenino Wolf Series)

by Cyrus Chainey

  ‘Piece of piss,’ he replied, fronting it.

  We loaded the ram and jumped back into the cab. We hit four more farms in a similar fashion: Boom-Boom and Leon alternating between tranq gun and trolley duty. Our last journey was slightly different. We were going to Tom’s farm (one of Leon’s friends from his butchering days). Tom was a lovely bloke, a proper trooper. He even made us a coffee when we went to steal bits of his herd.

  We pulled up to the main gate at about ten to four. The sun hadn’t yet started to rise but Tom was already up and about. Tom and Leon had known each other for years, Leon had been the butcher that Tom always sent his cattle to. It was during the early days of their relationship that Tom explained his plight; something to do with EU regs and cattle passports. There was much complexity to it, but in essence it meant that Tom couldn’t sell his grass-fed beef and was stuck with a load of cows that he not only couldn’t sell but also couldn’t eat, as it was against the law for them to enter the food chain as they lacked a passport. Obviously, this idiocy had to be dealt with. So, like every other honest man who the law treats unjustly, he decided to break it, which is where we came in, we basically stole his cows for him and sold them on, cutting him in.

  ‘Morning, lads,’ Tom said, coming across to greet us.

  ‘Morning, Tom,’ Leon returned. ‘So, how goes it?’

  ‘Not bad. Just doing my rounds.’ Tom was every inch the stereotypical farmer; burly, strong, salt of the earth, he always reminded me of an Elizabethan yeoman. I liked him. He was trying to do the right thing and getting the shaft; trying to rear his animals the correct way and instead of being rewarded was being punished.

  ‘I’ve got orders for six sides back in London,’ Leon said shaking his hand.

  ‘Lovely!’ Tom grinned. Leon had been pushing Tom’s wares into some of the fancier restaurants in the West End. In truth, they were gnawing his arm off to get it. Tom’s quality levels were out of this world, which made the situation even more preposterous. Everybody wanted it, everybody loved it, and he wasn’t allowed to sell it. ‘They’re this way,’ Tom signalled the next field.

  We trudged across the damp mud. We followed Tom through the gate and into the field. There were three bullocks ambling aimlessly around where the Jersey cows were penned up.

  ‘Mmmoooooooo!’ one of the Jersey’s thundered.

  ‘Mmmooooooo!’ Boom-Boom mimicked.

  ‘What’s up with that one?’ Leon asked with concern.

  ‘She’s started bulling, that one. Have to get the AI man out today, hopefully get her to calf.’

  With the utterance of the word ‘bulling’ I stopped in my tracks … unlike Boom-Boom, who was still mimicking the noisy Jersey. For those of you unaware, bulling is a state that a cow enters once a month, where it basically becomes hyper-horny and will mount anything. The mooing is to summon a bull to service the cow’s needs.

  ‘That explains why the bullocks were hovering round.’ Leon said addressing Tom.

  ‘Yeah, not that they’re any use,’ Tom replied laughing

  Boom-Boom was still mooing inanely, oblivious to the potential danger that had now presented itself. I stepped back a few feet, already seeing disaster approach. The bullocks had turned to face us and were responding to Boom-Boom’s utterances. I edged further away from Boom-Boom, Leon and Tom.

  ‘It’s probably not a good idea to pretend to be a Jersey cow, Boom,’ Leon said.

  ‘It’s a steak on legs, Leon, not a big deal,’ he replied, giving an even louder more convincing moo to show his lack of fear. The bullocks responded to his enticing sound and started to charge towards him. I had already removed myself to a safe distance, so was free to watch as three randy bullocks started to chase Boom-Boom, trying to mount him.

  ‘Shit!’ Boom-Boom said realising his blunder while

  dashing in the opposite direction. ‘Shoot them, Leon!’

  ‘Can’t do that. These are organic. No chemicals,’ Leon replied laughing. Boom-Boom was running wildly round the field desperately trying to dodge 1,000lbs of horny hamburger.

  ‘Wolfy!’ Boom-Boom bellowed at me. ‘Do something’

  ‘I am,’ I replied. ‘I’m laughing. Why don’t you say ‘moo’ again?’

  ‘Fuck you, Wolfy. Do something!’ He dodged left and right. The mud was damp and Boom-Boom was skidding wildly around. The bullocks weren’t giving up easy though.

  ‘Wolfy, open the back of the van, Boom can lead them in.’ Leon said, spoiling the fun.

  ‘Don’t you want to see whether the bullocks get some action?’ I returned, laughing even harder.

  ‘We have to get back. The clock’s ticking.’ He tapped his watch. Leon was being professional, which I had to respect.

  ‘I’ll open the van and you lead them in,’ I shouted at Boom-Boom, who had slipped and fallen so many times he looked like the Swamp Thing. He nodded manically in compliance. I ran back towards the van and pulled open the back, laughing so hard my eyes were watering. ‘Lead them this way, Boom.’

  Boom-Boom charged towards me, mud-soaked, with fear in his eyes. Leon ran behind the bullocks, making sure they followed Boom-Boom, shouting encouragement at them.

  ‘You’ll have to jump in the back, Boom, or they won’t go in. Wolfy get out the way or you’ll spook them.’ I moved round to the side giving Boom a clear run with his amorous bovines. Boom-Boom leapt into the van and in to the back of the trailer, immediately dashing into one of the stalls and closing the stall gate behind him. The bullocks leapt into the back, as keen as ever to get to know Boom-Boom, and made a beeline for where he was hiding. Once the last bullock had leapt in, Leon pulled down the shutter locking the Bullocks and Boom-Boom inside.

  ‘Oi, Leon. What are you doing?’ Boom-Boom shouted from inside the trailer.

  ‘You’re gonna have to stay there, Boom. I can’t get you out without letting them out, and we’re on a schedule. Just stay in the stall and you’ll be alright.’

  ‘Oi, Leon. Let me out!’ Boom-Boom bellowed.

  Leon ignored his pleading and jumped in the cab. I followed Leon’s lead. Boom-Boom banged on the sides.

  ‘If you keep shouting you’re just going to excite them. Keep calm and we’ll be back soon,’ Leon replied.

  ‘MOOOOOoo!’ I shouted through at Boom-Boom.

  ‘Fuck you, Wolfy!’

  ‘What, Boom? It’s just steak on legs, nothing to worry about.’ I was laughing so hard my sides hurt. Leon started the van and waving at Tom we drove off.

  ‘Home time, Leon, eh.’ I said, glad it was over.

  ‘Nope. One more quick one ... Best one of the lot.’

  ‘I thought we were done.’

  ‘Don't worry. Easy one. Won't take a mo,’ Leon grinned.

  I knew it was a mistake as soon as he said easy one, but Leon was insistent, and as he was driving, his insistence overrode my apprehension. Even Boom-Boom was against it. It was cold and quiet and I think we both had a feeling that we were pushing our luck; tempting Fate’s hand too much. We had a good haul it was a good night’s work. Nice profit all round, but Leon was adamant. This last job, he said, was worth as much as everything we already had put together and, like gamblers who instead of collecting their winnings bet again, in the hope that they can win once more, we rolled the dice.

  Leon couldn’t miss the opportunity to make money. The spectre of his past still haunted him: his past failures and miseries hung above his head like an executioner’s axe waiting to fall. Poverty and the drudgery it entailed shadowed his every footstep. He knew what it was like to go without, knew what it was to want, without hope of ever getting.

  He didn’t want to return to the time when he and Kelly had scrimped and scraped their way through life, stretching every penny so they could pay the bills. Poverty was a scar that no amount of money could heal.

  Before Leon acquired the club, or started up his illegitimate butcher’s, he only had his little butcher’s shop. It was meant to be a job for life, something that c
ould be built around, something he could leave to his children. But as the business started to deteriorate, Leon realised that the ropes he was tethered by weren’t so secure, that all his dreams and aspirations would disappear with the shop. Which is why, even though he had a successful club and successful illegitimate butchers, he never missed any opportunity to make money. He was saving a nest egg to insure against future disasters.

  Leon stopped the van on a country lane in front of a large metal gate that led into an open field.

  Boom-Boom had managed to manoeuvre the bullocks into the stalls. He had a face like thunder when we let him out of the back. I was tempted to do a couple more mooos, but I had a bad feeling about this last job and restrained myself, with difficulty.

  Boom-Boom and I grabbed the trolley. The gate was flanked either side by large overgrown hedgerows. Leon lifted the catch and opened the gate and the three of us went through, Leon leading the way.

  The field which had been left uncultivated had a dark border running along the far edge of it. I think it was a hedge but because it was so far away it was hard to tell. I thought I saw a small flicker of light coming from it, glimmering briefly in the distance. I alerted Leon, but he dismissed it as my paranoia.

  I placed the goggles on and started scanning the vicinity. I lagged behind the other two. Leon was marching onwards, towards an old cobbled wall. The wall ran across the centre of the field parallel to the gate we’d parked in front of, and up to the hedge where I’d thought I’d seen the light. It was about six foot high and had little bits of moss sparsely scattered across it. It was cold, wet and slippery, the stones still dripping from the earlier downpour.

  We followed the wall along for a bit until Leon decided to stop. The place he’d chosen was identical to the part of the wall we’d first encountered. It was still six foot, wet cold, and slippery. The only difference was that it was nearer to our objective. I pulled myself up on to the wall following Leon and Boom-Boom’s example.

  In the distance was a large manor house. We were obviously knocking off some country estate. It was too far away to get a proper look at. All that could really be told was that it was big and the lights were off.

  ‘That’s what we’re after!’ Leon said pointing to a small enclosure about 200 feet inside the wall.

  ‘What is it?’ Boom-Boom asked.

  ‘Ostriches,’ Leon replied, jumping down from the wall into the estate.

  ‘Ostriches?’ Boom-Boom and I both said, following him down.

  ‘Yeah, ostriches. Some geezer I know is willing to pay some serious cash for one of those birds.’ Leon was all excited. He was making money and wearing night-vision goggles. He was in paradise.

  We walked across towards the fenced enclosure, my wellies squelching in the mud. I still kept scanning everything. I thought I’d heard a noise. My mind was running away with me. Every shadow was a potential danger, every sound a possible threat. We trudged slowly to the enclosure.

  It was about twenty feet round, bordered by a four-foot high wooden fence, with a large wooden shed at the far side. We opened the gate and the three of us skulked in. I pulled out the tranq gun from the bag and popped one of the ugly birds. As soon as we were sure it was out, the three of us grabbed it. I had its feet. Its claws were sharp and got tangled in my woolly jumper. I’d never imagined it could weigh so much: it was fifty per cent legs and neck.

  We lugged it back out of the enclosure and back towards the wall when an alarm screeched through the air. Spotlights blasted on, drenching the estate in a blinding light. I staggered back struggling to rip the goggles from my face.

  ‘Leg it!’ Leon cried. We dashed towards the wall heaving the giant turkey. Boom-Boom and I wanted to dump it, but Leon wouldn’t let us. We reached the wall. I could hear shouting at the rear. All I cared about was getting over the wall. The three of us heaved the ostrich over and into the trolley. A gunshot fired.

  ‘They’re fucking shooting at us,’ I squealed, stating the obvious.

  ‘Did they hit the bird?’ Leon replied.

  ‘Fuck the bird, Leon!’

  ‘Don't you dare dump it, Wolfy,’ Leon pleaded.

  The trolley, although it had tractor tread tyres, was behaving like a normal shopping trolley, with the wheels displaying an unwillingness to go in the direction we wanted. It had reverted, under pressure, to its original incarnation.

  Running, while carrying a converted shopping trolley with an unconscious ostrich inside, we dashed across the field, the wet mud causing us to slip and slide our way across, pursued by a bunch of irate farmers.

  They were shooting at us. Buck shot was pinging past.

  We ran back through the gate and towards the van. Frantically, we opened the back and shoved the ostrich inside, slamming the back down.

  I jumped into the driver’s seat.

  ‘Give us the keys!’ I screamed. Leon threw them at me and I started the engine. It spluttered into life, but at least it was alive. I slammed it into gear and smashed down on the accelerator so hard it felt like my foot was going to burst through the floor.

  Buckshot bounced off the side of the van.

  The tyres screamed as we pulled away, spitting mud into the air. The bloody window wipers had turned on by themselves and their whining noise added to the cacophony of chaos engulfing us.

  Our pursuers were close behind almost in touching distance. I could see them in the wing mirror. Somehow one of them had got in front us; a burly wild-eyed brute of a man. He stood in the centre of the road and raised his shotgun.

  ‘Shitttt!’ we cried as we ducked under the windscreen and I aimed the van straight at the farmer. The glass shattered. He'd killed the wipers (there was a god). I rose back up to see the farmer dive out of the way. Our pursuers were still chasing us, running along the road cursing us with many expletives.

  Leon looked well pleased with himself. I was shaking. I'd been shot at too many times that day and wasn't stopping till I was home in bed, or under it … whichever was safer.

  The rain was back and with no windscreen we were getting drenched, but at least the windscreen wipers were dead so I didn't have to listen to that incessant squeaking; the only plus of the day .

  We were back in London within an hour. Leaving Leon and Boom-Boom to sort the beasties I trundled home in Betsy, determined to find out what had happened to Longy, and curious as to what was in the trunk he'd left me … the one he told me to burn.

  Thursday 11:00 a.m.

  The next day was a lot less eventful. Not that I was going to complain. I awoke early, sleep was easy because of fatigue, but was troubled. Alongside the cowboy hat and Longy, there were now ostriches and irate farmers. I was going to meet Tabatha. She still had some scheme to discuss, and although I was nervous about her plan, (even before I'd heard it), the thought of seeing her cheered me up.

  Tabatha was sitting on a small bench near the Peace Pagoda in Battersea Park; one of those strangely odd but strangely appropriate London places, created by a Japanese Buddhist sect, a foreign shrine that London had embraced and incorporated into her fabric.

  Tabatha looked like she’d been there a fair while. Ciggie butts were strewn about her feet.

  ‘I’m not late, am I?’ I said when I got close.

  ‘Nah I’d been sitting here a while. Got here early.’ Her eyes were red. She’d been crying.

  I knew why. This was our place, where we used to go when we bunked off: Tabatha, me, Geronimo and Longy. It was a place to hang, escape from whatever we felt the need to escape from.

  ‘Y’oright?’ I said as I sat down.

  ‘No, not really.’ She was dressed in jeans, trainers, a white sweatshirt and a leather jacket with white fake fur around the collar.

  ‘Longy on your mind?’

  ‘Course. What else? Why would anybody kill Longy, Wolfy? He was a plum.’

  ‘I know, it don’t make no sense.’ It didn’t, he was the most gentle, foolish, silly bugger in the world. He didn’t have enemies
, never did anything to create any.

  ‘Are you going to see Marisol?’ She was crying again. The tears had started to flow. I put my arm around her, as much to comfort me as her.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘She’s not good, Wolfy. She’s a real mess.’

  ‘I can imagine. I’ll go and see her in a bit. ‘

  ‘I think you best.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ I didn’t want to face Marisol. Didn’t know if I could take it.

  ‘They made her identify the body. And if that weren’t bad enough they asked her some really seedy questions.’

  ‘Yeah, I thought they would. I'll go see her after I’ve heard what you’ve got to tell me,’ I said, trying to change the subject.

  ‘Can we leave that till Leon’s do on Friday? I don’t really feel up for it.’

  ‘Course. I only came ’cos you slapped me in the head and I didn’t want to get hit again.’

  ‘You need a slap every now and again,’ she said smirking.

  ‘Well, I’ll dodge this morning’s one, if you don’t mind. It wasn’t exactly an easy night.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard you had fun.’ She grinned.

  ‘I don't even want to think about it. The only good bit was Boom-Boom made some friends.’

  She was laughing. No doubt she'd been thoroughly filled in on our ‘chicken’ adventure.

  ‘Wolfy, I’m gonna go. We’ll speak later, okay?’ she said,

  ‘Course, Tabs.’ She gave me a hug and a little peck on the lips, then turned away and walked off, forlorn and dejected.

  ‘Later.’

  ‘Later,’ I replied. I’d only got up early because of Tabatha. The idea of staying in bed all day had been a thoroughly appealing one. The thought of dodging everybody seemed preferable to being out and about. I’d ignored these options in favour of Tabatha, but she was so grief-stricken she couldn’t think about anything.

  So whether I liked it or not, it was time to see Marisol. It was too late to go back and hide.

  A couple of years older than Longy, and a lot less foolhardy, she was the one that held all the business interests together: the crutch that everyone else leaned on; the rock, steady and stable; stoic and dependable.