by Katsura
"Yes, Judas." He addressed the dark wood. "I am planning a special little surprise for you and I wouldn't want you to miss that, my friend."
* * *
"Fergus here." Fergus lay in the bed and fumbled his phone to his cheek, not willing to get up yet or even to sit to make a telephone conversation easier. Whoever it was better have a good reason for calling as he was in no mood for chit chat.
"I hope I didn't wake you." The softly accented voice purred into his ear, and Fergus sat up instantly, recognising it as that of Mikhail.
"Well...maybe a little." Fergus grinned and ran his fingers through his hair, neatening it a fraction.
"I am sorry," Mikhail whispered. "I wanted to thank you for the roses."
"I thought you would like them." Fergus inexplicably felt the need to lie and added, "I passed the florist and I instantly thought of you when I saw them."
"Well, they are beautiful. It was a wonderful surprise." Mikhail sounded delighted, and all of the time Fergus had spent struggling in front of the computer screen suddenly felt worth it.
"It was just a little thank you...for the other night I--" Fergus glanced at the door. He was sure he had heard a faint knock there, and he covered the mouth piece, calling out with annoyance, "What is it?"
"Breakfast is ready," Hugo replied from outside in the hallway, and Fergus rolled his eyes. What did he care about breakfast? It was likely to be the usual burnt offering of toast washed down with the horrible coffee that Hugo had decided anyone who was someone was drinking these days.
"I'll be down in a minute!" He didn't bother to hide the annoyance in his voice but then lowered his tone when he spoke once more into the phone. "I am sorry, Mikhail. I have to go now."
"Who are you talking to?" Hugo spoke a little louder, the accusation in his voice travelling clearly and venomously through the door.
Fergus got out of bed and didn't even dignify that with an answer. He just concentrated instead on keeping his tone sweet for Mikhail.
"I will see you tonight. We have a party planned at my club for a friend of Mr MacGregor. You will come."
"Is that an order...or an invite?" Mikhail chuckled.
Fergus laughed. "An order. Bye, Mikhail."
He closed his phone and slipped into a robe. He then walked out to the hall and completely ignored Hugo who stood with his dog clutched tightly in his arms. Hugo had obviously gone to some effort this morning, his hair neat and his clothes smart, but Fergus was in no mood to compliment him.
Hugo followed Fergus down the stairs and put the dog down as he reached the last step. It ran ahead a bit and Fergus almost tripped over it as he made to walk into the sitting room. He stamped his foot after it in annoyance.
"Do we really need to keep that fucking thing? Can't you get a proper dog?" He watched the animal scurry for the safety of its bed, its eyes wide and looking a lot like Hugo's at this moment.
"Please don't frighten him." Hugo lifted the little dog into his arms again. "Daddy didn't mean it, my precious."
"I am not that fucking mutt's daddy."
Fergus lifted the newspaper from the sofa and walked on into the kitchen to be greeted by the expected toast and coffee that sat arranged neatly at a place for him.
"You got so domestic, Hugo." He smirked as he sat down, opening the paper at the sports section.
Hugo sat opposite him, still holding the dog. "Well I want things to be nice for you. You deserve your breakfast on the table, your dinners cooked for you...if you bothered to be here at dinner time, that is."
He fed this pet a scrap of toast from his plate, and the dog ate the morsel noisily.
"Don't you fucking start that again, okay?"
Fergus wrinkled his nose in disgust and stared at the dog with irritation. It stared back with a slightly lopsided expression.
"I am sorry, darling." Hugo slid a little box across the table towards Fergus and he looked at it for a moment and then lifted it. He opened it, his eyebrow raised when he saw the wedding ring that it contained. "I had it made a size smaller."
Hugo reached to take the ring from the box, and he held Fergus's left hand having to force a little to put gold band back on his wedding finger. Fergus flinched and pulled his hand away then he pushed it on fully himself with resignation. Why had he not told Hugo that he had lost the damn thing? But then he would just have been presented with a new one. Probably larger, more noticeable and more in keeping with the ball and chain that it actually was.
"There." Hugo smiled, lifting his chin a fraction. "You will never risk losing it again."
This was true. It was now on so tight that Fergus doubted he could remove it even if he tried as it had never really been loose in the first place, but he put on a false smile of gratitude anyway. "Thank you.
That was very thoughtful of you." He leaned and kissed Hugo gently on the cheek. "And before I forget, I won't be home for dinner tonight. There is a do for one of the boys and I can't get out of it."
Hugo pursed his lips and nodded as he stroked the dog's head. "Thank you for telling me, though." He reached and took Fergus's hand again and Fergus reluctantly allowed him to, continuing his breakfast in awkward silence.
* * *
"Someone has knicked my condoms!"
Vinny raked about in the box that he had last seen five years previously. It contained the contents of his pockets and the small personal items that he had been wearing when he'd arrive to being his prison sentence. "And I had a packet of nuts! A guy should be able to spend five years in the nick without having his nuts pinched!"
The guard laughed and shook his head.
"Always the joker, eh, Bryan? Just sign on the line and you are out of here."
Vinny pulled on his wristwatch. Of course it no longer displayed the correct time, but he didn't really much care what time it was. He was getting out. He was going home. Wherever home was.
"I am going to miss you the most. Look me up, okay, man?" He grinned at the guard and took a small hair band from his pocket, tying his waist length braids into the neatest ponytail that he could manage.
"You'll be back soon enough." The guard grinned in return. "Don't you worry about that."
"No fucking way am I ever coming back.
That's me, man. I am staying out." Vinny pulled on his jacket, grateful to be wearing anything other than the prison uniform but still vain enough to think that the jacket looked a bit naff.
"If I had a fiver every time I heard that..."
The guard took the now empty box and tossed it under the desk. Vinny slipped his hands into his pockets, surprised to find a pound coin there, and he tossed it across the desk. "Buy yourself something nice.
You won't be seeing me again!" He looked up at the sign above the door, the one that said exit, and he laughed, pointing up at it.
"Ha! I am getting that tattooed on my ass.
Just a little reminder of this day!"
The guard snickered as he sat down and leaned back on his chair. "Maybe you would be better with 'admission free'?"
Vinny was used to prison banter by now and never reacted to this reference to his apparent lack of discrimination when it came to sexual partners. He just laughed again and called back as he walked through the door, "Love to your wife! Tell her I will come by sometime and give her a thrill!" He chuckled merrily to himself as the guard shouted at him in a voice still laced with humour.
"Just fuck off, Bryan!"
And he did just that. Vinny walked out into the sunshine and lifted his face up to the sky, catching the rays as though they had just come out at that particular moment especially for him. He was free.
So many times he had dreamed of this and so many times he thought he would never actually make it, but he had. He took great strides when he was walking as though celebrating that he could. No crowded corridor, no crammed room. He had all the room in the world.
Then he stopped.
Judas MacGregor was sitting on the wall that surrounded the car park with his back to the
prison. Cigarette smoke wafted up from him and the ground at his feet was littered with used stubs indicating that he had been there for quite some time.
Vinny walked slowly past him and then stopped a few paces in front of him. He stared at Judas in silence and scrutinised his face just to make sure that it really was Judas. It was. There was no mistaking him, and, seemingly aware that he was being watched, Judas looked up.
When Judas saw Vinny, he got to his feet immediately, dropping his cigarette on the ground with the rest, and it was hard to tell how he was feeling from the expression on his face. It could have been sorrow or perhaps even apprehension.
"Well, well..." He spoke quietly, not that brimming full-of-confidence voice that Vinny remembered him having. "You look as good as ever, baby."
Vinny still stared at him, stunned for a moment. "Judas MacGregor. You slippery bastard."
Judas's eyes widened a fraction and he seemed most unlike himself as he slipped his hands into his pockets almost in defence, and he lowered his head. "Vinny, I--"
"Fuck!" Vinny grabbed Judas's face in both hands and he looked into his eyes.
"Fuck, man, I thought you forgot about me!"
Judas stared at him incredulously and Vinny battled with the emotions that he felt bubble up inside him.
H e had thought that Judas had forgotten him, but obviously he was wrong. That really was Judas MacGregor standing in front of him, not boldly as Vinny would have expected. No if Vinny thought for a moment that Judas would meet him here he would have imagined him honking the horn as he sped by in a knocked off Ferrari. It was Judas alright, but he appeared humble.
Judas's wide mouth broke into a smile.
"How could I ever forget you, Vinny? For you? I'd do anything."
* * *
There are certain things that are required if you want to put on a good fight night.
Things that will keep the boys talking about it for months after. Firstly, you need girls-- not to fight, no matter how many times that Judas suggests that it would be a great idea, especially if you throw some mud into the equation--but to hold up the number cards between the rounds. Luckily Fergus had a ready supply of dancers from the club, and they appeared to be better at holding up numbers than actually dancing.
Two of these buxom, scantily clad females sat at the bar with Judas, not seeming to mind the way that he leered at them and groped them occasionally.
Well, they were getting paid enough.
Secondly, and most importantly, you needed good fighters. Guys who could take a beating and still get up for more.
Fergus persuaded his ex-bodyguard and the best bit of hired muscle he had ever known, Rasputin, to agree to go into the ring and just give as good as he got in this illegal, no rules, bare-knuckle fight.
Rasputin wasn't his real name, but he was from some eastern European country and someone called him that once and the name had just stuck. He was small and wiry and had one mean dark eye, one white blind eye and a brutal scar that ran from his forehead, through the useless eye and all the way down his cheek. A legacy from an argument that he had once had with Judas who boasted afterwards, "He didn't like my face so I took his eye."
Facing the frightening looking Mad Monk would be Cain.
Now little was known about the mysterious Japanese national, Cain, with his dyed blond hair and numerous tattoos.
The elaborate designs on his skin made him look like a young yakuza and who knew, maybe he actually was one. Cain was for sure not his real name. It really did seem that practically no one in this business ever kept the name that they had been given at birth.
Rasputin had suggested Cain after meeting him in and around the dingy local bars a few times, and he told Fergus that he had a lethal punch, being known in the neighbourhood as The Legend. Obviously Fergus assumed it was the punch that was the reason for the auspicious title, but he was wrong and no one had ever corrected him on this point.
But back to the essential components of a good fight night, and in Fergus's opinion the final ingredient that was required was a good smoky and raucous atmosphere.
When he was a free man, before prison, if you went for a night out you could sit anywhere and enjoy an unhealthy amount of cigarettes or cigars unchallenged. Now however, there was the smoking ban. A pointless bit of law made to force tobacco fans into feeling like second class citizens.
But given that this was already an illegal fight anyway, anyone fortunate enough to have an invite to Vinny's big coming out party would be able to sit and corrupt their lungs to their heart's content while watching two big thugs knock hell out of each other. No one would say boo.
The fight had started already. No one had rung a bell or anything like that. Judas had just climbed into the makeshift arena. Ever the showman, he entertained the thuggish gathering with a few filthy jokes at the expense of the stripper cum dancers. Then it seemed that Cain and Rasputin were champing at the bit to wreak havoc and just flew at each other before he had barely even exited the ring.
It's a little known fact that brain injuries became common place in boxing after the introduction of boxing gloves. Fighters felt the need to punch harder to inflict injury on each other and naturally without gloves you punched in such a way to protect your hands. It appeared that nobody had shared this information however, with either Cain or Rasputin, who were just thumping each other with little care for fist or finger. All that could be heard above the sound of every hood in the vicinity laughing at the carnage dressed up as entertainment, were the brutal grunts of the fighters and the wanton crunch of bones.
Boxing was very a popular sport amongst the criminal fraternity, be it the so-called legitimate kind with gloves and sponsors that is held up to be every poor boy's noble route out of poverty or the illegal kind that is put down as being every poor boy's gateway into the world of organised crime. The truth was the hoods made money from both, the legit boxing being rigged completely with fights being thrown or fixed and the illegal kind just being open to a bit of friendly gambling.
At least with the illegal kind you knew that if you lost your money you lost it fair and square because the guy you bet on was shit compared to the other guy, so, perversely, it was the safer and more honest version.
The audience at this prestigious gangland event read like a who's who of the local lawless. Even Big Callum was there.
Callum was the boss of it all and never turned up for anything, not even a court appearance, so it was quite a coup for Fergus to have the celebrated gangster appear for the show. But given that Callum was his father maybe that wasn't really so surprising. With the big man's seal of approval, no one else would even consider turning down an invitation, but Fergus couldn't really care less about the notorious names on the guest list. He was just looking out for the arrival of a certain someone.
Fergus got to his feet immediately when he saw Ewan, another hired goon who was acting as lookout and doorman for the night, bring Mikhail across to his table as instructed by Fergus earlier. Mikhail looked a little apprehensive, and there was no surprise why. Ewan was known by all and sundry as "Pretty Boy Ewan" on account of the fact that he was plug ugly, and poor Mikhail was eyeing him warily, probably used in his own world to being surrounded only by attractive people.
"Mikhail! You made it!" Fergus pulled a chair out for him and Mikhail sat down with a polite smile.
"Yes, and I see you that have my employee here entertaining your friends?" Mikhail indicated up to the ring at Cain, who had pinned Rasputin to the canvas and was punching him brutally and repeatedly in the mouth, causing a shower of blood to rain down on anyone who had thought that taking the seats closest to the ring was a good idea.
"The Legend?" Fergus smiled with surprise. "He works for you?" Fergus wasn't sure why he found this unusual.
Prostitution on the scale that Mikhail's establishment offered was bound to be a lucrative and therefore risky business.
There would always be some crook, like Fergus himself even, wanti
ng to move in on a little bit of the action, and it really would be sensible to have some protection of your own to guard against that. Looking at Cain knock lumps effortlessly out of Fergus's best guy really illustrated why no one had dared to mess with the rather fragile looking brothel keeper at the table.
Mikhail nodded and he waved a graceful hand under his nose as some cigarette smoke wafted over in his direction. "Oh, yes. He has been with me some years now. I do hope he is not too badly injured." He laughed. Cain had barely a scratch on him compared to the already bloody mess that was Rasputin, and it was fairly obvious who was going to win here, and the money that was rapidly exchanging hands ringside reflected this.
Fergus immediately and attentively leaned forward. "The smoke is bothering you?"
He turned and shoved the man at the next table. "Hey, you ignorant asshole, put that out or take it outside. Don't you have any fucking manners?"
The man took a furious look at who had shoved him, but, apparently realising that it was a Campbell, he limited his outrage to simply complying with a gruff expression. Fergus smiled pleasantly as he poured drinks for himself and Mikhail, his own packet of fine cigars staying firmly in his pocket.
A sudden round of applause ran through the backroom of The Flying Garter, and judging from all the heads turned toward the club's entrance, it was nothing to do with the brutal goings on that continued in the ring.
Vinny, the star of the show, had finally arrived, and Judas extracted himself from the two busty blondes and went over to hug him. He rocked Vinny in a genial way before letting him go to wander around the room to backslaps, handshakes and playful pinches on the cheek. Even Big Callum stood up from his seat and embraced him like he was the prodigal son, and Vinny appeared truly pleased to have received such warm welcome home from the Big Daddy of crime himself. He chatted to Big Callum for a while before he returned to Judas and they drifted over to the bar for a drink.
"I assume that is the guest of honour?"