Blood Feud (Little Town)

by JD Nixon

  “Why are you by yourself? There was a flock of cops here the other night. You couldn’t turn around without tripping over one of the ugly bastards. And they didn’t even try to not look like cops. I had people leaving in droves.”

  I smiled briefly. “Bycraft’s no-show the other night stretched my boss’ patience, and she’s no longer considering this to be a priority resourcing matter. My partner’s over at Carouzel. We’ll join up if either of us spots Bycraft tonight.”

  He stood up and I took that as a sign our chat was over. I stood up too and preceded him to the door.

  “Should I ask my men at the door to keep an eye out for him?”

  “No!” I snapped. “Don’t let anyone else know about him, especially the Tro . . . your men. I don’t want him frightened off, and I don’t want him causing any trouble here because some macho idiot decides to be a hero. Understand?”

  “Yes,” he said resentfully and virtually pushed me out the doorway back into the entry. “You can’t take that knife in with you.”

  “Yes, I can. Don’t try to stop me,” I warned.

  Even more annoyed, he flicked his head towards the club doorway indicating I was free to enter. “Keep me informed about every detail. I don’t want anything going on here that I don’t know about. It’s my arse on the line if there’s some kind of fuckup tonight. My boss is a difficult prick at the best of times and will have no hesitation taking it out on my hide.”

  “Sure,” I lied. I’d decide exactly what he needed to know and when he needed to know it. And he’d obviously never met the Super before if he thought his boss was difficult.

  I was about to walk into the club when a fluorescent lime-taloned hand grasped my arm. I turned in surprise to find the cashier holding on to me, her made-up pale blue eyes regarding me with outrage, her green nails biting into my skin.

  “Hey, where do you think you’re going? That’s twenty bucks to get in, thank you very much,” she squeaked, bright magenta lipstick smeared on her teeth. Unsure, I glanced over at Scott. I wasn’t paying a cent to go inside.

  “It’s okay, Tyffannie. She can go in without paying,” he said with tired patience, rubbing his eyes.

  Suspicion making her almost ugly, Tyffannie roughly inked my inner wrist with the Industrie stamp which would allow me to re-enter the club if I needed to duck outside for something important, like a phone call, a drug pickup, or a quick shag. She’d somehow managed to completely miss the fact that I was a cop, and I wondered anew at the ability of someone so oblivious to their surroundings to lead a seemingly normal life amongst the rest of us.

  Inside, Industrie was smoky, discordantly loud, and hot – just as I remembered. Writhing bodies flashed red, yellow, green, and blue over and over as they moved on the dance floor to the relentless hypnotic beat of the dance music. Others hovered on the edges, nodding their heads and shifting their shoulders to the rhythm, eyes flicking left and right, hoping desperately to find someone, anyone, to talk to, dance with, and with any luck, take home.

  I was elbowed, I was jostled, I was groped and pushed. I had a drink spilled down my back, and a carelessly waved illicit cigarette brushed up against my bare skin. After five minutes, I was ready to arrest everyone and shut the place down permanently. I’d never understood the attraction of nightclubs, although I loved music, but not played so loudly that my eardrums continued to ring for the next twenty-four hours.

  I scanned the room in despair. How would I even spot Red Bycraft amongst all these people? Feeling stupid, I pushed my way through the drunken crowd to a small free space up against the darkest wall. I found myself wedged between a couple exploring each other’s tonsils with their tongues and a gangly brooding Goth boy who slouched unhappily against the wall, casting a judgemental made-up eye over the clubbers. On the bright side though, I had an excellent view of the door.

  Goth Boy turned and took in my casual attire, shaking his head. “Nobody bothers to dress up anymore,” he shouted sadly over the music.

  “Sorry,” I shouted back, feeling as though I’d personally let him down.

  He was dressed resplendently in black knee-high boots with intricate Celtic silverwork overlaid on the leather, skinny black jeans, a black shirt with silver skull buttons covered by a black jacket with enough epaulettes, shining silver buttons, and medals to lead a military parade. His hair was a sculpted masterpiece of black spikes and his makeup exquisitely perfect. He’d gone to a lot of effort for his night out. I looked down at my jeans and runners again with embarrassment and offered lamely, “I guess I could have made more of an effort.”

  “I did. Not that anyone notices,” he sighed with a world-weariness that would have done a thirty-year veteran cop proud. “But in this town . . .” He shrugged forlornly and turned his gaze back to the flashing lights of the dance floor.

  “Only two nightclub choices and neither of them Goth-friendly?” I finished his sentence for him sympathetically. I knew what it was like to grow up in a small town feeling different and alienated from your peers.

  He graced me with a tiny smile and nodded.

  “You’ll have to move to the city,” I suggested. “There’re a couple of Goth nightclubs there and a strong Goth scene.”

  “I know,” he said. “But my parents insist that I finish high school first and I –”

  “Don’t tell me anymore,” I butted in, holding up my hands. “I have to tell you that I’m a cop, and I don’t want to know if you’re underage. I have enough to deal with at the moment.”

  He stopped talking and returned to watching.

  “Do you know Romi Stormley?” I asked. There were only two high schools in Big Town – the large public one and an equally large private school. There was a fifty-fifty chance he knew her.

  “I’ve met her a couple of times at debating competitions,” he admitted. “We don’t go to the same school.” He was a private school boy. “She’s cool.”

  “She’s a good friend of mine,” I told him.

  “She’s cute, but not up herself like most cute girls around here.”

  “Yeah, that pretty much sums her up,” I agreed.

  “And she talked to me like I was a human being, not some kind of freak.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say in response to that, so I busied myself scanning the crowd. Red was tall and golden-haired, so surely I’d be able to spot him in the dancing throng.

  “So you’re a cop?”

  I nodded, eyes busy on the crowd.

  “Working tonight?”

  “Yep.”

  “Looking for someone?”

  “Yep.”

  “Someone bad?”

  “Very bad.”

  “What do they look like? Maybe I could help you? It’s not like I’m doing anything else.”

  I turned to eye him. “That would help. You’re pretty tall. But one condition – you stay right here and do not attempt to approach the man if you spot him under any circumstances. He’s very dangerous. Got it?”

  He nodded with as much enthusiasm as a Goth could muster, which in reality meant a bare movement of his head and a slight shrug of his skinny shoulders.

  “I’m not going anywhere near him myself either. My partner and I are just planning on following him if he turns up.”

  “Who’s your partner? Is it one of those men near the bar who’ve been staring at you the whole time you’ve been here?”

  I looked over to the bar to see who he was talking about. My heart sank when I realised that it was Denny and Mark Bycraft, and they’d spotted me already. So much for my covert operation.

  “Shit,” I groaned. “It’s the brother and cousin of the man I’m after. They’re going to tip him off for sure.”

  Denny and Mark were soon joined at the bar by another of Red’s brothers, Rick. They hurriedly conferred and all looked over to where I stood. Rick sneered at me over his raised glass and extended his middle finger in my direction. I returned the favour before pulling out my phone and punching in
the Sarge’s number.

  “I’ve been spotted by some Bycrafts,” I shouted into the phone, not bothering with the nicety of any greeting. I had to plug my ear with my finger to hear him.

  “Shit.”

  “That’s what I said.” I looked over at the men again. Rick was on the phone, probably to his brother. “What will I do?”

  “He’s not going to show up now. Let’s call it a night.”

  “Ten more minutes,” I begged. “Then I’ll pack it in.”

  Reluctantly, he agreed, and we hung up.

  “What does this guy you’re after look like?” asked Goth Boy, whose name I discovered was Kieran.

  “He looks like that trio of golden-haired men at the bar, except he’s a bit taller, his hair’s longer, and he has a ten centimetre scar down the left side of his neck.”

  “Like that man over there in the green shirt?”

  I spun around to glimpse Red between moving bodies. He slid lithely through the crowd towards his relatives, dressed in a mid-green buttoned shirt, black jeans, and black cowboy boots. His wavy, golden hair brushed his shoulders, shining in the disco lights, and his teeth showed up brilliant white in the dark honey-brown skin of his face. He was clearly in a good mood, oozing self-confidence, energised for the night ahead.

  “Yes! Got him!” I breathed to myself exultantly, squeezing Kieran’s arm in thanks. However my elation died when I saw that trailing behind him and clasping his hand was a young woman with long dark hair, a floaty floral dress exposing a lot of cleavage, and strappy heels. She seemed a little unsteady on her feet, probably having consumed a few drinks already.

  “Damn it,” I muttered to myself. He hadn’t just arrived as I’d assumed, but had been here all along, already having persuaded the unfortunate young woman to trust him. One small mercy was that she at least looked legal – probably eighteen, nineteen at a guess.

  I gave Kieran a quick shove to get him moving, and then dragged him by the arm away from the wall. We had to shift before Rick or Mark told Red where I was. I wanted him unsure of my whereabouts, perhaps thinking that I’d given up and left the nightclub. With one hand dragging Kieran and the other holding my phone, I rang the Sarge and told him to haul his butt over here right now. We dodged through the crowd until we were near the wall opposite the bar. As Red approached the bar, he turned the heads of every woman in his wake. His beauty, arrogance, scarred neck, and well-filled tight jeans made him a dangerously attractive package – unless you actually knew him, of course, in which case he was just plain dangerous.

  Keeping myself hidden behind Kieran, I watched Red reach the bar and greet his brothers and cousin with high-fives, cocking his head back towards the girl still naively holding his hand. The three men laughed lewdly about her, then Rick and Mark didn’t even wait for him to order a drink before they both started talking to him at the same time. What they told him caused a huge, delighted grin to spread slowly across his face, and Mark pointed to where I’d been standing barely a minute ago. The three men scanned the room, searching for me, Red frowning. I’d finally done what he’d wanted, and he didn’t care for his fun to end before it had even started.

  “He’s looking for you,” said Kieran, careful not to be seen taking too much interest in the men at the bar, shielding me with his body. He was turning out to be a ripper choice for a temporary partner, school boy or not. “Does he know you?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said grimly. “We’re old mates, him and me. He’s a big fan of mine.”

  “He’s very good-looking.”

  “Only on the outside. Inside, he has a black heart and an even blacker soul.”

  “He sounds interesting,” Kieran said, with a wistful touch of envy in his voice.

  “Well, he’s not. He’s just your common, garden-variety bad guy. There’s nothing dashing or heroic about him. He assaults vulnerable young women without any conscience or remorse,” I scolded, harsher than I meant, but I couldn’t stand the romanticising by ignorant people of criminals such as Red. He wasn’t a legend; he was a lesion on society, no matter how good-looking or charming he appeared to be.

  “That woman with him . . . Do you think? He wouldn’t . . . Would he?”

  I patted him on the arm. “Don’t you worry about that. It’s my job to make sure nothing happens here tonight, not yours.”

  I rang the Sarge again, and we fought over the phone. I wanted him to come inside Industrie and keep an eye on Red with me from here, but he wanted me to exit so we could watch the doors from outside, worried about me being in too close proximity, particularly as I’d been spotted by the Bycrafts. He argued that if Red couldn’t find me inside, he’d come looking for me and would leave the nightclub, giving us a chance to pounce on him. I wasn’t convinced that was a better plan than keeping an eye on him personally inside the nightclub. But he reminded me several times with increasing stridency that he was the senior officer and that I should, for once in my life, show some respect for that and do what I was told.

  “You’re putting my safety over the safety of that poor woman who’s with him,” I shouted into the phone, and not entirely because of the noise inside the nightclub.

  “Of course I am and I’m not apologising for that,” he shouted back, but not even with the excuse of the noise as he’d since left Carouzel and was waiting on the street for me. “Get your arse out here now, Fuller. I’m going to call the Super and ask for some backup. We can wait for him to leave.”

  Grumbling to myself about tyrannical bosses and their counterintuitive orders, I made moves to head to the door, patting Kieran on the arm, and thanking him for his help. When I reached the door to the entry, after ducking and weaving and trying to remain hidden from the Bycrafts, I noticed Kieran hot on my heels, skulking behind me all in black like some kind of lanky stalking raven. I stepped into the foyer and he stepped into it as well.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I asked him with irritation.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re staying here.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m coming with you. It’s boring here. I don’t want to stay anymore.”

  “I don’t care. Go back inside.”

  His chin jutted out stubbornly and he stared me down through his eyeliner-edged eyes. I gave up, not having the time to argue, and sighing with exasperation, I ran up the stairs two at a time.

  Scott rushed out of his office, “Hey you, copper! Come back here.”

  I turned on my heel, and sighing again, jogged back down the stairs.

  “What’s going on? Where are you going?” he demanded, hands on his hips. I explained that Red Bycraft was inside, that he was not to panic or approach him under any circumstances, that I was meeting my partner up on the street, and we were going to arrange for some backup. He calmed down a smidge when I assured him that we were going to wait for Red to exit before trying to arrest him. As long as it didn’t happen in his nightclub, he couldn’t care less what happened to Red or the Sarge and me.

  “Keep me informed!” he shouted after me as I jogged back up the stairs again, Kieran following like a shadow. Then he added a disparaging, “You mightn’t have had a drink, but it didn’t stop you from pulling, did it? Don’t you think he’s a bit young for you?”

  I stopped and turned, folding my arms. “And just how young do you reckon he is, Scott?” I asked with dangerous pleasantness. “Young enough to be in a nightclub? I thought you told me you checked all IDs?”

  Too late, he realised he’d walked into a trap of his own making. “Forget about it,” he mumbled and hurriedly escaped back into his office.

  Chapter 29

  The Sarge leant against a building on the other side of the road, impatiently waiting for me to appear. I crossed the road to join him, and Kieran tagged along behind. The Sarge arched his eyebrows in question as we approached.

  “This is Kieran. He followed me home. Can I keep him?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Trust you
to come out with a stray.” Then to Kieran. “Off you go, mate. This is police business. No place for kids.”

  “I’m not a kid!” Kieran replied indignantly. “I’m almost seventeen.”

  The Sarge threw me a dry glance, which made me defensive. “Hey! I wasn’t there to check IDs. That place is swarming with underagers. The Super ought to raid it one night. Anyway, Kieran did me a favour. He spotted Red Bycraft for me.”

  Kieran smiled with quiet pride, his eyes modestly downcast.

  The Sarge looked silently from me to Kieran, then back to me again. “I rang the Super. Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

  “Good first.”

  “She’s not going to dismember us and burn us at the stake in public.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “But only – and I stress the only bit – because we found Bycraft.”

  “Because I found Bycraft,” piped up Kieran. We both stared at him for a second before resuming our conversation.

  “And the bad news?”

  “There’re no teams available. Apparently there’s an out-of-control party just north of here and everyone’s assisting at that. There are over five hundred people at the house and now the street’s practically a riot zone – cars vandalised, windows smashed, rocks and bricks thrown, neighbours cowering in fear. The media are crawling all over it, so it’s receiving priority treatment.”

  “Couldn’t she spare even one or two uniforms for us?” I grumbled. What on earth was more important than Red Bycraft?

  “I heard about that party on Facebook,” contributed Kieran. “The parents of the girl throwing it aren’t home this week.”

  We ignored him. The Sarge put his hand on my arm. “It’s just you and me, Tess. With no weapons and no backup.” His face was serious. “You sure you want to keep going with this? We can walk away now. We’re bound to get another chance at him one day.”

  “One day’s too late. I’m not letting him get away from me again. God only knows what he’ll do tonight if he finds a chance. You didn’t see that woman. She’s so young. She has no idea who she’s messing with.” I paused and begged the Sarge with my eyes. “Please, Sarge, think about that poor woman.”