The Gated Trilogy

by Matt Drabble

  Lomax spun the fat man around and shoved him towards the stairway. He returned to his room and slammed the door hard enough to make the frame tremble.

  “Shit!” he snapped, and started to gather his files together. He knew men like Goggins. All he’d succeeded in doing was piquing the landlord’s interest and it was time to move again.

  ----------

  Avery headed into the office, imbued with a new sense of purpose. The funeral of her friend had only strengthened her resolve to throw herself back into work. Work was the only thing that she could control.

  The confrontation with the weirdo in the graveyard had spooked her at the time, but the cold light of day had brought with it a clarity of a fresh morning’s light after a nightmare. She was determined not to be held hostage by Denton Lomax’s warped delusions. Thinking back on her conversation with the man, she realised that his charges had actually been very light on details.

  She walked in through the campaign office doors and was surprised to find a light already on inside. She checked her watch and saw that it was barely past 5am; normally, she would have the place to herself for another hour at least.

  For some reason, she didn’t call out; a lifetime of TV and movies had made her afraid to shatter the silence.

  She moved in past the main desk and saw that the security guard was not at his post. She had the staff rotas memorised, along with pretty much all of the office’s running stats. Derek Underwood should have been on duty and at the desk but the man was nowhere to be seen.

  The corridor was long and dark with the only light at the end illuminating softly under the door, the door in question being the one to her private office.

  Her feet whispered on the soft carpet as she crept forward, unwilling to announce her approach. The rational part of her brain told her to turn around and leave, to get out of there and call the police, but this was her building, her office, her domain and she wasn’t for turning.

  She moved forward with ears trained tightly towards the office door, desperately trying to catch any sounds from within.

  She reached out and grasped the door handle. The metal was cold to the touch and her fingers trembled slightly, so she tightened her grip. Her heart was pounding hard against her chest as she prepared herself to fling open the door and confront the intruder. The door, however, opened inwards and she stumbled forwards, frantically trying to find her balance and losing the battle.

  A scream rang out from inside the office and Avery looked up into the face of her assistant, Mrs Wilberforce.

  “Oh, my dear,” the older woman panted. “You gave me such a fright!”

  “You and me both; check my pants!” Avery laughed with relief.

  She climbed back to her feet and saw the assistant armed with a barrage of files and paperwork. “What are you doing in so early?”

  “We’re running behind. I wanted to make sure that everything was up to date,” Mrs Wilberforce replied, regaining her composure.

  The older woman was, as always, dressed immaculately in a brown tweed business suit that screamed professional and curt at the same time.

  She was in her mid-fifties and had been widowed at an early age. Though undoubtedly still an attractive woman, Mrs Wilberforce had never moved on from her dearest George. Though Avery’s relationship with the woman was almost exclusively business, she had once relented at a works do when she’d had a little too much wine and asked the older woman about her status. She’d asked Mrs Wilberforce (even inebriated some formalities remained) if she ever got lonely and if she ever saw herself finding companionship again. Mrs Wilberforce had simply replied that her husband was dead. When Avery had tried to press the point, the older woman had simply reiterated that her husband was dead.

  “I must apologise, Ms Grant. I never meant to give you such a start,” Mrs Wilberforce said and, as usual, even her apologies sounded like a reproach.

  “That’s okay, it’s good to see that I’m not the only one without a social life,” Avery joked, smiling.

  “That’s true,” Mrs Wilberforce replied, with the joke flying over her head as usual. She was a fantastic assistant: dedicated, professional, reliable, but without an ounce of warmth.

  “What’s on the books for this morning?” Avery asked as she shucked off her jacket onto the coat stand in the corner of the office.

  “Mr Patterson at 9.”

  “Patterson?”

  “He was really rather insistent I’m afraid, and Mr Patterson is one of those people who cannot be ignored as I’m sure you well know.”

  “Did he say what it was about?”

  “No.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I’ve put everything else on your desk. There’s nothing of any great note so far. The overnights have little in the way of interest and the next round of polls won’t be out until tomorrow at the earliest.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Wilberforce - you’re a national treasure.”

  The assistant merely nodded and turned on a sensible heel, leaving the room and Avery alone with thoughts of the impending Albert Patterson’s visit.

  Patterson was the biggest mover and shaker within the Progression Party and any visit would come with a price tag attached. She’d hoped that he was already on board, but if he was coming, it would be to take something from her table.

  She started to leaf through the overnights and, unsurprisingly, Mrs Wilberforce was right - there was nothing of any real interest.

  The time would pass by slowly and Avery barely looked up from her desk as the outer office started to fill up with the hustle and bustle of staff. Voices were loud as the campaign’s day began again in earnest. 9am would roll around in three hours and she would just have to wait until her door was knocked upon by Mrs Wilberforce to announce Patterson’s arrival.

  ----------

  Detective Inspector Sutherland yawned and tried to stretch his frame – unsuccessfully - within the confines of the small unmarked police car. He checked his watch again and noted with anger that he’d been sitting here in the cold for almost 9 hours straight.

  Jolly Roger’s Pawn Shop across the road had been under surveillance for the past couple of weeks, ever since their extracurricular activities had been uncovered.

  Gerald Tafferty was a burly Scotsman with enough of a brain for business and big enough balls to make him dangerous. While his shop was a well-known fence for local burglaries, word had sneaked out that he was undertaking a different kind of trade, namely in illegal immigrants.

  Sutherland had got the call yesterday that the higher-ups were on their way to stake the place out. The influx of immigration was all the news lately and the government wanted to appear tough on illegals, especially with an election on the horizon.

  Normally, this type of operation would have been a good career move for a DI with aspirations of rising higher in the ranks, but the political angle made Sutherland nervous. He was firmly in Tolanson’s pocket and the politician would not be best pleased to find that he was out of the loop. So he had parked himself here, hoping to gather a little information ahead of time; information was his stock to trade with Tolanson.

  A lorry pulled around the corner and slowed as it approached the rear of the shop. There was a narrow alleyway that was only just wide enough for the truck to reverse down until its rear doors covered the back entrance.

  Sutherland waited until the lorry and the driver jumped down before disappearing inside through a small side door.

  With some reluctance, he exited the car and stepped out into the cold morning. The 6am icy damp greeted him and he pulled his coat up to his neck against the intruding tentacles.

  His plan had been to simply observe, but it appeared that someone had spoken out of turn and now Tafferty had been spooked. The whole thing smelled like a cleanup operation and come tomorrow there would be nothing left.

  Despite his life in Tolanson’s pocket, Sutherland still considered himself a good man. While the politician’s aid had certainly hel
ped his career, Sutherland had made the most of his position. His arrest and conviction rates were second to none and his reputation was earned on the street. So what if he’d had a leg up to start with? As far as he was concerned, the rest of the world worked on a ‘who you know’ basis. His superior officers had all gone to the right schools and made the right connections; not one of those bastards had ever walked a beat. His conscience was clear and he had never hurt anyone who hadn’t earned it - of that, he was sure.

  The cobbled back streets were slippery and he had to watch his step as he crossed the road. Bedroom lights in the surrounding terraced houses were starting to come alive as the working classes rose unto another dogged day. But this was not a street that would bear the fruit of witnesses. Here, no one spoke to each other, let alone the law.

  Sutherland ducked out of sight along the alley and headed towards the pawn shop’s rear. The lorry’s metal underbelly ticked over as it cooled, but there was still enough welcome heat wafting out from underneath as he passed. There were voices closing in from the shop and soon the lorry reverberated with human footsteps.

  He listened closely and could hear exclusively female voices talking amongst themselves in several foreign languages. He was immediately torn by his duty to his job and that to his benefactor. Tolanson’s campaign could be hurt by a big arrest as the government would no doubt claim all the credit. But on the other hand, he could hear the women inside the lorry and they all sounded scared. In the end his conscience won out and he moved forwards.

  Although he was licensed to carry a firearm, they were only issued in certain circumstances and officers did not carry on the general streets of the UK. It was a hot topic amongst the country’s policemen and women and personally he couldn’t help but feel that the nation had yet to reach the point of a permanently armed police force. That having been said, he wasn’t a complete fool and he withdrew a small revolver from an ankle holster that he illegally carried.

  He moved steadily along the side of the lorry until he reached the rear of the pawn shop. The back of the truck covered the large delivery entrance meaning that the women could be shoved directly inside without being spotted by anyone outside.

  Sutherland tried a small door next to the large delivery opening and was pleased to find it unlocked. He slipped inside as quietly as he could manage and found himself in a carpeted hallway to the side of the delivery bay, which was on his right. The thin walls allowed the sound of raised voices to be heard from inside. Gruff male shouts were often followed by female shrieks of fear and pain as strong hands struck soft flesh.

  He eased his way along the hallway until he reached another door that led into the delivery bay. He knelt and eased the door open a tiny crack. Inside he could see the last of the women being shoved onto the lorry. Gerald Tafferty was prominent, his wild red hair a calling to his highland roots.

  Sutherland counted three other men; all were burly with hard-set faces and cruel expressions. None of them seemed in the least bit perturbed at their human cargo.

  He stared past the men into the back of the truck and saw multiple cowering women, none of who were wearing much in the way of clothing and his stomach tightened. Some of their faces were paintings of terror but it was the glazed and blank ones that concerned him more.

  Any indecision that he may have still had concerning his loyalties went out the window at the sight of a girl who couldn’t have been more than 13 or 14 years old. The girl was skin and bone, her face was dirty and her trousers were stained red at the crotch as she limped her way into the truck before standing as sitting was obviously too uncomfortable.

  Sutherland kicked open the door and fired once into the air. Normally he wouldn’t have discharged a firearm in this manner but he was one against three men, and any one of them could be armed.

  “Hands where I can see them!” he bellowed, trying to overwhelm them with a quick show of authority and force.

  “What the fuck is this?” the man closest to him demanded.

  Sutherland took another step and smashed the man across the face with the revolver. The man dropped like a stone, spitting blood and teeth onto the concrete floor.

  “Who the hell are you?” Tafferty demanded.

  Sutherland answered by kicking the floored man hard in the ribs with his boot.

  “I didn’t say anything,” the downed man gasped, clutching his side in agony.

  “Yeah, but you’re closest,” Sutherland remarked, not taking his eyes off the other two men.

  “Do you know who I am?” Tafferty announced grandly as Sutherland’s hand started to move slowly towards his pocket.

  “I wouldn’t do that, son,” Sutherland ordered as he aimed at the second man. “You won’t have time to pull it out, I promise you that.”

  “He’s not even armed, Officer.” Tafferty smiled.

  “I don’t give a shit,” Sutherland shrugged. “If he hasn’t got a gun on him then I’ll plant one.”

  “If you’re that sort of cop, why didn’t you just say so in the first place?” Tafferty said, relaxing. “I’m always open to making a donation.”

  “I’ll bet you are, but I’m not here for that; I’m here for them.” Sutherland motioned towards the lorry.

  “I could let you have one,” Tafferty offered. “Maybe the little one? But I’m afraid that they don’t belong to me.”

  “Then who?”

  “Donovan,” Tafferty announced.

  Sutherland’s heart sank. If the girls belonged to another of Tolanson’s flunkies then this whole thing just became a major problem.

  “I can see that you know the name.” Tafferty grinned. “But there’s been no harm done here. Just turn around and be on your way, Officer, and we’ll forget about the whole thing.”

  Part of Sutherland wanted to do just that. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’d turned a blind eye to Donovan’s activities at the bequest of Tolanson. He’d destroyed or lost evidence in the past; he’d also planted it on occasion. He’d even killed, but there had been no innocent victims. They’d all been part of this life. His eyes drifted over to the young girl propping herself up against the side of the truck. Her eyes were sunken and scared; there was no way that he could talk himself into believing that she was getting what she deserved.

  “Keys,” he finally ordered.

  “What?” Tafferty exclaimed.

  “The keys to the truck!” Sutherland ordered again, his voice firmer.

  “You don’t know what you’re doing,” Tafferty warned.

  “Maybe, but I want the keys anyway.”

  “You’ll regret this, I promise you that,” Tafferty said, stalling.

  Sutherland only realised that the man was stalling when he felt movement below him. He looked down and saw the downed and bloodied man lashing out with a blade towards his leg. Sutherland jumped backwards and, as a result, the knife only sliced his leg instead of plunging all the way into it. He flinched and staggered backwards as blood started to flow through the open wound. It was the stagger that saved his life as a bullet flew through the air where he’d been stood just a split second before.

  He raised his own gun towards the second man who’d drawn a weapon from inside his jacket and fired a second shot. This one went wild as his eyes bulged at the sight of the gun pointed his way.

  Sutherland breathed slowly as he squeezed the trigger calmly and fired two shots in quick succession. The first one hit the man in the chest with the second rising into his throat.

  The man collapsed, clutching his throat as blood pumped from the wound spilling his life onto the hard cold concrete.

  Sutherland aimed the gun at the knifeman and he dropped the blade onto the ground with a loud clatter. He limped forwards and kicked the knife away and then swung his weapon between the man and Tafferty.

  Tafferty held his hands up in surrender, his face now creased with a fear that Sutherland took no small amount of pleasure from.

  “You can’t kill me,” Tafferty whined.<
br />
  Despite the adrenaline pumping through his veins, Sutherland knew that the scumbag was right. If Tafferty was indeed closely connected with Donovan then Tolanson would make sure that there was hell to pay if he was harmed and that Sutherland footed the bill.

  The women in the truck were now huddled together and several were crying.

  “Keys!” he ordered again.

  “He’s got them.” Tafferty pointed towards the man still on his knees next to Sutherland.

  “Slowly,” Sutherland ordered, and the bloodied man reached gently into his coat pocket before passing the keys over.

  “Thank you,” Sutherland said before binging the gun down hard on the man’s head.

  The way that he collapsed, Sutherland wasn’t sure if he’d killed the guy but didn’t care either way. Tolanson would be pissed if he offed Tafferty, but as far as he was concerned, anonymous henchmen were fair game.

  “I’m leaving now,” Sutherland said as he limped towards the truck, clutching one hand to his wounded leg.

  “I’ll see you again, real soon,” Tafferty sneered, his confidence growing now that he felt safe.

  “That’s a pretty safe bet,” Sutherland admitted. “So just in case you forget me…” He fired a shot into Tafferty’s leg and the man collapsed into a heap, screaming in pain and rage.

  Sutherland limped towards the truck. The blood loss from his leg was starting to affect him now and he knew that he had to get out of here before he passed out.

  “Any of you speak English?” he asked the trembling mass of women in the back of the truck.

  No one answered.

  “Dammit, come on!” he roared as he swayed on his feet. “You’re all going to be safe but I need a little help.”

  The young girl in the bloodstained trousers raised a hand and stepped forwards. “I speak little,” she said in a tiny, almost broken, voice.

  Sutherland limped up to the back of the truck and gritted his teeth as he pulled the door down and locked it. The girl instinctively ducked under his arm and offered support as he staggered back out of the delivery bay and around to the lorry’s cab.