The Gated Trilogy

by Matt Drabble

He climbed in as quickly as he could, knowing that Tafferty might already be calling for reinforcements. The girl shoved him hard and he fell into the driving seat. The world blurred worryingly in front of his eyes and he had to dig a finger into the knife wound to bring it back into focus.

  “You need… doctor,” the girl said, searching for the word.

  “Later, we have to go now,” Sutherland stammered as he shivered.

  Mercifully, the truck started on the first attempt and its engine was still warm enough that hot air poured into the cab through the heater vents.

  “Where you take us now?” the girl asked nervously.

  “Away… away from here and men like that,” Sutherland promised.

  He shifted the truck into gear and pulled away from the pawn shop. He was about a mile down the road - with no idea where he was going or what the hell he had just done, his mind racing with the possible ramifications of his actions - when the girl rested her head on his shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he’d done the right thing.

  ----------

  “Lomax?” McDere asked, surprised.

  Tolanson allowed the drive back to the city to wash over him. There was something about the ride in an automobile that he found inherently soothing. The road was deserted and the driver knew his job as the car cruised through the quiet country lanes.

  “Denton Lomax?” McDere buzzed again like an annoying fly.

  Tolanson allowed his mind to drift, to rise up above his mortal shell and seek out the answers that concerned him. Denton Lomax had been a thorn in his side for several months a few years ago. The reporter had come around sniffing like a bloodhound and the man had not been for turning away once he had the scent. Lomax had appeared out of nowhere and the most worrying thing was that Tolanson had not seen him coming.

  “I thought that he was…” McDere started again, only Tolanson cut him short by ramming his head into the car window.

  McDere sat in silence, suitably chastised with blood running from his nose to suitably illustrate the point made.

  Tolanson tried to find his focus again but his mind was wavering; it seemed to be a common occurrence these days. He was no longer the entity he’d once been but his form still held enough power for the job ahead, or at least so he hoped. Lomax had slipped through the cracks - not just once, but apparently now twice. Oh, he could still pull a trick or two out of the bag, but the sheer omnipotence of his earliest incarnation was long gone.

  Again Tolanson tried to centre himself but his mind was a swirling mass of past lives and intertwining memories. It was becoming hard to distinguish between reality and his dark dreams. At times he was a boy preacher, touring a countryside devoid of all modern life. He gave sermons with his mother by his side and his father was but a phantom beast that haunted his dreams. At other junctures he had been a king in all but title. He had created a utopia upon his own vision and his people had prospered under his reign but it had all ended in flames as his world burned. He had been reborn a child again, brought back from the darkness to spread his dark gospel and had almost failed once more, battled to a standstill.

  Every failure had been at his own hands; his own hubris had brought him down time and time again until he was barely held together. The whirlwind inside raged and tore at the straps of reality until he was sure that he would break into a thousand pieces and be scattered to the four winds. The ancient powers that he served had made him almost immortal but even their great strength had its limits. He knew that there were other disciples spread throughout the world and all served their bidding.

  There was a time when he was connected enough to the darkness to be able to see into the shadows and view his peers. There had been a private hospital where the dark and disturbed were drawn to a vortex of pain and fear. There had been a salesman who traded in souls for the powers that be and a painting that brought death and dishonour to all who had the misfortune to stand before it. He was sure that there were others but he could no longer see so clearly.

  He looked out of the car window and wondered just where he was and, more importantly, who he was. There was a large man sitting next to him and bleeding. He was suddenly filled with doubt and fear as the thick fog of confusion engulfed him.

  He looked down at his hands and then turned to see his reflection in the car window. Slowly, interminably slowly, he reached out to grab hold of himself inside his own mind. He wore a smart business suit and his appearance was impeccable. He was still a leader of men, a challenger of power and a lightning rod for change.

  “Sir?” the large man next to him asked.

  Mc-something… that was the man; he was an aide, a lieutenant, a sword.

  “McDere?” Tolanson asked in a slightly quizzical tone.

  “Yes, Sir,” McDere confirmed, relieved.

  “Yes, yes.” Tolanson nodded as his mind was suddenly filled with knowledge. “Tolanson… Christian Tolanson… I’m going to be president.”

  “President?” McDere inquired.

  “Yes. Prime minister; that’s what I said,” Tolanson covered as he nodded more and more forcibly. “What were we talking about?”

  “Lomax, Sir.”

  “Ah yes - Mr Lomax.” Tolanson nodded. “The illusive reporter, that’s right. Wasn’t he done? Didn’t we get rid of that boy?”

  “So we thought, Sir.”

  “Yes… Mr Lomax,” Tolanson mused as he interlocked his fingers in thought and pictured the man’s face.

  It came slowly but soon the memories started to flow and Denton Lomax began to come into focus.

  CHAPTER 10

  A Brief Interlude Part 3

  5 years ago – Whitehaven Docks

  Tolanson looked out across the gathered meeting. The empty building had been condemned for the past couple of years and secretly he had purchased most of the dockland property under numerous dummy corporations.

  Despite all of his unnatural abilities, he still found himself annoyingly bound by the constraints of mortal men. His plans were grand, and while they would take time, effort, planning and a platform, they were mostly going to take money.

  “Gentlemen,” he greeted his guests. “So nice of you to come.”

  “You made it clear that some of us didn’t have much of a choice,” Sutherland complained. “And what the hell are you doing putting me in a room with the likes of them?” he said, pointing at the young thugs.

  “You are all here because you are all the same. Young, eager and ambitious.”

  “Don’t I know you?” Donovan asked Sutherland.

  “No, I’ve just got one of those faces,” Sutherland replied.

  “Oh shit!” Donovan cried out, leaping to his feet. “He’s a fucking pig; this is a setup!”

  Donovan leapt away from the folding chair that he’d been sitting on and drew out a small black revolver.

  “Put that away,” Tolanson ordered.

  “The hell I will. I knew I was crazy to come here,” Donovan said waving the gun around, not knowing who to trust.

  “Malcolm,” Tolanson said coldly. “Put that thing away. We are all friends here.”

  Donovan turned the gun towards Tolanson and McDere sprung into life, running towards the youth. The gunshot echoed around the deserted warehouse and McDere staggered backwards from the impact of the bullet as it hit his chest.

  “Really, Malcolm!” Tolanson tutted.

  Donovan’s face went white as McDere cocked his head to one side before reaching down towards the hole in his chest. He dug two powerful fingers into the wound, widening it.

  “Oh, Jesus,” Donovan whined, looking like he was going to vomit.

  McDere continued to work the opening until his fingers reached into the wound before emerging again, clasping the bullet. “I liked this shirt,” he said quietly to himself.

  “If everyone has quite finished with the histrionics?” Tolanson asked the men.

  “What the hell is he?” Donovan demanded.

  “More t
o the point, what the hell are you?” Sutherland asked Tolanson directly.

  “Quite simply, I am the answer,” Tolanson replied with a broad smile.

  “To what?” Sutherland asked confused.

  “Why, my boy, to every question.” Tolanson smiled. “Everything that your little heart’s desire, I can make true. Mr Donovan, here, wants power: he craves respect and thinks that he will never be able to achieve his goals. Isn’t that right?”

  Donovan only stared.

  “I know that you are young, Mr Donovan - young and hungry. Well I can help you on your career path. I can shape the board in your favour and move the pieces at will. I can give you everything that you desire, and more.”

  “In return for what?” Donovan asked nervously as he kept a close eye on McDere.

  “You will be my… fundraising. Politics is a dirty game, even for me, but I need money; cold hard cash is essential to my plan.”

  “What about me?” Sutherland asked.

  “Ah, the young constable. Tell me, my boy, how does your father’s occupation affect your prospects within the police force? I’d imagine that having a - excuse me, Mr Donovan - a criminal in the family cannot sit well with your superiors. Don’t get me wrong, Mr Sutherland, you have done remarkably well to even reach the lofty heights of a simple PC, but surely you can’t expect to reach any further? The truth will always out, I’m afraid.”

  “How do you know about my father?” Sutherland demanded. “That information is sealed.”

  “Oh, my child, I know everything; you will come to understand that over time. There isn’t a dark corner in this world that I cannot shine a light into.”

  “And what is it that you want?” Sutherland asked awkwardly.

  “I’m going to run the country and then the world.” Tolanson smiled.

  Sutherland and Donovan shared perhaps the only thing in their entire lives as they both burst into fits of laughter. They soon stopped when they both realised that Tolanson wasn’t joking.

  “I shall be standing in the upcoming by-elections,” Tolanson continued. “Once elected as your local MP, I shall proceed to become the Progression Party’s leader and then it’s on to the general election and my rightful position as prime minister.”

  “You’re fucking nuts,” Donovan couldn’t help but say.

  Tolanson reached up a hand, and from around 20 feet away, Donovan started grabbing his own throat and choking himself.

  “I really can’t abide rudeness, Mr Donovan,” Tolanson said sadly.

  Sutherland watched on in fascination. He had just watched Tolanson’s bodyguard being shot in the chest at point blank range and then proceed to not only not die, but to reach into his own chest and pluck the bullet out. The last thing he was about to do was to insult a clearly dangerous man whom he didn’t understand. It was true that his real father had been a criminal, but he had managed to hide that fact from the police thus far. He also didn’t get the impression that Tolanson was threatening him with blackmail; such a thing would be too crude for this man.

  “I’m only a PC,” he announced loudly as he heard Donovan start to falter. “You can’t expect me to clean this mess up if you kill him.”

  Tolanson turned to him with wild eyes blazing, and in that moment, Sutherland thought that he was going to be next. But the fire died and Tolanson smiled once more.

  “Quite right, Mr Sutherland. Where are my manners? Are you okay, Mr Donovan?”

  Donovan was coughing violently but he raised a thumb.

  “Well now, isn’t that marvellous?” Tolanson said, clapping his hands together. “Just wonderful. We have just formed the Christian Tolanson Election Committee. Mr Donovan, I will aid you in your endeavours to climb the criminal ladder and in return you will fund my campaign. Mr Sutherland, you will soon also find yourself rising up the ranks; in return you will perform little tasks for me along the way. Number one will be to keep young Mr Donovan from getting himself arrested. Now leave me.”

  Tolanson flapped an arm to dismiss them and waited until they both left, leaving him and McDere alone. He stood proud and tall until the doors closed and then sank to his knees.

  His face was pasty white and his insides felt jagged and loose. He closed his eyes and concentrated hard on maintaining himself. This body was threatening to reject his being as his power fluctuated wildly.

  McDere walked over and put a strong caring hand down on his shoulder.

  “Are you okay?” the big man asked, his voice thick with concern.

  “I’ll be fine,” Tolanson answered quietly. “It just takes a lot more out of me these days. This is a whole new existence for me now and the rules are a little fuzzy. A new life, a new country, a new face, but really it’s all just history repeating itself. What’s new is old and what’s old becomes new again. How’s your chest?”

  “It itches.” McDere shrugged.

  “Good, you may have to take more unpleasantness before this is over.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “You’re a good man, Alistair,” he said, using McDere’s rarely spoken first name. “Come,” he said, climbing back to his feet. “We have much work to do.”

  CHAPTER 11

  A PEAK BEHIND THE CURTAIN

  Avery sat passively as the fat man opposite her proceeded with what was fast becoming a familiar dance. He bombarded her with empty platitudes and compliments: she was doing a marvellous job, the party couldn’t be more pleased, if there was anything she needed she only had to ask, and so on and so on.

  She stifled a yawn but finally Patterson seemed to getting around to somewhere close to his original intention.

  “You’re not married, are you?” Patterson asked in an innocent enough tone.

  Avery looked at him and knew that the man was devoid of any innocence at this stage of his life. “Not yet.” She smiled.

  “Too busy, I’d imagine, changing the world.” Patterson laughed.

  “Something like that.”

  “Well I don’t blame you, my dear. Take some advice from an old man: stay single and have some fun. The married life is far more a prison than a liberation.”

  Avery merely nodded along politely while trying to imagine the poor woman who had found herself manacled to such an odious pig.

  “My wife comes from a big family; unfortunately, not one of them is worth a damn. She’s close to her sister who’s even more useless than she is and that’s saying something. Now, her sister’s kid is in some trouble or other. Snot-nosed punk got himself jammed up with some kind of drugs charge.”

  Ah, here it comes, Avery thought.

  “I was wondering if Mr Tolanson might be able to lend a hand? Incidentally, I take it that Goldman came on board? I’m so glad that I was able to help with that matter,” Patterson prompted.

  “Look, Mr Patterson, I’m not exactly sure what you expect us to do here. I mean, aren’t you able to help yourself?”

  “Unfortunately, my dear, I am but a simple businessman.” He shrugged. “There’s a limit to what I can do, but I was hoping to be able to rely on one of my friends for aid in such troubling times.”

  Avery tried to keep her poker face intact. Patterson was asking for Tolanson to pull strings before he’d even won the power to do so. Patterson wouldn’t be here if he could take care of the problem himself which meant that the problem was substantial; that in itself was setting off major alarm bells in her head.

  “Albert!” Tolanson announced as he entered the office, making both of them jump. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  Avery never failed to marvel at the silent approach that Tolanson had; he could suddenly be standing behind her and she’d never hear him coming.

  “It’s… it’s a rather delicate matter that I was just dealing with,” Avery told her boss, hoping that he would pick up on her signals. This was not a conversation that she wanted him in on for all sorts of reasons.

  “Nonsense! Albert’s an old friend and right now he looks like he needs a little hel
p,” Tolanson said as he took off his coat and laid it on her desk.

  Without being asked, McDere had closed the office door and stood guard on the other side, his huge frame casting a long shadow.

  “Now tell me, how can I help?” Tolanson said, drawing up a chair.

  ----------

  “You’re shitting me,” Donovan exclaimed as he stared hard at the young man standing in front of him.

  The young man’s gaze quickly shifted to the carpet beneath his feet as he found something fascinating to stare at there.

  “How many dead?” Donovan demanded again as he struggled to process what he was being told.

  “Two dead and Tafferty is in St Martin’s hospital - he got shot in the leg.”

  “What the fuck is he doing in a hospital?”

  “Some delivery guy found him and called for an ambulance.”

  “Alright… alright,” Donovan mused, rubbing his head as he tried to think.

  The very idea that someone would hit one of his joints was crazy. No one in the city had that kind of balls. Now he had two dead men and one of his lieutenants sitting in a hospital with a gunshot wound that would have necessitated a phone call to the cops.

  “First things first - we need to get Tafferty out of the hospital,” Donovan ordered.

  “He lost a lot of blood, apparently,” the young man replied. “I don’t know if he can be moved.”

  “If I want your opinion, son, I’ll give it to you,” Donovan said coldly. “I want Tafferty moved and moved now before the pigs get to him. Get him out and take him to Doc Brown’s to get fixed up.”

  “What if we can’t get him out?” the young man whined.

  Donovan held onto his temper but only barely. He was losing good reliable men at a rate of knots lately and all he seemed to have in reserve were useless children.

  “Alright, listen in and listen close. You take Bailey and Burr over to St Martin’s. You snag a doctor’s coat by any means and get up to Tafferty’s room. If there’s already a police guard then just walk away and I’ll deal with it another way. If not, then you get him out - stuff him in a wheelchair and get him out; clear?”