The Gated Trilogy

by Matt Drabble

  “Oh, thank you, Doctor. Thank you. They all said that it was over but I knew that if I had faith then God would see fit to spare me,” the old man said as his voice cracked with joyous tears.

  “Yeah yeah,” Raymond said as he moved away.

  “….you’re talking out of your arse!” he heard Tafferty snap towards his visitor as he approached.

  The man leaned over the bed and started whispering to Tafferty, and as Raymond reached the bed, he could see that the big Scotsman’s face had turned deathly pale.

  “Mr Tafferty.” Raymond interrupted the hushed conversation as he stood next to the bed. “How are we today?”

  “Who are you?” Tafferty barked in his usual gruff manner.

  “Dr Henry. I’m on a double shift covering this ward amongst many others, Mr Tafferty.”

  “Well I’ve got a bloody great hole in my leg, you idiot - how do you think I am?”

  “I’m afraid that visiting hours aren’t for another hour. I’ll have to ask your friend to leave.”

  “He’s no bloody friend of mine,” Tafferty snapped. “Get him away from me.”

  “Sir?” Raymond asked towards the stranger.

  “Look, here’s my card; ignore the office number but the mobile is still current,” the man said, handing a small crumpled business card to Tafferty.

  Raymond glanced over at the small white card and only caught one name as it was passed: Lomax. Then the man left in a hurry, his shoes squeaking on the tiled floor. The name rang a faint bell, as though he’d either heard it or read it somewhere before, but he couldn’t bring it immediately to hand.

  “Who was he?” Raymond asked nonchalantly as he read over Tafferty’s chart, not understanding what he was looking at.

  “Another nosy sod. Say, don’t I know you?”

  Raymond flinched and tried to think if their paths had ever crossed before. He was careful to only visit Donovan when the boss was alone and out of hours. He knew Tafferty because it was his job to keep tabs on Donovan and his associates but he was sure that they’d never met face to face before.

  He knew that Donovan would want Tafferty put out of commission; it was how Donovan worked. Tafferty had screwed up once which meant that he’d do it again. The only problem was whether or not Donovan had told Bailey and Burr to add him to the mix also. Being a crime boss at any level meant that it came with a certain level of paranoia and Donovan was no different.

  As if to illustrate the point, at that very second the door to the ward opened and the sizable frames of Bailey and Burr entered. Their cruel and dim expressions scanned the environment until they found Tafferty’s bed and registered surprise when they saw Raymond standing next to it.

  He motioned to the two men by putting his clenched fists out at waist height and pushing them forwards to indicate a wheelchair, the inference being to find one to take Tafferty out with. But the two men merely creased their Neanderthal brows in confusion. The game of charades continued for a few more precious seconds before he gave up with a shake of his head.

  Meanwhile Tafferty had noticed Bailey and Burr for the first time. The Scotsman had been in the business a long time and knew exactly why the two goons were there.

  “Oh shit,” he murmured to himself in a thick Scottish brogue. “Doc, you gotta help me,” he said, grabbing hold of Raymond’s arm and squeezing hard. “Those two bastards are here for me. I’ve already got one bullet hole and I don’t need another one!”

  Raymond tried to think fast. Donovan had sent him here and his orders from Tolanson had been to keep Donovan sweet. But something was nagging at his gut that there was something else at play here and his first priority was to the politician, not to mention his own safety. The living got to change the world, not the dead.

  “Can you walk?” he whispered to Tafferty.

  “I’ll bloody well run if I have to.”

  “THAT MAN’S GOT A GUN! IT’S A TERROR ATTACK!” Raymond suddenly bellowed and the ward was immediately consumed by chaos.

  Staff and patients screamed and shouted in equal measure as the threat of terror attacks was at an all-time high and everyone had seen such horrors on TV happening in other countries.

  Tafferty struggled out of bed and Raymond grabbed him under the shoulder to help. They staggered towards an exit door on the other side of the ward as people started to run in panic. Someone hit the fire alarm which only added to the bedlam.

  Bailey and Burr stood their ground before deciding in unison to pull the revolvers from their coats and start firing towards the escaping men. Raymond felt the whoosh of a bullet pass by his left ear before exploding out a window. He threw Tafferty threw the door and the Scotsman pitched forwards through the door. He followed and yanked the man back to his feet as Tafferty gritted his teeth against the pain.

  He found a back set of staff stairs and joined the throng of staff and patients running for their lives as panic spread throughout the hospital and people fled in terror.

  ----------

  “Sir, you might want to take a look at this,” McDere said from the doorway as he spoke into the darkened room.

  Tolanson opened his eyes with some difficulty. He had felt himself slipping for the past couple of years now, but they had just been small manageable ones. Today, for the first time, he had lost himself completely - only for a few moments, but he had lost himself. To make matters worse, it had happened in front of Avery, someone not inside his inner circle.

  He questioned himself yet again as to why he had picked her specifically. There were other, more experienced, campaign managers out there, but he had felt it deep inside that she was the right choice. There was something familiar about her, something comforting. He’d realised that he was always drawn to strong women. Perhaps he was still seeking the mother figure that had once slain his abusive father. Perhaps that was only when he’d finally feel fully safe again.

  He had never questioned his instincts before but now it seemed like he couldn’t trust anyone, not even himself.

  “Sir?” McDere pressed insistently.

  “I’m coming; hold your horses, Quinn.”

  “Sir, it’s McDere.”

  Tolanson froze again in mid thought. Quinn… wasn’t he his right hand, the man who wore a badge, upheld the law and carried a gun? Quinn had been part of his garden, part of his town, one that had burned to dust years ago.

  He had paid the price for his failings down the years and only his centuries of sacrifice still carried any weight with the powers that be, but he knew that their faith in him had already faded if not died entirely.

  He had tried to show them his devotion with 12 new disciples at Ravenhill, but victory had been torn from his grasp at the last. Now he knew that in order to once again regain their favour, 12 sacrifices were just not going to get the job done. He planned to offer them millions in servitude, an entire country of 65 million souls to buy his own way back into their good graces.

  It was becoming increasingly clear to him now that, although he had walked the earth for hundreds of years in one form or another, he had yet to grow tired of life. His bones were aching and his body was weary, but he wasn’t ready to die, not yet.

  He fought hard to remember where he was and who he was now as his mind drifted through the past. Quinn stared at him from the doorway; no, Quinn had been from a time before and across an ocean. This was another lieutenant, another iron fist willing and able.

  “Yes, McDere of course; sorry I’m still half asleep,” he said lightly, far more lightly than he felt. “What’s happening?”

  McDere answered by crossing the office and switching on a television set. As the big man moved, Tolanson was horrified to see that the giant was looking desperately ill.

  He had imbued the man with life, enough to weather all but the severest of wounds.

  He had been stabbed and even shot but still he walked strong, or at least he had. Now the big man’s skin looked pale and there was an unpleasant odour that accompanied him as he passed
, a foul stench of rotting flesh. He wasn’t horrified due to any emotional attachment; it was just more evidence of his grip loosening and his waning powers.

  The TV came on loudly in the office. He had had little use for the flickering box before as he’d tended to already know everything that he needed to, but now he was needing a little more help.

  He watched the screen in fascination as the newscaster reiterated the breaking news.

  “Authorities are not yet releasing the full information,” the impeccably groomed and smart, suited man told him. “But Channel 6 has been told by multiple witnesses that two men entered an admissions ward and opened fire. As yet, we have no word as to casualties and the hospital is on lockdown as police response teams comb the building.”

  “Switch it off” Tolanson ordered as his head throbbed monstrously.

  He closed his eyes and, through sheer force of his considerable will, shut the world away tightly into a small box and slammed the lid shut. He drifted into the echoing void left before him and floated into the breach. McDere and the office disappeared beneath him as he left them far behind and soared ever upwards.

  It was here that he finally found his centre again. It was usually a calm oasis but now it was a whirling mess of clumsy emotions and uncertainty. It was here that he came to recharge himself and gather his thoughts, but now the batteries were close to empty and for the first time, perhaps in his entire existence, he felt the unfamiliar stab of fear creeping around his edges. There was still so much left to do and now so little time.

  He cursed himself for his wasted years, years when he was content to rule a tiny speck of the universe. This would all have been so much easier if he was at full strength, but then the reward might not have been so great.

  He charged himself with every ounce of strength that remained. The roaring sandstorm in front of him at first refused to buckle, but he simply pressed harder, harder than he had ever tried before. Slowly but surely, the sands began to calm. The winds dropped a tiny fracture at a time but he roared them to surrender with an iron will that refused to be denied.

  Slowly the skies cleared and the crystal blue canopy reigned overhead and the hot sun beat down. His own personal oasis resembled a desert spring but only in the way that his inner being had to be illustrated here.

  He forced his will across his landscape until eventually his sanctum was calm once again. He felt his energies drained almost completely with the effort and he knew that he would not be able to undertake such an effort again. Whatever power he had left here now would have to be enough to see the job through.

  Somewhere in the outside world McDere was waiting for his response, but in here, time was irrelevant - the concept held no more weight than a shifting grain of sand that slipped through the air on a desert breeze.

  He lowered himself into the oasis’ cool clear water and felt the rejuvenating power wash over him.

  He stayed that way as he sent his mind out and was disturbed by just how far his knowledge had slipped. His fading power had been slow enough to go largely unnoticed but now he was refilled and could see all.

  He knew that Sutherland had broken from his leash and risked his own petty life for a lorry full of strangers. He could see that Donovan was struggling to maintain order over his underworld and that little Raymond had made the unwise decision to start thinking for himself. But most of all he could now see Lomax.

  There were hidden layers to the man who had slipped through his net but to dig deeper would use up valuable energy, energy that was in short supply.

  However idiotic Donovan was, he had been right about one thing: it was time for some spring cleaning and to get the house in order.

  CHAPTER 13

  KILLING WITH KINDNESS

  Lomax shivered and suddenly looked around, frantically afraid. He scrambled to his feet, sure that someone else was in the room with him, but he was alone. It was another shitty bedsit, the type where no one asked questions just as long as you had a fistful of notes.

  His visit to the hospital had proven fruitful; not from the information that he had gained from Tafferty, but more in the knowledge that Tolanson was a fading force. There was no way in hell that he was going to underestimate the man, but he was nearing his end, of that he was sure.

  The news reports had gradually died down and the police were now reporting the incident as “Organised Crime” related rather than terrorism, and the country breathed again.

  Tafferty was one of Donovan’s boys and Donovan belonged to Tolanson. There was no way that a fully fit Tolanson would have allowed such a shambles, which gave him cause for optimism. Just how weak the politician was up for debate, but it was a window - perhaps the first one in his existence to end him once and for all.

  He still knew that Avery Grant was the key; she was the one on the inside and, hopefully, as yet untouched and unsullied by her boss. If his theory was right and Tolanson was slipping then it made sense that he needed someone to actually do the job of running his campaign. He needed someone to walk in the light while he operated in the shadows, pulling the strings.

  He knew that he had to get to the woman again. He’d rushed it before out of desperation and now he was afraid that he had tipped his hand and put her in danger. But he also knew that they were all in danger if he didn’t try.

  There was a collection of photographs on his phone and he took the device out and started to flick through them. Avery’s face was bright and hopeful in all of them. He knew that he was projecting, but he couldn’t help but think of her as an innocent, a fragrant flower in a field of poisonous thorns. A large part of him that he trusted told him that she was the key, that she was all of their hopes, that she was the only way.

  ----------

  “I don’t understand,” Avery said.

  “Nothing to understand, my dear; just a little bonus after all of your hard work,” Tolanson said, throwing her the car keys. “Besides, how does it look for a major candidate’s campaign manager to be taking the bus everywhere?”

  Avery caught the keys and felt a little buzz of excitement mixed with something else, something uneasy.

  “It’s the little black convertible,” Mrs Wilberforce said, pointing out of the window.

  Avery crossed the office and stared down at the brand new BMW glistening in her up-to-now unused parking space. “It’s really mine?”

  “Why don’t you take it out for a spin?” Mrs Wilberforce urged.

  “You’ve been working so hard, you deserve it,” Tolanson added. “Hard work and talent has to be rewarded, my dear, otherwise what’s the point?”

  Avery headed downstairs and outside. She had to force herself not to run towards the beautiful car. The Series 4 had been her dream car for as long as she could remember. She ran her fingers gently along the side of the vehicle as though she had to touch it just to confirm that it was real. The sleek black exterior was teamed with a soft tan leather interior complete with gleaming chrome touches; it was as though Tolanson had reached into her mind and plucked the perfect gift.

  The engine purred when she started it and the powerful vibrations of the sport’s model hummed beneath her, yearning to be set free.

  She hit the gas and roared out of the car park feeling a joyous sense of relief, and for that moment every bitter taste of doubt left her mouth as the car seduced her with its curves and power.

  ----------

  Sutherland got the call the second that he crossed the city’s boundary and he was back on Tolanson’s turf.

  “Yes?” He answered the phone with trepidation.

  “Mr Sutherland, it would appear that we need to talk,” Tolanson’s voice responded.

  It could be his imagination but the politician seemed stronger all of a sudden, more real, more vibrant.

  “I suppose we do,” Sutherland agreed.

  “You’ve caused quite the ruckus, my young friend. Mr Donovan is not a happy man and with just cause.”

  “Sounds too bad for him.”
<
br />   The phone went silent for what seemed like an age and Sutherland immediately regretted his flippancy.

  “I don’t think that this is the best time for jokes, Mr Sutherland. Perhaps it’s my fault, perhaps I’ve been negligent in my duty of care; my eye has wandered off the ball but now it’s back, Mr Sutherland, and you would do well not to doubt my word on that subject.”

  Sutherland didn’t.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked with a heavy heart, for he knew that his price for readmission would be a hefty one.

  “Well how kind of you to offer!” Tolanson exclaimed with feigned surprise as they both knew that there was no choice in the matter. “I have a friend who has a family member in a spot of trouble and I was rather hoping that you might be able to lend some assistance.”

  “What’s the name?”

  “Jeremy Darin.”

  “What’s the trouble?”

  “A rather distasteful matter that needs to go away and quickly.”

  “I’ll get on it.”

  “Splendid,” Tolanson cried out in good humour.

  “And Donovan?”

  “Why don’t we take this one step at a time? For now, let’s concentrate on Mr Darin’s troubles, then we can focus all of our energy on Mr Donovan.”

  Sutherland knew that this meant, ‘Do your job like a good boy and then we’ll see about a treat.’

  ----------

  Raymond checked again on Tafferty on the back seat of the car. The Scotsman had finally passed out which gave the car a break from his constant vulgar complaints.

  The seat was stained with blood and Raymond was still trying to get his head around what the hell he was doing. He’d gone off track here in a serious way and Donovan was going to be pissed which meant that there was a good chance that Tolanson would be too.

  “You did the right thing,” Tafferty said in a low voice from behind.

  Raymond jumped at the sound. “I thought that you were sleeping.”

  “Got to keep one eye open at all times now. Donovan will want to put a bullet in me and you too, kid.”