The Gated Trilogy

by Matt Drabble

  “Honestly?”

  “What else?” he snapped.

  “I think that his wife likes you and it pissed him off,” she responded.

  She watched his face bubble with processing power and for a moment, just a moment, she thought that he was going to explode and she felt a small stab of fear. But then just as quickly as it had appeared, the storm passed and instead he laughed riotously.

  He continued laughing as he walked away to the waiting McDere and she wasn’t quite sure if his laughing was somehow scarier than his outburst.

  ----------

  Tolanson climbed into the car as McDere got behind the wheel. They had events planned all day and there were several cars in the convoy packed with staff. The only rule was that he rode alone with McDere. He told people that it was because he liked to prepare for every event in silence, but in reality it was because these days he needed longer to recover from any extracurricular activities.

  The trip to his inner well had replenished the batteries but he knew that it would be the last trip he would make for some time, perhaps ever. His ultimate outcome, his ultimate victory, might please the gods enough to renew his abilities, but until then he had to make do with what power he had left in the tank.

  “The bug in the Grant woman’s car’s working fine,” McDere announced as he pulled the car out into traffic.

  “Anything to report?” Tolanson asked with his eyes closed and in a sleepy voice.

  “Just a bad taste in music,” McDere replied.

  It sounded like a joke but Tolanson knew his companion better than that; it was a simple report on the woman’s musical tastes and nothing more. Sometimes he bemoaned the fact that he couldn’t surround himself with a better class of conversationalist but McDere’s job entailed having a strong fist and a willingness to obey; good conversation was a luxury.

  “You want me to do anything about that presenter bloke?”

  “No,” Tolanson said, drifting off to sleep as the car moved through traffic. “I’ve already taken care of it.”

  ----------

  Dominic Henson threw a glass against the dressing room wall. His stomach was in knots and he didn’t quite dare watch the replay of the show yet.

  He knew that the politician had wiped the floor with him and he cursed his vanity. All the time that Tolanson had been flirting with Susannah she had been loving it, and he knew that the audience at home were judging him for it.

  He snatched a whisky bottle from his drawer and slugged back a hard swallow. He’d been a footballer of some note but his looks and charm had always outweighed his talent on the pitch. He’d soon transitioned his popularity into another career, and when he’d met Susannah, it had been his career that had forced him to propose.

  She had been an ex-model looking for a way into TV and his agent had sold him on the idea of a team up. He’d be the brains and she’d be the beauty, a little arm candy to sit beside him on a sofa and give the men something to look at. The only problem had been that she was smarter than him and he’d soon found the roles reversed. Now he was the looker while she carried him.

  The marriage was dead before it hit the water. He’d never loved her or even wanted her. Despite her obvious beauty, she was just not his type.

  He preferred a girl to beg and plead before him and his nights were full of him degrading fans and junior staff members. Susannah had been the devoted wife to start with; the marital bed had been surprisingly satisfying. That was until they’d gotten their big break and then the factory had closed its doors for business.

  She’d played him from the beginning and as soon as they had a successful TV show which he wouldn’t walk away from, she’d shown her true colours.

  Susannah Henson was a cold-hearted bitch in his opinion, one who’d taken his idea and played the game better than he had.

  “Dominic?” A voice startled him from the dressing room doorway.

  He turned to see the new intern standing there. She was young and eager and hopefully hadn’t been warned about him yet. He had been working on her for a couple of weeks and she was almost ready. He had an extensive video collection at home, young girls submitting to his humiliating desires; it was the leverage that he held to stop them from ever going public. No little girl would ever want her family to see her in such positions and poses.

  “Give me a minute, Katy,” he said to her, trying to keep the anger from his voice. He didn’t want to scare her - at least not until he got her into his bed.

  “That boxer wanted a word with you, is it okay?” she asked nervously and he felt himself grow hard at her trepidation.

  “Sure, why not?” He smiled.

  The girl stepped aside and Brendan Thomas walked into the room.

  “You believe that bitch of a wife of mine, Brendan? She did everything but screw the guy on live TV. I guess I don’t have to tell you about women,” he said, remembering that the boxer had already been through two divorces.

  The boxer said nothing as he entered the room and there was a strange look on his face that Dominic didn’t like one bit.

  “What can I do for you, Brendan?” he asked nervously as the boxer closed the door behind him.

  Brendan walked past him and in that moment, Dominic suddenly realised that the boxer scared him. He stayed in shape for TV and had been a professional footballer but Brendan ‘Boom Boom’ Thomas was a heavyweight boxer and had almost a foot in height and several ton in weight on him.

  The boxer turned on the digital radio in the corner of the room and ramped up the volume. Suddenly the room was full of The Fun Lovin’ Criminals at top volume, telling the punks to stick ‘em up. Dominic managed to get to his feet before the first punch landed but his world fell apart anyway. ‘Boom Boom’ never said a word as he waded in. Punch after punch landed as the band played until his fists were hitting wet bloody pulp. It was only when the intern poked her head back into the dressing room and screamed that he stopped and wondered where he was.

  CHAPTER 17

  UNLIKELY BEDFELLOWS

  Avery worked her ass off to keep Tolanson’s name away from the murder at the studio. Luckily, Brendan ‘Boom Boom’ Thomas was a big enough star to carry the weight of the headlines all by himself which made her job easier but she was concerned that Tolanson’s appearance and message would be overshadowed by the murder.

  She was driving into work and had to admit that she loved her new car. She had already taken to driving the long way round in order to spend more time in the vehicle.

  The radio spat staccato pieces of news as she flipped between stations. Every presenter on the talk shows was leading with Dominic Henson’s murder. Topics ranged from the flog ‘em and hang ‘em brigade, demanding the return of capital punishment, down to a discussion about the state of health amongst boxers and the long term repercussions about continual head impacts in sport.

  She punched the car’s touchscreen angrily, changing station after station and growing more and more frustrated as the looming election took a back seat. Tolanson had ruled the TV airwaves that morning and now it was all lost as memories faded, devoured by a far juicier story.

  Her finger paused as she changed the channel again and, for a brief second, there was some kind of interference that squawked through the car’s speakers. It sounded like some kind of feedback and then it was gone. She tried to find it again but the radio took over and now only threw out the mindless drivel of the mindless masses.

  She switched the radio off entirely and enjoyed the blissful silence. The city was quiet this time of the morning and she enjoyed the spacious roads, opening up the car’s hungry engine and relishing the leap forward.

  The day ahead was long and crammed full of too many appointments, more than she’d be able to handle.

  The office was now running like a well-oiled machine and everyone knew their jobs. At this stage she would have expected a growing optimism about the place but this group had been confident from the start.

  It was Tolanson who
breathed life into his staff and Avery knew that most of them were even volunteering. On her travels outside the office, dealing with those on the outside, she had overheard the word “Cult” on more than one occasion, and on mornings like this when she was alone, the word didn’t seem quite so ridiculous.

  The car’s engine purred as though demanding her attention once again and she gave it, driving any unsettling thoughts from her mind.

  The polls were all trending upwards for them. The new ad campaigns were gaining traction and the prime minister was starting to look a little desperate to shake off his image, looking like he was the old guard fighting change. The Nationalists were starting to fight dirty and she took it as a personal compliment that they were getting worried.

  Just a few short weeks ago they had been a borderline joke, the little engine that never would, but now they were making headway and people were starting to listen.

  The debates were looming fast and the Nationalists were started to try and put more and more roadblocks in the way. She knew that they were worried about the prime minister facing down Tolanson now they had seen what he could do on a podium and with an audience. While the public might have temporarily forgotten Tolanson’s appearance on Good Morning Britain, she knew that her opposite number in the Nationalist Party headquarters would not have.

  She checked her watch and saw with pleasure that she still had time. She detoured off onto a back road and put her foot down, enjoying the sense of power that rested beneath her right foot.

  The car gobbled up the countryside hungrily as she pressed forwards, the tarmac road being swallowed up as the car pushed forward, desperately straining at its leash.

  She rounded a bend, the tyres gripping the road securely, when suddenly there was a car in the road up ahead. With some reluctance, she took her foot off the gas and slowed to a crawl behind the car in front. The driver was obviously lost or just plain bad at driving.

  She pulled the car out a little to try and look up ahead to see if it was clear to overtake. The road dipped in front and she floored it. The BMW leaped forwards and roared past the old woman in front. As she passed the car, Avery felt the rush of excitement as she powered on. The dip in the road, however, suddenly revealed a tractor coming the other way that had been obscured.

  Immediately, she could see that it was going to be close. There was no space to get out of the way. The country road was narrow with only just enough room for a car going in either direction. There was a hard stone farmer’s wall that lined the road in both directions and her heart was in her mouth. She saw that there was a gap in the wall on her side of the road just up ahead and she knew that it was her only hope.

  At the very last second, when she was absolutely sure that she would not crash into the side of the old woman and kill them both, she yanked the wheel hard and shot back to her side of the road. She just had time to see the angry tractor driver’s face bulge with red-faced anger as he slammed on his brakes. She shot through the gap in the wall and prayed that there wasn’t a heavy metal gate in place; thankfully, there wasn’t.

  The car slammed through the gap and into the field. The wheels bounced hard across the stony ground and the suspension groaned in displeasure at the offroading that it hadn’t been built for.

  She hit the brakes and skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust and sprayed mud. It had been close and she would have to check her pants sooner rather than later but she was okay, just.

  She looked back over her shoulder and saw the old woman drive past the opening, still with her head down in deep concentration.

  The tractor came to a stop down the road a little and then started to back up.

  Avery remained in the car, feeling more foolish than scared now. The engine was still running and she slipped the car into reverse, but as she tried to back up, the wheels started to spin helplessly in the mud, only succeeding in digging themselves in deeper.

  “You trying to get yourself killed?” the farmer yelled from next to the car as he approached on foot.

  Avery looked at him and shrugged in apology. The farmer was ruddy faced with thick limbs hewn from a hard life spent outdoors. His expression was one of casual amusement as though there was little left in this world to surprise him. His voice was thick with a West Country accent which made most of his words slur together.

  “Sorry,” she replied with another shrug.

  “Well, happen you won’t want to sit there all day! I’ll pull you out.”

  Avery watched on, hating the feeling of uselessness as the farmer hitched his tractor to the car. He pulled her out of the muddy field and she winced at the sound of scraping metal as the car’s precious paint job took a beating.

  The car’s engine stuttered and then stopped just as it reached the firm road. Avery tried to start it again but it just whined and then faltered completely until the car was dead. There were no lights on the dashboard and no life under the turn of the key.

  “Doesn’t sound too good, do she?” the farmer mused as he joined her again.

  “Shit!” Avery snapped, pounding the steering wheel in frustration. “I’ve only had it 5 minutes.”

  “Cost a pretty penny probably too,” the farmer pondered. “Can you call someone?”

  Avery felt a stab in her gut. The expensive car would have no doubt come with complimentary breakdown cover but she hadn’t gotten the number or details, and to do so would mean calling into the office and letting everyone know that she’d crashed the bloody thing already.

  “My youngest is a bit of a mechanic,” the farmer said, looking over the car. “Doubt he’s ever worked on anything as fancy as this mind you, but he could probably take a look.”

  While she wasn’t wild about letting some yokel, however well-intentioned, poke around inside a luxury car she was less enthralled about calling the office.

  “Thank you,” she responded.

  “Yup,” the farmer said before returning to the tractor. “Just up the ways a little.” He pointed before driving off.

  ----------

  Lomax dragged his aching body out of bed. He stumbled over to the mirror in the bathroom and looked at the bloody mess staring back at him. He’d drunk himself to sleep the night before without bothering to get cleaned up after the mugging and now he looked a fright.

  Fortunately for him, although the landlord at the pub had shouted that he was calling the police and thus scared off his attacker, it was actually the sort of place that didn’t welcome a visit from the boys in blue. To his credit, the landlord had offered to call an ambulance, but by then Lomax had been awake and desperate to leave.

  He ran the shower until it was as hot as it was going to get and carefully took off his clothes before climbing in. The water felt good against his skin and soon his feet were standing in red puddles.

  His mind was heavy with self pity and he wondered, for probably the first time, if any of this was worth it. The thought of simply leaving this city, leaving the country, getting on a boat and just leaving felt immensely appealing right now. He was no hero, he was no warrior, he was just tired, so damn tired.

  ----------

  Sutherland waited the day away. His car stank of alcohol and regrets. He’d been a fool to ever make a deal with a devil like Tolanson and now there was seemingly no way out. Every turn, every move that he could think of, only dug a deeper hole for him to be buried in.

  The man finally left the apartment block and started to walk along the street. He wore smart clothes that reeked of expensive price tags and the latest fashion. Heads automatically bowed as the young man walked; no one was seemingly willing to look him in the eye and the man walked with a pride that enjoyed it.

  Sutherland had extensive files on the man and knew his routine inside and out. He knew that the man had a daughter in the apartment block, one that he thought no one knew about, but Sutherland did - it was his job to know.

  He waited until the man was far enough down the street before he exited the car and followed. He stayed
an experienced distance back and walked at a steady pace so as to not spook the man in front.

  He paused occasionally outside various shop windows and crossed the road a few times.

  Eventually, the young man reached his destination and entered a snooker hall. The sign above the door read ‘members only’ but Sutherland had a card in his wallet that allowed him access anywhere he wanted to go.

  He flashed his police ID at the man behind the desk who waved him in. The stairs were steep and the telltale clack of snooker balls being hit led him into the hall.

  There were multiple green baize tables occupied by men who either didn’t have jobs to go to or didn’t have one that required the light of day.

  Sutherland crossed the hall and walked towards the last table in the hall. The young man was racking the balls with a wooden triangle as Sutherland reached the table. The young man looked up at him.

  “You here to play?” the man asked.

  “No, Donovan,” Sutherland replied. “I’m here to talk.”

  ----------

  Avery spent the next hour or so being made to feel increasingly stupid. The farmer’s son - who was a ‘bit of a mechanic’ - was, in fact, a highly qualified engineer currently visiting home to repair a huge industrial and fully computerised combine harvester.

  The farmer, who was named Douglas, had invited her in for a cup of tea while Douglas Junior took a look at the car.

  The farmhouse was a beautifully restored ancient building full of wrath and love. There was a full fire roaring in the lounge where they were sitting and the walls were adorned with various awards that Douglas Jnr had collected down the years. His academical achievements were massively impressive and left her feeling more than a little inadequate.

  “He got his brains from his mother,” Douglas said as he caught her viewing the plaques and trophies.

  “Is she here?”

  “Passed some 10 years ago now.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Weren’t your fault,” the farmer dismissed.

  “But I’m sorry anyway.”

  “Yup.” Douglas shrugged as he poured the tea.