‘Come on, Tommy, get him out of here.’
Tommy hoisted the wee lad with his good arm, holding him to his chest. He left the quadrangle kicking at the dirt and scuffing with his boots and mumbling and grumbling how he always did the dirty jobs. I sat next to Pete, knowing the dirty job sat on the sofa.
A light flickered inside Blacky’s workshop and the donkey’s head appeared at the stable door. The slagheap became more distinct as the light from the east bleached the far edge of the night. Headlights crossed the overpass as folk from the nicer regions of Ostere headed for the city.
‘Pete, you need to come with me.’
‘Where we going?’
‘Have a chat with the main Feral man, eh?’
‘Have you seen my new badge, Ben?’
‘No, what you got this time?’
‘Knots. I can tie knots.’
‘That should be real handy.’
I reached toward Pete for my flask, grabbing his wrist and pulling him to his feet. ‘It’s over, Pete.’
He nodded, following me as we crossed the car park.
‘Where we going, Ben?’ I escorted him along the length of the allotment fence. ‘Are we going to pay respects to Nab? It was bad what happened to Nab. I hope they catch those blokes who killed Nab, don’t you?’
I stopped at the crumbling wall of the old brewery. ‘You don’t need to be worrying about them. They’ve met their match. No, I wanted to show you something.’
‘What’s that?’
He turned to look into the allotments and I struck him hard on the back of his head with the pistol grip of my gun. The blow echoed and I grimaced at the impact, standing back as he dropped with a grunt. I placed the gun back inside my pocket and waited for Pete to breathe, hoping I hadn’t hit him too hard. It took an age, but he sucked at air and the loud exhalation befitted a body as big as Pete the Nose. I left him lying on the ground and called out to the main Feral man.
He appeared with his hoe and a fresh fat butt smoldering in his hand. He held the butt toward me and I took a long deep puff and handed it back.
‘The police are looking for him,’ I said as I exhaled the sweet smoke. ‘Can you guys dump him for me?’
He took a major tug on his butt and held the smoke inside his lungs to the point I thought he’d swallowed. Smoke seeped from his nose and mouth as he grunted into the dark behind him. A man appeared with a barrow. The three of us tossed Pete into the dirty metal bin and tossed his Scout hat on top of his chest.
‘There’s a fresh grave dug in the cemetery. Dump him, but make sure you remove the ladder and maybe you should bind him, but keep it loose. I’ll call the police in an hour or so.’
Chapter Forty-One
Black Hats all gone, Honest
Tilly swept the night’s broken glass into the gutter and latched the door open. Two lads sat at the bar slouched before mugs of ale. A body slept face down on the table by the window, a butt tangled in his damp hair.
‘What do you want?’ she said. ‘Harry can’t come out to play. He’s grounded forever and dog tired. So go away.’
‘Me and the dog need a drink.’ I rattled the dog’s chain. He sat at my feet, shivering in the frigid morning.
She retreated inside the pub. A light knock sounded on the first floor window above the door. Harry stood dressed in a nightshirt with a cartoon dog on its front. His small head reached through the gap as he pushed the window open.
‘You all right?’ I asked him. He nodded and smiled. ‘She’s not happy with me.’
‘Or me,’ he said. ‘Hello, Dog.’
The hound wagged its tail, looking up and down the street for the familiar voice.
‘I wanted to stay at home, but she made me walk down here in a dressing gown and slippers.’ He shook his head as he closed the window.
I dragged the hound into the pub and ordered a mug of beer and the dog’s favorite flavor of crisps. Two lads in smart looking black suits leant against the bar, talking in hushed tones as they cradled their drinks. I rattled the dog’s chain and took my drink to the fire, waiting for the dog to finish circling before offering him the bag of crisps.
I stretched my feet to the flames and wrapped my coat tight to my body. The clown sat behind a table by the back door sipping on a large tumbler of whisky. He wore his sad face, his gloved hands supporting his chin. As my eyes droopedand a Z crawled from my mouth, Tilly punched me and pointed at the two lads slouching against the bar.
‘What?’ I mouthed.
She pointed at the coat hooks by the door. Two wide brimmed black hats sat hanging above two long black coats. A mug rapped against the wooden bar and a voice shouted for service. The tension returned to my shoulders.
‘They’re back, old boy.’ I nudged the dog with my foot. ‘Go and bite them, eh? I’m tired and surely a packet of crisps has bought me loyalty.’
I turned my chair so I could view their grief with life. The chatter from both bordered on manic. The tall lad kept pointing at Tilly and both lads leant too close, their cigarette smoke drifting into Tilly’s space.
Dark subtle shadows showed beneath Tilly’s eyes. I’d returned a broken child and she spent the previous day with the Black Hats, worrying about him. The two lads brought back her biggest fears for her delinquent child. As Tilly allowed the ale tap to fall back she flicked the taller lad on the ear. ‘Sit back out of my way, or I won’t serve you.’
He sat back and stubbed his cigarette into the worn wood of the bar. His back straightened, both hands placed flat on the bar. His mate, not much shorter, but more rotund and hunched, blew his smoke across the bar forcing Tilly to step backward from the assault. Once the smoke dissipated, Tilly stepped forward, added froth to their beers and placed the mugs on the bar. The taller lad grabbed her hands and yanked her forward.
‘Unhand me, you Black Hatted piece of shit.’ Anger ruled, but calling them Black Hats bordered on stupid.
He kept hold of her hands, but looked at his mate. ‘Shall we teach her some manners? As she’s showed disrespect to our clan, it would seem proper.’
I remembered seeing the lad earlier running for the passenger door of a black sedan and his mate stopping to return fire. I felt at the bullet graze on my arm, the throbbing ache returning.
‘Let go and I’ll pretend this never happened.’
‘I’ll let go when you apologize for hitting me.’
His friend picked up his drink. ‘Pull her closer.’ As he drank, the man stepped back, drawing Tilly’s arms across the bar.
‘You’re hurting me.’
‘What’s with the jumper?’ he said, putting his mug on the bar. ‘How’s a man meant to get a look at your tits?’
Tilly turned her gaze to find me, tears trailing down her face. I pulled my switchblade from my trousers and approached the bar.
‘Barmaid’s busy, mate,’ the stocky lad said.
‘Put her down.’
‘Butt out,’ the taller man said. He kept hold of Tilly’s hands and his stout mate gave my soiled clothing a cursory glance. ‘You deaf! Barmaid’s busy learning some manners.’
I flicked the switch, so the blade scratched against his cheek on opening and left the point beneath his jaw. I leant into his body and pushed the blade, feeling for the throat. My mouth pressed against his ear and I whispered. ‘You and your mate need to behave.’
The bravado ebbed as the knife dug deeper into the loose flesh of his neck. He released his hold on Tilly’s wrists and the clown clapped and cheered. Tilly stepped back from the bar rubbing at her wrists.
‘Now, you two,’ I said. ‘You are finished here. A bunch of juveniles kicked your arse tonight and they let you live. So get over it. You will stand and exit the pub and don’t be looking back or thinking you can run, because I can stick a rat from a hundred yards with this knife.’
‘Ever so sorry about this, Miss,’ I said. ‘But my colleagues have no manners. It won’t happen again, eh?’
The three of us left th
e pub, stepping into a chill stiff wind blowing the narrow length of Church Lane. Snowflakes hit me in the face, swirling around our bodies. The approaching dawn had roused the birds in the trees lining the laneway, but night still fought the approaching day. I drew my gun as the door closed and touched them both on the back of their necks. Harry stood at the window, tapping to gain my attention. I offered him a thumbs-up sign and marched the Black Hats past the church heading for the derelict estate the Slotvaks called home.
I stopped inside the gate, standing amongst broken glass and weeds. Fires burned in metal drums and flames reflected against the cracked and smashed windows. My captives shuffled forward until their noses pressed against the rough brick wall covered in street art and smelling of cat piss.
I wanted to kill them, to step back and shoot once, twice, wipe the weapon clean, filch their pockets and head back to the pub for my beer and the hound. That’s what I wanted, but a voice deep inside my soul suggested the killing needed to stop and I didn’t have the heart for the killing. I eased my grip on the gun and placed the knife back in my trouser pocket.
‘It’s got to fucking stop,’ I said. ‘Cooper is dead and your Black Hats are finished.’
The tall lad pleaded for his life, but his mate showed little emotion.
‘This town is off limits for you guys,’ I said. ‘Do you understand?’ The tall lad nodded but his mate watched my gun. ‘If I see you here again this scenario will end with me pulling the trigger. The Slotvaks barbeque most nights if you know what I mean. No one comes up here except the Slotvaks and they don’t do visitors.’
Glass smashed behind me and a voice called out causing me to jump. We’d woken the natives.
‘Your bodies will be skewered and roasted and your bones fought over by feral cats and dogs.’ I was talking fast, way too fast, but I wanted out before Slotvaks asked questions.
‘You will never be found or offered the grand funeral your grieving mothers demand. But tonight you get to walk away. Tonight you get to survive, but first you need to empty your pockets and remove your jackets and trousers. I want you walking out of here without your black and your money and your guns. Let’s do it. One at a time.’
The short fat fucker stumbled getting his trousers off his feet. I took his gun from his holster, pocketed the weapon and smiled as he removed his waist coat and shirt. The wall protected us, but the icy morning bit at his naked skin. He slipped off an expensive pair of black brogues, silk socks and stood with his back to the wall. His tall skinny mate worked up a sweat getting his kit off. I motioned for him to walk across the quadrangle toward the rear exit. He trod with his arms held out, his toes creeping along the frozen ground as if he walked on broken glass.
A noise behind me caused me to jump and turn to the source.
A shadow ducked behind the gate and before I regained my composure the stocky lad stepped forward and kicked my legs from under me. I ended up on my arse with the lad on top of me, fighting for the gun. His mate returned and stamped on my gun hand and the fight ended with me flat on my back holding my injured paw.
Two naked men congratulated each other on their good fortune. The taller man held my gun, his grip tight and his arm held rigid, the gun wavering with its aim. The muzzle of the gun reached forward and tapped me on the head, pushing me back on my arse. I crawled away from its aim, angry at my situation, but also scared. The brick wall stopped my retreat, but in the shadow of the gate a small dark body watched the action.
‘Sorry, what were you saying?’ the tall lad said. The bravado displayed when taunting Tilly in the pub had returned. ‘You not talking to me? I wanted to know what you were saying. Something about barbeques wasn’t it?’
He slapped the gun across my face, knocking my head against the rough brick wall. ‘Look at him when he’s talking,’ the stocky lad ordered.
I pushed back on the wall, glancing left to the gated entrance before turning to the stocky man. The body no longer stood behind the gate. The tall waif-like lad with a receding dark hairline enjoyed acting tough and patted my clothing looking for weapons. He threw my knives to the ground and handed the stocky man his gun. An immature shadow dotted the acne scarred chin of the fat lad. The blonde hair grew long out front and obstructed sight from his right eye as he sneered. Oh yeah, the mojo rocked, but they needed to dress.
Dawn called, the dark giving way to a washed out gray. The poor light highlighted the gaunt faces of my adversaries. Above me the clouds hung low and bloated with the flakes of snow falling on the new day. The weathermen predicted snow and I remembered cursing the prospect of a white Christmas the day Marvin appeared and buggered with my life. Too late, I guessed, to be asking Santa for a miracle.
A shot exploded and the sound reverberated against the buildings. I ducked low with my arms covering my head. Another gunshot hit the ground as the Black Hats retreated further into the estate. The squat lad fired at the night, the bullet smacking into the dilapidated building. Bad move as we didn’t need to be angering the Slotvaks.
Another shot exploded from my left, loud in my ear. The stocky man dropped to the ground clutching his arm, his gun clattering free. I rolled to my right and grabbed the weapon. The taller man, the idiot I’d sent walking in his underwear, waved his gun in all directions, firing at shadows. Another shot almost took my ear off as the tall man doubled up and dropped to his knees. I edged back along the wall, desperate to keep out of the shooter’s sights.
Footsteps approached from the gate to my left and stopped beside me. I followed the small worn slippers to the pajamas and dressing gown and Harry’s serious face. In his hand he held the Glock, the weapon trembling in his hand.
‘You okay?’ His voice sounded tense, his gaze centered on the Black Hats.
‘Yeah, I’m cool,’ I said.’
The gun lowered and I scrambled to my feet eager to take control, but Harry had eyes only for the stocky lad.
‘Jesus, how old are you?’ the lad said.
‘Old enough to shoot your scabby arse.’
‘Yeah right.’ He stood up, his bloodied arm hanging by his side.
Harry raised the gun and we watched, none of us convinced Harry wanted to shoot. The gun shook in his right hand. He braced his aim with his left and the gun fired, jumping high in his small hands before falling back to his side.
‘Jesus, Harry,’ I said.
The tall lad turned from his fallen colleague, his eyes staring and pleading with me, as the adult, to intervene.
Harry turned to me with the gun pointing at my heart.
‘Stop using my name.’
‘What?’
The man, still crouching on his haunches, turned his gaze to Harry. ‘I didn’t hear nothing. Serious.’
‘You didn’t hear him say my name was Harry? Like fuck.’ And he shot him, the bullet smashing through his face and plastering the back half of his skull against the brick wall. Without a second thought he pointed the gun and shot the stocky lad in the chest and the face.
And inhaled, holding his breath and exhaling with a sigh.
Harry removed a scruffy rag from his pajama trousers and wiped the gun before throwing it onto the tall lad’s chest. He sighed, kicked at both bodies, then turned and left the site.
Voices called out in the buildings behind me. The maturing day made my position vulnerable, but I stood by the bodies, gawping and wanting to apologize. A dog barked as it climbed out over the rubble at the doorway to the far building. I patted at my pockets ensuring I had my money and pocketed the gun. I rifled through the pile of clothes and claimed the biggest roll of cash and left the smaller wedge for the Slotvaks.
I caught Harry’s legs disappearing inside the top window of the Old Poet Public House. My body shook and I felt sick in the stomach. I entered the Poet, finished my drink and told the dog to stand.
‘You all right?’ Tilly said.
‘Never better. Got to go. Those lads won’t be troubling you again. They said to say sorry, eh?’
‘And their hats?’
I grabbed both hats from the coat hooks and stuck one on Tilly’s head and the other on mine. ‘Could catch on in Ostere, eh?’
Tilly slung her hat into the fire and the dog jumped back as the flames brightened. ‘I’m not so sure Ostere needs a Black Hat fashion.’ She pulled her tea cozy back straight on her head and patted at her curls.
The dog looked at me when I called, but refused to move. With his chain in hand I dragged him from the fire. I threw a twenty on the bar and brought out my flask. ‘Can I get a measure of Ivan’s Special Reserve, eh?’
While Tilly filled my flask I picked the tall man’s coat off the hooks and laid it on the bar, my hand caressing the quality fabric.
‘It’s got to be warm, eh?’
I removed my tatty coat from my shoulders and allowed Tilly to hold the long black coat as I eased my arms inside.
I paraded the length of the bar, stopping to allow the clown to applaud with his happy face, before walking back to Tilly. The coat felt grand and warm and more than capable of keeping me alive should the buckets of snow arrive.
‘Does it suit me?’ I said. ‘I wanted a coat for Christmas and Santa doesn’t know where I live.’
‘I’m fond of your old coat. It has a smell, distinctive and offensive to some people’s noses, but it does say Street Boy to those who know you. You don’t look right in a posh coat.’
‘I like it and after a couple of weeks sleeping on Blacky’s sofa it’ll get that sweet savvy street scent back.’
I pulled at the cuffs and buttoned the coat to the neck. ‘Do you mind if I go up and say goodbye to Harry?’
‘Yeah, I do. He’s had a load of hugs and is fast asleep and he’s had enough Ben time. Harry talks tough, acts tough, but he’s a child and doesn’t need to be living in your world.’
The door opened as I stooped to the dogs chain. A boy stepped into the bar jingling a set of keys in his hand. I wanted to turn, but the silence and the chill wind entering through the open door convinced me to concentrate on the dog. When the door slammed shut I watched the black hat and coat stop at the window, looking left and right before getting into a black sedan.
No More Heroes-#1 Dystopian Thriller Heroes Series Page 29