No More Heroes-#1 Dystopian Thriller Heroes Series

by Roo I MacLeod

  Ben shook his head and kicked at the wall. ‘Even with the Man in charge, you still need evidence, eh? It’s not like he can fit me up.’

  Wynona adjusted her cap on her head and hitched up the heavy-looking utility belt. She tugged her trousers lower before giving the peak of her cap another tweak so it sat just off-center.

  ‘I told you he’s got the gun you left in the station. That was your second mistake. Jesus, Ben, you pulled a gun in a police station. You tried to shoot my sergeant. Cool move, not, but leaving it behind was stupid plus-plus.’

  ‘The Police Station was on fire, if I remember right, eh? I didn’t have a lot of time to be packing stuff.’

  ‘Shit Ben, they don’t need evidence when you’re hiding and putting up no defense.’

  ‘But it wasn’t my gun. You know it wasn’t my gun.’

  ‘No one listens to the office girl.’ She picked up Ben’s whisky and tipped it down her throat. ‘You don’t want to be playing in the same ballpark as Barney.’ She dropped the glass on the table. ‘He’s ex-military and he likes to kill. He’s gung-ho and can smell blood. So take a holiday, do what you like, but get out of Ostere.’

  Chapter Two

  Bucket, spade, sunblock …

  PSO Webster patted Ben on the backside, sizing up his arse before whacking him hard with her truncheon.

  ‘Fuck,’ he cried.

  ‘Realism,’ she said. ‘Sarge wants us to come down hard and get this case sorted.’ She tapped the truncheon on the back of his head and smiled as he flinched. ‘It was just a slap, you mouse. I got to go. Barney’s gets excited with the interrogation and I’ve heard he likes to shoot stuff when his blood’s up.’

  Ben turned, grabbed his tobacco pouch and stuck a paper to his lip. He fell back in his chair, grimacing big time at the spasm of pain in his buttocks. He shook his head. Bloody women. One day kissing you, the next day whacking you with their truncheon. He reached for the bottle and poured a healthy measure into his glass. He sat back with the hood low, the whisky in hand, a fresh cigarette burning and watched the world hassle Loubie.

  Barney’s cap sat on the beer pump. He’d thrown his jacket over the back of a chair. He paced the floor, his sleeves rolled to his elbows and the truncheon slapping at his palm.

  ‘I’m not leaving until someone answers me.’

  His tone expected folk to obey his orders, but the drink-deadened patrons couldn’t hear.

  Two lads, both baring prosthetic arms, played with the balls on the pool table to the left side of the pub. They’d recently returned from a tour of duty in the Man’s war on terror. They ignored the copper. They weren’t talking, not to nobody, not until the Man found the bastard who stole their limbs.

  Charlie offered subtle snores. His tongue kept licking at his lips as he dreamt of beer. He wasn’t due to wake for another hour. Ivan had turned his head away from the noise, his left arm cuddling his glass tumbler to his nose, the fumes helping deepen his slumber.

  The front door slapped against the foyer entrance. A chill wind dashed inside with a spray of rain, and the punters stirred and grumbled. A tall, thin man stepped into the pub and stared at the flash of blue treading the muddy floor. He thought of turning and leaving, but Loubie smiled. Loubie never smiled. Pushing his straw Stetson back on his head, he stepped up to the bar and placed a worn boot on the footrest. He pulled his long worn coat aside, dug out a handful of pennies and tossed them on the bar. With a solemn attention to detail, he stacked the pennies in groups of five before pulling his cigars from the inside pocket of his coat.

  ‘You all right, Tommy?’ Loubie said.

  ‘Sure am, ma’am.’

  ‘What you having?’

  ‘A long, tall, ice-cold milk.’

  ‘No, Tommy, no milk; for real, there’s no milk. Even if we had milk, I wouldn’t serve it to you. That’s for sure. Not just because it would be off, but because no one drinks milk in a pub. Why don’t you have a diet cola, like you always do?’

  ‘Okay. I am driving.’

  The copper turned to Tommy. His gaze stared at the muddy moleskins and worn boots. It hovered on the denim shirt, and finished on the straw Stetson. He locked eyes with Tommy.

  ‘You know Ben Jackman?’

  Tommy’s gaze faltered. He turned to Loubie, but she ignored him. Tommy shook his head in reply to the copper’s question, and then he picked up his drink and sat with Ivan at the front table. Loubie stepped to the hatch and dropped the lid with a bang.

  The truncheon whacked the bar. Bodies jumped at the sound and a low murmur grumbled at the noise. ‘I don’t like being dicked around,’ he said. ‘You’ll all get to know that pretty soon. You there, little girl,’ the copper said. He lifted the hatch and stepped behind the bar. ‘I know he’s back in town, and we’ve got good intel on this shithole being his current address.’

  His eyes rested on her breasts, nodding with a wry smile before tilting his head to the side and sighing. The copper liked what he saw. Loubie’s skin was a rich brown color, and her clothes had a loose battered style. Her small elfin face scowled as she placed both hands on her hips.

  ‘You want I should take them out so you can take a picture? Me puppies, they’re a bit shy, but if you whistle they might sit up and beg.’

  He stepped forward, his eyes meeting Loubie’s, and placed a hand either side of the back bar. She retreated until her arse rested against the ice machine. The copper had entered the bar person’s sacred space and Loubie believed she had a right to defend herself. She reached for the small bat beneath the Black Rat beer keg, but Barney grabbed her arms and held her tight against his body.

  ‘Just answer my question,’ he said. He pushed her backward, his truncheon tapping at her sternum. Tommy jumped from his seat, but Officer Webster stepped to the bar and shook her head. She turned to Barney and tapped once on the warped wood of the bar with her truncheon. PC Barney Baker turned ready to rebuke the intruder, until he saw Wynona threatening him with her weapon.

  ‘Problem?’ he said.

  ‘Have you asked her if she knows Ben Jackman?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And? Does she?’

  ‘She says she doesn’t. But she’s dicking me about.’

  ‘And are you? Its Loubie isn’t it? Do you know where Ben Jackman is?’ She shook her head. ‘So let her go. Let’s move on. We’re wasting time here. He could have switched drinking holes, so we need to check the Drunken Duck. Then we’ll pay a visit to the riverside bars.’

  Barney stepped back, letting go of Loubie’s singlet. ‘She tried to hit me with a bat,’ he said. He reached forward to straighten out her top, but Loubie slapped his hand away.

  ‘Watch it, girl. You don’t go assaulting this member of Ostere’s law. He don’t like it.’

  ‘Get out, Barney,’ Wynona said. He turned on his heel, pacing like a soldier on parade, grabbed his hat and jacket, and marched out of the pub. Wynona smiled at Loubie. ‘You all right?’

  Loubie nodded. ‘What you want with Ben?’

  ‘The Man wants to see someone swinging, and he’s volunteered Ben for the role.’

  The two girls turned to face the back of the pub. Ben raised his glass. ‘But he’s okay here, for sure. No way we’re going to be telling on him.’

  ‘No, he needs to get out of town and I’m going to need your help convincing him to go.’

  ‘He won’t leave Ivan. You can’t leave Ivan, coz the man’s incapable of…anything really.’

  The girls looked at the lump of lard asleep on the table beneath the front window. His red bloated face lay flat to the wood with a lifeless, bloodshot eye watching the bar.

  ‘Ivan will survive. Ben won’t. Barney will realize he’s living here soon enough. Besides, I might have a job for Ben that will take him out of Barney’s clutches. I just need your help pushing him to take the work.’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘Because I said so. Because I need more time to gather evidence and find witnesses willing t
o stand up and defend him. And because you’re a right old thief, and I’ll tell Ivan why his till is always down if you don’t help me out.’

  Loubie opened her mouth to protest, but Wynona raised her truncheon, ready to strike. ‘Because you’ll get a cut of the money if you go with him. Just make him go, Loubie.’

  Loubie rubbed at the red welts Barney had left on her arm. ‘What’s Ben supposed to have done? What if I vouch for him, like, if he needs an alibi?’

  ‘He’s wanted for killing two coppers just before Christmas. The men who actually did the killing are dead. Good thing for the world at large, but no help for Ben. He’s wanted because the Man wants to replace the image of the Mayor’s lynching by the Christian Clan. You can join him, for sure. My guess is the Man won’t mind hanging two folk.’

  The television above the bar crossed to a live news report. The girls watched the muted images. Children, faces blackened, led a donkey pulling a cart. Two taller children held picks over their shoulders. One child stared with a vacant expression at the camera. Mucus smeared his face and gunk leaked from his right eye. A child dressed in a thin, flimsy shirt drank from an oily water bucket. Smog smeared the scene beneath black clouds. Monks in cassocks and armed soldiers ensured the children didn’t dawdle before the camera.

  ‘Terrible. Just awful,’ Wynona said. She placed her truncheon back in her belt, touched her cap to the lads by the pool table and took her leave.

  Loubie rubbed at the tiny white marks scarring her arms and shook her head in horror. ‘You wouldn’t wish that on anyone’s life. We got to be grateful, us? Whatever you say about the Man, he don’t let that stuff go on.’

  ‘That’s the Lowlands,’ Tommy said. He sipped at his cola. ‘That’s happening in this country. The Man sucks.’