The Deal (The Fallen Angel Series Book 1)

by S C Cunningham

  “What?”

  “I became your own little bodyguard. You really did take some risks, Amy. There were more times than I’d care to remember that you travelled home at night and were about to be attacked. You kept me busy.”

  “You are joking, right? You were stalking me?”

  “Think more, a bodyguard that you didn’t have to pay.”

  “Whitney Houston, ahhhh. I loved that movie,” she beamed, bursting into song. “And I… will always love you…”

  “Ames. I’m trying to be deep here. This is like open heart surgery for me. Do you mind? I’ve never spoken about this stuff, except to my therapist when I came out of the army.”

  “And what did your therapist say?”

  “That I had to find out if you were dead or alive. If you were dead, he said to visit your grave and talk to you. If you were alive, to track you down and talk to you.”

  “So why didn’t you…talk to me?”

  “I couldn’t. I tried so many times to pick up the courage but backed out at the last minute. I wrote a letter but never got to send it. I just satisfied my guilt by looking out for you.”

  She put her hand to her mouth and laughed out loud.

  “What?”

  “Sorry. But this is soooo sweet…my very own bodyguard watching over me, but,” she said, grimacing, “you didn’t always watch, did you? I mean, you didn’t watch when I had boyfriends, did you?” She propped her hands on her hips, waiting for an answer.

  “Yeah, well,” he shrugged. “Those moments were difficult. I may have helped a few of your boys leave.”

  “What?”

  “None of them were any good for you. You needed me, but I was too ashamed to contact you, and, unfortunately, I was tied up with Mara by then. She knew how I felt about you. That’s how she ended up putting the knife in.”

  “What a bitch!”

  “Yeah, well, I shouldn’t have led her on. I used her…” Jack’s head swung around, he’d seen something. “Wait here a minute.”

  He left Amy standing on the pavement as he skipped across the road and walked towards a line of recycle bins.

  Amy watched him take something from his pocket and step in behind the bins, out of sight. He then reappeared at her side, continuing their walk. She ran along beside him, trying to keep up.

  “What was that about? What’s with the rubbish bins?”

  “A Veteran,” Jack grumbled. “I hate it.”

  “Hate what? Is he ok?” Amy looked back over her shoulder but couldn’t see anyone.

  “Well, he would be if our government pulled their socks up and looked after them when they’d done their bit for the country. He’s ex SAS. That’s a million pounds worth of training right there; leadership, planning, adaptability, loyalty, team building, mental strength, linguist, intelligence gathering, analysis, engineering…the list goes on. With a small amount of retraining and support in the job market, his skills can be adapted for the benefit of all of us, including his getting a roof over his head. It sucks. You risk your life for a country that chucks you out with the rubbish. Why bother?”

  “What did you do with him?”

  “I gave him dosh. He was out of it. He’ll wake up in the morning and find a twenty in his top pocket. He’ll eat a hot meal for the next few days, but what about the days after that? He’s too proud to beg. It pisses me off. He’s not a lazy git who thinks the world owes him. He hasn’t sapped benefit monies from the country. On the contrary, he’s worked darn hard protecting it for twenty, thirty years…for fuck’s sake.”

  Amy hadn’t heard Jack go into a verbal tirade before. She’d never heard him rattle on this much in one go.

  “How can we help?” she asked.

  “Apart from holding a government at gunpoint until they wake up? I don’t know. I do what I can, but my work is just a blip. We’d better get back. Come on.”

  “Wait, what work?” she asked intrigued.

  “Another time,” he said, dismissively and hurried ahead of her. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  “But I want to know. Can I help? What can I—”

  Shouts from a nearby alleyway interrupted her. Jack pivoted and followed the noise, Amy behind him. Rounding a corner, they witnessed three youths beating up a homeless man lying on a sheet of cardboard.

  Jack stormed over to the youths with his hands planted on his hips, choosing who to work on first. The eldest youth had a can of petrol with him and poured the petrol over the cowering tramp while the three of them laughed and joked. The man begged for mercy. The petrol stung his eyes and spluttered on his mouth.

  Amy joined Jack. “Sometimes I hate this job. All we see is evil stuff. Why do humans do this shit to each other. Now they’re going to make me do something that’s not very nice. And then I’ll feel bad. The whole cycle sucks.”

  “Turn away, if you want. I love this shit.”

  “Is he a veteran?”

  “Don’t know. Nor do they. Whoever he is, he’s hit hard times. Fuck ’em. They need a taste of their own medicine.”

  “OK, but…”

  “No buts. Get out of here. This is mine.”

  He pushed Amy around the corner. She went freely.

  “I’ll call it in,” she sighed. “But don’t terminate any of them unless Pyke says so...OK? Jack? Give me a minute.”

  Amy walked around the corner to call Pyke.

  The eldest youth placed the petrol can on the ground and dug around in his pockets for a lighter. The middle youth backed up down the alley, staring in part horror, part excitement. The youngest youth bottled it, realising the seriousness of what was about to happen. He shouted at his friend. “No, Dave, no. It’s gone far enough, stop.”

  But Dave laughed him off, enjoying his ‘big-I-am’ moment.

  “What’s the matter boys? Scaredy-cats, are we? Get your phones out and start filming. This is gonna go viral.”

  Jack kicked over the can at Dave’s feet, causing petrol to spill onto his shoes.

  Dave was too hyped to notice. He’d flicked the lighter and waved it in front of the tramp’s face, threatening, teasing, about to set him on fire.

  The tramp started to pray, begging for Dave to stop.

  “Look, mate. He’s had enough. Leave him alone.” The youngest youth tried to grab the lighter. He lunged at Dave’s hand as he tiptoed around the petrol, trying to keep away from it.

  “Nah, let’s have some fun,” Dave sneered, waving the flame in the air.

  “This ain’t fun no more. Let’s go.”

  “Scaredy-cats, scaredy-cats…pussies the pair of you,” spat Dave.

  Amy returned to the alley, thankful the boys were still alive.

  “We have authority, but not to TM8. Just teach a lesson.”

  Jack nodded, a little grieved. He was in the mood to terminate. He turned to Dave fending off the youngest youth’s attempts to snatch the lighter and gave him a short sharp karate chop to the wrist. The lighter sprung from Dave’s hand and fell to the floor.

  The youngest adolescent jumped back. Dave watched in horror as the lighter hit the ground and a burst of flames ignited the petrol, engulfing his feet. He jumped in the air and stamped on the ground, trying to put out the flames, but splashing the petrol made it worse. Flames crept up his trouser legs.

  Amy stepped around the chaos and seized the edges of the cardboard while the stunned tramp clung to it. Pulling hard, she dragged him away from the flames further down the alley to safety. The third youth screamed out in panic, running up and down the alley trying to be heard.

  “Fire, fire! Help...please, someone…help.”

  Neighbouring buildings came alive with lights. Windows flew open with people grabbing their phones to call authorities.

  Jack and Amy walked away, leaving two of the youths using their jackets to put out the flames on Dave’s back as he crawled on all fours, screaming in agony.

  “Who’s the ‘big-I-am’ now, shithead, picking on a guy, three on one, a down and out, be
ggar in the street?” Jack spat vehement words over his shoulder. “Are you kidding me? What’s so clever about that? Fucking bully, these idiots need to be rounded up and sent to war. Then we’ll see how fucking big they are.”

  “Hey, calm down there, soldier. We’re supposed to be spreading good karma,” giggled Amy, not used to his being so verbal.

  “Yeah, well, they can’t hear me. I love good karma, and he just got a taste of it.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  “Well, he won’t be doing that again in a hurry,” muttered Jack as that sat on a rooftop, watching the ambulance services wrap the screaming Dave in protective sheeting and place him on a stretcher. “Pussy. He can dish it out but can’t take it.”

  “What is wrong with you tonight?”

  “I’m on my period,” he grumbled.

  “Jeez.” She punched him in the shoulder. “When I get Dick Parker, can you be on your period and come help me? He deserves some pissed-off-Jack treatment.”

  “Don’t worry about Richard Parker.”

  Amy turned to him. “Why? What do you know about him?”

  “I went after him not long after I found out about you. He’s in jail. He’s been there for eight years, but he’ll be out soon.”

  “But he’s mine. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because, then I would have to explain who I was, and I didn’t want to lose you. Besides, he’s being well sorted in prison. They don’t like kiddie-fiddlers in there. A friend of mine is keeping an eye on him for me. When he gets out, he’s all yours.”

  “What friend?”

  “A near lost cause I’ve been given by the boss to try and save. An innocent, a seven year old boy, who was abused by those in power trusted to look after him. A Priest and Headmaster, over a ten year period, systematically turned him into a monster, so I set a monster to babysit a monster. Call it penance.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “David, David Howard. You’ll love him, everyone does, even though he’s a killer, they all want a piece of him. He’s a nightmare to watch over, with serious revenge issues, but he’s my nightmare.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “It was never the right time. We’re either at each other’s throats or in a war zone. I did try to reach out once; I tried to give you a photograph.”

  “What photograph?”

  “Nothing, you never got to see it. Richard Parker is all yours, but I think you’ll see that karma has set in, you may not need to do anything.”

  They walked along rooftops, their heads down, deep in thought. It’d been a lot to take in.

  Amy looked over at Jack. “And the scars on your face? Where did they come from?”

  “Richard put up a bit of a fight. He had a blade on him and used it on my face. I underestimated him, ended up in intensive care, and he ended up in court for GBH. When my lawyers gave the police the files I’d sourced on him for child abuse and possession of child images, they sent him down. Add that to the fact he attacked his legal advisor during his interrogation interview, all recorded on tape. He got fifteen years…due out in ten. DC DeAngelo worked my case. He was good. I still keep an eye on him, and sometimes work through him.”

  He gazed over at Amy.

  “These scars are worth it and remind me every day of my paying for doing nothing that day in the woods. I finally did something. They’re ugly, but I wear them with pride.”

  Amy stopped him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him long and hard on the mouth.

  “I love you and I love your scars. They’re sexy,” she whispered, planting tens of kisses up and down his jaw. She’d finally said it. She’d finally told him what she really thought. Tears welled in her eyes. This complex, stubborn man had no idea how much he meant to her.

  His outline black against the skyline, Gregori stood on a neighbouring rooftop, silently watching the couple embrace. Blah de blah, blah de bloody blah.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Alice

  Brighton, UK

  A haunting Mozart concerto piped through the corridor, disturbing Alice from her restless sleep. The squeaky wheelchair harmonised with the music. Music that Alice had now grown to despise, the sound had turned her life into a living hell. Once a lover of classical music, if she ever got out alive, she would never be able to listen to it again.

  As the chair crawled down the hallway, getting nearer and nearer, panic rose in her belly, shortening her breath and bringing bile to her throat. She heard the squeak stop close by, but not at her door. Thank God. Her racing heart slowed.

  Sickness tugged at her stomach as she recognized the familiar ritual of the evil bastard unlocking the bolt of his victim’s door.

  A sharp cry amplified through the corridor, enhancing the constant strident music echoing through the prison. Alice recognised the girl’s begging voice as that of the girl they’d fetched earlier. Her pained moans from the abuse she’d endured were a sound Alice knew too well. She placed her hands over her ears to drive out the memory.

  Even over her drugged state, the decibels in the girl’s agony portrayed her hellish experience, reminding Alice of her time to come. The girl had been brought back alive, at least. Maybe being alive is why she cried. Maybe it was the sound of ‘let me die.’

  Alice pressed her ear to the door to hear the bastard cajoling the girl, trying to calm her in his charming, snakelike voice. High and excited, he was enjoying every minute. Whatever had occurred, it must have been special. He didn’t normally hang around for a debriefing. Could she be one of his favourites?

  Alice got back onto her bed and rolled against the wall. Hunger pains made her nauseous, but she’d gladly accept hunger pains over the toy room. Her head ached from dehydration. She willed herself to close her eyes and breathe her last breath.

  Since the bastard had a new favourite, Alice wondered if she’d been left to die.

  “Angels, if you can hear me, I need your help, please…please.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Cloud 9

  Jack and Amy wandered into the office. From a quick visual scan of the room, Pyke appeared to be alone. He stood in concentration before his screen, evaluating the Unit’s connections to endless missions. He was aware of their presence but kept his eyes on the screen.

  “I’m not going to ask what you two have been up to,” Pyke muttered between sweeps of hands across pages of text.

  “Don’t ask,” grumbled Jack, striding over to the kitchen. “Tea anyone?”

  “Jack’s on his period. He’s a little bit tetchy,” teased Amy. “But you’ll be happy to know we are friends again, Pyke, until the next time.”

  Pyke conducted a complicated manoeuvre on the screen, hardly listening.

  “Oooops!” he cried in mock apology.

  “What?” asked Amy, moving to his side.

  “Oh dear, I’ve just pressed a wrong button and eight million Euros has been transferred from Mr. Baldwin’s trust fund account to the Children in Need account. How silly of me.”

  “Who is Mr. Baldwin, and what has he ever done to you?” Jack asked, dunking teabags in three cups with a spoon. He placed the cups on a tray and joined Pyke.

  “Oscar Baldwin makes his money selling drugs. Eight million won’t make a difference to him, but you know how rich people are. The more they have, the more they want, and the tighter arsed they get about it. It’ll do him good to share.”

  Jack offered the tray to Amy, giving her one of his sexy I’m-gonna-have-you-later grins. She picked up a steaming cup of tea and returned with an in-your-dreams raised brow.

  Jack popped a cup of tea in Pyke’s spare hand and stood sipping his own, watching Pyke tap a button that sent a scattering of messages across various social media accounts.

  “And what are you up to now, Einstein?” he asked.

  “Well, I’m trending a hashtag #ThankYouOscar, before our drug dealing friend finds out about his generous donation. Half the world will have thanked him for
his amazing kindness, and his ego won’t allow him to chase it up and take it back. Boom!” He punched the air. “We have a double win.”

  “Is that legal? I mean, OK for us to do?” Asked Amy.

  “S’ok, I got authority. But you can talk, little miss vigilante, we need a word,” sighed Pyke, turning to face her.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Amy grimaced, a picture of innocence.

  Pyke led her to another screen and ran his hand across its base. Ten windows came up, each with a different newspaper article.

  “This,” he pointed. “I’ve been watching a strange phenomenon of paedophiles dying off. It seems to be happening on a regular basis currently, multiple suicides, hangings, shootings, fires, car crashes, drowning, muggings, and the list goes on. Anything to do with you sweat pea?” He raised his eyes at Amy, who shrunk behind her teacup.

  “Maybe, but they deserve it. I studied them all before I went in. If I waited for authority, more kids would be abused. Thought I’d take the risk. I didn’t want to bother you.”

  Pyke shook his head.

  “And what about you, Jack? Anything to tell me about?”

  “Nope.” Jack shook his head, another picture of innocence.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yep, nothing to declare, Your Honour.”

  “Then what about this?” Pyke stepped over to the next screen and swiped across a line of icons. Jack gave Amy an ‘oh fuck,’ bare-teethed grin behind Pyke’s back.

  The three of them watched twelve windows open with newspaper articles and headshots of various Erthfolk, beaten or disfigured.

  “Well, I’ve been teaching a few bullies a lesson. Not enough to bother you with, you know, the odd wife beater, rapist, paedophile, drug dealer, pimp… a little touch of karma here and there.”

  “Don’t forget the Presidents, Priests and MP’s you’ve made contact with …”

  “They’re the worst, abusing their power, becoming giddy on it… working for their own selfish greed. Besides, they’re used to hushing up their embarrassing shit, no one will hear of it.”