by Shaun Baines
Hannah snatched the talisman out of his hand. "This is mine, you idiot."
Daniel straightened. "What?"
"I lost it at the warehouse. I went back to look for the others, but they'd moved on."
"Bullshit," Daniel said, trying to hide the uncertainty in his voice. "Sophia was wearing it when I met her."
Hannah closed her hand around the silver bear, her red knuckles whitening. "Sophia gave it to me. It's a payment. Do you think you're the only one looking for these kids? That's why I'm here."
Daniel kicked a broken table, buckling its metal leg into the shape of a question mark. "I thought you were protecting her," he said. "I thought you might be scared of her, but you were protecting yourself. You didn't want me to know you'd been hired to do the same job."
Hannah rolled her eyes. "Hired? You think I work for silver charm bracelets?"
"So what was going on back at the office?"
"I thought we could work together," Hannah said.
"You're just a kid yourself."
Hannah pulled herself up to her full height, her head barely level with Daniel's chest. "Age is just a number," she said. "Sophia is going to get these kids killed. They're not street rats like me. She's teaching them to be lambs and we all know what happens to lambs, don't we?"
They're led to the slaughter, Daniel thought. He paced the floor, stepping over the ruins of Sophia's holding pen. Hannah had a point and who better to look for the missing teenagers than a headstrong girl who had been missing herself?
"You're a mercenary," he said.
"No more than you," she said.
Taking Rachel by the hand, she strolled to the door marked X.
"I know who these guys are," she said. "I know where they've been. What have you got?"
Hannah left him with his mouth open amid the destruction of the scout hut. It was the second time Daniel had caused its ruin.
And he wasn't finished yet.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Bronson sat on top of the bucking bronco at the Bull and Cart pub. No-one had bothered to clear it away and it lay on its side, broken and useless, but Bronson kept an eye on the On switch just in case.
Bikers milled around the tables, supping from cans of beer and ignoring him. That was fine. He wasn't there to socialise.
Simon stood behind the bar, using a knife to scrape something sticky off the counter. "Do you care for a drink?" he shouted.
"What have you got?" Bronson asked, leaving the inert bull where he'd found it.
Simon inspected the coagulant on the end of his knife. "I want to say blood, but I fear it's something worse."
"I meant, behind the bar."
"We're due another delivery," Simon said, kicking an empty box. "All we have left is out-of-date beer or really out-of-date beer."
Bronson held up a hand. "I'll pass, thanks. When is the Sheriff going to show her face? Daniel wants to speak to her."
A groaning came from behind the toilet door and Simon's face twisted. "Too much red meat," he said. "I keep telling her, but she won't listen."
Bronson dropped onto a stool. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
Another groan came from the toilet and Bronson shuddered. "I know this is a little left field, but do you ever feel like the Sheriff is keeping something from you?"
Simon waved the dirty knife, a flash of anger crossing his face.
"Cool your jets, man," Bronson asked. "This isn't about you."
The knife quivered in Simon's grasp, but his face relaxed. "My wife tells me everything. Even if she didn't, I can read her mind. We're that close."
Bronson didn't doubt it. As odd as they appeared as a couple, Simon and the Sheriff were two halves of the same book. Their love seemed obvious.
Bronson thought of Sophia and his brief hope of a spark igniting between them. It still could, but circumstances were rapidly forcing them apart. And his mind went to Liz as it often did, although the recollection of stealing the memory stick for her sullied it greatly.
Bronson was jealous of Simon's marriage. He had nothing in his life to resemble it.
"Are you and Daniel having problems communicating?" Simon asked.
"He's keeping something from me," Bronson said, wishing he'd accepted an out-of-date beer.
Simon took up a bar rag and polished a dirty glass. "Like what?"
"Something big," Bronson said. "Something he doesn't want me to know."
The door to the pub opened and Bronson expected to see Daniel's huge form drowning out the light, but Viper stood there instead, his muscled arms around a polystyrene box.
The remaining bikers rushed out of the pub.
"What's put a fire up them?" Bronson asked.
Simon smiled. "I told you, we're waiting for a delivery. It's the only thing that gets them out of the bar. Apart from an actual fire, I mean."
Viper dropped the box at Simon's feet.
"What are you doing?" Simon asked. "The label says 'Meat.' Put it in the freezer and go and get a box marked 'Beer.'"
"You still owe us money," Viper said to a smirking Bronson.
"Are you going to start a fight over garlic bread?" Bronson asked.
Simon reached under the bar and produced a Tupperware box, pushing it toward Viper. "I made you some peanut brittle. I know it's your favourite."
Viper hesitated, but then snatched at the food, shoving it down the back of his leather trousers. He gave Bronson another hard stare and left for the door.
"That was nice of you," Bronson said, his eyes trained on the back of Viper's head.
"The Sheriff has never liked him. I don't know why."
Bronson sat up in his seat. "She does hide things from you, then?"
Simon blushed. "She'll tell me when she's ready," he said, pouting, "and the same goes for Daniel."
"What are you two gossiping about?"
Bronson stumbled to his feet as Daniel loomed over him. He had forgotten how quietly the giant could move.
"We were waiting for you," he said, straightening his tie. "What’s this all about?"
"I need to see the Sheriff," Daniel said.
As he spoke, they were greeted with the sound of a toilet flush and the Sheriff exited the toilet.
Simon blinked his eyes repeatedly. "Can you close that door?"
"That smell is strong enough to take out my fillings," Bronson said, wafting the air.
The Sheriff slammed the door shut and marched up to Daniel, who remained unfazed. "You find my son yet?" she asked.
Daniel chewed on a fingertip "No and they tried to abduct more."
"I don't care about that," the Sheriff said. "I care about my son."
"Then you're going to have to do what I say. We know these kids are ferried from place to place and you guys know more about transporting wonky goods than anyone else."
"What do you want?" Simon asked.
"I need you out on the streets," Daniel said. "Watching the motorways and the service stations. Anywhere you get truckers."
Bronson cleared his throat. "I don't know about this, mate. We don't have much to go on. Seems like a shot in the dark."
"I've already done this," the Sheriff said. "I looked and looked. The Motorheads are ghosts."
A fat biker with a thin waistcoat huffed toward them, a Styrofoam box swinging in his hands. "Where do you want this?" he said through his laboured gasps.
As the fat biker wiped his brow on his shoulder, Daniel's eyes were on the box.
"What's in there?" he asked.
"Why is everyone so interested in my deliveries?" Simon asked. "It's beer. We get it every week."
Daniel's eyes narrowed. "Where from?"
"Off a guy."
"A dodgy guy?" Daniel asked.
Simon leaned on the bar, careful not to put his elbows near the undefined stain. "Is there any other kind?"
Daniel tore the lid off the box and rifled through vodka bottles called Smirkoff and gin called Buffeaters. "Where's t
he paperwork?"
"I told you," Simon said. "It's dodgy."
Bronson was suddenly attentive again. "What's going on?"
"At Sophia's place, they'd had a dodgy delivery. In Styrofoam boxes."
"There were some at the warehouse, too," Bronson added. "The one next to the skate park."
Daniel paced the floor, stopping to stare into the face of the sleeping bull. "That's how they do it."
"Do what?" Bronson asked.
"They're the strangers no-one suspects. They come to your house, to your place of business. I mean, can you describe the last pizza delivery guy you opened the door to?"
Viper staggered through the door and Bronson caught his eye. "Kind of ugly, I think."
"The Motorheads aren't truckers or bikers, but they're always on the road," Daniel said and looked to the Sheriff. "Who delivers the beer? What's his name?"
"I don't know," she said. "That idiot over there. He deals with it."
Daniel and Bronson followed her pointing finger to Viper. He froze to the spot and the box in his arms slipped. He grabbed it quickly, shoring it up. By the time Viper had it secured, Daniel was inches from his face.
"Are you involved in this?" Daniel asked, not waiting for an answer. He sucked in a breath and held it, his laser eyes scouring for lies. Sweat. Right cheek twitch. Pale lips. Expanding pupils.
Viper tumbled backward, as if he'd been held in Daniel's grip, not his gaze. The box slipped from his arms. Bottles smashed and an alcoholic perfume rose like a cloud.
Swiping the booze soaked box aside with his foot, Daniel pressed in close to Viper.
"The guy who delivers these boxes," Daniel whispered, "what's his name?"
"I don't have to tell – "
Daniel's hand shot out, grabbing the snake tattoo on Viper's neck. He twisted, yanking it skywards.
"He's called Choo. That's all I know," Viper said.
"How do you organise the drop-offs?"
Viper danced on his tip-toes. "He has a round. He makes a delivery. I put an order in for the following week."
Daniel released him with a hiss.
Viper rubbed at his neck, but Daniel saw the snake was an angry red. "No contact number? No address?"
"He turned up one day and that was that." Viper rubbed furiously on his tattoo. "I could go to another club, you know? There's plenty of bikers who'd have me."
"I want you where I can see you," the Sheriff said, appearing at Daniel's side.
Bronson and Simon followed, presenting a united front.
Viper scanned their faces and his eyes dropped to the floor. "I'm sorry, okay?"
"What does Choo look like?" Daniel asked.
"I don't know," Viper said. "Some kind of Asian. Can I go now?"
The Sheriff nodded. "But not too far."
Stepping outside, Viper kept his hand at his neck and disappeared into the sunlight.
Bronson rubbed his twitching cheek. "If you're right about the delivery guy, I bet you a ham and mushroom pizza it's the same one we saw in Byker. They could have eyeballs on every teenager in Newcastle."
Daniel launched the smashed box at the mechanical bull. "We almost had the little sod."
"He'll be back in a week," Simon said, his jaw muscle flexing. "I say, we jump him then."
"Unless his little friend tips him off," Daniel said.
"Your silly gift of lie detecting," the Sheriff said, folding her arms, the leather of her jacket creaking. "Is Viper involved or not?"
Daniel replayed Viper's reactions in his mind. There was no way the biker was involved, but Daniel had read something. Whether it was linked to the kidnappings or a separate betrayal was up for debate.
"Keep an eye on him," Daniel said. "No need to risk him being off the leash."
"I know where he'll be," the Sheriff said. "When are you going to find my son?"
A shadow passed over Daniel's face and Bronson knew their time at the bar was up. With a wink to Simon, he moved to Daniel's side.
"We'll do our best," he said.
Daniel tapped his foot in the alcoholic puddle. "And remember, watch the roads."
The sun was watery by the time it had filtered through the motorway fugue. Daniel cut through it like a shark's fin, his grey face gliding through the murk as he searched out his van.
Bronson followed in his wake. They had both met people like Choo. They were brutal and calculating, able to turn their morals off and on like a switch. People like him showed one face to the public, but kept their true selves hidden away.
And yet Daniel had told Bronson how Choo had mouthed the word 'sorry' before escaping in his van empty handed that night. Something wasn't adding up and waiting for a week until Choo returned to the Cart and Bull was a week too long.
Even an idiot could see that.
"A week is too long to wait," Daniel said, pitching himself behind the driving wheel. "Who knows what they'll do in the meantime."
"So what are we going to do?" Bronson asked.
Daniel ran his finger around the face of the speedometer. "We're going to stop them taking any more kids."
Chapter Thirty-Three
On the circular table between them was a metronome. Its pointer clicked back and forth, keeping rhythm with their conversation. The consulting room was swathed in pastel colours, designed to dampen the anxieties of his clients. It was situated upstairs with a window affording a treetop view of the North Sea.
"What else do you remember?" Jordan asked, crossing and uncrossing his legs.
Liz sat in the chair opposite. Her handbag was on the floor. Not too close to draw suspicion. Not too far as to be out of reach. Her eyes followed the wallpaper's swirling pattern, ignoring the rigid beat of the metronome.
"Her bloody dog lunged at me," she answered.
"How did that make you feel?" Jordan asked.
"I was very angry and shocked," Liz said.
The dog's reaction and Eisha's resultant smirk was to be expected, Liz thought. She had been no more than a fleeting presence in her granddaughter's life. Liz was preoccupied with Liz. Everybody knew it, including herself. It hadn't been a problem before, but if Daniel read what was in the files, he would make it one.
"Turbulent emotions can trigger our desire for alcohol." Jordan gingerly stroked his bruised face. It was a tattoo left behind after Daniel's visit. "Have you experienced any cravings?"
Jesus, all the time and it didn't take a petulant child to trigger them. Leaving the house. Coming back to the house. TV. Radio. Music. Sunshine. Oh, how she loved to sit in the conservatory with an ice cold Chardonnay, her fingertips wet with the condensation gathering on the outside of the glass.
Liz licked her lips. "They come and go," she said. "Nothing serious."
"It's important we regulate their strength and frequency."
The ticking of the metronome matched the throbbing of her head.
"I do. Trust me."
Jordan nodded and placed a finger on his chin. "We talked about your family being there as a support network. Given what you've told me, how is that going?"
Liz twiddled with her earring studs. They were fake; cut glass crystal passing for diamonds. In the past, they would have been the real thing. Her eyes strained to her handbag, as if she had x-ray vision and could see the mistakes of her history.
"My family has changed," she said.
Five Oaks was a house of strangers, of mongrels congregating by the door to be fed. Even when Bear was in full spirits, he was nothing but a hired thug. Now he'd been reduced to a nanny and a cleaner. And then there was that girl. Some random street skank with a scar on her face. Liz couldn't get a word out of her. She reminded Liz of Daniel when he was that age.
"I don't recognise any of them," she said.
Apart from Bronson. He was like the foundations of Five Oaks. Empires were built on loyalty like his. Bronson was attractive in an ugly way. Of all the suitors she'd considered since getting clean, he was the most obvious. It was a shame, really.
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"Should we consider moving on from your family?" Jordan asked, interrupting her thoughts.
The memory stick sat in her handbag like an anchor. Her history was too big to sidestep. It echoed down the years. Although she hadn't looked at the files, Liz knew what lay in wait. Taking the stick from Daniel was the only way to save herself from a reality she didn't want to face.
"What if you had a secret?" Liz asked.
Jordan raised his eyebrows. "This process is about transparency. You've never mentioned having a secret before."
"A secret so big," Liz continued, "it could flatten a city."
"Hyperbole can distort our perception."
"I've carried this mistake with me for years and it wasn't even mine to carry. My ex-husband, a man who held the respect of the whole of Newcastle, he made me – "
Liz stopped. She heard the ticking of the metronome, but cocked her ear toward the door. "What's going on down there?"
Jordan checked a silver watch. "I'm sorry. Our session must have over-run."
He stood from his seat, gesturing for Liz to do the same.
"Do you have company?" she asked, leaning back in the chair.
The tip of Jordan's designer beard quivered.
There was hollering and sharp laughter from downstairs.
"We're doing something new," Jordan said.
Liz cleaned her sharpened fingernails down the front of her blouse. "New?"
"Okay, they can get a little wild," Jordan said, "but it's important for their development."
Liz grabbed her handbag and marched to the door, only to be beaten there by Jordan. He reached around her to open it so Liz was forced to stumble out of his way. The noise washed over them both.
They heard music and the sound of stomping feet.
"It's a group session," Jordan said. "It's good for social interaction."
Liz stood at the top of the stairs peering at the ground level. She watched the entertainment room and the shadows passing under a closed door. "Who are they?"
"Just kids in trouble," Jordan said.
Liz knew all about that. "If you're counselling them, how come you're not in there with them?