With the skipper away at the market, Gibbs busied himself with the grease gun on some of the winches and net reels. A scuffle-like sound to his left made him look up, and he saw that the slim and wiry Jim had cornered Ross up against the main wheelhouse. He sneered and spat as he spoke to the terrified junior crewmember. Gibbs immediately dropped what he was doing and went over to help.
‘You have taken away a proper man’s job, laddie. Some fisherman, with a family and kids, has no money because the skipper has given you this job. You had better forfeit your share of the cash, or I will beat the crap out of you and take the money,’ Jim snarled.
‘Leave him alone, you sad old git,’ Gibbs called out. ‘Why don’t you just get back to work?’
‘Well, if it isn’t the skipper’s blue-eyed boy standing up for the other runt of the litter. Listen, pretty boy, just because you give the boss the occasional blowjob, doesn’t mean you get to order me about,’ Jim said, turning around to pick up a large wrench from a nearby toolbox.
‘Get going, Ross,’ Gibbs said.
‘Yes, Ross, you had better listen to pretty boy here,’ Jim said, turning to Gibbs. He took one step closer to the younger man and tapped him on the chest with the big spanner.
‘I think you’re done picking on Ross. Do you hear me?’ Gibbs said, grabbing the front of Jim’s overalls.
Jim pushed the spanner harder into Gibbs’s sternum. ‘What did you say to me, boy?’
‘JIM… Get away from him!’ came a voice from the quayside. The skipper walked along the gangway and got down onto the deck. ‘If I have to warn you once more about picking on Gibbs and Ross, I’ll throw you off this crew. Is that clear?’
Jim nodded. ‘To be continued, pretty boy.’
‘Bring it on.
Chapter 7
Aberdeen, Scotland, UK—2005
A slight drizzle drifted through the streets of Aberdeen as a small group of drunken men traipsed into the well-known whiskey bar called The Grill. Tradition dictated that they bade farewell to a good season at sea by drinking a glass of single malt in the historic old establishment that had been trading since 1870.
Gibbs stood in the doorway, taking in the history of the place. The dark wood bar stretched for almost the entire length of the bar and behind it, guarded in small cabinets, were some of Scotland’s finest whiskeys.
Their noisy group found a small table at the back to huddle around. ‘Come on, Gibbs, it’s your round,’ someone shouted.
Gibbs staggered up to the bar and stood swaying, looking at the wall of whiskey. A grey-haired barman walked over to him. ‘What’ll it be, laddie?’
‘Twelve single Obans, please,’ he slurred.
‘Sure, along with some ID please.’
’You are joking, right? I am eighteen.’
‘Sure you are. Run along now and come back with proof of your age.’
Gibbs walked back to the table and stood swaying. ‘The old man has bloody lost it. He wants proof of age and won't serve me.’
The men all roared with laughter.
‘We all know you’re only sixteen, Gibbs,’ one of the men shouted.
The skipper put his arm around Gibbs’s shoulders. ‘Don’t worry about it, laddie, you do the work of a fully-grown man,’ he said, turning to the others. ‘Someone get the money off Gibbs and get us all a drink.’
They all burst out laughing again, all except for Jim Gray, who sat cross-armed at the periphery of the group. Gibbs tauntingly smiled at him. Although deep down inside he knew it was a mistake to antagonise Jim, he felt bulletproof.
‘So, the truth is out, Gibbs. You took a man’s place on the ship illegally, and out there a proper fisherman’s family are probably starving. You’d better not come back next season, pretty boy,’ Jim slurred, slamming his hand down on the table.
‘Okay, Jim, leave it alone,’ said the skipper. ‘I make the decisions on whom to employ on my ship, not you. Bite your tongue, or you will not be back next season.’
Gibbs stood up, stared at the grumpy fisherman. ‘Jim, belt up, or I will be forced to shut you up.’
The men roared with laughter at the outburst. Everyone looked across at Jim, waiting for his reaction.
‘You’re so very brave with the skipper around, laddie. I heard you whispering to your boyfriend, Ross, over there, that your father used to beat you around a bit. That doesn’t surprise me. You’re such a waste of skin, that if I were your father, I would also have beaten you and put you out with the dogs each night.’
Gibbs grabbed a pitcher of water and threw it in Jim’s direction. The surprised fisherman raised his hands to ward off the glass and sent it crashing to the wooden floor. He looked up at Gibbs, eyes filled with years of hatred, then lunged across the table, sending dirty pint glasses flying all over the seated men. Gibbs felt the wind driven from his lungs as he was tackled into the wall and he tried to bring his knees up into Jim’s midriff, but the man had him pinned there.
The crew jumped up to pull the two fighting men apart, and with Jim being restrained, Gibbs head-butted him. The crunching sound was heard across the pub as Jim’s nose broke, and he let out a loud moan of pain.
One of the younger, muscular barmen jumped over the bar counter and pushed his way in between the men. 'Right, that’s enough. Take this shit outside. The police are being called, so I suggest that you leave now.’
No one wanted to get the police involved, so they bustled and staggered out of the bar to find another place to continue the evening.
The skipper grabbed hold of Jim. ‘I’ve had as much as I am prepared to tolerate of your attitude, Jim. Don’t come back next season. You’re fired.’
‘What about my money?’
‘You’ll get your money for this year, but you’re not welcome here anymore, so head off home.’
Jim stared across at Gibbs. ‘Make sure you watch your back, boy. You are going to pay for this,’ Jim Gray said, wiping more blood from his nose.
‘Go home and sleep it off, you drunk,’ Gibbs said.
The skipper put his hand on Gibbs’s shoulder. ‘Stay out of his way, Gibbs. He can be a nasty piece of work.’
‘I can handle old Jim,’ the younger man replied. ‘I handled my drunken father, who was far meaner.’
They walked down the high street then Gibbs shouted out. ‘I am damn starving and feel like some chicken.’
‘Good idea,’ one of the men agreed, and they staggered across the road, through the hundreds of drunken revellers to a fried chicken shop.
Fifteen minutes later, with his takeaway meal in hand, he made his way to another doorway and sat down to eat. He looked around for the others, but they’d all moved on. Passing out for what seemed like a few minutes, Gibbs woke up again with someone kicking at his shoes.
‘Jim, you old fucker. Give me a hand up,’ he said, slurring and trying to get to his feet.
‘Aye, laddie, we are going to help you up and then teach you a lesson you will never forget.’
Chapter 8
Gibbs tried to sit up, but the blurred curtain of dark and light shapes moving in front of him confused him, and then a soothing voice broke through.
‘You are safe, young man, and on your way to the hospital.’
The garbled light and noise of a wailing siren added to the turmoil as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Fear forced him to try and get up again, but a sharp pain in his chest stopped him.
He coughed and cried out in pain. The distorted sounds of clattering metal and jumbled voices continued for what seemed like an eternity. He was wheeled down the hospital corridor and into the intensive care unit. Hours turned into days.
‘He’s so damn lucky his attackers were scared off because another few minutes of this type of beating and he probably wouldn’t have made it,’ a nurse said.
‘We know his name is Kyle Gibbs and that he’ sixteen, but has he said anything else over the past few days?’ a second nurse asked.
‘No, nothing else. The
police are waiting to interview him, so maybe they will get more out of him,’ the first nurse replied.
I've been unconscious for days. Police? Damn it. Gibbs thought before he drifted off to sleep again.
• • •
‘Kyle, we’d like to catch the three men who assaulted you. We have some details from the taxi driver who interrupted them, but we need your help to complete the full picture of the attack. Can you recall anything about your attackers? Did you recognise any of them?’
A uniformed male and female officer stood at either side of his bed and looked down at him with saddened faces. Gibbs winced with pain as he shook his head slowly.
‘I was too drunk to remember much of it.’
‘You have no recollection of the events from the other night?’ the policewoman asked.
Gibbs just shook his head, an image of one of the men stamping on his arm came to him. Jim would pay for his mistake of leaving him alive.
'Did you know that there was a missing person report filed for you about six months ago?’
‘No, I didn't. Did my dad file the report?’
‘No, he didn’t. The report was filed by a…’ She looked at a sheet of paper. ‘Rhona and Gordon Shepperd, from Edinburgh.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Gibbs said. ‘They’re my aunt and uncle. There’s no need to bother them. I’ll be fine on my own.’
‘I am sure you would be, Kyle, but you’re only sixteen years old, so we had no choice but to notify them. They’re waiting outside to speak to you. I would suggest that you listen to them and consider moving to Edinburgh for a while, at least until you recover,’ the policewoman said.
His uncle and aunt walked into the hospital room, with the latter immediately bursting into tears. She rushed over to him and gave him a big hug. Gibbs felt the sting of the tears welling up in his eyes and choked them back.
‘I am so glad you are safe and finally out of that vicious household,’ his aunt said, wiping away tears from her cheeks. ‘But you should have come and stayed with us, Kyle.’
• • •
Two weeks later Gibbs was sitting in the kitchen, having breakfast with his aunt and uncle, when their phone rang. His uncle took the call in the next room, before coming back, a big smile on his face.
‘That was your case officer. Apparently, an anonymous tip was received pointing them in the direction of a man called Jim Gray. When they investigated him, it turned out that he had been stabbed in some drug deal that went wrong. He died in hospital,’ Gordon said.
‘Is that the case closed, then?’ Rhona asked.
‘They’ll leave it open, but have no other leads,’ Gordon said.
‘Well that is great news, isn’t it, Kyle?’ she said.
Gibbs nodded and carried on eating. He felt the dark anger building up in him again. Revenge should have been his. Jim had gotten off lightly.
Later that afternoon as Gibbs, his uncle and aunt and their children walked around the city that was in the midst of the Fringe Festival. They talked about all the comedy acts they had just seen that day. Gibbs stopped to look at a poster of the Edinburgh Military Tattoo—an event which was being staged at the Edinburgh Castle. The thought of being in the military intrigued him, and his interest had not gone unnoticed.
‘Would you like to go and see the Tattoo?’ his uncle asked. ‘It’s a great show of military pageantry, and they usually have some great items on the itinerary.’
One of Gibbs’s younger cousins rolled her eyes and sniggered. ‘It’s boring, stupid, and for old folks.’
He smiled, but something in the poster drew him in. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was. ‘Okay then, it sounds like fun. Could we still get tickets?’
‘I have a good friend at the nearby army base, so I’m sure that he’ll have a few to spare,’ Gordon replied.
A few hours later, they were seated in the metal grandstands listening to the haunting sounds of the two hundred strong pipe bands, marching around the arena. The pageantry and precision of the marching bands from the various armed forces around the world, accompanied by the haunting songs from distant battlefields, made Gibbs remember the nights he sat in his locked bedroom, reading about British heroes who travelled all over the world, to fight for their country.
A procession of military jeeps and trucks did a show featuring motorbikes leaping from ramps over the brown painted vehicles. ‘Do they use all these vehicles in combat?’
‘Every army has armoured divisions and engineering corps of some description.’
‘So, could I become a mechanic or engineer in the army?’
‘You can indeed.’
Gibbs stared after them as they slowly left the show arena.
‘This is my favourite bit of the show,’ Gordon said.
A strong beam of light illuminated a lone piper who played the last song for the evening from the walls of the Edinburgh Castle. It dawned on Gibbs that his next move might be to become a soldier.
After the show, as they walked out amongst the throngs of excited people, Gibbs turned to his uncle. ‘You served in the forces didn’t you, Gordon?’
‘I did indeed, lad. I was a transport pilot in the Air Force,’ he replied. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I was wondering whether it might be a good idea for me to speak to someone about joining up,’ Gibbs replied.
‘I can call my friend who got us the tickets. He’d be more than happy to chat with you about it. If you are serious, then I think you should look into it,’ Gordon said. ‘It can be a great life. You protect your country, travel to far-off places and will be a part of a close family.’
A close family thought Gibbs. He liked that idea.
The End
Chapter 1
Carshalton Estate, Surrey, England, UK - 2013
Death, sweat and fear drifted on the stale air.
The short, round figure of Lord Francis Butler gagged a second time as he walked down the old sandstone spiral stairs, the stench of it all causing his body to convulse. Dizziness forced him to stop and grab onto the rope balustrade with one hand, the other hand pushing up against the opposite curved wall. Passing seven locked doors that lined the dimly lit stone corridor that ran below Carshalton House, he stopped at the last room. Shifting his stance slightly, he felt himself getting aroused at the thought of what awaited. Pulling at his white long shirt sleeves and readjusting his waistcoat, he walked into the open doorway and stood looking at the figure in the centre of the room.
Bound to a small wooden bench and positioned beneath a single hanging light bulb was the naked Monhinder Singh. The Indian billionaire's cheeks were stained with tears and blood from his swollen eyes. He trembled violently from cold fear and looked up at Lord Butler with begging eyes, mumbling something through the mouth gag.
‘Would you remove his gag, please?’ Lord Butler said to the well-muscled figure of Alex Brun, who stood beside the billionaire. He leant across the trembling man and yanked the dirty rag from his mouth.
Monhinder Singh gasped at the fresh air eagerly before focusing on Lord Butler. ‘Francis, what the bloody hell is going on here? What have I done to deserve this barbaric treatment?’
Alex punched the battered man in the face again, sending a spray of blood and sweat across the concrete floor. The captive man groaned and swayed to the side, his long black hair falling across his face.
‘Thank you, Alex, that will be enough,’ Lord Butler said, pulling a wooden chair closer. ‘I think it is time that Monhinder and I have a little chat about his current predicament. Get him a blanket, please. He looks decidedly frozen.’
‘Thank you,’ Monhinder said.
‘You’ve disappointed me, Monhinder, and because of that, you don’t get to address me by my first name anymore. Is that clear? Friends and those whom I trust may call me Francis, and at the moment, you are neither.’
Monhinder Singh leaned forward against his restraints and simply shook his bowed head. Alex grabbed a handful of long black hair an
d snapped the man’s head back, causing him to whimper in terror.
‘We’ve explained the generous offer on the table time and time again, and yet you refuse to cooperate with us. Every billionaire at the lavish party above our heads has already signed up to be part of this organisation. I, myself have invested everything in this new venture.’
The man stared at Lord Butler. ‘Why would I join your deluded organisation that is high on the lust for world domination. A group which mistreats its partners like I’m being treated? You just demonstrated to me that if I ever disagreed with you in the future, I would simply be tortured again. You’re bloody psychotic.’
‘Monhinder, dear fellow, you need to be more open-minded about the world we’re building. We’re a crucial organisation for the future of the planet and will do a lot of good in the world. We want you to be a part of that too.’
‘Ha! What a load of rubbish,’ Monhinder mumbled, a trickle of blood dripping off his chin.
Lord Butler shifted in his seat. ‘By pooling all of our wealth and assets, we’ll be able to control and influence government policy around the world, thereby ensuring that no one country ever gains monopoly over the planet’s dwindling resources.’
‘That’s a load of bullshit,’ Monhinder said. ‘Do you think I am bloody naive? None of you gives a shit about the planet or its resources. It’s about you and the rest of the power-mad vultures upstairs wanting to control the world like spoilt little bullies trying to control a playground. I will have no part in it. There is nothing you can say that will change my mind.’
Lord Butler felt the darkness rising within him. He swallowed hard to stem its rise, there was diplomatic work to be done. The man in front of him dared to question the motives of the Billionaires Club which he’d started two years before. His smile skewed into a sneer as he struggles to control the dark lust. The black shroud always took charge of his psyche when he cowered away from making tough choices. The small pine chair creaked as Lord Butler sat back. He ground his teeth in anger then nodded across to Alex, who laid into the man with a flurry of fists. Loud screams echoed around the cold dark walls of the room. Lord Butler realised that he had an erection.
Gibbs- the Early Years Page 4