Tales of Crow- The Complete series Box Set

by Chris Ward

  ‘You’re no more a poet than you are an artist,’ Tommy said.

  For a cripple, Kurou moved faster than Tommy could have imagined. He found himself with two claw-like hands caressing his face, iron strength in the wiry arms holding him tight.

  ‘An artiste is always looking for a fresh palatte, sire,’ Kurou said, stroking the side of Tommy’s face. ‘Are you volunteering to assist my search for perfection?’

  ‘Get off me.’

  With a birdlike titter, Kurou released him, moving back behind the desk with a stumbling dancer’s twirl. He poked a finger at the newspaper. ‘Enough games. To the matter in hand. I would very much like to see this man’s head on a plate, or at least in some sort of solution from where it can watch but not see.’

  ‘Well, good luck to you.’

  ‘My army is small, sire. Yours, with your influence, could be great.’

  Tommy shook his head. ‘I’m not interested in being some sort of revolutionary fuckwit,’ he said. ‘Politics is an idiot’s game.’

  ‘As, one might say, is crime.’

  ‘But crime pays better.’

  ‘Does it now? Are you entering the current lottery, sire? The one that saw your offices destroyed?’

  Tommy scowled. ‘It’s a minor setback.’

  ‘One that, I presume, will not derail you from your continued supply of fresh, supple, raw materials?’

  Tommy grinned. ‘As long as they come in suits and wearing a badge, you can have all the ones you want. However, I believed this was a two-way deal. I think I’m due another favour by now.’

  Kurou nodded. ‘Your wish is my command, sire. After all, the most succulent fruits come from the cross-pollination of two vibrant trees.’

  ‘Good. There are plenty of ways I can make use of those monsters of yours.’

  Kurou tilted his head like a bird, peering up at Tommy out of his single working eye almost from underneath. Tommy felt a stirring urge to punch him, to smash his face into the tabletop until there was nothing left, then burn down what had become a laboratory of monstrosities and walk away while he still could.

  ‘For someone not interested in revolution, you seem rather inclined to set the wheels in motion for a little underground railroad.’

  ‘Damn you, idiot, talk English. I’m only interested in protecting my assets. The government is stripping everything. You could have the DCA at the door at any time, demanding you sign over Carmichael Industries to public services. The reason I went into civil law was so I could stay under the radar longer.’

  ‘Like a low-flying bird. Such easy prey for the keen-eyed hawk.’

  Tommy was tiring of a form of conversation that felt like two steps back for each one forward. He grabbed his coat off the back of a chair. ‘I need to get back to the town, see what’s going down. I’ll be in touch soon. In the meantime, I’d suggest you keep your head down.’

  Kurou grinned. ‘There are few closer to the ground than me, sire.’

  Tommy headed out. As always, when he closed the door of Carmichael’s behind him, he felt an uncanny sense of relief. Sometimes he wondered if being in league with Urla Wynne and her cronies might not be safer than forming an alliance with the mysterious Doctor Kurou.

  He grinned as he reached the car, opened the front door and climbed inside. Urla Wynne would certainly ease the strain on his eyes. She might not be an oil painting, but she certainly wasn’t the crushed pumpkin he always thought of while in the presence of Kurou.

  As he started the engine, he wondered idly why he hadn’t locked the door.

  Then something flickered in his vision before going tight around his neck and making him gag, hauling him back against the headrest.

  ‘You fucking traitor,’ a voice said as what Tommy thought was a rolled towel went tighter, cutting out his breath. ‘I trusted you, but you’re in league with whoever took Race. Did you see what they did to him? Did you have anything to do with it? I should kill you, Uncle. I thought we were family.’

  ‘Patrick….’ Tommy gasped, recognising the voice. His fingers clawed at the towel, trying to slip underneath. He knew if he could get a decent grip he could haul the boy off.

  ‘I’d expect it of my mother, but I thought you had loyalty,’ Patrick said, jerking the towel, making Tommy’s cheeks feel swollen with blood. ‘I’m fucking ashamed of you.’

  ‘Let go….’

  Tommy remembered the can of mace he kept in a side pocket, just in case of such events. Funny, how he was so prepared for any eventuality, but when one came, he felt helpless, his fingers stretching, just inches away.

  The towel relaxed. Tommy gasped, rubbing at his neck.

  ‘You’re a bastard,’ Patrick said from the backseat. Tommy glanced in the mirror and saw tears in Patrick’s eyes.

  The fucking wimp. No better than his brother.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ Patrick said. ‘Drive.’

  Tommy didn’t bother to question the boy. There would be time to settle that later. He slipped the car into drive and the electric motor hummed gently as he pulled out of the car park.

  It was some moments before he could speak again.

  ‘I’m surprised to see you,’ he croaked. ‘You’re supposed to be in the safe house.’

  ‘We got attacked,’ Patrick said. ‘The DCA showed up. I don’t know what happened to Moose, but I heard gunshots.’

  Tommy scowled. ‘They must have got a tip-off. Where did you go?’

  ‘We stole one of Moose’s cars, but the battery died outside of Glastonbury. We walked to Suzanne’s mother’s place, but her mother and stepdad had been taken by the DCA. Her sister Kelly was hurt. They’re holed up somewhere safe for now, but I need to get some medication for Kelly. That was where I was going when I saw that … thing. I followed it back to Carmichael’s. Goddamn it, Uncle, what are you doing?’

  ‘There’s a lot going on you don’t know about.’

  ‘I thought we were family.’

  ‘We are. I got you out, didn’t I?’ Tommy was tiring of Patrick’s petulant sense of entitlement. ‘Look, I know a place we can talk.’

  ‘You’d better have some decent answers,’ Patrick said, slumping back in the backseat, staring angrily out of the window.

  Tommy glanced at him in the rear mirror. He was just a kid growing up in an increasingly harsh world, but even so, he needed to learn a little respect.

  26

  Suzanne

  Patrick had been gone all night. Suzanne stood by the door, looking through the trees in the direction of the road, wondering if he might show up at any moment. Had he made it to the hospital or not? What if the DCA had caught him?

  She couldn’t bear the thought of him stuck back in a cell, but as she glanced back at the closed bedroom door, she knew she couldn’t wait forever.

  Kelly’s wound had got worse. The flesh was still inflamed, and she now had a high fever. Suzanne knew enough about skin injuries to know it was infected, something that with a healthy dose of antibiotics could easily be fixed.

  There hadn’t been much activity around the reservoir. A couple of vehicles had appeared, parked up at buildings farther into the trees, and disgorged people with fishing rods. The idea of appealing to the humanity of a complete stranger was foolhardy. Perhaps once, before the DCA’s presence grew so wide, before she had ended up in a prison and then with a noose around her neck. There might now be a price on her head; it was too great a risk.

  She tended to Kelly, who had fallen into a feverish half-sleep. Whenever she looked coherent, Suzanne spooned warm tinned soup into her mouth. While she lay moaning, Suzanne talked to her softly while wiping her brow. When Kelly looked asleep, Suzanne combed the cabin in search of any kind of secret medicine stash.

  Evening came. Patrick didn’t return.

  On the second morning, there were fewer cars than before. She realised it was Monday, and that most people were back at work. There was just a solitary four-wheel-drive parked at a cabin a couple of hundred yard
s from her own.

  Suzanne knew what she had to do. Patrick still wasn’t back, and this morning Kelly had barely woken at all. She washed and got dressed, then packed her things into a bag, leaving it by the front door.

  The other cabin had a single light on. Suzanne crept through the trees, keeping out of open view where she could. Circling around behind the vehicle, she crept up to the side and peered in through the window. No sign of keys, as she had thought.

  She crept back to her own cabin, taking a seat from where she could watch the other, waiting for the occupant to appear. The only people she had seen up here had spent most of their time outside, fishing or walking around the lake. She fed Kelly as best she could at lunchtime to give her some more soup, then resumed her vigil. Still no sign of the other cabin’s occupant, nor of a returning Patrick.

  Evening was approaching when Suzanne decided she had no choice but to confront the occupant directly. She checked Kelly was sleeping, then crept out, cutting through the trees again. The single light was on, the curtains closed. Suzanne did a circle of the cabin, looking for some way to see inside, but in the end she had no choice but to go up to the door and knock.

  As she lifted one hand, with the other she touched the penknife she had taken from a kitchen drawer and tucked into the back pocket of her jeans.

  ‘Hello?’ she called as she knocked. No one answered. Suzanne had a sudden terrible thought that someone had come here to kill themselves, immediately countered by the guilt she felt at the hope such an idea gave her. Then, footsteps from inside creaked on floorboards as someone approached.

  She prayed it was a woman. A woman might understand.

  ‘Yes?’ came a gruff man’s voice.

  ‘Um, hello, I was wondering if you could help me.’

  The door opened a crack, and a heavyset man in his mid-forties looked out. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I, ah, I’m new around here. I have nowhere to stay. I wondered if I could buy some food from you? I have money.’

  The door opened wider. Suzanne got a glimpse of boxes on the floor of the inside of the cabin before the man’s bulk blocked it. His jaw was hard, his body thick beneath a brown jacket. One hand carried a metal club.

  ‘I don’t need money.’

  Suzanne gulped. She had expected as much. She had brushed her hair before coming out, undone the top button on her blouse.

  ‘I have more than money.’

  The man looked her up and down. ‘I can see that. You from one of the cities? A runaway?’

  ‘I’m just passing through,’ Suzanne said, and the man nodded, taking from her words whatever meaning he chose.

  ‘Come inside,’ he said.

  Suzanne stepped into the room. The man stepped behind her, one hand patting her hard on the bottom. She reached for the knife, but too late, the man had already found it, plucking it from her pocket in one quick motion.

  He held it up between his fingers, then looked at her and grinned. ‘Planning to use this, were you?’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun, pointing it at Suzanne’s face. ‘Come on, girl, I wasn’t born yesterday. Few people were.’

  ‘Please, don’t.’

  The man lowered the gun to Suzanne’s stomach. ‘I’d hate to ruin such a lovely face.’ For a few seconds he just stared at her, as though deciding what to do. ‘You’re moving through, are you?’ he said. ‘I’m a reasonable man. I’ll throw you a bag of food if you pay me what I want.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  He nodded at a door next to a small open plan kitchen. ‘Through there.’

  Suzanne nodded. She reached out for the man’s hand. ‘Let’s go.’

  The man kept the gun close to him on a bedside table while he fucked her. Suzanne never had a chance to snatch for it, the man clearly more worldly than she had hoped. Instead, she could only do what she hoped would tire him out enough to make him sleep, giving her a chance to get away.

  When he was finally done, though, he rolled off her and reached for his clothes. Suzanne wiped her mouth and swallowed down her revulsion, instead concentrating on the scars that crisscrossed his chest, wondering where each had come from. The man, seemingly satisfied, tossed her clothes across to her.

  ‘Want to wash, there’s a lake down there. Be dark in half an hour so you’d better hurry up.’

  ‘What are you going to do with me?’

  The man shrugged. ‘Nothing. I told you I’m a reasonable man. I’ll grab you a couple of things from the stock. Although, you can stick around if you like.’ He winked, grinned at her and licked his lips. ‘I could handle a bit more of that.’

  Suzanne tried to suppress a shudder, remembering how she had fared far worse at the brutal hands of the DCA. If she could somehow get the car, it would be worth it.

  She followed the man out into the kitchen-diner. He had put the gun back into his pocket and had opened a box, pulling out a couple of dented cans of beans. He tossed them into a bag and handed them to her.

  ‘Worth a fortune on the black market,’ he said. ‘I could buy a couple of girls like you in some of the cities for just one of these.’

  Suzanne tried to feign interest, but as she glanced up at the door, she caught sight of a set of keys hanging on a hook. The man’s huge bulk blocked her way. He had taken her penknife and had a gun. Suzanne was unarmed.

  ‘That not enough for you?’ The man grinned. ‘If you suck my dick again I’ll throw in a slice of bread.’

  Suzanne looked up into the man’s mocking eyes. She wondered how many other girls like her he had taken advantage of, and even though until now she had felt nothing for him other than revulsion, suddenly she felt a bloom of hate.

  ‘You’re a bastard,’ she said.

  ‘Look, girl, you came knocking. I was minding my own business.’

  ‘I have to go,’ she said, taking the beans and pushing past him, wondering if she could snatch the keys on the way out. He would catch her, though. He would surely catch her.

  ‘Hey, why so fast?’

  He reached out, grabbing her arm, pulling her back. Suzanne didn’t think as she swung round, lifting the bag containing the two hard cans and smashing it into his face.

  The man groaned, staggering backward. Suzanne swung a kick into his groin, then as he doubled over she swung the bag down over his head, one can finding its mark with a loud clump.

  As the man hit the floor, Suzanne grabbed the keys off the hook and ran for the doorway, kicking it open and barging outside.

  It took a few desperate seconds to find the right key. Naively she searched for a lock hole in the door before realising the vehicle’s locking system was auto-operated. As the doors unlocked with a click and a flash of the indicators, a crash came from inside the cabin.

  She had never driven before, but she had watched Patrick in the electric car long enough to get the general idea. Still, she stuck the vehicle into reverse first, slamming back into a tree before figuring out which control made it go forward. Hacking around in a circle that involved hitting another tree with the front bumper, she finally got it going straight and drove along a track, pulling up outside her cabin.

  Leaving the engine running, she dashed inside. Kelly was still in the bed where Suzanne had left her, and groaned as Suzanne slapped her awake.

  ‘We have to go,’ Suzanne said, dragging her sister out of the bed. Kelly was barely more than a dead weight as Suzanne carried her outside, pulled open the vehicle’s passenger door and shoved Kelly roughly into the front passenger seat.

  Behind her, the door to the man’s cabin opened and he staggered out. Suzanne stared as he stumbled after them, shouting obscenities, one hand on his groin, the other on his head.

  Her bag with the food and medical supplies she had assembled was inside the door. Suzanne judged the distance the man had to come, then ran for it, suffering one agonising moment as the strap got caught on a nail by the door.

  The man was barely ten steps from the vehicle when Suzanne threw the
bag inside and slammed the door. She clicked the locks down as the man banged on the rear windscreen, screaming, ‘You fucking cunt! I’ll cut your throat!’

  ‘Patrick, I’m so sorry,’ Suzanne whispered, as she slammed her foot on the accelerator and sped away.

  27

  Patrick

  The door opened, bathing Patrick in a triangle of light. He tried to roll away, but his hands were still tied behind his back, his legs tied together behind the knees and ankles.

  ‘Let me out, you bastard,’ he groaned, talking around the swelling in the side of his jaw where he had taken one of Tommy’s punches.

  From where he stood in the doorway, his uncle looked down at him. ‘Still not learned any respect, have you? I always told my sister you were a brat.’

  Tommy came inside, reached down and cut through Patrick’s bonds. He pushed Patrick away and stood up. Patrick lay still for a few seconds, willing blood back into his numb muscles. His stomach ached with hunger, his bowels with a need to empty themselves, and his face from the flurry of punches he had taken from Tommy when he stepped out of the car by a roadside.

  ‘How long have you kept me here?’

  ‘Not long enough by the sound of it.’

  Patrick stumbled to his feet. Tommy came forward a couple of steps, his fist raised. From the anger in his uncle’s eyes, he expected another round. He had lost count after the first five punches, his uncle’s fists like iron. He had blacked out, and when he came to, he was here, tied up in this featureless room.

  Punishment for insolence, for daring to threaten Tommy Crown, gangster extraordinaire.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, looking down. ‘I should have shown more respect.’

  ‘You’re an idiot, Patrick. Wandering around the streets like that while the DCA are on your tail. Moose is dead, but they didn’t just shoot him like you thought. They took him in for questioning. He died tied to a DCA interrogation chair, but not before spilling as much as he knew about me. Another contact has also disappeared. These are bad days, Patrick, and you’re wandering about, throwing your weight around like some vigilante. You dumb prick. You should be—you deserve to be—dead.’