by Kolin Wood
Too tired to be reluctant, Juliana walked over and began to climb. Her entire body ached and her ribs hurt with every breath.
Tanner followed behind her, saying nothing.
For now at least, she would have to play his game.
13
“Come in!” Teddy shouted.
The door to his office opened with a crash, bringing with it a muggy blast of warm air, tainted with burnt plastic from the barrels, some of which were still smouldering at the side of the Pit. Two men dressed in thick coats with weapons and padding, entered and approached the desk, accompanied on one side by Sal.
Teddy waved Sal away.
He threw down his pen and sat back in the large chair, giving the pair his full attention.
“Well?” he said, raising his thick eyebrows. “Was it like our friend said?”
The two men looked at each other.
Gough, the younger and slightly better looking of the two, was the first to speak.
“The prison was there, all right. We found it, just where he said we would,” he said as his eyes shifted down to the threadbare carpet.
“And?” Teddy pushed, curious as to the hesitation, “What did you find?”
This time it was Jim, the older brother who took over, clearing his voice.
“It was a massacre, Mr. Braydon. The whole place had been turned upside down. Bodies, kids, women… There was blood and guts and shit everywhere. They …’ he paused, as though trying to find some additional composure. Teddy raised a single brow. Jim swallowed and continued, “Most of them that we saw, looked like they had been… eaten.”
Shocked, Teddy sat forwards.
“Eaten?” he said, genuinely surprised, “As in, eaten, eaten?”
“Eaten as in served up on the fucking Sunday buffet table with cranberry sauce eaten!” Jim confirmed, fixing Teddy with a stern look to let him know that he was being sincere.
Teddy laughed.
“Well, I’ll be fucked,” he said with an amazed shake of the head. “It’s that bad, huh?”
Both men nodded.
“Well, the deformed guy… what’s his name again? “Teddy called out to Sal.
“Cole, Boss.”
“Cole, right. He never said anything about cannibals now, did he?”
Teddy tapped his foot under the desk, trying to recall some of the conversation from a few night’s previous. The hooch, as was so often the case, had been in steady supply. He remembered talk of the prison, and some army of boys that he had been trying to create, thinking that they were the last people left in the country or some shit. He’d mentioned some particularly nasty fuckers—the numerals or something he had called them—sold him on the idea that they would be able to really cut the mustard in the Pit. But no, he was pretty sure that he’d never said anything about cannibals or a massacre. He looked up at the two brothers, stroking the stubble on his chin.
“So you came back empty-handed then?” he said, finally, his face now dead straight.
Both men shook their heads frantically.
“No, no, boss, we came back with plenty… Quite a little store room they had. There was booze and smokes, a few meds…”
“I meant bodies, you dumb fucks. Did you bring me back somebody that I can throw in the fucking Pit?” Teddy was shouting now, all hints of civility suddenly gone. He didn’t give a fuck about the booze or meds; all he cared about was whether or not he had some blood to spill come Friday night.
Jim nodded.
Like a fucking tag team, you two, aren’t you? Teddy thought, becoming increasingly more wound up by the second.
“We found one of them holed up in a cell in the back,” Jim said. “Right scary fucker. He was literally painted in some poor sucker’s blood, probably more than one, judging by the state of the place. Came running at us out of nowhere; Gough nearly shit himself.”
Jim laughed, turning to his brother, who returned a nervous smile.
Teddy did not reciprocate.
“He’s nuts,” Jim continued. “I managed to get a swing in on him before he got to us… bloody lucky we took the other lads too. They jumped him and we managed to get him trussed.”
“So you’ve damaged him?” Teddy asked, a malicious glint in his eye.
The smile fell from Jim’s face as he realised the implications of the question.
“No, boss, not too bad,” he confirmed. “Just dazed him a bit. He’s big and he came in hard, I had to put him down. No way I was taking a chance and getting my arse eaten.”
“If he’s damaged, you may well wish that you had been fucking eaten, boy!” Teddy said.
The brothers were two of his best men, but light-handed they certainly were not. He could only imagine the true state of their prisoner now.
“He’ll be fine, boss;, I assure you,” Gough piped in, clearly trying to keep the exchange from turning into something nasty.
Teddy looked sternly at both of the men in turn. Finally, he nodded.
“So he’ll be ready to fight then.”
He stood and made his way towards the door.
“Today is Saturday, so we have six days gentlemen; six days for that cannibal freak to find use of his legs or I’ll take away the use of yours, so help me God.”
The door groaned as Teddy pulled it open and stood aside, turning up his nose as more of the acrid fumes once again pulled into the stuffy room. Sensing the hint, Jim and Gough turned and followed him out.
“Oh, just one other thing, Mr. Braydon,” Jim said as he pulled up next to him.
Teddy just stared at him to continue.
“We found some other bodies there… Magnus, the Eastern Road trader, and several of his cronies, ripped to pieces.”
At this news Teddy raised his eyebrows.
Without waiting for a reply, Jim and Gough funnelled out, tipping their heads as they left. Teddy shut the door behind them.
What a pair of dumb fucks. He sighed as he made his way with heavy steps over to the desk. So Magnus was dead! Teddy wondered how it was that the man had found himself there in the first place, especially so close to the time of his own education about its existence. The trader was no fool, and the prison was a long way from his base of operations. It stood to reason that somebody must have tipped him off. It therefore also seemed likely that ‘the somebody’ was Cole, the guy with one eye. What reason would he have to send them there? For the women? Is that how Cole had found his way into the New Capital in the first place? He guessed that it was likely the case. Not that it mattered.
Age tweaked his joints and he rubbed his hands.
None of it mattered. Farringdon in particular would not be happy to learn that his primary source of ‘entertainment’ was gone, but he himself couldn’t give two shits about the scaly bottom feeder. Things outside had gotten far worse than he had ever imaged them to be, but the fresh blood promised for the pit was real; that much Cole had been telling the truth about. The big, scary-looking fucker was so far good to his word; maybe he could be of use.
Teddy filled a tumbler with Scotch and trod back to the door. He took a hearty swig of the fluid and looked down upon his creation.
The venue had not yet been cleared and, from up where he was, the rubbish strewn planks and boards almost resembled art work. Hell, it was something beautiful. The structure was now four times taller than it had been in the beginning. He could still clearly remember the days when all it had been were half a dozen men shouting down into a dark hole of unfinished foundations while two drunkards brawled it out.
Well, look at it now!
It was so ridiculous that it was almost laughable.
But still, Teddy had known for some time that the site had already reached saturation point. Even with his new injection of cash on the back of the last successful bet with Farringdon, there was only so much more that could have been added. Ultimately, it was still just a hole surrounded by layers of scaffold.
Sure, the site may have physical restrictions, but Teddy’s ow
n vision had no such limitations.
‘Tanner versus the prison psychopath’—this was one story that he wouldn’t even need to dress up.
“Sal!” he shouted at the door.
Nobody answered.
“SAL!” he shouted again, his anger rising.
The door opened and Jan the Fez walked in. The Fez was somebody with whom Teddy did not have much to do with, and his sudden appearance came as a surprise. The look on Teddy’s face must have said as much.
“Sorry, boss, I was just wondering if you had a minute?” the Fez said, tipping his hat back off of his face. “It’s about what happened to Barrett.”
“Where the fuck is Sal?” Teddy said, with blatant disregard for the question. At this particular moment, he neither wanted nor cared to know about some fat, dead guard.
With a frown, Jan the Fez said, “I… haven’t seen him, boss.”
“Well, don’t just stand there like a muppet! Go and fucking get him! And tell him to bring Solomon—that guy that does the building—I have a job for him.”
Unsure of what to do, the Fez looked at Teddy and then at his feet. Clearly annoyed, he knew better than to argue and said nothing as he left the room.
Teddy leaned back in his chair, groaning as the high backed, worn leather took the weight of his head.
Sal was around less and less, and it was no secret to Teddy as to why. He had known for some time that the man was trying to have him on. More recently, he’d heard rumours that the betting side-line had grown substantially—Sal was apparently making serious money. The situation could not be allowed to continue. He could picture the old drunkard laughing and counting the money behind his back… his money! The thought made the blood boil in his veins.
But first… first he needed him for one last job. He needed help turning the Pit into something worthy of the coming spectacle. Sal knew where to find the people and the resources. To attempt the construction without him would simply take twice the time and effort, and he only had six days.
Tanner versus the cannibal…
He smiled.
By the time he was through, he’d run this fucking city; just let them wait and see.
14
Tanner and Juliana sat at the table in the dining room.
Her hair was now tied up from her face and, for the first time in years, she had on something resembling normal clothing— albeit men’s. Gone were the combat jacket and scanty, hospital smock. In their stead, she wore a heavy, woollen, navy blue sweater with frayed cuffs and a paint-splattered pair of denim overalls. The boots had remained—only because Tanner’s feet were even bigger than those of the dead lad she had procured them from—and sat over by the door, leaving her newly washed feet feeling cold on the bare floors of the unheated house.
A thick, half-melted candle burned in the centre of the table next to her knife, which Tanner had discovered and quickly confiscated. The bloody blade stood testament to her crime and she had watched his face grimace on discovery of the murder weapon.
In front of them each sat a glass filled with a cloudy-looking concoction. And next to Tanner sat the journal that she had taken as she escaped from the prison.
Tanner picked up one of the glasses and drank heartily, wincing as he swallowed the liquid down.
“That’ll slap ya awake in the morning,” he said through a cough. “Go on, take one; its fine. You’re safe here for the time being; I assure you that nothing will happen tonight.”
It was obvious that he was trying to lighten the mood and make her feel a little less unnerved, but Juliana maintained her mistrust (hell, all of the men that she had met thus far in her life—except for her Michael—had more than earned it). She picked up the plastic cup and sniffed the liquid, pulling her head back sharply as the chemical tang surged up her nostrils and planted daggers there.
She coughed and set the cup back down. She wasn’t ready for that yet; first, she needed to know what sort of danger she was in.
“So… Tanner, who runs this place?” Juliana asked directly.
Her eyes flicked down to the knife and back up again, a gesture which did not go unnoticed by Tanner’s keen eye.
He did not reply at once, and instead just toyed with the rim of his own glass. It seemed that perhaps he was awkward in the presence of women. Or maybe it was all just an act, intended to suck her in and entice her to put her guard down.
Fat chance, she thought.
After a long pause, he spoke, his voice soft and considered, “How about you tell me what’s going on first?” he said. “Why did you kill Barrett?”
Juliana said nothing. She’d already told him once, and the fact that he was feeling the need to ask again intensified her mistrust of him.
“Okay,” Tanner continued, measuring her look and trying a different tack. “So how about we start at the beginning then. I’m Tanner, and you are… Clara, is that still correct?”
Juliana considered the question for a second, wondering whether now would be a good time to open up to him and seek his help. She stared into his eyes not blinking, then finally, she nodded.
Tanner reached for the bottle, sloshing some more of the liquid into his cup.
Watching him drink from the same bottle as he had poured her own settled her nerves a little, and she picked up the cup again, blew out from her lungs and knocked the modest shot back in one. It was not as though the situation could get any worse.
The pain it created was like a fireball engulfing her gullet and she coughed hard, spittle flecking the table in front of her.
Watching her, Tanner chuckled.
“It’s… been a while,” Juliana managed between coughed breaths.
Almost immediately, the booze had the desired effect. A comforting warmth started in her belly and began spreading outward. She had been so cold, for so long. The feeling of warmth was as alien to her as the woozy feeling that accompanied the heat.
“Keeps out the chill, huh?” Tanner said, almost as if he could read her mind, “It’s okay… I couldn’t stomach this shit either on my first go. It gets easier.”
He raised the glass in a salute before knocking it back and setting the cup down with a small bang on the table. Next, he rolled his neck and breathed out deeply, closing his eyes.
Juliana felt herself begin to relax. Something about him was different, she could feel it. An inherent feeling—almost like instinct—as if she knew him already, and the feeling disarmed her. He had an angular, chiselled face and a heavy jaw flecked silver with a few days of growth. The salt and pepper grey of the hair made him look grisly but handsome all the same. The iced blue of his eyes was unnerving; it almost felt as though he could see through her, and she found herself constantly looking away as a result. He was well built but not overly. He wore a sleeveless top and, now that he had shed the battered leather jacket, she could see the slab-like definition of his heavily bruised forearms. In the middle of his rigid chest sat a deep pectoral crease, flanked on either side by a rather nasty-looking series of cuts. The area around them was red and swollen, hinting at infection. When she looked back up at his face, she suddenly became aware that he was looking right back at her and she felt her face flush red immediately. Embarrassed, she tore her eyes away from him.
Unseen by her, Tanner smiled.
“So, Clara,” he said. “If you don’t want to talk about Barrett, how about you tell me about this prison then?” he said, tapping down on the front of the journal with a slightly bent cigarette as he spoke.
Juliana flicked her eyes down at it for a split second and then looked away again. Just the sight of the book made her queasy. How many times had she been documented in there herself? How much of her own degradation had been catalogued, read, and pawed over? Since acquiring the book, she had carried it close to her chest, but not once had she been taken by the desire to open and read it. The mere thought of doing so felt wrong and intrusive; almost as though she were walking on the graves of those who hadn’t made it out of the prison
alive.
She shuddered and shook away the thoughts.
Things were different now.
Right or wrong, she was on trial for murder in the first degree in a city where she knew no-one; where she had no friends, no family. In the morning, the men on the gate would come knocking and unless she could find a way to convince Tanner of her plight, it was highly likely that her days were severely numbered.
With a deep breath, Juliana slid her glass over the table and knocked her knuckles down on the edge lightly, signalling for a refill. Tanner smiled and obliged before offering her a cigarette, which she accepted. It was going to be a long night.
***
Throughout her tale, Tanner listened intently.
By the time that she had finished, he had no doubt that she was telling the truth. What was more, he had a strong hunch that this ‘General’ that she spoke of was the same man that had entered the Capital a few days prior; the one with the bandage covering one side of his face.
The way that she spoke about the man told Tanner that she would kill him in an instant, given even a hint of a chance. In fact, her reason for coming to the New Capital in the first place stemmed from her desire to track him down and make him pay for what he had done; and Tanner couldn’t blame her. The woman had spent years in forced incarceration. Her husband and little boy had been murdered, alongside countless others whose lives had been completely ripped apart at the hands of the deformed psycho. Of course she would want some justice; who wouldn’t?
However, as it stood, in the morning she would be on trial for murder, and so for now at least, he decided to keep the information about the General’s exact whereabouts from her. Best to first allow her the chance to explain herself, see if he could maybe do something to stop the inevitable. News that her arch nemesis was not only in town, but drinking with the city elite would not go down well or serve to keep her placated in any way.
Now that she was clean, Tanner had the chance to appraise her properly. She was attractive, late thirties, forty at most. Her body was toned and muscular and yet showed obvious femininity, a fact that was apparent even through the thickness of the sweater that she now wore. She held herself with pride and grace that transposed subtly into her movements; the way she walked, how she crossed her legs. As she spoke, she moved her hands animatedly, and Tanner noticed the scars and damage that encased her hands like living knuckle dusters. Her resemblance was more in line with a soldier than with a mother and wife. But as he had so often thought recently, such was the way of things now. Such an attitude was necessary in order to survive. The same determination that sent her under the bus, chest deep in the filth, was what had kept her alive this long.
