by Katsura
“This thing of yours,” He allowed himself a smug smile. “is it of any great value?”
“No value at all.” Hugo replied sharply.
“Then why do you want it?” Judas grinned.
“Stop asking me questions! Will you take me there or not?” That sounded more like the Hugo Judas knew. His childlike voice was heavy with spite. “You know if Fergus knew that you fucked me he would tear you apart and feed you to pigs.”
Judas laughed, despite the fact he knew that statement to be possibly a truthful one.
The Campbells were a real shady bunch. Judas had heard a few tales about people who had crossed them, going missing never to be seen or heard of again. There were apparently pits dug all over the Argyll peninsula full of what was left of the hapless idiots who had been stupid enough to get caught with their hands in the till. Judas had been involved in the despatch of some of these unfortunate individuals, but what actually happened to their remains later had always been the subject of speculation amongst the gang members not considered important enough to be in the know. Some favoured the notion of the pits, whereas others subscribed to idea that they were used to fatten the pigs on the farm close to Big Callum’s country retreat. This environmentally friendly solution had been one of the more far-fetched, but not entirely unlikely, rumours.
“Not just me, Hugo, you as well.” Judas shook his head. “You want to end up as pigswill, baby?”
At the other end of the line Hugo laughed in that fearless way of his. “Oh, please!”
He seemed to find this point hilarious. “I will tell him you forced me so not only would you suffer for fucking me, it would be rape. Do you know what he would do to you then? He’d force feed you your own dick!”
Judas grinned as he shook his head once more. “You know how to charm a favour out of someone, don’t you?”
Hugo suddenly changed his tone and sounded more like a pleading child again.
There was a rather whining edge to his words now. “Please, Jude?” It was as if he had forgotten already that he had just threatened to have Judas mutilated and murdered for being a sexual predator. “You know I like you and I would be really sweet to you as a reward.”
“How sweet?” Judas couldn’t help himself. He had no intention of doing as Hugo had asked but he could not resist having Fergus’s little nutcase talk to him like this.
“As sweet as you like?” Hugo breathed the words. “I’ll suck you off or let you fuck me any which way you want to…I’ll call you daddy again if you’d like that. I’ll say,
‘fuck me daddy’ over and over again. I’ll let you do it on Fergus’s bed. In front of his picture. You can spit my cum all over our wedding portrait for all I care. Just please…will you do this for me, Jude?”
“Okay.” Judas lied. “I’ll come by tonight. Make sure Fergie’s not around.”
“Oh, Jude, thank you!” Hugo made a lot of apparent little kisses and Judas laughed.
“Don’t worry, Fergus is out all night and I will be waiting for you! Bye bye!”
“Yeah,” Judas grinned. “Bye bye, baby.”
Judas quickly cut off Hugo’s call and pressed a speed dial number. He waited patiently for an answer. “Ewan?” The grin widened on his lips. “I know where the fucking bag is.”
*
In his weakened state and with the pain in his ankle still so intense that it felt like a burn, Mikhail once more gripped the rickety wooden bannister of the staircase. Of course he knew that if he managed to get to the top he would still have to figure out a way to force the lock, but he had to try.
His water was finished.
At first, Mikhail had attempted to sit on the step and push his way up gradually like that, but the stairs were so broken in parts that it was far too treacherous. He’d sat on the bottom step, braced both of his aching hands on the step above, then the whole thing had given way on him. He slammed his back against the wood so hard that it winded him. It was necessary, it seemed, to use one’s foot to test for holes in the wood before risking putting all of one’s weight on it. All that he needed now was another fall.
He put one foot, the uninjured one, on the step and hissed in pain as his other ankle was forced to take his full weight for a moment. With gritted teeth, he then heaved the other leg upwards and gasped as he finally managed to stand on the lowest step. There were thirteen steps on the staircase. He knew this as he had stared at the blasted thing compulsively over the last countless hours.
Hugo had not come back. Mikhail faced the awful truth that he had been left to die here. All he had to live on now was a few breakfast bars. To starve to death was surely a very painful way to go but his only other options would be to hang himself or slit his wrists and he knew that he wasn’t brave enough to do either. But between bouts of hope of rescue or escape, he had actually considered these. Not wanting to give Hugo the satisfaction had mostly been what saved him.
“Okay, Mika.” He took a deep breath. “You can do this.”
Breathing harshly, he was once more forced to momentarily take all of his weight on his damaged bone as he attempted to reach the next step up but one, but he made it.
At this rate he knew it would take him all of his strength and all of his remaining energy to get to the top but he was determined to take his best shot at this. His last chance of survival.
“Hugo,” he gasped bitterly on his painful attempt at the fourth step up from the bottom, “if I ever get out alive…” His breath shuddered in his chest, “if I ever get out alive I will undo every bit of no good your plastic surgeon ever did for you.”
This made no sense. It had just popped into his head like that and he’d found himself helplessly voicing it.
It was still a long way to the top. Only four steps up and Mikhail already needed a rest, but he sat down and allowed himself one. Slowly, slowly, catchy…what was the phrase? He could not remember. It wasn’t important. He had to keep his eyes on the prize. To get out of this hell hole and back to his brothel. Back to a hot bath and clean clothes and Cain, whom he would never again allow to be more than a foot away from him. Whatever happened to Hugo after this, well he couldn’t even begin to think about that. Most people would contemplate vengeance and imprisonment for him. Mikhail only wanted to be free. It may have seemed cowardly not to want to just rush to Fergus and tell him all, but what about Judas?
What about what Hugo had said he would do to Judas? Lie to have him killed.
Mikhail’s weakness was such an obvious one and he knew that. He could never hurt anyone or be the reason they were hurt by others. To satisfy and please. Those were his aims and the skills he honed in others.
The threat to make Hugo ugly was an idle one. Just a damn good way to motivate oneself up those stairs.
He glanced upwards then gripped the bannister again.
Time to be on the move once more.
Chapter Seven
To be called to a meeting by Big Callum was no pleasure for anybody, although people may have assumed that if you were his son, it would be a slightly easier affair.
Not so. Callum was a swine to everyone except his wife and even then, he’d had affairs since the day that they were married so she wasn’t exactly precious to him. Callum was boss of his empire, boss of his men and boss of his family. For this reason there was no smile on Fergus’s face as he travelled to the converted barn that sat nestled amongst the trees on the grounds of what had once been his home. He would avoid seeing his mother, Isla. He’d decided that earlier. Having had too much to drink already, he was in no mood for one of her lectures. Isla loved her son to pieces but her mothering could be a bit more like smothering if ever she thought that he was doing something that could put his life at risk.
The barn, that was once used to house a fleet of old classic cars, was now Callum’s office and own private pub. The place would have put an actual pub to shame as it was decked out with better fittings than the average tavern could afford. Affectionately known as Innes Ch
onnel, it was named after the ruined castle that sat on an island in the middle of Loch Awe. The dilapidated relic of an ancient Campbell stronghold.
The classic cars now sat in a row on the massive driveway and Hugo’s car looked more of a heap than usual parked alongside them. There were some other motors there too, so clearly Fergus wasn’t the only one to be invited along to the meeting.
He walked past the old fashioned street lamps that illuminated the outside, and on into the barn. Callum really had it made. No luxury was spared in his private hostelry and there were even rows of snooker tables to be used by the free-drink swilling, specially invited patrons. Fergus took a glance about at the assembled men, most of whom ceased their conversations, snooker games and humorous banter the moment they noticed the arrival of Mr Campbell Junior.
“Fergie.” The man nearest the door said the name like a grunt and nodded in Fergus’s direction. It was Owen MacIsaac, old school hard man and more or less Callum’s deputy. MacIsaac was never seen without his trademark camel coloured overcoat and a couple of big sovereign rings on his left hand. His right hand was left free of these as his weapon of choice was a knuckle duster. Yes, MacIsaac was a hands on kind of guy, shaven headed and scary as fuck if you crossed him. His smile was just about as sinister as his frown and Fergus always found it difficult to tell which was which. To be on the safe side, he presumed the man was smiling at him and gave a half arsed smirk at the gold toothed display in return.
“Nice night for it.” MacIsaac took a swig of whisky from his tumbler glass.
“Nice night for what?” Fergus didn’t like MacIsaac’s demeanour, but then, he really was always like this and so it could mean something or nothing.
MacIsaac tapped his nose and walked off towards one of the snooker tables. Being pretty certain that he was not referring to having a game, Fergus continued on into the bar and didn’t follow him.
“….and fucking MacGregor is sitting there like he fucking owns the place, some bird oh his knee and his hand on her arse,” Fergus caught the middle of a conversation as he passed one of Callum’s bodyguards, who was talking with animated disbelief to Rasputin, “and he is all like, ‘Yeah I’m un-fucking-stoppable,’ and I’m like, the fuck you are, mate! He’s a real slippery fucker, though.” He laughed heartily at his own remark until Rasputin nudged him, alerting him to the presence of Fergus. “Hey, Fergie. I never saw you there.”
“Boss.” Rasputin gave a curt nod of his head.
“So why are you lot here?” Fergus asked, looking from one man to the other. “I wasn’t aware of any job going down?”
“Just…social.” Rasputin growled. He then lifted his drink in such a way that Fergus got the impression that he was done talking.
An uneasy silence fell over the gathering. Fergus had the uncomfortable feeling that all eyes in the room were on him and a quick look around confirmed his suspicions to be true. Every now and then he caught the snatch of a whisper, a hiss here and there as though his name was being repeated by a dozen or so snakes.
“Fergie! Get your fucking ass in here!”
Fergus cringed inwardly at the bellowed summons from his father and tried to ignore the random sniggers that he heard on his way to Callum’s office.
He could have predicted every word Callum said, as he sat and faced the desk like a schoolboy called to the headmaster’s office. More complaints about MacGregor.
Fergus barely listened to them anymore. Callum was going to give himself an ulcer over the issue. The Campbells were being robbed and the men were mutinous. But oddly, it was the dissent amongst the gang that appeared to trouble Callum most. “You want to nip that in the bud, Fergie.” Callum lit yet another cigar. Fergus felt that he, personally, smoked way too many of the pungent things, but his dad smoked twice as much. His fingers were stained yellow and as Callum spoke, Fergus found himself staring at this nicotine residue with disgust. “Can’t have any cunt running about saying all shit like that about you. You think people will trust you when they work with you? You’ll end up a piranha like that poof, MacGregor.”
“Pariah.” Fergus sighed. “I think you mean, pariah.”
“I know what the fuck I mean!” Callum brought his fist down on the table and the whisky in the tumbler glasses there slopped and spilled a little. “You sort this fucking mess out, okay? That guy, McGovern…”
“Ewan.” Fergus nodded. “He was always okay. Loyal to Jude, but still trustworthy.”
“Yeah,” Callum nodded. “That is what I heard and so why would he be running about spouting that you fucking robbed from him if he didn’t think it to be true?”
Fergus felt exasperated and he grabbed his drink and took a swig of it. “You know what I think?” He shook his head. “I’ve no clue at all what happened to the money.
Ewan never took it. Seriously, he is the most honest crook I know. The obvious choice would be Jude but he never got anywhere near the money until it came out of my safe.”
“Judas MacGregor will get what is coming to him. We both know this is long overdue.” Callum’s mouth turned down in a sinister way. “Fucking prick thinks he is untouchable but with this fucking nonsense going on, he practically fucking is. I can hardly take him out the picture now can I? He is fucking robbing us left right and centre. If I have him bumped off it will just look like we try to cover up what you did.
Fuck sake he is shafting us. You may as well bend over for him you useless twat!”
“Dad.” Fergus narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Callum had a point though. Even though they both knew that Judas was stealing from them, now was not the time to do anything about that. With the rumours that Fergus had screwed over the guys he worked with on a bank job that nearly saw Judas put in prison, to kill Judas now would just make it obvious that he was probably set up. It would stink of cover up. No one liked Judas. It wasn’t that anyone would care that he was dead or in the nick. People would just be wary about working with the Campbells again if they thought that they would either get shafted for their cut or dropped in the shit.
Someone needed fingered for taking the money. It would have been oh so easy if that someone could be Judas but that was just not possible. From the way Fergus had been greeted in Callum’s bar, it was clear that the guys were beginning to mistrust him.
Now obviously the Campbells had set up Judas. But only Fergus, Hugo, Callum and Detective Inspector Wilson actually knew this for sure. Judas and his mob clearly suspected too but they would never hear an admission from any Campbell lips about the matter. As far as the rest of the hoods were concerned, Judas was a prick who got caught because of his own stupidity and got off with it because the police were useless.
No doubt the twat had gained back some of the respect he’d lost over getting caught, by being a lucky enough sod not to go down for it.
“You counted the bags when they went into the safe?” Callum exhaled and shrouded himself in a cloud of aromatic smoke.
“Yes…no…I mean…I think so!” Fergus growled. His moment of clarity with regards to the issue was replaced with indignant anger over getting the blame. “It’s all a big fuss over fucking nothing. If people don’t trust me then fuck them. I don’t fucking care. It’s only a few grand. Not worth all this hassle!”
Callum turned his mouth down. The effect gave him a far more imposing look than before, as if he really needed that. “Watch your lip with me. You are my son and it’s my fucking name you are bringing down. Not worth the hassle? If there were six bags someone shafted you, you stupid prick. No one does that to us and gets away with it.”
He raised his voice menacingly. “Did you count the fucking bags or not!”
Fergus ran his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes. “I put them in the safe.
Hugo was there and he counted them out…” He tried to picture himself doing it but couldn’t as his mind was cloudy from the alcohol. All he could remember was Hugo saying that he counted them out. “…One, two, three, four, five. But then…like V
inny said, Ewan had two bags over each shoulder. Vinny had one in each hand.”
He opened his eyes and nodded his head. “There were six bags. Six after the robbery but five came out of my safe.”
Callum pursed his lips and nodded his head too. “And…Hugo,” he said the name as though it pained him to do so, “counted them out as five before they went into the safe?” He raised one bushy eyebrow.
“Yeah.” Fergus nodded.
“Then there’s your man.” Callum sat back with a satisfied expression. “That’s who took the bag. You’re a stupid prick, Fergie. What have I told you? You trust no one.
Especially not some wee upper class bum boy.”
“It wasn’t him…” Fergus narrowed his eyes bitterly on hearing Hugo referred to in such a way. It wasn’t just that this was so obviously an insult to his spouse. It was a slur on himself too for being so foolish to marry Hugo in the first place.
“The fuck it wasn’t.” Callum snarled. “He was the one counted out the fucking bags. Who else could it have been? Rasputin?” Callum seemed to scoff at the very idea.
“He’s been with me far too long to cross me over such a piddling amount. No way it was him. I’m telling you, it was Hugo. Now go fix it.”
Fergus forced his mouth into a line. Hugo cared nothing for money. When Hugo was younger he used to refuse payment for some of the jobs he worked on. There would have been nothing in it for Hugo to steal from him.
Fergus knew that his dad just wanted him to make an example of someone, anyone, and the fact that the man despised Hugo made him the obvious choice.
“There is one other person it could have been.” Fergus nodded. The thought sobered him slightly. It was such an unlikely option that it was probably not even remotely true, but rather than take it out on Hugo…
“Who?” Callum looked unimpressed.
“Vinny.” Fergus sighed.
“Vinny? The kid that did time for MacGregor?” Callum shook his head. “Don’t be an arse, Fergie. He’s obviously loyal.”
