Chapter Thirty-Two
Attack the Shed
Peg Leg stood by the jeep with grenades in hand watching incendiary bottles flaming bright in the night as they smashed amongst the jeeps. He launched his first grenade through the front door of the shed and the bright flash stunned the night. The explosion struggled to compete with the Gypsy racket, but Peg Leg’s soldiers reacted to the blaze of light. Grenades smashed through the windows and the generator exploded and took out the back of the building. Fire, sparks, and explosions erupted throughout the building. Shouts, cries, and screams followed as fire took hold of the rear rooms and thick smoke billowed through the building.
Peg Leg strode through the front door cursing his soldier as a wave of smoke enveloped his position. ‘Take out the generator, I said. ‘Not the goddamn building.’ Shots fired and Peg Leg crashed through a door for cover. ‘Update,’ he called.
‘They’re armed, but we got them cornered.’
Peg Leg came out of his doorway to the sound of multiple bodies coughing in the dark. The squat soldier motioned him forward and pointed into the corner of the room. A pool table had been upended on the right side of the room. A door led through to the back of the building and the crackling sound of fire.
‘Citizens,’ Peg Leg called. ‘Stand down. We’ve come for a child. No one needs to die here.’
A head appeared, the image blurred in the night vision scope. As the weapon rose, Peg Leg and his soldier peppered the pool table with quick, staccato shots. From the door leading to the fire, the third soldier appeared holding a grenade in his hand. Peg Leg nodded and turned his head. The room rocked with the explosion and the bright flare burned in the eyes of the men cowering behind the table.
Peg Leg motioned his soldiers into the room and they moved with stealth on the table. A gust of wind swept more smoke into the room, the loud roar and crash sounding as the back wall of the building fell to flames. Each soldier grabbed a leg and dropped the table flat to the floor. Men stared into the dark with their guns lying on the thin industrial flooring.
‘Hands on heads,’ Peg Leg barked. They complied. ‘Stand and line the wall, faces kissing the plaster.’
The men stumbled forward, feeling with their feet until their noses pushed against the rough wooden wall. Two soldiers kept them covered while Peg Leg walked the line. The third soldier appeared with a line of children marching before him. They sat on the floor with their hands clasped in their laps.
‘Found them in a dorm. Bunks and bunks of the little fuckers, but they don’t speak the King’s English.’
Coals glowed in a low hearth. Toys littered the left side of the room and a large, dead video screen dominated the right wall. Peg Leg scrutinized each child, lifting their faces with the muzzle of his rifle. His goggled eyes drew wide-eyed stares and tears.
‘Lucas,’ he said. He poked a child in the chest with his gun. ‘You Lucas?’
No child wanted to be Lucas. Heads shook in denial, with sobs and sniffles punctuating.
‘He’s here, so find him,’ he said to his soldiers.
Peg Leg prowled the room. He grabbed one man in evening gear, the bow tie undone. He threw him toward the fire and bent to his groveling figure with the gun pointing at his heart. The man stunk, his fear having caused issues with his bowels. He pushed backward until his head rested against the brick work surrounding the hearth. His eyes screwed shut tight as he waited for the bullet to end his life. Peg Leg peered closely with his goggles. A narrow moustache looked inadequate on his fat flabby face. He wore his hair a bit too long for his age, but it was the cross and barbed wire tatt on his neck causing Peg Leg to get in close.
‘Who are you people?’
‘Nobody,’ he said. ‘We’re nobody. But we have influence. We have money. You don’t need to kill us.’
‘You got to be somebody.’ His finger stabbed at the tattoo on his neck. ‘That tattoo,’ his finger traced the cross. ‘I’ve seen that before.
‘And what’s with the children?’
‘Sarge,’ a soldier called from the back of the property.
Peg Leg turned from the room and entered the third room. The soldier held the door for him and Peg Leg flicked his torch on and removed his goggles.
‘Dead weird,’ the soldier said. ‘Sort of scary stuff. There’s a right arsenal in the opposite room. They looking to take over the countryside or blow up a couple of cows for dinner.’
To his left a portrait of the Prince adorned the wall. Before him stood a table piled with reams of canvas materials and a sewing machine. Wire and cutters and pliers occupied the far end of the long metal table. Stacks of boxes with screws, nails and ball bearings occupied the shelf above the table. ‘Fuck me,’ he muttered. He pointed the torch at the bottom shelf and stepped back from the large containers, the labels stating the contents to be poisonous and dangerous.
‘Advise leaving this building before the fire hits this room, sir.’
Peg Leg stalked back into the main room, his goggles back in place, and stood over the man with the small tattoo. ‘Why are you here with all these children?’ He dug his rifle into the man’s fat gut. ‘Do they belong to you? Are you their fathers?’ His voice sneered as the man groveled. ‘Have you got visiting rights and this is where you bring ‘em? It don’t seem like no party for the kids. Or are you kiddy fiddlers? And what’s with all the explosives?’
‘We aren’t no bother to you,’ he said ‘We can pay and no child has been touched or harmed. These children are well cared for.’
‘You can pay for what?’
‘Our lives. Our secret. For you to walk away.’ He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. He replaced his hands on his head and dropped his gaze.
‘Like I care. I just want one. His name is Lucas.’
Peg Leg swept the room, watching and probing. He approached a smaller man, wire rimmed glasses and a bald head. Peg Leg thought he might talk. ‘Who are you?’
The man kept silent until the butt end of the rifle smacked against his head and he fell to the floor. With the muzzle pressing on his temple, the man whimpered. ‘I just manage the place. I make sure these men have everything they want. Serious, they have influence and they can pay you well. But I’m nothing to do with their politics.’
‘Politics, is it? What sort of politics involves children, foreign children I’m guessing, not old enough to vote, I wonder?’
The man kept quiet, until the squat soldier with the floppy hat stepped forward and dug his rifle into his ribs. He doubled up with an anguished cry. Peg Leg and the soldier stepped backward and aimed their weapons at the man on the floor. He squinted at the guns, his glasses gone, and raised his hands
‘I want the one child. A native child.’
‘A child arrived last night,’ he said, his right hand pawing the floor for his glasses. ‘I don’t know his name, but we haven’t seen him since he arrived. He might be in the operations room with the girl.’
Peg Leg gave an abrupt order and his soldiers stumbled back in line. ‘Secure our exit.’ The tall soldier with the crimson hat ran for the front door. ‘You two find the operations room.’
‘It’s second room from the back. That’s if you haven’t blown it up.’ He straightened his wire glasses and pointed toward the flaming rear of the building.
The soldiers saluted Peg Leg and jogged to the back passage, kicking at doors until they hit the second last door. The back of the building gaped, timbers smoldering. The fat soldier stepped back and kicked, bursting the door off its hinges. His mate stepped toward the child sitting in the middle of the floor holding a small toy in his hand. As he stepped forward, a blow caught him in the throat and knocked him backward. He gagged and clawed at his larynx as a kick took out his right knee and he sprawled on the floor.
Soldier two raised his handgun. He held the weapon with both hands and stepped over his disabled comrade. He hadn’t seen the attack, but there was no mistaking the danger lurking in the dark. The gun
entered the room, panning right, but as he adjusted left, torchlight flashed in his eyes and a hand grabbed his wrist, pushing it up as an elbow drove into his diaphragm. He gasped and dropped his hands, and gave up his gun as a knee sank into his groin.
Claudia stepped forward and removed their goggles and pushed both men onto their stomachs.
Lucas performed a small fist pump. ‘Go, Mum,’ he cried.
Peg Leg strode to the door and smacked Claudia across the back of the head with the butt of his weapon. She dropped to the floor, silent and out for the count.
‘Boo to you,’ Lucas said. ‘You hit my mum and she’s a girl.’
‘You Lucas?’ the sergeant said. He flicked a torch and pushed his goggles to the back off his head.
‘What’s it to you?’ the boy replied.
The sergeant helped the taller soldier to his feet. ‘Keep watch over those posh twats in the main room.’ He adjusted his rifle so he could focus on the boy. Lucas, with a plastic hammer held as a weapon, stepped in front of his mother and planted his feet in a fighter’s stance.
‘You have to be Lucas. All you bloody Gypsies want to do is fight.’ He pointed at his gun and smiled. ‘I will shoot you. I don’t care if your Granddad gets you dead.’
He offered his hand to the squat soldier. ‘Take him to the jeep.’
The child backed away as the soldier replaced his floppy hat and stood. He kept his small frame between his mother and the soldier as they circled the room. Twice he swung with the hammer and followed up with a kick to the shins.
‘Take him.’ Peg Leg’s voice sought no questions.
Claudia stirred and groaned. ‘Leave him alone.’ She sat back against the wall. ‘What you want with a child, you sick fuck?’
Lucas ran at the tall soldier with his fists flailing. The soldier dropped to his knees as Lucas caught him in his groin. The mischievous lad jumped back with a cackle and looked to his mother for praise. Peg Leg stepped forward and swatted the boy across his face with the flat of his hand. The boy cartwheeled into his mother’s body. She caught him and hugged his small body to her chest.
‘Oh, stand back and be proud,’ she said. ‘We are in the presence of our country’s last great hero. Today we are safe in our houses, no need to lock the doors, because our hero soldier is trained to beat up on a child and slap a girl.’
Peg Leg scooped Lucas under his arm and tucked the wriggling bundle against his hip. ‘I suggest you shut your smart arse mouth the fuck up if you want to see the boy home safe. I don’t want to hurt him, but I will if you give me grief.’
‘You’re in the act of kidnapping my child and you want me to sit here and say nothing. Are you mad? Where are you taking him?’
‘Back to Ostere via the police station.’
‘The police? Like they care.’
‘They asked me to pick him up.’
Claudia sat back against the wall. The torch shone straight in her face so she had to shield her eyes. ‘What about me? You gonna shoot me?’
‘I need you to deliver a message.’
‘What…what message? To who?’
‘Tell Street Boy and Tommy the Car that Peg Leg has the child. And he’ll swap the child for a couple of bullets in Tommy the Car’s gut.’
He left the room with the child clutched to his body and Claudia’s protestations following. The soldier took the rear, keeping his weapon trained on Claudia.
‘I’m coming with you,’ she said. ‘That’s my child.’
The third soldier appeared from the dark. ‘I can’t see a safe route out, sir.’
The two soldiers assaulted by Claudia hobbled through the main room. Smoke had thickened and the fire threatened the operations room. Outside explosions lit up the sky as the gypsies fought the occupants of the pub. Claudia chased after the sergeant pleading with him to give up her boy.
‘No problem,’ he told his soldier. ‘Plan B is to leave through the field at the back of this building. Watch my exit because I don’t need the old boys getting feisty.’
Peg Leg stalked from the building with Claudia pawing at his back. As he reached the jeep he withdrew his weapon and struck Claudia across the side of her face. He placed Lucas in the jeep.
‘Move and I’ll shoot your mum.’
Peg Leg rummaged through his pack and removed two grenades. He pulled the battered launcher from the back of the jeep and fitted a grenade to its front and hoisted the device onto his shoulder.
‘You can’t be serious?’ Claudia said. She sat against the wheel of the jeep, holding her hand to her damaged cheek.
‘Too bloody right, I am,’ he replied. ‘We need to leave and we don’t want Gypsies or Clan following.’
He stepped out from the trees and faced the pub.
‘You going to blow it up?’ The two soldiers pulled up in the jeep behind him.
‘Too bloody right. Good night, Hangman, and farewell to the Gypsies.’
He pointed the device toward the back of the pub. The light from the back door reflected on Tommy helping Loubie into the jeep. Ben hoisted a fuse lit bottle at the jeeps parked at the side of the pub. The bottle arced high into the night, the flame flipping and brightening in its descent. The bottle smashed and the flaming fluid splashed across the bonnet and windscreen.
Claudia ran to her child as device after device fell from the first floor windows. Explosions dotted the night. Petrol and explosive tainted the swirling cloud in the carpark.
‘Street Boy, you don’t know what’s coming,’ Peg Leg said. He turned the device back to the bulk of the pub, sighted on the front corner and fired. A flash from the rear of the launcher sent the missile into space.
Ben stopped at the sound of the missile passing, the whoosh of the dark shadow causing him to duck. The explosion erupted, shaking the ground. It reverberated throughout the deep valley like a thunderclap. The front of the pub imploded with a blinding flash. Fire engulfed the front third of the building, the tired thatch sprouting flame high into the dark. Trucks and jeeps back flipped high into the air.
Peg Leg sent the second missile into the building. It hit the back bar, punching through the thick wall and exploding against the cellar hatch. A loud boom sounded. Another cloud of smoke and fire consumed the pub as the explosives inside the Hangman’s cellar ignited and the pub exploded in a ball of flame. The fire spread across the ground and the intense heat caused Ben to duck to the wet grass and cover his head. A fireball swept through the pub and black smoke billowed from smashed windows.
Claudia stepped up to the jeep, ready to sit with her child, but Peg Leg knocked her to the ground with the butt of the weapon. ‘You aren’t coming,’ he said. The soldier started the vehicle and pulled away from the distraught girl.
Ben sat up at the sound of the jeep revving and bouncing out of the trees. It reversed back toward the garden, the gears crashing as the soldier fought to find first gear. He drove across the back garden toward Ben. Peg Leg raised his hand gun and took aim, forcing Ben to dive for safety behind the jeep. Shots slapped at the jeep and Tommy threw himself over Loubie. The jeep veered left and set off across the field as the shed exploded, the fireball reaching high into the night.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Gun Fight at the Old Poet
It was early morning when Tommy parked behind the Old Poet Public House. Tommy led Loubie from the car, but she stopped at the big, black door and tugged at Tommy’s arm.
‘This is a new beginning, Tommy.’
He offered a half smile. ‘Maybe, but we still got that copper to worry about.’
‘Oh yeah, I forgot about him.’
‘And there’s Peg Leg. He wants my arse, you know. I don’t get why he’s still breathing.’
‘Apart from those two, it’s a new start, for sure.’
Ben helped Claudia out of the jeep. She ignored his hand, but grimace as she straightened. ‘We’re almost there, girl,’ Ben said. He and Claudia leant against the white jeep. ‘Your boy’s back in Ostere. W
e’re alive.’
‘We’re not that close. Loubie got to kill her nightmare. Mine is indestructible.’
‘He didn’t look so clever when I last saw him.’
Claudia leant her head against Ben’s shoulder. ‘You don’t know my father.’
Ben placed his arm about her shoulders and gave her a good squeeze as they approached the pub. The back door hung open, a puddle of water topped with litter and leaves covering the entrance. The Ladies’ Lounge, never pristine in appearance, had suffered a makeover. Tables lay upended, chairs splintered and left limbless and on the floor.
Tommy sat with Loubie on the two remaining barstools. More fractured timber littered the front room. The pool table had lost its green baize. Pool cues lay snapped on the gray slate top. Charlie had fallen and not bothered to get back up on his stool. Congealed blood pooled at his face and his eyes looked on the carnage with indifference.
Some arse had turned the heating up full bore, the room stuffy hot, with the open rear door the only relief. Flies buzzed. The windows dripped, and brown droplets fell from the ceiling.
And the pub stunk.
Putrid.
Morbid.
Ben ran for the back of the pub with Loubie and Tommy in pursuit. They took the stairs and stopped dead at the stench crawling from the bathroom. Heat beat at the walls. The radiators lining Ivan’s passageway shimmered and scolded on touch.
‘Find the thermostat, eh,’ Ben said. ‘Ivan isn’t going to like the heating bill this month.’
Loubie stepped back. ‘I’ll check his bedroom.’
‘I’ll find the thermostat,’ Tommy said.
Ben knew the origin of the putrid stench festered in the bathroom. He pushed at the door, letting it open at its own pace. Soaps and toiletries lay in the hand basin. His toilet had a month’s worth of paper sodden and stuffed into the bowl. He took a step and peered around the door at the floor, kicking Ivan’s trousers free of his path. The shower curtain no longer clung to the rail. A moldy corner of the plastic hung over the tub’s rim.
Heroes Don't Travel Page 24
