“Let me come in.”
Walker put a hand on Barboza, instructing her to stay on the floor. Not that she showed any signs of moving.
“Or,” the man’s voice called out. “If you don’t want me to come in, you could always come out here and say hi. Do that if it makes you feel better. I assure you little pigs that I’m not here to hurt anyone. On the contrary – my friends and I are trying to help the people around here. We have some news to share with you. Will you come out?”
Walker kept his face pinned to the hard floor. He grimaced as he was forced to inhale the gruesome combo of rotten wood and stale piss.
Outside, the riders turned their motorcycle engines off, one by one. The silence that followed felt more dangerous than the noise that had preceded it.
The rider outside the pub continued to move back and forth, from one end of the building to another. It sounded like he was a trooper standing guard outside a royal palace, stretching his legs. Walker cringed as he listened to the man’s thick boots slapping against the concrete, each one of them like a baseball bat to the head.
“Little pigs,” said the man with the deep voice. “Come on,” he said. “Don’t do this the hard way. Come out now, or we come in. Your choice.”
Walker and Barboza looked at each other. Barboza nodded in resignation at Walker and he knew exactly what she was saying.
What choice do we have?
Walker nodded. He took a deep breath and pushed himself onto his feet. Then he grabbed Barboza by the hand, helping her up too.
There was a big man standing at the window. Behind him, were another four bikers – two men and two women, sitting on their motorbikes in the middle of Curtain Road. The man standing closest to them wasn’t just big – he was huge. Not tall, but wide and barrel shaped – the sort of guy you’d want in your rugby team going into a life or death scrum. That’s what he looked like – a rugby player dressed in biker leathers. Not somebody that Walker wanted to get into an argument with anytime soon.
The others were dressed in the same black biker leathers. The two men and women were sitting on their motorbikes, rigid like statues, and showed no signs of getting up anytime soon.
But they were all staring at Walker and Barboza. And there was a menacing look in every pair of eyes.
Except the big man – he was smiling. He was about thirty years old with a light brown complexion that hinted of Middle Eastern origins. Despite the man’s exotic looks, his accent was all London. He wore his hair closely cropped with the exception of a long ponytail that dropped down to his back. The other two men in the mini-convoy were scrawny in comparison to their barrel shaped leader. Both men sat on their bikes, looking at Walker and Barboza, and the look in their eyes was battle-hardened, as if they’d seen terrible things in their lives and lived to talk about it. One of the men had a wide, flesh-coloured scar of about six inches running down his cheek. The other was bald-headed, with a blond goatee sprouting from his chin that seemed to go on forever.
The two women meanwhile, were a little younger than their male companions – early to mid-twenties at most. One of them had milky white skin and flaming red hair that dropped to her shoulders. The other had short, spiky peroxide blonde hair. Out of all the bikers, she sported the meanest look and it was directed at both Walker and Barboza with an almost comical ferociousness.
“Wise decision,” the big man said. He took a step back from the window, accompanied by the sound of squeaking leather.
“Now why don’t you come outside?” he said. “All we’re going to do is talk. And trust me, you’ll be thankful for it.”
Barboza was first to step through the empty window. Walker followed close behind her. Now they were lined up on the pavement, side by side, looking back at the five bikers who had them cornered on Curtain Road. Upon closer inspection, Walker noticed that the bikers were all riding Harley Davidsons. As a teenager, he’d had a thing for Harleys and had always envisaged himself owning one when he was older and richer. Of course he’d never gotten around to having that awkward conversation with his parents – the one about how he’d prefer to have motorbike lessons instead of driving lessons.
He was spared that at least.
The big man’s bike was particularly impressive. It was a newer Road King model, although Walker wasn’t exactly sure what year. But even so – the gleaming black bodywork, the old school Harley logo on the side of the fuel tank, the side covers and saddlebags – even in an uncomfortable situation like this one, Walker allowed himself a moment to glance in appreciation at such a perfect machine.
“You probably weren’t expecting us,” the big man said. “But strange things happen in this city. You know how it is – sometimes it feels like you’re walking down London as it was before Piccadilly. Before it all went tits up and kaboom. Everything looks normal, then you blink and when you open your eyes again you’re standing in the middle of a nightmare. Right?”
Neither Walker nor Barboza said anything.
“You two got names?” the big man asked.
Walker nodded. “I’m Walker,” he said, through gritted teeth. “This is Barboza. We’re just passing through and not looking for any trouble. We’re not trying to tread on anyone’s turf either – we’ve never been down this far south and we don’t know the rules.”
The big man smiled. “A Scotsman, eh?”
“Aye.”
“We’ve got a few Scots with us back at Station,” the big man said. “Good people the Scots – hard workers, loyal – yeah, bet they wish they’d stayed up north, eh? Coming to London wasn’t the best move they ever made.”
Walker looked at him. “Station?”
The big man frowned. “Definitely not from around here, eh?”
“We’ve been living up north for the past nine years,” Barboza said. “Close to the M25. But in the end rogues forced us out – there were too many of ’em. We don’t know much about the rules, about what goes on down here so if we’re stepping on your territory then we’re sorry. We’re just trying to get somewhere.”
The big man raised his eyebrows. It looked like he wasn’t expecting an apology.
“They call me Fat Joseph,” he said. And then he gave his belly a few playful taps. “Can’t imagine why, eh?”
Fat Joseph then pointed to Walker’s axe. “Before we talk, I think you should give me that,” he said. “At least until we get to know each other a little better.”
Walker didn’t move. He had no intention of handing the axe to over these strangers.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me?” Fat Joseph said, leaning in a little closer. “Please, let’s not be difficult.”
“Kill him.”
The voice came from the middle of Curtain Road. It belonged to the blonde haired woman – she was still sitting on her Harley-Davidson Street Glide, glaring at Walker like he’d just murdered her entire family in cold blood.
“You’ll have to forgive Rhonda,” Fat Joseph said. “She doesn’t like strangers.”
“I don’t like anyone I don’t know who’s carrying a bloodstained axe,” she said. “Especially with that cold, murderous look in his eyes. Take it off him Joseph.”
“Why don’t you try?” Walker said, looking at Rhonda over Fat Joseph’s shoulder.
Rhonda smiled and it was a chilling, demonic grin. Was that what she’d been hoping to hear all along? At Walker’s challenge, she reached a heavily tattooed hand into her jacket pocket and pulled something out in a blur. Walker heard a brief clicking sound and then watched as a gleaming blade unfolded itself from a sleek, silver handle several times over.
Walker almost gasped. It was easily the longest switchblade that he’d ever seen, more like a thin sword than a knife.
Rhonda swung a long leg over the side of the bike, not taking her eyes off Walker.
“Hold it Rhonda,” Fat Joseph said. The big man was looking at Walker as he spoke to the young woman behind him. “I think you’d better give me that axe mate. I’ve seen what Rhonda can do to a man�
��s private parts with that blade. It ain’t pretty, especially if you’re planning on having any children.”
Rhonda stood in the middle of the road, glaring at Walker. The blade of the long knife was pointing at him, ready to poke a thousand holes into his skin on Fat Joseph’s command.
“Look we don’t have time for this,” Barboza said. She pushed Walker’s arm down, forcing him to lower the axe. “It’s like we said – we’re not looking for trouble. We’re looking for Michael King. That’s where we’re going – to Liverpool Street Station to see him. We’ve come a long way and we’re so close. Walker knows him – sort of.”
Fat Joseph tilted his head.
“You know Michael King?” he said to Walker.
“I was at Piccadilly,” Walker said. “Right up the front, just after Chester George was shot and killed. Michael King and I were both trying to get a hold of the same guy – the guy who killed Chester.”
Fat Joseph smiled. “Tell me about the guy who killed Chester George.”
“He lived on the same estate as Michael King and a couple of other kids I knew back then,” Walker said. “Short, black, stocky. Sort of like a miniature Mike Tyson.”
“His name?” Fat Joseph said.
“Michael King hasn’t told you his name?” Walker asked.
“Michael King doesn’t know his name,” Fat Joseph said. “Or at least, he can’t remember it. He knows that the kid lived on his estate back in 2011 but he never could pin down the name. It’s been driving him crazy for a long time. And yeah, your description sounds just like our boy.”
“I know his name,” Walker said.
“You say you know,” Fat Joseph said. “But if I take you to Michael King and you’re lying then you’ve wasted our time. And if you waste our precious time, bad things are going to happen my friend. To you. To her. You get it? There’s no playing around when it comes to the little twat who killed Chester. That’s big time baby.”
“I know him,” Walker said. “And I’ll tell Michael King his name.”
Fat Joseph looked back and forth at Walker and Barboza. Slowly, the smile returned to the big man’s face.
“Well then,” he said. “Let’s go see him.”
Chapter 4
SKAM TV - The Lunchtime News Broadcast
* * *
July 12th 2020
* * *
The news begins by showing images of a once quiet suburban street in North London.
* * *
This is Stanmore Road.
* * *
Several armoured vehicles are parked alongside the kerb. Countless troops are spilling out of the AFVs, taking up position on both sides of the street. Others are searching the neighbourhood houses, scouring the overgrown gardens in search of something or someone. At the same time, a Black Hawk helicopter descends noisily from the sky, preparing to land in the middle of the road
* * *
The camera then cuts to the news desk where thirty-five year-old Gayle Campbell, is sitting behind a large caption with the main headline – ‘MR APOCALYPSE MURDERS’ – printed in bold, red letters.
* * *
GAYLE CAMPBELL: Good afternoon. I’m Gayle Campbell and welcome to SKAM’s Lunchtime Broadcast. As reported earlier this morning, hundreds of lives were lost in a savage terrorist attack on the M25 by the Good and Honest Citizens. But there was a second event this morning, which is quickly being labelled on social media as the ‘Mr Apocalypse Murders’. If you haven’t heard, two young soldiers were brutally murdered today in North London and it’s believed that two stars of the Future of London reality TV series – Mr Apocalypse, also known as Walker, and Cristiane Barboza – are responsible. Joining me now to discuss this is one of SKAM’s resident Future of London analysts, Gordon Schultz.
* * *
The camera cuts to a thirty-nine year-old man sitting next to Gayle. Gordon Schultz, a professional sociologist at the University of Cambridge, is dressed in a three-button Yorkshire Tweed jacket and his face sports about a day’s growth of dark stubble.
* * *
GORDON SCHULTZ: Thank you Gayle.
* * *
GAYLE CAMPBELL: What a terrible day it’s been so far Gordon. Now we’ve got these Mr Apocalypse murders on top of what happened at the M25. It’s just horrendous, isn’t it? It’s believed that the two young soldiers were assisting a routine maintenance task in North London when Mr Apocalypse and Barboza ambushed them. The details so far are sketchy but grim. Apparently one of the soldiers had his throat cut and early reports also say that several fingers were hacked off one of his hands. The other soldier was apparently bludgeoned to death with an axe inside Mr Apocalypse’s house. This really is shocking, isn’t it Gordon?
* * *
GORDON SCHULTZ: Yes Gayle it is. It’s particularly tragic when you consider that these two innocent young men were only in London in the first place trying to help these people. I believe at the time, they were assisting with a small electrical fire in the Stanmore Road area.
* * *
GAYLE CAMPBELL: Another important thing to consider Gordon – just before the electrical fire caused havoc with the Future of London’s cameras, we witnessed Cristiane Barboza having a mental breakdown in Mr Apocalypse’s house. She was hysterical and even claimed to be an actress at one point. Now a lot of people – quite rightly – jumped all over this but these initial concerns died down quickly as it became clear that Barboza was not literally claiming to be a professional actress. Is that correct?
* * *
GORDON SCHULTZ: That’s correct Gayle. I believe that the stress of staying alive in such a harsh environment has caused Barboza to feel that she is playing a role. That is, she’s playing the role of the survivor and that comes with a lot of pressure that people on the outside can’t understand. It’s also possible that Barboza has developed Dissociative Identity Disorder – that is she’s created multiple personalities to help her cope with the stress of the situation she’s in. That would certainly explain why we’ve heard her speaking with both a Brazilian and English accent.
* * *
GAYLE CAMPBELL: And perhaps something like Dissociative Identity Disorder, that would explain her ability to commit such horrific crimes like these murders. If the act of murder could be blamed on someone else – a different personality for example – then it’s easier to live with. Yes?
* * *
GORDON SCHULTZ: Absolutely Gayle. It must be hard for people like Barboza who’ve lived in London for so long to understand what’s real anymore. This is not to justify these brutal murders, but we must try and make some kind of effort to understand the minds of those who committed the act.
* * *
GAYLE CAMPBELL: This certainly addresses the ongoing debate about rehabilitation, doesn’t it? The RELEASE versus PRESERVE argument.
* * *
GORDON SCHULTZ: Yes and as you know Gayle, I’m a longstanding advocate of PRESERVE – that is, to keep things as they are. What happened in Stanmore Road today should put all ideas of rehabilitation to bed once and for all. We cannot let these people back into our society.
* * *
GAYLE CAMPBELL: There’s no hope for them?
* * *
GORDON SCHULTZ: They’re no longer like us Gayle – it’s that simple. They’ve been dehumanised through a tragic series of circumstances. It’s terrible but we cannot trust these people around the rest of society – would you leave your children with one of them? Those who advocate RELEASE have to accept the hard facts – the people of London are not safe for us to be around.
* * *
GAYLE CAMPBELL: And to think, Mr Apocalypse had become such a hit with the viewers lately. For many of us who watched – myself included – it felt like we were watching a friend.
* * *
GORDON SCHULTZ: (Nodding) Sometimes we think we have a connection with an animal through the bars of a cage. We make eye contact. We feel something and believe that it’s real. But there is no connection ex
cept the one we invent for ourselves. We cannot open the cage door because all of our lives are at risk around dangerous animals. Today’s murders are another piece of sledgehammer evidence, showing us why we can’t pull down the M25. These people are unstable – we saw that with the Lovebirds earlier this year and now with Mr Apocalypse and Barboza.
* * *
GAYLE CAMPBELL: Thank you Gordon Schultz. (Turning back to camera) Well, discussions are already underway between the military and police about how to bring the two murderers to justice. As of now however, both Mr Apocalypse and Barboza remain at large somewhere in the city.
Chapter 5
Immersion 9 – Live Chat Forums
#GhostsofLondon #MrApocalypseMurders
* * *
Ziggy Sawdust: LOL! Did you see Campbell’s announcement today?
* * *
The Vegan Butcher: Yeah.
* * *
Ziggy Sawdust: The Ghosts are coming!!
* * *
The Vegan Butcher: How long since they were last out?
* * *
Mr Blue Sky: Not long enough. Don’t think I can stomach watching that all over again. Why are FOL broadcasting this vile shit to the public?
* * *
Ziggy Sawdust: People pay for 24/7 access. They can’t cut it.
The Future of London: (L-2011, Mr Apocalypse, Ghosts of London) Page 42
