Club27

by Karl Bourdiec

‘You should have seen your face, where’s the gun.’ Brian over played each movement that Chris made, his hands bent at the wrist, Brian straightened up, still smiling.

  ‘They’re in the back of my car.’ He patted Chris on the shoulder which nearly knocked him flying, most probably left a bruise too.

  They left the spot the container sat and walked the few minutes to a parking space and Brian’s car.

  ‘Is this it?’ Cameron stared at the small green building, who would paint a house lime green, he thought to himself, but this was simply to hide the fear of meeting the women who’d become a one night fling with long term commitments.

  ‘Yeah, what you expect? Another mansion?’ Steph was obviously a little burnt about Cameron’s home. She was a bar made, she had every right to be.

  ‘Miss Stephanie, maybe it’s best you enter first.’ Mary pushed Steph forward a little.

  ‘seems to be my lot in life. To go in places first, glad this isn’t a horror movie.’ She tried to hold back the want to say fuck you, Mary was right, if the dead guy who fathered your child entered your home you’d probably freak out.

  ‘Ms Ben’s mum.’ Steph knocked at the door.

  ‘You don’t know her name?’ Cameron asked in shock.

  ‘No.’ She spat, as if this was a normal occurrence.

  ‘It’s your friends mother.’

  ‘Do you know her name?’ Shot back Steph

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well you slept with the woman, it’s the mother of your child and the parent of a killer. I think I win this.’ She did win this.

  She gently rapped on the door again, it was complete silence, the unyielding silence which fills the earth when something amazing or deadly is about to happen. Still nobody replied, Cameron looked up and down the street, not a sole was there, no kid riding his little red trike or old granny walking home with an arm full of shopping, it was simply deadly silent.

  ‘I don’t like this.’ Cameron bounced on the ball of his foot a couple of times, thrusting his hands into his pockets.

  ‘Oh, I have something for this.’ Mary threw a finger in the air, without explanation she’d vanished to the car they shared.

  In seconds, she was back, with a small backpack she’d dragged from the car. Tattered and black she began to sought through it, it was the small bag Cameron had carried from Somnus one, the bag Mary had used to borrow some paraphernalia, borrowed short of taking them back.

  Three small flasks came from the sack, how they hadn’t smashed was beyond Cameron.

  ‘their highly tempered.’ Mary stated on her knees, still arranging her goods.

  ‘What?’ Cameron asked.

  ‘You were going to ask how they didn’t smash, the beakers are tempered beyond normal measure’s.’ Explained Mary, although this didn’t really cover a large enough reasoning.

  Guns are really, very dangerous, I’d love to say they are more dangerous in the wrong hands, but this simply isn’t true. They are most dangerous in the right hands, which is to say, the correct hands. Unlike cars and knowledge where the danger lies in simply not knowing how to us them. Guns are the most terrible when people can use them, and use them to such a frightening ability they must be removed from the military. This, sad to say, is how Brian got into such a situation.

  During his youth, Brian much like Chris was brought up in a military home, now do not get confused between military homes in real life and those seen on television. Brian from the back of his car pulled out a small hat, the type a French man would wear, possible with onions or garlic around his neck, I’ve never been sure which, he dusted it off with such care you’d think it was his child. Then at an angle, which seemed as if it would remove its self from its place at any second, Brian positioned the had upon his head. Chris with less care did the same, the angle was more askew, as if he was simply copying from his brother, they clasped hands with great force and began pulling tubes and rods from the back of Brian’s rusted out ford. Assembling with care but also speed, with in second the random pieces of pipe and funnels had become whole again.

  Mary had refilled the beakers, shook them a little and pulled a few drops from two of the beakers into two eye droppers. One shave gave to Steph to hold.

  ‘When I say now drop one drop from yours into the key hole.’ Mary nodded as she spoke as if to ask, are you getting this or should I speak slower, Steph nodded in time.

  Mary moved to the door, it was an ugly red thing, against the greenhouse it looked like a Christmas decorations. Marys dropper was silently placed over the crack where the door hand meets the door, one drop was let loose. Steph moved forward but Mary hurried her away, two drops, Steph looked uneasy, Mary seemed fine, but this was simply and act. A third drop.

  ‘Now.’ Mary yelled, half the street would have woken up if this wasn’t a common problem for this street.

  Steph ran in almost throwing the drop of clear liquid into the key hole.

  ‘I expect more than that.’ Cameron stood watching the door, it had been about three minutes and nothing had happened.

  ‘this isn’t a picture show. Things take time.’ Explained Mary.

  ‘Guys. It’s creaking.’ Steph stepped away slowly, down the miniature path.

  Cameron and Mary hadn’t noticed the pig like squeals which came from the little brass lock, only when pointed out where they audible.

  ‘make way.’ Mary pushed beyond the two slipping down the path and behind the miniature wall which gated these small homes.

  Steph followed but Cameron was frozen in his trainers. He pulled himself loose and made it behind the wall just in time. Something cracked like thunder inside the locking mechanism. A few clicks which were gentle and stiffening.

  Then something blew, three screws fired out like shot gun pellets hitting the wall and throwing dust into the air, Cameron began to stand but was yanked back to earth by Mary, who knew it hadn’t completely different its work. The plastics if the door began to splutter in long veins down the side where the lock had once sit. They cracked and pulled and some of it broke away, steam vented from the gorges in the door. Then it stopped and the world was still again.

  ‘Can I get up.’ Cameron muffled, his face pushed into slabs of rock the street was built up on. Mary allowed him to stand, but did not help him up.

  From its hinges the red plastic hung loose, swinging gently with a little breeze.

  ‘Hello?’ somebody yelled, it was a frail voice, one Cameron knew, although it had aged it about twenty years and fell short of if naïvetés it once had been built up.

  ‘Hello?’ Mary yelled through the door way, stepping close to it, but remaining crouched as she did so.

  ‘Hello, is somebody there?’ it was beyond frail as if this was the voice of some female incarnation of it death its self.

  Mary continued to move into the house, followed by Steph, Cameron hung way back. The fear in his lower gut made a rumble, either that or it was hunger, he hadn’t eaten in some time, not since Gilly’s. Bishop looked forward to see if the other two were struggling with similar pains, neither girls seemed to be in such levels of pain as him, it was the unnerving fear then. He agreed with himself.

  ‘Cameron Bishop, I am not babying you, make you way up here right this second.’ This sounded like Mary, but the voice had come from Stephanie, calling her Steph now seemed wrong, like it was the incorrect pronunciation of her name.

  Cameron made effort to catch up, but still stay at the back of the queue. A task which defies the laws of logic but somehow, he could make it work.

  ‘Hello?’ yelled a male voice this time, a voice Cameron didn’t know, it sounded like the first time he had heard his demo though. Like everybody, Cameron hated to hear his own voice, this isn’t really true, everybody likes the sound of their own voice but only when they hear it from the confined of their own head, and not when its recorded and played back to you, like Cameron thought it had been now.

  ‘Benji it’s us!’ she cried up.

  ‘us?�
�� the voice obviously belonged to Benji replied down.

  ‘it’s Benji.’ Steph stated the obvious, Cameron and Mary just looked at each is amazement.

  ‘Is Bishop there?’ Ben yelled down.

  ‘Yeah!’ Cameron replied in much the same volume as Benji spoke.

  ‘Fuck off Bishop.’ Benji was blunt. An aspect he’s inherited from his father his mother told him often. Benji thought he got it from his mum.

  ‘You’ve blown my fucking door off.’ He was obviously annoyed. Understandably.

  ‘You weren’t answering.!’ Mary joined in, as if that was a reasonable response. Neither Benji nor his mum thought so. The yelling seed to stop for a second. A pale thin stick of chalk of a woman, burst through the now clear doorway, stumbling like a new born deer from a kid’s movie, she pushed forward. Then the word went into a deep black for Cameron Bishop his last words being.

  ‘Not again.’

  Three guns, three guns each, that’s six guns, not counting the ones they’d just built in the back of Brian’s car. That’s eight guns, is eight guns over kill? Ironic, eight guns does seem a little excessive. Chris thought to himself.

  ‘Is eight guns a bit much?’ he asked out loud to Brian. Brian’s huge head, pale and bearded, twisted like an owl, Chris was scared he’d break his own neck.

  ‘If you fail to prepare you prepare to fail.’ He spoke clearly and calmly and not at all like this was something his father had said to him often like the uncaring robot he was. This is something you tell your son before packing his bag before camp and putting in two more pairs of socks then required. That is if you’re a good father, Brian’s father would say it before forcing him to drink a pint of raw eggs before a run, even now when Brian said it the sickly feel of the eggs landing sunny side up in his stomach still turned him sick. Brian held his breakfast down like the best of them.

  Chris nodded in reply, his father had never made any witty remarks, not that he recalled at least, a fucking idiot, was never considered a witty remark even if his father thought it was.

  They both now wore black vest, these were light but restricted moment, some sort of Kevlar filled them, they were squishy like putty but would stop a bullet, if the shooter was dumb enough to shoot you in your Kevlar vest. Chris pulled at the bottom of his best, it pulled hard on his shoulder, so he adjusted his shoulders. This seemed to pull up around the mid drift.

  ‘This fucking thing.’ He called it. The vests were useless, not to say they had no use at all, they simply had no use right now. Not when the people they were chasing lacked guns or common sense. Chris adjusted the Velcro straps which held the outfit in place in the hopes that tightening or loosening the would help the fitting in some way.

  ‘I’m sure getting concussion this much isn’t good for my head.’ Cameron said to Mary looking for some reasoning that it was fine.

  ‘no, it’s not.’ She answered without softness, Steph came in with something wrapped in a tea towel, grey just poured from it like a witch’s pot. By looking at it you knew it was cold to touch. She placed it on his face with a gentle hand and let Cameron hold it there himself.

  ‘Why is everyone punching me?’ he asked Steph looking for some sympathy, she gave none. They all simply sat in silence till Cameron’s head had screwed its self in fully.

  A boy in his mid-twenties sat in a large chair which looked as if it had been built of cushions.

  ‘Bishop!’ the cushion lad said, leaning his elbow on his knee, bring his face closer so all of it could be seen.

  ‘I’ll come to you in a minute,’ Cameron explained, rubbing his jowl, seeing if his glass jaw had finally shattered, it seemed fine but stung when he pressed on it with the ice pack.

  ‘Where’s that women who attacked me?’ he looked around in fear that she would be making sure she hadn’t come back to finish the job.

  ‘Mum’s upstairs.’ Explained Benji, looking through the door way where he could get a clear sight and more importantly, a clear eye shot, of the room where his mother would be relaxing.

  ‘No, she’s not.’ That frail silver women made her way down the stairs, using the banister to heave herself down slowly. There was a tender sadness which washed over the room, Ben jumped up, and was around his mother like shot, holder her hand and by the hip he helped her over to a small chair which sat at an uncomfortable slant. She sat in it and pulled a remote from the armrest, pushing a button it lowered itself to the right degree any good chair sat at.

  This was her, Liz, the women who raised his son. She looked older then Cameron expect, much older, the thinning hair didn’t help.

  ‘I’m dying Cameron.’ She held a hand out.

  ‘You’re not dying, it’s in remission.’ Benji spoke. Even to his mother he was a little blunt.

  ‘he didn’t know that. ‘a chipper tone fell into Liz’s voice like a puzzle piece it made her whole.

  ‘Pardon one second, you didn’t tell me Liz had cancer!’ Cameron said to Stephanie now the picture was clear.

  ‘She doesn’t, it’s in remission.’ The was a smug reply.

  ‘Twenty years on and you haven’t changed.’ Cameron looked her up and down, her time with cancer had broken her down but he could as you bettered herself she’d became the women he once knew.

  ‘That’s the pot calling the kettle isn’t it. I wasn’t the one who got myself pickled.’ She said.

  ‘Long term hibernation.’ Corrected Mary.

  ‘We’re here to take your guns, you won’t be killing anyone else Benji’ Mary turned to the young boy, who looked a little more than puzzled.

  ‘Don’t call me Benji, just Ben will do. I hate that name.’ Now this was his son Cameron thought to himself.

  ‘Join the queue lady, the army already took my guns.’ Ben explained. Now everyone looked puzzled. Some say smiles are contagious but puzzlement is more so.

  ‘It’s taken.’ Mary itched.

  ‘You get used to that.’ Commented Cameron putting hand on Mary’s knee as if to say not now.

  ‘They’ve taken my gun, well they were their guns, your kind of just borrow them.’

  ‘So, what have you been showing people with. ‘Cameron asked leaning forward as if he wanted to know a secret.

  ‘Shooting who?’

  ‘You’ve not been shooting people again have you Benji?’ Liz chimed in.

  ‘I’ve shot no one, ever.’

  ‘Wait, this is a fucking stupid question. How do you know I’d be coming here?’ a question which had just pushed its way through the fog of Cameron’s concussion.

  ‘Mikey said you would.’

  ‘Who’s Mikey.’ Steph had lost track.

  ‘Benji’s little Indian friend.’ Racism seemed to be something Liz grew into.

  ‘Doctor Hassan helped me with mum.’ Benji added.

  ‘it’s mam, when did it become mum?’ interjected Cameron. Everyone ignored him.

  ‘How did he help?’ Mary needed to know.

  ‘He saw we needed some stuff, gave them to us, I didn’t know about Somnus, we needed help, we weren’t going to turn it away.’ Ben explained, there was some sort of apology in there but Mary and Cameron couldn’t work out why, words just coursed out of him like a cut vein.

  ‘Is okay. If you’re not going to kill us start from the start. ‘Mary made sure Benji was one hundred percent not going to kill them before they continued.

  ‘Doctor Hassan came to see me at the goose. The pub I work in.’ He started to explain.

  ‘The three-legged lamb.’ Corrected Bishop.

  ‘Leave it be Bishop, they changed its name get over it.’ Mary told him, he tried to but it was a big deal to him.

  ‘Mikey said he knew where my father was, I said I wanted nothing to do with him, I mean you, still don’t by the way.’ Benji’s bluntness hurt sometimes.

  ‘he started giving me all the stuff mum needed, the bed, the chair, he did our bathroom with the bath with a door in it. After a bit, I did think where you could be, but I kept i
t to a left, then after a bit some old friends of mine told me about children of you. I thought being I’m not the only kid maybe doctor Hassan had reached out, spoke to some of them, but no one had heard of him.’ Ben spoke softly with each world he tried to pull the memories from his head.

  ‘That’s where you met Chris and Brian?’ Cameron asked.

  ‘No, Chris and Brian were my old army buddy’s, well Brian was, Chris was considered unstable, to unstable to join at least.’

  ‘To many screws loose, you got to have a few screws loose to join the arm to start with.’

  ‘Your son has no screws loose thank you very much.’ Liz commented leaning in now she had begun to regain her full motion she was planning on using it to its full potential.

  ‘He wanted to shoot at people for a living.’ Cameron replied.

  ‘He wanted to serve his country, you wouldn’t understand, you only want to serve yourself.’ Liz yelled, this was followed by a huge sigh from Cameron, she was right, he was a little self-righteous, he only saw himself as a little.

  ‘None of this answers the question, who’s been shooting at us?’ Cameron stated, looking over at Mary to see if she’d pulled the answer from random statements yet.

  ‘I wouldn’t say so.’ She had put things together.

  ‘How was Chris and Brian versed, let’s say in armory?’

  ‘Chris I have no idea, although he was into CQC, hand to hand I mean. Brian was good with guns, more long range though.’

  ‘I think you’ve looked over one thing Cameron, Brian and Chris were the people who told you about the Children of Bishop, right?’ Ben nodded to Mary’s question.

  ‘How did they know you were the offspring of Bishop?’ she asked finally as if this was the last piece of the puzzle which nobody else could see.

  ‘I told them, we got drunk one night and it came up.’ Ben explained.

  ‘How would that even come up.’ Steph asked, not even she knew most of this.

  ‘It was when Gilly was going through his karaoke stage, I sang one of your songs. I was good, a little too good, they wanted me to start doing it pro, like an impersonator, I turned it down. Said it wasn’t for me, they pushed me for why, and I told them.’ Ben looked down to his feet as he played with his hands.