by Lee, Frazer
Staring up at the intermittent flickering of the smoke alarm lights, Tom left the bedside lamp switched on and waited for morning to come.
A hot shower, with the showerhead set to its most powerful setting, went some way to reinvigorating Tom’s senses. He pressed the wall-mounted soap dispenser, treating himself to another palm full of pink ooze. The shower gel smelled like fruity herbal teabags that had been kept in a plastic container for just a little too long. As he massaged the soap into his skin, he inhaled the aroma of the lather, enjoying its artificiality.
The large wall mirror above the sink had steamed up by the time Tom finished showering. He realized he had turned the exhaust fan off at the isolator switch before hopping into the tub the previous night. He looked at his vague reflection in the foggy glass as he brushed his teeth, resisting the temptation to wipe a peephole in the condensation so he could see himself. Tom preferred the distorted pink blur of his reflection, not caring to see how tired he looked. He rinsed, spat and wiped his mouth with a hand towel, leaving the steamy mirror to censor the effects a day on a plane and a night in an air-conditioned room may have visited upon his skin.
Packing didn’t take long, as Tom had removed so few personal effects from his luggage the night before. He unplugged his phone charger last of all and stowed it in his laptop bag along with all the other cables, mouse, and USB memory sticks that accompanied him on the ride whenever he was on business. Pulling on his jacket, he ran his fingers through his still-damp hair, glanced at the little pile of advertising and instruction leaflets he’d made atop the desk, and left the room.
Tom found Dieter tucking into a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon and mushrooms when he arrived in the restaurant. Dieter eyed Tom’s luggage as he brought it over to the table.
“Why didn’t you leave that in your room?” he mumbled through a mouthful of breakfast.
“I’d rather get going.”
Dieter swallowed his huge mouthful prematurely. Looking like he might choke, he reached for his glass of orange juice.
“But don’t rush your breakfast,” Tom added. “Is it edible?”
“Not bad.” Dieter shrugged. “A little…lukewarm.”
Tom wandered off in search of sustenance.
Heated metal trolleys were lined up at the far end of the restaurant, the stainless steel lids embossed with the names of their contents. He lifted the lid marked Scrambled Eggs and peered at the watery, rubbery contents inside. He replaced the lid, which looked like a gravestone in memoriam of the food that had died beneath it. Opting out of the lukewarm food option left only breakfast cereal, which was stacked up in tiny individual boxes next to jugs of fruit juice and milk. He selected a couple of vaguely healthy-looking cereals, tore open the cartons and inner bags, then poured the contents into a bowl with milk. Grabbing a spoon, he tried a mouthful of the sugary, lactose mess and found it to be surprisingly tasty. What he really needed was coffee, and a quick one-eighty of the room revealed a few filter jugs of the stuff lined up next to a caddy containing stacks of warm cups and saucers. Ignoring the saucers, Tom poured himself a cup and drank it down in just two gulps. Grabbing a tray from the caddy, he poured a couple more cups and carried them, along with his cereal back to the table where Dieter and his luggage awaited him.
When they were done eating, the two business travelers huddled together around the road maps that Dieter’s blonde squeeze from the car rental company had given to them. Double-checking the route against the one suggested by Dieter’s smart phone, they ascertained the drive to Douglass would take them at least four hours. Taking into consideration the rugged terrain beyond the motorway, plus a couple of rest stops, Tom suggested it might even take closer to five or six hours. He gazed at the printed map, marveling at the fact that there seemed to be no straight roads in Scotland. In fact, there didn’t really seem to be many roads at all. The closer their route took them to Douglass, the more dense and expansive the areas of green that represented forests became. Tom had lived in the city so long that the landscape mapped out before him looked like some alien world. They could have been trekking into the Amazon there were so many trees. A little frisson of pleasured excitement passed over the surface of his skin as he gazed down at the printed forests, Godlike, from above. With several miles of motorway to get through first, Tom was itching to get on the road.
“Good to go?”
“Okay,” Dieter said, gulping down the remnants of his fifth glass of OJ, “I’ll go pack. Want to wait here, or I see you at the car?”
“At the car,” Tom replied. “Have to make a phone call anyhow.”
“Okey dokey.”
Tom’s phone already felt heavy as a brick in his pocket as he walked out of the hotel lobby and onto the parking lot. He was not looking forward to calling Julia, and was dreading the possibility that Ellie might pick up. Just as he was cycling through the list of possible excuses he could invent in order not to call, Tom felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen, dreading what he might find.
The text message had been sent from Unknown Contact #0838 and read: Welcome to Scotland and welcome to Scotnet, your network home from home. Check with your provider for roaming charges.
He chuckled at the message, its bland robotic delivery offsetting the tension he’d felt before opening it. Feeling ridiculous, he thumbed the screen and brought up his list of contacts. Thumb hovering over the name Julia, he glanced up at the early morning sun.
Of course, he remembered, it’s eight thirty a.m. in Scotland, which means it will be after midnight back home.
Score.
He popped his phone back into his pocket and promised himself he would text later when it was a more acceptable time for Julia.
Tom had forgotten all about his promise to himself by the time he reached the rented Ford Focus. He leaned back against the gunmetal gray bodywork, luggage at his feet, watching jet planes thunder overhead as he waited for his driver.
Chapter Ten
Self-styled eco-activist Jupiter Crash (a.k.a. Brian) had sulked for the entire journey to the rendezvous point.
The atmosphere in the camper was calm, as the lack of banter from their glorious leader had given each of the passengers some quiet time to doze, or simply to watch the endless blur of motorway turn to rural splendor, then back to motorway again, as the sun went down and the stars came out overhead. Jupiter had succumbed to sleep when Kegger slowed the camper down and pulled into the final services before the coast. A fleet of similarly beat-up old vehicles lined the parking bays at the services, along with lines of motorbikes and a couple of vintage buses that had been converted into bohemian motor homes. Sitting on and around the vehicles were droves of the same people who had been waving placards at the airport protest earlier that day.
Jupiter came to as Kegger found an empty bay, parked up and killed the engine. Brushing his dreadlocks from his eyes, Jupiter peered at his brethren through the condensation coating the window. The motorway services had become protester central, a nomadic army marching on the injustices of government. It was a sight that never failed to fill him with civic pride.
“Brothers and sisters,” he said, his voice thick with nicotine and herb. “Time to stretch our legs and see what’s what.”
Kegger stretched and yawned. His huge frame wobbled as he extricated himself from the driving seat.
“Anyone else hungry? I could eat an ox,” he said, rubbing his bloodshot eyes.
“Absofuckinglutely starving,” Denny said.
“They have a KFC,” Kegger said, sounding like he had found Nirvana.
“Christ’s sake,” Jupiter said. “Why not give your money to Life Sciences and be done with it?”
“What?” Kegger asked, “I’m not a veggie-tarian like you. Can eat chicken if I want.”
“Whatever’s in those boxes isn’t chicken,” Charlotte said, joining the fray, “Brian’s right—you may as well give your cash to animal torturers, poor little t
hings don’t see an ounce of daylight.”
Jupiter glanced over to Charlotte and nodded in solidarity.
She looked nothing short of gorgeous in the cobalt glow of the car park lighting.
“Jupiter. J-U-P-I-T-E-R. How many bloody times do I have to tell you?”
“All right, chill out, why do you have to be so confrontational all the time?”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the group.
Kegger lumbered off toward the Colonel’s disembodied face, glowing atop a post like a head on a stick.
“Hey, wait up!”
Denny ambled after him, smelling the possibility of a free meal. Amber shrugged at Charlotte and followed her man.
Faced with the choice of joining the majority or being left alone with Jupiter, Charlotte muttered something about needing the bathroom and took off after them.
Great. He’d managed to turn a bonding opportunity into another reason for Charlotte to keep her distance. He loved the fact she was a vegetarian like him (he had neglected to mention that, unlike her, he ate fish), but he wished to high heaven she would stop using his given name. Taking the keys that Kegger had left in the ignition, Jupiter locked up the camper. If any of them returned looking to crash, they’d have to bloody well remember his proper name when they came looking for him to let them in. Stomping away from the van, Jupiter headed for the larger of the custom buses, in search of intel on the day’s activities.
Mama Cath was right where he expected to find her, surrounded by her entourage on the lower deck of her vehicle, an old pillar-box red London Routemaster bus. The lower deck had been converted into a living room complete with sofas and a standard lamp that had been bolted to the floor. An ornate red velvet lampshade cast an exotic glow over the room, which was thick with smoke. Mama Cath’s living room also served as a meeting house at times such as this, when she held court in a rickety old rocking chair with a Mac Book laptop atop her skirts. Assorted longhaired, shaved, tattooed, pierced and heavily bearded folk were gathered around her on the repurposed bus seats that lined the room.
“You’re late,” she said, as Jupiter skulked on board via the step at the rear of the bus.
“Pigs keep you long, did they?”
The whiny voice belonged to Bill, Mama Cath’s beau. Jupiter had no idea why she would shack up with a sniveling bastard like Bill, but they were thick as thieves. For as long as Jupiter had been on the circuit, Bill had expressed an increasing dislike for him. The feeling was mutual, and Jupiter ignored the question.
“Good crowd tonight. Still buzzing from the airport gig. Did a good job, I thought. Ranks held, saw some telly cameras in the fray. If they hadn’t turned the pumps on us, we’d have been solid…”
Mama Cath’s eyes were eating him whole. He looked into them. They were wide, all-seeing orbs bright as fireworks. She knew their protest had been a failure as well as he did. Her ensuing sigh underlined the fact. Her eyes fell and she set about rolling a cigarette using her trademark jet-black liquorice papers.
“Glad to hear you’re so upbeat about it, Mr. Crash.”
Bill had decided to speak for his missus, as he often did. Mama’s eyes twinkled, her gaze still fixed on Jupiter.
“How many did you bring, out of interest?”
Jupiter faltered.
He had promised at least a couple hundred, roughly one third of his Twitter following. It had seemed a reasonable estimate during the planning stages, but he hadn’t taken into consideration the fact that many of his followers hailed from the south. Anything north of the Watford Gap was clearly too far out of their comfort zone. Consequently, only a handful of his chapter had turned up.
“Just out of interest?”
To Jupiter, Bill’s nasal snarl sounded like a wasp buzzing in his head. He wished he could swat the voice, and its owner, away.
“Two dozen, I reckon.”
No sooner had Jupiter uttered the words than a ripple of laughter passed through the gathering aboard the bus.
“But the weather’s been foul and most of them are southern sissies.”
“Takes one to know one!” Bill laughed.
The crowd laughed along with him.
Jupiter bit his lip, silently cursing the Home Counties accent that made him sound posh to pretty much anyone outside Surbiton.
“Does it, Bill? Really? Where were you when the cannon went off, then? Could’ve sworn I saw a pub near the terminal…”
Bill’s eyes narrowed, his pointy features taking on a rodent-like aspect as he scowled openly at Jupiter.
“Now, now, boys,” Mama Cath said, exhaling liquorice smoke. “Let’s be friends, eh?”
She leveled her gaze at Bill, who looked daggers at Jupiter, then withdrew. Returning her attention to Jupiter, Mama Cath turned the laptop around in her lap so he could see the screen. She had his profile up, for all to see.
“You have hundreds of followers, no?” She did not wait for his answer. “We need the young’ins, Jupes, it’s the only way we can beef up the numbers. And numbers are what we need right now more than anything. A couple of van loads of your mates ain’t enough to make The Six O’clock News—you feel me?”
Jupiter nodded. He was the youngest person aboard the bus. Perhaps that’s why he felt like a schoolboy being given a ticking off in the head teacher’s office. He so wanted to be a part of this, perhaps it had been a mistake to promise such high attendance figures.
“What did you tell them? The cops?”
Bill again, lurking like a rodent in the shadows.
So that’s what this Q&A session is all about, thought Jupiter.
He made sure not to pause for too long before answering.
“I got hurt,” he said, lifting his bandaged arm slightly for dramatic effect. “Guy who did it drove headlong into a crowd of us. If you were in the thick of it, you’d know all about it of course.”
Jupiter stared at Bill with relish as the pointy man felt the sharp end of his barb.
“Cops wanted to know all about the blokes who drove at us, that was all.”
“That right?” Bill asked, his nostrils breathing suspicion like smoke.
“Yeah.”
“And who were they, these fellers?”
“Couple of dorky Americans. Gave the cops their details, let the CCTV footage do the rest. Made sure to tell them I’m interested in pressing charges.”
“You did good,” Mama Cath interceded before Bill could speak. “Assault on a protester could be bad, very bad ju-ju for the police—especially after what happened in Parliament Square.”
Jupiter remembered the protest as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. Hemmed in by the police tactic of “kettling” outside the Houses of Parliament, scores of protesters had been rushed to the hospital after collapsing in the crush of bodies. An elderly man had later died from internal injuries, and the Metro Police Chief had resigned soon after.
“You did good,” Mama repeated. “Just get the numbers up next time. Keep the police cameras off the old faces. Give them a smokescreen to disappear into, yes?”
Jupiter nodded his agreement and thanks for the endorsement.
“Now fuck off,” said Bill, taking the wind out of Jupiter’s sails. “Us grownups got some proper business to discuss.”
Jupiter jumped off the back of the bus and headed for the bright lights of the services. He glanced back over his shoulder to make sure Mama’s boys hadn’t followed him, then quickly doubled back toward the Routemaster. Ducking around the side, keeping low to remain out of sight of the gathering, he sidled up to an open window on the driver’s side of the bus. He could hear Mama Cath’s voice just as clearly as though he were still inside the bus with her.
Jupiter crouched down and listened intently—so intently that he did not hear the footfalls of Bill and cronies until they were upon him.
He tried to cry out in pain as they grabbed his damaged arm and wrenched it around behind his back, but a big, powerful hand was clamped over his mouth,
keeping him from making a sound. His assailant held him fast as Bill and the others closed in around him, raining kicks and punches on him like an angry mob at a stoning. His body wanted to double up as a boot found his groin, the impact sending his testicles deep into his abdomen, but those powerful arms held him erect and vulnerable to more punishment. A fist split his lip and he felt warm blood spew over his chin, tasted its salt metal tang. Something blunt glanced across his forehead accompanied by a dull cracking sound and his eyes rolled back.
They were still punching and kicking him as he fell unconscious.
Chapter Eleven
As the rental car engine droned on, Tom watched a huge bird of prey wheel across the tousled highland landscape. He thought the bird could be a Red Kite, though he wasn’t one hundred percent sure. He toyed with the idea of asking Dieter for his opinion, but thought better of distracting him while driving on such a tricky road, which weaved this way and that at the whim of the surrounding mountain range.
The drive had, as predicted, taken five hours and he and Dieter were still several miles off from their destination. Neither of them minded, not with views as spectacular as the one beyond their windscreen. They had shrugged off the airport, then the city and the blank corridors of motorway some hours back and Tom felt lighter the more distance they put between their rental car and civilization. Their rest stops had been brief, affording just enough time to grab a coffee and a snack before urinating, then getting back on the road again. Tom could see Dieter was tired from the flight and the hours of driving, but something like a compulsion had gripped the both of them to reach Douglass.
Tom craned his neck so he could see the bird of prey riding a slipstream of mountain air high above their car. It soared out of Tom’s view for a moment before it reappeared on Dieter’s side of the vehicle, then soared back toward his side once more. He gasped as the majestic bird hovered for a moment in midair, then tucked its wings either side of its body and took a nosedive toward the ground at frightening velocity. Again, Tom lost sight of the creature as the car rounded a sharp bend. Then, it rose up, powering itself aloft and clinging to its prey—perhaps a small rabbit—with talons as big as butcher’s hooks. The bird’s black eyes glinted and Tom felt for one penetrative moment like it was looking right at him, welcoming him into the wild. The rabbit twitched, barely able to move in the grip of those powerful claws.
