Dark Winter Series (Book 1): Dark Winter

by Fernfield, Rebecca

  Instantly on the defensive, Dominic frowned. “Gregor! These twats are running out of Liverpool and London.”

  Gregor shifted in his seat, leaning into the table, bearing down on Dominic. “What you are saying? Huh? These people are better than me! Huh? They are tougher than Gregor Zekovic? Is that what you are saying, you pussy! You dumb ass, pussy!”

  Dominic rose in his seat for less than a second then sat back down. “No!”

  “Good! No one is tougher than Gregor Zekovic. Not Liverpool pussies. Not London pussies.”

  “They’re armed, Gregor.”

  “And this is why you let my business fail, huh, Dominic-pussy? Huh?”

  “Well ... no, but we can’t fight them.”

  “Sure, we can.”

  “How? We don’t have guns.”

  “Not yet, but you will have.”

  Callum felt the knots in his stomach tighten. Being a part of the gang had been a good choice in the beginning. After being homeless on the Manchester streets, becoming part of a drug-dealing gang seemed like heaven, and the other members had become a family, the trap houses a home. Sure, there was violence, most of the gang carried knives, and sometimes lives were lost - murder was part of the tit-for-tat drug-running, business culture - but arming the gangs would take the violence to a whole new level.

  He remained silent as Gregor continued to outline his plan: he had connections, he would arm the runners and Elders in this town, bring them up-to-date with the new business models now growing in popularity, and shut the new lines down. Gregor sat back for a moment. This was his turf, and no one was going to take it from him. As he continued to grill Dominic, the door opened, and Shannon walked through.

  “Sket! What you doing down here? I told you to go upstairs.”

  “But I’m cold up there. I wanted to check the heating. And I’m hungry.” The last words were spoken with pouted lips and a whining voice.

  “Stupid bitch!” Gregor spat.

  “Hey!” she retaliated.

  Callum’s gut pinched.

  “Go upstairs. We men talk.”

  “But I’m hungry,” she whined pulling a petulant frown.

  On her cheek dark bruising shone grey through a layer of foundation. Her eyelid and brow were swollen, the skin marked by a spreading blue tinge. Was she really dumb enough to continue goading Gregor?

  “I just want some toast!” Her voice became wheedling. “You’ve got some bread, right, Dominic?”

  Yes, she was that dumb!

  With a roar, Gregor rose, forcing the table against Dominic as he pushed it out of his way. Taking two massive steps across the room, he pinned Shannon against the wall, long, thick fingers clamped around her throat. A sense of deja-vu fell over Callum like a damp cloth, cold and uncomfortable. It was a scene he had witnessed before, and Casey’s battered face still haunted his dreams; he couldn’t let it happen again.

  Without thinking, he stood. Dominic hissed at him to sit down.

  Ignoring Dominic, he said, “Gregor, leave the woman.” His bowels flipped. It was too late now; his stupid mouth had opened, and a beating was assured. “She’s not worth it.”

  Gregor, hand still gripped around Shannon’s throat, turned to glare at him with eyes full of loathing. “No one tells me what to do, Frostie!”

  Shannon spluttered, obviously struggling to breath.

  “No, no, of course not. I just meant, she’s just a stupid sket, not worth the effort ... and we’ve got this problem to sort out.”

  Shannon spluttered again, and her eyes began to bulge.

  Callum tried a different tactic. “Just tell her what happens to skets that fall out of line, Gregor, that’ll shut her up. We can sit down and talk in peace then.”

  Gregor’s eyes narrowed, but he leaned into Shannon and muttered into her ear, his hand still tight around her throat. Her eyes widened, flickering with fear, and Callum recoiled at Gregor’s description of the mutilation he would inflict on the woman if she didn’t comply to his rule. As he continued, Shannon sagged against the wall, and when Gregor released his hand, she stumbled, then staggered to the door. “That’s right, bitch,” Gregor crowed. “Get upstairs. Do not come down.”

  As Shannon disappeared through the door, Gregor turned his attention to Callum. The knots in his belly tightened and sharp pains ran through his gut. He was in for it now.

  “So, Frostie, you think she is stupid sket, huh?”

  “She’s alright. I don’t take no notice.”

  “You think she is no good for me?”

  “Not my place to know.”

  Gregor narrowed his eyes, jaw muscles rippling as they clenched and unclenched, riding the rage that coursed through him. After several moments of considering Callum, Gregor moved to sit at the table and motioned for both men to follow. The tension was palpable, and they waited for Gregor to break the uneasy silence. When he did, he returned to the infringement on his territory that had brought him to the house. “So, Dominic, you have lost runners.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then get more. At least ten new ones, five must be under ten years old. Target the poorest part of the town.”

  “I think we’re already in it,” Dominic returned.

  “Then there is no excuse. You know how to do it, don’t you? Offer money, mobile phones, gaming consoles, even sweets. Befriend the mothers.”

  “Of course I know.”

  “You make friends with them, then even with the other gangs, they stay with you. Most of these children, they have no father. You become their father, their favourite uncle. This is how it is done. You treat them nice.”

  “Sure, sure, but the-”

  “No excuses, Dominic. In one week, we will have plan, and I will send my soldiers. We will turn these Liverpool-London-pussies out of my town.” He leant back in his chair, white breath billowing in the cold. “Get heating high in this place. New runners need to feel like this is a home, cosy.”

  “Will do.”

  They sat in silence for a moment. “Now, there is one more thing. We have another business, and I need some new staff.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, I need girls for my business, pretty girls. Today I will take home two.”

  “Pretty girls?”

  “Yes, I want pretty girls, schoolgirls.” He turned to Callum. “You go with him. And ...” He leaned inwards, “I also want a beautiful woman. This one, Shannon,” he pointed to the ceiling, “I am bored of her. She whines. She is old news. I want a fresh girl. You two go out today and bring me back runners and a new woman. She must be young, pretty, nice girl not like the whore-bitch upstairs.”

  “But-”

  “No buts. We will take them back to Manchester tonight.”

  “Sure, but-”

  Gregor held up a hand, and Dominic nodded his acceptance. Callum’s skin crawled. Running drugs was one thing, easy even, but trafficking girls and women was something else.

  “And Frostie ...”

  “Yes?” Callum replied making enormous effort to hide his loathing.

  “Don’t let me down this time.”

  “I won’t,” he replied.

  CHAPTER SIX

  After Angel Mallard and her dumpy sidekick had pulled away from the kerb, Anna zipped up the last bag, turned off the muted television with its dour-faced news presenter, and pulled on her jacket. Taking a final look around the room to check for any unpacked belongings, she ushered Jem through the bedsit door. White mist billowed around them as warm breath collided with cold air.

  “Listen to me, Jem,” Anna said as they stood on the landing. “You can’t tell anyone where we’re going.”

  “I won’t!” Jem’s focus remained on her mobile phone’s screen.

  Frustrated, Anna grabbed the device and slipped it into her own pocket.

  “Hey!”

  “You have to concentrate, Jem.”

  “Can I have it back?”

  “When we get to the next place. You can’t walk and lo
ok at that screen at the same time.”

  Jem threw her an irritated glance but did not push the issue and both girls made their way down the stairs to the door Angel Mallard had made vibrate in its frame only minutes earlier.

  Forty minutes later they made their way through narrow streets, keeping to the back roads, taking passageways through long rows of terraced housing to the narrow paths between their back-to-back-gardens, paranoid that Angel Mallard would find them and swoop down like some demented, over-stuffed vulture. With their patchwork of crumbling brick walls, and rotting wooden fences, the paths between the houses reeked of poverty.

  Anna’s plan was to get through the town centre on foot rather than take a taxi or the bus - she needed to keep hold of what cash they had - and then make their way to the seafront on the other side of town. The beachfront had a train station and bed and breakfast accommodation. It was out of season so the small hotels should, she hoped, have vacancies. She just needed one night to think everything through, and then she planned to call their aunt and hope the woman agreed to them coming over to stay with her in Amiens, the small French city she had moved to ten years ago. Even if she didn’t, Anna had decided that leaving the country to escape the claws of Family and Children Services was the best option. She would find work so that they were no burden to their aunt, and Jem could go to a local school. Although - confusion fogged her thinking again - the port where they needed to catch the ferry and get across the channel was at the other end of the country. Anna’s head throbbed and she increased her pace; she would have to make sure that the B&B had free Wi-Fi so that she could contact Aunt Alicia and do some research on the best routes to Amiens which was in the north of France so not too far from southern England. If they could get a ferry across to Calais, or even the train through the Channel tunnel, the journey would nearly be over. Dread swelled in her belly; what if their names had been passed on to the port authorities? What if they made it the hundreds of miles down to the bottom of the country and were then arrested as they tried to board the ferry? What if the money in her mother’s bank account didn’t cover the cost? There was less than twenty pounds in her own account. She swallowed, urged Jem to walk faster, and focused on the path, trying to switch off the thoughts.

  Caught by movement above, Jem’s attention turned to the sky. A passenger plane flew overhead, low enough to see the windows along its side. “Can we get a plane over to France, Anna?” she asked.

  Anna peered at the plane. They had passports, and perhaps enough money in their mother’s account to buy tickets. She offered a non-committal ‘maybe’, then distracted Jem by talking about the hot chocolate they could drink when they found a place to stay.

  Ahead, but still out of sight, the road opened up to the arterial thoroughfare that fed through the city centre. It made a ring around the large shopping mall their mother had sometimes taken them to on a Saturday afternoon where they would check out the latest fashions. At her favourite coffee shop, she would sip a cappuccino as they drank hot chocolate.

  Further along the road, a group of girls stepped out onto the path. As they laughed, one punched the other on the arm, and a friendly scuffle broke out. Anna led Jem across the road. As they drew near, it became obvious that the girls were about fifteen, so probably truanting from school. One girl nudged another and looked in Anna’s direction. Anna turned to look the other way, urging Jem to do the same; the last thing they needed was hassle from a bunch of delinquent schoolkids.

  The group stopped, and Anna’s heart pounded, but as the straggle of girls turned to a house with boarded-up windows and knocked on the front door, she allowed herself to relax. The door opened and a scraggy looking man with unkempt, rattail dark hair, and dressed in baggy grey sweatpants and hoodie peered out. Even from this distance his clothes appeared stained. Fascinated, Anna watched as he swapped a small packet for a note held out by one of the girls. Drugs! The girls had gone to a dealer and bought drugs! Although Anna considered herself streetwise, a drug deal was something she had never witnessed. The kids at school had bragged about it of course, and then at college, but her tightknit group of friends had shunned drug-taking as something for losers. Given the state of the man at the door, they had been right—the man was a scrawny, pasty-faced mess.

  Jem had stalled to watch, and Anna tugged at her sleeve. “We’re not too far from the centre. If we cut through this park, we can get there quicker.”

  The park was a large area of grass planted with trees. To the front was a fenced area with black rubber matting beneath swings, a zip wire, slide, and roundabout painted in bright primary colours. Jem agreed, and both girls made their way through the turnstile. There was no sign of a gate on the far side, but a path beside the playground led away through the grass which Anna took as a sign of another exit.

  “Can we sit on the swings?”

  Anna cast a glance at the equipment, her breath billowed white, and she noticed the pain beginning to seep into her fingers and toes. The sky was opaque, a sure sign that it was laden with snow. “It’s getting late, Jem, and I’m already freezing.”

  Jem pouted. “You are soooo boring!”

  “I’m trying to get us to a safe place, Jem! I think it’s going to snow.”

  “Why can’t we sit on the swings for a few minutes? It won’t hurt.”

  “It’s freezing, Jem. Our bums will stick to the seats!” she said, trying to lighten the mood and lessen Jem’s whining.

  “Come on. Don’t spoil everything!”

  Anna relented. “Just for a minute, but you’re too big for swings.”

  “You saying I’m fat?”

  Anna laughed, taking in her sister’s slender frame. “Just don’t ask me to push you, alright.”

  Jem’s face brightened then she sprinted to the playground, forcing the tubular gate open and letting it close with a loud clack. From behind came the sound of cackling laughter. It was too close. Anna turned to look.

  Entering through the turnstile was the group of seedy-looking girls. Each one wore her hair bleached and straightened, worn down or in a high ponytail. Chins, cheeks, and foreheads were liberally smeared with orange foundation and silvery highlighter. Lips were large and overpainted, and brows sat as angular stripes above eyes ringed with black. The effect was brash, gaudy, and amateurish. They sauntered through the turnstile.

  “Look!” said the one with dark roots almost to her ears. “It’s that snooty cow who watched us at Coggie’s.”

  The group stared at Anna and then at Jem on the swings.

  “Look at the spacker on the swings.” They laughed as Jem pushed the seat back and let it swing forward.

  “You one of them carers that looks after spackers?” the girl with the long brown roots shouted.

  Anna ignored the girl.

  “We don’t like spackers in our park.”

  Instead of retaliating, Anna called to Jem to come off the swings.

  “Yeah, Jem, you spacker. Come off the swings,” one of the girls goaded as Jem jumped down. She stared at the girl then glanced at Anna, frozen by uncertainty.

  “What you got in the bag?” another girl asked as the group separated from its huddle. Three of the girls headed into the playground, walking straight towards Jem. The other four ringed Anna. She tightened her grip around her rucksack’s strap. One of the girls grabbed at Jem’s bag. Suddenly in action, Jem twisted to reach for the bag, her fingertips brushing the fabric as the girl with long, dark roots grasped the strap.

  “Hey!” Jem shouted. “Hey, give me my bag.” She lunged for the bag and disappeared beneath the huddle of menacing girls.

  A powerful tug forced Anna to stagger back as one of the girls grabbed her bag. “Get off!” she growled, startled at the attack. In the playground Jem continued to shout. “Leave her alone!” Anna shouted as she tried to fend off the girls that surrounded her. A heavy kick landed on her thigh and pain shot through the large muscle. She yelped, managed to hold onto the bag but in the next moment the girls
descended like a pack of demented hyenas and forced her to the floor. Kicks rained down on her thighs and back. Another one landed in her belly. She curled into a foetal position, covering her head with her hands, screaming for them to stop. Her body jerked as the girls pulled at the rucksack. Grit from the frozen path scratched at her side where her clothes had pulled up.

  “Give us the bag,” one of the girls growled.

  Realising there was no way to help Jem whilst being kicked on the ground, Anna relented, and pulled her arm from the strap. The bag was torn away in an instant. In the next moment, she was forced onto her back and a heavy weight fell across her belly. She grunted as the breath was squeezed from her lungs. With silent ferocity, one of the drag-queen-painted girls checked through her pockets.

  “No!”

  “Hah!” the girl grunted in triumph as she pulled out Anna’s purse.

  “No! It’s all I’ve got.”

  “Not anymore,” the girl crowed.

  “Please! We need that money.”

  “So do I, now shut yer gob.”

  A shadow fell across Anna’s face and in the next second a hand slapped her cheek. “That’s for being a cheeky, nosey bitch.”

  The pack regrouped. Jem’s calls for Anna were at the periphery of her consciousness as her body filled with pain. As the girls ran away through the park, disappearing behind a cluster of trees, Anna turned onto all fours, stopped as the pain rode her thighs, then stood. Jem staggered from the play area, but apart from her hair being in disarray, she appeared unhurt.

  “Did they hurt you?”

  “Kicked me in the belly,” Jem replied clutching at her abdomen. “They took my bag, Anna! They took everything.”

  “They got mine too, and my purse.”

  “No!” Tears began to flow freely. “What are we going to do?”

  Placing a comforting arm around her sister’s shoulder with a painful sucking of air, Anna hugged her sister close. “We’ll be alright,” she lied. “Everything will be alright.”

  Jem pulled away. “How can it be alright! We’ve lost everything.”