by Vance Huxley
“Very civilised.” The room gleamed with leather and polished wood, with a huge home entertainment system and a flatscreen on one wall.
“That’s all stopped working. It’s why I want your electrician, that and more mundane problems.” Cadillac pointed a remote at the screen and nothing happened.
“Two electricians. Mundane to make the electricity go where you want, and the lights and showers and sockets work. Then one to look inside the likes of that to tell you if it’s knackered.” Harold took the seat Big Mack pushed into place by the expanse of gleaming dark wooden desk. The bodyguard put a thick cloth on top of the polished wood.
“Refreshments first. We wouldn’t want to tempt the staff.” Cadillac actually rang a little bell and a young woman came in, dressed in what must be Cadillac’s idea of a maid’s uniform. Harold thought the gang boss must have found someone’s fancy dress, though the lass in fishnets and a short black dress and lacy apron didn’t look happy about the result.
“Yes sir.”
“Well, Soldier Boy? Beer, hot drink, redhead?”
Harold had trouble letting it all slide off him as Cadillac pushed harder. He looked at the red-haired woman and smiled, a small, non-threatening one. “White coffee with two sugars please.” She gave him a little curtsy and left.
“That’s the downstairs maid. I’ve got a blonde one for upstairs. What do you think of my setup?”
Harold though about how to answer that, very conscious of the big man two steps behind his chair. “Different folks, different rules. I prefer mine of course.” Harold glanced round towards Big Mack. “Don’t you get to sit down?”
“No he doesn’t, not when people like you are this close to me. I’ve heard rumours about you, Soldier Boy, but now I don’t think some are true. I’ve been told that you go apeshit at the drop of a hat, you’re a maniac, but there’s no sign of you losing it. What does wind you up?” Cadillac’s urbane smile remained but his eyes sharpened.
“Maniac in a fight and well trained in a tight spot can look much the same to the uninitiated.” Harold assumed some of the visitors had heard tales from residents. “You wind me up Cadillac, but you’re smart enough to do it where I’m not going to react. Why don’t you show how annoyed you get when visiting me?”
Cadillac laughed, and Harold thought this one might be genuine. “Yes I am winding you up, and yes it is a test. Most of my visitors so far would have failed. Not that test because they don’t give a fuck about how I treat women.” His eyes narrowed. “What is it with the swearing? Are you religious?”
“No, when I was in the Army I would eff and blind with the rest. Here we’ve found that stopping the foul language reminds everyone to treat the women decently. I doubt you could come up with profanity I haven’t heard before.” Harold smiled. “And if you did, in here, I couldn’t care less.”
“So if I threw that girl over the desk and pulled up her skirt?”
“I would consider that bad manners in a business meeting, and wouldn’t watch because that’s not my thing.” Harold shrugged. “Since that sort of behaviour would be deliberate bad manners I wouldn’t come here for business again.” He sat and did his best to look unconcerned while Cadillac tried to see if Harold meant it. Harold tried very hard not to show his real reaction, because in truth he’d try to get Big Mack’s baseball bat and brain Cadillac before going down.
Eventually Cadillac nodded, very slowly. “Maybe that’s what it takes to be a real shooter, a sniper. No nerves and no conscience, you really can just turn it off just like the books say. I can kill a bloke but I couldn’t do that, wait for hours to shoot a man in cold blood.” Cadillac grinned. “I’d have to crow a bit and piss on the body.”
“I’ve learned bladder control.” The maid arriving with the coffees came as a relief to Harold as Cadillac stopped prying. Once Cadillac had patted her ass and told her she was a good girl, and she’d left, the gang boss became all business.
“Mack, let’s see the goods.”
“Mack? That’s easier than Big Mack.”
Cadillac waited until the big man had put four handguns and a rifle on the cloth laid over the desk. “The big is a sort of joke about how many burgers he can eat. He answers to Mack well enough, since that’s his real gang name.”
“Does he have a lorry to drive, since I’m told yours is really a Cadillac and Cooper has a Mini Cooper.” While he spoke, Harold assessed the weapons on the desk and decided what he could offer to fix.
“I wish. That’s one of those really annoying details. All the big lorries seem to have left the city before the rioting, apart from a couple that were broken down. Odd, isn’t it?” Cadillac scowled. “Some people think I’m paranoid but sometimes paranoia is just common sense. Are you paranoid, Soldier Boy?”
“I’m alive, so I must be.” Harold pointed to one of the hand weapons. “That’s beyond repair but I might take it as spare parts.”
“Really? What have you got spares for?”
“Not much, so I’m building stock. After all if you lot don’t know how to treat weapons, you’ll break them.” Harold smiled. “Though that’s a bit beyond rough usage.”
“That was a hammer on the hand holding it, a big hammer. Two seconds thought and the twat with the hammer could have smashed the bloke’s wrist and saved the gun.” Cadillac’s eyes lit up. “I tried out your idea with canes and everyone else will be more careful now.”
“I’m not giving you much for it in that case. Most of what’s in there will be knackered. What’s supposed to be wrong with the rest of them?” Harold grinned. “Remember, if there’s more you’ll just wait longer to get them back, because I’ll stop repairing until you’ve agreed.”
“Yeah, yeah, smartarse. Though spares are worth more if you haven’t got many?” Cadillac hunched forward and settled down to haggle. Harold sipped coffee and bargained, and didn’t think he’d been stiffed too badly. Sat in the study, sipping coffee and discussing business, made it easy to forget just what a shit Cadillac was. Harold was reminded both by the sights as he was escorted to the gate, and Alfie’s red, angry face.
“I really want to shoot someone Harold.” Alfie looked mad as hell and ready to blow, and the gate guards were laughing.
“Keep yourself under control just a bit longer while I drive up the road. Then you can get out and hit a wall if it helps.” Harold drove for a few minutes while Alfie stewed in silence, and then it came out.
“They offered me a woman like you said, and I told them no.” Alfie shut up again but a glance showed Harold the lad still had his jaw and fists clenched.
“Sorry, maybe I should have brought someone else.” Sometimes Harold forgot Alfie’s age because of his size and build.
“No, it’s just. They said since I’m young, maybe the first one was a bit old. They brought three more out.” Alfie shut up again but gently pounded white-knuckled fists on his knees.
“I understand, Alfie. They paraded one for me. It’s to try and get us to do something about it, so the bastards can kill us inside the rules.” Harold tried to figure out who to take as bodyguard another time.
“But.” Alfie took a breath. “They brought young ones and they were crying. Really young!”
Harold stopped the pickup. “Go over there and kick that wall down. Shoot the rifle at a few things. Throw bricks through windows or hack at the frames with your machete. They brought young ones just to get to you. If the girls were crying it’s because that’s not what they are there for.” Please, all and any gods, make that true Harold thought. Even if it wasn’t, Alfie needed to believe it right now. Harold sat for a while and tried to persuade himself while Alfie kicked and threw things. He also decided that he’d go alone to The Mansion in the future. After all, if Cadillac decided to sacrifice the hostage to get Harold, one bodyguard wouldn’t make much difference.
Chapter 7:
Levelling Up and Betrayal
At least Cadillac came to collect the weapons and buy more beer for his priv
ate use, which meant Harold didn’t have to visit again just yet. Cadillac traded beer and hops at below the price TesdaMart now sold them for, which with the sacks from the GOFS topped up Nigel and Berry’s stores nicely. He also brought a large quantity of screw top bottles, and bargained for beer. Harold told Cadillac to bring any bottle caps even if they were bent, he’d not get much each but they’d add up. That had become another shortage now.
The teams were working through Orchard Close’s territory again, re-checking the houses already checked three times. Now the scavengers wanted glass jars even if the tops were rusted and the contents ruined. Many metal tops had been pierced to help open them but now several women thought even the lightly rusted ones could be used. The preservation squad would use a bit of plastic bag inside the lid to get a seal once they had jam or pickle to fill the jars with.
Orchard Close sent out larger groups now because of the occasional shots at them, singles or small volleys. The shooters would run while the scavengers took cover, which puzzled everyone. One bullet went clean through the minibus but whoever fired ran towards the GOFS and Ogou later reported they’d shot a trespasser from this direction. Visitors from all three other gangs claimed they’d exchanged shots with small groups of armed strangers moving through their territory.
Eventually the Hot Rods caught one and solved the mystery. The survivor of a small group trapped and wiped out claimed they were looking for someplace not claimed by anyone else. Elsewhere other gangs were also agreeing boundaries and squeezing all the loners and small independents out. A large area of the city to the south, badly damaged during the original riots when the Army sealed the city, was allegedly uninhabited. Cooper gleefully related how he’d stripped and caned the man, and sent the prat south towards the allegedly unclaimed areas.
The Geeks seemed to have let dead dogs lie, and traded two-way radios for gun repairs and cement for beer. Wellington came for that trade and despite the scars and his mouth being twisted up at one side, seemed genuinely grateful. With cement available the windows in the perimeter houses were finally bricked in properly, though the plywood remained as well. As the nearest ruins were slowly cleared the wall around Orchard Close thickened and grew taller.
Eventually the scavengers found the answer to the gate problem, four short thick steel girders. Two days of hard digging drove four deep holes into the approach road, and the girders were concreted in with about three feet protruding. At last the car could be retired, and a real, steel-faced pair of gates put in place. The visitors were impressed, but none of them thought the same method would work in their stronghold. The top men were too fond of their motors to leave them outside. The visitors were generally better behaved now despite a few joking requests for a spanking, one on one.
Several weeks of relative quiet were ended by prolonged gunfire, and this time the volume sent everyone in Orchard Close running for cover and weapons. The radio didn’t make anyone feel any better. “Emmy. Come mob handed. Not a gang attack. B6.” That covered the essentials including the location on their customised maps. Harold took the newly adapted minibus with fourteen passengers.
“If it’s the usual lot heading south they’ll run when we arrive. Just in case they aren’t, everyone keep low, below the windows.” He ignored the grumbles and mutters as the crowded fighters scrunched down lower because more firing had broken out ahead. Harold peered through a slit in the steel plate replacing the windscreen, the only window protected because of the sheer weight of steel plate.
Liz had worked long and hard on the minibus after the bullet went right through, and this wasn’t artwork. “Down!” Harold slammed on the brakes as a hurricane of lead rattled and clanged off the minibus from dead ahead. He hoped the screams and cries from behind were shock and bruising, because the steel mesh on the windows wouldn’t stop or deflect all the bullets.
Bullets rang and whined off the steel and there were more cries and then some talking back there. “Nothing serious back here.” That meant some wounds but Bernie sounded relieved so not too bad.
Harold kept his head down as he called back. “As soon as they stop to reload, the first two by the doors stick a gun out and empty a clip. Aim at the two houses dead ahead on the junction. Spread them around to keep heads down. Everyone else run for the houses each side of the street.”
Even as Harold finished the volume of incoming began to drop. “Ready Harold.” He heard the side doors slide the first couple of inches and pause.
“Go.” As the gunfire started from behind Harold moved back into the minibus. Holly blazed away on one side and Bess on the other, and the last four of the rest were pouring through the open doors and running. The gunfire from the houses ahead seemed to have stopped so Harold called Emmy on the radio.
“Emmy, where are this lot from?”
“Don’t know. We bumped into them and they started shooting. What happened to you?”
“We bumped into more, or the rest, or their rear.”
“Same group from how near the shots seem to be. We’ve got wounded and so have they and we’re either side of a street. It’s a stalemate here. They’ve got women and kids.”
“Are the women shooting?”
“One or two are.”
“Harold, do you want me to shoot again?” Holly had stopped shooting and put in a fresh clip, as had Bess.
“Wait a minute.” Harold raised his voice. “You lot, give it up.”
A man’s voice sounded loud and clear. “Back off. We just want a clear run.”
Harold actually considered that, but there were women and kids. “The next gang you meet won’t back off. They’ll shoot you and take the women. We’ll cease fire while you decide.”
During the silence that followed Harold checked again if any of the wounded, his or Emmy’s, were serious. They were all flesh wounds and in Emmy’s opinion the firing had been a reaction to seeing her scavengers, more blind covering fire than aimed attack, so he asked her to call for a cease fire. The occasional shooting further away stopped. Harold used the open side doors to gesture to those in the houses either side, and they began to move up the street using the houses or fences and hedges as cover. If they’d understood the signals everyone would stop in the houses on the corners of the T junction, just over fifty feet from the shooters.
The same voice finally spoke up. “We’re heading south. There’s still free space there so just let us through.”
Harold thought about the numbers coming through in previous weeks, according to the other gangs. “There’ll be no space left when you get there. All the enclaves are organising so join one or someone will wipe you out.”
“You mean a gang? We don’t want to join a gang.”
Harold wasn’t sure but thought he heard others speaking, so maybe that wasn’t everyone’s viewpoint. “We might not be what you consider a gang. How many want safe haven, and how many want to keep going and risk dying?”
“There is no safe haven. We can break through.” An arm waving from a window of the end house, on the side only Harold could see, made that unlikely.
“No you can’t and you don’t have to. I’ll let through anyone who really wants to risk it, but anyone who prefers sanctuary under our rules can stay.”
“What rules?”
Harold used his radio. “Emmy, give them the rules. It’ll be better coming from you.” He put a hand on Holly’s shoulder. “Shout out the rules please, luv.”
“Really? All right.”
Harold shouted up the street once Holly had finished. “Are you up there yet, Bernie?”
Bernie appeared from an upstairs window, where the shooters couldn’t see him, and waved.
“Unwrap one as a demo. Do your best when I say.” Bernie had become the Orchard Close bomb maker, under careful supervision from Barry. He had two pipe bombs with him, both wrapped in clingfilm holding screws and nails, washers and any other small scrap lying about.
Even without knowing about bombs, the shouting had worried the o
pposition and the man called out. “What are you shouting about? Who is Bernie? How do we know it’s true, the rules thing? We’re safer risking it.”
“You’re surrounded. Bernie is going to show you why it’s smarter to talk, and then maybe some of you might decide to stay.” Harold wasn’t risking his own people, but Alfie had another couple of bombs so he’d waste one to avoid shooting at women. “If you break out a lot of you will die. Keep your heads down, right down.” Harold paused then shouted again. “Bernie, now!” Bernie did well, throwing from an upstairs window, and the bomb bounced from the tarmac into the front garden opposite.
There were some shouts and a scream when the pipe bomb exploded, then the cloud of smoke drifted away in dead silence. The man didn’t sound anything like as confident when he finally spoke up. “What the hell is that?”
“That’s why you can’t break through. How many will risk coming to talk to us? We’ve got people just across the road, and the next bomb has shrapnel in it.”
Harold’s radio crackled. “Just shoot the arses, Soldier Boy.”
“Sod off.” That had to be Hot Rods, Geeks or GOFS.
“Nasty. You can send them through if you like, especially if they’ve got women?” Harold ignored what now sounded like Hot Rods.
Instead he called out to the group ahead. “The neighbours listen to the radios. They are waiting and seem keen on the women.”
“We heard.” Harold sighed in relief at a different voice since that might mean a different attitude. “How can we trust you?”
“Someone will show themselves. If you shoot, even one bullet, you all die.” Harold lowered his voice. “Holly? If you show yourself, quickly, we’re too far for real accuracy using a handgun. Don’t hang about.”
“All right luv.”
“All right luv.” Even as Harold grappled with two answers and the realisation he had called Holly luv, she’d gone outside. Holly’s arms went up in the air, she twirled, and dived back in. Bess did the same the other side, and grinned at Harold as she came inside. “To split their fire. Luv.” Harold concentrated on the level two shading to three as Holly pulled him round.
