by Vance Huxley
“We’ve got enough room for anyone who needs refuge. You don’t want them anyway because the price for fixing up more housing for a group would cost you more than they’re worth.” Harold smirked back at him. “You know that because of what you’ll be paying Finn.” The occasional surges in the electricity didn’t catch many people out now but did sometimes damage the supplies, giving Finn a steady income. More people were fixing fuses or smaller problems, but nobody messed with the supplies after a Geek fried because he thought he’d figured it out. Finn charged double because the man allegedly made the problem worse.
“How come the GOFS and those fucking bitches thought theirs were worth the cost? I’ve got more coupons to spare than either.” Caddi scowled as he always did when Barbie Girls were involved.
“No coupons involved because we just shared around some assets. We needed this, they needed that, you’d be surprised what the Barbies will give up if you’ve got what they want.” Including enough rabbit pellets from the pet shop to fill the back of a pickup truck, though that wasn’t public knowledge. Caddi wouldn’t find out many trading details because he wouldn’t talk to Barbies, and the GOFS liked winding the Hot Rods up. Caddi might not even know about the rabbits yet.
Nor would he get to see the armoured vehicle, parked up around the back of Orchard Close with a tarpaulin over it the same as the old petrol vehicles. Since Harold now had a man capable of maintaining his vehicles, Caddi wouldn’t even get the job of servicing the truck. One of the new refugees had volunteered, warning he couldn’t fix serious problems. Maybe not, but William could strip out all the surplus parts of the minibus, leaving it as a working trailer. Liz had already made plans for plating over windows and protecting the wheels, using hard steel plate from the GOFS.
“We all know what those dykes will give up. Just remember to give your blokes, and women, a medical after they leave.” Harold waited, but Caddi finished the complaints and final round of needling without mentioning a rifle or the armoured truck so his spy system must be running slow. That meant as long as Harold didn’t let the spies at the traffic island see them, he’d got an ace. Sooner or later a GOFS soldier would brag, but even then finding he didn’t know everything should help to keep Caddi cautious.
* * *
The maid opened the front door to let Harold out with a bright smile and another little semi-curtsy. “Goodnight sir.”
“Goodnight and thank you.” Harold really did wonder what had happened to Caddi’s usual staffing policy.
Behind him Caddi sniggered which meant this had to be some sort of windup, then the gang boss raised his voice. “E-Type, feed Soldier Boy will you, and find him a comfy bed.”
“Come on, you know the way.” E-Type headed towards the house where Caddi’s lieutenants slept. Harold did know the way since this was where he usually slept. This time E-Type neither detoured to the brothel or arranged a meeting with some scroat looking for trouble.
“What’s for supper then?” He’d find out soon but Harold really had started to wonder.
“We’ve got roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and the trimmings. Visit again and stay over as soon as possible, because Caddi has put on a special again.” E-Type waved towards two men and an older woman unloading scrap iron from a wheelbarrow, stacking the scrap next to the forge. “That lot get burger and hope there’s enough rabbit in the rat to flavour it. Though cat tastes pretty good.”
“I’ve never tried cat, unless that’s chef’s surprise tonight? We prefer our cats to catch rats and mice.” Cat might taste fine but there were too many pets in Orchard Close for anyone there to feel comfortable about finding out.
“Our cats do the same, but the peasants catch wild ones along with rabbits and rats and waste not, want not. Cat tastes better than bloody rat I’m told, though I don’t think I’ve eaten rat yet, or fox or dog.” E-Type laughed. “The cooks don’t pull a fast one on us, because we make them cook our meals with the heads on. Though with tonight’s meal that would be a problem.”
“How do you stop them poisoning you?” Harold really did wonder, because that cook the first time he visited had known she might end up in the brothel if Caddi found a better cook or felt vindictive. Not an unpaid brothel now, not since Orchard Close had women who charged for sex and some Hot Rods visited. Caddi had decided if the bastards had enough coupons to pay Soldier Boy’s whores his men could pay at home as well, even if the women weren’t volunteers. Harold wouldn’t have wanted someone under that sort of threat cooking his food, even with a camera watching.
“Cameras can’t catch everything so we’ve taken precautions. We’ve found a real chef for Caddi. He lives in the Mansion compound where we can reach his family so he’s really motivated. Mack eats at home so even if the chef risks his missus and kids while a group of us are eating there, he won’t get us all. If Caddi ever offers you a meal, accept, because that chef of his is pure genius.” E-Type led the way into the dining room. “We have several cooks here, and not all of us eat here every night. They understand how bad it would be for all of them if we get a stomach ache.”
The three gangsters continued to insist that they’d be having roast beef until Harold really did start to wonder. The wonderful smell wafting in certainly seemed to back them up. Eventually, as promised, a young woman deposited a plate with a damn great joint on the table. Harold chose three slices and his own Yorkshires, roast potatoes, veg and gravy. When he cautiously cut the meat and took a mouthful, still expecting a windup, the flavour went moo to his taste buds. As Harold looked up the three at the table chortled and slapped each other on the back, delighted at the response. “All right, you got me. Beef?”
“Maybe. That gang over to the west, the Bargees, trade with someone else for this. They brought some with the fish in that refrigerated van. There’s a shitload of treaties and guarantees to let that van drive about.” Chevy shrugged. “There’s a trade route starting up because although nobody is sure if this goes moo or neighs, every boss wants some on his table.”
Harold took another bite and his taste buds celebrated. “This might be horse? Not that I’m complaining.”
“You’d better not or you can pass it over.” E-Type grinned. “We daren’t ask but one of our lads reckons he ate horse in France before the crash and couldn’t tell the difference. Now eat your meat or I’m helping myself.” Harold ate.
He finished his beer afterwards while everyone chatted but tonight wasn’t totally relaxed because Chevy seemed to have a bit of a chip on his shoulder. Eventually Harold stood up. “Lovely ta. I’ll get my beauty sleep now. Then I can get off bright and early.” If Chevy did much more winding up, careful winding up unlike Caddi’s, Harold would smack him. That would cause trouble with Chevy being a senior Hot Rod.
“No sleepwalking, but if you do it’s only the next house.” Chevy grinned. “The one with a red light outside and a sign saying Back o’ Rackhams.”
“Not me, I stay tucked up in my own bed all night. Must be because my conscience is clear.”
“There must be some reason.” Chevy and Cooper both fell about laughing. E-Type showed him to the same room. Harold jammed a chair under the door handle, then relaxed a bit. A quick check under the bed and in the en-suite probably made whoever watched on the hidden cameras laugh, but Harold didn’t care. He also tried the wardrobes but they were still locked.
Despite the chair at the door, Harold kept his stick close by while he used the en-suite. He even pulled the quilt right back before getting into bed in case Caddi had done something gross. He kept the stick gripped in one hand, and turned out the light, then Harold laid awake for a while thinking about that meat and fish wagon. Eventually he dozed and then slept.
* * *
Harold didn’t know what woke him, but something had. He tightened his grip on the stick and tensed, listening, because someone had got into the room. Though the someone wasn’t very stealthy because they were breathing quite heavily. Harold’s hand had crept up to the top of the quil
t so he could turn on the light when whoever it was giggled! Definitely a woman Harold’s shocked brain told him, but before he could react a tug on the quilt preceded someone sliding underneath.
Harold went for the light and pulled the switch, then his hand had to dive underneath the quilt again to intercept hers. “Whoa, stop that.” He looked at the happy smiling face now in bed with him, recognising Caddi’s maid. “You don’t have to do that, no matter what he said.”
The pout caught Harold completely unprepared, and left him feeling confused. “But I want to.” Her other hand moved so Harold let go of his stick to intercept her, which earned him another pout. “Mr Cadillac said you liked me, so I asked.”
“Asked what?” Harold glanced round the room but nobody else had come in and the chair still jammed the door shut. An open wardrobe door, one that had been locked, explained how Caddi had got the woman in here. But why, because Caddi knew Harold would react violently to a woman under any sort of coercion.
“If I could come in here and, well, I can show you instead of talking.” She giggled. “It’ll be more fun that way.” The way the young woman tried to wriggle closer didn’t leave much doubt about what she meant.
“That’s a game between me and Caddi.” Harold paused. “You really asked?”
“Oh yes. Mr Cadillac told me about you, that Soldier Boy is the most dangerous man he knows.” She stopped to lick her lips, and shivered. “He said you’ve killed more men than anyone else round here, so many that nobody could keep count. I like dangerous men.” Her wide eyes and her thigh coming over and up Harold’s drove home the emphasis on like. “Too many to count? That is so hot.”
“Sorry, but no thanks.” Harold got out of the bed, sharpish because holding her wrists wasn’t even slowing this one up. Even as he snatched his stick and stood the young woman threw the quilt back.
“See, no marks. Nobody has to cane me if the man is bad enough because I’ll do anything, anything you want.” She ran a hand down her belly and thigh. “Even if you want to get rough, maybe spank me a bit, I might like that?”
Harold would have applauded Caddi’s latest ploy if he hadn’t been frantically looking for a way out that didn’t involve getting near her. The cameraman would be wetting himself laughing. The gods alone knew what the hell had happened to this woman in the past, but she definitely wasn’t being coerced. Harold didn’t think she’d been drugged either. She really had volunteered and Caddi had finally found a way past Harold’s payment and coercion rules. Unless. “Did someone pay you?”
“No! I don’t do that.” Her magnificent pout seemed totally genuine. “I don’t do this for coupons. I only do this with men I really, really like.” She arched her back. “Don’t you like me?” The young woman licked her lips slowly and reached for the bow holding her very brief, silky top together. “Do you want to see the rest?”
“What’s your name?”
She stopped, then laughed. “My name? Wow, nobody ever asked my name first.” She tried to look coquettish, peeking up while ducking her head but considering how she’d dressed and posed that didn’t really work. “I’m Virginia, but not for a while. Now will you come back and let me get into your pants?”
“No Virginia, because Mr Cadillac has been very mean. He didn’t tell you I don’t do this on film. You do know there are cameras?” Harold looked round, sticking his tongue out at the invisible cameras.
Virginia giggled. “I don’t mind cameras. They’re in a lot of places round here, especially bedrooms. Maybe you’d forget them if you get back in here?” Harold shook his head and earned another pout but the next smile looked cheeky, teasing rather than her initial intense insistence. Virginia sighed, a long one that involved sticking her chest out as far as possible. Her face brightened and her eyes opened wide as if shocked. “What if you find me someplace private, with no cameras?”
Harold tried not to laugh because that had definitely been teasing. “We’ll see.” The answer would still be no with anyone Caddi supplied. Private wouldn’t happen anyway because Caddi would want whatever happened on video.
“We could pull the quilt right over?” Harold didn’t quite heave a sigh of relief but came close because Virginia had definitely switched to having fun over his refusal. “We could snuggle up really, really close so nothing showed?” Harold had to laugh now because her emphasis on really close had been accompanied by hugging herself and wriggling. A joking and teasing Virginia turned out to be an appealing Virginia. Harold had to get her out of here sharpish before she realised.
“Sorry but Mr Cadillac will tell you, I have real rules about being on camera and coercion.” Harold smiled. “He seems to have found an answer to the coercion, but I doubt he’ll ever take the cameras out. This really is a game between us. This time he has won and will be laughing at me.”
Virginia preened just a little. “But you only said no because of the cameras. Maybe if I move on, I’ll find you where there aren’t any cameras?” Virginia looked around the room. “In private.” This sigh wasn’t faked at all. “Oh God. Dangerous, strict and in private. That is just so goddamn sexy and now I’ve got to go to my bed all alone.” The young woman glanced at the wardrobe and giggled. “I don’t think there’s cameras in there?”
“Scat. I’ll no doubt see you again, but in clothes. Believe me, Mr Cadillac himself is as dangerous a man as you will ever meet.” Harold went to the door and took the chair from under the handle.
Virginia finally got out of his bed, though she paused for a moment. “I’m all hot and bothered now. You could help me shower to cool off?” Harold opened the door, sweeping a hand to show her out, and Virginia sauntered over. “A gentleman as well? You’d better watch out if you go into any private places.” She came up on her toes and kissed him very quickly. “Ooh, I won’t sleep now.” Virginia finally left, though she did pause in the corridor to wiggle her ass and glance back over her shoulder with a grin. Harold shook his head and smiled at her then closed the door before jamming the chair back under the door handle.
Harold’s smile died because if Virginia ever tried to move on elsewhere, or said no to anyone Caddi handed her to, Harold didn’t think that cheeky smile would survive the aftermath. In that mood Harold used the brass boss on his stick to smash the locks on each wardrobe door, including the open one, before getting back into bed. He slept, but not well, because he kept thinking about what a nasty sod like Caddi might do to Virginia’s smile one day.
In the morning nobody mentioned Virginia, though Cooper wore a little smile as he organised the escort for Harold and the weapons.
* * *
This time when he arrived back Harold didn’t have time to worry about much apart from scraping mud off his boots and hands. The last of the radishes and the first of the swedes, carrots, cauliflowers and cabbages were ready. The gnomes had already started on planting for spring, marshalling as many volunteers as possible every morning before splitting them into work gangs. Harold joined them as often as possible to encourage the rest, since in between picking, collecting and planting there were all those acres to dig over and fertilise. All the heaps of compost out along the edges of the fields were eventually barrowed away and dug in.
If anyone looked to be unemployed the late pears and apples needed picking and not just in Orchard Close. Most of the really mature fruit trees were out among the derelict buildings and ruins so fruit picking expeditions had to be organised with guards. Everyone had a ration of fresh before the rest disappeared into the canteen kitchen along with boxes of empty jars. The Coven really must have a cauldron, Harold decided, judging by the amount of fruit turning into jam. Anything suitable such as blackcurrants produced fruit juice first, and any pulp would eventually become watered wine, Berry assured him.
Some preserves turned up in the marts so Harold brought a selection back to be tried out. Sharyn stared. “Jam in plastic bags?”
“An economy measure because glass jars are expensive to produce according to the blurb ab
ove the shelves.” Harold looked at the sealed plastic bag of raspberry jam. “That’ll be messy once its opened, and worse still not reusable.”
“That’ll mean more scavenging. We’ll need every container that’ll hold one of those.” Sharyn rummaged in the cupboard, producing a plastic jug. “See?” She stood the bag up in the jug. “Cut off the top, then we can use the jam without spilling.”
“It’ll go mouldy if its left open.” Harold frowned. “The Coven claimed everything with a lid for pickles or jam, even some topless jars because they’re using elastic bands or string to hold the plastic seal on.”
“Leave it with us. For starters the empty bags can be used to seal containers without tops.” Sharyn rubbed her hands together and produced a convincing witch’s cackle. “Don’t count how many come to the meeting or it’ll worry you.”
“Eek, thirteen? I’m off. At least the cauldron is being used for jam making.”
Harold managed a solid hour of machete practice with the trainees before Liz called from outside. “I come in peace.”
“Come in.”
“Is it safe for mice?” Liz came in, mock-flinching from Patty with her machete and iron bar, then stopped. “Why don’t you put a hilt on that bar instead of that bit of rag?”
“We don’t want them to be obvious.” Patty slid the bar into the sleeve behind her machete sheath. “See? Though when I jab something my hand does slip down it a bit.”
Liz held out a hand and Patty handed over the bar. The smith inspected it for a couple of minutes. “I reckon a small round collar welded here, sort of like a wide washer, will do the job? Not a big one, just enough to stop your hand slipping forward. Then I suppose you gross lot will sharpen the end of the rod.” She mock-shuddered. “Perverting artwork seems to be a regular habit.”
