by Vance Huxley
“No. She’s nobody’s woman which is driving some of the blokes crackers.” Mack smiled now. “She does jobs for Caddi and brings back ears.”
Harold realised this Mercedes must be Caddi’s assassin. He scowled. “Warn her to stay half a mile clear of here then.”
“Caddi says her methods wouldn’t work ‘ere, but ‘e didn’t say what methods.” Mack shrugged. “I’ll mention it to ‘er anyway.” He looked round. “Where’s the blonde woman, the one on the TV? We knew Emmy, Patty, that Fergie and some of the others when they showed up on the screen. Caddi is mad as ‘ell because you got all the publicity again.”
“Yeah, too true. One of the blokes drew a heart and I lust Patty on his Tee. Caddi had the poor sod caned.” Dodge sighed. “Lusting after that dirty minded, er, woman on Barbie Radio was safer, but now that’s stopped.” He smiled and shrugged. “Though if Caddi was in a bad mood, getting caught listening could be painful. On top of that woman commenting and the music, they let us know how the blonde was getting on.” He frowned. “They called her doll. We thought it was because they’re the Barbie Girls, right, but someone said that’s her name?”
“She is called Doll. With luck she’ll be coming home soon.” Harold hesitated, then decided the news might make Caddi mad at someone else for a change. “There’s another patient at Beth’s, a GOFS, and he’ll be going home once he’s cured. Now there’s a legend in the making.”
“Ooh yes, too true.” Dodge smiled happily. “Maybe it’s a good job Barbie Radio is broken, or Caddi would burst something. The Barbies will brag what the bloke got up to and worse, the GOFS will just add to it.”
“Did you get anyone ‘urt at that fight with the General, ‘Arry?” Mack would be fishing for information to tell Caddi so Harold gave him enough to hopefully make Caddi cautious without feeling threatened. They both had a laugh when Harold confessed he’d perched half on the table because his ass hadn’t healed. The three of them chatted about the General for a bit while Mack finished his second bowl of soup. The big man decided if he had a third he’d not fancy the walk home.
Harold watched the four of them walk off up the road with a slight frown. Apparently Orchard Close wasn’t the only place short of diesel, unless Caddi just wanted to make sure he stayed warm. The bastard would probably use a car engine to keep his lights on as well while the rest shivered in the dark. Harold’s slight frown also had to do with the young woman walking around among the Hot Rods with a gang name, knives and a machete. Harold wasn’t going to underestimate a woman.
He didn’t underestimate the Barbie women turning up for a beer and making casual enquiries about the radio repair man. They asked what could he repair, could they check out his workshop, could they have a chat to him about their big radio? Allegedly, the standard recruiting procedure for Barbies tended towards kidnap so Trev started to look decidedly haunted. He stayed firmly locked in his workshop if Barbies visited, and actually seemed happy to have Thandia laid outside the door. Outside now because the Mastiff wrecked a partly repaired radio just by being too big in a small space.
Within a week the Barbie visitors brought a pale-faced Doll home. Her lung had healed, or well enough to be allowed home if she took it easy. Unfortunately she wasn’t well enough, Doll pointed out, for the Barbies to put chaperones in with her and Cy, the GOFS casualty. Cy would still be a guest in Beth’s for a while. He could count himself a very lucky boy and not just because of the number of nurses. The Barbie doc had fought a long hard battle to stop an infection in his gut wound before finally beating it. Now Cy’s internal embroidery had to heal well enough to stand the trip home. Doll reckoned the GOFS soldier might delay going home just to sample the aftercare he’d been promised by his Barbie nurses.
* * *
In early February, luck ran out for the bunnies in Orchard Close. Despite all the efforts put in by the bunny-keepers, Myxomatosis made it over the wall. After a quick talk to Rabbit Bob, Harold ended up stood outside a garage wearing thin disposable overalls, plastic jam-bags over his oldest trainers, an old pair of gardening gloves and an impromptu balaclava made of thick curtaining with wraparound sunglasses. Casper handed him a machete and a bucket of bleach, while Rabbit Bob opened the rear door of the garage. Harold went in.
Ten minutes later he came out, placing the bloody machete in the tray full of strong bleach before standing in it. Harold stayed in the bleach while picking up the nearby bundles of fodder and bedding, throwing them into the garage. He followed those with two buckets of old petrol, throwing the liquid as far into the interior as he could. Then he began to strip off the possibly infected clothing, throwing it into the garage. Stood only in his boxers, Harold picked up a length of wood with soaked cloth around the top and Casper lit it. Harold hurled the flaming brand inside, slamming the door with a whispered, “Fare thee well.”
The compost heap out in the fields where the used bunny bedding from this garage had always been taken would become a bonfire, and hopefully a pyre for any infection left. Meanwhile Rabbit Bob, George and Maryam were comforting the two people who had cared for this garage of rabbits. As Harold padded away in bare feet and his boxers to get dressed, the flames sterilised everything inside the garage. The solution might be dramatic and probably more than necessary, but sacrificing one garage of hutches and rabbits to make sure the rest remained uninfected made a good trade.
A small crowd with buckets and hosepipes, supervised by Barry, wet down anything nearby that might receive sparks once the roof went up. Rabbit Bob had no idea how the infection got in there with all the netting and precautions. Maybe a single flea or gnat had come in on someone’s clothing, because this had been the only garage infected. Considering that the disease now ran rampant through the wild rabbits outside the walls, that could be counted as success. Rabbit Bob thought another three garages should be turned into giant breeding hutches to spread the risk. The carpenters could use timbers scavenged from lofts, where no wild rabbit could have infected them.
Harold resisted steady pressure from other gangs to part with more rabbits, pointing out that they would have to breed theirs up because his people needed the food. The home-bred rabbits had become the only source of meat outside the chew sticks and paste since the last mart trip. Harold hadn’t been able to bring any spam because although the shelves were still labelled up, they were bare.
* * *
All the gangs eased off on using motors, though the Barbies came to Orchard Close on foot anyway. According to the GOFS, Gofannon wasn’t sure why Caddi had stopped his people using as much diesel but wanted to play safe in case the bastard knew something the rest didn’t. Despite that a steady stream of GOFS walked or cycled the two or three miles to either flirt with the women or eat uninfected fresh meat. Visiting Doll had now gone onto their list of reasons and the influx of visitors gave the Orchard Close businesses a welcome boost in income. The lack of Geeks might have been saving diesel, or they were worried about Harold’s reaction to Hawkins short-changing him. Though one Geek made the trip, walking the three miles to buy Patty a beer and pay to have his picture taken with her.
The majority of Hot Rods walked or cycled now. “Eyup ‘Arry.” Harold looked at the eight Hot Rods walking behind Mack, including E-Type, and they were all smiling.
“Cripes, has Caddi pulled your car keys as well, E-Type?” Harold watched the Hot Rods being searched. They were in tremendous high spirits, laughing and cracking clean jokes. “How come you need such a big escort Mack?”
“Those idiots? E-Type is ‘ere because Caddi makes one of ‘em come with me in case I come over faint or something.” Mack glanced at the rest. “The rest ‘ave ‘eard that Doll is ‘ome.”
“Yes she is. How come you know?” Harold laughed as he realised. “We’ve had GOFS visiting so you had to find out.”
“The GOFS were braggin’ of course. A few of ‘em have pictures on their phones, stood or sat with ‘er, so these grinnin’ idiots ‘ave all brought a phone.” Mack shook his
head. “That lass is the nearest thing to a film star these days.”
“She’s still not very well.” Harold grinned at the idiots in question. “Her rules for pictures are simple. If you buy a beer for her and yourselves, and then do business with anyone else here or pay a fee, she’ll pose for a photo with you. No hugging, no kissing, but she’ll wear her Stetson.” Doll didn’t drink the beers, just collected the coupons and paid half to the Coven because she reckoned she couldn’t work for her keep just now. Harold shrugged. “Patty will be there if anyone gets frisky.”
Mack shook his head. “Oh, the idiots know and they’ve all come prepared to spend their coupons. Some want Patty in the picture as well. Idiots. Caddi will skin ‘em if ‘e finds out.”
E-Type laughed at the last bit. “They won’t care as long as he doesn’t wipe the phones. The silly f.. idiots want to brag to the other gangs, especially the Ferdinands since she spanked some of them.” The gangster rolled his eyes. “The soft, er, Ferdinands are actually bragging about that now.”
“As long as your new pinup, that Mercedes, doesn’t get jealous.” Harold stood aside for the pair of them to go into the canteen first. “We’ll sort out the repaired weapons once Mack has had his stew.”
“Too true. Them rabbits of yours make it dead meaty. I ‘ope more of ours grow up soon.” Mack waved to Elizabeth. “Stew please, with a bap?”
She scowled, because Elizabeth still hadn’t forgiven the Hot Rods for her son dying. “It’ll be a slice of bread. We’re only baking loaves just now because we’re a bit short on flour.”
“That’ll do, ta.”
“There’s a lot of things getting a bit scarce in the marts now.” E-Type frowned. “We don’t do too badly, but some of the civvies are getting really short.” He glanced towards the door and the fields beyond. “Someone said you might be growing wheat next year for flour.”
“Emmy would like to grow wheat, barley and hops, but we’d need a lot more land.” Harold shrugged. “If she ever gets any seed, we’ll see.”
“That’d be a sight to see.”
The conversation moved on to gossip, and then to Mercedes since E-Type wanted to brag about her new trick. Paddy, one of the top Murphies, had visited the Mansion for an overnighter. He’d expected Mercedes to be available to warm his bed since nobody else seemed to be using her. E-Type almost choked on the next bit. “She said yes, she’d warm the bed all night but he couldn’t touch her. Caddi offered them a bedroom in The Mansion, though he didn’t mention the sound and vision.”
“She slept with him?” Harold thought that might be the beginning of the end for the woman. Once one had, the rest would expect to and she’d end up passed around.
“Sort of. She warned him, upfront in front of his bodyguards, that anything that touched her she’d cut off.” E-Type sniggered. “Paddy said all right.” The gangster shook his head. “Paddy didn’t make it up to midnight. Once they were in bed he insisted on a lot more than touching - all on film.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Mercedes must have known about the cameras because she never even showed her bra and knickers, just a long nightshirt.” E-Type’s grin came back. “Mercedes needed a shower and a new nightie, the bed needed a new mattress, and Paddy needed a new set of nuts and ears and about eight pints of blood.”
Harold blinked, startled, because that meant Paddy had bled out in the bed. Considering the size of Paddy, and the size of Mercedes, she must be handy with a knife and probably stronger than she looked. “What did the Murphies say?”
“The bodyguards were shown the recording of the slice and dice, and they’d heard the rules laid out and Paddy agreeing. The Murphies had to hand the hostage back, which came as a relief for Dodge.” E-Type sat back with a big smile. “Caddi has set her up with a room in The Mansion for repeats.”
“Repeats? Who the hell will go for a repeat?” Harold looked from one to another.
“Anyone who gets the offer. Mercedes made it very clear, ‘Arry. If Paddy kept ‘is ‘ands to ‘imself there’d be no trouble.” Mack shrugged. “Caddi is going to get her to offer a few top people, ones ‘e’d like killed or took down a peg. After all, if they back down they’re scared of a woman.”
Harold winced. “Better than bleeding out.”
“Yeah, but if they sleep in her bed but keep their hands to themselves, they’ll save their rep. Well, not sleep.” E-Type chuckled. “After all, they wouldn’t want anything to sleepwalk and join the necklace.”
“Cripes. How does he pick victims?”
“Dunno ‘Arry, but I reckon ‘e’s got a shit list someplace that ‘e’ll work down.” Mack smiled at Harold. “I dunno if yer on it, ‘Arry.”
“I’ll be there, but I don’t know what number.” Harold grinned and made the expected gang boss type response. “If I’m not I’ll have to try harder to annoy him.” The other two laughed.
“She kills a few who don’t come anywhere near our place. Don’t accept offers from strange women in dark alleys, Soldier Boy.” E-Type frowned. “To be honest we don’t know how she does it. Mercedes killed two Hot Rods who caught her alone and tried it on. All we know is they were armed but never managed to cut her, and she took their ears.”
Mack shook his head. “Caddi even ‘as a way to make a profit out of ‘er now. Someone dared one of the blokes to lie down so ‘e could see ‘er knickers an’ she said what knickers.” Mac grinned. “Though she put ‘er ‘and on ‘er knife so ‘e didn’t try to see.”
“Yeah, there’s betting now. If anyone gets the chance to see if she’s got knickers or a bra on, a clear chance, he gets a third of the bets. Caddi gets ten percent and the winners of the day’s betting get the rest.” E-Type laughed. “A few actually asked if they could look but she said no. Others tried too hard to find out and a few have scars but nobody has collected the commando or knicker bets. A couple have seen a bit of bra and won that, but nobody has confirmed braless either.”
“What about cameras? I know Caddi has them all over the place.” Harold couldn’t see how the young woman could keep it up. Someone would film her in the shower or the loo.
“No cameras are allowed in her bathroom and nobody else will try after the first bloke she found drilling the wall.” E-Type moved on to describe a list of scars that Mercedes had inflicted on the driller and various other gangsters and why.
* * *
Mack left after paying in coupons for the repairs, and a crate of beer because he didn’t mind carrying that. The men with him were in good spirits since Doll had put on her boots as well as her Stetson for the pictures, one with each. Two had even more expensive pictures with Patty stood holding her crossbow at the other side of them. Harold waved the group goodbye before changing into his gardening jeans and wellies.
Emmy had started making gardening noises, even though there weren’t any plants to go out in the fields. She insisted that if more ruins were knocked down because of the Geek onager, the ground may as well be dug over. The conservatories were already filling with baby this and that so perhaps she’d actually fill the extra acres. Despite the digging, Harold found as much time as possible for training those who wanted to be a bit more dangerous.
“Oops, sorry. Hang on, what are you doing?” Liz put her hands on her hips. “Well that was a waste of time.”
“What was?” Both Fergie and Harold grinned at her.
“Finding an excuse to wander into the dance house all accidental-like when you two had snuck in here. You do realise the pair of you have been driving us crackers?” Liz glared from one to the other of the pair of sunny smiles.
“Why? When someone asks I tell them exactly where I’ve been and what I was up to.” Harold smirked. “It’s not my fault if people have dirty minds.”
“I always tell the truth.” Fergie clasped her hands in front of her and fluttered her eyes bashfully. “My mummy said I should.”
“Oh yes, I’ve heard your truth. Hints about personal, private lessons with big rough soldier types, then trotting o
ff alone with one certain soldier.” Liz glowered some more, but it wasn’t working. “Now I come in here and find you actually are practicing with blessed machetes. Cripes, nobody will believe me even if it’s the stone cold truth.” Her glare moved to Harold. “How come Fergie gets these personal private lessons?”
“Bribery.” Harold started laughing.
“Truly.” Fergie managed not to actually laugh. “I want to catch up with all the real fighters like Patty and Emmy and Doll, so I traded.”
“Traded what? Or is that going to be worse than not knowing.” Liz rolled her eyes. “I’ll never live this down. I’m supposed to know these things.”
“But we told the truth. I said I had been supervising practice, and Fergie said she’d been practicing. We just didn’t mention one-on-one. Fergie found something I wanted, and not her body despite what some nasty-minded people think. In return she wanted extra lessons, one-on-one, with a machete and a pistol.” Harold shrugged and brandished his wooden machete and stick. “I don’t even kiss her bruises better.” He left it a few moments, until Liz nearly burst with impatience and opened her mouth to ask. “She traded Daisy’s Christmas present, the little toy crossbow. I don’t go on those sorts of scavenges much these days but Fergie does, and she didn’t have any use for it.”
Liz stood while that worked its way in, then rounded on Fergie. “Getting my eye poked out is your fault?”
“No, blame whoever suggested that Daisy could use little sticks once the foam arrows were ruined.” Harold sighed. “She barely hit your eye and lost a week’s archery practice. Now she can only use the durn thing on targets unless someone finds more foam suitable for arrows.”
“Now clear off because this is my practice time, and I haven’t many lessons left.” Fergie sighed dramatically, pushing out her chest. “If I don’t learn enough I’ll have to find something else he wants, and lock the doors before we practice.”
