Bermuda Jones Casefiles Box Set

by Robert Enright

  Slamming the door and trapping any response, Bermuda strode with purpose back towards the entrance. Butler instantly pushed his chair back, the legs screeching against the floor.

  Bermuda held out a calming hand. ‘Down boy.’

  Butler raised a middle finger in response, to Bermuda’s amusement. As he rounded the corner that led to the corridor, he almost collided with McAllister, pressed against the wall.

  ‘Bermuda.’ She shook her head at the nickname. ‘What the hell did you come here for? Do you know how much trouble you are in?’

  Bermuda peered around the corner again, noticing the partitions of the blinds flickering. ‘Oh yeah. I’m knee-deep in shit.’

  ‘I told you that this was over.’ McAllister spoke softly, Bermuda detecting her sadness at the situation.

  ‘Sam, I know how to find him.’

  She perked up.

  ‘What? How?’ She scrambled inside her blazer jacket, looking for her notebook. As she did, Butler rounded the corner, soon followed by Strachan. Bermuda could take the hint and pulled open the door to the corridor.

  ‘The roses, Sam.’ Bermuda offered her his warmest smile in a way of goodbye. ‘It’s the roses.’

  McAllister looked on in disbelief as Bermuda disappeared into the corridor, sliding his hat over his head and pulling the collar of his coat up. He reached the front door and without even turning, threw out a hand to wave goodbye. McAllister found herself waving back as Butler and Strachan instantly reprimanded her.

  She didn’t listen to a word of it.

  As Bermuda walked through the town centre, every fibre of his being told him to hail a cab or check to see how Uber was getting on in Glasgow. He ignored his own weakness, braving the elements as a freezing drizzle swept the dark Glasgow evening clean. The Christmas lights were beaming down from the buildings, the late-evening shopping in full force as he weaved his way through endless mobs of consumerism. He spotted a few Others fighting over what looked like an old violin in an alleyway. Knowing his tenure as a BTCO agent was probably at an end, he opted not to check to see the validity of their latch stones.

  Did Kevin Parker have a latch stone?

  Bermuda threw his mind back to their meeting a few nights prior, the monstrous human gently stalking him around the tomb. While he spoke of his desired and the voice in the darkness, Bermuda couldn’t see the stone.

  Was he human?

  Argyle hadn’t been able to sense him like he usually could. Not an Other got by Argyle without him at least knowing it was in the vicinity. But Parker was too strong, moved too fast.

  Bermuda had seen the darkness in his eyes.

  The Otherside.

  Convincing himself that Parker was just another creature to go back across the divide, Bermuda felt the phone in his pocket begin to vibrate. As the chilling grip of the night wrapped its fingers around him, he hoped it was his daughter, offering her forgiveness and mending his heart back together.

  Or perhaps his sister Charlotte, just calling, because unlike his deceased dad or deadbeat mum, she was one of the few people in the world who gave a damn about him.

  He prayed it was Sophie, realising theirs was a love that she couldn’t be without.

  With a deep sigh, he answered the unknown number, praying his hope wasn’t misguided.

  It was.

  ‘Jones.’ Montgomery Black’s voice bellowed down the phone, the audible squeal of an airplane in the background. ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’

  ‘Are you at an airport?’ Bermuda asked, surprised more than anything that Black wasn’t bluffing.

  ‘You’re damn right I am.’ Black was breathing heavily, telling Bermuda he was walking somewhere. ‘I just touched down in the motherland, and what do I receive? A call from DCI Fowler saying that you practically broke into the police station?’

  ‘Technically I didn’t break in.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, do you actively try to piss me off?’ Black continued before a smart response came. ‘Go to your damn hotel room and wait there. Vincent and I will be with you within the hour.’

  ‘Great,’ Bermuda said dryly, turning the corner, the Premier Inn appearing at the end of the road in all its purple majesty.

  ‘Don’t get smart with me, Jones,’ Black warned with venom. ‘Do you know how much damage you have caused? Not just to the investigation or the great city of Glasgow, but to the whole organisation? No, of course you don’t. Because you don’t care. Because you think you are above the rules and regulations that we need to abide by to keep the truce steady.’

  ‘No offence, Monty, but I couldn’t give a shit. I know how to find this guy and I’m going to stop him. You’re welcome to wait in the bar until I get back.’

  Bermuda climbed the steps of the Premier Inn and entered through the automatic door to the empty reception, so engrossed in his phone call that he failed to notice the row of hooded figures that lined the other side of the street, all of them burning a hole in him with their jet-black eyes.

  Eight white masks all turned in his direction.

  He failed to notice them advance towards the hotel.

  Bermuda pushed open the door to the stairs and began his ascent, ignoring the tirade of abuse like a school child who didn’t care about detention.

  ‘You’re finished, Jones. Do you hear me?’

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

  Bermuda heard the sound of car doors closing and an engine roaring to life. They were on their way.

  ‘Well, you are on your own now. Unlike you, Argyle knows how to follow orders. He is a soldier. He was until you corrupted him.’

  ‘Argyle is a good man. Leave him out of this,’ Bermuda pleaded angrily. He pushed open the door to his floor, his thighs and calves burning.

  ‘Did he enjoy his reunion?’ Black asked, his words calmer, as if arguing had taken a physical toll on him. Bermuda thought about Black’s age, and for a second actually felt a twinge of sympathy.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Argyle.’

  ‘Reunion?’ Bermuda stopped in the hallway. It was eerily quiet. ‘What the hell are you going on about?’

  ‘Argyle and Tobias.’ Black spoke with an irritated tone.

  Bermuda stopped, nothing made sense. ‘What? Tobias kept asking to meet him. He said he had heard things about Argyle.’ Bermuda tried to force it all to make sense. ‘He was really keen, in fact.’

  Black chuckled as if he had heard a terrible joke. ‘The silly old fool. They’ve met before.’

  Black sighed while Bermuda tried to place it all. There was something that didn’t sit right with him.

  Something about Tobias.

  Black suddenly shattered his concentration. ‘Above everything Jones, I’m actually surprised you understood a word the man said.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Bermuda asked, unease coursing through him like a pulse. ‘Apart from talking like he belonged on Downton Abbey.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about? The man has thicker Glaswegian accent than I do!’

  With that, Bermuda froze. There had been something the entire time – something nagging him about the way Tobias spoke. The way his skin sat on his body, like he had withered and it hung loose.

  The way he knew more than he should.

  Tobias.

  At that moment, the corridor became entrenched in darkness. Every light cut instantly, painting the entire hotel in shadow. Bermuda looked at the screen of his phone, and a warning saying his battery was low greeted him. The screen, refusing to light up to preserve battery, projected nothing but a pathetic, faded imitation of his daughter’s face.

  Pocketing his phone, Bermuda walked slowly into the darkness, his fingers wrapping around his e-cig. Bringing it to eye level, he pressed down on the button and a small blue light burst out, illuminating a few feet before him like a torch. The e-liquid bubbled as he burnt through it. He took a few steps forward before pressing again, the blue light guiding him down a few fe
et further before it dipped and faded.

  He heard footsteps behind him.

  Bermuda swivelled, holding the e-cig like a weapon. The only damage it provided was to the tobacco industry. He pressed the button again in the direction of the shuffled footsteps, but the blueness provided nothing.

  Slowly, he turned with his finger down on the button.

  A pure white mask greeted him.

  The hooded figures moved so quickly that Bermuda was unconscious within moments, the e-cig clattering to the floor and switching off.

  The creature uttered a crude grunt before more of his kind emerged from the shadows, surrounding the motionless body of Bermuda.

  They were the Legion.

  They had claimed him.

  With no piercing blue bulb to light the way, Bermuda was dragged into the darkness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Argyle blamed himself.

  Stood at the entrance of Bermuda’s temporary quarters, Argyle watched as the rain fell down upon the glorious city before him. The high, gothic towers that lined the roads reminded him of home, each one a monument to endurance and sacrifice. All of them built by hand, all of them a shadow that threatened to move.

  He should have seen it coming.

  Ever since they had arrived in the city, he had sensed it. From the very moment he accompanied Bermuda from the train station, he could feel the eyes upon them. Every movement, every moment.

  They had been waiting.

  Outside Steingold’s residence, Argyle had seen them in the alleyway. Vincent had even spoken of a rise in the Other activity in the city. The signs were there, every alarm was ringing, but Argyle had failed his primary objective.

  Protect Bermuda at all costs.

  It was Ottoway himself who had decreed it, and their last interaction on the viewing platform of the Shard six months prior had reiterated it. Then, with Bermuda hunting Barnaby, the importance of his life was stressed heavily.

  Now, with Ottoway on his final journey, Argyle had let that objective slip.

  He had followed his orders.

  But he had failed.

  Vincent had contacted the BTCO HQ when they arrived in Glasgow, asking Argyle to meet them at Bermuda’s hotel. They were to relieve him of his duty and Vincent had permitted Argyle the opportunity of a farewell. Argyle had already made peace with their split, but assumed Montgomery Black wanted to hurt Bermuda further.

  Soldiers follow orders.

  Argyle watched as a few police officers waited at the bottom of the steps, their bright jackets reflecting off the flashing blue lights of their vehicles. Argyle scoffed at the memory of him lifting one, causing panic amongst the humans. If only they knew what surrounded their world. What lurked in the shadows.

  Inside, Vincent and Black were combing through Bermuda’s chambers, looking for any sort of clue. Argyle knew they would find none. All they found was his e-cigarette in the hall, a few doors down from his own.

  They had taken him far from here.

  Argyle felt restless, his command to stay and watch the entrance felt needless. Whatever had taken Bermuda wouldn’t be back. They should have been combing every alleyway of the city, searching through the darkness like Argyle had all those years ago.

  When he had found Bermuda on the Otherside.

  As Argyle began to replay the memory in his mind, a voice behind broke his concentration.

  ‘Bad night, eh?’

  Argyle turned his neck slightly to see the homeless man they had seen on a number of occasions. The man was soaked through, his filthy clothes glued to his wiry frame. His hair, plastered to his head, ran in uneven clumps, framing a face that needed a wash and a shave.

  He was a disgrace.

  Argyle eyed him up and down, convinced the man was speaking to the police officers, and returned his gaze to the downpour ahead.

  ‘Hey. Big man.’ The voice grew. ‘You with the sword.’

  Argyle instantly spun round, his blade finely slicing a number of raindrops as they hurtled to the ground. The tramp stumbled backwards, steadying himself before falling.

  ‘Are you addressing me?’ Argyle’s shadow, cast by the light hanging above him, completely enveloped the man.

  ‘I’m sorry, I thought you were with that guy, Bermuda.’ The man held his hands up in surrender.

  ‘I apologise,’ Argyle offered, bowing his head. Being seen as a monster was something he truly hated. ‘I, of course, mean you no harm.’

  ‘Aye. Good to know.’ The man flashed a toothless grin. ‘The name’s Gordon.’

  Argyle grunted a response and turned his attention back to the front door.

  Back to his orders.

  A gentle cough behind him caused him to turn back.

  ‘I saw them. The shadow people.’ Gordon rustled in his bag, pulling out a surprisingly clean apple. He sunk his remaining rotting teeth into it, drawing a loud crunch which alerted the officers.

  ‘The shadow people?’ Argyle questioned.

  ‘You know. Your kind. The kind normal folks can’t see.’ He took another bite, bits of apple falling into his beard. ‘Aye, there were a number of them.’

  ‘How many?’ Argyle turned, towering over the informant.

  ‘Seven. Maybe eight.’ Gordon gestured to the street, indicating where they went. ‘All of ’em had big hoods on, you know? But they weren’t human.’

  Argyle’s face tightened, the fury bubbling within him. Despite the BTCO taking him in when he had betrayed the Otherside, Bermuda had been his friend. His orders may have come from them, but his loyalty was with Bermuda. The man may have had zero respect for authority, but Argyle had never met a human with a clearer understanding of right and wrong.

  Above all else he was his partner.

  His friend.

  Gordon took a step forward, standing beside the rain-soaked giant. ‘Argyle, isn’t it?’

  The eye contact told him he was correct. The grey, pupilless eyes sent a shudder down his spine.

  ‘I don’t think they were taking him anywhere nice.’

  ‘Why do you care?’ Argyle spoke through gritted teeth, his inner turmoil wrestling inside him.

  ‘I sit on these streets every day telling this world I ain’t crazy.’ Gordon chuckled. ‘For years, no one has listened. Except your pal. Now I can’t do much for anyone. But you can.’

  Argyle exhaled before standing up straight. The blade gently swung from its latch, the smooth, polished steel grazing the back of his legs. He reached out his rough hand and placed it on his new acquaintance’s shoulder. Argyle knew with enough focus he could track Bermuda. He did whenever they needed to travel long distances, a skill that always surprised his partner. He had done it a hundred times, but was about to do one thing he had never entertained.

  Defy his orders.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Gordon looked up at him in awe, slowly chomping another lump out of the apple. Argyle burst forward with such power that he almost collided with the police officers, who wobbled slightly as he dashed past. They glared at the homeless mess before them, infuriated when all he offered them was a hopeless shrug. Gordon smirked as Argyle raced across the road, whipping between two cars before disappearing into shadows.

  At that moment, an old man stormed out of the Premier Inn, his glasses almost slipping from his large nose. He wore a smart, three-piece suit and walked with an air of arrogance that immediately identified him as the one in charge.

  ‘Argyle?’ Montgomery Black’s accent was thick and welcoming. He looked around vacantly.

  ‘The big guy with the sword?’ Gordon offered, scraping the scraps from the apple core.

  Black hobbled down the steps and approached him with a scowl on his face. ‘Who the hell are you?’

  ‘Just a handsome stranger.’ Gordon tossed the core back into one of his bags.

  The rain began to hammer an agitated Black before a noble-looking creature with a large head and long, thin fingers genuinely floated across with a
n umbrella.

  Gordon nodded at Vincent, who returned with a warm smile.

  ‘What did you do?’ Black demanded.

  ‘Me, nothing.’ Gordon turned to walk away. A few taxis slowly veered down the street, a fresh spray of water lifting from their tyres.

  Black grabbed Gordon and turned him back. ‘Where is he? What is Argyle doing?’

  ‘Judging by the look of him…’ Gordon removed Black’s hand and looked at both man and monster. ‘What he does best.’

  The damp smell of concrete and moss greeted Bermuda as he slowly regained consciousness, his head beating like a marching band. His eyes blinked a few times, all the dingy colours of his surroundings gradually coming into focus like someone was tuning an old television. He was lying on his front, and the ground beneath him was cold and solid, the concrete stretching all the way to crumbling walls.

  Light danced across the room; a few torches had been lit and lodged in the gaps of the brickwork. Six shadows were hazily cast against the wall, and the hooded figures stood still and straight. As Bermuda pushed himself to his knees, he pressed a hand to the back of his skull, the warm claret he retrieved evidence of a head wound.

  It hurt like hell.

  As he looked around the room, he saw the six hulking creatures, their hoods pulled forward, their entire faces bathed in shadow. Outside, two more stood guard. In the centre of the room, the large stone table stood, the bloodstains still splattered across it. Bermuda knew where he was.

  He was in the tomb at the top of the Necropolis.

  And he was in deep shit.

  ‘It’s nice to see you again.’

  The voice echoed from behind him, heavy footsteps soon following. He recognised the voice instantly.

  Tobias.

  ‘Yeah, well I wish it was mutual.’ Bermuda did his best to keep the trembling from his voice. He didn’t succeed.

  ‘It’s okay to be afraid, Agent Jones.’ Tobias walked slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. The skin hung slightly from his fingers. ‘In fact, I would expect you to be.’