by Vance Huxley
In another departure from the old, structured training, every new recruit immediately learned how to shoot a pistol, well enough to keep the muzzle down. If the General came, the sheer volume of bullets hitting a charging crowd might be all that saved Orchard Close.
Harold and Tessa stripped down more captured ammo to make up full-powered rounds while Liz concentrated on crossbow bolts. After Caddi’s donations there were over two hundred firearms and nearly a hundred crossbows, more than the number of people fit to wield them. The wounded sharpened weapons or bolts, supervised training or helped with sparring if they could manage it. The sheer number of eager new faces cheered up the residents, even the wounded. Once again, Harold found himself wondering if the new fighters would actually stab someone, though he thought these would. Most of these lasses probably had the same sort of nightmares as the likes of Tilly and Bethany, while showing that same savage determination to avoid a repeat.
More refugees straggled in, a few at a time. With all the local gangs fighting, other people had taken their chance to run. There were young men as well as women this time, but few older families were willing to risk the scattered fighting. The youths who came to Orchard Close usually wanted to fight gangsters. Some came to protect or avenge a sister or girlfriend, but others had lost family and friends and were hoping for payback.
* * *
With everything else going on, and no immediate shortage of medication or propellant, Harold had almost forgotten Dealer. The phone call from the gate caught him out. “I don’t know why, Harold, but Dealer has a big trailer behind one of the cars. I don’t think it’s anything dangerous.”
“Don’t point weapons at the trailer or the cars, Doll. Dealer is strictly neutral. I’m on the way, so will you organise beer for his men, please?” When he reached the gate, Harold agreed that the trailer looked harmless. The size of a horsebox, with mesh sides, the trailer held clearly visible wrapped bundles too small to conceal men, or a cannon.
The surviving residents had crammed into bricks and mortar, rather than risk a tent, so the embassy had residents. That meant Dealer finally made it into Harold’s house. He greeted Sharyn and Tessa before turning to Mercedes, once again sitting on the settee. “I’ve heard many different stories about you, but the reality is much less alarming. I hope you are recovering?”
“I’ve found a very good nurse, very attentive, and an incentive to get better.” The smirk and glance at Harold explained, probably better than Dealer expected.
“Mercedes, and quite a few others, were very lucky to make it.” Tessa bit off the rest, about the medication helping, because she shouldn’t know who Dealer was. She gestured towards Harold’s bedroom. “Harold’s office is in there.”
Once inside the study, Harold closed the door while Dealer took in the three-quarter bed and the camp bed folded against one wall. “A novel office.”
“More novel than you think. Mercedes is recovering in that bed, so if you call and she’s not well enough to get up we might have to talk in front of her.” Harold pointed to the easy chair, and sat on the bed. “As the visitor, you should get the good seat.”
Dealer sat, then took time to inspect the bed and the rest of the room, including the Valentine’s heart on the wall. A dress rail salvaged from a shop held a short row of woman’s clothes, with some boots below. The umbrella and hat stand held a sword, a machete, half a dozen crossbow bolts and an attempt at a Roman pila, with a steel helmet and a belt with a sheath attached on the hooks. A propped-up crossbow, with the cranking mechanism dismantled, partly obscured the mirror on the dresser, while around it a hairbrush and makeup shared space with two plastic tubs of ammo, several loose rounds and empty clips, a Rambo, gun cleaning kit, and gun lubricant. Above the entrance Harold’s rifle lay across two pegs, while the hooks on the door held Harold’s armoured jerkin, covered in overlapping squares of steel, a dressing gown and a long leather coat. Heavy reinforcing mesh, reclaimed by smashing concrete floors, sealed the window while still letting the occupant see out and shoot. “It’s a work in progress.” The scavengers were looking for a wardrobe, for starters.
“So I see. A little more domestic than the usual meeting places, a strange mix, some sort of brutal chic.” Dealer gave the huge diary on the small table a curious look before shaking his head gently. “There are gangs who don’t trust one person to speak to me alone, but none of them invite me into their bedroom, with or without their girlfriend.” Harold started to speak but Dealer held up his hand with a little smile. “Just a moment, please. What I said is true, but none of them ever fought a gang war over their girlfriend. I doubt she will betray you after that.” His trademark Dealer smile finally appeared, slightly mocking. “Though I’d best mind my manners, considering what I’m told she did to the last people to upset either of you.”
Harold laughed at that because he was sure the rumour mill had been busy. Dealer would have heard some widely varying versions. “You have no idea, but I can confirm that Mercedes can keep a secret, even from her own gang boss while under video surveillance. Speaking of her ex-boss, thickening my walls didn’t make any difference. Caddi came in through my gate.”
“True, Caddi didn’t try to knock your walls down. Since he didn’t, and apparently the gate approach failed, maybe you’ll be selling some rifles and pistols? Adding up all the men your Riot Squad allegedly killed, you can spare a couple of hundred of each.”
That made Harold laugh again because it matched what he’d been thinking about rumours. The change of subject meant Dealer didn’t want to discuss walls, but Harold thought he’d caught a definite emphasis on Caddi’s name. “Some people are really bad at maths, but we killed quite a few. I won’t need ammunition or empty brass, but I’ll still want some propellant and a few clips. More importantly, I need everything necessary to treat wounds, especially antibiotics and anaesthetics.”
“I brought the gas for your dentist, and I always carry antibiotics, wound dressings, that sort of stock. Will you be paying with loot and novelty metal, or have you found a Rodin?”
Harold shook his head, then explained he had very little metal weaponry but plenty of good quality protective clothing, only some of it damaged. “I already traded a lot of sharp stuff for medicines, though we’ll have more once the smith repairs them. If you are serious I can sell you a few single-shot pistols? I’ll want a good price because the locals will pay well for firearms.”
“There is a glut of protective clothing among your neighbours. The quality varies dramatically with most of it needing some repair, but the price will recover in time. I suggest your craftspeople repair and upgrade any spares before selling them.” His Dealer smile turned into a genuine chuckle for a moment. “I brought a trailer to carry the gas bottles, lucky really because you aren’t the only one with a surplus.”
Harold nodded, remembering a comment from Gayle. “We’ll need more gas next time, because we’ve had a lot of operations. Do I get discount for the empty gas bottles?”
“We will negotiate. I’ll take any machetes, crossbows and knives you can spare, though the price will depend on the quality. All of those always sell because there aren’t many smiths who can temper blades.” Dealer thought about the rest. “I might take some pistols, though to be honest your neighbours will probably pay more.”
“Fair enough. I have some coupons to spare, so I’ll decide on the weapons when we get down to prices.” If Dealer had been around the local gangs, Harold wondered if he’d seen the missing vehicles. “You should be stocking armour piercing because yours aren’t the only armoured vehicles in town, not anymore. I reckon that lorry or Bren carrier would flatten one of your cars.”
“I’m selling specialised ammunition to anyone worried about the lorry. Hardened steel plate might be tough, but won’t stop a rifle round with a hardened penetrator inside, like yours. The Bren carrier, however, might be a real handful to anyone not expecting it.” Dealer made a throwaway gesture with one hand. “I won’t be selling
anyone full armour piercing in case they become ambitious, but that doesn’t mean I don’t carry something suitable.”
Harold still didn’t know if Dealer knew where the vehicles were or normally carried anti-armour weaponry, so he gave up for now. He thought he’d covered everything, except maybe one special request if the price was right. “Can you source a portable ultrasound? We saw one being used, very useful for finding bullets and shrapnel.”
Dealer looked startled for a moment. He must know the Barbies had one, and it was common knowledge they didn’t treat anyone but Barbies. “That would be possible, especially if you have more reloading kits and resizers to trade, or a Picasso. I have brought four weapons for repair if you have time. No automatics, but the owners will pay very well.”
“Always time to look after a good customer.” As Harold finished, Dealer stood.
“In that case I’d better check through my stocks. Will we be seeing the same delightful bodyguard or has she been replaced?” The glance at the bed told Harold who Dealer thought might replace Patty.
“Mercedes would make an excellent bodyguard, but she’s not really fit for duty yet.” Harold thought about Patty’s latest bling outfit. “I’d hate for you to miss Patty’s new look.”
* * *
Sure enough, by the time Harold had gathered his trading goods, Patty turned up at his house. She wore her full ‘impress the Barbie’ outfit, though the shotgun hid under her armoured jacket and her Winchester stayed tucked away in the sheath. Harold shook his head at her. “I thought we’d agreed that Dealer wasn’t likely to rob us?”
“Fat chance. With all the new rifles we could probably take his men, especially if you could get them to parade again like the first time.” Patty laughed at Harold’s look. “I’m joking. I figured Dealer should see the real version of whatever the Barbies told him.”
“Vulcan will be jealous.”
“The rumours will make him keener to come to the dance. You didn’t mind when Mercedes visited other men while armed to the teeth?” She grinned as Harold rolled his eyes. Mercedes had been visiting to kill them. “What are we buying or selling? Grenades?”
“The second-rate weaponry for starters, unless Liz can make it first-rate.” With Liz and Doll helping, Harold ended up with eighty knives, thirty machetes and a score each of second-rate crossbows and amateur maces. Liz could reshape or re-temper most of it eventually, but told Harold making new wouldn’t take much longer and would be better quality.
Dealer started chuckling when Patty came in. “Good grief. How long does it take to polish that lot?” David, the bodyguard, started smiling but looked worried when Patty hauled out the sawn-off pump action and slung it over her shoulder. Dealer gave the vicious short-range weapon and the three pistols a long, cautious look before turning to Harold. “I thought we were past all that?”
Harold nodded towards Patty, to let her answer. “I’m not really any more dangerous than usual. The shotgun is empty because I only brought it for show, though the bandoliers of ammo are real. I’ll bet someone described this get-up, so I wanted you to see the real deal.” She posed left and right, with the Winchester held across her chest. “I don’t polish all of it because that’s a punishment detail. Anyone missing the target three times with a crossbow polishes all their squad’s kit. If my kit needs cleaning, I move the target downrange.”
“I’m pleased you aren’t in charge of our training.” David had relaxed, though he was still checking her weaponry. “It’s all there but the whole thing is more impressive than a list, even a list from someone in love.”
“Hah, in lust, probably. I don’t swing that way, but she hasn’t got the message.”
“She?” David opened his mouth to say more, then contented himself with a little smile. “Lust then.”
“I’d ask for a picture, but there were pointed questions about the pub photos. I really would like a few pictures of a football match, or I’ll trade a phone for one with a video clip?” The usual urbane manner slipped as Dealer curled his lip in contempt. “Some people need a lot of pictures and small words before they alter their prejudices.”
Now Patty wanted to know more about who had described her, while Harold wondered whose prejudices Dealer wanted to adjust, but the trader reverted to his usual spiel. The trading was both reassuringly normal, and weird after all the violence and worry just lately. The glut had definitely depressed the price for protective clothing, so Harold bought half a dozen heavily-plated jerkins with bullet holes in them. The coven would fix them, then they’d sell at a profit. Every adult in Orchard Close had a knife now so Harold had over a hundred to sell, most of them decent quality, but Dealer bought the lot at the usual prices. The amateur machetes and maces brought half the price of Liz or Wayland versions, with the second-rate crossbows worth half a Geek crossbow, but Dealer still took them all. That meant plenty of people somewhere were still buying second-rate weapons, so Harold sounded out Dealer about the price of tempered steel.
“The thicker or thinner versions?” He looked at Harold’s sword. “Probably the thicker, not from SUVs or caravans. I haven’t been offered any yet, but there are enclaves without a source. Do you have enough to part with some?”
“I have just accepted some in trade, even though we have enough for our own needs.” Harold followed Dealer’s look at his sword, one of Liz’s versions. “Maybe we’ll make more profit if we turn it into weapons first?”
“Probably, but I will ask around and bring a price next time. Can I choose which plates?” At Harold’s look Dealer laughed, genuine laughter. “I had one of the Rambos tested. You, and a very few other people, have scavenged spring steel from a rail wagon, which I won’t tell anyone else. I’ll want the plates from the middle of the stack if possible, because they are the right length to make machete-style blades.”
Harold shrugged, as good as an admission, before moving back to dealing for propellant, medication and anaesthetic gas. He wouldn’t part with protective gear except helmets, not for what Dealer offered, but the sheer number of knives and other weapons went a long way towards paying for the very expensive medical supplies. Dealer could supply an ultrasound, delivery in two months, but haggled over the price until Harold offered a single-shot pistol and a small calibre shotgun, fully refurbished. Harold also ordered household products the Marts didn’t stock, and plenty of sugar. The Marts supplied sugar, but very little because it could also be an ingredient for explosive devices.
“Are the housewives complaining?” Dealer’s smile thought he knew the reason Harold wanted more than he could buy at a Mart. “I can supply some sugar, but it’s bulky so I’d rather carry items with a higher profit margin.”
“You might want to re-assess in the autumn.” Harold certainly hoped so. “All the gangs need sugar to make jam but the Mart simply won’t have enough. A smaller profit on a lot of sales might be worthwhile?”
Dealer seemed to take him seriously. “If the demand for genuine household supplies is going up, I may be keeping the trailer as a permanent addition to the convoy.”
“I hope so. I’ll pay the premium for what sugar you have with you, for self-defence.” Harold paid for sugar, a lot of propellant, and the balance of the rest of his purchases with coupons. Dealer raised an eyebrow at the wad Harold pulled out, but Patty smirked. She knew those were from Roller, and that Harold still had a carrier bag full at home. Next time Harold might not need coupons, because there were more knitting and crochet orders as well as the gun repairs.
Dealer hesitated before leaving, eyeing up Patty’s accessories. “I’m a little worried about my bodyguard squeezing through the door with yours this time. With all the cutlery she might cut him to death.”
“I’d offer to help you take some off, but there are people elsewhere who might be very annoyed.” David stood back and bowed Patty to the door. “Our men won’t shoot unless your boss is the next one out. The instructions for your enclave have been relaxed a little.”
On the
way back, Harold and Patty talked over Dealer’s comments about the football matches and the pub. He must be talking to people outside the city but who? Sarge hadn’t hinted at any rogue arms dealers out there, but surely the government knew, in which case why hadn’t the Army been told? Once again, neither of them could come up with a definite answer. Casper’s had once suggested the government used Dealer to extract any art or other valuables, so they could eventually bomb the ruins into oblivion. That had started to sound like a real possibility.
Harold and Patty both came to one definite conclusion. Without Dealer bringing in apparently unlimited amounts of ammunition, powder, and the ingredients for explosives, every gang in the city would have shot themselves dry. Neither liked the idea of someone outside the wire stoking the violence, but firearms were the only thing that stopped the likes of the General swamping Orchard Close with numbers. As soon as Harold came inside the gates, Doll pounced to ask for more ammo, for training, so he forgot about Dealer’s mysterious suppliers.
* * *
The subject didn’t come up later because Vulcan arrived to buy Patty the drink he ‘owed’ her. While the GOFS submitted to a search, Harold tried to find out exactly what Vulcan had scored. The GOFS warlord claimed that he’d kept back from the melee around the diesel, as advised, but had captured a battered van plated with ordinary steel and stripped a few bodies. Two pistols for repair confirmed the last part. When Harold mentioned the Geeks, the General and an armoured Army vehicle, Vulcan was adamant the vehicle hadn’t passed through GOFS territory.
“Be very careful if Wellington suggests a combined raid sometime.” Vulcan tapped one of the pistols. “I heard he allied with someone, but the Geeks headed home alone. If he sends some of these for repair, I wonder what happened to all his friends?”
Vulcan more or less ignored Harold after that because Patty turned up wearing a skirt, not the reinforced version worn for fighting. She wasn’t wearing jeans under this one but had found some definitely Mercedes-style short boots, possibly from Mercedes. The Demon greeted Vulcan with a dazzling smile before taking him off for another walk around the walls. When they got back he got his dance, just a short chaste one. Patty agreed that might class as a date, so Vulcan had his goatee pulled, followed by a quick kiss before leaving.
