No More Heroes-#1 Dystopian Thriller Heroes Series

by Roo I MacLeod

  He pushed the sergeant onto a plastic crate and pointed a finger at him, unable to voice his emotions. The girl looked at me and smiled offering me a subtle thumbs-up sign. I shrugged in response. Tommy must have called back offering the alibi which suggested little Billy Two guns survived his stint on the furnace. We mightn’t be first-class citizens, but we stuck together. I needed to have a chat with young Harry on the subject of comradery as the child’s effort to provide help lacked application.

  Cooper finished with the sergeant and looked at me. He held the keys, his manicured finger allowing the big heavy ring to swing and clank the keys together. He smiled at me which alarmed me. I expected anger, but the sergeant copped the slap and Cooper’s ire. He kept smiling, his finger touching the handle of my rusted cutthroat. I readjusted my coat and tapped at the gun in my pocket. Having a knife held to his throat helped Cooper refocus. Still he smiled at me. He wanted blood and he wanted the damn bag.

  My two friends were staring at me. ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘You drew a knife in a police station?’ my blonde cellmate said as he scratched at his stubble again.

  ‘He tried to hit me.’

  ‘You’re all right. And you’re from the Projects.’

  ‘Was, from the Projects. Me and Jackie fell out.’

  ‘It happens. But you’re still giving it to the Man, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m in a locked cell. How do you think I’m giving anything to anyone? They have the keys. The good news is they still haven’t frisked me. I’ve got a gun and a couple more knives.’

  The two lads high-fived me and we sat back on our bench to get on with our incarceration. I shared my tobacco pouch and passed the small bottle of vodka to the blonde lad.

  ‘So you reckon your bird landed you here?’ he said.

  I shrugged, but I was certain she had organized my capture. But why call the police? ‘She thinks I’ve got something that belongs to her.’

  ‘You said that,’ the darker lad said. ‘Do you?’

  I shook my head. ‘No. I almost had it once, but I don’t have it now.’

  ‘So why would she call the police.’

  I shook my head, not sure I could answer his question. ‘I was the last person to see her husband alive and he left what she wants with me. As she was his wife she seems to believe she has a right to it. She might also think I killed him for the bag.’

  ‘Maybe she’s in cahoots with the police.’

  The image of Linda wearing the coppers jacket during my arrest backed his theory. ‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘It don’t help me either way, eh? I didn’t kill him and can prove I wasn’t in the area when he died, should I be allowed to testify. There’s a rumor suggesting a man with a limp did the deed.’

  ‘A limp isn’t a big clue,’ the blonde lad said. ‘All the squaddies are coming back with limps or walking on crutches and all of them have got bad crap going on in their heads.’

  Linda’s man at Marvin’s funeral walked with a limp. The soldier boy in the pub and the shadow shooting at me and Pete in the cemetery all had walking issues. And I remembered Marvin getting a right old sweat on when he noticed the man with the limp in the square staring at him.

  ‘Jesus, this guy’s bloody everywhere,’ I said.

  I looked up to find the two lads staring at me. Had I been talking aloud? These random, full-blown outbursts occurred too often and I blamed living rough pissing about with my mental health. And the drugs didn’t help.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The man with the limp. The Ferals said the man who killed Marvin walked with a limp. In the square the man who spooked Marvin had a limp. And the night in the graveyard Pete and I met a man with a shotgun who struggled big time with his gait. Finally, in the pub, not an hour back, the soldier walked like a drunk.

  ‘This man with the limp is bloody everywhere.’ I stood up and turned my back on Cooper and the fat sergeant, with a feeble attempt at keeping our conversation private.

  ‘So who’s the man with the limp?’ Blondie asked. ‘Is it the same man?’

  I shrugged because while noticing a limp, the faces blurred on me. Short hair and army gear, but I lacked any other distinguishing features to compare. ‘Linda’s chaperone at the church is the man with the limp. He could’ve been the man in the pub. I didn’t get a sighting on the man in the church, but I’m thinking they are the same man. So Linda set me up and she and the man with the limp killed Marvin for the bag.

  ‘And the Black Hat at Tilly’s house called him Peg Leg.’

  I leant my head against the wall and sighed. Marvin’s murderer walked Ostere town with a limp, but who, other than my fellow cellmates, wanted to know?

  A small wiry man wearing a black flat cap joined Cooper and they fell into deep discussion with the fat sergeant.

  ‘You’re in trouble,’ Wolf Girl said. She stood at the bars, blinking her large brown eyes and smiling at me. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘Have you heard from Tommy?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, his phone is turned off.’

  ‘Shit.’

  Tommy never turned off his phone, which suggested he remained at the hospital because Billy’s injuries were serious. So that left young Harry to get me out of the building. ‘I’m in real trouble, aren’t I?’

  ‘Cooper is discussing how he’s going to get the sergeant to release you into his custody. If that happens we’ll never see you again. Oh, the stories I could tell you about prisoners leaving under Mr. Cooper’s care. Not good. There is no happy ending. They don’t even make it to a pauper’s grave. They just … disappear.’ Her fingers mimicked the act of vanishing and she smiled.

  I could grow to dislike the crooked smile.

  A volley of missiles smacked into the building. A rock splintered the window and showered the reception room with glass. The youth cheered and hollered, chanting crap cooking tips for roasting a pig.

  ‘I’ll give your friend another call. Hang in there. You’ve got me on your side and them out there,’ she said, jerking her thumb at the shattered window.

  Two large black suited men entered from the back corridor bumping Wolf Girl out of their path. They took up position by the cage with their arms folded, legs spread, staring at me with mouths agape. I assumed they’d eaten dinner, but drool hung from their thick lips and grunts rumbled within their solid mass. Whatever message the girl tried to convey, whatever good will she imparted, evaporated to zero as the two beef cakes sucked at my bravado. My wee knife needed to grow up and become a machete to help me tackle beefcakes one and two. For the umpteenth time I felt at the lump of metal sitting in my coat pocket, wondering if I had the courage to shoot the weapon in a police station.

  ‘They here for you?’ my gloved cellmate enquired.

  ‘We can watch your back,’ blondie said. ‘We’re on the same side, but we don’t have weapons.’

  ‘You walk the streets without weapons?’

  ‘We’re only new to the Projects and don’t have a record yet. Jackie likes our clean records coz it means we can walk the streets without getting grief from the Law. To get caught with a weapon gets us charged. So, no weapons.’

  The fat desk sergeant approached the cage and smiled at me.

  ‘The sergeant fancies me,’ I said. ‘All this smiling and touching and the fatherly talks is a dead give-away.’

  ‘Well, who’d have thought it?’ he said as he unlocked the cage door. ‘We ain’t got no charges, so we’re releasing you. Good news, huh?’

  ‘Sounds jolly,’ I replied. ‘Why the sudden change of heart? I thought you had me marked for every unsolved crime these past ten years.’

  ‘Mistakes can be made. These gentlemen vouched for your innocence. They reckoned you was playing canasta with them at the Conservative Club and lost bad.’

  ‘Your story lacks credibility, because I’m a whizz at canasta and I don’t lose bad. But three cheers to my solicitor and his legal team.’ I pointed at thug one and two. ‘Not to seem ungrateful
, but -’

  ‘Listen, you’re being released. Get out of my jail. I need to slop the cell down.’

  I looked at my two cellmates. ‘Says heaps for you two.’ I looked back at the sergeant. ‘I’d prefer to stay if that’s all right.’

  ‘No, it’s not. Fuck off. It’s getting rough outside and I want to get this station closed.’

  I looked at my adversaries, wondering, when I climbed from the hotel bed early that morning, how I could’ve prepared myself better for the day. Tilly needed her house empty of bodies and I’d wanted to meet with Linda. The damn bag tripped me up. I should’ve told her I didn’t have it? Alas, contemplating on what if was never going to help me. I needed to concentrate on my defense. My luck had to change and Harry, Tommy or the rock throwing Scum needed to answer my call for help.

  Another attack began on the Police Station. Flame brightened the window, as a bottle smashed against the splintered glass. The men stopped talking, their attention diverted to the missiles hitting the window, the reinforced glass sagging inwards. The sergeant bolted the front door, top and bottom.

  ‘We need to leave,’ he said to Cooper.

  ‘Not without him.’ Cooper pointed at me.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I said to Cooper. ‘I’m happy to take my chances with the Scum. But I’ll give you a heads up about where you might look for the damn bag.’

  Another volley of missiles hit the front entrance to the building. Flames ignited with a loud whoosh, but the glass held firm. My solicitor, Cooper, stepped forward and the sergeant shuffled to the coat hooks and grabbed his jacket. He held the Wolf Girl’s jacket, offering it to her. She poked her tongue at him and picked up the phone. Good girl, but I needed more than a symbolic act of defiance. Her wolf might help. Or the gun she’d fired in the cemetery.

  ‘Go on,’ Cooper said. ‘Who are you going to piss on that isn’t already dead?’

  ‘There’s a girl called Linda who seems to have a lot at stake here,’ I said.

  ‘Touché,’ my cellmate muttered from the back of the cell. He was laughing. ‘Give it to the ex.’

  I shrugged and looked back at the solicitor. The girl stitched me up big time and sitting back and taking her attitude made little sense.

  The front window took a massive hit, a splash of flaming fluid hitting the floor. ‘Linda has turned feral. Money does that to you. She has a mate with a limp who seems to be everywhere. He was seen with Marvin the night he was killed. Perhaps you should hassle them for this damn bag, eh?’

  ‘We’ve already been there. She hasn’t got the bag. And her mate’s to be left alone. You’d do well to do likewise. Anyone else you want to throw in?’

  ‘How about the vicar?’

  The vicar’s name caused unanimous jocularity. They all knew a vicar joke. I kept looking at the door for Tommy or Harry. One of them needed to save the day and soon because the beasts, their flexed arms folded across their chests, kept growling at me, needing to gnaw and suck on blood before their testosterone levels dropped.

  I stood up. ‘Give me some room guys. I’m not going anywhere. Not with them.’

  They stepped to the side as I fingered my second knife, adjusting it against my wrist, making sure my coat sleeve kept it hidden. I touched the gun, confident I could reach it if needed.

  I rotated my shoulders, easing the tension and stepped forward, a fighting stance adopted with my left foot in front. My left hand, palm open and outstretched, protected an attack to my face while my right hand, open and relaxed, covered my abdomen. My two cellmates stepped up behind me and adopted the same position. I nodded to each and smiled at Cooper.

  ‘Who’s first?’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Three against one seems unfair

  Cooper expected me to tremble at the flexing of a bicep, to splutter an apology and promise to bow and obey his commands. I hadn’t read Cooper’s script and stepped forward, flexed my knees, found my balance and concentrated on calming my breathing.

  The two Neanderthals standing at the gate snorted at each inhalation. The third man beside Cooper stood thin and wiry with a wicked scar cut into his left cheek. His flat black cap shrouded deep set black eyes locked on my figure. Not a single blink. He chewed on a stick and his hands massaged his pale small fingers. I didn’t like him being on Cooper’s side and worried about his mode of attack.

  The knife scratched at my wrist and the gun pulled at my coat as I stepped to the gate. I needed to control the entrance as I didn’t want both men in the cage at the same time. My two cellmates stood against the wall, silent and Project ready, honor bound to protect the dragon tattoo.

  A foot kicked at the front door of the station. A bat smashed at the glass and a hooded figure, scarlet splashes to the head and neck, looked in and launched a flaming bottle into the room. It skittered across the floor before resting against the sergeant’s desk. I turned back to the men; the flickering flame and the smell of petrol pulling at their attention.

  It hadn’t smashed, but the lighted rag burned with vigor and smoke, black smoke drifted into the fight zone. I palmed my knife and smiled at the first man to approach the gate. He believed me to be without a weapon as my rusted knife sat on the sergeant’s desk. He turned side-on to enter the cell. His arms hung out to the sides, his fists balled and knuckles clenched white. Rage engorged veins snaked the width of his thick neck. Gnarled gristle fronted his large forehead. His polished head glowed, the freckles, scars and ridges making his cranium a phrenologist’s delight. He scowled, as they always do, because he hated me and wanted to crush me. He’d struggled with the gate, but as he settled I kicked off my front foot through his standing knee. His right leg buckled and his head dropped. Swiveling, I drove through his jaw with my elbow and cracked his mandible. He tried to balance with his damaged leg and the resulting wail of pain shook the substation windows. I struck him hard with the heel of my palm to the nose and flattened the cartilage flat to his face. Blood exploded across the cell and he fell across the entrance to the gate, bouncing once before settling.

  A cheer rose from behind my back as the second thug bounced toward the gate. His square head sported a buzz cut to his light ginger hair. The pale blue eyes stared and the flattened, crooked nose asked to be hit. He shadow boxed while looking at his comatose colleague blocking his path. He dropped his hands and grabbed the gate, easing his bulk over the body. Once inside the cell he shook his arms, rolled his shoulders, bouncing from foot to foot and ducking his head from side to side.

  My eyes trained on his center. Groin, solar plexus, throat and nose stood out as promising targets as he held his hands high, by the side of his head. This man wore tight black jeans and his tackle bulged against the fabric.

  Strike and disable.

  I settled in my stance, my weight favoring the back foot because my front foot needed to be quick and sharp. He skipped, bounced forward and then darted to the side, ducking his head right and left. It looked good, but he worked hard, overdoing the motions.

  Behind him, the third man in the flat cap pulled a gun from his jacket. Another bottle sailed through the broken window and smashed against the display area. It exploded, the leaflets extolling the virtues of our Local Constabulary adding fuel to the flaming fluid. More smoke and now flames added to the theater. One of the Project lads coughed and my throat caught on the acrid smoke filling the station.

  My man with the buzz cut threw a couple quick left jabs, paused, threw another jab and swung with a slow, heavy right punch. I deflected the fist to my left, turning with his momentum, allowing his flow to draw him off balance. As he stumbled past me, I raised my knee and drove into his fall, burying my energy deep inside his stomach. A great gusty ‘oomph’ spat from his mouth, but he jumped back, looking at me with suspicion. Another quick jab, a step to the left and a jab and he swung again with the same result, except slower. His breaths panted and perspiration dripped from his nose. I deflected, dodged another roundhouse punch and when I saw him op
en for the umpteenth time, I smashed the handle of my knife on his collarbone. The snap as it broke caused me to flinch and his right arm to drop to his side.

  He didn’t understand why the fight finished with one strike. His arm hung lifeless, a localized pain in his shoulder and chest. I kept out of reach of his feet, using his bulk as a shield from flat cap man and his gun. I replaced my knife and kicked off my front foot, the underside of my boot driving through his groin. He fell against me, his good arm trying to grab at my coat. I swung him around, pushed him forward, our momentum stumbling over the first casualty. Once free, I propelled buzz cut at the man with the gun, the unsteady weight crashing into his body. As we fell, I tried to withdraw the gun from my coat, but I’d lost balance and the gun stuck as I fired. The sound exploded and reverberated throughout the small room. I couldn’t hear. Buzz Cut lay beneath me squashing Flat Cap to the floor with his gun lying against the cage.

  I grabbed the bars of the cell and heaved myself upright. ‘What else you got?’ I said to Cooper. ‘Not a lot, it seems.’

  My voice sounded muffled. The shot had buggered my hearing. I kicked the gun back toward the cell gate and nodded at blondie to retrieve the weapon. He reached for the gun, holding it between his thumb and index finger. Cooper grunted from Wolf Girl’s desk as I dropped my rusted cutthroat back inside my calf pocket and replaced the gun in my coat. I gave my dark locks a pat and stepped to my fallen heroes and stuck a worn boot on the shoulder of Buzz Cut man, smiling as he groaned. How cool, I thought, that went so well.

  ‘So I’ve been released?’

  My hearing returned to my right ear and I offered Wolf Girl a smile. ‘May I have my release papers?’

  Wolf Girl passed me a form. I folded and stuffed it inside my coat pocket. The form bore no relevance to my freedom, but asking for it added to my victory. ‘So I can go, eh?’ I said to Wolf Girl. ‘You care to join me down at the Old Poet Public House for a wee libation, eh?’