Mason: A Manchester Bad Boys Romance

by Foxworth, Lena

  “Not much. Some fucking biker gang are causing trouble for our pal Terry,” he smirked.

  “Are we doing anything about it?”

  “Nah. Why waste resources? Let the scumbags knock forty shades of shite out of each other, and we’ll just arrest whatever’s left standing.”

  “When did you get so cynical?” I said, half to myself.

  The Gary Thompson I had known originally, way back when I first joined the force, would never have advocated a stance like that. Crime was crime and criminals were criminals. Look who’s talking, I thought ruefully. Criminals are criminals, unless they’re hot and sexy…

  It was more than that, though. Since Mason had opened up about Iraq, about his self-loathing and the burden of blame he carried with him, I was seeing things differently.

  “Again with the nagging wife routine!” Thompson cut in. “I don’t need a wife. I had a wife…”

  “You’ve had two,” I pointed out.

  “And where are they now?” His tone was becoming less aggressive, the self-pity of the drunk overtaking it.

  I didn’t reply, although I knew the answer. The first one had left him because she had an affair. Gary was never home, always working, and she’d found a replacement. I wasn’t sure why the second one had left, but it was probably because of me. Word had it that his marriage ended not long after he’d ended our doomed affair.

  “This is all we have, Nicole.”

  “What is?” He was making no sense.

  “The job. You get married… and you don’t realise. The job is your wife, your life. The wife is already the bit on the side before you’ve even begun. Eventually, you have to stop fucking around and be faithful to the job…”

  He put his head down on the table. At first I thought he was crying, but a loud snore set me straight. He’d passed out. I used his radio to call for a car to take him back to the station.

  As I waited, Gary snoozing peacefully next to me, I thought about what he’d been saying. It was true that the job demanded everything you had. A personal life, leisure time - that all came second. Which meant that husbands, wives, kids, friends and family all came second, too. So many senior officers were divorced, alone. Thompson wasn’t unusual. I’d thought that I’d wanted that life for myself - but as I waited for the squad car, I wasn’t so sure.

  A husband and children? It was difficult not to picture the faces as Mason and Damon, but I brushed the thought aside. Or lying face down in your own drool at half ten in the morning?

  Everything I knew seemed wrong.

  Mason

  The woman was making me nervous, even though I had no reason to be. Maybe it was the confident way she held herself, the authority she radiated. Maybe it was the way she sat down on my couch like she had every right to be there. Or maybe it was the weight of the gun concealed at my side, silently proclaiming that I wasn’t what she thought I was.

  I wished desperately that Nicole was here to help me navigate this conversation, but she wasn’t. Damon sat quietly next to the woman, subdued by the tense atmosphere of officialdom.

  “So, Mr O’Donnell, I am releasing Damon into your care on a temporary basis, until a permanent solution can be found. You have the resources to care for him?”

  “I- yes, I do.”

  “Are you employed?”

  “I’m a bouncer.” It was close enough to the truth, and Terry would back me if proof was needed.

  “Who will care for Damon while you’re at work?”

  “My girlfriend, Nicole,” I answered, hoping it was true. The woman from Social Services had descended out of the blue - Nicole knew nothing about this. Somebody had tipped them off about Karen. The list of suspects there was endless - Karen didn’t exactly tend to make friends and influence people. In careful terms, designed to go over Damon’s head, the woman had intimated that he would stay with me for a week or so. I could apply for custody. If my application was deemed successful by Social Services, Damon would live with me permanently. If not, or if I didn’t want him, he would enter the care system - which meant foster homes and children’s homes. It was rare for a five year old to be adopted. Too old.

  I looked at him, the small, quiet boy who looked just like me. Already in his short life he’d suffered too much. It was out of the question that I would abandon him to the system. But winning custody would be difficult, now that Social Services were involved. I would have to prove that I was fit to be a parent, show where my money came from, demonstrate that I could do it. The polyester uniform of the shopping centre security guard beckoned, but suddenly it didn’t seem so bad. Not when I had a reason to do it.

  “Very well, Mr O’Donnell. We’ll be in touch,” she said, gathering her things and leaving.

  “Do I live here now, Dad?”

  “Yes son, you do.”

  “Cool. I like it here. It’s always warm.”

  Now all I had to do was tell Nicole.

  “So, are you applying for custody, then?” she asked.

  “I have to. Look at the alternatives…”

  She seemed okay about the situation, which was great. I hadn’t doubted her, not really, but when we’d started seeing her I was a single man. Now I was a single dad, and that changed things. With Nicole not having any kids of her own, it could have gone either way. I think she was fond of Damon, though, and certainly he loved her. Watching them together, her reading him a story - it gave me a sense of peace and contentment that I never could have imagined.

  “I think you’re doing the right thing,” she said. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  “That’s lucky, because I do kind of need your help…”

  “Name it. I’ll do anything you want…”

  She smiled, and there was a challenge behind the smile. I wanted to rip her clothes off right there and then, but I couldn’t. Not with Damon in the next room. I looked pointedly at the door, raising an eyebrow.

  “Five year olds go to bed early,” she said, stroking my thigh. “Until then, what do you need?”

  “Some babysitting,” I admitted. “Just for a couple of evenings, until I can get something sorted out.”

  “Sorted out like what?”

  “You know, a proper babysitter. A paid babysitter.”

  “I don’t mind doing it,” she said.

  “I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage, though.”

  “You can take advantage of me any time,” she said, her hand moving higher up my thigh. I could feel myself getting hard…

  “Dad!” came the shout from the other room, “I can’t find my pyjamas!”

  “Duty calls,” I said regretfully, my cock rapidly deflating as I got to my feet. I remembered something.

  “There’s a form, for you to fill in. Because you visit regularly and stay over.”

  “A form?” she said, sounding alarmed.

  “It’s no big deal. Just a background check, to make sure you don’t secretly eat children or anything.” I grinned. “I’ll get the pyjama crisis dealt with, and once he’s all tucked up, we can pick up where we left off…”

  When I came back, she was putting her coat on.

  “Sorry,” she said, kissing me briefly. “I have to go. My friend called, some sort of emergency. Speak tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, nonplussed.

  And with that, she was gone. Strange. Somehow, I didn’t believe the flimsy excuse - and I hadn’t heard her talking on the phone. So what was it? Her mood had changed when I’d mentioned the form. Was I pushing her too hard? The babysitting, the sudden limitations on when we could have sex, the formality of visiting me - was it all too much? Maybe she felt like I was trying to force her into a mother role. I wasn’t, though. I was prepared to go it alone.

  I’ll talk to her tomorrow, I decided. Explain that I need her for me, not for Damon.

  Nicole

  Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

  I sat in my car, my mind racing. A background check - by Social Services. It couldn’t
happen. There was no way that my cover story would hold up to that kind of scrutiny. It had been good for casual conversation - a gap year from university, living off student loans. It explained all my free time and why I didn’t have to work. But it wasn’t official. There were no bank accounts, no National Insurance number. The passport and driving licence were fakes, and would be flagged as such when they were ran though the database.

  This is it. This is the crunch. I went though every scenario in my mind, trying to organise my thoughts.

  Option one - go along with it. There was no way that could happen - it breached every protocol of undercover work, and it would be for nothing. I’d be flagged as a fraud, and Mason would find out. It would destroy everything. The custody case, my relationship with Mason, and my job.

  Option two - call it all in. That’s what I should be doing. That was the protocol. Contact Thompson and explain that my cover was about to be blown, and let him handle it from there. I’d keep my job, although the investigation would be a bust. An officer dropping out of sight meant that CID would be loathe to insert another undercover officer into Terry’s circle. But if I did, Mason would be charged with the weapons offence. And to what end? Terry’s gang would still be operating, and Damon would go into care.

  Option three - persuade Mason to drop the custody battle. That would be something that Thompson would approve of. That option preserved the cover, the investigation. Never mind that a small boy would suffer as a result of it - he was merely collateral damage. But I couldn’t do that, not now. I realised, finally, that I’d done the exact thing that I’d sworn I would never do - I’d got emotionally involved, not just with Mason but with Damon, too.

  That only left one option. It was the hardest one, but I knew deep down that morally, it was the right thing to do.

  Option four - leave Mason. He’d be free to pursue the custody case and keep Damon, without my dodgy background check holding him back. I could report to the station that he’d broken up with me, ending my involvement. There’d be some piss-taking, sure, but I wouldn’t lose my job over it. And the CID would be free to go after Terry English from a new angle.

  Leave Mason.

  Just the thought of it made me sick to my stomach, but I knew there was no other way to keep him safe, to keep innocent Damon safe.

  I got back out of the car. I had to do this now, while my resolve was strong. He looked surprised, but pleased to see me again so soon after I had rushed off, and it cut me to the quick.

  “Change of plan?” he said, drawing me close.

  “Is Damon in bed?” I asked.

  “Yeah, it’s just me and you,” he said, kissing my neck.

  “I can’t…” I began.

  “Can’t what?” he said, picking up on the weight of my words.

  “I can’t do this. Any of this,” I said, feeling the first sting of tears.

  “Is it because of Damon?” he said. “I don’t want you to be a mother to him, Nicole. There’s no pressure, I swear.”

  “It’s not Damon,” I said. “It’s just me. I’m sorry. I can’t see you any more.”

  “Why? What’s changed?”

  The pain on his face was tangible, but I had no explanation to give him - no truthful one, anyway.

  “I just don’t want a relationship,” I said shakily.

  “Do you love me?” He was holding my wrists, his blue eyes blazing into mine, trying to see the truth behind my obvious lies. “Because I love you, Nicole.”

  I gathered every ounce of resolve I had, forcing my voice and my face to be harsh and cold.

  “If you love me, Mason, then listen to me. It’s over. I don’t want you in my life, and that’s the end of it. Now let me go.”

  He dropped my wrists as if they burned him, and I turned on my heel, stalking out and slamming the door behind me.

  It was done. Halfway home, I had to pull the car over. I was crying so much I couldn’t see the road. Every instinct in my body told me to go back, to apologise, to cover him in kisses and feel him close to me. But I couldn’t, it was the selfish thing to do. I’d hurt him, yes, but if I’d have stayed then I’d have hurt him ten times as much. I had to be strong, deal with the pain, and know that I’d given him a better life - a life with his son.

  It was over.

  Mason

  It was over.

  I was sitting in the meeting, trying to listen to what Terry was saying, but I couldn’t focus. All I could think about was her. I kept going over that evening again, obsessively, even though it hurt.

  It had seemed to come out of thin air - everything had been fine. We’d been flirting, getting along well, and then she’d bolted. I didn’t believe for a second that her ‘friend’ had called for help, and besides, she’d been back so soon after she left. But when she left, she hadn’t seemed angry - more scared. The only thing it could be, the only possible explanation, was the background check. Maybe she had something in her past, something she was ashamed of. I could relate to that - and she knew it. I’d told her everything about me, all my deep and dark secrets, but yet she couldn’t trust me enough to share hers.

  Instead, she’d left me, without any kind of explanation. When I’d asked for one, she’d turned cold and harsh. It was as if she was another person, not my sweet Nicole, my soul mate, the love of my life.

  Or was I just an idiot? Had I done it again, allowed myself to follow my faulty instincts and trust someone, only for them to rip my heart out and destroy me? I tried to make myself hate her, hoping that it would make it easier for me, but I couldn’t. I wanted to help her, not hate her. She had been scared, scared of something or someone, and I wanted to protect her from it. I wanted her back.

  After the meeting, Terry asked me to stay for a word.

  “What’s on your mind, son? You don’t seem yourself.”

  My first thought was to brush it off, but I remembered the conversation I’d had with Terry about Iraq. He was a lot more understanding than he seemed on the brash, hard man surface. And I needed to talk to someone.

  “Everything, Terry. Everything’s on my mind. My ex - Karen -has had our boy taken off her by Social Services.”

  “Jesus, that’s rough,” he said. “What are you going to do?”

  “Try for custody,” I said. “But that’s falling to shit now, too. I need to be earning legally, to pass their investigation. And Nicole - Nicole’s gone, too.”

  “The posh bird? What did I tell you? They ain’t like us, son. First sign of trouble and they’re off, looking for some Herbert with a nice car and a fat pension. You’re better off without her. Take my advice, and stay single. Focus on your boy.”

  He made it all sound so simple, so easy. Forget her.

  “What about the job, though? I need to get straight. Something legal. My future is tax, national insurance, day care, parent’s evening. You’ve been good to me, Terry, you really have, and I’m eternally grateful. But I can’t stick around if I want to pass this custody hearing.”

  A shrewd expression crossed his face for a second, just a flicker, before he settled back into his usual avuncular, everything-will-be-okay manner.

  “Maybe I can help you with that, son.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Some of my boys, my inner circle, so to speak. They have the same kind of problems you do. Ex wives, probation officers, you name it. Everyone lining up to tell them how to live their lives. You know Chopper?”

  I did. Chopper was Terry’s right hand man, the terror of Manchester.

  “You know where he works?”

  I looked at him quizzically. Chopper worked wherever Terry told him to work, everyone knew that. He was usually to be found wherever Terry needed someone working over.

  “At the car sales place on Oldham Old Road.”

  I knew the place - a rundown, sad little car lot that never had any trade.

  “It’s a front?”

  He laughed. “It’s a fucking car park, is what it is. Never made a sale there since I star
ted trading thirty years ago. But it’s where Chopper is legally employed, forty hours a week. He pays his tax, his stamp, and nobody is any the wiser. I could do the same for you… if you wanted it.”

  I knew Terry better than this. He didn’t offer out pretend jobs to every guy that collected betting money for him. There would be a cost attached. But on the other hand, it was a pretty tempting deal. If I could keep working for Terry, I’d still be earning decent money, and I’d have more for Damon. More money, more time. He was due to start school, and he could have all the things the other kids had. Playstations and trainers and all the shit that kids needed to feel part of the gang.

  “That sounds good, Terry. I want it. But you can’t just hand it to me on a plate like that. Let me do something for you - a favour - to show my gratitude.”

  I knew how to play the game. If I had asked Terry outright what he wanted, he’d have taken offence. The offer would be off the table, and my arse out of the door, as well.

  “You’re a good lad, son. I wish they were all like you,” he said, clapping a beefy hand on my shoulder.

  “There is something you can do for me, as a matter of fact.”

  “Sure, whatever you need.”

  “Donal Callaghan - the biker prick. I’m tired of playing games. I want him out.”

  “Out?”

  “Use one of those shooters I gave you. They won’t be traced. I’ll give you a time and a place soon enough.”

  Shit.

  This was a big ask, and Terry knew it. There was a long way between roughing up a bent bookie and killing a rival gang leader. He read the expression on my face.

  “You have a think about it, let me know if you want the car sales job. If you don’t - no hard feelings. But you need to decide, son - in or out? You can’t keep sitting on the fence without getting splinters in your arse.”

  He was right, of course. Not just about the gang, about everything. I had to decide who I was. A killer or a wage slave.

  In or out…