CHAPTER ONE: Arrival
From the M1 Dave spotted the expansive city of sheffield. It was hard to miss. With a population around 500,000, Sheffield stood among London as not only one of the largest cities in Britain, but of the whole of Europe. Sheffield spread out around the convergence of five rivers. Among these were the river Sheaf, from which Sheffield got its name, and the river Loxley, the family name of the legendary Robin Hood. All this fresh water had a unique affect on the geography. Despite being regarded as an industrial city, there were many trees. The setting sun painted the green hills with hints of orange, red, and yellow. The smoke belching from the center of town caught the rays of the sun as well, coloring them in varying hues of purple and orange. The inner city sat within a shallow basin. Upon a ring of hills were a number of homes either facing the city lights or overlooking the vast expanse of trees.
Having been let go from the Royal Army's training program, Dave had free reign to choose someplace to settle as long as it was in England and he could still be contacted. The Yorkshire area afforded the best access and was an obvious choice. Dave had considered the city of Leeds, but chose Sheffield instead mostly upon the few things he knew of the place even before coming to the island country of England. Dave knew it was a steel and mining town, but that was common knowledge. just recently he discovered that the city's reputation for steel went as far back as the middle ages. Even back then the locals were known for crafting quality cutlery. Later on, a method for bonding silver to copper had been developed and had since been regarded as Sheffield plate. A statue composed of this metal stood within the downtown area.
However, steel was not the reason Dave selected this location. It was Sheffield's culture that drew him there. Despite the mines, foundries, factories, and warehouses Sheffield was known for art and music. Sheffield had twice the artists and musicians per capita than pretty much any other English city. Among those musicians were some of Dave's favorites. It was the birthplace of synthpop, and although London was the point of genesis for so-called industrial rock, Sheffield had its own wave of angry, electronic music. The list included not only the Human League and the Thompson Twins, but Clock DVA, Nitzer Ebb, Cabaret Voltaire, the list went on. Primarily the local music had an electronic touch, highly danceable. However, good ol' fashioned garage rock and indie was popular as well.
Dave led his Fiat off the motor way and into the city proper. He had grown accustomed to driving on the opposite side for the most part. Left and right turns were still foreign to him. If it wasn't for the fact e was on the other side of the road he would likely have ran right into someone while taking a right hand turn. Fortunately there were not many one way streets. Out of habit or instinct Dave found his way into the shoddier part of town. It seemed the city was in a state on rejuvenation. Old structures were either being demolished or renovated. He drove past the shiny and new buildings, past the buildings under construction, and into the heart of the city, the old factory district. The amount of traffic had thinned progressively until Dave was alone on the road. The streets and curb side were littered with trash and abandoned vehicles, many no more than the skeletal remains of their former selves. The brick buildings were blackened from years of smog.
Just then a figure darted out into the road. Dave engaged the brake, but still manage to hit the pedestrian. It was a rat in the attire of the poor. His street clothes were ragged and dirty. He looked like someone allergic to water. The rat braced himself against the hood, or bonnet, of the fiat. Without looking at Dave for even a moment, he stumbled and limped off in a hurry. He was soon followed by another figure, a red squirrel from the looks of him. He crossed the road at a casual jog. He soon caught up to the rat and commenced beating the poor fellow. Dave pulled over. He got out. He crossed the road in pursuit of the rat and squirrel.
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Catching up to the scuffle Dave wondered why he had even left the car. It didn't take long to assess the situation. The confident squirrel beat the rat like an employer would beat an apprentice, hard enough to cause pain, but not hard enough to injure or kill. It was a humiliating series of slaps. Meanwhile the squirrel said in a think Yorkshire accent, "Think you're good enough for a free sampling, do ya? Think we're some kind of bleedin' Samaritans or something? Ya said you were gonna pay the next time, didn't ya? Well, where is it? Give us cash or no more fer you, sonny Jim. No, not fer the likes of you. I ought to give you a right punch up the bracket."
Heroin dealer. Dave new the type. He had been in enough Chinatowns over the years, had seen his share of basement opium dens. He saw what the stuff did to people. Washed away the pain, washed away the tears, washed away their lives. Heroin was worse. it was more refined, more potent, more addictive.
Yet, the rat chose his poison. Obviously the squirrel was giving a warning. He wouldn't kill a regular customer. That was bad business. Dave felt no need to get involved. He turned and headed back to the car.
"Oy!" said a voice behind him. It was the squirrel. "Oy, you."
Reluctantly Dave turned and faced him. "Yeah?"
"Wot are you doin' 'round here? Why are you stickin' yer bleedin' nose in my business, eh? Eh?"
Dave could see in the dimming light that the squirrel had a gun. Dave slowly removed his sunglasses and tucked them into the front chest pocket of his flight jacket.
"Who the rot are you then, eh?" asked the squirrel. "Wot are you doin' round here? An' why are you dressed like its bleeding Guy Fox day?"
"I don't know who that is," said Dave simply. In all fairness Dave had dressed rather unusually. Aside from his jacket he wore lethal looking combat boots, a T-shirt from some obscure band, his driving gloves, and a pair of bondage pants complete with D-clips and a paratroopers harness that dangled betwixt his legs. Around his waist he sported a tentacle belt, a leather strap with an inordinate number of grommet holes. It was a style of dress he had picked up in his brief time in Mexico City. The underground clubs there looked like a military training center from some apocalyptic future, a future that was beginning to look more and more prescient.
"I know wot you are. You're one of them bleedin' stompers. A Yank to boot. Wot the bleedin' rot ya doin' here? Eh? Eh?"
The squirrel raised his gun and waved it casually, the barrel generally directed at Dave. Dave could rush him, but he really hadn't planned on taking a bullet his first day in town. Instead he attempted what he was best at, talking.
"Listen, I didn't mean to interrupt whatever it was you were doing. Business is business, right? Well, it's none of my business so if you wouldn't mind I'll be going now."
"That's right it's none of yer business," said the squirrel. "Next time ya think of goin' for a little jaunt just stay at the Plug."
The plug must be a dance club. Dave took note of the name for future reference. Apparently fans of the music played there were 'stompers' and dressed like Dave. Besides having a gun pointed at him Sheffield looked promising.
The squirrel stepped forward and gestured for Dave to step back. Dave complied with his arms apart and palms open, showing considerable caution and restraint. This mirrored his thoughts as well. He was calm, placid even. "I wasn't planning on giving two lessons this evenin', but wot the rot, eh? That yer car? Well then, maybe this'll learn ya to stay off me patch."
With that the squirrel fired indiscriminately into the little Fiat. The windshield shattered, a headlight broke, a few holes punched into the bonnet, a tire blew. Great. The Fiat was impossible to drive. Dave would have to leave it. It would be stripped bare or gone by morning.
"Enjoy yer walk home," laughed the squirrel.
Dave had shown restraint. He had done quite well. He had been willing to just let it all go, to simply walk away, but the squirrel made it personal. Dave did turn and walk away. Once around the corner he doubled back and followed the squirrel.
Normally Dave would have scaled the nearest building and followed the dealer by rooftop. His combat boots were not quite adapted for that sort of thing. They did had thick, rubber soles. Even with the heels he could manage to stalk the squirrel in relative silence. He did so now by keeping the buildings between them. He matched the dealers pace so that at each alley way he spotted his target. At an intersection the dealer crossed the street, turning left down the road. Dave hid against the wall of the warehouse until the squirrel walked by, then darted straight across the street. He kept to the other side of the road, maintaining a good distance between him and the dealer.
Eventually another car cruised by. The horn honked twice, obviously to get the squirrels attention. The car stopped as the squirrel engaged the passengers in conversation. Dave kept to the shadows, his sensitive ears honing in on these new elements.
"Oy, Henry. How much ye at now?"
"Wouldn't buy a minute with a London whore it's such a bleedin' heap o' nothing. How much with ye two?"
"We're in the same boat it seems. Bleedin' Wednesday, eh?"
"You try the parks?" asked the squirrel.
"Nah. The rozzes got the place covered. Bleedin' Metropol. Least the local police have sense to look away now an' then for a few quid."
Dave had suspected as much. This wasn't the case of a loan dealer. This was an operation, a business. These were small fry. If Dave was to get his point across, now was the time.
He left the shadows and walked toward the parked car. he kept behind the car while trying to keep inside the squirrel's blind spot. When he was close Dave lunged forward. His palm contacted with the back of the squirrels head, slamming it into the passenger side roof. The squirrel's snout cracked against the edge. Dave seized a handful of the dealer's hair and forcefully pulled him back and let him drop to the ground.
Inside the vehicle, a dark Mercedes, there occurred a moment's hesitation. The passenger, having come to his senses, started fumbling with the glove box. He was going for a weapon. Dave reached into the passenger side window and grasped the passenger around the neck and armpit. With both arms Dave withdrew the passenger through the window. The human-looking passenger struggled to prevent himself from being yanked out of the car. With his arms and with his legs he sought purchase of anything to hold onto. However, a slight press to a nerve here, a pinch there and the passenger let go. Soon Dave had him upright, holding him as a shield. Dave withdrew his own gun and stuck it directly against his captive's ribs.
The driver, a fox, had managed to draw out his own weapon, a sawed off, double-barreled shotgun.
"Good evening," said Dave.
The fox returned with a few choice words.
"Now you fire that shotgun of yours and your friend here takes all the damage. You don't want that now do you? Of course you don't. Meanwhile, I have a gun aimed at the vitals of your compatriot here. Don't I?" Dave jabbed his captive with the barrel of his Baretta.
The passenger nodded.
Dave continued. "Now you can let go of the trigger and with you left hand reach behind you. That's right. Now drop that hog leg out the window."
The fox did as told, all the while calling Dave the most foul names. "Ye have no clue who you're messin' wif, do ye?"
"Nor, I think, do you. Now kindly with your left hand open up the glove box and toss the weapon out this window here."
With his non-dominant hand, the fox threw a 9 mm pistol out the window.
"Yer a right idiot to be robbin' the likes of us, sonny."
"Oh, I'm not robbing you. No. This a different kind of matter entirely. You see, your squirrel friend here, Henry, well, he went and shot up my brand new car. Now I would like to speak to his employer regarding compensation for my loss and my troubles. I would hope that that kind of behavior isn't encouraged within your organization."
"Ye want to talk wif the boss?" The fox laughed. "Ye are bleedin' 'round the bend, aren't ye?"
Dave spoke softly to his captive, "he thinks I'm crazy. I'm really quite rational, more or less. Just some people can only be dealt with in certain ways it seems. Say, have you a cell pone I can borrow?"
The captive nodded.
"Where is it?" asked Dave politely.
"Coat pocket," croaked the passenger.
"Well, take it out and set it on the roof of the car. When I let you go, step away. Understand?"
His captive nodded, then proceeded to lift the phone from his pocket and set it on the roof. Dave let the man go. He stepped away and looked nervously at the squirrel writhing in pain on the sidewalk.
"Oh, he'll be alright. Just a broken nose and maybe blackened eyes. Just keep his head so he doesn't choke on his own blood. Oh, and he might not see too well for a few days, but at least he's breathing."
Dave, with gun still pointed at passenger or driver, pocketed the phone. He knelt by the side of Henry and took his gun as well. The squirrel groaned in pain.
"Okay. You can go. Your boss knows how to contact me. I advise you inform him of this meeting of ours in as precise and honest details as you can. I prefer he, or she come to think of it," added Dave as an afterthought, "know what kind of person with whom he is dealing. Agreed."
"Go to 'ell, you..." began the fox.
"No? What about you?" Dave asked the passenger.
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever ye want. Okay?"
"Good. You may go."
The passenger helped Henry into the car. The Mercedes drove off. Dave picked up the shotgun and the 9 mm PPK. He headed back to the Fiat to recover his few belongings, a duffel bag and a gym bag full of clothes, weapons, and accessories. The duffel he stashed away for later, hiding it as best he could under the circumstances.
(Point of Interest: I did a little research on the Yorkshire accent. What I plan to use from now on should be more indicative of the true thing.)
Dave was stranded in the poorest, shabbiest part of old Sheffield. He checked the cell phone. He accessed the menu and checked the contact listings. There was nothing of much use there. He pocketed the phone once more and headed back to a more civilized part of town. At the first opportunity Dave hailed a cab.
As Dave sat in the back seat the cabby asked, "Aye. Where am I t' take you, squire?"
Dave thought for a moment. "What's the closest thing you have to the middle of nowhere around these parts."
The cabby laughed. Dave did not join is his laughter. Soon the cabby discovered the truth. "You're serious aren't you?"
Dave sat quietly.
"Well, I would suppose that would be Peak National Park."
"How far?" asked Dave.
"Not too far, mind you. There's a train that goes through there if you want I should take you t' t' station."
"The train station it is. Anywhere in Peak's that would be a good place to meet someone without drawing to much attention?"
"There be Thor's cave when the young ones aren't wastin' their time there. Could be dangerous at night, mind you. Gets pretty steep in some places. Why?"
"Oh, nothing. I just have to meet a heroin pusher about some damage to my car."
"Now you're just puttin' me on."
It was a short ride to the nearest station. Dave paid with a generous tip nonetheless. Although the station had been renovated, it retained much of its former charms. It seemed there was a strong impetus to keep historic sites much as they were for hundreds of years.
Peak's was just west of Sheffield. Sure enough a train cut through the park on its way to Manchester. If it was like the national parks back home there would be pamphlets there to help him find a suitable meeting place. Dave bought a ticket and caught the 11:05.
The train ride was nice. He had to stay focused lest the rocking motion lull him to sleep. As they entered a tunnel Dave found his meeting spot. Totley Tunnel was perfect. He got up and headed for the back of the train. Just then the phone rang.
"Hello?" asked Dave.
"What's all this about, then?" said the voice at the other end of the line.
"Didn't your men tell you?"
"Aye. They told me some young punk done broke 'enry's nose."
"And why would this young punk do such a thing, exactly?"
"'Cause he got in me business. That's why, so you can stop thinkin' you're gonna get somthin' out o' me."
"I wouldn't hang up just yet if I were you," said Dave.
"Aye? An' why not?"
"Listen. I've been pretty fair up to this point. Nobody has been hurt aside from a little crack in the nose. You have to admit he had that coming to him."
"I don' 'ave to admit nothin'"
"Well, regardless, I am looking to mollify this situation. If you care to strike a deal meet me at Totley Tunnel at midnight."
"I ought t' mollify you, you..."
Dave clicked shut the cellular phone, cutting off whatever insult remained in the air, unuttered, with such Hitchcockian suspense.
Dave reached the end of the train and adeptly leapt from it onto the grassy plain. He hiked back to the tunnel, glad to see the area was dense with shrubs and trees.
Having fished out his flashlight from his gym bag, Dave followed the tracks. Darkness surrounded him. The scene looked like something from those camp ground horror movies he had watched years ago. The isolation, the darkness, the sparsely wooded area, the rust-colored tracks, the gravel and weeds all took part in creating an atmosphere of creepiness. Dave loved it. He loved it more as he reached the tunnel entrance. The grey stone resembled the walls of some forgotten keep. The entrance itself yawned like the mouth of hell. The surrounding shrubs and trees contributed as well, reminiscent of photos of Nazi bunkers decades after the conflict.
Anyone else would have been startled by the ringing phone. Dave simply answered cheerily, "Hello there."
A frustrated sigh, then, "What side o' t' tunnel?" The accent was unmistakably that of a Yorkshireman. It lengthened the first vowel. No, it nursed it. Then, the sudden drop off. Toon'l. What side o' t' toon'l?"
"The Manchester side. A bit more privacy I feel, don't you think."
The other end disconnected. Dave turned off the phone. He really didn't need it going off and disclosing his location. Dave also removed the straps on his pants, unhooking the clasps and chains from the shiny D-clips. He stuffed them in his bag. He took off his reversible flight jacket, swapping the pale blue exterior for the black interior. He was in black except for the white fur of his face. Tis was soon remedied with the only article of clothing he kept in the gym bag, a black ski mask.
Now properly attired for the night, Dave ascended the slope at the side of the tunnel. From atop the tunnel Dave found a good spot to oversee any visitors. According to the schedule another train wouldn't come by for a couple of hours.
Dave spent the interval checking his equipment, mainly attaching the silencer to his Baretta and ensuring his combat knife was secure in the sheath at his lower back.
Close to midnight Dave spotted a pair of headlights in the distance.
The vehicle stopped and the cabin light went on. The driver may have stopped to check the map, but Dave suspected something else. Besides, he could tell that two car doors had opened and closed. Instead of meeting with the boss, the boss had sent a hit squad.
Dave climbed down the embankment and traced a wide arc right, avoiding the headlights of the vehicle driving along the opposite side of the track. It was a Bentley. It stopped just twenty feet or so short of the tunnel. Its headlights illuminated the stark, grey stone interior.
Someone got out of the car. It was a rabbit. "'ello? 'ere I am. I 'ave some money 'ere that should well cover any damages. 'ello?" Cover was pronounced 'coover.' The accent was the same, but it definitely was not the same person with whom Dave spoke on the phone. The boss had sent a decoy and not a very good one.
There was someone else in the car as well. Dave could see the fox from earlier that evening.
"Go on," whispered the fox to the rabbit. "Keep at 't. Flush the rotter out an' I'll deal with the blighter."
Nervously the rabbit looked back to the fox, much to the fox's chagrin. "Don' look at me, you pillock. Cor, that's t' last time I'm takin' you on a deal."
The rabbit stepped toward the tunnel. He quite literally shook in his boots. "'ello? Excuse me? Are you there? I 'ave the money. I don' want any bother."
Meanwhile, Dave made his way back, eventually coming upon the two hit men assigned to take him out. There were in dark clothing, each carrying a hunting rifle. The stood well apart, the tracks between them. The woodland had thinned around this part of the countryside. Dave hunkered low lest they spot his figure before the red glow of the Bentley's tail lights.
Slowly, Dave withdrew the knife from its sheath. He carefully stalked around the nearest hit man. He moved ever so slowly until he lurched forward and covered a hand over the pigeons mouth. Meanwhile, Dave plunged the dagger into a nerve plexus near the right hand kidney. It was a precise and paralyzing strike. Dave plunged a second time, lacerating the liver. He twisted the knife and pulled it out. He quietly set the pigeon to the soft earth where he soon bled out.
Dave darted across the tracks and stopped, hunkering low. The second hit man turned his head, listening. Dave held silent and still. Finally the feline hit man faced forward once more, dismissing the noise as a bird, bat, or squirrel.
Dave set his dagger down and switched to his pistol. Once again he slowly crept forward. He pointed the business end of the silencer just behind the cat's furry ear. He pulled the trigger.
The shot was quick. The cat slumped to the ground. For all Dave knew, the flash from the discharge went unnoticed. Dave crept forward with the tracks to his left now. The rabbit ventured further, still trying to draw Dave out.
The fox stepped out of the car.
"Don't bother with that now. 'e isn't 'ere. 'sides, if 'e was 'ere, 'e would've known you weren't the boss now, wouldn't 'e."
The rabbit said, "Sorry, Jeb. I never done this before."
The fox, Jeb, took out his phone and dialed. "It's me, boss. No. 'e wasn't 'ere. 'e must've put t' shine on us. No. Don't know now do I? Fine. I'll wrangle up t' boys and have a look 'round. You still want I should take care of that thing? Yeah, that. Fine."
The fox put away the phone and pulled out his gun. It was subtle. The fox held it by his side and out of sight from the rabbit.
"Was he mad, Jebidiah? You'll tell 'im I did my best, won't you Jebidiah?"
"Aye. You did what you could. We 'ave to go."
Dave carefully stalked the fox. If things were escalating as Dave thought, he would have to be quick.
The fox spoke again. "Oy, what's that at your feet? I think you dropped somethin'"
The rabbit looked to his feet. "What? I don' see anythin'"
"Crouch down an' 'ave a look. I think 't was some money."
The rabbit crouched down.
Jeb continued to speak as he walked forward. "'ere. I'll 'elp you."
Dave knew it was stupid, it was risky, but he had to do it. Dave pulled up his ski mask to reveal his face. The fox had to see him as he did it. Dave closed in on Jeb, reached out, and gently seized his left shoulder with his left hand. The Fox turned, probably thinking it was one of the hit men. Dave raised the Baretta, aimed it at the fox's shoulder, and sent hot lead into Jeb's rotator cuff. Jeb's sword arm was rendered useless.
The rabbit made off. Dave said, "Hold it!" Dave had pointed the gun in the direction of the rabbit. The rabbit froze. Dave, however, did not lift his eyes from Jeb's. There was a look of wonder mixed with confusion. Dave said, "Good. Now make your way over here so I can keep my eye on you."
"Please don' shoot us," pleaded the rabbit.
"It's too late for that in his case. Don't worry, though, you haven't given me cause to shoot you. In fact, I just prevented Jeb here from doing that very thing."
"Who are you?" asked Jeb.
"Oh, now you're interested. You don't need to know my name just yet. Besides, names are so trivial in this kind of situation. You know my face and that's enough. Now sit down before you fall over."
Keeping his gun pointed at Jeb with one hand, Dave helped the fox sit with the other. Once Jeb was sitting near the track, Dave took the gun from the now obsolete hand. "You won't be needing this." Dave spotted a handkerchief in the foxes breast pocket. He withdrew it and put it in the foxes good hand. "Here. I hope it's clean. Keep pressure on the wound."
"Who the bleedin' 'ell are you?" Jeb asked.
"Weren't we just through with this? Oh, you must mean 'who the hell am I' in a broader sense. Well, I really don't know the answer to that. Anyone who could answer that question would be assuming a lot. You see, we are so very ignorant not only of each other's innermost thoughts, fears, and desires, but sometimes of our own as well. However, I digress." Dave pointed the gun directly between the fox's eyes. The rabbit just about peed himself. "I have a question for you. Though we cannot truly know one another, let alone know ourselves, I can still read people fairly accurately. Granted I do not gain insight into every little particle of their psychological make-up, but I do glean at least some useful intelligence. For example, are you the type to overlook getting shot, to forgive such a transgression and to just be grateful that you are still alive or - or are you the type that takes such things to heart, whose body may heal but whose pride never will, the type to one day hunt down the one that has moved against you, and to put him down like a rabid dog? What type are you?"
The fox had no need to answer. Dave could read the response in his eyes. Dave watched closely, examining Jeb's expression for the tell-tale sign of acceptance or defiance. Jeb was not hard to read. Dave pulled the trigger.
As Dave holstered his weapon, he asked the rabbit, "So, why did they send you exactly?" Dave looked at the rabbit, who quickly looked away. "Never mind," said Dave. "I know what, maybe even why and how. The real question is who are you and what have you done to your boss to deserve this punishment?"
"The name's Aldous. I do t' boss's books. Say, Jeb wasn't really gonna shoot me, was 'e?"
The rabbit pronounced his name as All-doose. Dave stuck with the American version. "Well, Aldous, yes indeed I'm afraid he was. I guess your boss figured why not kill two birds as they say, but in this case a rabbit and a ringtail, with one stone. I suppose he figured if there was a firefight, then you would be collateral damage, and if not, then just another loose end neatly tied. So, were you planning on going to the police?"
The rabbit shook his head.
"Loyal. That's good, for the most part." Dave now walked around the Bentley, stroking his chin as he thought. "I give up, why would your boss want you dead?"
"Don' rightly know. Oh. Oh. I did find some trouble with t' figures."
"And you brought this to his attention, I take it?"
Aldous nodded, his eyes watching Dave like the ringtail was a hungry tiger pacing its cage and Aldous was a side of beef.
"Well, that answers that. Your boss is an embezzler. Add heroin dealer and mob boss and you have a triple threat. I take it his bosses wouldn't care much for him taking from the top. Interesting. Well, my long-eared friend, it seems your life is in danger. Here I thought I was having an off night. Come, get in the car. We'll work out how to solve both our problems." Dave opened the passenger side, for once remembering before hand that it was the left hand side of the vehicle.
The rabbit looked nervously about.
"Look, what other options have you?"
At that Aldous shrugged, stepped morosely forward, and got in the car.
Before getting into the car himself, Dave stopped by Jeb's body and retrieved his phone. Once in the car, Dave told the rabbit to hold on while he sent a text message. First Dave looked over the recent messages both sent and received. Having got the gist of how this group communicated with one another, Dave input, "SORTED PROBLEM 1. WORKING OUT PROBLEM 2. AWAIT MORE INTEL. J."
That should buy some time. The boss thought Aldous was dead and the lads were hunting down Dave's location. With this precious window of opportunity, Dave and Aldous would have to work together and work fast.
"So, being his bookkeeper do you have access to the boss' account numbers?" asked Dave as he started the car.
"I do, but if you're thinkin' about messin' with t' boss' money, then forget it. 'e'll kill me."
Dave just looked at him. "He already tried that. You transfer his funds to another account and I will work out the rest, maybe even strike a deal so he'll decide not to kill you."
"And 'ow are you going about that?"
"I can be quite persuasive. But don't transfer all his funds. We don't want him getting an overdraft. Leave in a safety net as well, like double the minimum amount allowable."
"I want you to know that I 'ave my reservations about this."
"Duly noted," said Dave. He turned the Bentley around and drove back along the tracks. Soon he came to a road and turned left. National parks must be different in England. There were homes and businesses, though thin in number. Perhaps after the indoctrination of animal-human hybrids into the population a number of citizens moved into the park. No, many of the buildings had too similar a design as the rest of the architecture of England. Some were built long before the cataclysm by Dave's estimate.
"So, what's this account number?" asked Aldous.
"Ha. I don't think you need to know that. I'll come with you and enter the number myself. Also, you can show me how your boss has fooled with the figures. Maybe we can determine just how much he has been embezzling."
"You might as well 'ave shot me just as you had Jeb. I'm a dead man, I am."
"Don't be such a sour puss," said Dave as he turned East toward the city. "Think optimistically. Besides, you're more alive now than you would have been. Just relish it. You're on borrowed time. There is something to be said about living on borrowed time. Food tastes better, the colors of the world are more vibrant, and the sex - well, you get the picture."
That gave the rabbit something to think about for the moment anyway. Dave drove back into town with the rabbit gazing at the Yorkshire countryside. Mostly it was black on black, but the rabbit kept looking as if seeing the rolling green hills punctuated by the occasional jutting, grey-white rock. It was a countryside as rugged, aloof, and timeless as the people living there.
Having moved some funds about and having hidden Aldous away somewhere relatively safe, Dave took the next step. He drove to the address Aldous had suggested, a nightclub and public house by the name of The Treadle. Dave did not know exactly what a treadle was. He guessed it had something to do with mill work since the pub was a converted mill.
He arrived after closing hours. Only stragglers remained, lovers entwined, drunks staggering, and anyone with a reason to postpone going home. Dave could see why armies attacked at dawn. The enemy was not prepared. The front entrance had no guard, though the door was surely locked to prevent anyone from wandering in after ours. The side entrance had only two guards posted. Both looked like they were on their last legs, having been standing there for most of the night.
The side entrance was a service door near the dumpsters and also served as access for freight. Additional space served as parking. Of the few remaining cars it was hard to miss a blue Bugatti. If the boss was embezzling, that is what he had paid for with the money.
Dave put the car out of his mind. He stole up to the two guards. He made more noise than he cared for, but their response was slow. He quickly dispatched of the both of them, leaving each unconscious near the small stoop. Dave climbed the few stairs and went inside.
He entered a back room with a number of boxes and kegs arranged against the far wall. Also in the room were a number of janitorial implements. Dave removed his flight jacket and donned an apron. He removed his driving gloves, stuffing them in the cargo pockets of his pants. He put on some latex gloves and grabbed a rubbage bin. His British accent was nonexistent. If he cared not to get notice then he had to blend in.
Dave went through the service door and into the nightclub. The boss had to be somewhere conspicuous, yet well protected. The mill had a second floor. There was a balcony from which one could watch a live performance, but there appeared to be private rooms as well. The boss was likely there.
There were still a number of people inside. Some waitresses gossiped as they counted tips. The gabbed about ugly customers, rude customers, drunken customers, stoned customers, and customers with whom they would not have minded going home. The bartender, a hedgehog, wiped down the countertop while singing softly to the music playing over the sound system. It was Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon." It played so softly that only an attentive ear could place it.
Dave walked like someone with a purpose. He headed up the stairs to the mezzanine. There, he made his way to the center room, which showed some activity. Dave knocked.
The door opened an a wolf answered. "Yeah? What ya want?"
Dave grunted and lifted the bin to show his intentions. He purposely avoided making eye contact. He had to seem meek and small, not let his inherent self-confidence give him away.
"'old on a tick," said the wolf before shutting the door. Dave listened at the door.
"Who was 't?" asked a familiar voice.
"Some deaf bloke I think. 'e's come to clean up t' room."
"Aye? Deaf you say? Go on then. Let t' lad in."
The wolf returned, opening the door. "Okay," he said loudly. "You can come in now an' clean up." The wolf gestured that Dave enter and start sorting things. Dave grabbed the bin, raised it up as if to step inside, and swiftly planted it right over the wolf's head and shoulders. Dave knocked a leg out from under the wolf so that he fell down. He followed with an elbow to the back, knocking the wolf unconscious. Dave locked the door behind him and looked around.
Within the room was a smaller room in the far corner, what looked like an office. Dave wondered briefly if a smaller room existed inside the office, and if that housed a yet smaller room containing an even smaller room ad infinitum. The mental image of consecutively smaller rooms was an absurd one. Being a great fan of the absurd, dave smiled to himself.
He stood in what was once a clerks' station. Long ago a team of men in visors would sit at desks crunching numbers as the big boss would sign checks to the women and children working at the mill. The room now served as a V.I.P. place with a private bar and luxurious seating. An area rug covered most of the floor. Elements of burgundy, purple, and gold accented the wood and brick walls.
The office door was cracked slightly. Dave unholstered his 9 mm and crept towards the door. He eased it open and aimed his pistol. The boss, a rabbit, was not alone. A gecko stood nearby. Eyeing Dave, the Gecko went for his gun.
"Uh-uh-uh," said Dave. "Careful now. Lose the piece. Two fingers only. Drop it to the floor."
The gecko did as ordered, dropping a heavy magnum to the carpeted floor.
"You, too, bossman," said Dave.
"Ah, t' American," said the hare.
"C'mon. I know you're packing, too. Out with it. On the floor."
The hare relented. He opened his suede jacket and gently eased a gold plated pistol from its holster. He let it slip to the floor. A booth with table stood in a corner, clearly for card games and conferences. Dave gestured that the two men head that direction. "Sit over there, palms on the table."
"I'm a little surprise t' see you 'ere, yank," said the boss.
"Gee. Wonder why." Once the two men were seated, Dave used his free hand to fish out one phone which he set on the table. A second phone he held for the boss to take. "Go on, take it. Your little organization must be doing very well indeed to afford all these phones. What kind of service do you get? Never mind that. I guess you can figure out whose phone that is."
The hare nodded. He watched Dave carefully, probably estimating for the first time that evening the danger his new opponent presented.
Dave sat as well. "I took a few pictures. Hope you don't mind. Have a look. I'm no photographer, but I think I have a pretty good eye nonetheless."
The hare accessed the menu and started to look through pictures of Dave and Aldous.
"As you can tell this night was not a complete loss for me. I made a new friend. He's very handy. You should have kept him around. He was quite loyal to you, until you tried to have him killed that is. That little problem with the figures? He could have fixed that right up for you had you bothered to ask, but did you?"
"What're you up to? What's your angle in all this?" asked the boss.
"Well, Mr. Harris," said Dave for the boss' name was Harris, "you see the two of us at that computer there? Well, that's a snap shot of us altering your account." Dave winked at the gecko who stared at Dave in disbelief. Obviously no one had ever thought to do such a thing before. "You still have a bit in there, but the lion's share is elsewhere I'm afraid."
The boss was a cool customer. He didn't show the rage he likely held against Dave. Below a pinstriped fedora, the rabbit's ears were tied back like a pony tail. A gold eyebrow piercing shone in the subdued light. "I give up," he said simply. "Why leave me anything 't all?"
Dave set the gun on the table, but did not take his hand from it. "That is a very good question. I will explain."
Dave continued. "In a negotiation it is important to have something that the other party wants. I want compensation for my vehicle as well as damages to cover my time and efforts. However, I had nothing to offer in return. That was my flaw in all this. I remedied the situation. What could you want more than your own money? That certainly gives me an edge in all this. I have what I came for. The money I sought is in my hands. However, I am now burdened with a surplus. Moreover, there are still a few things I want from you. Now that I have what you want, perhaps we can come to some agreement. After all, I am not unreasonable, nor am I greedy."
"An' what is 't you want from me now?" asked Mr. Harris.
"I want you to leave Sheffield. Just pack up and go. I left you with some money to assist you in leaving. Any other expenses you can cover by selling your interest in this nightclub. When I am satisfied that you have left the city, then I will return the money to your account minus a small fee, say, ten percent. I expect no retribution."
"You expect a lot then," said the Hare.
"Do I? How many men have you? Fifteen? Twenty? Surely no more than a couple of dozen. Of those men I've dealt with, what, seven? Of those seven nearly half have been dealt with permanently. That's about a third of your organization and the night is still young, as they say. It would be unwise to continue this further. Besides, you have no idea whether or not I have an army of my own. So far it has been just me. So let me be in peace. Furthermore, your organization is too leave Aldous alone from now on. His well being is to be assured. In return, he has agreed to cover up any tell-tale signs of your indiscretions. Agreed?"
"You ask for a lot, American."
"The name's Dave."
"Well then, Dave. It seems I 'ave little choice but to scarper. One thing is that I 'ave bosses, too. They won' be all too 'appy."
"I understand. You can inform them that Sheffield is no longer viable. This town is full of hard working people, people who respect honest effort. Even the artists and musicians work hard. They are not your typical bohemian lay-abouts. Groundbreaking music started here. There is an ingenuity and a reliability to these people that I think you have underestimated. Heroin is a drug for lazy people. Your clients here are limited. Furthermore, they will know that Aldous and I have stoop up to your gang. It only takes one to make a stand before others, the one's sick of the pushers and addicts, make a stand as well. Next, the policemen you have o the payroll will help you no more. Once the body count starts to rise, the boys in blue can no longer look away. They will have to act, and act for the right side. Finally, there is me. It would make a poor business decision to go after me. You have seen first hand what I can do. I've taken down far more powerful organizations than yours over even less. I urge you to leave Sheffield and to not return."
"What? 'ave you got a crystal ball or somethin' to know all that?" asked the Gecko. "Seems like a bleedin' stab in the bleedin' dark t' me."
"Yes, it does seem like I'm pulling all that from my hat, or elsewhere if you like, but I tend to notice things. I see patterns. One thing leads to another. No, it isn't inevitable, but it is likely. Thing is, provided your bosses are gambling men, is it worth the chance? Is the risk equal or less than the reward? I think not. Now, to help you along I will offer to buy your share of this establishment with proceeds from my fee. I will simply add that figure back in to your account."
"Go on then," said Mr. Harris. "Do as you like. We'll be out o' Sheffield by mornin'."
"Better hurry then. Morning is sooner than you think. Speaking of, any of you two know a good place where I could rest my head?"
"In a shallow grave," said the Gecko.
"Charming, but I was thinking more along the lines of a roadside inn. Anyhow, I bid farewell. Better luck elsewhere." With that said Dave left the room, scurried down the stairs, went into the back room, dropped off the apron, picked up his flight jacket, and exited the building. On the way out the two guards were just getting to their feet. Dave seized one by the shoulders and kicked his buddy before bringing the knee of the same leg into the first guard's belly.
Dave climbed into the Bentley and drove off.
Confident that the heroin pushers would not attack while Dave had possession of their funds, he slept quite well that morning. He had pulled into a quaint roadside inn, slept, showered, and set off around noon back to the Treadle. The pub part of the Treadle was open and servicing a very modest number of customers. There appeared to be no sign of the pushers.
Dave approached the barman. "Barkeep? Where abouts is the owner of this establishment?"
"Aye. You must be that Dave they be talking about. You're wantin' t' buy into t' place are you?"
"That's the idea."
"You want Jerry, then. 'e's upstairs in t' main office. 'E's been expecting you."
"Thank you."
Dave made his way upstairs into the same office he had visited the night before. Yes, he considered that it might be a trap, but Dave only had half the password to the account. Aldous had the other half. They would have to convince both of them to give up that information if they wanted their money back. Dave suspected they would not make a move until either the money was back in their hands, or they determined that Dave was never going to give it back. It was too early yet for either case.
"Mornin'," said the owner, a grey field mouse. "I suppose you'll be needin' t' sign some papers, then?"
"And I suppose you will want the money up front?"
"In due time, my lad." It could have been 'my lord.' Dave was unsure. "I hear you walk close t' the cliff's edge, live life dangerously."
"More by happenstance than by choice, I'm afraid."
"Now, I don't want no trouble at t' Treadle." The mouse gathered up some documents, likely the free hold deed to the property and a number of other certifications and licenses.
"You had a gang lord and a number of drug dealers running the place. How worse off could you be with me?"
Jerry looked Dave over. "I fancy a good deal worse."
"Hey, if you don't want to sell..."
"Now I didn't say that now, did I? Jus' that I'm not t' sure what I'm gettin' meself into 'ere."
"If it is any consolation, I am not looking to overstep my bounds here. I am merely capitalizing on a business opportunity, mostly to better facilitate another transaction entirely. If you prefer me to be a silent partner, I will."
Jerry offered Dave a seat at the corner booth. "Do as you like. Truth be told t' Treadle could do with a few changes, what with the class of people we got comin' here lately."
Jerry offered Dave the proper documents to sign and date. He gave a brief description of each document and Dave's responsibilities. There was the liquor license, the fire insurance, the property tax information, etc.
All in all Jerry was very relaxed. having dealt with Mr. Harris seemed to put most other things in perspective. After the deal was done, Dave shook the mouse's hand and went to see Aldous.
Aldous was holed up in a ritzy hotel at Dave's expense. The security there was tight, too tight for Harris' men to try anything. Dave brought lunch from a local fish & chips vendor. It was greasier food than Dave normally ingested, but the high carbohydrates helped fuel his body, giving him the energy he would likely need later.
"How are you holding up?" asked Dave.
The rabbit was in a hotel bathrobe. Hotel slippers adorned his feet. He sat on the bed as the television reported on the financial news. What could one say, the rabbit was an accountant after all.
"Well enough, thank you. I thought about what you said last night, 'bout livin' on borrowed tim an' all that rot. I'm lucky t' be alive."
Dave smiled. He loved the accent. 'looky t' be alive.' "Well, that's good. Enjoy it. Here, feast on some of the local cuisine."
They ate together in relative silence, only stopping to admit how good the food tasted. Afterwards, Dave said, "Well, I think it's time we hold up our end of the bargain."
"You're really goin' to give 'em back t' money?"
"I don't need it. I don't think you need it. Furthermore, it wasn't ours to begin with. We just, um, borrowed it."
"Very well. You know once they 'ave t' money they'll come after you."
Dave nodded solemnly. "I suppose they will. It is so very discouraging. Some people can't leave well enough alone. I know I have tried."
"Aye."
Having transferred nine tenths of the funds back into Harris' account, Dave bid Aldous farewell and returned to the inn. There he awaited Harris' men. It was foolish not to expect repercussions.
Dave hated to wait. Boredom came swiftly and with all the oppressive weight of time. The nightstand clock seemed to stop, displaying the same digital time signature for well over a minute. At least, that is what Dave thought.
He flipped through a book he had brought along, reading from this and that. He was not the type to read a book straight through. He liked to dip in. Reading chewed up no more than an hour. He cleaned his weapon and devised a plan. It was a loose and simple plan, one that he did not commit to just yet. He didn't like to think of them as plans as such, more like options.
Dave watched some British television, but that only added to the boredom. Nothing held his interest.
"I need to set an appointment," muttered Dave to himself. It had been months since he had last visited a shrink. The army head shrinker didn't count in Dave's mind. That was a profiler, someone to determine the brothers' states of mind. He was there to evaluate each brother and report his findings to the upper brass. That was as far from psychiatry as possible.
Dave leafed through the phone book left diligently by the inn's staff. Of the psychiatrists in Sheffield a number seemed promising. Former shrink's advised Dave to engage in group therapy at least once a month in order to better relate to fellow beings. Aside from this would be a private session for one hour each week when outside of the group.
He hadn't been that often. It proved difficult when he was so often uprooted. Being on the move did not bode well for developing a rapport with a doctor. Perhaps he would be in Sheffield for awhile. He dialed the office of a Dr. Towley. Dave usually didn't like birds. It was not quite as severe as Barett's disdain for skunks, but it ranked up there. Dave figured perhaps having his doctor be a bird would better him on two fronts.
First, there was the obvious fault of his condition. Dave was a psychopath, functional, but a psychopath just the same. Confronting his condition would, along with a little medication, diminish its stranglehold on his life. He had been slipping into old habits, bad habits. He had been acting rashly, boldly. He often did things before he really thought them through. On the plus side, he had caught himself now and then. He had been able to step back and reevaluate the situation.
Secondly, Dave could perhaps overcome his prejudice against birds. It was groundless and he knew it. Having his psychiatrist be a bird would allow him to connect with one on a higher level, or so he hoped.
The receptionist answered. The office was very professional as the Yorkshire accent was not present. The woman at the other end spoke in a pleasant, more posh dialect. "You have reached the office of Dr. Timothy Towley. How may I assist you?"
"Yes. Hello. I would like to make an appointment with the good doctor and, should that go well, possibly schedule regular appointments. Is there perchance an opening for me?"
"Just one moment please as I check the Doctor's schedule. There is an opening this evening at six o'clock."
Dave frowned comically. "I'm afraid that's not a good time for me. Im engaged this evening."
"Friday appears to be open. Not many schedule their appointments at the week's end"
"Friday works quite well for me. I should be available the entire day barring some unexpected event."
"I will pencil you in. At what time would you like to session with Dr. Towley."
"Please, at his convenience. Whenever is best for him."
"Well, he has a three o'clock window. I think that would be best."
"That will do perfectly."
She entered his information and made him aware of the billing. Well, the brass wouldn't be too happy with him speaking to a shrink. They would prefer that Dave speak with the on-site psychiatrist. That would be like speaking to a spy. He didn't trust these military types. They suspected the brothers. That made Dave suspect them. Anyone that suspects without cause is a suspicious person in both connotations of the word. They are suspicious because they do not trust easily. Moreover, they are suspicious because they cannot be trusted themselves. Only thieves and liars think everyone is going to lie to them and steal from them. Barett was a bit of an exception. His distrust was firmly rooted in a long history of betrayal.
Dave missed the old mouse he had met in Phoenix. He knew Dave better than Dave knew himself. Of all the people Dave had met, the mouse best understood him. As such, he had the best advice -- not lecturing, not scolding, but advice on how to live in accord with one's own nature. He accepted Dave as he was. For once Dave wanted to truly deserve that respect.
Thinking of the mouse brought some serenity to Dave's troubled mind. Dave took a cushion from the bed and set it on the floor. Upon the cushion Dave sat in the full lotus position. With his hands Dave formed the 'Buddha's Fingers' mudra.
Hands in his lap, palms up, right palm cradled in left, Dave formed rings with the thumb and index finger of both hands. The point where the four fingertips met was at his focal point, deep within the abdomen. As he exhaled, he imagined his breath sinking into the center, the good energy concentrating in that point. As he inhaled, that energy traveled up his spine to the top of his crown. Energy traveled throughout his limbs and into his finger and toes. A warmth emanated from him. His mind calmed. His thoughts recessed or simply flitted by like an errant butterfly. Dave did not grasp these thoughts. He watched them pass as harmless as paper boats on a pond.
After twenty minutes of quiet meditation Dave was able to wait the rest of the evening in relative calm. The anticipation, the boredom were washed away as if from an ocean wave. He was at peace.
They came at night. At 11:15 Dave heard two cars pull up to the inn. One was a sports car. Dave had stuffed the bed with a number of pillows to imply the shape of a sleeping person. He then hid within the bathtub, assuming the ceramic would offer some protection. Dave was armed with his MAC in his left hand and his Baretta in his right.
Three men approached the door. That door flew open as one of the men kicked it in. Immediately bullets started to fly as the man at point sprayed the room. After a very brief pause two men entered the room, concentrating automatic weapons fire at the bed.
Dave climbed out of the tub and crept to the doorway. He popped around the corner and fired a short burst at each target. He dropped one near the bed, injured the second, and the third he clipped as the ram dove for cover. Dave slipped back into the tub and waited for their return fire. Hot lead riddled the door, the frame, the walls. Tile shattered and fell upon Dave in sharp, mildewy chunks.
Dave estimated their locations. He eased his MAC 10 over the lip of the tub and let loose with some suppressive fire. As he slipped gun and hand back into the tub, Dave heard screams of agony. He hit the ram. It sounded like a gut shot. He wouldn't have long to live.
"That's it. You're finished, Yank," said the remaining hit man. That was a mistake. Dave clued in on the location, popped up, and fired another short burst. The .45 caliber slugs bore through the drywall and met with his obscured target. There was the thud of a fallen body soon afterwards. Still the ram cried out in pain.
Dave climbed out of the tub once more and put a bullet through the ram's head and heart. The spent MAC hung by its sling at his side. Quickly, he stole across the room to the far corner of the room adjacent to the only exit. He awaited the second team.
It did not take long for the squirrel with the broken nose to step through the door. Armed with a 'grease gun', he fired a series of short bursts in the general direction of Dave's last known location. Behind the squirrel came the Gecko armed only with a pistol.
dave stepped behind the Gecko. With one arm he grabbed the lizard in a headlock. With the other hand Dave seized control of the Gecko's gun hand and fired a number of shots into the squirrel's back. Dave wrested the gun from the Gecko's hand. After throwing the Gecko upon the Bed, Dave climbed atop the lizard and aimed the gun at his head.
"This is how it went down," said Dave. "I was injured in the firefight. I managed to take down the rest of your team before you put me down." Dave let the clip fall from the pistol. "You're going out there and telling your boss that its done. He will likely want to confirm this. If not, suggest he get a look at the body. At that point, I will deal with him. You are not to interfere at that point. Understood?"
The gecko nodded. "Whatever you like, Dave."
"Ah, you remembered my name. There's a good lad."
Dave fired the chambered round towards the bathroom area and handed the emptied pistol back to the gecko. "That's your cue," he said.
The gecko did as ordered, stepping out with gun in hand. The gecko nodded and walked with confidence towards the parked Bugatti. Mr. Harris got out of the car.
"It's done," said the gecko. "He took out Charlie, Kev, an' t' rest. Gus got 'im, though. Gus is dead, but I managed to put t' bugger down."
"Nice work," said Mr. Harris. "I could always count on you, Ed. Come. Let us see this blighter before t' cops decide enough time 'as passed."
Mr. Harris must have bribed a number of policemen to stall. That would explain the lack of sirens. Dave wondered just how much of a time window he had. He wanted to savor this. Sure, a quick and painless bullet to the head was simple, effective, and good time management, but it lacked flare. It would be an anticlimax at this point.
He had to face Mr. Harris toe to toe, eye to eye, hand to hand, but, of course, not cheek to cheek. Dave smiled. Mr. Harris approached with the gecko trailing far behind.
Dave stepped out of the room and into the night air. "Good evening, Mr. Harris," said Dave.
The rabbit went for his gold plated pistol. Dave beat him to it, aiming his 9 mm automatic at the rabbit's chest. "You really don't want to do that right now. You know the drill. As before, drop it."
Mr. Harris eyed Dave intensely, measuring him up. Could he draw and fire before Dave squeezed the trigger. Evidently he did not think so. With two fingers he removed the weapon and let it fall to the pavement with a clatter.
Dave locked the safety of his own gun and snapped it securely within his shoulder holster. "That's better. Let's finish this in a more personal manner."
"You want a fight, a fight you'll get, sonny Jim," said Mr. Harris as he squared off in a boxer's stance. The rabbit was a fighter. He looked tough, able-bodied, and powerful. He was younger, too, for a leader of a local gang. He must have busted a few heads and taken a few lives to get where he was.
Dave went into a boxer's stance as well. Mr. Harris had the advantage of power. Dave had the edge on speed from what he figured.
"C'mon then, Lucy," said the Hare. "Give 't your best."
They circled around in front of the shot up room, neither one quite yet willing to strike out with the first blow.
"Some tough guy you are, lad. Keepin' your gun tucked away like that," said Harris.
Dave shrugged off the obvious taunt. "Just a precaution should your reptilian friend have a change of heart is all."
"'im? 'e'll 'ave 'ell to pay when I get done with you." With that, Harris threw a left jab. Dave swayed to his own left to avoid it. This was unusual. Mostly it was Utah who went head to head with the main boss.
Harris let out with a few more jabs, testing the waters. Dave kept back, his elbows up, his head and torso guarded. He kept on his toes, stepping back when a flurry of punches came his way.
Dave saw an opening and went for it. He jabbed with the right fist, catching Harris in the cheek.
Harris laughed. "That's all you got. I've 'ad bug bites 'urt worse than that."
The rabbit got into it, tucking in and lunging forward with several body blows. Dave blocked as best he could, but one attack slipped bast his guard and caught him in the soft ribs. Luckily they did not break.
Seeing Dave unbalanced momentarily, Harris switched strategies. He bolted forward and executed a tackle, catching Dave in the stomach with his shoulder in the process. He shoved Dave backward, most likely to bring him to the ground.
Dave applied the principle of "ju." Instead of resisting the tackle, Dave embraced it. He moved backward with the force of the attack. He adjusted, managing to link his arms around the rabbit. His movement backward created a sort of vacuum, drawing Mr. Harris forward and off balance. Dave threw himself backward and, using his own body as a fulcrum, lifted Harris up and tossed the rabbit up and over. It was a well executed suplex.
However, the light brown hare managed to twist in mid air. He landed on his side, taking minimal damage. Dave got to his feet and charged his fallen opponent, but harris recovered quickly. As Dave closed in, the rabbit lashed out with a knife.
Dave tried to evade the attack. The tip of the blade sliced through the air and clipped Dave's jacket at the upper arm. The thin lining poked through like stuffing from a wounded teddy bear. Harris followed with more swipes of the blade. Dave backed away, careful not to get cut.
"Think t' only weapon I carry is a gun? Ha!"
During a thrust to Dave's midsection, the ringtail sidestepped and seized the attacking arm. With a pinch in the right place, the hand opened and the knife fell to the ground. Before Dave could execute an arm break or a throw, Harris wrested his arm free. He countered with a head butt.
Dave did not anticipate this kind of attack. The rabbit's forehead connected with Dave's snout. Pain shot through him. Dave leapt backward and out of range of Harris' attacks. It was time for some classic combat.
Dave assumed a tae kwon do ready stance. He held his left hand out in front to guard. The right hand he tucked in a fist at his side.
Harris took the opportunity to shake the sting out of his hand. He rubbed the wrist, then settled into his boxer's stance. "You're just chock full o' surprises, aren't you, Lucy?"
"Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?" said Dave in return.
"You're one t' talk, you blighter." Harris closed the distance. Dave kept him at bay with several snap kicks.
"What t' 'ell is this?" said Harris. "I thought only Frenchmen fought with their feet."
Harris must have been referring to Savate, a form of kick boxing popular among French sailors. Was he in for a surprise. The next time Harris closed in, Dave gave him a little chin music. He had not expected such a high kick, but still managed to deflect the blow.
Dave held a one-legged stance, his raised knee facing his opponent. As Harris attempted once more to get inside, Dave kicked to the head. As that was deflected, Dave went for the knee and connected. Harris buckled. It took just a moment, but it was all the time Dave needed.
Dave took to the air, performing a jumping tornado kick. The back of Dave's right heel connected forcefully just behind the rabbit's jaw. He fell hard, alive, but unconscious.
Dave came to earth, took a breath. He hurt. His nose was bleeding. His ribs were sore. His jacket was torn. Without looking at the gecko, Dave said, "I suppose he had his account number changed once he received the money. If you want it you will have to get the number from him somehow."
The gecko said nothing. Still looking down at his fallen nemesis, Dave asked, "You are the head cheese now, right?"
"I suppose I am."
"Then if you want the money you're going to have to find a way. He's your problem now."
Dave walked to the Bugatti. Just as he thought the keys were in the ignition. He took the keys, pocketed them, effectively claiming the car as the spoils of contest. He went back to the room, got his things, and put them in the boot of his new car.
He was not the only one stuffing something into the trunk of a car. Just as the sirens began to wail, the gecko dumped his former boss into the back of a black sedan.
I suppose this makes up for losing the Fiat, thought Dave. It was a good car. It could use a few modifications, but other than that it would suit him well. It would certainly serve as a warning to other gang members. Whoever drove the Bugatti was the same one that took out Harris. If Harris was feared, how frightening would be the guy that beat him?
Dave started the car. He listened to the engine rev and purr. He languished in the subtle vibrations, the anticipation of all that horsepower almost begging to be set free. Dave shifted into first and eased out of the parking lot. Just as he reached the first traffic light, it started to rain.
(End of Chapter 1. Hope you enjoyed. I know I enjoyed writing it. I will post the next chapter as a separate blog. This is just the beginning.)
Barett has really enjoyed hearing about Dave's adventures. He remembers Dave doing this kind thing back on the east coast, always trying to clean things up. It's good to see him out stretching his muscles, and running around. He only hopes to hang with him at some hip clubs in Sheffield. I have really enjoyed seeing Dave in action.
Thanks Barett. I thought I would start things out with a prototypical adventure, something familiar. There are some signs that Dave is attempting to improve upon his behavior, but it is an uphill battle as you will soon see. I've been following Rick and Barett with fervor. The Hidden Kingdom one has really got me hooked. How could Utah possibly not kill that leopard outright? He is showing considerable patience and self-control. The leopard is just the type of villain that really rubs Utah the wrong way.
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