Back to Contents
Previous Submission
So I lived.
So what did you think? This girl in't going to just roll over and push up daisies on the basis of one bad day.
I took the job too. Perhaps you didn't expect that. 'Course I could have refused. Like hell. The Yon-Ju-Shichi don't work like that.
Titus Rosenbaum. A real piece of work he is. This boy is totally barmy. I mean, well I'll tell you the story.
I went to the wake of the geezer I killed. I mean, that is fucked for a start. He explained the job. Easy enough. Find this geezer. Keep him safe from other interested parties. Get him to relinquish a particular possession. But this guy, Titus, he's lookin' at me the whole while. Looking through me almost. And he comes out with some real gems too. "You have looked upon the face of death." I mean, what's that about then?
Well, fuck it, the money's good. And I get executive authority for the first time. Two other associates deputised to me. Three YJS Ronin to baby-sit one berk who's got himself in too deep. Whatever he's got, and Titus was keeping very schtumm about it, it is very serious shit.
Bugger it, Nell girl, you keep getting yourself into these fixes.
* * *
So we're shacked up in this cushty hotel in Piccadilly, courtesy of the Rosenbaum Trust. There's me of course and the two other associates and I'm in charge.
Right. So there's Jack "the Mack" McNamara. He is this huge Aussie with curly ginger hair and altogether too much stubble. I've worked with him before and he's a sound guy. Just because he's nearly seven foot it don't make him stupid or clumsy. He's bright and has the grace of a tiger. I'd like to say he ain't the sort of guy to fuck with but there in't no one around to actually testify to that anymore.
Uchigawa Hiroshi "Ten Spades" is a bit of an unknown. He's a new associate but comes highly rated. He's meant to be an absolutely ninja sniper though. Throw a pack of cards in the air and he can put a hole through the ten of spades before they come down every time.
Anyway, so, surprise surprise, we're in the bar with a two hundred euro Aristotle of tequila and we are slammin'. And, in between salt, lemon and the minging concoction, we are trying to work out how the fuck we start looking for this guy. You see, I'm actually used to doing what I'm told and I certainly in't used to giving orders.
'Course the obvious thing to do is head it back to Head Office to put through Global Archive Research but we've had too much tequila to leave it at that.
* * *
10S: So I know this African guy yes. He can smell out a man across a continent.
JtM: Christ, mate, that is bull dust.
10S: No. It is no bull dust. It is so. But his services are not cheap.
JtM: So how's he gonna know what this gyppo smells like, you great galah?
RN: Okay. Awright boys. We gotta think in terms of practicalities, right. The juju sambo just ain't a goer.
JtM: That is straight up!
10S: So, Mack-san, you have a better approach.
JtM: Yeah, mate, I'm thinking.
RN: The fucking tequila is thinking.
And so on and so forth.
* * *
We headed it back to Head Office the following morning, after the coffee had kicked in and I'd finished puking my guts up ever so lady-like. It generally takes a couple of days for them to do their snooping and sniffing so I thought I'd look up some old acquaintances back on the manor.
I decided to go an' pay Zachariah Christie a call. He's a pusher and a pimp. But he's got an ear to the ground and he knows what's what in the Big Smoke.
But first I availed myself of the opportunity to visit my hair consultant.
Poorer but with ever so stylish blue hair I headed over to Stratford to meet up with the Rasta racketeer. Left the other two to bum round the West End. They thought they'd go and have a cuppa at Fortnum's so they could say they did.
"Nelly, shugah, you should've called. Sweet to see you. Come in."
"Yeah, it's been too long, Zack. You well?"
"Hey doll, you know me. You wanting something?"
"Yeah, hey Zack, you know me too well. There's this geezer I'm looking for."
"Come in and sit down girl. If we're gonna be talking business let's do it civilised."
"Thanks. Woah, plush place you got."
"Yeah man, it is sweet. Jah's been good to Zachariah Christie. Hey. I got some fine Kasbah squidgie you must try."
"Christ, Zack, I'm nursing a stinking hangover. Skanking ain't a good idea."
"Hah! You gotta get back on that horse and ride, sister."
"I'll ride all over your rug if you in't careful."
"Chill. What about a drink?"
"Sounds good. You got a Pepsi™?"
"Ayi! Won't be a minute, shugah... Here you go."
"Ta!"
"So this mon you lookin' for?"
"Yeah well, I got employed to track down this guy called Shadbolt and make sure no harm don't come to him. Know anything?"
"You no asking me to do your job for you eh?"
"I'm outsourcing a function, Zack. I got the bees to pay the damage."
"Sweet. I got an initial consultation fee of five hundred."
"I suspected you might have. Here's your monkey. Now cough."
"Alright, I'll be straight with you. Nobody knows where the Shad-man is. But a lotta people wanna know that thing. He pulled some wild stunt at the Dalyn-Steward building last month that is fast becoming legend. You can check that yourself on the Undernet. Unless he's turned into a bird an' flown out he's in the Smoke though. But the dogs are out for that mon. Nonetheless, I'll have a word with my men and we'll start sniffing round for you. Five thou now. Ten thou if I turn up the goods. Sound good?"
"Sound's great, Zack."
"Hey, you wanna receipt for your expenses?"
"That ain't necessary Zack."
"Who you working for anyway, Nelly?"
"My employer would prefer to remain anonymous."
"Sweet. Ha. Good doin' business with you, Ms Barnworth."
"Thanks Zack."
* * *
JtM: You paid how much for a haircut? Bugger me sideways with a bus, I'll never understand sheilas.
RN: Hair enhancement, smartarse. Deep conditioning treatment, dye and style. It's worth it.
JtM: Then how, in Christ's name, does it end up looking like a parakeet died on top of your head?
* * *
So now I had both the Yon-Ju-Shichi snoops and the Rasta Mafia out looking for this Shadbolt geezer and they were both getting nowhere fast. So I was bumming round Piccadilly with the boys but we'd decided to head down to Waterloo to see some jazz. Hell, it in't as though I'm some tour guide for a sarky Aussie git and some flash Nip sniper. 'Cept it was.
So we were just about to get on the Tube when, well, things went funny.
'Cos it was the middle of the day the platform was relatively uncrowded. This posh looking geezer who looks kind of familiar gets off a couple of carriages up the platform. He's wearing this dead smart grey Italian whistle and Eagle Eye photo-reactive shades. He looked in a bit of a hurry. Nah, he looked as though he wanted to be somewhere else very fast. Nowhere in particular just so long as it weren't here. In brief, something had got him shitted badly.
Wouldn't have recognised him neither if it hadn't been for what happened next.
I sort of got distracted by this whole spectacle and I weren't quite on the Tube when this bunch of geezers, following the first guy, none too subtle neither, came out the Tube. Five heavies and these three guys what could only be described as Yids what with the black/white motif and those silly hats. Not to mention the usually abysmal standard of hairdressing those guys go in for.
Yehudi! I mean the boy had undergone a makeover but, Christ, it was him. Having it away on his toes from Hay'AD.
Fuck me!
* * *
RN: Change of plan, boys. Follow them Jewish looking types.
JtM: Alright mate.
10S: With you. What is going down?
RN: An old friend of mine seems to have run in with the Ha Aheret David. We're gonna bail him out, boys.
JtM: Sounds like his problem to me.
RN: Can it. Think of this as practice. Can't have you boys going soft on me, can I?
10S: Okay. It sounds fun. Hajimemasho.
RN: Heading towards the Piccadilly line. Stay tight, gentlemen.
RN: Westbound.
JtM: Gotcha.
RN: Right. Yehudi's gone in two carriages left. One Yid, one heavy. You're in there, Jack. We're going into the nearer one, Ten Spades. Go!
JtM: Heathrow? The bugger's fleeing the country.
* * *
So I sits down opposite this Hay'AD geezer. He's flanked by the two 'Morphs. The other two are likely two carriages down in case he tries to slip out that way. Hiroshi is sitting down the end of the carriage by the door.
What happened then is something like this. The Mack goes into the other carriage with Yehudi in and brushes past the heavy. Then he slaps a nark patch on the guy's neck and sends him off to dreamland. The Hasid don't notice that 'cos he's making eyes at Yehudi and whispering something at him in Hebrew or Yiddish or some palaver like that. Anyhow he's making it very clear who's running the show.
* * *
JtM[CICI]: Looks like they're making a move. Look smart, mates.
RN[CICI]: Okay. Let's do it.
* * *
They'd encouraged Yehudi, in not uncertain terms, to alight at Hounslow Central. So, as the gangsters opposite were making to leave, I done something like this:
"Hey, who're you looking at, you filthy Jew wanker."
"Nothing. I'm in a hurry."
"You'd fucking better be, you pervert. Now fucking apologise."
At this point the heavies come on strong.
"Who are these then? Your bum boys?"
'Course they don't really want to pull their pieces on a fairly crowded Tube so, instead, it turns into a bit of rough 'n' tumble. Still we are all Morphs, 'part from the Hay'AD guy 'cos it in't in the Torah, so a few people decide to get off and wait for the next train. Ten Spades is amongst them.
Meanwhile, the Mack's doing something like this:
"Yehudi, mate, thought it was you. Didn't recognise you for a minute. What are you doing in Hounslow?"
This flusters the other team and he's looking round for his backup who is, of course, oblivious to the world. Yehudi, being a bit smart, jumps on the chance like a starving monkey on the last peanut on earth.
"Oy vey! This is Hounslow? I wanted Osterley. Whadda schlemiel!"
"You'll have to go round via Heathrow, mate."
"Yeah, thanks... um... Archie?!"
So now the opposition is starting to realise it's all gone a bit pear-shaped. So they go nuclear. 'Course the hired help have a good idea about the problems involved with producing firearms on public transport so they're a bit reluctant but it's only Hounslow and they want to get paid. So the berks pull guns on me. Mistake.
You know how fast a Morph can pull a gun and get the safety off? Not fast enough. You know that a Yon-Ju-Shichi associate is expected to be second dan in karate and aikido? You do now.
So whilst I was putting these two out of the picture, the other one, the unenhanced one, was tearing up the carriage to make it through into the one with Yehudi in. Unfortunately a Japanese smooth boy sticks a foot out at an important juncture. The guy goes sprawling and smacks his head on a metal bar, which puts him out of the reckoning.
The doors are beeping now. Hiroshi dives out.
"Get out, Yehudi mate," says the Mack and smacks the guy pulling the gun in the north. Yehudi dives out. The only ones still left in the game are the guys stepping through from the far carriage. One is going round the outside but he in't going to make the doors.
The other two have their guns out in time to see the Mack lay out their friend. So they fire. Jack hits the floor.
The Morphs in my carriage are picking themselves up but I've got their guns. It's bloody difficult to put a Morph out with your bare hands. I really don't want to shoot but they don't know that. I back up the train covering them the whole time. I don't bother with opening the door at the end of the carriage. I just burst straight through.
The Morph in there opens fire straight away but the train is starting to move and it throws him off balance. At which point he catches the Mack full on. The other guy is pulling his pistol round onto me. If I shoot there is a bastard load of paperwork. I throw one of the guns and hit him smack on the side of the head. He goes down with all blood down the side of his face.
* * *
Outside, the last Morph had got a gun to Yehudi. The boy puts his hands up and the Morph steps up behind him to use his back to disguise the fact he's tooled up. He starts marching him towards the ticket gate.
"'Scuse me. Is this for Sutton Lane?" asks Ten Spades.
"Fuck off!"
"You so fucking rude." And he grabs the guy's shoulder. Somewhat narked at this point the Morph rounds on Ten Spades with his gun. Ten Spades confiscates it with some smooth move and kicks the guy in the chest, sending him sailing over the ticket barrier.
Ten Spades gets Yehudi out into a taxi, not forgetting to ditch the gun on the way.
* * *
RN[CICI]: Sweet guys. We got it stitched up nice.
10S[CICI]: I take this punk to Piccadilly, okay.
RN[CICI]: Sounds good, Ten Spades. Me and Mack'll deal with the Fuzz. Okay, here's the story...
* * *
There was a substantial number of coppers with a substantial number of questions waiting at Hounslow West. With a bit of help from L&A we had answers for 'em all. The other witnesses kept the story sweet. We had acted in self-defence and to prevent a crime.
'Course being as they were the Sweeney they were dead cagey 'bout the whole sorry tale but they had no choice. We walked. We hadn't even fired a shot.
* * *
10S: This is Jack "the Mack" McNamara. This is "Rake-Hell" Nell Barnworth. She is the boss.
YbA: We've met. Shalom, neshomeleh. What are you doing back in London?
RN: We've been hired to track down someone.
YbA: Meshugeh Ronin. You never learn.
RN: So what you done to get the Ha Aheret David so fucked with you?
YbA: I took advantage of the whole schlemazel with Rav Weissmann to make off with their gelt. So can I help?
RN: You barmy sod! Help with what?
YbA: Finding this eizel you're after.
RN: Depends. You know where I can find a guy called Shadbolt?
Geoff Hinkley, 10/03/01
Next Submission
Back to Contents
It's not too late to join in! Check out the author page for instructions!
The page is copyright © 2000, Despot_in_Exile
E-mail: despot_in_exile@yahoo.co.uk
| What's new? | Setting | THE STORY | Characters | Author info | Editors | Front page |