The Dark Master of Dogs Page 6

  The second night, they had gone straight for the restraints even though she had still fought them, but by the third night it had become a ritual she wanted over as quickly as possible.

  Each time the guards dragged her back to the cell she had found Patrick pacing and banging on the bars as if it were somehow his fault, howling like a rabid dog as though that might help. Such a show of emotion might have impressed other prisoners in adjacent cells, but it was entirely wasted on Suzanne. She might be young, but she was no child; she knew how he felt. He didn’t need to say a single word.

  The third night, as he had the other two, he ran forward to take her in his arms as she staggered back inside the cell.

  ‘How bad did they hurt you?’

  No one had dared put their dick in her mouth after what had happened to Seth Winters, but her groin was aching as though someone had hit it with a hammer. Her face still smarted from a couple of wake-up slaps, but the bruises from the first night were already beginning to fade.

  ‘I’ll live.’

  ‘I’ll kill them.’

  Suzanne gave a groggy shake of her head. ‘No, you won’t, because I’ll kill them first.’

  ‘They can’t get away with this. This shouldn’t be allowed.’

  Suzanne just shrugged. She walked to the hard fold-down bed at the back of the cell and slumped down. ‘They can do whatever they want,’ she said.

  ‘You fucking bastards!’ Patrick shouted, banging on the bars of the cell.

  ‘Shut up and come here,’ Suzanne said.

  He came and sat down beside her. ‘We’re at their mercy,’ he said. ‘Neither of us should even be in here. We didn’t do anything wrong.’

  ‘Conspiracy to commit treason,’ Suzanne said, and then spat on the floor before even considering what Patrick might think about it. ‘Covers a lot of grey area. My dad’s disappeared, and you know me. That’s it. That’s what they’ve got us in here for.’

  The hours ticked by. They both slept for a bit, then paced the cell, then sat and brooded. A silent guard came with a tray of food: dry potatoes and stodgy, cold stew. He wouldn’t speak when they asked for an update on their status. They ate the food in silence, and half an hour late the same guard returned and took their tray.

  From time to time, other prisoners were brought in or taken away. Farther up the corridor, doors banged open and crashed shut. They heard scuffles, angry shouting, the occasional thud as someone was dealt a heavy blow. Sitting together on the bed, each time they heard a beating begin they hugged each other for comfort, thankful that for now, it wasn’t either of them.

  Suzanne was dozing, Patrick sitting beside her, when footsteps stopped outside their cell. Suzanne opened her eyes as someone was pushed through the door.

  A chubby boy no older than sixteen looked up at them through fearful eyes.

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ he said.

  Patrick glanced at Suzanne. She lifted an eyebrow. The shock of the last few days had taken its toll, but now she recognised the boy.

  ‘Jack,’ she said. ‘Jack Bakewell? You were in our school, right?’

  ‘Suzannah?’

  ‘Just Suzanne. Yeah, that’s right. What happened to you?’

  Jack shrugged. He looked on the verge of tears. ‘I got caught in the forest after dark. I wasn’t doing nothing, just having a look around. Didn’t realise I was supposed to be at a work appointment. Got pulled in, accused of conspiracy against the government.’

  ‘Bullshit.’ Suzanne scowled. ‘Made up terms from a bunch of made up people.’

  ‘Who is this kid?’ Patrick said.

  ‘His dad’s Bob Bakewell. The butcher on Leven Street. Didn’t you ever go up there?’

  Patrick rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, you mean to the posh part of town? With my mother? Unless they were selling homebrew under the counter then it would be a no.’

  ‘Bakewell’s Butcher is the last place selling beef in town,’ Suzanne said. ‘My dad never cared how much they hiked the price. He loved the stuff.’

  ‘Mr. Carmichael-Jones practically kept us in business,’ Jack said.

  ‘Couldn’t keep you out of here, though, could he?’ Patrick said. He stalked over to the bars and gave them an optimistic shake.

  ‘He probably doesn’t know I’m in here. I’ve spent the last three days being interrogated.’ Jack lifted a hand and rubbed a bruise on his cheek, then pouted, a tear rolling down the side of his face. ‘I didn’t think they’d ever stop. Even after I did … I did … what they asked.’

  ‘Fucking scumbags!’ Suzanne shouted, aiming her venom at the corridor beyond the bars. Then, as Jack looked shocked, she added, ‘If they ever do that again, try to bite it off. Believe me, the beating was worth it.’

  ‘I don’t think it would matter anyway,’ Jack said. ‘We’ll be out of here soon.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Patrick said.

  ‘All of us. Well, all eight of us under twenty that are currently in here. We’re getting let out tomorrow.’

  ‘What do you mean, “let out”?’

  ‘That’s what they told me.’

  ‘And you believe them?’

  Jack looked down. ‘I don’t know what to believe. But it’s something, isn’t it?’

  Suzanne sighed. ‘It’s better than nothing, I suppose.’

  All three fell silent. Jack sat down on the floor by the bars, his face puckered as though he were making every effort not to cry. Patrick paced up and down. Figuring no one else was going to use it and that she was the most beat-up of the three, Suzanne lay down on the fold-down bed.

  The silent guard came again with food. Farther up the corridor someone got given a vicious beating and was left sobbing in his cell. Suzanne waited. The lights dimmed to indicate it was night. Half an hour later the main door at the cell corridor’s entrance opened, and the footsteps of two men echoed on the tiles.

  They were back.

  Suzanne brushed her torn prison uniform down, wondering if they might at least let her take a shower when they were done. It would be a small comfort, but it was something. As their footsteps came closer, she stood up.

  Patrick had been sitting on the floor beside a dozing Jack, but now he stood, his fists clenched. ‘I’ll fight them,’ he said. ‘They’re not taking you again. They can’t get away with this.’

  The two DCA agents, wearing gloves over what were likely bruised knuckles, peered into the cell. The taller and older of the two, the one whose teeth she had kicked out, grinned, revealing shiny new dentures. The other, seemingly Seth’s friend, looked angry.

  ‘Time for an interview, Ms. Carmichael-Jones,’ he said.

  ‘Go fuck yourself.’

  ‘Oh, I won’t need to.’

  Patrick moved in front of them. ‘You touch her again and I’ll kill you.’

  ‘Are you threatening a DCA agent, little boy?’

  The tall one grinned. There came the hiss of electricity and Patrick slumped to the floor, curled up into a ball, his mouth open in an expression of shock. The tall one put the taser back into his pocket.

  ‘Come along now, Ms. Carmichael-Jones. Don’t make this difficult.’

  Resistance would only get them all hurt. If Suzanne waited until they reached the interview room, she would at least keep the beating for herself.

  ‘I’m coming,’ she said, walking to the bars and holding out her hands for the cuffs.

  The tall one grinned and unclipped a pair of cuffs from his belt. The angry one reached through the bars to grab her arms. Suzanne closed her eyes, wishing she could summon the fight to resist, but she was so, so tired of their fists.

  ‘Wait.’

  Suzanne opened her eyes. Jack had sat up and was looking up at the two DCA men. Blinking, he climbed to his feet.

  ‘Stay the fuck there or I’ll fry your chubby ass, you fat little cocksucker.’

  Jack just frowned as though such insults were new to him. ‘Don’t you know we’re getting out tomorrow?’

  ‘Wh
at?’

  ‘The detectives who brought me here said so.’

  Suzanne tried not to scoff at Jack’s childlike use of the word “detectives”. As far as she was concerned, the DCA couldn’t have detected their own tiny dicks, but she stayed quiet, wondering what would happen. Patrick was still twitching on the floor, his mouth moving now as he gasped for breath.

  ‘Oh, that’s right,’ the angry one said. ‘You are, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jack said. ‘And you know who my dad is, don’t you?’

  ‘Unless he’s Maxim Cale, it makes no difference to us,’ the tall one said.

  Jack gave an awkward smile. Suzanne could tell just from his posture how hard this was for him. She felt an uncanny respect growing for the young boy standing up to these two bullying men.

  ‘He’s the butcher on Leven Street. You know that Ms. Wynne comes there for her meat?’

  The two men exchanged a glance. ‘The commissioner?’ the tall one said to the other, as though he ought to know.

  ‘That’s her,’ Jack said. ‘And my father does her favours. He keeps all the best meat back. Do you know hard it is to get beef now? How much it costs?’ He clutched his hands together and leaned forward. ‘Have you ever even tasted it?’

  ‘Of course we fucking have,’ the angry one said. ‘I think you ought to shut your mouth before I come in there and shut it for you.’

  Jack smiled. Suzanne noticed how his hands were shaking so badly he was clutching them hard enough to make his knuckles white.

  ‘You want beef on the cheap? I can get it for you. All I have to do is tell you what to say.’

  ‘You’re out of your mind.’

  Jack smiled again. ‘Am I? If I’m treated well, my father will be happy. He’ll look after you.’

  The tall one was showing no interest in Suzanne now. He clipped the cuffs back on his belt and turned to Jack.

  ‘Wife and kids would really appreciate it,’ he said.

  ‘Leave us alone and I’ll tell you.’

  The angry one gave Suzanne a longing glance, then turned back to Jack and nodded. ‘I think we’ve got all the information we need for now,’ he said. ‘Except for a couple of words from you.’

  Jack leaned forward, dropping his voice. ‘Say this to my dad,’ he said. ‘Make sure every word is correct or he won’t believe you heard it from me. Every word. Are you listening now? Ready? “I … want … to … eat … dick”.’

  The two DCA agents frowned. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ the tall one said.

  ‘It’s a password,’ Jack said. ‘Say it to my dad and he’ll know what it means.’

  The angry one stepped forward. ‘Come here,’ he said.

  Jack stepped closer to the bars. The angry one reached in and pulled Jack forward, pressing his face against the bars. ‘If you’re lying to me, I’ll cut your own dick off and feed it to you,’ he growled.

  ‘I’m not … l—l—lying,’ Jack stammered.

  ‘You’d better fucking not be,’ the angry one said, pushing Jack again.

  The two men stalked off up the corridor. As the door clanged and the lock clicked, Suzanne dropped to her knees to check on Patrick, who was just starting to come out of the paralysis. As she patted him on the shoulder, he looked up and mouthed, ‘I’m all right.’

  Suzanne looked at Jack. ‘I don’t know how I can thank you,’ she said. ‘That was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen.’

  Jack was shaking. ‘I nearly pissed myself,’ he said, voice cracking. ‘Don’t worry, by the time they find out I bullshitted them, we’ll be out of here.’

  ‘You just made that up?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘Kind of. Dad will give them what they ask for, but it won’t be rump steak. He’ll give them minced bull penis. They might not even realise.’

  Suzanne pulled Jack into a hug. Patrick, wincing from the tasering, gave Jack a tentative pat on the leg.

  ‘Thank you,’ he muttered. ‘Are you sure … we’re getting … let out?’

  Jack nodded. ‘That’s what they told me. Tomorrow.’

  10

  Tommy

  The DCA had hunted him, and other gangsters had hunted him, but Tommy had never been hunted by something that could run like a dog, jump like a cat, and handle weapons like a man.

  With his back soaked with sweat and the sleeve of one arm torn open from one time it had got too close, he rolled across the top of an empty production line and dropped down into a space beneath.

  Where had it gone? How close was it?

  Catching its leg with a thrown metal pipe had been sheer luck. It was limping, but still coming forward, relentless. He was tiring, and soon his advantage would be lost. He gripped the gun with his right hand, aware he had only one bullet left.

  He had foolishly wasted three early on, thinking he could cut the creature down. He had seen two bullets penetrate its chest, yet it had barely flinched. As it leapt at him he had understood why: its billowing cloak had revealed a tangle of electronics and wires buried into the flesh of its chest. It might once have been a man, but whatever it was now, it would no longer die like one.

  Something moved out of the corner of his eye. He turned, seeing a box of papers flutter to the ground like the shredded pieces of dead birds.

  A clink of metal behind him was the only warning. He turned, ducking back as the creature leapt out of nowhere, doglike maw snapping at his face. A claw raked him across the chest, ripping open his shirt and leaving deep lacerations across one pectoral.

  Tommy staggered back, gritting his teeth. The creature had tricked him, using a decoy to disguise its attack. As it came up from a crouch and turned, Tommy lifted his gun, aware that if he failed with a direct headshot, he was dead.

  ‘Enough!’

  Wires whizzed above him and then Kurou was there, leaning out of his harness, clapping his hands together. Tommy, breathing hard, lowered the gun, wiping sweat off his face with his left hand. Just ten paces away, the Huntsman dropped back into a crouch, its head lowered, terrifying human eyes hidden beneath the cowl. Tommy stared at it, watching blood and oil pooling around its feet. So, he had hurt it after all, but how much could it stand before it was taken out?

  ‘Fifty-five minutes,’ Kurou said. ‘Wonderful. I gave you a bonus of five for your efforts, and because I didn’t really want you to die. A fascinating spectacle for an unarmed creature barely half finished, and your own survival skills have impressed me. I believe we can do business now.’

  He clicked talon-like fingers. Tommy heard running feet, then to his horror two other robed figures appeared. Exhausted, he tried to lift his gun, but they moved straight past him to their fallen comrade. They lifted the creature up then helped it limp back to the research labs.

  Kurou lowered himself in the harness and climbed out. He tipped his hat to Tommy and gave his walking stick a twirl. As the light through a window caught Kurou’s face, Tommy saw he was monstrosity layered upon monstrosity: a deformity had left him looking birdlike with overlarge eyes and a long nose that resembled a beak. One eye was gone, the socket sewn shut. Tufts of feathery hairs protruded out of scar tissue covering half his face.

  ‘What the fuck are you?’

  Kurou gave a short bow. ‘Just a man like yourself. One blessed less with looks but more likely with brains. Alas, I am old now, treading my last path in life, with just one small task left to complete.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘Something to be talked of another time. Won’t you come with me to my lab?’

  Tommy lifted the gun and pointed it at Kurou’s face. ‘I should blow your fucking head off,’ he said. ‘Rid the world of a monster.’

  Kurou laughed. ‘Oh, there are far greater monsters than me,’ he said. ‘And whole tribes of little monsters. Have you looked in the mirror recently?’

  Tommy said nothing. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the cuts on his chest, wincing as tremors of pain shot through him.

  ‘
Come,’ Kurou said. ‘Let us go to my office. Laurette, assist him please.’

  The little assistant appeared out of the shadows. One clawed hand took Tommy’s and helped him after Kurou, who limped to a door near the entrance, twirling his walking stick each time he leaned on his good leg. Tommy watched him as he stumbled after, wondering how such a bizarre character could even exist. He had a thousand unanswered questions, but for now he was happy just to be alive.

  The room Kurou led him into had once been Stanley Carmichael-Jones’s main office. Kurou had taken down the old aerial photographs of the factory and replaced them with photographs of birds in flight: eagles, condors, hawks, even a crow soaring above a London townhouse. He had kept Carmichael-Jones’s furniture, though, and Laurette helped Tommy down on to a plush leather sofa.

  ‘Don’t worry about getting blood on the upholstery,’ Kurou said, taking a swivel chair behind a desk. ‘I’ve never been one for worrying about small details. Now, let’s talk about how we can be of help to each other.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘I went through all the old ledgers with a fine toothcomb, in particular those under the table relating to smuggled goods sent overseas.’ At Tommy’s look of surprise, Kurou spread his arms. ‘Oh, you don’t think I cared about his regular business, did you? There’s nothing to interest me there. All the rest though … fascinating.’

  ‘Carmichael-Jones could see what was coming to this country,’ Tommy said. ‘It’s heading for a total lockdown. He figured it was best to get the keys out into Europe before the doors got locked, if you know what I mean.’