Attrition of the Gods: Book 1 of the Mystery Thriller series Gods Toys. (5 page)

It’s not long before two inmates approach his table and stand either side of him. One speaks to him in a strong Geordie accent, “So you’re one of the newbies.”

Shane looks at the guy in the eye and decides to ignore him. The second male sits close by his right side. He speaks in a similar accent.

“Listen, we are just trying to be friendly.”

Shane looks this wiry guy up and down. “I ain’t looking for friends, and if I was it wouldn’t be Ant and Dec.”

“We all need friends in here,” pipes up the other shorter guy, unfazed by the remark.

Shane studies a copy of yesterday’s newspaper, completely blanking him out.

Undeterred, the guy continues, “Look, we really are trying to be friendly. Something is about to go down in here any minute and trust me, you don’t want to know about it.”

Shane folds the paper and looks the man sitting opposite him in the face. Six years in the army has taught Shane a lot but it was growing up on the mean streets of Dublin and Manchester where he first learned to read people. Both these men would look intimidating to the average Joe. One was small but stocky with unfashionably long curly hair and a certain menacing look. The other was a tall and heavy looking character with prison tattoos on either side of his neck. Shane notices both men’s eyebrows flash as they talk and this plus their submissive stance leads him to deduce that neither of these men is a threat and he decides to hear them out.

“Okay, so what is it that’s about to go down?”

“First things first, I’m Johnny, but everyone calls me No-Legs.”

Shane shakes Johnny’s hand while looking down at his legs. “Why do they call you No-Legs?”

“Well, if you look, I have disproportionately small legs compared to my torso and people say I look like an upright crocodile when I walk.”

Shane looks again. It’s true, Johnny’s little legs dangling from the chair bring a smile to his face but he is impressed by the man’s use of a word with more than two syllables.

“I’m Shane, Shane Mills.”

“I’m Pete, they call me Big Pete.”

Shane looks up at him and doesn’t need to ask why they call him Big Pete, but he does shake his hand.

“So, you were saying something’s going to happen?”

Johnny looks around before speaking. There are approximately twenty inmates in the room, two playing ping-pong, a small group are sat watching Deal or no Deal on the TV and three more sit on a broken pool table just chatting. One guy sits alone at a table, in his sixties, with small spectacles sitting on the end of his nose as he reads a small leather-bound book.

“See that geezer over there? The old guy?” Johnny nods his head in the direction of the lone man.

“Yes,” says Shane. “He came in on the same wagon as me. It’s his first day as well.”

Pete lets out a laugh before he adds. “Yeah, well it’s going to be his last.”

Shane looks confused, “What, someone’s going to clip the old guy? He can’t have upset anyone that soon, it’s been less than twenty-four hours. What’s he done?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” replies Johnny. “Word is he’s getting it and no one’s to see or hear anything.”

Shane’s eyes narrow and he raises an eyebrow. “Are you here to warn me to behave?”

Johnny realises how this seems and quickly explains. “No, no, it’s not like that, trust me. The two bastards that are about to clip granddad over there are no friends of ours. Thing is though, they would love for someone to interfere so they could hurt more people. Honest, we just want to give you the heads-up. They are a pair of right nasty cu…”

Just on cue, the “pair of right nasty cunts” walk into the room. The first one, Garfield Hilton AKA Big Bird, is a six-foot-eleven mountain of a man. Born in Birmingham to Caribbean parents he weighs in at twenty-six stone. His size and physical prowess gained him some notoriety on the nightclub doors of Birmingham’s city centre. People loved to get their photos taken with this man mountain. “He’s just a gentle giant,” is the sort of remark punters made about him. They couldn’t have been more wrong. Big Bird was a violent career bully whose main source of income was extorting money from bar and club owners in the West Midlands. He also acted as an enforcer for drug gangs and would often submit late payers to his own type of torture where he would experiment with how long it would take him to break nominated bones.

Two years ago an unfortunate Spanish student by the name of Paco Ballaguer, who was attending Aston University, found himself in a bit of financial trouble when his student grant was held up. He owed £136 for some blow that he had bought from one of Bird’s pals, Kenny.

“There’s that spic that owes me money…” remarked Kenny as he and Bird wandered home from a late-night blues club. Two hours later police found Paco’s corpse. He had been punched so hard and so many times that at first the police were sure he had been run over by a truck. The imprint of the giant’s huge gold signet ring in Paco’s forehead was the evidence that convicted him. He was serving life imprisonment with a recommendation that he’s not considered for parole for fifteen years.

The second man entering the room is Errol Christian. Errol may look small stood next to Bird but he is well over six feet. Born in Jamaica, Errol has strong connections with Yardy gangs all over Britain. He is an extremely violent psychopathic killer. Even Bird feels a little uncomfortable around Errol who is responsible for the murder of seven people. Working as a paid enforcer for Jamaican drug smugglers he would be called in as a last resort after all channels of communication had been exhausted. He loved his job and admitted to an almost sexual gratification when watching the lights go out in his victim’s eyes. Despite his obvious mental disorder, Errol was professional. He always covered his tracks, stalked his victims and picked the opportune time and place to strike. He really never expected to get caught.

But fate changed all that when one of his bosses, by the name of Barrington, took a shine to Errol’s girlfriend. Melissa never dared complain to Errol about his low libido but she was a virile young woman and so easily surrendered to most of Errol’s friends, although he remained unaware of her indiscretions. Unfortunately for Melissa and Barrington, the contracted hit Errol was scheduled to carry out was cancelled at the last minute when the target paid his debt plus tribute in full. Errol returned home frustrated and angry. He had psyched himself up for this hit and the fucker went and paid up. His only option was to fuck Melissa’s brains out and hope that would release some of his tension. He focused on all the positions he was going to take her in as he sat on the train home. This helped him to control his rage. He knew he could explode very easily and he could smash someone’s face in just for looking at him wrong. As he got to his flat in Handsworth he ran up the steps. It wasn’t yet midday so Melissa would not even be out of bed. Errol had taken his jacket off and was pulling his shirt over his head as he entered the flat.

“You better be up for it, ’cause I’m gonna fuck your brains out,” he shouted as he opened their bedroom door.

A crime of passion was the defence attorney’s claim. Twelve years was his sentence. Barrington Paisley would be in a vegetative condition for the rest of his life, tubes and a machine keeping him alive. Melissa was luckier, it took only forty-one seconds for her life to slip away as Errol squeezed his hands tight around her throat. He didn’t feel nearly as much pleasure watching the lights go out in her eyes as the others he had killed but he had to admit, he did prefer it to a fuck.

As Shane watches these two hardened criminals enter the recreation room both Pete and Johnny scurry over to the TV and watch Deal or no Deal intently as Kat from Oxford thanks the banker but chooses not to deal. The young guys playing ping-pong decide they have had enough and head for their cells. A mixed-race guy sitting on the pool table walks to Bird, giving him a gangster hug while nodding over to the old guy sitting on his own. Everyone else except the little old guy and Shane join the crowd watching TV. Shane Mills still doesn’t move even when he notices Johnny’s discreet head jerks indicating for him to join them he just sits there. Errol and Bird spot Shane, look him up and down and then ignore him. They sit down, their attention clearly on the little old guy sitting in the corner.

“We got to make this look like an argument that got out of control,” whispers Errol to Bird.

Bird nods. “No problem. Let’s wind him up first. Have a bit of fun.”

Errol nods. “Yeah, my man’s taken care of the guards. He says we got ten minutes, so let’s make the most of it.”

They stand and head towards the poor wretch, smiles beaming across their faces.

Leo Verdi is a small, thin, bespectacled Italian Jew. He has tightly curled grey hair under his skullcap with a shirt and tie neatly worn under his prison issue. All these things make him stand out in this institution: a man who likes to keep up respectable appearance even while in prison.

Leo looks over his leather-bound book as the two thugs approach him. Aware of his impending fate his only thought is,
do not resort to begging and cowering when the time comes.
All he has left is his dignity. He should have known that the Djinn would get to him, even in here, but he had put his faith in Chamuel; the Arc Hon had said he would be safe in here. As a respected accountant and an upstanding member of the Jewish society he had brought disgrace on his family by stealing from a jeweller and assaulting a cop, all to be put in here to avoid certain death and yet here he was, facing certain death.

Over the last few years Leo’s values have changed considerably. His eyes have been opened to a world of lies. He still remembers his resistance to the truth as the veil was removed. He wonders if, given the choice, he would return to ignorance. He knows the answer but to be honest it is irrelevant now, in a couple of minutes these two unsavoury looking characters are likely to cave his head in, ending any chance of him revealing the truth to others.

Any hope of rescue is pointless; the Djinn will have all bases covered. The guards will have been taken care of and the only other witnesses are the criminal underworld’s incarcerated brethren.

He begins to mumble to himself, “Don’t cower and do not beg.”

“What yaw saying old man?” asks Errol with his exaggerated Jamaican accent. “Did you just call me a nigger?”

Leo does not respond as he stares into his book. He thinks back to the first day he met Simeon, the man (or whatever he was) who opened his eyes. He had not asked to have his eyes opened. No, in fact he was very happy walking around with them fully shut. What has anyone gained from this knowledge he was now privy too? Ever since he found out about the secret of the Djinn he had been hiding out, trying to avoid an untimely demise. Simeon told him that he had picked him for a reason, that it was his job to pass the information on to another, one who would become a great leader.

“You will know him when you see the beautiful woman on his arm,” Simeon had assured him.

Leo had no idea what this meant. Plenty of men have beautiful ladies hanging onto their arms but he was pretty sure that he was not going to see any women in this place, on anyone’s arms or otherwise. If there was one thing he has learned it is that everything is planned, right down to his imminent violent death.

“I said, what did you say old man?” Errol leaned over the desk and put his face right up to Leo’s.

Bird stood behind him, holding a garrotte made from torn and twisted drinks cans. Errol upped the volume as he screamed into Leo’s face.

“You’re the fucking kiddie fiddler, aren’t yaw? You de one that like fucking likkle boys, am I right?”

Leo is aware this disgusting jibe was just a way of goading him; however, it is also the worst possible insult to aim at a Jewish elder who has four beautiful grandchildren. A shadow falls across his face and anger builds up inside of him as he reflects that he will probably never see them again.

“You repulse me,” says Leo, his voice shaking.

Errol looks impressed. He turns to Bird. “We got a brave blood clot here.”

Bird laughs and becomes a little hysterical as he hears Errol cough up thick green phlegm from the back of his throat. He turns to Leo and spits, splattering it into his face. When the old guy attempts to reach for a handkerchief Errol restrains both his hands, leaving him powerless to stop the disgusting liquid running across his lips. Bird is now doubling over in cruel guttural laughter.

Errol continues his taunts. “What’s wrong, yaw not like it? It not feels like the likkle boys jizz on yaw filthy Jewish face?”

A sudden loud thud distracts Errol and he turns around to look at Bird, but instead sees Shane standing in his place. Errol releases Leo’s hands. He looks down and sees Bird, the six-foot-eleven, twenty-six-stone career bully lying at this new guy’s feet, the spittle bubbling from his lips the only indicator that he is alive.

“What the fu…”              

Errol doesn’t finish his sentence as Shane Mills smashes his fist into his face. The end of the teaspoon Shane holds in his fist splits Errol’s cheekbone near in half, the force and pain causing him to collapse to the floor. Shane then leaps behind Errol, placing his forearm under his chin compounding the pain. He squeezes hard enough to limit the air supply, being careful not to cut off his blood supply, thus rendering Errol unconscious but not dead. Leo watches in awe as this athletic-looking warrior saves his life. The elation of being saved, however, cannot distract Leo from staring at the tattoo on his saviour’s arm – a beautiful woman and not just any beautiful woman. As a scribe to the Rabbi when he was a child Leo was fascinated by angels, so he recognises the tattoo of a woman holding a bow and arrow as Amitiel, the Angel of Truth.

Frankfurt, 1744

“I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone.”

Rainer Maria Rilke

The tall, distinguished figure of Isaac looked for the house of Moses the money-lender in the Jewish ghetto of Frankfurt. The town was quiet on this cold winter’s night. His search ended when he saw the sign bearing a red shield above a shop door.
Finally,
he thought
, this is the shop I’ve been looking for
. Isaac knocked upon the well-constructed heavy wooden door.