15.3

Squeaky’s sleek black limo passed through half a dozen boroughs, which looked almost identical to the first they’d been through, only without the protesting workers. The ration centres weren’t giving out supplies either, though they were still heavily guarded.

They were roughly in the centre of the city, although it seemed they’d been round the houses to get here.

Like the Freelands, it seemed designed to disorient and confuse anyone trying to find it.

Davey saw what looked like the first rations centre they’d seen, only a couple of dozen times bigger.

‘That’s where the trucks come in, then they spread out from here to the banquet halls,’ Squeaky said.

‘Banquet halls?’ Solomon said, incredulous.

‘Yeah, the mayor sees that everyone that earns it gets three banquets a day. Boy, he sure is good to us.’

Solomon raised his eyebrows to Davey.

‘Anyway, where do the trucks come from?’ Solomon said.

Predictably, Squeaky dodged the question. ‘You should see the amount of lorries coming and going from here. Hoo, it’s something to see alright.’

Solomon and Davey craned their necks to see what was going on.

They couldn’t see due to the walls and the reams and reams of razor wire that surrounded the building.

A big lorry shot past them, perilously close.

Squeaky cursed as they almost took his wing mirror off.

‘Watch where ya going, ya fucking prick,’ he bellowed, jamming on the horn and flipping a middle finger at the driver.

He regained control of the steering wheel a second later.

His composure returned just as quickly.

They looked on and saw high concrete walls, with wrought iron gates punctuating them. Everything was a bleak, joyless gun metal grey.

They saw a lorry waiting at the gates.

A cullsman scanned every conceivable angle before opening the gate and letting the truck through.

He locked the gate behind it.

Another cullsman let it into the next alleyway.

It was only just narrow enough to admit the lorry.

‘Gotta keep the lorries safe,’ Squeaky said. ‘After those pricks tried to knock one off a few years back.’

‘They should feed them more then, shouldn’t they?’ Solomon said.

Squeaky shook his head. ‘They’re doing well out of all of this. They’re lucky to be alive, trust me.’

Around the central food hub were a few other buildings which looked different.

‘I take it this is the heart of the operation,’ Solomon said.

Squeaky nodded but didn’t elaborate.

A huge, multi-windowed factory took a good few minutes to drive past.

Unlike the rest of the buildings, it looked like it had had money invested in its upkeep.

The walls and windows were gleaming, in spite of the thick black smog billowing from the stacks in its centre.

The lights actually seemed sufficient to illuminate it, unlike the other buildings around it which only seemed partially lit.

Like the food hub, it was hidden away behind layers of protective razor wire.

Armed cullsmen stood around every twenty feet of the perimeter.

Guard towers were mounted on the roof and every wall.

‘What’s in there that’s so important?’ Solomon said.

‘Cull crews got diverted onto here, security detail,’ Squeaky said. ‘Some of them were happy about it; I mean it’s an easy night’s work. Would you try to break in there with all those cull crews guarding it? Some twisted their faces. Banged their gums, said it was boring. They just liked killing people. I get that. It’s rare I get to see any claret these days. But ya gotta do what ya gotta do, right?’

Solomon couldn’t help but notice his question hadn’t been answered.

‘Digicull Ltd,’ the sign on the perimeter fence read. ‘Any unauthorised persons will be shot on sight.’

‘What’s Digicull mean?’ Solomon said.

Squeaky smiled a knowing grin. ‘Me to know, you to wonder, my friend. Even if I could kill ya I still couldn’t tell ya.’

‘It’s true then,’ Papa Grim muttered.

Solomon and Davey looked at him, but he was silenced by a wave of the gun in his face.

‘Lot of shit goes on in the city that even the workers don’t know about,’ Squeaky smiled. ‘Some of it you couldn’t even imagine.’

As they turned the corner, they saw the next side of the Digicull factory. On this side was a gate, seemingly where the workers came in.

It seemed to be where they took deliveries, since there were more cullsmen here and a narrow corridor in the fences.

A lorry was already inside, its brake lights illuminated in the distance.

Solomon squinted his eye to read the spray-painted legend on the side.

‘36 units,’ he muttered. ‘What the fuck’s that mean?’

Davey shook his head.

‘Trust me, you don’t want to know,’ Squeaky said. ‘And you couldn’t possibly imagine.’

They turned off, headed away from the Digicull factory.

A few other factories ringed it. Like the Digicull building they were gleaming and well-maintained.

IKB electronics.

JRB plastics.

Fox synthetics.

BFR medical supplies.

It baffled them.

In the centre of this part, totally at odds with the industrial buildings, was a large expanse of grassland. Davey estimated it to be about the length of five football fields. Unlike the grass outside the city’s vast walls, it was the healthy green that grass had been before.

At the far side of the grassland was a small river, leading into what looked like a walled reservoir.

There were water treatment plants.

Sewage plants.

Behind these, they saw a hospital, something they all thought had ceased to exist.

A row of shining vehicles were lined up in front of it.

Behind all of this was more residential housing, but it seemed better maintained, as though these were the really important workers. They noticed there were fences and walls with razor wire round these houses too.

It all seemed connected to the Digicull building.

A large group of people began to file down the steps of one of the tower blocks.

They all wore grey overalls, carried small tool bags on straps that hung from their slumped shoulders.

They wore blank expressions.

Just like my Dad, only better fed, Davey thought, looking closely at the slight guts some of the men had.

Sadness hit him like a slap on the cheek.

Solomon grabbed his shoulder, bid him not to show his distress.

But he felt a tear slide, unbidden, down his cheek.

He quickly gathered himself before he broke down.

The workers walked, two by two, across the grassland towards the factories.

‘Ah, there they go, God bless ’em,’ Squeaky smiled, saluting them. ‘The architects of our future.’

Solomon frowned.

Davey mirrored his gesture.

‘I take it they work at Digicull?’ Solomon said.

Squeaky said nothing, but his expression gave him away a little.

‘Poor bastards are getting earlier,’ Squeaky remarked. ‘They daren’t be late after what happened last week.’

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‘What happened last week?’ Davey said, feeling dread squirming like eels in his bones.

‘One man slept in. Missed the first two minutes of his shift. They let the whole team do their work, gave ’em a couple of hours more for good measure then took ’em all out the back and shot ’em.’

‘All of them?’ Solomon frowned.

Squeaky nodded. ‘Every ever-loving one. And that, my friends, is why you don’t keep Mayor Craven waiting.’

*

‘So where is the fat prick?’ Solomon said.

‘I understand you’re already acquainted,’ Squeaky said, a knowing smile on his face.

Solomon tried not to smile but couldn’t help it.

‘I heard he put you in the City of Dogs. And you managed to get out. Fair play. Maybe you were tough. Maybe you were lucky. More ’n likely a bit of both. But don’t matter how tough y’are, you’ll not see the sun come up again.’

‘I’m the reason his fat ass limps everywhere,’ Solomon said, smiling.

One of the cullsmen shoved the gun a little closer to his face.

‘You gonna use that fucking thing?’ Solomon scowled.

The cullsman didn’t say anything.

‘Either use it or get it the fuck outta my f—’ Solomon’s bellows of defiance gave way to a furious bout of coughing. He bent double with the force of the coughs.

Squeaky raised his left hand and pulled the cullsman’s gun arm down.

‘Leave it. The mayor would fucking string you up if he didn’t get to sort Solomon out himself. You know that.’

‘So where’s the fat bastard hiding out these days?’ Solomon said when he’d recovered from the bout of coughing.

‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ Squeaky said.

*

Squeaky’s car pulled into an area which was ringed with concrete walls and razor wire. There were more cullsmen here than anywhere else they’d seen.

Red laser sights danced around everywhere.

They went through the first of many checkpoints, Squeaky letting the cullsmen use a handheld device to scan a barcode that had been tattooed on his left forearm. Solomon looked at it in bemusement.

‘P.O.C.?’ he asked, reading the big block letters above the barcode. ‘What’s that mean?’

‘Property of the City,’ Squeaky said, beaming with pride.

‘You want to give your head a fucking shake, Squeaky lad. I’d have said you had more about you than to be one of Craven’s bootlickers.’

Squeaky said nothing.

The cullsmen let them in.

Every checkpoint was the same.

Security was tight around the Mayor.

He’d obviously learnt the lesson Solomon had taught him.

Solomon again wished he’d finished the Mayor when he had the chance.

But Tia had been worth so much more to him.

The checkpoints finally ended.

They were staggered around the perimeter in a zigzag formation, seemingly to avoid anyone trying to ram a vehicle through them.

It seemed they’d thought of every angle when it came to defending the mayor.

Cullsmen scanned Squeaky’s tattoo one last time.

‘The chief in the back says he’s brought King Solomon for Mayor Craven,’ Squeaky related for seemingly the hundredth time since they’d come to this central building.

The whole block was sealed off from the public and had its own Cull Crew building and fully-stocked food store.

‘So where’s Craven getting his food from?’ Solomon said.

Squeaky said nothing, just climbed out of the car.

‘They’ve been Geigered,’ he said, as the cullsmen at the base of the building produced the counters.

‘As you know Mayor Craven is insistent about such safety checks,’ Westlake said, smiling smugly.

‘Of course,’ Squeaky said, his tough guy persona melting seamlessly into boot-licking sycophant.

‘What happened to your spine?’ Solomon grinned at him.

Squeaky shot him a glare.

Papa Grim’s was even more furious.

The cullsmen Geigered each of them.

They were all fine.

Except for Solomon and the girl, Keira, who was third in the group to be done.

They sent her to the back. Did her again, taking painstaking care.

Papa Grim watched, horror on his face as she failed the test a third time.

Squeaky grinned. ‘If I were you I’d look away,’ he said as a cullsmen stationed at one of the tower’s many windows raised his rifle and blew the girl a perfectly central third eye.

Blood and pulverised brain matter sprayed out of the back of her skull and she fell on her back, eyes staring up at the majesty of the building above her.

A cullsman in full biohazard gear dragged her bleeding body around the corner of the building.

‘I’m sure they could have just hosed her down again,’ Squeaky said. ‘But never mind.’

‘Aren’t you going to shoot Solomon?’ Papa Grim said. ‘He tested negative too.’

‘More than my life’s worth, my tattoo-faced chum,’ Squeaky said. ‘Mayor Craven wants to see the light leave Solomon’s eyes personally.’

‘Iiinteresting,’ Papa Grim beamed.

The cullsman buzzed them in and they began to file towards the entrance of the huge, ornate tower block.

Solomon shook his head in disbelief when he saw the twisted shapes of bodies cemented onto the walls of the building like gargoyles.

There were men, women and children mounted there, preserved for all to see.

Westlake raised a hand. ‘Wait. Mayor Craven is otherwise engaged. He says to secure them in the Cull Crew building for the time being.’

‘Hoo hoo,’ Squeaky laughed. ‘He with Beatrice again? The jammy sod.’

Westlake glared at him.

‘Sorry, just that’s the third time this week.’

‘Mayor Craven’s private activities are nobody’s concern but his,’ Westlake said.

‘Sorry, Ivan.’

Westlake nodded. ‘We will return when Mayor Craven is ready.’

*

They were roughly manhandled into the holding cell.

There would comfortably be room for maybe three people, but as it was they were crammed in.

‘The next time you see me will be the beginning of the end for you, King Solomon,’ Squeaky grinned. ‘I gotta say, I’m disappointed. The stories made me expect more.’

Solomon shrugged. ‘Tell the fat man I said hello.’

‘You can tell him yourself,’ Westlake said. ‘He’s on the phone.’

Westlake held his phone up so Solomon could see.

The Mayor was panting hard as his face appeared on the video call.

‘Do my eyes deceive me? Or is this really the infamous Solomon King?’ the Mayor said when he’d finally got his breath back.

‘Yeah, it’s me, fat ass, don’t ya recognise me?’ Solomon beamed. ‘How’s that leg of yours?’

Craven scowled at him. ‘And who brought this sack of shit to me?’

‘That would be us,’ Papa Grim said.

Westlake turned the phone to face Papa Grim.

Craven’s piggy little eyes scoured his face. ‘Is it bloody Hallowe’en or something?’

Solomon cracked up, slapping his hand into his leg. ‘Hallowe’en or something?’ he hooted. ‘Fucking classic.’

Craven again eyed Solomon. ‘Solomon, will you shut that ignorant bloody mouth of yours? I’ll deal with you in a moment.’

Papa Grim smiled at Craven. ‘Yes, I brought him in.’

‘And I presume you are in search of some sort of reward?’

‘If that’s not too much trouble, Mayor Craven, Sir.’

Craven turned away, clacking his tongue, drumming his fingers on the head of his cane. Again his rings made little metallic tinkling sounds.

‘If you are hungry, my men will take you to the banquet hall where you shall be given more food than you have ever seen in your bloody lives. If you have other needs, I have women who can help with that sort of thing. If you are in need of somewhere to stay, I can provide it for you.’

‘The women are tempting,’ Papa Grim smiled. ‘But the food is even more so.’

‘I’m not surprised. They eat each other out there.’

Papa Grim glared at King Solomon.

‘I did what I had to,’ King Solomon said, unrepentant.

‘So be it.’ Craven clicked his fingers. ‘Squeaky, take our new friends to the nearest banquet hall. Spare no expense. Throw in a visit to the pleasure centre afterwards.’

Squeaky nodded.

Papa Grim looked over at King Solomon, smiled at him smugly. ‘So long, King Solomon,’ he beamed.

‘Goodbye. I hope you one day find the person skilled enough to fix that fucking atrocious tattoo.’

Papa Grim reared back and spat in the King’s face. ‘That’s for all the poor bastards you ate. But especially for Nancy.’

Solomon cocked his head to the side. Shrugged. ‘What can I say? She was delicious.’

Papa Grim slugged Solomon hard in the face. Solomon swung back but Papa Grim blocked it.

Solomon grabbed him in a bearhug and began to pull him around.

The cullsmen watched, entertained for a minute or so. They’d heard about King Solomon and were eager to see him in action.

They were disappointed when Solomon merely rag-dolled Papa Grim around a little and flung him back against the bars.

‘Enough, enough,’ Westlake said. ‘We’ve got a schedule to keep.’

The cullsmen unlocked the cell and allowed Papa Grim out.

Papa Grim walked out without a backwards glance.

His gang followed him, each taking the time to spit and hurl abuse at the king.

Davey remained in the cell with the king.

‘You are free to go, young man,’ the Mayor said.

Davey shook his head. ‘I stay with him.’

‘Young man, Solomon King is an enemy of mine. Surely you must know what happens to enemies of the city.’

Davey looked him up and down.

Before he could open his mouth, Solomon had pulled him in close.

‘Get the fuck outta here, Davey lad. You don’t want to see this.’

‘There’s no way I’m leaving you.’

‘You have to. You need to trust me. This is for the best. It’s time to take my medicine.’

‘No,’ Davey said. ‘I’m not fucking leaving you.’

*

As the doors came open, letting Papa Grim, Scout and Frankie out into the cool night air, Squeaky smiled a cruel grin.

He drew it back when Papa Grim turned to look at him.

‘If you gents want to get back in the car I’ll take you to the banquet hall,’ he grinned.

Papa Grim’s grin dwarfed Squeaky’s.

Squeaky held the door open for them, ushering Papa Grim inside.

‘Not far from here, gents,’ he beamed. ‘They have all your favourites there… chicken curry, lasagne. They even have pizza.’

The three bikers grinned, practically salivating at the thought of some real food.

‘Mayor Craven brought all the good chefs here,’ Squeaky said as Scout’s backside hit the plush leather of the car seat.

Squeaky wound the window down slightly with a deft flick of his thumb.

‘Aw boy, are you gents in for a treat.’

Frankie, the third and final member of Papa Grim’s biker gang, got into the car. Squeaky gently shut the door behind him.

‘The food there’s divine,’ Squeaky beamed.

He pressed the button on his key fob, locking the doors from the outside.

‘Personally I’d say… it’s to die for.’

He pulled a handgun from a holster underneath his suit jacket.

Realisation hit Papa Grim hard.

His hand reached for the inside pocket of his skin jacket where he had hidden his beloved cutthroat razor, but it was not there to be found.

He had time to ponder where it had gone before the bullet hit him in the forehead and sprayed his brains all over the windows and his two companions.

Frankie frantically tried the door handle, but it was to no avail.

Squeaky took his time lining up his shot – after all, bullets were a form of currency too, and it would be taken from his rations if he wasted a shot – and blew out the back of Frankie’s skull.

He slumped onto Papa Grim, the two men’s blood coursing over the gleaming black leather seats.

Scout was trying to climb out through the window, but Squeaky had left just enough room for the gun barrel. There was no room for a body.

Scout’s head erupted a split-second after Squeaky’s third squeeze of the trigger.

Blood hit him in the face, warm and sticky.

‘Damn, gonna need another goddamned shower,’ he drawled, before slapping a hairy hand on the car roof twice and shouting, ‘Take em away, Sir.’

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