Despite instructions to the contrary, Joe sat Casper down on one of the two leather sofas that filled most of the large bay window. He took the nine-year-old through everything that had happened since the end of the work day when Finny, Casper and twenty-something other orphans vomited out from the castle-like doors of the ammunition factory and onto the street. Joe interrupted Casper’s narrative with questions. “Which way did she go?” “To the bookshop, it was Thursday an’ she always…” “Did anyone go with her? Was she alone?” “Yes ‘cos I thought it was Mostly-Horse for…” “Where was Finny the last time you saw her?” Casper looked up to the ceiling for that answer. “Um, heading for the cut to Milton Road.” Milton Road was the quickest route to Santa Fe Avenue where the bookshop was. “Was anyone following her?” Casper had been doing well up to now, Joe could scare grown men into giving up their grannies, but the questions were coming too fast. “Um, I… um… I don’t think so.” Joe backed off. The last thing he needed was for the kid to wet himself and ruin a very expensive Chesterfield. “It’s okay son, take your time.” Joe crossed to the antique globe that doubled as a drinks cabinet… more to disguise it from Anneka’s curious fingers than anything. After ‘the incident’ it was either that or a locked cabinet that Joe would invariably lose the key for. He returned with half a tumbler of Scottish thinking-juice. Casper looked up. “Nobody followed her.” “Good lad.” Joe sat down on the opposite twin of the Chesterfield Casper was desperately clutching the arm of. “So you went to Trent’s bookshop. How long after you last saw Finny was that?” Three fingers released their grip on the leather armrest to aid to Casper’s mental arithmetic. “About three hours.” “And she wasn’t there?” Casper shook his head. Joe was thoughtful for a moment. “How do you know?” “I looked. Mr Trent had his dinner.” Joe’s brain wondered what the shopkeeper’s dinner had to do with it, but only for a moment; Children’s brains were a law unto themselves as far as rational thought was concerned. “He let you look all over?” “Uhuh.” And with added nodding for emphasis. “Then you set off for here?” More nodding. “And that’s when you found Booger’s body?” “Yes.” “Where exactly? “Um, in the ally. Mr Trent an’ me were going to his garage cos…” “Where in the ally? Exactly.” Once again, the faint cracks in the ceiling revealed the answer. “It was just there, in the middle ‘cos Mr Trent tripped over it.” “With a hammer sticking in the back of its head?” “Uhuh.” “You sure it was the back of the head?” “Uhuh, an’ Booger’s face was all in a pile of dog poo.” But Joe was thinking again. Attacked from behind, no attempt to hide the body. Hmmm. Casper held up a tentative hand in the way he did when The Reading Group was struggling under Joe’s tutelage. “Ummmm… Mr Trent said he would tell the Rozzers.” Joe smiled. ‘Rozzers’ was the term they used to call the British police when Joe had been Casper’s age. Just one of the Britishisms Joe had accidentally introduced since finding himself spat of a cloner in a strange and thoroughly apoccalated land. After the third run through but with the same questions phrased slightly differently and in different orders, Joe got to his feet. “Come on. I’ll get you fed and then I’ll take you back to Alcatraz.” Full of cold ham sandwiches, Casper was driven back to the orphanage, where he got to witness first hand the degree of control the gangster held over it. Admittedly it was only the duty staffer sitting at the desk behind the front door, but there were an awful lot of “Yes Mister Spivey” going on. Casper slid under his blanket doubting Joe would have had quite such an easy time of it with Miss Lilly. He closed his eyes on the events of the day. Morning would tell if he was actually in trouble or not. Orphan deposited, Joe got back into his car; he had a lot of things to do before he would be sliding under any blankets tonight. First of which was to have a ‘word’ with the NFPD down the road to see what they might have learned from Booger’s body. The policeman… Joe didn’t consider them real policemen. Basically, the NFPD was a gang that had been given the franchise by The Union to maintain law and order amongst the townspeople. On the whole they did a pretty good job but a Rozzer is a Rozzer all the same. Anyway, the Roz… sorry policeman at the desk when Joe walked through the front doors looked up at Joe and his face fell. Joe smiled at him… that didn’t help one bit. “Evening Joe… I’ll fetch,” he consulted the duty list. “… Kop.” Bugger, Joe thought. Officer Kopkage was a good copper. Unfortunately he was also straight as a die. Joe wasn’t going to get much out of him. The desk officer nodded towards a door. Joe sat down in the interview room and waited. It was standard practice to make people like Joe wait. Petty, but ‘people like Joe’ were slippery and so little things like making him wait were their only pleasure. Joe was just getting comfortable when the door unexpectedly opened and officer Kopkage came in carrying a folder. Joe sighed. It was going to be one of those nights. The twins were giving the pub landlord a hard time. He had immediately pulled out the little bag of protection money and, with a shaking hand, offered it to Silvanus. Silvanus looked down at it and then looked up again at the old man’s face; the wide eyes, the sweat-beaded upper lip and the up-down, up-down of the Adams apple under the turkey-skin of his saggy neck. “Scared? Old man?” The landlord blinked, then swallowed again. What was the right answer? Of course he was scared, he’d heard the stories. “Y...yes?” Silvanus’ face split into a huge grin. “Well good for you!” He leaned in closer. “You should be.” He snatched the bag out of the landlord’s hand and opened it, spilling the contents onto the bar. Using a finger to move the mix of blue and red poker chips into two separate piles, Silvanus began to count. “It… it’s all there.” There was a slow sound of metal across metal as Shelta drew one of her knives from its scabbard on her thigh. Silvanus’ twin sister then draped the knife over the landlords shoulder and put her head close to the man’s ear. “It better be.” Danior closed his eyes and swore under his breath. Their father had a lot to answer for, and Danior’s fists had certainly made him answer. But the fact remained that the twins were two seriously sick little fuckers. And Danior meant sick not just to describe the siblings love of sadistic torture, but sick as in clinically, mentally… broken. Moira had taken them both to doctors. Psychiatrists, psychologists anything with an ‘ist’ on the end in fact, and every one of them had given her the exact same diagnoses. Silvanus was a psychopath and his sister was a sociopath. Danior just listed them both as simply evil. He sighed. One day, one day soon Danior hoped, Moira would give him the nod once again Danior would deal with it. But for now... Danior stood up, drained his ale and wiped the froth from his face. “Pack it in you two. We’ve got more to do tonight. This is business, not fucking playtime.” The Finny Stories In chronological order: 000 Finny Intro 001 The Locket 002 Rats 003 A Christmas Finny 004 The Secret Adventurer’s Club 005 The Secret Adventurer’s Club: Second Adventure 006 Finny’s Birthday 007 Union Candy 008 Then There Were Three 009 Then There Were Four Again – Sort Of (WIP)