The Rack & Cue Read online

  “Damn right I will. They killed my boys,” Diesel said.

  Iain nodded, and then grabbed the biker by his legs. Heaving him upwards allowed the man to slip one shoulder free – “Keep me like that!” he said. “Don’t fucking let go, or this hook will rip out my shoulder.”

  “I’m not going to let go…”

  A thunderous crash filled the room, causing Iain to falter. Diesel slipped in his grip. The hook pulled at a bone it was lodged under.

  “Arrgghh! Fucking Jesus, dude. Be fucking careful!”

  “What’s that noise?!” Iain said, as the sound continued to crash and fill their space. Over to Iain’s right, he noticed a chute – the noise was coming from within it.

  “There,” he told Diesel. “It’s coming from that pipe.”

  “Hurry up and get me down. I’m no use to you stuck up here!”

  Rushing, Iain grabbed the man’s legs tighter, and then lifted. In a last ditch effort, Diesel slipped his other shoulder free, aided by his loose arm. He pulled and tugged as he tried to get the thing from under the bone in his shoulder.

  He cried in agony as it ripped from his flesh, taking with it a chunk of skin. He flopped over Iain’s shoulder, who then placed him gently on the floor. “We need to get out of here,” Iain said, as the noise came to its crescendo.

  The chute spat Danny into the room. He hit the floor at an awkward angle. He was bloody and torn, and looked dead to Iain, who rushed over to him. He was holding a revolver.

  “Danny? Danny!” Iain called, as he got to his hands and knees. “Danny?!” the man didn’t answer, forcing Iain to put a finger to the man’s neck. He felt for a pulse. Claw marks graced his neck and chest – he’d literally been torn to ribbons.

  “Is he dead?!” Diesel wanted to know.

  “It looks like it. I can’t seem to find a pulse.”

  “I guess he won’t be taking me in after all!”

  “What?” Iain asked.

  “He’s a copper. He’s been on my tail for the past forty-eight hours. Danny was trying to catch me in an illegal act.”

  “For fuck sake,” Iain said, going for the gun in the dead man’s hand. But, before he could dislodge it, Baby dropped out of the chute and backhanded Iain off his feet.

  Chapter 19

  Grace and Rigs shook hands. “The best of luck,” he told her.

  “It’s you who needs the luck, matey!” she teased.

  “The best of luck to both of you,” Porky said with a mile-wide smile on his face.

  “Cheers,” Rigs said.

  Grace smiled a thin smile.

  “Would you like to call?” Rigs asked her.

  “Tails,” she blurted, giving Rigs a sly wink.

  “Heads it is,” Porky said. “Rigs?”

  “I’ll split them,” he said, giving the white ball a slam. It hurtled down the table and ploughed through the pack before it, sending stripes and solids all around the table. Nothing potted.

  “Oh well, you win some, you lose some,” he said.

  “Grace. Your shot,” Porky said.

  Taking to the table, she nominated stripes. Bagging four on the bounce, she missed a tricky fifth, but sent the white reasonably safe. Or so she’d thought.

  “Not bad,” Rigs said, chuckling.

  “Not bad?! That was brilliant stuff,” she said.

  “Yeah, for a novice,” Rigs messed with her, before going off on a six ball potting spree. His seventh clipped a knuckle and tucked itself behind the black ball.

  “Pft, and what do you call that?” she asked. “Crap, that’s what I’d call it!”

  “Cheeky so-and-so,” he said, chalking his cue, before taking a drink of his pint.

  Then she became all serious. She took care of her fifth and sixth ball, before missing again. Just like Rigs, she clipped a knuckle.

  His breath caught in his throat as he saw the winnings slip from his grasp. If it hadn’t been for her rushing the shot, Rigs thought, she’d be on the 8-ball.

  He took his time. Thought about what he was going to do. Snooker was looking like his best option. Tapping the ball as lightly as he could, Rigs nestled the white behind his ball and the black.

  “Figure that one out, Poirot!” Rigs said, sniggering.

  “You dirty… how the hell. You little shit!” she told him.

  Rigs said nothing, just grinned, and then stifled a “Yes,” when she completely missed her ball.

  “Two shots to Rigs,” Porky announced.

  The trucker wasted no time in tapping apart his ball and the black. With his second shot, he took out his remaining solid. The 8-ball was pushed close to the bottom pocket, and looked set to go in.

  “No!” Grace moaned, as the ball stopped just short of the bag, making it an easy pot for Rigs to seal the win. “Get. Fucking. In. There!” he whooped, then thumped the table with a closed hand.

  “Tournament winner. Rigs!” Porky called. “Well played, sir,” he congratulated, and then stuck his hand out for Rigs to shake.

  “Thanks,” he said, taking the offered hand.

  “Well played, Rigs,” Grace said. “Guess I’ll be off now.”

  “You still want that lift in the morning?” he asked.

  “Of course. And the offer for the Whitesnake ticket still stands.”

  “I’d very much like that,” he told her, and gave her his best smile.

  “Good. When you get done here, maybe we can have a few quiet drinks in the lounge before we head to our beds?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Rigs said.

  “Great. See you later.”

  He felt sad watching her leave. He wanted to go with her. Man the fuck up, he thought. Grow a pair, for Christ’s sake. You’ll see her in about thirty minute’s time.

  “Rigs?” Porky called, breaking the trucker’s chain of thought.

  “Hmm, yes?!”

  “Would you like to get yourself a drink? Maybe use the loo? I’ll go and let The Champ know his opponent is ready for him.”

  “I’m okay for booze. But I’ll use the loo.”

  “Great. See you back here in five. We’ll get things started straightaway.”

  Rigs nodded. “Sweet. The sooner I win, the better!” he said, giving Porky’s shoulder a slap with an open hand, and then chuckled.

  Porky smiled, turned, and then left. “I’ll be right back, Rigs.” Once out of earshot, he muttered under his breath. “Pity you won’t get chance to see the money, let alone spend it,” he spat.

  Chapter 20

  Iain ran at her low – rugby-tackle-style. She took the impact of his shoulder blow and kneed him in the guts. She then chopped the back of his neck and threw him to one side like a rag doll.

  Turning on Diesel, she dragged him from the floor by his hair. She then slammed his face repeatedly against a wall, before spinning him around and digging her thumbs into his wounds.

  He screamed as she twisted her digits and licked her lips. From behind, Iain smashed a chair over her back. This was enough to get her to release her grip on the biker, who collapsed to the floor. He held his throbbing nose, which streamed blood and snot. “You fucking bitch!” he yelled, drawing a blade from his boot. The steel measured a good eight inches, with a shaft made from fine bone.

  Diesel ran at the big bitch and slashed his knife down her back. He cut through her PVC suit – the serrated blade stripped skin. Blood splashed across his face. She did little other than flinch at the attack.

  Before he could get another stab or slash in, she punched him in the throat, causing him to collapse to ground. He hit the dirt like a sack of spuds and rolled about the place holding himself.

  Whilst she was distracted, Iain placed his arms around her in a hug. He drew her close to his chest, and then picked her up in a bear-hug. He squeezed as hard as he could. His biceps strained against his top and the veins in his neck protruded as he took on the role of Boa Constrictor.

  But again, she seemed little put out by the attack. She moaned and groan
ed as he applied more and more pressure. She allowed herself to be manhandled.

  Was she getting off on this?

  Once bored, she flung her head back, connecting her skull with Iain’s face once, twice, three times, before he was forced to let her go. “Jesus!” Iain shouted, more annoyed with himself than injured.

  Taking a few deep breaths, she noticed Diesel staggering around on all fours. She decided to hit him in the jaw with a solid kick. This was enough to cause him to blackout, but again gave Iain chance to regroup and go at her turned back once again.

  He punched her rapidly and repeatedly in her kidneys. “You bitch!” he screamed as he brutally attacked her lower back. “Fuck you!”

  Finally, this was enough to get her to drop to one knee. Not wanting to let his advantage slip, Iain punched her as hard as he could in her temple, causing her to slump to the floor in an unconscious state.

  “Thank God for that,” Iain gasped. He stepped over to Diesel who was coming around. “You okay, man?” he asked the fallen biker.

  “I’ve felt better,” he said.

  Iain put a hand out for the other man. “Take it,” he said.

  Clasping hands with the trucker, Diesel was pulled to his feet. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  “What do we do with her?”

  “Tie the bitch up,” Iain said.

  “It’s a woman?!” Diesel exclaimed.

  “Yes. I got a face full of her fucking tits. I’m pretty sure she was getting off on being beaten, too,” Iain said, looking down at her.

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah. We need to warn the others. Fast.”

  “What about tying her up first?” Diesel asked.

  “I have to warn Rigs. You tie her up,” he said.

  “Okay,” Diesel said.

  They were both distracted when the door to the cellar opened.

  “Shit, another one of them,” Diesel said, going for the gun on the floor.

  Iain went for the biker’s knife, which was on the ground to his left.

  Diesel thumbed the hammer of the gun back and was about to fire.

  “No!” Iain yelled. “Don’t shoot – It’s Grace!”

  She yelled, and then cowered into a ball. “Arrghh?!” she cried, finally seeing the carnage about her.

  “Christ, I could have killed you!” Diesel said.

  “These sick bastards have been taking people’s money, and then killing them,” Iain told her. “I’m afraid Mandy’s…”

  “What?” No!”

  “He’s right,” Diesel said. “It looks like these sickos have been up to this for a very long time.

  Grace got to her feet, tears running down her eyes. She spotted the head of her friend. “It can’t be,” she blubbered. “It just can’t be.”

  “Look, we have to warn Rigs,” Iain said.

  “We need to get the hell out of here!” Diesel protested.

  “I’m not going anywhere without my mate,” Iain said, turning to face the biker. “Look out!”

  Turning, Diesel came face-to-face with Baby, who clamped her hands around his throat and squeezed. He had enough time to place the muzzle of the gun to her guts and pump every single bullet into her. Each and every slug exited her back and drilled into the wall behind her.

  She lethargically let her grip go on the biker, and then staggered around the room. Iain didn’t take any chances. He walked right up to her, and ran his blade across her throat.

  Rigs walked around the room.

  Really drank it in for the first time.

  He hadn’t noticed the photos on the wall before. Most of them were black-and-white – family photos, he presumed. Somewhere pictures of the pub in various stages of development throughout different decades and eras. Then one in particular caught his eye.

  He bent a little closer.

  Squinting, he noticed that it was dated 1931. The Rack and Cue seemed to be open – a new roof adorned it. In the picture before, the roof was different. It was thatched. Here, it had slate. The name was also different, just like Porky had told them earlier.

  Rigs walked a few photos along.

  The same person turned up time and again after the 1930-40s photos. It looked to be a Boa gang member. Is this why Porky has been so standoffish with the motorcycle crew? Who is this man?

  Why does Porky have his arm around this man if he hates that gang so much? And why would a Boa member be so far from home? Do they have a chapter in these parts, too? I don’t get it, Rigs thought. He shook his head and moved on to the next photo.

  Again, there he was, marked in a photo labelled as ‘family shot’. But one of the other men is missing. Maybe dead? Possible. Could that be Porky’s brother?

  Where is Porky?

  I want to get this game done and dusted.

  It’s going on for midnight, for God sake.

  Taking hold of his pint, he gulped some of it down. He was starting to feel heady. I’ll be lucky to pot anything, if I carry on, he thought. “This is definitely my last,” Rigs said aloud. “I could do with a few more of those Porky Pies right about now,” he continued, then burped a watery burp, which leapt up his throat and burned. “Ugh!”

  The door to his back creaked open and in walked Porky, all smiles and dimples. “Well, I hope you’re ready for your final challenge?” he asked.

  Forever clichéd, Rigs answered – “I was born ready!”

  Porky chuckled, “That’s good. We do love optimists at The Rack and Cue.”

  “Well, where is he?” Rigs asked – he was aflame. He wanted to meet this guy. Wanted to get it on for the 2k in notes. Who wouldn’t be ready to go toe-to-toe for that kind of cash?

  “Here he is. Rigs, I’d like you to meet your final opponent. The Champ,” Porky said, and did a little bow of sorts as the nerdiest, geekiest, spottiest teenager Rigs had ever had the misfortune to lay his peepers upon, walked in. He was gangly and walked with awkwardness. He was coy, too, as the ‘child’ was too much of a wimp to shake Rigs’ big, battered, bruised and scuffed hand.

  “The best of luck,” Rigs said, as he watched the boy push his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  “You…you…too,” he spoke.

  Rigs thought the boy’s spine was going to snap under the effort of uttering a single word.

  From here on in, Rigs would name this geeky twat Action-Man – because neither of them have a set of balls. Rigs half expected this nerd to come prancing in wearing a Superman cape. Or give him the Vulcan sign for welcome. But he didn’t.

  Rigs smiled. What a nerd.

  “Something amusing?” Porky asked.

  “No, I just think I’m going to steamroll your Champ into the baize, Porky.”

  “Oh-ho-ho, many have thought that.”

  “I’m sure they have,” Rigs quipped.

  “Now, The Champ gets to call the coin as it’s his turf. And, after all, he is The Champ,” Porky giggled. The way in which his jowls wobbled and his cheeks rouged, reminded Rigs of a portly clown.

  “Fine by me,” Rigs said, “Just as long as you’re not using a double-headed coin,” he quipped.

  The fat man let out a roaring laugh, “Of course not, lad – I must make a note of that. I’ll get one made!”

  Something about Porky had changed. His demure was different somehow. It was eerie. As though the man was nervous about something.

  “H…h…heads,” The Champ hushed out.

  “Heads it is,” Porky said.

  “I’ll break,” squeaked the boy.

  “You do that,” Rigs said. He watched in amazement. He’d never seen a break off like it – six balls were potted. Five solids and one stripe. “What the hell?!”

  “I did warn you,” Porky said, who’d shuffled closer to the door leading back out to the main bar.

  The Champ wasted no time in clearing the rest of his balls along with the black in an explosive win. The game was done and dusted in less than four minutes.

  “I…” Rigs d
idn’t know what to say. He was bamboozled.

  He stood there scratching his head, wondering what had just happened, as Porky slipped out the door.

  A crack of gunfire erupted in the room, just as The Champ came around the table to shake Rigs’ hand. The boy was hit square in the chest. His body was propelled backwards, as blood spurted from his mouth. He landed on the pool table with a hard crack.

  “Noooooooo!” Porky screamed, as he ran back into the room. “What have you done?!” he yelled, raising a double-barrelled shotgun, which he kept behind the bar. He thumbed back both hammers in readiness to fire.

  “Drop it!” Diesel yelled. “Drop it you piece of fucking shit or I drop you!”

  “Whoa, whoa!” Rigs tried to calm everyone. “What’s happening?!”

  “Ask this fucking maniac,” Iain said. “His family are a bunch of murdering, ransacking lunatics.” His jaw tensing as he spoke.

  “What?!” Rigs said. “Don’t be silly?!”

  “He’s telling the truth,” Grace chirped in.

  “He’s got a cellar full of bodies down there. Organs and God knows what else are stored in jars and other containers. Probably being pickled to be eaten at a later date,” Iain said.

  “Fucking cannibals,” Diesel backed Iain.

  “What? Are you two best friends…” Rigs started, a smile creeping on his face.

  “For fuck sake, man,” Iain said. “Mandy’s dead. They cut her head off. It’s down there,” Iain pointed behind him. “So is everyone else. Cut into tiny sections. Bits of them everywhere!”

  “Porky, is this right?” Rigs asked.

  “Why did you kill my boy? He was so young,” Porky said, looking over at the youth, who was spread-eagle on the table, the green baize now a dark red.

  “You reap what you sow, dickhead!” Diesel said.

  “Is it true?!” Rigs demanded.

  “We don’t eat them.” Porky corrected. “We sell the body parts. Make money out of it.”

  “You fucking…” Diesel started, but was too enraged to finish his sentence.