Sons, Screams, and A&E
Anyone recognise the title?
Yeah it's got nothing to do with the TV program. I'm just watching too much day-time TV when I should be doing work...
Ah well.
Seems I'm putting up this solely for Steinbock at the moment it seems.
Come on guys I know you're all busy Christmas shopping and all that, but come on. Give us a shout please?
CHAPTER 2 - Sons, Screams and A&E
Soon the remaining Fowls were back in the rear of the car, sheltering from the cold, while the remaining Butler stood outside in it, jacket back on now, his eyes flitting to the shadows with their usual suspicious sharpness.
The fireworks had ended, probably because the police had popped round to remind the party-throwers of the firework curfew they had just broken and the fine they'd be receiving because of it. Not that Butler was in a position to be disapproving of those on the wrong side of the law. Not that he minded being in that position either. Laws were often just daft rules put in place to keep everyday civilians in check and hinder everyone else's business, in his opinion. Although, those whose dealings laws did mess with, were often not to be messed with themselves. A reputation Mr. Fowl boasted these days, despite his wife's disapproval.
Butler kept an eye on the street. It was empty. Not even a group of chavs on the corner to break the quiet. Shadows loomed around the bases of the buildings like long, trailing cloaks. He scowled into them, trying to put a name to any of the rough outlines he could see.
He could have sworn he had just seen someone.
But it was late, and he was probably just tired.
Never ignore suspicions, the voice in his head told him.
And don't get obsessed by them either.
Still, when a noxiously yellow cab drew up, Butler found himself sighing with relief.
"Mrs. Fowl? The taxi has arrived," Butler spoke over his shoulder into the dimness of the car. Not turning his back on the suspicious shadows, he opened the car door and kept his wide frame between his charges and the darkness. The elegant woman rose sleepily and shook Artemis into a more secure state of consciousness.
Butler double-checked their surroundings. His senses were tingling. The soldier sixth ones. The ones that were never wrong.
Something was about to happen. A not very good thing either, if he was right.
There, by the almost overflowing skip. A shadow moved in a way that shadows don't. At least not unless someone was casting them.
"Could you get in the taxi now, please," Butler's tone was a little too sharp for Angeline's liking.
"Do you mind?" she said, shocked, gathering up both her son and her dress and stepping out into the chilly night air.
"Sorry, m'am," Butler muttered, rather quickly guiding her and his charge towards the waiting cab and turning to face the shadows once more. There was a rustle of movement. And suddenly a brick flew through the air. Training that had been repeated so often it had become pure instinct stepped in and Butler towered over the Fowls, bundling them into the car. Roughly, but it certainly beat getting brained by a brick. He caught the missile on his shoulder. It bounced off as though made of rubber, sailing in an arc eventually landing on the windscreen of the taxi and thoroughly confirming that it wasn't simply a bouncy cuboid when the glass shattered with a bang.
Mrs Fowl screamed. And then everything happened at once.
A group of men ran forward, some wielding planks of wood, others knives. Butler closed the cab door on the Fowl's alarmed faces and settled into a defensive position, hand reaching towards his gun holster as the men circled. The group was probably just a gang of vandals out for a night of mugging, but you could never be too careful.
"Where's Fowl?" one asked, spitting onto the tarmac. Alright, perhaps not just the local layabouts then.
"Gone. He left." Butler told them, weighing up his options. It would be dangerous to use a gun with this many people as the opposition - despite being in such an open space. Even the best marksman could hit something they shouldn't in a dark street and he didn't particularly want anyone to die on his behalf today. At least not without good cause. However - seriously injured? Yeah why not? As long as it was one of them. It would have to be fists and knives in the event of a confrontation. Hopefully there wouldn't be any need for a bust up.
"Left where?"
Butler wasn't willing to give them any information that could put his uncle or the target of this group in danger.
"It doesn't matter. He's not here," Butler shifted his weight to his back foot.
"That's fine," The guy twirled a long knife in one hand. "Then we'll just take whoever is here."
"A woman and child? That's very macho of you," Butler muttered.
"His kid and wife..." the guy pondered aloud. "His son, right? And his woman? He'd pay for that. So we ransom them, and then get Fowl. That could work."
"Assuming I don't stop you."
"And how," the man laughed. "Are you going to do that? Who are you anyway, some rent a cop?"
Butler didn't speak. If the guy didn't recognise him, there wasn't much point threatening him with a name. Obviously not done his research. Obviously not a professional. Any half-sane underworld gangster would at least quiver at the sound of one Butler, let alone the two this guy was up against, even if he didn't know it yet. The Major or the guy, that is to say.
"Chill it, hot shot," an older gang member warned. "I think we just pulled a diamond."
"Nah, that was the other guy."
"We were warned there could be another one. Looks like him too."
"So what? You his son or summit?"
No answer, he was still trying to work out a way out of this.
"Go on then Mr. Tough-Nut Junior. What are you gonna do, eh?"
Butler tensed like a coiled spring. The guy looked nonchalant, but the twirling stopped and the knife looked less like a cheerleading baton and more like the deadly blade it was.
"Nothing? Fine then," the gang-member sneered, stepping forward. "I'll go first."
Then something else came into the mix. The taxi driver, to be precise.
"Hey! Which of you threw the brick? 'Cos you'll be paying for it - I'll see to that!"
"Shut him up," the leader droned, unthreatened by the slightly over-weight middle-aged man.
One of his, doubtlessly hired, street-thugs came up behind the unsuspecting driver and whacked him over the head with a piece of wood. Which, more fortunately for him than the other man, was exactly what Butler needed. Whilst the boss's head was turned, checking his orders were being obeyed, the Fowl bodyguard's fist shot out so fast the air whistled. The noise ended just as quickly, with a hollow thud, knocking the man unconscious immediately.
One down, five to go might have been bad odds for your average victim. But then again, Butler didn't consider himself as a victim.
After the obvious surprise had passed, someone thought it would be clever to hit their giant opponent over the head like the taxi man. Unfortunately for the not-so-bright spark, immediately after the blow made contact Butler grabbed the offending weapon and flung it, man attached, into the nearby skip. There was a second's pause before two more advanced with bats trying to batter the bodyguard into unconsciousness while the other two wielded knives. Butler wrestled one club from his opponent's grasp and turned the weapon on its original owner. The other narrowly missed the same treatment, dancing back with practiced grace.
So at least one had some martial arts training. Shouldn't be a problem.
Shouting shattered the icy silence of the night and a few curtains twitched in the hotel above. No-one came to help.
"You think you can stop us, diamond-boy?" an older one of the gang sneered.
Stop you? I could annihilate you. The well-buried gangster in Butler snorted. His visible self said nothing, preferring to put that famous diamond training into practice as he faked a lunge towards one of the men before turning the attack on the one who tried to take advantage of his unprotected back. There was a moment of mock-fencing between him and the other man with a bat before Butler abandoned that tactic and simply jabbed the man in the stomach and kneed him in the face when he bent double in pain.
That left the two knife-holders who had been attempting to get a stab in the whole time, perturbed by the flailing blows dealt by their colleague. With him out of the way they leapt forward. Butler used his wooden weapon to block the jabs easily, but quite unexpectedly, the older, and obviously more experienced, man hung back, waiting for his friend from the skip to rejoin the fray. Which he did so, for about five seconds, trying to attack from behind, but only managing to land a few light punches, before Butler managed to ensure he wouldn't be back again soon.
Another scream alerted Butler to the next problem. A previously unseen man, who had been using the Bentley as cover, was opening the taxi door on the other side. It slightly occurred to him how movie-style and clichéd the move was as the bodyguard slid over the bonnet. He hooked the man's collar and hauled him backwards. Grimy fingers clamped on Artemis's white ankle, dragging him out with them. Angeline pulled back and for a moment they were stuck in an insane game of tug-of-war. One of the men who had made his way round the vehicle slightly less slick movement, leapt up and hooked his club over Butler's head, using his weight to hang off his neck by it and strangle him.
"Kick him, Artemis!" Butler choked, unable to deal with the newest attacker without letting go of the main threat to his principal.
The terrified boy jerked his leg in desperation. By some miracle his loafered foot impacted with the man's nose, adrenaline making the usually helpless Artemis's kick hefty enough to break the cartilage. The guy let go in shock.
Butler pulled him away, spinning and shutting the cab door with the man hanging from his neck. He lunged backwards again and the hands on the wooden pole released with the sound of their owner hitting the car. Butler got a better grip on the broken nosed man and grabbed hold of the strangler. Now for something suspiciously like one of Juliet's favourite wrestling moves. Annoyingly, whilst he was slamming the two assailants back into the side of the car, the smartest one managed to duck under Butler's guard, slashing his stomach with a modified carving-knife. Although he'd achieved his goal, the attacker instantly regretted this move, as he ended up on the floor writhing in the pain of a, likely dislocated, knee-cap.
The final attack came from one of the pair who had somehow remained conscious after his collision with the taxi. He swept the dropped knife from the concrete and lunged forward with the bloodied blade which Butler caught as he aimed a stab. Pulling the assailant towards him with it, he quickly dispatched the man with a headbutt and finished it with a precautionary pressure point jab to keep him down.
In less than five minuets, the atmosphere had returned from chaotic to silent, but for the groans of the semi-conscious gang members and his own slightly ragged breathing.
Not relaxing, he quickly checked all the men were immobilised. The one with the booted knee groaned slightly as he stood over him but he was in no state to get up.
Ignoring the pain in his abdomen Butler bent and searched one of the unconscious's pockets. Finding a wallet but no information on who this gang was, he stood. There wasn't time for this. He span round, towering over the man he had left awake. Time for a little interrogation practice.
"Regretting underestimating me yet?" he asked.
To his credit, the man did try to keep up the facade of bravery.
"Who are you?" Butler growled. "And what did you want with the Fowls?"
"And why should I tell you?"
Butler shrugged, pressing a heel down firmly on the injured knee. The man swore quite colourfully, calling Butler quite a few things he'd been called before and even some he hadn't. Well, at least the guy was creative. He was however, also annoyingly professional. Butler knew there was little future in pressuring this particular gangster. "You gonna talk?"
More swearing with the general meaning of 'no thank-you'.
"Fair enough," Butler thudded the heel of his hand against the leader's temple and his eyes rolled back in his head. He straightened up, wincing at the pain from his slashed stomach. This situation was several kinds of not good. However, the wound did seem to be bleeding freely through the tear in his shirt, which at least meant it likely hadn't hit any organs. Butler pushed the idea to the part of his head he left clear for currently unimportant problems and swept a glance over the forms on the floor he found another quivering one.
Like he would one day with a certain elf in many years to come, the predator went for the weakest in the 'herd'.
He repeated the questions.
"I...I don't know. Honest!" The man was young. Barely more than a teenager. Butler took little pity. A little.
"Really?" he asked, taking a step forward. "Are you sure about that?"
"Yes! They only hired our gang for tonight to get this Fowl guy."
"Who's they?" Butler grabbed the man's collar, dragging him upright.
"I don't know, the boss wouldn't tell us! Please! I didn't mean to hurt anyone I only wanted the money!" Butler dropped him back on the concrete where he scooted backwards, terrified.
Butler believed the lad somewhat. Often, a random nearby mob would be lured with the promise of riches if they did as they were told for one night only. They were never usually told any of the details beyond who was the target. Well this was what happened when you sent a bunch of idiots to do a professional's job.
"I suggest you call an ambulance," he said darkly, and his interrogatee nodded frantically, searching his pockets for his mobile.
Butler made his way back to the taxi in quick strides. Now for the rest of his job. En route he hauled the out-cold taxi driver over one shoulder, opening the passenger side door and sliding him into seat as he checked the man's vitals.
Bending over hurt. A lot.
This, was definitely not good. Glancing down again and cursing himself for wearing his easier to move in, but less protective bullet proof vest.
Hmm, rather a lot of red their Dom, he brain informed him. Sitting down would probably be a bright one.
He decided not to look any harder for now.
"Are you alright?" he asked the back seat passengers as he buckled the seatbelt loosely over the man's torso. Mrs. Fowl screamed until she recognised his bloodied face. And then let out another cry of shock when she saw the state he was in.
"I think so," she gasped delicately. "But what happened to you?"
If Juliet had asked this, Butler might have been tempted to ask her if she'd been asleep for the last ten minuets as how else could she have missed the full-scale battle that had gone just the other side of the window. Instead, he controlled his rebellious sarcasm gene and assured Angeline that it was: "Just a few scratches."
"That is not a few scratches, Butler!" she shrieked.
"Admittedly, m'am."
"Admittedly? Butler you're shirt is soaked! Please tell me that's not all your blood?"
"Perhaps not all of it..." he wasn't exactly lying. Artemis sat staring in morbid fascination at the liquid covering his bodyguard's shirt. Obviously the majority of the rapidly spreading crimson stain was his own, although some of it was likely to have come from one or more of his victims. Talking of which, they needed to get away from here before the ambulance, and likely the police, that the only alert gang-member had called for arrived.
Concentrate. Use what's provided.
"Could you pass me that blanket please?"
His charge's mother dragged a car blanket off the parcel shelf with her weak arms and handed it over. Butler tied it as tightly as he could bear around his waist, then climbed into the driver's side. Taking a second to find the right lever, he pushed the seat back as far as it would go and started the, thankfully functional, engine.
"Where are we going?"
Butler almost rolled his eyes. Almost.
Luckily he didn't need to answer, Artemis did for him.
"Hospital, of course, Mother."
"Oh. Yes, of course. Is there anything I can do?" Angeline said nervously.
"Hold his wrist, please, and tell me if he stops breathing. His pulse should be about..."
"How do I count that?"
" Just tell me if the pulsing slows, OK? Hold here," Butler said, bending the cab driver's arm back awkwardly so she could hold it in manicured hands. She did so, wincing at his dirty palms.
"Like this?"
"Yes. And definitely tell me if it stops," he added grimly.
Artemis was quiet. Very unusual for him. Butler smiled what he hoped was a reassuring sort of grin at him, made slightly less so by the colour of his teeth from a bust lip, and yanked the car into first gear. They blasted off with a wheel-spin any racing driver would have been proud of. This particular driver was only thankful that this car actually moved.
Right that's the second one up.
This should be done and completely up by Christmas or at least by the end of 2010 so if you start reading it'll be like a Christmas present.
And if you don't celebrate Christmas? Then it's just an out-of-the-blue prezzy for you. Aint I nice?
Wanna be nice back? You know what to do to cheer me up, ey?
Wolfy
ooo
O