Quick AN: This chapter gets a little bit symbolism-heavy, or at least I meant it to. Apologies if it comes off as pretentious.

Chapter 5

The boss was less surprised this time when the message came through to his cell that there was another visitor. He figured that Sinclair had forgotten some aspect, like Pierce's phone number, or wanted to confirm that he had done it. He had to admit, he hadn't expected the old man to be so accommodating; most of the time, if someone paid you for a job then that was their end fulfilled. Sinclair wasn't like that, though; he was old school. He had honour.

What did surprise him, however, was that it wasn't Sinclair waiting for him in the meeting room. It was Pierce! He did a double take, wondering if this was his mind playing tricks on him. He reminded himself that he owed Sinclair a big one. He crossed the room in a daze.

"Well, ain't this a fine situation?" said Pierce, grinning. "A brotha could be offended. You never write, you never call. Sometimes I think it's just me in this relationship!"

The banter wasn't penetrating the boss's shock impulse. "P-Pierce," he said, stuttering. "You're here!"

"In the flesh, motherfucker. Lemme tell you something. It is good knowing that you're alive!"

"I missed you," he found himself admitting. "You and Shaundi both. How is she? How are the others? You beat Oleg in chess yet? Kinzie finally started to get out? I-"

"I should probably getcha up to speed," Pierce replied, uncertainly. The boss listened with rapt attention as his right hand man told him exactly what had happened in the weeks since he had been snatched. His head swam. After Pierce finished, it was a moment before he spoke.

"Damn that Viola," he said shortly. "I always knew she was ambitious, but this?" He stared Pierce in the eyes after looking around to make sure they were out of earshot. "I want you to kill her, Pierce. I want her head on a fucking platter!"

"We're working on that," he replied, quietly. "But I think there's another pressing matter at hand."

"Like what?"

"Like how we're gonna bust your ass out of here and get you back to Steelport." The words had come out completely deadpan. The boss nodded. "Sinclair told me he doesn't have the power to bust you out. I don't know no people here. You know anyone who might be able to help? I can get a message out to them? Some motherfuckers you mighta rolled with back in Lembath?"

"Lambeth," he corrected, absentmindedly. "And no. It's been years since I've talked to anyone here. I left London behind me when I moved to Stillwater."

"Right," said Pierce.

"Look," he said, forcefully. "Let me worry about breaking out. This is Belmarsh, not fuckin' Alcatraz. It might take a little while, but I'll think about it every second I get. Meanwhile, carry on like you have been. Listen to Shaundi. She's a fighter."

"I know," Pierce replied. "Look, visiting hours ain't long and I'm catching the red eye tonight, so I'm gonna get outta your hair. Stay focused, man. If you ain't busted out in two months, I'ma come back and check up. Got it?"

"Got it. Stay strong, Pierce."

Shaundi, Oleg and the others listened with rapt attention as Pierce brought them up to speed. It was, he reflected, probably the longest he'd been listened to without retort in his life. Even Shaundi, who liked to bust his chops more than anyone, had her mouth open the whole time and didn't interrupt him once. He had slept on the red eye and called a meeting at the hideout as soon as he had landed. The others needed to know that the boss was alive – and what Viola had done.

"Who is this McGraw guy?" Jean asked once he had finished. "Do we need to take him out of the picture?"

"He's back in the UK. Besides, if he got iced, they'd be asking the boss questions. We wanna keep things on the down-low for as long as we can."

"Viola's a crafty bitch," said Shaundi. "I know she spoke to McGraw somehow, but I can't prove it. Even if we grabbed the guy, he wouldn't say shit. And Viola's too smart to admit to anything."

"Why don't we just break him out?" asked Oleg. "Mount a huge rescue operation. I myself witnessed one before, from a Siberian gulag."

"When were you in a Siberian gulag?" asked Donnie.

"That's classified," he replied, gruffly.

"We'd get ourselves killed," Pierce replied. "I seen that place with my own two eyes. It ain't Stillwater Correctional, but those British prison guard motherfuckers got big guns. If we got killed, no one would be able to stop Viola."

"This is true," said Oleg. Since Pierce had flown there and back, he had spilled the blood of four men. The True Saints had rigged a fireworks display in the parking lot outside Safeword using satchel charges and some of the new dark purple Churchills Viola had ordered. It was the dead of night, but some of the guards had still seen them, and they had had to open fire. Once the threat was taken care of, they drove away, and the explosion lit up the night sky like Independence Day. It had sent a message and limited the Saints' mobility across New Colvin. Oleg, due to his size, wasn't naturally suited to urban guerrilla warfare, but he found it exciting. Shaundi had been ecstatic. They used stolen pickup trucks (it needed to be pickup trucks, as Oleg couldn't fit in anything else) to conduct their raids, to avoid being traced. Once they were done with such a vehicle, one of them would drive it to a secluded alley and torch it.

The church was proving an excellent place to organise these attacks, but Shaundi knew it would be too small a headquarters once their ranks swelled. When Matt came to work for them, several Deckers had immediately pledged their allegiance. Shaundi was considering refusing them, but she knew that it would be a foolish move. Nick Burrego, a Luchador lieutenant who wrestled under the flamboyant stage name of El Hombre comer Tiberôn (the Man Eating Shark), had already agreed for him and his crew to join the True Saints; the Luchadores had more reason than anyone to fear extermination by the Saints, as it was their leader Killbane who had killed Viola's sister.

It was almost like a return to the beginning. They were growing into a collection of very different hoods, a 'mongrel' gang united by a single colour and a need for self-defence. Having their headquarters in a church was the symbolic touch that finished it off.

Oleg, using his usual scholarly touch, had compared their situation to the Book of Revelations. The Antichrist had risen in the form of Viola (born of the Morningstar, fittingly) who brought war to the gang's world. The faithful had been united, even though their numbers were small. If they won the war, then the old world of the Saints would end. The crass commercialism, the selling out, the energy drinks, that would all be gone. They would be reborn anew, their priorities straight, their methods in force and not words. They had both been slightly high when he explained it to her, and she'd mentioned that no one had been raptured up into heaven yet, and he had shrugged and told her not all allegories were perfect.

Even though it wasn't all of creation in the balance, the stakes were unimaginably high. Viola's ambition would never be sated. The boss had always said that anyone could take over a city, not only from other gangs but from Uncle Sam, if they were motivated enough. By the way Viola was outfitting her thugs, they were preparing for a coup d'état. And that was just thinking of the city; if Viola won, she and the others would be dead, or worse.

"I'm sorry," said Mayor Reynolds, shaking his head. "I just can't do anything."

"C'mon, Bandit," said Pierce, encouragingly. He and Shaundi were in Burt's office; it was the first time he had set foot in City Hall since the two of them first met. He yawned. He had barely slept last night due to jetlag from London (although jetlag mostly happened eastwards across the Atlantic, so he figured it must be a delayed reaction) and it was showing. "He saved the city from zombies, didn't he?"

"That's why I'm doing him a favour and staying out of this," Reynolds replied. "If I talk to the British ambassador, I'll have to tell them he's been spending the last few years in America. They alert the FBI, who check his new face on the system and see that he's wanted for hundreds more murders, including the federal judge who tried to sentence Johnny Gat. Before you can say diplomatic shitstorm, they'll have him in Texas, waiting to get fifty thousand volts up his ass."

"See your point," said Shaundi, dejectedly. "Alright, thanks." She got up to leave, but heard a recognisable creaking sound behind her. On the far side of the room, the office door was opening again. And through it stepped Viola and Kinzie, wearing dark purple outfits.

Shaundi sprung up and pointed a gun at Viola. Her enemy was initially in shock, but was fast enough to draw her own gun and point it back. She had done it in a fraction of a second, too fast for Shaundi to shoot before she knew what she was doing.

"Viola, what's the meaning of this?" demanded Mayor Reynolds. "You don't have an appointment!"

"I booked it with your secretary," Viola said, not taking her eyes or her gun off Shaundi even by an inch.

"My secretary's been on leave. The temp was filling in. She is so fired."

"What are you doing here, Shaundi?" Viola demanded. "Want me to blow your pretty little brain out right here and now?"

"If anyone spills brain juice on my carpet, they'll be next," said Burt, drawing a 44 Magnum and pointing it at the two women now engaging in a Mexican standoff. None of the five people in the room moved even a muscle.

"I was just telling Mayor Reynolds about the little stunt you pulled, Vi," said Shaundi, with mock sweetness. "Oh, no, did I forget to tell you? We spoke to the big guy. We know all about your little friend…McGraw? That's his name, right?"

Kinzie had barely looked sideways, but she could feel how much Viola's face had stiffened. It was like rigamortis had set in that instant. She wasn't an expert in body language, but she knew that the mention of that name had struck a chord.

"What's she talking about?" she asked Viola.

"I guess you picked the wrong side, Kensington," said Shaundi. "Your little gal pal here got the boss arrested by the Brits. She planned the whole thing, start to finish."

"She's lying, Kinz," said Viola, through bared teeth. "She's just trying to discredit me so she can get me out the way." Facing down Shaundi, she said, "Don't suppose you've got any proof?"

"Not yet," Shaundi admitted. "But it's only a matter of time. He's coming, ya know. That dinky little limey jail can't hold him. When he comes back, he'll tell everyone what you did."

"If he is in prison, and he comes back, I think he'll be proud of what I've done here. He'll probably kick you and your little friends out for betraying me." She turned to Kinzie. "Come on, sis. We've got better places to be."

When she was gone, Pierce and Shaundi ran to the car. Viola would expect them to leave immediately, but they knew she would send someone just in case they got delayed.

Viola was, indeed, calling into base by the time she got downstairs. "Send a crew. There's a chance we can pick them up. I don't know! Maybe they get car trouble or Pierce forgets his wallet. Send a crew." She put the phone down and got into her new dark purple Temptress. Kinzie got into the passenger seat. She looked at Viola doubtfully.

"I just want to ask one question," she said, slowly. "Is it true?"

Viola stared hard at her, almost ignoring the road as she drove. "Don't ask stupid questions, Kinzie."

"Is it true?" she repeated, more forcefully.

Viola slammed on the brakes and parked up on the sidewalk. "No. No, it's not. I swear on all that's holy. Alright? Are you satisfied?"

"Yeah," said Kinzie. Viola gave a vicious nod and started to move again. They didn't exchange a single word throughout the rest of the journey. Kinzie had suddenly developed an acute feeling that something was wrong. She had reacted so strongly to the name McGraw; it was almost as some bizarre game was up. Would Viola get the boss out of the way to further her own agenda? Probably, thought Kinzie. Probably.