#like why did he have lists of severed workers hidden in a trunk at his apartment??

[eclecticism18]

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[fightevilandthengetblownup]

Red Right Hand IIX

—

She had been stuck in that filthy building for sixteen hours before she was finally released. It had been a long day, a long night and a frustrating morning before she was able to get out and head home.

As she arrived home, there was a coldness that was wrapped around the house - a shroud of silence and simmering anger - that she could not place. It had been quiet and uncomfortable when she’d last left, but now it was unbearable.

By the time Monday rolled around, Shada found it oppressive to simply exist in the home, spending her morning in the workroom instead. It was there that her eldest brother found and approached her with a grim look.

“Good morning brother.” “Shada. How are the books looking this morning?” “There’s been an increase of new takers - seems my horse is doing well.” “Whitewater is not your horse Shada-” “Then why have I been asked for odds for my horse?”

Shada quipped back, flipping back and forth between the last two weeks of takings as she spoke, double checking her figures and frowning slightly at the growing numbers of bets in the last month. Since Cheltenham, the Shadows takings had trebbled between their own workers and the percentage of the Catholics. As she looked at the numbers, the brunette could imagine the beautiful dresses she would be able to buy that year.

“Regardless, I am glad to hear business is well. I wanted to also speak with you about your experience last week-” “You mean my getting dragged and held against by will in the station?” “Yes, that, Shada. While we are all proud of your composure during that time, that was unnecessary and steps have been decided to be put in place to avoid it again.” “Excuse me?” “Ma has packed your steamer trunk, and you have five minutes to complete your work for the day before we go.”

Michael gave a sharp nod, his expression not changing from the determined and impassive set that Shada had never quite been able to duplicate, the tall blond turned and left through to the family section of the house without awaiting her response. Shada blinked several times, before shouting, “Go where?!”

Determined not to blindly follow instructions any further - she had had enough of being told what to do, how much or little to be involved, and almost overlooked for her younger nephew - Shada dropped into her chair and refused to continue any of her remaining work. This was the last straw, she had been ignored, she had been dictated to, and she was not going to do so any further.

The five minutes passed her in two cigarettes, eyes firmly set across her desk at the doors to the family kitchen, preparing to stare down her brother when he finally returned, keys in hand to the new vehicle they had bought in addition to the previous one. Michael stared back at her before she could see his shoulders slump in a sigh.

He approached her desk quickly, and surveying the unmoved documents with distaste, Shada let out a surprised gasp when she was pulled roughly from her chair. “Michael! What-” Her cries were cut off as he gang pressed her through the workroom, passed the few bookies working that day, into the kitchen and then out onto the street. His hands were tight on her shouldes as he pushed her into the vehicle before swinging around into the drivers seat.

Shada had tried to stick her heels in as she was pushed and forcefully moved, though the scuffing noises made her want to weep thinking over the eventual condition of her shoes from the act. “Michael, you God-damned asshole - what are you doing? Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere safe, hidden and for your own good.” “I can take care of my fucking self! You all think I’m a child but-” “-You are a child still, Shada-” “-but I can take care of myself!”

Shada practicially yelled the words as she fumbled in the purse she’d managed to bring with her, withdrawing a small, delicate pistol designed for a lady’s hand, and pointing the barrel at her brother’s head as he began driving along the streets out of the city. Michael turned his head slightly to look along it’s cold metal surface towards her eyes, before looking back at the road and continuing the drive unphased. She could point a gun at his head, but he still would not believe her hard enough.

A part of her imagined what would happen if she were to squeeze the trigger, to fire the chambered round into his skull as they drove. The car would glide to a stop, potentially crashing into something. But none of her siblings would underestimate her again. Nor would they likely speak with her again. She would be ostracised for the act, and her access to her beautiful dresses and cash flows would be gone.

With a sigh, the girl lowered the weapon and returned it to her bag as the miles passed by them. Michael drove them for almost two hours in silence before they reached the outskirts of London. He rarely indulged her desires to go to the capital, and Shada fumbled with the lace on her dress hem as they made their way towards a somewhat quiet part of town.

The car pulled to a stop outside a townhouse before Michael got from the vehicle and walked about to help her down from her seat. Shada looked up at the red brick townhouse, identical to it’s neighbours to either side, but nicer than the black brick look of her hometown.

“Where am I, Michael?” “You are at our newest safehouse. You are to remain here until someone comes to collect you.” “Remain here?” “Yes, Shada. No one will bother you, and you will be expected to behave yourself until the situation quiets down in Birmingham.”

Shada looked between Michael’s stony face and the cracked red bricks, teeth worrying her lip as she thought over the idea. She did not want to run, she did not want to hide, but she would never be taken seriously - and if the copper was to be believed, she would be used to manipulate her brothers into forfeiting their plans or endangering the Faceless Shadows as a whole. She was a weakness for them, but she was not weak.

It was with a frustrated sigh that she nodded back at the other as the blond turned and retrieved her trunk for her. As she turned back to the building that she would call home for the forseeable future, Shada found her eyes widening as she saw the door creak open. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

—

It had been a hellish learning curve in the last three weeks.

First there had been the funeral to plan, guest lists to develop and connections to maintain or create. Where Zachariah had been able to deal with anyone due to his inability to form true connections, Gabriel found himself gritting his teeth and biting back a scathing comment to some of those that he would have to work with moving forward on more than one occasion. Being a being driven by his emotions and charm did not mean success in the cut throat business of the northern horse racing circuits.

Then there had been the twisted coils of Zachariah’s planning and strategy, of his coding methods, of his investment portfolio, to get a handle on. Where Gabriel saw money and power as one and the same asset, Zachariah had clearly cultivated a divide between the two strengths for the Catholics to control and dominate those around them. It took the careful explanation and soothing support of Kali for Gabriel to climb to the top of that pile of Zachariah’s work.

And then there were the complications that came from the circumstances of the other’s passing. The police investigations which took many handshakes and palms slippery with pounds to be concluded as a tragic accident down the stairs. The quickly confirmed arrangement with the eldest of the Shafows, who simply dictated the agreement Zachariah had agreed to before the uncomfortable situation. The concealment of the exact method of death to the remaining Catholics who came to visit and questioned the closed casket.

It was almost too much for him.

And now came the next array of torments left to him by Zachariah - dealing with the dark haired Scot sitting across from him, hands on a crossed knee and an infuriating smirk upon his face. However annoying the man seemed to Gabriel however, at least this meeting was conducted over a glass of whiskey compared to some others.

“So, what was your poposition again?” Gabriel asked, genuine forgetfulness creeping upon him again as the sleepless nights had drew upon him again. He smothered a yawn with the raising of his glass and eyebrow across at the other.

“Well, firstly it was to sympathise with you on the recent… passing of your cousin.” “Yes, I believe we covered how much sympathy you have for this.” “Indeed. And secondly, it was to discuss the shared little problem we have-” “Which was?” “The Faceless Shadows and their unrestricted ambition.”

The smug look did not shift from the other’s face as he drank his whiskey, and Gabriel found himself running a hand across his. His wife had said much the same thing the morning after the funeral.

“Ah, that problem.” “Indeed, that little problem. The problem we both happen to share at this point in time.” “How do you figure that?” “At present, there is the vice hold upon your cock and balls at the pony shows-” “Horse races.” “- as well as that little whore of there’s takin’ out your brother at such a… delicate timing, wouldn’t you say?” “You accusing the lot of them of orchestrating a hit?”

Crowley’s eyebrow raised in response to his question, smirk very much in place on his face still. It was not as far fetched an idea as it could have been, had it been made the week before. Zachariah had many enemies, both personally and professionally, and using a pretty girl was possibly a cleverer method than direct force.

“From my sources, it may have been unplanned but it still happened to their benefit.” Crowley swirled the contents of his glass as his face morphed into contrmplative. “From my sources, there’s word they’re breakin’ into our are of expertise as well. And if that was the case, how long do you think either of us will be able to maintain any grasps on power?”

Gabriel thought the words over, draining his own glass before standing to refill both. It was a concerning thought - if the Shadows gained a foothold against the Black Eyes as well as themselves, the situation would become untenable to continue working the race circuits near Birmingham, London and even so far as Liverpool.

Holding the glass out to the other man, Gabriel clinked the drinks together. “To grasps on power?” “Grasps on power.”

—

His brother had thrown the keys at him - growled something tiredly about a Wednesday appointment he wouldn’t miss again as they had passed on the stairs as Jeffrey had rolled in from the pub in the early hours of the morning - already attempting to relegate his responsibilities within three weeks.

Jackson had accepted with a roll of his eyes, already predicting the inevitable shift of responsibility sometime in the next month should Michael hear about it. The thought of following an instruction from either brother at the moment made his stomach twist, however the benefit of helping that morning outweighed the feeling considerably.

“Jeff owes me five pounds!”

The cheery call from the girl as Jackson let himself into the building, throwing his coat and jacket over the end of the bar. He returned the bright looking smile he was faced with with his own, considerably smaller and less unrestricted than hers.

“Why would he? He hasn’t been underpaying you has he?” “He wouldn'ta know how much ‘e’s payin’ me!” “That sounds like the asshole. How come he owes you then?” “Bet him a fiver he wouldn’t be up to open this mornin’.”

Her laughter at his concerns about her wages broke through the warm morning light filtering through the warped glass as the pair equally moved around the space preparing the area for the day. Jackson had watched Harry and then Harry and Beth set up for trading enough to know the general process, falling into line with the other easily.

“I possibly also thought that he might palmit off to you.” Beth’s voice broke his concentration as they worked together to shuffle one of the tables back into position. He looked up to see a smaller smile flash across her face before she shook her head.

As he opened his mouth to respond - whether to curse her for dropping the suggestion to the other, or to express his slight happiness to spend some time alone together since the disaster of the races - the doors were pushed open.

Beth jerked upwards, dropping her end of the table with a clatter as she looked towards the door. Turning, Jackson waved a hand behind his back at her to make herself scarce as the officer strode into the building.

“Jackson Visyak, you are a hard man to pin down.” Gordon Walker entered the building and slid the internal locks into place behind him. This was clearly not a visit for a pint or a whisky. “I thought I may have had the pleasure of your company, or at least a response regarding the message I sent home with your sister last week."

Jackson found himself frowning at that comment, arms crossed across his chest and leaning back against the table behind him.

"Sorry to disappoint. My sister has told me nothing regarding you, Mr Walker." "That's a pity. Guess she was a little too terrified to deliver then." "What has my sister got to do with your and my agreement?" "Nothing. Except as leverage."

The phrasing would have sent a shiver down his spine before the war. Before the war, Jackson was softer. He was easier to push around and threatened. It had been why his brother had given him the name he had. It had been why he'd been engaged to that Romani gypsy girl with the magic cards. It had been why he had planned to leave the city.

That softness died in the mud of the trenches. It had died when he received the letter she'd died of consumption. It had died when the knife had stuck through his side and he'd felt the slip from the world start.

"It seems you underestimated her own tenacity then, Mr Walker. My sister is not so easy to push around." "Perhaps, but what about your mother?" "You will find that my family may be stronger than you expected." "That may be so, however should her sons be facing treason charges and the death penalty, or her daughter be facing prostitution charges - do you believe she would be so strong?"

He felt like he was burning, like his very blood was boiling and rising through him in reaction to the words. He could taste the metalic rust in his mouth as he gritted his teeth together, and knuckles cracked as he opened and closed his fists. Jackson found himself staring down the taller man with murder running through his veins, a drive pushing him to grab and strangle and rip, tear and claw, pull the tongue from the throat and silence such threats forever.

With a relax of his hand, Jackson swallowed down the feelings and blood from his bitten cheeks. “Is this visit complete, Mr Walker?”

“It could be sooner, Mr Visyak.” Gordon Walker raised a brow, before he sighed. “However, until you provide the necessary items required of you by the Crown - we will need to share these little visits.”

There was a moment where both men stared down one another, a long drawn out silence as the pair spoke through body language and the quiet itself - one threatening and one resisting - before it was broken by the officer turning to leave. The sardonic gesture of farewell flooded Jackson with the red hot anger again as he turned his back and stalked towards the store room.

He shoved the door inwards harshly, not caring for the slight jump from the blonde as she wrenched herself back from where she had been listening.

“Jackson..” “Don’t, Beth. This is not for you to worry about.” “Why? Because I’m supposed’ta not know about those guns of yours?” “Exactly that.”

Jackson barely kept the venom out of his voice as he snapped back at her question, not shifting back from the doorway as the blonde approached him. Beth’s eyes - usually brown and warm were instead dark and conflicted - stare up at him as she drew near, closer than they should be where anyone may enter The Fort and spot them.

It would not do for her, or for him, to be found so close, so near, so enwrapped as he stepped into her, crowding the short woman back against the storage shelves. It would not do for them to be spotted together, hands in hair and bodies flush as he leant in to kiss her. It would not do, but it took the edge off. It washed over his anger like a wave, running up against the shore line with each shift between them, drawing away his fury as the wave receeded with her lips.

Pulling her head back, Beth’s hands grasped his face as she looked at him cautiously. “What if they disappeared? What if there was no sign you ever had ‘em? What if he couldn’t connect ‘em to you and you could go back ta life... life like normal?” Her voice cracked a little, the pleading tone as she stared straight into his eyes made him want to agree. That little part of him, the softer, younger him that had wanted to run away from the noise and the fighting and the struggle of being in the Shadows, wanted to tell her he’d dump them somewhere. Would throw them away and not look back. Would put all the darkness that had swallowed him whole in the last six years behind him. “Would it.. would it be so bad if things stayed as they were?”

He pressed his forehead against hers, leaning down and into her with a heavy sigh. It was too late for that. It was too late to turn back the clock, turn back the choices he had made that had brought him to this point. It was too late to change his mind.

“Nothing ever stays the same, Beth. Nothing.”

---