22. The Dead Girl

25/5/G19 23:59

Garamonde was surprised at how much he had managed to get done waiting for Jewel. At first he couldn’t get his mind off the idea that she was out selling herself for money, but once he focused on his work it was business as usual. After hurriedly catching up on paperwork and calling some of his contacts, he settled down at a small bar on Maine Road for a well deserved drink. This wait has actually been pretty handy, maybe I should take in stray prostitutes in every town I visit? Gotta get on the road to Lidz now though. Home sweet home, it’ll be nice to be back for a while. Before leaving to meet Jewel, he had taken a final look over his trike. Another remnant of a near forgotten age, the battered vehicle had served him well since it was gifted to him by the Adina years ago. That said, he had the feeling that this trip to Lidz would be its most important yet.

He looked across the street at the Crab End Motel. It was a sort of ‘does what it says on the tin’ guest house; basic, run down and incredibly seedy. There’s practically a queue to get in for fuck's sake! Scumbags.

Garamonde waited outside patiently for another half an hour or so. As more time passed, he began to get frustrated. We’ve got places to be, where the hell is that girl?

He checked with a few people outside and then at the motel’s makeshift reception (if a lone man caressing a splintered plank of wood can be construed as a receptionist), but nobody had seen the girl with blue hair.

A worried look crossed Garamonde’s wisened face. Where is she? God, she’d better not be taking things into her own hands, I know she liked Relham but I need to deal with this, it’d be a disaster if she’s gone chasing

after Phoebe’s bunch on her own.

Before he had a chance to worry any more, he heard a faint smash, followed by what sounded like a muffled cry coming from a nearby alleyway. Ever the investigator, Garamonde slowly walked towards the alley, one hand concealed in his long trench coat.

His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark backstreet. The dead end alley had a small fire burning at its end, which was surrounded by a cluster of bulky-looking men. None of them noticed Garamonde’s slow approach, all were too busy looking at Jewel. She was pinned down by one of the men, with another frantically trying to pull her skirt off. She was looking around desperately, a look of pain in her eyes that turned to a cry for help as she saw Garamonde.

One of the men noticed her fixed gaze, spinning around to face Garamonde. Another quickly pulled his trousers up and reached for a metal pipe. “Fook off ya tosser!” said the first, sizing Garamonde up. “Yeah, fook rite off ya twat!” agreed the second, drawing cheers from his gang. He produced a small flick knife from his shoe and began toying with it in his hands.

“Leave her with me, now,” Garamonde said softly.

“Right, don’t say we didn’t fookin warn ya you old shite!” the first man said, beckoning for his mates to advance on the old detective.

Before any more of the men had a chance to have their say, Garamonde swiftly drew out his concealed arm, revealing a small, very sharp scythe. Highly polished, it glistened in the low moonlight, deftly producing flashes of crimson as he danced between his attackers. One had his abdomen split

asunder, another was decapitated by the old man, whose swift movements did nothing to betray his age.

After seeing another unfortunate member of their gang lose every finger from his right hand, the rest of the men darted out of the alley, one crying in terror.

With the street suddenly silent, Jewel looked up at the man who had saved her as he wiped the blood from his blade with a handkerchief. In the twilight she thought he looked like an angel.

This frozen world lies in ruin, betrayed by all who grac

Written by Tom Davies and Alec Davis, 2011.

© The River Versus: The World At Large.