*****
Michael
I recognise the face of James’ guard, the one they’re calling Hickman. I’ve seen it before in the photo
Klempner identified; Baxter’s henchman.
He shoves James towards us, James shooting him a look that would knock flies from the air, before
squatting down by Charlotte. He runs a finger over her cheek. “Sorry we took so long to get here.”
She returns the gesture. “They’ve hurt you.”
James’ brows rise. His head tilts. “They’ve hurt me?”
I struggle out from behind her. “James, take my place, support her. I need a look at what’s happening.”
He manoeuvres to sit behind Charlotte, his back against the wall, kissing her rank hair as he supports
her against himself.
And now, kneeling between her open legs and with a decent view, I can see Cara’s head is all but out.
“I think one more good push will do it, Babe.”
Baxter waves the barrel of his pistol at Klempner. “On your knees. Hands behind your head.”
Klempner gives him a slow look then drops to the ground, fingers clasped at the back of his neck.
“Stannis, you keep him there.” Baxter jabs a finger at the other guard who moves to stand by Klempner,
gun muzzle pressed to his temple. Then he nods Hickman to my bag and Klempner’s. “Check them
out. See what’s inside.”
He tips out Klempner’s first; his mobile armoury tumbling to the floor with a clatter. Baxter kicks guns,
knives and rope to the far side of the cell, out of Klempner’s range.
Then he looks him up and down. “Larry, have you put on weight?”
Klempner adopts a pained expression. “I’m wearing rather more clothes than usual.”
Baxter cocks a brow. “I'm not sure about that outfit as a sartorial statement.”
Lips pressed tight, Klempner casts eyes sidelong, then back again. “What's your gripe with me,
Baxter?”
“You have to ask? More than twenty years I worked for you, and you left me behind like I didn’t matter.
Abandoned me to the cops like some piece of rubbish.”
“The police were coming. I had about a minute to get out of sight. When I last saw you, you were
unconscious after you'd let a complete amateur take you out. As I left, you were nowhere to be seen.
What was I supposed to think? You’d gone. I assumed you’d run for it.”
“No. I hadn’t. I’d just crawled into the shadows while I got my head back. You didn’t even look. You
walked out and you kept walking.”
“Yes, because I didn’t know you were there. You couldn’t have called out or something? I could see
blue lights flashing. What was I supposed to do? Mount a search? As far as I was concerned, you’d
gone.”
Baxter sneers. “Make your excuses, Larry. You owe me. You’re going to pay.”
“I owe you nothing. I never did. And besides, you have the money.”
Baxter rocks on his heels. “Money’s not everything, Larry. Money’s not everything.”
He turns from Klempner, dismissing him, nods to Hickman, then to my rucksack. “Turn it out. Let’s see
what’s in his bag of tricks.”
I try to interrupt, to stop what I can already see happening… “No… don’t…”
But it’s too late. Clean towels and wraps tumble out, dropping into the slops on the floor, no longer
fresh and sweet-smelling but wet and fouled.
“Was that necessary?”
Baxter smirks, poking through the heap with the end of a boot, wiping them further into the dirt. “Can’t
be too careful, can we. Who knows what you have in there?”
“What I had in there were the basics for a young woman to safely deliver her baby. Now…” I poke
through the pile, trying to find something useable…
Christ…
“… What the hell am I supposed to do with this lot?”
Baxter stoops, picking something from the floor, shaking off drops of gunk, then showing it to me.
“What’re these for? They don’t look much use in a fight.”
“Surgical scissors. In case I have to cut the cord. And it looks as though I will have to cut the cord.”
Baxter shoves them into a pocket. “Did no-one tell you at school that scissors are dangerous?”
Charlotte abruptly pitches again, arching back against James. Straining, mouth flung wide, she pants
and heaves, and then, scarlet-faced, with a shriek of triumph, she pushes once more…
… I move fast…
… and a small bloody package drops into my hands then starts squalling loudly as Cara protests her
rude entry into the world.
Finchby recoils, heading for the door. “I’ll catch you later. Enjoy your fun.”
Baxter looks surprised. “What’s wrong? You’re not bothered by a little blood, surely?”
Finchby curls a lip at the mess on the ground. “You handle it.” Shuddering, he exits.
Baxter huffs. “So that’s what he’s made of…”
“Is she alright?” Charlotte levers herself forward. “Is Cara alright?”
I give the briefest of inspections: head, arms, legs… Eyes, toes, fingers… “She’s fine. Everything
where it should be.”
Charlotte’s reaching out, hands outstretched. “Give her to me.”
“Just a second.” I’m casting around, looking for the cover I brought for Cara…
Crap!
The blanket I brought, which was soft and fine and warm, is now wet; cold and stinking. I pick it up,
hoping… But it simply drips muck back onto the floor.
“Fuck!” I hurl the useless thing into the corner.
“What's wrong?” says Baxter. “The baby’s healthy, isn’t it? It’s making enough noise.”
“I've nothing to wrap her in. You and your monkey there just soaked the wrap I brought for her.”
Klempner shifts, eyeing the gun muzzle at his temple. “Here, use this.” From his kneeling position, he
tugs the hem of the fleece he’s wearing… my fleece… up and over his head. He tosses it to me, then
shivers.
“What happened to you coming from thirty-five degrees and sixty per cent humidity?”
His voice is dry. “It’s thirty-seven degrees and a hundred per cent humidity where she’s just come
from.”
Vastly out sized as the garment is, I wrap the squalling, protesting Cara in it, tying the sleeves around
her small body, then pass the bundled baby to Charlotte.
And despite everything, despite the cold and the filth and the gunmen standing guard over us,
Charlotte's face lights up.
I see it. That transformation that happens with a woman, when after hours of gruelling pain and utter
exhaustion, the baby is placed in her arms and her face illuminates. Young or old, plain or pretty, in that
moment, every woman becomes beautiful.
A smile spreads like a rainbow over her face. Taking the fleece-enveloped Cara, she stares, as though
not believing what she’s seeing.
She twists back to James, still cradling her, holding up the small be-wrapped squaller. “I did it, Mas...
James. I gave you your daughter back.”
He smiles back at her, reaching around to kiss her, his lips cracking open, bleeding with the gesture.
“So you did.” He touches his daughter’s face, stroking with a fingertip. “Hello, Cara.”
Abruptly, Charlotte shudders…
James, even through his swollen face, looks panic-stricken. “What?”
I hold up a palm. “It’s okay. It’s just the placenta being ejected.” Snapping fingers up at Baxter. “Give
me the scissors.”
“Not a chance.”
“I have to have something to cut the cord with.”
“Improvise.”
Bastard…
“Are you at least going to let me have the clamps and the surgical spirit?”
Baxter rocks head and hand back and forth, as though deciding, then smirks. “Why not?”
In my hands the cord, hot to the touch, a strange braided alien-looking thing; thick, meaty and blue,
pulsates in my hand, the pulse dying away by the moment.
I aim a finger through the heap of towels and blankets stewing in the muck. “I need that bag.”
Baxter shifts. “What for?”
“That’s where the clamp and the surgical spirit are.”
He hesitates, eyes flat, “Take what you need. No stupid moves.”
“How fucking stupid do you think I’m likely to be with a new-born baby in my hands?”
Baxter jerks his chin at Hickman who moves to stand over me as I open the transparent plastic bag
containing clamps, gauze and the bottle of spirit. The bag is still sealed, as I packed it, and the contents
are probably the only clean things in the room.
Splashing surgical spirit over my hands, and then the clamps, I run a quick mental re-run to the How-To
videos I watched, then carefully fix the first clamp in place, over the cord close by Cara. Then, just as
carefully, I clip the second one towards the placenta.
Holding the cord in both hands, I pull it tight and bite.
Part of me wants to heave. Another part tells me not to be so damn stupid.
It’s just meat…
It’s not a comfortable process. My head knows that there are no nerves in the cord, nothing to cause
pain to either Charlotte or Cara. But I’m chewing through living flesh and my stomach tightens.
It’s not easy. The cord; over an inch thick, with a gristly texture and slippery in my hands; resists. I’m
almost sawing through the thing with my teeth. But there’s not too much mess. I waited long enough for
the blood to leave the placenta, to enter Cara.
And it’s through…
The cord drops in two parts; a blue stub on Cara and the trailing tail still attached to the placenta as I
swipe blood from my mouth with the back of my hand.
Charlotte, her eyes alight, places Cara on her belly, naked skin to naked skin, caressing her, stroking
her, murmuring to her.
James, still supporting Charlotte from behind, is unreadable. It’s hardly surprising. The magic of seeing
your child born. The sheer savagery of the moment we’re in.
Baxter stands back, leaning against the wall, smirking.
The bloody mass of the afterbirth slops to the floor and I scoop it up, about to toss it towards the drain.
“Don't do that.” Baxter speaks quickly. “Hickman, get the placenta. Put it in the cool box.
What the hell…?
James echoes my thoughts. “What the fuck do you want with that?”
“Not me.” He smiles pleasantly. “Finchby wants it. Apparently, you can get a good price for one of
those. Surprising what you can sell these days, isn't it?”
He pauses, as though for effect.
And in my gut, suspicion grows.
Where’s this going?
Despite everything, despite the dire circumstances, despite the danger, despite her exhaustion,
Charlotte’s eyes are shining.
Baxter jerks his head at Hickman, then at Cara. “Alright, take it away.”
“What?” Charlotte jolts back to reality. “What do you mean?”
Baxter flashes brows. “What I said. Hickman… the baby. Take it to Finchby.” Then to Charlotte.
“Finchby's having you. I don't know what he has in mind. That’s his business. Although I imagine he
has a client list lined up for you. And he's taking the baby too.”
Charlotte clutches Cara to her chest. “No!”
“Who asked you?” Baxter turns to Hickman. “What are you waiting for?”
Violence shimmers through James’ voice. “What does Finchby want with a new-born baby?”
Baxter shrugs. “I dunno. Adoption maybe. Organs? Who gives a shit? He's got a buyer.”
He folds his arms, smirking at James. “That was the deal. Finchby gets the woman, the baby and you. I
get Klempner.”
Hickman hovers. “Hey, Mr Baxter, I'm not too comfortable about this. Organs?” He jerks a thumb down
at Klempner. “It’s one thing taking this bastard down. Even those two...” He nods at me and James.
“But a baby…”
“No-one asked you to like it. Just do what you’re paid for. Now take the brat to Finchby.”
Hickman shifts on his feet but doesn’t move.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Baxter snarls. “Stannis, you do it. Hickman, cover Klempner.”
Stannis doesn’t hesitate, passing his weapon to Hickman then striding across to Charlotte.
She shuffles backwards, retreating against James, clutching Cara close.
“You're not having my baby,” she hisses. “Don't you come any closer. Don't you dare come any closer.”
Stannis ignores her, steps closer, reaching out and down, and at that moment, Charlotte reacts.
Screaming defiance, Cara clutched close against her chest with one hand, she lurches sideways,
snatching up one of the whiskey bottles with the other…
Stannis is already stooping, hands outstretched… “C’mon. Hand it over…”
… but as he stoops, Charlotte swings left with the bottle, smashing it against the brickwork, and in the
same movement, with the sound of shattering glass still in the air, swings right and up, thrusting the
jagged half-bottle at Stannis’ face.
Shrieking, hands scrabbling at his face, blood spurts through his fingers from a shard of glass, a four-
inch dagger sticking out from one eye.
Baxter gapes, staggering back, but Klempner moves like a striking snake, punching upwards into
Hickman’s throat.
Gargling and clutching his windpipe, Hickman collapses back to the wall, choking and fighting for air.
And as he does so, Klempner leaps to his feet, then for his scattered weaponry.
Belatedly, Baxter seems to realise his peril, moving to stop him, but too late. Klempner is ahead of him,
snatching at the nearest weapon. Still moving, and now with a rifle in his hand, he fires. Baxter jolts,
yells and curses, clamps a hand to his arm and bolts out, abandoning Hickman and Stannis.
Chest heaving, eyes wild, her jagged half-bottle still clutched in one hand, Charlotte could be some
Viking warrior queen on the eve of battle. Cara still clamped close, she offers me her hand and I haul
my green-eyed war goddess to her feet, then James after her.
Klempner jerks a nod to Charlotte, slants a half-smile. “Nicely done. Now, can you walk?”
The fight flows out of her. “I’ll… I’ll try.”
In the background, Hickman coughs. Barrel aimed, Klempner tilts his head. Hickman straightens up,
looks him in the eye and shrugs.
Klempner nods then crashes the butt of his own weapon against the side of Hickman’s head. The man
drops like a sack of potatoes, falling to his hands and knees, face down. “I didn’t sign up for this. I don't
want anything to do with murdering babies.”
Klempner’s gun to his temple. “Then I suggest you stay down.”
Hickman is pale, his face sheened. He doesn't look up, simply blinks and nods.
Klempner gives Hickman’s weapon a quick once-over, then turns to Charlotte, passing it to her.
“Magazine's full. Anyone comes near you that isn't one of us, you point and pull the trigger. Can you do
that?”
She clutches Cara close. “Watch me.”
“Good. Time to go.”
*****
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