Chapter Fifty Zig
Dad called a couple of days later. The day of the solstice.
Zig’s birthday, and he’d be willing to bet the old bastard had planned it that way. Happy fucking birthday.
It’d started so well too. Like Si had promised, they’d gone up the tor to see in the dawn, and it’d been magical.
A crowd of hundreds had felt their way up the path in the dim before-dawn light, and gathered around St. Michael’s Tower.
Some were in ceremonial robes but most were wrapped up in warm winter coats.
Zig was one of them. Si hadn’t waited for Christmas to buy him a coat.
It was a gorgeous thing in soft, warm wool that reached nearly to his ankles, in a navy so dark it was almost black.
It was probably a bit swish for Glastonbury Tor—army surplus looked to be more on trend there right now, although as usual with Glastonbury, anything seemed to go—but Zig fucking loved it.
They stood together, arms around each other, as the officiants gave thanks for the return of the light, and a fire was lit.
A beat sounded out from more bodhráns than you could shake a drumstick at, and everyone knelt to touch the earth.
At the end, there was singing. It reminded Zig of a church service his gran had taken him to when he was little, only happier.
The musicians he’d seen before were there, and so was Kai, so Zig went over to say hi, and to introduce the bloody awesome bloke he was with. It turned out Si already knew Kai, which maybe Zig should have guessed: Glastonbury was a small town, after all.
Zig walked down the hill with Si afterwards feeling not only in love, but also connected, somehow, to the community that was here, even if he didn’t actually know many people yet.
Then in the evening, when he was on his way to his shift at the pub, the phone rang, and when he saw the caller ID was Arsehole Cunting Fuckface, Zig nearly threw up in the street.
He pulled himself together and answered the call. “Yeah? I ain’t got long. I’m due at the pub in ten minutes.” Okay, so it was twenty. Zig liked to get there early.
“You’ll make time for your old man if you know what’s good for you. We need to meet.”
“Right. Yeah.” They’d expected this; they’d planned for this, so why was Zig’s heart beating like it wanted to break a record and probably his rib cage while it was at it? “Tomorrow? Cos, like I said, I got work right now.”
“You think you’re the only one who’s got things to do?” Dad’s tone was belligerent. “You’ll call in sick if you know what’s good for you. And that boyfriend of yours.”
Shit. Zig had thought he’d have time to prepare. Time to make sure Si and the others were available to back him up. “When?” he asked harshly.
“Now. Somewhere we ain’t gonna be overheard. We got a job to plan.”
“You can’t come to the flat,” Zig said quickly, his heart pounding and his thoughts racing. “Si’s home. How about the tor, in half an hour?”
“The bloody tor?”
“Perfect, innit?” Zig crossed his fingers. “No one’s gonna be up there this time of day. Just follow the path up to the tower.” And if you can manage it, trip and break your bloody neck in the dark, and save us all a load of trouble. “See you there in half an hour.”
He ended the call, hands shaking. Then he dialled Ange’s number. “Ange? I’m really sorry. I can’t make it in tonight. Something’s come up. Family emergency,” he added bitterly.
There was a brief silence, then a sigh. “A little more notice might have been nice, but I suppose it can’t be helped. I’ll see if one of the others can cover, so be prepared to owe them a favour.”
“You too, Ange. Thanks. You’re the best.”
Next, he called Si. “It’s happening,” he said, nausea rising.
Half an hour later, Zig stood alone by St. Michael’s Tower, shivering in the icy wind that whipped up from the levels. It was brighter than he’d expected, a full moon shining down on him like a pale, cold spotlight. No chance of anyone missing the path tonight.
Despite this, his heart skipped a beat when he spotted the two bulky figures walking towards him, closer than he’d expected. No escape now.
Dad stopped walking when he was a couple of yards away and stood there, his face stony. Next to him . . .
Trent.
He was dressed as sharply as ever, in a dark peacoat that made his shoulders look a million miles wide. He looked meaner than Zig remembered, his features coarser and thicker, somehow ghoulish in the pale moonlight. His hair was, as ever, spiked up with gel, untroubled by the strong wind up here.
Zig swallowed and concentrated on not shitting himself.
“S’pose you think this is funny, dragging us up here?” Dad sneered.
He was breathing hard from the climb. Zig tried to focus on that and not the threat in his voice. “It’s a good place to meet, innit? Out of the way.”
Trent spat on the ground. “I don’t know why the fuck he bothered to come out here to hippie-land for you.”
There was no sign of exertion in his voice.
No sign of weakness at all.
Zig smiled faintly. “Guess blood really is thicker than water.”
Dad stepped forward. “Want to test that theory? Time to get down to business. Or you and your little fairy boyfriend are going to be finding out just how thick blood is.”
“Not that little,” Si said mildly, stepping out from behind the tower.
Zig’s heart raced. It hadn’t been part of the plan, Si showing himself so early. Or maybe it had, seeing as Si’s main contribution to the plan had been “If he threatens you, all bets are off.”
Dad lifted his chin. “Bigger they come, the harder they fall. Ain’t that right, Trent?”
Feeling like he was about to throw up, Zig ignored his dad and turned to Trent. “Ain’t it time you found someone better to work for? Instead of an aging petty criminal who talks like a movie and thinks he’s the bloody godfather?” He didn’t know where the courage to say all this was coming from.
Yeah, he did, and it was standing right beside him in a wicked leather jacket.
“We’re partners,” Trent snapped.
Hah. Touched a nerve.
“Oh, is that right?” Si piped up. “Congratulations. Hope you’ll be very happy together.”
“You fucking—” Trent broke off as Dad put a hand on his arm.
“Easy, now,” Dad said. “Just blowing hot air, ain’t they? We all know who’s got the upper hand here. Now, son, you’re going to listen while I tell you what you’re going to be doing for me, and you’re going to keep your pet ape under control, or it’ll go badly for both of you.”
“No.” Zig’s voice came out in a croak, but the meaning was clear.
Dad’s face darkened. “No? Have you forgotten who you’re dealing with?”
Zig gathered his courage. “I ain’t forgotten, but I ain’t dealing with you, neither. This is it. The end. You go back home, you and Trent, and you don’t bother me and mine no more. Neither of you.”
The gold tooth glinted in the moonlight as Dad sneered. “Gonna make me, are you? You and whose army?”
“That’d be mine,” Rob the copper said brightly, stepping into view.
Adam and Corin flanked him, grim-faced, like a pair of movie henchmen, and behind them were a couple of lads from the locksmith’s.
“Although we don’t like to think of ourselves as military, of course.
Sergeant Knight, Avon and Somerset Constabulary.
Off duty right now, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to have to break into my time off to deal with any parole violations anyone in the vicinity might be committing.
I’d hate to have to arrest anyone for, say, threatening behaviour.
Although I’m personally quite keen to stamp down on insulting language and hate speech, mind. ”
Funny how Dad’s face could turn white so quick. He didn’t seem so scary anymore. As he dropped his fists and took a step back, he looked old, and tired.
“So, Dad,” Zig said. “You and Trent go back to London and never come back, and the sergeant won’t have to do any of that.”
Dad gave him a long look. “Fine. You got me. Guess there’s nothing to do but head home.” He turned to Trent, who was glowering at Rob the copper like he was imagining his head on a pike. “Come on then, partner. Better leave them to it. Forgive and forget.”
Zig stared, lighted-headed with relief and triumph. He’d done it.
No, they’d done it.
Trent gave him one more filthy look, then turned away.
Dad patted Trent on the shoulder as they began to walk off. “That’s it.” He raised his voice. “After all, who cares about all them years in jail, just cos sonny-boy here got cold feet and called the cops?”
Zig’s heart stopped.
So did Trent. “What?” He spun to face Zig once more.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Dad’s tone was light. Conversational. “It was him what set off that alarm. Told me he done it, in so many words.”
Fuck, fuck, fu—
Trent was a blur as he hurtled towards Zig, fists clenched.
Another blur came out of nowhere, as Zig was bodily yanked to one side, out of range.
His head reeling, Zig became aware he was tightly clutched in Si’s embrace, while Trent was on the ground, Corin on top of him, holding him in some kind of arm lock.
“Sorry, Sergeant Knight,” Corin was saying. “Didn’t mean to overstep but, ah . . .” He gestured towards Zig.
“No worries.” Rob’s tone was cheerful but firm. “I think we’ll take it from here, though. Constable Walton?”
Huh. The female copper had turned up too. And she was in uniform. And had handcuffs. As she made excellent use of them on Trent, Zig saw, with a touch of unreality, that Sasha had come up to join them as well.
Overwhelmed, he sagged into Si’s arms. Fuck knew why, but he was this close to bursting into tears. It was stupid. They’d won, hadn’t they? All of them: him, Si, and Si’s mates.
Maybe Zig’s mates too, now? “Shit,” he muttered weakly, and hid his face against Si’s shoulder.
Big arms held him tight. “Didn’t I tell you it’d all be okay?” Si whispered, and he stroked Zig’s hair. “Course, I’m gonna give my Harley a good going-over next time I ride her. Just in case.”
“Good,” Zig mumbled into slightly damp leather.