Jake Shroud - Turn 2
“Past midnight,” comments Alexander, checking his pocket watch, “I suggest we finalise our plans and hit the road tomorrow in daylight. Now the first thing is to decide what to do with our gatecrasher...” He looks around and spots that Cassandra is not where she was.
Cassandra is heading for the window, remembering the tree outside from when she cased the joint and deeming it a possible escape route. To her surprise the fast sprint of an already moving Mudskipper sees him reach the window and block her exit, at the same time there is the click of a revolver.
“Don't make me use this,” growls Jake, putting the muzzle of the weapon against the side of her head. Slowly her head turns and she looks straight at him, scepticism evident in her eyes.
“Damn this public image! Okay, so you know I won't kill you.”
His eyes narrow as an idea comes to him, “But I'll have no qualms about shooting you in the leg if you resist.”
“Look,” declares Cassandra, “you don’t call the coppers and maybe we could come to some sort of arrangement.”
“Maybe,” says Jake, “Anyone who can hold their own as well as you did against Mudskipper has my respect. You would make a valuable member of our team. If it's money you want, I'll pay you three hundred pound, cash, now. However, if you double cross us, retribution will be ruthless.”
Reaching into his wallet, he starts counting out the three hundred pounds in fifties.
Mudskipper looks on incredulously before he cannot hold his tongue any longer.
“I cannot believe this! I strenuously object to her joining the team. I am here to protect you Jake and your associates as per our paid agreement. This woman is a potential assassin, she may have been sent by the people who killed your wife and horses, for all we know she may be a vampire!”
“A vampire,” Cassandra scoffs, a snigger slipping into her voice, “if I was one of those wouldn’t I have pointy teeth, a big cloak and be able to turn into a bat so I could fly out of this place.”
“Actually no,” comments Alexander authoritatively, “vampires cannot actually turn into a bat though if you were one, we would not be able to tell by just looking at you. Vampires can hide their vampire features behind a human visage and when they turn there is a change in muscle tensions and posture, but most noticeable is the change in facial features, voice and of course the teeth. You can kill them with a stake through the heart and holy water is like acid to them but despite legend, garlic is no more than a mild irritant to them. Now as a vampire needs to be invited in at least once to a house, yo…”
“You’re serious aren’t you?”
Cassandra’s face says it all and looking back at Jake she adds, “Are all your friends like this?”
“So today’s Friday 20th October,” points out Waldo, “and this meeting is just under a month away. Well that gives us plenty of time then. Anyone for an Egg McMuffin?”
The shaking heads and frown from Alexander sees him shrug and happily consume the food he offered.
Jake and Cassandra are looking over Alexander’s shoulder as he taps away at his rather swish laptop, Mudskipper staying over by the window, keeping a careful eye on the early morning passers-by.
“So what do those strange words mean?” asks Jake, indicating to the piece of paper Alexander has laid out next to the computer.
“Oh, yes that,
childishly simple. Simple regression. It translates to:
4 Pendrell Road
8 Frewin Road
6 Oppidans Mews”
“Now then,” he looks at the screen as it brings up the London map in his web-browser, “let’s see what we’ve got.”
Saving the map as a graphic, he then displays it in a drawing package and begins to make compass circles around the three addresses. Increasing the size of the circle, the three watch as the three circles start to intersect each other and soon there is a point where all three circle arcs intersect.
“There,” declares Alexander triumphantly, “Thorney Street, it’s in Westminster SW 1 just off Millbank by the Thames.”
“Can we find out which number?” asks Cassandra, her interest helped by Jake’s promise of further payments for her aiding the group.
“Rather tricky that,” explains Alexander, “can’t seem to find a map of such detail that I’d be able to work from.”
“I reckon,” comments Waldo, wiping crumbles from his face, “that we go there by car now and scope out the area. There may be a lot of potential buildings but we may be able to narrow it down to just a few, because not all will be suitable to hold meetings of any size in.”
“Well,” says Alexander, his fingers tapping further on the keys, “I have a few other ideas as to what more we could learn before actually going to check out the area…”
“You have to learn to trust people sometimes,” declares Jake in reply to his ‘bodyguard’s’ continued warnings about Cassandra. “Yes and I’d be dead if I followed that ethos,” growls Mudskipper as Jake turns the Porsche into his parking space around the side of his flat.
The shopping trip had been quite fruitful and soon Mudskipper is up in the flat showing the others the compact mobile phones, with silent vibrating ‘ring’ capability and hands free microphones and earpieces. There is one each and Waldo is soon playing with the ring on and off button.
“So have we got anywhere?” asks Jake and Alexander proudly announces, “I think we have a likely candidate.”
“I’ve been surfing through the local authority records, land registry records, electoral rolls, and historical societies using Thorney Street as the search criteria and, well, something very interesting has come to light.”
“Seems most of the street was built back in the eighteen hundreds and there are indications that quite a few of the premises were used as brothels of the higher class variety. However it seems Number Seven had quite a reputation as being the most exclusive of the area and attracted quite influential clients as well as supposed members of the Hellfire Club.”
“The place was run by one Madame Belle Baillon and she was said to be of such beauty that she was painted by Henry Wallis, and as far as I can gather that painting still hangs in the National Gallery. Now, this is what got me interested in Number Seven, it seems the Baillon name has stayed connected with the property ever since it was built and the current owner is one Bernadette Baillon.”
“House being owned
by the same person forever, sounds like vampires to me,” comments Waldo,
sounding a bit like an exterminator discussing rats. Cassandra shakes her
head in disbelief that grown men are even considering the likelihood of
a Hammer horror film coming to life.
Jake moves over to the fireplace and takes the ornate Samurai Sword down from the mantelpiece.
“Apparently, this sword belonged to a fabled samurai known as Maiyart Anjor. The story goes that brave and noble Maiyart used this sword against many a foe, and was always victorious. Maiyart was the samurai famed for his bravery and honour amongst undesirable and selfish companions. Of course, this was a long time ago... it's probably all a load of made up rubbish but at least this sword is of the finest craftsmanship. So what’s the plan then?”
“I suggest we take the Bentley over to have a look at Thorney Street,” declares Alexander, “and then to a nice little exclusive Bistro I know of to discuss our findings.”
Mudskipper sniffs and suggests, “I think I might do better on foot, alone. You could drop me off I could then scout around and meet back up with you.”
“Alright, it’s decided then,” enthuses Jake as he puts the sword into a holdall.
In light London drizzle, Mudskipper strode down Millbank and turned into Thorney Street, the impressive terrace houses either side of him.
Slowing his gait, he watched the house numbers from the corner of his eye and eventually Number Five became the more substantial Number Seven. At least that is what he assumed it must be, as no number was present.
Standing three storey’s in height, the white washed brickwork was more grey in colour from the London grime but still the place had a grand air. Three sets of two tall windows close together were present on each of the upper two floors whilst either side of the arched entranceway and the heavy black Georgian door were similar windows but these covered in heavy wrought iron bars painted black. It looked like little light would enter the building for at all of the windows, heavy drapes were closed and from their sun-bleached condition, looked to have been closed for a long time.
Carrying on down the road, Mudskipper found a small side street and slipping down it, he was able to get around to the rear of the various properties, all with walled yards, small gardens and garages. He found that what must be Number Seven had a similar window layout to the front but with no ground floor windows, only a heavy metal security door with what looked to be a keypad in the metal frame.
The garden was overgrown with various tangles of rose bushes though it looked like a path was regularly cut from the gate in the garden wall that led up to the back metal door.
The garage which stood to the side of the gate seemed in poor repair and had boarded up windows of its double doors. Not sensing anyone watching him and spotting a chink in the boards, Mudskipper moved up to the doors and peered through the centimetre gap. In the dim interior he was just about able to make out what looked to be a classic Mark V Jaguar in black with tinted windows. The car seemed well polished and looked as if it were used regularly. Due to the tinted windows Mudskipper could not see into the interior of the car.
Checking to make sure he was not followed, he made his way from the area and headed for the rendezvous point where the others were waiting for him.
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