A Short Story: Londinium Burning by Frank Sonderborg (Republic of B - Chapter 1))
The Republic of B by Frank Sonderborg
Chapter 1
Londinium Burning
A glass filling slowly with cold clean tap water. Bananas and green apples on a kitchen tray.
Freshly baked bread cooling beside a gas cooker. A cat slinking by the window.
The lazy summer sound of buzzing bees.
A big white horse with a streaming naked blond tattooed lady astride. Comes galloping through.
She had a lance and was trying to kill a Tiger that had materialised in front of her.
“Jed! Jed!”
The voice came battering through the dreamy haze.
“Jed! Wake the fuck up. There's work to be done.”
Judy was upset. My daydreams, pissing on her, yet again.
“Jed do you want to die. Do you want that?"
Thought, yep, every fucking day.
Said, "No."
She was cradling her favourite rifle. A scoped .22 Rimfire.
Plastic bottle on a string around her neck. It suppressed the sound. Made killing a lot safer.
Hunting to, but we didn't do much of that now.
We lived the smelly life in a Londinium Soho wine cellar filled with rodents.
Good eating if needed.
Needed, now that we were all out of stray dogs.
I had on my usual shitty version of, Joseph and his Amazing Technicolor Dream coat collection.
But it was still cold.
Londinium, No power, No heat, November.
"Slab has a job for us."
A job, usually entailed killing some poor bastard, for no apparent reason.
Said, "So who has upset our good friend Slab? A slight, or is it just the usual land grab."
"Not our concern," replied Judy. "We do the job and get out."
Said,” Get fucked you mean."
"We score this and it can get us all the way to the coast. Brighton. The big time."
Was her excited reply.
Asked, "So what's the Payola?"
"Three tins of Heinz beans and two jars of Bovril."
Added, "And Heinz will set you free."
Her reply. “No more cheap shots. Get your ass in gear, let’s move on up.”
Thought, Motown records. Shaft.
In tune, asked, “Who be the scope, Sister."
"Willow," was her acidic reply.
"Fuck," was all I could choke out.
"Do we have a problem, Brother Jed?"
Said, "Yea, I like Willow. He does deals, gets stuff and helps people.”
She looked at me with her death mask.
“The Bovril alone will get us a ride to the pearly gates of Brighton, The Republic of B, understand, Willow is going down."
Said. "Of course dear." Still adored her.
She had cut her long blond hair. No water for washing. Her face, heavily scarred from the burns and beatings. We were both soot black from the constant city fires. Thought, she used to be so sweet and so hot.
Yea, and I used to be Mr Nice Mensch.
Now an Unmensch, morals stripped, long gone.
Along with the well-stocked supermarkets.
Slabs hard-man Gully came in and dumped our payment on the floor.
Slab was an oddball like that. He always paid up front. Failure was not an option or ever tolerated.
Gully was built like a Turkish wrestler, muscles on muscles. But a sharp knife could carve him up.
Quick like. Ready for curing. And he knew it.
It seemed he was more scared each time we met.
Said," Gully my friend, why Willow."
Looked at me as if I was mad.
"Slab points, you kill. End of story. Capisce."
Said, "Capisce."
Judy took the loot and went off to stash it in our secret place.
Said, “Everybody’s got a secret place. Where's yours Gully."
Gully backed away quickly.
"You keep the fuck away from me.
“Willow will be in Trafalgar tomorrow. Slot him there."
Said. "More bang for the buckaroos’."
Gully looked stupidly at me.
Said, "His followers will see him fall."
He pointed a finger and said "remember, Slab expects".
Then he left.
Said. "Every man to do his duty, amen."
Trafalgar next day was packed with soot black psychopaths.
Slabs tribe was there.
Willow's protection crew spread out.
Judy was scoping the event. Covering my ass from the rubble of the Africa Embassy.
Fires were burning brightly. Your normal market town, tribal gathering, in Londinium.
A drum beating out a slow cadence. A floating stink, of badly cooked cabbage and rancid meat.
Women in cages. Kids in cages. Food or pleasure. Take your pick.
Tasting just like bacon, human flesh was now trending.
Thought, what ever happened to tastes like teen spirit?
I moved through this soot sicko fair. Hundreds of filthy killing animals, a mirror of me.
I was stopped by the local crews. Could see a desperate, cold hunger in their eyes.
But I had passed, a long time ago, on any form of redemption.
Got my emptied eyed soulless glare in return.
Slab was on a platform giving the crowd the full arm. Willow was sitting near him discussing business with some other Big Londinium Tribal Kahuna's.
Dividing up the territory. Doing a deal where someone would live and someone would die.
There was always a balance, always a trade.
The Messiah was there as well. Saw him glowering at me. I knew him and his ugly secrets. Knew him for what he was. A two-bit snake oil conman. That lured the naive country bumkins into the town and then enslaved them.
Now that he was his own religion he was coining it. Trading in woman and children to rent or sell to the tribes.
People will put their faith in any delusion rather than accept the truth.
I knew had to stay very close to stick Willow. As close as an itchy rash.
Slab expects.
My weapons were whatever was at hand. Smiled, thought, it's why we get paid the Bovril big bucks.
Willow came and embraced. Jed his friend his soul brother. He had saved Judy's life.
But Slab expects.
Willow had apples.
Said, "Fuck Willow. Where did you score these?"
"Ha! My Brother, raped a Brighton caravan. Next year we take it all. Rape that City of Sinners. Put them all to the sword."
He moved to stand beside Slab. They had, it seemed, concluded a Devil's pact.
Ginkgo, Willow's lackey stood well away from them. Odd, yet another unknown chess piece. He was watching me. Like he was trying to read my mind.
OK. Show time. I had palmed a long wooden splinter.
Slab had his arm around Willow when the .22 punched through his left eye. The spray of blood covered the Kahuna's.
Said, "Head Shot!" and rammed the splinter in one flowing movement through Willow's right eye.
Lots of blood. Judy expects.
Panic was now trending at the sicko disco.
Judy was popping away at the rest of the Big Kahuna’s.
Scattering them as they dove for cover. Confusion reigned supreme.
I relieved our dear departed Willow of his ceremonial butchering knife.
Ginkgo and Gully had vamoosed.
The looting stampeding and tribal genocide had started. As everybody positioned themselves for a bigger piece of the Londinium pie.
Smiled, thought, what they really need is democratically elected leaders.
Much later that night. We stood with our stuff at the caravan crossroads. In the back glow of blazing fires as Londinium continued to burn.
Said, "You cut a sweet deal with Brighton."
Judy just nodded. "I'm tired of black shit. I want a bath. I want to swim in the wild open sea."
An Arab, washed clothes, perfumed, came riding up on a very tasty looking horse. Sneered down on us. And said, “Brighton.”
Answered, "Yea."
"Got Gold." he said spitting. “You need lots of Gold to get to Sin City, The Republic of B.
Said, "We have some gold coin, Bovril and Heinz beans."
Smiled, looked at Judy, thought, and a very dangerous talent for deception.
............To be continued