Polly had been kind enough to hire a cab to have dropped me off wherever I would like. She'd provided me with fresh clothing, of a cut which I was completely unfamiliar but was certain was well beyond my budget.. I would have felt rather out of place walking from the cab and into the neighborhood surrounding my apartment building in Huyton so I'd had the cab drop me in Halewood, which is a bit more upscale. From the looks I was getting even in Halewood, though, my new suit was something that would draw attention anywhere.
I made my way to Frenche's Clothiery and had some new, more conservative and less expensive, clothing tailored. After changing my clothing I wandered through the narrow, winding streets of Knowsley on my way back to my apartment. I found some snaking alleys to worm myself through, stepping over refuse and kicking away sniffing dogs at my heels. Then I finally gave in and headed to my apartment.
Old habits die hard. Even in the days of my youth, the labyrinthine streets of the borough were easy to utilize in losing any would-be pursuer. My Ranger training had rendered keener my abilities to travel unseen and unheard. And, especially, had ingrained in me a certain desire to use the more circuitous and unpatronized routes to find my way.
For the next four days, I decided to lay low. I went out to get groceries, and once made a trip to the neighborhood hardware store to pick up a few odds and ends. I built some simple shelving for my apartment and, lacking any sort of place to hang my clothing, a simple clothes rack. I spent my mornings trying to figure out what I was going to do with my newfound nemesis, Dashing Matt, and how I would make things right between Eileen and I. In the afternoon, I played a bit of footie with the ragamuffins of my tenement. My evenings were spent at Dublin's Delight with the old dogs, trading war stories.
I decided that Vernon O'Keefe would be dealt with first early on. I could never countenance being spat upon by another man. But if I walked into The Factory again, I was sure I would just receive another beating or worse. So I decided to go to ground.
I had known hunting in the city would be different. If I asked around with the wrong people, Vernon would hear about me looking for him too quickly. And after being gone from the Metropolis for ten years, I wasn't sure anymore who the right people to ask would be.
I came to the decision then that if anyone knew of Vernon and Dashing Matt - what they were up to, who they were close to, and where they hung their hats - it would be Liam Gallagher. He'd told me that if I ever needed anything, I should call on him. Yet I didn't trust him at all. He was a criminal, a snake. And not just any criminal, a mob boss.
Not to mention, the possibility crossed my mind, Liam might have some sort of ties with them. Surely, being a man of such stature in the criminal community, little went on without his knowledge and perhaps even the necessity of his approval. This thought made the game I was proposing to play all the more dangerous.
Nevertheless, I stepped into it with a vigor. There was just no other way to do this.
The night before I was ready to enact what I was planning, I brought home some duct tape, a hacksaw, a file, a whetstone and a length of rope. I sawed through the metal of the ten-gauge's barrels less than an inch from the forend, smoothing the cut edges with the file so it would not snag on anything. I then proceeded to saw away the stock and fashion a pistol grip from what was left with a length of duct tape. I wrapped some of the rope around the pistol grip as well, knotting it handily there, and fashioned a sling to hang the shotgun from my shoulder and along the inside of my jacket. As much as I hated to do so, I cut out the bottom of the right pocket of my jacket, and tested my reach through it to make sure I could grip the weapon handily.
The Webley had a small butt-mounted ring, to which I threaded a thick bit of plastic cable. This cable would hang around my neck, and be pushed under my left arm. Not the best replacement for a holster, perhaps, but all the same serviceable enough for my purposes.
The knife I'd won was painstakingly honed to a razor keen edge its former owner had never bestowed upon it. I would thrust it into the back of my pants, held up by the sheath clip's attachment to my belt.
All of my rounds were checked and re-checked. I'd taken some of the bullets for the Webley carefully apart and increased slightly the amount of grain inside them. Most of the shells I had were shot, but there were four slugs.
Although they were ready for use, none of these items were coming with me on my first outing to start my hunt.
Instead, I was going unarmed into Liam Gallagher's camp.
Tags: Scifi Etherpunk
