As I’m still having problems with my eyes, I’ll continue posting Chapter Six of Fevered Fuse. I am posting it in three parts because of the length, since it was originally a standalone short. This part is the longest, as it closes one plotline.
Also, as one reader suggested, here is a recap of previous events. Please ensure that you’ve read at least Part One to make sense of the “persistent thuds” mentioned in the recap.
RECAP: After a strange text message draws a young woman to a bar, she is knocked off her motorbike as she answers her phone, saying, “Sparkle Anwyl”. A flashback to an earlier motorcycle accident confuses Sparkle when she wakes up at her family’s sheep farm. Amnesia has blotted out her occupation and the identity of her husband. She swims and sleeps to remember, waking to “persistent thuds” in her head.
If you wish to know more, there are links to the previous Fevered Fuse chapters that can be found via my updated Snowdon Shadows page on the left-hand sidebar.
Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome.
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FEVERED FUSE
Chapter Six
Goth Patrol
PART 2
Sunday 22nd February 2015
I shake as I step ashore, water dripping from me. Shivers from mixed sensations. My teenage crush whistles at me, then stands and gently drapes a love-red towel around me, hands teasing my shoulders, caressing them gently. Fingers knead my neck. Then work down, drawing out buried secrets. Our experiment of exploration, caressing tattoos and more re-awakens.
A teenage mistake. Before my conscience set me right.
Or not. Tremors agree, ‘Not.’
I love her fluttering touch. My semi-naked body pulls her closer. My hands reach behind to her hips. Her thumbs massage around my thighs. Hands float together, spiralling towards my still-damp centre. Hovering and teasing. Gentle, yet firm.
She knows what I adore. The touch of a lover. Her soft hands can find places guys miss. They’re back and familiar. Why did we part?
The call of the streets and justice.
Love not lust.
Nerys spins me around and eases my swimsuit down, exposing me – to the sea breeze. I stiffen, then giggle. Who cares? My true partner. Who will arrest me? Not for this flirting that means nothing.
My breasts are free, and a tongue is licking my nipples.
The wave of pleasure overtakes me. Butterfly wings dance on my exposed stomach. The costume drops to the beach. I shouldn’t do this but can’t stop. Betrayal or temptation?
Guilt stalls time. I can’t tease her tee up. A warning as my gut twists.
She kisses me on the lips. Lingering, as our tongues twine and tease. I pull her closer – but it’s over. There’s a new taste that deters me. Ash – cigarettes. And our affair ended years ago.
Lust loses. My duty calls. And I treasure my true love, the one Nerys pales beside.
I wrap the towel around my shivering body. Nerys lets me finish drying myself as she walks towards the road with her backpack. Laughing.
I sit beside her on the seafront wall, letting the chill air banish the remnants of seawater and frazzled emotions. Why is she here?
“I guessed you’d be here. You are a creature of habit, Sparkle. Always our favourite beach.” I shiver as more guilt creeps up my back. She reaches into her pack and removes a thermos. The smell of fresh black coffee spirals into my nostrils as she hands me a cup. “They arrested the wrong person for the sports shop break-in.”
I stare at her. Bran is innocent, and she knows. How? Goth Patrol vibes?
“Two hours ago. But aren’t you still living in Pwllheli? What brings you to Porthmadog?”
“Do I need a reason to visit my BFF?”
I peer into her eyes. Passion – but not for me. Her voice is seductively husky – the cigarette bite. I hate kissing ashtrays.
Let her continue. I wink. She might know important clues.
“Didn’t dare ask for you at the cop shop. But there are guys over here from the old school. You in touch?”
Which ones are in Porth? Bran and who else?
“People move. Who did you ask, Nerys?”
She flutters her thick lashes. “Bran knew where you lived, of course. Gratz on staying together, despite everything.” I squirm inside. She knows the fraud – as the original cause. “I went to your flat, but you were out—”
“Keeping the streets crime-free.” Or pursuing other pleasures in secret. “Never much time to relax – especially when the wrong guy gets arrested. So, who robbed Del’s Diverse Den? Clues?”
I am trawling my mind for the usual suspects – and fingering my bracer.
E for Evasion and Evidence.
S for Suspects and Streets
A for Accomplices and Answers.
C for Crime and—
“Cadell Pryce wants revenge – so he had a minion tell Bran. Seems the idiot is here, out of work and slumming it.”
I tense. Cadell – a name I’d buried. Why didn’t Bran warn me? Loyalty to an old school friend? Heart racing and eyes closed. Focus. Revenge on me. The school bully the little kids feared, and the weak minions followed – Cadell.
“Didn’t we warn him off? The Goth Patrol was effective back then. I need evidence he was behind the burglary.”
Arresting him for the past wouldn’t stick.
Nerys shakes her head. “He had as much respect for us as he does for the Heddlu. Can we find any proof?”
I shiver and drain the coffee dregs from the thermos. The air is cold, but the past sends nails raking up my back as I dress – glad at least that the wet costume is off.
But the memories remind me. Teenage troubles at Ysgol Eifionydd.
Dressed in black, the Goth Patrol became the school’s vigilantes, protecting the bullied kids. Except first Cadell and his mates had isolated me at a swimming pool stinking of chlorine. Even today, I can smell the acrid stink as they tried to drown me – and Cadell’s leering angelic face.
My Goth colleagues had rescued me in time – dished out our rough justice, martial arts style.
J for Justice and Jealousy.
R for Revenge and Rumours.
A for Accomplices and Accusations.
My tattoos are tingling overtime. The information JAR is filling up.
“Thanks for that nugget. If Cadell committed the burglary and stitched my friend up, he’ll leave a trail – stolen goods don’t vanish totally. We start at Surf’s Up, where the rumours are reliable.”
I lace up my boots. As I stand, Nerys kisses me again – lightly and passion-starved. Just friendship, even if her hands are still exploring. Her fingers trace the edge of my breasts and tease the nipples. My confused body screams for more, but my head is focused.
I break the clinch with my seductress friend. The tang of salt air drives me forwards.
What does she want? Justice and Revenge are powerful motivators. Do we share a goal?
“You’re Heddlu, so you need to arrest Cadell before Bran takes the fall. I can’t legally interfere, but I can lend support and swagger.”
Explore her face. Gone is the vigilante streak despite the uniform. The jeans are designer, the makeup cries PA or estate agent. Nerys has revamped herself. But on the surface the intimidation without menaces is there.
“We can tramp the streets as before with less of the ‘old attitude’ vibes. After a quick drink as I’m off-duty. And I need more clues. Your treat, as my pay is stretched to nothing.”
That husky laugh and a wink as I expose her career move. At least she doesn’t mention my partner’s pay some levels above mine.
“I may spend my work-life juggling clients and properties, but I still work out. Race you to the bar.”
Sprinting in Docs is a regular pursuit of petty criminals. Nerys still mounts a challenge in our half-mile dash across the sands and into the holiday park lined with mobile homes. Pedestrians add to the effort, cheered on by jeering seagulls.
A final weave and a burst of speed notches up another win as I push the bar door open.
Surf’s Up already smells of beer and burgers. I want coffee, bacon and laver bread to sweep me inside, but my stomach is making the wrong prompting sounds. I switch mindsets. The lunchtime crowd gets here early, drawn by reputation and gossip.
I head for the central bar, where the owner runs this smooth operation. Heilyn Trevor, or HT to regulars, gestures to two stools.
“Hello ladies. A pint of Dark Side of the Moose for Sparkle, I suspect, and a Black Russian for Nerys if I remember right. Be right back.”
HT knows my preference for the local dark ale with its smoky, toffee aroma. But Nerys. Has she been here often enough to be a regular? When she’s selling local properties? The tattoos tingle. When? She knows Bran from school. Friend or more? Have I missed the warning signs? But he has his own life and I have mine – as long as he doesn’t expose my secret.
HT returns with the drinks, and Nerys hands him a twenty. He pushes it away.
“On the house. If the rumours are true, I need you two to prove Bran innocent. I’m not giving up on my best barman.”
“What is the rumour mill saying? My colleagues acted on something.”
A tip-off from one of the thieves? Cadell had a grudge against me. So maybe he had taken that out on Bran.
“Word is that Bran refused to be involved robbing Del’s. But he left here early. Why?”
And called me late. Is HT warning me that Bran is hiding something? Or ensuring I pursue every lead?
I down a swig of Dark Side and finger my bracer. Acronyms scroll in my head. Eyes closed, letters form. C-A-S-E. Cadell has Answers and the Streets hold Evidence. But concern darkens HT’s face and his eyes glance from me to Nerys.
She raises her cocktail and knocks it back. No change there.
HT points at the empty tumbler.
“One’s enough, HT, for now. We’ve punk thieves to catch, the dirt that fingered Bran.” She smiles at me. “Where do we start? Corner Cadell?”
HT starts. I shake my head. Furrows line his brow.
“Isn’t this a police matter, Sparkle? Can’t you pull him in for questioning or something? Heavy tactics never work.” He glares at Nerys. “That’s why I hate bouncers.”
I turn to my Goth sidekick. “Balance. Some guys need judicious persuasion. Cadell was always spineless at school. So he’s unlikely to be alone. I made that mistake and nearly paid—”
With my life. Never again. I savour my chestnut brown pint, tasting the roasted crispness and the bitterness. I drain the glass. Stand and lead Nerys to the door.
The tattoos tingle. HT puts a hand on my shoulder. Whispers to me alone.
“Watch out. Bran has secrets he treasures more than yours.”
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The seagulls are noisier outside than the milling holidaymakers pouring out of their rented homes. Tourist numbers are creeping up as spring awakens. In a couple of months, the flood will herald 24/7 workloads on the streets of Porth.
Enjoy the interlude. And the chance to chill with my passion. Not Nerys – she’s my ex, so just a friend to spend the day with. A day for proving a mutual friend innocent.
“I’m presuming that you left your car in town. Ready for another run – a quick two miles along the seashore?”
Nerys nods and gestures toward town. “On a day like this, I prefer fresh air. Where are we heading?”
“First, we collect my bike in Borth-y-Gest. Helps when swooping in for the sting.”
“Hope it’s black and fast.”
“A Kawasaki Ninja ZX6-R – my luxury necessity. She was lime-green when I bought her second-hand for only £1,900. But with my brother’s help, making her metallic spark black was easy and cool.”
We giggle as we weave around tourists on the sand. “More importantly, I refuse to have a car. I get enough ‘fun’ driving patrol cars.”
At the flat, the bike is chained at the back. Donning two ebony helmets with thorny roses and black studded gloves, our uniform is complete.
The swoop to the industrial estate near the railway tracks takes five minutes as speeding is not an option. The treasure trove for old junk and fenced items is hidden away. The chain-link gate is open and peeling rust.
A dark blue Ford Transit is parked beside the shipping container that serves as an office and stronghold. I park to block the quick exit. Helmets on, we stride up to the van, peer through the back windows. Bare. Sliding along, one on either side to the front. Nobody. But the keys are in the ignition. I commandeer them.
“I’m heading inside to see if we have builders or burglars. Stay close and watch my back, please.”
“Like the old days.”
Two guys in torn cargo pants and camouflage jackets are haggling with the junk-rat. Two familiar guys. Shivers – adrenaline and old trauma. Cadell and his slimiest lackey. They are too busy arguing the value of a scuba tank to hear my approach through the open door.
Stolen sports goods litter the counter – evidence 101.
Tense. Focus. Control the breathing.
I jingle the keys.
“Careless leaving these in your van. Someone could nick it.”
The guys swivel to face – a figure in black.
“Remove that helmet, girlie. What you afraid of?”
I lift it off. Hold the protector in front as a shield. Have they got knives? Guns? Sometimes. Wits rule us Heddlu.
They gape for a moment, then comes Cadell’s crazed chuckle.
“Meinwen Anwyl – and alone again. No teenage ninja thugs. Our friend here will say nothing if we smash your pretty head.”
Let him talk. Let him convict himself.
“Sorry, that should be Constable Anwyl, I presume. Naughty girlie, no uniform so I guess no warrant. Time to punish you again. Your boyfriend won’t miss you.”
They don’t know Bran that well, or my partner-in-crime-busting. I stare at them, then smile.
“Heddlu are never off duty while crime is creeping around our streets. Plus, you should recognise this uniform. Your nightmare never comes alone. We’re always waiting.”
I glance at his slithering accomplice. “And when your gutless sneak runs, you’ll be alone. Remember the rough justice our Goth Patrol dispensed – sorry, dealt.”
I clench my studded gloves and both guys bolt for the doorway. Yellow One trips over my sidekick’s black jeaned-leg, and Cadell flies over his minion with a roundhouse kick from me.
As the two guys scramble to their feet, I rugby-tackle Cadell and back-mount him. My legs hook inside his thighs, and my hands force cuffs on him – for evading arrest.
Nerys grabs the minion’s right arm with both hands and drives her hip into his gut. He drops to the ground, and she drops on him. I drag Cadell over and cuff a second bully.
She lashes with her tongue. “Taste your own medicine, wimps. Effing balls. These guys are useless. You were tough before, Cadell.”
He spits at her, but she ducks and her laugh echoes across the lot.
I read them their rights. Stick to the rules, or the CPS will struggle.
“I’m saying nothing more. Except that bitch is no friend. Lies. What’s her alibi?”
Ignore him – and the whimpering excuse of a hired help.
I call tad.
“As you implied when you tasked me with my off-duty role, the real thieves accused Bran. Constables Griffiths and Vaughn can collect the pair plus the goods at the Snowdon Street fence. I’ll get his statement – might be an interesting confession.”
“Impressive, Sparkle. Your guy will be processed out of here and sent around to show you proper respect. I still say that you deserve better.”
Tension vanishes as I exhale. Tad only sees Bran as intended. My cover is secure.
#
Our black coffees are a welcome respite as we chill by the Cob.
“Thanks for the help, Nerys.” There’s a risk in saying more, but I need friends. We need friends that understand. “Great we’re back in touch. Give me your address.”
She hesitates, then kisses me on the lips – lingering. A feather-touch across my cheeks. A caress that is empty even if it creates tremors. She opens her leather wallet and shakes her head.
“I seem to be out, so I’ll leave a card at the bar with HT.”
Shivers and tattoos tingling like an out-of-tune violin. Seagulls wheel above the yachts, screeching for attention. I chose this place to reconnect. The marina is filled with expensive boats that might be her clients. The seagulls cry, ‘Don’t go there’.
How regular is Nerys at Surf’s Up?
“Anyway, I need new cards as I’m moving to a better view. Not far. And I know where to find my BFF.”
She knows Bran from school. She’s social. Surf’s Up is THE bar at our favourite beach.
Stop with the suspicions.
“I’m heading back home to wait for Bran. You want to hang out there?”
“You two need time to move on from this. Forget Cadell’s lies. Drop me at the HSBC Bank. It’s on your way home and I need to get some money so I can celebrate.”
Words and letters jumble as I drive into Porthmadog and drop her.
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