Border Lines (Reachers Book 2) Page 6

  Roxy lightly tapped on the door although he was giving off airs of urgency. He didn't wait for it to be opened. The inside was more delicately decorated with hand painted oriental birds adorning the walls. There was a small bar area in one corner and a circular sofa in rich teal velvet. That was obviously for entertaining, but at the back of the room there was a more private area, slightly hidden by a Japanese screen. Through the panels Rachel could make out a large woman adjusting her hair.

  “Mummy darling,” Roxy called. “We have some visitors.”

  Lulu Roxton stood up. She was tall, her platinum hair poking out from over the screen. She tottered forward, balancing on sparkling platform heels. Her dress shimmered as much as the glitter on her eyes and eyelashes and, no matter how much Rachel fought, her mouth dropped open. Never in all the time she had known Roxy, never had she thought that Lulu Roxton, his mother, would be a man.

  She buckled slightly under Lulu's broad, purple smile, then shook off her surprise. S'aven after all wasn't like London. There was a gay community of sorts in the town, she had just never seen anyone so openly proud of their sexuality. As she rolled those thoughts over in her mind suddenly being in Lulu's presence was inspiring. Homosexuality had been outlawed for as long as Rachel could remember and, although it was never strictly enforced in S'aven, Lulu could still be arrested, she could still be persecuted for who she was.

  “Charlie Smith, well look at you. What's it been, a year? More than that?”

  “Two,” Charlie replied. “You're looking well, Lulu.”

  “ 'Well', that's what I get at my age. 'Well,'not stunning, or beautiful. Just'well.”' She laughed. “Come here, you look awful.” She grabbed Charlie, nearly knocking the crutch from his hand, and pressed him between her fake breasts. “I'm sorry about Sarah,” she said in a softer voice.

  With that she let him go and turned her attention to Rachel. “And who is this little thing? Not what you were expecting, eh honey?”

  Rachel smirked. “No, I thought Roxy's mum would be older.”

  Lulu chortled at the answer.

  “This is Rachel,” Roxy said. “Izzy Morris' sister.”

  “So this is Rachel.” Lulu took Rachel's hand. “I knew your sister, she was a sweetheart.”

  Rachel's mouth went dry. She wanted to ask Lulu more, but this wasn't the time.

  “They want to know about Riva, whether she's a problem.”

  Lulu gestured that they sit on the circular sofa, instructing Roxy to make them drinks.

  “Riva,” she began, “is only a problem if you get on her bad side. She's fair, which is more than can be said for most. But she's ruthless too. You'd be better stealing from the Russians than going after a penny of her money. She's legitimate, at least as far as anyone has been able to prove and that means she's not crossing territories, she's not involved in gang wars or any of that nonsense. But she's also respected by everyone. She's done a lot for us here, and I know she's got a lot of control in return, but she's using it wisely.”

  “Until she decides to change her mind,” Rachel said.

  “Honey for the year we have had it's been worth it.”

  “What about working for her?” Charlie asked.

  Roxy dropped a glass. “Butterfingers!” he called from behind the bar.

  “I heard one of her patrols were escorting a parcel to the North and they were ambushed. They were outnumbered. Two were killed, the other two got away. They made it back and Riva gave them two weeks paid leave, can you imagine that? Then they were back to work as though they hadn't messed up at all. You tell me if that's a woman you could work for or not. I tell you, she's putting me to shame at the minute.”

  “Nonsense mother, we work here for your wit alone.”

  Roxy put a tray of drinks on the table and Rachel snatched one before Charlie declined for them both again. She knocked it back and bashfully put the glass down, much to Lulu's amusement.

  “Rachel hasn't had the tour,” Lulu suddenly announced. “Roxy, take her around backstage, show her the costumes.”

  It was a command rather than a suggestion and Rachel couldn't help but feel Lulu was making Roxy do something against his will. Like a petulant child he conceded and offered his hand to her. There was a moment of hesitation when he realised their skin would touch and she would be able to read him, but under his mother's orders he braved the invasion.

  Rachel slid her hand into his and was almost blown away by the waves of regret drowning his thoughts. She allowed him to lead her away, as much out of sympathy as anything else.

  Charlie had known Lulu for a long time, but she was Roxy's mum before she was his friend. He sat awkwardly, wishing Rachel was still there.

  “He's not doing so well,” she eventually said.

  “I can tell.”

  “He pretends he doesn't care but he does and he knows he screwed up with you.” She sighed and sat back. “He did it to help me.”

  “And it nearly got Rachel killed. Lulu, I don't know what you want from me. I'm not kicking the crap out of him. I kept John away. What else can I do?”

  “Take him back. Please Charlie. He's driving me crazy here. You've got something going on, I can see that. Give him something simple to do. You don't have to cut him in on the job, just thinking he's helping will make a difference. He was always better when he was with you and John. Since Sarah died – well it's been tough on you all.”

  Charlie rubbed his eyes. “John and Rach aren't going to go for it, not after what he did.”

  “Will you think about it, maybe talk to them? For old time's sake?”

  He nodded.

  “Thank you Charlie.” She knocked back her drink and encouraged Charlie to do the same. “I love him to bits but when he's like this he's no use to anyone and S'aven just isn't the same for him now. When you boys took out Pinky Morris things started to change here. Do you know someone is hijacking medical supply vehicles and not a single of the players here has a clue who it is? That's unheard of, but nobody is owning up to it. Then there's the girls.”

  “The girls?”

  “Some bastard is going around strangling street girls. I lost one of my own so it sparked my attention. But nobody is talking. Every crook in S'aven is just standing around at the moment trying to work out what the hell is happening. It's no wonder Riva is doing so well.”

  “And you really think that's a good thing?”

  Lulu smiled. “Better the devil you know, Charlie.”

  Roxy stopped the tour in the costume room, as though he was intent on fulfilling his mother's wishes to the letter and nothing further. He constantly clutched at his hair, tossing it left and right anxiously. He was nervous and it didn't suit him at all.

  “Your mum seems nice,” Rachel said to put him at ease.

  “You should see her on a bad day.” He paused, toyed with his hair again and pushed out a big sigh. “Listen, it wasn't personal.”

  Rachel turned to him. “It wasn't? But I thought we had something Roxy. That day we spent together, I thought maybe you and me were going to turn into something special.”

  His facial muscles seemed to drop in slow motion. The worry and dread was replaced by absolute horror. His thick lips quivered and Rachel couldn't hold it back anymore. She started to laugh.

  “Oh your face is a picture!”

  “You were joking,” he said in relief.

  “Of course I was joking. Me and John were married last month.”

  Again the horror was back and Rachel had to lean on the wall for support. “Wow, the look on your face is priceless. I'm joking you idiot.”

  “You are so not funny.” Roxy pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know you're spoiling the big apology I had planned.”

  “Screw you, you left me in Riva's boot. Do you know what happened, and this isn't a joke, her nut–job of a husband came home and smacked me about, then tried to kill us both!”

  “Sorry. I was an asshole. I did a bad thing. I expect you will probably want to
punish me. If you give me a few minutes I'll see if I can find some paddles, there are bound to be some around here somewhere.”

  “I forgive you,” Rachel replied and was surprised when she realised she actually did. “Don't start getting gooey-eyed, I still don't trust you.”

  “I wouldn't trust me either. You sure about the paddles?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  “I thought I'd find you here,” Charlie said as he entered the room.

  “Ah Charlie, great timing, Roxy is hell bent of having some sort of spanking to make penance would you oblige?”

  Charlie scowled. “Actually I was thinking maybe Roxy could source a bit of info for us. I need someone to find Jay.”

  “Jay?”

  “Jay.”

  “As in that Jay?”

  “Who's Jay?” Rachel asked.

  Roxy's eyes sparkled back into life. “Oh you'll see.”

  11

  A barbwire fence scars the south of England – London's poverty-proof vest, protecting her from S'aven's desperation. In case the fence wasn't enough, a concrete wall was erected and patrolled with armed soldiers trained to shoot on sight. It didn't matter who came over that fence, they never made it to the wall.

  People crossed over through the gates and even then that was never a guarantee. You could leave London whenever you wanted, entry to S'aven was always free, but it came with risks. If you lost your wallet, or your ID, or if the border watch didn't like the look of you, getting back in could take days, even weeks.

  During the day queues of cars waited to be admitted to the city. Movement was always slow, but by the evening the commuting traffic relaxed and the wait was usually only an hour or so.

  However long it took the greeting was always the same. Border watch stopped each car, surveying it with suspicion before checking the passes of the passengers. Babies to pensioners were inspected, their ID's scanned and, if the border patrol took offence, they'd even strip search travellers in the street.

  Rachel rapped her knuckles on the passenger seat as the car ahead of them started to move forward. This was closer than she had ever dared go to the border. There were stories about guards having scanners that picked up Reachers, even if that was a lie it still left her fake ID and the boot full of weapons to worry about. The urge to use her powers was overwhelming, but Charlie insisted they get through legitimately – well as legitimately as fake ID's and a car full of weapons would allow.

  She glanced at John as he drove forward. He was focused, but unconcerned with the task at hand. The brothers were used to crossing the border. They'd seen what it was like on the other side. She hadn't even seen through the gates. The world she was used to was the one they were parked in – dirty, decaying, depressing. What could be hiding behind that concrete wall? How good was it on the other side?

  It was their turn. Rachel followed John and Charlie's lead, placing their hands on the dashboard and the front seat. Three border police circled their car. One ducked down to see underneath and, satisfied, they gestured that John slowly open the window.

  “Passes,” the man ordered, shuffling his rifle back onto his shoulder.

  Rachel handed the three fake passes to John, her heart racing. John handed them to one watchman to process, while another began his interrogation.

  “Is this your first visit to London?”

  “No,” John replied with impatience.

  “What's the purpose of your visit?”

  “Business,” John stated coolly. Rachel wanted to slap him – he was going to get them all killed.

  “Your employer.”

  With a sigh he said, “Delta Gray Limited. We have an apartment in the Grange, and we'll be here for two weeks. Check in is in less than two hours, can we speed this up?”

  It was the name of the hotel that perked his interest. “The Grange is expecting you? All three of you?” He didn't wait for an answer. He backed away from the car to his secure booth to check what the computers had found.

  Confident, John closed his window.

  “The Grange?” Charlie called from the back. “You didn't think something a bit cheaper would be a good idea?”

  John shrugged. “I'm not forcing you to stay with us. Besides, that's where the important people go.”

  The men continued to watch them.

  “What's wrong?” Rachel asked.

  “Nothing, they're just trying to work out the toll they're going to charge us.”

  “Toll?”

  “There's a standard charge to enter London, but it's at the discretion of the border watch. Now Mr–I've–Got–Cash–To–Burn here has said we're staying at the Grange, they know we can afford additional charges.”

  “Bullshit,” John snapped. “They know we mean business and they'll process us quickly. They give everyone additional charges.” Rachel swallowed and glanced away. They were coming back.

  The policeman tapped on the window again. “Hundred to pass,” he said.

  “Last month it was sixty,” John growled.

  Rachel cowered back in the chair. She couldn't believe it – he was fucking haggling! It took every ounce of control not to reach out and strangle him.

  “Rates have gone up.”

  “Seventy,” John replied.

  The watchman hesitated. “Eighty.”

  John conceded. “Fine, but I want a receipt.”

  And that delayed them another ten minutes while they wrote it up.

  A part of Rachel wanted to scream in delight as they crossed the border. Another part wanted to throw up – over John – after the stunt he had just pulled. In her amazement she forgot to look out of the window, missing the levels of security lining the concrete barricade. Gun barrels trailed the car, but she was oblivious to the danger the border still posed. Ahead a further mesh gate blocked their way. The car was stopped again and she started to panic.

  “Take it easy,” Charlie murmured. “They're going to take copies of our ID's now we're through.”

  “Copies?”

  “They keep records of everyone coming in and out. It used to all be on computer but the power shortages put paid to that.”

  An unarmed man abruptly strode from his office. John had the passes held out of the window before he got to the car. Having incomers aware of the checking in process put the border watch more at ease. The guard swiped the passes and trotted into his booth.

  “They use this wind up copier, it only prints in black and white,” John scoffed. “It's a wonder London hasn't been invaded by now.”

  “I think it may have something to do with the concrete wall and armed guards over their copying facilities,” Charlie said.

  The man came back, he slipped the passes back through the window and waved them on. Their tyres rolled three times and the world Rachel had known – that desolate place of lost hope – was gone. She'd made it – she was inside London.

  It couldn't have been possible but the air looked clearer. The buildings around her were old, hundreds of years of history hidden from the young, careless relatives begging at the border. Townhouses stood tall, made of matching brick with real windows and gardens. There were trees protruding from the paved walkways, parks free to the public. She spied dogs on leads, taking strolls instead of scavenging for food. Even the people had an air of grace about them. There was no hurrying or scurrying. Everything moved with the wind; slow and elegant.

  As they drew nearer the centre the streets became grander. Large screens hung from buildings and displayed images of news and sports and other cities. Rachel stared at the massive screens feeling a mixture of awe and fury. In S'aven, less than two miles away it was nearly impossible to boil a kettle without the lights flickering.

  This city was beyond anything she had ever thought possible. It was old and modern, busy but still calm. And she didn't like it one bit. She sat back surprised. This was the greener grass on the other side of the fence, the coveted homeland for refugees like her. It had everything – food, electricity, civilisation – but t
he whole place made her angry. She stared at the space they would not share, at the power they used so flippantly. The city was supposed to be perfect, but how could a perfect world ignore what was happening in its back garden?

  “Most of the cities around the world are like this,” Charlie told her. “We've seen New York, Chicago, Paris – man, Paris was something. Then Tokyo, we weren't there long, but enough to see it's all built on the same model as this.”

  “A total sham,” John added.

  “He's right. All this security, all this luxury. These bastards here are cocooned. You know when a bomb goes off here, and they still do, they hold a silence. A plaque goes up and all that crap. They hear them in S'aven and they think it isn't their problem. It doesn't matter that S'aven is basically their garage, filled with useful tools, stores, everything they need to keep London running. But it's unsightly so they put up a big fence and only think about it when they have to.”

  She was glad they felt the same. It would have been hard feigning enthusiasm for the place.

  But John was going to show her something that would uplift her spirits. He took a sharp left and parked up outside a tall glass building. Rachel craned her head but she couldn't see to the top. John tossed the car keys to the man at the door and casually led them inside.

  The hotel was unlike anything she had ever seen. A wall of water ran behind the reception. The whole entrance was cool and fragrant. A bright, pretty girl turned her shimmery lips into a smile to welcome them.

  “Good evening Sirs, Madam. Welcome to The Grange, how can I help you?”

  “Booking, John Smith,” he stated.

  Undeterred by John's indifference she checked her computer. “Ah, that's right an apartment suite. I'll just check you in, could I have your identification please.”

  In annoyance John handed his over and checked his watch.

  The girl looked at Charlie and Rachel. “I'm sorry, it's the new legislation, guests must also check in too.”

  When all the passes had been handed over and the receptionist had scanned them into her computer – Rachel marvelled at how much technology had improved in just a few miles – they were heading off to the elevator. Twelve stories up and the hotel was beginning to feel like her old home with a little more finesse.