Retribution

By Dawson Howard

He appeared as a lost wanderer but he seemed to have extraordinary skills.
Could this stranger be their salvation or was he their biggest problem.
The well-to-do Halifax, Nova Scotia family, had their own secrets but did not expect the carnage one man could bring to their hometown and their lives.
The simple unplanned meeting with a stranger developed into a war against the Russian mafia that involved everybody from Bratvia to Mossad and even the CIA.
Was Halifax ready!!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tablo Publishing
• Release date: Sep 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685835446

Book preview

1.

Who is it? asked the teenage girl staring down at the shirtless man, lying face first on the frozen filthy concrete. His hair knotted. Face and arms covered in scratches and bruises. Dried blood caked the left side of his face and ear. A large boot print bruise between his shoulder blades. Black army issue cargo pants, ripped, blood splattered; like he had been in a game of paintball. Thin bare socks that had walked far: bootless.

Just another bum, replied her older brother. Looking up to see the late model Lincoln, with the tinted windows, slide around the corner, on the iced over road, three hundred metres further on. Come on. Let’s get out of here.

The brother looked around at the old warehouses and storage sheds. Buildings that had been struck down by years of brutal winters, vandals, graffiti or owners that had given up on maintenance or had been driven out by costs. Old cars and trucks that had long since been operational. Pallets, crumbled clothing racks and signs lay beside twisted pipes and broken timber. Smashed windows and wind piled rubbish added to the blight. All indicators of the degradation of a once flourishing business and warehouse distribution area.

Grabbing her arm, he forced her to follow. Turning, she watched as the figure slowly started to roll over. He levered himself up on one arm. Shook his head as he opened and closed his fists.

He’s coming round. He might need our help, she said fascinated that anybody, half naked, could survive outdoors, in this weather.

Stacey. Stop it. We need to get out of here. We should never have left the car in the first place.

Stacey and her brother held hands. They crossed the road looking for an exit out of the rubbish infested, cul de sac they had inadvertently entered, before sliding their car into a power pole.

It had been an unusually mild, late autumn day in downtown Halifax, Nova Scotia but as darkness engulfed the horizon and the cold north, squalling winds picked up, the first flakes of snow scattered like sprinkles over ice cream and the ground snapped frozen.

Street lights could be seen off in the distance. The ram shackle, deserted buildings that had once serviced a thriving port district now sat idle, empty and dark. The distant noise of evening traffic, crossing the towering bridge, was the dominate sound.

I’m scared, said Stacey clutching her brother, Martin’s arm, frantically scouring the horizon for somebody that could help them. A street light tried desperately to scrounge the last vestibules of sodium vapour as it flickered and slowly died. A wind gust threw newspapers along the road and a sheet of corroded corrugated iron banged against a shed wall. The thousands of holes, that had been caused by kids throwing stones through the cross wired glass, whistled. The cacophony of noise started to resemble a horror movie.

They passed the rusting cyclone fence, that circled the building at the end of the street, and turned the corner. Neither saw the four men who seemed to have appeared from no where.

Two stood in front and two leapt behind. All in their early twenties and, except for the leader, were wiry and jumpy, as if coming of a drug high. They fidgeted and moved unable to keep their hands and feet still. Scratching and rubbing their face and hands. Glaring like out of control Cheshire cats.

Well, well, well. Isn’t this our lucky day, said the leader as his hand flew out and grabbed Stacey by the shoulder, at the same time releasing the flick knife he held in his other hand.

Martin lunged to protect his sister but was no match for the sawn off baseball bat that smashed into the side of his head, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. Stacey screamed.

Search him while I look after our little friend, ordered the large native American gang leader.

The four men all wore different franchised baseball caps and full height, army issue, boots. The only visible parts of their bodies were covered in tattoos. ‘HATE and DEATH’ across their knuckles. Faces scared with knife cuts and fight bruises. Eyes with pupils so dilated they looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets. Jackets hung open exposing various knifes and pistols.

Stacey twisted, rocked, swung her arms and screamed as the big man grabbed her by the hair and slid the knife under her throat.

You just might want to calm down bitch or I’ll stick this straight up through that screaming voice box of yours.

Stacey’s eyes were glued to the brutish, battle scarred, filthy face that glared down on her. She froze in fear. His warm, foul smelling, acidy breath blasted against her face. She felt the knife start to prick the skin under her chin. Her arms hung limp and tears flowed uncontrollably down her face.

Good. Now let’s see what you’re offering, said the beastly attacker now satisfied his prize had succumbed to his demands.

He slid the razor sharp knife down her jacket, cutting it open. Finished; he stuck the back of the knife against her throat and slit down again. Her jumper and tee shirt peeled open exposing her bra. Like a skilled butcher he flicked the knife in his hand and the bra sprung apart and her breast fell out.

Nice, he said turning and hurtling the knife directly into the thigh of the unconscious Martin.

Stacey screamed and the huge open hand smashed into the side of her face. Like a crazed bear he reefed her hair back and threw her against the fence while ripping off her clothes. Blood poured from her mouth and nose. Two of the attackers grabbed an arm each and held her against the fence. The heat from her bare back and the cold frozen steel started a mutual attraction. As she was reefed and shunted the skin became momentarily stuck and then pulled away. Stacey could smell the alcohol and stench of body odour as the fourth man started pulling down her jeans. She wanted to scream but her mouth was swelling and she struggled to cough out the blood.

Stacey closed her eyes willing for a miracle. Suddenly the man, pulling her jeans, crashed into the fence between her legs. She opened her eyes to see the man, holding her left arm, release his hold and crash to the ground. Trying to focus, she felt her right arm released and the second man slammed head first into the fence.

The big brute attacker spun, raising his fist, only to feel the heel of an open hand, smash up into his nose. Staggering he tried to lift his head as an elbow slammed between his shoulder blades.

Stacey stood semi naked, transfixed at the sight of her saviour. He bent down retrieving her jacket.

You might want to cover up, came the softly spoken accented voice.

She watched as the olive skinned street bum, ripped a shirt into lengths. Took a bottle of alcohol from the pocket of one of the attackers. Poured some on his hands and some on the ripped cloth. Bent down with his weight on her brother’s chest and ripped the knife free. Slapped his hand over the blood engorged wound and like a skilled surgeon wrapped. Finished he poured more alcohol over the complete covering.

You need to get him to a hospital.

How … Where … Who are you? She mumbled still covering herself up and watching the growing pool of blood spread across the frozen concrete. Her four attackers scattered at her feet.

Lifting Martin, like he was made of feathers, the stranger motioned her to follow. They criss crossed four darkened streets, repeatedly changing direction. Stacey kept asking but the man said nothing. Rounding the corner, a small strip shopping precinct appeared. A cab sat idling in front of a liquor store. The driver, fascinated with his hot coffee, was completely unaware as Stacey opened the rear door, climbed in and helped settle Martin.

Aren’t you coming? she queried watching the man, still shirtless, backing out the door.

A half smile crossed his face and the door shut.

2.

What happened, mumbled Martin, haltingly opening his eyes and seeing his parents and sister standing beside the private hospital bed. The lights were dimmed and the curtains were drawn. His leg was raised and the intravenous fluid slowly dripped down its tube. His head throbbed and the wide bandage half covered his left eye.

Stacey explained between swollen lips. Martin looked on listening to his sister, not able to take his eyes off the large bruise that covered more than half her face and feeling of utter disgust for what he had said about their saviour.

We need to find him. Thank him. He might need our help, stammered Martin trying to lift himself up on to the pillow.

It’s two in the morning. You have been bashed and stabbed. Let’s worry about that tomorrow, answered his father.

Stacey couldn’t fathom her father’s response. Had he not heard what had happened and how this stranger had saved their lives. Her mother was busy texting on her mobile oblivious to what was being said. It was as if her parents believed this stranger was obligated to help them because they were rich and important. She felt disgusted.

We need to find him … now. He will freeze out there tonight, said Stacey gradually raising her voice and staring at the black, snow covered window.

John Burrows, CEO of Starma Corp and one of Nova Scotia’s most influential men. A self made multi millionaire John, and his wife Claire, were renowned for large philanthropic donations. Starma Corp, a world player in the shipping container arena, had been, two years earlier, under investigation for international tax evasion and smuggling. After failing to undercover any fraudulent links the authorities ceased their activities.

You need to get some sleep, Marty. We’ll see you in the morning, said Burrows, ignoring his daughter’s comments and shuffling the others out the door, nodding to the private guard as they passed. Burrows and his wife walked ahead talking about how they needed to look at better options of safety for their children. Stacey followed watching as her mother checked her hair and clothes at every window and her father continually appeared to be plucking unseen hairs and fibres from his six thousand dollar Armani suit. The vanity of her parents had slowly increased, over the years, to the point Stacey now felt they cared about nothing except themselves.

Stacey, her parents and their two bodyguards, exited the hospital. The snow cover had transformed the deserted streets and carpark into a white wilderness. The guards walked one in front and one behind, with their hands inside their jackets clasping their Glock pistols. The Burrows all buried their heads into their coats. Streetlights cast shadows like candles flicking in the breeze. A path worn by the constant movement of visitors was the only visible route to the carpark. A scrounging dog bound from behind a bush causing the leading guard to drop to his knees whipping out his pistol.

Shit. Bloody dog, he said to himself, gathering his composure and moving forward.

The limousine drove down the affluent south Halifax suburb. Stacey listened as her parents talked about what they were going to buy and who they were inviting to their next party. She noticed how they both spoke but neither heard what the other was saying. She sat in silence. The huge vehicle felt claustrophobic. She was willing it to go faster; she needed to get out. Her life of luxury had meant she had been given opportunities that others could only have dreamt about but the passing years had made her realise that no amount of money was worth loosing your moral beliefs. She had respected her parents and their philanthropic ways but she questioned at what price. She thought about how her mother would chair the board of the Halifax child abuse and single mother’s society as well as being the largest contributor of donations. Her father had been inspirational in helping homeless talented teenage artists gain success within various fields. His contributions to the study of drug addiction had been instrumental in saving many lives. The huge donations to the Muscular Dystrophy society were unparalleled. Finishing her final years of school, she had felt proud of her parents and what they were doing but upon finding out they had ulterior motives and the only reason for all the donations and social display was merely to increase their own profits; she felt morally disturbed and gutted.

They pulled into the underground basement of Halifax’s most luxurious apartment building. The car had not come to a complete halt when Stacey threw the door open and leapt out.

Stacey? yelled her mother. Where are you going? As she watched her daughter heading to the fire exit door.

You might not want to help him but I do and I’m going to, she screamed back over her head.

Don’t be ridiculous, young girl. Get back here now, shouted her father, climbing from the car.

Stacey didn’t acknowledge her father. She kept walking more determined than ever to do what she felt was right.

Stacey. Please, pleaded her mother, running toward her. Even if you do find him what will you do then?

I’ll give him my coat. I’ll buy him some food. I’ll get him a hot drink … I don’t know what I’ll do but I have to do something. He saved my life and now he could freeze to death, she said bending over, crying.

It’s alright, said her mother wrapping her arms around her daughter’s shoulders.

It’s not alright mum. It’s not.

Okay. If it means that much to you, I’ll take your mother up and we’ll go and have a look, said Burrows walking up behind them both.

Mister Burrows. Would you like one of us to go? asked his bodyguard. I’m not sure it would be wise for you to be in that area at this time of night.

Thank you Jack. That is very nice of you to offer and I know you will look after her. So yes if you don’t mind. Maybe you should take Mitch with you. He said referring to the second bodyguard.

Sir, we’ll take my truck, said Jack looking towards the Limousine. I think your car might stand out too much.

Burrows nodded in acknowledgement as he and his wife turned, kissed Stacey, on the forehead and started for the lift.

The trio walked up the fire escape stairs, out into the snow, across the street and down a small alley. The onslaught of the cold weather had caught many off guard. Bins that during the winter months are stored in sealed enclosures were partly open and the contents frozen. Snow had piled along the pathways and roads that could normally be cleared by machinery would now need to be manually dug out by shovel. Stacey baulked as she noticed a frozen rat lying beside the large cartaway bin. Jack’s multi coloured, panel beaten, F150 didn’t look out of place against the neighbouring, dented street vehicles. After clearing snow from the wheels and windscreens, many pumps of the accelerator, numerous false starts; the large V8 engine kicked into life. Smoke billowed out the exhaust.

Okay Miss Burrows, do you remember where you were when it all happened? asked Jack looking over his shoulder towards Stacey perched in the middle of the rear seat.

Jack, Mitch can you please call me Stacey and no I don’t know where we were. I remember a bridge and the sound of ships. All the buildings seemed deserted and there were no street lights. Everything was either broken or smashed.

Could be Highfield or the Wallace area, surmised Mitch. Apparently the taxi picked her up just off Endeavour Drive so that would make sense.

They crossed to the north side in silence. The snow had developed into a blanket of white. Street lights cast eerie shadows across the streetscape. Luckily the streets were deserted as Jack’s large lumbering truck slid, like it was on skates, each time they took a corner.

Stacey, what the hell were you and Martin doing over here, anyway? asked Jack.

Stacey dropped her head in embarrassment. I wanted to meet a boy I’ve got to know from uni and he lives in this area. Or so I thought … I had eventually convinced Martin to take me but while we were driving around, looking for the address, a car accidently ran us off the road.

Why didn’t you mention this before? quizzed Jack cutting her off mid sentence.

Say what? … About meeting someone?

No the car running you off the road.

Why is that important? It was an accident.

Did the driver stop?

Well no, but I don’t think they meant it.

Jack looked across to Mitch gently shaking his head. They continued in silence.

How are we going to do this? asked Mitch.

I guess drive around and hopefully Stacey spots something she recognizes, answered Jack looking at the pair of them. Unless you guys have a better idea?

They drove up and down streets, parked, talked, looked, watched; for one and half hours. The heater was blazing and they were becoming languid and tired. They had seen only one person and they watched as he crossed to his car and drove off.

The truck was parked across a tee intersection. The wind belted into its bonnet. Jack was mumbling, to himself, the futility of their search. Mitch was scrolling through Google Maps on his phone. Stacey suddenly sat forward.

I know that spot, she said leaping out the door.

Stacey wait, yelled Jack charging after her.

She raced across the street and ran to the rusty cyclone fence. Not thinking, and having forgotten her gloves, she grabbed the wire. Arriving Jack reefed her hands away just as the first sensation of warm hands sticking to frozen steel had started. She screamed at the shock.

Stacey. What the hell are you doing, asked the big man standing over her. You know full well you can’t grab frozen steel like that in this weather.

Tears trickled down her face as she looked up. This is where he helped me.

The two men