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Hunted: The Life and Times of Rowan Wilton, Griffon

by alCROWholic

Chapter 3: Old Friend

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Old Friend

The motel was anything but family friendly, I’m pretty sure I saw a couple of prostitutes stood outside the lobby; preying on unsuspecting visitors. The decoration was universally old and run down, not a single unblemished bit of paint to be seen across the face of the building, a characteristic faithfully continued on the inside.

“You stayed here for two fucking nights? I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.” Gilda only sneered at my observation before pushing open the rank doors that guarded the lobby.

The old wooden desk was barley illuminated by the room’s fluorescent lighting, which created an uncomfortable buzz in the background; my enhanced hearing already deciding to give me a headache. At it stood a young man with greasy long hair, a pair of yellow tinted aviators covered his appraising eyes. His eyes locked onto Gilda, nodding to himself before licking his cracked lips.

“Let me handle this one.” I whispered to her before sauntering up to the counter. A wave of recognition passed over him, before he clicked his fingers and reached under the desk. I grabbed his hand and shook my head, motioning to Gilda; he reluctantly returned his hand.

“Long time no see Rowan.” He grunted, evidently nervous.

“Hello Coop. No need to be nervous, I don’t tango anymore remember?” I asked, he quickly caught on and visibly relaxed.

“If that’s the case, why are you here?”

“I need information; you remember checking in my lovely friend here?

“Maybe, depends on what you want to know.”

“Don’t play that game with me Coop; you know full well what happens when you play ignorant with me.” I growled, causing his nervous demeanor to come crashing back with a vengeance. He always cracked under pressure.

“Alright, alright!” He exclaimed, guarding his face with his hands. “Some of Webly’s guys came last night and grabbed her! Something about expanding his business!” I gave a frustrated grunt in response.

I grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him closer over the counter. “Alright you little shit, where does Webley work out of now?”

“I don’t know! Honest! He changed his shit after you know what happened!” I pushed him backwards, causing him to hit the back wall and slide down it slowly.

“Where can I find somebody who does know?”

He whimpered slightly before responding. “He still runs the bar down Jeremy Road; you can probably find his goons there, if you're lucky he might be there later.”

“One last thing, where do you keep your dancing shoes?” I asked, confusion evident on Gilda’s face.

“Same place as always you bloody cock!” I smiled and nodded before grabbing a key from the back shelf. “Don’t bother calling Web, I’ll know.” I warned, before storming out of the door.

Gilda quickly walked up to me as we ascended the stairs. “What in tartarus was all that about?”

“Remember when I said I wasn’t that interested?” She nodded in confirmation. “Well I am now.”

“I was actually wondering about the whole tango thing but whatever.” She replied, causing me to snort in amusement. We approached the third floor and walked down towards room 196.

The room itself was like the others; however it held a very sinister purpose. I walked to the edge by the balcony and rolled up one end of the carpet, exposing the floor boards. I strained with effort before removing it from its wedged position.

Underneath contained a dark green box; I pulled it out, unlocked the latches and uncovered the treasure. I made sure it faced away from Gilda’s line of sight, as it contained a colt pistol; one of the few I could obtain with the strict gun laws in place.

A gun was very much a game maker among the criminal community, their rarity only enhancing the fearful effect the boomstick had. I was much more used to fighting with conventional weaponry, getting your hands on a gun was very difficult and keeping it even more so.

I stuffed a couple of magazines and the gun itself into my pocket before Gilda could see, didn’t want her getting any ideas of course.

“Why are we in here dweeb?” She asked, suddenly very interested in the box.

“Just collecting a personal possession of mine, nothing more.” I replied simply.

“What kind of personal possession?”

“Think of it as insurance, come on; the more time we waste the higher chance we never see your friend again.” I concluded, returning the box to its rightful resting place.

“Is it really that bad? How fast do we have to work?”

“I’m hoping we’ll find her as soon as possible. Webly works fast.”

“Who the hell is Webly?”

I look back at her, a hint of regret in my eyes. “An old friend.” I stated, not wishing to expand any further, thankfully Gilda got the message and kept quiet.


Webley’s bar was a lot “higher class” than what I was used to, not that I visited for the alcohol, loud “music” and drunken teenagers anyway. My trips to this hellhole were almost exclusively on business. The hectic atmosphere provided a good cover for us to move across the club subtly.

Me and Gilda slipped between the dance floor towards the stairs that led to the VIP level, only to be stopped by the hefty bouncer.

“Wait up, are you on the list?” He asked, the very model of the stereotypical bouncer. I groaned and motioned for him to get closer to me.

“Tell Webly that Rowan is here to see him.” I asked, struggling to combat the volume of the music that covered the club.

“If I did that for every little fuck that came here I wouldn’t be a very good bouncer would I?” He replied smugly.

“If you’re such a good bouncer why are you unconscious?” I asked.

“Wha-?” I belted him with all my might, knocking him straight on his ass; before I straightened my collar and waltzed up the stairs.

Gilda strode next to me. “Can you ever solve a problem without harming someone?”

“No.” I replied coldly, before nodding towards Webly’s table.

Webley was sat at his usual table, next to the balcony so he could “look down upon the lesser men.” Surrounded by women much too young.

I never liked Webly, the pretentious fuck.

Upon seeing me his attitude did a one eighty. He quickly smoothed over his ruffled black hair, and fixed his tie; though he seemed to forget the lipstick that adorned his chin line.

He whispered something to the women holding his arms and they quickly vacated the table, allowing us to take a seat opposite him.

“Rowan! Dearest of all my friends, it’s been a long time hasn’t it?” He said jubilantly. I gave him some courtesy and shook his hand; but I made sure to give him the “You’re in some deep shit.” Look that he was familiar with.

“Webly.” I replied, before motioning to the scowling girl on my right. “This is Gilda; I’m helping her with a personal problem.”

“Very nice to meet you Madame.” He replied, making sure to kiss her hand in the process. It did little to faze her cold exterior though, causing him to chuckle nervously.

“So, I assume you just aren’t here to visit your best friend eh?” He asked.

“No, apparently some of your boys grabbed her buddy.”

The colour rapidly drained from his face, he took the napkin from the table and wiped the sweat that had begun to build on his forehead.

“Well I know this sounds bad; but I do acknowledge my role in this incident!” He added on quickly. “Your friend is that Rainbow haired girl yes?”  Gilda nodded. “Well I can’t just give her up per say, she’s worth quite a lot to a very specific client. Apparently they are so smitten with her that they hired me to obtain her.”

“You’re into human trafficking now? Is this how bad things have gotten since…” I quickly stopped myself, mentally slapping myself for nearly letting my past slip. “Listen, you sell her on and I will break your fucking legs.” I warned gravely. Webly knew that it was no idle threat.

He coughed into his hand before leaning and whispering harshly “Do you know how much money this is worth? I could be set for a long time here!”

“All you have to do is sell and innocent girl to some creepy bastard right?” I finished for him, clearly disgusted with his new practice. “You tell your employer the fuck right off, hell I’ll even work for you again if that stops you from doing this.”

Web spent several minutes debating over the moral implications in his head, before reluctantly reaching a conclusion.

“Okay, I’ll call off the whole human trafficking thing, if you do me one last favor.”

“Done.” I responded instantly.

“You don’t even know what the favor is yet!”

“Does it matter? It’s gonna’ be a pain in the ass anyway.” I reasoned.

“Come with me.” He beckoned for us to come into his thankfully soundproof office; it was decorated with elaborate wooden furnishing. He rapped his fingers against his desk for several seconds before looking up at us.

“I need someone killed.”

Next Chapter: Bitter Memories Estimated time remaining: 5 Minutes

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Hunted: The Life and Times of Rowan Wilton, Griffon

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