What Will Burn by James Oswald (latest novels to read .TXT) 📗

He’s perhaps mid-forties, short-cropped hair going grey at the temples and receding completely from the shiny top of his head. He wears narrow-framed specs and his jacket’s one of those expensive designer jobs that Gary thinks looks shit but knows costs more than he earns in a month. Earned in a month, fuck it. When he even had a job. Jim’s shoes look expensive too, even if he is wearing a faded pair of jeans like half the men in the room.

‘Jim’s wife claimed he’d been molesting his daughters.’

Gary’s still looking at the man as Fielding lets slip this new nugget of information, and he sees Jim stiffen visibly, as if he’s been prodded with a sharp stick. Well, fair enough. Gary reckons he’d feel the same, having his dirty laundry aired in this room.

‘She has no evidence, of course. Because there’s no truth in the allegation. Just her say against his. The judge, though? She . . .’ And here Fielding pauses for maximum effect. ‘. . . she took Jim’s wife’s side. Granted her the divorce and custody of the children. Jim was denied visiting rights pending an investigation into the allegations. That was two years ago and he hasn’t seen them since.’

The murmur of outrage grows, rumbling around the room like a drunk man in a pub. Gary looks over his shoulder, sees some of the women glance nervously at each other, the environment suddenly turned more hostile than perhaps they were expecting. Well, it was their choice to come, only their fault if they get hurt.

‘Jim’s not the only one here today who’s been cheated. His is a tragic, terrible injustice, but we’ve all of us suffered at the hands of our so-called courts.’ Fielding is working himself up now, fuelled by the simmering anger in the crowd. It’s intoxicating stuff, Gary has to admit. The man knows how to work an audience. If he’s half as good in court then Bella’s in for a shock. Well, she will be if he can come up with the cash to pay the lawyer.

‘You’ve all come to hear me tell you how to fight back, right? You want to know how to get justice in a system rigged against us.’

A murmur of agreement works its way around the room, but as Gary looks back towards the rear, he hears other noises too. It sounds like voices chanting, and he remembers the crowd outside the hotel as he came in. Protesters, making out that Fielding was some kind of monster, woman hater, Christ only knew what. A moment later, and the double doors into the room burst open, the noise suddenly painful as a gang of them rush in, screaming.

Gary’s on his feet before he knows it. Who the fuck do these people think they are? Breaking in here, accusing him and the others of all kinds of sick filth. They look like lesbians, all short-cropped messy hair, baggy clothes and piercings. As if they weren’t ugly enough as it is. He’s facing up to them, spoiling for a fight. Ready to clock one as she strides towards Fielding at the podium.

‘Crawl back under your rock, you disgusting paedo.’ She points an accusing finger at him, even as a security guard grabs her around the waist and pulls her away. She shrugs him off, face almost as red as her ugly, stubble-shaved hair. Her anger’s contagious, stoking Gary’s own, and he moves to intercept her before she can get to the lawyer. He starts to raise his fist, soon put her in her place, but a hand grabs his wrist.

‘Not now, Gary. Not here.’

The voice is pitched low, almost a growl, and with enough menace in it that it penetrates the red mist beginning to descend, blows it away. Gary turns swiftly to find Fielding standing close, almost too close. Their eyes lock for a moment, and then the lawyer lets go of his wrist, jerks his head towards the podium.

‘Come on. Leave security to the pros. We can get out this way.’

Gary follows Fielding through a small door at the back of the stage, into another room. Half a dozen men are there already, including Jim, the one whose wife accused him of molesting his daughters. They’re a bit shaken, but more angry than afraid, ready for a fight. Fair enough, it was only a bunch of ugly dykes who could do with being given a hard lesson in manners, after all. As one, they turn to see who’s come in.

‘Lads, I’d like you all to meet Gary.’ Fielding makes introductions, although Gary isn’t sure he’ll remember many of the names. Jim, sure. He’s easy enough to recognise. The others all look alike, as if they all buy their clothes from the same shop, or maybe subscribe to the same gym. He can see they’re better off than him, maybe a bit higher up the social ladder too. None of them seem to look down on him, though.

‘What’s going on out there, Tommy?’ one of them asks.

‘Just a few bitches getting uppity, Christopher. No need to worry about it. Security’ll deal with it, and I had a word with the polis. They’ll treat this lot a bit more seriously now.’

Gary notices that word, polis. The inflection of it jars with Fielding’s otherwise polished accent. It feels more like the way Bazza would speak than a posh lawyer. But then Fielding’s not really posh, is he?

‘Reckon it’s safe to go back out there?’ one of the other men asks, earning stares from his comrades. He goes a little red in the face as he realises what he’s said, what he’s admitted to. ‘I didn’t mean it that way. Just don’t want to get in the way of the security men, right?’

There’s a moment’s silence, which is as much an answer to the question as any. Then Fielding slaps the man on the back. ‘It’s OK, Don. We all know what you meant. Sounds like they’re done in there anyways. Shame about the meeting, though. I