A Longcroft Carol
Dave & Vinny...ish
The Developer
The sleek black Mercedes glided effortlessly down the narrow, potholed streets, its tinted windows concealing the predatory gaze of its occupant, Silas Blackwood, a property developer with an insatiable appetite for profit. His eyes, like those of a hawk surveying its prey, darted from one dilapidated dwelling to the next, each decrepit structure a potential goldmine waiting to be unearthed. The estate was a tapestry of neglect, a stark contrast to the affluent neighbourhoods Blackwood frequented. The houses, once vibrant and full of life, now stood as faded echoes of their former glory, their paint peeling, their roofs sagging, their gardens overgrown with weeds. Yet, to Blackwood, these eyesores were not symbols of despair but opportunities for exploitation.
As he cruised along, his mind conjured up images of luxury apartments rising from the ashes of these forgotten homes, their gleaming facades a stark reminder of the wealth that could be extracted from this impoverished community. He envisioned the exorbitant rents that these new abodes would command, the steady stream of income that would flow into his coffers, further fuelling his insatiable greed. The residents of the estate, oblivious to the vulture circling above, went about their daily lives, their spirits as weathered as their surroundings. They were the invisible, the forgotten, their voices drowned out by the relentless hum of the city's progress. Blackwood, however, was not one to be swayed by pity or compassion. He saw only the only the potential for personal gain.
With a predatory smile curling his lips, he continued his reconnaissance, his eyes gleaming with avarice as he plotted his next move. The estate was his oyster, and he was determined to extract every pearl of profit from its depths.
The Warehouse
Silas looked at his watch. The meeting was at 2 pm in an old warehouse. Blackwood wouldn't normally meet in such a place but the e-mail had been most insistent. He really wanted to make inroads into the Longcroft Estate but the damn council had been blocking that for too long, refusing to sell him the old council homes but the correspondent had promised a solution to that.
The SatNav suddenly chimed up.
"You have reached your destination."
Silas looked out at the building, resisting the urge to drive off as fast as possible.
The grim, dilapidated warehouse stood in solemn neglect, its weathered brick walls adorned with graffiti. Boarded up windows protected against the weather. Silas stepped from the Mercedes and cursed as his foot landed in dog shit. He did his best to wipe it off, doing the dog shit shuffle as it was known on the estate. There was a small and unobtrusive door with a smashed emergency light above it. Blackwood got a weird sense of foreboding as he approached it. He rapped smartly on the door three times.
He heard a shuffle behind him and felt a pain in the back of his head before he sagged to the floor unconscious.
The Dream
In the murky realm of Silas Blackwood's unconscious mind, shadows danced in a surreal ballet of greed and fear. A dimly lit warehouse loomed before him, its walls pulsating with a malevolent energy. The air was thick with an unsettling silence, broken only by whispers that seemed to crawl from the darkness. Greedy tendrils of smoky apparitions slithered through the space, embodying his insatiable desires. Faces twisted in agony emerged from the shadows, reflections of those he had exploited in his relentless pursuit of wealth.
As Silas moved through this haunting dreamscape, the floor beneath him turned to quicksand, each step dragging him deeper into an abyss of his own making. The walls whispered of betrayals, and phantom hands clawed at him from the obsidian void. A spectral ledger, filled with the names of those he had wronged, materialized before his eyes, its pages rustling like the anguished cries of lost souls. In this ethereal nightmare, the warehouse became a chilling theatre of his own conscience, where the price of greed was exacted with a relentless and unforgiving darkness.
The Meeting
Blackwood groaned as he came to. He found himself unable to move. As his vision started to clear he realised that he was tied to a chair. There was a smiling man sat crossed legged in front of him, sipping from a bottle of beer. He’s wearing a tweed suit that might look smart on someone else but this man with his scarred face just looked like a thug in a suit.
Silas tried to speak but his throat was dry.
"Ah, I see you are back in the land of the living Mr. Blackheart."
Silas coughs, "It's Blackwood."
"I think mine is more accurate."
The man stood, his shoulders were broad and he must have been about six foot two.
"I expect you’re thirsty."
The man stepped forward and emptied the contents of the beer bottle over Blackwood's face.
Silas spluttered and cursed.
"No need to thank me."
The man sat back down again.
Silas shook his head to clear the beer from his eyes.
"Why have you tied me up? You asked me to come here to discuss a development deal. You told me you had leverage with the council so that I could buy up some of the flat blocks. So why tie me up?"
The man in the tweed suit smiled.
"Before I answer that I'd like to introduce you to some friends of mine."
The Ghost of Crooked Deals Past
A man stepped from the shadows. He was dressed in a tailored pinstripe suit and cut an imposing figure with eyes that held shadows of illicit days gone by. Inked tales adorned his weathered skin, recounting a life of nefarious dealings. An illustrated man in the truest sense of the word. The seated man beamed.
"This is my friend Reggie, the phantom Muldoon, otherwise known as the ghost of crooked deal past."
Silas squired in his bonds and looked bemused.
The man strode forward and leaned over Blackwood. He took out a small tablet from his pocket and showed the screen to Silas. It was his bank account, showing his balance. The man tapped at the screen.
There was now a million less in the account.
Reggie whispered, Silas would later swear he could see the darkness leak from his mouth.
"That's for shafting your partner on that first deal. You remember Jake Farley? No you wouldn't because you left him in a slum with no money. He killed himself because of you. So I'll take that million."
Silas screamed. Not in grief but in horror at the loss of a full million with the click of a few buttons.
Reggie merged once more into the shadows.
"Oh dear Mr. Blackheart," smirked the seated man, "Things are not going terribly well are they?"
"Who are you?" hissed Silas.
"All in good time Mr B. All in good time. But first I've someone else I'd like you to meet."
The Ghost of Crimes Present
A slender woman stepped from the shadows. She wore a long studded leather jacket, zipped up right to her neck that reached down to her ankles. Moving with a fluid grace, like a cat. Silas would normally have found her vivid blue eyes and disarming smile attractive but all of his instincts were screaming at him that this person was more dangerous than anyone he'd ever met.
"This is Maggie. We'll just call her Maggie for now." said the seated man.
Maggie floated forward and regarded Silas with those eyes, like spotlights reaching into his soul. Her voice when she spoke was as smooth as silk.
She stepped in close and planted a kiss on his cheek.
"Thank you." she whispers in a sultry voice.
"What for?" Asks a confused Silas.
Suddenly her fist shot forward and she smacked him on his jaw so hard the chair tipped over. She then bent down and helped to right it.
"Spit it out darling." She said holding out her hand.
Silas felt something loose in his mouth. He spat blood and a single gold tooth into her hand.
"The cost of doing business on the Longcroft Estate Silas. Isn't that one of your sayings? There is always a price to pay?"
She faded into the shadows and the man in the chair chuckled.
"Isn't she a dream? Don't mess with her though. A million quid and a gold tooth down. Like a nightmare day at the casino eh?"
"WHO ARE YOU?" Yelled Silas.
The man wagged a finger.
"Once more person to meet. Patience my dear boy."
The Ghost of What Will be.
A mountain of a man cloaked in a billowing trench coat stepped from the shadows. His face was hazy and no matter how much he squinted, Silas cannot see the face. He wondered if he has been drugged as well while the man stood like a towering silent sentinel.
"Who is this?" Demanded Silas.
"He does not have a name, for who knows what will be? We could call him Eddie to make it more informal?" Suggested the seated man.
The towering man was suddenly beside Silas without ever having appeared to move. A bony hand reached out and touched his shoulder. Silas screamed as he feels the life being sucked out of him. His chest tightens, his heart pounds. He's going to die. When he could stand it no more he blacked out.
When he awoke, the future, Eddie, had gone and there was just the man in the chair with a serious expression on his face.
Silas was struggling to breathe.
"You see what the future holds Silas?"
"Please, tell me your name." asked Silas in a croaky voice.
Hope you Guessed my name.
"My name? They call me Lucifer. I have plans for this estate and you will not fuck them up by gentrifying it and filling it full of vegan hipsters who can just about afford their rent and a daily caramel macchiato with bloody oat milk. Have you got that?" Fire seemed to rage within his eyes and Silas swore he could see souls writhing in agony within those bottomless twin pools just as Lucifer clicked his fingers.
Silas Blackwood found himself back in his Mercedes with a groggy head. Was it all a dream? Did he have time to change his ways? He started the engine, slipped the car into gear and tried to pull away but nothing happened. He stepped from the car. It was up on bricks, the lovely alloys had been taken. A lesson learned by many Mercedes drivers who had parked on the Longcroft Estate. He rubbed his jaw where he could still feel the absence of his gold tooth and ran as fast as he could away from the estate.
Charles Dickens:
"Mankind was my business...the common welfare was my business..."
© Darren Sant 2023 (apart from the Dickens bit obviously!)
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