This is a post that has sat in my ‘Drafts’ folder for the last 3-4 months. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but these pictures have had no words for so long they have lost a little of their story. Tonight I plan to rectify that, a little…
The scene is set as the camera pans across the old dock works. It could be any of the old, grime stained industrial towns you might have visited. Slightly dishevelled and with that oily smell that stays in the air no matter what other aromas may waft in on the breeze.
The local ale house brings its own stale scent as you walk past the open doors and the noise of the conversations taking place in hushed tones escapes onto the dusky streets.
The harbour itself has its own briny stillness, the lapping of the water lulls you while the salt in the air dries on your skin and clothes.
The port is eerily quiet, even for a late evening in autumn, and the chill air seems to be trying to chasing those quiet, simple daytime folk homeward. Hastening you and them away and back towards the warmth of their beds.
As the light dims, the other face of the town turns its gaze towards these cluttered streets. This is the face of the town that only a few hardened souls can look upon without feeling that irrational fear of the dark. The fear that makes you mistrust those darkened corners and alleyways. No law abiding folk venture out here after dark. As no written law is found around here after dark. The darkness brings its own laws…
But if you stay out. If you stay in those streets, you may see the stories of those hardened souls played out in full. You may see what starts and ends in those darkened streets, under the cover of night.
Mr M we have met before. Kingpin to his men and a force of will that can leave even the most hardened soul happier to face the fears of the night than meet his gaze.
His gang, a collection of men whose ill-gotten pursuits have ended many a life and lined Mr M’s pockets well for the last decade.
Mrs M is cut from the same cloth. No longer do those softer female instincts reside in this lady from a bygone age. Her beauty, once a thing of wonder, soured by resentment and spite. Cast aside by Mr M as her glory faded, she became his nemesis not his victim. She now holds so much power and influence that soon she will rival Mr M himself.
That time is now. The rivals have both been left with only one course of action. One side must fall. If any part of the other gang still stands by morning then the threat remains. Only if the other can be wholly destroyed, will control of the port be there for the taking for the victor.
The night starts with the meeting of our protagonists. Mr and Mrs M find their interests crossing while they unload their nefarious shipments. Most of the crates and containers throughout the port are stock for the family business.
Untold wealth and an uncountable numbers of illegal weapons can be found by just opening their wares. If someone dared to steal from the M’s that is. As usual the only souls brave enough to steal from the M’s are each other. The argument this time seems fiercer than usual though…
As they argue Mr M’s henchmen move to force Mrs M to back down. Something she has never been able to do. Before they can force her back she cuts their kingpin down where he stands.
Anger, confusion and revenge ripple through the port as the news reaches the remaining members of the gang. Men grab guns and prepare to exact their revenge.
Sides are taken and Mr M’s Bruiser takes command of the gang with one mission in mind. To destroy his bosses killer. Mrs M retreats to her safe house while she waits for the backlash to start. She may never have been a boy scout but she understands the need to be prepared. Her steam ship is not only a safe house but comes equipped with a sting in its tail (or on its bow).
A burst of fire is enough to put the Bruiser on his back foot and allows Mrs M’s girls to start to take back the initiative.
This is her time. This is the point she decides to take the fight back to the harbour. The final blow must be the destruction of all of the gang. Working her way across town she heads for the old ale house. Her rage makes her blind to her gangs losses. Girls drop one at a time until she finds her self alone.
Alone with the rest of Mr M’s gang and their need for revenge. As the boys move in, Mrs M finds herself holed up in the general store. As she looks about herself in a frantic need for inspiration she sees matches and methylated spirits. A smile breaks across her face for what may be the first time in years.
Her aim is poor, but with enough flaming liquids a person can do an awful lot of damage.
As her confidence again begins to improve, she screams at the last of the boys. She taunts him to attack. She knows that she is one death away from owning everything that she has ever wanted. Even though she has lost her own gang, she knows that the act of finishing this is all she needs to be whole again.
As the tow truck speeds towards Mrs M she steels her nerve and waits. Waits until the drivers rage blinds him to his own safety and his thirst for revenge weighs down his foot.
The force of the impact, the noise of the crash and the cloud of dust and smoke that is cast into the air, covers the area and hides the outcome of the crash. As the dust settles a vision of destruction becomes unveiled. The last of Mr M’s gang lays dead over the bonnet of his truck. Forced through the windscreen by the impact if the crash.
Mrs M lays quiet on the ground. Seemingly unharmed but so still it is hard to tell if she still breaths. As sirens sound in the distance and voices start to be heard from alerted householders the body of Mrs M remains, quiet and still, on the ground of the harbour that she gave all to possess…