Doyle

Doyle - A Hannah Todd Story

Doyle - A Hannah Todd Story

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental. This work is copyrighted by the author. All characters involved in sexual activity are eighteen years of age or older at the time of portrayal.

This is the continuing adventures of Hannah Todd. I would strongly recommend you read at least some of "The Bridge," "Badass," "The Auction," and "Simon," which provide the backstory for most of the characters in this story. And if you've been reading me, thank you for your continued support. Your comments are priceless, so please leave your wisdom so I might improve my writing.

Doyle - Part One

By the time Halloween struck, we found the prison at the horse farm to be unmaintainable the way we were doing it. The stench from the cellar rose up into the house and made it virtually uninhabitable. So we changed it up.

We moved everyone to the original safe house and did a full cleanup of the ranch house. Paint job and all. This was done by my specially vetted cleaning crew that I picked up from my friend Gloria Tuttlehill. These were the folks that worked mostly underground cleaning things like bloody murder scenes and Gloria's dungeon, hidden in the basement of one of her properties. It was where Gloria and Rapper would go, along with her sister subs, to find respite. Not my kind of play, but the much-tattooed billionaire found it essential to her lifestyle. Of all her many straight friends, I was the only one in on the secret.

Once the ranch house, which the guards started referring to as the raunch house, was cleaned up, the prisoners were brought back to its cellar and put back in cages. However, no more bed pans, and more frequent showers improved the sanitary conditions of the place. It was still a pretty awful place to spend a life, and my charges soon became weary of it, and constantly tried to bargain their way out.

But I was getting substantial cooperation from those who could give it, and they were rewarded with upstairs time and better meals when appropriate. And an occasional venture outside would be earned by the most cooperative.

I also decided that, for sanitary reasons, everyone would be dressed. In scrubs. Utilitarian, but appropriate. And, fairly comfortable. Not that I was looking for that, but it was convenient for us. And all the outfits were oversized and without ties so they would have to virtually hold up their pants if they were walking somewhere to keep them from falling to the floor. That was Avi's idea.

The guards were given instructions that there would be no talking amongst the prisoners, and that added an extra level of boredom to their captivity. The threat of the cattle prod kept things pretty quiet in the cellar. All that silence caused them to be pretty chatty when brought upstairs, away from the herd, for interrogation. This worked in my favor every time. Even with Simon.

I had reviewed all the material I had received from Rhee Spanner on my latest pursuit, Cathal Seamus 'Clunky' Doyle, Jr. His mother having died upon his birth, delivering a ten-pound baby boy in January of 2010, left the raising of the boy up to his father. Unfortunately for young Cathal, his father could have been named Drunk and Disorderly, for all anyone knew, and young Cathal was serially abused pretty much from the day he was born.

Nurtured by his aunt Cecelia, Cathal, Sr's younger sister, who was abused by her brother as well, it was rumored that the sister's child, a son, belonged to Cathal, Sr. as well. And the two boys were raised virtually as brothers. Cecelia had been a bit of a nympho in her youth, and no paternity test was ever taken to prove young Connor Doyle's paternity. Cathal, Sr. insisted upon this.

As abused children, Cathal, Jr. and Connor found ways to carry this abuse forward in their lives to heap upon others. To say that they were bullies and bad boys is an understatement. Connor was not very bright, but Cathal, Jr. did well in school. For this he got no praise, only more abuse. Cathal, Sr. was one of the toughest guys in the neighborhood, and the boys took this reputation and ran with it. His father's friends simply referred to him as Junior.

But young Cathal, Jr., hating the name Junior, went by the name Seamus, his middle name, to further differentiate him from his abusive father.

Both boys were athletic, and Seamus pursued the sport of boxing. A sport where he was awkward, but powerful. Hence the name, 'Clunky.' Often looking stunned halfway through a fight, his power would pull him out of it, and he won more fights than he lost.

Then he almost beat a kid to death in the ring, but fortunately for all parties, the fight was stopped in time. His opponent never went back to the ring, and Clunky was banned from fighting in any organized venue. So, what did he do? He took it to the streets. That's where his reputation went from one of a bully to that of a hoodlum.

It was further said that Cecelia encouraged both boys to have sex with her in their teens and that is where their misogyny sprouted and their total disrespect of women. Neither man married, and they took from women what they wanted without giving much back in return.

After Cathal, Sr. was beaten to death in 2027, both boys went rogue. Although he hated his father, Clunky vowed to avenge his death. That is when he started collecting the roughest, meanest gang bangers in the Boston area. They would be the nucleus of his gang. Many of whom are with him to this day.

Clunky and Connor didn't so much target other gangs as much as they absorbed them into their crew. That's when they went into the 'insurance' business, extorting money from local businesses across Boston and other towns in New England. Wanting to keep their identities flying under the radar, they called themselves the 'No Names' to distinguish themselves without a distinction. It worked well, and they found themselves strong-arming their way into an international shipping firm that worked out of Boston and other ports in New England.

Their 'ownership' of a shipping company brought them to the attention of Simon Meetcham, who, for the use of their strong-arm services, brought them into the human trafficking game.

It was then, in his twenties, young Clunky fell afoul of the law. While demonstrating to a new associate the technique for collecting 'insurance' from 'clients,' Clunky almost beat a man to death and happened to do it on the wrong date and time. Two patrol officers in the town of Somerville happened to be right up the street, and they stopped and arrested Clunky and his young associate.

That was when Clunky did three years of a six-year sentence for aggravated assault and battery and for conspiracy to commit extortion. The poor man Clunky beat up tried to recant his testimony, but that of the officers held up. He got off three years early because, on appeal, the one officer recanted his testimony after the other was found shot dead in his patrol car one night. That's the thing about extortion. Once you are in it, there is no escape.

And that is pretty much what we had from Rhee Spanner, other than Clunky Doyle fell off the map in about 2042 as a mobster. That's when he took full and open ownership of a small three-boat shipping company that exported and imported goods from Europe, the Mediterranean, Africa and South Asia. For all intents and purposes, it appeared Mr. Doyle had gone straight. Nothing could be further from the truth, but nothing could be proved otherwise.

Doyle, the man, was a very different story. He was evasive and had no place of residence, but owned several homes. The closest he had was his cousin/brother Connor's place, which is where he received any personal deliveries. Everything else came to the Green Flag Shipping Company, his business of record.

As tough as the man was, he always traveled with a handful of his gangbangers and never slept in the same place two nights in a row. His was a life of constant evasion. Often spending nights in one of the high-end legal brothels in Boston, or Providence, or Bangor or Newport. He spent many of his days in automobiles moving from location to location. Assumed name after assumed name.

Not much is known about his affiliation with Simon, but I would fill in those blanks by asking Mr. Meecham himself, in person.

So, one day, I cut Simon from the herd and brought him upstairs in the ranch house and fed him a decent meal.

"Tell me about Clunky Doyle, Simon. What makes him special and what makes him tick?"

"Clunky is brutal. That's what makes him tick. The reason he's not with the rest of us here today is that he trusts no one and always has an exit strategy. He saw you coming a mile away. He sacrificed his pawns only to save his king and queen."

"His pawns?"

"Yeah, a few girls and a handful of his gangbangers. Probably not his best, either."

"Oh, I see. So where do I find him now?"

"I expect your guess is better than mine at this point. I'm very out of the loop right now. But set me free, and let's see..."

"Yeah, right? That's not happening so quickly, Simon. I know you've got more in the tank, and I'm looking to drain it. Even if it's not about Doyle, there are other roads to hoe."

"So, is that your mission, to free every girl from bondage? Good luck with that. It's bigger than me, and it's much bigger than you."

"Well, I've done pretty well so far. We've freed hundreds of girls in the past year."

"Yeah. Talk to me when you've freed thousands, because that's what's out there."

"Tell me more, Simon. I'm truly interested."

"I'll bet you are. Sorry. There's not much more for me to tell."

"That's not what my research is telling me."

"And that is?"

"Pablino and Craft appear to be pretty active."

"Please. They have probably already gone to ground. They'll never stick their heads out."

"Sure, they will, Simon; they've got to earn, and they can't do that hiding in some hole."

"You'll never find them."

"Oh yeah. I found you, didn't I?"

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With all that was going on at the ranch house, I now had six full-time guards stationed there. No longer having to suffer the use of bedpans to do their business, they had one guard whose specialty was taking their charges to the bathroom. And of course, shower time. The threat of the bedpans coming back was enough to keep them from acting up during these times. It was awfully quiet in our makeshift prison, but at least it didn't smell like shit. The guards liked that too.

Each prisoner, if they were acting within guidelines, would get three showers a week and a change of clothing at each shower. They preferred it to hanging around naked and shitting in a bedpan with no ability to shower.

When it came to info on Doyle, however, I found my best source to be Miles Teetotaler. As a peer, he could second-guess Doyle's next moves. He knew what to look for and what to expect Doyle to do. And he was now talking to me. And he got fed well for it.

"Yes, Miss Todd. If you want to get your hands on Doyle, you need look no further than the houses. Doyle really prefers high-end hookers to his own girls. He sells 'em young, but he doesn't go near the wares. He has his thugs break them and then off they go to the highest bidder. Clunky, on the other hand, likes a little class with his ass."

"And do you know which bordellos he patronizes?"

"I do not, but I can guess."

"Okay, guess."

"Well, it's a little out of my territory, but I was up there one time and he took me to The Silk Purse, which is a high-ender in Quincy. Good pussy, quality stuff."

"Good to know. Any other place?"

"He talked about taking me to a place in downtown Boston, but I don't recall the name. Some kind of vault, I think. I just don't recall, and we never went there."

"Well, you're a wealth of information, Miles. Tell me something that will help you to earn your meal."

"I'll tell you something. And that's he never goes a day without."

"Without?"

"A piece of ass. He's not nice to them, but he pays well. Yeah, he brags about how he treats them like shit. But they wouldn't dare rat him out. They are all too afraid of him."

"Do you think he owns any of these establishments, Miles?"

"Never can tell. He probably owns a lot more than I could tell you about. My guess is he's as rich as Simon."

"As far as I have found, Simon wasn't all that rich. A lot less rich than I am."

"Then you must be a billionaire. 'Cause he's loaded."

"And where does Simon keep his money?"

"You've got him. You're so powerful; ask him yourself. All that money is not going to do him much good now."

"Not that I need it, but you've given me a great idea. Thanks, Miles. Enjoy the rest of your meal, and I will see you soon."

As I walked out the door of the ranch house, I had thoughts of letting Simon go, and double-chipping him. That way, if they find the one chip, which I will let them do, I will always have the second to use to track him. Then I could either follow him to his source of wealth, or to his most trusted outside connections. Hopefully, either Doyle, Craft or Pablino. That could be much more productive than running around New England searching out high-end whorehouses. But probably not as much fun for my people and Rhee's.

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Over the next several weeks, up until Thanksgiving, I sent operators up to New England to try to connect with Doyle via his shipping company. It was a two-pronged attack. First, I had two of my operators, Anthony and Ronnie, apply at Green Flag Shipping Company for security positions. Ronnie was immediately rejected due to his race. All of Doyle's operators were white, and predominantly Irish, English or Scots. Anthony was rejected, even though his mother is Irish, because of his Mediterranean appearance. It wasn't that Clunky and his crew were racist; they just hated everyone who was not one of them.

I would have sent Juicy or Caroline, but being women totally eliminated them as a possibility. Doyle's people, like him, were dyed-in-the-wool misogynists and could not imagine fighting side by side with a woman. If they only knew how tough June Jurgensen is, they might be more concerned about going toe to toe with her.

The one success we had, or should I say partial success, is laying a wasp drone at the offices of Green Flag Shipping, with the hopes of catching a conversation that might expose the location of Clunky Doyle. Or more about his organization.

After two days hiding in the front office of Green Flag Shipping, the wasp finally picked up something. The man in the office who fielded the call did so with a great deal of respect, almost reverence. His deferential manner to the person on the other end of the phone led Danny, who was in the Closet, to believe it was Doyle on the other end of the phone.

"Yes, sir," the man said. "Whatever you wish, sir."

Then after a few moments of silence he said, "That's right, sir. The Green Flag Clipper is its name. And..."

Again, it sounded like the man was cut off from the caller at the other end. Then...

"That's right, sir. It's set to sail on Monday, the 27th. But we don't have..."

The man sounded frustrated, but because of the one-sidedness of the conversation, we were getting nothing from this call. Not until the man said that no girls would be on this ship and that they were being held in Providence. But where in Providence? And how many girls?

"I understand that we have customers in Bulgaria awaiting a shipment, but the Clipper is going nowhere near there. It's strictly heading for Morrocco and is carrying goods and livestock. There are just too many inspections and too many eyes looking over that kind of shipment."

Once again, there was silence as the man awaited the reply from the other end of the line.

"The next shipment going to Europe is in December, and it is a container carrier, but it will probably be too cold to ship bodies to Europe until March... Are you sure? Could be dangerous, and costly."

At that juncture, I still couldn't hear what was being said at the other end of the phone line, but I could tell it was getting louder, and the man on the other end was shouting at the man, who now looked nervous.

"Yes, sir. I will prepare for that... Yes, sir. Thirty, I believe... No, sending more would be a problem. Besides, the order is for thirty girls, and thirty days late isn't too bad...Yes, sir."

I couldn't hear the phone hang up, but I knew it had.

Well, I didn't learn much from the call, but I learned one thing. The Green Flag Shipping Company would be shipping out thirty girls sometime in December. I would have to find the manifest of a ship belonging to Green Flag sailing at that time. From there, we would work our way backwards and deconstruct whatever plan Clunky Doyle was cooking up.

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For Thanksgiving, we had a full family feast. The Krasses were there, and so were Davante and the pregnant Harley, fully into her second trimester. Bertha's family was also with us. Although she cooked, she was also a guest, and we brought servers in to set up the meal and break it down. Of course, Lizzie was with us, and William as well. And it wouldn't be family if Holly's and my parents were not in attendance. Chuck was there too. We had a full house and served the meal family-style in our large dining room.

The talk was mostly about family, and wonderful get-togethers and babies, of course. All the adults had their hands full with all the kids, and Harley was demonstrating her mothering skills, and even Lizzie had her hands full with her little Georgie. Even William, who was not so into kids, found it enjoyable. And the food. Well, Bertha did most of the cooking. Need I say more?

Davante, Harley and Lizzie would be staying overnight and leaving on Black Friday to get home and rest up after confronting all those kids. I think it was a bit daunting for Harley, who was facing the challenges of motherhood to a pair of twins. So, once everyone else left for the night, the five of us decided to have a nightcap. Of course, Harley's was a mocktail, but the rest of us imbibed.

Duane wanted to talk to his brother about Clunky Doyle, and all five of us got involved in the conversation. Since being brought into the circle of trust, there was very little that Duane kept from Davante regarding our exploits. And Davante tried his best to be helpful without committing too many crimes.

"Vante," Duane said, "we've got someone new on our radar, and any help you can give me in this regard would be greatly appreciated."

"And this person is?"

"A guy named Cathal 'Clunky' Doyle. He's a mobster up in Boston and other parts of New England. He's a trafficker and a really bad actor in a whole lot of ways. He has a legit business called Green Flag Shipping, but everything else he does is dirty as hell."

"Is he associated with any underground gangs?"

"He calls his crew the 'No-Names,' and keeps a very low profile. I ask because some of the people busted by the feds in this last auction were his gangsters. I'd like to know if you have discovered anything from them or about their boss."

"Well, that's Russo's territory. You would probably have better luck talking to her. I understand Hannah has a relationship with her. Maybe that is your better route."

"Hannah, what do you think? Are you ready to talk to Carlotta Russo regarding Doyle?"