Chapter One – Devil’s Advocate

1958, Liverpool, England

It was the summer of 58’; the simmering Sun blankets the city skyline in a sweltering heat. The cobbled streets below, swarmed over in varying patterns of twisted metal and flesh. The bustling sounds of the awakening city trickles onto the rocky banks of the River Mersey.

Annoyed motorist generously showed their displeasure by yelling profanities from their open windows. One hand over-zealously making love to their horns, the tips of the other curled in vulgar gestures, brandished rowdily out of their windows.

Flustered mothers fought hard to hold on to their disgruntled toddler’s hands. They push and pull against the strong currents of giggling teenagers and the crushing walls of a rushing crowd. An awkward tango shared under the sunlight.

John Arne Riise glanced anxiously at his watch, it was half past nine. Judging from the snaking lines of stalling cars outside his window, he knew it was going to be a nightmare trying to clear the notorious Merseyside traffic.

'It’s alright mate, I'll drop off 'ere' shouted John, his voice rising above the noisy racket. His long fingers poised upon the shoulders of his ruby-faced cabby in a sympathetic pat. He slipped him a couple of quid’s for all his troubles and quickly exited after a genial exchange of mumbling 'Cheers'.

A deafening roar of bleating cars greeted him as he got out. Their livid occupants cast jealous looks upon the scooters that merrily pass them, their trailing eyes silently cussing.

Blacken smoke and charred tires wafted in the air, lingering between the shiny chrome trimmings and pebbled streets.

John carefully peeked down the stretch of the one way street. Throwing glances left and right, wary of any runaway scooter that might come rampaging down the congested lane.  He held on tightly to his white trimmed fedora hat that perched on his head. His dark coat hung loosely on his arm, rustling precariously in the wind.

Deftly, he glided around the stalling cars, dodging past the cusses and deadly stares. John showed his appreciation towards the reception as he dashed across to safety. His curled fingers held aloft over his head, swaying to a symphony of blaring horns and hurtled abuses.

‘Oh! Sod ‘of’’ John growled, wrestling with the tangled sleeves of his coat, his arms flailing unchecked behind him. With his back towards the crowd, he did not notice a band of giggling stewardess’ in his path.

‘Ow! Watch it!’ A pretty blonde scowled, rubbing her shoulders. Her handbag lay strewn on the floor, it contents spilling onto the grey pavement. ‘Ar’ ye bli- ’ She stopped short from finishing her sentence, her face turning an odd-ish shade of purple.

‘Good grief! Ye’ John A‘ne Riise!’ she spluttered, her eyes widening in excitement. John could only laughed, quiet accustom to such reaction.

‘Flyin’ off to somewhere, ladies?’ He ventured, inclining his head towards the luggage they were towing. His lips curling at its ends, bemused at the odd behaviour playing before him.

‘Uhuh!’ Fleeting mumbles echoed within the group. Some pretended to tuck invisible strands of hair behind their ears. Others burst into uncontrollable fits of giggles or suddenly seemed very interested in their shoes.

‘Would ye like to join us?’ The pretty blond smiled coyly, her eyes prowling deep into his own. Loud gasps of surprise, embarrassment and admiration swept through the group, raining around them like snow in spring. ‘Not today. No! Ms -?’ John hesitated. He lets his gaze linger upon her delicate face just awhile longer. ‘Allie – Just call me, Allie!’

Her breathless reply sending jolts of exhilaration through his body. Her slight discomfort making him smirked wickedly like a Cheshire cat.  Though her face turns a bitter shade of pink, her eyes remain defiant still.

‘Next time, maybe. Ms Allie.’ John whispered, seizing her trembling hand into his, eyes never leaving hers. Languidly, he caressed that back of her fingers with his thumb, he then casually brought them to his lips.

 ‘Ladies!’ He concluded, tipping his hat, before parting and leaving behind a flurry of squeals and shrieks, emoting from the girl’s intense state of delirium.

~****~

Rafa Benitez fidgeted uncomfortably in his plushy chair, his mind reeling from the surreal conversation he just had with his secretary. His fingers absentmindedly twirled the shiny golden button of his richly embroidered vest, his dark brown eyes followed the three dark silhouettes passing his tainted window.

‘Boss, - there’ s-  there’s someone here to meet ye’ Her voice quivered, unnaturally high on the other end. ‘Tell ‘em to come back later.’ He had said.

The palm of his hands now wet with sweat, hearing the locks of his closed door squeaking, prying away form its brass sockets.

‘But – Sir – Please, I think ye would want to see ‘em.’ She said a pleading cry imminent at the back of her voice. It was only then that he was suddenly aware of the strange hushed silence that fell upon his front door.

Rafa took a shuddered breath as he slowly drew away from his chair as the distorted shadows loomed closer. His fingers furtively caressing the curves of a gun he kept in his drawer.

He watched apprehensively as the shadow of a well-built man nudged his head slightly to his partners framing him on his either side. Their true intentions concealed behind the wide brims of their black hats. 

Odd choice for Associates, no? - Rafa thought shrewdly to himself, surveying the looming forms of the advancing figures intently from the corner of his eyes. One was as tall as he was skinny. His awkward movements forcefully reminded Rafa of a gangly giant on strings. Small and petite was the other. His thuggish swagger shrouded by his elfish appearance.    

‘Gentlemen’ he said pleasantly. His eyes darting back and forth, as the two man sauntered towards him. The taller man nudged the chair away with the tip of his shoes, swooping down on to a stunned Rafa, pinning him into an arm lock as he stepped behind him.

‘Wat’ it this?’ Rafa yelled reproachfully. His eyes bulged in contempt as he watched the smaller man round his desk, searching for something. ‘Wotcher’ think?’ The diminutive man lip’s arched in a sneer. His small hands roamed down Rafa’s sides and between his legs; rummaging through hidden pockets in his vest and pants looking for signs of anything suspicious.

Satisfied that he was clean, the man now turned his attention towards Rafa’s cluttered desk. Rafa’s heart began to batter against his chest.  Long fingers slid along the seams of the desk, the dark oak floors below strewn with fallen stacks of documents and stationeries. A slight of hand saw the man probe his fingers between the drawers, the hidden treasure below, swimming past his roving palm.

‘Oy! Lookie what I found!’ The small man exclaimed. A small triumphant smile tugged at his lips, his eyes shining in anticipation. He drew out his hands slowly, a silver revolver dangled gingerly at the end of his fingers.

‘Tsk Tsk! Rafa m’boy! Ye know ye not sup’ose to play with guns .’ He said sardonically, clicking his tongue as he stoop up. Silver bullets rained onto the wooden floor, clanking loudly as they dislodged from their chambers. ’What ye’ wife ‘uld   have said eh’

The tall man behind Rafa laughed stupidly behind him, his breath reeked of stale beer and Cuban cigars. ‘Tis yer bird no?’ the small man inquired, jerking his head to a picture frame on Rafa’s desk.

‘She’s a fit lil’ bird ain’t she, Troll?’ The man called Troll chortled heartily, his face contorted into a sinister lopsided grin.

‘That’s quite enough, Thumbelina!’ The sudden boom of voices against the white washed walls made Rafa jump. His eyes rolled in their sockets, searching the corners of the room for the source of his distraction. ‘There’s no need to upset the guest anymore than he already is?’  

His eyes squinted just a little into the general direction of the bellowing voice, trying to fathom the outline of the proprietor through the rancid smoke billowing underneath. Burning amber glimmered slowly into the room amongst the shadows, illuminating fleeting glimpses of the man standing before him, his features obscured behind the hat.

 ‘Ay, Stevie ye not getting soppy on me, no?’ The man called Thumbelina look on incredulously at the lone man in front of them, his brows knitted high upon his forehead.

‘Not when ye two morons are with me. No! ’ Stevie said coolly, taking his hat off and gently placing it on the desk. ‘Why don’ ye lot wait for me outside, Mr. Benitez and I have some private matters to discuss.’ Stevie spoke softly, looking up from his chair, his piercing blue eyes gazing deep into Rafa’s.

‘Oh come off it! If Harry can, why can’t we?’ The smaller man hissed indignantly, his face flushed with anger.  

‘Luis!’ Stevie said dangerously, the lines on his forehead deepening into a scowl.

Rafa staggered a few steps forward as the grip on his struggling arms loosened. He drew himself up quickly, tidying up his crumpled appearance, a disdain look etched upon his face.

He watched as Luis stomped out of the room, muttering angrily under his breath, throwing menacing glances at the back of Stevie’s head with Troll trailing close behind him.

‘What do you want?’ Rafa demanded weakly, his voice starting strongly but fading into a whisper. Stevie remained quite, gazing unblinking at him. Rafa hiccoughed hastily, the aberrant silence making him uncomfortable. He busied himself with clearing the clutter on his desk, not wanting to dwell in Stevie’s cold gaze.

‘Ye have a very nice collection!’

‘What?’ Rafa said distractedly, his hands fumbling with the golden locks of his desk drawers.  ‘That?’ Stevie nudge his head gently towards the glass cabinet, a handsome display of assorted shoes tuck neatly in the corner.

‘Oh! Err.. Thanks.’ Rafa hesitated, his mind rampant with means for escape. He looked wistfully at the closed door in front of him, wishing desperately for some way out of the situation.

 Stevie drew himself up from his seat and slowly sauntered towards the glass cabinet, his coat billowing in the gentle breeze of the twirling fan above him. Long fingers traced a path on the shiny surface and eyes taking in the beautiful details carved upon the shoes.

‘Quiet impressive. Must have cost yer a fortune, to get all these.’

‘Shame though, it would have been more grand if yeh could have thrown away that old mouldy thing.’ He scoffed, tipping his head towards a pair of derelict shoes, carefully encased in a glass box.

‘For your information, that old mouldy thing used to belong to the King of France.’ Rafa hissed scornfully. ‘Might I add it cost me a fortune to get my hands of them’ His chest swelling pompously.

‘What’s so great of ‘em, anyway? They are old and useless. They belong in the rubbish bin I’d say.’ Stevie said in disgust, breathing heavily on the glass.

’ If I had the chance, I would’ve purged the whole city off the old sod.’

‘He’s a nutter if he let those dogs away! He’s goin soft if ye ask me?’ Stevie rambled on incoherently, not noticing the confused look on Rafa’s pallid face.

‘Wh- what are you trying to say?’ Rafa ventured cautiously, unnerved by the sudden outburst of contempt, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the buttons on his waist coat.

‘I have an offer for yeh, Mr Benitez.  Would you like to run by me the story on the background of the Toxies? No cover-up, no lies, nothing! But just the raw details.’

‘Oh and don’t give me that look. I know yeh have sent that idiot to tail us. Leeching on our sordid deeds!  Trying to discredit us! Oh Rafa! I know.’  Stevie rebutted, before Rafa could deny it.  

‘Preposterous!’ mumbled Rafa under his breath, twirling the button more rapidly. Beads of sweats begin to form around his collar, his eyes darting everywhere expect at the advancing figure looming towards him.

Stevie let out a mirthless laugh, the corners of his lips curling into a sneer.

‘So ‘ow ‘bout it?’ He said, sitting on the edge of the desk, looking rather bored by the proceedings.

‘What! Are you telling me that you are going to dishonour your own kind?’ Rafa cackled, shaking his head in disbelieved. ‘Aye! If I were to cleanse the whole city.’ Stevie said nonchalantly, quite unperturbed by the flabbergasted look on Rafa’s face.

‘Wh- What Do you expect me to help you in this insane rebellion of yours?’

‘Why would I want to trade a murderous gang for another?’ Rafa yelled, his face flushing a deeper shade of crimson.

‘Naturally! If yeh don’t want to return to a pile of cinders tomorrow.’ Stevie said airily, his fingers twittering in front of him. Rafa opened his mouth but was unable to speak, taken aback by the biting revelation. 

 ‘If you know what’s good for yeh, ye’ll send him to me! I’ll be waiting at the Albert Dock. 9 o’clock. Gd’day!’ Stevie concluded, taking his leave, leaving a bewildered Rafa in his wake.