The Drug lord of Cokeworth
Petunia Evans wasn't skipping rope with childhood glee; she was strategizing surgery costs and contingency plans in her head, all while her tiny legs propelled her forward. Eleven years old on the outside, a woman weathered by time and regret resided within. Her grandmother, the only constant loving presence in her chaotic future, was fading, her heart weakening with every tick of the clock. And Petunia, armed with stolen future knowledge and the physique of a child, was resorting to methods that would make her future self shudder – or perhaps, grimly nod in understanding.
Emma, boisterous and ever-practical, bounced the basketball as they walked. Yvonne, camera slung around her neck, meticulously checked her equipment. They were all playing their parts, a childish façade draped over a serious, desperate mission. Lily, Petunia’s actual nine-year-old sister, trailed behind, her bright eyes alight with innocent curiosity.
“Where are we going exactly?” Lily piped up, her voice a little breathless from trying to keep up with their determined strides. “You said we were going to play spies, but this isn’t the park.”
Emma clamped a hand over Lily’s mouth in mock severity. “Shhh! Top secret spy mission, remember? Spies don’t ask questions, they observe.”
Petunia gave Lily a reassuring smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her weary, old eyes. “We’re just exploring, Lils. A super secret, grown-up adventure. You get to be our special agent in training.” It was a thin veil, but Lily, bless her trusting heart, seemed to accept it. Keeping Lily oblivious was paramount. The less Lily knew about Duncan Fortescue and his shadowed empire, the better.
The warehouse loomed ahead, a hulking brick rectangle against the drab Cokeworth skyline. ‘Fortescue & Sons – Import/Export’ the sign proclaimed in faded lettering, a pathetic lie draped over a den of iniquity. They skirted around the perimeter, the air thick with the smell of diesel and something vaguely acrid that made Petunia’s nose wrinkle.
“Okay,” Emma whispered, bouncing the ball once more before tucking it under her arm. “How do we get in, chief spy leader?”
Petunia scanned the building, her gaze sharper and more observant than any eleven-year-old's should be. Years of future training, of surviving in a world ravaged by resource wars, had honed her perception to a razor’s edge. “There,” she pointed to a section of crumbling brickwork near the back. “Loose bricks. Big enough for us to squeeze through.” She avoided Lily’s gaze, already bracing for the inevitable questions she couldn’t answer honestly. “Lily, you stay here. Lookout. If anyone comes, cough loudly, okay?”
Lily’s lower lip wobbled slightly. “But… I want to come in.”
Petunia hardened her voice, a tone that startled even herself. “No. Lookout. Important job. No arguments.” Lily, sensing the uncharacteristic steel in her sister's tone, nodded reluctantly. “Good girl.” Petunia softened again, giving Lily a quick pat on the head. “Yvonne, camera?”
Yvonne held up the small digital camera, lens glinting. “Ready when you are, Commander Petunia.”
Petunia fixed her gaze on the hole in the wall. “Let’s go.” They slipped through the gap, leaving Lily stationed outside, swallowed by the warehouse's shadows.
Inside, the vast space was eerily empty. Dust motes danced in the faint light filtering through grimy windows, illuminating piles of rubble and discarded crates. The expected stench of chemicals or illicit substances was absent.
Lily’s voice echoed from the entrance, sounding smaller and a bit lonely. “Wow, this is a cool spy base! We found it!”
Petunia frowned, a knot tightening in her stomach. “This isn’t right. This warehouse should be… teeming.” Drugs, money, thugs – that’s what her future sources had indicated. This emptiness was unsettling.
Emma, ever the pragmatist thanks to her police officer father, piped up. “Maybe they operate at night? Movements like this are usually under cover of darkness.”
Petunia shook her head, frustration bubbling. “No, Fortescue’s operation is round the clock. This warehouse never sleeps. Something’s wrong.”
Just as a wave of despair threatened to overwhelm her, Lily’s voice called out, tinged with excitement. “Tuney! Look! A secret passage!”
Petunia pinched the bridge of her nose, a sigh escaping her lips. “Lily, sweetie, that’s probably just… shadows playing tricks.” But she walked towards Lily’s voice, Yvonne and Emma trailing behind, curiosity piqued despite themselves.
Lily was pointing at a section of the concrete floor that looked subtly different, a faint outline barely discernible in the dim light. Emma, with her sharper eyesight, leaned closer. “That’s no shadow, Petunia. Look, it’s a latch. A door.”
Yvonne, already clicking the camera, focused on the outline. “Secret underground lair? This is getting interesting.”
A flicker of hope ignited within Petunia. If the surface was a clean façade, perhaps the real operation was hidden beneath. “Lily, sweetie,” she said, her voice gentler now, “you need to stay here. Really be our lookout. Super, super important job.”
Lily’s face fell again, but Petunia’s earnest gaze held her. “Promise you’ll tell us if anyone comes?” Lily nodded seriously. “Good girl.”
Petunia, Yvonne, and Emma edged towards the concealed door. Yvonne wrestled with the latch, and with a groan of rusted metal, the section of floor hinged upwards, revealing a dark, gaping maw. A rush of stale, cloying air wafted up, carrying a pungent, sickeningly sweet odor.
“Ugh, what is that smell?” Emma wrinkled her nose, backing away slightly.
Yvonne coughed, waving a hand in front of her face. “It’s… overwhelming.”
Petunia’s adult senses identified it instantly. “It’s drugs,” she stated flatly. “Opium, maybe heroin. Strong stuff.” The knot in her stomach tightened further, but now with a different kind of tension – purpose.
They descended the rough-hewn steps into the darkness, Yvonne’s camera flash intermittently illuminating the damp, claustrophobic space. The source of the smell intensified, making their eyes water. From deeper within the underground passage, muffled voices drifted towards them.
“Fucking shit, that Fortescue doesn’t even pay us half what it’s worth.”
“You think we should… you know… take him out? Maybe have a bit of fun with his fancy wife and that little daughter of his afterwards?”
A harsh laugh ripped through the air. “You idiot! He’s the mayor! He’s got money, power, cops in his pocket. We can’t touch him unless someone catches him red-handed. And then we’d lose our pay anyway, wouldn’t we?”
“But they say Fortescue keeps a stash of cash in his office. Personal money, not the company accounts. Just… sitting there. If we took it, who’d be the wiser?”
A slow, predatory smile spread across Petunia’s face. The pieces were clicking into place. The empty warehouse, the underground operation, the desperate talk of cash in the mayor’s office… It was all falling into a neatly convenient pattern. Her grandmother’s surgery fund was suddenly within grasping distance.
“Okay, girls,” she whispered, her voice low and urgent, “we’ve heard enough. Let’s go. And be quiet.”
They retreated silently, backtracking up the steps and out into the empty warehouse. Petunia practically dragged Lily away from the warehouse, her mind already racing, formulating a plan.
“Where are we going now, Tuney?” Lily asked, her initial disappointment at being left out forgotten in the thrill of the escape.
Petunia put an arm around her little sister, steering her towards the town square. “Ice cream. We deserve ice cream after such a successful spy mission.”
And that just so happened to be where Duncan Fortescue’s mayoral office was located.
They sat on a bench in the square, licking melting ice cream cones under the afternoon sun. Lily chattered excitedly about the ‘secret passage’, oblivious to the grim purpose behind their exploration. Emma and Yvonne, though still in the dark about the full extent of Petunia’s motives, exchanged knowing glances. They sensed the shift in Petunia, the sudden intensity that had settled over her.
Petunia, however, wasn’t enjoying her raspberry ripple. Her gaze was fixed on the imposing stone building across the square, the mayor’s office.
Emma nudged her gently. “You’re staring at that building like you want to set it on fire. What’s cooking in that clever brain of yours, Petunia Evans?”
Lily, sensing a new adventure brewing, bounced on the bench. “Another spy thing? Are we going to sneak into that building?”
Yvonne, cynical and ever-practical, sighed dramatically. “Oh, here we go again. What fresh hell are we unleashing on the unsuspecting populace today? Honestly, sometimes I wonder if you’re secretly an evil mastermind in a child’s body, Petunia.”
Petunia finally finished her ice cream, the sugary sweetness a stark contrast to the bitter taste of necessity forming in her mouth. She tossed the sticky wrapper in the bin with far more force than required. "Get up," she commanded, her voice losing its childish lilt, taking on a sharper edge that made even Yvonne raise an eyebrow. "We're going to have a little chat with our esteemed Mayor. And Yvonne," she held out a small hand, "give me that picture of the dam you took last week. The one where the concrete looks like week-old porridge?"
Yvonne’s eyes widened. "Petunia, why do I have a really, really bad feeling about this? Like, a strangle-someone-with-your-bare-hands feeling?"
Emma snorted with laughter. “Strangle someone? Oh, Yvonne, you underestimate our Petunia. If she was going to strangle someone, she’d do it with silk gloves and make it look like a tragic paperclip accident.”
Lily’s eyes widened, a flicker of fear mixing with excitement. “Tuney… you’re not going to… hurt the mayor, are you?”
Petunia ruffled Lily’s hair, her smile sharp and unsettling. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lills. Not yet anyway.” A plan was solidifying, cold and ruthless, in her adult mind housed within a child’s frame. Raven, her future husband, had drilled into her the necessity of pragmatism, the art of wielding power in a corrupt world. He’d taught her how to dismantle empires brick by brutal brick. And Duncan Fortescue, local drug lord and small-town mayor, was about to become her first lesson in applied ruthlessness.
“Oh, Fortescue,” Petunia murmured, her gaze hardening as she stared at the mayor’s office. “I am going to enjoy squeezing every last penny, and every last drop of power, out of you.”
Petunia pocketed the photo, a cold satisfaction settling in her stomach. A plan, crude but effective, was solidifying. Raven, her… future husband, yes, Raven had taught her well. He’d shown her the elegant efficiency of ruthlessness, the art of dismantling power structures with a scalpel rather than a sledgehammer. Though, sometimes, a sledgehammer was just more satisfying. Especially when dealing with men like Fortescue.
A dangerous smile curved her lips, a smile that didn’t belong on the face of an eleven-year-old.
They entered the Mayor's office, the air conditioning a stark contrast to the summer heat outside. A woman with tightly permed blonde hair and spectacles perched on her nose sat behind the reception desk, typing furiously. She didn't look up as they approached.
Petunia plastered on her most disarmingly sweet smile. Years of practice, of manipulating future boardrooms and navigating political minefields, translated effortlessly into child-like charm. The secretary, without even glancing up, waved a dismissive hand. “Office hours are over, girls. Come back tomorrow.”
“Oh, but we can’t come back tomorrow,” Petunia said, her voice pitched perfectly between innocent plea and childish petulance. “You see, it’s terribly important. It’s about the dam.”
The secretary finally looked up, her expression impatient. “The dam? What could a bunch of children possibly know about the town dam?”
“More than Mayor Fortescue, apparently,” Emma muttered under her breath, earning herself a sharp glare from Yvonne.
Petunia ignored them. “It’s… it’s dangerous,” she said, widening her eyes, letting a hint of fear tremble in her voice. “We’ve seen cracks. Big ones.”
The secretary still looked skeptical, but a flicker of something – concern? Annoyance? – crossed her face. She started to shoo them again, but Petunia subtly nudged Lily.
And Lily, bless her theatrical soul, unleashed the full force of her puppy-dog eyes. Tears welled up, her lower lip trembled, and she whispered, “Please, miss. It’s really, really important. For the whole town.”
The secretary wavered. Years of dealing with bureaucratic paperwork had clearly eroded her defenses against pure, unadulterated childish distress. With a sigh that spoke of resignation, she picked up the phone. “Mr. Mayor,” she said, her voice clipped. “There are some… little girls here. They say it’s about the town dam.” There was a pause, then a sharp, dismissive sound from the other end of the line. The secretary’s face tightened. “He… he says he’s busy.”
Petunia moved faster than anyone expected. In a swift, practiced motion, she snatched the phone from the secretary’s hand. She brought it to her mouth, her sweet smile replaced by a chillingly determined expression.
“Listen very carefully, Mr. Mayor,” she said, her voice low and even, the childish lilt completely gone. “I suggest you let us in. Right now. Or you are going to regret the day you ever heard the name Petunia Evans. Understand? Let. Us. In. If you know what’s good for you.”
There was silence on the other end of the line, a stunned, pregnant silence. Then, a voice, gruff and bewildered, stammered, “Put them through. Send them in. Now.”
The secretary stared at Petunia, mouth agape, phone dangling limply in her hand. The four girls entered the Mayor’s office. Petunia moved with a grace that belied her age, almost serpentine as Emma had once mused. Fortescue, a man whose jowls were as impressive as his self-importance, surveyed them from behind his large desk. He dismissed Emma, Yvonne, even Lily with a glance. But his eyes lingered on Petunia. There was something in her gaze, something old and knowing, that disturbed him.
He adjusted his tie again, forcing a jovial tone. “Ladies, what can I do for you? Lost kittens? Need help with your lemonade stand?” He chuckled, a sound that grated like badly tuned gears.
Petunia watched Mayor Fortescue adjust his tie, a nervous tic she recognised instantly from years of dealing with pompous bureaucrats in her former life. Former life. It sounded strange even in her head. One moment she was arguing with Raven about temporal paradoxes over lukewarm tea, the next she was… this. Eleven years old again, with skinned knees and a voice that squeaked when she was flustered. Except, she wasn't flustered. Not really. Not anymore.
Inside this child-sized body beat the heart of a woman who had lived, loved, lost, and learned the hardest lessons life could dish out. And right now, that woman was furious.
“Fix the dam, mayor Fortescue, and you need to do it quickly,” she repeated, her voice surprisingly firm despite the tremor of barely contained rage beneath it. She kept her gaze locked on his, making sure her unnaturally blue eyes, so out of place on a child, held their unnerving intensity. Let him feel it. Let him feel the weight of a lifetime of experience staring back at him, even if he couldn’t possibly comprehend it.
Fortescue chuckled, a low, dismissive sound that grated on Petunia’s already frayed nerves. “Little ladies, I appreciate your… civic engagement. But the town dam is a complex issue. We have… committees. Budgets. You understand.” He waved a hand vaguely, as if swatting away annoying flies.
Petunia’s lips curled into a tight smile. “Committees and budgets are lovely, Mayor. But Yvonne here took this picture just last week.” She gestured to Yvonne, who silently pushed the photograph across the polished mahogany desk. It landed with a soft thud.
Fortescue picked it up, his eyes widening slightly. The picture was stark, unvarnished truth. Cracks spiderwebbed across the concrete face of the dam, clearly visible even to an untrained eye. Water seeped through in places it shouldn’t, leaving dark, damp stains like weeping wounds.
“This is… concerning,” Fortescue mumbled, but his tone lacked conviction. He clearly knew. He just hadn’t cared.
“Concerning?” Emma echoed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Mayor, ‘concerning’ is when you spill your tea. This is a disaster waiting to happen. One good rainstorm, and that dam could fail. Do you know what that means for this town?” Emma was playing her part perfectly, the indignant, environmentally conscious friend. Petunia had briefed them all carefully.
Lily, bless her innocent heart, looked genuinely scared now. Her big green eyes, so like… no, don’t go there, Petunia, stay focused. Lily’s eyes welled up with tears. “People could get hurt, Mayor,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Houses could get flooded.”
Fortescue shifted uncomfortably in his leather chair. “Now, now, let’s not be melodramatic. We’re aware of the… imperfections.” He avoided looking directly at Petunia. He could sense something in her, something cold and calculating that didn’t belong in an eleven-year-old. It made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.
Emma stepped forward, her normally playful eyes hardening. “imperfections? Mr. Mayor, my dad is Officer Frost. And he’s been less than subtle about the reports. About the pressure readings, the seepage… He’s been bragging to Mum about how ‘the government will have to step in soon’ because of the leaks. Turns out ‘soon’ is just code for ‘never,’ isn’t it?”
The Mayor’s face flushed a blotchy red. “This is… scandalous! The dam is perfectly safe. We had it inspected last year!”
Yvonne snorted, her usual quiet demeanor replaced by a sharp, knowing edge. “Last year’s inspection was done by your cousin, Bartholomew, wasn’t it, Mr. Mayor? The one who runs a… shall we say, ‘less than reputable’ engineering firm?”
Fortescue’s fist slammed on the desk, rattling the expensive pen holder. “There is nothing wrong with the dam, and that’s the end of the discussion! Get out of my office now.”
Petunia simply laughed, a chilling, mirthless sound that sent a shiver down Lily’s spine. She picked up a framed photograph from the Mayor’s desk – a picture of his smiling family: wife, and a daughter clutching a teddy bear.
“Lovely family, Mr. Mayor,” she said softly, her voice laced with a dangerous sweetness. “It’s a shame they don’t know about… certain aspects of your life.”
Yvonne, ever quick on the uptake, began to casually scan the room, her gaze lingering on the expensive artwork and the well-stocked drinks cabinet. “Ooh, Tuney, is this painting lovely? ‘The Bloom Family’… I think I saw it in an art magazine. They said it costs over thirty thousand pounds.”
Emma chimed in, her eyes gleaming with mock innocence. “And check out the drinks cabinet, Yvonne! Whiskeys, brandies… I’d say easily over fifty thousand pounds worth of booze. I wonder how you got all that money to buy these… things, Mr. Mayor? Town salaries aren’t exactly known for their generosity.”
Petunia placed the family photograph back on the desk with a quiet click. Then, with a swift, almost casual movement, she kicked the edge of the Mayor’s expensive desk. The heavy wood vibrated, the sound echoing loudly in the tense silence.
Fortescue recoiled, his face paling. “What do you think you’re doing, you brat?!”
“Let’s make this perfectly clear, Mr. Mayor,” she said, her blue eyes locking onto his, unyielding and cold. “Fix the dam. As soon as possible. But not with town money. Oh no, you’re going to pay for it out of your own big, fat, illegally-gained pockets.”
Fortescue stared at her, a flicker of fear finally registering in his piggish eyes, quickly masked by bluster. He laughed again, but this time it was hollow, forced. “And what happens if I don’t, Miss Evans? What are you going to do about it? Send me a strongly worded letter?”
Petunia’s smile sharpened, a predatory curve of her lips. “I’m going to blow up the dam myself. And your little empire will wash away into the river.”
The mayor threw his head back and roared with laughter, genuinely amused now. “You? Blowing up the dam? And how exactly are you going to do that, you insignificant little flea?” He slammed his fist on the now askew desk, still chuckling. “You wouldn’t know dynamite from… from bubblegum!”
Petunia remained impassive, her expression unwavering. “That’s for me to figure out, Mr. Mayor. And for you to find out.” She turned to her friends, the unspoken promise hanging heavy in the air.
Emma, catching the cue, puffed out her chest. “Yeah! We’re giving you one week, Mayor Fortescue. One week to start fixing that dam. If we don’t see any progress…” she mimed an explosion with her hands, “Boom!”
Yvonne, with her usual dry wit, added, “You really don’t want your… products… floating down the river, Mr. Mayor. I suggest you listen to our friend here.”
They turned and walked out of the office, leaving Fortescue speechless, sputtering, and desperately trying to reattach the leg to his ruined desk. As they stepped back into the sunlit square, Lily finally found her voice. “Tuney,” she whispered, wide-eyed, “how are you going to blow up a dam?”
Petunia didn’t answer immediately. She just looked back at the Mayor’s office, a grim set to her young face. Saving her grandmother wasn’t just a wish; it was a necessity. And sometimes, necessities required extreme measures. Even for an eleven-year-old, with a lifetime of future knowledge burning behind her eyes.
“Don’t worry, Lills,” she finally said, her voice low and steady. “We’ll figure something out.” Even if that something was a bluff that could shatter the foundations of Fortescue’s carefully constructed world. And if it wasn't a bluff… well, Fortescue would soon learn that underestimating Petunia Evans was a fatal mistake.