Free Ben Bracken: Origins (Ben Bracken Books 1 - 5) by Robert Parker

look him up.
    Ben hadn’t been too bothered by the crime (nobody had been hurt). What had crawled under his skin was the fact that Masters Sr. had been so untouchable, despite the myriad of crimes that are widely attributed to him. This was the first time he had ever seen the inside of a courtroom, but it doesn’t matter: a quick google search reveals in lurid detail a guilty verdict. His wikipedia entry is a menu of some of the most godawful murders the streets of London have ever seen, peppered with the most liberal use of the words ‘allegedly’, ‘reported’ and ‘according to a source’. If the reports were to be believed (and Ben does believe them) then Masters has a horrible record for dismembering his competition, and distributing their remains to the rest of his opponents. It’s a reign of terror that has kept a stability to the London organized crime scene, in that nobody dare step up to take on the Masters’. But it has also brought an unruly bloodshed to the city that nobody who has come in contact with it can ever forget. Innocents scared on the street, neighbourhoods in the vice of terror... The Masters’ are bad news.
    When it comes to business, oddly, Ben found that the internet was less forthcoming. He knew of the pub, but that was pretty much it. Which of course, left the usual unofficial avenues of business the modern London gangster tends to busy himself with, namely drugs, arms and intimidation. But he didn’t have specifics.
    Ben wasn’t here to pass judgement on those crimes, moreover he found himself traveling to London based on one solitary line in Masters Sr.’s address on the court steps. He had stood there with a long cream jacket perched on his shoulders (unable to look more like a 70’s New York mobster if he tried), and had been asked ‘Are you pleased to be acquitted of the charges?’. Masters had stared back into the female reporter’s face, then let his eyes lower lasciviously. It was stomach-churning to watch, as the bug-eyed old pervert took her in, his game of intimidation in full flow. When his eyes came back up, he smiled and drawled: ‘It didn’t take the jury long to realize that the true Prince of London is untouchable.’.
    On hearing it on the television in his Travelodge hotel room in Monmouth, Ben had felt that grim revulsion rise. At that point in time, he had been fleeing a particularly nasty situation in North Wales - a situation he had been most happy to commit to the farthest point of his rear view mirror and leave there. The figurative bile had risen at this vile man on the screen, and Ben, in search of a purpose, suddenly had one.
    On the baking streets of Afghanistan, Ben had left the best parts of himself. But he hadn’t done it so that scum like Terry Masters could run a bloody rule over the capital of the country. He hadn’t done it so that Terry Masters could boast about being teflon to the nation, despite the numerous crimes he is linked to. He hadn’t done it to come back to this once great nation and barely recognize it. Suddenly, Ben had an interest. If the law couldn’t touch Terry, then, as a fugitive of that same law, Ben surely could. Ben had rented a car and set off to the capital.
    He had been waiting for a glimpse of Terry for 48 hours. Ben had managed to get hold of a copy of a book about London crime, which featured Terry on the odd occasion but alluded to him heavily in others. It was the author’s one and only book. God know’s where he is now. The book had said that Terry’s secrecy was paramount, and his movements always discreet - save for the occasional moment of brashness used primarily as a reminder, as if to say ‘I’m still here and you still can’t get near me’. It strikes Ben that that seems to be directed at both Terry’s competition and the authorities simultaneously. A goading... a gloating... For Ben, it rang like a ‘come and get me’ plea. And that’s just what he set out to do.
    Ben has covered the pub