Tempered by Love

Chapter 15 Trials And....

Stan Filson moved through the rapidly filling halls of the courthouse determined to accomplish one thing: license or no license, he intended to retrieve his grandson. He kept his head down and hugged the wall, trying to  memorise every exit from this building. Guards were everywhere and every door he passed seemed to have security. He avoided the elevators, using the stairs instead to reach the fifth floor. It was purely an accident when he spotted Robbie just as he reached the landing at the top of the stairs. The sight of the boy took his breath away. He had his mother's hair but his lithe body and broad shoulders were all Filson. He even had the same sturdy legs of a striker that his father had at the same age. It was amazing how much he'd grown.

 Stan swallowed. The sombre-looking boy, the last of the Filsons, no longer even bore his name. He dropped down a step and watch Robbie walk, hand in hand, with the man who'd stolen him.  They stopped at a bench under a narrow lead-paned window. A malevolent grin tugged at his thick lips as Barrow lifted the boy to look out the window. With any luck, he would find a way to get back the last of his line. 

 It didn't take long for a group to gather around the two. Someone rushing up the steps bumped his shoulder, forcing him to move. He kept hidden, watching the group huddle like rabbits just twenty feet away in that alcove with his grandson. Claypoole showed up with two court officers, and they took Robbie away. The realisation that he was not getting Robbie out of this building sank in. If he couldn't get his grandson, he'd at least get Barrow tossed in the gaol. He hesitated, steadying his nerves then walked calmly to a carved oak column and positioned himself in Barrow's  direct line of sight. He widened his stance, crossed his arms and made no effort to hide his contempt.

He didn't recognise the others, but he had no doubt from the way they dressed, they were too upper crust to get their hands dirty. Old man MacGregor would certainly never stoop to fight, especially here. Still, making them squirm, wondering what he would do, made his day. He chortled when they turned their attention toward him. This is too good, he thought when the coward dropped his coffee.

 McGregor dared to move in front of the coward. "Stan, you need to leave. You aren't allowed anywhere near us."

 "Shut yer gob, preacher, it doesn't half spout a load of keech. I'm gettin' my boy out and then I'm gettin' my grandson back from you lot and that dobber. We'll see about raisin' him proper, not like some nancy boy."

 Hatred surged through every cell of Daniel. "You bludy shite-bag," Daniel cursed. 

 Filson froze. He'd never guessed the tall, skinny man had the balls to move toward him, let alone shove Fergus out of the way. Filson grinned, already moving toward him.

 "Cum'n huv a go if ye think ur hard 'n nuff," he snarled, dropping his head to ram Daniel. 

 Neither gave thought of their surroundings or to police and security on the way. The speed at which Daniel moved stunned everyone. His fist was already drawn back to punch Filson, but the air whooshed out of his lungs when hands tackled him to the floor. "Get the hell out of here, Filson," Pete yelled as he and Don struggled to keep Daniel pinned underneath them. 

 "Get the fuck off me," Daniel screamed. 

 "Yer all a bunch o' fuckin' bawbags! Yer helmet has fudge marks on it," Filson yelled.

 A dozen officers appeared out of nowhere pushing through the rapidly growing crowd encouraging the men on. "I've got this," Don said, flashing his badge whilst pointing to Filson. "Get that man away from here. Daniel, we'll let you up if you promise not to start a bloody riot. This is not the woods in the middle of fucking France!" Don waited until he felt Daniel stop fighting. He was on his feet a second later, shoving hands away, and watching security drag Filson until he was out of sight.