Blood Bought

by Robin Roughley

  'Ah well, she lives in Rivington now and to be honest the signal up there is always hit and miss.'

  'Rivington?'

  'Oh yes, Medea has done rather well for herself, I met her and her partner in town a few weeks ago, he seems like a nice guy and she looked thrilled to be a mother.'

  'What does he do?' Stokes asked.

  'I believe he's a writer – though I've never read anything he's done.'

  An image pushed its way through the clutter of Stokes's brain, Medea with some highbrow bastard with a receding hairline in a fancy suit and dicky bow, and her swanning around in an expensive gown sipping champagne at some literary ball. While the so-called authors patted one another on the back, smug and self-centred as they spouted shit about their ''art''.

  'You don't happen to have an address do you, then I can post the money to her?'

  'Afraid not, I do know it's some barn conversion close to the village but that's about all.'

  Stokes sighed and lifted his shoulders. 'Oh well, I may have a ride up there and see if I can find them. I mean, I hate owing money and it would be great to congratulate them over the baby.'

  The man smiled before checking his watch. 'Well, can I have your name in case I run into her again then I can pass it on and she can contact you?'

  'Well, if it's all the same to you then I would sooner it be a surprise.'

  The man smiled and nodded. 'Fair enough,' he said as he followed Stokes down the steps and back outside into the blustery day.

  Once behind the wheel of his car Stokes let out the hiss of pent-up frustration.

  The fact that Medea was no longer with the bastard copper was a good thing, but it was also typical of her, trading one model in for someone who earned more cash.

  He pictured her smiling face and her devious eyes, she had been the same with him, using him until his life took a turn for the worst by which time she had shacked up with the copper.

  'Fucking bitch,' he snarled.

  When his phone pinged, he dragged it from his pocket and opened the email, his eyes widening as he read the message.

  When he saw the address the woman wanted the chase to take place in he frowned.

  It wasn't a country park or woodland, it was an old factory out near the canal in Leigh. For a few brief seconds he felt the disappointment swell inside and then his face broke into a twisted grin.

  The weather was shit, raining and blowing a gale day after day, so perhaps that was why she had chosen the old factory. It was dry and huge, and he pictured closing in on the woman as she quaked against the wall. He let the fantasy play out, the muffled screams as he ripped off her clothing and forced her legs apart before thrusting into her.

  His mind swirled the images, blending them until the mystery woman became Medea, the bitch Medea paying big time for all that she had done to him.

  He blinked and looked at the message again, his eyes refocussing as he read it through, slowly this time.

  She wanted the chase to take place tomorrow night, she had even given him directions on how to get there and where to park away from prying eyes.

  Looking through the windscreen, he watched the bushes in the small courtyard thrash from side to side.

  He would use the rest of the day to try and locate Medea and her ponce of a partner and tomorrow he would hunt the woman down in the factory and once he was done with her he would turn his full attention back to Medea fucking Sullivan.

  Stokes smiled and turned the key of his mother's car, the engine rattling as he drove out onto the street and turned right heading out of town.

  49

  Lasser slammed the front door closed and then grimaced as he saw Karen jump up from her chair at the kitchen table.

  Snatching off his jacket, he ignored the flare of pain in his shoulder and chest as he walked down the hallway and into the kitchen, draping the coat over the back of the chair.

  'Are you OK?' Karen asked, her eyes holding a note of nervousness when she saw the look of anger on his face.

  'I'm fine,' he replied with a ragged smile, slumping down in one of the kitchen chairs.

  'Are you hungry?'

  Lasser had his cigarettes out but tossed them onto the table without opening the pack. 'Actually, I'm starving.'

  'Well, I was going to defrost the curry, but I wasn't sure what time you would be back.'

  Lasser thought for a moment. 'Do you like cheese omelette?'

  'I love them, is that what you fancy?'

  Suddenly, Lasser was on his feet and heading for the cupboard. 'You stay there, I might not be able to cook much but I can do a whizz-bang omelette.'

  He stopped as the memory juddered into his mind.

  The girl smiling at him across the room while he made the omelette, her innocent eyes full of trust as she explained all about the special loving her father had given her over the years. Twenty minutes later, the girl was dead; shot at close range by her sister who then shot herself, thinking it was the only way for them both to escape the memories of abuse.

  He shook himself free from the distressing images and lit the hob, adding a splash of oil to the pan. Seconds later, he poured the egg mixture in before grabbing the grater from the cupboard.

  Karen watched as he methodically went through the process of grating the cheese, once it was cooking he took two plates from the cupboard and placed them on the worktop.

  Grabbing the spatula, he flicked the omelette over and pressed it down, listening to the hissing sound for half a minute before sliding the omelette onto the plate.

  Karen smiled as he placed it in front of her. 'Do you want any bread?'

  'No thanks.'

  'Sauce?'

  She smiled up at him. 'Red, please.'

  Backtracking, he grabbed the ketchup from the cupboard and handed it over before going through the motions again.

  Two minutes later, he sat back down with two rounds of bread on the side of the plate.

  They ate in silence, Lasser munching the food, his mind going over the afternoon's events.

  'Are you sure you're OK?' she asked as she finished the last of the food.

  Placing his fork on the plate, Lasser looked across the table at her. 'I've been suspended.'

  'What!?' her eyes sprang wide in shock.

  'As of now I am officially on the sidelines until they decide what to do with me.'

  'But why?'

  Lasser sighed and then he started to talk, telling her all about what had happened at Viner's house; when he admitted he virtually let the man fall from the window he heard her gasp.

  Making a grab for the pack of cigarettes, he pulled one free and sparked up, the remains of the omelette cooling on the plate.

  'But he tried to kill you, it's no wonder you let him go.'

  Lasser found himself smiling. 'I'm afraid it doesn't work that way; my boss was well within his rights to question me about what happened.'

  'But if it wasn't for you then he wouldn't have been around to ask you anything.'

  Lasser shrugged and took a long pull on the cigarette. 'They have rules and regulations to follow – and to be honest I've been cut plenty of slack in the past – it was only a matter of time before something like this happened.'

  'What will they do?'

  'To be honest I have no idea, things could blow over I guess, or I could be demoted or kicked out altogether.'

  Karen looked closely at his face, she had expected to see anger there but surprisingly she saw a kind of relief in his eyes. It was almost as if he was glad that things had come to this.

  'Listen, Lasser, if things go really wrong then you don't have to give me any money. You gave me a roof over my head and helped me get back on my feet, but I won't sponge off you.'

  He looked at her through a cloud of smoke. 'Believe it or not I have savings, so we won't be living on the streets just yet.'

  'I'm serious, I won't have you giving me money for cooking a few meals and washing up.'

  'Don't worry about it, you'r
e worth your weight in gold and I'm not just talking about the things you do around the house. It's just nice to have someone here when I come home.'

  'But you're a good-looking guy, you could have a girlfriend living here and…'

  'Tried that, didn't work out.'

  'Oh.'

  'That was something else I managed to mess up,' he tilted his face to the ceiling and blew out a plume of smoke. 'Truth is, I'm sick of being a whingeing bastard, I need to get myself sorted out and who knows, being suspended could be the kick up the arse I need to get myself sorted.'

  'Well, I think it stinks. I mean, the job you do is dangerous, you only have to look at your body to see that.'

  Lasser raised an eyebrow and Karen blushed slightly.

  'You know what I mean, those bruises and the other scars on your chest and shoulder, I bet you got those whilst working.'

  Lasser nodded before taking another long pull on the cigarette as the first scattering of rain hit the kitchen window.

  'Do you still get paid until they sort this mess out?' she asked.

  Lasser dragged up a grin. 'I do. And on the plus side, I got the Audi back and left the shitty pool car there.'

  'So, sod them, make the most of it.'

  Throwing his head back, he laughed out loud as Karen lifted the plates from the table and took them over to the sink.

  She never saw the flash of despair in his eyes as she slid them into the soapy water.

  50

  Suzanne watched Bannister toss his head back, swallowing the brandy in one quick gulp.

  'Are you OK?' she asked.

  He sat down at the kitchen table, staring into the empty glass, 'Not really.'

  With a sigh, she reached across the table and took hold of his hand. 'Listen, as much as I hate it, I can see why you had to suspend him.'

  He looked at her and saw the compassion in her eyes. 'I asked Lasser if he had pushed Viner, and he admitted he knocked his hands away… and Viner fell.'

  Suzanne nodded in understanding. 'I can appreciate that, after all the man had tried to kill both you and Odette and…'

  'That's why I feel such a bastard, I mean, what does that make me, grassing him up to Carole?'

  'You had to tell her what happened, and from what you've said about her then she's fair and she'll see that Lasser did nothing wrong.'

  Bannister rubbed at his eyes with his free hand. 'The truth is, he's been going off the rails since the first day I met him, but lately he's got worse. He never takes a bloody holiday or goes anywhere away from the job, the other night when I was here having tea, he was trawling the woods looking for doggers.'

  Suzanne sighed and gave his hand a squeeze. 'You know what he's like, he's always working at one hundred and ten percent.'

  'Yeah and he's close to burnout.'

  'What did he say when you told him about the suspension?'

  'Nothing. I expected him to flip but he just shrugged as if it was no big deal.'

  Suzanne pictured Lasser, his dark eyes could often be filled with a twinkle of humour – but she also knew they could flare with anger or be full of dark despair.

  'You'll speak up for him, won't you?'

  Bannister nodded. 'Yeah, at the end of the day Viner tried to kill me and Odette but dashing into the house was the wrong thing to do, and Lasser knows it.'

  'So, you would have preferred the maniac to reload and come outside to kill you?' she asked as the colour rose in her face.

  'That's not what I'm saying, but he just ran into the house knowing that Viner had the gun, it was only blind luck that stopped him from being killed.'

  'You're saying he has a death wish, aren't you?'

  Bannister hesitated for a moment before replying. 'I think he sees red and doesn't give any thought to his own safety.'

  'But he's always been that way.'

  Slipping his hand away, he topped the glass up before taking a sip. 'I know but recently he's been different.'

  'In what way?'

  Bannister gripped the glass between his large hands, his face pinched with concern. 'He's been more edgy and bloody angry.'

  'Perhaps it will do him good to have some time off.'

  'Maybe.'

  'Do you think he'd come here for a meal?'

  'I doubt it, Karen is still living with him, so he gets fed well enough.'

  'What about Odette?'

  'She's moved back to her apartment, apparently her mother and brother have got a small bungalow in Aspull. Besides, Odette's got a new fellow on the scene and…'

  'You never told me that!'

  Bannister looked at his wife before taking another sip from the glass. 'She met him when she was away in the Lakes, he's some outward-bound expert.'

  Suzanne glanced towards the French windows, her face suddenly thoughtful. 'I might have a drive to his house and have a word.'

  'Are you sure that's a good idea?' he asked, his brow creased with uncertainty.

  'I don't know but I'd like to try,' she said as she rose from the chair and carried her glass over to the sink.

  Bannister watched as she moved to a peg on the wall and lifted down her waterproof jacket. 'The girls are at the pictures, but they have their keys just in case you get called out,' she explained as she slipped it on and swept her hair free of the collar.

  'Bath and bed for me,' he said, cracking a yawn.

  'Well, don't wait up,' walking around the table she kissed his cheek before leaving the room.

  By the time he heard the engine of the Range Rover fire to life he had turned off the kitchen light; he saw the tail lights diminishing through the frosted glass of the front door, then he turned and made his way up the stairs on leaden legs.

  51

  The woman ran down the road, ponytail bouncing, her long legs eating up the pavement as her arms and legs pumped.

  Her eyes were narrowed against the misty rain, mingling with the sweat on her brow. As the road started to climb, she redoubled her efforts, her teeth gritted as the muscles in her legs throbbed, the streetlights flashing by marked out her rhythm.

  Reaching the brow, she slowed from a sprint to a jog before coming to a complete stop, hands on hips she pulled damp air into her lungs.

  The occasional car drove by, the headlights lancing out making her squint against the onslaught.

  After rolling her head on her shoulders and shaking the cramp from her legs she checked her watch, then pulling the phone from the small bag around her waist she tapped at the screen, watching as the speckles of rain landed on the phone.

  Quickly checking her emails, smiling as she opened the one she was looking for.

  Her fingers flashed over the screen as she tapped the reply. 'See you at the allotted time, big boy,' she wrote before pressing the send icon.

  Slipping the phone back into the pouch, she took a deep breath and set off again.

  Five minutes later she was heading down the drive of a neat-looking bungalow, reaching the door she pressed the bell and waited for the hall light to come on.

  The door opened to reveal a woman in her late fifties who simply looked at her and shook her head. 'What have I told you about jogging here, the roads are dark, and you never know who the hell is knocking about?'

  'Sorry, Mum,' she replied with a smile, stepping into the hallway.

  'Never mind ''sorry'', you have a car at home, so you have no need to be running all the way here.'

  'I like to run.'

  The woman looked at her daughter and then smiled before giving her a kiss on her wet cheek. 'Come in, May, I've just put the kettle on, you go and grab a towel while I make us a nice hot coffee.'

  May smiled and followed her mother down the narrow hallway.

  52

  Stokes looked at the huge barn conversion nestled in the centre of a landscaped garden, apple trees and large bushes dotted here and there. His anger blooming as he saw the soft light spilling out onto the close-cropped grass.

  It had taken him two hours to find the
place, he had called in a pub in the centre of the village and over a pint of lager had managed to get the man behind the bar to give him directions to the ''writer's'' home.

  Now, he sat in the small lay-by, the windscreen steaming up as the faulty heater failed to pump out enough hot air to keep the window clear.

  Swiping a hand down the glass, he looked again at the house, his mouth mumbling words of hatred as he peered at the huge window that seemed to take up the whole of the front of the house.

  When he saw the figure appear at the window, his hands gripped the wheel tight, even from this distance he knew it was Medea, he could see her dark hair swept back from her face.

  'Whore,' he hissed, his hot breath hit the glass, obscuring the view again.

  With a snarl, he rubbed at the windscreen, but she had vanished from view, no doubt she was lounging on some expensive sofa, her bastard partner bringing her a glass of fancy wine. He pictured the scene with startling clarity – handing the glass over he would also supply her with his latest masterpiece, reams of paper covered with the printed word.

  'Will you take a look at this for me, darling,' he would say.

  Medea would smile up at him as she took a sip from the glass, then she would lift her legs onto the sofa and start to read as he eased down beside her, safe in the knowledge that he had written another bestseller.

  Stokes closed his eyes and pictured his poky bedroom with the single bed and threadbare carpet. Somehow, the room was testament to how pitiful his life had become. He had tried to break free, make a life for himself and yet despite his best efforts he had ended up back where it had all started – the bedroom in which he used to dream about how his life would be. He was back there, and the dreams had vanished, no, they hadn't vanished, they'd been stolen from him. And someone was going to pay.

  Stokes gasped as he cracked his eyes open and glared at the block of light in the distance. The urge to drive down the gravel path and jump out to batter the door down was hard to ignore, he saw himself beating the shit out of her boyfriend. Stokes suspected he would be a wimp, he was a writer after all, and those bastards were normally raised with a silver spoon in their mouth. No doubt he came from a well-to-do family, sponging off the money made by mummy or daddy, being allowed to indulge his airy-fairy whims while the rest of the world had to work for a living.