‘You’re angry because you didn’t have the balls to finish me when you had the chance.’
‘You certainly were pathetic, I’ll say that. It would have been like shooting a lame horse. And you’re not much different now.’
‘Barry! George! Please!’ Darren banged on the table and stood up. The two men remained locked in an intense stare. ‘Great! The very two people who might be able to find him and stop him are at each other’s throats! Well, stop it. Kane Forley is out there right now, a free man. George, you said yourself that he’s a manipulator. Don’t you think this is exactly what he would want?’
‘I need people I can trust.’ George’s eyes were still fixed on Barry.
‘I don’t need him,’ Barry shot back.
‘I need you both. This force needs you, or more of us are going to die.’
George looked away. He stood up, hesitated, then walked towards the door. He pulled it open and stopped. ‘More of us are going to die, there’s no doubt about that. This is already damage limitation.’
The door closed behind him.
* * *
‘What are you going to do to me?’ Shelley asked. It had taken her some time to pluck up the courage to speak. The man seemed to be beside himself with rage. He was facing away from her, leaning against the wall of the trailer. She knew he was calling her husband. He had said she could speak to him, but then he became angry and cut the call.
She repeated her question.
He lit a cigarette and turned to face her. ‘Your husband needs to understand who I am, and what I am capable of.’ His mouth was flecked with spots of saliva and his eyes flashed.
Shelley took a step back. ‘What are you going to do to him?’
‘If he helps me, and does as I say, nothing. You will both get your worthless lives back.’
Shelley raised her head. ‘What’s that smell?’
‘Weed. You want some?’ Kane seemed calmer now.
Shelley shook her head. ‘Not that. I mean the smell in here.’
Kane smiled. His anger seemed to dissipate as abruptly as it had flared. ‘No idea.’
‘There’s something rotten.’
‘Could be anything. These trailers carry all kinds of foodstuffs.’ He shrugged.
Shelley could see very little from the trailer. She had been brought here in the back of a van with no windows. When she was finally bundled out she had caught a glimpse of a huge warehouse covered with thick creepers. He led her to the rear of an HGV lorry trailer, whose door was already swinging open. It was furnished with a small mattress, a sleeping bag and a few pots. A beer barrel stood in the middle, serving as a table. They must be near a main road. She heard the incessant roar of fast-moving traffic close to where they were.
‘Sure you don’t want some?’ Kane held out the joint.
‘No. Not that stuff.’
‘It keeps me calm. Stops me doing things I might regret.’ Kane took a long drag and blew the smoke into her face. Shelley’s headscarf had come a little loose, it hung low on her forehead. He reached out and pulled the side to adjust it. She recoiled.
‘You hate me, don’t you?’ He looked pleased. ‘Don’t worry, Shelley. This doesn’t end well for me.’
Kane laughed, and then he stepped down into the dust outside. Still chuckling, he slammed the rear doors shut.
Chapter 7
The door was easy. An amateur could have slipped it, and he was no amateur. The man looked back along the dark street to make sure he was unobserved and rolled his lock-pick kit back up in its soft bag. He pushed the door open and stepped into the porch. There was a second door, dimly illuminated by the street light outside. This one had no locks. He pushed it open and walked in.
Nice place. Neat and tidy. Muted, earthy colours on the walls. He reached out a gloved hand and switched on a lamp that stood on a small wooden table. It gave off a warm glow. The man looked at the many photographs arranged in a neat pattern on one of the walls. Two people stared back — evidently a happy couple holidaying in different places, goofing around with hats and sunglasses, and in one picture a monkey. No kids — as per the brief. Time to get to work.
The man walked on. To one side, the stairs. On the other a short hallway led to the kitchen and then an open-plan dining area at the rear of the house. The living room was at the front, off the same hall and the room closest to where the man stood. He pushed off his slip-on shoes. The wood flooring felt solid and expensive. He was wearing dark, tight-fitting trousers and a long-sleeved top. He slipped on a white paper suit and pulled the hood taut across his forehead. He adjusted his surgical face mask so that it covered his mouth and nose, and captured his DNA before it could leave his body.
He opened the door to a cupboard under the stairs. It held the standard hoover, coats and some shoes. Plenty big enough for what he needed. At the back, attached to the wall, he noted the fuse box. He shut the cupboard. He walked along the hall, through the kitchen to the back door, counting the steps as he went. There was a key in the lock. He turned it and opened the door. Nodding to himself, he locked it again and then returned to the hallway to switch off the lamp. He practised the walk until he was able to do it blind. He switched the lamp back on while he unzipped his suit in order to pull his Glock 23 handgun from its underarm holster. He screwed on the silencer.
He turned his attention back to the cupboard. He entered and crouched inside, getting as comfortable as he could in the small space and making sure none of the contents touched him. He didn’t want to shed any DNA. Then he pulled the door shut, and the light of the lamp shone through the gap under the door. He felt for the meter box, and the biggest switch that must control the main fuse.
He pushed it down and the darkness was complete.
Chapter 8
Emily Ryker was reluctant to move from the patio, and its view of the sea. She’d been transferred to the southernmost tip of the county from its northernmost point. When it became apparent that it was not going to be the ‘temporary’ stay she had been promised, she found a tenant for her place in Gravesend and looked for a house on the south coast. Suddenly she was able to afford something a bit more special, and the place she found was certainly that. From the front it was an ordinary terraced house on a main route from Langthorne through to Hythe. But the rear was a different world altogether. All the houses had a fifteen-metre patio that finished at the promenade. For Emily, moving to live near the sea had been a silver lining. She had never imagined that she would end up living right on its pebbly doorstep.
She sighed and got to her feet. In the kitchen, she scooped up her laptop, refilled her gin and tonic and hurried back to the patio. She had the place to herself. None of the neighbours were sitting out, even on a warm night like this. The moon brushed a gleaming pathway over the sea. Perfect.
The computer screen was too harsh in the dark. She opened up an email account and found a new message in drafts.
Hey,
We got some attention on us today. You know what that’s about? This job goes down tomorrow night. I’m leading the crew now. This job goes right and I’m a step closer to the real work. I can’t have this go wrong — can you assist with keeping it clear?
M
Emily rolled her eyes. It was either those idiots from Organised Crime swinging their dicks and trying to give the impression that they knew what they were up to, or else some senior intel bod had got wind of a job and wanted to put the frighteners out. She would sort it tomorrow. She deleted the message and typed out a new one.
Nothing to do with me. It’ll probably just be a couple of bored intel drones. I’ll sort it. Any updates of interest?
She saved her message as a draft and logged out. It took ages to have a conversation but it was safe. She and Mick were the only people aware of the login for the email account and nothing was ever sent or received, so nothing could be intercepted.
Emily took a long swig of her drink. Her gaze drifted back to the moon, then to the blinking boats that m
ade their way slowly across her field of vision. Her mobile rang and she swore at it. This was not destined to be a relaxing evening.
‘George. I’d like to say this is a pleasant surprise.’
‘Bad time?’
‘Yes.’
‘You can still talk, or you wouldn’t have answered.’
‘Just tell me how come you called at all, having been such an arsehole recently.’
‘Okay. Well, maybe I called to apologise.’
‘Did you?’
‘No.’
‘You’ve got sixty seconds, then I’ll find better things to do.’
‘Look, Ryker, you should have told me you were taking me to see that Lewis fella. I don’t like being duped. I’ve had enough of being led up garden paths, and I was really gutted that it was you holding my hand this time.’
‘Listen to yourself, Elms. When did you get so full of shit? I thought it was for the best. Or at least I thought you’d appreciate knowing your options.’
‘Well, now I do.’
‘So? What? You called me to have a pop at me?’
‘No! Fuck no. I wouldn’t have mentioned it. That’s not why I called, Ryker.’
‘So that’s an apology of sorts.’ She picked up her glass and put it back down again.
‘Not really.’
‘I’ll take it anyway.’
‘I called about my wife. She was part of our agreement, remember? You were supposed to be protecting her.’
Emily sighed. ‘I’m not your personal intel officer, George. I told you I would do what I could. And let’s not forget that you ducked out of seeing your wife on the day of your release. You say you’re being duped? Well, what about your wife?’
‘You’ll be happy to know that she hates me.’
‘That doesn’t make me happy. The sooner you sort your shit out, the sooner you can stop looking at me with those hungry eyes.’
Emily laughed, despite herself.
George chuckled. ‘Well, I’m not made of wood, Ryker.’
‘Makes sense. So what do you want from me? I already told you I helped her get lost. No one from Lennockshire Police is going to find her. I gave her a crash course on how to stay off the grid and how to be careful. She’s a smart girl, George. I think she intended to disappear anyway.’
‘But you know where she is?’
‘What do you mean?’ Emily looked longingly at her glass.
‘What I say. You must know where she is!’
‘No! I spent forty minutes of our lives teaching her how to make sure coppers like me can’t find her. I’m good at it. It’s what I do. There would be very little point in me doing all that and then walking her to her door, would there?’
‘But I need to know where she is.’
‘Why don’t you just ask her, George? She’s your wife.’
‘You’re still pissed with me.’
‘I’m pissed with this whole situation. I’m not your personal go-between. My job doesn’t include making sure your wife is kept safe, George. I don’t want to be the one to blame if that doesn’t happen. That isn’t fair! Anyway, you haven’t been straight with me about what the danger is.’
‘She just needs to be disappeared. From anyone who might look for her.’
‘Like you, you mean?’
‘Everyone except me.’
‘Well, you need to start making yourself clearer, George. She’s gone, and she won’t be found unless she wants to be. Or she fucks up, and this threat that you are so obsessed with turns out to be real.’
‘It’s real, Ryker.’
‘I’ve done my bit, George. And you’ve had your minute.’
Emily heard George sigh. ‘I am sorry, Ryker — that I pissed you off, I mean. You’ve been good to me, too good really. I owe you a gin and tonic.’
Emily smiled into the phone. She could never stay mad at him for long, and it annoyed her. ‘Nah. I don’t touch that shit anymore.’
George chuckled. ‘Oh I see. So you’re sitting with a cup of tea, are you?’
‘You can fuck off now, George Elms.’
She put the phone down, still smiling. She logged back into the email account. Sure enough, her draft message had been replaced.
I thought the same.
Nothing at the moment, but it’ll be on Sunday afternoon 1600. After this job I may need your assistance with smoothing the way. I need this to be clean.
She deleted the message and made a mental note of the time. These days she wrote nothing down. She drained the rest of her drink and considered another. She wanted to be relatively fresh for the day ahead. Lord knows what might happen, now that George Elms was around. Well, whatever went down, she was happy to have him back.
Chapter 9
Crouched in the cupboard under the stairs, he heard someone open the front door. Just short of two hours. Well, he’d waited longer than that in the past. The man shifted onto one knee, resting the other foot against the wall. He heard two voices, a man and a woman. The woman was giggling. There was a click. One of them had tried a light switch.
Nothing.
‘Ah shit.’ It was the male voice.
‘Power cut?’
‘The neighbours had lights.’
He heard a footstep outside the cupboard and readied the weapon.
‘Must be a fuse.’
The man licked his lips in anticipation. This was the best part — the moment just before. A beam of light appeared underneath the door, and the handle turned.
He fired twice, with a sound like compressed air. The mobile phone jerked out of his victim’s hand and landed with its light pointing upwards into the face of a wide-eyed woman standing at the door. Another flash, then the sound of a second body falling to the ground.
He didn’t have to wait long for the silence. There were some scuffing sounds, shoes against the wooden flooring, but they soon ceased. He reached a gloved hand to the switchboard, and the scene was floodlit.
The man emerged and stretched. He took his time, avoiding the blood. He switched off the light and followed the steps he’d practised earlier. He opened the back door. The air outside took his breath away after the stuffy cupboard. He walked to a high boundary wall and looked around. None of the neighbours had stirred. He removed his paper suit and pushed it into a bag taken from one of his pockets. He locked the back door and slid the key under the Welcome mat.
Another clean job.
Chapter 10
Blue and White’s café was named after the racing colours of a local celebrity biker. His parents had owned it for as long as anyone could remember, they had changed the name when his first trophy had gone up on display. On a Saturday mid-morning it was busy.
Three blokes occupied one of the tables. The fourth returned, frowning, and sat down in front of his half-eaten breakfast. He took a swig of tea. You could always tell when the Irishman was pissed off.
‘Wassup?’ asked Ainsley.
‘I just spoke to the other crew.’
‘There a problem?’ Mick swallowed a mouthful of food.
‘They’re one down.’
‘For tonight?’
‘Forever.’
Ainsley shook his head. ‘What happened, man?’
‘They got sent a message is what happened. One of them was working for the law.’
‘Who?’ Mick barked.
‘They didn’t say who, just that they’re one down. They didn’t really want to speak, you know. It ain’t a good time over there.’
‘What does this mean for tonight? I mean it’s fucked, ain’t it?’ Ainsley said.
The Irishman shrugged. ‘I can’t see how we can carry on with it. If this fella’s been talking to the pigs, he must have told them about the fucking job tonight.’
‘We don’t know that,’ Mick said.
‘We don’t know nothing. That’s the problem. You always said we should leave nothing to chance. Well, this is a big fucking chance.’
‘Did they speak to the boss?’
‘They tried. Anyhow, they know we’re out grafting tonight,’ said the Irishman.
‘Yeah, and they haven’t told us to put it on ice, have they? The last thing they need is seven of their blokes nicked. If they thought that was possible, they would be telling us, wouldn’t they? I say we’re still in the clear.’
‘You want us to crack on? One of their crew gets found to be a rat and you want us to carry on with a job that he knew everything about? That’s fucking stupid, man.’
‘Jesus, Irish, give it a rest. We’ll finish up here and I’ll make a call in the van, away from ears. I’ll see where we are.’
They finished their breakfast in silence.
* * *
Danesh Alcani.
Everyone’s right-hand man, or so he would have you believe. No one trusted cousin Danesh, but he behaved like he was in charge of the whole operation. He was a pain in the arse. He had been given the job of point of contact for the crews out doing the less subtle stuff — the dirty jobs.
It kept people like Mick from bothering the boss and made Danesh feel important.
‘This had better be good, man,’ said Danesh. We’re up to our necks in shit over here.’
‘You having a bad day?’
‘What do you want, Mick?’
Mick hated the way Danesh pronounced his name as ‘Meek.’ ‘I need to make sure we’re all cool for tonight. I hear you flushed out a rat in another crew. Well, that particular rat knew all about our activities.’
‘We’ve sent a message. Listen, it’s shit from the past, nothing about what’s happening now. You’re in the clear for tonight.’
‘You’re sure? You’re saying he’s not been speaking to them recently? This job’s been on the cards for—’
‘Fuck it, Mick! What did I just say? So long as you don’t fuck up, you got a free run tonight, no problems. I expect a call tomorrow, with some fucking numbers.’ Danesh ended the call.
‘I bet you do,’ said Mick to the phone. The others were all watching him. ‘The man was flushed out for some old shit. I didn’t get much else, and I got the impression we don’t need to know. But tonight is on.’
END GAME a gripping crime thriller full of breathtaking twists Page 5