A girl screamed as she smelt the petrol soaking through her clothes as the boyfriend of another female diner, who also got covered in the dangerously flammable liquid, jumped up from his eat to confront Morton. Without taking his eyes from the assembled gang at the rear of the restaurant Morton felled him with one huge swinging fist.
The diners fled. Some fearing for their lives whilst others wanted to be out of harms way but, human nature being what it is, all of them stood outside watching through the big window at the giant of a man, intrigued to see what was to happen next.
The gang of Chinese men rushed forward to meet him. Their individual courage fuelled by the fact that they were not alone but misplaced valour was not what was required tonight. They knew of this man's fearsome reputation but they unwisely believed that he would not be so foolish as to walk in through the front door and confront them alone.
The unlucky ones at the front, pushed on by those behind, soon stopped their headlong dash towards him as a stream of petrol covered them.
The small gang positioned itself so that he was surrounded on three sides. As usual Morton calmly assessed the situation and realised that none of these were fighting men. He looked at them contemptuously. Even with the damage done to him earlier in the evening he knew that he had the upper hand both physically and mentally. The biggest of them probably did not even come up to his shoulder while the smallest looked like he would crumble under the first punch.
Even though, they were armed with knives, Nunchakus, another had a Chinese whip its seven steel sections glinting dully in the subdued lighting and one with, what looked like, a five foot staff but he could see the fear in their eyes. He could almost smell it - if fear had a physical presence!
“Mistah Morton, sah!” Hu Wang stepped between two of his guards looking as nervous as he sounded, “please, it were not ma fault!” His English was still heavily accented even after all his years in Britain, “Mistah Beny, he made me!”
“Made you?” Morton did not believe him.
Hu swallowed deeply. He was not proud of betraying his friend and right now facing Morton, even with his extended family behind him, he knew he had made a big mistake. A major mistake! “He help ma family,” he rushed on hoping to get his old friend to see his position, “I have family in China need to come `ere. Mistah Beny he promise he help!”
Morton looked at his once friend disgusted but not surprised that their friendship had come to this. “So, you sold me out, you piece of shit!”
“No! No, I told `im `bout girl! That’s all! He say he want girl!”
Morton knew how it worked to well. It was a method he had used all too often himself when he wanted something or to find someone. Word would be put out, normally by phone, to one informant who in turn would phone another and so on. It was like a pyramid with all points of contact leading back to the original source.
Morton had already decided how he was going to tackle the gang in front of him. There was no turning back for Wang. Friendship or not there was a price to pay for his betrayal. He threw the canister, upside down, at the group of three men on his far left making sure that it leaked as much petrol as possible on its short, arced flight before being caught by the unlucky recipient.
Calmly removing a box of matches from his trouser pocket he struck one holding it out at arms length to the side of him. His eyes were locked on Wang while the eyes of the horrified onlookers were firmly fixed on the burning match as he dropped it into a pool of swirling petrol. Morton made his move.
The gang of Chinamen made the mistake that he knew any amateur would make and paid more attention to the flames that were now rapidly sweeping through the restaurant than the man responsible for causing it. In one seemingly smooth, seamless movement he leapt forward landing no more than an arms length away from Hu as his right hand shot out and the flat of his palm smashed into Wang's nose breaking it sending a shower of blood from his already squashed feature over his bright, white shirt. Almost as if in the same movement he pivoted to his left raising his elbow and smashed it violently into the nose of the first Chinaman standing next to Wang knocking him backwards off balance as his eyes filled involuntarily with tears. Still turning he swung his big right fist down and across connecting with the fragile jaw of a slim, young lad in his late teens.
Side stepping again quickly to his right he confronted his first real potential danger. Another young man holding a five-foot staff. Mesmerised by the flames he had not moved and by the time he looked up and saw Morton's steely eyes in front of him it was too late and with the ease of snatching sweets from a baby Morton wrenched the pole from his weak grasp and stepped back spinning in a complete circle striking him on the side of the head cracking his skull.
Suddenly a scream pierced the room as the petrol can exploded in a ball of fire engulfing the Chinaman who had caught it sending out tongues of burning liquid in all directions setting alight anything that it landed on. The human torch rushed forward grabbing onto a table before falling onto the floor pulling the table cloth with him as plates and glasses shattered around him.
Morton glanced over and saw three men alight. Six, he counted to himself. He sensed rather than saw the next one coming at him and adjusting his grip on the staff took three quick crab-like side steps and slammed the end of the staff into the on-comers stomach forcing the man to bend double as he winded him. Again, as quick as a flash he changed his grip on the staff and brought it down with as much force as he could on the back of his head rendering him unconscious.
The sound of a chink of metal alerted him to the next danger. From the corner of his eye he saw the links of the whip snaking as they rose disjointedly into the air.
Raising the staff above his head the vicious whips path was blocked as it wrapped itself awkwardly around the staff before sliding off. Before the man had time to attack again Morton charged towards him and kicked him hard between the legs disabling him.
Thick, white smoke filled the room as the fire took hold destroying whatever lay in its path. The cooks came rushing in from the kitchen screaming and shouting adding to the cacophony of sound and mayhem two of them carrying fire extinguishers and tried to tackle the blaze but another made the fatal mistake of throwing a large bowl of water onto the fire spreading the flames across a wider area of the floor.
Seven. His reactions now on automatic he swung the staff in the direction of the man with the Nunchakus catching him in the lower ribs breaking them. The weapon fell from his grasp but before it could hit the floor the end of the staff was rammed hard into the pit of his stomach and then swung with as much upward force as Morton could muster and connected squarely on his chin knocking him backwards. He was unconscious before he fell to the floor.
Eight. Of the two that were left only one really seemed to pose a threat. The knifeman came at Morton the knife raised in the classic position high in the air well above his head. Amateur, thought Morton as he spaced his hands on the staff and swung the right end of it to meet the knifeman’s hand knocking the weapon from him and continued turning so that the other end swung in an arc that stopped abruptly as the blunt end embedded itself in the would be knifeman’s ribs. Letting go of the staff with his right hand he unleashed a ferocious punch into the side of his head just above the ear knocking him unconscious before he hit the ground.
Nine. The last of the gang stood before him. He was a young lad with no fight in him and was really only there to make up numbers. He shuffled back as far as he could as the giant man turned on him before his legs literally gave way beneath him. Morton felt no pity. He was there in front of him and he was part of the gang so he had to be treated as one of them.
Dropping the staff he grabbed the youth by the throat lifting him back onto his feet and delivered a punch to his soft stomach that brought a yelp of pain from him as Morton's knuckles dug in. The second punch was delivered with practised accuracy to the side of the head. The youth fell to the floor semi-concussed.
Morton searched throug
h the flames and choking smoke until he saw what he wanted. Walking across the burning restaurant he kicked the kneeling Wang in-between the eyes knocking him onto his back and stepped onto his throat and then with a cold calmness he brought the heel of his boot down again and again onto the face of the restaurateur leaving him a bloody pulp.
At the sight of flames Francesca got out of the car and watched along with gathered crowd in amazement at the events inside. They parted as one as Morton approached them forming two near orderly groups on either side of him. As he calmly walked through one of the onlookers quipped loud enough for all to hear, “Must’ve been a fucking bad meal, mate!”
Chapter 29
Francesca sat in the back of the car still cradling Kim with a new terrified respect for the giant man driving. She had seen the aftermath of his handiwork in the yard and had now witnessed first hand just what he was capable of.
He was driving around seemingly aimlessly as he thought. He needed a safe house. Somewhere to put Kim while he took care of business.
Francesca read his mind and eventually came up with the courage to speak, “Why don`t we go to my place?” she offered quietly.
Morton thought about it. Her place was probably the safest place to be right now. Grimshawe and his cohorts were out of the picture and as for Thanos he would lock himself up in his house and hide behind his wife and kids.
Once inside her apartment and with Kim safely tucked up in the spare bed Morton felt as though he could relax for the first time that night. He sat his tired, aching body painfully down on the sofa and looked around the comfortable apartment remembering his illicit visit.
“I have a friend who can help us,” she offered suddenly. Morton eyed her suspiciously without saying a word. “He knows about Thanos,” she carried on, “about his activities.”
Morton thought for a moment. He was alone now and even though he had taken care of Grimshawe he knew that Thanos`s next move must be to protect himself and that meant getting rid of him anyway possible! “Who?” he grunted.
“His name’s Ernie. Ernie Davenport.” She deliberately did to mention at this point what he did for a living.
At the mention of the name Morton shot a dark look at her. “The copper?” His tone warned her that he knew of him, “Forget it!”
Her hopes of bringing Thanos to justice disappeared momentarily but she knew that this was her best opportunity so she changed the subject for now and tried another tack. “Did you know anyone by the name of Andy Richardson?” she waited holding her breath.
He took a sip of coffee before answering, “Yeah. He was a nice guy. I liked him.”
Again she noticed the use of the past tense, “What happened to him?” she guessed that she already knew the answer but needed to hear the words.
He waited. Should he tell her or should he keep quiet. He weighed up the options; he guessed that she had the right to know how her brother had died but that would put him at the scene of a murder but there again he had killed at least twice tonight and she could place him there. “It was an accident, y`know! Your brother’s death!” he sounded and was genuinely sorry. He had liked Andy.
Francesca went cold. She suddenly hated the man sitting in her living room drinking her coffee. Was he the killer? She asked the question that she wanted answers too more than anything else, “What happened?”
Deciding that he had nothing to lose he told her exactly how Andy had died leaving out the bit where he was torturing him, “Now you know why we wanted those files,” he explained.
She hesitated before trying again, “He can help,” she insisted, “he's in a position to help you!”
“The only thing that bastard will do is lock me up and throw away the key! No!” he was adamant.
Francesca thought quietly for a while before bringing the subject up again. “What if there was a way for him to help and you not to be … directly involved?” she chose her words carefully.
His tired eyes wandered across to look at her. “How d`you mean?” her suggestion had got his attention. If there was a way to take care of Thanos without doing it personally he was interested and besides, he had someone else to worry about now.
“You must know something, anything that they can use to put this bastard behind bars?”
He suddenly realised that she had no idea who he was or what his position in the firm was but Davenport would. He knew that negotiating a deal with this cop would be impossible. Davenport had been after him for a long time. Too long!
He thought about his position. With his former partner backed against a wall he knew it was only a matter of time before someone came looking for him. There was no doubt that she had shown the files to Davenport which meant that the police would soon want a word with him and on top of that he knew that he was getting to old for this line of work any more. Too old and too tired! “What do you propose?” he asked.
“Well, you must know something that could help the police?”
A small smile creased his rugged face, “He’s too well protected to be nabbed by the cops!” He had to give it to Thanos he had managed to cover his back over the years.
She looked quizzically at him, “How do you mean? He has someone on the take?”
He shock his head knowingly, “The club is run by the rich for the rich! They look after their own and he knows too much. They will look after him in order to protect themselves.”
The confusion showed on her face, “What club and who are they?”
Again a small, cynical grin spread across his face, “The Qadesh Club named after some Egyptian goddess of ecstasy and sexual pleasure!” he waited for a response but when none came he carried on, “It's a club for the elite. The rich and famous where they can indulge in their sexual fantasies and perversions. A club where anything goes as long as you have the money. No questions asked!”
Suddenly everything made sense. The names, the addresses, the financial records. Everything fell into place. “A rich man's brothel!”
“More than a brothel,” he corrected her, “in this club you can do whatever you like and there's always someone to clear up the mess after you!”
The image of the young girl came back immediately to her. “Anything goes?” she echoed. He nodded silently. “You need to trust me. You need to trust Ernie!” she said urgently.
“I don't know you but I do know the copper. I don't have any reason to trust either of you.”
“What about Kim? She doesn’t count?” she played the distressed girlfriend card hoping to tug at his heart – if he had one! He sat thinking about it. She made the call.
`Morton pulled his phone from his pocket, “Yes!” he spoke into it.
“Morty, all right my son?” there was only one person who ever called him that. He grinned as his caller carried on as though he had already answered, “What’s the beef between you and the Greek?”
He grin disappeared as fast as it came, “Why d`you ask?”
“Guess where I am? I'll tell ya. I'm at the Greek’s house on guard duty. More importantly I'm on guard against you, my old son! Been told that you are not to get anywhere near the house I quote `If that mad bastard gets anywhere near me or my family fucking have him`. Those are the Greeks words. Got Adolf with me just in case. Had a lovers tiff, have we my son?” he chuckled.
Morton could not help grinning. Peewee might be a loud mouthed, uncouth and, for most of the time an unwashed arsehole but he was, if nothing else, a loyal friend and their friendship went back even further than him and Thanos. “Something like that. So he called you, did he?”
“What’s going on, son? I need to know if I'm in the middle of something?” there was still a cheery note in his voice but now he was serious.
“Do yourself a favour and keep out of this. This isn't going to end well for one of us and it won't be me!”
There was a long silence before he spoke again, “Listen, I don't know what you’ve done but I heard him on the phone. Seems like he's bringing in some outsider to take
care of you. Morty, we go back a long way. You know where my loyalties lie. If you need help just say so.”
Morton was not used to people offering him help but there again he was not often in this position, “I could do with a small favour.”
“Name it.”
Chapter 30
Robert Montgomery, MP was getting to know this routine very well. He was to meet someone in a pub and from there he would be taken to where his `parcel` was being kept. This was the fifth time he had used the services of the Qadesh Club and so far he had never been to the same place twice. He always found this part of the night somewhat comical and reminiscent of an old spy movie. Tonight, he was told to enter the pub and look for the man wearing a red cravat. Once located he was to order two half-pints of local bitter, offer one to his guide and then, after exchanging passwords, to follow him. Tonight his guide was a middle aged man wearing a faded pair of dark blue denim jeans and an equally faded denim shirt who, with his big moustache and rather long, straggly hair seemed in character wearing the cravat.
He followed his guide through the twisting, narrow country lanes the powerful engine of his Jaguar making light work of the many hills along the route until eventually they turned off into a lay-by where he was told to leave his car and was taken the rest of the way in the back of the van. He understood their need for the cloak and dagger secrecy and extravagant precautions after all, they offered a service that was hard, if not impossible, to find anywhere else.
The windowless van slowed and made a sharp right turn into a rough, uneven road bouncing Robert Montgomery around uncomfortably in the back until eventually it came to a stop. The back doors were opened and he found himself in what looked like the inside of a barn. His guide ushered him to a small wooden door at the rear which lead to a flight of roughly made wooden steps taking him down to a set of rooms dug out beneath the main barn.
He was shown into a small but well furnished room, which was at odds with the rest of the building. Fitted out with a thick, plush carpet, a very comfortable sofa, a minibar and concealed at the back a small shower.
The Qadesh Club Page 20