Joe Coffin [Season 4]

by Preston, Ken

  Something that he absolutely did not want to wake up.

  Shaw stopped outside the living room door. It was ajar, but Shaw was standing to one side of it. He couldn’t see inside but he could hear voices.

  And one of those voices he recognised as that freak’s Stump’s.

  Shaw gripped his gun a little tighter. Listened some more, trying to pinpoint where people were in the room by the sound of their voices. It was too difficult, he couldn’t do it.

  He would just have to step into the doorway and hope for the best. He hadn’t heard that other freak Corpse say anything yet. Was he there, or was it just the mad bitch, with that filthy mannequin’s hand attached to her arm?

  Thinking of Stump’s missing hand reminded Shaw of the hand lying on Mrs Ullman’s bedside table. Bloody thing had to be fake, right?

  It had to be.

  Shaw shoved the thought away and stepped into view. Corpse was standing right in front of him, his back to him. Shaw lifted his gun and placed the barrel against Corpse’s head.

  ‘No one move, or I’ll blow the fucking undertaker’s head off,’ he said.

  that's my girl

  Coffin ignored the urge to turn around. He needed to keep his eyes fixed on Stump. If he turned his back on her, he was certain she would shoot him.

  ‘Is that you, Shaw?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, Joe. I’ve got Corpse covered, anyone moves I’ll stick a bullet in the back of his head and then he really will be a corpse.’

  Coffin kept on looking Stump in the eyes. She hadn’t moved, her face hadn’t shown any expression at all.

  ‘I think you should put your gun down,’ Coffin said.

  Stump said nothing. And yet, despite the lack of expression on her face, it seemed to Coffin that her eyes betrayed her. That he could see in there her hatred of Joe Coffin, and how desperate she was to pull that trigger.

  Coffin had never had much time for diplomacy or subtleness. Maybe it was a skill he needed to start learning.

  Like, right now.

  ‘You caught me in a bad mood at the club, the other night,’ Coffin said. ‘I was wrong to say what I did.’

  Stump continued staring blank faced at Coffin. It was as though she was in a trance.

  ‘After everything you did for me when I was wounded, you’re right, I should be repaying that debt.’

  ‘I think you are bargaining for your life, Mr Coffin,’ Stump said.

  ‘No, you’re bargaining for Corpse’s life,’ Coffin said. ‘You shoot me and Corpse will be dead before I hit the ground. And then everyone else in this room will turn their guns on you.’

  ‘But I am expected to believe that you are going to let us go?’ Stump’s face twisted into a sneer. ‘And that you will then carry out the favours you owe me?’

  ‘Yes,’ Coffin said.

  ‘Why should I believe anything you say?’ Stump said.

  ‘You know me, I say it how it is.’ Coffin kept his gaze fixed on Stump. ‘If I say I’m going to do something, I do it.

  The sneer of disbelief slowly left Stump’s face as she relaxed a little. She regarded Coffin a little longer and then slowly lowered the gun.

  Coffin realised he was clenching his fists, digging his nails into the soft flesh of his palms. He unclenched them, let the tension ease from his body.

  Stump raised the gun again.

  ‘Easy,’ Coffin said, as he heard movement behind him, everyone raising their guns once more.

  ‘What about the money?’ Stump said.

  ‘What about it?’ Coffin said.

  ‘Mr Corpse and myself, we were here first. We should take the money.’

  ‘No,’ Coffin said. ‘You leave the cash here. It’s ours.’

  ‘But that hardly seems fair, Mr Coffin,’ Stump said. ‘You were being so reasonable just a moment ago, but now you are demanding to keep everything.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s going on between you and Mrs Ullman, or the history you had with the old man, but I know how much you hated him, and still do.’

  ‘You saved us once from him,’ Stump said.

  ‘That’s right, I did,’ Coffin replied. ‘And you know I didn’t do that for you, I was there to kill him, nothing else. After all those things that bastard had done, he deserved to die.’

  ‘This is fascinating, Joe,’ Gosling said, his mouth full of sandwich. ‘Are you going to tell us more?’

  Coffin ignored him.

  ‘And then we repaid the debt we owed you,’ Stump said.

  ‘Yes, you did, but I never saw it that way, I never thought of you owing me a debt, a favour. But now I see how important that is for you, and I promise you I will repay the debts I owe you.’ Coffin paused, trying to think through what he was going to say. ‘But taking all that cash, for you it’s just an act of spite, a fuck you to Mrs Ullman. But do you actually need it? I don’t think so. The thing is, you want me to pay back some favours, I need that money.’

  Stump slowly lowered the gun again.

  ‘Mr Corpse?’ she said. ‘You can put down your weapon. We’re leaving now.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Joe,’ Gosling said. ‘You ever get tired of the criminal life you could work for the United Nations.’

  Coffin turned around. ‘All right everyone, put down your guns. Stump and Corpse are leaving.’

  Corpse weaved his way past Coffin, his head bobbing up and down on his neck, and joined Stump. Together they took hold of the cage on wheels and began pushing it out of the safe room and through the living room.

  ‘Hey, no, no,’ the man in the cage said. ‘No way, you can’t take me with you, you said I could go free. What the fuck is this? You said I could go free!’

  Coffin stepped to one side as Stump and Corpse pushed the cage past him. They struggled to keep it moving over the soft carpet, and the cage halted by Coffin.

  ‘Don’t let them do this!’ the man hissed at Coffin, his face pressed against the wirework of the cage. ‘They’re going to kill me. Please don’t let them do this!’

  With some effort, Stump and Corpse got the cage moving again. Coffin watched as they rolled it through the doorway. The man inside the cage fell silent as though resigned to his fate.

  The tiny wheels snagged on another piece of carpet. Corpse gave the cage a good shove to try to get it moving, but it toppled instead. The man screamed as the cage fell over and landed on its side, the metal frame rattling as it hit the floor.

  The man inside the cage began crying.

  ‘Oh, Mr Corpse, less haste and more speed, please,’ Stump said.

  ‘I’m sorrologise, Mrs Stump but I just desirating to vamoosepart,’ Corpse said, whimpering a little.

  ‘Give me a hand,’ Coffin said to Shaw.

  They bent down either side of the cage and lifted it back upright. The man in the cage had split his cheek open where it hit the wire mesh, and a small flap of skin hung open, bleeding slowly.

  ‘Let’s help them get this thing outside,’ Coffin said.

  ‘Fucking hell, Joe, are you serious?’ It was Gosling. He was eating his sandwich still, but standing up now. ‘We should be taking the money, not helping out these two retards.’

  Coffin ignored Gosling.

  With Shaw’s help he manhandled the cage out into the hall.

  ‘That your van out the back?’ Coffin said.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Stump replied.

  Together they manoeuvred the cage into the kitchen where the going was much easier on the slate floor. Stump opened the patio doors. The slate floor was a seamless level surface from the kitchen out to the garden, apart from the metal rails inset into the ground for the runners on the doors. Coffin and Shaw were able to roll the cage outside with no problems.

  Stump opened up the back doors of the white van and said, ‘I will have to start the engine to operate the ramp.’

  ‘Forget that,’ Coffin said. ‘We’ll lift him in.’

  Coffin and Shaw both got a good grip on the cage and lifted it into the back of t
he van. The man inside the cage stayed silent the whole time.

  Gosling, Stilts, Duchess and Giligan had gathered at the patio doors to watch. Gosling had finished his sandwich and was licking his fingers, one by one. When he’d finished, he wiped his hands on his trousers and disappeared back into the house.

  Stump and Corpse got in the van’s cab. The exhaust coughed blue smoke when they started the engine.

  As Coffin watched them drive away, Shaw said, ‘What was that all about? Shouldn’t we have just shot them both?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Coffin said. He looked back at the house. ‘Let’s get back inside, before Gosling takes all the money.’

  Duchess emerged from the kitchen, a cigarette hanging from his lips, glossy with lipstick. He was still pulling at his tight outfit.

  ‘This thing keeps aridin’ oop me crack,’ he said. ‘I’m neva wearin’ one o’ these agen. I doe no how Catwoman does it.’

  Coffin walked past Duchess without saying a word to him, followed by Shaw. Inside the house Gosling, Stilts and Stut were piling stacks of money into bags. Gilligan was watching them.

  ‘Where’s the Stig?’ Coffin said.

  ‘He’s out the front,’ Gilligan said. ‘He wanted to make sure Freaky and Deaky left and didn’t just park round the front and come back in to shoot us all.’

  Gosling straightened up, gasping for air. ‘Bloody hell, Joe, look at all this money. Let’s get it in the cars and get out of here before the coppers turn up.’

  Coffin opened his mouth to answer Gosling, but his answer was cut short by the sound of motorbike engines. The glow from their headlights swept across the living room wall.

  ‘Now what?’ Coffin muttered.

  Stilts and Stut stopped shovelling money into bags.

  Coffin went and joined the Stig at the open front door. Five black-clad figures on motorbikes, their completely black visors turned to face Coffin, sat on motorbikes, revving their engines. As if at a prearranged signal which Coffin couldn’t see they all reached behind their backs and pulled out short, snub-nosed semi-automatics.

  ‘Oh shit,’ the Stig said.

  The two men hit the ground, scrambling for cover as the gang of bikers unleashed their firepower. A hailstorm of bullets slammed into the house, shattering windows and thudding into the walls.

  Coffin crawled back into the living room. Everyone was on the floor, hugging the carpet. The curtains were billowing into the room as though they were caught in a gale, one that was also ripping them to shreds. Stuffing sprang from chairs and wood splinters flew like missiles. A cloud of plaster dust whirled through the room as bullets smashed into the walls.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Gosling shouted, his face a blotchy red and shiny with sweat.

  ‘Members of the Seven Ghosts is my guess,’ Coffin shouted back.

  Gosling had his gun out again. ‘We’ve got to take the fight to them!’

  ‘And how do you expect us to do that?’ Coffin shouted. ‘They’ve got us pinned down!’

  The gunfire stopped.

  The sudden silence seemed more deafening than the gunfire had been.

  Coffin risked pulling himself up to peer out of the window. All five of the bikers were reloading their weapons with swift, practised movements. Coffin thought about standing up, letting loose with both barrels of his shotgun.

  Remembered he didn’t have it to hand.

  They had finished reloading now. They were raising their weapons.

  Coffin was about to get back to hugging the carpet when he spotted movement amongst the trees behind the bikers. Duchess Swallows stepped from his cover of the trees and up behind the biker nearest to him. He had a small handgun, and he slipped it under the biker’s helmet and pulled the trigger.

  The biker jerked upwards, arching his back. Blood poured from beneath his helmet and over his outfit. With what looked like practised ease, Duchess grabbed the semi-automatic with his free hand whilst dropping the handgun from the other.

  Before the other assassins had even fully comprehended what was happening, Duchess turned his new weapon on them and began strafing them with bullets. As the bikers kicked and jerked and collapsed under the onslaught of his weapon, Duchess began screaming and whooping, his red painted lips parted in a huge, crazy grin.

  ‘That’s my girl,’ Gosling said, standing beside Coffin.

  Once the last of the bikers had collapsed under the hail of bullets, Duchess stopped firing. He lifted the muzzle of the gun to his lips and blew it, like a cowboy in a wild west B-Movie.

  ‘Stig, get out there and gather up their guns,’ Coffin said. ‘And let’s get that money and get out of here before we have any more visitors.’

  girl's got no styleee

  Shanks Longworth walked along Lozells Road, past the Indian and Thai takeaways and the fish and chip shops. Shazanz Kebab House, Dixy Chicken, Aziz Pizza, Saqib Kebab House, The Plaice.

  He’d been instructed to look out for a kebab shop called McDoner’s, and there it was, across the road and behind a barrier of a portable metal fence. The signage aped the McDonald’s brand, but no one was going to be fooled.

  Longworth crossed the road and dodged through a gap in the metal fence. He pushed at the door and it opened stiffly.

  The young, bearded man behind the counter nodded at Longworth and tilted his head toward another door at the rear of the shop. There were no customers, but the kebab meats were already hot and dripping grease on their skewers behind the counter.

  Longworth pushed through the door and entered a small room with four tables, each with four chairs pushed under them. The strip lights on the ceiling were off, but Longworth could see enough from the light spilling out of the window cut in another door at the opposite side of the room. He walked towards it. The indistinct sound of chatter grew louder as he walked closer.

  The glass was opaque, like a bathroom window. Through the glass, Longworth could see vague, distorted shadows moving around.

  He pushed the door open.

  A group of Arabic looking men were sat around a large table. There was nothing on the table but there were wooden crates stacked up haphazardly along one wall. Arabic writing had been stencilled on the sides in black ink.

  One of the men stood up. He was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans and he was clean shaven. He looked westernised. Not like the others, all wearing traditional thawbs. They looked nervous as hell.

  ‘Yeah?’ he said, his eyes and posture radiating hostility.

  ‘You know what I’m here for,’ Longworth said.

  ‘You got to tell us that,’ the man said. ‘You got to say it.’

  ‘I’m picking up some hardware.’ Longworth scanned the room. All he could see were the wooden crates.

  ‘Yeah? What hardware, man? We don’t do no hardware, we do kebabs, you in the wrong place.’

  ‘Cut the routine, we both know that’s not true,’ Longworth said.

  The man glanced at his companions, zeroed in on one. ‘Pat him down, yeah?’

  The young man stood up, approached Longworth slowly. He reached out and began patting his hands over Longworth’s chest, his touch light and hesitant.

  ‘Not like that, you mong,’ the man said. ‘Tell him to hold his arms up and give him a good feel, like you’re touching him up.’

  Longworth held out his arms and the young man patted him down a little more forcefully.

  ‘Tell him to spread his legs, yeah, and pat his legs down. Don’t forget his balls and his arse, all right? Give them a good squeeze.’

  Once the physical search had been finished, Longworth lowered his arms. The young man’s face was scarlet as he stepped back.

  ‘All right, good, yeah,’ the man said. ‘Where’s the money?’

  ‘What money?’ Longworth said.

  ‘The money for the fucking hardware, man. We ain’t no charity, right? Yeah?’

  ‘I already paid,’ Longworth said.

  ‘Not me, man. You gots to pay me or you don’t ge
t no hardware, yeah?’

  Longworth scanned the room again. His gear had to be in one of the wooden crates. There was nothing else in the room.

  He dropped his gaze on the leader once more, meeting that hostile, aggressive stare of his. Longworth guessed he was showing off, asserting his authority with the newbies in the room. Maybe trying to prove how clever he was. He’d already been paid to deliver the goods, but acting like he hadn’t been was a way of getting some extra cash.

  Longworth knew he could play it one of two ways.

  He could either give the man what he wanted, the money and the prestige that he needed to show these young kids he was boss. Longworth had the cash on him, that was no problem. And loss of face was no problem either. Not when he didn’t expect to survive the night.

  Still, it pissed him off.

  So that left the other way.

  Longworth took one long, swift step forward bringing his other foot up and burying it in the man’s crotch.

  The man doubled over, screaming. Longworth grabbed him by the back of the head and brought his knee up, smashing it into the man’s face.

  The scream turned into a gurgle.

  Longworth spun him around and slammed the man’s face into the table and wrenched his arm up behind his back.

  The others shifted away, eyes darting between each other, wondering what they should do.

  Longworth had one hand on the back of the man’s head, pressing his face against the table top, and his other hand forcing the man’s arm up behind his back.

  ‘Any of you want to have a go, be my guest,’ Longworth said. ‘You won’t get far before I rip his arm off and use it to beat you all to death, am I clear?’

  The young men, wide eyed with fear, all nodded.

  Longworth leaned in close to the man, their faces only inches apart. Snot and blood bubbled out of the man’s nose.

  ‘Now then, Cupcake, where’s my gear?’

  ‘In the crate, the one nearest to the door.’

  Longworth let go of him and he slid to the floor, moaning and clutching his balls.

  The top of the crate was loose. Longworth pulled it off. There was a holdall bag inside. Longworth unzipped it and inspected the contents.