Joe Coffin [Season 4]

by Preston, Ken

  Emma peeked round the doorway. The office was filled with men and they all held guns, arms extended and pointed at the Priest.

  ‘What the bloody hell is this then?’ the fat man said. ‘The circus left town a long time ago.’

  ‘You’re Leola’s friend, aren’t you?’ Coffin said. ‘The Priest.’

  ‘An’ you’re the mighty Joe Coffin,’ the Priest said. ‘I’s been looking forward to meeting you.’

  * * *

  Coffin lowered his gun.

  ‘Emma,’ he said. ‘You can come out from behind the freak.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Emma said. ‘All those guns are making me nervous, pointed in my direction like that.’

  ‘Everyone, lower your guns, it’s all right,’ Coffin said.

  ‘Bloody hell, Joe,’ Gosling said. ‘My mens’ guns are up and down more often than a tart’s knickers. Can’t we just shoot him?’

  ‘You gone be in a heap o trouble you shoot me,’ the Priest said.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here, Emma?’ Coffin said.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ Emma said. ‘Please, can you tell your men to put down their guns?’

  Coffin couldn’t take his eyes off the Priest. Leola had described him perfectly, but it was still a shock to see him. His long, black overcoat, his battered stove-pipe hat, and his skin, inked black. Even his eyes and his teeth.

  ‘Look like you seen a ghost Mr Coffin,’ the Priest said.

  ‘I don’t know what I’m looking at,’ Coffin said. He waved his gun, indicating that the Priest should step inside the office. ‘Go over there, sit down.’

  The Priest walked languidly over to the sofa and sat down, stretching out catlike, his arms resting across the back. All the guns followed him, as though pulled by a magnetic force.

  Coffin lowered his gun. ‘Stut, keep your gun on him.’

  Everyone else lowered their guns. Coffin grabbed Emma by the arm and pulled her out of the office, into the corridor.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he hissed. ‘Didn’t I tell you I didn’t want to see you again?’

  Emma yanked her arm free of his grip. ‘Hey, you’re hurting me. And what’s with the goon squad in there?’

  ‘That’s not your business.’

  ‘And the money, I guess that’s none of my business too, right?’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘You robbing banks now, Joe? I didn’t think that was your style.’

  Coffin leaned in close. ‘Like I said, it’s none of your business. I trusted you, Emma, and you betrayed me. I’m not making that mistake again.’

  ‘Oh shit, Joe, can’t you just let me explain about all that?’ Emma said.

  ‘There’s nothing to explain, I know everything I need to know.’

  ‘Is that it? After everything we went through and you’re ready to just take that snake Gilligan’s word against mine? Did you ever stop to wonder how the fuck he got hold of that video? Huh?’

  Coffin kept quiet.

  ‘Has he ever talked to you about that? You don’t trust that bastard, I know you don’t. He’s trouble, Joe, and he’s going to get you killed if you’re not careful.’

  ‘Yeah, well, he’s at the back of a long queue,’ Coffin said. ‘There are a whole hell of a lot of people out there who are likely to get me killed one way or another.’

  ‘The thing is, Gilligan’s probably helping most of them,’ Emma said.

  ‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’ Coffin said.

  ‘That guy’s a—’

  The sound of gunfire from downstairs cut Emma off.

  fuzzy warm feeling

  Angellicit was throbbing with music and people. It seemed to Stut that the place was more popular than ever, especially since the latest breakout of vampires. Even the stage acts had taken on the theme of vampires. Right now there were two girls and a guy gyrating up there. The girls had false vampire teeth jutting out from between their ruby red lips and they were both all over the guy who was pretending not to enjoy it, but not doing a very good job.

  All three were pretty much butt naked and oiled up. They had the poles to writhe around, and chains to wrap around each other, and fake blood dribbling from their mouths. Even the guy which made no sense to Stut, none at all.

  But then the punters didn’t come here for logic and sense. They came to get off their heads to some hardcore music whilst half-naked bodies gyrated on the stage.

  Stut preferred working down at Edwards No. 9. He couldn’t say why, it weren’t like the crowd were any different, but the mood at Angellicit had changed since Joe took over. For one thing Stut couldn’t work out why Joe hadn’t changed the name back to Angels.

  That’s what Craggs would have done.

  And what the fuck was the reason for letting all the youngsters in? That was what Edwards was for. Angels had always been a gentleman’s club, not a grungefest, which was what Joe had turned it into.

  Mortimer Craggs was probably spinning in his grave.

  Not that Stut cared about Craggs anymore. Not since the bastard had betrayed them, right here in this very room. How could he have done that, just handed them over to those vampire fucks without batting an eyelid?

  And was it true that Craggs had left a load of debt behind?

  It was a sad fucking end to his life that was for sure. Reputation was in tatters now.

  Looked like a sad end to the Slaughterhouse Mob, too. Why Joe got involved with that fucker Gosling and his crew of freaks, Stut didn’t know. Surely the Mob could have taken the old lady’s money without that fat bastard and his dwarf. And Duchess just freaked Stut out. He could barely look at him without feeling ill.

  Stut hated it when Joe sent him packing, off on some stupid errand just to get him out of the way. But for once, when Joe had told him to come downstairs and look after the club, Stut had been happy to oblige. All that arguing over the cash and now that freak the Priest, and that reporter sticking her beak in again.

  It was a mess, and Stut wanted nothing of it.

  Stut gazed around the club, throbbing with music and heaving with young people, when he spotted a young woman staggering towards him. The throng of clubbers parted to let her through, like she had some invisible force field around her that was pushing everyone out of the way.

  Stut saw why. She had a stream of vomit down her chest and top.

  And she was crying.

  Stut grabbed her by the arm and guided her towards the toilets. She let him take her.

  In her other hand she was clinging onto a full, unopened bottle of red wine.

  Inside, exposed in the glare of the lights and the white tiles and mirrors, she looked even worse. And she stank, too.

  She stood at the sink, looking at herself in the mirror, and began crying even harder. She placed the bottle of wine on the counter, next to a sink. Her hand was shaking, and the bottle made a clattering noise as she put it down.

  Stut grabbed a wad of paper towels and threw them at her. ‘S-s-soak them in w-w-w-water and cl-clean yourself up.’

  She looked at the paper towels scattered over the sink in front of her as though she didn’t know what they were. Then she lifted her eyes and looked at her reflection.

  ‘I should never have drunk so much,’ she said, between racking breaths. ‘I was just trying to impress him.’

  Stut was standing across the other side of the bathroom, trying to keep his breathing shallow, not inhale too much of her stink.

  The door opened and a man in a tight top showing off his muscular chest and arms tried coming inside.

  ‘Get l-lost,’ Stut said.

  The man looked as though he was about to argue the point, but then Stut saw the recognition dawning on his face as he realised who he was talking to.

  He backed away, letting the door swing shut.

  Stut looked back at the girl. She hadn’t moved. He had to admit, if you could forget the stink and the vomit down her front, she looked pretty tasty. Nice arse on h
er that was for sure.

  ‘You c-c-can’t stay here,’ he said. ‘This is the m-m-men’s toilet.’

  He thought about taking her back to his, offering to let her clean up there. She looked good for a shag, but the thought of all that vomit put him off. Besides, even if she scrubbed up good he didn’t want that mouth of her on his, that tongue of hers round his tongue. She’d have to give her teeth a good scrub first, and Stut wasn’t going to let her use his toothbrush.

  No, the more he thought about it the more he decided it was a bad idea.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It’s t-t-t-time you f-fucked off out of here.’

  They both flinched at what sounded like explosions on the other side of the bathroom door. The girl hiccuped and abruptly stopped crying.

  Stut could hear screams outside. The music was still throbbing through the walls, but Stut could hear the screams..

  The bathroom door burst open and a group of men and women barged inside, just as Stut heard another explosion. No, not an explosion.

  Gunfire.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Stut shouted.

  One of the girls had blood leaking down her arm and flecks of it on her face. Like she’d been cut by flying shards of glass.

  More people running inside the bathroom, seeking somewhere to hide, some protection. Stut pushed past them. Got to the door.

  Looked out.

  ‘Oh, f-f-f—’

  * * *

  Coffin took the stairs fast, with Shaw close behind him.

  Another burst of gunfire, the sound of glass shattering.

  ‘Sounds like there’s a fucking tank out there!’ Shaw said.

  ‘Shit, this is all we need.’

  ‘What are we gonna do, Joe?’ Shaw said.

  Coffin didn’t know. This was all getting too weird.

  ‘Go back upstairs, tell Gosling and the others we’ve got a situation down here. Tell them . . . just fucking tell them what’s going on.’

  Shaw turned and headed back up the stairs.

  ‘And tell them to bring their guns!’ Coffin yelled.

  He spun around as the door leading to the main part of the club crashed open and a mass of terrified men and women flooded through.

  More gunfire and this time Coffin heard the bullets smashing through plasterwork and bricks, heard tables and chairs disintegrating beneath the onslaught.

  Coffin pushed against the tide of people running screaming past him.

  ‘Coffin! Get out here now!’

  Coffin stood to one side of the open door and took a quick look around. Tables and chairs had been smashed into splintered pieces of junk littering the floor. The bar had been riddled with bullet holes, the bottle of drink on the wall behind it had disappeared and the air reeked of sweet alcohol. Bullet holes had been punched in the walls. A flickering light cast manic, dancing shadows over everything.

  And then Coffin saw people on the floor. He couldn’t be sure how many were alive still and how many dead. He could see some lying completely prone and hugging the floor, hands over heads, waiting to die or be rescued.

  ‘Coffin! Get the fuck out here you coward!’

  Shanks Longworth, standing in the middle of the devastation he had wreaked. A massive automatic gun cradled in his arms.

  Coffin pulled back out of sight.

  Where the hell was Shaw with those guns?

  And what about the others? Where the hell were they?

  Coffin heard movement, footsteps crunching over broken glass and splintered wood. Longworth, heading this way, towards Coffin.

  Any second now and Longworth was going to start spraying bullets everywhere again. That gun looked powerful enough that the bullets would punch right through the wall and into Coffin’s head and chest.

  He moved, heading for the back door. Get outside and around the front, maybe surprise Longworth that way. It was a shit plan but about the best Coffin had right now.

  Coffin froze when he heard the metal clunk of the gun’s mechanism.

  ‘Stay right where you are,’ Longworth said. ‘Just stay right where you fucking are.’

  Coffin slowly raised his hands out to the side.

  ‘I know you want revenge,’ he said, his back tingling at the thought of the gun trained on it. ‘But did you have to murder those people out there?’

  ‘Feeling all high and mighty and self-righteous are you?’ Longworth said. ‘Didn’t stop you putting a bullet in Shocker’s kid now, did it?’

  ‘That was an accident,’ Coffin said.

  ‘Makes no difference to the kid, does it?’ Longworth said.

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ Coffin said.

  ‘Turn around. Turn around and look at me.’

  Slowly, slowly, Coffin turned around on the spot, keeping his hands out by his sides where Longworth could see them. Beads of sweat were pouring down Longworth’s face, and he had to keep blinking to get the sweat out of his eyes. He was holding the massive gun pointed at Coffin’s chest.

  On the edge of his vision, behind Longworth, Coffin thought he detected movement. He kept his eyes focused on Longworth’s.

  ‘What now?’ Coffin said. ‘Are you going to kill me, or kidnap me, or just stand there and look at me all night until I die of boredom?’

  ‘I’m going to rip you to pieces with this gun,’ Longworth said. ‘This thing’s full of metal jacketed bullets, pierce a tank’s hide they would, so they’ll go through you like a knife through hot butter and tear you to shreds.’

  ‘Nice,’ Coffin said. ‘And then what? You walk out of here with a nice, fuzzy warm feeling inside? Like you got revenge, and now that’s it?’

  Longworth hefted the gun a little higher.

  Coffin’s insides tightened as he waited for the bullets to rip through him.

  Stut smacked Longworth across the head from behind with a full bottle of red wine.

  Longworth staggered, and the gun went off in his hands. The bullets ripped through the floor and the walls, the gun veering wildly from side to side. Coffin lunged out of the way.

  Stut hit Longworth again across the top of the head, trying to bring him down, put him out of action.

  Longworth swung the gun around, still firing.

  Coffin barreled into him and they both hit the floor. The gun went silent.

  Coffin raised his fist and smashed Longworth in the face.

  And again.

  Longworth moaned and spat a bloody tooth out.

  Coffin pulled the gun off him and shoved it to one side. He climbed to his feet and kicked Longworth in the side.

  Stut smashed the wine bottle against the door frame and the hall filled with the smell of red wine.

  ‘Let me glass the b-b-b-bastard,’ he said.

  Coffin shoved him out of the way. Shaw had arrived.

  Coffin reached out and took the handgun that Shaw offered him.

  He turned back to Longworth and put a bullet through his head.

  twerky

  Emma shrank against the wall as the gunfire ripped through the club downstairs. It had been a mistake coming here. Why on earth had she thought Joe would actually listen to her? Of course he wouldn’t. He’d made up his mind about Emma, and there wasn’t a fat lot that was going to change it.

  More gunfire. Violence followed Joe Coffin around like a faithful dog, always at his heels. And for some stupid reason, Emma was always following him around too. Why was that? What the hell was she after?

  A single shot from downstairs followed by silence. Whatever was going on, Emma had the feeling it was over with now.

  She was standing in the hall outside Joe’s office, her back against the wall. She could hear the fat man inside talking.

  Emma decided it was time to get going. There was no way Joe was going to listen to anything she had to say right now. He was too wound up, there was too much shit happening. Emma pulled herself away from the wall and ran down the stairs. She used the fire escape exit to get outside. She could hear sirens in the distance. Definite
ly time to get away before the place was crawling with police.

  Go home. Think about what to do next.

  Out on the pavement at the front of the club, people were pouring out of the doors. Nobody was in charge, nobody to direct people to safety. Emma mingled in with the crowd, let the flow carry her until she was able to duck down a side alley and make her way back to her car. Just as she climbed inside her car and slammed the door shut her mobile began buzzing.

  She looked at the screen.

  It was Barry.

  ‘Hey, Barry, what’s up?’

  ‘Are you watching the news right now?’

  Emma frowned. Now what? ‘No, should I be?’

  ‘There’s a huge colony of bats gathering on Broad Street, not far from where those two girls were murdered.’

  ‘And they think these bats are something to do with the vampires?’

  ‘No one’s confirmed that yet, but yeah, that’s what everybody’s thinking.’

  ‘Okay, thanks Barry.’

  Emma called up the news app on her phone. It was the top item. Birmingham and its vampire problem was national news these days.

  Emma threw the mobile onto the passenger seat and started the car.

  It wasn’t time to go home just yet.

  She didn’t notice Gerry Gilligan emerge from the shadows, watching as she drove away. With a brief glance back at the club, Gilligan climbed in his car and followed Emma.

  * * *

  Gosling dabbed at his face, mopping up the sheen of sweat. The Stig was still holding his gun on the Priest, who was sitting on the sofa and grinning like a loon. Duchess and Stilts were sitting at Coffin’s desk, Stilts in the chair and Duchess on the desk, his legs crossed. He was examining his fingernails.

  ‘Well, this is a pretty pickle, isn’t it?’ Gosling said.

  The holdalls of cash were on the floor, stacks of money poking out of the opened tops.

  ‘What the fuck are you grinning at?’ Stig said to the Priest.

  ‘I’s just grinning,’ the Priest said. ‘You gots to laugh at life some days, else it drag you down into the ground and you ain’t never gone get up again.’