[Eddie Collins 01.0] The Third Rule

by Andrew Barrett

  The plastic sliced through the skin covering Sirius’s knuckles, glided under it, up the back of his hand. And then the kid’s kicking feet won their own battle, sending him back out onto the pavement screaming in agony. And furious that he was minus a prisoner, and minus a pair of cuffs. The car door slammed shut…

  …and Christian crunched it into gear, and set off kangarooing down the street. He shook uncontrollably, and his mind worked fast, scattering its attention over everything. But it gathered nothing except hurriedly compiled inputs of the rain on the roof, of a man screaming at him from the gutter, of something hindering his right hand, of the squelching of water in his trainers, and the unforgiving pain in his left shoulder. A thousand things volleyed across Christian’s panicking mind. His heart beat as fast as the engine rattled. Lightning flicked the sky again and made him shriek as he pulled the old Ford up into second gear.

  He looked at the hindrance on his right wrist, saw the cuffs. Did that mean he’d just assaulted a copper – and you’re on what, a Rule One? Yup; a Rule One today, Rule Three tomorrow. Great, oh this would look good in court. The car gained speed and Christian scrabbled for the wiper switch; torrents of rain flowed down the screen and as his speed increased, the rain wavered in transparent curtains. Then he found the wipers. They didn’t work. And he was driving blind, couldn’t distinguish road from footpath. Christian screamed and slammed on the brakes.

  – Six –

  Sirius leapt to his feet, didn’t even notice the steady trickle of blood falling from his clenched fist as he broke into a run back across the street to his car. He ignored the shouts coming from a man in a vest who stood on his doorstep screaming curses at him. Henry had started the car already and Sirius didn’t even acknowledge him as he rammed it into reverse gear and sped down the street.

  “He wasn’t expecting us, then?”

  Sirius turned on the rear wiper and drove backwards with his left arm over the back of his seat. “Shut up!”

  “Didn’t seem overly pleased to see you.”

  “Last warning.”

  “Your hand’s bleeding everywhere!”

  He slapped Henry hard across the face. “Now shut up.”

  Henry looked aghast, and wiped his cheek as though the stinging would melt away. “How fucking dare you!”

  “Easy!” shouted Sirius over the scream of the engine and the roar of the rain. “And if you speak again, you’ll get another.”

  His face reddened and very serious now, Henry glanced in the wing mirror and screamed.

  The rental car smashed into the old Ford, and Sirius’s right foot never went near the brake pedal. The crunch of grating metal as the old Ford ploughed into a graffiti-covered wall was loud enough to get the curtains twitching right up the street.

  Sirius was out and running towards the wreck. It leaked orange water down into the gutter, but he concentrated on the driver’s door, wrenching it open with his injured hand. He winced at the pain, and fury made him ram the kid’s face into the steering wheel, pull it back, scream at him, and ram it again. The kid was a floppy mess, but Sirius’s fury was not easily appeased.

  “Kick me, would you,” he rammed the head, “stab me would you, you fucker,” he rammed it again. Blood splashed the windscreen and a groan fell out of the kid’s mouth like the blood dripped from his nose. Still growling, Sirius grabbed a hold of the cuffs with his left hand and just pulled until the kid fell out of the car, and then dragged him through the rain, through the gutter coursing with water and litter up to the rear door of the rental. Then he let go and the kid flopped to the road like a discarded toy.

  “Oi!”

  The man in the string vest – now clothed in an old mac, waddled down the road in his slippers. “Henry.” He opened the rear door. “Help me. Drag him in, quick!”

  Henry reached over his seat, gave Sirius a reproachful look for the red fingermarks on his cheek and then pulled the kid on board with the cuff; Sirius pushed from the back and then slammed the door. “Police business,” he shouted to the vest, “go back inside.”

  “But–”

  “Go back inside!”

  The string vest stopped and saw the blood dripping from Sirius’s fist. He turned and waddled back up the street.

  – Seven –

  Henry’s hands shook and his face was pale as he stared fixedly through the windscreen. He didn’t speak for a long time, until they had made their way through the heart of the city and out the other side, heading east, and out of the rainstorm. “Who is he?”

  Sirius steered the car using his left hand only; his right was wedged into his crotch, trying to stem the flow of blood from the wound, a wound he still hadn’t examined.

  “Is he our appointment?”

  “Any scrote would have done; suppose it’s his lucky day.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Never seen him before. He’s a tea-leaf and that’s all that matters.”

  “Why does that matter?”

  Sirius turned the windscreen wipers off. “It matters because when the police find his blood and fingerprints inside your car, they’ll be able to pull his name right off the database – and nail him for your bad driving habits.” He wiped the moisture from his face, using his knees to steer. “If we used someone without a police record, it would make things very snaggy because they’d have no one to pin it on, except you of course.”

  Henry asked, “But what happens when the police find him, when they ask him about driving the Jag and he says…” He stopped talking. Sirius was looking at him as though he was an imbecile, as though he still hadn’t cottoned on to what was in store for the kid yet.

  Henry peered into the back seat. The kid looked dead. His eyes had swollen, his right was black already and was the size of a small plum, and his nose was unrecognisable, just a red mess somewhere in the centre of his face. He leaked blood into the upholstery. “You sure he’s up to whatever it is you have planned for him?”

  “It doesn’t matter; he’ll be dead by the end of today once we’re finished with him.” He smiled at Henry.

  “That’s why it doesn’t matter if the police find him?”

  “My, you’re bright, aren’t you?”

  “No,” Henry said, “I really don’t think I am.”

  “Well maybe you’ll think twice before you–”

  “Yes, yes! I know how reckless I’ve been without you pointing it out to me!”

  “About time too.” Sirius winced at the pain in his knuckles. “Right; where is this place?”

  45

  Tuesday 23rd June

  – One –

  “Hey, slow down,” she said, “plenty of time to build ourselves up, you know, the anticipation.” She rubbed her hands together.

  “Should be taking that statement first, really.”

  “Yeah,” she said, sliding closer to him, as close as the seat belt and her packed utility belt would allow, “should be really, shouldn’t we.” She laughed then, rubbed his thigh.

  “Glad you made the switch to my team.”

  “It wasn’t easy. Anderson put the block on my transfer for over two months. Bastard. Tried to keep me on his team.” And then she thought, “Hey, you don’t think he knows about us and he just tried to keep us apart, do you?”

  “Never mind, Launa, you’re here now. Let the good times roll.”

  She laughed and slapped his leg. The roar of the engine blotted out the police radio. Today, Launa intended getting laid and she didn’t want police business ruining it. And now that she was on Mark’s team, there was a whole shit-load of laying to be done.

  Great Preston called seductively. Launa grinned as he reached across, fingers walking northwards, and she slapped them away, laughing all the while.

  – Two –

  “Tell me where I’m going.”

  Henry sat forward again. He couldn’t help looking back at the kid all the time. It was a shame, and he felt a tinge of guilt over the whole business. But the lad was a
criminal, and his life was worth less than Henry’s. It wasn’t as though he had any great talent or would be a great loss to society; probably had no aspirations other than filling his veins with whatever foul substances they peddled these days. “Great Preston, near Garforth.”

  “That helps.”

  They continued east, outrunning the storm clouds, driving into intermittent sunshine diluted by white cloud. The ground was dry, the roads quick and within fifty minutes they turned onto a deserted country lane. There were a couple of tractors doing what tractors did in the fields left and right, but that was it. The place was idyllic, proper countryside, where birds made more noise than people or cars.

  The tiny road got narrower the deeper into the country they went. The hedgerows grew intrusive and the corners ever more acute. Another twenty minutes passed and Henry said, “Right in about a hundred yards. You’ll see an old sign that used to say Norburn Site Office.”

  They slowed but not enough. The junction slid past them and Henry pointed, “There.”

  Sirius stamped on the brakes and the kid thudded onto the floor. Sirius backed up. “I didn’t see a sign.”

  “I suppose you have to know what you’re looking for. Anyway, I think it actually now says Nob Shite Off, or something similar.”

  They drove between two rotten gateposts set back thirty yards from the road and flanked by tall, dense, bushes. A mix of overgrown blackthorn and dogwood swallowed up the entrance. Guelder rose twisted upwards in an effort to meet those growing downward and it scraped along the underside of the car in protest as the hawthorn scraped along the sides and roof. This went on for fifty yards, becoming increasingly dark and noisy inside the car and then finally opened out into a wider road.

  “How the fuck did you come by this place?”

  “Used to play around here as a kid; knew it like the back of my hand. There’s an old tower over there beyond the slag heaps, and–”

  “Okay, okay; it was only a simple question!”

  “Forgot you hated me there for a second.”

  “How much farther?”

  “Just keep going.” The driveway was rutted with potholes you could lose a child down, but its surface was smooth, hard and dusty where the plants and creepers hadn’t reclaimed it yet. Only a minute or two passed before they rounded a right-hand bend and could see up ahead on the crest of the road, the remains of an old single-storey hut at the side of the widest part of the road – wide enough to let the water bowsers turn around back in the old days. And as they drove nearer, the outline of the Jaguar grew clearer.

  Sirius raised his eyebrows.

  “Told you it was a good spot to hide a car.” Henry smiled at his own ingenuity. “It’s not a through road, you see. It ends in the old quarry about quarter a mile further on.”

  They rolled to the scratched Jaguar, and Sirius laughed as he turned the engine off.

  Henry smiled in return, but hadn’t a clue what was so funny and merely said, “What?” with a giggle running through it. “What’s funny?”

  “You tried to burn that thing, didn’t you?”

  “Stuffed a rag down the fuel pipe.”

  “You’d never get it to burn like that, you prick; it’s diesel. I can smell it from here.” Sirius used his left hand to open the door and then swung himself out, freeing his damp trousers from up the crack of his arse.

  Henry climbed out. “What difference does that make?”

  “You haven’t a clue, have you? Petrol will burn if you look at it wrong. You’d need a fucking blow torch to set diesel on fire.” Sirius laughed again as he inspected the car.

  Henry was despondent. “What are you going to do with him?”

  “We are going to sit him in the driver’s seat of your fine motorcar – your fine diesel motor car – and then hit him. We’re going to get his blood on all the controls and the seat belt buckle and then–”

  “Then are we going to… you know?”

  “Gee, I don’t know, Henry. What do you think?”

  Henry gazed through the dusty window at the crumpled bulk of a street kid lying on the floor. “If we didn’t, it would be a loose end, wouldn’t it?”

  “You’ll forgive me if I don’t clap.” Sirius opened the door and grasped a wet foot. “Sir George does not like loose ends.” He was looking directly at Henry, and Henry nervously stepped back. “What is this secret you have over your dad, eh?”

  “As a loose end, I’m not likely to share that information with my dad’s private killing machine, am I?”

  “I’m not a killing machine.” He grunted, “Here, give me a bloody hand instead of standing there like a penis.” He moved aside, granting Henry a little pulling room. “I’m his personal protection, government sponsored.”

  “That means you can do what the hell you like, doesn’t it?”

  They hauled the kid out onto the dusty road like the carcass of a dead animal; his head banged against the doorsill before it smacked the road. He only murmured slightly. “It means I help your father in times of trouble that could impact on national security. So yes, I can do whatever I like.”

  “Is there anything you wouldn’t do if the great Sir George asked you?”

  Sirius looked Henry in the eyes and whispered, “No. Remember that.” Steam floated off the kid’s jeans. Just another job. But one that could cost Henry everything if it went wrong. He was tempted to hang Henry out to dry, to let the police have him and bang him up on a Rule Three – shoot the bastard and get rid of him for good. And what stopped him from letting the police have him? Sir George. If Henry went down for murder, it would make things very awkward. If Henry weaselled his way free, he could imagine the public accusations of duplicity, and of unsympathetic rigidity if he didn’t. And besides all that, Sirius imagined Henry would be the chatty type if subjected to a police interrogation. Bad news indeed.

  No, Henry’s death would happen at a time and place of their convenience away from the public gaze.

  “Nothing?” Henry smiled that cock-eyed smile and then said, “Prove it.”

  “Look around you. I was asked to get you out of the mire, and that’s what I’m doing.”

  “Hmph.”

  “Hmph?” Sirius dropped the kid’s wet trouser leg and back-handed Henry.

  Henry took a step back and held fingertips to his lip. There was no blood, but it throbbed. “What the fuck was that for?”

  “Don’t mock me.” He came in close, close enough to smell the aftershave on Henry’s designer stubble. “I’ll use that toy gun of yours to blow your head inside out. You ever seen someone’s brains dribbling down a wall?” He nodded to the bulge caused by Henry’s gun, watched Henry’s eyes widen at the revelation. “I’m not stupid, Henry.”

  “How?”

  “Never mind.” Sirius lifted the kid’s leg. “Now let’s get a move on, I’ve got better things to do than–”

  Henry’s cocky smile was back, and he clicked his fingers. “You did that old fella. The old man from Methley. It was big news, locally. Lot of speculation surrounding it.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sirius pulled on the leg. “Now pull!”

  “You did it, didn’t you? You used his own gun and blew his brains all across the wall.”

  Sirius stopped pulling. “Mention a word to anyone and I’ll give you the slowest death I can think of.”

  As they pulled, Henry spotted a slip of paper protruding from the kid’s jeans pocket. “Wait, wait, wait,” he said, and pulled it free. He unfolded it, holding the damp sheet between fingers and thumbs. “It’s a bail slip.” He smiled across to Sirius. “You were right, scrote through and through.”

  “I have a sixth sense. What’s his name?”

  “Christian Ledger.”

  “Welcome to your last day, Christian Ledger.”

  – Three –

  Mark guided the car along a lane he had never travelled before, as Launa let her hands do the walking. “You know we’ll be in a heap of shit if
they find us up here? We’re well outside our division.”

  “So?”

  “How much further?”

  “Just keep going, but slowly.” She peered through the dusty windscreen. “There’s a sign up here somewhere, it’s around one of these– There it is, look. Norburn Site Office.”

  “That says Nob Shite Off!” Mark laughed until tears squeezed out of his eyes.

  Launa laughed so hard that she thought she broke wind. That in turn led to another sharp burst of laughter so powerful that tears welled in her eyes. Just before she wet herself.

  “Phwoa,” he said, “country air stinks.”

  Launa bit down on her lip.

  “How the hell did you know about this place?”

  “When I was a kid I lived in the next village.” And then she smiled, “Did my share of courting around here.”

  “That’s what I like, a girl with a sense of tradition.”

  Branches screeched down the side of the car, and the roof lights took a pounding, but all they did was look at each other and laugh about it. Eventually the road widened, the tearing branches yielded and allowed them entry.

  “Go down the lane and keep an eye out.”

  “Why?” asked the one called Henry.

  “Because I’m a professional killing machine and I just told you to, that’s why.”

  “But you said yourself how little–”

  “Just do it! I don’t take chances.”

  His head hurt so much that thinking was painful. He had one good eye but he dared not open it; the sunlight was strong and he just knew it would intensify the headache that throbbed with each hurried beat of his heart. Better keep it closed until he really needed it. And then there was his shoulder; he’d lain awkwardly on it while in the back of the car, and when Sirius, or whatever his name was, braked hard and he had landed on it, he nearly screamed. But fear told him to keep quiet, that playing unconscious was the right way to go.