by Blake Hudson
The van revved hard and sped forward towards the car and stopped abruptly at the wall’s edge, this drew the attention of the woman. She was startled at first and then puzzled.
“Get out of there! Run!” Knox bellowed from the shadows in a deep gritty Scottish accent.
The van’s lights flicked on with full beam, the voyeur was too late. Blinding the woman, she put her hands up to block out the dazzling light. This was it, it was going down.
With rapid nimble reactions, Knox accelerated into a hot footed sprint. Just as the intercepting knucklehead reached out to grab the woman, he failed to see the two hundred and forty pound juggernaut flying at him. With a hard thud and a cracking of ribs, Knox’s shoulder barged into the knucklehead, lifting the assailant three feet off the sand and landing down hard. Knox, on top of his target, reached out to a large, smooth, ocean weathered rock. And before the attacker knew what had happened a fast swing came across and knocked him clean out, a spray of blood splattering from the knucklehead’s mouth onto the coarse sand.
“¡Bájate de mí! el cabrón!” The woman shouted out in her native spoilt girl Spanish tongue. Knox knew that calling them assholes and telling them to get off would be as effective as asking a blind man if her butt looked big.
Knox turned to see the second kidnapper struggling with the feisty banshee, he seemed caught off guard with confronting the woman. Their plan was unravelling and he was having to improvise, slapping her across the face, the strike echoing in the air.
Knox slung the blood-stained rock that was in his hand. Smashing the windscreen of the van, both the woman and attacker froze mid tussle as they looked at the shattered glass.
The attacker’s attention then turned to the culprit of the vandalism, and with this distraction, the woman saw her chance. She bit down hard on the wrist of her assailant, simultaneously kneeing with all her might into his groyne. The attacker fell backwards onto the van groaning, clutching his manhood.
Knox had no time to think, he was up and running at full pelt to the emasculated attacker. The woman, seeing a figure emerging towards her from down on the beach, had already started backing away to her car.
Knox jumped knee first into the struggling attacker’s chest. This time the attacker was thrown back against the van, winded as he slid down to the floor. Knox came down with both elbows hard onto the top of fallen man’s head.
The thunderous roar of the V10 Lamborghini fired into the heavy air as Knox pulled on the door handle of the van popping it open. Taking a two-handed grip of the frame before swinging it open. Knox pushed the attacker’s head onto the open foot well with a boot to his shoulder. Knox brutally slammed the door in three rapid blows into the attacker now turned victim’s head. The ruthless onslaught was made even more dramatic, now lit up by the beaming intense red glare of the Lamborghini’s lights as it reversed back up to them and stopped.
The woman hesitated in disbelief at the image in her side mirror. As she selected first gear Knox turned and their eyes met in the mirror. In that moment time stopped for a second.
Gravel hurtled at Knox, who sharply looked away as it showered him like hard hail as the spinning rear wheels of the five hundred and sixty-two horse power marque super car danced for traction before finally biting down, propelling the machine like a bullet from a gun.
Knox’s attention turned to the men. He had no idea who these men were, who they worked for, what this was all about. On the theory that worry is a dividend paid to disaster before it is due, he consciously relaxed his muscles, slowed his breathing and emptied his mind of questions.
Dusting himself down, picking a few bits of gravel out of his hair he ran his fingers through it lifting it off his face. Knox knelt in front of his victim’s bloodied face, pressed two fingers on his neck checking for vitals. A faint pulse was felt as Knox’s other hand patted him down looking for anything that may give a clue to who he was, but found nothing.
He looked ex-military, eastern bloc maybe, but nothing more than a grunt with few years’ service. Nothing too taxing judging by how he reacted to the woman and then Knox.
Moving around to the passenger side of the van, Knox opened the door checking the pockets and glove box. Nothing, just an airport vehicle rental form. Everything about this felt more and more off. Moving on to the back of the van, Knox found a Leroy Merlin plastic bag with duct tape, cable ties and some rope. Along with a receipt with a partial credit card number on it.
“Christ, amateurs!” Knox said under his breath at the fact it was all still in the packaging not ready to use, along with a potentially trackable credit card number.
Dropping the bag to the floor, Knox shut the door, knowing it wouldn’t be long until someone would see all this mess. It was time to clean up and fast. Leaning over the driver’s seat Knox started the van up, then dragged the blood-soaked man away from the vehicle and pushed him over the wall. Knox then checked and was happy the first attacker was still out cold.
Standing in the open doorway of the driver’s side, Knox put his foot on the clutch engaging the failed abductors’ van into first gear. Letting off the handbrake, Knox stepped away, letting the clutch out. He turned and walked away heading back to the hillside pathway.
With a loud crash of breaking glass, crumpling metal and plastic, the van had driven over the stone wall dropping onto the beach, nose planting into the sand.
Knox reached for his box of Marlboro reds, tapped one a third of the way out the box before he put it to his lips like he had a million times before. Rolling out his Zippo lighter from his pocket a click, tap and a flick, it lights…
Blasted forward, Knox hit the floor as if he was drop kicked square in the back. Shaking his head to clear a high-pitched ringing, like PA feedback crippling his ears. Knox’s thoughts and hearing slowly came back as he rolled onto his back and looked over to the source of the explosion.
A blazing inferno of flames reached high into the dark sky illuminating all around him. No way did those knuckleheads have anything to do with this, Knox thought as he picked himself up. This wasn’t a kidnapping, it was a hit, by someone who wanted no loose ends. The two dumb nuts were just expendable pawns.
“What now!” Knox fumbled into his cargo pocket pulling out his vibrating phone, flipping it open as he lifted it to his ear, stretching out his shoulder pushing the pain away.
“Ten AM tomorrow, you know the drill,” a calm emotionless male voice stated before hanging up.
Knox looked up to his Triumph to see a blacked out, black JLR Range Rover sat menacingly watching over him. Knox closed his phone and with that, the luxury power house of an SUV slowly pulled away.
“I’m getting too old for this shit…”
Chapter Two
Southern Shindig
Knox walked passed the Cathedral de la Encarnacion on the paved stone streets, that was over looked by the imposing, Alcazaba fortress in old town Malaga. Knox weaved his way between the loud groups of guys and girls, obviously out for a fun time. One thing about the Spanish, you couldn’t help but smile as the Malagueños knew how to party. They didn’t need a nightclub or a DJ for singing or dancing, just the old 19th-century ornate street lantanas to light up the fun.
But unfortunately for Knox, that was exactly where he was heading and the idea of it filled him with abhorrence.
Sala Gold was the venue, away from the elitist cocktail bars and restaurants of the Marina, where the playboy billionaires moor their mega yachts and held lavish parties. Ones where every gold digger with a permatan, from up and down the Costa del Sol, hung out trying to get just a sniff of an invite.
Sala Gold nightclub was in the heart of the old town, less than a mile from the Marina but it may as well be in a different city altogether such was the contrast.
Knox approached the double fronted, pale stone building with its decorative masonry. On the left, the old stone was modernised with the sleek, black gloss panelling, adorned with gold inlays. A vi
deo screen displayed photos and clips of what awaited eager clubbers inside. To the right, matching panelling displayed the name of the club in gold embossed letters. The letter was fitted above plain black double doors with small portal windows.
At the foot of a ramp leading up to the entrance stood two doormen. Both as emblematic as they were tall and wide. You couldn’t get any more cliché with long black coats and the street lights shined off their bald polished like heads. Knox knew the type well. Hell, it could have been him standing there if he had taken a few different paths early in his career as a soldier.
Knox was blocked by one of the doormen as he attempted to walk in. Then came the brief pause, before Knox was being clicked at for identification. Knox gave them a depicted look of are you serious. He then reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a driving licence from a plain brown leather wallet, one he kept uncluttered.
Just one credit card, driving licence and a few hundred Euros in mixed notes and nothing more.
“Jack Noble?” Muttered the doorman before handing the card to his partner who declined to take it with a grunt. Opting instead, to look and sneer as he slowly shook his head in time with the low bass beat seeping from behind the thick stone walls.
“I know I have a handsome baby face chicos, but clearly I am over twenty-one.” Knox jibed with a smile and a wink.
The two men unknowingly looked over his fake but perfect driving licence courtesy of Dani. He had bank accounts, passport and birth certificate to match, thanks to his cyber hacking tech guru, one that also happened to have a sweet arse.
“No…” Grunted the first doorman handing back the licence. Knox slipped the licence back into his wallet in a cool, calm and collected manner, at the same time pulling out a fifty Euro note. He then adjusted his jacket as he looked around making sure all was clear.
“No problemo, mi amigo.” Knox rattled off in fluent Spanish slapping the crisp, fifty Euro note into the doorman’s hand. He gave him a deadpan look in return.
“Thank you, English man, still no!” He scoffed, putting the note in his pocket just as his pissed off buddy stepped up, creating a wall of cheap, black polyester.
“Right, and the reason is?” Knox said through gritted teeth at being called an English man. Knox had no issue with the English. In fact, he served with a handful he classed closer to him than his own brother, but he was also a proud Scot and that would never change.
He stepped back to size up the situation.
“No Good, now go lose yourself, you get me, English man?” Asshole number two pointed at what Knox was wearing, before they both stepped in, closing the gap Knox had just made.
Knowing it was foolish to push anymore, Knox moved away holding his hands up at waist level. Okay so maybe black tactical boots, cargo trousers and a biker jacket weren't the gear to be seen in with the young and trendy, Knox thought to himself. He slipped silently into a doorway, out of sight of the doormen, as their attention was now drawn by three barely dressed girls. They tottered over expecting admittance without ID, which of course, they got.
Knox stayed hidden, biding his time as the one thing he knew about establishments like this, they were never free from trouble for long. Knox smirked the second his prediction started to play out, taking all of two minutes before he was proven right.
A third member of security burst through the double doors, man handling a cocky, skinny runt. One that looked to weigh no more than a bag of sugar, piss wet through. He didn’t stand much of a chance as the bouncer was even bigger than each of the doormen. This could be it, the chance he was waiting for.
“Come on…just one more.” Knox whispered to himself, eager to make a move and sure enough, it came in the form of two screaming tarts’. The disgruntled women started screeching out about unfair treatment. They lashed out like feral cats in an alley. First at the cheating runt, forcing the two doormen to intervene and then at each other. Soon all three were trying to control the situation as now they were receiving a verbal assault from the ballsy runt, no doubt fuelled by being three sheets to the wind.
Knox spied his chance and side stepped out of his cover to cross the narrow street. Eyes locked on the security men, Knox with his back to the wall, stealthily sneaked up to the doors and strolled into the club.
“Abrigo señor?” Knox turned to the hatch in the wall to his left as he reached for the next set of doors. There stood a striking redhead asking for his coat with a welcoming smile but a look in her eyes that said otherwise.
Knox never checked a jacket as the last thing you needed was a damn queue when you had to get out of somewhere fast, plus he liked his leather jacket. Hell, he's had it for that long, it probably has a piece of his soul stitched in the lining.
“Gracias pero no," Knox said holding a hand up, giving her a slightly awkward smile. He carried on walking, pushing through the main doors as his body was met with a blast of sound waves. His eyes adjusted to the arrays of pinks, purples and blue lights.
Knox paused for a moment against a chrome mosaic pillar. Gone were the days of cigarette smoke filled rooms and taking that lingering odour home with you. His nostrils flared at the smell of the electric and vibrant crowd, now only taking in the scent of sweat and stale booze.
Walking slowly across to the main bar beside the entrance, he found it bustling with a group downing shots and a hen party so excited they looked ready to explode. Knox caught the eye of the bar maid, deep dark skin with an impressive afro. Her wrists were adorned with lots of silver, leather, and fabric bangles that all jangled as she poured drinks. Denim mini skirt, camo vest and Doc Martin boots finished off her sexy look.
It was like she knew his drink would be an easy one. She made a beeline for Knox, motioning drink with her hand. Her big brown eyes lit up as big as her smile. It was almost as if she was predicting what Knox was going to order and was expectantly waiting to be proven right.
Knox was shown the beer taps. He smiled and nodded to one, forgetting all about the bottle of water he was going to order. After all, it would have been rude not to have a beer when offered. The beauty’s smile quickly turned into a smirk. She looked Knox straight in the eyes and ran one nail over Knox’s hand as he took hold of the ice cool San Miguel. Knox reached for his wallet and the girl held up five fingers, ones he could see wrapped around something other than his beer. She winked but then dropped the sexy smile as soon as she took payment and had to move onto her next punter, interesting.
Knox took a seat at a table in the far corner, perfect for scanning the room. Checking his Breitling Chronomat 44 watch, and as always, admiring the black steel finish and its expensive efficiency, he saw it was 11:05 pm. Knox settled into his vantage point and waited.
The night club was dedicated to 70's and 80's pop classics. This was Knox’s personal Hell, second only to the real Hell on earth being Iraq. The locals loved it and it was the place to be seen. Seen with very little on, judging from where Knox was sitting anyway, but shit, at least there was one reason to like the place.
Knox examined the sea of faces and read body language. It was a habit trained into him. One he couldn’t shake, not that he’d wanted to. No, in truth people intrigued him. Something that aided him now as Knox’s eyes were drawn to the man stood close to the DJ. You could be forgiven for thinking he was his body guard if you would have even noticed him.
Tall, focused, in shape and watching the room like a hawk. He was a professional, but what was he doing here?
Knox finished his drink and no sooner had he put the empty pint down it was swept up by the afro rocking barmaid. She looked over her shoulder at Knox giving him a cheeky wink. Knox thought of all the nights to be hit on. But then, what the heck, he rolled with it. Knox put a twenty Euro note down on the table, smiled back at the girl. Pointed to himself, then her, and mouthed the word Drink? To that she walked away with such a sassy walk Knox wondered if he could handle it. One thing was for sure, it would be fun finding out.
They exchanged words, studying something on one of their smartphones. They looked like government agents but this wasn’t the way they do their business. Knox tried to reason with himself, that maybe he was over reacting. Looking for trouble that wasn’t there thanks to the events of earlier putting his senses on over load. Something Knox took reassurance in was they were not looking for him, as he’d not been registered on their radar…and nor would he, thanks to the company strutting his way. No, thanks to the barmaid with a seductive glint in her eyes walking his way, he just looked like some guy out on the hunt for a sexy piece of arse for the night. Oh, and that pout just screamed trouble, his kind of trouble.