Little Billy, the Scotsman, was loving this. It had been a beautiful pick up. No one had noticed. No waving guns around, no one looking, no one interested.
“Highly professional,” he thought. “Even if I say so himself.”
“Look mister,” he said pointing his gun at Surge’s stomach. “This is not personal. My friends here are going to mug you and unfortunately it appears you are going to die in the process. Now be a good boy and put up a bit of a fight for my entertainment.”
“Oh,” said Surge taking a half pace forward, “You are not going to kidnap me then?”
“Nothing could be further from my mind,” said Little Billy smiling. He let the mark come another half pace forward. They were quite close now and Little Billy hoped Surge would go for the gun so he could shoot him. Keith Poole would go mad as he had been told to make it look like a mugging and muggings in England did not normally have guns involved but Little Billy didn’t care. This was the best part. He had had hundreds of such encounters over the years, normally to give punters a good hiding for not paying bills and whilst he was allowed to show the gun, he was not allowed to use it. This was the first killing and he fancied the job. The only hint of concern he had was normally by now the mark had realized what was going on and had started to sweat and plead, a few even cried, very satisfying for a little man like Little Billy, but this one seemed a bit too calm and composed. Very strange and quite unsettling, spoiling Little Billy’s pleasure.
Once Surge had got the distance perfect, he shot his right arm straight down. The baton appeared before anyone could react and Surge flicked it at Little Billy’s hand breaking two bones in the back of it and the gun flew off into a corner of the alley. The back swing caught Little Billy just above the heart with tremendous force. His hands went up to his chest, the gun forgotten in his pain and he collapsed.
Surge stepped to the right and turned round to see the huge Russians moving towards him. Both looked warily at the baton which Surge had bought into the guard position. Little Billy had sunk to his knees, his face bright red, his head bent with the pain, trying to nurse his broken hand.
“Now boys,” said Surge pleasantly. “Are either of you armed?”
They both shook their heads and opened their leather overcoats to show there were no concealed weapons. “Right,” said Surge smiling. “Well this is a little unfair.” To the Russians surprise and pleasure Surge dropped the telescopic baton to the ground.
Both Russians charged at Surge. They had worked together all their lives and knew each other moves, one attacked the head, the other attacked the body, swinging right and left handed punches. No one had ever been able to stand up against them before, most did not even get one hit in as the onslaught overwhelmed them.
Surge moved like the master he was. Both Russians were all brute force and no style. He slipped the right cross to the head and blocked the punch to the stomach then blocked both their left hands high and low whilst grabbing and moving one brother into the path of the other.
Punching into the throat of one, the spleen of the other, then spinning on his heel he smashed his elbow into the back of the head of the one on his right, destroying the nerves into the central cortex and as the Russian dropped, Surge caught the chin of the one on his left, bent his back over the falling man and deftly broke his neck. Both Russians fell to the ground in a muddle, sprawling in an untidy heap.
Meanwhile Little Billy had got to the gun, picked it up with his left hand and pointed it at Surge. Surge, not normally showy, performed a spin kick with the heel connecting on Little Billy’s temple. He dropped dead. In all, just a few seconds had gone by.
Then Surge’s phone started to ring.
. . . . . .
Jonathan grabbed Olivia by the arm.“Quick,” he said dragging her up the stairs.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Help, please” said Jonathan. Olivia could feel his panic.
“Go into the spare bedroom,” said Collins over the phone. “In the corner you will see a run of coat hooks. Turn the furthest one to the left and the nearest one to the right. As Jonathan did this a panel came away from the wall six foot across and two feet deep. Inside was wall to walls guns, all sorts and sizes. There were boxes of ammunition on the floor. Jonathan was amazed.
He could hear the men in the shop calling out. He turned to Olivia and whispered, “Will you help?” and she nodded.
He stepped inside the alcove pulling the section of wall behind him and maneuvered into a tiny space. Olivia put the hooks back into position. The little room was hot, pitch black and claustrophobic. Jonathan could hardly move, pushed up against the false wall, standing on a case of ammunition with guns pressing into his back.
Olivia wondered what she had now got herself into. “Fuck,” she thought. “Nothing for nothing in this world. How stupid of me to believe I was getting paid to run the shop for Collins. It must be a front for something.”
The men downstairs were getting louder and Olivia heard a loud crash as they tipped a display onto the floor. She took a deep breath, ran into the bathroom, flushed the toilet chain then ran down the stairs.
“Sorry,” she said. “I was busy upstairs.”
She looked at the two big, powerful, frightening men and thought they were clearly bully boys used to getting their own way.
“Where is he?” said the biggest man, obviously in charge.
“Who?” said Olivia innocently.
“Jonathan. The owner’s son.”
“No idea,” said Olivia. “His dad owns the shop and he comes and goes as he pleases. I don’t know where he is today.”
Keith Poole looked at the little girl, quite pretty in her way and obviously frightened. He pushed past her and they both looked all round the shop then down in the cellar. Nothing. He looked at the stairs to the flat and grabbed Olivia by the scruff of the neck and marched her upstairs. He sent his opo to look round and sat her at the table in the kitchen.
“Now,” said Keith. “Your boyfriend owes me a lot of money, you understand and I want it.”
“He is not my boyfriend and I don’t know where he is,” said Olivia and began to sob.
Keith could see the toddler asleep on the sofa and thought of threatening to hurt him it to scare the girl more but he could see she was already petrified. “Sit there,” he said. He started to look round the flat. He wandered into the small bedroom and sat down on the bed thinking what to do next. He checked his watch. He had no word from any of the other teams which was very worrying. He wondered what John Sea would do if it all went wrong. He hoped it was just a timing issue otherwise he knew he might not last the day.
Jonathan was behind the wall with sweat pouring from him. He had heard the man walking into the bedroom and he could hear him breathing. He could also hear Olivia sobbing. Suddenly he realized he still had his mobile phone on. If he got a text or someone called, he was dead. The irony was, he was surrounded by weapons but completely defenseless.
Keith got up, walked into the kitchen and said, “When you see Jonathan, tell him we need to speak to him about his father. Tell him no police, okay? And we will be back.”
Olivia nodded between sobs and he went down the stairs. As soon as the men had left the shop, Olivia’s tears dried up. She had been around men like this all her life and knew how to turn on the waterworks. She went to the window and saw the large Mercedes drive away. She walked into the small bedroom and let Jonathan out of the alcove.
“What is going on?” she shouted. “What the bloody hell have you got me into?”
“I’m sorry, sorry,” he said shaking. “I have no idea. Dad called and told me to hide. Thank you so much for helping.”
He phoned his dad. “They’ve gone.”
“Thank God,” said Collins and Jonathan could hear the relief in his voice.
“Look we have to go away for a few days. Tell Olivia to run the shop and to tell anyone who asks that we are on holiday. Okay? I am going to grab some clo
thes for you from home. I want you to pack everything in that alcove into bags and have them waiting by the back door. I will be with you in twenty minutes.”
“What is going on?” said Jonathan.
“I am not sure,” said Collins. “But we will piece it together and then whoever has come after us will rue this day.”
He hung up and re-dialed. Surge answered the phone.
“How many?” said Surge.
“Two dead,” replied Collins.
“Ah, I have three,” said Surge.
“Are you okay?” asked Collins.
“Sure,” said Surge. “No problem.”
“Okay, where are they?” said Collins.
Surge gave the details of the alley.
“Right leave it with me. I will pick you up in one hour,” said Collins.
“Give me an hour and twenty. I have a bit of private business to attend to.”
“Sure,” said Collins and rung off.
Immediately his phone rang. It was The Grey Man.
“How many?” Collins asked.
“At least five dead judging by the shooting,” said The Grey Man.
“Okay. Well, that makes ten altogether. It was two for me and three for Surge. Jonathan they missed. Thank God. What is going on?” said Collins.
“Look, I think I might know,” said The Grey Man. “They are after me and they know you would hunt them down so decided to take us all out at once. I think The Firm are involved.”
“But why now?” said Collins.
“Because I woke up blind this morning,” said The Grey Man.
Collins went quiet for a moment as he took that in thinking what that would mean to someone like The Grey Man.
“Are you okay? “Where are you? I think we all need to go on the run and try to work this out.”
“I am hidden, I hope, in a thicket in a woods around 1000 yards to the north east of my house. You cannot miss the house. It must be a pile of rubble with police and firemen crawling all over it,” said The Grey Man and he gave the address.
“Right. I’m going to pick up Surge and my son and be with you in around two hours. Keep still. As we get close I will call you.”
Collins then phoned up The Firm and gave the address of his house and the alley, with instructions that there were five to clean up. He gave his special code. If anyone bad had infiltrated The Firm this would send them a nice message they had screwed up big time.
Collins dragged both bodies to the side of the house. He went upstairs and pulled out a couple of large, leather bags and some fresh white towels from under the bed in the spare room. In one he packed his working clothes, mainly black shirts and trousers and some clothes for Jonathan. He then went to his bedroom and took down the concealed entrance to his workshop. This was a small area with rows and rows of weapons placed on special wall hangers or in racks plus a small work bench. He knew what guns Jonathan would bring from the shop so he only selected a few from here. Alongside the Glock he had already used today he selected the mini Uzi and his elephant pistol. This was a massive handgun designed to be used by the Los Angeles motorcycle cops. The gun was so powerful that the cops would pull up alongside any car that would not stop, draw the gun and shoot through the car’s engine. It worked beautifully, seizing up any engine it hit but it was so difficult to handle it was only in service for a couple of years and was now a collector’s item.
Collins wrapped this and the other guns in the towels along with a few tools, plenty of ammunition, cleaning rags and some oil and placed them into the other bag. He replaced the concealed door and quickly carried both heavy bags down to the garage. He opened the boot of the Audi A6 and put both bags in it.
Knowing The Firm was on their way for a cleanup he did not lock anything, just pulled out onto the quiet street. He drove carefully checking to ensure he was not followed, he then circled back. Some two miles from his house there was a row of private lock up garages. Unbeknown to anyone, he owned them all. He opened the third garage and drove in the A6. He transferred everything to a new black Range Rover with dark tinted privacy windows that he knew was not traceable back to him. From a rack at the back of the garage, he gathered his escape bag. Time was moving on and he powered out of the garage hitting the electric button that closed the doors behind him. He was operational and now on the run.
. . . . . .
Surge jogged back to his pub, quickly showered and then sat down at his desk. He wrote two letters, one to his solicitor which he put a first class stamp on and one to Steve which read;
Dear Steve
I have to go away for a while. Please look after the pub for the next few weeks. If you haven’t burnt it down by my return, there will be a nice bonus for you.
If I do not return within six months I have instructed my solicitor to sign the pub over to you.
Good luck,
Surge
He put that in a plain white envelope and scrawled Steve on the front.
He pulled out his escape bag from a small, cleverly concealed box in the bottom of his wardrobe which all field staff have in case of emergencies. It held his passports in various names, working credit cards and money. To this he added clothes and his wash bag. He walked downstairs, put the bag behind the counter and went looking for Steve. Unfortunately he was out but he bumped into Jonny, Steve’s erstwhile, helper, waiter and friend.
“Give this to Steve when you see him will you?” said Surge giving the envelope to Jonny who stuffed it into the pocket of his scruffy jeans.
With the other letter in his hand, Surge started to walk into town.
Chapter 14
Putting out the Rubbish
Paul the Chemist was in bed when the front door bell rang and rang and rang. “Someone must be leaning on the button!” he thought.
He finally dragged himself out of his pit and went looking for the wanker who had disturbed him. In the front room music was still belting out and beer cans, last night’s takeaway and what was left of the drugs were all over the filthy floor. Donkey was snoring on the sofa, too lazy after last night’s excesses to go to bed and Charisma Jim was nowhere to be seen.
At the door Paul looked through the eyehole. On the other side was the old publican from down the road.
“Well this is going to be his unlucky day,” thought Paul. “Who the fuck does he think he is knocking on my door?”
Paul threw open the door and was just about to move forward when Surge hit him in the throat. It was a perfect hit with just enough force, the strike was aimed at a nerve to the right of the main artery it allowed Paul to breathe out but not in. Both Paul’s hands went to his throat and he staggered back sliding down the wall, mouth wide, face turning red.
Donkey, hearing the noise, charged down the corridor of the flat towards Surge swinging punches right and left. Surge stepping in blocked both punches on his forearms then smashed his head into Donkey’s nose smashing it completely. His right arm swung through a vicious arc and the elbow broke Donkey’s jaw. Surge shifted his weight and his left arm wrapped around Donkey’s neck which he pulled towards him. Surge then moved closer and swept Donkey’s legs forwards from under him whilst still holding his neck tight. Donkey, now off balance, crashed to the floor. He landed awkwardly with Surge’s weight on top of him and all that force shot up his spine breaking three disks and rupturing the muscles. He screamed and rolled over in agony.
Charisma Jim was in the bathroom. He heard what was happening and ran out to help, straight into a right hook that broke his cheek, another punch which took out two of his ribs and a crashing kick which broke his pelvis. He collapsed onto the floor, whimpering.
Surge then went back to Paul the Chemist who by now had just regained the ability to breathe.
Surge crouched down and spoke very quietly into his ear.
“You are not wanted or needed here. If I see you again I will kill you. Okay?”
Paul the Chemist nodded quickly his eyes bulging in fear. Surge then broke his arm, wrist
and leg.
On the way out he picked up Paul’s mobile and phoned the ambulance service. He gave the address, said there had been a gang fight over drugs and told them no one was too injured so not to hurry. Slamming the door behind him, the music continued to blare all round the building. It all took less the three minutes, time to spare.
. . . . . .
Jonathan started to put everything in the alcove into the bags as Olivia went down and locked the shop door turning the sign to ‘Closed’. She came back up and sat at the kitchen table with Little Ben on her lap. Once Jonathan had finished he took both heavy bags to the back door and then came back and sat with her.
“What is going on?” she said again. “Please tell me.”
“I have no idea.”
“Don’t give me that,” shouted Olivia losing her temper. “Those are bloody guns! What are you? Mafia, drugs, what?”
“Look, my dad works for the government. He has done so all his life and I think someone from the past is after him,” said Jonathan trying to explain.
“Are you trying to tell me your dad is James bloody Bond?” she screamed and Little Ben started to cry so she hugged him closer.
“No. But you have to believe me when I tell you we are not the bad guys.”
To Kill a Grey Man Page 8