by Mark Newman
Williams made a grab for his forearm.
Garrett glared at him. ‘Really?’
Seeing the cold fury in Garrett’s stare, he retracted his grip mid-air. ‘Out’, he said.
Standing motionless, Garrett stared, then smiled. ‘Sure, okay, Matt, whatever you say.’
Chapter 17
Williams stomped ahead to find a vacant office, livid at the interruption and Garrett’s apparent laissez-faire attitude. He waited for Garrett to enter then closed the door behind him.
‘Where the fuck have you been?’
Garrett ignored the question. Instead he took a seat and made himself comfortable. ‘I’ve never been in this office, you know that? In all the time I’ve worked here, I’ve never actually been in this room,’ he said, taking in his new surroundings.
‘And what the fuck has that to do with anything?’
‘Just saying.’
Williams raged back and forth, his glasses held in his right hand slicing through the air working out his frustration. ‘Have you any idea what you’ve done? We’re looking at a potential lawsuit, hundreds of thousands of pounds. And you go fucking AWOL, off the grid, then turn up here, looking like...’ He appraised Garrett from head to toe, noticing the cut to his eye, then his swollen hand. ‘I don’t know what...’
Garrett brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his shirt. Then raised his hand to his eye. ‘Yeah, what can I say? It’s been a strange couple of days.’
‘That’s it? Your answer, a strange couple of days... Fucking unbelievable. Are you drunk, or high? Are you on some kind of medication?’
Garrett smiled, then exhaled, shaking his head. ‘You don’t get it do you, Matt? I can call you Matt, right? After all this time, it sounds a little pretentious to refer to you as Mr. Williams. So here it is, you ready for the newsflash? I don’t give a fuck about the contract, you, the board, or this place.’ He paused, waiting for the reaction.
Williams clenched his jaw and moved closer to Garrett, the muscles tightening then relaxing along his jaw line. ‘Is that right? Well that’s an awful lot of jobs on the line besides yours, so you’ve got thirty seconds to explain, before I go back in there, and tell them to fire you right now. And you can forget about the severance package. We’re looking at gross negligence, Garrett. Know what that means?’
Garrett looked on, non-plussed.
‘No? Well allow me to enlighten you. Nothing, you get nada, zilch, and you can kiss goodbye to the three months salary, along with any shares or pension annuities—it all goes. Oh, and let’s not forget the car, your beloved R8.’
‘The cars mine, has been for over a year, bought it when the downgrade went through. Couldn’t picture myself driving a Ford or a Vauxhall. Just didn’t feel right to be turning up to a client driving a dad car. Go check with the lease company, but I’m telling you it’s mine.’
Williams turned on his heel. ‘Well maybe I’ll just use it as a down-payment for the lawyers we’re going to need to sort this mess of yours out.’
‘Always true to form, Matt, I’ll say that much for you, but I’m not playing scapegoat, so go find yourself some other mug.’ Garrett shifted in his seat, ‘know your trouble, Matt? Always too quick to take the glory, and never around to carry the can when the shit hits the fan. If you’d listened to me none of this would be happening right now. You signed it off, your signature—your fuck up.’
Williams snorted his derision, ‘you’ve never had the balls or instinct for this business, you’re nothing more than an also ran. Only reason you’ve lasted this long is because of old man Hendricks. You’re a lame horse, Garrett, have been for the last six months or more.’
Staring at the floor, Garrett shook his head but said nothing.
Williams wasn’t done, ‘and I’ll tell you something for nothing—it’s your team that’s carried you this far, and stupidly I’ve covered your arse, thinking it was a temporary measure, a glitch, a mid-life crisis, or God knows what. But there’s only so much goodwill to go around. You’ve had your nine lives, and this time there’s no one looking out for you. You’re out on a limb, on your own.’
Garrett leaned forward in the chair, resting his forearms on his thighs, still massaging his left hand. Hendricks had been like a father to him, given him a break and took a chance on him when no one else would, schooling him in the business from the ground up. The old man had taken ill over the last six months, the Alzheimer’s affirming its grip, and now he was in a nursing home somewhere, drugged up to the eyeballs just to keep him quiet. What a way to end up.
‘You know something, Williams, you can paint it any which way you like, I don’t give a shit.’ He rose to his feet, standing two inches taller, eyeballing his soon-to-be former boss. ‘All it’s ever been about with you is looking out for number one, and screwing people over to suit your own ends.’
Garrett sidestepped Williams and made his way to the door.
Williams grabbed at his shoulder, ‘you’re done, finished; I’ll see to it that you never work again. Go on get the fuck out, before I throw out.’
Garrett swung round and launched himself, his head connecting with the bridge of Williams’ nose, obliterating the cartilage. He slumped to the floor. Garrett stood over him, his size tens jabbing Williams in the ribs. ‘You just never know when to shut up do you?’
His victim squirmed on the floor, bloodstained hands clutching at his ruined nose. Garrett jabbed him again. ‘Just be sure I get what I’m owed.’ Garrett straightened up, adjusted his attire and turned to leave, giving one last smack of his boot into Williams’ sternum. ‘You see to it that I’m paid in full, otherwise I’ll be back, and see that balcony, you’ll be taking a swan dive straight off it.’
He made his way to the door and opened it, greeted by a crowd, none of which tried to stop him. Tina was upfront, her jaw gaping wide open. ‘What the fuck, Garrett?’
He gave her a little nod of the head and walked past in silence, leaving the door ajar, allowing the entire office to witness his handiwork.
Chapter 18
Approaching the ground floor, Garrett could see the old security guard standing about twelve feet out from the foot of the escalator, clutching at his radio, anxiety etched all over his face. Garrett didn’t want to hurt the old man but he needed to get out fast, the police were sure to be en route by now. As he inched closer to the exit point, Brian approached, his radio held just inches from his mouth calling in the back up.
‘Sir, I’ve got my orders. I’m to detain you until the police arrive.’
Garrett shook his head. ‘Come on, we both know that’s not going to happen.’
‘I’m afraid, sir, I must insist.’
Garrett tried to placate the security guard. ‘Brian, isn’t it?’
The old man looked on, uneasy at the thought of Garrett knowing his name. He hesitated then answered, ‘yes it is, sir.’
‘Listen, Brian I’ve got no quarrel with you, but you need to understand something, I’m leaving this building—one way or another. So don’t do anything stupid, okay.’ Garrett paused, reading the old man’s response. His mannerisms rigid and taut, trapped by circumstance.
‘But, sir, I’ve got my orders.’
‘I understand, you’re a loyal employee, you want to do the right thing, and now the right thing is to stand down, Brian.’
He remained fixed to the spot, his face ashen. Part of him wanted to turn and run, but like a loyal dog to an overbearing master, he awaited further instruction.
Garrett kept an eye on the periphery, time wasn’t on his side. He weighed up the options, he could barge his way past Brian or wait for the police to come and arrest him.
‘How long you worked here, five, maybe six years, Brian?’
‘Seven, almost eight, Mr. Garrett.’
‘Eight years, that’s a long time. Ask yourself this, how many times have they even said good morning to you, or asked you how your day is going. You think they give a shit?’
The static
on Brian’s radio erupted into life. ‘Sir, I’m going to need you to come with me.’ He held his hand out to Garrett. ‘Nice and calm now.’
Garrett watched as the elevator doors pinged open, two thickset guards, black suits and earpieces joining the scene.
‘Brian, step aside. You don’t get paid enough for this. You did your job. Look, the cavalry’s here now. Read the small print in your contract, this isn’t covered.’
The men in black filtered out of the elevator’s chrome, sliding doors, one going left the other heading right. Fanning out, covering the ground between them, preparing for Garrett to make a break for it.
‘Even so, sir, I’ve got my orders and it’s them that pays my wages—and besides, I need this job.’
Garrett nodded to Brian. ‘Okay, your choice, just stay out of the way.’
They were attempting a flanking movement; Williams had given the order to detain him at all costs, no matter the threat level.
He tried again, ‘stand down, Brian, your friends here look anxious to get started.’
Brian turned and looked over his shoulder, the two men in black preparing for the intercept, going wide, attempting a pincer movement. He looked back to Garrett. ‘Come on now, sir, you’re outnumbered, we don’t want this turning ugly. I’m sure we can sort this out amicably.’
Garrett waited until they were within six feet of him, then he started hurling the insults.
‘What happened, the Secret Service let you out early today? Look at the state of you two, who’s the femme, I can’t tell? You pick each other’s clothes out, his and hers right? I bet you like to hold hands in the store too.’
Garrett’s comment had the desired effect, the younger of the two guards sneered, his mouth curling at the side. He was short and wide, bulked up by supplements.
‘Come on, pretty boy,’ Garrett said, getting under his skin some more.
The guard was itching to get physical, a welcome break from the monotony of driving the suits around all day. He lunged forward.
Garrett sidestepped, sticking his leg out and tripping his would-be assailant. He faced the second contender. Garrett looked back over his shoulder. His first attacker was back on his feet, approaching like a speeding train.
Garrett whipped his head forward just in time to witness number two guard snapping his right hand forward, a telescopic cosh extending before him. Not exactly regulation issue he guessed.
He didn’t have time to think before the felled assailant slammed into him, Garrett stumbling forward before hitting the ground. There they grappled like two MMA fighters, each seeking the opponent’s submission. The guy was small and squat but he had strength. He was trying to wrap both his legs around Garrett’s waist, attempting to manoeuvre him into a chokehold position. Garrett squirmed, but the grip was solid like iron. Starved of oxygen, his eyes began to water; the seconds ticking away before black out. The other guard was inching closer, cautious in his approach, the cosh held like a baton, ready to strike.
Garrett reached down and behind with his right hand, finding the guards groin he made a claw and thrust it into his scrotum, pulling down hard. The guard yelped like a six-week-old puppy. The effect immediate as the pressure on his windpipe slackened.
Garrett coughed and wheezed his way to his feet, just as the full brunt of the cosh smashed into the side of his neck and lower jaw.
Felled like prey, he shook his head trying to gain some clarity. Garrett could see the guy’s mouth moving, his voice shouting instructions at him, but it was muffled as if he were submerged in a bathtub of water.
The sting of the second strike brought him to his senses. He made a grab for the cosh before his assailant could recoil and bring it down again for strike three.
Garrett sprang to his feet, his face connecting with the spray mist as it began to burn, choking the air from his lungs.
Squinting through the watery blur, he backed away. The guard was still advancing, a can of mace in one hand, the extended cosh in the other. Garrett had one shot, but the guard needed to be closer. He dropped to one knee, feigning a worsened injury and counted in his head, one, two, three. Driving himself at full tilt, Garrett slammed his body mass into the guard, the ricochet, shockwave judder knocking the wind from him.
He made a grab for the cosh. Wrestling it from the guards grip he swung it down two handed like a sledgehammer. It only took one hit—the guard rendered useless upon impact. Garrett was up on his feet. Rubbing at his eyes, he retrieved the pepper spray and tucked it into this pocket.
The smaller of the two guards was still curled up in a foetal position, squirming on the floor. Garrett stumbled over to him. ‘Hurts, doesn’t it?’
The guard was panting as if he were in the final stages of labour, his face all red and blotchy, ‘fuck you.’
Garrett crouched beside him, ‘It’ll pass, what you need is something to focus on.’ Garrett took the pepper spray from his pocket and aimed it four inches from the guard’s face. ‘Open wide, and don’t forget to say thank you.’ He sprayed the remnants of the can and walked away, leaving the guard choking obscenities at him.
Now it was just him and Brian. Garrett leaned against the side of the Perspex booth, taking a moment to catch his breath. Brian had sunk low to the floor, still clutching at his radio. Old but wiser, knowing better than to tangle with a man with nothing left to lose. Garrett tapped on the plastic glass. ‘You can get up now—it’s done.’
Brian pulled himself to his feet, his eyes connecting with the slumped bodies adorning the foyer like something out of Tate Modern. His radio crackled in to life. ‘What’s happening down there?’
Garrett recognised the voice as Williams, he grabbed the radio from Brian. ‘Think you might need a new security detail, your boys are a little incapacitated at the moment.’
He handed the radio back to Brian. ‘Think it’s time you opened those doors now, Brian, don’t you?’
Brian complied without further hesitation
Garrett limped out into the autumn chill, his vision reduced to a kaleidoscope of teary blurs, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. In the near distance, he could hear the wail of sirens approaching.
Chapter 19
He’d suffered the severe, debilitating headaches for well over a decade, ever since he’d taken a beating outside of the club after an all day drinking session. Inebriated, he’d offered himself as easy prey—no contest, as they set about him like a gang of baying wolves ripping into him.
The change, that came with the sickness and the regular bouts of vomiting. That was all new. At first, he put it down to something he’d eaten. A bad curry or something. At one point, he even convinced himself it was his own doing. Maria was always saying he needed more time in the kitchen, so he’d bought himself a cookbook and set about his experimental phase, Spanish paella, Italian pasta and Moroccan tagine lamb stews.
Like straw blowing in the wind, he snatched at anything. He needed something tangible, anything to allay his private, hidden fears. Those very same fears that weren’t up for discussion, stored away deep in the recesses. Garrett had chosen to compartmentalise it, to shut it down and close the door on it. He followed the rationale that if he couldn’t see it, he didn’t have to deal with it, making it unreal—as if it were happening to someone else and not him.
Garrett’s eye’s flitted to the rear view mirror, still no sirens, no tail car holding back just far enough to let him think he was home and dry. The road was empty and devoid of life.
His thoughts turned to Helen, he wanted to give his side of the story, she’d understand—the only one who ever had. Fitting he thought, tying up loose ends and letting go. It was important she hear it from him and not some jaded hack or graduate journo eager to break their first big story. It had to be verbatim—straight from the source. He knew they’d still write a pile of crap about him afterwards, they always did. At the end of the day, people weren’t interested in the real news stories, they wanted the dirt. Sensationalism sold
newspapers not the truth. The insatiable public appetite for scandal and intrigue forced editors to bow to consumer demand. The masses craved constant grime and the stench of the sewer, so that’s what they’d get. But Garrett was determined he was going out on his terms.
The Audi R8 entered the cul-de-sac of Chantry Close, home sweet home. Except now Maria was gone there was nothing sweet, just a sour after taste. Garrett brought the car to a halt on the bend in the road by the front lawn belonging to the widow, Mrs. Johnson; he gave a cursory glance to her front window, no sign of life. The batty old cow was either out or hiding behind the curtains. Nothing got past her. She was the self-appointed eyes and ears of the Close, a self-styled neighbourhood watch warden. Garrett had only ever seen her as a busybody, someone keen to gossip and speculate over the lives of others, compensating for her own shortcomings—neither family or close friends ever in attendance.
His mind wandered back to Maria, they’d been together for close to a decade, married for over eight years, most of it good. They’d always had their moments. Theirs being a relationship of passion and fire, so the odd flare up was inevitable. He put in down to Maria’s Latin heritage. Her father had warned him that she had a temper, one to equal her own mother’s. But none of that mattered, they could work through anything, overcome any hurdle that life threw at them. They were one, united in love.
Things began to change about two and a half years ago, Maria was approaching her thirty-second birthday, and increasingly the conversations, which in turn led to the inevitable arguments, centred on children. Specifically babies or the lack of them. Maria was Catholic, one of four. Small by comparison to other Italian families, but children were important. At least to Maria and her mother. Garrett had never wanted a family. As far as he was concerned they had a good life, so why spoil it by bringing kids into the equation? They both had their careers, which in turn afforded them what most others would consider to be the perfect lifestyle, weekend European city breaks taking in the likes of Paris, Barcelona, and Rome. Annual skiing in Val Thorens, and round the world tickets with stopovers in Singapore, Tokyo, Sydney, Auckland, LA, and New York.