The Acid Vanilla Series

by Matthew Hattersley

  “Oh my god, help,” Spook screamed in Acid’s ear, as the bike buckled and shook beneath them. A memory flashed across her mind. That awful party back in college. Eugene and his cronies cajoling Spook into riding a stupid mechanical bull. She’d hated every second of the experience and hadn’t stayed on too long.

  She prayed this would be different.

  “Hold on,” Acid yelled, as she slammed on the brakes and steered out the way of a large metal skip.

  Spook burrowed her head in the space between Acid’s shoulder blades as the bike swayed some more. But Acid managed to regain balance and straighten them. Back in control. Except they were running out of time.

  The Hummer had put good distance between them, and as Spook squinted through the sting of the wind-speed it drove under a raised barrier then disappeared behind a long building made of corrugated iron. Six large windows looked out onto the road, and above – in white lettering splattered with pigeon shit – were the words: London Eagle Heliport.

  They were going to lose them.

  Forty-Eight

  Acid leaned into the handlebars as they followed the Hummer down the sloping driveway. “Keep your head down,” she yelled, as she pulled the bike to one side and they skidded under the descending arm of the barrier.

  Once clear, Acid pulled the bike upright and eased off the revs, crawling the last few metres. At the end of the building, the driveway opened out onto a large concrete space with a helipad in the centre. Beyond this was a smaller landing pad jutting out onto the Thames and, across the river, the crane-studded skyline of Deptford and Rotherhithe.

  The Hummer was already parked on the far side of the helipad, the security goons already on the tarmac. Acid brought the bike to a stop beside two large industrial refuse bins, and the two women dived for cover as the men released a torrent of bullets their way. Acid leaned around the side of the bin and returned fire, taking one of them out – a head shot, right between the eyes. She took cover and removed a new clip from her pocket, replacing the spent cartridge.

  “You good?” she asked Spook. “Hurt?” Spook shook her head.

  Acid pushed past and moved to the other side of the refuse unit. She peered around it, but the remaining gunman had taken cover behind the Hummer. Whitman and Clarkson were still shielding themselves in the backseat. Acid made to move but froze, her attention drawn to a loud stuttering noise from above – a chopper coming into land. It hovered a hundred metres or so above the neighbouring buildings. A minute away. If that.

  Acid leaned on Spook, her eyes wide. “Listen. In a second I’m going to make a run for it around the back of the vehicle. Give me a beat, then shoot off a few rounds. Aim for the bonnet – the hood – okay?” Spook stared at her. She’d gone white. “You’ll be fine,” Acid told her. “Keep your head down and the gun raised, you’re not trying to hit anyone. I need a distraction. Point and squeeze.” She looked at the chopper steadying itself for landing. “It’s now or never.”

  With that she was off, moving swiftly around the back of the Hummer in a wide arc. She kept low, two hands on the gun. Over her right shoulder she heard gunshots, Spook doing her job, drawing the goon’s fire. A second later and Acid was at the Hummer. She crouched down against the rear bumper as the chopper made its final descent.

  Spook continued to draw the gunman’s fire as Whitman and Clarkson leapt out the back door and ran over to the landing pad. They didn’t see Acid and she had a clear shot, could take them both out. She held up the Glock and aimed it at Whitman’s temple as he crouched under the helicopter’s blades. She was using soft points. From this distance she’d blow out most of his prefrontal cortex – and all the badness. Her finger quivered on the trigger. It would be so easy. Would feel so good. But she lowered her arm. It wasn’t the way. Wasn’t the plan. Not this time.

  She glanced over at Spook. She was shooting out over the Thames. Nowhere near the gunman. Any moment now he’d realise Acid had moved position. Any moment now those bastards would be on the chopper.

  Acid got to her feet and scrambled onto the roof of the Hummer. The gunman was crouched by the front wheel arch, taking pot shots at Spook. He heard Acid’s footsteps on the roof and pointed his gun but he was too late. The back of his head exploded as one of her soft points bloomed out into his cranium.

  Two down. Two to go.

  Acid slid down onto the bonnet and jumped the last part. She was over by Whitman and Sinclair in a few strides. Just as the chopper’s landing skids grazed the tarmac.

  “Stop, or I’ll shoot you both.”

  She fired a round into the air and Whitman and Clarkson spun around a few metres from the chopper door.

  “I bloody well mean it.” She fired another shot, aiming at their feet. A warning. The next one wouldn’t miss.

  “Stop shooting,” Clarkson yelled over the whir of the blades. He turned to face Acid, his hands raised weakly by his head. He was crying. “You don’t have to do this. We can sort something out.”

  Acid kept the gun trained on the men, moving it from Whitman to Clarkson and back. She glanced at the pilot. “You. Fly away.”

  “Don’t you fucking dare.” Whitman pointed a bony finger at the pilot who glanced from Acid to the men with a panicked expression. “I’m serious, son. You stay put. We’re paying you a lot of money for this.”

  Acid kept the gun on Clarkson, toying with the trigger. “I will shoot you,” she told him. “I mean it. I’d like nothing more than to put a bullet through your miserable brain.” She looked over at Whitman. “Yours too, slick. Don’t think I won’t.”

  “Then why haven’t you?”

  The bats screeched at her.

  Finish them, they said.

  Finish them both.

  “Because I’m better than that,” she whispered, through gritted teeth. “And you’ll get what’s coming to you. Spook?”

  “Yes?” She was a few metres behind.

  Acid didn’t turn around. “Put your gun on the pilot. Let him know if he doesn’t fly off in the next ten seconds, you’ll shoot him.”

  “What?”

  “Spook. Do it.”

  “Okay.” Spook raised her gun at the pilot.

  “Ten,” Acid began. Her eyes flicked from the pilot, to Whitman, to Clarkson, back to the pilot. Her jaw was rigid. Her muscles taut. But she was on fire. She was in control. “Nine.” Spook spread her legs and adjusted her grip on the weapon. That two-handed stance again. Acid couldn’t help but smile. “Eight… Seven… Six…”

  That was enough for the pilot. No amount of money was worth dying for.

  “Wait,” Whitman screamed, as the chopper lifted from the platform. “Come back.”

  It hovered over the scene a few seconds, before rising further into the sky and banking left over the river. Then it disappeared behind a large office block.

  “Fuck!” Clarkson screamed. He stared after it a few seconds, then turned back to Acid. “You’ll pay for this.”

  “Keep your hands up,” Acid told him. She pulled a burner phone from her pocket and offered it to Spook. “Call the police, will you, sweetie? Tell them the Cerberix two are tied up at the London Eagle Heliport.”

  “Sure,” Spook replied. She flipped open the phone, ready to dial.

  “You stupid bitches,” Whitman spat. “You pathetic couple of bit—”

  He never finished his sentence.

  The bats screamed across every neuron Acid possessed as Whitman’s head jerked to one side and his brains burst out of a hole next to his ear. A second later the same happened with Clarkson. Only this time the bullet went in through his top lip – straight into the brainstem. Cleaner. No less deadly.

  Spook screamed and Acid spun around to see Banjo Shawshank over the far side of the helipad. He sat astride a vintage Harley Davidson. They hadn’t heard him over the noise of the chopper. He held a large gun in one hand – from the looks of it, a .44 Magnum Smith & Wesson.

  He climbed off the bike and spread his arms out wide. �
��Have you missed me?”

  “Run,” Acid yelled. She grabbed Spook and dragged her over to the back of the Hummer, firing at Banjo as he took cover around the side of the building.

  “How the hell is he still walking?” Spook gasped, as they kneeled next to each other. “And why did he kill them?”

  A bullet whistled past, a few inches from Acid’s head. She got to her feet, positioning herself to return fire.

  “I’ve no idea how he’s still in one piece,” she replied. “But I’m not surprised Caesar wanted those two dead. Annihilation messed up. Bad for business if they tell anyone.”

  “They wouldn’t have, surely?”

  Acid held up the Glock, checked the clip. Last one. “He can’t take the chance of them getting arrested and trying for a deal – naming names. A rather private person is my old boss. Been in the business over twenty-five years and the authorities still have nothing on him. Not even his real name.”

  The two of them flinched as a bullet thudded into the thick plastic of the bumper.

  “Banjo’s impulsive. But he’s ambitious too,” Acid rasped. “Wants to be the one to take me out. You too. Sorry.”

  “What do we do?” Spook cried, gripping hold of Acid’s arm as another bullet whizzed past on her side.

  “Well, first, we try and stay calm.” She brushed Spook off. She had enough to worry about keeping the bats in her corner. She risked a quick glance around the side of the car. The position of the Hummer meant Banjo had a clear shot at both doors. This would be tight. “You reckon you can make it into the passenger seat if I distract him?”

  Spook looked at Acid in that now familiar way – an expression half-way between vacant and wise. “I reckon I can,” she said.

  “Good enough. When I give the word, I’ll move around the front of the car to the driver’s side, shooting as I go. That’ll draw Banjo’s fire. You open the passenger door and climb in. I’ll be seconds behind you, then we get the hell out of here.”

  Spook’s eyes grew. “You’ll be exposed. He’ll shoot you.”

  Acid took a breath. The bats said different.

  They said, she could do this.

  They said, she had to.

  “I’ll be fine,” she told Spook. “But if anything does happen, you drive away, fast as you can. The car’s bulletproof, we know that. So put your foot down and don’t stop until you know it’s safe. Then get on the first plane anywhere. Chances are they’ll give up searching for you once everything calms down. It’s me they want.”

  Spook fiddled with a scuffed hole in the knee of her trousers. “Don’t get killed though. Please.”

  “I don’t plan on it. Now chin up. I need you focused.” Acid gripped the Glock, poised for action. “On three. The second I start shooting, move. All right?”

  Acid counted three and set off down the side of the Hummer, firing shot after shot in the direction of Banjo as he shielded himself down the wall of the building. With the gun aimed in front of her, she cautiously moved around the passenger door and out in front of the vehicle. From here she could see the curve of Banjo’s left shoulder. Could see the Magnum in his hand. He was tense. Readying himself. Acid was almost at the driver’s door when Banjo stepped out from his cover and retaliated. The bullets chased her path, thumping into the reinforced bodywork of the Hummer. She skidded on the loose gravel but evaded the shots, ducking and spinning like a ballet dancer. She was at the driver’s door. All she had to do was pull the handle and she’d be safe. But then she saw Spook’s terrified face through the glass. She was still on the other side. Couldn’t get her door open.

  “Hurry, Spook.”

  The young American stepped back and jerked at the door. Thankfully this time it opened. Acid fired off more rounds at Banjo, holding him back. They were almost there. Spook made to climb inside, one more second and she’d be safe. But then Acid went to shoot and all she heard was the ineffective click of the hammer.

  “Bollocks.”

  She was out of bullets. Banjo knew it too. He stepped out from around the side of the building and with a toothy grin raised the Magnum in front of him and fired.

  “No!”

  The shot echoed around the helipad and Acid watched, helplessly, as the bullet hit Spook in the back. The force thrust her against the side of the Hummer. She cried out as her head smashed into the car window. Then she slumped, lifelessly, onto the tarmac.

  Forty-Nine

  “You rotten bastard.” Acid’s scream pierced the late afternoon air as she sprinted towards Banjo. She had no bullets and no weapon, but no care either. She was a Berserker warrior speeding into battle. A ball of white-hot rage on a Kamikaze mission.

  “Stop right there,” Banjo barked. He aimed the gun at Acid’s head. But if he wanted her to stop, he’d have to kill her. A few more steps and she’d be on him. She raised her fist, wondering why she was still alive. Then she saw it. The large black BMW crawling around the side of the building.

  Acid stopped in her tracks.

  “Well, look who it is,” Banjo chirped. He lowered the gun. “Somebody wants a word with you.”

  Acid panted for air as the back door of the car swung open and a large familiar form stepped out onto the tarmac. Caesar. He was wearing a charcoal-grey suit with a bright neon-pink shirt and matching pocket-square. A white tie finished the ensemble. He squinted into the bleak sky and pulled out a pair of white-framed sunglasses from his jacket pocket. Slowly, methodically, he placed them on and cracked his knuckles. Then he sauntered over to Acid, shaking his head and tutting as he went, as though disappointed with a naughty child.

  “What a bleeding palaver,” he growled, as he got close. “I’ve lost about a stone these last two weeks because of you, missy.”

  Acid didn’t answer. Her heart felt like it was about to burst out of her chest. Caesar gestured over at the Hummer.

  “The girl dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “About bloody time.” He raised his arms, as if thanking the heavens. “Jesus Christ. You’d think we were a bunch of bleeding amateurs.” He looked down at Acid. “The absolute state of you. Fuck me. What happened?”

  “I’m going to kill you,” Acid whispered.

  “Now, now, my dear,” Caesar crooned. “That’s no way to talk to your old friend and mentor. I’d say if anyone has a right to be annoyed, it’s yours truly. You embarrassed me, girly. Risked the integrity of my whole organisation. I mean, I should have seen the signs. The sloppiness. Wanting holidays. If you wanted out, why didn’t you say something, we might have come to some arrangement? Jesus Christ. After everything I did for you.”

  Acid bowed her head. “You used me. Groomed me.”

  Caesar snorted. “Sounds to me like you’re projecting, poppet. I saved your life. Gave you the world. I don’t remember you ever needing much persuading to do what you did. You enjoy killing people, Acid. Always have done. You like the money even more.”

  “I was young. Frightened. I didn’t know any better.”

  “Oh yeah?” Caesar looked her up and down. “What’s your excuse these days?”

  Acid shut up. He was toying with her. Anything she said was fuel to the fire.

  “Two of my best men. Dead. Plus you almost killed Banjo here. Did you honestly think you could do that without consequences?”

  “My mother. Spook. The people in that home. They were all innocent.”

  “No one is innocent! You fucked up – they paid. And don’t get me started on all the upset you’ve caused helping a mark to escape. I’m still reeling from that.” He waved his hand over at the lifeless bodies of Whitman and Clarkson. “Good job Banjo here had the idea to silence them. Sterling job, my boy. You might make my number one yet.”

  Banjo smirked at Acid. As if to say, I told you so.

  Acid sneered back. “Number one by default isn’t the same, babe.”

  “Enough,” Caesar growled, holding his arms out. “We’ve been through a lot together, you and I, Acid Vanilla. I’m sorr
y it had to come to this. But you can’t live after what you did.”

  Acid was still breathless. “I’ll kill you. Every last one of you,” she rasped. “I swear on my mother’s life.”

  Caesar and Banjo both burst out laughing. Deep belly laughs of pure cruelty. Banjo aimed his gun at Acid’s head.

  “No, my dear. You won’t,” Caesar told her.

  The distant wail of police sirens reached them on the breeze. Spook hadn’t had time to call them, but an apartment block stood a hundred metres down the road, close enough to hear the gunfire.

  “You get off, boss,” Banjo told Caesar. “They’ll be here any minute and you need to be far away from this. I’ll finish up here. I’ve got the Harley. Easy getaway.”

  Caesar kept his eyes on Acid. His face was stern. He removed his sunglasses and stepped closer. His eyes were watery, full of emotion. Then he smiled. “So long, Acid. Been nice working with you.” He turned around and walked back to the BMW, stopping briefly to give Banjo a firm nod.

  “Don’t you worry, boss,” Banjo said. “I won’t let you down.”

  Without looking back, Caesar climbed into the back of the Beamer and shut the door. Acid took a breath, watching as it drove around the Hummer and slowed right down next to Spook’s body. Then it picked up speed and disappeared in the same direction it had come from.

  The sirens were getting louder.

  “Banj, you don’t have to do this…” Acid started. But she trailed off. It was pointless.

  “No more talk,” Banjo barked. “Get on your knees.”

  “Oh, come on. Seriously?”

  He stepped closer, his gun arm shaking. “Get on your fucking knees.”

  Acid did as instructed. Her heart wasn’t in it anymore, so maybe this was for the best. She was nothing. Had nothing to live for.