by Paul Watson
‘We still cook on it and use it for heating. We’ve got gas and electricity, but there’s no point in putting solar panels on your roof when you’ve got your fuel in the land.’
They walked through into the kitchen, a laptop sat on the table next to a notepad and a biro. ‘I need your full name and your passport number please,’ Kimnel said.
‘Roberts James McKinley.’
Kimnel eyed Roberts for a moment and then typed into the laptop. Kimnel picked reading glasses from the table and typed again. ‘Unusual first name.’
‘You’re not the first to say that, not sure what my mum and dad were thinking.’
Kimnel spent a few more minutes typing. ‘I got a good deal there, a day’s labour for 20 euro surcharge, but I’ll not run into any trouble at the port will I?’
‘I’ll guarantee you won’t.’
The front door opened without a knock. A man stood on the tiles just inside the doorway to the kitchen. The man was the villain Roberts had searched for in Annie’s transport café. ‘Kimnel I warned you not to be late with a payment again.’
Plucked straight from a Western, the guy’s mouth froze in a smile with no kindness, his black and grey shoulder-length hair dangled unwashed; he was unshaven and stank like a food waste bin the day before collection. The guy spoke with an English accent, from somewhere in the South. Roberts had met such types before, and could tell that Smiler had done prison time, perhaps a decent stretch for an indecent crime.
Kimnel said, ‘You’ve received your payment in full; the truck is mine now. Be on your way, and there will be no trouble.’
‘Who says I don’t want trouble, you thieving bastard.’
‘We agreed a price; I paid it.’
‘The truck’s going nowhere until you give me my money, come and look.’
Kimnel and Roberts looked through the window and saw a skip full of rubble lowered behind the truck. Another skip lorry pulled up in front. About ten men were milling around by the skips.
‘You came heavy-handed,’ Roberts said.
‘You’re damn right.’
‘The truck will leave in the next half an hour,’ Roberts said. ‘How much are you owed? I’ll pay it.’
‘Kimnel will pay it, a matter of principle.’
‘This isn’t about the money. I misjudged this one, I shouldn’t have bought from you. You’ll never leave me alone, will you?’
The smiling man pissed on the kitchen floor and laughed. ‘That’s better,’ he said. There was a smell of alcohol on him, but stale alcohol, he’d kept himself sober for a day. At the bottom of the field, three men were pushing Eamon into a portable toilet. They padlocked it shut and tipped it, so it rested on the wall between the top and the bottom field. The younger brothers threw a few punches but were down on the ground; laid flat by burly men in their thirties and forties; outnumbered and overpowered.
‘Your ox of a boy beat my men last time I was here. We’ll give him the treatment this time.’
Roberts walked towards the door. ‘Your timing is not great.’
‘You can watch from the window.’ Smiler moved to block Roberts’s path.
Roberts didn’t speak again, but flicked his fist clenched at Smiler’s chin. As predicted, the guy jolted backwards, and Roberts’s knuckles just rapped Smiler’s jaw. Roberts then flicked his fingers straight, and tensed them, and jerked his hips so that his fingertips hit the man’s larynx. Smiler frowned, clutched his throat, and fell to the floor; there was no noise; the blow had crushed and blocked the trachea.
‘It’s your lucky day. I’m feeling generous and don’t want to leave these good people with a body on the floor.’ Roberts took the biro from the table and stabbed it into Smiler’s throat below the crushed larynx, then pulled it out again, and pushed the ballpoint and ink tube out. He stuck the outer casing of the biro into the pre-punched hole. There was a gurgling sound and rasping as the air flowed for Smiler. The guy’s blue tinge disappeared, but he never regained his smile.
‘You’d better call an ambulance or two,’ Roberts said to Kimnel, and then walked out of the door, leaving Smiler soaked in his urine, slumped against a wall.
Smiler’s guys all looked hard work; fighting was their hobby. Roberts had the high ground though. ‘Who’s first?’
Three of the men were struggling to get the toilet over the edge of the ledge; they’d misjudged; Eamon was heavy. Three of the other goons kept an eye on the younger Kimnel brothers.
The first man stepped forward and rushed up the hill towards Roberts. Roberts raised his right knee and struck with his heel, smashing the man in the sternum.
As predicted the next bunch came three at a time like the front row of an overpowered rugby scrum; Roberts saw six shoulders, bad news. Roberts would have to move this time and pushed off his right foot and sideways across the hill.
The attackers ran up the steep bank, and it slowed them. By the time they reached Roberts, he had them in a line and he could now see just the two shoulders of the lead man.
Roberts moved forward with smooth movements and kept his head level, no point in wasting energy bobbing up and down, all the motion ended up in his left fist, which despatched the leader. The remaining two opponents fanned out. Two more joined them from the bottom of the hill; they’d had to let the youngest Kimnel go.
‘Find bolt cutters.’ Roberts shouted at the young Kimnel. The kid scrabbled around in the plant hire lorry that had brought the skips and toilet.
The men working on the toilet had made progress. They’d got it halfway out over the ledge. Eamon’s engineering degree was paying for itself; Eamon crouched near the end of the bank to stop it overturning and falling down the hill.
Roberts didn’t think about the fight; he’d seen the patterns so many times. He fought by pure instinct, like a chess grandmaster playing multiple boards at once. Roberts saw four shoulders, as he dived left and right to make sure they stayed one behind the other, like a conga, or a love train. One man got loose from the pack and stumbled in a rabbit hole. Roberts’s boot caught the guy in the head on his way down to the grass, where the man stayed.
The young Kimnel had found cutters and was on top of the Portaloo. Smiler’s guys punched the kid as he worked on freeing Eamon. Young Kimnel took a big hit but bust the lock, and the door exploded upwards as Eamon exploded outwards. The toilet crashed into the field at the base of the wall.
Roberts let a man throw a punch then blocked it and broke the man’s arm.
‘Shall we leave it there for today?’ Roberts said.
The two remaining men on the hill looked at each other and down at Eamon, who had damaged their mates. They walked back down watching Roberts and walked around the truck as far away from Eamon as they could.
Sirens wailed.
Kimnel had come down the bank and handed Roberts’s backpack to him.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You’d better get out of here now. Don’t come back though, please. Take the van over there. I don’t think its owner will need it soon.’ Kimnel gave Roberts the keys to a white Citroen Berlingo sat by the fence.
Roberts drove away.
THIRTY-THREE
Four p.m. Sunday. Andy drove into Cork. He’d taken four hours from Sligo, with a short break for a sandwich at Gort. Andy hoped that he would get to Rand before the guy left for the airport.
Rand had registered his mobile phone contract to an apartment in the city centre, and Baker had given the apartment’s location to Andy.
The last flight from Cork airport was at 1840; a 15-minute drive from Rand’s apartment. Andy gambled that Rand would leave it late; it was worth missing the occasional plane because of traffic rather than wasting time at the airport. Andy flew often and challenged himself to arrive at the gate just as it closed; he had to get his kicks somehow.
Rand’s apartment was in Albert Quay; a mixed-use high spec building; no expense spared for the mistress. Perhaps he had a big house in the home counties for the wife and children.
Andy didn’t know how to approach Rand and walked up to the river to think; the river Lee stretched to his left under a few bridges. The city looked spectacular in the late afternoon sun, and the modern blended with the old. Across from him, stylish restaurants, hotels and shops besieged a small island. To his right, the river widened and made its way out of town towards the sea.
There was a ski and hiking shop over on the island. Andy crossed the bridge; steel trusses supported the roadway to his left and right. As he crossed, the bright sunshine dazzled him; he squinted, and the world became dark. His vision blurred, and the sun appeared to double up and burn harder through the blackness.
The girl in the ski shop was locking the door.
‘Can I grab something please?’
‘Ok, you’re just in time, I’ve not cashed up yet.’
Andy strolled over and picked up a ski mask from a rack, he chose gloves too.
The girl eyed him as Andy handed over the goods. ‘You must fly a fair way to get snow at this time of year.’
‘Yeh, Whistler, we’ve got friends out in Vancouver.’
Andy paid, stuffed the mask and gloves into his pockets, and re-crossed the bridge to stand outside the building containing Rand’s apartment.
Andy walked up the steps; there was a chain coffee shop inside the foyer, and a man at a desk blocking the route to the offices and apartments above the reception area.
Andy entered the coffee shop and removed a bottle of water from the fridge. The chill from the air conditioning was welcome. Still no idea what to do, he sat at a table and watched the barrier; no-one entered or left. After about half an hour Andy bought a cake and another water but kept his eye on the entrance gate.
At 1730, a man dressed in cream chino’s, with a check shirt, and sunglasses folded in the pocket, emerged from the lift. The man was around fifty years old and carried a leather holdall. A woman, about thirty with a great tan, accompanied him; she wore a summer dress and big sunglasses over her eyes. The woman kissed the guy at the barrier before he walked through and into the foyer. She returned to the lift.
The man spoke with the concierge and then walked out of the building and into the heat. The guy turned right and strolled down a ramp.
With the man out of site, Andy approached the concierge at the main desk.
‘Is Bill Rand still here? I’ve got a delivery for him; It’s urgent.’
‘You’ve just missed him, but if you go down the ramp into the car park, you’ll catch him before he goes, I’ll buzz open the gate.’
‘Thanks.’
The ramp led down to a gate and a pedestrian entrance. Andy pressed the button on the door and the catch released; there were a few cars in the bays.
Rand was over the other side of the garage putting his leather holdall into the passenger seat of a black Range Rover. Andy put on the ski mask and walked over to him. Rand turned and saw the ski mask, but too late. Andy brought his fist down clenched and slammed it into the side of the man’s neck, who went straight down on the ground. He stuffed Rand into the empty boot of the Range Rover.
Andy opened the holdall and found a cricket ball inside the inner compartment; it had the same soapy feel as the duck from Steve’s cabin bag. Andy got behind the wheel, and programmed the sat nav for the airport, he took off the mask and left it on the passenger seat.
Andy drove up the ramp and headed South through the city and down the N27; the radio played the World Cup final. It was at the end of the second half, England 1-France 1. The commentators seemed sure it would be extra time, both teams had taken their foot off the gas and put their foot on the ball. ‘It’s anyone’s game, first one to blink, not a classic,’ the commentator said.
Andy thought of Max again. They’d followed England’s journey through the early rounds of the tournament. Sam had joined them, but had tired by halftime, and Jess had put him to bed during the group games. Sam had stayed up for the quarter and semi-final though, hooked by the penalty shootouts.
And now Rand, and his people had put an end to this journey for Andy and Max. There was banging from the boot; Andy glanced backwards. The guy had smashed the edge of the boot cover away at the sides. The roll top snagged at one end, but it was bulging in the middle. Rand would be out in a few minutes. There was nowhere to stop.
Andy floored the throttle. Up to a 140 km/hr. He saw a business park appear on the right at the outskirts of the airport; ten minutes since they left the car park.
Andy turned; the second clip of the roll cover released, and Rand kicked it off, rolled the flapping plastic back and clambered into the back seats.
‘I suggest you park up.’ Rand gripped Andy around the neck from the rear seats.
Andy pulled up to a deserted office unit and parked in the first bay.
‘Now what?’ said Andy.
Rand squeezed. Andy felt the blood drain from his brain. Andy would only get one shot at this, and he had to be fast. He pushed his jaw down, blocking the squeeze from the forearm with his chin, and the blood flowed again into his brain.
Andy took one breath, and then clamped his teeth into his opponent’s wrist, using his canine’s, and made a large puncture wound. The pressure from the squeeze released a little; Andy bit deeper and chewed. He tasted the iron in the blood as he ground his teeth against the bone. Rand was trying to club Andy around the seat with his other hand, but Rand was bleeding now and let go. Andy got out of the driver’s door and moved around to the rear. He pulled Rand out of the seat and onto the tarmac.
‘That wound looks bad, let me dress it for you.’ Purple blood gushed from the guy’s wrist. Not a bright red and pumping arterial bleed, but Andy had nicked prominent veins, and Rand was going into shock.
‘There’s a first aid kit in the boot,’ Rand said, while pinching the wound shut.
Andy got the kit and applied a dressing; he wound the bandage tight and fixed it with a safety pin.
‘Sit against the tyre.’ Andy directed the injured man over to the rear of the vehicle.
‘You’ll live for sure if I get you over to the medical room in the airport in the next half an hour.’ Andy showed the cricket ball to Rand. ‘Are you taking this to PKL?’
‘Yes, I’ll attend a meeting there tomorrow at 900 am.’
‘Where’s my son?’
‘I know nothing about your son?’
‘Tell me what you know but be quick about it.’
‘We built PKL’s new facility for them a few years ago, and they’ve given us plenty more work since then. Not just construction work. We’ve helped them with IT issues; I’ve got a man in London who freelanced for us. He got greedy and wouldn’t hand over his last project until we paid him more.’
‘My son’s in a coma somewhere, kidnapped by a man from a hospital bed. If you can think of anything else, then I would appreciate it.’
‘If that’s your boy they’ve got then don’t give him that Reflux stuff in the cricket ball neat. You must dilute it with a small amount of the sedative powder in controlled amounts and bring him out. PKL killed enough people in trials before they got the concentrations right. PKL sent a man to Sligo today to collect more sedative after that drunk Bradley hid the last batch in a journalist’s cabin bag.’
Rand fell unconscious. Andy dragged him up into the rear seats and drove to the airport. He parked close to the terminal building and called the emergency services from Rand’s phone, wiped the phone down, wiped down the steering wheel, and left with the holdall. Andy walked to the security gate and flashed the printed boarding pass onto the sensor. No queue at security; Andy bought talcum powder from the pharmacy outlet amongst the shops and put a touch around the sides of his hair. He placed Rand’s sunglasses over his eyes and hoped the team at the gate weren’t officious.
‘Sorry, sir the gate’s now closed.’
No chance to try the poor disguise. Andy needed to get back to England; he also needed to find Roberts, who had collected the sedative from Sligo.
; On his walk back to security, Andy saw a man sitting on a chair at one of the other gates, watching the football on a phone screen. Andy paused and watched over the man’s shoulder.
The World Cup final was in extra time. England’s goalkeeper took down the French striker in the box. It was a penalty clear as day. The referee pointed to the spot.
THIRTY-FOUR
Rob had stood guard near Amy all-day and sat outside the ward watching the football on his phone when Janet arrived. ‘You’ve got a visitor Amy,’ he said.
‘Hello love,’ I brought you these. Janet had flowers, and she placed them in a vase by the bedside.
‘I’m not sure I’ll live up to your standards as a police officer,’ Amy said to Janet.
‘Has Mike been talking to you behind my back? It looks like you’ll need a little break, but I hear you’ve got plans that will keep you busy for a while. Are these the only flowers you’ve got?’
There were stacks of chocolates and Jelly Beans; all opened next to the bedside. ‘I’ve had lots of the guys coming to see me, but I’ve not told my parents or family yet, as I’m not ready for it.’
‘I’m not surprised, how are you?’
‘Not that bad, I was groggy earlier on, after the operation, but I’m OK; they’re giving me something for the pain. Mike tells me you’re well acquainted with Bill Rand and Bob Simpkin.’
‘I came across Bill Rand years ago; when you were a baby. Rand was part of the reason I spent time in prison.’
‘Prison?’
‘Ah, Mike didn’t tell you that bit. I got eighteen months, and it’s not been easy to get work since I got out.’
‘Nooo!’ A shout from outside the doors of the ward. Janet walked over to investigate. Janet found Rob beating his knee with his hand.
‘Penalty,’ he said.
Janet shut the door and returned to Amy.
‘Rand was just a small-time gangster back then; a leader though and a fraudster. His first big scam was a call centre in prison. Rand told the prison service that the prisoners in his program sold insurance, a way to teach them skills before release. The prisoners were impersonating bank staff and extracting telephone banking codes and pin numbers from the victims. The scam had a low hit rate but wiped out the savings of the unlucky few pensioners that fell for it.’