Hunting the Wrecking Crew: An Eric Stone Novel

by Nick Albert

He stomped away into the other bar. After a couple of minutes Linda turned to Stone and gave a questioning shrug, he raised a palm and gestured for her to wait. Fully five minutes later, Fletcher returned, he was smiling.

  “I can’t find it right now, I looked, but I can’t find it. Come back tomorrow, or give me your number and I’ll call you when I find it.”

  Linda glowered at Fletcher. He glared back with dead eyes, challenging her to push the issue. She turned to look at Stone for some guidance. He shrugged and put his hand on the door handle, suggesting they should leave. Linda looked back and forth between the two men, her anger building along with her obvious frustration.

  “We’ll be back,” she hissed through tight lips.

  Fletcher smiled wickedly at her retreating back.

  “No you won’t.”

  As Linda reached the door, Stone indicated that she should allow him to go through first. The barman had been gone a long time and Eric suspected that Fletcher hadn’t been looking for the phone number. Outside, his suspicions were instantly proven correct. Their path to the car was blocked by three bikers. Two were wielding pool cues and the third carried a baseball bat.

  “Stay here by the door,” Stone whispered to Linda, “I’ve got this.”

  “Have you?” she replied a little shakily.

  “I hope so. But if it turns out that I haven’t, I want you to run, and keep running until you get somewhere safe.”

  She crossed her arms defiantly.

  “I’ll wait here. I think you can take them.”

  Stone gave Linda a nod of acknowledgement. He walked slowly forward to address his would-be attackers.

  “Lads…you don’t need to do this.”

  “Yes they do!” Fletcher said loudly from the doorway behind Linda. “And when they’ve finished with you, we’re gonna have some fun with her.”

  Stone quickly glanced over his shoulder at Fletcher, but carefully kept a watchful eye on the three men.

  “This is between you and me — Scud,” Stone drew out the nickname with contempt. “If you touch her, I will kill you.”

  “Big words…from a guy about to lose his kneecaps and elbows,” Scud Fletcher sneered, “and I count three against one.”

  “I count two, the last one always runs. After that you’re going to give us that telephone number.”

  He turned back to face his attackers.

  “Last chance lads, whatever he’s paying you — I guarantee it isn’t enough.”

  The three men glanced at each other in silent discussion and then they nodded to each other as they agreed to proceed with their attack. They were clearly all members of the same biker gang. Each wore a red bandana and had identical lightning bolt tattoos on the left side of their necks. Stone thought that they were in their late twenties. They looked quite fit and he guessed they were probably experienced in the unique violence of street fighting. That suited him just fine.

  Unless he had no alternative, Stone preferred to let his attacker make the first move. Once they attacked, they were more or less committed to a particular course of action. That lent a kind of predictability to the events that followed, because then Stone would be in control. If Eric attacked first, he would have to look for a response and react accordingly, putting him at a disadvantage.

  Unarmed and outnumbered, realistically he should have no chance. First, they should surround him to prevent escape. Then they could use the length and power of their weapons to beat him to a pulp, whilst remaining a safe distance from his feet and fists. However, Stone knew that they would attack one at a time, probably in order of their seniority within the gang. The weapons gave him a clue, one baseball bat, and two pool cues. Stone guessed that the baseball bat was from behind the bar, and it had been lent to the gang leader by the barman, whereas the other two men had to make do with whatever else was handy. That was good news for Stone.

  A pool cue can double as a magnificent weapon. It is a precise sporting implement, usually made from fine ash, with an additional weight fitted within the handle. Beautifully balanced, and almost sixty inches long, it gives excellent reach, and tremendous leverage, to the skilled user. On the other hand, the baseball bat was obviously a cheap model. Just twenty-six inches of poorly balanced softwood, with a rubber handle. However, the history of baseball bats being used for violent and brutal attacks had obviously made it the weapon of choice for the gang leader. That was good news for Stone as well.

  Stone needed a weapon. The gang leader had a weapon. Stone was going to take it from him and use it to disable the other attackers. The gang leader was going to attack first, when he did, he was going to swing the bat overhead like an axe. Stone knew this, he could tell by how the bat was being held — low and in front. Stone could see that the gang leader was going to start his attack by swinging the bat around and over his right shoulder as he stepped forward. Confronted with such an attack, most people would retreat, unintentionally creating space for the attacker to swing the bat. That would be a fatal mistake. The correct response was to move closer and deflect or seize the bat, before it could be swung with any force. That was what Stone planned to do, so he waited for the attack.

  The three men inched towards Stone and jockeyed for position, until the gang leader was at the front with the two other guys slightly behind. Ready to respond instantly to their attack, Stone kept his weight carefully balanced on the balls of his feet. After thirty seconds of shuffling and circling, and mindful that reinforcements could arrive at any time, Stone decided to make things happen. He took a half-step backwards and deliberately faked a miss-step. That was all that was needed to provoke the gang leader to charge.

  The baseball bat swung low, around and up, as the gang leader roared and charged forward. He telegraphed the attack so clearly that, from Stone’s viewpoint, the guy might as well have hung up a sign. Stone explosively pushed off from his left foot, meeting the gang leader halfway, and driving his right hip into the attacker’s groin. At the same instant Stone shoved his forearms into the man’s face and grabbed the handle of the bat. Trapped against Stone’s right hip, and unable to stop his momentum, the man started to tip forward. In an instant, Stone swept his left leg to his rear in a wide semicircle and twisted his body sharply as he pulled the baseball bat downward and to his left.

  The move, based on the Aikido ‘Heavy Hand’ technique, took the baseball bat — and with it, the man’s hands — from above head height to ground level in just half a second. Helpless against the physics of momentum and gravity, the gang leader dived over Stone’s hip and, with a sickening thud, landed head first on the tarmac. As his attacker slumped into unconsciousness, Stone used the remaining impetus from the move to continue his turn, swinging the baseball bat around and up to meet the second attacker’s head with a dull slap. The man’s face went instantly blank and he took a couple of comical, stiff-legged steps in a half-circle before falling full length on his face. There was a moment of stillness as the third man contemplated the incredible speed and violence of what he had just witnessed, followed by a clatter as he dropped the pool cue, turned on his heels and walked swiftly away. A voice from the pub doorway broke the silence.

  “Jesus, Stone!” Linda said, “Remind me never to piss you off!”

  Ready for further action, Stone spun quickly towards the voice, but then he relaxed as he saw there were no more threats for him to deal with. Scud Fletcher was rolling on the ground and trying unsuccessfully to clutch his groin, a broken arm, and his bloody nose.

  “What happened to him?”

  Linda stared at the whimpering man, as if she was seeing him for the first time.

  “I honestly don’t know,” she shook her head. “I remember that he grabbed me from behind and I went to hit him in the groin — after that, I don’t remember what happened. I guess he must have fallen badly.”

  In obvious confusion, she shook her head again.

  “Oh well…” Stone shrugged, “no time to worry about that now.”

 
; He leaned forward and experimentally poked Fletcher on the nose with the baseball bat. He received a squeal in response.

  “Get up Mr Fletcher — you and I are going to look for that phone number.”

  ***

  The Fixer opened his office door and leaned out to speak to Bunny. The guard was sitting on his usual chair in the corridor.

  “Bunny…Go and get Becka. Ask her to bring her report on Eric Stone.”

  Bunny smiled and stood.

  “Right, boss.”

  “And, Bunny?”

  The huge bodyguard stopped and turned.

  “Yes, boss?”

  “I need her now — so keep your hands off.”

  Bunny’s shoulders slumped noticeably.

  “Yes, boss,” he mumbled, ambling forward less enthusiastically.

  A minute later Becka announced her arrival with a polite knock as she hurried in to the office. The Fixer smiled thinly.

  “Sit down, Becka.”

  “Thank you,” she said quietly as she juggled with a computer tablet and some papers.

  The Fixer realised that Becka was worried. After being summoned unexpectedly, her young face was tight with tension.

  “Look, I know you haven’t had long to look at this, so don’t worry — I just wanted to hear what you’d found so far.”

  Becka looked up in stunned disbelief. She did well to hide her shock. In her experience, The Fixer demanded immediate results from his employees. He expected perfection, he did not tolerate failure, and he never apologised. She cleared her throat to hide her embarrassment.

  “Er…ok…”

  In an effort to ease her tension, he tried a reassuring smile. Becka thought that it made him look about as trustworthy as a Praying Mantis.

  “It’s ok Becka, just take your time.”

  Reading from her notes, she began her report.

  “Ok…here is all I have so far on Eric Stone. Most of it is information that Norris dug up from his data bank. I’ve combined it with the stuff that I’d developed originally for Peter, before he began the surveillance. This is the summary.”

  She handed The Fixer a sheet of paper.

  “He is thirty-nine, and a successful martial arts instructor. He owns a dojo in Colchester, in Essex, where he employs a staff of twelve. His tax returns and bank accounts show average earnings, nothing spectacular and nothing suspicious. I suspect that he may have developed contacts within the military, through some training he has given to soldiers at Colchester barracks, but there are no specific names. He may also have friends within the police via a private detective agency that has previously employed him as a bodyguard. The agency is run by Edward Carter, a retired police detective. I am looking into his affairs as well.”

  She turned over the page.

  “Eric Stone is unmarried and judging by the photographs we have, quite good looking for his age. He’s romantically involved with a woman called Linda Smart, a fitness and yoga instructor from Sawbridgeworth. She’s a little ‘new age’ for my tastes. Very pretty, but otherwise boring. I have her preliminary information here.”

  She handed over a second sheet of paper.

  “As we suspected, Charles Rathbone became friends with Eric Stone after Rathbone went to his dojo for fitness training. You will recall that Rathbone lost a leg to a bomb attack in Afghanistan. It seems that Stone was instrumental in helping Rathbone get back on his feet. Sorry — pardon the pun!”

  Becka pulled a face and even The Fixer winced.

  “Their relationship stayed off of our radar because there were no financial records to tie them together. At first glance, the points where their lives touched seemed entirely coincidental. After all, if you religiously follow the paper trail, most of us are just six steps away from everyone else on the planet. In their case, Rathbone belonged to Stones karate club, and Stone was a member of the same shooting club as Rathbone. Both points of contact seemed insignificant and coincidental.

  “We now know that they dined together almost every week, but there were no records because they always paid cash. Eric Stone was a regular guest at Rathbone’s house parties, but because they were strictly private affairs, there was nothing in the society press. However, it is apparent that their relationship must have been something more than a casual friendship. I’ve just discovered that Rathbone named Stone in his will as the sole beneficiary of the estate.”

  The Fixer bolted upright in surprise.

  “He’s the sole beneficiary?”

  “Yep. At a rough estimate, an inheritance of something in the region of two million quid. Not bad for a karate instructor.” Becka sat back and crossed her arms. “Perhaps I’m in the wrong business!”

  The Fixer ignored her jibe.

  “So Stone was secret best buddies with Charles Rathbone. We accidently killed him—”

  “And now he wants revenge?” Becka suggested.

  The Fixer remained silent while he considered the possibility. Finally, he shook his head.

  “I don’t know…It seems a bit unlikely. Anyway, how would he — or indeed anyone — make the connection to us?”

  “I’m not sure yet, Boss. Perhaps someone talked. It could be that there’s a link to whoever was doing those internet searches. Maybe Eric Stone is the ghost in the machine.”

  The Fixer looked up from the report.

  “Well it’s a disturbing coincidence, I’ll give you that. Keep on him — hard! I want to know exactly what he’s doing, before he even does it. Ok?”

  “No problem, I’m on it,” she replied.

  “Well done, Becka — I really appreciate what you’re doing.”

  “Thank you.” Becka smiled at the uncommon compliment.

  The Fixers eyes, momentarily alive with interest, suddenly flicked back to their usual dead stare. He flicked a hand, as if discouraging a listless but persistent fly.

  “You can go now,” he said dully.

  After she had gone, The Fixer turned his chair and stared out of the window, considering what he had learned in the last few days. For fifteen minutes, he went over the facts and coincidences in his head. Each time he came to the same conclusion. With a deep sigh of acknowledgment, he decided that the party was over. It was time to run.

  He had an escape plan. It had been in place for a long time — ready for just such an eventuality. He had always known that it would be the hardest decision he would ever have to make. He loved his life, and the power it gave him, too much to give it up lightly. Activating such an escape plan would take time, and he could never be certain of when it was time to go. He could only ever give it his best guess.

  Now that the decision was made, there was a lot to do. Naturally, he wanted to liquidate as many of his assets as was possible, ready for the move. He certainly wouldn’t be coming back. Unfortunately, some possessions would just have to stay behind. Suddenly selling his property, cars, and office equipment, would raise too many eyebrows, but most of his more liquid assets could be saved. However, even if he took a substantial loss on some of his investments, at best it was going to take three or four days to complete the transactions.

  Ironically, just yesterday he had added another asset to the list of things that he would be taking. Although not particularly large, it would be tricky to transfer, as it required special handling. Nonetheless, it was just far too valuable and beautiful to leave behind.

  It was vitally important that his decision to run remained secret until the last moment. It wouldn’t do to have someone spoil the party. Of course, there was some house cleaning to do, but some time ago, Gordon McIntosh had rigged the place with a substantial amount of thermite. When the time came, everything left behind would be comprehensively incinerated — including any bodies. If everything went according to plan, Eric Stone would soon be dead, and The Fixer’s last action before leaving the country, would be to eliminate the Wrecking Crew.

  He regarded such killings as an inconvenience, but one no worse than abandoning the computers, or his favo
urite car. Naturally, he could never leave behind any live witnesses — that would be unacceptable. Originally, he had planned to use Chameleon for the wet work, but that was no longer an option. Slaying the members of the Wrecking Crew was going to be an interesting problem, particularly when it came to killing Bunny and Kitten. In the meantime, there was a lot to do. He picked up the phone and called his broker.

  TWELVE

  On the return trip, they stopped at a service area just north of Colchester. While Stone was topping off the petrol tank, Linda used a pay phone to call Megan and pass on what they had learned. It was just twenty minutes later when Stone’s burner phone bleeped, indicating that he had received a new message. He was driving the last leg of the journey to his house, so he handed the phone to Linda.

  “That was quick. It’s from Megan,” Linda said. “Bad news I’m afraid. The mobile number we got from Fletcher was a bust. It’s for a burner phone registered to a false address. She thinks that the Wrecking Crew may have a big box of SIM cards. They’re probably stolen from phones, or bought as burners for five-quid each. They use each card a few times and then just throw them out. It would be very efficient and totally untraceable.”

  Stone pounded his fist on the steering wheel.

  “Damn! So we’ve wasted our time?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why? What did we gain?”

  “Apart from being hugely turned on by your awesome display of manliness?”

  Stone smiled and relaxed a little.

  “You didn’t do too badly back there yourself. Fletcher will think twice before he grabs a woman in future.”

  Linda looked embarrassed.

  “I got lucky. He must have slipped.”

  Stone gave her a long look.

  “It looked to me like he slipped under a bus. Anyway — you were saying?”

  “The burner phone is a good thing. It tells us that this Wrecking Crew is almost certainly operating through ‘Second Chances’. I mean, wouldn’t a legitimate charity use regular contact methods like email, a web site, and a listed telephone number?”