The Winter Man

by Perry Bhandal

  Winter continued writing. His works retained a hardcore audience that distributed and made available his work whilst at the same time dismantling the lies that had so effectively diminished him. The world had moved on but Erebus remained the work that defined and continued to define him. Its’ message remained undiminished and even the CIA could not completely counter the truth that existed in those pages, that reached out and touched the lives of a whole new generation of men and women who came to understand how powerless they really were over their own destinies.

  ‘Winter. Two three four six,’ came the shout from the barred cell door. ‘Lights out in five, Winter.’

  Nathaniel didn’t bother turning around. The prison guard eyed the inside of his cell and then moved on. Winter heard another name and number being called out. He shuffled the paper into a neat pil, he no longer had to worry about them confiscating his work, wet the tip of his finger and put out the candle flame with a hiss.

  CHAPTER 14

  the making of fallon...out of your league...hunted becomes hunter...

  In Vietnam there was a saying that chances were, you were going to get killed within the first two weeks of combat. You didn’t know shit and nobody wanted to spend the time and effort in training you as it was likely you weren’t going to make it anyway. Newbies were invariably cocksure, overconfident and thought they were indestructible. If you made it through those first two weeks, then your chances of surviving flew up. You could even start to make a difference at some point. There wasn’t any magic formula for surviving those two weeks. It simply came down to luck and attitude.

  His encounter with Chicken Jack had made him temporarily overconfident. If he had paused to think he would have realised how lucky he had been. Chicken Jack had had him cold, but he too had been so cocksure that Blake wasn’t a threat he had become overconfident as well. He had probably been lulled into thinking that because of Blake’s inept tailing and then blundering behind him down a deserted alleyway. It was pretty obvious that he hadn’t thought for a moment that Blake would have been carrying two weapons, otherwise he would have made damn sure that the first blow counted, would have frisked him and found his knife. Flushed with a horribly naive sense of invincibility, Blake parked in his driveway, locked the car and let himself into his house. As soon as he stepped inside his front door something hit him with the force of a truck. He didn’t even have time for a last thought before he lost consciousness.

  When he eventually came round and opened his eyes, he could see nothing and was unable to move, everything was blackness. His first instinct was to struggle up. Forcing himself to stay calm he tried to work out what had happened. It felt like he had a hood over his face and he was having difficulty breathing. He could hear the sounds of other people but they were muffled and distant. Something was making the sides of his mouth hurt but he couldn’t lift his arms to find out what it was. He was desperate to swallow but wasn’t able to. He closed his eyes again and tried to remember what had happened. He remembered coming through the front door and then nothing. He was sitting, but he couldn’t move. He must be tied to a chair. He tried moving his limbs and felt the ropes. He tried moving his jaw to alleviate the pain and realised he was gagged.

  ‘He’s coming round, Guvna,’ a man’s voice said. It was the whiny voice of someone who sounded nervous for his own safety.

  ‘Take it off, Billy,’ another voice ordered.

  Someone ripped the hood off and loosened the gag so that it fell around his neck like a grotesque, saliva-soaked scarf. Blake screwed his eyes up against the sudden light. As he became accustomed to the brightness, he saw a huge man on the sofa opposite him, dressed head to toe in black. Next to him was Billy, a skinny, blonde haired druggie in filthy jeans, denim jacket and a dirty white t-shirt printed with the words ‘Fuck Iran’. There was a third man standing behind the sofa, watching in silence and it was only when he stepped a little closer to the light that Blake could make out his bald head and realised it was Fallon.

  Blake looked down and saw that his trousers were round his ankles. Copper wiring encircled his bare knees and two wires ran from the wire to a car battery sitting on the coffee table beside him. Only one of the wires was connected. Fallon walked across the room and snapped his fingers in Blake’s face, making him look up.

  Billy’s lips broke into a smile that showed yellow teeth. ‘Look, Sarge, he’s pissed hisself.’

  Blake looked down to see if he had and a sharp pain cut through his skull and everything swam with nausea. He retched. He could hear Billy laughing. He carefully raised his head back up.

  Fallon ignored Billy. He pulled up one of the dining room chairs and turned it around sitting astride it and folded his arms across the top and looked Blake up and down, his head cocked to one side. He clicked his fingers in front of Blake’s face drawing his attention.

  ‘Can you hear me, okay?’

  Blake dared not move his head. He grunted pathetically.

  ‘Try not to move your head. You took quite a blow.’ Behind him on the sofa, the man in black massaged his hands together as if moisturizing.

  ‘Billy, get the man a glass of water.’

  He carried on giggling at Blake. The sergeant began to turn around. Billy’s giggling stopped.

  ‘Righto, Sarge, comin’ up.’

  He disappeared into the kitchen. The sergeant’s piercing blue eyes continued to look Blake up and down. Assessing.

  Billy came back with a glass of water. He held it out to Fallon, who gave him a withering look. It took a moment for Billy to register. Not the brightest, young Billy. He stepped past Fallon and held the cup to Blake’s mouth tipping it forward letting him take a few sips.

  ‘Chicken Jack missed an important meeting an hour ago,’ said Fallon. ‘A lot of money involved. Any idea where he is?’

  Blake shook his head. Fallon seemed to be making an enormous effort to keep his temper.

  ‘I saw you,’ he said, ‘outside the deli. You want to play with the big boys you need to up your game.’

  Still Blake remained silent and Fallon leant in close, lowering his voice. ‘Look, I know how you’re feeling. Man loses his wife and kid like you have. I’d be the first to turn a blind eye if you wanted to blow off some steam. The thing is; you chose the wrong guy to blow off on.’

  Blake stared back at him and Fallon’s face darkened at the insolence he believed he saw in his eyes, but he retained his self-control. ‘I know what Chicken Jack is. And, believe me, I’d be the first to put a bullet in the pedo-serving mother-fucker’s head, but he’s protected from very high up. So you see the predicament I’m in.’

  Straightening up, Fallon nodded to Billy, who moved back behind Blake, forcing the gag back into his mouth. Blake could smell the acrid odor of Billy’s unwashed body and clothes.

  ‘Tony is going to help you with your memory,’ Fallon said, and the man in black rose from the sofa, picking up the loose end of wire.

  ‘I don’t like doing this, but it’s for your own good.’

  Tony seemed almost bored as he made the connection. Blake’s scream was no more than a gurgle behind the gag as his body arched with the force of the current, every muscle shrieking with pain, every sinew straining to breaking point.

  From the picture frames on the shelves around him, Julia, Sara and him from another departed world looked on.

  Fallon watched for a few moments and then nodded to Tony. Tony broke the connection and Billy removed the gag. Fallon waited for Blake to look up.

  ‘Where is he?’ he asked.

  ‘I take you,’ Blake panted, surprised by his own lack of breath. It felt like all four of his limbs had been sliced off. Even without the current the pain was still intense, but the knowledge that it would be soon returning at full force made it all the more terrifying.

  Fallon signaled Billy to put the gag back in. Tony made the connection before Billy had even let go, making him pull his hand back like he’d been bitten by a scorpion.

  �
��Fuck, man,’ Billy whined, shaking his limp, bony white hand in the air. Neither Tony nor Fallon took any notice of him.

  Blake writhed in front of their eyes, spittle foaming out over the gag. It felt like his body was going to snap in two. Tony cut the connection and Billy removed the gag again. Fallon leant forward, snapped his fingers in Blake’s face.

  ‘Focus. Here. On me. Where is he? Where’s Chicken Jack,’ Fallon asked.

  ‘No,’ was all Blake could manage.

  ‘Again.’

  The next dose of electricity rendered him mercifully unconscious, his head lolling forward. Fallon signalled to Tony to disconnect and pulled a capsule from his pocket, snapping it under Blake’s nostrils. He jerked back to consciousness, recoiling from the smell. He was unable to stop himself from crying. Fallon looked to Tony and Billy and shook his head in disgust. He pushed Blake’s head up.

  ‘We can go on all day,’ he said.

  ‘You think this hurts?’ Blake snarled through clenched teeth, tears streaking his face. ‘You think this is pain?’

  Fallon fell silent for a moment, re-evaluating the man, assessing his position. Was it going to be possible to make Blake talk or would he be willing to die before giving in? Was this a bluff? He gestured to Tony. They stepped into the hallway, leaving Blake alone with Billy.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘If the sun sets on this one, none of us is gonna make it to the morning,’ Tony said. ‘We might not break him in time.’

  Fallon nodded. He tried Chicken’s number again. ‘Could do with a few more on this one,’ he thought to himself as the phone rang. He could bring the Slovaks in. They had proved themselves most capable and kept their mouths shut. Slovaks, Jesus, they’d only been around a few years. The speed at which they’d risen through the criminal ranks was a testament to their fucking gene-built ruthlessness.

  Fallon allowed himself a little smile. When the European Union opened their collective legs who did they think was going to turn up ready to fuck? For the Slovaks this country had been one big pussy, soft and wide open. Virgin territory that they would fuck ‘til it bled. And that’s what they did. Shopkeepers & businesses found a portion of their takings were now earmarked for the swaggering broken-English-speaking leather jackets that made their rounds once a week. Those that were too stupid or pig-headed to resist were made an example of. When they found an Indian shopkeeper tied to a pole in the middle of a barn, his feet and the bottoms of his legs eaten off by pigs, he knew this had to stop. Not the killing. He didn’t give a fuck about the Paki. He wanted in, him and his boys. There was a market out there. The Slovaks had taught him that. These fuckers had turned up in plastic shoes and sleeveless tank tops in the middle of winter, now they were driving Range Rovers and wearing clothes that cost more than his car.

  His mind set, the then young sergeant had made himself known and shown them what ruthlessness was. They had tried to intimidate him, turning up at his own fucking house no less. He had shot two of them before the third bottled it. His boys caught up with him and he had spilled his guts in more ways than one. Over the next few days, he and his boys spilled more blood and gore than a turkey abattoir at Christmas. Eventually they sent an emissary to negotiate for peace. He set his terms, they agreed and they parted friends, just like that, such was the nature of their business. That was five years ago and he had never looked back.

  The connection cut and the phone emitted a single tone. Fallon shook his head.

  ‘We wastin’ our time here, man. He don’t know shit,’ said Tony in accented English. ‘He’s a civilian, man, there’s no way he could have taken the Chicken man out. That motherfucker can smell Five ‘O’ a fuckin’ mile off. He’d a seen this bitch comin’ in his sleep.’

  ‘You have a point.’

  Fallon stepped inside, the wide bulk of Tony to his rear.

  He contemplated Blake for a few seconds more and then made a decision. ‘Give him a dose and get him up.’ He stepped forward and gripped Blake’s chin and lifted his face. ‘He fucking better be alive.’

  Fallon left the room and Tony pulled an auto-syringe from his pocket. He rammed it into Blake’s thigh, making him gasp with shock as the adrenaline plunged into his system. Before releasing him from the chair Tony took the precaution of handcuffing him.

  ‘You and Billy take him in his own car,’ Fallon instructed Tony, tossing him the keys he had taken off Blake while he was unconscious. ‘I’ll follow. I don’t want anyone ID-ing me with him. Things are loose enough as they are.’ He turned to Blake. ‘Where to?’

  ‘The old industrial quarter,’ Blake said, and Fallon nodded, as if that made sense to him. Tony pushed Blake onto the backseat of his own car before getting into the driver’s seat, while Billy climbed into the passenger seat.

  Tony started the engine. ‘Anything I need to know about this car?’

  ‘No,’ Blake croaked.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’ There was nothing he needed to know, especially about the six-shot revolver that lay strapped to the bottom of the driver’s seat he was sitting in.

  As the two cars headed out of town Billy surfed through the radio stations while Tony kept his eyes on the road and on Fallon’s car behind them.

  Blake began working his binding as soon as Tony set off. They were the plastic strips used by special-forces. Had anyone but Billy tightened them around his wrists he probably would have lost his hands by now, but the junkie had left them loose enough for him to be able to work them off.

  Blake stretched his foot out under the driver’s seat, his muscles still screaming in pain as he felt around for the gun he had put there earlier.

  Not finding anything he wanted to listen to, Billy snapped the radio off and turned to stare at Blake in the back. Blake closed his eyes to avoid antagonising him and Billy grew bored, looking away again.

  As they turned into the industrial area Tony shouted over his shoulder.

  ‘Where now?’

  ‘Next left.’ Blake said. His foot made contact with the gun and he started edging it towards him. The car went over a speed bump and the gun jumped up, clattering against the metalwork of the seat.

  ‘What was that?’ Billy asked, turning round. He was getting jumpy again as they drove into the abandoned estate.

  Blake made a big show of dry retching, as if his body was reacting to the abuse of the previous few hours and Billy turned away in disgust. Blake took advantage of the moment and lunged under the seat, grabbing the gun in his cuffed hands and bringing it up to Tony’s head. Tony automatically slowed the car.

  ‘Keep driving,’ Blake snapped.

  Billy grabbed at the gun and it went off, blowing Tony’s jaw away and splattering the windscreen in blood. Tony’s foot jammed onto the accelerator. Blake shifted the gun onto Billy, who wilted down into his seat. The car careened off the road, hitting the kerb and veering into a patch of waste ground between two deserted buildings, bouncing over the uneven ground, straight towards a wall. Tony was still conscious, staring ahead, his hands scrabbling at the hole where his jaw had been, not even able to scream.

  Behind, Fallon’s car had come off the road too and was approaching at speed. Blake ducked down.

  The car slammed into the wall. Blake was catapulted forward into the back of the driver’s seat.

  Tony’s half remaining face slammed into the outward exploding airbag harder than if he’d had his seatbelt on. Billy’s head likewise.

  Blake kicked at the side door. It was jammed.

  ‘Come on, come ON!’ he screamed. Behind him, through the rear window Fallon’s car bore down, the sun gleaming off the windscreen.

  Fallon was going to ram him.

  Blake pummeled the door. It gave way.

  He grabbed the gun and dived.

  He felt a blast of heated air, oil and tyre rubber whistle past. His dive became a roll and he was on his feet. An almighty crash as sounded out as he ducked into the alleyway dissecting the expanse of w
all. There was the sound of rapid gunfire and shattered brick splintered into his eyes as he half stumbled and ran down the rubbish-strewn corridor.

  Fallon dropped his head in disbelief. He released his double handed grip and let his gun drop, pointing down to the ground, spent like a flaccid penis, useless now that it had missed its mark. He struggled up from his prone marksman’s position.

  He staggered back to the wrecked cars. A bloodied Tony sat compressed in the driver’s seat. The door had popped open when it had hit the wall to reveal the extent of his injuries. Tony looked bad. Pale. Fallon pressed his fingers against his neck. His pulse was faint. He looked down and saw blood everywhere. Tony wasn’t going to make it. Not without the help of a motor breaker and a team of surgeons.

  ‘Fuck, Fuck FUUUUUCK!’ he screamed. He had no idea how Blake had done this. The whole situation had unraveled and if he didn’t get it under control, he was finished. It wasn’t Blake that mattered, it was the money. Without that money he was a dead man.

  Losing Tony was a blow, he had a hunter’s instincts, more honed than his own. Fuck knows how Blake had taken him, but he was out of the picture. He heard a low moan behind him, he could see movement beneath a red grisly patch on the shattered windscreen. He looked in and saw a blood-sodden Billy holding his head. Amazing, the junkie had put his seatbelt on.

  Ripping the door open, he reached in and pulled Billy out.