Closer Than Blood

by Paul Grzegorzek

  “Gareth, leave it! This is not a problem you can solve. I pissed off the wrong people, and the only way I come out of this with my skin intact is by getting enough money for a new identity and a flight somewhere obscure. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Then tell me where you’ve been, at least. It’s been almost twenty years.”

  “That long? Shit. I’ve been around, London and Glasgow mostly. I’m off the brown now, but I was on it for years. Nearly died a few times, from bad shit or too much, but now,” he paused and pointed to himself, looking slightly ludicrous in trousers that were too short topped with an ancient Christmas jumper, “I’m a respectable businessman.”

  “Respectable?”

  “Respected?”

  “Really?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “OK, maybe not but I can turn a profit.”

  “Which is why you’re so popular with whoever is after you, I guess.”

  “Sort of.”

  “Come on, if you can’t tell me who, at least tell me why.”

  “I, uh, I may have borrowed some of their product.”

  “You stole cocaine? You idiot. How much?”

  “Six kilos.”

  I stared at him, unable to find any words. He looked much as I remembered him, a little more meat on his frame perhaps. Like me, his dark curly hair was now suffering from the inevitable creep of grey, but his face was thinner than mine and his nose a little longer. Other than that our features were eerily similar, and no one looking at us could confuse us for anything other than brothers. It was like looking at a warped reflection, and I wondered if right now we both had the same haunted look in our eyes.

  “Let me get this right. You stole six kilos of cocaine?” He nodded. “Who even has six kilos of cocaine?”

  “Nasty bastards, usually.”

  “Just how nasty are we talking, Jake?”

  “Skin your face and rub it in salt nasty.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  I realised then that he had been right earlier. If I arrested him, he would be fair game for whoever was after him. The sort of people who had six kilos of coke lying around had the kind of clout that could get anyone killed, inside prison or out, with a click of their fingers. I wasn’t sure if I could keep the promise I’d made Dad, but arresting Jake would be the first step in the wrong direction.

  I looked at him, standing there like a caged animal, ready to fly at the slightest provocation, and suddenly felt a tremendous wash of guilt. Jake was still my brother, yet all I’d shown him was anger and disappointment. Before he could react, I darted across the room and grabbed him in a bear hug, smelling the salty tang of the sea on his skin as I squeezed him tight.

  “I missed you, you fucking idiot,” I said as he initially struggled to get free, then relaxed a little and began to pat me on the back. “Even with everything that’s happened, I missed you. Me and Dad both.”

  “Yeah,” he whispered hoarsely. As I drew back I could see a glint in his eye that looked suspiciously like a tear. “Me too. Wanted to call pretty much every day at first, but the longer I was away, the harder it became and eventually it felt like it was too late.”

  “It was never too late,” I replied gruffly, releasing him and stepping back as something made my own eyes sting. “We’re family, Jake, and there’s nothing closer than blood.”

  He nodded and took a step towards the window, then winced and bent to put a hand on his knee.

  “You OK?” I asked.

  “You were right,” he replied, still rubbing his knee, “water was like concrete. Thought I’d broken my legs when I hit.”

  “Speaking of which, how did you not get spotted by the life boats?”

  “There’s loads of metalwork on the outside of the marina. I used it to pull myself around to the other side. Couldn’t get my legs to work at first, and then the sea caught me and sucked me down. I thought I was done for, but it pushed me against the wall and I grabbed hold of the first thing I found. While the boats were all searching for me on the east side, I was already halfway across the west. Only bit I had to swim across was the marina entrance and my legs had come back to life by then.”

  “Bet your drugs didn’t like being dipped in the sea.”

  “Don’t matter, the bag’s got a waterproof liner.” He reached over and hefted the bag with a grin. “I’ve still got six kilos of finest …”

  The grin faltered as he remembered who he was talking to. “So what am I supposed to do with you?” I moved to sit on the end of his bed. The room hadn’t changed since Jake had left, and I stared idly at the ancient Manchester United strip that graced his duvet covers.

  Jake sat on the far side of the bed, careful to keep out of reach. I guessed that years of living in the murky world of drugs had eroded his faith in anyone but himself. His eyes kept flicking to my hands, as if waiting for me to jump him, or maybe he was worried I’d try and hug him again.

  “Just let me do my thing,” he said finally. “I only came down to Brighton again because the market here isn’t connected to … to the people looking for me. It’s one of the few places I can sell it without getting caught.”

  “You want me to leave you alone so that you can sell drugs in my town and disappear?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “No way. Tell you what. You leave now, walk out that door and don’t come back. Go wherever the hell you like, but you leave my city alone. I can’t and won’t protect you if you try and sell your shit here. There are plenty of other places.”

  “You don’t understand, they’ve got eyes everywhere else!”

  “Then tell me who the fuck they are!” I thundered, standing again to loom over my brother. “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me anything.”

  “Fine.” Jake stood, shouldering his bag. “I’ll go. Say hi to Dad for me.”

  He stormed out onto the landing and down the stairs. I heard the front door open and waited for it to slam shut. There was a moment of silence. And then something that sounded suspiciously like the smack of flesh on flesh, followed by a sharp cry and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. Jake’s enemies, it seemed, had found him after all.

  Chapter 6

  I was moving less than a second later, barrelling out of the door and down the stairs to see Jake in a heap on the doormat. Above him stood a bear of a man in a black thigh-length leather jacket that strained to contain his biceps and shoulders. He looked up in surprise and then I was on him, one foot lashing out to catch him under the kneecap while my fists struck chest, cheek and jaw.

  The man’s head snapped backwards with the force of the punches, blows designed to drop a man in his tracks. But then he shook himself and lumbered towards me, dark eyes flaring with anger.

  He stomped on Jake’s arm as he came, and I heard the sound of grinding bone as I backed off to give myself some space.

  The hallway was narrow. My opponent filled it from wall to wall as he raised his fists in a guard, elbows at eye level. Whatever the outcome, I had the distinct impression that this was going to hurt.

  “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are,” I said, stopping as I reached the centre of the hall, a small square that led to all the other downstairs rooms, “but this is private property. I suggest you leave.”

  My only answer was a meaty first, hurled at my head faster than I would have thought someone that big could move. I ducked to one side, grabbed the wrist and twisted his arm so that his elbow was pointing up, dropping my own elbow onto it with a force honed by years of kung fu and street fighting combined.

  To my amazement, the joint cracked but didn’t break, causing the man to roar and shake me off before hammering a fist into my ribs that I was too slow to block.

  I gasped as the pain hit, then felt a lazy grin forming as my body’s chemical cocktail kicked in, flooding my system with its mixture of endorphins, adrenaline and half a dozen other useful things. Concern over my brother, fear over fighting an unknown oppon
ent who looked as if he could kill me, everything faded away but the need to beat him, to win.

  You see, I love fighting, always have. Right or wrong, I relish the chance to slip the chains free and leap into the fray, testing myself against those who think they can best me. When the adrenaline flows it’s as if I’m a different person, playing by a different set of rules.

  The bear came in again, throwing fast, sharp jabs that would have broken my nose and cheekbone if they’d connected. Instead, I slapped his fist past me with an open hand, pushing him off line, then spun and dropped to sweep his legs.

  It half-worked. Given the limited space, all it did was throw him into the wall rather than take him off his feet, but he was disorientated and facing away from me, and so I leaped into the air and drove my elbow into the nerve point on the back of his shoulder, putting my full bodyweight behind it.

  The big man collapsed, legs turning to jelly as his body lost control. I landed behind him, slamming a quick knee into his temple to make sure he stayed down.

  The real world flooded back. The sound of my harsh breathing echoed loud in my ears, my hands shaking with the now-unneeded chemicals in my system.

  I took a moment, breathing deeply, then dropped to my knees and put two fingers to Jake’s neck to check his pulse. I sighed with relief when I found it, rolling him over to see a large, purple bruise already forming on his jaw.

  “Hey,” I slapped Jake gently and was rewarded with the sight of his eyes flickering open. “I need you with me, wake up.”

  “What happened?” He sat up slowly, putting a hand to his head.

  “That man-mountain over there hit you.”

  He looked past me and his eyes widened.

  “Oh shit. What have you done?”

  “What have I done? I’ve gone and bloody saved your life is what, you ungrateful shit!”

  “No, you don’t understand,” he shook his head and then hissed with the pain from his battered skull. “You can’t lay hands on these guys, no matter what. You do and the rest will kill you.”

  “Oh come on,” I scoffed. “You’re expected to just let them do whatever they want without fighting back?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “Bullshit. You know what? I’ve had enough of this. I don’t doubt that you’re in danger, but if this is the worst they can throw at you then I reckon I can keep you safe enough in custody.”

  “No, Gareth, please.” Jake stood shakily, holding his hands out. “I promise you, they’ll kill me. Just let me disappear. If I get a few hours’ head start, I’ll bury myself so deep they’ll never find me.”

  “And I’d forgotten how full of shit you can be. What was I thinking? Come on, let’s go.”

  I grabbed him before he could protest, forcing him towards the door.

  “I’m going to get you in the car, then I’m calling this in and coming back to make sure sleeping beauty there doesn’t wake up before the cavalry arrives.”

  What I didn’t tell him was that my cuffs were in the car, and that he’d be wearing them before I left him alone for a second. I’d swallowed the story earlier, and I had no doubt that some of it was true, but Jake’s attempts to make his enemies sound like they were evil incarnate just seemed a little too farfetched.

  Right up to the point that we stepped outside and saw the other two men, loitering at the end of the path with their pistols pointed towards the door.

  Chapter 7

  Years of street-honed reflexes kicked in. I grabbed Jake by the collar and pulled him backwards, collapsing through the doorway as the soft sound of silenced shots hissed through the air.

  Chips of wood flew out of the porch and doorframe, some of the rounds punching through to bury themselves in the floorboards near our feet.

  I kicked the door shut and got to my hands and knees, Jake right behind me as we scrabbled up the stairs.

  “You fucking arsehole,” I found myself muttering over and over as the sound of shots was replaced by feet crunching on gravel.

  We ran into Dad’s room and I looked around for something to use as a barricade. Although the door was locked, it wouldn’t take someone long to break through it.

  “Help me with this.” I pointed at the heavy oak wardrobe against one wall. “Push it towards the door but leave a gap so we can tip it.”

  Jake nodded, face pale with fear, but moved to help. Even with the two of us straining at it, we nearly couldn’t shift the monstrous wardrobe. How anyone had managed to get it up the stairs in the first place I had no idea.

  As we half-dragged, half-shoved it into position, the sound of the front door being kicked in echoed through the house. Using more haste than care, I rocked the wardrobe over so that the top of it wedged itself against the door, forming a barrier that I doubted anyone would get through without a chainsaw.

  That done, I pulled my phone out and dialled three nines.

  “This is Charlie Papa 291,” I almost shouted as the stairs creaked outside. “I’m at seventy-four, repeat seven four Hillside, Woodingdean. I have armed intruders in the house and need urgent assistance. Confirm they have firearms and have fired on an officer.”

  To give her credit, the call taker barely missed a beat as she plugged Ops One, the Inspector in charge of the control room, into the call.

  His voice came on, clear but tense.

  “Charlie Papa 291, confirm you have a firearms incident?”

  “Yes!”

  “Understood, we have units en route to you now. How many assailants?”

  “Two, both armed with pistols. We’ve barricaded ourselves in one of the bedrooms upstairs.”

  The door shuddered as someone threw their shoulder against it. I added my weight to the wardrobe and prayed it was thick enough to stop a bullet.

  “OK, who is in there with you?”

  “I’ve got one in custody for drug offences, it’s just us.”

  “OK, understood. Gareth, right?”

  “Yeah.” I flinched as a silenced shot sent a bullet burrowing through the door and into the back of the wardrobe with a dull thud. It struck the inside of the door behind me, knocking me forward slightly as it lodged in the wood. “Jesus! They’re shooting again.”

  “We have a Hotel Foxtrot unit making from Lewes, short ETA. Can you hold out?”

  “I fucking hope so.”

  “OK Gareth.” He spoke to me the way you would a wounded animal, a soothing voice in the middle of what could be my final moments. I realised then how scared I was. This wasn’t a scrap, something that would result in broken bones at worst. No, this was someone determined and well able to kill us, and that thought was enough to make my knees shake.

  Nothing we could do would stop these men from shooting us if they got through the door. No amount of training was enough to guarantee taking a gun off someone, and all it would take was for the second shooter to stand back and pick me off no matter how lucky I might be with the first.

  A noise from the back of the room made me look up to see Jake opening the skylight window and hauling himself up on the sill.

  “Jake,” I hissed, covering the microphone with my thumb. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “It’s me they’re after,” he whispered back. “I’ll get out and draw them away.”

  “No you bloody won’t,” I growled, taking a step towards him.

  The moment I took my weight off, the door opened a crack and the wardrobe threatened to topple. A pistol poked through and fired shots at random into the room.

  Throwing myself against the wardrobe, I was rewarded with a grunt of pain and the hand withdrew. The door slammed shut again, giving me a chance to look back at Jake, or rather the space where he’d been. While I’d been saving our lives, my brother had taken the chance to run away.

  Part of me hoped that he would draw them off, but long seconds passed and the shoving from the other side of the door didn’t lessen. Then, I heard the sound of an engine starting outside and patted the pocket where I kept my
car keys. Where they had been until moments ago.

  I closed my eyes. Somehow, in the midst of everything that had happened, Jake had managed to pick my pocket and was now escaping in a job car. The only way the day could get worse was if my assailants actually managed to shoot me.

  As if on cue, both men began firing, rounds punching through the door and slamming into the wardrobe. Wood began to splinter, and I turned myself to one side to narrow my profile as much as possible, still leaning against the doors to keep them out.

  Then, faintly, I heard the sound of approaching sirens echoing off the hills.

  “The cavalry are coming!” I yelled. “Hear that you bastards? They’re coming for you!”

  The shots stopped. Feet pounded down the stairs. A moment later I heard another car start, then pull away with a squeal of tyres.

  Exhausted, I slumped down against the wardrobe, not daring to move it in case they’d left a shooter behind. I was still sat there, shaking with the aftermath of the adrenaline, when the world turned strobing blue and booted feet ran towards the house.

  Chapter 8

  “Jesus, Gareth, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into now?”

  I looked up from where I sat, huddled under a blanket on the wall outside the bungalow, and grinned despite the circumstances. In amongst the flurry of uniforms and SOCOs milling around, the newly minted Inspector Jimmy Holdsworth, my old partner, was making his way towards me with a look that was half concern, half relief at seeing me in one piece.

  “Inspector Holdsworth.” I threw a lazy salute. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m Charlie Golf nine-nine,” he replied, giving the call sign for the inspector in charge of the division. “So they’ve called me in to sort your mess out. What happened?”

  “Jake.”

  “Your brother? Don’t tell me he did this?”

  “No,” I shook my head and began patting Jimmy’s pockets until I found his cigarettes. “But the guys who did were after him.”

  I took two cigarettes from the packet, then slipped one back when Jimmy shook his head and passed me a lighter. I lit mine and coughed, it had been almost a year since I’d last smoked.