Ethan Justice: Origins (Ethan Justice #1)

by Simon Jenner

  *

  Johnson’s phone vibrated. He answered.

  “Where are they, Wilson?”

  “We’re at Shepherd’s Bush underground station. Do you want me to take them out?”

  The tall agent stared at his phone like it was an alien artefact. Everything he said to Wilson had fallen on deaf ears.

  “No, keep on them, and I’ll be with you soon.”

  Johnson ended the call and pulled away. He tapped a few buttons on the steering wheel, and ‘Ave Maria’ erupted from the impressive sound system. It was his favourite stress reliever. It was the first time he’d listened to it in five years.

  *

  At four o’clock Savannah and John exited Shepherd’s Bush Market underground station, turning right along the Uxbridge Road.

  Traffic was bumper to bumper and pedestrians jostled to get in and out of the market opposite. Savannah had once worked in the well-known market, and she would have enjoyed saying hello to a few of her friends who still worked inside the thronging centre, but she needed Christos off her back more than she needed to catch up with old pals. Other than Wales, Shepherd’s Bush was where she had spent most of her life. She had never liked it enough to consider it home though, even when her mother had been alive.

  John’s black waxed Barbour jacket was several sizes too big for her narrow frame. The shoulders were loose and the jacket was heavy but it kept the cold afternoon drizzle from her skin. John had thrown an old, dark blue, Marks & Spencer’s anorak on top of his hoodie. They must have looked quite the pair.

  “We’ll sell the watch and then go to my bedsit so I can change,” she said, her arm linked through his as they walked beneath the street lamps which had already started to flicker into life, despite the official sunset being three hours away.

  John had responded well to her kindness, especially having his head stroked, but she had to keep him focussed. He was her ticket out of the escort business, and the sooner she paid Christos the Greek, the sooner she could start over. Once she’d handed over the grand, she’d call the emergency services and get John taken into care. He needed psychological help, and probably quite soon, but not before she paid Christos. There was no other way she could help Smith, and she would be keeping her end of the deal, even if it wasn’t what he believed he had agreed to.

  What sort of person goes around calling themselves John Smith and making up crazy stories about gruesome murders? At least he hadn’t shown any threatening behaviour, and somehow she sensed that he was more danger to himself than to her but decided it was best to be on her guard.

  “John, are you okay with that?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Sell the watch, go to your bedsit.”

  Savannah sensed he was going into himself again, which could well mean another outburst was on its way. She had to stop his imagination from taking him over the edge. She wondered if he was on any medication and if he carried anything with him?

  “Do you take any pills?” she asked. “For anything?”

  “Like headaches, you mean?”

  She wasn’t sure how to word her enquiry without arousing suspicion. “Yes ... or anything else?”

  “I suppose the same as the next man. For hangovers and suchlike.”

  “Nothing else?”

  John’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean recreational drugs?”

  “No. I don’t know what I meant. Just ignore me.” God, he seemed so normal sometimes. No wonder he’d been off the radar for so long. If she hadn’t witnessed the dramatic breakdown, she’d have thought him saner than her.

  They spent the next five minutes in silence as they followed the straight stretch of the Uxbridge Road with its mixture of ethnic food takeaways and everything else from pharmacies to cash lenders, drycleaners and off licences. It truly was a world of its own, seeming like one of the few places where you could buy almost anything, legal or otherwise.

  As they neared their destination, a sense of unease overtook Savannah. She had never felt comfortable around George Tibbett, a well-established dealer in stolen goods, but desperate times demanded that she must suffer for her freedom. Lewd innuendo and personal space invasion would not kill her, and John, despite his mental state, would make it all the more difficult for the old man to intimidate her.

  “Here we are,” Savannah said, as they reached a small shop with the windows painted out in what once might have been a brilliant white emulsion. There were no words above the shop, and it appeared almost derelict with flaky brown paint falling from small, old-fashioned, wooden window frames. Parted, concertina-style, metal security gates were the only indication that there was something worth protecting inside.

  “Are you sure?” John asked. “Looks closed to me.”

  Savannah knocked on the glass of the wooden door causing it to rattle loosely in its frame.

  “I doubt they have anything of value in here,” John said, putting his hand above his eyes and attempting to peer through the opaque window. “I can’t see anyone inside.”

  The window rattled again, and a cloth blind behind it lifted. George Tibbett’s wrinkled face peered at them before he undid several bolts and pulled open the door.

  “Savannah, my dear,” he said, brushing his thick white hair back with his hand. He glanced at John and sneered before returning his attention to her. “Come to rob me again with your beauty?”

  The spindly old pervert’s eyes flashed up and down her oversized jacket which thankfully hid her feminine curves from his gaze. It wasn’t the fact that he was in his seventies that made his lecherous behaviour so appalling, but it did make him all the more pathetic. His attempt to dress younger only made him more so. Designer jeans and trainers did not go with craggy, old, sagging faces. He brushed up against her. She forced a smile to override the need to cringe.

  “Hi, George,” she replied, putting her mouth to John’s ear. “Let me do all the talking, okay?”

  John nodded but appeared more interested in his new surroundings. The small shop was around ten feet from front to back, fifteen feet wide and dimly lit by a solitary low-powered bulb hanging by a grubby wire from the ceiling. Floor to ceiling shelves adorned the left and rear walls. Thick wire caging sat two feet in front of the shelves, allowing access to the valuables solely via a door at the far right of the room.

  Another door to the right of the shelves, directly opposite the cage door, gave access to a back room. The area in which they now waited contained a small wooden table and chair where Tibbett must have idled his time away waiting for customers or just as likely, the police. A light blue metallic cashbox and lamp sat on top of the table.

  Savannah recalled that there were separate lights above each shelf which Tibbett could operate to allow prospective buyers a better look at his mostly contraband stock. He clearly didn’t waste electricity on non-purchasing customers. Savannah handed Tibbett the watch. He felt the weight and took it to the table, turned on the lamp and examined it closely.

  “How much are you after?” he asked.

  “Three thousand,” John said, not looking back as he leaned against the cage wire, straining his eyes to examine a shelf of necklaces.

  Tibbett looked over to John and then to Savannah. “Your friend has quite a sense of humour.”

  “Don’t mind him,” she said, rolling her eyes. “He’s a bit simple. What can you give us for it, George?”

  Seemingly bored of staring at badly lit jewellery, John shot Savannah a playfully offended look. She smiled back, grateful he wasn’t exhibiting any signs of anxiety.

  “I thought he’d got a touch of nutter about him,” Tibbett said, tapping his forehead. If only he knew, thought Savannah. “I can give you seven fifty. It’s my special friend rate.”

  “I’d hate to get enemy rates,” John said, looking at an array of mixed gemstones.

  “I don’t sell to my enemies,” Tibbett snapped. His patience with John was running out. “Can I speak with you in private please, Sav?”

  It was the last
thing Savannah wanted to do, but it had to beat what Christos had in store for her. John was not behaving too strangely, but Tibbett was obviously not comfortable with him around, and she could not let this deal fall through. She walked over and stood by John at the caging. “Is that okay?”

  John lowered his voice. “Are you sure you want to be alone with that creep? He looks like a child molester or something.”

  “Well I’m no child so I’ll be fine,” she whispered, squeezing his shoulder. John looked unconvinced.

  “Sav?” Tibbett said.

  Savannah could sense the agitation in Tibbett’s tone. This transaction was turning sour, and she couldn’t let that happen. “Sure, I’m coming,” she said. “John, I’m going in the back to talk with George. Will you be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he replied. “Just be quick will you please? I doubt there’s much in here that hasn’t been stolen, and I don’t want to be here when he gets raided.”

  Savannah wasn’t sure if John was just messing or if he was stressing for real. She couldn’t let him continue to wind up Tibbett and she couldn’t risk him melting down. He just had to hang in there for a few more minutes.

  “Just stay here, and don’t touch anything. I’ll only be five minutes max. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  John looked at her like she was the mad one - the nerve of crazy people.

  “Yes, go and be quick,” he said.

  Savannah followed Tibbett to the cage door where he took down a large bunch of keys from a hook. It took him two minutes and five keys to unlock the gate and another two minutes to lock it back up, his attention constantly switching between the locks and John.

  Savannah willed the old man to speed up the proceedings. Finally, she followed him into an empty box room barely six feet square. Tibbett pulled on a hanging light cord and an old-fashioned fluorescent tube, the width of the ceiling, flickered into life. He closed the door behind them.

  “Jesus, you need sunglasses in here,” she said, protecting her eyes with one raised hand.

  “You get used to it my dear,” Tibbett said, stroking Savannah’s hair. “I’d forgotten how beautiful you were.”

  Savannah drew back. He’d been creepy before but had never laid a hand on her. “Get off me, George. I need the money for the watch. What’s with you today? I thought we were friends?”

  He reached out once more forcing Savannah to step back to avoid his touch. “We are friends, my dear. But Christos has plans for you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He says no one is to help you - or else. Seems he has some foreigners interested in you. They’ll pay big money for prime stock like you.”

  Savannah went rigid and whiter than the brilliant light that forced her to squint. So Christos was planning to sell her. Her mind travelled back to the elaborate photo shoot at a respected studio in Hampton Hill. He had explained the occasion away as a promotional exercise for the internet, promising her that her face would be pixelated to protect her identity.

  The experience had been fun, no nudity and at no point sordid in any way. The penny dropped - stupid girl, Savannah. Her face became clammy, and she gasped for air. That bastard had never wanted her to repay the money. He had expected her to fail. The photographs had been for marketing her sale. Her only chance was to get the cash and prove the sleazebag wrong.

  “I won’t tell him, George. Just give us a grand, and he’ll never know.”

  Tibbett looked at the watch dismissively and put it into the breast pocket of his jacket. “Like I said, I can only give you seven fifty.” A sickly smile formed on his lips, his green eyes wide and leering as he studied her. Out of nowhere, his hand shot out and grabbed the zipper of her jacket, tugging it down before she could react, revealing the black mini dress beneath. If real people’s eyes came out on their stalks, then Tibbett’s would have jumped out of their sockets.

  “Oh yes,” he said, his breathing rapid and warm on her face. “Now that you’re in the business, let’s do some business.” He reached for her breasts with trembling hands. “Two fifty for your mouth and seven fifty for the Rolex. We all go home happy.”

  Savannah backed away, but soon her back was tight against the wall, and she was limited to sideways movement only. Tibbett followed her step for step until she reached the corner. Planting his hands on her breasts, he gripped the flimsy material and pulled it down, snapping the two slight shoulder straps and exposing Savannah’s breasts. His hands shook uncontrollably, and his mouth was open wide. The look in his eyes wasn’t human, but that of an animal taking what was his, savagely. She screamed and clawed at his face.

  “Savannah?” John called out. “Are you okay?”

  Savannah brought up her knee but missed her attacker’s testicles by an inch, instead catching his inner thigh. The hard strike bought her a second or two, allowing her to shove him hard in the chest, but he was still between her and the door, and she was still cornered. Tibbett quickly regrouped and lips parted in a snarl, eyes locked on her brightly lit flesh above the torn, dangling dress, he closed the gap between them. Savannah saw the madness return to his eyes.

  “I’m calling the police!” shouted John, rattling the cage.

  “You’ve got no phone,” said Tibbett, panting, a look of extreme annoyance replacing the one of madness. Without zipping it up, Savannah closed the Barbour jacket to cover her exposed skin and folded her arms tightly to keep it from flapping open. “I have a detector in the shop which tells me if a mobile phone enters the shop, so don’t try to bullshit me. Just wait there like a good boy, and you and Savannah will leave with a grand when I’m done.”

  “It wasn’t on when I came in, would that make a difference?”

  Tibbett grabbed Savannah by her narrow neck and shook her with a force that belied his frame and age. “Does he have a phone?” he demanded.

  “Hello? Police please,” John said. Savannah had no idea what he was up to, but Tibbett’s eagerness to attain sexual gratification was clearly wilting. Had John brought a phone with him? She hadn’t seen one. She tilted her head and shrugged, hoping it looked convincing.

  The bony fingers around Savannah’s neck tightened. “I said does he have a phone?”

  “I don’t know. He could have.”

  “Put the phone down kid, or I’ll break her neck.”

  “I don’t think Christos will be too happy if you do that,” John said.

  Savannah felt the circulation return to her brain as Tibbett’s grip relaxed. She threaded her hands upwards between his arms, forcing his hands to leave her neck. Bloody hell. John had been listening all the time. Mad as a hatter and as smart as a button. She could have kissed him right there and then. Tibbett pulled out a thick bundle of fifty pound notes from his inside pocket. There had to be at least five thousand in his hand.

  “Yes, I’d like to report an attack at a shop in Shepherd’s Bush.”

  “I’m not touching her, kid. You can hang up. I’m handing Savannah the cash now. Tell him, Savannah.”

  Savannah zipped up the Barbour jacket and held out her hand as Tibbett counted out twenty, fifty pound notes. It was his turn to feel fear. “Tell the kid to hang up, Sav,” he begged. “I’m sorry. I need help. Please tell him.”

  A stiff kick in the balls was the least he deserved but she was baking under the thick coat and her need to get outside into fresh air was greater than her need for payback. “It’s okay, John. He’s handing over the money.”

  “Tell him to make it two thousand and to stop calling me kid. I’m thirty-two for God’s sakes.”

  “Thirty-two!” exclaimed Savannah. “I thought you were about twenty-four.” She looked at Tibbett and nodded, her confidence flooding back like a wild, untamed river. “You heard the man. Keep counting.” Fresh air could wait a few extra seconds.

  “Put the phone down first, kid ... sorry, I mean, Mister, and I’ll pay two.”

  “I would hurry. I think they’re a bit agitated. It wouldn’t surp
rise me if they weren’t trying to triangulate this call already. I’ll just tell them where we are, shall I?”

  “No! I’m counting. Just don’t say another word.” Tibbett peeled off a bunch of fifty pound notes from the stack and slapped them into Savannah’s outstretched hand. “There, there’s more like two and a half there. Tell him to hang up the call.”

  “Not until you open the gate, let out Savannah and lock yourself back in,” John called out. “That gives us a head start.”

  Tibbett stuffed the remainder of the cash pile back into his pocket. He tapped his bottom lip with his forefinger.

  “You think I’m fucking stupid, kid?”

  “Messing with Christos sounds pretty fucking stupid to me.” A pause filled the air before John’s voice returned. “Sorry about that,” he said. “The attacker was threatening me but I’ve shut myself in a cupboard now. I think he may have killed someone. We’re in Shepherd’s Bush, I’m not sure of the exact address but I can give you directions.”

  The vicious animal that had terrorised Savannah was beaten and sulked like a reprimanded puppy. “Okay. I’m doing it, Mister. Savannah and I are coming out. Just please don’t say any more.”

  “Speed it up then, Georgie boy. I can’t hold this call up much longer.”

  Savannah tucked the bundle of notes into one of the big outside pockets of the jacket. She walked out of the back room and went to the gate, closely followed by Tibbett. John was not at the gate and the light was out. Tibbett flicked a switch but the darkness remained.

  “John?” she called, straining her eyes to see.

  “I’m in the corner. I removed the bulb. I don’t want this bastard getting a good look at me and sending somebody after me later.”

  In the left corner of the shop, aided by the light escaping from the back office, Savannah could make out John’s back. His head was bowed and he was leaning into the corner as though he was about to urinate. Son of a bitch. He was heading into another pretend world. She prayed that he wouldn’t break down. Not now when they were so close to getting out, not when she was a hair’s breadth away from getting Christos off her back forever.