Bone Breakers (A Stanton brothers thriller)

by Martin Stanley

  “A shame for you, that is.”

  Terry’s sneer dropped. He began to look worried.

  Mark cast the big lad a glance and drew a finger across his throat.

  Terry’s eyes went wide; he grimaced and made a bolt for the door.

  He didn’t make it that far.

  Derek thrust out his arm and locked it tight. Terry hit the outstretched forearm at full speed, caught it in the neck, came off his feet and hit the floor with an almighty crack. He groaned and gurgled for a few seconds, blinked his eyes a couple of times, then passed out. Derek had barely budged an inch, despite the weight that had hit him. He lowered his arm to his side and rubbed at it absentmindedly. “Whyn’t we do this properly?” he said. “I’m sick of all this fannying about.”

  Mark pointed the gun at Terry’s heavies. “Fine. Go for it. Getting bored, anyway.”

  The big lad picked up Terry beneath his armpits, lifted him like he weighed nothing, and walked him towards the counter. Joe and Mikey stiffened, both ready to attack. Mark coughed. They turned and looked at him.

  “Don’t even think it.”

  They gave each other a quick glance then gazed at Mark, their bodies still tense.

  “I will shoot you.”

  Both men went loose.

  “Now step away. Slowly.”

  Joe and Mikey stepped towards the middle of the shop with their hands high and watched as Derek dragged their boss behind the counter. The big lad pressed Terry against the worktop with one hand and slapped his face hard with the other. Terry regained a little more consciousness with each crack across the cheek. He tried to fight Derek off, but was still weak and his adversary kept him in check with one large hand around the throat. Al edged himself flat against the storeroom door, looking terrified.

  Eric stepped around the counter, past Al and wedged himself next to Terry. “We’re getting tired of this. The money?”

  “Fuck you,” Terry hissed.

  “I’m gonna ask you nicely one more time. Then I’m gonna give my brother the floor,” he said and leaned in close. “You really don’t want that. He’s not a nice man. In fact, he’s a cunt. A really nasty cunt.”

  Terry gave him a malevolent scowl that was cold enough to freeze blood and shook his head. Eric exchanged stares with his brother and stepped away.

  Derek smashed his fist into Terry’s gut, folding him forward, then followed through with a swift uppercut that crushed his nose. The dealer staggered back, leaving a trail of red spatters on the floor as blood streamed down his face and off his chin. He was about to fall down when Derek rushed in and grabbed him. Holding him upright by his lapels, he dragged him forward and jammed him against the deep fat fryer. Terry tried to break free, but a quick punch to the balls ended his struggles. The wind taken out him, he buckled and dropped to his knees with a groan. The big lad grabbed his right hand and lifted it up, then pulled it over towards the pool of sizzling hot fat.

  Terry squealed and offered the money right there and then.

  Eric folded his arms and smiled. “Too late for that, Terence.”

  Joe and Mikey took a step towards the melee, ready to protect their boss and inflict some pain. Mark coughed and waggled his gun. “Where’d you ladies like it? In the knees or the balls?”

  Both men stopped. Then Mikey shook his head quickly and said, “Fuck this shit,” under his breath. He made a jump for the counter.

  Mark popped off a shot. The silencer reduced the noise to a handclap.

  Mikey dropped to the floor screaming, hands around his right knee. Blood squirted through his fingers. Curling into a ball, he got a proper look at the ruined mess that had once been his kneecap and vomited on the floor. Joe stepped back with his hands held high; he retched a couple of times but didn’t puke. The coppery stench of bile was overpowering.

  Terry’s hand was inches from the boiling fat. He shrieked words faster than could be understood and tried pushing back with all his strength, but it wasn’t enough. The big lad held him in place and made it seem effortless; the only sign of exertion was the gradual reddening of his face.

  Finally, Derek grinned, pushed Terry forward and submerged his hand. It was hard to know what was worst: the crackle of the flesh frying, Terry’s squeals of agony, or the pork stench of his skin as it cooked in the boiling oil. His eyes rolled over white and he passed out. The big lad pulled him away and dropped him on the floor. Terry’s hand was drawn into a gnarled claw, the skin shiny and brown. In places, the skin had cracked open to reveal pink semi-cooked muscle beneath. Steam drifted up from it.

  Eric clicked his fingers. “Al, throw some water on him.”

  The proprietor gagged on the stench and shook his head. “I don’t want any of this, lads.”

  “That’s not an either/or, mate. It’s a do it before.”

  “Before?”

  “Before we turn your fuckin’ hand into crispy fried pork.”

  Al did as he was told. Terry came round quickly, looked at his hand, gagged, and started crying like a child. Eric kicked his foot. “Give us the money, or lose your left.”

  “It’s in the car outside.”

  “Where?”

  “Got it parked round the corner. It’s in the trunk.”

  “Keys?”

  Terry rummaged around in his jacket pocket with his good hand and threw a bunch of keys on a chain. Eric caught and tightened his fist around them.

  “Money better be there, fat boy. ‘Cause if it isn’t, I’m gonna fry your fuckin’ head.”

  Terry shivered like it was cold, even though it wasn’t, and cradled his burnt hand against his chest. The constant chattering of his teeth sounded like the clack of maracas and his face twitched continuously. He was starting to go into shock.

  7.

  The used condom dangled between the black man’s thumb and forefinger like a shrivelled snake skin. Wincing, he gave the thing a quick shake, dropped it and nudged it across the carpet delicately with one of his big toes. Looking up at Evie, he grabbed his boxer shorts and pulled them on.

  “I don’t think this was worth it, girl.”

  Evie checked photographs on the phone, looking for the juiciest shots. “Quit complaining, Ray. They’ve got us by the short hairs. Let’s just get it done. I wanna get on with my life.”

  “You really think they’ll let us go after this?”

  Evie looked up from the screen.

  “I don’t know… Maybe… Oh, who knows?”

  “We should run.”

  “And go where?”

  “I dunno, but it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve upped sticks.”

  “Might be the last, though.”

  Ray pulled on his jeans. “You’re giving them too much credit, girl.”

  “No. Just giving them their due. They’re not idiots.”

  Ray arched his eyebrow.

  “Okay, the big lad’s a fuckin’ moron, but the other guy, Eric – he’s smart enough to have us running around like a pair of twats.”

  Ray pulled on his T-shirt and stood up. “You got their number?”

  She shook her head. “No. They told me to call a guy called Kandinsky, Mark I think.”

  “And then?”

  She shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. For now, we just keep drugging this fat bastard for the next 36 hours.”

  8.

  Eric looked in the trunk of the car and sighed. Apart from a spare tire and a scattering of oily tools there was nothing inside. A quick search of the interior revealed nothing more valuable than some change, a tiny packet of white powder in the glove box and a couple of porno mags on the back seat. He flicked through the magazines and threw them back.

  Mark watched him in silence, but he wore his best I told you so expression.

  “You can wipe that smug look off your face,” Eric said.

  “Nothing smug about it,” he replied. “More a look of concern.”

  “Concern?”

  “D’you really think he was gonna g
ive it up just like that?”

  “No, but I thought his Won Ton hand would give him pause for thought.”

  “Greed always wins.”

  “Oh, how wise you are,” Eric said. “Where’d you learn that? A fuckin’ fortune cookie?”

  Mark smiled. “Nah, old episode of Kung-Fu.”

  “How did Grasshopper handle it?”

  “Like he always handles it – by fuckin’ the bad guys up.”

  “Then I guess we better make like Grasshopper and jump to it.”

  -------

  When they got back to the shop, Terry, Joe and Mikey were pleading through the locked storeroom door – asking Al and Derek to set them free, asking them to name their price. Al stood behind the counter, gnawing his fingernails, and flinched every time he heard Terry’s voice, whilst the big lad sat at the table eating a Parmo and chips. Every now and again he smacked his lips and murmured his approval at Al. When he realised he was being watched he looked up from his meal and waved a small wooden fork in greeting.

  “As the Spanish would say, aloha.”

  “It’s hola, you fuckin idiot.”

  Derek scowled, muttered something under his breath and went back to his food.

  “Look, Al,” Terry shouted, his voice panicky. “I’ll pay for your lad to get his hand sorted; you know, prosthesis and all that shite, fuckin’ physio and stuff. Name your price, mate.” When Al didn’t answer, Terry’s voice grew fierce. “Swear down, you bony fuckin’ cunt, you better open this door now or I’m gonna cut off your tiny cock and turn it into tempura fuckin’ shrimp. And I’m gonna make you eat it.”

  Mark knocked on the door of the storeroom. Terry said Al’s name then fell silent.

  “You lied to us,” Mark said quietly. “So now the big lad’s gonna fry your left.”

  “Look…”

  “Can’t be bothered to look… instead I’m gonna let him work all three of you over and then he’s gonna fry the lotta youse.”

  Derek pushed his food away and stood up. After some rummaging he put steel knuckles on his right fist. “Open the door, mate,” he said, grinning. “This is gonna be fun.”

  The three men inside the storeroom began hissing at such speed it was impossible to make out the words. As the argument progressed the sibilance got louder, until they sounded like a roomful of punctured truck tires. Finally, Joe screamed, “Fuck this, Tel… No, fuck this… I’m not getting turned into a cripple for fifty large. It’s with Dave Bellman.”

  Terry shrieked and told him to shut up.

  Mark looked at the two brothers. “Who?”

  “Dave fuckin’ Bellman, didn’t ya’ fuckin’ hear the first time?”

  “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  Eric chuckled. “He’s a dealer over near Brambles. Lives in one of the high-rises. You’ll know him.”

  Mark pulled a face, non-plussed.

  “AKA Bell End.”

  “Oh, that clown? Looks like a fat Eminem, right?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “What’s it doing with him?”

  “Tel thought he was being followed yesterday,” Joe said. “Was thinking earlier that he were probably being paranoid, but now I know different, don’t I?”

  Eric shook his head and gave his brother the evil eye. “I said you were driving too close.”

  Derek huffed and waved his arm. “Didn’t see you offering to tail him, like.”

  “I would’ve if you’d let me take the wheel once in a while.”

  “Because you drive like a granny.”

  Derek mumbled something inaudible and walked away.

  Mark leaned in and tapped the door with his knuckles.

  “Assuming the money’s where you say it is we won’t be back and Al will open the door fifteen minutes after we’ve got the cash. If you’re lying, we’re coming back, and all three of you are going in the fryer – you savvy?”

  They savvied.

  “Al, you’re closed for business tonight. You open those doors to anybody and you’re getting deep-fried too. You get me?”

  Al gave him a nervous smile, nodded quickly and said, “Yeah. I get you.”

  “Good. And that cupboard stays closed until we call you.”

  9.

  Mark flicked through the images on Evie’s phone. A close up of Ray’s cock in Tommo’s arse; Ray sucking off Tommo whilst cupping his balls – the scene artfully posed to make it look like he was a willing participant; various other explicit shots; video footage of Ray pounding Tommo, with sufficient grunting to make it sound like they were both at it. There was enough on this phone to ruin Tommo’s reputation as a hard-man forever, more than enough to make him compliant.

  “Nice footage,” he said.

  Evie blew smoke in Mark’s face. “Only the best for you, sweetie.”

  Mark looked at the cigarette. “You ever take that thing out of your gob?”

  “Only when I’m blowing,” she said.

  Ray giggled.

  Mark gave him a look that cut the giggles dead. He plucked the cigarette out of Evie’s mouth and dropped it to the floor, grinding it into the carpet under the sole of his shoe. A final wisp of smoke passed between Evie and Mark’s face as the last embers were extinguished. When she tried to say something, Mark put a finger to her lips.

  “It’s a pretty mouth, love. Don’t ruin it.”

  Evie pulled back towards Ray and gave Mark a look with ice in it.

  “You’d hit a girl?”

  “I wouldn’t have to. The bull-dykes in prison’d do it for me. They’d give you the fist, love, but not to the face, if you catch my drift. All it takes is one phone call.”

  “We’ve done what you wanted,” Ray said. “We’ve been holding this prick for over thirty-six hours. You know how difficult that’s been?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Well, we did what you asked, so lay off.”

  “That may be so, but I don’t like the lip that comes with the service.”

  “We are what we are.”

  Mark smiled. “Yeah, rapists.”

  Before Ray had a chance to interrupt, he added: “Rapists who use shame to coerce their victims into giving up their money. After all, no straight bloke in a town like this wants people to think he’s gay, especially when he isn’t, or, even worse, that a fairy bested him, so he gives you cash to make it all go away. Nice little racket you had going. Unlucky for you that the Stantons caught you in the act.”

  Evie and Ray studied the patterns on the rug, looking like sullen teenagers who’d just been caught by their parents. They didn’t raise their eyes even when Mark came in close. “Nice and quiet. I prefer it that way. Got no time for your bullshit,” he said, returning his attention to the phone screen.

  Mark flicked through the rest of the photographs, taking his time about it, making the two blackmailers suffer. Evie shuffled impatiently, scuffing the soles of her shoes along the carpet. Each papery scrape along the shagpile made him look up from the phone. Finally, Mark got sick of it and stopped completely. He looked at her feet. They stopped moving. His gaze wandered up her legs, taking its sweet time, lingered over the swell of her chest and finally settled on her eyes, which were no longer green but blue. Her green contacts were in solution on one of the bookshelves.

  “Got something you wanna say?”

  “The Stantons.”

  “What about them?”

  “Once this is done, are they gonna delete what they have on us?”

  “Take it up with them.”

  Evie pushed her chin out. “I’m taking it up with you.”

  “I’m not their fuckin’ keeper.”

  “But maybe they’re yours?”

  Mark blinked and his eyes hardened. His jaw muscles flexed, jumped, and his lips tightened until they became a puckered line. Evie and Ray recoiled when they saw his expression, terrified.

  “Let’s get something clear, cunts. I don’t have keepers, owners, bosses or otherwise. I’m a sole fuckin�
� trader, love, and a nasty one at that. Compared with me, the Stantons are a pair of fuckin’ sweethearts. You two get in their way and they’ll hurt you, maybe even cripple you. You two get in my way and I’ll fuckin’ kill you. Then I’ll bury you so deep nothing but the worms will ever find you. Nod if you understand.”

  They bobbed their heads jerkily, mouths buttoned tight.

  “Whatever the Stantons have on you is their business,” Mark said. “But I’ll tell them you delivered at your end. You played square. To the best of my knowledge those lads play a square game, too. If they promised you they’ll get rid of whatever it is they have on you, chances are they’ll go through with it.”

  Evie and Ray both sighed softly, the colour returning to their faces.

  Mark put the mobile phone in his pocket and looked over at Tommo, who was in his clothes again. “Now I need to get this fat fucker to my car.”

  He moved to the sofa and grabbed the man’s arms. He paused for a few seconds, huffed and looked up at Ray. “It’s a two man job, Raymond, ‘cause this tit isn’t gonna move himself.”

  10.

  The three men stood at the front entrance of a high-rise flat block and looked around the area out of habit, making sure that they were alone. The place was deserted, though somewhere in the distance a couple screamed hate at each other. Another voice emerged out of the night and told them to shut the fuck up. They did for all of five seconds, then started up again and louder than before.

  Derek walked up to the front entrance of the block and ran his finger up and down the intercom system, setting off all the door buzzers at the same time. Most residents ignored them, although there was the odd nervous or brusque hello from a couple of people, but somebody unlocked the front door without bothering to check who was calling, probably because they were waiting for a dealer.

  The men walked inside. The lobby was well lighted and warm, but a sign on the elevator door told them, in badly written English, that the lift was out of order. Mark sighed and said fucking typical. They took the stairs to the first floor two at a time, ran the stairs to the second floor one at a time, walked the stairs to the third and by the time they hit the fifth they were staggering and stumbling.