by Jake Cross
Brad said: ‘Calm down, Mick. Cops chased them away. I was already in the house. Saw them leg it. Went in and got the wife.’ He shook Katie, just to emphasise his point.
‘Glad you made it,’ Mick said, and again there was doubt in his voice.
But any growing feeling Karl might have had about a broken bond between the two men was dispelled when Brad said: ‘So why don’t you have a feel of this one, Mick.’
‘Don’t fucking touch her,’ Karl shouted.
Mick just laughed. And the gun shifted to one side. Karl’s side.
Mick thought for a moment and then said: ‘Give that bitch here.’
Brad took a step forward and thrust Katie towards Mick, who put his hand out to receive her. Karl closed his eyes.
Eighty-Nine
Katie
Katie had struggled under her attacker and watched the second intruder move forward to grab her. Only he hadn’t.
Instead he’d grabbed the guy on top of her and yanked him back, and down they’d both gone. Katie heard grunting, thudding, and felt the two men banging into her legs as they rolled and wrestled. She’d lain still, in the dark, unable to move, listening, until finally the noises had stopped and a single human shape had risen and stood before her. There’d been enough light coming through the curtains to allow him to see all her nakedness, but she still hadn’t moved. Couldn’t. Not even a hand to cover herself.
‘Get dressed and come with me,’ the guy had said. The new guy. The one who, thus far, had acted as if he was on her side.
He’d turned on the light, and she’d seen that he was wearing a balaclava, same as his colleague, but normal clothes, not a boiler suit. She’d sat up and pulled the blanket around her, and that was when she’d seen the boiler suit guy on her bedroom carpet, eyes wide, blonde hair a mess, blood running from his nose. Dead. She could see these things because he no longer wore a balaclava. The guy standing before her must have taken it from him so she wouldn’t see his face. She’d thought it was a good sign: wasn’t that what they did in the films, covered their faces if they planned on leaving a captive alive?
‘Come with me and you’ll be safe,’ he’d told her, backing off to the doorway, as if to reassure her.
When she hadn’t moved, he’d taken a step closer, and she’d shifted backwards on the bed, and that had made him stop. It had been clear to her, then, that he hadn’t wanted to scare her.
He’d stripped off the balaclava, tossed it down. Fear had welled up for a second, but he’d been no one she recognised: a soft face, feminine, although he had three long scratch wounds on his forehead. A face she’d thought she could… trust.
‘Who are you?’
‘Just get dressed. I’ll help you and your husband. Call the cops and I can’t do that, and they won’t find him, at least not alive. You have a choice. Call them or come with me.’ He’d pointed at the bedside phone, but she hadn’t moved. Then he’d backed out of the doorway and shut the door. She’d scrambled for the phone.
But she hadn’t made the call. She’d thought about what he had said, and about the rogue policeman who had tried to abduct Karl. Other policemen could be involved. This strange man had saved her, but who was he? Some kind of friend, of course, and someone who knew all about what had been going on. Someone who claimed he could take her to him, help them both.
Against her better judgement, she’d moved away from the phone, thrown on clothing, one ear on the door, half-expecting him to burst in, all of it some joke. But the door had stayed shut.
She’d opened the door slowly once dressed, and he’d been there, sitting on the top stair. Just waiting, either for her or the cops. He’d stood, gone down the stairs without a word.
She’d followed, even though her fear radar had been screaming. When she’d got to the top of the stairs and looked down, he’d been there, at the bottom, waiting again. And then he’d moved away.
At the living room doorway, she’d peered round. If this was all some trick, she figured, there would be a surprise for her here, in the living room. But there hadn’t been. Just the guy, standing at the kitchen door and waiting for her. He’d vanished again as soon as he’d seen her.
He'd been waiting at the open back door. Moonlight soaked his shoulders and head, but his face had been in shadow. Again, he'd vanished the moment she saw him. She was being led like some dumb animal, she’d realised. No, she’d told herself, he was keeping his distance, that was all.
It had happened again. He’d been at the open back gate just long enough to confirm that she had appeared at the door. When she’d reached the gate, she’d looked out and seen him at the end of the driveway. She’d been reminded of chasing a rainbow as a kid, riding her bike towards the giant arc of colour but never getting any closer.
She’d felt better, then, because she was out where people could see. In fact, there’d been a guy with a dog on the other side of the road, just ambling past. She could have called for help. But she hadn’t. Some part of her hadn’t wanted to because she trusted the soft-faced man.
When the dog-walker had disappeared behind a white van, she’d seen the stranger inside the vehicle, waiting. She’d gone to it, opened the passenger door and, shocking herself even after coming this far, got inside. As she’d climbed in, she’d seen another guy in the back, slumped on the floor between two armchairs. Dead. It hadn’t shocked her but reinforced her belief that the man was there to help. He had killed two men in order to save her, for a reason she didn’t yet know.
‘Where’s Karl?’ she’d asked.
Brad had started the engine. He’d known this would have been the point where she would have flown if she’d finally decided to. But she’d just sat there, with no clue that he wasn’t taking her to her husband.
‘I don’t know for sure,’ he’d said. ‘But I promise I’m here to help you.’ He’d handed her a knife. She’d looked at it. She was supposed to have taken it, to know that he’d been offering it as a weapon against him if he’d tried anything. The gesture had seemed to have been enough, though, because she’d shaken her head.
He’d pulled away from the kerb slowly, had given her the option to leap out if she’d suddenly decided she wanted no part of this. She’d stayed in her seat, staring ahead through the windscreen. Doubting herself. Twenty seconds later they’d got up to forty and away from the estate, and Brad had shifted his mind from the woman. She would have baulked by now if planning to, so he had her trust. He’d emptied his mind, because he’d known he could not plan his next move until he’d found out for sure about Dave. He hadn’t spoken, and the woman beside him hadn’t either, and they’d driven like that, like a married couple comfortable with silence.
If he’d been on the fence about Mick’s traitorous intentions tonight, all doubt had vanished when he’d turned onto Dave’s street and seen flashing blue lights. Two police cars and an ambulance. It could have been down to a pair of neighbours having a violent confrontation, but he’d known it hadn’t been. Dave. Something had happened to Dave. No, Mick. Mick had happened to Dave.
He’d turned the van and got the hell out of there before the cops could have seen him. His mind somersaulted. Mick had finally derailed. His plan tonight had been to go out with a bang, regardless of the damage, then escape. Gold and Seabury and Grafton’s wife were his enemies and had had to be put down, Brad got that. Brad and Dave had information that could have sunk him, so Brad understood Mick’s motivation there, too. Seabury’s wife, though… unnecessary. A step too far. Enough to change things. Brad had never intended to take the woman to her husband at all. His plan had been to dump her at a cop shop. Then, though, he’d said: ‘I need your help. I’ll take you to your husband, but there will be another man there. I need you to play along with me, if you can. I know you’re pregnant, but I need something from you. It will be hard, but it’s the only way. Let me explain…’
Ninety
Mick
She stumbled forward, unable to stop, and Mick didn’t expect her
momentum, which amplified her weight. Unprepared for such a heavy impact from a petite woman, he lost his feet. He hit the floor hard, with the woman on top of him.
‘Run,’ he heard Brad shout.
Catlike, he slipped from under the woman even before her full weight had landed on him. He tried to stand, and took someone’s knee right in the face. He fell back, crashing into the bookcase beside the fireplace, and raised the gun and his eyes at the same time. Brad was right there, moving in, a knife in his hand, but the gun changed whatever plan he had and he darted aside as Mick fired.
It gave Mick space. He lunged forward, grabbed Brad around the waist and lifted him up. But Brad crunched his abdominals as his torso went over Mick’s shoulder, forcing himself forward fast. Unprepared for the manoeuvre, Mick toppled backwards, falling into the bookcase again, crushing Brad into it.
Mick scrambled away as Brad fell to the ground, and this time it was Mick’s knee and Brad’s skull that collided. Brad thumped back against the bookcase, and Mick leaned in, grabbed his hair. The pistol was right there on the carpet, so Mick snatched it up with his free hand and swung it, and his head, towards the far wall where his captives were.
‘Don’t mo—’ That was all he got out before he realised he was aiming at nothing. Seabury, Seabury’s bitch wife, and Grafton’s bitch wife – had seized the moment and darted away like terrified cats.
‘Again!’ Mick yelled in anger. They had got away yet again, but this time because of his damn dallying about. He yanked on Brad’s head, toppling him from his sitting position, dragged him a few feet, and thrust his head into the open fire. Coal jumped and sparked and fell out onto the granite hearth. As he leaped away, screaming in pain, Brad’s arm cast over an ornate metal urn holding pokers, spilling them onto the carpet.
Mick stepped back as Brad yelped and clutched his face.
‘This, Brad, this? After what I did for you?’
‘This, Mick, this!’ Brad yelled back. He swiped at a burning piece of coal on the hearth with his fingers, sending it flying. It went nowhere near Mick. ‘After you tried to have me killed. Did you forget?’
Mick had no response to that.
‘Dave I could understand, if I had your fucked head.’ Brad swiped another dislodged piece of coal. Mick had to jump aside to avoid this one. Brad sat up. ‘But I was with you all the way, Mick. You had no reason to think I’d run out on you.’
‘Got no reason to think I’ll crash on the way home, Brad, but I’m still gonna wear a seatb—’
Brad made to sweep another piece of coal, and Mick reacted by stepping back. Instead Brad grabbed a poker from the spilled urn and launched it. Mick lifted a defensive hand and turned his head, but the poker clipped his busted ear. He yelped, staggered back, brought the gun up but by then Brad was up and moving forward, powering into Mick’s legs, driving both men across the room.
Mick pivoted, using Brad’s momentum to swing him hard against the wall, hip first. Brad’s grip failed, and he collapsed to the carpet, clutching his hip. Mick stepped back, slotted his gun away and snatched up the poker. He cracked it hard against the hand laid on Brad’s hip, lacerating the flesh. Brad yelped and clutched the bleeding limb to his chest.
‘You’d be long dead in a prison graveyard if not for me, Brad. So, you’ve got no right to moan that the gift bag is empty.’
‘And you’d still need to burn the whole world if not for me.’
That made Mick pause, and Brad saw his chance to crawl towards the doorway in desperate hope. Mick followed him. His eyes sought the next spot to pulverise, decided on the right shoulder so that both arms would be hurt. Brad screamed, but continued to crawl. Out the door, and towards the front doorway. Mick followed.
Brad was halfway across the threshold, halfway into the big wide world, when he raised himself onto his knees. It wouldn’t be long before the guy could stand again, and run, so Mick attacked him with a blow across the lower spine. But Brad didn’t drop, so Mick helped by kicking him in the ass. Brad sprawled forward onto his belly on the tarmac.
‘I won’t ever forget!’ Mick bellowed. No matter how fast they had run, they’d hear his threat and believe it. He would never forget, and he would never stop, and there would be no place to hide for them ever again. He would emerge from the woodwork when they least expected it.
He raised the poker for another shot, this time a finisher, on the skull. Mick laughed as Brad covered his head with his hands and unleashed a roar of fear.
Only it wasn’t a roar, Mick realised. It was the growing sound of an engine. And by the time he had worked this out – half a second after hearing it – it was too late. The speeding van was almost upon him. He jumped back into the doorway a second before the van hit the frame with a thunderous boom and crunch of glass.
Frozen in place, chest heaving, gun raised, and just inches from the crumpled front of the van, Mick laughed as he realised he had been here before. But this time something was different. This time he was facing no wall of metal.
This time his gun was pointed directly, undeniably, at the guy sitting shocked behind the steering wheel.
‘This time I see you,’ he said, and fired. Four shots. The guy in the van thumped back in his seat four times, and then slumped forward, dead.
Ninety-One
Karl
They were hiding behind the solicitor’s car, still in the danger zone, but it was the only hiding place unless they wanted to risk running along the street. Katie had been up for that, but both Liz and Karl chose the car when they saw Danny’s van, headlights off, cut a sharp and fast curve into the car park. Liz had raised a hand to get his attention, but then Danny had hit the gas, and they could see why: Brad had exited the building with Mick right behind him. Karl had watched with a strange sense of déjà vu as the van slammed hard into the doorway. This time, faster, the van had suffered. There was a great bang, the windscreen blew out, and the entire front of the vehicle crumpled like tinfoil.
‘Danny!’ Liz cried out when they heard the gunshots.
She tried to rise and run, but this time Karl possessed the anchoring hand. She fought against his grip, but he refused to release her. Katie was crying, asking under her breath, over and over, what was going on.
Then they saw the back doors of the van burst open and Mick was there, holding the gun, aiming out at nothing. He must have climbed inside through the busted windscreen, and smashed his way through the partition between cabin and cargo area.
‘One more down and here I come for the rest of you,’ Mick screamed into the night, like an over-eager kid playing hide-and-seek.
He jumped down and started running right towards them, but surely he couldn’t know where they were hiding?
A moment before they got up and fled in panic, Mick fell. He’d only managed one step, and then he was down, hard. They heard it. They saw his face hit the ground, saw blood from his nose spray across the dark tarmac. Heard his gun scrape across the ground.
Then they saw a hand clutching one of Mick’s feet.
Brad was suddenly on Mick’s legs, climbing, pulling himself out from under the back of the van. Somehow the entire vehicle had missed him when Danny’s van hit the doorway, just like before. Mick tried to turn, but then Brad was astride him, mounting him, and raining down hammer-drill fists. Mick fell away and lay limp, but Brad’s fists continued to rise and fall.
Eventually Brad rolled off and crawled to the dropped gun. Both men stood at the same time. Eight feet separated them. Mick’s legs were wobbly, and he was covered in blood.
Liz struggled again and this time slipped Karl’s anchor.
‘Shoot him!’ she screamed. She stumbled out from behind the car. ‘Shoot him!’
Brad made the mistake of turning to look at her, and that could have been it. Eight feet, one second to close that distance. Game over.
Instead, Mick turned and ran. He was injured, though, and his gait was a messy stumble. But it did its job: distance grew between him and the gun.
Brad took a step forward, meaning to pursue, but his leg gave out because of his injured hip and he went down onto one knee, his free hand clutching at his lower spine. The gun continued to track Mick as he stumbled away into the dark. But the gun did not fire.
‘Shoot him!’ Liz rushed to Brad and tried to grab the gun, but he swatted her away. The gun continued to aim at Mick’s back, but the gap between him and the bullet kept growing.
Karl emerged from behind the car and went to Liz, and Katie followed. Six feet behind Brad, they watched the gun and, beyond it, Mick’s staggering form, a trick of perspective making the weapon and the man look the same size.
‘Shoot that bastard!’ Liz screamed.
But the gun did not fire. Beyond it, Mick’s shape shrank, and the darkness closed around him, until there was nothing to watch except the inactive gun.
Which continued to stare its single eye at nothing.
* * *
Violent enforcer, gun in hand, but no longer a threat. They approached him cautiously.
At first, there was a conflict of realities as Brad pointed his gun at them, yet said he was not here to cause any more hurt. Eventually he lowered the gun, although he refused to drop it. He then sat on the kerb and lowered his head. Ready to talk, because he had waited for them.
He’d waited while they had rushed to Danny’s van. Liz wanted to remove his body from the van, but it was obvious to Karl it was a no-go: the mechanism designed to extract the chair from the van had been twisted when the vehicle hit the house. Liz tugged at his chair, but failure only increased her woe, and Karl stepped in to pull her away.
‘This is no place to leave him,’ she cried, but she didn’t again try to heave her friend free. She ordered Karl to fetch a cover, and he found a jacket of Danny’s in the back. He stepped up to lay it over Danny, but she snatched it in order to perform the task herself. She kissed Danny’s cheek, and closed his eyes, just like in the films. She lay the jacket over him, rested her head on his leg and waved Karl away. She wanted to say her goodbyes. He gave her time. When she walked away a few minutes later, she went straight towards Brad.