Mason Black (The Complete Collection): 6 Gripping Crime Stories: The Complete Collection + BONUS Story

by Adam Nicholls

  Mason kept quiet, but nodded.

  ‘Then think about that, okay?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Jane sat at Mason’s desk, adjusting his chair and seeing if the shoe fit. As she typed imaginary words on the keyboard in front of her, she let out a long, slow breath. ‘All right, let’s just catch this asshole, and then you can do whatever you like.’

  33

  Mason and Jane were at it early, sitting at the station and constantly making calls. It was usually the most useless part of the job – checking up on sightings of Anarchy, most of which would turn out to be false… but not this one.

  Standing fast and snatching her coat, Jane waved over to Mason. ‘We might have a lead. I just spoke to a woman who swears up and down that she saw Clay walk past her.’

  ‘What makes you so sure it’s not a hoax?’

  ‘Because he was pushing a wheelchair with a dark-skinned woman in it.’

  Mason’s pulse quickened as they hurried to the car. They took the black GT Mustang. Mason drove while Jane used her phone to call out directions. When they arrived at the run-down neighbourhood, where cars had been scrapped and dirt blew across the barren yards, they got out and approached the house.

  A short, black woman with white hair and a terrible case of the shakes opened the door to them. ‘Come on in,’ she said, disappearing into the damp-smelling house. ‘I would make you coffee but I don’t have any. Let me just…’

  ‘Take your time,’ Mason said calmly.

  They bided their time in the unfurnished living room for a couple of minutes, waiting for the old lady to return. When she did, she handed over a small pouch full of photographs. ‘It was lucky I had my camera with me. Most people use cell phones these days, I know, but I never had much need for one.’

  ‘You took photos of what you saw?’ Jane asked, leaning over Mason.

  But Mason sifted through them too quickly. He wasn’t sure if it was useful or not, but it was definitely Andrew Clay, with Diane in the chair. ‘Where were these taken, miss? Did you happen to see where they went?’

  The lady nodded. ‘Keep looking.’

  With his shaking hands, Mason flipped through each photo. There must have been more than twenty, each having been taken within a few seconds of each other. It seemed then that there was a pause between shots, but then a final photo of Clay entering a building.

  ‘What is this place?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s a hotel over on Burnley,’ the woman said. ‘The Duchess, it’s called.’

  Mason closed the pouch quickly and held it up. ‘May we keep these?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thank you for your time,’ Jane said.

  They rushed back to the car. Jane was barely inside when Mason roared the engine to life and began to speed off. If Clay had really gone into that hotel, there was a chance that he was still there.

  ‘Hurry,’ Jane said.

  But Mason’s foot was already pushed flat on the accelerator.

  34

  Andrew Clay took the trolley from the room service attendant and closed the door on him. He hadn’t eaten in hours, and he was famished. It wasn’t like he had to pay for it, either – Diane Palmer’s credit card had taken good care of him and his hunger. For everything.

  Well-cooked chicken leg in one hand, Clay walked to the bedroom. It was – to say the least – a beautiful suite, the elegant furniture tasteful and expensive. Everything was finely hand-carved with oak, and the sheets were made of the finest Egyptian cotton.

  It would be such a shame to get blood on them.

  ‘You hungry?’ he asked, holding the chicken out toward Diane, who lay on the bed holding her wound. It was the first time he had seen her completely awake since driving a knife into her, but she seemed to understand what was happening to her. ‘Because if you are, you can fucking starve to death, I don’t care.’

  Diane had only been semi-conscious for most of the journey. Getting her into the car without alerting anyone had been easy – the sedatives had seen to that. However, the journey from the car to the hotel room had been more of a challenge… although his knuckles had kept her dozing.

  ‘You know, you’re a beautiful woman,’ Clay told her, tossing the gnawed chicken leg to one side. ‘Any other time, I might have taken this opportunity to have a little fun. But now… Ugh. Look at you, all covered in blood and tears. It’s repulsive.’

  Diane moaned as she shifted. It must have been difficult for her to talk, given how she had only just come to, and the stitches in her back had torn wide open to expose a deadly red.

  ‘You’re not going to speak, are you?’

  Silence.

  Clay returned to the trolley, wheeled it into the bedroom and sat beside her. Slowly, he took a napkin and tucked it into his collar. There was a large array of delicious food resting underneath silver domes; everything from French toast to shitake mushrooms. ‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘All you need to do is stay here, just long enough for that boyfriend of yours to come running.’

  Diane’s eyes widened then, and she moved so quickly it made her wince. ‘What are you going to do? You… you bastard.’

  ‘Hehe.’ Clay picked up a spiced sausage and nibbled on the end of it, trying to contain his laughter. ‘This isn’t a James Bond movie, babe. I’m not going to reveal my secret plan to you. All you need to know is that as soon as Mason gets here, he’s gonna get what’s coming to him.’

  35

  They entered the hotel with caution. Mason gawked at the soaring hand-painted ceilings and marble floors – a five-star resort if he had to take a guess. His jaw dropped on the floor even until they reached the front desk.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asked the young and stunning front desk attendant.

  Jane dove straight in, assuming control. ‘Detective Phillips from the LA… SFPD. We’re here to track a suspect who may have rented a room here. Can I run a name by you?’

  The clerk looked shaken, surprised, but maintained professional courtesy. ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Try Andrew Clay.’

  Mason shook his head. ‘He would never use his real name. Try…’ Now that he thought of it, he had no idea. ‘Could we perhaps look at the list of people who have checked in since this time yesterday?’

  The monitor rotated and they faced a black screen with a column of names – surname first, and then the forename. But only one caught his eye. ‘There.’ He pointed at the illuminated name of Diane Palmer.

  ‘Miss Palmer checked in last night,’ said the clerk, turning the screen back toward her. Her caregiver was the one who checked in, using her credit card. They’ve secured every room on the top floor.’

  Mason stood back, amazed. ‘How?’

  ‘Miss Palmer paid by credit card.’

  ‘Her own?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Jane pulled him to one side. ‘If he’s booked every room, then he’s probably got something up his sleeve. I’m going to call for backup. Can you get to work on emptying the hotel, securing the exits? The last thing we need is a hostage crisis.’

  ‘There already is a hostage crisis,’ Mason reminded her. ‘Son of a bitch has my woman.’

  ‘Stay focused.’

  It took a little under an hour to clear the hotel, escorting panicked and upset guests from their rooms and out onto the street. SFPD turned up with reinforcements from the FBI, and Clay must have seen it from the window of his room… one of them, anyway.

  The entire hotel was on lockdown, and everything was secure.

  Everything, save for Diane.

  Mason took to the stairs, ordering Jane to keep out of the way. As much as she refused to do it, he reminded her that he needed somebody he could trust on the ground. Detective Bill Harvey was outside too, but he looked to have his hands full with the irritated guests.

  Leaping up the stairs of the empty hotel, Mason reached the top floor with his gun drawn. Although he expected some kind of commotion – a shootout, perhaps – he hadn’t
counted on coming face-to-face with Andrew Clay so soon.

  Clay stood in the doorway of the first room on the right, but he didn’t look displeased to have been spotted. In fact, it appeared planned, organised. Like he was supposed to be there, interested to see what would happen.

  ‘Detective!’ he cried with much excitement. ‘Come on in. We have things to discuss.’

  Mason stared down at Clay’s hands, spotting the gun immediately.

  It was just him and Clay – Detective Mason Black, following Anarchy into a hotel suite, with absolutely no idea of what to expect.

  36

  Mason was caught off guard when he entered the room. He thought that Diane might be inside, or there could be some kind of game set up, like the last time Anarchy had terrorised San Francisco. But there was none of that. There was only Andrew Clay, pointing a pistol at his stomach.

  ‘Drop the gun,’ Clay said.

  There was no other choice. Mason let the metal hit the floorboard, and kicked it to the side of the dark room. Instinctually, he raised his hands and sat on the chair, where Clay’s waving gun encouraged him to go.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘Now,’ said Clay, sitting across from him but keeping the gun steady, ‘we’re going to talk like two respectable adults. I think it’s about time.’

  ‘Respectable? You’ve lost it.’

  ‘There’s really no need for insults.’

  ‘Where’s Diane?’ Mason snapped.

  ‘I’ll take you to her soon enough, and then you will have some choices to make. Big choices. Life-altering choices, really.’ Clay lowered his eyes for only a second. ‘It’s funny. I used to respect you. To some extent, I still do. The way you handle things is admirable.’

  ‘Then why–’

  ‘Oh, you know why. At first I was simply testing you. But then when you shot me, you made it personal. Have you ever been shot before?’

  Mason had been shot a couple of times in his life, but he didn’t want to give Clay the illusion that he was interested in this condescension. There was only one thing he wanted – the gun in his hand so he could kill this sick bastard.

  ‘Ah, you probably have. I’ve noticed you have a tendency to dive head-first into action. In your line of work, that’s got to earn a gunshot wound or two. Am I right?’

  ‘Could be.’ Mason shot a glance at the open doorway behind Clay. He wondered if Diane might be in there, but doubted that this guy would be so stupid as to leave her out in the open. On the other hand, Clay was nothing if not full of surprises. ‘I’m ready to see Diane now.’

  Clay laughed. ‘But I’m not finished with you yet. Patience is a virtue.’

  ‘Do what you want, but get Diane to safety first, yeah?’

  ‘There it is again. The pathetic good-guy routine.’ Clay sighed and raised the gun, pointing it right between Mason’s eyes. ‘That’s what always angered me about you, detective. No matter how close you are to dying, you have to make some stupid-ass comment about someone else’s safety.’

  Mason saw the gun rise even higher, and began to think that it was simply another threat. But when he studied Clay’s finger and saw it tighten around the trigger, something inside him froze. It was over now. Everything he had ever worked for – everything he had planned to make his family happy – it was all gone. Now there was just–

  A crash.

  The door smashed open, and Detective Jane Phillips burst into the room. She went straight to one knee, and opened fire on Clay.

  Mason dove to the floor and crawled over to his gun. If a stray bullet snagged him then his chances of getting Diane out of here would be slim to none, and he needed to avoid that at all costs.

  He reached his Beretta, turning just quick enough to see a shadow leave the room.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ Clay said, his voice quiet among the rushed footsteps in the next room.

  Mason climbed to his feet and grabbed Jane’s shoulders. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Saving your ass!’

  Sweating now, Mason glanced over his shoulder, incredulous as Clay fired two more shots to ward them off. ‘Find Diane and get her out of here. I’m going to end this.’

  37

  The door revealed a narrow set of stairs, which bled out onto an expansive rooftop. The wind slammed the door behind Mason, leaving him and Clay – Mason Black and Anarchy – each aiming a gun at the other.

  ‘I want you to take a look at something, detective.’ Clay stepped back toward the edge of the building. For a moment it looked like he was going to throw himself off, and that would have saved Mason a lot of trouble… but his revenge would have been stolen from him. And that revenge felt inevitable. Imperative. But instead, Clay pointed toward a rooftop on the opposite side of the street, where a large group of cameramen and reporters were gathered. ‘I called them here to witness this.’

  ‘You planned this?’ Mason felt watched, threatened.

  ‘Actually, we weren’t supposed to be on the roof until your girlfriend died, but sometimes you have to adapt to survive. Look, I want to let you know what your options are.’ Mason couldn’t believe what he did next – Clay tossed his gun off the side of the roof, and raised his hands over his head in surrender.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  ‘I’m giving you choices. Are you ready?’

  Mason gripped the gun tighter, watching closely, waiting for him to reveal a hidden weapon. All eyes were on them, and he wondered if this was airing on national television. ‘What do you want?’

  Clay grinned a sneer of pure evil straight into the afternoon sunlight. ‘I want you to kill me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me. I’m going to throw myself off this roof, detective. All you can do to stop me is to shoot me before I fall. But then, of course, the whole world will see that you shot an unarmed man.’

  Mason searched for a witty remark, but came back with nothing more than a grunt. He felt it all slipping away.

  ‘You could let me fall, of course, but where would be the sweet taste of revenge? Allow me to remind you of what I’ve done; burning up that school was fun, and trying to frame you for those murders was one thing. But the noise your girlfriend made when I stabbed her in the back.’ Clay kissed his fingertips, like he had created a perfect meal. ‘Beautiful.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘I didn’t even realise she was pregnant until afterward! Such a shame. Do you think the baby saw the knife in her stomach, huh? Do you think it felt the blade graze its cheek?’ Clay uttered a short, mocking laugh. ‘Imagine that, a baby being born with a battle scar.’

  Mason stepped forward, training the gun on him and grinding his teeth. ‘I said shut up!’

  ‘There’s only one way to shut me up, detective. Now what’s it to be?’

  It took everything he had not put an entire clip of bullets in his head. Mason longed for revenge and would give anything to take it. Maybe the courts would go easy on him, if only they understood his situation. Mason might go to jail but at least Diane would be safe.

  That thought only began to cross his mind, when he found himself squeezing the trigger. It was time for Anarchy to die, and for Mason to get the vengeance he had longed for.

  38

  The moment Mason left the room, Jane ran back to the hallway.

  She could be in any one of these rooms.

  Jane had read the reports. She’d seen the news. She knew exactly what Anarchy was like, and that any number of traps could be set up for her within these rooms as she searched for Diane. All she could do was watch her step, taking every corner with her gun raised and her breath held.

  It wasn’t until she got to the fourth hotel room that she saw her.

  On the bed, a dark-skinned woman lay with blood covering her stomach. She was barely conscious, wheezing and groaning, wobbling as she struggled to remain upright. It must be her, Jane thought, and could picture her with Mason.

  Sliding her gun back into its holster, Ja
ne grabbed the radio from her belt and rushed forward, shouting into it. ‘This is Detective Jane Phillips, requesting medical on the penthouse, room 114. Repeat, requesting medical to room 114. Hurry!’

  It was the longest four minutes of her life, sitting on the side of the bed and holding Diane’s hand. When the medical team finally arrived, Jane helped to lift her onto the stretcher, and even assisted in carrying her down the stairs.

  If only there was room in the elevator.

  They were on the bottom floor in minutes, so close to the front door, when Diane waved a hand at Jane. Amazed at the strength of this woman, Jane leaned in close to try and hear her over the sirens outside. ‘What is it, honey?’

  Diane’s eyes rolled open halfway as she breathlessly mouthed. ‘Mason… keep… safe…’ Just then, her hand slid from Jane’s and her eyelids fluttered closed.

  ‘She’s unconscious,’ said the paramedic. ‘We need to get her out of here.’

  ‘Go.’ Jane stood alone at the bottom of the stairs now, looking up to the next landing. This would be a suicide mission, she was sure, but she had to get up there. She had to intervene. Even if just to satisfy her own thirst for glory, Jane had to go upstairs and help her friend.

  39

  The press were picking up in numbers on the far rooftop. On the street below, the police sirens could be heard alongside Captain Cox’s voice on the megaphone. Her words were unclear, but she was clearly as stubborn as ever – that much Mason heard in her tone.

  ‘Last chance,’ said Clay. ‘How about it, huh?’

  Mason’s finger kept squeezing the trigger, and then letting off pressure. Justice had to be taken, but should it really have been at his own expense? Until now, he thought he had grown so much since murdering Marvin Wendell, but that old bloodlust was sinking in again now. It was like nothing else mattered – nothing, but killing this man himself.

  ‘Well?’

  The door crashed open then, startling them both. Adding a second gun to the mix, Detective Jane Phillips came running through, stopping at Mason’s side and taking aim on their target.