by Ols Schaber
Rebwar looked down, refusing to engage with him.
‘I didn’t think so. Well, like it says, you’d be hung – easy enough… drawn was basically eviscerated – might need something shaper for that… and quartered – cut into four pieces. But the fun part is, until you’re quartered, you’re still alive! The executioner would even show you your own entrails. And you lot thought you were barbaric? We had it down to a T.’
The sudden noise of a car engine reached Rebwar’s ears, followed by light flooding through the small windows above him. He looked around trying to work out who might be there. Gibson ran across to the small square windows and jumped up trying to catch a glimpse. ‘Who’s that? The Police? Your guys?’ He ran over to the metal door, pushed it open and looked out into the hallway.
‘Hey! I’ve got your man in here!’ He called in a sing song voice through the gap. ‘He’s my hostage! Hey! And no funny business, I’ve got a gun!’
‘Indentify yourself and come out with your hands above your head!’ shouted a voice echoing down the hall.
‘I don’t think so! Are you deaf?! I’ve got one of yours!’
Drops of water echoed down the hallway, Gibson’s breathing was getting quicker and more shallow. Rebwar watched him fidgeting, the early stages of panic, soon he could start losing control. A dangerous place for Rebwar to be.
‘Bring him out!’ said the voice down the hall.
‘No chance. I want safe passage out of here.’
‘Identify yourself!’
‘Told you.’ Rebwar smiled.
‘Shut up!’ Gibson ran over to him, put the scalpel to his eyeball this time and furiously spat his words out. ‘Who do you work for?!’ He was yelling. ‘Who are they?!’
‘Sir’, the voice outside calmly continued, ‘you need to hand over the hostage, we need to talk to him.’
Rebwar watched Gibson knock his head against the white tiles. ‘What the fuck is going on here? It doesn’t make sense’. He suddenly rushed up to Rebwar and put the gun to his head. ‘Why do they want you? It’s me they want!’
‘They want information. What are you thinking Koundeh3?’ said Rebwar. ‘What options have you got. If you shoot me, they will kill you anyway, gohsag,4 and if –’
‘For fuck’s sake, what are you saying? Shut up! I’m trying to think.’ Gibson rubbed his forehead, he was sweating.
Rebwar smiled. The man was trapped. But the question was, did whoever was out there, Plan B or the police, know about Gibson and who he was. What he’d done? Rebwar didn’t know. All he did know was that if O’Neil was involved, he would be the one under fire and Gibson would walk. He couldn’t let that happen.
‘Finding it fucking funny, you idiot? Think you’re smart? Lucky, because they came to save you? Yeah, yeah.’ Gibson was getting more agitated. He walked around Rebwar.
‘OK. OK what about this… My first patient was a casualty of Russian roulette – the game, you know – some drunk squaddies…’ He went over to the metal door and shouted down the hall. ‘Hey fuckers! Go get me a KFC and I’ll think about coming out. And a beer. Then we’ll talk about it. OK?’
’Sir –’
‘You fucking heard me! Get it!’ Gibson closed the door and grabbed some metal pipes that were lying around. He wedged them in-between the door and the frame. ‘That should keep them away for a little while. Now, where was I? Yes…we’re going to play a little game. You’re a gambling man? I’m sure you are!’ Gibson’s high-pitched voice was back, he was in joker mode again.
‘Gibson, you need to get some help. Surely, you must be suffering from some kind of PTSD? And with everything that happened with your-’ Rebwar was about to mention his daughter again but thought better of it. He needed to keep him calm. At this level of crazy, he was more likely to do something impulsive.
Gibson was walking around Rebwar’s chair spinning the chamber of the old Webley gun. ‘Life. Death.’ He was smiling like a demented clown, but his eyes were wild and they were now fixed on Rebwar’s.
‘Such a fine line between the two.’
Gibson took the five empty cases out and left the loaded one in.
Rebwar watched them roll around the floor. ‘What are you doing? Think about it.’
‘It makes no sense. What if you die? Badesh chi, ahmagh?’5 Rebwar watched Gibson’s manic eyes dart across his face. He was like a rat stuck in a pipe. He had lost all reason.
Gibson spun the barrel and held the pistol to Rebwar’s head.
‘Feeling lucky punk? Shit, I always wanted to say that.’ He laughed hard. Rebwar tried to pull his head out of the way, but he pushed the cold nozzle hard into his skull. There was no time for the usual life flashing before the eyes that everyone who has ever faced imminent death talks about. Rebwar only thought of Hourieh and Musa and how much love he suddenly felt for them. He shut his eyes. There was a click. Gibson had pulled the trigger. It was an empty chamber. Rebwar nearly passed out with relief but had to concentrate on whatever happened next. Gibson was laughing.
‘Ha ha, now my turn.’ And he put the gun to his temple.
‘Wait, wait! It doesn’t have to be this way. Just talk to me. Tell me who else is involved in the smuggling ring. Maybe you can do a deal?’
‘It doesn’t matter now.’ Gibson put his voice on again ‘So, do you feel lucky punk?’ He laughed and pulled the trigger. The gun fired. His smiling head jerked sideways. Rebwar looked away and shouted. ‘No!’ An explosion of blood and brain matter filled the air. Gibson’s limp body collapsed like a falling high rise to the floor. The smoke settled and blood spread slowly over the floor, finding cracks to run down.
Loud bangs came from the metal door. ‘Sir? We’ve got your KFC! Sir? Sir?’
Fifty
Geraldine watched as The Fox reached into his pocket and took out a mobile phone. He dialled a number. ‘This is Fox…’ he looked towards her as he spoke. ‘Yes I’m with the Field Mouse… She would like a status report… I can confirm.’ He passed the phone to Geraldine.
‘Geraldine speaking.’
‘This is the Lynx speaking. Please use your code name.’ It was a woman’s voice, it was deep and had authority to it, like a schoolmistress.
Geraldine mouthed for fuck sake and took a breath. ‘Field Mouse speaking. Is that better? Ma’am.’
‘Yes. Now, I want to apologise for what you have been through, and for your loss. I-’
Geraldine cut in angrily. ‘Well, it’s a start. But I’d like to know if the person who killed Zara is going to be punished, why I’ve been working for that bent sick fucker O’Neil and what the hell happens now with my career…Ma’am.’
The Fox approached Geraldine ready to jump in. She stepped back a little.
‘I understand your grief,’ the Lynx said. ‘All I can tell you is that the killer has been dealt with. He is dead. The Robin has been debriefed. As for DCI O’Neil, he is our problem and we shall deal with him. He will be of no concern to you anymore. You will continue as a DC, but in a new department. Information will follow.’
This was the most information she’d ever had out of Plan B. It still didn’t feel satisfying, she had wanted her own revenge.
‘Now you can take as much time off as you need. You are going to have to vacate your apartment. We will move your possessions to another location and you will be sent the details and a lockbox code. Remember your contract with Plan B. We will be in contact with your next case in the near future. You are not to discuss anything with the Robin, though you are to nurture and preserve that relationship. You make a good team. Understood?’
‘Yeah…Ma’am. Clear as a bell.’ The Squirrel rolled his eyes in exasperation.
‘Any other questions?’
Geraldine looked at the Fox and the Squirrel both waiting for her reply. ‘No. Thank you, Ma’am – I mean Mrs Lynx.’ She handed the phone back to the Fox, walked into her bedroom and picked up an old rucksack. She looked around her place. O’Neil had completely trashed it. She picked some
books up from the floor, the bronze statue and a few other small mementos. The Fox and the Squirrel were waiting for her to leave before getting to work. What they were going to do she had no idea, but these were people not to be messed with. She certainly had a new appreciation for The Squirrel’s ability to handle himself. O’Neil would get what he deserved, even if it wasn’t by her own hand, she was glad. That dish was going to be served cold.
With her rucksack on her shoulder, Geraldine walked around the block, not really sure where to go or what to do. She had to wait for her instructions. A couple of laps of the block later and she was getting some odd looks from the neighbours, so she decided to walk to the nearest pub. As she got to the end of the leafy street, she heard a window break. She looked back to see flames erupting from her old flat. Neighbours’ heads popped out of windows, others went to stand in the street to get a better look. Geraldine put her head down, and walked quickly away.
Fifty-One
Rebwar was jet washing a car in a faded, ill-fitting blue overall. A fine mist surrounded him as he worked around the vehicle, spraying it down. The valet car wash was in an old disused petrol station in Belsize Park. It was a basic set up, seven men each doing a job. All over the forecourt were neat marks where signs and branding used to be. All around, weeds and grass were cracking the brickwork open.
Rebwar motioned the driver to move forward as he waited for the next car in line to drive up. He used the moment to light another cigarette. It took him a few goes for the tobacco to burn in the warm spring breeze.
‘Hey Rebwar, working hard?’ shouted a man close to him who was soaping the car he’d just jet washed. Rebwar smiled back.
Rebwar watched the cigarette shake in his hand. About a month before, he’d been sitting on the floor smoking and shaking like a leaf. He kept trying to remember what had happened. All he could see was Gibson’s clown-like smile falling to the floor. They had found Rebwar on the floor reliving his war. Then he was home at the flat, Hourieh screaming at the men who brought him. There had been lots of crying ever since. And the shakes.
Today he was here, washing cars. It was a job and it paid. He didn’t know what had happened to his own car. He didn’t really care anymore.
‘Hey! Hey?’
Rebwar looked up, a black cab was in front of him. A large bald man with an England t-shirt was talking at him.
‘The full monty, mate. Yep she’s got to look the business. Going to vote today.’
Rebwar had noticed the polling station on the ground floor of the same building. He had largely ignored the EU referendum, as he wasn’t allowed to vote – nor was probably half of his estate. And like his Iranian friends, he thought it was some kind of conspiracy to get people to show their true colours. Rebwar pointed at the board for him to pick out which level of service he wanted.
‘Like I said, the full monty – oh, for fuck’s sake, the top one. Yeah, top!’ The man gave him a ‘whatever’ type of smile back.
Rebwar gave him an enthusiastic, borderline sarcastic thumbs up and began spraying the cab down. He hadn’t heard anything from Geraldine, Plan B or the police since that night. It was as if it hadn’t happened. He motioned the cab to go forward for the next stage of the wash. Like a robot, he flagged the next car to drive up. He didn’t take much notice of the car or the driver. He looked in to ask what kind of wash they wanted.
‘Get in!’ It was Geraldine.
‘I can’t. I’m working.’ There was a familiar smell of stale smoke as he got closer and he looked at the car again. It was his cab.
‘Police business.’ She flashed her warrant card at him. ‘Tell them.’
Rebwar hadn’t the energy for an argument and went up to the little wooden shed, where a man with a limp came hobbling out. Rebwar told him he needed to go and pointed to Geraldine’s car.
The man tutted and looked at his watch, obviously giving Rebwar a time he had to be back. Fat Chance. Rebwar went back to the car and got in the passenger seat. He didn’t think he’d ever sat in the passenger seat of his own car before.
‘Hey Rebs, how are you?’ Geraldine smiled with a glint in her eye.
‘Been better. What are you doing here?’
‘Been looking for you,’ she winked. ‘Thought you might want this back.’
‘What took you so long?’ He put on his seat belt and she drove off down the road towards Camden Market. ‘This and that. How about lunch? It’s on me.’
The sun was shining, bright green spring leaves floated lazily on the trees. The streets were crowded as tourists, families with buggies and trendy students enjoyed the sunshine.
Rebwar studied Geraldine’s face, she had been through a lot. He didn’t know all of it, but he could see it in her eyes. He got his cigarette pack out of his rubber boot and offered her one. She rolled the window down and he lit one for each of them.
‘You want to go to lunch with me like this?’ Rebwar pointed at his overalls and handed her one of the cigarettes.
Geraldine looked over at his clothes. ‘It’s fine. It’s a greasy spoon place – old school. You’ll fit right in.’ She laughed.
‘OK. Can we talk about my visa?’
‘Rebs, listen… Plan B want to keep you on their books. Which means more jobs. Which is good. They were happy with the work we did. Said we made a good team.’
Rebwar raised his eyebrows and took a drag of his cigarette as Camden passed by. It was a show of individuality and attitude, no one was dressed the same way. Bright colours reflected off the buildings, the shops selling the kind of fashion he thought was only suitable for a fancy-dress party.
‘Hey, I have to vote today.’ They stopped at a pedestrian light and watched as a multi-coloured mass crossed in front of them.
‘For Brexit?’ Rebwar tapped his cigarette outside the window.
‘Remain, I think.’
‘I should think so.’ Rebwar watched Geraldine. ‘I’m sorry about Zara. I wish I could have stopped him.’
Geraldine snatched her sunglasses from the car’s visor – Ray Ban’s with reflective lenses. He saw a flicker of emotion cross her face as she bit her lip and put them on. The lights changed, she pushed the glasses up her nose and sped off.
‘She’s dead. Whatever. Case closed.
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Also by Ols Schaber
The Contact
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A prequel to the Rebwar series where we meet his first contact Clive. A dramatic inciting incident sets off a chain of events where Rebwar is left to pick up the pieces.
The Gipsy
(Book 2)
After catching the murderer who harvested body parts Rebwar is asked by Plan B to find the Gipsy. The enigmatic organisation that coerces him and his contact Geraldine for their police and army skills. The trail leads them to a company that is involved in people trafficking. With a respectable exterior, it’s core is run by thugs. They find an old adversary is behind it all. Can they stop him in time before he gets to them?
Amazon - https://books2read.com/u/mgZJ1D
Copyright © Ols Schaber 2020 The right of Ols Schaber to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or transmitted into any retrieval system, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. This is a work of fiction. Names, character
s, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Ols Schaber, The Missing Parts: Rebwar. Kindle Edition.
Acknowledgments
I must thank the people around me that have made this series possible. I feel so lucky to have them there and they encourage me to keep going. It’s quite an undertaking writing a good yarn and even more to self publish. I couldn’t have done it without them. My wife Tracey, my editor Ed Handyside, Annabel Tarrant for reading my early drafts, my brother Fred, and so many other great friends. You know who you are.
Notes
Chapter 2
1 The bitch of a woman
Chapter 15
1 . Filth
2 . Lying sons of bitches
Chapter 16
1 . Son of a bitch
2 . Bullshit
3 . What the hell
4 . You’re pissing me off
5 . Fuck your mother’s dead people
6 . Fuck your mother
Chapter 20
1 . Devil
Chapter 21
1 . Eat from my ass
2 . You devious son of a dog
3