by Joe Lane
“You can’t prove a fucking thing!”
“Can’t I? Your killing days are over and you’re going to rot in a prison cell.”
“You think so, Speed?” I didn’t appreciate his cocky attitude one bit. “My appearance in an English court will be as brief as the time it takes me to explain that I’m a simple foreign tourist being bullied by a mad Englishman; that’s you, Speed!”
He had a point. But his defining statement had me thinking about similarities relating to it; that I’d heard it before somewhere, but I couldn’t remember where. But I’d no intention of letting him wriggle his way from the truth. “You frigging slimy leech! You murdered my friends, all right! And you’ll stand trial, no problem!”
“You’ll need witnesses to back your accusations. No, metal detector man, you’re the murderer. I witnessed what you did to Hate. It’s you that’s heading for Hell!”
“Is that a fact? Well I can’t have that now can I.”
I looked him straight in the eyes. He wasn’t going to talk in a month of Sundays. He was no use to me. I pushed him over the edge, his hands frantically clawing fresh air as he fell backwards, his deathly screams absorbed by the high pitched squawking from spooked seagulls he’d managed to scare as his body bounced against the rock face on the way down. I leaned over the edge to confirm his fate. His body was bent backwards over a large chunk of jagged rock, his back broken. He was probably still breathing but not for much longer.
I actually felt cheated that he had escaped without a trial but I certainly didn’t have any regrets that he had died by my hands. The deaths of Tommy Bickermass and Lens Lazerow had been avenged. But I still had one more important engagement to attend to before I’d finished what I started. I had to flush out the person responsible for ordering the killing of innocent people. I had to find the ‘Housekeeper’.
I turned round when I heard running feet approaching. It was Shamus, closely followed by another man who I assumed to be the operator of the fog station. Both were panting heavily after their sprint and both were now suffering the consequences of their efforts
The man recovered first, and said, “What was that dreadful scream?” He asked in a panic.
“Good god!” I said dramatically. “Did you see what’s just happened? It was unbelievable! It seems there has been a terrible accident.”
The man peered gingerly over the precipice, concern distorting his face before horror took over when he saw the disjointed body far below. “There’s somebody down there!”
“I was walking along,” I explained, “admiring the view when…I saw this figure standing close to the edge…well I think he jumped! I did try to save him, but he was just too determined to kill himself.”
Shamus watched me with astonishment. He knew differently.
“I’d better inform the coastguard,” the man said, as if the situation occurred on a regular basis.
“I’ll leave that in your capable hands, my good man. Come along, Shamus, there’s nothing more we can do here.”
We hurried from the scene as fast as we could and back onto the walkway.
“Hang on!” the man called out. “You’ll need to wait to give a statement.”
We pretended we hadn’t heard him and our brisk walk converged into a run.
Shamus, between gasps of breaths, said “Oh, God be praised, yer’re alright, Shacks sir. I gather yer did the swine?
“What an unfortunate shame he went over the edge.”
“Would that be his own choice or did he slip over your foot, Shacks sir?”
“Accidents do happen!” I said.
“Indeed they do, Shacks sir. Indeed they do.”
We ’d probably made it halfway across the concrete bridge when something zinged and whipped off a chunk of the concrete railing an inch in front of me. I dropped to the floor dragging Shamus along with me and we stayed flat while I peered around.
“Where the frigging hell did those shots come from?”
“I’ve no idea, Shacks sir. I started falling when yer did.”
There was the faintest of splutters as another barrage of gun fire chipped the concrete in a dozen places only a few feet from our position. That was when I suspected the sniper didn’t have a clear view of our position, so I began to crawl along the bridge on my stomach, scuffing the toes of my walking boots as I pushed. Shamus followed closely.
As we crawled I said over my shoulder, “I think this bridge is going to need a lick of paint after this fiasco.”
I heard Shamus groan with my untimely observation and he followed that with a mumbled complaint. “You’re absolutely bonkers, Shacks sir. We’re being shot at and you’re thinking about painting the bridge!”
“I’m a perfectionist, Shamus.”
We had made it to the gateway with no injuries and with no more gunshots. I listened intently before the shrill cry from circling seagulls broke the silence. In the far distance I heard the faint sound of a car engine starting, which quickly disappeared from earshot.
“I think our sniper’s done a runner.”
“How can you tell?”
I rose to my feet fearlessly to prove my point and I didn’t get shot.
“Has that convinced you? Let’s go, Shamus.”
Shamus dragged himself to his feet and rubbed the grey bristles on his chin. “The gunman gave up rather too easily, don’t you think, Shacks sir?”
“The thought had crossed my mind, but I’ve no time to ponder on fragments of puzzlement. I’ve a master criminal to apprehend.”
It was moments like this when I realized I wasn’t getting any younger. My body ached everywhere. My joints creaked and cracked. My elbows and knees had all the evidence of severe abrasions. I was definitely beginning to feel the pressure and pace of the pursuit and regretting every moment that passed.
I recovered Love’s gun from the floor and tucked it away inside my jacket. My steps quickened as we headed back to the car park in a rush
Shamus, puffing heavily, said, “Those two villains back there weren’t alone when they broke into me house.”
“Did you recognize any of the others?”
“Two of them were crewmen; foreigners by the sound of their voices. The third chap with them-well his voice was different from the others.”
We kept up a swift pace as we talked, not even a glance at each other because I was too preoccupied watching for more surprises because I didn’t think we’d escaped our problems just yet.
I said, “I’d say you’d had a visit from our friends from the Flying Fish.”
“I’d say that too, Shacks sir.”
“What was different about the third person?”
Shamus blew out hard. “O he was a big man. English, sounded a bit toffee nosed by the way he talked. I didn’t see his face but he was the one dishing out the orders.”
“Is there anything specific you can tell me about this Englishman?”
“Yes, Shacks, sir, he’d size ten boots kicking me in the face!”
“Did you recognize the pattern on the soles of his shoes, Shamus?”
“Yer be pulling me leg, Shacks sir?”
“That I am, Shamus.”
When we’d reached the Roadster one of the saloons had gone. It was then I had an apparition for disaster. I quickly grabbed Shamus’s arm as he was about to open the Roadster’s passenger car door and pulled him back.
Shamus was spooked by my action. “What is it, Shacks sir?”
“You were probably right about the sniper giving in too early, Shamus. I’d take cover behind the other car if I was you. I’ve a very bad feeling we’re walking into a trap.”
Shamus didn’t argue. He trusted my instincts after what we’ve been through together. When he was safely behind the other car I went down on my hands and knees and conducted a finger search underneath the Roadster.
I found the device I suspected had been planted there attached to the under-body of the Roadster on the passenger side. I gave the device a coat of looking at. It was oblon
g, roughly four inch by two inch long with two short wires linked to a pencil thin second device tucked into the bevel of the car door. I frown upon people who treat my Roadster with such tasteless disrespect.
I called over to Shamus. “Stay where you are old buddy. I think we’re the proud owners of a magnetically attached car bomb.”
Shamus cowered even deeper. “A bomb, yer say?”
“Well I assume it’s a bomb because I didn’t put it there and it would explain why the sniper didn’t hang about. I think the intention was to pin us down long enough for the sneaky bastard to attach this and put the blame on Irish terrorists.”
“We’d best get clear of the wretched thing before we’re blown to smithereens, Shacks sir.”
“What! And leave my beautiful car to be fragmented across Ireland. Never! It’s only a small bomb. It’s a simple device. If I keep these two magnetic contacts together and pull vigorously, like this!”
I stood up and waved the device in the air so Shamus could see I had it safely in my hands. “You can come out now, Shamus.”
“Now what are yer supposing to do with that, Shacks sir?”
“Well I’m hardly going to be calling the bomb squad at this time of the day.”
I walked carefully across the car-park, so as not to trip up accidentally and blow us to kingdom come. I climbed over the fence and across the grassland until I considered it was a safe place to propel the device, which I did, as far as I could throw it. I didn’t hang around for the inevitable explosion as the device sailed through the air. I made a run for it as fast as I could back towards the relative safety of the Roadster. The bomb exploded behind me numbing my hearing, a shower of rock and soil debris splattering across my back; a little too close for comfort.
Shamus was furious and jumped to his feet. “What in the name of Jesus possessed yer to do that?”
“Because I want the saboteur to presume that their dastardly deed was an instant success, that’s why, Shamus. Hopefully I’ve convinced a few people that I’m either badly injured or quite dead. Now hurry up and get into the Roadster. We’ve got some catching up to do.”
“Were going after him?”
“We’re going to follow him.”
Inside the car I fumbled into my pocket for the piece of paper I’d written on earlier, and added the name of a place I’d noticed on the drive to Mizen Head. I gave Shamus the piece of paper to scrutinize while I set the Roadster in hot pursuit.
“It be a telephone number and a message, Shacks sir.”
“How observant you are Shamus. When I drop you off at Baltimore, ring that number straight away. And when she answers and you hear the sweetest voice you’ve ever heard over a telephone, don’t hang about telling her so. Tell her that Shackleton Speed said she has to start proceedings straight away without a moment to loose and relay to her the information I’ve written down on that paper you now hold. Is that clear?”
“What’s going on, Shacks sir?”
“Stop asking questions and just do as I tell you.”
“What’s stopping you from ringing the number, Shacks sir?”
“I’ve a ship to catch before she disappears on the evening tide.”
“You’re going somewhere?”
“I’m boarding the Flying Fish tonight.”
Shamus looked horrified. “Alone?”
“I haven’t exactly got a commando team behind me.”
“That’s plain stupid if yer don’t mind me saying so?”
“Have you a better idea?”
“I’ll board her with yer, Shacks sir. We’ve come this far together.”
“No,” I snapped, “Too frigging dangerous. Just ring that number, do you hear? That’s far more important. And tell her to arrange the rendezvous at that place on the note, urgently. Tell her it’s a matter of life or death and I’m in the middle. You got that?”
Shamus read the details. “I know that place well. Why there, Shacks sir?”
“Because, Shamus, that’s where I predict all this shambles finally ends, one way or the other. You just don’t let me down.”
Chapter Twenty Two
I dropped Shamus off at a safe place, a pub he frequented quite often, rather than risk him returning to his home. He wasn’t too pleased that I’d left him behind when there was a battle to be fought. I didn’t care. He was safe and that was all that mattered. While I continued my journey back to Baltimore hopefully Shamus will have begun to make important telephone calls to influential people.
Once on the outskirts of Baltimore I parked the Roadster out of sight and waited until the night was pitch black before I made my move back to the harbour. I kept a low profile as I moved along the quay, using as much cover as possible. That’s when I saw the motorised inflatable dingy tied up between two large cruisers. What made it appeal to me was the Flying Fish logo in small white stencil on one side. I was on the verge of moving towards the dingy when I heard a slapping sound that had me looking sideways into the shadows. I crouched low and moved into deeper shadow for cover. I waited, listening hard. I heard the same sound again. This time I searched for its source. I spotted who I thought was a crewman from the Flying Fish sitting on a wooden crate and tapping a knife blade against his thigh out of boredom. I could only assume the dingy was the intended ride back to the ship for Love and Hate, once they’d disposed of Shamus and me.
Slowly, ever so quietly, I edged around and came in behind where he sat. The sole of my left boot caught a piece of discarded rope, which I retrieved from the ground, held it either end and moved closer to the unsuspecting crewman.
I lashed the rope around his neck and yanked him to his feet, twisted my body and threw him, judo style, over my shoulder. He hit the ground heavily. His feeble moan proved I hadn’t snapped his neck with my actions. To silence him fully I instantly followed with a savage kick to his rising jawbone. I didn’t like the horrible crunch I heard but then I didn’t particularly like the crewman. I left him where he lay. I hardly thought it mattered whether I’d hurt him badly or not just as long as he stayed out for the count.
I clambered down into the dingy, kicked a blanket to one side, and uncovered a snipers rifle. I mumbled, Got you fuck face! Referring to the crewman I’d just clobbered and then realizing I might have made a huge gaff. I frantically scanned the quay expecting trouble. What I’d not considered was the crewman I’d knocked out cold wasn’t waiting for Love or Hate because he’d already witnessed their execution. He was waiting for someone else. I snatched up the rifle in readiness, peering through the pitch black with the expectancy of an attack. Seconds turned into minutes and nothing happened. I eased off the rifle’s trigger and slipped the crafts mooring rope from the jetty, started the outboard engine and steered the dingy towards the Flying Fish anchored out in the harbour. While I steered I kept the rifle handy, glancing back now and again to check if anything was happening on the quay; there was nothing I needed to worry over and I could now concentrate solely on what lay ahead.
On nearing the Flying Fish I veered the dingy to one side and approached in a generous arc, mainly to establish if any watchmen were present on deck. It all seemed quiet and then again what had they on board the ship to fear about? All terminations were in progress or completed. They would have thought they were in the clear, all ends neatly tied. I steered the craft towards the boarding ladder with renewed confidence, switched off the engines and cruised in toward the ship using the strong current. After tying the boat to the foot of the boarding ladder I replaced the rifle in my hand with the gun I had retrieved from Hate; it was lighter, more comfortable and quicker to swing round in the dark. I climbed the steel gangway warily, my eyes meeting every moving shadow in anticipation of an expected fight.
I reached the deck unchallenged. There was only partial illumination from bulkhead lighting and I saw no signs of life. The boat creaked as it rocked gently on the waves. The creaking would disguise my footsteps as I tiptoed along the deck but I soon halted when I got a whiff of
cigarette smoke.
I froze mid-step and eased into some shadow while I listened. I could hear the smoker suck hard and deep on a cigarette, the exhaled offensive smoke clouding the night air and revealing the smokers position between two mounds of tarpaulin. Inch by inch I crept forward. Now I could distinctly hear the rattled breathing of a heavy weed user. Then the red burning stub ejected from the gap and the person moved forward into a beautifully timed right hook that I executed with power. The smoker’s head twisted violently, a splash of blood spurting from split lips. He went down in a clump and when I checked him over he was out cold, wheezing heavily.
I popped my head from between the cargo to check if my actions had attracted others. It hadn’t. I dragged the smokers outstretched legs back with his knees in the air so anybody passing the gap wouldn’t notice him slacking on the job. If he had held a gun of any description with him I never saw it. I slipped out from the gap and kept tight against the bulkhead and made my way to the angle of light protruding from a steel doorway. I listened while I peered through the crack in the door. It was clear. I moved inside, pointing the gun forward and ready to fire if necessary. There was a companionway that led below. I crept down into the belly of the ship, glad of the cushioned soles of my boots on the steel treads. I stopped at the bottom and looked down the length of the passageway. I could hear voices coming from the opening at the far end. It seemed the obvious route for me to take which I did, carefully and alert.
When I’d reached the end I listened at the half opened door to the voices talking conversely. I immediately recognized the two voices I heard from inside the room. I angered, gripping the hand gun tight in my hand. Enough was enough and with the gun extended I pushed the door open and went inside.
There was a big man with ginger hair who had his back to me and was in the motion of sitting down comfortably in an appealing leather armed chair, holding a large brandy glass. I’d expected to find a few surprises waiting for me, but when I saw her sitting in a chair with a smug expression I was so frigging mad that I could have shot her there and then.
“Now isn’t this all very sweet and cosy.” I said, with rightful sarcasm. “I wondered how long it would take for all the creeps to show their true colours: red for danger and yellow for cowardice. I bet you weren’t expecting me, Commander Harris Morgan or you, Shayna. Why am I not surprised that you’re all here chasing Deveron’s dreams. I only hope you’re not celebrating too early.”