The Reprisal

by Kerry Kaya

  “Lucas.” Dougie’s sing-song booming voice was loud.

  Lucas closed his eyes tightly and as he rubbed wearily at his temples, irritation spread throughout his body. He took a deep breath before shoving the coins back into his pocket and reluctantly returning inside the premises.

  Chapter 12

  “Are you okay?” As he drove through the streets toward Dougie’s home, Paul gave Jason a sidelong glance.

  “Yeah.” Jason gave a slight shrug of his shoulders.

  Paul nodded. They continued on in silence, and after a few beats, he cleared his throat. “You’re a bit quiet. Has that sister of mine been giving you grief?”

  “Nah.” Jason shook his head, and lighting a cigarette, he slumped back in the seat. “She’s worried.” He turned his head, shrugging for a second time. “She thinks we’ve gone too far, that we’re in over our heads.”

  Paul didn’t answer, and flicking the indicator, he turned onto the lane where Dougie Ward’s morgue was set. “We’ve come this far.” He pulled over to the kerb, observing the impending property before them. “And like fuck are we gonna give up now.”

  * * *

  Anger rippled through Dougie. He may have loved torture and violence, the thrill of the chase, but underneath the lunacy, he was a businessman first and foremost. Acting as a middle man, the drugs that he bought in considerable quantities then sold on, brought him ludicrous amounts of money. A rather large fortune to be precise, and coming from a council slum, dragged up by alcoholic parents who had barely acknowledged his existence, he had no desire any time soon to return to his grass roots.

  The intercom at the front gate buzzed throughout the property and he turned his head to watch on the CCTV monitors a vehicle drive into view.

  He was at the front door with Ernest and Lucas behind him before the two men had even exited the car. He grinned widely, the type of smile that hid the psychotic tendencies at his very core.

  “What is this all about, eh?” Exiting his car, Paul slammed the door shut behind him. “Who the fuck switched that coke?”

  The tone in the younger man’s voice rankled, and as the smile slid from Dougie’s face, the muscles in his back stiffened. Just who the fuck did this little fucker think he was talking to? Behind him, Ernest grunted out a series of inaudible groans, and he held up his hand to quieten the man down. “It’s all right, Ern.” He reassured him in his sing-song voice. “I’ll take care of this.”

  “Well?” Paul stormed across the paved driveway. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “That, my son, is exactly what I would like to know.” Dougie smiled brightly, a beaming grin that resembled a predatory shark as he showed off a row of white teeth. “Come.” He swept his arm toward the entrance hall. “It’s bad for business to discuss matters on the doorstep.”

  “I don’t give a fuck.” Paul looked around him. There was no one in close proximity to hear the exchange. The property was a safe distance away from the road and any prying eyes, hence how the mad bastard had got away with his murderous deeds for so long.

  “And like I said, it’s bad for business to air our dirty laundry in public. Come.” He made off toward the hallway, leaving the two men on the doorstep. He knew they would follow. He had a knack of knowing such things and prided himself on his intuition. After all, it had kept him at the top of his game for many years.

  * * *

  As they entered the property, Paul’s body was on red alert. He didn’t trust the nutcase. It was common knowledge that he was a fruit loop and Paul wouldn’t put anything past him. They passed an antique hallway table. Placed on the top in a neat pile were several unopened letters, and laid beside them, was a cowhide leather handled letter knife. The silver blade was long, thin, polished, and extremely sharp. He shook his head. Who the fuck owned a letter opener in this day and age? About to walk past the table, he caught Jason’s eyes, and jerking his head toward the makeshift weapon, he indicated for him to pick it up. As far as he was concerned, the more weapons they had to defend themselves, the better.

  Inside the sterile cold room, the familiar stainless steel mortuary table, wash basin, and instrument cabinet were laid out before them. Unusually at the head of the table, a smear of rust coloured blood trailed from the table to the floor. Paul guessed correctly that it had been left there for his and Jason’s sole benefit—to unnerve them, to warn them that they were in for the same torturous treatment as the previous victim.

  Tearing his eyes away from the blood, Paul looked Dougie in the eyes. “Did you set me up?”

  “Me?” Dougie began to laugh manically and his eyes glazed over. Beside him, Ernest grunted out a series of inaudible groans, each new grunt louder than the last.

  “Yeah you.” Paul stood his ground. To show any form of fear would have been his undoing. Out of the corner of his eye, he clocked Lucas Vaughn’s movements and braced himself, ready to attack or defend—whichever one came first.

  Ernest continued to grunt loudly, the screeching seemingly spurring Dougie’s madness on.

  “Did I set you up?” Dougie looked from Ernest and then to Lucas, as though he could barely believe what he had just heard. He rubbed at his temples, his expression incredulous. “Are you having some kind of fucking laugh with me?”

  Paul swallowed deeply. With one eye still on Vaughn, he clenched his fists into tight balls, poised and ready.

  “I can’t believe this lairy little fucker has just accused me of setting him up.” Staring straight ahead of him, Dougie spoke to no one in particular. “Did I set you up?” He turned back to face Paul, as if only just remembering he was in the room. Spittle began to gather at the corners of his snarled lips. “Did I set you,” he took a step closer, his face poised just inches away from Paul’s, “fucking up?”

  “It’s a fair question.” Paul swallowed once more. The atmosphere sizzled with anticipation. Up and close with the maniac, he could feel the man’s rancid breath on his face, could sense the madness. It radiated out of his pores. He might as well have been holding a neon sign above his head with the word “nutcase” emblazoned across it.

  “Did you hear that, Ern?” Dougie began to laugh, a high pitched cackle that matched Ernest’s grunts. “He reckons it was a fair question.”

  Ernest’s screeching had reached a crescendo and he motioned with his hands for Dougie to attack.

  “All in good time, Ern, all in good time.” He was smiling now, as if he was actually beginning to enjoy himself.

  Paul looked around him. The very thought that this man was able to walk the streets freely amongst the innocent joe public was insane. “You mad fucker.” Before he could stop himself, he’d spat out the words.

  The tension in the room reached breaking point. For a few short moments, there was nothing but an eerie silence.

  “What did you just say?” The smile left Dougie’s face. Behind him, Ernest opened his mouth and roared, his stubby little tongue jabbing up and down.

  “You mad fucker.” Paul didn’t hesitate in repeating back the words. “You mad fucking fuck.”

  The words were enough to send Dougie over the edge. His meaty fist shot out, connecting with Paul’s jaw, and that was when pandemonium well and truly broke out.

  In a thick hot gush, rivets of crimson coloured blood squirted up into the air, and Ernest, whose throat had been unceremoniously cut from ear to ear, dropped heavily to the floor.

  Seeing the blood-stained letter opener in Jason’s fist, shock resonated across Paul’s face. He’d barely had the time to think the situation through before Dougie’s hands were wrapped around his throat, and he’d been slammed across the mortuary table. All the while, Dougie continued to laugh manically, the high-pitched cackle deafening to Paul’s ears.

  Despite his best efforts, Paul was unable to push the madman away. He had a strength about him, the likes of which Paul had never come across before. He pulled at Dougie’s fingers, desperate to breathe, his lungs screaming for air. His throat felt as thoug
h it was on fire, and no matter how much he kicked out, he was unable to shift the weight on top of him. In the distance, he could hear Jason, could hear him trying to drag Dougie away, could hear the punches landing and the futile kicks that Dougie batted away from himself, as though he was swatting away a mere fly.

  With Dougie’s laughter still ringing loudly in his ears, Paul’s life flashed before his eyes. An image of Cathy, the love of his life, entered his mind, followed by little Kieran, whom he loved as his own child, and then the unborn infant nestled safely inside Cathy’s womb. He would never see his own child’s face. The notion was enough to destroy him.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Lucas advance toward them. In his fist, he held a blade—a long thin boning knife. This was it, Paul decided. This was the moment his life was about to be taken away from him. With trepidation, he turned his face away and slammed his eyes shut tight. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was terrified.

  Still laughing his manic laugh, Dougie’s expression froze before toppling forward. His lifeless body, the equivalent of a ten-ton truck, trapped Paul to the table. After gasping for breath, Paul used whatever strength he had left inside of him to push the madman’s body to the floor.

  Breathing heavily from the exertion, Paul clambered off of the table and rubbed at the indentations Dougie’s fingernails had left around his throat.

  Warily, the three remaining men stared at one another.

  “You took your fucking time,” Paul growled.

  “What?” Lifting his shoulders in a shrug, a slow grin spread across Lucas’s face. As he threw the bloodied knife that still contained traces of Dougie’s brain matter to the floor, the tension left the room. “I was waiting to see how you handled the situation.”

  “You fucking dickhead.” Stepping over Dougie’s body, he pulled Lucas into his arms and laughed. “You fucker. I was starting to think you’d switched sides.”

  “Leave it out.” Moving on to embrace Jason, Lucas grinned. “As if, mate.” He glanced down at Dougie’s motionless body. From a deep head wound, bright crimson coloured blood seeped out onto the tiled floor. “Trust me, I’ve been waiting twelve long months to take that fucking nutcase out.”

  Paul nodded his head and looked around him. The clinical room gave him the creeps. It had done so since the very first moment he’d stepped foot inside. “What the fuck is this all about, eh? Who switched that coke?”

  Lucas shrugged his shoulders. “Your guess is as good as mine, mate, but one thing I do know is that the mad bastard may have been a looney tune, but he wasn’t in the habit of switching merchandise.” He stepped over Dougie’s body and motioned for them to follow him.

  They came to halt outside a door at the far end of the corridor, and from his pocket, Lucas took out a brass key. “You wouldn’t believe how long it took me to get hold of this,” he stated with a grin. “The mad fucker wasn’t one to trust easily.” Twisting the key in the lock, he pushed open the door to reveal a wood-paneled room that was both small and dimly lit. “This is what you came for, right?”

  Holding just a worn wooden desk and a captain’s chair with bottle green upholstered arms, the sterile room was otherwise devoid of any furniture.

  “It’s empty.” There was more than a hint of disappointment in Paul’s voice and he looked toward Lucas expectantly. “Where the fuck are the goods?”

  Lucas gave a smug grin and pressed on the light switch, instantly bathing the room in light. Then he reached up to press a button above the door frame. Walking into the room, he pulled open one of the large panels to reveal behind the wooden slats a hidden room that in itself was at least four times the size of the study.

  Paul’s eyes widened. Talk about an Aladdin’s cave. It was the ultimate drug dealers lair. Every available surface held weighing scales and bags and bags of narcotics. Everything from cannabis to heroin to amphetamines was laid out before them in all its glory, ready for the taking.

  “Fuck me.”

  Lucas chuckled. “I told you,” he grinned. “In the desk drawer is his phone book. All we have to do is go through his contacts and we’re gonna be fucking raking it in.”

  Dragging his gaze from the desk, Paul looked around the room and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get a move on and shift this lot.” He paused for a moment to allow himself the time to think the situation through. “Are there any coffins on the premises?”

  Lucas snorted with laughter. “Yeah, I can remember seeing a few in the storage room. They’re a bit basic and battered around the edges, but still in pretty much good nick.”

  “Good.” Sweeping his arm around the room, Paul’s blue eyes twinkled. No one, not even the old bill would want to look inside a coffin should they be stopped transporting the haul. “Let’s fill ‘em up then.”

  Thirty minutes later, they had cleaned out the room. Three pine coffins were filled to the brim with narcotics and a fourth was filled with the contents of Dougie’s safe. At a wild guess, there had to be at least one-hundred-thousand pounds in cash and jewelry.

  With the lids firmly in place, they stood back to inspect their handiwork.

  “All we need to do now is shift this lot over to the lockup and job done,” Paul grinned.

  Lucas returned the smile. “I’ll bring the van around to the back doors,” he winked.

  “And what about this place?” Jason asked.

  Paul looked up and sneered. “Torch it.”

  Lucas smiled even wider. He could think of nothing better. “I’ll chuck the jerry cans in the van while I’m at it then.”

  * * *

  With the private ambulance reversed into the lockup, Lucas switched off the ignition and jumped out of the van. Positioned in a remote location, it was perfect and out of the way, therefore, there was less chance of any busy bodies observing their comings and goings.

  “I’ll run this over to the Carters’.” Once they had finished unloading the coffins, Lucas patted the side of the van. “They’ll get rid of it for a drink.”

  Paul nodded. “We’ll follow on behind.”

  “Nah,” Lucas shook his head, “no point in us all going there. I’ll get one of the brothers to drop me back afterwards.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, Paul glanced down at the coffins. Stacked up against the bare brickwork, they looked out of place. “Right then. You go and get rid of the van, we’ll lock up and then meet you at the boozer. Oh, and tell Tommy I owe him one.”

  Lucas nodded, and watching his two friends exit the lockup, he climbed into the van, started the ignition, and then eased out of the entrance. In the rear-view mirror, he watched as they locked up behind him, and switching on the radio, he began to hum along to the song playing. Before long, he was singing at the top of his voice and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He felt as though the weight on top of his shoulders had finally lifted. Never again would he have to answer to Mad Dougie’s demands, nor would he have to look over his shoulder, expecting to find the equally crazy mute watching his every move. All in all, it had been a good day. In fact, it had been better than good. It had been fucking fantastic.

  * * *

  “Do you think he’s all right, I mean up here?” Paul tapped the side of his head.

  “Who Lucas?” Setting down his pint glass, Jason frowned. They were in The Jolly Fisherman and he kept his voice low as he answered.

  Paul nodded. “I think he’s losing it.” He tapped once again at his head. “Something’s not right up here.”

  “Course he’s all right.” Jason raised his eyebrows, dismissing the question. “Why wouldn’t he be? We fucking did it, mate. We pulled it off.”

  The fact their friend had taken so long to finish Dougie off was playing on Paul’s mind, and as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, he replayed the events that had taken place. If he hadn’t of known better, he would have fully believed that Lucas had been waiting for Dougie to take them out first.

  He picked up his glass
and gulped at the amber coloured liquid. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the man in question enter the bar, and without even giving them a second glance, he headed straight for the men’s toilets.

  Narrowing his eyes, Paul set the glass back down on the wooden bar top. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He slapped Jason on the shoulder and followed on behind their friend.

  * * *

  Lucas opened the cubicle door and immediately came to an abrupt halt.

  Leaning against the sink with his arms crossed over his chest, Paul raised his eyebrows. “That’s a nasty little habit you’ve got there, mate.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” As he shrugged his shoulders, beads of cold sweat broke out across Lucas’s forehead and he resisted the urge to wipe them away. He made his way to the sink, twisted open the tap, and briskly washed his hands. All the while, he could sense Paul’s eyes boring into the back of his skull, and he avoided glancing up into the mirror.

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Clenching his teeth, Paul moved forward. “That fucking shit that you’re shoveling up your nose. I knew it. I knew there was something off with you.”

  Lucas lifted his shoulders a second time. “Nah, like I said, I don’t …”

  Before he could finish the sentence, Paul had swung him around and slammed him up against the wall. “Tell me something. Why did you really wait so long to end Dougie? Were you hoping that he would take us out first? Is that what happened? Was that your plan, all so you could hide the fact that it was you who switched the coke from underneath that mad cunt’s nose?”