DIRTY

by Robert White

  “You’re just one big let down Billy.”

  The razor sharp carpet knife sank into the soft flesh on the right side of Billy’s neck. It severed the cartoid artery sending a crimson jet of hot blood several feet into the air. The knife travelled easily until it reached the thyroid cartilage, but then, the assailant exerted further pressure.

  There was a small popping sound as the cartilage gave way and then escaping air, as the windpipe was sliced. A split second later the job was complete. Billy’s head hung backwards, stretching the hideous gaping hole in his throat like a second screaming mouth.

  The assailant took a step back. He viewed the twitching body of the youth and took a plastic bin liner from the pocket of his bloodstained coveralls.

  The man dropped the carpet knife inside and then calmly removed the coveralls, the paper shoe covers he wore on his feet and a pair of pink marigold washing up gloves. A nice touch he thought. He then placed the gruesome bundle into the bag and tied off the top.

  He turned, straightened his tie, smoothed back his hair, and confidently walked away, swinging the bag as he went.

  Anne’s bedroom was warm, but she felt a chill deep inside her. She sat on her bed, a towel covering her after a shower. David had been gone for over two hours and she missed him already.

  She kept going over the scenario of her date with McCauley in her head.

  How on earth had she let David talk her into such a wild plan? She applied the barest of make up and selected a pair of jeans to wear. It would be hard enough keeping John’s hands off her without inflaming him further with revealing clothes.

  She stood in front of the mirror and let the towel drop to the floor. She inspected her nakedness.

  Yes, she had a great body. For once though, she wished she had not. She knew she had used her body, her looks and her wits, to get ahead. Never in a million years had she ever considered it would come back to haunt her like this. Anne pulled on a bra and pants, faded denims and a woolen sweater.

  She scraped her hair back into a ponytail, stood back, and examined the results. It would have to do. Anne considered she looked as casual as she could get away with. Too little effort and the Chief would smell a rat.

  The telephone rang. Anne thought for a moment that the plan might be going to fail at the first hurdle until she heard Dave’s voice.

  “Hi David, God, I thought you were him going to cancel.”

  “You wish.”

  “I certainly do, I’m shitting myself.”

  Dave was calm and collected. “Everything will be OK Anne, just keep him busy until ten or so and leave the rest to me.”

  Anne wasn’t happy at all. “You sure you know what you’re doing David?”

  “Positive.”

  eleven

  The tall man drove his car within all speed limits. Although it was unlikely that he would be stopped, he was taking no chances. The boss would be pleased with him.

  He made his way toward the home of John McCauley. Everything was going just fine. Within a few hours, all these little problems would be sorted out. As usual, people came to him to sort out their mess. It would cost though. This was not cheap labour. The Chief Superintendent would be really pissed. It wasn’t that the tall man had anything personal against McCauley. The guy had got careless. He’d upset the wrong people and this was the result.

  The bag of clothing, stained with the lifeblood of William Henry Bailey, was in the boot of his car ready for disposal. Once the next little matter was out of the way, the boss would be eating out of his hand and the tall man would be considerably better off. Everything was going to be just fine. Yes, just fine.

  McCauley had taken off his suit, showered and changed into a pair of casual but expensive trousers, a cotton shirt, and his new Lancashire Cricket Club tie.

  He could never bring himself to go out without a tie. He had worn a tie every day of his life since being a Constable on the beat. His ex wife had always tried to get him to be more fashionable.

  She would come back from a shopping trip with all kinds of trendy clothes, stuff that he could never wear. Shit, he even wore a tie in the house.

  Diane, his ex, had left two years ago December gone. It had been just a week before Christmas. The silly weak little woman had gone without a word, or for that matter, any of the Chief’s cash.

  But she had left.

  He studied a photograph of Diane that still adorned the bedside cabinet. A pretty young woman looked back at him. Where did she go?

  How could someone change so much over time? He hadn’t changed. He had still behaved the same way those eighteen years. How could she leave John McCauley?

  He checked his watch. It was time to leave; time to collect his date. He picked up the car keys from the antique dresser that matched all the furniture in the bedroom and walked down the stairs to the front door.

  A creature of habit, he left the landing light on to detract the casual unwelcome visitor. He walked to the cubbyhole under the stairs and checked that his safe was locked. No bastard would get in there. Of that, he was certain.

  Once outside he opened the door of his Rover car, the paintwork as clean and presentable as his home and indeed, John McCauley himself.

  As he pulled slowly from the Avenue, he thought he noticed a car that seemed a little out of place. He put the thought from his mind, tuned the car stereo to his favourite station and whistled along to Frank Sinatra doing it his way.

  As McCauley drove, Anne paced the floor of the lounge. She had finished a second glass of brandy, considered a third and then decided a clear head was needed.

  Her watch said 8.15 p.m. He was late. Then, she heard the car and saw the headlights in the driveway. Her stomach did a quick flip as she caught sight of McCauley behind the wheel. She collected her coat and bag, walked to the door, took a deep breath and stepped out into the night air.

  The second she sat in the passenger seat of the car the Chief leaned over to kiss her.

  She offered her cheek but he roughly grabbed the back of her head with his left hand and their mouths met. With his right, he pawed like an adolescent at her left breast.

  Anne immediately pushed his hand away.

  “John! Take it easy. I do have neighbours you know.”

  He looked quizzically at Anne. “Never bothered you before sweetheart.”

  Anne remembered the script but also knew McCauley liked a challenge. “I’m not some tart from the Cherry Tree Club John. Keep this up and I can just as easy go back inside. Women can change their mind you know.”

  Despite being a hard bastard, McCauley was still a sucker for a beautiful woman. Sometimes a man’s brain is overridden by his groin. This was one of those times.

  It had been two months since he and Anne had slept together, one excuse after another. She’d come around though. He always knew she would. She knew which side her bread was buttered.

  “OK sweetheart, have it your way. Where are we going?”

  Anne put on her best smile. “I thought a nice little pub in the country.”

  The Chief eyed the woman to his left, like a fox stalking its prey. Her dark hair was pulled away from her face. That perfect body, hidden by a thick wool sweater.

  “OK,” he thought, “I’ll play your little game for now. It will soon be my turn, mark my words.”

  He reversed the car from the driveway and pushed in a cassette. Some radio two-type smooch stuff. Anne was completely unimpressed. She thought of David. She could think of little else. She had to snap out of her muse. If she did this right, stuck to the plan, everything would be OK.

  Dave packed his bag. Inside were the various tools he would need for the job; items he had acquired over the years prior to his much less dangerous role as a Police officer.

  Why he still kept them, he was unsure. He could only presume it was his Yorkshire upbringing. His father would always say, “Never throw owt away.”

  He had a very useful set of kit. An array of keys and homemade implements t
hat he had used in the past to recover cars, electrical equipment and people. He’d been required to make ‘collections’ from all kinds of weird and wonderful places during his employ in the shady club-land of South Yorkshire. Back then he had been the youngest of the staff. Quite often the debtors would underestimate him because of his youth. They quickly found out, that to do so was a big mistake.

  Dave dressed in neutral colours. The bag that contained the tools was an old brown briefcase. To the casual observer, he’d be a civil servant walking home late from his office. Nothing looked out of place. Even his gloves were the type worn on a cold evening by the average bloke.

  One last check in the mirror and Dave left the house.

  He climbed into his Mini car, his large frame squeezed into the driver’s seat. His plan was committed to memory. Nothing was to be written down, no addresses, times or dates. If everything went to rat shit, the less evidence he had on his person the better. If the worst was to happen, his briefcase would be dumped and he would be clean.

  He drove the mini cautiously. The old car was incapable of any great speed, but the last thing he needed was attention before he reached the plot. Some five minutes walk from McCauley’s house was the pub where, unknown to Dave, Billy Bailey had been dropped by Raymond Holmes. ‘The Anchor’ was situated in the heart of the suburban village of Hutton. It was a favourite place for senior Policeman to reside as the Lancashire Police headquarters was there.

  The Anchor was busy on certain nights through the week and attracted Police officers who were on training courses at HQ. Dave parked the mini in a space on the car park, took the briefcase from the back seat and locked his car.

  He entered the pub by the front door and walked directly to the bar. He ordered a scotch and sat in a quiet corner of the room surveying the customers.

  Dave stood out like a sore thumb. He was easily the youngest customer by ten years. At least five of the regulars surveyed him with suspicion. This was just as he had hoped. Dave was far enough away from the target house so people would not connect him to the up-coming job and if a punter or a Police officer recognised him, even better. They would be ready to confirm his whereabouts if he needed an alibi.

  The next part was tricky. He had to leave the bar and return without any of the patrons noticing his absence.

  He had allowed himself just fifteen minutes to get to the house, gain entry, find the files and get back to his seat in the bar.

  By the time he was halfway down his second drink, the bar was busy enough for him to make his exit.

  Dave walked to the gents, leaving his jacket on his seat and his scotch on the table.

  Once inside the toilet, he looked for the window that led to the outside. If you are planning to do anything illegal, there are always some points that are risky and this was one of them. The sight of Dave’s arse sticking out of the toilet window would be the beginning of the end.

  The window was less than three feet square and sat about six feet from the ground. Dave tried the catch. It was stuck firm with several coats of paint.

  He was about to give the offending article a second try when a customer joined him in the toilet.

  Dave walked to the washbasin and turned on the tap. The first signs of nerves came over him. The man took an age to piss, but thankfully didn’t stay to wash his hands. Once again, Dave took a firm grip of the window catch and applied pressure. There was a cracking sound, and the catch was free. The window though still remained firmly in place.

  Dave cursed under his breath. He had done a drive past of the pub earlier that evening, which had confirmed the windows presence, but hadn’t planned for this.

  Despite his height, Dave couldn’t get enough leverage on the frame to move it. He looked around for something to stand on. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back. The clock was ticking.

  He noticed a metal waste bin in the corner of the room. He emptied its contents into the toilet basin, turned it upside down and gingerly stood on it to see if it would take his weight. If someone came in now the shit would hit the fan.

  Balancing himself on the bin, Dave placed the balls of his thumbs on the window frame. He gave an almighty push and the window was open. Several pieces of paint had fallen from the frame. Dave scooped them up in his hand and threw them down the toilet with the other rubbish. He flushed the toilet and righted the waste bin in its original position.

  His heart was beating fast and he was sweating now. He threw his briefcase through he opening.

  Grabbing the frame with both hands, he pulled himself upward.

  Dave wasn’t the most graceful of men. He managed to get his right shoulder and head through the window and then wiggle half his frame through.

  He found himself dangling headfirst some three feet from the ground. There was no time to worry about the odd scratch. Dave let himself fall. He landed with a thump on the tarmac of the pub car park.

  Dave stood and checked the area for spectators. There were none.

  Next, he pushed the window back into place leaving enough of the frame visible to re-open it again later. He collected his case, adjusted his clothing and strode purposefully toward the home of John McCauley.

  In a quaint country pub, some five-miles away in the village of Croston, the Chief was drinking heavily.

  He had consumed at least three drinks to each one of Anne’s and was leaning over the table which separated them. He was in no mood to appreciate the brasses and antique furnishings that adorned the bar.

  His speech was slurred and Anne figured he’d obviously just topped up from dinner. Anne knew all abut the infamous liquid lunched with his good buddies Williams and Casey. She hated the macho bravado of those little gatherings.

  “So, darlin’, tell me. Where have you really been this past few days?”

  Anne’s stomach gave a lurch but she stayed as calm as possible. She smiled, but played nervously with a coaster. “I told you John, a friend came over and we....”

  “Don’t give me shit babe. It’s me you’re talkin’ to, not some young sprog. You can’t kid me. You’ve got yourself another boyfriend, haven’t you?”

  Customers in the quiet bar were starting to notice McCauley’s raised voice.

  Anne again tried to calm things. “There’s no one else John. Christ I haven’t time to see anyone at the moment, I’m swamped with work.”

  He stared into Anne’s eyes, disbelief all over his face. How many times had he been lied to the last 20 odd years? He took a gulp of his drink and sneered. He stood and motioned to Anne.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  His sudden movement and demanding tone took Anne by surprise. She stammered, “Err, where do you want to go next then John?”

  He took hold of Anne’s hand and squeezed so hard it hurt. “My place my little lying sweetheart, my place.”

  Anne used all her strength to pull away her hand. “No John! I wanted us to have a nice quite drink and you are behaving like a complete arse!”

  The Chief was in no mood to be reasonable. “What’s the matter? Not up for a real man anymore? Got ourselves a toy boy have we?”

  The people around the bar had started to notice the argument. McCauley now inches from Anne’s face.

  “Listen to me,” he stage whispered. “Me and you are going to my place, or you,” he pointed at her face, “will pay dear for it. Understand lady?”

  Anne was scared, but it wasn’t time to show fear. Not to a man like him. That would be a big mistake. The spirit she had shown since childhood gushed from her like a torrent. Ok, so she’d been a fool, but no more. She stared straight at him and hissed. “So if you don’t get to fuck me, you want to bust me. Is that it John?”

  McCauley hardly noticed the challenge. The drink had defeated his logic. He swayed on his feet.

  “I have information,” he bragged much too loudly, “on you, on your new friend and on every other bastard that’s against me these days.”

  Anne, now past the point
of caring, took on her most patronizing tone, “Oh dear, are the big nasty boys all ganging up on you John? You’re a drunken has-been. No one cares anymore, especially me. I don’t want you in my life. You can’t control me. I’ll resign first. You can’t even get the better of a two year probationer.”

  The Chief looked like he had been slapped. Suddenly the picture of sobriety, he turned pale with anger.

  Anne whished she had kept her mouth firmly shut.

  “Listen to me girly. You’re just another slapper trying to do a man’s job.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys. “You’ll be back with mummy and daddy by the end of the week. And your new boyfriend will be bouncing drunks from boozers for a living even sooner.”

  The Chief turned to the engrossed crowd in the bar, their faces a mixture of shock, disgust and embarrassed amusement. He pointed to Anne. “She’s a good fuck, but too expensive for my taste.”

  He staggered to the door of the pub and almost tripped as he opened it. Seconds later, he was behind the wheel of his car and on the road to town.

  It was a cold night, even for the time of year. Dave could feel the tips of his fingers tingle inside his gloved hands, as he walked the 500 yards or so to the Chief’s house. The telltale signs of one of the final frosts of the year were forming on the tarmac path.

  The property stood alone surrounded by mature trees and a high stone wall. Despite this, Dave could still see a light burning inside the hallway. In his stomach the earlier Scotch turned to bile in his throat. Had Anne not been able to keep him away?

  Could it be McCauley had another visitor that they hadn’t planned on? Dave’s nerves jangled and once again he felt the sweat drip cold in the small of his back.

  This was not the first time he had ‘collected’ from a house. The difference was, of course, that previously he had nothing to lose. Now he had everything.

  He knew there was only one course of action he could take. Take a deep breath, go and knock on the door and see what happened.