by Daniel Birch
So I killed him quickly.
With all my power, almost like I had summoned it from the gods themselves, I struck. I struck with my fist to the underside of his nose. I heard it crack, I even felt it crack. Once, twice, then the third time, as the bones in his nose crumbled completely in front of my fist. I wasn’t stopping until his nose was destroyed. I caught him gently as he fell forward. I caught him quietly too, for this was a stealth kill. I noticed the blood lines in his eyes, that was because I’d punched the underside of his nose that hard, that the tip had cracked and spiked the frontal part of the brain, causing the weird zombie like look in the eyes. Some Martial Artists say use the palm for such a kill. It’s true, a palm can do it but, trust me, a fist works better every time.
Chapter Thirteen
Thinking about Tommy the night before got me upset. Still no fucking word. What was the army playing at? If only we had some word.
Still, I think we all had something telling us in the back of our minds that he was gone, and in some horrible way. I didn’t want any sort of word to confirm it. I had to still believe he was ok. I had to.
I really felt for poor Emma. It was hard for me so I knew she must be going through hell. I had been remembering Tommy taking me out on his bike. He loved motorbikes and I had it in my mind to get one.
Foolishly, I mentioned it to my wife.
Now Wednesday mornings at work were never my favourite, but this Wednesday morning had started so bad it really seemed like it was going to be the bitch of the bunch.
Firstly, my dear wife and I had been arguing from basically as soon as we woke, which was 6 am. I had told her I was going to see a man after work that I knew that could maybe get me a cheap bike. I was done with her dictating what I spent my money on. It wasn’t like we had kids so, apart from house payments and everything else, she basically spent the lot - joint accounts - I tell you, its downhill from there.
Being the controlling evil bigot she is, she went even more crazy than usual. Now, ok, it may sound selfish that I wanted a Harley. I know they are expensive. But we had more than enough money coming in, and she never had a problem using my money for spa days with her and her shallow plastic-breasted friends. I also turned a blind eye on all the credit cards and on all the random shit she bought on an everyday basis. She was a kept woman who managed to fall out of work when she realised I had money. It didn’t bother me at first, money means nothing to me. I’d be happy to be with a girl who didn’t have 10p to her name if I thought she was the right one for me.
It was the principle of the thing. It was the only thing I had wanted to buy for myself since we got married. I think the last thing I bought for myself was a suit for my wedding! So yeah, we had started shouting and carrying on right away. I stormed off earlier than usual just to get out of the house. I had a McDonald’s breakfast in mind and nobody was stopping me.
On the way to get my breakfast I was contemplating leaving her, I wasn’t happy, this wasn’t love. I felt like I was trapped. But enough of that, breakfast time.
I got to the window of the drive-through. Because the intercom wasn’t working, the window opened.
‘Hi, Hun, can I have a …?’
Before I had even got my words out, she looked at me all smugly and told me there had been an accident in the kitchen and all service was suspended for a short while. I asked her if she could maybe even throw me a bacon sandwich. She looked at me as if I had two heads and told me no, while smiling…bitch!
I plodded along to work, thinking to myself I’d maybe nip in a café and get something then, boom, my tyre.
Fucking Wednesday’s!!
So like I say, Wednesday mornings hated me. But things were about to turn. I arrived at work late, pissed off and generally not at one with the world.
I decided to seclude myself in the realms of my office. To take refuge in tossing it off on my computer, I got on Facebook, changed my status to ‘Joey Graziano is....fucking hating Wednesdays!’.
I also thought I may do some social chattering and generally waste my day while eating biscuits and nipping out for the occasionally cigarette. I had no clients today, so because of my start to the day I informed my receptionist that there was a ‘no calls’ rule for the day.
After a few hours of painting my mail order A Team van and then perfecting my putting with my office golf set, I heard the chime of evil…the phone.
‘I said no calls today, Hun, I told you. I am unable to work because of the world’s refusal to feed me.’
‘You didn’t say no clients, though, Tommy.’
‘Oh, that’s funny. Hun, ha de fucking ha!’
‘Well you didn’t Joey, and this man is a potential private client. He isn’t your regular scally type. It’s money, Tommy.’
‘Mmm, there it is right there, the route of all evil, yes, ok, let me straighten myself out a second. And this man is where?’
‘He is in the waiting room, Joey.’
‘Send him in, Hun. And, Hun…thank you. Without you I would do nothing all day.’
That last bit was true. She really pushed me. You would think she was my boss.
Sitting at my desk looking professional, as one does when seeing a new client,was like being in a play, and if you knew your role, it was easy. For one you had to look the part; secondly, try not to stutter, speak clearly and when you speak be ready to answer questions on what you have said. You have to know what the fuck you are talking about, though. Some clients, not many, but some, tend to be educated and can trip you up. Hate them fuckers. I have two plays from the Joey Graziano play book when dealing with those sorts, anticipate and manipulate.
Law. Some say it takes hard work to get where I have, and it did in some sense. The studying was hard, the tedious hours reading books and so on became a drag. But once you got there... easy.
Easy peasy.
My take on the law was simple… a collection of rules for a society to live together by, some moral, some practical. And the punishments our laws hand out are for the prevention of chaos.
Simple.
As the man entered my office I sat straight. I was doing the old pen in the mouth routine, with a slight frown as if I was deep in thought.
He knocked as he entered.
‘Hello, Mr. Graziano,’ he said as he slowly walked in. He looked at me, sizing me up almost.
‘Hello, sir.’ I offered my hand which he shook firmly. ‘Please sit.’
We sat down and he told me his name.
‘I am Mr. Valukana. I come because of a glowing recommendation from an old client of yours.’
Valukana was well dressed, well groomed, and certainly well spoken from my first impression of him. He had an accent I could not place. He spoke perfect English, but there was an underlying accent there.
‘Well thank you, Mr. Valukana. Call me Joey, please. To which old client do you refer?’
‘Ok, Joey, you can call me Valukana. You will remember him, Joey. He says you are the best criminal lawyer he has ever had. With the amount of trouble he gets into that, my friend, is a compliment. His name is Slava.’
I knew the guy, instantly. Slava was the kind of man who epitomised the phrase ‘career criminal’ and through his crimes had probably helped build the very office I sat in.
‘Yes, yes, good old Slava, Slava Fachenko. Although, as I remember, he is not that old. Is he still working the club scenes, the nightlife?’
‘That he is. But he works for me now.’
‘Ah, he in trouble?
‘No.’
Valukana sat there silently for a minute or so. I have to say he made me uncomfortable with his quietness. There was something, well, quite scary about him, and it was freaking me out.’
I broke first.
‘Well, sir, you must have a reason to see me today, so what can I do for you?’
‘What can you do for me? That is one way of putting it. Another way of putting it, my friend, would be what can you do for yourself? Are you following me?�
�
I was confused. This man was quite intimidating to say the least. ‘I’m not sure I do follow, sir. Enlighten me.’
Valukana stood. I watched him as he looked at my photos on my wall. He browsed my various certifications and achievements, which my secretary had put up might I add, not me. He then turned and looked at me. He had piercing eyes.
‘I am led to believe that you represent a Mr. Rushworth? Is that correct Joey?’
‘It is, sir, but I cannot talk about an active client or any client for that matter. I’m sorry. I don’t suppose you have heard of a little thing called client confidentiality?’
‘Ok, Joey, ok. I don’t mean to push. I know you are as clean as they come - the cleanest.’
‘As a vicar’s sheets,’ I joked as I felt the mood of the room lighten a wee bit.
Valukana laughed, to my relief.
‘I know you can’t talk about him, Joey, but I can. Off the record, if it makes you feel better. This Rushworth was from Latvia originally. Correct?’
It made me mad that he was fishing about a client, in my office too, the cheeky bastard.
‘Look, on the record, I can’t talk about anything which I know fuck all about. Adding to that, I think you have overstayed your welcome. I cannot and will not discuss client matters and I’m sorry to say you have to get the fuck out of my office if you are hoping I am going to disclose things to you.’
Valukana laughed.
I didn’t.
‘Denial, Joey, is fucking beautiful. You truly are a good lawyer. You even have me believing you. Joey, don’t be alarmed, I just need the same favour you did for Rushworth. I need a fucking different passport. I fucking swear to you, not ever will I ask anything remotely illegal again…ever. I will even throw so much work your way, to do with my impending building permits and legal issues. Seriously, I will be throwing a lot of business your firm’s way, and I just need a passport for my guy. Immigration are proving to be constant ball busters.’
This guy was funny, and had a charisma about him. I felt a hell of a lot better now.
‘Look, I am telling the truth, I am not denying anything. I helped him because he needed it, and on the whole he is a nice man .I don’t do the passports personally, I’m a fucking lawyer, but I know of somebody who knows of somebody.’
I wrote down a number and passed it to him.
Valukana shook my hand again. He seemed so intense when he was serious.
‘You ever need anything, anything, you call me, ok?’ He passed me a number. ‘You may hear things about me, but not all of it is true. Just remember, Joey, you ever need me, whatever it is for, and I am here.’
‘Thank you.’ I smiled as he started to walk off. He then turned to me. He looked and smiled again. I remember thinking ‘just fuck off!’ But he didn’t.
Opening his jacket again, he pulled out a cheque book.
‘I take it a cheque is acceptable?’
‘Yes. You could have paid in reception, though, but here is fine I guess.’
My standard fee for a private client varied. I didn’t really want to take anything off the man, but figured if he wrote a cheque for a few pounds I could throw it in our firm’s Christmas fund for the hospital.
‘Thank you,’ he said as he handed me the cheque. He then walked out of the office.
Thank God. I wanted to get back to my lazy, fucking Wednesdays.
I then looked at the cheque. It was for five hundred pounds.
Should I take it? Why would he give me this much money?
I decided I would return it in the post. But now it was relax time again, time to do nothing. Yes!
My receptionist was an angel, great sense of humour, plus she always said what was on her mind. She told me the truth and when I needed to pull my head out of my arse. I needed that type of person around me at work because I get de-motivated, as we all do from time to time.
I had just got comfy in my chair - I was determined to paint my A Team van - when I heard the phone again. ‘Aaagh’ I shouted as I picked it up.
‘Joey, you have to take this.’
‘I don’t have to take anything, honey, apart from shit off my wife, constantly and every day,’ I joked as I had just started to finish painting the side panels of my A Team tin model van.
‘Joey, I’m serious, you just have to take it, that’s all I can say.’
I don’t know what it was but there was a hint of something in her voice. She wasn’t her usual bouncy self; a disturbance in the force so to speak.
Maybe my wife had croaked. I should be so lucky.
‘Ok, put them through, Peggy Sue!’
I adjusted my mood and put my mini paint brush down and fixed my work head back on. My voice was chirpy, but serious. Someone didn’t want me to relax today that was for sure.
‘Hello, this is Joey Graziano. How can I help?’
‘Joey?’
The voice was familiar, but it was a bad line. It sounded like whoever was calling was ringing near a road.
‘Yes this is Joey. Can I help? Who is this?’
There was a pause for a few seconds.
‘Joey it’s me. It’s Tommy.’
Bang, just like that.
I nearly dropped the phone.
Fucking Wednesdays.
Chapter Fourteen
U S MILITARY BASE CAMP ANACONDA – BAGHDAD, IRAQ 1100 HOURS
After putting in a week’s emergency leave at work, I was on the first flight to the American Military Base, Camp Anaconda, which was a giant base built by the Americans just north of the capital Baghdad.
Having a few friends in the military myself, I managed to pull some strings and board an army flight. I still paid obviously and it was a little bumpy, but I didn’t give a shit. I was going to see my friend. I hadn’t seen Tommy for six months, and the crazy thing was he had supposedly been dead for four of them.
I didn’t get long to talk to Tommy when he rang; he just said he was tired and ill. I asked him if he was ok. He didn’t answer and just said he needed some treatment and wouldn’t be home for weeks yet. He asked me to not to tell Emma straightaway. He said he had his reasons and I respected them, even though I knew Emma would kill me if she knew I knew without telling her.
Like I said it wasn’t a long call, I was just hyped that he was alive, although I was scared of what state my friend would be in. Did he have his legs and arms? Was he disfigured? I called myself an arsehole in my mind for thinking such terrible thought but I couldn’t help it, I just hoped he was ok. I couldn’t believe he was alive.
Before I left for my flight there was something Tommy said which caused me a little alarm.
‘When you leave your house, and I mean as soon as you leave your house, go see Crazy Keller. He will give you a currant bun.’
It sounds innocent I know, but ‘innocent’ is not a word that you would associate with a man known as Crazy Keller (he tried to set Tommy on fire once) and for those of you who didn’t know the slang around these parts, ‘currant bun’ was not a tasty treat packed with calories, but something that rhymed with bun… packed with bullets.
After making a swift pit stop at Keller’s, I got on my way. It was actually quite surreal flying into Baghdad. I talked with some soldiers who had been on leave and didn’t want to come back. I also talked to a few young lads, one was 18, one 19, they looked too young for war, they were hardly men. Talking with them about what they expected made it dawn on me they never had many choices. That seemed to be the way of things, like Tommy, he opted for the Army and active service to get out of Hepshaws.
I remember Tommy’s first leave after his first tour in Iraq. He had a different look about him. Someone asked him one night that was it for queen and country, for freedom why he fought. He gave them a blank look and said ‘I fight for the man on my left, my right, behind and in front of me. Queen and country? Politicians? That’s all well and good but they don’t have AK’s firing at them do they? RPG’s flying above their heads. All I give a d
amn about are the men I serve with, I don’t think about the reasons. I know only orders.’
Once I landed at Camp Anaconda, the absolutely massive US Military Base, I was blown away with how quiet it was. I expected choppers flying everywhere, jets screeching in and out, tanks rolling past, but I suppose that’s a mix of me not knowing shit about the army life, and too much TV.
As I entered the base I was greeted by a Captain Walter Redman, I didn’t expect to be met by someone with such a high rank. I thought some medic would meet me and take me to the Military Hospital.
After introducing himself he said I could call him Walter or Captain. I called him ‘Captain’ because it just sounds cool, doesn’t it?
Walking with the captain he gave me the rundown of what the base did. He was friendly enough but was holding something back. I know people, and I have a gift of seeing straight through them. Maybe that was the lawyer in me talking but something was rotten in Denmark.
After all, a British Soldier had been rescued and / or found alive. Surely after all the debate over friendly fire, this was a happy story for the Americans to gloat over?
I wondered, why all the hush.
I was becoming restless with the guided tour by the captain. I wasn’t here to learn the history of the Second Recon Division. I wasn’t here to learn about the men from back in ‘Fort Hood Texas’, although I’m sure they were all great soldiers. I was only interested in one of them, Tommy.
After walking the halls and seeing the photos, we came to the captain’s office. He offered me a seat and a coffee and asked me if we could speak in confidence. He wanted my word. I couldn’t give it to him, as I had no idea what he was about to say. Adding to that I knew he wanted to tell me, and he did.
He explained the circumstances on how Tommy came to be at Camp Anaconda, and not at an English base. He had asked for my word not because it was classified per se, but he just didn’t want any public spats with the British Army, especially because of the recent friendly fire incidents.
I then gave my word, as I wasn’t interested in anything military, just my friend. We talked for over an hour.