by Conrad Jones
“No. I’m an advisor nowadays, a consultant of sorts.”
“I can get you into that house.” Patrick stopped smiling and winked again.
“Why would I want to go inside the house?” Nate frowned and looked away. He suddenly felt uncomfortable. It was as if Patrick could read what he was thinking.
“I don’t know. That is your business. But if you did want to, I can get you into that house.” He took a long sip of his beer and licked the froth from his top lip.
“He has cameras all over the place.” Nate looked out of the window again.
“Let’s just say I’m an advisor like you, a consultant expert on breaking and entering peoples’ houses,” Patrick laughed. “The cameras are no problem. He has an old system that uses wires. Wires can be cut.”
“What about the dogs?” Nate knew all the answers already, but he wanted to test Patrick.
“Poison.”
“Here, you two,” one of the tracksuits had approached the table that they were sitting at. “Do you want any weed?” The youth wore his hair shaved and he had stars tattooed beneath his left ear. His accent was local and he looked over his shoulder nervously as he spoke.
“Fuck off,” Patrick Lloyd said politely.
“What did you say, you blurt?” The youth snarled. He was trying to sound tough, but he couldn’t carry it off.
“You heard me,” Patrick stood up. “Fuck off.”
The youth looked him in the eye, trying to decide what to do next. Patrick smiled, but there was no humour in it. It looked more like a grimace. The dealer muttered under his breath and walked away. As he did, he raised his middle finger and waved it in Patrick’s face. Patrick was fast. He grabbed the extended digit and twisted it hard against the knuckle. The dealer went down onto his knees in seconds.
“Ah!” He cried. The pub went silent, everyone looking toward the scuffle. Patrick twisted the finger harder and the youth went over onto his back. “Fuck off! Get off me!”
“I told you to fuck off, now do it!” Patrick was still smiling as he helped the dealer up onto his feet. The other tracksuits in the pub were looking on with interest. Some were laughing at the youth and enjoying his embarrassment while others were snarling. Gecko thought it was time to leave.
“Finish your pint. We’ll talk at my place.” Nate swallowed his beer and stood up. He met the glares with his own stern eyes. They were outnumbered, but the youngsters were wary. Patrick followed suit and emptied his glass. As they left, a beer glass shattered above the door and their legitimate birth rights were questioned, but no one followed them.
“I could have done without that,” Nate said.
“What’s the problem?” Patrick laughed.
“I was trying to be discreet.”
“Well, you weren’t,” Patrick laughed again. “It could not have been more obvious that you were watching Benjamin’s gaff. You were behind a desk too long, soldier.”
Nate laughed too. He was right. Patrick Lloyd was sharp and he could be useful. They climbed into his car and made the short journey in silence. Both men knew they were about to plan a serious crime. A burglary at best, but murder was more probable. Nate lived in a large detached house in a secluded cul-de-sac. Most of the driveways were empty, their owners at work. There were a few obligatory four by four vehicles parked up waiting for the school run, but the road was quiet. As the Gecko parked up, a dark Audi pulled in behind him.
“Rozzers,” Patrick said, looking in the wing mirror. “They’ve been behind us since we turned into your road. I can spot them a mile away.”
“Shit!” Nate whispered. He had left the drugs and money he had taken took from Grebby under the back seat.
“What do they want?” Patrick raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not sure. I lost my son not long ago. It’s probably something to do with that.” Nate opened the door and climbed out. He closed the door before Patrick could say anything. Two overweight detectives approached him, wearing crumpled trousers and scruffy overcoats. The pride of the police force they were not. “How can I help you?” He asked as they came closer.
“Do you know Carl Lewis?” The detective asked without making any small talk.
“He was a friend of my son.”
“Have you seen him at all?” The police officer eyed him suspiciously. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. His shoes were scuffed and dirty.
“No, not since Nate’s funeral.”
“One of his friends told us you were asking questions about him,” the second officer added.
“I did ask questions about him, because you didn’t.” Nate answered icily. “I wanted to know who gave my son the ecstasy tablet that killed him.”
“Did you see Carl Lewis?”
“No. I asked who brought the tablets to the wake. That’s it.”
“So you found out who gave the tablet to your son, and then you did nothing about it?” The detective pushed.
“I did do something about it.”
“What did you do?”
“I reported it to you!” Nate jabbed his finger towards the detectives accusingly. His face contorted into an angry snarl. “I reported it to you and you did nothing!”
The detectives looked at one another and blushed. They shuffled uncomfortably on the pavement. “There was no offence committed. Your son took the tablet. Nobody forced him.”
“Fuck you!” Nate snarled. “He had just buried his mother.”
“Where were you last Wednesday?” The detective pushed on regardless.
“Why?” Nate shrugged. He needed to buy some time.
“Answer the question.”
“We were fishing on the Wirral,” Patrick Lloyd spoke. He appeared from behind Nate. “We went to New Brighton last Wednesday.”
The detectives looked deflated. “Were you there all day?”
“We got there about seven and didn’t leave until midnight. We landed shitloads of mackerel, didn’t we?” Patrick turned to Nate. “What’s this all about, anyway?” He grinned.
“Carl Lewis is missing.” The detective answered.
“I’d be looking at his friends and his dealer,” Nate said. “He was selling ecstasy to teenagers at college. It’s a dangerous game to play.”
“Thanks for your time.” The detective mumbled and walked back to their car. Nate and Patrick Lloyd watched them drive away. It was the beginning of a murderous partnership.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Gecko: The Past
Nate Bradley wanted to get into Jacky Benjamin’s home and interrogate him. He needed to know who supplied him with drugs. His investigations so far had told him that not only had he supplied the tablet, which had killed his son, he had also supplied his wife with a cocktail of drugs. Patrick Lloyd had a score to settle with Jacky Benjamin, too. He had ordered a plaything from him and then pulled out at the last minute. Jacky Benjamin had wanted a Chinese woman for a night. Simple enough to arrange, but he had called it off and made Patrick look foolish with his contacts. To make matters worse, Benjamin had spread rumours that it had been Patrick who had reneged on the deal. He lived or died by his reputation, and he couldn’t allow that to happen. When Patrick had contacted Benjamin about the rumours, the dealer had threatened to have him killed and thrown in the Mersey. Patrick wasn’t having that from a man half his age. He wanted payback, and luckily for him, so did Nate Bradley. Patrick had an affinity with him. They were both killers. Bad people magnetise with one another. What he didn’t understand was the fact that Nate killed for a purpose, whereas Patrick killed for pleasure. They were planning to break into Benjamin’s house, take his money and drugs and execute him. Patrick wanted to redistribute the drugs for profit, but Nate would not hear of it. He had lost his wife and son because of drugs, and he wanted them taken out of circulation. There was quite a stash building up in his lockup again. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with them, but he didn’t want Patrick to sell them. As they planned the hit, Patrick had other ideas.
They sat a distance away from the dealer’s house and watched. After a week of reconnaissance, they knew his movements and decided to hit him the following night. They drove to the Bluebell estate and waited for the shellsuits to leave. It was two o’clock in the morning when the bedroom light went off, and then they climbed out of Patrick’s van. Benjamin must have gone to bed for the night. They pulled balaclavas on and grabbed their tools. Patrick was fascinated by Nate. There was coolness about him that he admired. It was obvious that he was a professional. He didn’t know how far he would go or what he was trying to achieve exactly, but he would find out tonight.
“Did you kill him?” Patrick asked unexpectedly.
“Who?” Nate answered.
“Carl Lewis, the kid that disappeared.” Patrick smiled beneath the balaclava. He knew the answer but he wanted to know how deep their trust went.
“Yes, he killed my son,” was the simple answer.
“What about Benjamin?” Patrick pushed.
“He killed him too. Let’s get on with it.” Nate closed the door and walked toward the back of the house.
“What about whoever supplied Benjamin? When does it end?” Patrick beamed as he spoke.
“We’ll find out who supplied him tonight.” Nate mumbled. He wasn’t sure when it would be over. He didn’t care.
As they approached the house, Nate kept low and moved fast. It was basic training in the forces. Keep low, move fast and watch your corners. Soldiers never forgot it, because it was what kept them alive in urban warfare. The dogs were already dead. Patrick had poisoned them three days earlier. Benjamin was devastated, thinking it had been retaliation by someone with a grudge. Patrick used pliers to cut through the camera wires and disable the alarm box. He drilled through the window frame and threaded a wire around the window latch. They were inside the house in seconds.
The living room was a mess, beer cans and fast food cartons littered the floor. There was a teenage boy asleep on the settee, snoring peacefully. Nate moved quickly and pulled him off the settee by his feet. Patrick was on him, gagging him with a strip of towel. They fastened zip ties around his wrists and ankles and then dragged him into the corner.
“Make a sound and you are dead,” Patrick hissed. The teenager nodded. As Nate moved out of earshot, Patrick whispered in the boy’s ear. “You’re dead anyway, but we’ll have some fun first, kiddo.” The teenager`s eyes widened in fear and tears formed. Patrick liked it when they cried.
“Where does he keep the drugs and the money?” Patrick asked. It was a long shot, but worth a try. The juvenile shook his head. He was scared, but he didn’t want to grass. Patrick slapped him hard across the face, splitting his lip. They moved upstairs as one unit, listening for any sign that their presence was known. It was silent. Patrick opened the front bedroom door and they moved toward the slumbering lump in the double bed. There was a baseball bat leaning against the wall next to a bedside table. The table was packed with dirty coffee mugs in various stages of deterioration. There was a smell of mould mixed with sweaty feet pervading the room. Patrick picked up the baseball bat and before Nate could protest, he smashed it into the drug dealer’s knees.
“What the fuck!” Benjamin bellowed. He sat up and tried to scramble for the drawer of the bedside cabinet. There was a gun there, but he couldn’t reach it. They were too quick. He was bound and gagged in minutes. They carried him down the stairs between them and fastened him to a wooden chair with bungee cords. His teenage friend looked on with fear in his eyes, especially when Patrick plugged in the Morphy-Richards steam iron he had found in the kitchen. Nate was sharpening a carving knife in front of Jacky’s face. His eyes widened in terror as he started to cut his bedclothes off with the blade. He looked at the iron steaming and realised what was going to happen. As Nate cut the elastic in his boxer shorts and ripped them off, Jacky Benjamin panicked and started choking on the gag. He was trying to say something.
“Take the gag off,” Nate said.
“I think he’s nervous, do you?” Patrick laughed.
“Most people hate ironing.” Nate bent down and looked into the dealer’s eyes. “Especially naked it can be dangerous. You wouldn’t want to burn the crown jewels, would you?”
“What do you want?” Benjamin gasped as the gag was removed. “Who are you?”
“We want your money and your drugs, Jacky.” Patrick picked up the iron and held it close to his face. He pressed the steam button and the iron hissed as it released boiling vapour from the ports in the heat plate. It was close enough to act as a warning.
“I don’t keep anything here,” Benjamin lied.
Nate was about to speak when Patrick pressed the iron against the dealer’s face. He held it there and pressed the steam button again. Jacky Benjamin screamed. Nate rammed the gag back into his mouth, worried the screaming could be heard from outside. He glared at Patrick, but didn’t say anything. There had been no need to burn Jacky yet. The psychological threat was enough. It was becoming clear that Patrick was impulsive and impulse lead to mistakes. Nate Bradley didn’t like mistakes.
“I’ll ask you again. Where are your drugs and your money?” Patrick asked. He sniffed the burnt skin that was stuck to the iron and laughed. There was a perfect imprint of the heat plate burnt into Benjamin’s cheek. He was trembling with shock and tears streamed from his eyes. Patrick pulled the gag out of his mouth.
The drug dealer gritted his teeth and swallowed hard before answering. “Fuck off!”
Patrick was about to burn him a second time, when Nate stopped him. “Wait.” He held up his hand. “Do you want this crazy bastard to burn your face off for the sake of your money? He will carry on all night, can you?”
“There’s a couple of grand in the drawer next to the bed,” Benjamin said. “Take it and piss off.”
“Oh, I think you are insulting our intelligence, Jacky boy,” Nate laughed. “A clever boy like you keeps more than a few grand around. One last time, then I’ll leave him to it. Where are the money and the drugs?”
Jacky Benjamin looked at the iron and winced at the sight of his blackened skin melted to it. He thought for long seconds about his answer. “Look, whoever is paying you, I’ll double it.”
“No one is paying us,” Nate said flatly.
“Are you Leon’s muppets?” Benjamin asked, looking from one to the other. “Is he pissed off with me? Is someone else after my area or what?”
“Last chance, where is it?” Nate asked calmly. Patrick pressed the steam button once again.
“Fuck off!” Jacky Benjamin threw his weight backward in an attempt to escape the bungees. The chair toppled and he landed on his back. He thrashed about, desperately trying to escape. Patrick forced the dealer’s knees apart and pushed the steam iron into his groin. Benjamin let out a bloodcurdling scream as his testicles sizzled on the metal. “Okay! Stop,” he gurgled. His breathing was shallow and his eyes looked as if they may pop out of his head. Despite his pleas, Patrick held the iron there, fascinated by the pain his captive was feeling. “Stoooooop!” Jacky wailed.
“Stop it.” Nate pulled Patrick’s arm.
“What is your problem?” Patrick turned on him. “This scumbag killed your son.” The smell of scorched flesh filled the air. Nate saw something in Patrick’s eyes. Pure hatred. He had seen a thousand interrogators at work. Some of them enjoyed their subject’s pain more than others, but Patrick had something else. He was just plain evil.
“He is no good to me unconscious just now,” Nate said calmly. He was cool as a cucumber. They looked at each other and there was tension between them, but Nate had to take control of the situation. Patrick had to realise who was in charge here. “We need him to talk.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Patrick laughed again. “I bet that hurt, lad.” He mocked Benjamin cruelly.
“It’s in the washing machine,” Benjamin gasped. “Take the panel off the front. My stash is in there.”
Nate nodded to Patrick, who reluctantly
put the iron down and went into the kitchen to check out the washing machine. The younger boy he had tied up earlier was sobbing as he watched things unfold. He patted the terrified teenager on the head as he stepped over him. “Don’t worry, you’re next,” he laughed. The teenager started crying and a dark stain spread across the crotch of his jeans. Watching them burning his boss was too much. He decided that drug dealing was not the glamorous career he had thought it might be. Patrick grabbed a screwdriver from a drawer and forced the front panel. It clattered on the floor.
“What did he mean?” Benjamin sobbed.
“What?” Nate replied.
“What did he mean, I killed your son?” He was sobbing and his face was twisted with pain.
“He died after taking one of your ecstasy tablets,” Nate answered calmly.
“What?” Benjamin tried to turn around to see Nate properly. “When? How do you know he bought it from me?”
“He bought it from a kid called Carl Lewis.”
“Is he the kid that’s gone missing?” His eyes widened as he spoke. “The police have been all over me about him and his mate, Grebby. They’re both missing. You must be Nate Bradley’s father.”
“Bingo,” Nate nodded.
“Is that what this about?” Benjamin whined.
“Pretty much.”
“I’m sorry about your son. What’s your name?”
“Nate,” he said quietly.
“Well, Nate, I am sorry about your son. I am really sorry about your son,” the dealer sounded genuine. “I have never wanted to hurt any of the youngsters.”