Stone Cold: A Stone Cold Thriller (Stone Cold Thriller Series Book 1)

by J. D. Weston

  Movement in the corners of Harvey’s eye caught his attention; the blue van that was parked in front of the cafe was pulling out. It joined the slow-moving traffic of Green Street, leaving Harvey with a clear view of Donny’s car, which remained parked in the alleyway beside the main entrance to the bar.

  School children walked past in waves. Their excitement and energy was like a hive of bees. Every so often a school child would walk past the cafe alone with their head down. Harvey wondered about the kids that walked alone. Life is hard for children, his own childhood had been very lonely once Hannah had gone. Children often feel like they have no voice, nobody to talk to, to tell things. Until of course, the pain and suffering become too much. Hannah had been the same. She’d been quiet for weeks before it happened. Harvey had sat that time in the kitchen, hidden in the shadows. He’d heard the cries. He’d seen one of the men come out of the cellar; he never found out who the other man was, but when he did, he would be patient, he would plan and he would execute, then remove himself from the Cartwrights and retire in peace. He had vowed never to sit in the shadows again.

  Harvey had continued to punish bullies of all descriptions. The school incidents were just the awakening. Once Julios had begun to teach Harvey, not only how to defend himself but how and when to attack, Harvey sought new applications for his skills. Patience, planning, execution.

  Harvey had practised hard and had listened to everything, every word that Julios said. Julios was not a man to waste words on fluff. He had taught Harvey a way of life.

  Harvey had continued his studies with Julios into adulthood. He’d never actually stopped training, it wasn’t like there was a certificate waiting for him and a graduation. The passing out ceremony was not a celebration or a gathering of the collective achievements of students. Instead, it was Harvey being sent on a real job with Julios, and then another. Each time they went on a job together, Julios assumed the role of command and his decision was final. But over the years, Harvey and Julios had developed as a cohesive team. Julio would usually carry out the dirty work if there was only one target, while Harvey would prepare the approach, escape, the plan B’s and keep his eyes open. The team was infallible, the slightest gestures or expressions from one could be translated into actions by the other, with no spoken words required.

  Julios’ intuition was the salt in the stew, the catalyst for Harvey’s development. It was what pushed Harvey onto the path he had been walking ever since he was twelve years old.

  Julios and Harvey had been training in the large gym to the rear of the house. It was a standard oblong building with a pitched roof, and floor to ceiling glazing that ran around the perimeter of the building and allowed a view of the wooden deck and swimming pool. It was separated from the main house by a short walk across the grass. After training, they had walked to the house to fetch water. Inside, John had been holding a meeting with his men. The meetings were monthly, and the men would come and talk in John’s large office to discuss jobs, review problems and socialise. There were usually between fifteen to twenty of them from all of John’s bars across London.

  Two of the men had taken a coffee and smoke break as Julios and Harvey stood in the kitchen drinking water. They strode into the kitchen like they owned the place, asked the cook for coffee and stood there waiting and smoking while she boiled water. Harvey watched them curiously. Harvey had been tall for a fifteen-year-old, but still a boy to most men. The first man took a drag on his cigarette and moved to the sink to tap the ash. He leaned on the counter with his back to Harvey and Julios and continued his conversation with the second man, using wild arm gestures. He turned to tap his ash once more and blew his smoke up toward the open window. His profile was framed in the sunlight that shone through the glass. Harvey froze, instantly recognising the features, the movements and the breathing. He’d seen the profile before, only previously it had been lit by moonlight.

  Julios had picked up on Harvey’s change almost instantly. His attention during the training session that had followed the chance encounter was far removed from the previous session. Julios stopped and lowered his pads. Harvey stood, with his guard up.

  “That man,” began Julios, “you know him?”

  “What man?” Harvey remained composed and offered no emotion through facial movements. He continued to hold his guard up.

  Julios was an artist at communicating without words, the Da Vinci of facial gestures. He looked at Harvey.

  “I thought he was someone else,” Harvey lied. His eyes diverted to the floor and his guard dropped. Julios continued to look at him. Harvey could not voice his thoughts unemotionally with words. Instead, he returned Julios’ stare with a look of his own. Julios nodded.

  “I think it is time for patience, planning and execution, Harvey,” Julios had said.

  He was dragged back to reality when the waitress cleared her throat and said, “Are you going to sit there all day?”

  “How much will it cost to sit here all day, drink tea and be left alone?”

  The woman was taken back, nobody had ever asked that before, why would they?

  Harvey pulled a twenty pound note from his pocket. It was loose and crumpled as he didn’t own a wallet. “Tea,” he said and turned his head to face the bar.

  The old lady took the note, looked at it in her hand and quickly squirrelled it away into her apron, “Right, tea it is.”

  For Harvey, it was easy work, the only thing he didn’t like was the sitting around, he preferred to be active. He watched as the cleaning firm came and went and wondered why he’d been asked to trail Donny, who as far as Harvey knew was the golden boy in the eyes of their father. Donny was John’s real son, Harvey was just a prize John’s wife had collected along the way, like a shell that a child might pick up on the beach and put on their window ledge.

  The cafe’s punters around Harvey changed as if he sat in slow motion and the world buzzed around him. School kids, workers and a few mothers stopped by, meeting up for a chat about their husbands and some other woman who they referred to as “the slag”. Harvey didn’t turn his head to look at any of them. He just watched, like a faithful hound watches and waits for its master.

  Green Street was a busy road with slow-moving traffic. Often, Harvey’s view was obscured by large lorries that sat waiting for the traffic lights to change further up the road. They moved by to reveal Donny’s car still there and the front of the bar exactly how it was one minute before. The bar, which opened at 5pm, was mostly dormant during the daytime.

  Harvey noted a Ford parked on the far side of the street, a few doors down from the bar. He wouldn't have seen it, but for the hulk of a man that sat unmoving behind the wheel. Harvey sipped his tea and watched. The man had a hat on, and although Harvey could only see the shape of the man from across the street, it looked out of place and felt very wrong.

  The door to the bar opened, and Donny stepped out with Sergio by his side like a loyal puppy. They were deep in conversation as Donny locked the doors and walked to the Mercedes in the alley. He checked his hair in the glass before unlocking the car and climbing in. Sergio waited patiently and eased himself in alongside Donny. The Ford rocked gently as the man sat up from his slouch, and readied himself to drive.

  Harvey left and walked calmly to his motorbike, which was parked a few feet from the entrance to the cafe. He pulled on his helmet and watched from the corner of his eye as Donny’s Mercedes began to slowly roll out of the alleyway.

  Harvey fired up the ignition on his bike and waited for Donny to enter the traffic. Harvey watched the man from inside his visor but did not look at him directly. He knew now why he was asked to tail Donny, it wasn’t to catch him doing something he shouldn’t be, it was to protect him. As Donny waited for a gap in the traffic, Harvey looked for his own entry, he glanced over to the Ford, and the man in the hat was staring directly at him.

  Donny’s Mercedes pulled into the traffic, and the Ford fell in a few cars behind. Harvey knew the backstreets well a
nd decided to make a show of turning the opposite direction to throw the man off. Harvey turned left where the man had turned right. He took the next few right turns that eventually brought him back out onto Green Street, and saw the Ford in the traffic ahead. The Mercedes was in front of it. The tailing continued through East Ham; Harvey maintained his position, well out of sight behind the two cars. The convoy opened up when the three vehicles left the smaller roads and joined the North Circular road, where the wide, five-lane highway made discretion difficult. Harvey sat behind the Ford, a few cars back, but saw the man’s head look in his rear-view mirror to offer that stare. His fat head turned briefly at first, then again for a longer period of time. He’d been spotted.

  Donny was oblivious to the cat and mouse game behind him, and turned off at the Wanstead junction; he was followed by the Ford and then Harvey. They waited at a set of lights, where Donny took the left turn into the quieter country lane that led eventually to Theydon Bois. Harvey guessed he would be taking Sergio to either John’s house or home to Sergio’s new swanky apartment that had been recently built at the far end of the village. Sergio had moved there to be closer to John.

  The lights turned green. Donny made a slow turn into the lane, Harvey saw him through the Mercedes’ rear window, he was gesturing to Sergio with his hands. They were apparently in a discussion about something, and driving was not Donny’s primary focus. The Ford followed, but by the time Harvey reached the signal, the lights had turned to red. The car in front of Harvey stopped, leaving him behind to watch the Mercedes and the Ford disappear from view into the quiet winding country lane.

  A long two minutes passed as Harvey watched the cars in the oncoming traffic, one by one, speed by obliviously. Harvey had enough of waiting, he nosed out passed the red light, ready to cross as soon as a gap presented itself. Seeing a gap, Harvey accelerated into the lane where Donny had disappeared from view. He wound the bike up and got his knee down to the floor, taking each bend in the lane with adrenaline-fueled precision. He saw the upturned Mercedes laying on its side in a ditch on the edge of the road, its underside ablaze in rich red and orange flames. Harvey caught the tail of the Ford as it disappeared around the bend, obscured by trees.

  Harvey stopped the bike close to the flames. The stand was down before fully coming to a stop, and Harvey jumped off smoothly. He raised his arms to prevent the heat from burning his face, and ran around to the other side of the car, which was half buried in the trees. Sergio was sat there, twenty feet away, leaning on a tree. His eyes were wide, his knees were pulled up under his chin with his arms wrapped around them. He was in a state of shock.

  “Harvey, get me out,” Donny pleaded. The flames still rode the upturned side of the car, but it would be moments before it caught the vapour of the fuel that had leaked inside. “Harvey!”

  Harvey dragged the windscreen away, it had shattered and hung limply by the rubber seal at one end. He reached into the car through the windscreen hole and pulled Donny, trying to take his weight. But he was unable to help from the awkward position, and the heat from the fire was growing in strength.

  The flames began to move down onto the dashboard, finding fresh fuel in the plastics and wiring; angry thick black smoke began to fill the car.

  Donny’s leg was trapped. Harvey straightened, turned and put one leg into the car to stand on the centre console, he then bent low and folded his upper body into the tan leather interior. The heat immediately worked through his leather jacket, and his back began to cook.

  He reached for Donny’s belt and took hold with both hands, taking his weight from the door, which gave Donny the chance to re-arrange his feet, so they popped free of their restraints behind the pedals.

  The motion in the unstable car caused a pool of petrol to drip down onto Donny’s face.

  “Ah no, no.” The flames caught the scent of the fumes, and immediately reached out of the fire and licked Donny’s face.

  Donny screamed, and frantically tried to get out. He swiped at his face, but the flames remained hungry for his skin. His hair caught on one side.

  Harvey unfolded himself from the car, wrenched Donny clear and dropped him to the floor. He removed his jacket and smothered his foster brother’s face. He was moaning in pain beneath the jacket. Harvey uncovered Donny’s red and swollen face and put his jacket back on.

  “It’s not too bad.” He told Donny, as he dragged him across the ground over to Sergio, who sat aghast at the heroic endeavour he’d just witnessed.

  “Where’s your phone?” Harvey asked Donny.

  Donny just looked at the burning wreck with his mouth open and tenderly touched the bright red skin on the side of his face. The flames were high now, the blaze grew louder and reached higher. Though they were far enough from the fire, they still felt the intense heat.

  “Donny, don't touch it. Where’s your phone?”

  Donny fumbled through his jacket and felt the lump in his inside pocket.

  “Here.”

  “Call John,” replied Harvey turning away. He ran the few yards back to his bike.

  Moments later, Harvey was accelerating away, winding his way through the gears and leaning into the bend. The fire disappeared out of sight, but he saw the smoke rise high above the trees in his mirror.

  Harvey had some time to make up. The lanes were blessedly empty, so he took full advantage, and used the entire road to navigate the long, sweeping bends. He dropped his knee and rode the walls of the tires. Before long, he shot out of the lanes and into a little village, setting off the speed camera that was hidden in the overgrown trees. The camera marked the beginning of a thirty miles per hour zone. Harvey was touching one hundred and ten miles per hour. As he came out of the village, he still hadn’t seen the Ford. There was only one turn off it could have taken, so Harvey made a full loop of the roundabout at the end of the road and sped back down the way he had come. He took the turn carefully and headed toward Theydon Bois.

  The road was wider than the lanes had been, and was protected by trees on either side. So Harvey opened the bike up fully and hit one hundred and twenty-five miles per hour on the long straight. A long chicane divided two farms on either side of the road; he manoeuvred the bike expertly through the bends, and back onto the final straight before the village. He caught sight of the Ford in the distance and lowered his head again, giving the bike all it had.

  The sound of police sirens far behind caused Harvey to look back in his mirror. The much-slower traffic police car was a way off but was accelerating hard; the cop must have been parked up waiting to pull someone over and give them a hard time. Harvey maintained his speed until he was behind the Ford; he was close enough to note the plate number when the big man slammed on his brakes, causing Harvey to veer wide into the opposite lane. Harvey pulled back to the correct side of the road and checked his mirror, easing the brakes to a sensible speed.

  The car hadn’t followed, but the sirens grew closer. Harvey calmly turned the bike into a nearby farm that advertised fresh eggs and pulled behind the fence. The rush of wind sounded and faded as the police BMW sped past in the driver’s vain attempt to catch up with Harvey.

  Harvey removed his helmet and took a long, deep breath to control his adrenaline. He felt his phone vibrate and pulled it out of his inside pocket. John’s private number was displayed on the little screen.

  “Harvey? What’s going on? I just got a panicked message from Donny, I thought I told you to shadow him?”

  “Someone had a go at him,” replied Harvey.

  John’s voice calmed, “Did you get him?” He lingered on the word.

  “I caught up with him, but the police were on my tail.” He paused before adding, “I lost him.”

  There was silence from John, then, “Okay, well I’ve sent some boys to pick up Donny and Sergio, best you get back home. Come and see me.”

  Harvey put the phone back in his pocket, zipped up his jacket, put his helmet back on and rode calmly out of the little farm. He drove ba
ck to the house, lost in deep thought as to who might’ve put the mark on Donny. It could only have been Thomson.

  10

  THE HUNT IS ON

  Frank Carver sat at his desk in his office. It was dark outside, and most of the team had gone home, except Mills who was sat opposite Frank. Melody was a workaholic, she’d climbed the ranks faster than anyone he’d seen before and was dedicated to the job. Frank sensed she wasn’t in it simply because she despised criminals. She worked hard to catch them because she liked to win, she had to win. Losing wasn’t an option, and when push came to shove, the young girl would give everything she had to get the job done.

  Frank didn’t have much to go home to anymore. His options were to go home and drink, or stay and work, and keep his mind occupied. He kept a little nip in the drawer of his desk, which held the cold at bay, along with old memories he’d rather not think about. He enjoyed Mills’ company. Frank liked the way she thought; he liked her approach.

  “I think I may have a name to go with those tire marks, sir,” said Mills, tapping away on her laptop.

  Frank sat back and opened his mind, “Hit me.”

  “Well, Reg gave us several makes and models of motorbikes that would use that tire. It’s not common, it’s a hybrid, meaning it’s good for both off-road and road use, which limits the types of bike it can be put on.”

  “Okay,’ said Frank, “so our man is into motor-cross?”

  “Not necessarily, could just be that the bike is used in rough terrain, which means it’s not necessarily a city worker’s bike, but we can’t write any city workers off.”

  “This guy is not a city worker, that was the work of a pro. The man doesn’t sell stocks or insurance or whatever, he sits quiet, until he’s needed.”

  “That’s what we thought, sir,” began Melody, “I had Reg give me a list of owners of that bike in the area-”