Spring Showers Box-set

by Avell Kro

  23

  Archer had spent the afternoon in his room as he’d indicated to the receptionist.

  The steak sandwich had been excellent and he’d had an hour’s sleep to try and counter the jet-lag

  he’d felt creeping over him. After showering and freshening up, he dressed warmly and headed

  downstairs. There was a different receptionist on now, a pale young man who ignored him as he

  crossed the foyer.

  Tracy had emailed him details of the target address in Cornwall, and he had spent some time on his

  notebook working out a strategy for capturing the Irishman. Moore had also been as good as his

  word and sent through details of where to pick up his gear that had been sent in the diplomatic

  pouch. He left the warm hotel and hunched his shoulders against the chill of the evening as he

  waited for a cab. The city was buzzing with commuter traffic and pedestrians hurrying for the

  Tube, and lights were on everywhere. He knew every building around him would be centrally

  heated and cozy and momentarily contemplated returning to his room and ordering in. Maybe he

  could just go and pick up his gear and be back quickly.

  A black cab pulled up as he debated with himself, and he began to turn away, raising a hand in

  apology to the driver. He sensed a presence behind him and felt a hand grip his arm. Something

  hard dug into his side and Archer stiffened. A Southern drawl whispered in his ear at the same

  time as the cab’s rear door opened.

  ‘Be smart and get in.’

  Archer realised resistance was futile right now, and moved to the door. He bent and saw the side of

  the driver’s head. It was the Dixie boy, which meant his captor was probably the sergeant. He

  stepped into the back of the cab and a strong hand pushed him firmly against the far side, fol owed

  by the man’s body weight hard against him. The gun barrel hadn’t moved from his ribs. Archer

  glanced sideways and met the sergeant’s steely gaze.

  The cab moved off into the traffic.

  ‘Surprised?’ the sergeant asked mockingly.

  ‘Only that you were stupid enough to kidnap me on camera,’ Archer replied. ‘Aside from that, no.’

  The sergeant smirked. ‘Kidnapped? That’s pushing it a bit far, compadre. We’re just a couple of old

  soldiers catching up. Nothin’ wrong with that, is there?’

  Archer gave him a disdainful look and turned his attention to the driver.

  ‘So it’ll be you I have to thank for the shocking introduction to London, then?’ he asked.

  The Dixie boy’s eyes flicked to the rear view mirror and a grin crossed his lips.

  ‘No thank you’s are necessary, my friend.’

  ‘Oh, I wasn’t thanking you. I was just making sure I had the right person.’ He paused, and the Dixie boy’s eyes flicked up from the road again. ‘I owe you twice now.’

  The Dixie boy glanced at the sergeant now, who shook his head placatingly.

  ‘Don’t worry, pal, he’s just tryin’ to get inside your head.’

  ‘No no no.’ Archer shook his own head now. ‘I’m not doing that mate. I’m just making sure I have

  the right guy.’ He met the driver’s eyes again. ‘Because I will kill you. That’s all.’ He ignored the gun

  in his side and leaned forward slightly, still holding the driver’s gaze. ‘I mean it, mate. I will kill you.’

  The sergeant jerked him back against the seat and jabbed his pistol harder into Archer’s side.

  ‘Shut yer mouth, boy. Stop the trash talkin’.

  Archer ignored him and looked out the window, identifying landmarks as they drove. Heading east,

  he figured. Some thirty minutes later they pulled off into a side street in Leytonstone, and headed

  into an industrial block.

  It was the sort of premises where you could rent a unit on a weekly basis, usually used by

  tradesmen for a specific job or by gangsters for drug dealing. There were five units in a row on

  each side of a driveway, and they all seemed to be closed up for the night.

  The cab eased through an open door into the middle unit on the right and the door came down

  behind them. Lights were on inside and directly in front of the cab was an office with a set of stairs

  going up the side wall to a storage area above the office. Standing on the stairs was the guy Archer

  had bumped in the park, cradling a suppressed Beretta M12 chopper in his hands, watching the

  new arrivals.

  TJ Wheeler.

  Archer glanced quickly around, getting his bearings and scoping any possible weapons or escape

  routes. Stacked against the left wall were bags of garden fertiliser, enough to fill a Transit van.

  Directly ahead were six fuel drums.

  The sergeant caught his eye and smirked as if reading his mind.

  The driver got out and opened the door, and Archer alighted. He paused and looked coldly at the

  Dixie boy across the top of the door. The younger man flinched but held his gaze.

  ‘Your days are numbered, kid,’ Archer told him softly.

  ‘Yer in no position to be making threats right now, boy,’ the sergeant told him, and pushed him

  against the side of the cab

  While the others covered him the Dixie boy searched Archer roughly, emptying his pockets and

  efficiently checking every possible hiding place without stripping him. As the young man’s hand

  explored his crotch, Archer let out a snort.

  ‘I knew you’d linger.’

  The Dixie boy let go immediately and slammed him into the side of the car. Archer’s face bounced off the pillar and he took a knee in the side of his thigh, causing his leg to buckle.

  The sergeant stepped in and pulled the Dixie boy away. ‘Ease up, don’t damage the goods.’ He

  grabbed Archer by the arm and hustled him to the office, shoving him through the door. ‘Get in

  there.’

  Archer stumbled into the unfurnished office and was still turning to face them when a rabbit

  punch caught him behind the ear, sending him crashing against the back wall. The room was only

  about four metres square and faced with a glass door and windows either side of it. The two

  mercenaries faced him from the door. There was not a single item in the room that he could use as

  a weapon. The carpet was worn completely flat and the walls were bare.

  ‘Make it easy on yerself, boy,’ the sergeant told him calmly, holding his compact pistol loosely at his

  side. It looked like a stainless Walther, a common back up weapon amongst operators. ‘Lose the

  tough guy act and start listenin’.

  ‘Do we have to talk? Can’t we just go for dinner and a movie?’

  The sergeant ignored him and stepped aside to let the Dixie boy join them. He had a large pistol in

  his hand and was loading a feathered dart into the breech.

  Archer gave a wry smile. ‘What is this, amateur hour?’ He gestured towards the vehicle bay. ‘A load

  of fertiliser and fuel, I’m lying here drugged to the eyeballs, an anonymous phone call to the cops. .’

  He shook his head.

  ‘That’s the basic idea, yeah.’

  ‘You guys don’t get any smarter, do you?’

  ‘Shut yer mouth, dickwad,’ the Dixie boy snarled, cocking the dart gun.

  ‘Witty,’ Archer commented, ‘clearly you’re the brains of this fucken shambles. I bet your mother-

  sister is really proud.’

  ‘Enough talkin’, the sergeant interrupted. ‘Time for you to start listenin’. This ain’t a joke.’ He

  leaned against the doorframe and waggled the pistol at him. ‘We tried playin’ nice but it didn’t get<
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  through.’

  ‘Oh, is that what you call it?’ Archer nodded his understanding. ‘Sorry, my fault. Here was me

  thinking it was just another cheap shot from behind.’

  The Dixie boy bristled and looked to the sergeant. The older man was unruffled.

  ‘You needed to butt out and fuck off back to the ass end of the world where y’all come from. If you

  can’t take the hint, well. .maybe we need to be more direct.’

  ‘A little bit obvious, don’t you think?’

  ‘In this world?’ The sergeant let out a laugh. ‘Everybody jumpin’ at their own shadow? Raghead

  terrorists behind every pot plant? The Brits’ll be all over you like a fat chick at a buffet, boy.’

  ‘Good one, Carl,’ the Dixie boy chuckled, and the sergeant shot him a scowl.

  ‘So Carl, TJ and sorry, I didn’t catch your name?’

  ‘Enough!’ The sergeant waved for the Dixie boy to get on with it. ‘Stop jawin’ and do it.’

  Archer gave the Dixie boy a mocking smile. ‘I bet you love jawin’ him, don’t you?’ he sneered.

  The Dixie boy immediately threw a questioning look to his boss, and Archer knew he’d pegged

  them right; the younger man was a hot head but unsure if his boss would back him. In the split

  second the two mercenaries looked at each other, Archer seized his opportunity. He sprang

  forward and lashed out with a frontal kick at the sergeant’s gun, connecting hard enough to make

  the other man involuntarily trigger a shot that was deafening in the small room.

  The Dixie boy grabbed at him and Archer spun, seizing the outstretched hand and yanking him

  forward, pinning Carl in the corner. He snatched at the hand holding the dart gun and twisted

  savagely, bringing a yelp of pain. The Dixie boy tried for a head butt. Archer took it on the shoulder

  and smashed his elbow into his opponent’s face.

  Carl was pushing them both away and bringing the pistol around when Archer twisted the Dixie

  boy’s wrist harder. A bone snapped audibly and the Dixie boy yelped again. Archer forced his own

  finger into the trigger guard and squeezed, pumping the dart into Carl’s side.

  He slammed a knee up into the Dixie boy’s groin and shoved him away, ducked and caught Carl’s

  swinging arm, locked it straight and drove the heel of his palm up and through the joint,

  obliterating the elbow.

  The sergeant’s face went white and he shrieked in pain, popping off a second shot which

  shattered the glass in the door. Archer slammed his forehead into Carl’s nose and flattened it in a

  spray of blood. He dropped him and ripped the pistol from his hand.

  As the man fell TJ came into view, the Beretta up and flashing a short burst through the shattered

  door, rounds buzzing past Archer’s shoulder. He dived to the side and snapped off a double tap,

  realising he was trapped in the room with the only exit covered by a chopper.

  TJ risked a glance around the window frame and Archer fired again, blowing out the glass. Glancing

  down, he saw the Dixie boy struggling to pull a weapon from where he lay on the floor. Knowing he

  had at best only three rounds left, Archer threw himself forward in a slide, crashing both feet into

  the boy’s torso and knocking the gun away. He drove his heel into the boy’s face and as he pulled

  back for another go, saw TJ’s head come into view above him in the shattered window frame.

  The merc was scanning the room with the SMG’s suppressor following his eyes, not realising

  Archer had moved. He never had a chance. Archer squeezed off a double tap that took him in the

  temple and spread his brains across the wall. The slide locked open and Archer rolled to his feet,

  checking for threats.

  TJ was in a heap on the floor by the cab, blood running freely from his head. Carl was unconscious but moaning, his shattered arm lying grotesquely at his side. The Dixie boy was twitching and

  groaning, the crotch of his pants soaked wet.

  Archer tossed the empty pistol aside and snatched up the Dixie boy’s gun. It was a stainless

  Walther PPK/S like his partner’s. He kicked the Dixie boy in the ribs, getting his attention.

  ‘You’ve got about a minute to fill me in,’ he said coldly, pointing the gun at the boy’s face.

  The boy groaned in pain and shifted his gaze.

  ‘Who are you working for? The Saudis? IRA?’

  The boy groaned again and Archer kicked him harder.

  ‘Who’s calling the shots, kid? The Agency?’

  The boy struggled to focus through his pain, and bared his bloodied teeth.

  ‘Fuck you,’ he croaked, blood smeared on his teeth as he grimaced, ‘and fuck that nigger boy too.’

  Archer ground his foot down on the boy’s kneecap, producing a squeal. The Dixie boy grabbed for

  his knee with his uninjured hand, leaving his broken wrist exposed. Archer’s foot was on it in a

  second, first applying light pressure. The merc squealed again and Archer pressed harder.

  ‘Talk or I’ll fuck you up completely,’ he said softly. ‘You’ll be wiping your arse and jerking off with

  one hand till the day you die.’

  ‘Fuck man.’ The Dixie boy flailed weakly at Archer’s leg. ‘C’mon man, you’re fucken cripplin’ me!’

  ‘Not yet, but I will. Who’re you working for? Who organised all this?’ Archer knew he wouldn’t

  have much time.

  The Dixie boy tossed his head at the still form of his boss. ‘He knows man, ask him.’

  ‘He’s out cold; I’m asking you.’

  ‘I dunno man, he’s the boss. I’m just a grunt, man.’ His eyes were wet and pleading as Archer trod

  harder on his shattered wrist, grinding the broken bone under his sole. The merc’s face was a

  sickly shade of pale green. ‘C’mon man! I need a fucken doctor, I’m no use to you.’

  Archer’s head twitched slightly in acceptance. ‘That’s true.’

  He calmly shot him between the eyes. The body convulsed then lay twitching. The right leg

  drummed a brief solo on the floor.

  24

  Archer checked the sergeant’s pulse; out for the count.

  He quickly searched all three bodies, retrieving cell phones and wallets, before wiping down both

  pistols. He carefully placed them back in their respective owner’s hands.

  Moving to the front of the unit he cracked open the pedestrian door beside the main roller and

  listened. Sirens sounded some way off, but closer in he could hear the roar of car engines being

  pushed hard, less than a click away.

  He swung on the chain to raise the roller door, gathered his own belongings and the items he’d

  seized from his captors, and fired up the cab.

  Within seconds of reaching the main road a Police car flew by him towards the industrial units,

  another couple only seconds behind it. He spotted a chopper approaching as well and maintained

  a steady speed as he made his way back towards the city. He tried calling Moore several times on

  the way, but every time it went straight to voicemail. He left a short message wanting a call back.

  Tucking his phone away, he debated passing the details of the Yank team back to Jedi. Instinct told

  him to hold back just yet, at least until he’d spoken to Moore and knew the lay of the land.

  For now, he was on his own. He dumped the cab in a Tower Hamlets side road and walked away,

  covering a mile before hailing a cab to Euston station.

  Two further cab rides took Archer back to Marble Arch, where he spent another half hour

  scouring the block for a back up team. Finding
none, and with his heart rate back under control, he

  ducked into the closest pub and ordered a large Scotch on the rocks.

  The barmaid was a busty brunette with French nails and a cheeky grin. Her name tag said Becky.

  She let her fingers linger on his as she gave him his change. Archer knocked half the drink back

  and let the peaty warmth slide down his throat into his gut.

  So much for a quiet dinner out, he reflected, realising he was still hungry. Instead of a hot pot and

  a pint he’d killed two men, maimed a third and probably started an international incident.

  He caught the barmaid’s eye and asked for a bar menu.

  ‘Kitchen’s closed sorry love,’ she said, leaning forward on the bar and giving him a full view of her

  plentiful cleavage. ‘Closed at eight.’ She glanced over her shoulder to check for the manager and

  gave him the cheeky grin. ‘I could probably whip something up for you though, if you give me

  twenty minutes.’

  Archer nodded. ‘Sweet, I’ll wait.’ He drained his tumbler and slid another twenty across the bar. He

  let his eyes linger on her cleavage, knowing she was watching him. ‘I’l need another drink to cool

  down.’

  The tops of her breasts shook as she gave a throaty chuckle. ‘No problem.’

  He took the fresh drink to a corner booth and nursed it while he waited, surveying the punters

  around him. Nobody gave off any warning signals, and no matter how often he checked his phone,

  Moore didn’t call back.

  Becky brought him a plate of butter chicken on microwaved rice with a garlic naan, and was hailed

  back to the bar by a punter before she could speak. She rolled her eyes, gave Archer a wink and

  sauntered back to the bar, tossing him a look over her shoulder as she did so. She was not thin but

  had a roll to her hips that he liked.

  The sauce was from a jar and the food had been reheated, but he ate hungrily, mopping his plate

  with the naan and sitting back with a satisfied sigh. Becky returned and cleared the plate, bending

  over close enough for him to smell her dusky perfume. There was no mistaking her intentions.

  ‘I knock off in an hour,’ she told him, a glint in her eye and her voice soft in his ear. ‘You fancy

  sticking around for a bit?’