Spring Showers Box-set

by Avell Kro

the ladies, y’know lads.’

  The tall man hefted his crotch again with a leer. ‘Maybe she like the black snake, boss,’ he grinned.

  Boyle nodded. ‘You’ll get yer chance, Afa,’ he said, ‘although ye may need to get in line behind my

  Saudi friend here. But first, I need to have a little chat with our very special agent.’

  He knelt down in front of Tracy, who eyed him with contempt. He patted her knee affectionately.

  Yassar moved over to stand behind him, his eyes fixated on Tracy’s breasts.

  ‘It’s a shame it all came to this, Tracy, it really is. But it was your choice.’ Boyle shrugged as if his

  hands were tied. ‘There are always consequences to actions, and I think we’re all going to learn a

  little lesson about that tonight.’

  He stood again and took his jacket off. ‘I don’t have a lot of time, so let’s get straight to the point.’

  He stood in front of her now, his back to Archer. ‘Who got wee Ruthie to sell me out to the

  spooks?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Tracy’s voice had a quiver in it as she spoke.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ Boyle’s own voice was strong and deep. ‘I’ve lost many people dear to me over

  the years, and I’ve lived with a target on my back since I was a kid. You pricks were supposed to

  leave me alone; that was what the Good Friday Agreement was all about.’

  ‘It was a get-out-jail card,’ she replied bravely, ‘not a license to run guns.’

  Boyle paused to study her face carefully. ‘Ye may think yoe can outlast me, sweetheart, but I

  promise ye won’t. Nobody ever has.’

  ‘You fancy yourself don’t you?’ Archer interjected.

  Boyle didn’t look at him, just tossed his head at Afa. The tall man stepped in and delivered a

  booming roundhouse to Archer’s head which bounced off the wall behind him. Thunder flashes

  went off in his skull.

  ‘Let me get the ball rolling then. I know wee Ruthie got turned,’ Boyle continued. ‘I found her burn phone, which led me to ye.’ His eyes glinted. ‘That were me that rung ye, so don’t try and deny it. I

  recognise yer voice.’

  Archer felt his heart sink further.

  ‘But what I don’t understand is why she was in the way. Why she was killed.’

  ‘Well it wasn’t us,’ Tracy retorted hotly. ‘Maybe you need to look closer to home.’

  ‘I don’t have a home, thanks to youse traitorous bastards,’ Boyle spat. ‘Everything I had is gone.’

  ‘Lie down with dogs, mate, you wake up with fleas.’

  Archer had to admire the conviction in Tracy’s voice now, at the same time as he knew it would do

  no good. Boyle was going to kill her tonight and everybody in the room knew it.

  ‘Aye, that’s right.’ Boyle leaned down into her face, dropping his voice to a venomous whisper. ‘And

  you’re the biggest bitch of all.’

  He placed his hand round her throat and squeezed, cutting off her air. Tracy braced up, still

  eyeballing him as he applied more pressure.

  ‘I oughta kill you right now,’ he whispered. ‘Just snap your neck and get it over with. But you hurt

  me, Tracy. So I think it’s only fair that I cause you some pain in return.’

  He straightened again and let go of her throat. Tracy gulped down air and watched him as he went

  to his jacket on the table. The room went silent as Boyle removed two tools from his jacket pocket.

  One was a pair of pliers, the other a set of wire cutters.

  He turned to Tracy again and smiled as he held the tools up for her to see. ‘And let the games begin,’

  he purred.

  Tracy bucked in her chair at the same time as Archer pushed away from the wall. The tall man

  grabbed her by the shoulder and held her down, while the other two thugs grabbed Archer and

  pushed him back.

  ‘You gutless fucken maggot,’ Archer snarled helplessly, ‘you like hurting girls do ya? Fucken big

  man!’

  Boyle cast an eye at him then to the men holding him. ‘Shut him up,’ he ordered.

  The shorter man grinned and cracked his knuckles again. Archer had just a split-second to tense

  up before the fist drove into his gut, but wasn’t prepared for the middle man’s crack across the jaw.

  He sagged and blinked to clear his vision, powerless to resist as a dirty rag was jammed into his

  mouth. It tasted of paraffin and made him gag, but was made worse when the middle man tied it in

  place with a piece of cloth and knotted it tightly around his head.

  ‘I’d suggest ye don’t let it go past this point,’ Boyle advised Tracy, sounding like a parent talking to a

  naughty child. ‘Three strikes and ye’re out. So let’s start at the lower end of the scale.’

  The tall man lifted her, chair and all, and carried her to the table. Archer sat helplessly just a metre away. He watched with dread as the tall man untied Tracy’s right hand and moved it towards the

  table. She tried to scratch at his face but he caught her hand easily and pushed it flat on the table

  top.

  Boyle pulled a chair over and sat beside her. He placed the pliers and wire cutters on the table

  beside him.

  ‘Who turned Ruthie to sell me out?’ Boyle said, watching her carefully.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Tracy told him forcefully.

  Boyle shook his head and tut-tutted softly.

  He took hold of her hand and she instinctively closed it into a fist. The tall man leaned over and

  effortlessly pried her hand open, holding her fingers straight.

  ‘Thank you, Afa.’

  Boyle took hold of the little finger and in one quick motion, he popped the joint.

  Tracy’s scream ripped through Archer’s heart and he bucked against the hands holding him.

  Tracy’s face was screwed up and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her finger poked out to the side at

  a sickening angle.

  ‘Now, again.’ Boyle continued, as if nothing had happened. ‘Tell me who.’

  His hand rested on Tracy’s, fingers on the next digit now.

  Tracy shook her head hard, her face still screwed in pain. She sucked in a breath and forced her

  eyes open.

  ‘I don’t fucken know!’

  Boyle’s hand moved again and she shrieked as her ring finger popped in his grip.

  She screamed again, long and piercing. Archer felt sick to his stomach and he couldn’t take his eyes

  off the Irish terrorist. The man’s expression had barely changed. There was neither pleasure nor

  distaste; it was merely a task that needed to be completed.

  Archer’s bellows of rage were muffled by the gag and he knew there was nothing he could do to

  stop this brutality. He slumped back in his chair and tried to catch his breath. The bindings were

  tight around his wrists and waist; he had barely an inch of slack in which to move. It didn’t seem

  likely that he would be able to break free of them any time soon. He had no weapons to hand and

  nothing with which to cut the ropes.

  As hopeless situations went, this was pretty up there as far as he could see.

  Archer felt his heart rate slowing and forced himself to focus. Nothing was ever hopeless; he just

  had to find his way out.

  Boyle slapped Tracy on the leg to get her attention. She slowly turned her head to look at him.

  Blood trickled from her mouth and tears stained her cheeks. Her eyes were still defiant.

  ‘Ye’ve got some spunk, girl, I’ll give ye that.’ He nodded with admiration. ‘But it won’t do no good.

  Everybody talks.’

  He leaned closer to her, looking directly into her ey
es. ‘Everybody.’

  Archer ignored the talking and scanned the room, looking for anything he could possibly use, given

  the chance. He rolled his shoulders as he did so, testing the grip of the two thugs. There was a bit of

  slack there as they were distracted by watching the main event. He flexed his fingers again to test

  the bindings for the hundredth time, and as he did so, his fingernail tapped against something

  hard. Something slightly protruding from the seat of the chair; a nail?

  He felt for it again. Maybe not a nail, but whatever it was it was something, and it gave him hope.

  Boyle stood and went to the pot-belly stove. He took a steel poker from the kindling bucket beside

  it and jabbed it into the heart of the fire. He returned to his seat and drummed his fingers on the

  table, fixing Tracy with his gaze again.

  ‘Come on Tracy,’ he urged, ‘cut to the chase eh? Spill and it’ll all be over.’

  ‘You,’ she grated, ‘can go to hell.’

  ‘Aye,’ he acknowledged, ‘I probably will. But I’m not the only one.’

  He returned to the fire and came back with the poker. The tip of it glowed red hot now. Every eye

  in the room was on him as he sat back down and held the poker up in front of his captive.

  ‘Feel like talking?’ he asked.

  Tracy snarled at him again, and in one quick movement, Boyle leaned past her and stabbed the

  poker into Archer’s chest.

  Archer bucked in agony as the heat seared through his shirt and pierced the skin, feeling like it

  drove straight through the core of him. The stench of burning flesh and hair filled his nostrils and

  he gagged involuntarily. The pain was so intense he wanted to pass out to make it end.

  Boyle withdrew the steel and appraised him.

  ‘He’s a tough cookie, yer boy,’ he conceded to Tracy. ‘I wonder how long he’ll last before I break

  him?’ He smiled mirthlessly. ‘Or before I break you?’

  Blinding pain seared through Archer’s soul and he wanted to die. He squeezed his eyes tightly and

  tried to ignore the pain. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand, catching the wrist bindings

  on the head of the nail and pulling at it.

  Boyle returned the poker to the fire and sat again. He picked up the pliers and showed them to his

  captive.

  ‘I’ll give ye ten seconds to tell me the truth,’ he told her, ‘otherwise I’ll start me dental work. Ten.’

  Tracy tried to stay calm, but he could see the fear in her eyes.

  ‘Five.’

  Archer tried to catch her eye but she stubbornly avoided him.

  ‘One.’

  Boyle stood and reached for her. The tall man took hold of her jaw in one giant paw and arched her

  head back. Boyle seized hold of her throat and throttled her until she gasped and opened her

  mouth. He reached in with the pliers and gripped a molar at the back of her jaw. Tracy’s scream

  was muffled by the tool.

  ‘Last chance,’ Boyle told her. ‘No?’

  He gripped hard and wrenched the tooth from the gum. Tracy wailed like a newborn and strained

  against the hands holding her.

  Boyle held the bloodied tooth up to her face and waited for her to stop screaming. Gradually her

  cries slowed to chest-heaving sobs. Blood flowed down her chin onto the front of her shirt.

  ‘Who was it?’ He leaned down into her face, staring intently into her eyes. ‘And who killed her?’

  Archer willed her to keep her mouth shut. He could feel the strands of the rope giving way slowly

  as he worked it against the nail head, but he needed more time.

  Tracy’s voice was barely audible. Boyle leaned closer to listen.

  ‘Speak up, Ms Spencer,’ he told her. ‘I need the name.’

  She lifted her head and looked at him through her tears. ‘Livingstone,’ she rasped. ‘I took her over

  from him.’

  Boyle nodded slowly, his face finally showing a flicker of excitement. He stood and rubbed his

  hands together. ‘The famous Mr Matthew Livingstone. Now that weren’t so hard now were it?’ He

  tossed his head to the tall man holding her. ‘She’s all yours, big man.’

  He checked his watch and glanced at Yassar. ‘We’ve got a plane to catch. God, I hate London in the

  winter.’

  ‘What about him, boss?’

  The tall man indicated towards Archer, who appeared to have gone into a dazed state.

  Boyle shrugged dismissively. ‘Whatever. Kill him.’

  The Irishman turned and headed to the door, where Yassar was waiting. He paused there and

  glanced back to Tracy.

  ‘All the best, spy lady. It’s been a hel of a ride.’ He grinned coldly. ‘Oh, one more thing.’ He drew a

  compact Seecamp .32 auto from beneath his shirt and hefted it in his palm. ‘Lovely weapon,’ he

  commented.

  He turned again and pointed the weapon at Yassar. The Saudi’s eyes bulged and he started to raise his hands.

  ‘Sorry pal, business is business.’ Boyle triggered a double tap and blew Yassar’s brains across the

  wall behind him. The body dropped with a thud and Boyle gave it another double tap to be sure.

  Gun smoke hung in the still air.

  ‘Whoever said blood was thicker than water obviously never met the Saudis,’ he noted. With that

  he was gone, and a few seconds later the engine started up again and moved away.

  39

  The three Samoans looked at each other and an understanding passed between them.

  Afa dragged Tracy backwards on her chair to the other wall, facing Archer again. He looked at the

  white guy and figured he was out of the game. Bloodied and battered and staring dazedly at the

  floor.

  He gave the shorter man, Hosea, a flick of the head and turned back to Tracy. Solomon, the middle

  sized man, stayed beside the slumped form of Archer. He fingered the diving knife on his belt and

  waited impatiently for his turn.

  Afa slapped Tracy’s cheek, hard enough to shock her into focus, and she stared at him with

  terrified eyes.

  ‘So you don’ like boys, huh miss?’ His teeth gleamed white in the flickering light. ‘We see ‘bout dat,

  huh?’

  He started to undo his pants, and Hosea chuckled as he watched.

  ‘Heh heh heh, do it boy, do dat!’

  Tracy spat at him and saw the gob slide down Afa’s chest. He cocked his fist and smashed it into

  her face, snapping her head sideways. Her left eyebrow split and blood cascaded over the eye and

  down her cheek.

  Just as Afa began to drop his pants, Archer made his move. The last strand of binding round his

  wrists broke and he shrugged his arms free of the rope round them. Solomon felt the movement

  and looked down, a second too late to stop Archer from snatching the knife from his belt.

  Solomon grabbed for him as Archer leaped to his feet and thrust the diving knife up in a short jab.

  The blade pierced the thug’s side below the ribs and drove upwards before Archer yanked it free

  and shoved him aside. Hosea reacted quickly and came for him, hands out defensively, body

  position low and wide like a wrestler. He obviously fancied himself with his hands, and thankfully

  focussed on that rather than drawing his gun. If he’d been smarter, the fight would have ended a

  lot sooner.

  Archer shifted the knife into a better grip and moved to gain space. The chair was still hanging off

  his waist by the rope and hitting the back of his legs as he moved. He ignored it and concentrated

  on
the threats around him.

  Afa scrabbled at his pants and tried to turn. As he did so, Tracy drove up and crashed into his side

  with her shoulder, making him stagger off balance. He threw a fist at her but missed, and Tracy

  continued to drive with her legs, shoving him across the room and into the wall where Archer had

  sat just moments before.

  Archer dodged around them and Hosea made his move, rushing forward and going for a

  combination of jabs at Archer’s face.

  The stocky Samoan was more agile than he looked, and he managed to land a glancing blow to

  Archer’s jaw before the knife swiped across his forearm and opened it up. He pulled back and

  clasped a hand to the wound, snarling like a dog.

  Afa slapped at the woman pushing against him, turning and trying to grab her. Tracy’s skull came

  up and cracked him under the jaw, snapping his mouth shut and causing his teeth to chomp into

  his tongue hard enough to draw blood.

  Archer feinted with a right stab and gave Hosea a left cross to the jaw, not a vintage shot but it

  kept him at bay.

  Afa’s knees buckled beneath him and he went down. Tracy’s knee smashed into his nose as he

  slumped to his knees and a fan of blood sprayed out. He fel backwards against the wall and she

  drove a heel into his face, then again.

  Archer hacked through the twine and dropped the chair, but as he stepped away from it Hosea

  rushed him again. Archer twisted and slashed at him, managing to grab his shirt as they both went

  down.

  Tracy screamed and slammed her heel into Afa’s face again, hearing bone crunch beneath her

  foot.

  Archer wrestled with Hosea as they rolled on the floor, snapping his head forward in repeated

  attempts to butt him, and scrabbling at his face with his free hand. He got his fingers into Hosea’s

  right eye and dug in, gouging and scratching. The thug screeched and butted him in the forehead

  with a head as hard as concrete.

  Lights exploded in Archer’s eyes and the back of his head slammed into the floor with a thud. Hosea

  took advantage of the moment to back off and wind up his fist.

  Afa flopped sideways to the floor, unconscious. Blood flowed freely from his smashed nose and lips.

  Tracy drew her foot back and toe-hacked him directly to the Adam’s apple.

  Archer saw the fist coming and half-rolled to the side, letting Hosea’s punch sail past and hit the