SINNERS & SCARECROWS (Blaze series Book 2)

by David Carter

  “I don’t fucking think so,” Blaze answered, patting the pipe wrench in the palm of his hand. “I’m here to fix your plumbing.”

  Luther was confused. “I didn’t call for a plumber. Now get out before I call the police!”

  Blaze, in his emotional state, calmly walked to the side of Luther’s bed, and said, “All right, let’s call the police. Then you can explain why you are gratifying your pathetic excuse for a dick with teenage girls, you sick fuck!”

  Luther’s demeanour instantly changed. “I assure you, she’s sixteen and legal,” he said. “She likes older men. And me, well, I’ll take anything I can get!”

  “And she likes being tied up and gagged, does she?”

  Luther was dumbstruck; his mouth gaped open, lost for words.

  Blaze clobbered one of Luther’s kneecaps with the wrench.

  Luther howled as the bone shattered on impact. Blaze pulled his switchblade from his pocket and quickly cut the girl free from her bindings. He kindly picked up her nightgown from the floor and passed it to her. She smiled a timid ‘thank you’. Blaze led her to the bathroom and shut her inside to dress herself. Then he turned his attention back to Luther. He said, “Now, you disgusting pig, I need some information, and you’re going to give it to me.”

  Luther lay back on his bed, cradling his knee, grimacing through clenched teeth, his breathing heavy. “What do you want?” he asked between strained gasps.

  “Who else is buying these girls from the governor?”

  “I don’t know. And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you!” he answered bravely.

  “Is that your final word?”

  “Please, I don’t know!”

  Blaze’s anger stirred. “Wrong answer,” he said coldly, then reached for Luther’s arm and roughly yanked him off the bed. It was like trying to shift a sleeping elephant. But at this point Blaze could have shredded a tiger with his bare hands.

  Luther cried for help as Blaze dragged him out of the bedroom and turfed him down the staircase. He crashed into the wooden balusters at the bottom of the first flight, smashing them from their joins in the banister. They clattered on the tiled floor beneath.

  Blaze dragged Luther’s naked body down the second flight of stairs and across the living room floor. The Indian maid was petrified. “Where’s the cellar?” Blaze demanded.

  She nervously led him down the hallway to a door with a heavy duty padlock fastened to it. Blaze stomped on Luther’s busted knee, causing him to scream, then retrieved his toolbox from the upstairs bedroom, and produced a pair of bolt cutters. He easily chopped through the padlock. Blaze picked up his toolbox, and left Luther lying face down in the hallway as he went down the stairs to investigate. He flicked on the light, and was shocked at what he saw. There were two girls sitting in cages, each wearing only a thin, see-through nightgown, their pale, gaunt faces pleading for help.

  “Don’t be afraid; I’m getting you outta here,” Blaze said, and lopped the padlocks from their cages.

  The girls seemed to understand, and shuffled out of their prison. Blaze led them up the stairs, and gave Luther a kick on his way past to the living room. He found the third girl still hiding in the bathroom upstairs, and took all three of them outside to Ryan’s car.

  “I’ll be back in a tick,” said Blaze after explaining his discovery to Ryan, “I still need to extract some information.”

  “Hurry back,” Ryan said, and turned on the car’s interior heater to warm the trembling girls.

  Blaze returned inside to find the maid trying to help Luther to his feet. “Fuck off before things get nasty,” he told her.

  She scurried away without a second thought.

  “Last chance to tell me who’s involved,” Blaze said to Luther.

  “I can’t. You know what the governor will do to me if I tell you.”

  “And you think what I’m gonna do to you is any better?”

  “There is such a thing as loyalty,” retorted Luther. “I don’t even know who you are.”

  “All right, if that’s the way you wanna play it.”

  Luther cried out as Blaze heaved him up and pushed him down the stairs into the cellar. He heard a loud THUD! as he hit the concrete floor at the bottom.

  Blaze cantered down the steps after him, casually whistling as he entered the musty cellar. He chuckled as Luther lay on his back, flapping his arms and legs in the air like a capsized turtle. Blaze opened his toolbox and pulled out a large pair of long nose pliers, placing them around Luther’s testicles.

  “Tell me the names, Luther,” he said. “No more chances.”

  Luther held firm. He said nothing.

  Blaze clamped the pliers together. Luther’s screams coursed through Blaze’s ears; a high-pitched lightning bolt to the brain. A few moments passed before Blaze released his grip. “Anything come to mind?” he casually asked.

  “You’ll have to kill me!” Luther shouted. “I won’t tell you!”

  Blaze exaggerated a sigh. “You’re a brave man, Luther; I’ll give you that,” he said, then reached for the next tool in his arsenal. He pulled out a Phillips-head screwdriver and hammer. “Now, I want you to know, that if you should decide to change your mind, you’d best let me know in the next ten seconds, because this is seriously going to hurt.”

  Luther’s eyes widened in fear as Blaze placed the head of the screwdriver in his navel, holding it vertically by the handle. Luther desperately tried to heave his heavy body up to swat the screwdriver away. Blaze returned fire with a swift jab to his chin, jarring his neck; he fell back to the floor. Then Blaze mercilessly raised the hammer and slammed it down on the end of the screwdriver.

  Luther’s shrieks engulfed the room. The noise was unbearable. Blaze left the screwdriver wedged in his navel with a pool of blood bubbling out through the cavity. It was in that moment the image of Danny slumped back on the couch in the clubhouse with his brains spattered across the floor shrouded his thoughts. He started trembling; his rage grew exponentially. He stood over Luther’s body, then crouched down, and started punching his face as he yelled, “Give me the fucking names!”

  THUD! THUD!

  “Give me the fucking names!”

  THUD! THUD! THUD!

  But Luther still held his tongue.

  “Give me the fucking names or I’ll ram the screwdriver home!” Blaze shouted, and raised the hammer above his head to make good on this threat.

  Blaze started his downswing.

  “All right! I’ll tell you!” Luther squealed.

  Blaze stopped the hammer an inch away from the screwdriver handle. He tossed it aside and reached for his phone and activated the recording function. “Do it now,” he ordered him.

  Luther did well to recall the names of his associates considering the extreme duress he was under. When he was finished, Blaze wanted nothing more than to slam the screwdriver all the way in to the hilt. But he resisted, and decided on a fair compromise. Blaze clobbered Luther over the head with his pipe wrench, knocking him unconscious, then reached for his switchblade and carved a message into Luther’s fleshy chest. It read: KIDDIE FUCKER.

  Blaze left him in the cellar and returned to the car where Ryan and the girls were waiting for him.

  “Did you get the names?” Ryan asked, observing the fresh grazes on Blaze’s knuckles and bloodstains on his hands.

  He waved his phone in the air. “Job done,” he said.

  “Excellent. And what of Luther?”

  “He got everything he deserved. And before you ask, yes, he’s still breathing.”

  “Good.” Ryan paused, then said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you something about Mr Lombardi’s nephew, Vino.”

  “What about him?” Blaze curiously replied.

  “He’s dead.”

  Blaze sat back in his seat; he said nothing. He just stared out the window.

  “Are you okay?” Ryan asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? I figured you might feel some kind of empa
thy towards him.”

  “And why the fuck would I do that?” Blaze sharply turned his head towards Ryan.

  “Well, I thought you’d cleared the air with him. Tyrone Sanchez skinned him alive for helping Detective Gibson and me escape.”

  “Not my problem,” he said curtly. “He’s the reason we’re in this fucking mess in the first place. If he hadn’t kidnapped Zoe on suspicion of being an agent, I’d have never come back to Brighton and Danny would still be alive! So I’m sorry if I don’t give a fucking rat’s ass about that worthless piece of shit!”

  Ryan took a moment to consider Blaze’s rant. “I understand,” he simply replied, then put the car in gear and pulled off the kerb.

  Chapter 67

  Commissioner Stuart whistled happily as he strode into Ryan’s office the next morning. “Well done, detective!” He slapped Ryan jovially on his back. “Thanks to Luther Sutherland’s confession, we have recovered the entire shipment of girls smuggled into the country, along with their respective ‘owners’. Now we just need to bring in the big fish so I can retire a contented old man.”

  Ryan spun around on his chair. “I’m glad to hear it, sir,” he replied. “In fact, that’s exactly what I wanted to discuss with you.”

  “Then discuss away!” He smiled. “I’m all ears.”

  “All right.” Ryan paused to gather his thoughts, then said, “Well, it’s quite simple: Blaze has agreed to turn over the next shipment of girls over to the authorities—including Seth Archer, Mr Lombardi, and Tyrone Sanchez.”

  Commissioner Stuart’s heart skipped a beat with delight. “Well, that’s fantastic news!” he exclaimed.

  “There is a catch, however,” Ryan continued.

  The commissioner’s beaming face instantly turned sour. “Well spit it out then,” he said curtly.

  “Well it’s like this: Blaze has agreed to give you everything, but only if he and the MC can walk. You must agree to let them disappear and get on with their lives.”

  Commissioner Stuart scoffed. “Have you gone completely mad? Do you know how many laws those mongrels have broken? I will never let them walk; never!” he shouted.

  Ryan rose from his desk and stood face to face with the commissioner. He tried to reason with him. “You know, it’s only because of Blaze that we got the confession from Luther Sutherland—and the subsequent arrests of his associates. And it will be because of Blaze that you will bring down the biggest crime syndicate in the country. What would you prefer? Your pride? Or one hell of a retirement party when you put these bastards away for keeps?”

  The commissioner had to stop and think it over. “Go on,” he said gruffly.

  “Well, isn’t it a small price to pay to get everything you’ve ever dreamed of? After all, Blaze never wanted to come back to Brighton. You’ve known that all along. And now because of Ellie and Danny’s sudden deaths, he wants to make things right.”

  “What did you just say? Danny Foster’s dead?” he spluttered.

  “Yes. He put the barrel of a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger after I broke the news to him about Ellie. It was bloody awful.”

  “Christ! You were there when it happened?”

  “Yes, sir. Which means I can tell you first hand that Blaze’s motives are genuine. He knows that Seth Archer had something to do with Ellie’s murder, and that it ultimately led to Danny’s death. He’s baying for blood, sir.”

  The commissioner mulled the proposal around in his mind.

  “Oh, and there is one more thing,” Ryan said.

  “Yes?”

  “Blaze wants some ‘alone time’ with Archer when it’s all over. That’s his only other condition.”

  “No, that’s far too dangerous. Once I have Seth Archer in custody I won’t be taking any risks.”

  “But, sir —”

  “No, detective,” he cut him off. “My mind is made up. And as much as it pains me to say, I agree with you. Blaze and the MC will be free to walk. But Seth Archer is off limits. That’s my final offer.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

  “Fine. Keep me posted,” he replied, then left the office.

  Chapter 68

  Bernard Smith put down his morning newspaper and cup of tea and answered the door to his luxury home after hearing a knock at the door. He was surprised to see two grim-faced bikers perched on his doorstep. “Can I help you?” he asked politely.

  “You Bernard Smith?” Blaze asked the tall man dressed elegantly in a business suit.

  “Yes; why do you ask?”

  “We’re looking for someone; Samuel Bowman. I believe you look after his financial affairs?”

  “I’m sorry, I cannot disclose that information to you. It’s completely confidential; good day.”

  Bernard attempted to close the door. Spider wedged his steel-toed boot between the door and its frame, and said, “Best you open up before we call the police.”

  Bernard’s long face and pointed nose twitched as he indignantly replied, “Excuse me? I believe you are trespassing on private property. And I will have you arrested if you don’t leave this minute!”

  Blaze offered Bernard his phone. “Go ahead, call the pigs, and while you’re at it you can tell them you’re accepting substantial payments from a known and wanted criminal.”

  Bernard froze as he realised his vulnerable position. “Just what exactly do you want?” he said, immensely frustrated.

  “You got an espresso machine?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I could use a coffee.” Blaze pulled the hem of his jacket up, revealing the pistol wedged under his belt. “This doesn’t have to end badly for you if you play ball.”

  Bernard sighed. “Perhaps you had better come in,” he said, and opened the door, ushering them inside.

  They followed Bernard to the kitchen. It was spotless, full of all the mod cons and furnishings. “Nice place you got here,” said Blaze. “It’s no wonder you’re happy to look after my father’s dirty money.”

  Bernard nearly choked on his statement. “What did you just say?”

  “You heard me: I’m Samuel Bowman’s son. And I’m looking for him. We need to have a rather personal chat. And you’re gonna lead me to him.”

  Bernard pottered about the kitchen in silence, digesting Blaze’s remarkable revelation.

  “So tell me,” Bernard handed Blaze a steaming cup of rich espresso. “How did you come to know about my connection with your father?”

  “That’s hardly important,” Blaze replied, and took a sip of the coffee. “But seeing as you made such a fucking good brew,” he took another mouthful from his cup, “I can tell you that a friend of a friend of mine is a computer expert; he can track just about anyone or anything with an electronic footprint. But to be fair, he had a prick of a job tracking down my father, until he stumbled across his old bank account of which you’re turning a blind eye to.”

  “I see.” Bernard paused for a moment. Then he said, “So what makes you think that I actually know where to find him? I’ve only ever meet with him on one occasion, and believe me, it was not a pleasant experience.”

  “How so?”

  “He threatened my little girl, Trixie.”

  Blaze and Spider suddenly felt sorry for him. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” said Spider. “Is your daughter okay?”

  “No, no, no, you misunderstood me. Trixie isn’t my daughter; she’s my little princess.”

  Blaze was confused. Then he noticed there were more than half a dozen frames mounted on the walls with pictures of the same Fox Terrier in all of them. He’d noticed others lining the hallway walls on their way into the kitchen as well. “Trixie’s your dog, right?” he concluded.

  “She is. And Mr Bowman threatened to slice her open right in front of me unless I agreed to do what he asked.”

  “Then surely that’s all the more reason you should help us find him; we aren’t exactly going to pay him a social visit, if you g
et my drift.” He patted the pistol under his jacket.

  “Do you mean you’re going to…?”

  “Yes.” Blaze’s eyes burned fiercely.

  Bernard knew he wasn’t kidding around.

  “I will tell you everything I know. And if there is anything else I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Thank you. Do you have a recent photo or address of his?”

  “No, I don’t have any details like that. All I have is his personal phone number. He calls me every week to check on things. He is meticulous with his finances. In fact, he called me only this morning. He said he needed funds for a big off shore purchase he was making this week.”

  “Give me the number,” said Blaze. “I’ll get my friend of a friend to trace it.”

  Bernard retrieved his phone from the living room and brought up Samuel’s number. Blaze started to enter it into his phone, but as he tapped in the numbers one at a time, his phone’s memory brought up a contact already saved to his phone—identical to the number he was typing in.

  “What the fuck is this!” he demanded. “Are you taking the fucking piss?” he shouted at Bernard. “Who put you up to this! Fucking answer me!” Blaze grabbed him by his shirt collar.

  “What are you talking about?” Bernard answered frantically. “I don’t understand! You wanted Mr Bowman’s number and I gave it to you!”

  Spider saw Blaze was about to lose control. He quickly stepped between Blaze and Bernard, and calmly said, “Let him go, brother. He’s only trying to help.”

  “No, he’s fucking not!”

  Spider was at a loss. “I don’t understand. What makes you think he is trying to pull something over you?”

  “Because of the number he gave me. He works for the governor!”

  “Er—who is this—governor?” Bernard interrupted.

  Blaze calmed down a fraction. “You mean you don’t know who ‘the governor’ is?”

  “I have no idea who you’re talking about.” He straightened his shirt and tie. “I swear on my mother’s grave that I gave you Samuel Bowman’s personal phone number.”

  “Can you describe him?”