Rat Runners

by Oisin McGann

  “What are you waiting for then?”

  “I’m waiting for you to stop giving me a great big pain in my arse.”

  “Let’s find the bag then, shall we?” Scope gasped in exasperation.

  FX tapped a few more keys and then his eye fixed on a point on the screen.

  “OK, I’ve got it coming away from the club last night, and then it makes a sudden change in direction a few hundred meters away. Whoever took it followed one of the rat-runs away from the scene. It stops at this city center address for an hour—nice part of town … not—and then it takes off again.”

  “I know that building,” Manikin muttered. “Punkin lives there with his parents. That figures.”

  “Do you think his folks know what he and Bunny get up to?” Scope asked.

  “I think they know,” FX replied. “His dad’s in prison for beating Punkin unconscious with a handbag. Punkin’d nicked it from his own granny. Anyway, Nica’s handbag continues through town until it ends up here. We lose the signal there. About four hours ago, it either went where it couldn’t get a signal to a tower, or somebody damaged the bug.”

  He stabbed the screen with his finger, indicating the name of the complex where the signal had been lost. They all looked at it, and Manikin groaned. The label read: “Ratched Hospital.” Below which lay Move-Easy’s underground Void.

  “Well, she won’t be getting that back,” Scope sighed. “If it was Punkin and Bunny, they were probably just trying to impress Easy—he might not have told them anything about our operation. I don’t think this changes anything.”

  “Ah, actually, it might,” FX said, wincing. “The bug I used in the bag? It was one of the ones Nimmo took off Krieger. The WatchWorld bugs.”

  The others looked at him in shock. Scope let out a low moan, Nimmo closed his eyes for a few seconds and Manikin slapped the back of her brother’s head.

  “It’s lovely kit, and I just figured … well, it was recycling, y’know?” he protested.

  “If those two wazzocks walked into Move-Easy’s Void carrying one of those things,” Scope said, “it’d be detected at the door. And it would take Tanker all of five seconds to realize where it was made.”

  “But if Move-Easy figures out who hid it in the bag …” Manikin began.

  “He’s going to think we’re working for WatchWorld,” Nimmo finished. “Even if we told him where we’d got it, he’s so paranoid he’d condemn us there and then. Just the suspicion would be enough. He’s probably having pieces of Punkin and Bunny flushed down the sewer right now.”

  “So let’s hope it stops there, and he doesn’t figure out who really put the bug in the bag,” Manikin said, standing up and grabbing a dark blue puffer jacket from a hook by the door. “If Easy thinks WatchWorld is onto him, we’re out of time—he’s going to turn nasty. I’m off to see Nica, and tell her to keep her head down, because Easy’s going to stop tiptoein’ around now. If he doesn’t get that box soon, he’s going to come lookin’ for her and her mother.” Manikin jabbed a finger in Nimmo’s direction. “Two hours, Nimmo. Then we tell Easy everything. Don’t piss about.”

  The door slammed behind her. Nimmo’s eyes moved from the door to the floor, avoiding the others’ gaze.

  “There’s no way around this, Nimmo,” Scope said to him. “We need that box.”

  “All right,” he sighed at last. “It’s hidden on the roof of Brundle’s building. I need an hour to get it. I’ll meet you at the hospital, and we can bring it in together.”

  “No, I think we’ll go with you the whole way,” FX told him. “Just to be safe, y’know?”

  “Right—just to be safe.” Scope nodded, getting up from her chair. “And maybe we could pop into Brundle’s lab while we’re there. I’d really, really like to see what the hell he was doing that’s got everybody so worked up. I have to say, I’m fascinated. From everything I’ve seen of his stuff, it doesn’t look like anything illegal. At least, not technically.”

  “Funny, that’s what Brundle said,” Nimmo sniffed. “Just before someone murdered him.”

  CHAPTER 25

  KEPT IN THE DARK

  PUNKIN AND BUNNY did not know why they had been beaten up and thrown into the dark, bare concrete room, but it obviously had something to do with the stupid bloody handbag they’d stolen from that Brundle cow. All right, so Move-Easy hadn’t told them to lift it, but they’d seen the opportunity and grasped it with both hands—much as they’d done the girl and her handbag. It was a philosophy that had served Punkin well enough in his relatively short life, and Bunny normally trusted his judgement, so they’d just gone ahead and done it. Only it seemed Move- Easy wasn’t too keen about his minions acting on their own initiative.

  The unfortunate pair didn’t even get as far as seeing the boss. They were welcomed by one of his hard men, a bald giant named Hasan, more often known simply as “the Turk,” though no one could say why, as everyone knew he was Greek. Apart from being built of pure brawn and spite, he had implants in his knuckles that could deliver electric shocks. And he enjoyed using them.

  He welcomed Punkin and Bunny into the Void with a pair of other enforcers. The massive, muscled mound, smiling out from under his handlebar mustache, joined with his colleagues in surrounding the visitors. They then proceeded to punch and kick the pair until they were writhing in pain on the floor. After being thoroughly beaten, Punkin and Bunny were hauled up and dragged down the corridor to a steel door, which was opened just long enough for them to be thrown inside. Punkin swore and spat some blood from his mouth, before rolling onto his back. He didn’t bother to check if Bunny was OK. He’d seen her take much worse than that from the grandad and granny who’d raised her. She’d just need a good bout of foul language and she’d be back on her feet in no time. He took her hand and lay there, cursing the pain that throbbed from various parts of his body.

  “What the bloody hell did we do?” she whimpered, sniffing back the blood that dripped from her nose. “I mean, the poncey little hag was … was askin’ for it, walkin’ along on ’er own like ’at, in the middle o’ the night. Move-Easy—’e wants to know about ’er movements and ’at, yeah? An’ you … you gotta figure, you wanna find summink out about a girl, you look in ’er ’andbag, right? Didn’t we do good? Like … those trolls just laid into us wivvout even sayin’ what we done wrong!”

  “We’re bein’ kept in the dark about something, luv,” Punkin told her, wincing as he felt the swelling coming up on the side of his face. “But we’ve got to keep our ’eads. We’re at the bottom of the food chain right now, but if we play things right, we’ll work our way up to the big time—we’ve just gotta be patient, luv. We just gotta keep cool. Someday, I’m gonna be a serious villain like Move-Easy, and you’re gonna be right up there with me.”

  “You’ve got such big dreams, darlin’,” she sobbed in a tender voice, squeezing his hand. “An’ you know I believe in yaw wiv all of my ’eart. But we’re in up to our necks, ’ere, Punkin, and I fink one of those kicks broke a bone in my arse.”

  “Stick with me, sweet’eart,” he said with a grimace. “Someday we’ll be able to buy you a whole new arse if you want it.”

  “Gawd, you say the sweetest fings, Punkin,” she said, smiling as she wiped a mixture of blood and snot from her nose.

  They both flinched as the light came on; a key turned in the lock of the door, and it swung open. The Turk walked in with a steel-framed wooden chair and set it down on the floor. Then he stood aside and in walked Move-Easy himself. The fake-tanned mob boss sat down on the chair and crossed his legs. The Turk took out a cigar, clipped the end of it and handed it to his boss, then lit it with a match. Easy took a long, long drag and blew out a lazy cloud of smoke. He gazed at the two rat-runners, his eyes showing no more expression than if he’d had a pair of ball bearings set into his sockets.

  “You two,” Easy began, “must be, by far, the thickest pair of sewage-brained fungus-spraying goat- farts ever to stain the cobbles. I’ve seen
motorway tarmac with more mental agility than I’ve seen from you. I’ve got a pair of greyhounds whose crap has a higher IQ.”

  Punkin was about to retort that perhaps Mr. Easy was taking it a bit far, but thought the better of it.

  “It’s not enough that you bring a pack of exploding money into my ’ome, the first time we let you in,” Move-Easy went on to say. “Then you cook up a raid on an implant clinic, which turns out to belong to none other than Tubby Reach. That’s the kind of ’assle I could’ve done wivout. But sod it. That blubbery scrote can drown in his own fat for all I care.

  “Now, however, you two ’avin’ been accepted into my employment, you show up with an ’andbag you were not instructed to lift—your task bein’ merely to observe and report. Said ’andbag was found to contain not one, not two, but three transmitters in it. Tanker, my little computer wizard, has examined these devices, and reckons they’re WatchWorld gear.”

  What little color was left in Punkin and Bunny’s faces drained away at this. Bunny’s teeth started chattering, and Punkin felt sobs rising in his chest. They looked anxiously up at the Turk, who smiled down at them, the room’s single light bulb causing one of his gold teeth to gleam.

  “Needless to say, in the world of Move-Easy,” said Move-Easy, “this level of offense means you’d be food for the swine on my pig farm. Partial to a bit of dense meat, they are.”

  Bunny squeezed Punkin’s hand, and they shared a doomed-lovers look that would not have looked out of place on the bow of the Titanic.

  “However, as luck would ’ave it,” Easy continued, taking another drag on his cigar, “your stupidness is your saving grace.”

  The doomed lovers perked up.

  “Given your complete lack of mental faculties,” he declared, “the boys an’ I can truly believe that this was an accident. And there’s no way WatchWorld would engage the services of a pair of dog-snots like you. So, the pigs can go wivout for the moment. And ’avin’ knocked you about a bit, the boys feel that they’ve expressed their grievances at your distressin’ lack of care in observin’ the security of our ’ome. ’Opefully, you will have learned your lesson. There won’t be a third lesson.”

  “We’re … we’re d-d-d-desperately sorry,” Punkin stuttered. “It won’t … won’t happen a-a-a- again, Mister Easy. I s-s-s-swear it.”

  “We swear it.” Bunny nodded frantically. “We’ll never do anything this stupid again.”

  Move-Easy expressed his doubt with a snort, but then blew a smoke ring and fingered the medallion hanging amid the hair on his orange chest, visible beneath his white silk shirt.

  “The question of how those bugs might’ve got in that bag remains, however,” he said. “Per’aps you can enlighten us.”

  “It must have been Manikin an’ FX!” Punkin exclaimed. “They did a fake mugging outside the nightclub—FX lifted the bag an’ Manikin brought it back. They must’ve planted the bugs then. And there was two guys in a van watchin’ what was goin’ on then too. They could be in on the whole thing. D’you think it’s WatchWorld, Mister Easy? D’you think FX an’ Manikin are workin’ for the law?”

  Move-Easy leaned back in the chair and blew smoke at the ceiling, watching the curling fumes make shapes against the light.

  “Or is it even the real law?” he murmured, almost to himself. “Can’t take the chance either way. Best to just get rid of all concerned, I think. I’m done bein’ subtle. It doesn’t suit me.” Easy turned to the mountain of a man standing by the door, taking a last puff of his cigar. “Time to clean up shop, Turk. Find out where Coda’s disappeared to; tell him to find the two guys in the van and deal with them. Then go pick up Brundle’s little girl. Let’s see if she knows what Daddy’s done with Uncle Easy’s stuff.

  “Find Scope. My Little Brain’s not gettin’ out of here again—ever. Seems she can’t be trusted to remember where her loyalties lie. And as for the rest of those vermin—whether they’ve got that box or not, I want their bodies hangin’ in my fridge by tomorrow lunch time.”

  CHAPTER 26

  VISITED IN THE NIGHT

  MANIKIN HAD ARRANGED to meet Nica in an outdoor café set in the Barbican complex, on the terrace next to the small man-made lake. The complex was littered with surveillance cameras, but Manikin wasn’t carrying anything illegal, and she was in character as George, foiler of muggers and dealer of dodgy books. She often felt safer disguised as someone else when she was out in public. She was wearing the same pink Doc Martens she’d had on in the club, and the same blonde wig with the Aussie hair-wraps. A stonewashed gray denim skirt, black tights and a purple hoodie completed her look. She had a small, scuffed backpack slung over one shoulder—the type with a pouch for a mobile phone on the strap—and a pair of shades pushed up onto her head. A little make-up had given her the swollen lip she’d allegedly picked up from the mugger the night before.

  Her eyes swept the terrace as she walked out onto it. She spotted Nica sitting at a table near the water, but the girl had not seen her yet. Manikin took the opportunity to check out the rest of the people sitting out here.

  Her heart gave an extra-hard thump as she saw the Greek giant known as the Turk sitting with three of Move-Easy’s apes at a table near Nica’s. The men hadn’t recognized Manikin, but she was bound to catch their eyes once she sat down with Brundle’s daughter. Swearing under her breath, she hesitated. Her aim had been to warn Nica that she and her mother might be in danger from Move-Easy. Now there was no ‘might’ about it. The Turk wasn’t the kind of man you used for discreet surveillance. If he was here, Nica really was in trouble.

  “George, hey!” Nica shouted, turning and waving to her. The girl’s own pair of sunglasses failed to hide the bags under her eyes as Manikin drew closer. Her voice dropped when Manikin sat down at the table. “Thanks for coming. I’m really brickin’ it here. If Mum finds out I’ve lost that book, she’s going to skin me alive. It’s her contact who gets the books, so I can’t go looking that way to replace it.”

  “No problem,” Manikin said, smiling and shrugging. “I’ll see what I can do. I’ve got a friend near here who specializes in Orwell. We can just get out of here, and head around to …”

  Her words faltered; Nica had just noticed the four men sitting nearby. They were looking over at her. From her expression, it was clear that she recognized them.

  “Listen, I … I … just … I can’t go anywhere right now,” Nica said. There was a quiver in her voice. “I’d really appreciate your help with this, but I need to go now. Could we meet up some other time? We could—”

  “Nica,” Manikin said to her in a firm tone. “Nica, listen to me. Stop looking at them and listen to me for a minute. I know those men. I know what they are. But how come you know them?”

  Nica pushed her sunglasses up her nose, but they could not conceal the barely suppressed fear on her face. She turned her head away, pretending to look up at the high buildings above them, or watch the reflections on the lake.

  “Talk to me, Nica,” Manikin tried again.

  “I only recognize that big one,” came the terse reply. “Or at least, I know his hands—those scars on his knuckles. He’s got implants. Those guys are gangsters. They’re looking for something my dad was working on. He’s … he’s a—he was a scientist, a biologist, and he had this project he’d spent years on for some private client. He never told me much about it, but he told me if he got it right, he’d be able to fix my … my birthmark.” Her hand unconsciously brushed the side of her face. “Anyway, some gang boss found out what he was working on, figured it was worth a fortune, and just told my dad to hand it over when it was done, and to hell with the client who was paying all the bills.

  “When my dad said no, that big guy there, the ogre with the bald head and gold teeth, came here in the middle of the night, broke into our apartment, sat down next to my bed. He took a … a picture of me sleeping, with his hand stroking my hair. They … they gave it to Dad—he … showed me the picture when I last saw hi
m. That’s how I recognize the hands. He told me about this a few days ago, and I wouldn’t believe him until I saw that photo.

  “Dad was terrified,” Nica went on. “He told me he’d do whatever they wanted. He couldn’t take the chance that they’d hurt me. But I reckon he didn’t give it to them before he died. I … I think that’s what really happened to him. I think … I think he refused to give it to them and they killed him for it. Don’t ask me how. I know he’s supposed to have choked on a bloody hazelnut, but that’s just ridiculous. He hated hazelnuts. Those guys must have done it somehow.”

  Manikin didn’t agree. She didn’t want to say it, but if Move-Easy had wanted to force Brundle to do anything, he’d simply have taken Nica hostage. Killing Brundle wouldn’t have got him what he wanted. Brundle was no use to them dead. And Move-Easy could always be counted on to do whatever it took to get his hands on the money.

  “They’re here for me,” Nica said in a near-whisper, and Manikin was struck again by how stark and disfiguring the girl’s birthmark looked when the rest of her face went pale. “I don’t know what to do. How do I hide from people like that? No matter what I do, they’ll find me.”

  Manikin stared over at the Turk, making no attempt to hide it. To hell with it, she thought. As far as she was concerned, Nimmo’s time was up. There was no reason for Nica to get hurt, not when he had the box. This had gone far enough. But at least now they could clear this whole thing up. Manikin could worry about what Move-Easy had planned for them after she’d got out of here.

  “I can help you, Nica,” she said at last. “I know these guys, I can get them to back off if I can give them something they want. But you need to help me first. If this is to do with your dad, what was he working on, exactly? He was a biologist, working on fixing scar tissue, right? So what was he making?”