Shores of Death

by Peter Ritchie

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in, Ricky?’

  He couldn’t believe it was happening again and he turned to face Crazy Horse, who was dressed in a combat jacket and woollen hat and carrying the biggest hunting knife he’d ever seen. The serrated edge on the knife mesmerised him, and he tried not to think what it might be used for. Although he attempted to say something, the words just wouldn’t form; it was as if a numbing agent had been squirted directly into his throat. He did manage something like a squeak, but as it wasn’t a social visit Crazy Horse wasn’t too offended – in fact he liked that look of fear that came from him being the guy with the big fuck-off knife in his hand. The Glasgow man stooped down, picked up the keys and stuck them in the door because Swan was shaking so violently there was no chance he could manage that simple task himself. Crazy Horse then spun him round and, scrunching up the back of his jacket collar to control him, pushed the quivering heap face first through the door.

  Eddie and Drew arrived on the scene just as the door closed behind Crazy Horse. They jumped into Pat’s car and listened to what he’d seen, but Eddie felt there was way too much tension in his voice.

  ‘Take it easy. Cool it, for fuck’s sake.’ Eddie tried to sound calmer than he felt. McMartin was a class-A nutter, and if they fucked up with him then it was all over.

  ‘What do you think, Billy?’ Eddie looked at the older man, who seemed almost dreamlike as he ran through the options.

  ‘He’s either going to do Ricky or take him away somewhere, but if that was the case he’d have brought some of his team with him . . . He’s on his own so that means he’s going to do him in there. You sure he just had a blade?’

  ‘That’s all I saw, but fuck knows what’s under the jacket.’

  ‘Stay in the car; I’ll take care of him when he leaves. Just have the motor running when I pull the trigger and get me back to the other wheels pronto.’ He loaded the shotgun and opened the door of the car.

  ‘You sure you want to do this on your own?’ Eddie didn’t like it but Drew was ex-military, and if he needed backup they could be out of the car and with him in seconds. Drew shook his head but didn’t speak. He got out of the car and skirted round the edge of the street walls into Swan’s garden, keeping close to a boundary wall, and took up a position near the door, covered by some shrubs.

  When Crazy Horse drew the door behind him he left it unlocked and handy for a quick getaway when he was done. He held the hunting knife against Swan’s skinny little throat and pushed him towards a leather seat before he turned him round and without too much force punched him in the gut to make him sit quietly. There was no need for more than that because he was dealing with a physically weak man who wouldn’t be a problem.

  Swan was winded and slumped back into the chair. He held his gut and wondered how he’d managed to be the subject of yet another visit from a McMartin and whether he’d survive this one. There was no Cue Ball and the Bonnars were out of range. He wheezed with fear, and the dig to his gut area hurt like a bastard, but adrenalin was flooding his system. He might have been the worst form of coward but he still had the instinct to survive and tried to think of a way out, because without a shadow of a doubt he was about to be killed by a fucking maniac.

  Crazy Horse launched into a short speech. ‘I’m no here tae fuck around, wee man. Yer a grassin’ cunt, and Brenda’s a fuckin’ mess – well I suppose I should say a worse mess than usual.’ His face broke into a kind of lopsided grin. ‘I’m just here tae say cheerio, so any last words?’

  For the first time in his life Swan did something that required balls. Crazy Horse had done what so many other bastards had done and had only seen the runt in front of him. The Glasgow gangster had seen it as all too easy and had taken his eye off the ball when he was gloating at the other man’s fear. Swan picked up a glass paperweight from the coffee table beside him and with all the force he could muster he pushed up from the seat and swung it against the side of his tormentor’s head. Crazy Horse was stunned, but only for a moment as he had the advantage of having taken a lifetime of blows to various parts of his body. He took a step back and shook his head, spraying the blood pishing from the two-inch gash at the side of his eye. Swan froze as he watched Crazy Horse swipe at the wound before staring at his blood-covered hand. The lopsided grin returned.

  ‘Ya wee bastard,’ was all he said as he grabbed Swan by the throat and tried to make up his mind where to stick the knife first. Swan’s painful attempt at defence meant that he was going to get a series of stab wounds before he died rather than one big one through the heart.

  That’s when the tables turned in Swan’s favour. Gnasher hadn’t been sleeping when his master had arrived at the door. The sound of another voice hadn’t excited the dog too much but he’d been curious and padded to the lounge door, pushing it open with his nose. The spoodle stared at the scene just as the paperweight opened up the side of the stranger’s head, and when the man grabbed his master by the throat the dog’s instincts to protect boiled over. He wasn’t bred like his devil-dog cousins, but there were still traces of his ancestors’ hunting and pack instincts in his genes. Those instincts took control as he launched himself at the Crazy Horse’s back leg. His left trouser leg had ridden up and Gnasher saw the lower part of the man’s calf muscle exposed and bulging with the effort to position himself for the blow. The faithful dog sunk his small but very sharp teeth into the fleshiest part of the muscle and the reaction was instantaneous.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Crazy Horse could take pain, and though on the grand scale of things the bite wasn’t the worst he’d had, it came with the element of surprise, which always added to the effect. It was only a momentary distraction, but it ruined what he’d planned to do, and it was about to change his life completely. Crazy Horse let go of Swan and spun round to face whoever or whatever was attacking him from behind. The dog had let go but was still defending his master as Crazy Horse lashed out with his boot.

  That was all the distraction Swan needed, and he was already off for the door and out into the garden by the time Crazy Horse realised it was all going badly wrong. Swan knew the narrow tree-lined path at the side of his home was unlit and would give him cover to get the fuck out of it so he flew out of the door like an Olympic athlete, turned sharp left along the front of the house then jumped over a low wall into the protection of the deep shadows.

  Drew was on his feet on the other side of the door, and though his instinct was to stop Swan there was a bigger problem inside the house. He had to wait and see where that problem was because he didn’t want him at his back so Drew held his nerve; Crazy Horse was the priority, and he could hear the commotion happening inside. The barking dog gave him some idea of what might be going on, but it was all or nothing and whoever came off second best in the next few seconds would be dead.

  The twins had seen Swan legging it and that Drew was at the side of the door with the sawn-off ready and waiting. It was obvious to them what he was doing and why he was holding back.

  Inside the house, Gnasher had worked out that he was on a loser and that the man he’d defended so bravely had legged it. The dog made for the door and followed his master into the safety of the night.

  ‘Fuck it.’ It was a mess and Crazy Horse wondered what Handyside would make of it.

  The Fleming twins were at the entrance to the garden when Crazy Horse stepped outside, wondering which way to turn and whether it was even worth trying to find Swan in the dark. That was when he saw the two Edinburgh boys and their pickaxe handles.

  Crazy Horse was still raging and decided that if he couldn’t have Swan then they’d do for the time being. He raised the knife in front of him and was getting ready for the charge when he heard the crunch of gravel behind and to the side of him. He turned to face Drew, who had the sawn-off pointed at him. For most men being on the wrong end of a gun is a totally disabling and terrifying experience, in contrast to the film heroes who calmly face down the working end of those machines. That cours
e of action wasn’t for Crazy Horse, an animal bred for violence, and the moment he looked into Drew’s eyes he saw a man like himself who would pull the trigger without a moment’s hesitation. He was fucked and he knew it, so he decided he might as well try to malky the bastard as a final gesture.

  He snarled and tried to rush Drew, who pulled the trigger when they were no more than four feet apart. It was as if Crazy Horse had run into a rubber wall then bounced backwards. He was already dead when he hit the ground. Drew studied him for a moment and was satisfied that the gaping hole in his chest had done the job; there was no need to put another one in him. He’d been too close though, and he was covered with some of the material that had made up the recently deceased gangster. That was evidence, which meant it was time for them to go. Swan could wait.

  ‘Get in the car!’ he barked at the twins, who were already heading in the direction of their wheels. He noticed that a couple of lights had clicked on in other houses but he still had work to do. He took a couple of deep lungfuls of air and walked back towards the car when he heard Pat starting up the motor. In no rush, he reloaded the sawn-off and wiped droplets of sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand. He stopped at the open passenger window and stared down at Eddie, who looked up at him and understood at last why he’d had those niggling doubts.

  Drew saw the question in the young man’s eyes. ‘You just weren’t ready for the big seat, son.’

  He pulled the trigger again and blasted most of Eddie’s upper chest and neck into a pulp, filling the car with a red mist that blotted all the windows. Pat was covered in the mess from his brother, his hearing shattered, and he was halfway to madness when Drew pulled the trigger again and finished him.

  Drew was already in his car and driving when the first call was made to the police about some kind of disturbance in the Ravelston area. The police assistant who took the call was having one of the busiest night shifts ever and decided that a disturbance in Ravelston could wait.

  ‘Toffee-nosed gits,’ was her reaction when she put the phone down and took the next call about a serious assault on the Royal Mile. The phone operator was so busy that she forgot about the Ravelston job till a second call came in from an elderly female resident who said that her husband had been walking the dog and had seen something awful near the bottom of their drive. The unfortunate gentleman had passed out and split his head open. The cavalry was dispatched but they were far too late to catch Billy Drew.

  31

  Drew headed towards Cramond, the lovely old village nestling at the mouth of the River Almond where it runs quietly into the Forth estuary. It wasn’t far from the Ravelston area and he’d already rehearsed his next moves. Killing Crazy Horse hadn’t been in the plan, but it didn’t cause him any real problems – he’d just moved the timetable a bit. Swan would be taken care of in due course.

  As he swung the car into the parking area near the beach he breathed a sigh of relief that no one else was there. There was always the chance of a couple playing away from home or a pack of doggers enjoying their fantasies and spreading a few STDs.

  He took a petrol can from the boot and soaked the inside of the car, letting it puddle in the front and back seats. There was a full moon, but it was dark enough for his purposes; he stripped off till he was naked, piled the bloodstained clothes into the passenger seat and put the sawn-off on top of enough evidence to make sure he died in the pokey.

  He stepped back to make sure he hadn’t missed anything and took a few seconds again to steady his breathing. The rucksack he’d made up for the job held the running shorts, trainers and top he needed for the road home. He tipped the last of the petrol onto the clothes and took another few seconds to run through the checklist he’d memorised to avoid fucks-ups. Mistakes were easy when this level of stress was involved. He was sure he’d missed nothing, pulled on the running gear and was ready to go. Just to be sure, he’d put three lighters in the rucksack, but there was no need as the first one lit easily enough.

  He cupped his hand round the sputtering flame and stared for a few seconds before holding the lighter under a rag he’d soaked and stuck into the filler. There was going to be an almighty blaze, and he ran to make sure he didn’t go up with the car.

  He heard the first whoosh as the heatwave ran over him and pounded towards the path along the seafront that would take him back to Silverknowes, home and safety. Eventually he slowed to a steady jog and kept looking to his left where the moonlight sparkled across the calm waters of the Forth. The exertion helped to calm him as he ran through his mind what was still to be done. The air was cool, and he promised himself a large whisky when he was back home and cleaned up.

  Thirty minutes later Drew arrived at his door and stopped for a moment to check for watchers. Once he was satisfied that the street was quiet and there was no sign of the law or any nosey bastards behind their curtains, he went to the back gate and pulled another bag from his shed. He stripped off again, hung the garden hose from the six-foot fence that he’d built round the perimeter of the garden to ensure privacy and turned on the outside tap to get a fine spray. The cold water took his breath away but he forced himself to stay under the cleansing water. He rubbed his body, hair and hands to wash away as much of the night’s events as possible. His teeth were chattering and when he’d had enough he grabbed a large soft towel from the bag to rub himself dry. After a couple of minutes there was a wonderful tingling sensation all over his skin, as if a surge of youthful energy was charging his body.

  He changed into a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt and slip-on shoes. The running gear he stuffed into the bag with the wet towel before he walked three streets away to where he could shove the bag into a bin that would be collected that same morning. Exhaustion from the high-octane mixture of danger, stress and physical effort pounced on him, but that was okay, and he reduced his pace as he headed back home.

  The difference between the Flemings and Drew was that he was always prepared to go the extra mile to avoid a fuck-up so he wasn’t finished; he peeled off for a third time and stood under a hot shower till his skin was red and he looked like he’d been in the sun too long. He cut his finger- and toenails then scrubbed again with a hard brush, and when he was finished he poured half a bottle of bleach round the shower basin and sink in his bathroom.

  Drew had copped a lifer because his halfwit brother had failed to take care of gear that had his DNA all over it. It was only because Harkins had worked outside of the legal process that he’d walked out on a technical appeal. He was sure that his last change of clothes were clean, but he bagged them anyway, and just to be sure walked a half-mile from his house to dump them in a skip. He was nearly done, and confident that he was as clean as he could be and ready for any unforeseen visits from the suits.

  The scent of booze hit the back of his nose when he opened the fresh bottle and filled his glass halfway up. He slumped into a seat, took a sip and felt the warm rush wash through his veins, then he lifted the clean phone to make the only call he needed to that night before he swallowed the rest of the drink. He closed his eyes, listened to it ring and heard it picked up, but the person at the other end didn’t speak, which was what had been arranged – Handyside was waiting for Drew to talk in case something had gone wrong.

  ‘Didn’t go strictly to plan but the twins are gone,’ he said.

  ‘Good work.’ That was all Handyside said in reply as he waited for the rest of the update.

  ‘Crazy H turned up unexpectedly at the pimp’s so I took care of him as well. Only problem is that the pimp got away but that’s no real problem.’

  Handyside took a moment to run it through his head. ‘Okay, McMartin was going anyway so that’s a major problem out of the way. Tell you the truth, I thought I’d have to take care of it myself.’

  ‘What do you want me to do as regards the pimp?’ Drew asked, happy enough to find and gut the bastard if required.

  ‘You go about your business like a good citizen and stay normal till this d
ies down. There’s always the chance they have some intel on you working for the twins. We’ll take care of him ourselves. Once that’s done we’re more or less cleaned up apart from Brenda, but she can be controlled with her brother out of the way. In fact I think she can be used to our advantage, and she might just like taking over the manager’s job.’ Handyside felt it had all gone reasonably well and he was pleased that he was doing business with a man who understood the need for clarity and sense of purpose.

  ‘Ricky will know it was Crazy H but I’m pretty sure he never saw me or the twins. He was going like a fuckin’ greyhound when he left the house. I’ll call you later.’

  ‘Take care now and get some sleep.’ Handyside pushed the red button and promptly called Maxi Turner; there was still some work to do.

  32

  On the night Eddie Fleming and his brother had witnessed the UC being slaughtered by Handyside, their subsequent decision to call Drew had turned out to be a fatal mistake. When Fleming had arrived at his door in the middle of the night and spilled his guts about the events in Tyneside, it had taken about five minutes for Drew to realise that this was a business opportunity he couldn’t refuse. What the young man hadn’t recognised was that part of the price of that opportunity was his neck. Drew had listened, unlocking Eddie’s thoughts and fears with a bottle of good whisky and then told him to trust no one. It was good advice, but Eddie hadn’t listened to the man who would eventually take his life. What he’d said in the early hours of that morning had convinced Drew that the Fleming twins had committed the ultimate sin by introducing a UC into an unforgiving organisation, and that could only mean one thing. In Handyside’s world, ignorance of the crime was no defence. Credibility was everything, and the wonder of it all was that the Flemings hadn’t been composted much earlier. On top of all that it was clear that the McMartins had all the excuses they’d needed to move on the Edinburgh business and take over.