“You shouldn’t be joking about this.”
“Who says I’m joking?” said Nat. The sun seemed to have washed away the fear and dread of the night’s adventures. She felt a little more like herself. “You haven’t done anything to hurt me. As for some of the others…”
“It was a mistake,” Max pleaded.
“I know.”
They followed a thin, winding path through the dense trees. Nat marvelled at the birds darting between the branches above. She watched a red squirrel, tiny hands clutching an acorn, bound through the undergrowth and scamper up a tree out of sight. She sighed.
“You kind of forget about all this,” she said. “Living in this hell hole of traffic and people, shitty bosses and even shittier jobs.”
“Your shitty job kept my family alive,” Max reminded her.
“Yeah, but you just forget what life’s about, you know? I cringe when I think about the years I wasted as a waitress, waiting for something to happen, waiting for something to change.”
“It did.”
The trees thinned out, and the first signs of the park came into view. Sounds of friendly shouts and children’s laughter joined the birdsong. On the very edge of the wood, still within the shadows of the trees, Nat pulled Max to a stop.
“Should…should we go out there?” she said. “I’ve been missing all night. I’m sure people will be looking for me, especially…” She almost said Simon, but kept the name from escaping.
“We’ll be okay for five minutes,” said Max and stepped into the direct sunlight. “There’s a fountain just over there.” He pointed. “We can sit down and talk.”
Nat nodded and allowed Max to take her hand and playfully pull her from between the trees. Her stomach tightened up, twisting like a balloon animal.
I hope he doesn’t get mad, she thought again. At least I’m with people now. I can make a run for it if he goes all Jacob on me.
On one side of the playing field, a large group of boys played football, using their bags and coats as goal posts. Nat watched as one goalkeeper, distracted by pulling on his gloves, allowed the ball to slowly roll past him. The other team cheered while his team mates ran over, accusations flying. An old couple walked their dog down one of the tarmac pathways. The rest of the park appeared empty, including the stone fountain at its centre.
They crossed the park and reached the monument. Sitting on the edge, Nat gazed into the moving water. The image of that lone blue tentacle popped into her head. She ushered the thought away and dangled her hand in the fountain.
“Excuse me,” said Max. He joined her and plunged both hands deep into the water.
“What are you doing?”
Max sat up and opened his clenched fists. Coins—mostly dulled one and two pence pieces with the occasional tiny five—covered his palms. He grinned and quickly deposited them in his coat pockets.
Nat laughed, surprised at its sound.
“Every little bit helps,” said Max and faced her. “Now, what’s bothering you? I’m spoilt for choice.”
“It’s about your mother…” said Nat, her high spirits plummeting like a suicide jump. “… and your brothers.”
Max grunted and faced the sun, squinting. “Yeah. I think we do need to talk about that. I know I do. Alcazar aside, the others are too fired up to talk rationally. Especially Jacob. And Whistler, he’s seething with anger, but he hides it well.”
Nat squeezed her fists.
“This is going to be hard for me to say.” She swallowed. “I hope you understand that I had to be sure, Max. It would have caused mayhem if I was wrong.”
Max’s face clouded in a frown. “Go on.”
Nat swallowed again, trying to wash down the knot of anxiety in her throat.
“The one with the white hair. The one who killed your mother, and your brothers, too, probably? His name is Johan.”
Max blinked, and his eyes seemed to focus on something far away. “How do you know?”
Need to be careful, she thought.
“The night your mother died…was killed…I’d been in The Fourth Dimension with my boyfriend. Johan came in. Turned out they were friends at one point.” She looked up into the sky, imagining the bar that night. “Later, Simon—”
“Your boyfriend?”
Nat nodded. “He left the bar to talk to him. He seemed upset. I followed them and found…found your mother, I think. She was on the ground, and they surrounded her.”
Max’s frown deepened. “Was anyone else there?”
Whistler.
“No,” she said.
Standing from the fountain, Max placed his hands on his hips. Nat heard the loose change rattle in his pockets. “Why didn’t you help her?”
Nat rose to her feet and faced him, struggling to meet his eyes.
“I was afraid, Max. Four guys and me? Besides, your mother got away, and that was the last I saw of her. I thought she’d be okay, but then all this happened, and…” She shook her head. “I can’t keep doing this. Every time I should do something—every time the chance has come along to do the right thing—I keep quiet. Scared. Bury my head in the sand. If I’d said something sooner, maybe—”
“We didn’t know they’d come after the family, Nat,” said Max. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“It’s my mother all over again. I could have saved her. I could have saved your mother and your brothers.”
Max watched the boys playing football for a moment. The old couple had strolled out of the park. “I can’t hold you responsible. Perhaps what you’re doing now is the right thing. Sticking with us and seeing this through. Don’t grieve over your mistakes. Just don’t make them again.”
Nat thought this over. Whistler certainly didn’t seem to be grieving over his mistake, but Alcazar would fix that. The tall man had a way about him, like an ancient headmaster, that could make you feel guilty with a mere glance. How could she change things? With a group of murderous thugs in pursuit, what could she do?
“There is always a right time for action,” said Max. “Maybe you just haven’t reached it yet.” He sighed. “So your boyfriend will know how to find this… this Johan?”
Nat shook her head. “He used to know him, but that night he seemed afraid almost.”
After a long exhale, Max slumped back against the stone wall of the fountain.
“You’re angry,” said Nat. “I know I should have said something sooner, but I didn’t want one of you to go after them if I was wrong.”
“I don’t think you’re wrong,” sighed Max. “At every turn, this white haired guy seems to have made an appearance. At least we know who he is. I’m not angry at you.”
A gentle breeze blew a dreadlock over her face. Nat subconsciously brushed it back into place. “So where does that leave us?”
Max looked back to the woods.
“You understand what they’ve done, and what will happen to them?”
Nat bowed her head, but nodded.
“We’ll make those bastards suffer.”
PART 3
26.
The air inside the car hung heavy with soap and aftershave. All of the boys had taken a shower and changed, keen to shift all traces of the sewer water from their skin. Johan drove, his scrubbed red hands clutching the wheel. Beside him, Simon gazed out of the passenger window in silence. Crammed into the backseat, Kev, Spence and Richie stayed unnaturally quiet.
Without taking his attention from the road, Johan let go of the wheel with his right hand and rubbed it on the seat of his jeans, sure he felt some unnoticed dirt. He indicated right at the approaching traffic lights and turned onto a quieter street.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” asked Spence. “It sounds…dodgy.”
“Of course it’s dodgy,” replied Johan. “We’re buying weapons. What did you expect?”
He swapped hands on the wheel, now rubbing his right hand on the rough denim.
“And you know this guy?” Spence pressed. “You sure it
will be fine?”
“For the last time, yes!” said Johan over his shoulder. “Just shut the fuck up, Spence.”
He waited for a response.
Spence turned and looked out of the window, his lips pressed shut.
Johan returned his gaze to the road. After a few more streets he spied their destination on the corner of a quiet intersection. He pulled the car over in front of the entrance.
“Is this it?” asked Simon, his voice low and flat. He sounded tired, uninterested. Johan knew better. He was emotionally drained, but once they returned to the sewers…
His lust will come back, just like the old days.
“Yeah,” said Johan. He switched off the engine and opened his door. “Come on, then.”
They climbed out of the car.
A sign, covered with adverts for Coca Cola, read “John’s Supermarket” in bold white letters. The two large windows on either side of the open door were packed full of goods, restricting any view inside the shop. Items had been placed outside: a newspaper rack, bags of charcoal and wood, and a sweet dispenser. Johan wondered how the old fool didn’t get robbed blind seven days a week.
“Seriously,” said Richie. “A corner shop?”
“Not quite,” said Johan. He squinted against the bright sun. It did little to heat up the day, and the temperature had once again plummeted. Keen to get inside, he walked away from the car towards the entrance. His well-trained pack followed closely behind.
A small bell over the door tinkled as they entered. The store was crammed to capacity with shelves, baskets and other display cases. The room stretched away from them, long and narrow. Halfway along stood the counter, surrounded by row upon row of confectionary. The sound of a mandolin drifted through the shop.
Johan carried on forwards, passing tins and toilet paper and bags of potatoes. It had been a while since he had visited John’s. He’d forgotten how haphazard the shop was laid out. It could take a customer an eternity to find what they wanted.
Old John Win sat behind the counter reading a newspaper. Behind him, a large unit contained hundreds of boxes of cigarettes. Perched on top was an aged stereo, the source of the mandolin. The owner looked over his paper, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Yes? Help you?”
Johan looked up and down the shop. “Is Alan around?”
The shop keeper sat frozen, glare locked on Johan. “Why? You his friend? Not seen you before.” He placed his paper face up on the counter and stroked his long, narrow beard. “None of you.”
“It’s been a while since we paid him a visit,” said Johan, smiling. He remembered how he had used his nice guy smile on that meathead Bubba at the Fourth Dimension. This old fool was sure to believe it. “We’re returning some games we borrowed.”
John Win’s eyes darted down and up again. “I see no games.”
“They’re in the car.”
“Hmm.”
He turned his head and began shouting in rapid Chinese. Johan stood with his fake smile plastered across his face. It began to hurt his cheeks.
Come on, Alan. Get your arse out here before I knock some sense into your old man.
The shop keeper paused and listened. A few seconds later, another voice came from the back of the shop, also in Chinese. John looked back to Johan.
“You go head. In back.”
“Thank you, Mr Win. I hope you have a profitable day.”
The old man glowered and picked up his paper, hiding his face.
“Prick,” said Johan under his breath. He walked away from the counter and headed for the rear, the boys following.
At the very back of the shop stood a meat counter, its glass display containing various piles of pink flesh, sliced sausage and cooked chicken portions. Seeing no other way forwards, Johan walked around it and through the door beyond. This led into a living room, the deep and juicy smell of the meat heavy in the air. Johan suppressed a shiver at the set up. To have all that meat so close to where you live?
Alan Win looked away from a TV as they entered. He stretched and replaced his arms behind his head. Spread out, his feet rested on the other arm of the sofa. He yawned.
“Working hard as usual, Alan?” said Johan. He stepped further inside to allow the others to enter.
“Only fools and horses work,” said Alan. “Fools like the one at the counter.”
A supposed mathematical prodigy, Alan had been forced into the family business immediately after college. John’s plan had been for his only son to take over his own shop and expand the Win Empire. He hadn’t anticipated Alan’s laziness, or his skills at selling products other than groceries and tobacco.
“Alan, why do Chinese people always have boring English names?” asked Johan, dropping himself into an armchair.
“So you Brits can get your primitive tongues around them,” said Alan. “Now cut the bullshit, Johan—” He nodded to the boys “—and minions. You want something. Let’s do it. I get paid; you fuck off. How that grab you, ladies?”
Simon took a step forwards.
“Simmer,” said Johan. “If we take his crap we’ll be out of here quicker.”
Alan swung his body into a sitting position and leaned forward, a slight smile on his face. He scooped up a packet of cigarettes from a small table and removed one.
“So what we after?” he pulled out a cigarette and poked it into the corner of his mouth. “Cheap fags? Or something stronger?” He winked. “I just got a new delivery of DVDs. Swedish. Your kind of stuff, Johan.” The cigarette pointed up with his grin.
“We’re going on a little hunting trip,” said Johan, “out of town, you know? Thought it would be quicker to get the goods from yourself. Less paperwork.”
Alan blew out a plume of smoke. It mingled with the meaty smell.
“I see. Hunting, you say? What kind of thing would you be hunting?”
“Birds, squirrels, rabbits that kind of thing.”
Removing the cigarette from his lips, Alan rolled the filter between his fingers. He watched the smoke drift up from its tip.
“Cut the bullshit,” said Johan. “Do you have any guns or not?”
“You know me.” Alan stood up and walked past them to the door. He stuck his head out and surveyed the shop. “You three. Go out there and keep my old man company.”
They looked over at Johan, who nodded.
“How?” asked Kev.
“Browse or something, you fucking dummy. Just don’t act suspicious or you’ll get kicked out. And don’t read any magazines; this isn’t a goddamn library!”
Richie, Kev and Spence hastily made their exit.
“They seem like losers” said Alan after they’d gone. “Jesus.”
“Just get the guns,” said Johan.
Alan walked back over to the sofa and pushed it to the side. Kneeling in the corner, he peeled back the dog-eared carpet to reveal the bare floor boards.
“Old man hasn’t got a clue,” he said and pulled up a couple of wooden slats. Reaching into darkness, Alan pulled up a large holdall with considerable effort. It clattered on the floor.
“Those three still keeping him occupied?”
Simon looked through the doorway. “He’s still reading his paper.”
“Good. Johan, get over here.”
Johan quickly got up from the armchair and joined Alan. He unzipped the bag.
“I never sell anything I don’t know the quality of first,” said Alan. He reached inside the bag and pulled out a shiny, black metal handgun. He gripped it by the handle, finger on trigger and pointed it into the air. “This is a Fort 12, used by the Ukraine police, I believe. Double action semi-automatic.” The clip slid free with a small click. Alan caught it with his other hand. “Holds twelve rounds, but I’ve only got the one clip. If you want it, twelve rounds are all you get.”
Johan nodded, his gaze on the gun.
“Also, I have this.”
He put down the Fort and removed a slightly smaller handgun. Its silver finish was
slightly tarnished with a speckling of rust.
“A Korth, German. Only single action. Holds ten nine millimetre rounds. Doesn’t look like much, but it can still pack one hell of a punch.”
“How old is that?” asked Johan.
Holding it up to his face, Alan had a closer look. “Around the mid eighties?”
“Christ,” said Simon from near the doorway. “How can we trust something like that? I mean, look at it!”
“As long as it shoots,” said Johan. “How much?”
Alan lined up the handguns on the carpet next to him. “Call it a hundred.”
“Done,” said Johan with a nod. He reached into his pocket and removed a bundle of rolled up notes. Counting out the desired amount, he handed it to Alan.
“How do we know they’ll work?” asked Simon.
“They’ll work,” Johan replied. “Everything I buy from this loser works.”
Delving back inside the bag, Alan pulled out a handful of short, black sticks. “You might be interested in a few of these. Flashes, like a flare. Just twist of the end and light. Twenty quid for six. Very good if you get lost in the dark.”
Johan picked the guns off the floor and passed them to Simon, who once again checked the shop. The flashes, plain and smooth, felt light in Johan’s hand on inspection. He nodded and tucked three in each pocket.
Alan quickly replaced the bag back under the floorboards. The flashes were swapped for another note from Johan’s pocket.
“Don’t let him see you,” said Alan, returning to the sofa. Johan and Simon stashed a weapon each in their jackets. “Oh, and one other thing…”
Almost through the door, they paused to look back.
“If you think I believe you’re going to shoot birds, you must think I’m stupid.”
Johan opened his mouth to speak, but Alan held up a hand.
“I don’t care what you’re doing, but you don’t do it near here, and you didn’t get the gear from me.”
“Of course,” said Johan. “You’re doing us a favour.”
Alan nodded. “Then you’ve been warned. Now, fuck off and take your pathetic friends with you.”
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