More Short Fuses

by Stephen Leather

  Verity stopped in his tracks. He pointed a gloved finger at Macdonald. ‘I said him. If I’d wanted you to do it I’d have told you.’ He pointed at Owen. ‘Do it!’ he shouted. Then he pointed at Macdonald. ‘You stay with me where I can keep my eye on you.’ Verity jogged down the centre aisle. Macdonald and the Glaswegian followed him while Owen ran towards the front door.

  Doug was already sitting at the controls of a fork lift truck. ‘Here they are,’ shouted Fred, gesturing at a pallet loaded with cardboard boxes.

  ‘Come on, get them loaded and let’s get out of here!’ shouted Verity. The boxes contained the latest Pentium chips from the States. According to Verity’s man on the West Coast, there were twenty-four boxes in the shipment worth almost a million pounds, wholesale.

  In the distance, the metal door slammed. They all turned at the sound of running feet. Verity and Macdonald ran into the main aisle and saw Owen hurtling towards them. ‘Cops!’ yelled Owen. ‘There’s cops everywhere!’

  Verity whirled around. ‘What?’

  ‘They’ve got P.J. There’s armed cops all over the place.’

  Verity’s hand dropped towards his scanner. He checked the frequency and the volume. Everything was as it should be. ‘They can’t be,’ he shouted.

  ‘They must have hit a silent alarm,’ shouted Owen.

  Verity ran towards the office, where Eddie was standing with both hands on his pistol. ‘What do we do?’ shouted Eddie.

  Verity gestured at the metal door. There were bolts top and bottom. ‘Lock it,’ he said. Eddie ran over and slid the bolts, then ducked away. There were no windows in the warehouse structure, no way of seeing what was going on outside. Owen was panting hard. Verity put a hand on Owen’s shoulder. ‘How many?’ he asked.

  ‘Shit, I don’t know. They were all over the minibus. Three unmarked cars. A dozen cops, maybe. I didn’t hang around to count.’

  Verity rushed into the office and slapped the warehouseman across the face, the ripped the tape away from his mouth. ‘Did you trip an alarm?’ he asked.

  The warehouseman was shaking. ‘How c-c-could I?’ he stammered. ‘You were w-w-watching me all the time. You know you were.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ asked Eddie.

  ‘Shut the fuck up and let me think,’ said Verity.

  ‘There’s nothing we can do,’ said Macdonald. ‘If the cops are outside, it’s all over.’

  Verity ignored him and turned to Owen. ‘You said they had P.J?’

  ‘He was bent over the bonnet of one of the cars, one of the cops was handcuffing him.’

  ‘Did they see you?’

  Owen nodded.

  ‘The minibus was still there?’

  Owen nodded again.

  ‘Okay,’ said Verity. If the cops knew that they’d been seen then they had only seconds. He gestured with his shotgun at the two men on the floor. ‘Free their legs,’ he said. ‘And untie the twat in the chair. They’re our ticket out of here.’

  Eddie rushed into the office. Fred and the Glaswegian bent down and ripped the duct tape away from the legs of the fork lift truck drivers.

  Verity stood cradling his shotgun as he stared at the bolted metal door. If the cops knew that they were armed, they wouldn’t come storming in. And if they went out with hostages, the police wouldn’t be able to shoot. Verity tried to visualise the geography around the warehouse. So far as he could recall, there were no vantage points for snipers, no high ground from where they could be picked off. It would all be up close and personal, and that meant the cops wouldn’t be able to fire without risking the hostages. But they had to move quickly. ‘Come on, come on!’ he shouted.

  Eddie pushed the warehouseman out of the office. ‘The security guard’s still out cold,’ he said.

  ‘Three’s enough,’ said Verity.

  ‘Enough for what?’ asked Macdonald.

  ‘To get us out of here,’ said Verity. He went over to the warehouseman. ‘Give me the duct tape,’ said Verity, holding out his hand to Owen. Owen tossed him the roll of tape. The warehouseman tried to speak put Verity pushed the barrel of the shotgun under his nose and told him to shut up. ‘George, come over here.’ The Glaswegian stood up and walked over to Verity. ‘Put your shotgun against the back of his neck.’ The Glaswegian did as he was told, and Verity wound duct tape around the weapon and around the warehouseman’s neck.

  ‘You use him like that and it’s kidnapping,’ said Macdonald. ‘Shoot him and it’s cold-blooded murder.’

  ‘If the cops let us go, no one’ll get hurt,’ said Verity. He nodded at Fred. ‘Do the same with him,’ gesturing at the fork lift driver. The West Indian hauled the man to his feet and started fastening his sawn off shotgun to the man’s neck with tape.

  ‘They won’t let you walk out of here,’ said Macdonald. ‘Even with hostages.’

  ‘Armed robbery will get us twelve years, maybe fifteen,’ said Verity. ‘If a gun goes off and one of these sad fucks gets it, it’ll be manslaughter. Ten to twelve. We’ve got nothing to lose.’

  ‘Ted Verity, I know you can hear me,’ said a voice. Verity whirled around in surprise, then realised that the voice had come through the earpiece of the scanner. It was being broadcast on the police frequency. ‘This is the police. It’s over Ted, come out now before this gets out of hand.’

  Verity roared and ran over to the fork lift truck driver that Fred was tying up. He slammed his shotgun against the fork lift truck driver’s chin, then kicked him between the legs, hard. The man fell back and Verity hit him again as he went down.

  Macdonald grabbed Verity’s arm and pulled him away. ‘What the hell’s got into you?’ shouted Macdonald.

  Verity shook him off. The earpiece buzzed again. ‘There’s armed police out here, Ted. There’s no where for you to go. Leave your weapons where they are and come out with your hands in the air. If we have to come in and get you, people are going to get hurt.’

  A telephone began to ring in the office.

  ‘Answer the phone, Ted,’ said the voice in Verity’s ear.

  ‘It’s the cops,’ said the Glaswegian. ‘They’ll be wanting to talk to us.’

  Eddie hurried over to Verity.

  ‘They’ve already talked to us,’ said Verity. He slapped the scanner on his belt.

  ‘On the radio.’

  ‘How did they know we had a scanner?’ asked Eddie, his face just inches away from Verity’s. Verity could smell garlic on the man’s breath.

  ‘They knew everything,’ said Verity. ‘We’ve been set up.’ He swore and then pushed Eddie in the chest. ‘Get the fuck away from me!’ he said.

  ‘It’s over,’ said Macdonald. He turned to the Glaswegian, looking for his support. The Glaswegian shrugged but said nothing. ‘If we go out with hostages, they’ll throw away the key,’ said Macdonald. The Glaswegian’s finger was on the trigger of the shotgun. Most of the barrel was covered with duct tape, binding it to the back of the warehouseman’s neck. The man was trembling and the piece of duct tape across his mouth pulsed in and out as he breathed.

  ‘There’ll throw away the key for me anyway,’ said the Glaswegian. ‘One look at my record.’ He jabbed the shotgun against the warehouseman’s neck. ‘Let’s just do what we’ve got to do.’

  Macdonald groaned and shook his head. He nodded at Owen. ‘Jeff, help me out on this. This mad bastard’s gonna get us all killed.’

  ‘No names!’ screamed Verity, brandishing his shotgun. ‘No fucking names!’

  ‘Ted,’ said Macdonald calmly. ‘Them knowing who we are is the least of our problems.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Doug. ‘If the cops are outside then it’s thank you and good night.’ He gestured at the door with his handgun. ‘This peashooter’s gonna do me no good against pigs with heavy artillery.’

  ‘We’re not gonna shoot at them,’ shouted Verity. ‘All we’re gonna do is to tell them if they try to stop us, the hostages get it. Look, the minibus is out there. P.J. is there. If we mov
e now, we can still get out of here. If we keep yapping they’ll be firing tear gas and God knows what else in here.’

  The phone stopped ringing. Fred went to stand by Doug. The Glaswegian pulled the warehouseman back so that he was closer to Verity. Battle lines were being drawn. Owen cursed and moved over to Verity, his sawn-off shotgun at the ready. He gestured with his chin for Macdonald to join him but Macdonald shook his head.

  ‘Eddie,’ said Verity.

  ‘Get the hell over here.’ Eddie looked across at the two West Indians, then at Verity. ‘I didn’t sign up for a shoot-out,’ he said. ‘In and out, you said.’ ‘Eddie, get over here or I’ll shoot you myself.’ Eddie gritted his teeth. Verity levelled his shotgun at Eddie’s groin. ‘I swear to God,’ said Verity. ‘Get your fucking arse over here.’

  Tears welled up in Eddie’s eyes but he did as he was told.

  ‘Answer the phone, Ted,’ said the voice in Verity’s ear. ‘What we’ve got to say is better said over a secure line, right? Don’t you agree?’

  Verity ripped the earpiece from his ear and pointed at the fork lift truck driver on the floor. ‘Get a shotgun taped to his neck, now,’ he shouted at Owen, keeping his own weapon aimed in the direction of the West Indians.

  Owen grabbed the roll of duct tape and pulled the injured man to his feet. ‘Give me a hand,’ he said to Eddie.

  ‘If you’re going to go through with this, I’m out of here,’ said Doug.

  ‘You’re not going anywhere,’ said Verity.

  ‘This ain’t no three musketeer thing,’ said Doug. ‘You do what you’ve got to do, but I’m walking out now.’

  ‘I’m with him,’ said Fred, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

  The telephone started to ring again.

  ‘We’re going out there together,’ said Verity.

  Eddie began winding tape around the fork lift truck driver’s neck.

  ‘They’re not going to let you drive away,’ said Macdonald.

  ‘They won’t have a choice,’ said Verity. ‘What are they going to do? Shoot at us while we’ve got these guys by the short and curlies?’

  ‘And what are you go going to do when they say there’s no deal?’ said Macdonald. ‘Blow the heads off civilians?

  ‘They’ll deal,’ said Verity.

  ‘If that’s what you think then you don’t know the cops.’

  ‘Do you?’ yelled Verity. ‘Is that how they knew we were here? Did you grass us up?’

  ‘Screw you, Verity,’ said Macdonald. ‘I don’t need this shit.’

  Verity pointed his shotgun at Macdonald’s midriff and his finger tightened on his trigger. Macdonald swung his own shotgun up so that it was levelled at Verity’s stomach.

  ‘Guys, for fuck’s sake!’ shouted Owen.

  ‘We’re on the same side here!’ ‘We’re in this together,’ said Verity. ‘If we split up now, it’s over.’

  ‘It’s over anyway!’ shouted Macdonald. ‘You just don’t see it.’

  ‘Bob, we’re damned if we do and we’re damned if we don’t,’ said Owen.

  Macdonald snarled at Owen, though he kept his weapon aimed at Verity. ‘You told me this was a straight robbery,’ he said. ‘In and out before anyone was the wiser, you said. Now we’re taking hostages.’

  ‘The cops are going to say we took hostages anyway,’ said Owen calmly. ‘Soon as we tied them up we were holding them against their will. Look, I brought you in on this because you were a cool head. Don’t let me down now.’ The phone stopped ringing again. Outside the warehouse they heard rapid footsteps. Then silence.

  Macdonald nodded slowly and lowered his weapon. ‘Okay,’ he said.

  Verity stared at Macdonald, then nodded curtly, acknowledging Macdonald’s change of heart. ‘Check the door,’ Verity said. ‘Don’t open it, just listen.

  Macdonald walked towards the door. As he passed Verity, Macdonald turned suddenly and slammed the cut-down stock of his shotgun into the man’s stomach. The breath exploded from Verity’s lungs and he doubled over. Macdonald brought the stock crashing down on the back of Verity’s head and Verity dropped like a dead weight.

  Owen stared at Macdonald in amazement. Doug and Fred cheered. The Glaswegian tried to rip his shotgun away from the warehouseman’s neck but the duct tape held firm and he cursed. Macdonald swung his shotgun towards the Glaswegian. ‘Don’t even think about it, Jock,’ he said.

  ‘You’re dead,’ said Owen. ‘When he gets hold of you, you’ll be wearing your balls around your neck.’

  ‘If we go out there tooled up, we’re dead anyway,’ said Macdonald. He backed away from Owen. The Glaswegian ripped his shotgun free with a roar. He aimed it at Macdonald as the warehouseman slumped to his knees.

  Macdonald kept backing away. ‘I’ve no problem with you, Jock,’ he said. ‘Or you, Jeff. I just want out of here.’

  There was a loud bang at the entrance and they all jumped. As the Glaswegian turned to look at the metal door, Macdonald sprinted down the warehouse. He ducked between two towering stacks of pallets, then zigzagged right, left and right again. He dropped the shotgun and kicked it under a pallet, then sprinted towards the rear of the warehouse. Behind him he heard the metal door crash open followed by the staccato shouts of men who were used to their orders being obeyed. ‘Armed Police! Down on the floor, now! Down, down, down!’

  Macdonald zigzagged again, and reached the warehouse wall. The emergency exit was at the mid-point and Macdonald ran towards it. From the front of the warehouse he heard a single shotgun blast, then a burst of automatic fire, then more shouts. He wondered who had fired. Owen was too much of a pro to shoot at armed police. It was probably the Glaswegian. Macdonald hoped that he hadn’t hit anybody and that the police had been firing warning shots. A pump action shotgun against half a dozen Hecklers was no contest at all.

  Macdonald kicked the metal bar in the middle of the door and it sprang open. An alarm sounded off in the distance. The door bounced back and he shouldered his way through.

  ‘Armed police!’ shouted a Cockney accent. ‘Drop your weapon!’

  Macdonald stopped dead and raised his hands in the air. ‘I’m not carrying a weapon, dipshit!’ he shouted, then stood where he was, breathing heavily.

  ‘Down on the ground, keep your hands where we can see them!’ shouted the officer. He was in his mid twenties, dressed all in black with a Kevlar vest and a black baseball cap with POLICE written across it in white capital letters. He had his Heckler aimed at Macdonald’s chest. There were two more armed officers behind him, both with their guns aimed at Macdonald.

  ‘Can we all just relax here,’ said Macdonald. He took off his ski mask and stared sullenly at the three armed policeman. ‘Okay now?’ he said. They looked at him with grim faces.

  ‘Down on the floor!’ said the oldest of the three, gesturing with his Heckler.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ said Macdonald. ‘Look, I don’t have time for this.’ He moved to walk by them. The Cockney swore at him, raised his weapon and slammed the butt against the side of the Macdonald’s head. Macdonald went down without a sound.

  * * *

  Macdonald came to lying on his back, staring up at a man in a white mask wearing a dark green anorak. He was shining a small flashlight into Macdonald’s left eye. Macdonald groaned. He heard the wail of a siren and realised that he was in an ambulance. He groaned again. He tried to sit up but the paramedic put a hand in the middle of his chest and pushed him back down. ‘Lie still, you’ve had a nasty bang on the head.’

  ‘He hit me,’ said Macdonald. ‘Why the hell did he hit me?’

  ‘Because you were resisting arrest, you twat,’ said a Cockney voice. Macdonald tried to sit up again.

  ‘Really, Sir, I wouldn’t,’ said the paramedic, pushing him back down. ‘There’s a good chance of concussion. We’re going to have to give you a scan.’

  Macdonald tried to push the paramedic away but his arm wouldn’t move more than a few inches. He looked down. His wrist wa
s handcuffed to the metal bar of the cot he was lying on. He tried to raise his other hand. That was cuffed, too. The cop who’d hit him was sitting next to the cot, his Heckler cradled in his lap. He had a long face with deep-set eyes and he’d turned the baseball cap around so that the peak was at the back. ‘I should have hit you harder,’ he said.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ asked Macdonald, groggily.

  ‘Your mate shot one of ours,’ said the cop. ‘You’re all going down for attempted murder on top of armed robbery.’

  ‘He’s okay?’

  ‘Your mate? Took one in the arm. He’ll live.’

  ‘Screw him, he almost got us killed. The cop who was shot. Is he okay?’

  ‘Now you’re worried, aren’t you?’ The cop slapped his Kevlar vest. ‘Vest took most of the shot, bit of damage to his lower jaw. But the intent was there and you’re all in it together.’

  Macdonald lay back and stared up at the roof of the ambulance. They were moving at speed, the siren still wailing, but he could tell that he wasn’t hurt too badly. He’d been hit before, by experts, and the butt of the Heckler hadn’t done any serious damage. What worried Macdonald was why the job had gone so badly wrong.

  Macdonald is actually undercover cop Dan ‘Spider’ Shepherd. Hard Landing continues with Shepherd continuing his undercover role behind bars in a top security prison from where a vicious drug dealer is continuing to run his operation and killing off any witnesses prepared to testify against him at his forthcoming trial. Shepherd’s mission is to stop the drug dealer in a world where one wrong move will mean certain death. As Shepherd gambles everything to move in on his quarry, he soon realises that the man he is hunting is even more dangerous than the police realise. And that he is capable of striking outside the prison walls and hitting Shepherd where it hurts most.

  You can find out more about Stephen Leather at www.stephenleather.com or follow him on Twitter at @stephenleather If you did enjoy the short stories, please do leave a review. Reviews actually do make a difference and writers are always grateful for them.