Sabre Six : File 51

by Jamie Fineran

“Good evening, gentlemen! May I help you?” Killeen handed over a paper print-out to the woman behind the desk.

  “Ok, and are you booked too, Sir?”

  I looked at her. “Um, no I’m not. Sorry. I’d like a single room for the night please.”

  “Let me see if we have one free ...... yes, we do! ...... and will you be wanting a continental breakfast with the room, Sir?”

  “Oh, yes please, without a doubt!” She and Killeen smiled.

  “There you go, Mr Killeen; and there you are Mr Fox.” I had a large key ring with the number 21 painted on it. Killeen had number 20.

  “What time does the bar close, please?”

  “It closes when the last person leaves, Sir. We have an all-night licence.” Fantastic!

  “Come on, Michael, let’s get up to the rooms and dump this lot off. The quicker we do it, the quicker we get in the bar!” He did have the right idea, even if he was a wanker!

  Five minutes later he met me outside my room.

  “Come on tosser, hurry up! I’m dying of thirst here, Michael.”

  “Hold your horses, Ryan! Bloody hell! I’m right behind you, mate.”

  “Shit! Give me two seconds, I’ve forgotten my wallet. What a prick!”

  “Ok Michael, I’ll meet you down there. I’ll get you a drink in.”

  “Yeah, cool.”

  I opened the door to my room, grabbed my wallet and texted my wife that I loved her, and to give Fran a big kiss from me.

  He had the first round in: two pints of lager. He was propped up against the bar looking rather smart with a clean jumper and shirt on.

  “Hey! Aren’t you big strong Irish folk meant to drink the home brew?” He put down his glass.

  “I would do, but it tastes like shit.” I did laugh.

  The girl at the bar looked like a cheap trout! She had more make-up on than a street hooker begging for cash. Just looking at her made me love my wife that little bit more. She wore a low cut top with tight denim jeans. Her highlights needed a good going-over: I could see her black roots. If it wasn’t for the fact I was having a drink and working, I’d have run a mile.

  Killeen couldn’t help himself, though, checking her out constantly. He had a thing for women, they seemed to love him and fell at his feet like begging dogs. I raised my eyebrow at him, and he gave a big grin back and raised his glass. After my fourth pint, my beer goggles had kicked in. An old lady sitting near us looked rather fetching. I was definitely feeling more than a bit intoxicated!

  “Michael, let’s have a few proper drinks. What do you say, mate?”

  “Now that sounds like a plan!”

  As I downed my shot of vodka Killeen’s mobile phone rang with a seriously fucked-up ring tone. To this day I have no idea as to what the fuck it was!

  No more than thirty feet away from me, standing propped up against the exit door to the hotel, Killeen turned his back. I started getting anxious: maybe it was time to drop him. At the same moment, a news flash came on the TV.

  “Bomb Blast, Paris – 10 Dead, Hundreds Injured – Al-Qaida Linked.” Killeen smirked and walked back over, full of beans and as polite as ever.

  “Sorry about that, mate. Business – you know how it is!”

  I went for the killer question!

  “What’s that then? You doing any dodgy deals in the building trade? Ha-ha!” I smirked.

  “Something like that, yes! Oh, and what a shame that bombing! Those poor people! Who’d ever do such a thing?” There was no trace of remorse. He was obviously a very clever man.

  “Come on then, boyo – let’s get some more in then!” Killeen was in a better mood now.

  “Sounds good to me!”

  “One – two – three, and down those drinks!” We both opened our mouths and sank them down. They were fucking disgusting but good fun.

  “I need to find a job, mate I need to support my family. I can’t live on the wage I’m on now, it makes me sick!”

  “How much are you on?”

  “You don’t want to know; it’s embarrassing, mate. Anyway, isn’t it rude to ask!”

  “No, go on!”

  “I’m on £1100 a month net. I can barely live on that mate. Times are bloody tough.”

  “Michael, do you want to work for me?” I was gobsmacked by the question.

  “Sorry mate, what did you just say?” I was pissed as a fart.

  “I said, you deaf sod, do you want to work for me?” Killeen was looking deep into my eyes. I felt a little uncomfortable.

  “Doing what?”

  “Oh I’m sure I’ll figure something out. You’re a builder aren’t you? So, I’ll pay you double what you’re on now. Does that sound good to you, mate?”

  “Well then, yeah! I’d be honoured mate, thank you mate.” I had found a good way in. I knew that once I saw Stan he’d be chuffed to pieces.

  “Right lad, let’s knock this game on the head and meet up in the morning. I’ll explain about the job over breakfast.”

  “Sounds good to me, buddy.” We both put our glasses on the bar and walked off back upstairs. Within minutes of closing the door to my room someone knocked quietly. I told them to hang on as I was now in my underpants. When I opened the door expecting Killeen, there stood the girl from the bar.

  “Sorry, wrong door. Where’s your mate?”

  “Next door, love.”

  For the next hour, my neighbour’s head-board was banging against my wall so hard I couldn’t sleep. It sounded like Killeen was having a great time.

  I woke up at 06:00hrs, before my alarm went off, and jumped in the shower. Looking over at the door to make sure I was alone, I picked up my mobile and rang my darling wife.

  “Morning, love! I have to be quick. Just wanted to tell you I love you!”

  “Ok, darling. Are you alright, my love? Fran misses her daddy!”

  “I bet she does. I’ll be home soon baby, I promise. We’ll go away somewhere for the weekend as a family. Maybe up to Yorkshire, do a bit of walking on the Moors.”

  “Sounds nice. I could do with getting away, Michael.”

  “How’s Griffer?

  “Yeah! He’s ok.”

  “I’ve got to go now, baby! I’ll text you soon.”

  “Ok Michael. Keep safe!” I hung up the phone, and turned round to find Killeen standing at my door!

  “Hello mate, how’s the head?” Killeen nodded at me.

  “Just had a cracking shower! My sister just rang, wants me to stay at hers! Don’t women panic!”

  He didn’t look convinced at all. Had I blown it? Bollocks!

  “Michael, I have to shoot off, some flap or something at the office, so I can’t do breakfast, sorry mate. You going to be alright for a place to stay?”

  “Yeah buddy, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me, mate!”

  “Anyway, I’m off. I’ll put my address and details down here by your shirt.”

  “Yeah, cheers buddy!”

  “Give me a bell and I’ll sort you out with that building job.”

  “Ok matey, see you soon!”

  Killeen closed the door behind him. My fucking head was killing me, so I downed two painkillers.

  I read the note Killeen had left by my shirt. He seemed rather keen! If I’d blown it, he’d have run, and definitely wouldn’t be giving me his address and the chance of a job! I quickly rang up Stan with my good news.

  “I’m in there, mate – I’m really fucking in there!” Stan was lost for words. It had taken a long time to get someone as close as I had. He hated the idea but couldn’t afford to fuck this up!

  “You know it makes sense, Rodney, you know it makes sense!”

  “You’re a bloody idiot, Michael!”

  “Love you, Stan!” He put the phone down on me.

  I told Hannah that I’d be back within two days maximum, and that I had a bit of business to attend too. She knew the score: she’d been an army wife for far too long, but not just an army wife – the wife of an SAS soldier.

>   I called Killeen the next day and he asked me to come to his address. I caught the bus to Stratford train station, flagged a taxi down and gave the address to Killeen’s place. The street was filthy, covered in graffiti and some gang slang. There was a chippy, and a launderette full of women washing their family’s clothes. Every shop was owned by foreign immigrants selling everything from Halal meat to a range of international cuisine. It was very concerning indeed as regards the way the country was going. This was the capital of England but it did not feel or smell like it. I soon found the right place – a nice little town house – walked up the steps and banged on the door.

  “Hello! I’m here to see Ryan.” A tall male looked down at me from the large black door.

  “What’s your name, fella?”

  “Tell him Michael’s here.”

  He invited me inside, and I was shown into the living room.

  “Hey, Michael!” came Killeen’s voice. “Take a seat; I’ll be down in a bit. Make yourself at home.”

  He must have been upstairs. Without warning, two masked men came bursting into the room, followed by a smiling Killeen. One of them smacked me to the ground with a single blow to the face. The other stood next to me with a metal bar against my throat, a warning in case I got a little fiery.

  “You think we’re stupid Michael, don’t you?”

  “Ryan, what’s happening here? What have I done wrong? I thought we were friends!” I acted dumb.

  “You really think I’m stupid, don’t you Michael?” Killeen sniggered in my face.

  “No, I don’t think you’re stupid, Ryan. What have I done to offend you?”

  He walked up to me and slapped me across the face. I felt angry with myself for getting caught, I was in a very tight corner. The IRA were renowned for kneecapping their victims; either that, or cutting their fingers off as a warning. I, on the other hand, was going to get a fucking good beating.

  “Ok! Ok! Stop! Ryan, what do you want from me? I can explain!”

  He stopped to look at me. “Explain what, Michael?”

  “Why you think I’m here! Is that want you want to hear?”

  “Explain!”

  “I lied about my wife! It was a bluff!”

  “Why would you lie, Michael?”

  “I’m desperate to feed my family, mate. I need work urgently; we’re skint, mate! Please give me a chance!” I could tell that Killeen didn’t trust me anymore.

  “I’m nothing, Ryan, nothing. I don’t work for anyone. I have a family and work in the building trade. That’s all Ryan!”

  “You! Go and bring out the drill.” One of his men went under the stairs and retrieved a battery drill. He placed a battery on the drill and gave it to Killeen. He turned the drill on and gave it a good rev-up. One of his men tied me up and filled my mouth with newspaper so I couldn’t scream. The drill got closer and closer to my eye.

  “Are you going to talk, Michael? Are you going to tell me what I want to hear?” The drill came closer. I was shitting myself. I had to think quickly. It was either do, or die!

  As Killeen came closer I booted him really hard in the groin whilst head butting the man next to me. I caught the wanker right in the face. They both went down like a bag of spuds, but it was the other fucker that hit me. I hit the ground like a right cunt. I woke up half an hour later when one of the masked men was stubbing his fag out on my arm. I let out a big old yelp. The newspaper was falling out of my mouth, and it tasted disgusting. Then I was hit again, this time from the back.

  “Hi, how’s the head Michael.” For a moment I’d thought I was dreaming there. It wasn’t until Killeen appeared in front of me that I realized that I wasn’t dreaming: this was all real!

  “You think you’re so clever don’t you, ya Brit wanker?” I kept quiet. Not saying a bloody word.

  “Tell me everything Michael, be a good old chap! Is it really worth dying for?” I looked into his eyes.

  “Yes Michael, have you something to say?” By now the newspaper had disintegrated totally leaving my mouth free to talk and breathe. “Ryan!”

  “Yes, Michael?”

  “Fuck off, you fucking cunt! Go and eat shit, you Mick Twat!”

  “Pick him up! Fucking pick him up!”

  They dragged me by the arms into the kitchen, where I noticed a length of rope hanging from the ceiling. They tied me up by my feet and arms and pulled the rope. By the end, I was hanging upside down from the ceiling. They had made a makeshift torture chamber in the kitchen! Killeen was laughing frantically with the others. He gave one of them the go-ahead to punch me as many times as he could within one minute to the face and body. I felt one of my ribs break as he did so, and I spat blood in his face, which didn’t go down too well. Killeen disappeared for a couple of minutes, then came back into the kitchen with the drill.

  “Ryan, what are you doing mate? Calm down mate; come on! We can talk this over, mate?”

  “It’s too late now, MATE! You’ve had your chance.”

  Killeen stood there giggling like a child.

  “Come on, lads – give me a fair fight! Cut me down and give me a chance! One-on-one like men? Come on, lads! Hey, what do you think?”

  Killeen looked into my eyes. His face came closer and closer. “Fuck off, you Brit wanker!”

  I was shitting myself. “Guys, come on! I’ve got a kid, a little girl – look in my wallet! Come on, please!”

  Killeen walked outside. “Do what you like; make it as painful as you can! Just fucking do him.”

  “Ok boss, all sorted. See you tonight at the club!”

  “Yeah, see you later, Boss!” Killeen left the building, and left me with the two gorillas.

  “Lads please, come on, give me a chance! I’ve got plenty of money – I’ll give you the fucking lot.”

  “Shut the fuck up!” One of the boys pulled out a Browning 9mm pistol and put it against my head. I could feel the cold metal pressing into my flesh.

  “Go on then, you fucking wankers, fucking do it! Come on, do it! Come on – do it then, you bunch of pussies!”

  “Shut the fuck up, Michael, shut up!”

  I heard the door go: it rocked throughout the house. I fucking shit myself literally. A flash bang was thrown in the hallway. I closed my eyes and prayed like fuck. I could hear double taps all over the place as it instantly filled with a cloud of white smoke. The noise was shattering, and I was deaf as a post after. Men came running into the kitchen, screaming like fuck.

  “Cut him down! Cut him fucking down!” I was very confused as to what the hell was happening: I was still hanging upside down.

  It was soon over! Before I knew it, I was carted off in the back of an ambulance and escorted to the nearest hospital. It was three days later that I was woken up by Stanley himself. I was greeted with a bunch of pansies and a box of toffees which I couldn’t eat because my mouth was so swollen. The piss taking arsehole!

  “You feeling better, Michael?”

  “Yeah, a little!”

  “Killeen got away but we’ll get him mate, don’t worry.”

  “Good. He’s definitely on my most hated list now.”

  Stan laughed. “It’s a shame you didn’t die mate.”

  “Yeah, why’s that then?”

  “Because I’d have moved in with Hannah and shared the money from your death; I’d have been loaded for a few months.” We both laughed.

  “It’s good to see you again, Stan. I’ve been working all over mate – you know how it goes, buddy.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Oh, and before I go, one other thing!” He threw me a brown envelope and walked out of the ward. I used my better hand and looked inside. It was filled with fifty pound notes. Good lad, Stan!

  Chapter Two: Sabre Six – File 51

  French Connections: before I tangled up with Stan and Ryan Killeen I was working in Paris as a bodyguard for a somewhat important man – French industrialist, Claude Pierre, a billionaire businessman.

  My eyes slo
wly open to the sound of a howling dog whining downstairs. Griffer is the most annoying, yet lovable bastard you could ever meet. I try to shut my eyes once more, but his annoying tantrums continue, totally disturbing my sleep.

  My legs slide over the side of the bed; I am still momentarily attached to my pillow, and I leave a little dribble patch for later.

  My body kick-starts itself as I nod off again, jerking me into consciousness. Finally picking myself up, I glide slowly over to the mould now growing on my window ledge.

  “Hello, is there anyone in?” Nothing but silence. I stroll downstairs in my boxer shorts. “Is there anyone here?” No one answers.

  “They must have gone out already.” I continue talking to myself.

  The Dragon, (well, that’s what I call her in an affectionate way of course!) otherwise known as my darling wife Hannah, works in a bank, and my little one, Fran, is at school, at East Bridge Primary.

  I open the fridge door, and then grab a carton of full-fat milk. Just the way I like it.

  Closing it behind me, I spot a note the Dragon has left for me. Is she taking the Michael?

  I’ve already done that job. I mowed the lawn yesterday! She wants me to pick up the dog poo too. “How rude!” I continue to moan to no one in particular. Pouring the milk over my Cheerios, I sit down at the breakfast bar. It looks nice outside, from what I can see. The dog is at my feet begging for food. “Griffer, go away you little bugger!” Griffer continues to sit there until I finally give in and throw him a Cheerio to chomp on.

  I finally get to munch away on my own favourite cereal. Griffer does what he likes and wanders into the garden through the open back door. We’ve tried everything, from group classes, to smacks on the bottom. We even tried one-to-one treatment with a specialist and the sod still continues to annoy me!

  My cereal spoon drops from my bowl and then falls to the floor. “Bollocks!”

  I shout aggressively for Griffer to get inside. “Get in your bed, you naughty boy, and stop barking, you sod!” He looks so innocent, bless him! As Griffer comes through the back door, he bangs his tiny head on the glass door, poor little sod. I give him a little cuddle and a belly rub.