by Nick James
He ran at me, so I dodged him and drove the thin pin into his gut, making him howl. Then, while he was in that second of pain, I struck again into the kidney area before receiving a flying lesson thanks to his right hand.
I knew the pin would only work if I got it into his brain. But, being the professional he was, Chow knew that, too. This was a fight to the death.
Once again he went for the gun. I grabbed a vase which was devoid of anything that would make this fight pretty. It sailed towards his face and shattered against his forearm as he protected himself.
I followed it up by jumping onto the arm of the sofa, driving myself forward and my knee into his throat. This time I hit the target, but he still shrugged me off like a child even though I drove the pin into his neck. Blood spurted out as he gasped for breath.
He grabbed his gun and fired a wild shot, taking out a picture. Chow was still holding his throat where I had connected with my knee. The man tried to level his gun at me, so I just ran straight into him, knocking his gun away with my left arm and ramming my forehead into his face. I felt the cartilage in his nose crack and blood spray into his mouth.
We landed heavily together, but he was already punching me with his free hand as he struggled to get his gun hand free from mine. As I knew a fight might come, I had shaped my nails into points. He screamed as I pushed my right thumbnail into his unprotected eye; my hand was covered in all kinds of bodily fluids from his broken face. His screams of pain must have echoed around the apartment block. Chow still hit me as my pin entered his brain via his empty ocular cavity. I forced it in deep until his body stopped its dance of death.
I rolled off Chow panting. ‘So much for Plan A.’ It was a struggle to get off the man, and for all the wrong reasons. My head was killing me, I may have broken some ribs, and now my favourite hairpin was covered in brain matter and ocular fluid. It’s a tough day of being me.
Finally, I managed to get on my feet and retrieve Chow’s gun and phone and hide them away in my purse. I emptied his wallet and made to leave, but I checked my reflection before heading out. ‘Shit, that’s a face for radio, Mai,’ and gave a dark chuckle before heading out.
Luckily, being a dodgy neighbourhood, the locals knew to keep their heads down when trouble was about. I made it to an old, beat-up Skoda. It had seen better days, but my contact said it would run, and run it did.
The drive to the airport was long and boring, the road was dark and lonely with trees either side, I rarely met another car on the road. I stopped long enough to relieve myself and fire off a text to my ex telling him I was out, and then one to the pilot saying I was on my way.
Although my face and ribs hurt, I was happy that I didn’t pass any blood, so there’s another tick in the win column. Back on the road and into the night.
A few hours later I arrived at Rizhao Shanzihe Airport, which was as dark as the rest of the country. I followed my friend’s directions to a small hangar well away from the others. When I stopped outside, he walked out beaming with his arms out wide. ‘Mai, you beautiful woman,’ he said, showing off his rotten teeth.
We hugged, he never knew the truth about me, so why bother now. ‘Alexi, life is treating you too well I see,’ I said and patted his stomach. ‘The jet is wide…yes?’ I added, smirking.
‘Always busting my balls, Mai,’ the fifty-something ex-soviet air force pilot said. He was once a handsome man but had fallen on hard times after being ejected from the air force because of budget cuts. He’d hit the drink and drugs pretty hard in his forties, but it had all turned around when he won the MiG-29 in a poker game. I had used him for a few jobs. He knows hundreds of people all over Russia and China and can land his plane anywhere within those countries without even a single problem.
I donned a flight suit and helmet and fought down the desire to have a picture taken for Mikey – well, maybe later. He belted me in. He was a bit handsy for my liking, but he was an old friend. Soon, we were off into the cloudless night and freedom. I miss my Mikey.
Chapter 6
Michael McAllister
After being dropped off by Tiger, I headed up to the spare flat that the boys and I used as a party venue. I was aware the Blades were still causing trouble in hospital in their own special way, so I knew I wouldn’t be seen. ‘Finally, freedom,’ I muttered and slumped down on the sofa trying not to think about what I saw Tiger and Suzie doing on it at the last party.
As ever, my arriving here wasn’t planned; my handlers from the Limping Dragon had sent me a lovely get-well text: You’re behind on your quota. If Mai contacts you, let us know, or else.
That was how my day started, and then as my old buddy filled me in on how I had received a bullet into my precious body, my day went from bad to worse. My best mate had supplied a gun to my girlfriend who then shot me, although he did stress that it was an accident and she was really sorry. Well, doesn’t that make me feel better?!
Does it stop there? Nope. It seems that that prick Kettering was working for the same lot I was. So why did he have to go after my patsy? Although, that might be a stroke of luck now, as they think the dead prick is the leak.
‘What the fuck is that smell?’ And that’s how I spent my afternoon: playing find the smell. God knows why those two placed their old, soiled underwear under the sofa. They really are animals in their own right.
My phone pinged, it was an image from an unknown number. You had to be a brave soul to open these when you’re friends with a slightly dodgy copper / arms dealer.
My heart skipped a beat and my hair shifted from the breeze coming through the patio doors, which was helping to disperse the smell of month-old arse sweat. I smiled at the image; there was Mai in a flight suit posing with a helmet leaning against what looked like a jet fighter. There was a short message too: I’m so sorry, Mikey, I truly love you. Bosses are after me, but I’m safe. Tell no one about this. Contact you soon. Love, Mai xx.
I grabbed a bottle of whisky from the sideboard and wiped clean what looked like a cocaine-covered glass. The evidence was washed away with the oaky goodness. ‘This’ll mix well with the pain killers,’ I said to myself and took the bottle with me back to the plush sofa.
I took in the photo again and smiled at the Chinese beauty. How could I ever stay angry with her? It’s not like she’s the first woman to try to kill me. At least this was an accident.
Somehow, I found myself on the floor, which was a bit of luck as it gave me something to hold onto as the world spun around. My shoulder hurt, also my head, and for some strange reason my mouth tasted like a cat had shat in it. Tiger always declared that the ghost of a cat prowled the night in search of those abusers of their soul and bodies, and then left little gifts in their mouths as a warning to straighten out their ways. Clearly, the little git didn’t know about mouthwash.
I checked the time on my Chinese knock-off gold Rolex, which was a gift from my fighter pilot girlfriend. I know what people say, but when we have enough money, Mai will be a girl. Never bothered me, but trying to hide a bulge in a skintight catsuit is tricky.
Unfortunately, I remembered that I had a meeting with the bosses at Shimmering Dreams in an hour, and according to the bathroom mirror I looked like Bulldog licking piss of a thistle. We all know that mirrors and scales are designed to make us feel like shit. It’s a conspiracy.
I rang for a taxi, and within forty-five minutes I had made it home, shaved, showered, put on one of my best suits and headed back out to see what the big earners at work had to say.
I was stunned that the entrance hall and foyer were as good as new, not even a chalk outline. The two phone jockey beauties came over and hugged and kissed me while saying empty words and promises to take me out for a drink sometime. I’ve been down that road with them before; all show and nothing. They’re too good to be bent over a wheelie bin for a Friday night special. Snobby bitches.
Not sure why, but I felt like royalty as I walked through the building. Although, I did stop off and visit Monic
a Tugboat. Okay, I made that up; I can’t remember her real name.
She once again earned her name very well in the stationery cupboard, but I will have to pay for another hairdo and dress. It did lighten my mood and pissed her right off…again. What did she think was going to happen?
I finally made it to Madison’s office and was waved in by him.
‘Good to see you, Michael, take a seat,’ the CEO said happily and showed me to a chair next to my boss. ‘Would you like a drink?’
I would sell my firstborn for one, I thought. ‘No thank you, sir, I’m still on some medication,’ I explained and watched as he slapped his forehead playfully.
‘My mistake. Well, you’re certainly looking well, isn’t he, John?’
John Jones the internal security manager and Trump look-alike adorned his flushed face with a false smile. Clearly, he’s under pressure and has been hitting the booze. Lucky bugger.
‘Yes, indeed. I did pop into the hospital to see you and Sam, but you were asleep, and Blades was arguing with a nurse about how rough her sponge was.’ He chuckled and took a sip of his drink. The smell from this alone tickled my pleasure centre.
‘Thank you, I am feeling better,’ I lied through my teeth, but this was business in London, and lies run the city. ‘I’m looking forward to coming back to work.’ The smiles that appeared on their faces would’ve warmed the hearts of most people, or scared little kids.
Madison clapped his hands together. ‘Wonderful, I was hoping you were going to say that. With the loss of Albert, things have become somewhat more stressful,’ he admitted, downing his drink.
I wondered if I could just sniff his empty glass after, but I must keep up the act, for now.
‘Well, Mike, take the rest of the week off and the weekend; come in on Monday.’
Then Jones decided to earn his money for the day. ‘But, of course, don’t push yourself too hard. And if you need to go early, so be it,’ he said, like the git was doing me a favour. ‘We’re hoping Mr Blades will be back soon. That’ll help with the press and shareholders, and demonstrate that both of you don’t hold any bad feelings against the company.’
Ah, so that was their game. I decided to twist the knife. ‘So, do you know who the shooter was aiming to kill? Kettering?’ I said calmly, watching them twitch at the thought. ‘I can’t believe he was our leak, especially after everything he did to Sam and his girlfriend.’ Twisty knifey.
Madison ran his fingers through his hair. ‘No, the police haven’t got a clue,’ he said and filled his glass again, downing it in one. ‘And Albert surprised us all. Just didn’t see that coming.’
‘But we have a few irons in the fire for his replacement. Hopefully, by next week he will be in place,’ Jones added. He had been covering both jobs, which cut into his gold and mistress time. ‘But he will be told to keep away from Blades. If the press get wind of what went on between Kettering and that idiot who tried to kill Sam in his flat, it would bury us.’
‘Bloody government is already twitchy again,’ the CEO shot in as he stared out of his window.
Of course, leaving Sam alone meant I had a lovely patsy who would unknowingly be storing all my stolen files on his hard drive. Drink tonight, Mikey. Both bosses went quiet. ‘Okay, I’d better go and get some rest,’ I said, standing up and shaking their hands. What I meant was go to a pub and get drunk with Tiger. I nearly made it to the door before John Jones piped up again.
‘Oh, you’re on good terms with Sam, aren’t you?’
I groaned internally. ‘Well, yes, he’s a good lad, why?’ I asked, hoping it was something I could do via text or email because, frankly, his girlfriend scared the shit out of me.
Jones rubbed his face. ‘Well, we’ve had another complaint from the HR manager, John Dufresne,’ he stated.
The whole room grinned at the memories of Sam’s past clashes with the said man.
‘What has he done now, sir?’ I chuckled.
The Trump look-alike tried not to laugh. ‘He signed Dufresne up for a netball summer camp, in the New Forest.’
Madison snorted a laugh.
‘Well, that’s harmless. Can’t he take a joke?’ I added.
‘But he signed up the whole team that Dufresne plays with, bought them pink uniforms with their names on them, changed the team’s name and now the camp is awaiting payment,’ Jones explained as they all erupted into laughter.
‘To what? What did he change the team name to?’ I dared ask.
Somehow, the story filtered throughout the office to where a man sat alone at his desk with boxes of pink skirts and T-shirts emblazoned with the new team name: ‘The Pink Ring Teasers’.
Chapter 7
Sam Blades
‘Well, it’s not my fault they can’t take criticism,’ I snapped back at Bunny after telling her about another argument I’d had with the nurse with too long nails and a crap sponge. My girlfriend, who didn’t seem to care about the injustice of the incident, was pushing my wheelchair to our car. ‘You could just drop me here and go and get the car.’ I then felt the swift hand of justice smacking the back of my head.
The chair stopped; I felt her warm breath on my ear. ‘I am your loving and tolerant girlfriend, not your fucking chauffeur,’ she said with heartfelt yet chilling tones.
I shivered, but wasn’t sure if it was the good old English weather or her tone. ‘Good point, Bunny, my apologies,’ I replied, waving the flag of peace and begging don’t hurt me. To be honest, maybe I should have ‘I’M SORRY’ tattooed on my forehead. I do like a good argument, just not with the love of my life.
‘Your work has been in touch and asked about your progress,’ my silent killer said to me as we passed a dead hedgehog. He was so close to making it to the hospital. It is always the innocent who get hurt, just like me.
I tried to look over my shoulder, which was a mistake as my neck gave an audible crack. I’m so old. ‘They what? They do know I was shot…twice,’ I grumbled, after which I received a sarcastic pat on the shoulder.
‘I know, my love, but Mike is going back on Monday, so they thought you might want to do a phased return.’ She sighed as I went quiet. ‘Phased return means only doing short days to start with, nothing to do with Star Wars!’
Women. ‘It’s more like Star Trek, but I get your point,’ I corrected, while trying to get my mind away from phasing out of our flat, phasing back into work and scaring the shit out of Mark. We carried on the journey to our chariot. ‘How are you doing, Bunny? How’s work?’
‘It’s okay. I’ve had a few days off, especially with the police being about. I didn’t want them upsetting work,’ Bunny explained as she laboured to push me over the grit-covered concrete. ‘But following the attack at your workplace, the second in charge of international loans has been looking a bit twitchy. So, with my investigation, I’m wondering if there’s a link somewhere.’
Our vehicle appeared amongst the jungle of cars. She opened it and left me to get in as she returned the wheelchair. I won’t mention that it would’ve been easier my way, as I’ve just started to feel like myself again.
I saw Bunny coming back in the distance. She was muttering to herself, and it wasn’t sweet nothings. I believe she was now agreeing with my initial plan but would rather die a thousand deaths than admit it.
My mouth opened as Bunny got into the car as I thought about saying I told you so, but I then thought about the inevitable fallout from such a comment. I then envisaged myself shouting Banzai, running into a lion enclosure and flicking the alpha male’s goose eggs with a wet flannel. But, instead, I said, ‘You made good time, my love,’ and then received a dead leg. She knows me way too well.
We left the hospital in our wake and battled with the traffic. The air turned blue as my Chinese angel shared her thoughts with other drivers.
‘So, did you tell your boss about your suspicions about Mr Twitchy at your work?’ I asked, trying to stop her tirade at a taxi driver who’d flipped her the digit.
; She shot me a look. ‘What! Oh no, not yet. My boss is not the calmest individual I’ve ever met. He’s likely to throw the bloke out of a window and then apologise to the gravestone if he’s wrong,’ Bunny explained with a dark chuckle.
‘In that case, I agree with your tactics,’ I replied, which got me another look.
‘Thank you, master,’ she said snidely, so I linked my phone to the stereo to play some calming tunes. Unfortunately, the late, great Keith Flint slapping some woman about would not be the smoothest of moves, Blades. So, I flicked through the music on my phone to one of Bunny’s favourites: Miss Carlisle drawing circles on a beach. How the rich waste their time.
Finally, we made it home. She parked in our place, kicking out a squirrel who was trying to eat a cigarette butt. The energy was now draining out of me.
I walked into the flat with Bunny helping me in, then I felt a pair of eyes on me. ‘Fuck you, Fred,’ I barked at the passive aggressive clownfish.
‘Oi, don’t blame Freddie for your problems, Sammy. Now, sit down, and I’ll make you a cuppa,’ she said and steered my weakened body to the lush sofa which was calling to me. ‘Fancy a bacon roll as well?’
My heart skipped a beat as she filled the metallic kettle. Could it be true? A bacon roll that I don’t have to make myself? ‘Yes please, love, that would be great.’ Annie Lennox sang about my angel making a bacon roll for me or playing with my heart. Your choice.
We sat with the patio doors open and just listened to the sound of the city busy at work as we tucked into our food and hot beverages. I could tell Bunny missed me as we were sitting close together, otherwise it would be normal for her to be lying down with her feet on my lap begging to be rubbed and not tickled. Never tickle them.
‘I think I’ll try and go back to work on Monday,’ I said and looked at her.
‘Good plan, love. Those receptionists have had it too easy,’ she said.
We chuckled remembering all the stories I’d told her.