by Nick James
I only had two more employees to get. One who organised the original gun sale which had gone wrong (armed police raid) and the other who had sorted out the modified vehicle. But my major pain in the arse was the fat copper, Thompson; he had gone to ground. Two of the men assigned to help me, may they rest in peace, lost him in a strip club, of all things. Who knew someone that fat could lose them?
Through the local contact, I had found the two missing employees, one in a place called Battersea. So I do a search on the Internet, but all I get is stuff about a dog’s home. These British are crazy. But the boss man put the word out, and he’s now been located. But not the other idiot. Instead of running to a neutral address or leaving the country, he went to his mum’s house in Barking. But the old man wants it done, so ‘Bye, bye, Mum’.
I decided to take the day off and relax before heading off to Battersea. Although, on my day off I still had to work hard. Who knew trying to get the knickers off the Russian barmaid, Adrianna, at the Dragon casino would be so difficult? So, after four hours of flirting, three bottles of champagne and then finally £100 in her pocket, she agreed to a night out.
Yep, a night out. That meant food and drinks first, and in a high-class restaurant. She milked me like a twenty-titted cow. But £500 pounds later I found myself back in my hotel room lying next to a snoring Russian barmaid. But fair play, she gave me a workout, until she lost the plot and started shouting about new shoes she was owed, then passed out.
I lay there alongside a bare-arsed barmaid with the noise of London constantly coming through the window, but then again it was better than being alone. Hopefully she would wake up in a better mood, but knowing my luck she wouldn’t.
Home was beckoning me. Rumour was that a cousin of a boss was killed in a suspicious accident, and they wanted me home to help with security for the funeral. But I needed to finish this job first – like I haven’t got enough to do.
Sleep soon came to claim me as its own son. When the alarm woke me, I turned to my hopefully willing partner, but all I found was my wallet empty and that she had dribbled on the pillow. Fair play, she did tell me that a night with her would cost me, but I didn’t expect this much. Shame the boss likes her, otherwise a bullet would be heading her way.
I made my way to the double shower and felt upset that my plans for some soapy fun had walked away with my money. Once my body was scoured by the rough hotel towels, I checked myself in the bathroom mirror. Well, after wiping all the condensation off it, clearly the fan wasn’t working again.
‘What a shithole,’ I muttered. Vowing never to use a backlight in this room, what you can’t see can’t disgust you; I shuddered at the thought. Thinking about the Barmaid, it could’ve been worse.at least she hadn’t stolen my suits. I donned my working suit which had been tailored to hide the pistol and sound repressor. I looked good, but not great. In London, I would just pass for another office worker one meeting away from a killing spree.
My phone beeped. The driver was here. Poor bugger, he’ll be dead before the day was out, but that’s the job. Within ten minutes we were on our way.
‘Where we going, mate?’ the Englishman asked. He looked about eighty but was dressed like a teenager, he just screamed drugs.
‘Gallagher Court, 49 Winders Road, Battersea,’ I said coldly, hoping to shut down the conversation, but I was mistaken. Clearly this man had had a bucketload of speed. ‘Just drive, no talk.’
He showed off his rotten teeth in a big smile. ‘All right, guv, no worries, just call me Jonnie No Lips McGee,’ he said, chuckling away to himself. Then he shouted obscenities through the window: ‘YOU GREAT BIG STEAMING TWAT!’
I was looking forward to sticking a bullet in this idiot’s mouth. I tried to centre myself as we crawled through the busy London traffic. I saw two police officers walking through the streets. They do seem larger than life, like rocks allowing water to run around them, but how the hell do they retain control of a city like this without guns. Yes, they have special units, but very few.
In China, you either deal with armed cops or the military; you go in under darkness, quick and fast. Here, I walked into a house, killed three people and walked away clean. A copper shouts ‘Stop’, the worst you’ll get is a wooden stick or a taser. At home, you get chased by fast-paced AK-47 bullets, and they leave a mark when they catch you up.
I closed my eyes, but this man just wouldn’t shut up. All he had to do was drive the car, not drive me crazy. He was twitching more than a squirrel in a nut store.
‘We’re ’ere, guv. Want me to come up and ’elp?’
I turned to him and stared the twitchy sod down. ‘No, I don’t need your help. Drive around the block, park at the coffee shop, take a seat in the window. Then when I walk up, we get in and drive to the next one… Right?’ I ordered, and watched him nod lazily.
‘Sure, I got ya back, Jack.’
I rolled my eyes, flexed my fists and stepped out into the sea of people. I heard a few curses as I cut through the stream of commuters and headed through the door to the flats and up the foul-smelling stairway.
‘Sixth floor, room six-C,’ I muttered. this was meant to be a hit where I thought I wouldn’t stand out, but clearly, I was wrong. Wearing decent clothes and not being a dribbling drunk was making me stand out like Jesus surfing naked.
‘Floor six.’ I looked around and saw the door I needed. I walked up and put my thumb over the peephole and knocked, and waited, then knocked again. I heard shuffling.
‘Who is it?’ asked a voice.
‘Amazon delivery,’ I said. Ninety-nine per cent of the time this works.
‘Fuck off! I didn’t order anything!’ he retorted.
‘I know, it’s for your neighbour, the details said to leave it here. A Mrs Talbot,’ I said and heard a sigh, then the click of a couple of locks being disengaged. That’s why you do your homework.
Once the door opened, I collapsed his nose with my fist. he took a couple of steps back before leaning forward while holding his destroyed nose, I forced his head down as my knee came up into his face, knocking him onto his back, I followed up with a kick to his never-to-be-used-again balls. And he was done.
I checked back along the corridor. There was nothing, so I closed and locked the door.
Luckily, I had put my leather gloves on in the car, but that was because I wanted to strangle the driver. Never mind, I had to put them on anyway.
I pulled out my brand-new and virginal clean 9mm Glock and checked the flat. It was clean of people. Regarding the state of the room itself, let’s just say, ‘Good luck, crime scene investigators’.
I replaced my gun and looked at him, it was the mark. He was a heavy-set English bloke, but I managed to get him into the bath before he started to wake up. I punched him again. I have one talkative Brit in my life at the moment, and that was enough. I grabbed the still wet towel off the rail and threw them onto his face.
I looked around and waited for a moment just to make sure nobody had heard anything, but by the argument coming from one side and the rhythmic banging against the other, I could use a chainsaw and go all Scarface on him and no one would be the wiser.
He started to groan, so I took out my gun, flicked off the safety and pushed it into the wet towel, making excess water dribble over the suppressor, and pulled the trigger twice. Not silent, but close enough. One down.
Nobody even raised their eyes at me as I headed back onto the street. I had made sure that my gun was reloaded and settled firmly in my holster before setting out. Off to where the car was parked, and hopefully where my driver was not drunk or full of drugs.
Surprise, surprise, he did what he was told. As I closed in, the knuckle dragger made his way from the café and into the car.
Within moments we were back in the traffic jam, flying down the road at an impressive speed of ten miles an hour.
‘Did it go all right, mate?’ he asked in his local common tongue.
‘Back to Barking, you have the address of
the house?’
‘Man of few words, ain’t ya, just like me.’ He gave his teeth another airing. ‘Yeah, I got it, buddy, won’t be long,’ he replied as the traffic moved like slow-moving lava. I miss China, I really do.
Now I had to formulate a plan. It was a three-bedroomed house, a typical English terrace with front and back access. ‘Do you know where we’re going? Just nod or shake your head.’
He nodded. Thank God. ‘Yes, number twenty-six,’ he said.
Bloody idiot, no hope with this one. ‘Fine. Drop me off before the turning into the road and then drive up outside his house. Stop the car and open the bonnet. Then start swearing, maybe even kick it. Okay so far?’
‘Sure thing, boss, only glad to ’elp,’ he said like an extra from Mary Poppins, which I saw in Hong Kong on assignment. Well, it was on when I killed the target and his wife, so I sat and watched it.
‘Good. Wait for my text. When you hear it, go to their door and ask if you can use their bathroom. Got it?’
‘You betcha, mate. I won’t let you down.’
I didn’t have high hopes, but the main things were that the old dear wasn’t security conscious, the door was left ajar for her cat all day as they didn’t have a cat flap, so no dog, and both sets of neighbours were out at work.
‘’Ere we are, mate. I’ll see ya in a bit, mate.’
I nodded, stepped out and walked behind the row of houses. I gave myself a chuckle when I heard the idiot shouting and screaming at the car. The door was still open when I arrived. Perfect. I slipped on my gloves and texted the idiot.
Bang bang. He was knocking on the door.
‘Er…what do you want?’ the old dear asked kindly but with a shaky voice.
‘’Ello, luv, sorry to bother you, but my car’s broken down and I’m dying for a pee. Can I use your toilet?’ the idiot said happily.
‘Well, erm, I’m not sure,’ she answered.
‘Oh, okay, I don’t want to scare you, luv, not if you’re on your own. I’ll ask next door,’ he replied. Nice touch, idiot.
She opened the door. ‘No, it’s okay. My son is here,’ the old woman said, and then let the idiot in and showed him to the toilet down the hallway.
As she opened the toilet door, it blocked her from seeing me entering the kitchen. I pulled my gun and flicked off the safety and raised it ready to fire just as a huge man entered the hallway opposite the toilet.
‘Fucking hell, Mum, don’t let strangers in here, you know what could happen,’ the large, tattooed man said calmly.
‘What have you got yourself into, Ian, can I help?’ his old mum asked. Bless her.
I moved out of my hiding place and shot him in his spine. He dropped to the floor. I sighted in on the old woman, who just stared back. In a heartbeat, she was gone with a neat hole in her forehead. I stuck another in the mark’s back and one in his head.
It was done, just needed the policeman now. Then I heard the toilet flushing – the idiot leaving DNA all over the place. He popped his head out of the toilet and smiled.
‘Fucking hell, mate, you don’t mess about.’ He chuckled and then died as I emptied my gun into his always-working, rotten mouth. Then it finally went quiet.
I stepped through the back door again and walked away; after all, it was a nice day for a walk, especially as there was a pond to get rid of my gun, all the pieces scattered.
Before heading off to find a taxi back to my hotel, my phone bleeped: Hey, baby, ready for round two? I’ll text you when I’m available.
Looks like my luck was back after all.
Chapter 18
Bunny Li
‘Jesus H. Christ,’ I muttered under my breath while sitting at my desk. All I wanted to do was throw my phone over the balcony to shatter on the expensive marble floor below. Every day since the BBQ, Beth and Sharon have been bombarding me with images of vicars and naughty nuns. They gave up with Sammy as he was keeping them all on file, for his amusement. But Sharon was a vicious kindred spirit and knew how to get to me…BITCH.
It was now getting stupid and despite my warnings of payback, Sharon continued unhindered. It was time to ‘release the Kraken’ (damn you, Sam, another movie reference).
I picked up my phone. Do I really want to do this? Once it’s done, it’s out of my control. It is a Pandora’s box scenario: once it is open, it’s too late.
My mobile beeps. I sigh; it’s Sharon again. Her message shows a priest ramming a goat. That’s it. I dial.
‘Hello, you have Sam Blades, the bringer of dreams.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Is that how you answer your work phone all the time, Sammy?’
‘Hell, yeah, Bunny! How’s tricks? Is it my turn to bail you out?’ Sam asked, chuckling down the phone.
‘No, I’m not that stupid, I wouldn’t get caught,’ I said, locking eyes with that bitch Helena again, making her scuttle off like the crabs that live in her underwear. Well, that’s the rumour anyway.
Sam laughed some more. ‘Now, what can I do for you, my love? Time is money for this captain of industry.’ Laughter echoed around his workplace. ‘Piss off, you lot!’
‘Stoney won’t quit it with the priest jokes, and it is starting to irk me somewhat…dear,’ I said, and then heard the other end of the line go quiet. I could almost feel the excitement. And the fact that he had my permission. I wondered if he was having a stroke, or an under-the-desk type.
‘You know what that means…? You will have to protect me from the fallout, you know what Stoney is like.’
Once again, I rolled my eyes, but I saw his point. ‘I understand, my love, I shall protect you from that nasty woman,’ I added.
‘Budget?’
Well, that doesn’t bode well for her, but I can limit the damage. ‘Two hundred pounds, no more.’
‘Conditions?’
‘Only one, it doesn’t affect her work.’
Once again, I could hear the gears shifting. ‘Timescale?’
‘As soon as possible, sick of it, Sammy.’
‘No worries, my love, I’ll get on it,’ he said happily, with a hint of excitement.
I smiled to myself. I truly did love that man of mine. ‘Love you, Sammy, see you at home.’
‘Love you, too, Bunny, catch you later.’ The phone clicked off.
God help you, Sharon. The strange thing was that he couldn’t organise a piss up in a brewery, but give him a prank and he turned into General Patton.
Back to work, I clicked on the email for the company’s investigator. The portfolio on the dickhead’s, I mean Richard Head’s (damn you, Sam) Russian nanny, Natalya Pavlishchev. It seemed they’d had a torrid affair. But once his marriage broke up, she just left the country, went back to St Petersburg. The investigator found out she had received a payment of £5,000 when she started at the Heads’ household, and then the same amount again once she was back in Russia.
According to the file, Natalya did not receive the money from Head, or the agency she had come from. So, it must have been an unknown third party. The investigator had done a fine job, it clearly showed that the girl was paid to sleep with Head, and now he had financial problems due to the divorce, which left him open to bribes. Being in debt was a big no-no in many corporate companies, particularly in finance.
Now, this was interesting, the money came from an account on the Isle of Man linked to a small print company in Newcastle, which was bought by a chain of shops, which was a subsidiary of a major corporation, which had its dirty little fingers in many different companies. And one of the shareholders was the same person targeted at Shimmering Dreams where my Sammy was hurt. One Mr Peter Sanderson: the owner and moneyman.
I tapped my tooth with my nail. Dickhead was strangely nervous after the shooting; there must be a link between the bank and Sanderson. Luckily, my security is as high as the vice chairman’s. Allowing my fingers to dance over the keyboard, I called up all the loans and transactions of this gentleman.
‘Bugger!’ I spat. There was nothing
with the bastard’s name on it, but I wondered what the wonderful world of the Internet would show up, according to my Sammy and Mark, who did some checks on their Robert De Niro look-alike boss, (who doesn’t have an office, or a title, just a desk and a PC), I mused.
Then it hit me, just like Sammy did with a spatula during a crazy night of drinking absinthe – but those handcuffs from Stoney worked well. I shook my head to get rid of my daydream. Could Sanderson be using people’s dreams as blackmail? Obviously not the freak shit Sam tells me about, but most of us dream of real-world scenarios – and if Sanderson puts the fantasy in front of you, what would you do?
It was then I knew what to do. And I needed my soon-to-be-fiancé’s help. This thought reminded me that I needed to buy an engagement ring. When I saw Sam’s choices of rings, I nearly left him. Diamonique is not chic. Also, the one ring to rule them all is a big no. Although, I do rule his arse. The rest of the day went well enough. I was trying to work out how and what I was going to say to Sam.
I made it home before him, so I put the kettle on and got the cups ready. I then heard him singing ‘Ant music’ by Adam and the Ants in the communal hallway outside the flat. I hate myself sometimes for knowing this stuff, but it sticks when you’re surrounded by it 24/7.
The door opened, and my man danced his way in. ‘Hey, Sammy, good day?’ I said, making him jump and pull out his earphones.
‘Holy g’fuck, Bat-woman. You’re home early,’ he said, embracing me, and groping my arse, which I will allow, this time.
I beamed at him and we kissed briefly, just in case he got other ideas in his head, all two of them above and below the equator of the body.
We settled at the dining table and enjoyed the cups of tea as we spoke about our days. For once, he hadn’t pissed everyone off.
‘Did you sort out that thing with Sharon?’ I asked.
He smiled like an evil genius. ‘Oh yes, I’m sure Stoney will be calling you soon,’ and then he started to laugh like a Bond villain. ‘Mwahahahahaha…’ All he needed was a white cat, which he did want, but that was just to get Fred the clownfish to up his game a little. Sam just thought, as a guard fish, he could do better.