by Bill Carson
As the police now had their man it was pretty much game over, and he suspected that at this very moment a reservation was being made for him on the first flight out of Brize Norton airfield, destination front line in Afghanistan.
~~~
Back at the police station John Kane was being interrogated in his cell, and was feeling very much the worse for wear after the sound systematic beating that had been administered to him. The police saw the judge as one of their own, and showed their disapproval of his activities by administering a real good hiding.
“Right Mr Kane, you will be taken to Paddington Green High Security Police Station tomorrow, so tonight you will be our guest. I hope the room service is to your liking? Now, I have your arrest sheet here, and by God you’ll never see the light of a free day again. You’ll be in for the duration, my son, and that’s a fact, so what have you got to say for yourself?” the portly, middle-aged balding inspector said.
“Is the judge alive?” John croaked out through his busted mouth.
“Yes, thank goodness. The police launch got to him just as his toes were leaving the bottom of the boat. He’s suffered a great deal of distress though, and is in intensive care.”
“Good,” John said.
“Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself, you vicious bastard? And just to satisfy my own curiosity, why did you decide to save him?”
“He needed to be taught a painful lesson and I believe I have succeeded. There are many fates worse than death.”
“Oh, I see, so it was all about mental torture, was it? You do know that your bomb killed three good men and those bloody spikes you’d set killed another, don’t you? You’re a maniac, a monster, a bloody menace and an animal, and we have places for animals like you. You’re going to be in one for the rest of your life, and if I had my way I’d bloody string you up just like you did to that poor old judge. It would save wasting all that taxpayers’ money. The problem with your sort is that you think you’re intelligent. Well, you won’t be so clever in a couple of days when you’re standing in the dock of the Old Bailey. We’ll see how clever you are then; you’ll be shitting hot bricks.”
“Those men were sent to kill me and were expert killers trained by the Government. They got what they deserved, and as for the Old Bailey, my trial won’t be there,” John said.
“What? That’s the number one criminal court in the land and you are public enemy number one. Kane, a murderer, a serial killer – no, you’ll be there all right. What’s the matter, you’re not frightened, are you? I believe his bottle’s gone, lads, I’ve seen it all before. A hard man one minute and then the next thing they start blubbering like a little baby.”
“Listen, you clown, my life was over the night my wife was murdered by a scum-sucking piece of shit who was never caught. I’ve been dead ever since that night and all of this means nothing and you mean nothing to me. Vengeance will still be mine,” John said, as he looked the inspector right in the eye.
The Inspector was a little taken aback by this. It wasn’t so much what he said but how he was saying it that frightened him.
“Get him out of here, take his mugshots and then bang him up until the morning. I’ve had enough of him, he’s a bloody nutter,” the inspector said, as John was dragged off to his cell.
“Hey you, chubby boy, keep your ears open,” John shouted as they kicked and beat him to the floor of his cell.
The heavy door was slammed shut and he could hear the mechanism of the heavy-duty internal steel lock click into place. The officer outside simply wrote Kane/Murder on the board above the hatch on the steel door.
Chapter 17
Nick’s Audi was now flying along the A12 and only ten miles from Jimmy the ‘psycho’ Costa’s stronghold in South Wood Park.
“Mr Costa? Johnnie Carter here, listen, we’ve got Nick Harland with us and we’ll be there soon,” Johnnie said into his mobile.
“OK, well done, how’s the other fella?” Costa replied, referring to Harold.
“Oh, it’s all kosher, Mr Costa, everything is as sweet as.”
“Yeah, OK, now tell that idiot to put his foot down,” Jimmy said as he rang off.
A newsflash suddenly interrupted their radio programme.
“Bloody hell, I was listening to that, I like a bit of Bob Marley,” Billy said.
“Shut up, now what did he just say about the Old Bailey?”
“It has just been reported that the Central Criminal Court in London, known as the Old Bailey, has been completely destroyed in a huge gas explosion. Details are sketchy at the moment, but the whole area has been sealed off and we will have more on that story later. In other news, earlier this evening the police staged a dramatic and successful rescue of the missing High Court Judge Mr William Morris Denton, who was found hanging by a rope from Kew Bridge in West London. He was taken to the nearby West Middlesex hospital, where he is said to be in a stable condition. The fugitive John Kane, who is wanted for questioning regarding the abduction and also several murders, was arrested shortly afterwards and is being held at Cressy Street Police Station. And now back to the music.”
“Thank God for that, I hate the bloody news,” Billy said as he drummed his fat gold sovereign ring-encrusted fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the Rolling Stones’ ‘Doom and Gloom’.
“Bleedin’ hell, did you hear that? Can you Adam and Eve it? The Old Bailey’s gone up in smoke, now that’s something that you don’t see every day of the week. Fuck me!” Johnnie Carter exclaimed.
“I thought the reference to the capture of John Kane was the more interesting and relevant of the two accounts, and Mr Costa will be most pleased. I knew I could rely on the good old British bobby and the long arm of the law to do all the hard work for me.”
“Sorry, Harold, you’ve lost me,” Johnnie Carter said.
“All will be revealed when we deliver our friend here,” Harold said as he nudged Nick in the ribs.
The stark white cuboid structure of the hotel loomed up ahead, illuminated by the powerful spotlights that lined the driveway it shone like a beacon against the sheer black backdrop of midnight. As they entered the dim banqueting hall they could see Jimmy Costa sitting behind a long oak rectangular table, smoking his customary Cuban and gently swirling a Napoleon brandy in a giant brandy glass.
“Good evening, Mr Costa, may I introduce ex-Detective Inspector Nick Harland, whom I believe you would like to ask a few questions,” Harold said, as he shoved the gun barrel once more into Nick’s sore ribs.
“Thank you, Harold, but where’s the other one, this Kane fella? He’s the one I really need to have words with, this one’s just a tea leaf, ain’t cha? You took all my brother’s money while his blood was still warm on the floor, didn’t cha?” Costa said, as he grabbed Nick by the chin and shoved him forcibly backwards into a chair.
“Ah, yes, well, if I may have a word about that, Mr Costa?” Harold said.
“Yeah sure, Harold, let’s go into the back office and we’ll talk in there. You two, tie him to the fucking chair and make sure these are good and tight, I don’t want him wriggling about,” Jimmy said as he threw Billy Brooks a handful of thick plastic cable ties. He then strapped Nick’s ankles and wrists tightly to the chair while Johnnie held the pistol to his head.
“He ain’t saying too much now, is he, John? Cat got your tongue, has it?” Bill said as he smirked and pulled the cable tie as tight as he could around Nick’s ankle.
“Just leave it out, Bill, I’m starting to feel sorry for him already. Look what’s under the fucking table,” Johnnie Carter said, as he nodded toward the huge petrol-driven chainsaw which was sat next to an oversized toolbox.
“Fuck me, John, I reckon we should get out of here as soon as he comes back, all right?” Bill said in a slightly agitated manner.
“That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard you say all night, but for some reason I don’t think it’s gonna be as easy as all that, Bill.”
“Why, John
, what’s up? We’ve done our bit, haven’t we? We’ve brought him here and now we should piss off out of it, right?” Bill said.
“I don’t reckon the night’s over for us yet, mate.”
Just as he said it, Harold and Jimmy Costa re-entered the hall.
“Right, lads, Harold and I have just had a word and I need you two to go on another little errand for me tonight, or should I say, this morning. It’s another pick up and drop off job. Harold will fill you in on the way. Now there’s a few quid each for expenses and I won’t forget this, fellas, you know that,” Jimmy said, as he handed them each an envelope containing two thousand apiece.
“Thanks, Mr Costa, but where are we going?”
“Bill, didn’t I just say that Harold will fill you in on the way? Now I want the other fella to be here because I want to question them both at the same time, OK?” Jimmy said, as he stroked the top of Nick’s head.
“Right, gentlemen. Mr Costa has suggested that we take a vehicle from the lock up as I found that last car a little cramped. It may also be that someone has possibly reported Mr Harland’s car as stolen, so we will take the Range Rover.”
Frank McConnell stepped forward and produced a set of car keys and handed them to Bill.
“I guess that means I’m driving, then?” Billy said as they left the room.
“Hurry back, lads, I’ve got a lot I want to discuss with these two,” Costa said as they closed the door.
The brand new Range Rover was a big black powerful beast of a car. As they roared off Johnnie asked Harold what the plan was.
“I’m going to be honest with you, gentlemen. This little job is, in fact, not so little.”
“I knew it,” Johnnie sighed. “What the bloody hell have we got mixed up in now?”
“Well, I’ll let you know a little nearer the time. Head for West London please,” Harold said in his matter-of-fact way.
“West London, we’ve just come from there,” Bill said.
“Well, you should know the fucking way then, shouldn’t ya,” Johnnie Carter snapped, showing his annoyance with the whole situation.
“Yes, quite. Now keep the noise to a minimum and wake me in one hour please, gentlemen, I always like to take forty winks before an undertaking of this magnitude,” Harold said as he pulled his cap down over his face.
Undertakers? Maggots? What’s he on about? wondered Billy as he headed toward the big city once more.
Johnnie Carter followed suit, and had dozed off in the comfy armchair-sized leather passenger seat. It was now one o’clock and the roads were virtually deserted.
An hour later Johnnie Carter called over to Harold and woke him.
“Thank you, what is the time?” he asked.
“Its two o‘clock on the dot, Harold,” Johnnie said.
“Good. On the dot, I like that and we’re right on schedule,” Harold said as he checked his wristwatch.
Harold pulled both of his Colt 1911 automatic pistols from his shoulder holsters and began to dismantle and clean them. He then reached inside his pocket and produced a small brown cardboard box which contained some odd-looking ammunition. He carefully loaded the Colts with the strange, red-tipped bullets and, once each magazine had been filled, he glided back the top slide on each of them. This loaded an explosive round into the chambers. And then from under his raincoat he produced a bizarre, shortened version of a pump action shotgun. It was like nothing his companions had seen before. The gun had been specially made for him to use on certain types of special occasions.
Johnnie looked on as Harold loaded eight 12 gauge 00 buck shot shells into it. He then repositioned it under his armpit by tightening the toggle on a lanyard which had been threaded through the shortened stock. He then pulled the raincoat back over it.
“I haven’t ever seen bullets like that before, Harold,” Johnnie remarked.
“You wouldn’t have, as I made them myself. Each jacket casing is filled to the collar of the jacket with cordite, and the concave indentation or hollow point at the tip has been increased for maximum fragmentation on impact. To distinguish them I then paint each tip with red enamel paint, my little works of art as I call them,” Harold said.
“West London coming up in a few minutes, Harold, whereabouts are we going?” Billy asked.
“I want you to drop me off in a side road no more than a two-minute walk from the entrance of Cressy Street police station.”
“The nick? What the bloody hell are we going there for?” Billy exclaimed.
“We are going to abduct a prisoner and bring him back to Mr Costa, and the quicker we do that the quicker I will be paid… and the quicker I’ll be away from you two morons for good,” Harold said.
“It’s this John Kane fella, right? Just what does Jimmy want with him?” Johnnie asked.
“Yes it is, and as for the reasons behind this you will have to ask Mr Costa. Now, if you don’t mind, let’s get our minds back on the job at hand as it will be a tricky one, and I dare say it will involve some measure of severe violence and energy expenditure. Now Mr Carter, I will need you as back up; you are armed, I take it?” Johnnie showed him the pistol. “Good, now Mr Brooks, I need this vehicle at the front of the police station at exactly two minutes after I enter the building. Two minutes, you understand.”
“Yeah, two minutes, I got it,” Bill said.
“Now, Mr Carter, when we get out I’ll need you to follow at thirty paces, and anyone coming into the police station behind me must be eliminated. And I do mean anyone, you understand?”
“OK, will do, Harold.”
“Right here we go. I’ll pull in here and the police station is just up the road and around the next corner on the left,” Billy said, as Harold and Johnnie stepped from the vehicle.
“Two minutes, you understand, from the moment I enter?”
Billy looked at his watch and gave Harold a thumbs up, and left the engine ticking over.
Harold moved swiftly, and as he slipped around the corner Johnnie took up position between two parked cars where he could now see the front of the police station and the black Range Rover. He watched as Harold skipped up the two small flights of police station steps, and then saw his raincoat disappear through the door of the reception area. Then he waited for all hell to break loose.
Harold briskly walked up to the young police officer manning the front desk, jammed the Colt 45 automatic under his jaw bone, and told him to punch in the code for the security door which separated him from the inner sanctum of the police station. A moment later the door lock buzzed open, and the hollow-point round deposited the young man’s brains all over the ceiling.
The two policemen sitting in the rest room had their backs to him as he entered, their heads now presenting two round silhouetted objects against the bright TV screen like targets at a fun fair shooting gallery. A crimson curtain descended over the screen as the bullets exited their shattered foreheads.
Harold was now moving fast and his adrenaline was flowing through him like liquid lightning. Another unsuspecting police officer stepped around the corner, and Harold pumped three silent shots into him at point blank range, his arterial blood sloshing out all over Harold’s raincoat. He barged the stubborn body to the floor as it fell against him.
Harold stopped before entering the custody area, and took a quick peek around the doorway and could see two more targets at roughly ten feet away. He waited for a moment and took a deep breath and then suddenly appeared amidst them. The slender young woman officer was frozen to the spot at the sudden appearance of the blood-soaked figure and was gunned down first, her pure white, crisp blouse now spoiled by a bucket of blood.
The sergeant behind the custody desk was given no time to react and, as the policewoman sank to the floor, Harold spun around on his heels, adopted his Weaver stance and put the last round through the sergeant’s eyeball. He immediately crumpled to the floor, his limbs involuntarily twitching around as his life’s blood drained out of him.
Harold slip
ped the empty pistol back into its holster.
“Time to go loud,” Harold said to himself.
He reached inside his coat for the pump action shotgun, and immediately blasted the two officers sitting in the cell corridor. The buckshot rounds at close range literally ripped them to shreds. He stepped over the tangled, slippery mess of blood, bone and flesh, and unhooked the keys from the belt of the young policeman.
Harold slotted the key into the lock of Kane’s cell door and swung it open. John was already on his feet, having heard the gunshots. He didn’t say anything and just eyed the strange man, and waited to receive the blast from the smoking shotgun.
“John Kane?”
“Yes,” John said and stiffened his body and waited for the shotgun to cut him in two.