Vengeance
Roger A. Price
© Roger A. Price 2017
Roger A. Price has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published by Endeavour Press Ltd in 2017.
‘For my grandchildren Jakub and Julia’
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Jack Quintel didn’t need to be here, he’d requested his usual proof of death, but as he hadn’t used this killer before, he wanted to see it for himself. It took him a while to find a spot among the trees, and he was conscious of not flattening too many bluebells that were everywhere at this time of year. He knew the killer Charlie was no mug, nor was the target, Jim Reedly. If all went well Quintel planned to use Charlie again. The last thing he wanted was for him to realise he’d been here checking up on him; after all, he’d asked for his normal, if not unusual, evidence that the job had been done. He just wanted to satisfy himself, and watch the killer’s craft. Enjoy the show. It was starting to go dusk so that would help; he just hoped Reedly wasn’t late home and it became too dark - he knew that wouldn’t bother Charlie, but he was beginning to wish he’d brought a pair of night-vison glasses.
It took a couple of minutes to settle himself as he took in the surroundings. The house was a fairly new build, but a grand affair nonetheless, detached in its own grounds with a tree-lined private driveway – the privileges of rank. Its location was handy though, Fulwood was an established district of Preston and had more than its share of such houses – especially on the eastern side of the city where a lot of the newer builds were situated. It wasn’t far away from the industrial unit Quintel had hired, or had had hired for him. That was in a traditional brown field estate behind a newish built Asda supermarket. Perfect; as it backed onto the M6 motorway. Quintel always liked an emergency egress from anywhere he used; he was cautious, he had to be.
Quintel passed the time trying to fathom out where Charlie would be. He guessed somewhere where the car would stop, somewhere near the house-front. He could see a turn-around in front of the property which would seem to be the obvious place, but he couldn’t see Charlie, which wasn’t entirely surprising, given the circumstances. He just hoped his suspicions were ill-founded; it was not that easy finding a good assassin. You couldn’t just type ‘killer wanted to join enthusiastic team’ into an internet search engine, well, not without a world of trouble landing on you. It was just that he had learned long ago not to ignore his hunches; he wouldn’t have reached his forties if he had.
The setting sun was dropping behind him now so he made sure he had good cover behind the oak trees. A peaceful vista, which was about to be shattered. He couldn’t help but inhale the spring fragrancies which were all around, in what was soon to become a place of carnage – he enjoyed both.
Quintel heard a car’s engine about the same time as he saw its headlights – weak in the twilight - as they struggled to stretch down the drive. A silver BMW 6-series crackled along the gravel road and pulled up in the turn-around, with its back to Quintel. Game on. The engine was cut and the lights were turned off. Quintel could see the back of the driver’s head, and it looked like Reedly – greying hair around a tanned bald spot. The rest of the car looked empty.
Seconds passed, and Reedly hadn’t moved. What was he doing? He’d soon find out if his hunches were right, or whether it was just paranoia. It was too easy to get over-distrustful in his line of work; he’d never met a decent villain who didn’t suffer from it at some time or another.
Then Quintel heard a dull crack coming from in front of the motor. Not the sound of a suppressed round, but the noise a reinforced windscreen makes when submitting to one. He saw the back of Reedly’s head slump forward, and Quintel let go of his breath. He could now see the shattered windscreen, and then he saw Charlie approach from side-on, from beyond the trees on the other side of the road, rifle slung over his shoulder. He watched as the man dressed in black leaned into the BMW and started to manhandle Reedly’s body from the driver’s seat. He watched Charlie as he dragged the cadaver out onto the path, and then beyond the tree-line and out of sight. Quintel knew what would happen next and didn’t need to wait around. He’d leave Charlie to finish off and clean the scene, he’d see him later. It looked as if he’d been wrong about Charlie; it had been a clean, no-nonsense job, nicely done. No, he’d seen what he’d come to watch; the slaying of Jim Reedly. Time to make himself scarce while Charlie busied himself in the opposite wood.
Chapter Two
It was almost dark as Quintel arrived at his industrial unit; its brickwork looked even more orange than normal in the mixture of illumination cast from the last seepage of the sun’s glow, together with the strengthening glare of the street lamps. A contact had taken out a short-term lease on the two-storey building on his behalf. It had a workshop on the ground floor with three offices above. Quintel had only used it for a couple of days and now Reedly was dead, he didn’t plan to hang around. It was situated at the rear of the small modern industrial estate and was far enough away from its nearest neighbour so as to ensure privacy. Quintel had parked his hire car in front of another unit 100 metres away. There was no CCTV at this point according to his man, Jason, and in any event he wouldn’t be returning to the motor. It had been hired a few days earlier by his contact on a nicked driving licence, and he’d always worn gloves when using it. His contact would return it to the
hirer tomorrow as arranged.
Jason was the one person he trusted, a brutish man who had worked with Quintel for years. His name didn’t fit his character. As he approached the front doors Jason was there to greet him.
‘Any problems, Boss?’
‘Sweet, all done.’
‘Charlie?’
‘Sound, though I was hoping for a head shot – more dramatic.’
‘He do him in the chest?’
‘I guess so; he never got the chance to get out of his motor, just slumped forward.’
‘Sounds like a pro, central body mass – bigger target. Heads are easy to miss.’
Quintel just nodded as he entered the building and passed Jason, he knew what he’d said was right; he’d have just loved more of a show.
Thirty minutes later, Quintel was behind a desk in the largest of the three offices with Jason stood next to him. On the desk was a briefcase with 10,000 pounds in it in used notes. The door opened and Charlie walked in, holding a plastic carrier bag.
Jason spoke first. ‘You park where I told you?’
‘Yes, where there is no CCTV, I’m not an idiot.’
‘Just doing my job.’
Charlie stopped in front of the desk, and looked at the briefcase as he spoke. ‘Is that what I think it is, Mr Quintel?’
Quintel nodded, and then dipped his brow towards the carrier bag. ‘Is that what I think that is?’
‘Yes.’
‘Now, let me see yours first,’ Quintel said, and then watched as Charlie reached into the carrier bag and pulled out a small translucent plastic bag. He briefly held it up in front of him as he faced Quintel, before quickly putting it back inside the carrier bag. ‘Not so fast, Charlie, I want to savour the moment.’
‘Look, Mr Quintel, you’ve seen it and I’ve got to get going to make sure I’m where my alibi says I am, and in any event, it’s grossing me out.’
Quintel produced a white cardboard plate from the desk drawer and placed it on the empty desk top.
‘Planning a picnic?’ Charlie asked.
‘I want you to empty that bag onto the plate, before you take the briefcase. No offence Charlie, but we’ve not worked together before and the last man who tried to pass me off with a leg of lamb is now keeping the bottom-feeders in the Irish Sea happy.’
‘None taken,’ Charlie said as he pulled the dull plastic bag out again and emptied its contents onto the plate. ‘Voila,’ he said as a bloodied heart plopped onto the platter.
Quintel stared at the grisly item, and after a few seconds Charlie reached forward towards the plate.
‘Not so fast, Charlie,’ Quintel said, adding, ‘Jason, grab him.’
Jason jumped behind Charlie and before he’d any time to react, had bear-hugged him and kicked his legs from under him. Charlie went down with a thud. Quintel was always impressed with the big man’s agility.
Jason quickly searched Charlie, who was now face down on the floor and starting to remonstrate.
‘Clean,’ Jason said, as he stood up with his right boot on the back of Charlie’s neck.
‘Cuff him, and stand him up.’
Seconds later Charlie was back on his feet with his hands plasti-cuffed behind his back, with Jason stood slightly behind him.
‘What the hell do you think you are doing, Quintel?’
‘I could ask you the same, Charlie.’
‘Look man, I don’t know what your problem is, but I killed the man, as directed, and there’s his bleeding heart – no pun intended.’
‘I have to agree Charlie, the kill looked sweet,’ Quintel said, enjoying the confused look on Charlie’s face, ‘you see; I was in the woods watching.’
‘Well, you know the job’s been done then.’
‘The trouble is Charlie, what you’ve brought me here is a pig’s heart.’
Charlie hesitated before he answered, and Quintel saw uncertainty in his eyes.
‘Look man—’
‘No bull,’ Quintel interrupted, before Charlie could continue.
‘Ok, it’s a pig’s heart,’ Charlie said, continuing, ‘but you saw the kill. I just didn’t fancy cutting his heart out, it would take ages and cause a lot of mess, so I thought I’d bring you this instead, just to make it easier, not to rip you off or anything.’
‘I’d like to believe you, Charlie.’
‘How did you know?’
‘I got the nickname “Butcher” not because of my sunny outlook, but because as a youth I worked in an abattoir for a while. Though it does no harm for people to think otherwise.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Quintel, it was unprofessional of me, but I just wanted to get out of there as soon as I could, you can understand that, surely?’
‘If that was true, then why did you move the body into the woods, if not to remove the bastard’s heart?’
Charlie didn’t answer.
‘Unfortunately, I left as you were dragging the body from the car; I wished I’d stayed a bit longer now.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Because I’ve got a funny feeling, if I had, I’d have seen Reedly walk out of that bloody wood.’
‘Wait, no way, you saw the hit. You said so.’
‘I saw his windscreen shatter, that’s all. If I ask Jason to go have a look now, what will he see?’
Charlie suddenly threw himself backwards into Jason, knocking him off balance. He turned and started to run for the door, but his head looked too far in front of him and without free arms to counterbalance he went down hard. Before he could get up Jason was on him, again impressing Quintel with his sprightliness.
‘Bring the bastard back here.’
‘Yes, Boss.’
‘And hold him down, this time.’
Quintel watched as Jason dragged Charlie by his collar and slammed him face down on the end of the desk.
‘Please, Mr Quintel, I’ll make it right, if you let me,’ Charlie said, as he turned his face onto one side towards Quintel.
‘Hold his head still.’
Quintel waited until Jason had finished. He stood astride Charlie, one hand on his neck, forcing it against the table, and the other on his head, keeping his face flat.
‘And how the hell do you propose to do that? Not only is the bastard still alive, but he now knows he’s at risk, so will be almost impossible to get at. What did you do, blow us out for a double pay day?”
‘No, no nothing like that, they were on to me, made me go through a mock-up, said I’d get some sort of immunity.’
‘I learned many years ago to trust my premonitions, which is why I brought this with me,’ Quintel said, as he produced a short-handled machete from behind his desk. He moved around to the end of the table.
‘No, for God’s sake, I’ve got a family, I’ll do—’ Charlie started to say.
Quintel’s axe cut off his sentence and nearly severed his head. One fast downward hack was all it took to achieve both. Quintel and Jason sprang backwards, away from the resultant jet of blood, like demonic acrobats. Quintel smiled, he’d not lost all his butchering skills.
Chapter Three
Vinnie Palmer changed cheeks as he made himself comfortable in the driver’s seat of his small white van. He’d been parked up near the large Asda superstore for a couple of hours now. He was in a layby far enough past the store so as not to attract any attention from their security, but not so far into the estate as to draw notice from the main industrial estate’s staff. Though recces done over the last couple of days showed the main site only had one security man, and he seemed to spend most of his time sat in his office doing the crossword or whatever. And in any event, he had his cover story ready if approached – a travelling rep, he’d pulled off the M6 motorway and parked up for a while as he was far too early for his next appointment, a bogus company in Preston.
He could of course just pull out his detective inspector’s warrant card and badge, but this was an undercover operation and he didn’t want to trust anyone he didn’t have to, safer tha
t way. Though having seen the security bloke from the main site earlier, he wasn’t expecting to be disturbed.
He was quite enjoying himself, apart from his aching backside. Normally, he was only brought in when bodies started turning up, but this job was different; a threat to kill and a chance to intervene before the murder was committed. That didn’t happen too often.
He kept his gaze on the building he had seen Charlie enter a while ago, but two things were starting to bother him; the failing light; as he would start to stand out more once the daylight was gone; a man sat in a van in the dark would raise a question in anyone’s mind, even with the site security bloke. Especially after he’d been here too long for his cover story to hold up.
Secondly, he’d seen the main target – Jack Quintel, drive into the site some time ago, followed thirty minutes later by Charlie Parker - who should have done what he had to and have been out by now. Normally, on a job like this the Special Ops department would have run the job on the ground, but due to the high profile nature of the intended victim – Jim Reedly – Vinnie’s boss Harry Delany had asked him to cover it.
But it was passing dusk now; something must be wrong, time to ease his backside and go and take a closer look. Then his phone went off which made him jump. Vinnie grabbed it, hoping it was Charlie, but the screen said “Harry”. He took the call. ‘Hi Boss, there’s no change here, Charlie is still in there.’
‘How long?’ Harry asked.
‘Too long. He said he would show Quintel the pig’s heart, grab the dosh and that would be that. I’m going to take a closer look.’
‘Ok, but be careful, and keep me informed,’ Harry said before ending the call.
Once out of the van, Vinnie stretched his six foot frame as he made his way to the rear of the vehicle. He was still fairly fit, which he should be for a man in his thirties, but he’d never been any good sat idle in surveillance vehicles, it just adds up to back and bum grief. This was just one reason why he preferred working homicides.
He was already wearing his Glock 17 handgun in a shoulder holster under his suit jacket; he just needed to change the coat. Once he was sure he couldn’t be seen he opened one of the back doors to the van and changed. He locked the vehicle before walking away with his yellow reflective jacket and white hard hat on. He’d chosen to wear a black business suit as the trousers wouldn’t look out of place under the high-viz coat. One could always dress down, when you needed to; but you couldn’t dress up. An idiom he’d always respected.
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