Out of Promises

by Simon Leigh

  Valerie’s face dropped with a mixture of anger and fear.

  The voice was familiar, though Bill couldn’t quite picture the owner.

  ‘You fucking bitch,’ said the intruder before darting for her.

  Bill acted fast, grabbing the guy’s neck and pulling him to the floor. It was Sharpe in a fresh clean suit.

  ‘Well, hello again to you too,’ said Bill.

  ‘You! I’ll fucking kill you!’ he yelled and shot up from the ground, pouncing at him, fists flowing left and right, all of them missing.

  Bill ducked and weaved, planting his fist hard into Sharpe’s face. ‘Not so tough really are ya?’

  Sharpe lunged again, this time throwing in kicks.

  Although impressed with Bill’s fighting skills, Valerie could see he wasn’t getting anywhere. Sharpe didn’t let up, leaving no chance for a clear strike. She walked up behind him, grabbed his throat and pulled him backwards, falling to the floor together, knocking the wind from her.

  ‘Not a nice feeling is it?’ she huffed.

  He fought hard to break free and she held tight.

  Bill pulled him up and said to Valerie, ‘I need you to wait downstairs.’

  ‘No way,’ she said, breathless. ‘I want this little fucker.’

  ‘Valerie, just go, OK? I don’t want you apart of this.’

  ‘Would you go if you were me?’

  He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. ‘Valerie, please. Just go and wait in the foyer.’

  She exhaled impatiently and kicked Sharpe in the face, knocking him out. ‘You fucking bastard!’

  The door slammed shut.

  Sharpe stayed on the floor in a daze.

  Bill righted his chair and lifted him onto it, taping Sharpe’s hands to the arms.

  He sat on the desk facing him. ‘What do you want?’

  Sharpe said nothing, his eyes were closed. The only noises from him were low murmurs, nothing comprehensible.

  Bill shook him fiercely. ‘What are you doing in my office?’

  ‘F-fuck you.’

  ‘Do you know what we used to do with pricks like you in the force? We used to put them in cells with the big, friendly men and leave them alone to do their thing. I think you’d like that, being a fag boy and all.’ He got in his face. ‘Are you a little fag boy, Sharpe?’

  He said nothing.

  ‘You ignoring me?’ he asked, slapping him.

  Still nothing.

  Bill walked into the bathroom for a glass of water. ‘Are you thirsty? You must be. You’ve been sweating a lot I see. You fucking stink.’ He threw the water into Sharpe’s face.

  It made no difference.

  ‘For fuck sake, Sharpe!’ he yelled, taking hold of the glass at its bottom and lifting it upside down above Sharpe’s head, smashing it into his skull, the small shards of glass implanting into his scalp. The rest fell to the ground.

  With an ear piercing scream, Sharpe jolted in the chair and started squirming, trying desperately to sooth the pain. Blood trickled from his head to his chin and dripped onto his suit. The pain was so intense, he started crying. Any attempt to move his arms only hurt his wrists. He was powerless to move and he knew it, now realizing the reality of the situation, scaring him like never before.

  In the foyer, Valerie paced up and down in front of the elevators.

  It is about time I trusted him.

  Although difficult, she was willing to give it a go. His words in the car had hit home – I’ve helped you, I’ve stuck by you – and she knew he was right.

  Cars screamed by outside on the street. The working day was all but over now and the building was basically empty.

  She’d had enough bad luck for the day and after everything she had seen and been through, she felt enough was enough, needing a breather from her life dying around her.

  Sitting on the bench between the elevators, she let herself go. This was the first time she’d had this much time to think properly since meeting Bill and she didn’t like it. She thought of him and how good he had been to her and how he’d saved her life at Ada’s house.

  Ada.

  She could see her body in the kitchen with a hole through the head. What that innocent lady had done wrong, she didn’t know. She felt a tear for her. She’d been caught up in a mess totally out of her control and now she was dead for it. All she wanted was an answer for her husband’s death.

  How many more people were going to die before the day was out? She hoped Jackson wasn’t one of them.

  ‘I won’t say anything!’ yelled Sharpe, his face dripping blood.

  ‘You will! Now stop shouting, you’ll draw unwanted attention, all right?’

  ‘Fuck you!’

  ‘Tut tut tut, you never do as you’re told, do you?’ Bill hit him again and asked, ‘What do you want in my office?’

  Sharpe laughed stubbornly.

  With his patience pushed to the limit, Bill pressed his hand into Sharpe’s scalp, the small shards of glass digging further into his head, as well as Bill’s hand.

  Sharpe screamed again, taking the pain.

  ‘This is getting boring now. Tell me what you’re doing here in my office.’

  He looked up at Bill’s eyes with his own, slurring the words, ‘I’m not saying anything.’

  Bill smiled. ‘What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? I’ll ask one more time.’

  ‘Ask away.’

  Completely losing his patience, Bill grabbed a pencil from his desk, snapped it, and lifted one of Sharpe’s fingers, jamming it under his fingernails.

  Pain shot up his arm and he screamed.

  One by one, Bill moved in turn through his left hand, forcing the splintered wood as far as he could. ‘Talk!’

  He shook his head.

  Bill hit him again. ‘Damn you Sharpe,’ he said, starting with his right hand.

  Finally, Sharpe said, ‘Matherson.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Matherson...he sent me...to find out who you are.’

  ‘I’m your worst nightmare. Why does he care who I am?’

  ‘You’re a cop,’ he said. ‘Cops and robbers don’t mix.’

  Bill let him finish.

  ‘Don’t you understand? You’ve put Valerie in danger.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘It’s because you’re a pig cop.’

  Bill asked, ‘Who has Matherson got left he can send after you?’

  Sharpe said nothing, knowing Matherson’s resources were running thin.

  ‘Fine. I’ll find out for myself.’ He searched through Sharpe’s pockets and found his cell.

  ‘Nice phone.’

  Flicking through the recent call list and gallery, he found the pictures of Jackson tied to the chair with other pictures showing Matherson beating him, others showing his lifeless body.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Bill asked.

  No answer.

  ‘Is this Jackson?’

  Sharpe smiled. ‘He’s dead because of you.’

  Bill put the phone in his pocket. ‘How could you!? Valerie’s been through enough, don’t you think?’ Red mist descended over him and he lost control. ‘Stick out your tongue, fag boy.’

  He clamped his mouth shut like a child refusing to eat.

  ‘Stick out your tongue!’ Bill said again.

  Trying to take hold of Sharpe’s mouth wasn’t easy, even in his vulnerable state. Moving his face wildly with what energy he had left made hard work of it. Bill slapped him and grabbed his face. Prying his jaw open, he pulled his tongue from his mouth, closing his jaw around it, holding it in place. Sharpe fought to pull it back in while looking through begging eyes, but Bill had a firm hold.

  With Sharpe’s tongue in his left hand and his right hand under the chin, Bill pulled his head forward and smashed his knee into his jaw. The power forced the jaw up so hard his teeth cut right through the tongue, dislodging one another. Blood poured from his mouth as he screamed and writhed in agony. Coughing and splut
tering, he was choking on his own blood.

  ‘Enjoy the rest of your life,’ Bill said, hitting him again and whispering in his ear: ‘By the way, you remember your brother Preston? Well, he’s still alive. He didn’t die all those years ago. Freddie lied about the whole thing.’

  Sharpe stared at him full of questions, his eyes wide open and filled with betrayal and hatred. Crying and shaking, he moaned, trying to speak, knowing it was over.

  ‘I think he’d be happy to see you like this,’ Bill said. ‘He hated you for being such an ass licking shit.’

  With Sharpe fading into darkness, Bill changed his shirt with one in the bathroom before walking out without looking back, a smile on content on his face.

  Valerie watched the outside world going by, tempted to go upstairs to see what was taking so long when Bill came walking down.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  ‘He put up a fight. I had to change my shirt.’

  She looked at his bloodied hand. ‘What happened to that?’

  ‘Oh, nothing. Just comes with the territory.’

  ‘Where is he now? I’d like to speak to him.’

  ‘Won’t get no sense from him, Val. He’s up there on the floor.’ He smiled. ‘Come on, let’s get some food.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘Can’t think on an empty stomach, you know.’

  They walked out into the cold.

  ‘Which car shall we take?’ he asked.

  She had to think. Her car could easily be spotted by Matherson’s men, but Bill’s had bullet holes in and a smashed rear windscreen. ‘Mine.’

  ‘All right. Give me a few minutes to move mine. Might draw some unwanted attention out here. I’ll park it behind the office in the building’s parking lot. Nobody really goes back there.’

  Valerie moved to her car and turned to him. ‘I’m glad you’re OK.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  Standing outside Fosters and Co., Baker said to McGowan, ‘You wait out here.’

  ‘Hey, we’re together in this. I don’t take orders from you.’

  ‘This is how I work, you know that. One guy goes in and another waits outside in case our friend makes a run for it.’

  Through the window, McGowan watched a man reading a magazine at the counter: Fraser. ‘That guy couldn’t catch an old lady with a busted hip. You can be the guy who waits,’ he said and walked passed Baker.

  This isn’t going to work.

  The high pitched door bell sounded as they entered.

  Fraser was reading guns n ammo, again, but this time he looked up, afraid, and with the knowledge of what had happened at Ada’s house, he feared the worst.

  Baker walked to the counter with his ID ready in hand.

  McGowan took the lead, which annoyed Baker. ‘I’m Detective McGowan, this is Detective Baker.’

  Baker shook his head and said, ‘We’re here about a murder that happened this morning.’

  ‘Murder?’ asked Fraser as he backed away from the counter.

  ‘A weapon that was purchased here could have been a murder weapon,’ said McGowan.

  Fraser gazed around.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, fine. I’m about to lock up for the day, can we make this quick?’

  ‘So? Did you hear about the incident this morning?’

  ‘Not that I can think of.’

  ‘Where were you last night at between eight and ten?’

  ‘Home.’

  ‘The weapon was a revolver,’ said Baker.

  ‘There are lots of arms dealers in town, why would you think I sold it?’

  ‘It was purchased when you were the only arms dealer in town specializing in revolvers. The same weapon was also used in a murder six years ago. .357 Magnum rounds.’

  ‘How could you possibly know that?’

  McGowan leaned over the counter. ‘How could we not know that? You of all people should know that bullets leave fingerprints.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘We know the same weapon was used because we have the bullet used back then and like we said before, at that time you were the only dealer in town specializing in revolvers.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry but I can’t help you.’

  ‘Do you mind if we look around?’

  ‘On the shop floor you can and if you get a warrant then you can look in the back, but like I said, I’m about to lock up.’

  McGowan could see that Fraser thought himself far cleverer than he actually was.

  ‘Anything else?’ he asked. ‘If not then please leave my shop.’

  Baker’s phone started to ring.

  ‘Yes?’ he answered.

  ‘Sir, I have a good lead,’ said an excited female voice.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A private investigator named Bill Yates and a lady named Valerie Lambert spoke with Father McGregor and stole some evidence. A lock pick with an open winged eagle and the name Fosters and Co. engraved on it. Columbo says he knew Bill from when he was a cop. He gave us his office address on Lord Street. Yates Detective Agency.’

  Baker smiled. ‘Thanks. I’ll head over there.’ He closed his phone and turned to McGowan. ‘Do you know who Bill Yates is?’

  ‘Yeah sure, he used to be a cop. I worked with him from time to time. He was a good man but cocky. Why?’

  Fraser edged away from them.

  ‘Looks like he’s working with my suspect and stole some evidence that had slipped old Father McGregor’s mind.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like Bill.’

  ‘Well whatever it sounds like, we should get to his office.’

  ‘In a minute.’ McGowan turned to Fraser. ‘Well, Fraser, that’s the proof you’ve been lying to us. We have more evidence linking these murders to this shop. A lock pick with this shop’s name on it. We need to see your records right now.’

  ‘All right, I’ll get the records,’ Fraser said and walked along the counter passing the door to the backroom and on to the end where he bolted for the front door.

  Baker chased after him, tackling him to the ground.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked McGowan.

  On top of him, Baker read him his rights. ‘Do you understand these rights?’

  Fraser said, ‘Yes,’ and McGowan walked him out of the shop and into his car.

  ‘Next time, wait outside,’ said Baker.

  ‘I don’t take orders from you.’

  ‘You take him back to the station. I’m going to Bill’s office.’

  McGowan nodded, only because he wanted it that way.

  Baker took out his phone. ‘This is Detective Baker, have someone meet me at Yates Detective Agency on Lord Street.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  Cyrus waited behind the tinted glass of the lobby in a building over the road from Bill’s office. He watched them get in the car and leave, paying close attention to Valerie like a tiger stalking its target, never averting his eyes from her until they left his sight.

  And that’s when he made his move.

  His owner was afraid of the unknown and hated secrets being kept from him. Everything had to work like a well-oiled machine. If one part wasn’t working then the whole machine would stop, thus bringing him here to Bill’s office.

  The office door was closed, so after making sure the coast was clear, he pushed gently, expecting it to be locked, but it swung open freely showing Sharpe’s unconscious body collapsed on the chair with his head down and long, syrupy drips of blood hanging from his mouth, swaying from side to side with every hard fought breath he could manage.

  Cyrus smiled. He knew who Sharpe was. He walked up to him, his glass shredded scalp on display with hair matted with blood. Leaving him there for now, he had a look around.

  The desk gave nothing to him. The bathroom had a small red blood stained towel on the floor with a shirt. He picked them up with a sigh of disappointment, folding them into his pocket. A mirrored medicine cabinet above the sink contained
the usual stuff you would find in medicine cabinets: painkillers, toothpaste, mouthwash, and a toothbrush. Nothing interesting.

  He moved back into the office.

  ‘Sharpe?’

  He stayed quiet.

  ‘Are you dead, Sharpe?’ He laughed and lifted his head up for a clearer look. ‘You look like shit.’

  His eyes opened and closed, flickering like a busted light.

  ‘Sharpe, what did Bill say to you? I know you can hear me.’

  He moaned faintly.

  ‘Good, you’re alive.’

  His head fell back, looking at the ceiling. His mouth fell open to reveal his half missing tongue.

  ‘Well, it’s pointless me asking you anything now isn’t it?’ he said, laughing again. ‘No need to answer, it was rhetorical.’

  As Sharpe was one of Matherson’s men, Cyrus knew what he had to do.

  He took out a switchblade.

  ‘You know what this is?’ He cut his arms free and reached into his jacket pocket for a notepad and grabbed a pen from the desk. ‘Tell me what Bill told you and I’ll make this easy.'

  Sharpe tried writing something on the pad, nothing of any coherence.

  ‘Come on, you can do better than that.’

  He tried again, fumbling with the pen and dropping it.

  Cyrus picked it up and put it in his hand. ‘I’m getting bored now.’

  It was third time lucky as he managed to write three letters: P, R, and E before trailing off.

  ‘Preston?’

  Sharpe nodded.

  ‘Come on, what else?’

  He wrote: ALIVE?

  ‘Alive? Yes, Preston is alive.’ He laughed. ‘Would you like to talk to him?’

  He called Preston.

  Sharpe’s eyes widened.

  Preston answered. ‘Cyrus, did you find anything?’

  ‘Sir, I have someone here you might like to talk to.’

  ‘Who is it? I don’t like games.’

  Sharpe stared vacantly with dreaded anticipation and disbelief.

  ‘Believe me you’ll like what I found. I’ll put you on loudspeaker.’

  Sharpe made some noise.

  ‘What the fuck is this?’

  Moving the phone closer, he said, ‘Sir, say hello to your brother.’

  ‘Sharpe? Is Sharpe there?’