Nailbiters

by Kane, Paul

  They’d know more about what happened when Ted Giddens and the SOCOs got back to them, but it looked pretty cut and dried really. Whoever had been driving had lost control, skidded into a tree, and that was all she wrote. Cut and dried…or was meant to look like it. Erica was always very suspicious of things that appeared to explain themselves like this. That coupled with the fact there’d been vague reports of a ‘disturbance’ the previous evening near the misnomer that was Pleasant Moor; something about fireworks being let off. Uniforms had been sent in to try and ascertain exactly what this was, as there were no CCTV cameras within miles of that place, but they’d come out after speaking to some of the residents none the wiser. And that was before they’d ventured into the so-called Graffitiland itself, where the meth-heads and alkies who inhabited the place spoke about angels, demons…the Devil himself walking amongst them. One had even tried to make a complaint about somebody stealing an empty bottle of booze and some fire. God almighty…

  But there were other rumours floating around about that day which were probably more relevant. Like that of a certain casino manager – Ashby, they’d known him as – making off with Danny Fellows’ main squeeze, taking with him a bundle of cash. Not something that would have gone down well with someone they referred to back at the nick as the Tony Soprano of Granfield; but even if they did discover that was this pair (and the singed notes scattered around the car were a bit of a giveaway), it was doubtful they’d be able to pin it on Fellows. The guy was just too slick, always two or three steps ahead of everyone, especially the law.

  ‘Shit way to go,’ said Chris, breaking into Erica’s thoughts.

  ‘Hmm?’ she said.

  ‘Like this…’ the man who looked like he’d just stepped out of the fashion pages of a magazine said, pointing at the wreck. ‘Such a waste, an accident.’

  ‘I suppose you want to go out in a blaze of glory?’ Erica said.

  ‘As opposed to just a blaze,’ he replied with that practised grin, the one that made him such a hit with the ladies. ‘Yeah, definitely. Go out fighting, y’know?’

  ‘How d’you know they didn’t?’ said Erica under breath.

  ‘What’s that?’

  She shook her head. They had no evidence, Fellows was just too good at covering his tracks. Erica looked at the skid marks on the road. Too good at creating new ones; false ones. No, she knew the drill by now: this would be put down as an accident like Chris had said, the same as a good many more they suspected weren’t at all. Just an accident, nothing more.

  ‘Still, I suppose it must have been quick,’ said her DS, folding his arms, watching their team flit about the car, the bodies – one of which, in the passenger seat, was wearing what looked like an expensive ruby necklace. ‘That’s something, I guess.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Erica replied, not really listening to him. Her mind still wandering, still thinking about Fellows, about Ashby and the girl – about the love they must have shared to have risked this (something she could only dream about). Wondering what the truth of this puzzle was; its core… Something that made her one of the best detectives Granfield had ever boasted.

  Wondering if they would ever really get to the bottom of it, no matter how hard they hunted. Whether Fellows would ever get his. They were questions, though, for another day. And, as the sun dipped beyond the horizon, Erica wondered whether they’d be answered as quickly as these people had died.

  Whether that day would be tomorrow.

  Or if it would ever come at all.

  The Protégé

  Did I ever tell you how very proud I am of my boy?

  No? Well I am.

  He’s not my real son, of course, leastways not in the flesh and blood sense of the word. But there’s a bond between us that’s stronger than such things. We’re closer even than me and my old man used to be…and that’s close, let me tell you.

  I found him exactly fourteen years ago to this day, while I was out on a job. He’d have been no more than two at the time. The lad was in an upstairs bedroom, crying. I just couldn’t let him suffer the same fate as his parents. I always knew one day I’d be blessed with a child, someone to keep alive the family name, but I never imagined it would be this way. Just goes to show you. Anyhow, as soon as he caught sight of me he quit his bellyachin’. There was this look in his eyes, like he knew me somehow. I just had to take him with me.

  It’s not been easy bringing him up on my own, ‘specially as I’ve not been able to tell anyone about him. And all the travellin’s meant that he’s never really had any friends – any real friends. Only me. But that’s just the way things are; that’s how it should be. Never did me any harm as a little ‘un. Plenty of kids much worse off.

  As for schoolin’, I’ve taught him all I know. Everythin’ important. All the things Pop taught me – about how to survive. Everythin’ except the reason why. Never did find that out myself. I have a feelin’ maybe he will, though…eventually.

  I took him out to work with me when he was still only a nipper. Had to, no babysitter see? He never made a sound or kicked up a stink. Just sat there and took it all in, like he was storin’ it up for later. I’d sometimes steal a look at him as he watched me, those big round eyes darting left and right. You’ve no idea how much it delighted me when he’d laugh and clap at my antics. He enjoyed the show, all right – it’s good to enjoy what you do for a living.

  But I never let him forget the seriousness of it all. The danger… Mind, nothing drove this point home like that one time when I clumsily allowed my attention to wander, showin’ off. When I was taken by surprise and the boy was very nearly left to fend for himself – you shoulda seen the way he fussed over me, took care of me till I recovered.

  As he grew, I allowed him to take a more hands on approach to the business. Helping me out. He took to it like a duck to water, welcoming each new job, handling himself with professionalism and pride. Getting each detail right, never slipping up. It’s almost as if he was born to the work.

  Now my boy has come of age. He’s almost a man.

  Almost.

  The time has arrived to let him branch out on his own. I just know he’s going to do so much better than me. Oh, he’ll have so many adventures.

  But before that he has to pass the test. His first solo job, no help from me. Not even an encouraging word.

  Ahhhh! Shit, he’s so damned quick I never even felt it slide in. Not until he began to twist. Ramming me up against the wall, one hand over my mouth to stop the screams. My God, I never even heard him creep up on me until it was too late. Barely had time to turn before…

  As I drop to the floor I glance down at the glinting point of metal sticking out my stomach, and the thick blood escaping. Exactly the same technique I used all those years ago when Pop’s time came.

  My boy grins down at me, looking for my approval. I nod. He took me fair and square.

  He rummages around for another implement in his bag. I wish I could remain conscious to see how he handles the vivisection on his own. But I know deep down in my gut – heh – that he will do just fine. Better than fine, in fact.

  I laugh, bubbles of red air bursting out of my mouth, mixing with the gore in my throat. He knows what has to be done.

  I’m so very proud of him, my boy. My – dare I say it? – my protégé.

  For today he becomes a man.

  Today he has made his first kill.

  Nine Tenths

  He’d been watching the place for a few weeks.

  In his line of work, patience and persistence paid off. You couldn’t afford mistakes, because they got you caught. So he’d camped out, watching. Always watching.

  As far as Ren could discern, the new owner – a middle-aged man who was going both grey and bald at the same time – lived all alone in that big place. He was usually out in the evening (some kind of shift worker, perhaps?) but when he was gone, he’d be gone for hours. Ren would watch him leave in that sporty Mazda number, during which time he’d phone the house
at random intervals to see if anyone picked up. No-one ever did, and there was no sign of any wife or family at all.

  No sign of anyone.

  Ren also made recces, gaining access to the wall at the back through the wooded area beyond. What would have been a selling point when buying the place – a nice, quiet, isolated spot – was a major bonus in his specialist field. The wall was fairly standard size, offering no obstacle to him: he’d been climbing like a monkey since he was small. He’d been doing this almost as long, graduating in the ranks from petty thief to professional burglar. One gig these days could last him a good few months, because he chose them so carefully and always scoped his targets out.

  The house itself was alarmed, which he could spot from the outside. It would be easy enough to cut the lines to that though. What he was also able to do on those research missions was take a look through the windows and see whether it was actually worth breaking in. It was amazing how many properties looked like they’d be Aladdin’s caves but turned out to contain nothing of value at all.

  This one was different. No sooner had he pressed his face up against the glass than he spotted the works of art on the wall; the LCD TV and home cinema system, not to mention blu-rays; the music system, racks of CDs; the various statues and ornaments scattered about the place that would make a mint when he sold them on (so much stuff that he considered bringing someone else in…but decided ultimately that he could handle it). This was a person who enjoyed the finer things in life.

  It was also while he was looking through his third or fourth window that he spotted the locked door, just off the hallway which led into the spacious kitchen. In Ren’s experience locks always meant that there was something of worth on the other side – and he hadn’t come across a lock yet that wouldn’t yield to him. It would probably be where this guy kept his serious money. There might even be a safe on the other side. Again, Ren had the tools and the skill to handle any kind of job.

  So he’d waited for the man to leave once more that night, tested the phone for the final time, and when there had been no answer, he’d made his move. Did he feel any kind of sympathy for the people he stole from, any kind of guilt at what he did? After this long? Hardly. Besides, Ren had always subscribed to the philosophy that possession was nine tenths of the law. Once he had all he wanted loaded up into his van – parked down the side of the house, out of view – it would belong to him. And if he chose to sell it on…well, that was his affair. He’d lose no sleep over it.

  In his black clothes and mask, he blended into the shadows – not that there was anyone around to see him. Ren brought along the tools necessary to disable the alarm, which took only a few minutes. Next he pulled out his glass cutters and armature, to gain entrance through the back door. Long gone were the days of him trying to use a screwdriver to jimmy doors on his estate. Now he had much more finesse.

  He’d popped the locks and bolts on the door in a matter of seconds, gaining access quickly and stealthily. Start with the larger stuff, he told himself – he’d brought along a trolley to pile it on. But there was just something nagging at him about that locked door. Beyond it, there might be cash – or better – that would render all that hefting redundant. Have a look inside there, first. Go on.

  Ren couldn’t resist. It was like a magnet was drawing him to the door. The lock was again a fairly standard one, but probably hadn’t come with the house. He checked the seals for another alarm, just in case, but there was nothing. The lock sprang open and he pushed on the door, flicking his small torch into the blackness. There was a set of steps leading downwards, into some kind of cellar. A wave of cold air greeted him.

  Ren frowned. Was it worth going down there, when he could just load up on the ground level? Hell, he hadn’t even checked the upstairs yet – who knew what kind of finds there were? To his surprise, Ren found his foot on the first step. He’d come this far, he had to know what was so priceless it needed to be kept down here.

  His beam flashed over a room, with metallic cupboards on the walls. Could be storage, he thought to himself, the kind they use in banks. In all his time, he’d never pulled off a bank job, so maybe he was in over his head. Don’t be silly, you still know how to crack those kinds of locks, he reminded himself.

  But there were metallic shapes in the middle of the room as well, plus what looked like floor-to-ceiling storage cabinets. Ren moved further down into the basement, one ear still cocked for any noises upstairs. These days if you were caught by the owner of the place, and they attacked you, they’d be the ones going to jail. But he’d rather avoid that kind of messiness if he could.

  He couldn’t see properly using just the torch, but found a light switch on the wall not far away. Ren hesitated before throwing it, but decided that the light wouldn’t extend upstairs. Now he could see the room as a whole, the cupboards and the table not far away – the edges of which he’d only just brushed with the torch.

  Ren wasted no time in trying to open the cupboard doors. They were steel, and remarkably cold, but he managed to fling open the one nearest. It was full of glass vials, each one containing liquid. He picked up the closest and read the label on the side. Ren had no idea what it was for, but he did know one thing: drugs were drugs, no matter which way you cut it. He’d been right, there was a fortune waiting just in this cupboard alone.

  Moving to another, he opened it and found containers. White, plastic, that opened up at the top. They ranged in size from the very large to the really small; each with a temperature gauge. Ren frowned again. He should just fill his backpack from the first cupboard and leave. But he wanted to see if there were any more of the vials in the cupboards.

  He made for another one on his right, tugging it open. The metal finally came loose and Ren stared at the contents of the cupboard. He staggered backwards, hitting the edge of the table. He felt nauseous, but tried not to throw up inside his mask. Breathing long and slow, he opened another cupboard. This one was even worse.

  Ren swallowed, a sour taste in his mouth. He turned and looked at the larger cabinets. Against his better judgement, he reached out his hand. Before he could stop himself, Ren had opened that door too. He caught only a glimpse of what was inside, before he felt the blow on the back of his neck.

  But that glimpse was more than enough.

  * * *

  When he woke, Ren still felt sick, but it was a different kind of nausea.

  He tried to move, then realised that not only was he doped up, he was also strapped down. Are you happy now? he said to himself. You got your drugs, all right.

  A face appeared above him, the grey-bald man whose home this was. Just behind him was another figure, much larger, the one who must have struck him from behind. They were both dressed in aprons, wearing rubber gloves.

  ‘Ah,’ said the owner, ‘back with us?’

  Ren attempted to say something, but found that his tongue and lips were completely numb.

  ‘You’ve kept us waiting, almost as long as you did deciding to rob us in the first place.’ He smiled; it was a terrifying sight. ‘That’s correct, we’ve been watching you for some time.’ Ren tore his eyes away, then wished he hadn’t. The cupboards were still open, the contents clearly visible.

  ‘What? Oh yes. You’re probably wondering what I do, what pays so well? I sell them on, you see. In just the same way you sell things on, I’d imagine. It’s a specialist field.’

  Could he be comparing what they did? It made Ren’s stomach churn to think about it. He never…he’d never do anything like that!

  ‘About ninety percent of each “unit”. The rest…’ His eyes flicked over to the larger cabinet. Ren looked too, seeing the poor thing inside again. ‘It’s just a hobby of mine really, isn’t it Maynard?’ he said to the larger man, who nodded.

  Ren was able to take in the full length of it now, the oddness of the body with its parts stitched upon parts – the bits that were left over from this man’s organ stealing operation. There were both male and female bits, s
pliced together: it had three eyes, each covered in cataracts and not viable for selling on; two mouths, one almost where it should be, the other on its cheek; but just two holes where its nose should be. Ren gasped as it moved, the warmer air obviously wakening it. Those three eyes opened and looked at him, blind but pleading, as it moaned and strained against its own bonds.

  What kind of madman was this?

  ‘We’re not so different, you and I. Finders keepers, isn’t that what you people say?’ Not quite, thought Ren. ‘You were on my property, and now…’ He held up his scalpel. ‘You are my property.’

  Ninety percent (nine tenths) sold on. The rest—

  Ren tried to struggle again, but realised it was useless. As the scalpel came down, he had to concede that the man had a point. It was his rule as well, wasn’t it? His law?

  The law of possession.

  But that thought didn’t comfort him much as the blade sank into his flesh, cutting deep – some of which he felt, some he didn’t.

  Nor did it help in the slightest when, at last, the man reached for his power tools. Nonetheless, they were his final thoughts.

  Nine tenths, Ren turned over and over in his mind as he lost consciousness.

  Nine tenths…

  At the Heart of the Maze

  ‘The melting voice through mazes running;

  Untwisting all the chains that tie

  The hidden soul of harmony.’

  John Milton – L’Allegro.

  The walls of The Maze were smooth and warm. He touched one and felt a bolt of electricity pass right through him. Jumping back, he continued on his journey. Trying to work out where he was.