THE FOLLOWER: SAS hero turns Manchester hitman (A Rick Fuller Thriller Book 4)

by Robert White

  Now, I didn’t want to make a mess in Maggie’s lounge. Anyone who has ever witnessed a brawl in a pub will tell you, stuff gets broken and quite often, innocent folk get a slap for their trouble, but my dander was up.

  I pointed.

  “See, you won’t understand this, as you will have been too busy having your teeth whitened, lying on fuckin’ sunbeds and eating jellied eels, but us kilt wearers have been invaded more times and by more races than you could shake a stick at. I get called everything, from a Jock to a Porridge Wog. So, I happen to understand a bit about persecution. I have a thick skin. Little upsets me… but… I willnea have some baw-faced prick in a shiny suit, tell me where I can live. Now, Maggie has told you this place ain’t for sale. Old George here is happy in his home, so why don’t you boys just… fuck off.”

  I set myself, expecting them to come at me all guns blazing, but they didn’t. Briefcase nodded at me knowingly, turned to his pal and gestured for them to leave. Both gave Maggie the hard stare as they went.

  I finished my pint and wandered outside for a smoke. As I passed the bar, Maggie gave me a smile and mouthed “thank you.”

  That cheered me up. As did the fact I still had all my very expensive teeth in my gob.

  Rick Fuller’s Story:

  Mitch seemed to have climbed down from his horse and sat quietly in the corner. I combed through the thirty days of agent’s reports that had been ‘cleaned’ by Carver.

  It appeared the boy Todd, did what most twenty-year-olds would have done in the same circumstances. He’d partied some, he’d worked some. He seemed to like a particular girl and, she in turn, appeared to like Todd.

  Each report followed the same theme for the first ten days. Then it became obvious that Todd had clocked the team and the reports became close to shambolic.

  The only tiny item of interest came on day six, when an unidentified male visited Todd at his Quays apartment. The man arrived in a large black Mercedes, stayed fifteen minutes and left in the same vehicle. He was described as of Arabic appearance and in his late twenties.

  There didn’t appear to have been any follow up enquiries made by the team and certainly no attempt to identify the male.

  I made a note to do just that.

  Turning to Lauren, I pulled the memory stick we’d obtained from Egghead from my pocket.

  “Okay… now for Detective Chief Inspector Simpson. This here is your bait”

  Lauren took the stick, looked at it, dropped it in her pocket and raised her eyebrows.

  I tapped the reports on my knee. “I want you to load these thirty reports, minus day six where the unidentified guy visits Todd, onto that stick. Offer them to Larry, there and then, but make sure you bring the stick back with you, don’t leave it with him under any circumstances.”

  She nodded.

  “Now, I suggest that you tell him what is on there just to whet his appetite. Then in return, ask for some information on Todd, nothing major that would put him off, maybe some crime scene pictures, the name of some college friend, that kind of thing, make it seem like you want to do a deal. The moment Larry inserts the device into his computer, Simon will be able to see everything he has on there, so the longer the stick is in, the better. Keep him talking, whatever? Yeah?”

  Lauren sat on her hands.

  “Okay, I get it, but what if he says he isn’t interested. I mean, the moment I tell him we’re working on the case, he’ll clam up. What then?”

  I gave her a look she understood all too well.

  Her mood changed in an instant. Her face like thunder.

  “And just how far do you expect me to go to get Larry to play ball Rick?”

  I shrugged, doing my best to keep my own emotions out of the equation. “When the SOCU were investigating us and Larry was playing fast and loose with your feelings, how far would he have gone? Did you ask him that?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes, I did.”

  “And?”

  “And I’m not prepared to go that far.”

  I stood up. “Fair one. But you need to find a way Lauren and sooner rather than later.”

  I turned to Mitch.

  “Now, if you’ve finished praying to the Lord Almighty that the whole world turns white and straight, and that JE Blackman makes it all the way to the White House, we need to go see your boss, Carver.”

  Lauren North’s Story:

  I found Willis, and Willis found me clothes from her wardrobe saving me a visit home and precious time.

  She was an American size eight, an English ten, meaning I could fit straight into anything below the waist, although I struggled with her tops.

  Whatever Rick had in mind for me, I was determined not to fall into the femme fatale role for the hell of it.

  I opted for a pair of Sgt Willis’ Levi’s and some heeled cowboy boots. No bare legs and short skirts today. On top however, I went for a plain black lycra number with tiny straps that showed off my Corfu tan to the max and the fact that I’d been working hard on my abs. Willis helped me with my hair and a little too much make-up for my liking.

  She stood behind me as I checked myself in the mirror.

  “You need to be careful you don’t fall out of that top, Ma’am…Hell yeah, I’ll be reckoning any red-blooded man would do most of anything you’d ask when you show up looking like that.”

  “I hope you’re right, Katelyn.” I turned to her. “Thanks for the help.”

  “No problem,” she said. Then, as I was making to leave, she stopped me.

  “Y’know y’all were talking before and you said you had two men in your life?”

  I didn’t answer.

  She eyed me.

  “Well, I’d say one was in with Carver right now, and the other is just this one car ride away.”

  I opened the door.

  “Thanks again, Willis,” I said.

  * * *

  I was given an army vehicle, a plain looking dark green Hyundai. It was clean and tidy and smelled of peppermints.

  Checking myself one last time in the rear-view, I could see my facial bruises from our Albanian encounter were still evident, despite Katelyn’s best efforts.

  It is what it is.

  Negotiating the country roads from Menwith Hill towards the M62, I pictured Larry as I knew he’d be, all rugged good looks and full of promises. Each time I walked myself through the scenario of our meeting, a whole army of various flying insects instantly did cartwheels in my stomach.

  I did my best to put him from my mind and concentrated on the road ahead.

  The waiting room of Levenshulme nick smelled just as it had on my last visit. On that occasion, I’d asked for Larry’s help on another matter, the address of a prison officer from Strangeways.

  After a heated discussion, followed by a rather pleasant drink in The Monkey, a quaint little pub in town, Larry had succumbed to my request.

  That innocent drink also led to Larry visiting my flat, just before the team had left for our last mission.

  As I’d stood there, bags packed, looking up into his handsome face, he’d kissed me and I’d kissed him back. He’d made me an offer and asked me to call him on my return.

  No promises. That’s what I’d said.

  Now I’d made that call, and here I was dressed to turn his head and armed with a plan to steal everything he knew about Todd Blackman’s murder.

  As I pondered what a dirty business we were in, the counter queue cleared and I found myself next in line.

  The assistant eyed me suspiciously. She was in her fifties with a lined smoker’s mouth, turned into a permanent sneer. I ignored her obvious distaste and announced, “Lauren North, to see Detective Chief Inspector Simpson… he’s expecting me.”

  The woman looked me up and down for a third time as she dialled. She spoke quietly, but I heard her say, �
�Yes Sir” a couple of times before the handset was replaced.

  Finally, she managed a weak smile and offered. “The Chief will just be a moment, Ms North.”

  My stomach was off again.

  Moments later a door opened and there he stood.

  He’d had his hair trimmed, which accentuated his chiselled features even further. His eyes sparkled and he gave me a beaming smile.

  “Lauren,” he said, wrapping his strong arms around me. “It’s so good to see you.”

  He released me, then held my shoulders and straightened his arms to get a good look.

  “You look great…I mean, really good.”

  “You too,” I said, meaning every word.

  Larry was tall, dark and classically handsome. He wore his usual crisp white shirt, tie pulled down away from the collar, sleeves rolled.

  I felt my nerve start to slip. “Look Larry, you must be busy right now… and well, I can always come back…”

  He cocked his head and gave me another beaming smile. “Nonsense, Lauren... come on up. I’ll get us some coffee.”

  So, feeling like the longest snake in the grass, I walked those same corridors to his office, forcing myself to get my shit together.

  Once through his door, Larry opted to leave his desk behind and we sat opposite each other at a low coffee table. He looked genuinely pleased to see me.

  “You have a great tan,” he offered. Then, noticing my ill-concealed facial damage, leaned over, took my chin in his hand and turned my left cheek to his solitary window. His face was full of concern as he inspected me. “Ouch. That must have hurt.”

  I took his hand away with mine and held it for a fraction too long. The glancing blow I’d taken from the massive brute in Albania had indeed caused deep bruising to my cheek and eye socket.

  I considered the truth for a second, then lied.

  “The moral is, don’t ride a scooter and drink Ouzo at the same time.”

  He sat back in his chair and eyed me. “Yeah right, and you’re the drink drive type if I ever saw one.”

  I smiled and moved on. “You look good yourself. A little tired maybe. The powers that be working you too hard?”

  Before he could answer, coffee was delivered by Larry’s usual flat nosed sidekick. The burley detective acknowledged me with a nod but left without speaking. I got the impression I wasn’t the flavour of his month.

  Larry poured. He did have darker shades under his eyes than I’d seen before. Too many late nights maybe?

  “You could say I was overworked and underpaid,” he said, pushing my cup across the table. “But then again, I think you’d know about most of it.”

  “Really?”

  Larry caught my eye and gave me a knowing look.

  “We had quite a bit of gang activity just after I saw you last. First, a guy called Paddy Devlin, bodyguard, lots of form for violence executed on the Anson pub carpark in Longsight. Two girls from inside the pub reported a new female face in the place that night. Tall, dark haired, attractive, expensive shoes. Fought like a Ninja, they said.”

  I shrugged and drank my coffee.

  It was awful.

  “Minutes later, Jimmy London, another pillar of the Longsight community, is cut to pieces by automatic gunfire right there in the street, close to his house. Must have been hit over a dozen times, yet not one shell casing was left at the scene. Neighbours reported that a second set of guys got out of a dark saloon, just after the perpetrators departed, and went about picking things up from the floor…odd, eh?”

  “Very,” I offered.

  “Then, next morning Jimmy’s cousin Kevin, was found with his balls in his top pocket on a canal towpath.”

  “Nasty... rapist?”

  “Never convicted.”

  “No need now uh?”

  “Very funny.”

  “And no arrests?”

  Larry shook his head.

  “Let’s just say, witnesses aren’t easy to come by on that estate…and the London’s were not the most popular residents.”

  “Sounds like a good night’s work to me.”

  “Is that a confession?”

  “I was at home… knitting.”

  “I didn’t tell you the date of the incidents.”

  “My answer would be the same anyway. It’s how I spend my evenings.”

  I gave him a cheeky wink.

  “I’m a single girl, you see?”

  He smiled a knowing smile and changed tack.

  “So, where’d you get the tan?”

  “Corfu.”

  “Oh yes, how silly of me…Ouzo and scooters.”

  “Spot on.”

  “Good time?”

  My mind suddenly played horrible tricks with me and I was dragged back to Albania. Pictures flickered in front of my eyes like a magician thumbing a set of playing cards.

  Me, hunched behind a half-destroyed Mercedes taking fire from all directions. Me, praying for God to take me, rather than be captured again. Me, in the back of a van in the searing heat, holding JJ’s head, as he begged Des to look out for his son and his body bucked its last.

  From somewhere, I found a smile.

  “Yes, very relaxing.”

  “Been back long?”

  “Long enough.”

  “Well,” said Larry, leaning closer. “It’s great to see you and I’m glad you came, but…”

  “But?”

  “But, I get the impression you aren’t here to take me up on my last offer.” He took my hand. “It does still stand by the way.”

  It was my turn to lean in close. I could smell his aftershave and the slightest hint of musk. He had the most expressive eyes. Larry had visited my flat just before Albania, and asked me to leave my life behind; to start a relationship with him. Yet I’d been desperate to hang onto the finest thread of hope that Rick and I could make it.

  That seemed as far away as ever.

  I steeled myself and pulled the memory stick from my pocket.

  “I come bearing gifts.”

  “What’s that?”

  I was about to burst Larry’s very fragile bubble.

  “Todd Blackman.”

  Larry instantly threw himself back into his seat.

  “Oh, Jesus Lauren, don’t tell me the bloody Firm have got you involved in the Blackman murder?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing to do with the Firm, Larry. We’re acting on behalf of the family.”

  “Senator Blackman?”

  “Indirectly.”

  “The fucking CIA?”

  I shrugged.

  Larry ran his hand through his hair, a look of incredulity spread across his face.

  “You’re here because I wouldn’t play ball with the Secret Service guys that Blackman has in his pocket, aren’t you?”

  “In a way.”

  Larry let out a mocking laugh. “Oh, and what exactly is your role in this little job? Find the killer and… and what? What nice little word would you like me to use, Lauren? Dispose of them? Eliminate them?”

  Larry was on a roll.

  “Fuck the judicial system, eh? Fuck the law of the land. Fuck innocent until proven guilty. What will you do if you find them Lauren? Shoot them in cold blood as they lie on the concrete in a pub car park?”

  I kept my nerve and my poker face, caught his eye and held out the stick. My heart pounded in my chest, but I had to play this with a straight bat; make him believe every word.

  “Larry, our role is to move this investigation along as quickly and as quietly as possible. You guys work under a great deal of constraint, whereas we don’t. Once the perpetrators are identified, our role is to hand that information over to the authorities… that’s you Chief Inspector. Now, on this memory stick are thirty days’ worth of CIA surveillance repo
rts. The subject being Todd Blackman.”

  That got Larry’s attention.

  “They were watching him?”

  I nodded. “JE Blackman was concerned his son may… how should I put it? Embarrass him politically, by his student antics. However, Todd discovered his tail and eventually, the surveillance was suspended.”

  Larry examined me suspiciously.

  “And what do you want in return?”

  “Not much. Just something for us to be working on. A few crime scene photographs. Maybe a…”

  “No chance,” blurted Larry, shaking his head vigorously. “The scene is most peculiar and I don’t want any information leaked to the press…”

  “We’re not the leaking kind, Larry.”

  “No… no, definitely not.”

  I leaned and offered the stick again.

  “Okay, the reports for the name of Todd’s best friend at Salford Uni. How about that?

  Larry eyed me, then the stick. I could almost hear his mind working overtime.

  “I don’t know…”

  I found my smile again. “The name of his best buddy, Larry… I give you the stick, and I take you to dinner… tonight.”

  “Dinner?”

  I nodded.

  Larry took the stick.

  Rick Fuller’s Story:

  I’d left Mitch in Carver’s office with a typically British flea in his ear.

  I don’t like bigotry in any form. I’d fought the Irish, Africans, Arabs, Croats and Columbians. Black, white, gay, straight, Catholic, Protestant, Sunni, Shia. They all bled the same colour and most cried for their mother in the end. If Mitch wanted to work alongside us, he had to rein in the redneck act, or the Yanks needed to find another cowboy.

  No one seemed to mind that I’d kept hold of the Range Rover, so I used it to drive home to change and then to our lockup to collect some cash. Whilst there, I slipped my Sig Sauer 1911 Fastback into the back of my suit trousers, which made me feel much better. As I closed the shutter on the unit, my mobile buzzed.

  It was a text from Lauren.

  Bait taken, won’t be home till late.

  I didn’t care for the sound of the second bit.