Numb: A Dark Thriller

by Lee Stevens

  “Are you’re still thinking of going abroad?” Riley asked.

  Purvis nodded and when he next spoke his voice was almost a whisper despite no one being close enough to hear him even if he decided to holler his biggest secrets.

  “It’s safer than staying in England. I’ve been in touch with someone based up north - someone Nash doesn’t know - who can get us three passports, three new identities so we can’t be traced. I’m going to arrange a meeting with him and set things in motion. He needs half the money and some photographs up front. Then we get them a week or so after and we disappear somewhere Nash can’t find us.”

  Riley smiled. It all sounded good. It sounded like it might actually work out.

  “So if everything’s going to plan, why do you look so miserable?”

  Purvis looked back at Wendy. Then he stared across at Sandra.

  “Because I want to have them now.” Purvis then winked and reached for his drink. “Heads up...”

  Riley looked up and saw the three men crossing the dance-floor. Pete Turner, Eddie McCabe and Jimmy Howden were heading towards their table. Obviously they thought that Riley and Purvis needed some company.

  Turner was Nash’s right-hand man. He’d first met Nash when both men were nothing more than petty crooks who enjoyed at bit of violence at the football on Saturday afternoons and over the years he’d helped shape the Nash Empire by being a loyal foot-solider and a man of zero tolerance. He never got personally involved in the messy side of the business but he was the first to order others to do so. However, on the outside at least, he appeared not to revel in the violence. Instead, he seemed to treat it as an occupational hazard; certain things had to be done whether he liked it or not because this was the life he’d chosen to live.

  McCabe on the other hand, was the other extreme. He was ex-army, a real tough bastard. Every gang needs a resident psycho and he was it - a regular Joe Pesci character straight out of a Scorsese movie, only taller and more muscular and not in any way Italian-American. He was originally from South London but had moved up to Thirnbridge after making a few enemies and soon found work on Nash’s payroll. McCabe specialised in some of the more extreme measures that sometimes needed to be employed in the underworld. He could keep someone alive for days in the worst pain imaginable as he worked on them with pliers and hammers and hacksaws (“Tools are more fun,” he’d once said. “I like it up close and personal.”) Information was paramount in this game and McCabe never failed to extract that information and appeared to love his work. He’d been welcomed back into the fold last year after serving five years for GBH (nothing to do with work – just a drunken fight over football where he’d thumbed a bloke’s eye out) and his little stretch inside hadn’t appeared to have changed him at all, despite whatever dangers he’d faced. He’d been incarcerated in the same place as a few old enemies, including one of Lenny Dainton’s top men. No doubt everyday had been spent looking over his shoulder expecting a shank in his back and wondering if he’d even make it to the end of his sentence alive. But make it he did, and prison hadn’t changed him in the least.

  Howden, now dressed in a suit rather than his leather jacket and jeans from before, was stuffing a party sandwich into his mouth and chewed it almost three times before washing it down with a swig of lager. Lock picking and safe cracking were his talents. Eating and drinking and beating people up were his pleasures. If he could do all three at once followed by a quick blow-job off some young slapper then he’d be in heaven, and Riley wasn’t surprised that Howden, being the only one out of the five of them who had a child, hadn’t bothered to bring his wife and daughter along tonight in case he got lucky.

  And that was the five of them, the circle of friends just outside of Nash’s centre; Turner, the deputy who ran things when Nash wasn’t around; McCabe, the murderer who was called upon to make people disappear; Howden, the brain-dead thug who would beat people to a pulp without second thought; Purvis, the computer whizz who controlled all the security systems and fiddled evidence if the need be; and Riley, head of security who controlled an army of doormen which no other gang in the city could match in size or strength.

  “Thought we’d mingle a bit,” McCabe said, taking a seat. “Plus I’m bored listening to Howden talking about which bird’s gonna be lucky enough to shag him tonight.”

  “I told you,” Howden said, “that blonde with the big tits. A few more drinks down her neck and I’ll be in there.”

  “She’s married,” said Turner. “She’s one of Michael junior’s friend’s mam.”

  “So where’s her husband?”

  “I don’t know,” shrugged Turner. “Maybe he works away.”

  Howden clapped his hands together in triumph.

  “She’s mine tonight, then.”

  Riley smiled sardonically and shook his head. It was amazing how soon into a conversation Howden could remind you that he was a complete dick.

  “You look serious,” Turner said, looking at Purvis. “Why you sitting all the way back here?”

  “Just enjoying the party,” Purvis replied, forcing a smile. “Watching the happy faces and listening to the music.”

  “What, this shit?” McCabe cocked an ear and then shook his head. “Can’t stand this dance stuff. Give me Iron Maiden any day.”

  “I couldn’t give a fuck about the music,” Howden said. “I’m here for the drink.” He finished off his pint and followed it with a whisky chaser. Then, wincing as the drink burned its way to his stomach, he looked at Riley’s glass and asked, “Water?”

  “Always,” Riley replied. He rarely touched alcohol. Never liked the feeling of not being in total control.

  “But it’s a party,” Howden said. “And it’s free.”

  “Yeah, but it’s also Friday night. I bet you that before the clubs shut in the morning I’ll be called to sort out some trouble somewhere. I can hardly turn up and deal with the police when I stink of drink, can I?”

  “He’s right,” Turner said, agreeing with Riley. Business came first in his book. “Have you checked that the doormen aren’t having any trouble downstairs?”

  “Everything’s okay,” Riley replied. “No gatecrashers.”

  “Anyone gatecrashes this party and they’ll be in for a shock,” McCabe added.

  “Yeah,” Howden said. “If they did they’d...”

  And that was when Riley allowed the conversation to morph into white noise. He had no interest in listening to their nonsense. He’d just nod and smile and fake-laugh in the right places. After a while, you learned when to do it. Certain words just jumped out. “Blah, blah, blah... took care of that fucker... Blah, blah... that cunt didn’t expect that... blah, blah, blah... and he didn’t have a clue I was humping his wife, ha, ha...”

  Only when the music suddenly scratched to a halt and the overhead lights came on did Riley’s hearing come back.

  “What’s this about?” Howden asked, stemming the flow of shit from his mouth.

  “Speech time,” Purvis said.

  Riley looked over to the stage where Nash, a drink in one hand, the other one settling around the stand of the microphone in front of him, had taken position.

  “Excuse me gents,” Purvis said and stood up.

  “Where’re you going?” Riley asked.

  “To get a drink. I’m empty. Plus I know what’s coming.”

  “Eh?” Howden grunted, like a pig trying to talk. “What’re you talking about?”

  “If you like soppy moments then you’ll love this.” With that, Purvis left the table and made his way to the bar.

  “Soppy moments?” Howden asked, looking at the others. “What the fuck’s he on about?”

  “Don’t know,” McCabe said and finished his beer. “But if it’s speech time, then it’s also my cue to leave.”

  “Cue for what?” Riley asked. Whatever had been planned was new to him also.

  “The surprise.” McCabe winked at Turner as he left the table and headed for the main door.

/>   “What surprise?” asked Riley but before Turner could answer, Nash tapped the microphone and everyone in the room suddenly stopped what they were doing and looked up at him, the king of the castle. The dance-floor cleared as people returned to their seats and Sandra and the others by the buffet stood almost to attention as he began his speech amidst a hiss of feedback from the microphone.

  “Family and friends,” Nash said, his voice booming out the speakers dotted around the room, his words a little slurred thanks to the expensive champagne he’d been quaffing all night. “Thanks for coming, all of you. It’s so nice to see so many dear people all in the same room at the same time.”

  That set the crowd off. People cheered. People clapped. A drunken man shouted something that could barely pass for a language but people laughed anyway.

  “Now,” Nash went on, “I’d like a round of applause for my son, Michael, on his special day.”

  Riley clapped along with everyone else as Nash beckoned Michael junior up on the stage. In looks and build, Michael junior was simply a younger version of his father (except he had short dark hair instead of a shiny, sweating bald head) and his suit and jewellery were exact replicas of his old man’s. He was a decent lad, though, not part of the firm as such yet, but he’d been given the role of manager of another of his father’s clubs as a starter in the family empire. Soon, no doubt, he’d be blooded in some of the other activities his father dabbled in like drugs and extortion and loan sharking and having his fingers in as many pies as possible. Maybe then the famous Nash temper and ruthlessness would come out in him so that one day he’d be feared as much as his father was now. Judging by the twenty or so lads he’d been sitting with most of the night, his little gang had already started to form.

  “Again, thank you all for coming,” Nash went on, beaming as he put his arm around his pride and joy. “I hope everyone’s having a good time.”

  All of the guests either clapped or cheered. Riley sipped his water.

  “Excellent,” Nash said. “Now, Michael’s too shy to give a speech but I know he’s chuffed to bits to see how many people have turned up. But, as his father, I feel I should say a few words...”

  A few joke boos rang out and Nash held up his hands in surrender. If the boos had been real, those people would be in casualty having their jaws wired shut in an hour or so.

  “Don’t worry, I don’t want to bore you all with a long speech as I know most of you are itching to get to the buffet – although I saw one or two of you picking at it before it was open. Jimmy Howden I’m looking at you.”

  People laughed as Nash pointed Howden out and Howden held up his hands to admit his guilt. He winked at the blonde with the big tits who smiled and sipped her drink. Maybe he would get lucky tonight. Some women go for arseholes, don’t they?

  “But I would just like to take a moment to pay tribute to my son.” Nash kissed Michael on the cheek in a very manly father-to-son way. Then he flicked a thumbs-up to the DJ and the lights dimmed again before the giant plasma screen flickered to life behind them.

  Riley watched as images began to fill the screen, forming a montage of old photos and home movies of Michael from his birth onwards, all to a sickly soundtrack - John Lennon’s Beautiful Boy. Riley assumed the edited footage was Purvis’s work, the little favour he’d been finishing off for Nash earlier today and for that reason alone he sat silently and took in every cringe-worthy second of the four minute show, from Michael junior as a baby, then a toddler, then his role playing the first King in the nativity play in infant school and many other memories right through to pictures of him on a stag holiday with his friends in Greece last year.

  When it finished, Nash said into the microphone for all to hear, “I love you son. Happy twenty-first.”

  Everyone clapped again as the father and son hugged it out.

  “I’d like you all to raise your glasses to Michael.” Nash raised his own glass. “To Michael!”

  “To Michael!” the room echoed.

  Riley tipped his glass and took a swig of water.

  “Now, one more thing before the food,” Nash said. “If any of you wish to brave the cold and follow me outside, I have one more little surprise...”

  His words hung in the air as he led his son towards the door and excitement soon spread throughout the room like an electric charge. Within seconds most of the guests hurried towards the doors and headed downstairs behind the father and son.

  Even Riley felt intrigued enough to follow.

  11

  The main entrance of the club was made up of large double doors crafted from thick tinted glass. Embedded within were small glittering stones to resemble twinkling stars. They were flanked on both sides by two concrete pillars which connected to the overhanging first floor to create an alcove where the guests had now gathered, semi-protected from the biting wind and drizzling rain.

  Riley positioned himself at the back of the crowd next to the doormen as Nash led Michael junior to the side of the road. The closest family and friends were up at the front and Riley didn’t feel he belonged with them. He noticed Howden was up there, next to the woman he thought he had a chance with later. Turner had stopped off at the bar for a fresh drink and would probably push his way up front when he came down also. Sandra was up there, playing her part and feigning interest as she wrapped her arms around Wendy who seemed both confused and excited by what was going on. Riley then saw Purvis appear, casually fighting his way through the crowd to take his place beside them. Sandra flashed him a smile, obviously delighted to have his company for a few minutes and Purvis smiled back as he placed a hand on Wendy’s shoulder.

  The little girl didn’t budge, as if the touch on her shoulder felt right, natural, as if deep down she knew it was the protective hand of her true father.

  “What’s going on, dad?” Michael junior asked, looking around. The road was quiet, hardly any traffic, and only a few people were walking the streets. Most had stopped to see why everyone was vacating the club in a hurry.

  “You like the watch I gave you for your birthday?” Nash asked, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Yeah, it’s great.” Michael rotated his wrist to show off the flashy silver Rolex.

  “Well, how about this?” Nash looked up the road. Waved both hands in the air, as if beckoning some unseen person closer.

  Riley, along with the crowd, looked up the street. Saw a parked up lorry, its rear door lowered down to the road like a ramp. From the black pit inside, headlights suddenly blazed into life like demon eyes. Soon after, a sleek and shiny vehicle gracefully descended onto the road and headed towards the club. The horn sounded, the driver obviously a budding musician trying his hand at the first line of Happy Birthday.

  Be-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep!

  A universal gasp came from the crowd as the silver Aston Martin DB 9 pulled up next to the father and son, its metallic bodywork and alloy wheels sparkling in the gloom.

  “Happy twenty-first,” Nash said and slapped Michael firmly on the back.

  Michael’s mouth fell open, as if his father’s slap had loosened his jaw, and he watched in stunned silence as McCabe climbed out of the Aston, leaving the engine running and the door open for Michael to jump in to try out his new toy.

  No wonder you didn’t want Moore’s Nissan, Riley thought as the other guests clapped and cheered and Michael’s friends whooped and hollered like excited frat boys. He knew enough about cars to assume that the model must have cost a hundred grand at least, even at a knocked down price. But that was peanuts to Nash, and giving Michael – who was a huge James Bond fan – this sort of gift was worth every penny. He would now officially be the best father ever in the eyes of his son and this moment would be a conversation piece for every guest here for many future parties to come.

  A few seconds later, however, everything changed forever. As the crowd applauded and Michael hugged his father and everything seemed alright with the world, something caught Riley’s eye, something so
brief that he would’ve missed it had he not been looking. Something out of place. Something that didn’t register in his mind but made him automatically spin around and face the side street behind him.

  Over the claps and cheers, he heard the squeal of tyres.

  Then he saw the black Peugeot speed round the corner.

  Watched it draw level with the front of the club and brake quickly, skidding to a halt.

  He could now see the black object protruding through the open passenger window.

  Nobody else seemed to see it. They were too busy watching the father and son celebrate. But he sure as hell saw it.

  And he knew what was about to happen.

  “Everybody get down!”

  Riley’s words were cut short by the sudden staccato sound of gun fire, the muzzle flash lighting up the dark in brief bursts of intensity as it discharged round after round, spraying the scene with deadly projectiles that could rip through flesh, organs and bone as easily as a chainsaw through ancient rotted wood.

  The Aston’s side windows exploded first. Its expensive paintwork soon dented and chipped as the flurry of bullets tore into it on their way to the helpless crowd behind it.

  The terrified guests quickly dropped to their knees in unison, as if the act was choreographed. Riley ducked behind one of the pillars as he saw Nash and Michael fall to the floor amidst flecks of blood. Nearby, Purvis dragged Sandra and Wendy to the ground and covered them with his body as bullets shattered the club doors and ricocheted off brickwork behind them. Women screamed. Men yelled. Children wailed. The people on the street fled for safety.