Numb: A Dark Thriller

by Lee Stevens

“Good,” Nash said. “Good lads. Go on then.”

  Riley and Howden left the office and headed out to the car. It was a Saturday night and Riley had been pulled from his duties as head doorman to do a little extra job. It seemed to be happening a lot recently, what with McCabe being banged up. He was normally the first to be called on for this type of work but without him Nash obviously had to recruit from further down the ranks. But Riley didn’t mind so much. It got him away from the monotony of the doors at the very least; it got him away from the drunks and dealers and the junkies and crazies. Plus the little bonus in his pay would be worth it. And in the end it was only some little scumbag getting the slap they deserved. It wasn’t like he was hurting someone who’d done nothing wrong. No, this bloke deserved what was coming to him.

  The takings had been down in Twilight for the last couple of months; twenty quid one night, thirty the next, maybe the odd tenner the following week. Little amounts that a thief hoped would be marked down to human error. A couple of customers paid with ten but got change of twenty – things like that. But Nash wasn’t that gullible and had Purvis install a hidden camera above all four tills and the first Friday afterwards Eric Reynolds, a lowly barman who’d worked there for the past six months, had been caught red-handed dipping into the takings. In-between his last shift and Nash checking the footage that proved his guilt, however, Reynolds had disappeared. The landlord of the flat he’d been renting hadn’t been given any warning or forwarding address and Reynolds wasn’t answering his mobile. He had no family in Thirnbridge and everyone who classed him as a friend or acquaintance had no idea where he’d gone either. Maybe he’d heard rumours that Nash had had cameras installed in the club, realised the jig was up and skipped town before he could be dealt with. Maybe he’d simply realised he was pushing his luck and had decided to move onto another place and try his luck in another boozer. Either way, he’d vanished. But Nash had eyes everywhere and he also had Detective Inspector Thornton on his side who could use every tool at the police’s disposal to do a little personal job.

  Earlier tonight Thornton had received good info that Reynolds was holed up in Trenton, a seaside town sixteen miles down the coast. The info had been passed to Nash (Thornton would be getting a nice little bonus in his monthly pay-off) and Nash had checked it out. Now Riley and Howden were off to pay the sticky-fingered barman a surprise visit.

  Once on the road, Howden lit up a cigarette and didn’t seem willing to start a conversation. But that was nothing knew. Riley had been paired with him for the last year whenever a little job like this came up, whenever someone had to be taught a lesson. Nash said they were a perfect match; Howden was head-strong and showed no mercy whilst Riley kept his wits about him and used his brain if things looked to get a little dodgy and common sense had to play a part. But, whatever way they had to play this tonight, Reynolds was going to get hurt tonight. This was personal, and Riley tried to put himself in Nash’s shoes. He’d been stolen from. He’d had someone take him for a fool. He’d been disrespected. Wouldn’t Riley want the same thing done if someone had done those things to him?

  Probably not, he thought.

  Half an hour later, the two of them parked around the side of the bed and breakfast that was situated on the end of a narrow street that sloped a half a mile down to a small pebble beach. They climbed out as the time neared eleven o’clock. The night was dark and Autumnal. Fallen leaves clogged the gutter. A chill wind carried with it the sound of the churning sea. Riley could smell the salt in the air, fresh and nauseating. The noise of the Friday night crowd echoed behind them, the high street of bars and clubs a good five-hundred yards away. There were only a handful of people on this street, heading towards one of the boarding houses or flitting between the two old-style pubs squashed between fish and chip shops and curry houses. It should be relatively easy to get Reynolds out of the building and into the car without being noticed.

  Riley led the way as he and Howden marched into the bed and breakfast.

  The hallway didn’t look like it had been decorated for twenty years. The walls were a drab brown colour and the carpet beneath their feet was a dull red and had lost a lot of its bounce. The air smelled of dusty books and mothballs. The reception desk was ahead of them and a young man was sat behind it. No one else was around. The place was silent. If there were any other guests staying here, they were either sound asleep or out partying.

  “You two Mr Nash’s lads?” the man behind the desk asked and Riley nodded. This was obviously the contact.

  Nash had called the bed and breakfast earlier tonight after getting the info from Thornton, who thought it best that he stay out of it, what with him being a copper and everything. Nash had spoken to a young lad who worked as a porter/waiter/receptionist and any other role that might be required and told him who he was. The lad told him he’d heard of him and asked how he could he help. Nash asked about Reynolds and was told yes, Reynolds was staying here. He’d paid cash but had showed his driver’s licence as proof of ID. It was definitely him. Nash had asked if he was in his room now and was told no. Reynolds had gone out but the lad would call back when he got in. Nash said there’d be a hundred quid for him if he did. The lad said thank you, took Nash’s number, hung up and called back within the hour. Reynolds was back in. Game on.

  Riley Howden approached the reception desk. The man behind it was young, maybe nineteen or twenty and his cheeks were prickled with acne. He was dressed in a shirt and tie that looked too baggy for him. A badge on his chest pocket said: MARK.

  “Reynolds is in room four,” MARK said and handed Riley a key. “Ground floor, through that door.” He pointed behind the stairs. “He came back in about an hour ago, just before I called Mr Nash, and hasn’t left since. He seemed pretty pissed.”

  “Thanks,” Riley said and handed the lad five twenty pound notes. An easy hundred. With the couple of hundred Reynolds had helped himself to over the past month or so, Nash was now down three hundred. But it wasn’t about the money. It was the principle.

  “Thanks,” MARK said and tucked the notes in his trouser pocket. He suddenly looked a little nervous. “Right, good, I’ll go and make myself scarce. Hide in the toilet until you’ve gone. Just leave the key in the room when you leave.”He started to walk off and then stopped. Looked back. “Mr Nash did say that nothing would go down inside, right? I mean, you’ll take him somewhere, won’t you? I don’t want the old woman who runs this place to know I let you two in. She’s in bed now but if you make a noise...”

  “We’ll be in and out before you know it,” Riley said.

  “Good. Okay. There’re only a few other guests staying here tonight and they’re all out on the town. Probably won’t be in until the early hours. I’ll leave you two to it, then.”

  Riley and Howden let MARK disappear through a staff door before heading through the door behind the staircase.

  A few seconds later they were quietly unlocking the door to room four.

  The curtains were drawn against the small window and it took a few seconds for Riley’s eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. When they did, he could see the skinny human shape lying on its back on the crumpled bed.

  Reynolds was out cold and snoring his head off. He was fully clothed, including his jacket and shoes. He’d obviously downed a lot in a short amount of time and needed to sleep it off. Even from the doorway, Riley could smell the stale alcohol seeping from his pores.

  Howden quietly edged forward and gently slapped Reynolds lightly on the face.

  He kept snoring.

  “Right, let’s get him to the car,” Howden said. “We’ll carry the fucker. If he wakes up I’ll keep him quiet.”

  Riley grabbed Reynolds’s legs and Howden his arms and together they lifted him from the bed. He was light, probably less than twelve stone and it was easy carrying him out the room. If they came across anyone in the lobby or outside, they’d say that their friend had had too much to drink and had taken ill. If Reynolds woke up and st
arted screaming, they’d say he’d taken something and was having a bad trip and didn’t know what was going on. Whatever happened, they’d get him out of here. No one would try and stop them, that’s for sure.

  As it happened, they managed to get him out to the car without seeing anyone or without him waking up, and it was only when they threw him onto the back seat that Reynolds’s eyes flickered opened.

  Riley slid behind the wheel as Howden settled in the back seat next to their guest and spun the car towards the coast.

  A few seconds later, after a yawn and rub of his eyes, Reynolds sat bolt upright in the seat and mumbled, “What the-”

  But Howden was on Reynolds before he could finish, grabbing his face and pushing his head back against the seat rest.

  “Surprise, you little fucker,” Howden hissed. “You were wrong to think you could hide.”

  “Hide?” Reynolds asked, his words coming out muffled as Howden’s fingers dug into his cheeks, squashing his mouth together. “Who are you? I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  “But you know Mike Nash,” Riley said. “You stole from him. Bad move.”

  “No, I-”

  Howden squashed his cheeks together more, stopping the excuses from escaping.

  When they reached the pebble beach a couple of minutes later, Riley pulled up on a grass verge and steered into a copse of trees, hiding the car from the road. There were no other vehicles parked nearby and no one out on foot. They were alone here and Reynolds knew it too. He began to panic and the car began to rock as he tried to make a break for it, tugging at the door handle and trying to knock it open with his feet.

  A few punches from Howden soon put an end to that.

  Reynolds was crying and didn’t put up a struggle as they dragged him from the car and onto the beach. It was almost pitch black here, the only light that from the moon and stars. The wind had picked up. The air felt thick and fresh. The waves crashing onto the shore roared like caged animals as Riley and Howden threw Reynolds onto the cold pebbles face first.

  “Please...” he sobbed, “Please, don’t kill me...”

  Riley wished Reynolds had tried to put up more of a fight and give them a reason to hurt him. With him lying on the floor, bawling like a child, this didn’t seem like payback anymore. It seemed more like an unprovoked attack. Still, Nash had ordered it, and so it had to be done.

  “We’re not killers,” Riley said. “If Nash wanted to you dead we would’ve killed you back at the B and B. You’re not worth killing. Nash just wanted a message sending.”

  “I understand,” Reynolds said. “I got it. I’m sorry. I was a fucking idiot to steal a few quid from the till. I couldn’t help myself. I’ll pay it back. All of it!”

  “Nash isn’t bothered about the money,” Riley said. Then he grabbed Reynolds by the wrists and yanked his arms forward.

  Reynolds fell forward, splayed on the pebbles, belly down. Riley put his knee in the back of his neck, pinning him still as he kept hold of his wrists.

  “What are you...?”

  Howden then walked in front of Reynolds, grinning down at him as he raised one booted foot above one of his outstretched hands.

  “Please, don’t...!”

  Howden brought his foot down fast, eighteen stone of pure menace behind it.

  It stamped down on Reynolds’s right hand and an agonising scream exploded from his mouth. The second, third and fourth stamp crushed the fingers, breaking bones and tearing flesh as they were pummelled between the hard leather sole and the shingles and pebbles and fragments of flotsam and jetsam beneath.

  Riley tried to ignore the screaming and instead listened to the waves breaking nearby.

  He deserves this, he told himself. He’s done wrong and needs to be paid back. Don’t feel sorry for him. Don’t even think about him...

  He kept hold of Reynolds’s wrists as Howden went to work on the left hand.

  After the second stamp that mashed the fingers, Reynolds gagged, threw up what he’d drank earlier and then passed out.

  Howden stamped down another three times and when he’d finished both hands had taken on a claw-like appearance. The fingers were twisted and bent and had begun to swell. Dirt and blood covered them and small stones clung to the wounds. Bones had protruded through the skin in several places.

  Howden lit up a cigarette and stood over the prone figure like a proud big game hunter next to his kill.

  Riley headed back to the car, glad it was all over and dreading the next time Nash would offer him some extra duties.

  But, for now at least, it was job done.

  36

  “If you need us, don’t hesitate to call, okay?”

  “Yes, thanks,” Sandra said as Davison and Burns stepped out into the corridor. They’d been at the apartment for over an hour, asking questions and offering support. She would have liked to have helped them more by being able to give some decent answers but she couldn’t. She never got involved with Nash’s business and honestly had no idea who he might have wronged to cause all of this trouble. And, of course, Nash had hardly co-operated and helped the two detectives out. He’d given short answers, all of which either contained the lines, “I don’t know” or “I haven’t a clue,” like he had no idea who was out to kill him.

  And kill me! Sandra thought. They were out to kill me and Wendy too!

  “Mr Nash refused police protection,” Davison reminded her. “We can’t force it upon him, but we feel that after the two attacks on his life it would’ve been better if you were all moved to a safe house until things settle down.”

  “I understand,” Sandra said. “He can be a little... stubborn at times. But I’m sure he knows best.”

  “You and your daughter can still accept the offer,” Burns said.

  No, we’ll be leaving soon anyway.

  “Yes, I know,” Sandra said. “I’ll talk to Mike tonight and see what he thinks.”

  “Okay,” Davison said. “I suppose you should be fine here. There are other people in this apartment and a security man downstairs. Anyway, call us if you need us.”

  “Of course.”

  When the two detectives trudged off along the corridor, she closed the apartment door and leant against it for extra support.

  It had been a hell of a day and the stress of the funeral alone had taken it out of her, but after the explosion and the trip to hospital and then the visit from the police Sandra didn’t know if she was ready to collapse into bed or was so wired that she wouldn’t be able to sleep for a week.

  She rubbed her tired eyes and slowly went back into the living room in time to see Nash down the brandy he held. Then, before he’d even swallowed it, he reached for the decanter and poured another large measure. His face bore a few cuts and scrapes where splinters of wood had hit him when the bomb had gone off and the sorrow that had been burned into his eyes for the last week had been replaced by his usual piercing gaze. Anger was boiling away inside him, she could tell.

  He began pacing the floor, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the crystal glass to his mouth as he continuously sipped his drink. He looked deep in thought and ready to kill someone and Sandra felt her insides go cold. Despite all the arguments of recent years, Nash had never laid a hand on her. She’d seen him lose his temper on numerous occasions but she’d never feared a violent assault from him. Tonight though, he looked unpredictable and capable of anything.

  “I’m scared Mike,” she eventually said.

  Nash didn’t answer her. Just finished his brandy and poured another. He was dressed in fresh trousers and a clean white shirt – some of the few clothes they kept here at their second home. Sandra had showered and changed into jogging bottoms and a sweat-shirt and Wendy was in a clean pair of pyjamas and was watching a DVD in her bedroom. The door to that room was closed. Good. Sandra didn’t want her daughter to hear any of the conversation that was about to happen. She knew it would lead to another argument.

  “Mike, I said
I’m scared,” she said loudly. “We’ve got to get out of Thirnbridge. We should have taken the police’s offer of protection. It’s too dangerous-”

  “I’m not running,” Nash said calmly and without looking at her.

  “But we could’ve been killed today.”

  “I’ll sort it.”

  Sandra shook her head and threw out her hands. What did she have to say to get through to him? Would he listen to anything she said? Would he listen to anything anyone would say? No, of course he wouldn’t. He was the boss, the big man. He made the decisions. He won the battles. He didn’t run away. He’d obviously made up his mind to stay and fight and to hell with anyone else.

  “The shooting and then the bomb,” Sandra went on, hoping and praying he would take notice. “What next? No doubt it’ll happen again. What about Wendy and me-”

  “I said I’ll sort it!” he snapped.

  The power, the vehemence of his words made her jump in her skin. This wasn’t the Mike Nash she knew. Not only was this man far removed from the friendly and suave gentlemen she’d first met but he didn’t resemble the selfish, power crazy thug she’d come to know over the last two years. This man was something new, a creation of grief and guilt, of remorse and rage, of drugs and alcohol. This was a monster standing before her. A mad man.

  Sandra sat down on the leather sofa and put her head in her hands. She felt so helpless. Nash had lost it, been pushed way over the edge and wouldn’t see sense. Not even the mention of Wendy seemed to make him see that even she wasn’t safe with him. Surely a real man, even a crazy man, could still think of others. Surely Nash should still care a little about the safety of-

  -who? His daughter? But she’s not his. Wendy’s life is in danger and she’s not even his! Your daughter’s life is in danger because you’re still here, with Nash, the madman!

  That reminder hit her hard. Yes, she’d done wrong sleeping with Purvis. God, it was terrible to have a child to another man and pretend to Nash that she was his. And to let the charade go on for nearly three years was beyond reproach. Yet, she’d had no choice. If doing the right thing was telling the truth then both she and Purvis would have probably been killed as soon as the truth came out. And what would that have meant for Wendy? None of this was her fault.