Numb: A Dark Thriller

by Lee Stevens

  And when he saw the name, he knew something had already happened.

  44

  Spillers Bar was one of only a handful of establishments that Nash provided security for that wasn’t on the high street. One reason was that he owned it and wanted to protect his investment and the other was because it was one of the few places away from the main strip of bars and clubs that could get quite rowdy come the weekend. But rowdy was good. Rowdy places made money. And money was everything.

  Spillers hosted lives acts every Friday and Saturday night. Sometimes it was a blue comedian or something more exotic like male or female strippers. Sometimes the entertainment was more low key, like a karaoke competition or charity casino night. A lot of time it was live music, like tonight, a local rock band called The Harm with a loyal following of heavy drinkers in tow. By nine, over a hundred people had turned up to watch the group and get smashed out of their brains whilst having their eardrums burst.

  Halfway through the band’s third song the place had been stormed by a gang of ten men in ski masks. Most of the customers had no idea that the two doormen were being assaulted with bats and football socks filled with hardened concrete as the music was turned up to eleven in true Spinal Tap style and the noise of their beating was lost under the thud of the bass drum and roar of the electric guitars.

  It was only when the masked men made it inside and turned over a few tables and began to smash up the bar that the group stopped playing, the hairy, bearded singer standing with his mouth agape, inches from the microphone that began to hiss feedback, and this more than anything seemed to alert the crowd as to what was going on around them.

  The masked men didn’t seem intent on harming anyone else – including the bar staff – and as long as no one tried to play the hero and found a corner to hide in or the back door to escape via then they would come through this unscathed. The pub itself, however, would need several thousand spent on it before it would next do any business. Seats were slashed, paint was poured over the floor, lights were smashed, tables were broken and as much stock was destroyed as possible in the minute or so the thugs ran rampant before fleeing back into the mini van that had brought them here.

  After the attack, the manager (who happened to be in his office and who had locked the door and hidden under his desk when he first realised what was going on) called the police. At the same time, Danny Bonner, the least injured of the two doorman, called Riley.

  “We’ve been hit,” he’d grunted down the phone.

  “Spillers?” Riley had replied. He’d been expecting Dainton’s men to pull something like this, but he’d expected the attack to be on one of Nash’s more prestigious businesses.

  “Yeah, about ten of them,” Bonner said. “I think they’ve broke a couple of my ribs.”

  “Any one else hurt?”

  “None of the customers – most of them have left. So have the fucking band. I’ve never seen a group pack their gear up so quickly.”

  “What about Vic?” Vic Stephenson was the other doorman.

  “He’s okay – I think. He’s back inside. One of the fuckers coshed him pretty hard and split his head. The police are on the way.”

  “I’ll come straight over.”

  Riley hung up and as he raced back across the bridge into south Thirnbridge he called various doormen at various bars and told them what had gone on and to keep an eye out for any trouble makers. If they did, they knew what to do.

  In case of emergencies there was a cascade system. The head doorman from a club or bar in danger would call the head doormen at the nearest venue, who would then call the next closest and so on, and half of the staff from each venue would tool up and hot tail it to the place where the trouble was or was expected to be soon.

  That’s why Dainton hit Spillers, Riley suddenly thought. He knew reinforcements would be too late in coming.

  Riley arrived at the smashed up bar twenty minutes after getting the call from Danny Bonner and hurried inside.

  The scene was carnage. It looked like a whirlwind had hit the inside of the place. Tables and chairs were overturned and there was more smashed glass on the floor than a Greek dinner-party. Vic Stephenson was sitting in one corner and his bloodied head was being treated by paramedics. Danny Bonner was talking with two police officers whilst holding his ribs and looking like he had the world’s worst case of trapped wind.

  “I don’t believe it,” Riley said as he walked closer and one of the officers turned and flashed him a smile.

  “Hello, Riley,” Davison said.

  “Well, hello to you too,” he replied. “Are you haunting me, detective?”

  Davison smiled and said, “You’re the one who keeps turning up.”

  “I could say the same about you.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “Same here.”

  Bonner left when Burns told him he could and he nodded at Riley as he limped away to get treatment.

  “Bad shit, tonight,” Burns said, looking around at the mess.

  “You’re telling me,” Riley said.

  “You got here fast,” Davison said.

  “Not as fast as you did. How was that?”

  Davison smiled and said, “I’ve been working late whilst on this case. I figure if anything will happen it’ll be late on.”

  “Well, you’d be right,” Riley said. He took in the destruction another time. Thought about the customers and staff who could’ve been hurt. The two good doormen who had been. All of this had been caused by McCabe and Rodgers. Maybe enough was enough.

  Tell her, a little voice inside him said. Tell her what you know before more innocent people are hurt. But Riley couldn’t find the words. Grassing was so unnatural to him.

  Instead, he asked, “Have you informed Nash about this?”

  “Not yet,” Davison said. “I hear he’s not really in the right frame of mind at the minute and mightn’t take it so well.”

  That was an understatement. Turner had taken over running most of the day to day business as Nash sank more and more into delirium. He hadn’t been sleeping much and the effects could be seen in his haggard features. He was also snorting more coke than usual, was reputed to be drinking a bottle of brandy a day and, despite all the problems in his life, he’d been happily taking his frustration out on a selection of easy young women, sometimes having two or three staying with him at his apartment in a single night. He was on a one way ticket to destruction and seemed intent on living the remainder of his life in a drunken, drug-induced haze despite the escalating trouble with Dainton and his desperate search for Purvis and Sandra. Turner – working on behalf of Nash - had tried everything he could to locate both their whereabouts. He’d bribed a lot of people in various positions to track Purvis’s cash with-drawls and after finding out that large sums had been taken out in several branches in at least three northern towns he’d put the word out with various contacts up the country but no sightings had yet been reported. Turner had also found some young computer student with the ability to hack into airport booking systems to see if Purvis had tried to make it out of the country alone using his own passport but nothing had turned up either.

  Hopefully, Riley prayed, things would stay that way.

  “Nash is okay,” he lied. “I’ll call him and tell him when we’re done here.”

  “I also heard one of his men ran off with his girlfriend,” Davison said, stirring the shit.

  “You hear a lot.”

  “Not enough, though. By the way, the CCTV from the mansion didn’t show much regarding who was behind the bombs. The people who planted them knew where to stay to keep out of the way of the cameras. The camera on the gates showed a black van driving in but there’s no footage of any person or persons inside. We couldn’t get a trace on the van, either. The footage from the high street shows two men in raincoats and hoods carrying a box up the alley to the club an hour before the explosion but we can’t ID them either.”

  “Makes sense,” Riley said. “Attac
ks like that wouldn’t have been a spur of the moment thing, would they? They would’ve been planned in detail.”

  “It makes you think, though, doesn’t it?” Davison said cryptically.

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at,” Riley told her, knowing full well what she meant.

  Inside job. Eureka, she finally had it!

  “It got me thinking that maybe all of this wasn’t down to Lenny Dainton. Maybe someone close to Nash wants rid of him also. Mr Purvis looked after the security at Nash’s mansion-”

  “Now hold it there,” Riley snapped, and suddenly DS Davison didn’t look as attractive as she had a second ago. “Are you trying to say that he was behind these things?”

  “I’m not saying that,” she said, innocently. “I’m just saying it’s a possibility.”

  “Well if you can’t prove it, don’t mention it. Purvis is a good bloke.”

  “A good bloke doesn’t run off with his boss’s wife,” Burns butted in.

  “It still doesn’t make him a killer,” Riley said. “It takes a special kind of person to be okay with taking another life.”

  Tell her about McCabe! part of his mind screamed. Enough’s enough. End this!

  Again, Riley couldn’t find the words.

  “Okay, then.” Davison looked at Burns. “I think we have all we need here. Uniform can finish up.”

  They walked towards the door just as Howden walked in. Strangely, the site of the big man put Riley’s vocal chords in gear.

  “Detective!” he called and Davison stopped and turned back. “Aren’t you gonna offer me a card.”

  “I thought you had one,” she said.

  Riley shrugged.

  “I might have misplaced it.”

  Davison rummaged in her suit pocket and found one. She handed it to Riley and he tucked it in his back pocket.

  “Call me,” she said, a fresh glint in her eyes.

  “I might,” he told her.

  You have to. Enough is enough.

  Davison and Burns passed Howden without looking at him. Howden managed take in Davison’s firm behind as she left.

  “I’d give her one if she wasn’t a copper,” he said as he reached Riley. Then he looked around the place. “Fucking hell, what a mess.”

  “What brings you here?” Riley asked, playing it cool and acting like he hadn’t almost broken the ultimate gangland rule and opened up to the filth.

  “You,” Howden said. “The doormen at Twilight said you would be here. Said you called about some trouble and told them to watch out. I called you but you didn’t answer so I drove over.”

  Riley checked his phone and saw three missed calls from Howden. He mustn’t have heard the ringtone over the roar of the engine whilst driving here at almost twice the speed limit.

  “I take it this was Dainton’s mob,” Howden asked.

  “Looks like it,” said Riley.

  “Well, they’ll have to wait for now.”

  “Why, what’s up?”

  “Purvis,” Howden said, grinning. “We’ve found him.”

  Riley closed his eyes and rubbed his temples in frustration.

  This night was just getting better and better.

  45

  He wasn’t surprised that Turner and McCabe were in Nash’s apartment when he and Howden arrived. The brains and the brawn would be needed.

  Or the brains and the traitor, as all the evidence pointed to.

  “Sit down, boys,” Nash told them and Riley and Howden did so, side by side on the cream sofa.

  Nash was dressed in a white bathrobe but still wore his jewellery. He was cleanly shaven and smelled of aftershave and looked unsteady on his feet. He reeked of booze. Behind him, the bedroom door was ajar and Riley could see that the television was on and that someone was asleep under the covers on the master bed. A slender tanned leg hung out and a shock of blonde hair dangled down from one side like Repunzel in the tower. Whoever she was looked no older than twenty.

  “So what’s the full story boss?” Howden asked. “All Turner told me is that you’ve heard where Riley and Sandra are.”

  Nash walked to the fireplace. Used a twenty to snort a thick line of coke that was already laid out. When he looked up, his eyes were wild. No tiger whatsoever. Just madness.

  “They’re up near Newcastle,” he said. “At some shitty little motel. McCabe has the address.”

  “How did you find them?” Riley asked, trying to play it cool.

  “Some Russian fucker who specialises in fake IDs followed them and called me an hour ago.” He smiled. Rubbed some coke on his gums. “Purvis contacted him about some passports. He heard I was looking for them and got in touch.”

  “And he’s sure it’s them?” Riley asked, hoping the exact opposite.

  “Positive. That’s why you three are going to bring him in.” He pointed at Riley, McCabe and Howden. This was a personal matter and so only the high-up members would be needed. Turner was second man and so this would be as close to the dirty work he’d get. Plus, he was too important to risk now that Nash was incapable of thinking straight. He would be needed to oversee things as Nash drank and snorted more poison and lost even more of what little mind he had left.

  Nash pulled out a wad of notes from the pouch pocket at the front of his bath robe and tossed it at McCabe as if it was monopoly money. “That’s for the contact. Bodowski, or something. He’s waiting at the motel for you. If it’s Purvis and Sandra, he’s earned it. Plus if you get them back here alive there’ll be a nice little bonus for each of you at the end of the month.”

  McCabe and Howden nodded.

  Riley didn’t.

  He had to tell Nash about McCabe right now. Fuck telling Davison. Show Nash the evidence and take his mind of Purvis and let him deal with the traitor.

  But will he listen? Will he believe his eyes? Even if he does will it stop him going after Purvis and the girls? Would showing him that McCabe killed his son save Wendy?

  Riley guessed not. He’d still find Purvis one day.

  “What about Dainton?” he asked, trying to push Nash in a different and more urgent direction. “It’s Friday night. What if he’s got something planned. He’s already hit Spillers tonight. Have you heard about the damage?”

  “Yeah, but fuck him, this is more important,” Nash said, as if the thought of one of his bars getting trashed was nothing. “I can’t let the trail go cold on Purvis. Anyway, even if Dainton’s boys are stupid enough to kick off again tonight we’ve got enough men to sort his lot out. Right?”

  Riley felt he had to nod in agreement. There were still enough doormen at each venue to keep control if something big started in one of them.

  “How do you want us to do this?” McCabe asked.

  “Bring them back alive, if you can,” Nash said, smirking. “I want to deal with them personally. Especially Purvis.”

  “Right, let’s go,” Howden said, standing. “We can be there within the hour if the traffic’s good. Catch them while they sleep.”

  McCabe followed Howden to the door, both of them walking like drones, unwilling or unthinking to ask the all important question.

  That was left to Riley.

  “Purvis and Sandra,” he said. “I can understand how you feel about them after what they did to you.”

  “Yeah?” Nash said. “So you’re not gonna try and talk me out of this, are you?”

  “No, it would be a waste of breath.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What I was going to ask was, what about Wendy?”

  McCabe and Howden stopped and turned around. It looked liked the fact a two year old child was involved in this had suddenly just dawned on them.

  Riley saw Turner put his head down and rub his brow, as if he were - dare he think it - ashamed?

  “What about Wendy?” Nash asked.

  “She’s only a little girl,” Riley said. “She’s done nothing wrong.”

  Nash laughed. The sound was pure evil.

  “Sh
e’s no concern of mine anymore.”

  “But for all she knows, you’re her father,” Riley said.

  “But I know she’s not my daughter.” He stared at Riley with those crazy eyes. He had no heart. He had no soul. The Mike Nash who had built an empire through terror and violence but had managed to stay sane enough to avoid prison had left the building. “Go on. Like Howden said, you can be there within the hour if the traffic’s good.”

  Riley knew there was no point in asking Nash to make it clear what he wanted doing with Wendy. The fact that McCabe and Howden were walking out the door showed that they understood just fine.

  As Riley followed them out, Nash called out a brutal reminder.

  “Try not to kill them. I want them alive.”

  46

  They were on the motorway twenty minutes later, Riley driving and McCabe in the passenger seat. Howden was in the back, filling the space with smoke and bullshit.

  Riley had had no option but to go along. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place with no way out. Problem one was that Purvis had changed his phone and Riley couldn’t call ahead to warn him. Problem two was that he hadn’t been able to talk Nash out of this. His mind had been made up and Purvis and Sandra were going to pay – poor Wendy too. Problem three was that he couldn’t talk McCabe or Howden out of this either. McCabe was a traitor but like all good traitors he had to blend in and act natural, and Howden was just a drone who followed orders no matter what they were. Riley also knew that if he’d tried to stop them back at Nash’s apartment he probably would’ve been overpowered. One on one he was sure he could take each of them, but together... no, not a chance. Howden was strong. McCabe was dangerous and probably armed. Nash was insane. Together they would have killed him and still gone after Purvis anyway.

  In the end he decided that all he could do was wait and see what would happen when they arrived at the motel. Maybe this was a false alarm. Maybe Purvis and the girls had recently checked out and they would miss them by only an hour or so. Plus, there hadn’t been a formal sighting of them. No photo had been snapped on a mobile phone and sent to Nash proving that they were here. Yes, this was probably a wild goose chase. They’d been barking up the wrong tree. Counting their chickens before they’d hatched and a number of other ancient sayings used when people thought they were right but were entirely off the mark.