Running Stupid: (Mystery Series)

by James Kipling

  The man nodded a nervous nod of recognition and then drew his hand across the man’s face again, harder this time. His actions still proved futile.

  “Get out of the way,” Jester said tiredly.

  The man nodded and scurried away. Jester walked to the security guard, bent over him and delivered a swift hook across his face. He awoke instantly, startled. Jester took a step back and pointed the gun down at him.

  “Get up,” he instructed aggressively.

  The guard took his time to time to climb to his feet.

  “How good are you with knots?” Matthew’s words were aimed at Charles, his eyes still concentrated on the two men.

  “I was in the scouts as a child,” Charlie replied.

  “That’ll do,” Jester said quickly. “You two,” he waved the gun at the two men. “Take a seat.” He nodded towards the two chairs that he and Charles had been tied to.

  When they sat down, Charles set about tying them to the chairs using the spare ropes and unused cable-ties. Jester trained the gun on them. When he was finished, Charles stood back and they both looked at the two figures tied to the chairs.

  “That should buy us some time,” Jester said, turning. “Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here before the coppers start shooting the place up.” He stuffed the gun in the front of his pants and headed for the door.

  They clambered into the parked car and left the caravan site. The car was on the country roads, touching thirty miles an hour, before they heard the distant ringing of police sirens.

  “Now what?” Jester asked in a defeated tone.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “We can’t just keep running,” Jester noted.

  “What else do you propose we do?”

  Jester fell silent. Charles could feel the eyes of the younger man on him. “I want to end this,” Jester’s voice broke the silence; his tone was serious.

  “Maybe we should go to the police,” Charles offered.

  “That won’t do us any good,” Jester argued. “Fadel will pay his way out of trouble.”

  “If you don’t mind me saying, sir,” Charles said formally, “you could easily afford to pay his way back into trouble.”

  “Possibly,” Jester said, “but doubtful. There’s a fair chance that the chief of police is one of Fadel’s punters, and if not him, then someone further up the chain of command. If I go to the police, they’ll lock me away and throw away the key before I can plead my case.”

  “We live in a fair, democratic society –”

  “Bullshit,” Matthew interjected. “We live in a society full of greedy money-hugging bastards and politicians who would happily destroy their own country if it meant they could line their pockets. It’s all about the rich and the powerful. I’m rich, but Fadel is rich and powerful. He’d fuck me over in a court of law any day.”

  “You did win one million pounds from him,” Charles reminded him.

  “That was different. Fadel’s life wasn’t on the line. If I go to the police and they believe me, think how many people will suffer. Like you said, there are hundreds of billionaires in on this. None of them will let me talk to the police. They’ll pay off a few people and my body will be found hanging in the cell. They’ll call it suicide and then close the case.” Jester paused, breathless. “I want justice, and the only way I’m going to get it is if I go straight to Fadel.”

  Charles turned to Jester. “What?” he said, startled.

  “This man has destroyed me. He slaughtered the only person I’ve ever loved, he dragged me through days of torture – I’ve been kicked, thumped, beaten with a rifle and shot at. I’ve been attacked by old friends, been tied up by new ones and have seen more blood than a surgeon with the shakes.” Matthew paused again, allowing time for his comments to sink in. “I’m fed up,” he said. “I want to rest. I want justice.”

  “Then we need to go to the police.”

  “Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said?”

  Charles sighed and shook his head, a gesture of confusion. “I don’t know what to do, but you can’t go after Fadel.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s a billionaire. He’s followed around by bodyguards, lives in a high-security house. You can’t chase after him.”

  “Someone needs to pay for all of this,” Jester said. “And they’ll pay by my hands.”

  “Fadel is a very dangerous man.”

  “And I’m a very suicidal man. Fuck him; he needs to pay.”

  “You can’t just hunt down one of the richest people in the world.”

  “I can!” Matthew spat. “That’s the whole fucking point, don’t you see? He came after me, he hunted me down, he turned me into a game and pressed the start button. He instigated all of this. He thinks he’s better than me, he thinks his billions of pounds, his property and his businesses make him a better person, a stronger person than me. That’s why he started all of this. He wanted to watch from the sidelines as my life was slowly torn apart, and he knew if anything went wrong, he could always throw money at it and make it go away.” Matthew paused, a smile spread across his face. “Well, I ain’t going away. I’ve put up with all of his fucking games so far. The ball is in my court now.”

  Charles shook his head. “If you go after Fadel, I can’t come with you,” he said softly. “I have too much to lose.”

  “I have nothing to lose,” Jester said bluntly. “Because that bastard has already taken everything away from me.”

  33

  “I need to rest,” Charlie said after driving on in silence for some time. “My eyes are getting heavy.”

  “Pull the car over,” Jester said. “Find a decent spot and pull over. The sun will be up in a few hours. You can catch forty winks in the car until then.”

  Charles nodded slowly. “And after that?” he asked. “What do we do when I wake, when morning comes?”

  “I’m sure we’ll think of something,” he said blandly.

  They ended up in a small village, the quaint houses and cosy bungalows glowing in the light of many street lamps. The village had all the basic essentials: a pub on the corner near the entrance, a line of shops across the road from the pub, and a large park.

  They took a dirt road behind the closed pub. The vehicle then cruised onto more unstable ground, its tyres bobbing over millions of gravel chips. After the gravel road, across a grassy path, and at the end of a recently concreted area, Charles pulled the car to a stop. The village was home to about two thousand people, give or take a hundred, and the park served as the playground for all the occupants. It stretched the width and length of the village, hiding behind the houses and shops like a stalker.

  Charles had driven the car deep into the park, passing the tennis and basketball courts and carelessly driving over the football pitch until he found a safe spot. Dense trees kept the car away from prying eyes to the north of the perimeter, and thick hedges obscured the rest.

  “This will do,” Charles said tiredly. He’d already shut off the headlights; now he flicked off the engine. “Let’s get some rest.” He unstrapped his seatbelt, pushed his arms to the window and then leant his head against them.

  Matthew Jester kept his eyes open and his body straight.

  “Are you going to sleep or not?” Charles asked, squinting at Matthew with one open eye.

  “I can’t sleep,” he replied firmly.

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Both.”

  “You really should get some rest, but I’m not going to lecture you. I’m too tired.” Charles smiled Matthew’s way and then closed his eyes. In moments, he was asleep.

  ***

  Jester had drifted off to sleep. How long ago and for how long, he didn’t know, but it wasn’t long. The sound of a car door slamming woke him. He turned to see Charles scramble into the car. In his right hand he held a newspaper. On his face he held an expression of pure terror.

  He tossed the paper onto Matthew’s lap and tried to start up the engine, a d
ifficult task with trembling hands. Matthew looked at the driver in silent bemusement and then looked down at the paper on his lap. There, on the front page, were two head shots: one Matthew Jester, the other of Charles Edinburgh.

  He scanned the rest of the article. A bold headline above the pictures declared ‘Twenty-million Pound Reward’.

  The engine roared into life. Charles pushed it into reverse, steered his way out of the hiding spot and then slammed his foot down on the accelerator. Mud and grass spat out from underneath the tyres.

  “You bought a paper?” Matthew asked, looking towards the flustered driver.

  “I was just picking up some food and water,” Charles said as the car rolled down a hill and the tyres touched concrete again.

  “Excellent,” Matthew said. “I’m dying for a drink. Where are they?”

  “I didn’t get any. I forgot.”

  “That was a bit stupid of you, wasn’t it?” Jester said placidly.

  “Have you read the headline?” Charles snapped, banging his palm against the steering wheel. “They’re after me now.”

  “Yes, I saw.” Matthew looked down at the paper again and nodded. He began to read the full article but stopped when Charles spoke.

  “Nine people it says we’ve killed,” Charles said angrily. “Nine fucking people!”

  Jester paused for thought. “I make it three,” he said, relaxed.

  “Stop joking around; this is serious. We’re both fucked now.”

  “You know, you’ve sworn more in the last five minutes than in all the time I’ve known you.” Jester paused and reflected. “And I’ll be serious … sorry.”

  “The woman in the paper shop recognised me when I was about to pay. I saw the paper on the rack and just grabbed it and ran,” Charles explained.

  “Step on it then. No doubt she’ll have phoned the police.”

  Charles nodded and then slammed his palm against the steering wheel in frustration again. “I can’t believe it. I’m wanted for murder and I’ve never committed a crime in my life.”

  “Well, you did steal this paper.”

  “This has to be the work of Chambers, the bastard.” The car exited the village and Charles breathed an inward sigh of relief.

  Jester nodded to himself and began to flick through the paper. The deaths of Darren and James Whittall, Barry Brown and his two thugs, the fat man in the warehouse, the cabin owner and the two hit men who destroyed the cabin had all been attributed to Charles and Jester. According to the newspaper, sufficient evidence had been found to tie both men to the crimes.

  He flicked past the front page and found pictures of himself with Jennifer on the second, then Jennifer by herself with flowers in her hair and a glint in her eye – a glamorous picture that had been taken for an interview she did for a popular music magazine.

  The next page explained the life of Charles Edinburgh. Three pictures were stuck to the third page. Charles was in all of them. The first showed him as a younger man, possibly taken at the height of his career, a look of pride dominant in his eyes. The second showed him with a woman, their embrace a loving one, posing at the top of the Eiffel Tower. The final photo showed Edinburgh as he was now, a clean headshot.

  “Is this your wife?” Jester asked, noting the woman in the photo.

  “Yes,” Charles replied plainly.

  “She’s pretty.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jester flicked past the first half dozen pages until the news no longer concentrated on him, then he continued to read.

  “I need to phone her,” Charles said anxiously.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Jester warned, his eyes still on the paper. “Her father is trying to kill you, remember?”

  “But she needs to know I’m innocent.”

  “If she loves you, she will know,” Jester said.

  “Maybe.”

  Turning another page, Jester found an article on the dangers of food colorants and started to read.

  “Maybe you’re right.” Charles’s words broke a silence that had lasted a few minutes. “About going after Fadel,” he continued.

  Jester popped his eyes over the top of the newspaper and tilted his head so he faced the driver.

  “Our options are limited,” the driver continued. “We can’t go to the police.”

  “They’ll arrest us or probably hand us over to some corrupt fucker who will kill us,” Jester mentioned.

  Charles nodded. “And we can’t run forever. Eventually they’ll catch us.”

  “And when they do, they’ll kill us,” Jester added.

  “And we can’t take this to the top. The people at the top are the people betting on whether you live or die; police chiefs, government officials – they’re all in on it.”

  Jester nodded.

  “But if we go after Fadel …” Charles allowed the sentence to trail off. Jester could see anxiety and fear in his eyes.

  “It’s dangerous and there’s a fair chance we won’t make it,” Jester finished the sentence for him.

  Charles nodded, pondered for a moment and then shook his head.

  Matthew Jester turned his attention back towards the paper as a deathly silence of anticipation and apprehension hung in the air.

  34

  “Wow.” Jester shuffled on his seat. His backside had been moving closer to the edge as his body became more relaxed and tired, but now he straightened up, using his feet to push off the floor and sit upright. “Listen to this,” he said with a smile. “It’s an article about Fadel and Chambers.”

  “What does it say?”

  “They have a conference room booked at the Roosevelt Hotel in the city,” he exclaimed, his eyes flicking across the page. “Some leaked information suggests that Fadel, Chambers.” He skimmed through a few other names, blurring them into a ‘blah’ before picking up more words. “The CEO of CNN will be there as well.” Matthew looked across at Charles. They shared a moment of acknowledgement before Jester turned his focus back onto the paper. “A handful of the big billionaires all in the same room. It says that their sources suggest the room can hold up to one hundred people and it’s expected to be filled.”

  “What else does it say?”

  “Nothing,” Jester said blankly. “It’s just a little quirky article, some gossiping bullshit. A few billionaires getting together in the same room makes news I guess … you’re missing the point. This is our chance.”

  At first Charles didn’t answer, his mind ticking through numerous thoughts before he spoke. “Okay,” he said with a nod of his head. “I’ll do it. Let’s go after Fadel.”

  Jester grinned back. “You know the way?” he asked.

  Charles nodded. “We can be there in two hours.”

  “Excellent,” Jester noted. He gathered three more tablets from his pocket and popped them into his mouth. “Let’s go get this fucker,” he exclaimed after the chalky tablets worked their way down his throat.

  ***

  A black limousine, glistening in the morning sunshine, cruised to a halt outside of the luxurious Roosevelt Hotel. When the engine fell silent, two well-dressed valets made their way over, one walking to the front of the car, the other to the back.

  On opening the back door, the valet stepped aside, his posture straight and precise, his features unmoved. Out of the open door, a foot appeared. It hung above the floor, waiting until a second foot joined it, and then they both found concrete.

  Ahmad Fadel stood and stretched next to the car door. Behind him the valet closed the door. The second valet had already swapped positions with the driver of the limousine. The engine started and the car was carefully manoeuvred to a secure parking lot.

  In his right hand, Ahmad Fadel clutched a thick leather briefcase. On the front in gold letters were the initials TA. Hooked around the handle was a strong electronic lock.

  “May I take your case, sir?” the valet ghosted to Fadel’s side. He held out his hand, his head lowered in respect.

  “No,” Fadel said
bluntly.

  The valet nodded, turned and walked away. He stood by the front doors to the hotel.

  Dennis Maloney and Mark Chambers both appeared inside the reception room. When they spotted him through the glass door, they walked outside to greet him. They both shook his hand. Maloney offered to take his case. Fadel accepted without a second thought.

  Ahmad Fadel remained standing on the pavement outside of the hotel, his eyes scanning the exterior of the building, taking in every detail. He then turned his attention to the front door. Through it he could see a sparsely populated reception room.