Nightmare City hc-2

by Nick Oldham

The NWOCS were an elite team of detectives whose sole brief was to investigate organised criminal activity in the north-west of England, from Cumbria to Cheshire. They were based in Blackburn, Lancashire. The squad had been in existence for just over ten years and under Morton’s direction had been responsible for some of the biggest, most spectacular busts and arrests ever seen in the north-west.

  Morton — his home force was Greater Manchester — was a very sharp detective indeed. Henry knew he had begun his career on the hard, mean streets of Salford and Moss Side, and worked his way up the ladder of promotion through sheer hard work and uncompromising thief-taking. Henry had a great deal of respect for the man, who was in many ways a role model for him.

  When Henry stepped into the lift, the two Chief Supers glanced quickly at him and resumed their conversation. They talked in hushed tones but were not trying to hide what they were saying.

  Morton was speaking. He was clearly upset.

  ‘ I am totally fucking devastated, Bob… so all I’m saying is that you can have every single member of my squad for this job for as long as it takes. Me too. We’ll drop everything and give this priority. Catch the bastards — catch’ em and crucify’ em! It’s a real blow to us, I can tell you. Christ, I can hardly think straight.’

  FB placed a reassuring hand on Morton’s shoulder.

  ‘ I understand, Tony. If it’d been one of mine, I would’ve felt the same — gutted.’

  ‘ Yeah, thanks, Bob.’

  The lift came to a halt on the floor where the incident room was located. FB gestured for Morton to step out ahead of him. Henry stayed in, finger on the doors-open button. When they were clear he took his finger off.

  The last thing he caught was Morton saying, ‘What I don’t understand is what the hell he was doing there by himself, all tooled up. It doesn’t make sense, though he was a bit of a loner.’

  By which time the doors had closed and the lift was ascending towards the canteen.

  With interest, Henry mulled over what he’d just heard.

  At least it confirmed one thing: it was a cop who’d been gunned down — a member of the NWOCS.

  Next question for Henry: Who?

  ‘ I think sometimes you should revisit your past, don’t you? Does you good. We get so caught up with ourselves as grown-ups we forget simple pleasures like zoos.’

  Conroy was doing the talking as they walked around, pausing briefly at each cage or enclosure to examine the exhibits. Other than themselves, the zoo was empty, and it seemed a cheerless place on that fine, but cold morning.

  Rider was actually mildly impressed with the place. Though small and unspectacular, it was well tended and the animals seemed in good health.

  He wasn’t really taking in what Conroy was saying because most of it was drivel. But then he moved up a gear and got Rider’s attention.

  ‘ I hear you bought a club recently.’

  ‘ You heard right. Doesn’t news travel fast?’ It was only last week he’d completed the full transfer, though he’d actually been operating the place for about a month.

  ‘ It’s a small world we inhabit,’ Conroy commented.

  They leaned on the outer rail of the lion enclosure and looked through the wire mesh at the sleepy inhabitants. One of the big cats rolled onto its back. A lioness glared at the two humans and licked her lips.

  ‘ You inhabit,’ Rider corrected him. ‘A small world YOU inhabit. So, yeah, I’ve bought a club.’

  ‘ What sort of place is it, exactly?’

  Rider started walking again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the lioness stand up, stretch and pad towards them.

  ‘ Exactly? A grotty rundown disco with a bar and a late-night food licence… and if I put some money in it I might make some back. Eventually. What’s your interest?’

  They were now strolling side by side along the enclosure.

  Walking next to them, staring at them and grunting frighteningly was the lioness, her muscles tensing with each step under the tawny coat. Rider couldn’t tell if she was feeling playful or hungry, but the size of her massive jaws and paws made him relieved there was a strong fence between them.

  ‘ Partnership,’ stated Conroy.

  Rider stopped in his tracks. Conroy carried on a few steps before realising he was alone.

  The lioness stopped too, lifted her black nose and looked down its length through haughty black eyes.

  ‘ Fuck off!’ blurted Rider. ‘Why should I want to go into partnership with you?’ He pointed at the lioness who had settled back on her haunches to watch the discussion like a tennis umpire. ‘I’d rather climb in with her.’

  ‘ Oh, come on,’ began Conroy.

  ‘ I’ll head back to the car, if that’s all you came to say.’

  Rider walked away, leaving Conroy open-mouthed and on the edge of anger. The lioness growled at him, emitting a sound which seemed to emanate from her belly, gathering momentum as it passed through her throat into her mouth. Conroy jumped. He stuck two fingers up at her and said, ‘You can fuck off too.’

  He stormed after the disappearing Rider. No one had walked away from him whilst he was talking in the last ten years. People listened to him. If they didn’t, they got something broken.

  By the time he caught up with Rider, he’d adopted a pleading tone of voice which held just the merest hint of threat in it. Rider knew his way of speaking well.

  ‘ Look, John, I expect you’re wondering why I want a piece of action up here, by the sea.’

  ‘ To peddle drugs, I imagine, which is your main source of income,’ Rider said through the side of his mouth, still walking.

  ‘ John, stop and fucking listen to me!’ Conroy took hold of Rider’s arm and yanked him to a standstill. Rider halted abruptly, faced Conroy and looked dangerously down at the hand which was wrapped around his upper arm. Then he stared into Conroy’s eyes.

  The hand dropped away.

  ‘ Sorry,’ mumbled Conroy. Good, Rider thought. He’s still afraid of me. ‘I want to explain something.’

  ‘ You gotta minute.’

  ‘ I need to expand. I own the east of this fucking county, all the way up from Blackburn to Colne. Clubs, pubs, council estates. All mine, but I need to move on. They’re poor people across there, only so much money. I’m stagnating and Blackpool has got to be the place for my next move. So what better, eh, John? You’ve got a club, and those doss-houses you run… let’s get back together again and make some fucking bread.’

  Rider folded his arms defensively and looked into the enclosure at which they were now standing. There was a high wall surrounding a dry moat and a circle of grass with a few trees in the middle of it. On one of the trees sat a huge, Silverback gorilla, arms folded like Rider’s.

  Rider couldn’t help but smile.

  ‘ This place has great potential. Eighteen million visitors every year. Pubs, clubs… that gay scene — those twats love the speed — no real organised stuff here, just two-bit villains with no strategic mind like me. We’ll make a fucking killing. Me and thee… like the old days.’

  They were standing more or less shoulder to shoulder, looking at the gorilla as they talked, and he at them, as though listening.

  ‘ He could be a doorman,’ Conroy laughed.

  Rider gave Conroy a sidelong squint. There was something not quite right about this but he couldn’t pin it down. ‘Ron, you’re lying about something here. I can tell when you ain’t telling the truth. Your nostrils flare when you talk.’

  ‘ Eh? I am not lying, John,’ Conroy said earnestly, his nostrils flaring. Instinctively he put his hand over his nose, realised what he’d done, then self-consciously pulled it away. ‘So what about it? Me and you again?’

  Rider sighed, leaned on the outer wall of the enclosure, resting his weight on his hands.

  ‘ There’s a few things,’ he said easily. ‘First I don’t like you. I don’t like your cop connections or your political ones… they give me the creeps. I wouldn’t go into any deal
with you because I don’t think I could ever trust you after the way you shafted Munrow.’

  ‘ Hey, business is business, John. Not that I’m saying I did shaft him. What is important is that I never shafted you.’

  ‘ Hm, maybe not — but whatever, I don’t like drugs and I won’t entertain them. It took me five years to get off the sods — and I still want to mainline, even now, stood here, and if I go in with you, I’ll slide back. I want to stay clean. And, as I said, I don’t fuckin’ believe you for some reason. You’re a sneaky bastard and you’re up to something. I can feel it in my piss. So the answer’s no. And you know me. I say something — I mean it.’

  Conroy hardened. His jaw line tensed and relaxed a few times. ‘I want in to that gaff of yours, John. Now I’ve asked you nicely. Don’t make me tell you. Nobody says no to me these days.’

  Rider stood slowly upright at this. He considered the words uttered by Conroy and their implication.

  He spoke, but did not look at Conroy because he felt that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to resist tipping the bastard over the wall in with the gorilla.

  ‘ You’ve obviously forgotten who you are talking to. Don’t ever threaten me and don’t try something you’ll regret.’

  Conroy made no response.

  Rider, becoming angry, raised his eyes to the sky and said, ‘Do you understand?’

  Again nothing.

  Rider’s head swivelled. He looked at Conroy who was standing there as rigid as stone.

  Then Rider saw the reason for Conroy’s lack of acknowledgement.

  The muzzle of a gun was being pushed hard into the back of Conroy’s head, just under the point where the hair band held his pony tail. Rider, though rusty in such matters, recognised the type of gun immediately — a K frame. 357 revolver, six shot, constructed of stainless steel. He was close enough to read the words Smith amp; W esson stamped on the barrel. It was a type of gun he had once owned illegally, once used and once dealt in. He knew what kind of damage it was capable of inflicting on a human being.

  Rider’s eyes followed the barrel to the hand, to the arm, to the person who was holding the gun.

  He was a tall guy, youngish, dressed sportingly in a black Reebok tracksuit. He had dark, unkempt curly hair and a three-day growth on his face. Thin, gaunt, he looked as though a good meal would have killed him. His eyes were wide and watery, almost no colour in them, and he sniffed continually. He looked high and excited.

  A couple of metres behind him stood a similarly dressed male who was no more than a teenager, dancing on the balls of his feet, agitated. He waved a semi-automatic pistol loosely in front of him, pointing in the general direction of Rider.

  Rider’s eyes locked briefly with Curly.

  ‘ You finished your little speech, hard man?’ he demanded wildly of Rider. ‘Eh? Eh?’ With each ‘Eh’ he jammed the gun harder into Conroy’s skin.

  ‘ Yeah, finished,’ said Rider. His eyes took in both men as he half-turned to see better.

  ‘ Good, fuckin’ good,’ snorted Curly, really hyper.

  The only thing in Conroy’s favour was that these men were at the peak of a score. People like that made mistakes. They also tended to kill other people, too.

  ‘ What’s happening?’ Rider said, hoping to establish a dialogue to give him time to think.

  ‘ Can’t you fucking see? We’ve come to kill this cunt.’ He rammed the gun into Conroy’s head again.

  Conroy let out a little squeak.

  ‘ Oh, right. I see,’ said Rider, nodding his head. He lifted both hands in an open-palmed gesture. ‘You do what you gotta do,’ he said to Curly, who he had now sussed as a rank amateur, as was his pal behind him. Professionals don’t talk, they act. If they had been pros Conroy would be splattered by now. Rider guessed this was their first direct hit and it wasn’t easy. He knew. ‘I won’t interfere. Not my business.’ To Conroy he said, ‘Sorry, pal. Nothing personal.’

  Conroy’s mouth sagged open in fear. His eyes were bursting out of their sockets. ‘You twat,’ he managed to breath.

  Rider shrugged.

  Curly’s thumb went to the spur of the hammer and pulled it slowly back.

  Rider watched it, fascinated. He saw the firing pin come into view, the cylinder rotate the next bullet into position.

  This was the only chance. He took it.

  At the exact moment the hammer locked into place he lunged at Curly.

  With his right hand he palmed the gun away from the back of Conroy’s head as though he was slamming a door shut.

  What he couldn’t prevent was Curly’s forefinger from pulling the trigger, but this happened as the muzzle of the gun cleared the danger area of Conroy’s skull. The bullet discharged just inches away from Conroy’s ear.

  Rider continued with his self-propelled momentum, pushing the gun further away, his fingers closing over the top strap and cylinder of the gun, gripping tightly, and twisting it easily out of Curly’s hand. At the same time he stepped into a position which put Curly between him and the other gunman.

  Suddenly disarmed and disorientated, Curly staggered back a couple of steps. This should have been a simple hit, no complications. Now things had changed.

  For a start, there was no gun in his hand any more.

  Behind Rider, Conroy sank to his knees, holding both his hands over his left ear. From such close range the shot had almost burst his eardrum.

  Rider eased the gun into the palm of his hand and looked down his nose at Curly, in the way the lioness had earlier surveyed him.

  Before he could say anything, Curly made a bad decision.

  He threw himself to the ground and yelled, ‘Shoot ‘em, Jonno. Shoot the cunts!’

  Jonno, his almost-adolescent companion, was as bewildered as Curly. He dodged and weaved on the spot, trying to get a shot in without hitting Curly — but was slightly off-balance and wide open.

  To be on the safe side, Rider shot Jonno once.

  He didn’t want to kill the poor kid — even though he knew that if the gun was loaded with magnum shells it wouldn’t matter where the hell he hit him, he’d probably die from shock if nothing else — so he aimed in the general area of the youngster’s legs.

  It wasn’t a magnum. He could tell from the recoil.

  The. 357 slug slammed into the outer part of Jonno’s right thigh with an audible ‘slap’ as the flesh burst, ripping through the muscle and lodging by his thigh bone.

  Jonno screamed and dropped his gun. His hands went to the leg and clamped round the wound as he lowered himself to the ground. Blood spurted out between his fingers. He was shivering already as the shock waves pounded up through his abdomen.

  Curly looked up at Rider, who pointed the gun at him.

  ‘ No, don’t, please,’ he gasped desperately.

  Rider was about to enjoy some sport with Curly, but this was quickly curtailed when someone shouted, ‘Oi!’ from a distance. Two people who looked like zoo officials approached cautiously.

  Deciding enough was enough, Rider ignominiously heaved the half-deaf Conroy to his feet and dragged him out of the zoo whilst waving the revolver about so people would keep their distance.

  There were one or two questions Rider wanted to put to him.

  Henry leaned back in his chair, laid down his pen and picked up the statement he had written about his little altercation with Shane. He reread it thoroughly once more. If it came to the crunch, he hoped it would answer all the questions.

  He was satisfied with the content, but winced when he came to the feeble excuse for not putting an entry onto the custody record. It wouldn’t hold water if the Police Complaints Authority ever got involved.

  ‘ Morning, Sarge — sorry, Inspector.’

  Henry glanced up. Derek Luton was standing there, smiling and very smartly dressed.

  ‘ You coming to the briefing, Henry?’

  ‘ Yep, certainly am.’ Henry laid the statement carefully in his desk drawer and stood up. ‘All psyched up for
this, Degsy?’

  ‘ Can’t effing wait,’ he said, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically.

  Henry slid his jacket on. They walked towards the door. ‘I hear it was a detective from NWOCS that got blasted,’ Henry said.

  ‘ Yeah, believe so.’

  ‘ Name been released yet?’

  ‘ At the briefing, I think,’ said Luton.

  ‘ I heard Tony Morton telling FB he would deploy his whole team for this. You could end up working with one of the elite.’

  ‘ I’ll try not to wet my keks,’ laughed Luton.

  Just before they reached the door the phone rang on Henry’s desk. ‘Shit. I’ll see you up there.’ He about faced and walked slowly back, hoping it would stop ringing before he got to it. It didn’t.

  Rider was in the bar of his newly acquired club. It was dark and cool but smelled of old tobacco and spilled beer, beer which had permeated into the carpet, making each tread a sticky one. The whole place was suffering from neglect and bad management, needing gutting and refurbishing.

  Rider sighed and let his eyes skim over the place. It was huge — a former casino, though the last time a roulette wheel had spun was in the early 1960s. Beyond the bar, dance floor and eating areas was a warren of corridors and rooms going up three floors. Rider wondered if he’d bitten off more than he could chew. It was going to cost a lot to get it up and running properly, but the joint had real potential.

  All it needed was cash and dedication.

  Jacko the head barman was polishing glasses. He had come with the place — as had a few other staff — was a good worker and very proud of his territory behind the bar. It was the only area in the whole club that was spotless.

  Rider had only known Jacko about six weeks but had been impressed by him from the start. He appeared honest, loyal and committed to the place. He and Jacko had taken to each other and Rider had no hesitation in keeping him on. A good bar manager could be the lynchpin to the whole operation, and Rider knew a good one when he saw one.

  The rest of the staff he sacked. They were lazy, idle, incompetent and dishonest.

  He drank the last of his third gin and put the glass on the bar. Jacko came, picked it up and wiped underneath it.