Exit Wounds

by Aaron Fisher

  “I called you Dad,” Craig said. “How many other kids have you got?!”

  Edward sneered with a mumble, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  As his father hobbled back down the corridor without even asking them why they were there, Craig forced a smile through the embarrassment. Tony smiled back politely before following Edward, leaving Craig to shut the door behind them.

  Tony’s eyes bounced over the horded accumulation of working class life that swamped the living room. He remained standing as Edward lowered himself slowly into a well worn armchair with a puff.

  Edward looked up at Tony, “You’re fucking filth.”

  Tony opened his mouth to speak but words failed him.

  “He works at the office with me, Dad,” Craig said, pushing past Tony. He fell back into the sofa opposite his father.

  Edward chewed his gums, “Bastard pigs.” He turned to his son. “Bloody disgrace.”

  “Disgrace? What? Having a member of the family that actually earns an honest living?”

  “Fuck off! I’ve never met an honest copper my whole life!”

  Craig sighed, “Well, strictly speaking, Dad, I’m not actually a Police Officer. I’m a-”

  “Waste of fucking space!” Edward spat. He chuckled to himself. “Aye, you can say that again.”

  Tony stepped in from the archway, “Mr. Hughes, I-”

  “Ooooh, look at him! Gay boy’s got a tongue after all!”

  “Dad!”

  “I suppose he must do. After all what else would he lick your arsehole out with?”

  “DAD! For fuck’s sake! Will you just shut up and listen for five minutes! This is important!”

  Tony had never heard Craig raise his voice before yet alone swear. The difference shocked even him. Edward Hughes retreated back into his armchair, his lips twitching but not speaking.

  “Dad, we’re trying to catch the guy who’s being raping and killing all the young girls in Cardiff. Now we’ve got a possible suspect, but we need your help to get an I.D. on him.”

  Tony had wanted to play this his way, hiding as much information from Edward Hughes as possible. But Craig’s methods seemed to be working. His father had stopped yelling and was listening intently.

  “The man we’re looking for has a tattoo similar to yours, Dad,” Craig held out his hand to Tony. He handed him the file. Craig flicked through and held up the enlargement of the bloody dagger flanked on either side by wings.

  “Aye, that’s our old gang insignia!” Edward held up his right hand to show his own mark. “Death from above!”

  Craig pulled out a second photograph and passed it to his father, “Dad, do you recognise this man?”

  Edward nodded excitedly straight away, “’Course I fucking do! That’s our Gary, that is! Gary Ashcroft!”

  An Abandoned Warehouse, Cardiff Bay

  “I’m going to tear his fucking throat out!” Dean screamed, throwing a chair across the room. It bounced off the wall, splintering one of the wooden panels.

  “Calm yourself, my friend. After all, he was only defending himself. It was your mistake to let him get the better of you,” Giacometti said as he sat behind his own desk.

  They were in another of the warehouses’ upper offices. This one was one of the dirty, untouched rooms. Cobwebs hung from every corner and bungeed across the ceiling. Dust lay in abundance on every possible surface.

  Dean mopped his bloody brow with a piece of damp cloth, which in between wipes he lashed out into the air with every other syllable, “He’s wrong, boss! They’re both wrong! We should shoot the both of them now!”

  “Oh yeah, Reynolds, nice one! And then how would we get access to the server? If you had your way, we’d have shot every hacker in South Wales by now!” a new voice argued.

  Dean turned to the man leaning against the opposite wall with his arms folded. “Fuck you! When was the last time you got your hands dirty, you piece of shit!”

  “Dean!” Giacometti barked, slamming a fist down on the desk. He breathed in deeply before continuing. “We each have our tasks. All of us have our own parts to play in this.”

  Dean reluctantly bit down on his tongue, “I’m sorry, boss. It just seems that from where I’m standing, some of us have bigger parts than others.”

  Giacometti didn’t speak but the look in his eyes was enough to make Dean drop the matter. He pressed his index finger down against the wood and turned in his chair. “Dean’s suspicions about the Gillespie twins have not fallen on deaf ears. I caught only the end of their... altercation. But it seems to me that our friend Paul clearly knows how to handle himself.”

  “He got lucky,” Dean mumbled under his breath.

  Giacometti chose to ignore him.

  The other man nodded in agreement, “He’s definitely had hand-to-hand training.”

  “Police training?”

  The man shrugged his shoulders, “It’s possible, although he could just as easily be ex-military. It’s been de-emphasised in the majority of regiments now, but the Special Air Service still practices it.”

  “The S.A.S.?” Giacometti leaned back into his chair, his eyes down. He rolled his tongue around in his mouth, “Tell me, my friend, what would the British army be doing sending a man undercover into our operations?”

  “They wouldn’t,” the man answered. “If the Special Forces were aware of us they’d come in strong and fast. With Close Quarters Combat surprise is always the key. I doubt very much they would send in just one man, or even two.” He pushed his back off from the wall and stood up straight. “Personally, I think his training checks out with their story. Richard’s the brains, Paul is the muscle. It’s a good set-up for their line of work.”

  Giacometti smiled, “You’ve got to be very careful with people like us around.” He stood up and began buttoning his shirt. “We shall let the Gillespie brothers continue with their work, for now. They can be killed later.”

  Dean grinned. “I’m going to be looking forward to that all day!”

  The other man stepped forward, “There is one other thing. Since Reynolds decided to go all paranoid again and shoot Walker-”

  “Hey! The bastard was stealing our supply! I’m fucking tell you!” Dean insisted.

  “Whatever!” The man cut him off. “The fact remains that I am now a man down.”

  Giacometti tucked his shirt into his trousers, “Well, since our friend, Paul Gillespie is sat there not doing much, why don’t you take him out with you. Give him a chance to stretch his legs.”

  “You can’t take that fucking dick!” Dean protested. “I’ll go!”

  “You already have an assignment,” Giacometti pulled on a suit jacket. His eyes rose, boring into Dean’s. “I suggest you see to it.”

  Dean bowed his head slightly, “Yes, boss.”

  Giacometti waited until Dean had left the room, before walking round his desk. He gripped the other man by the arms, “I want you to know that your loyalty is not going unnoticed, nor will it go unrewarded. It is hard for a man to take orders without question, especially when they clash so violently with one’s own morals and principles.”

  The man fought the urge to break into ironic laughter. He wasn’t sure he had any morals or principles left in him.

  “I have tested your faith in me, I know that. And in turn you have also been tested. Before you go, take our young friend Paul down to see Charlie. Make sure he is properly tested.” Giacometti hadn’t released his grip yet. He leaned in closer, “Have you done what I asked of you?”

  An eel in the man’s gut squirmed and twisted, tying his insides in knots. He nodded slowly, “She’s downstairs, boss.”

  Giacometti patted the man on the shoulder and smiled, “Then perhaps it is time I properly introduced myself.”

  . . . .

  Paul was doing his best to follow what his brother was telling him but he didn’t have a degree in computer forensics and Richard was churning out words at a hundred miles an hour.

  “You
know, Rich, we may live in Wales, but English is still primarily our first language. Would you mind repeating that, preferably in words of two or less syllables?”

  Richard huffed in annoyance and started again slowly, “A rootkit is a computer program designed to help intruders gain access to systems whilst avoiding detection. A successfully installed rootkit allows an unauthorised user to act as a system administrator, and gives them the power to take full control of the system they’re attacking.”

  Paul nodded, “Okay, with you so far.”

  “The server that they want me to hack into has a rootkit detection system. Thomas gave me a load of data on the operating system’s source code, so that I could see what I was up against. It wasn’t long before I recognised the code as one that I had wrote myself.” Richard paused for breath. “Paul, they’re hacking our own server.”

  Paul didn’t have to be a computer expert to know that was bad news, “We have to get out of here right now.”

  Before Richard had a chance to reply, the office door opened. In stepped a man in his mid forties, although his worn features made him look older. He wore a thick, camouflage combat jacket and Paul spotted a fading tattoo of a knife with wings on the back of his right hand.

  “Giacometti wants you to come with me,” he said.

  “Come where?” Paul asked.

  “We’ve doing a little job. The boss thinks you might be able to help us.”

  The brothers looked at each other.

  Sensing their caution, the man said, “Don’t worry, you’ll brother will be fine here. You have my word.”

  For all its worth.

  Paul eyed the man carefully, “And who’s word is that?”

  The man laughed slightly, and held out his hand. “My name’s Gary. Pleased to meet you.”

  Paul stepped forward and shook his hand. “Alright, Gary. I’m guessing I don’t really have much choice in this?”

  Gary shook his head, still smiling. “Not a lot.”

  “Okay then.” Paul looked at his brother and nodded. “See you later bro.”

  Richard watched them turn for the door, not knowing what to do to stop them from going. As Paul turned to shut the door behind him, he silently mouthed one word to his brother. “Go.”

  Bedwas Road, Porset, Caerphilly

  Outside the house, Craig and Tony took a minute to take in what they’d learnt. Craig was the first to speak up, “So now what do we do? We got a name, and a face, but no idea where to find him.”

  Tony remained silent. Craig turned and realised he was staring down at his mobile.

  “Hey,” Craig nudged his arm, “I’m talking to you.”

  “Yeah I heard,” Tony mumbled without looking up.

  Craig shifted to look at the phone’s screen but Tony quickly pocketed it.

  “So now what?

  The vacant expression on Tony’s face gave Craig no answers.

  “I’m guessing you still think it’s a bad idea to go to the news guys with this?”

  Tony nodded, absently.

  “Tony, what the hell is going on in that head of yours?”

  Horton suddenly turned to face Craig. His eyes studied his partner for a moment before he finally spoke, “Craig, I need you to head back to M.I.T.. Update Colgan on what we’ve learned.”

  Craig asked, “Can’t we just do that together?” But Tony had already made for his car. “Wait, where are you going?”

  “I’ve got a personal matter to deal with.”

  “Personal? Since when do you have anything personal?”

  Tony pretended not to hear him.

  “Hey, I came with you! How am I supposed to go back?”

  Tony didn’t bother to answer. He revved up the engine of his Audi TT and sped off.

  M.I.T. (Murder Investigation Taskforce), Cardiff Branch

  Colgan drummed his fingers on his desk impatiently, his eyes again flicking from the clock on his wall to the mobile phone in front of him. He held the receiver of his landline phone to his ear tightly.

  “Hello, South Wales British Transport Police, P.C. Brown speaking,” a voice well too chirpy for the hour answered after nearly seven rings.

  “Good Morning, Constable Brown. This is Andrew Colgan, Director of the Murder Investigation Taskforce, Cardiff Branch.”

  “Good morning, sir. How can I help?”

  “Look, I know it’s still very early on in the day, but could tell me if there have been any reports of a grey Ford Focus been found dumped, or torched anywhere in the Cardiff area within the last couple of hours?” Colgan decided against giving out the registration number.

  “I can certainly check for you, sir. Can I ask what the enquiry is regarding?”

  “It’s just concerning a possible lead on one of our ongoing cases. Don’t worry Constable, I’m not looking to step on anyone’s toes.”

  Colgan thought he heard a small laugh from the other end of the line, “Yes, sir. I’ll retrieve that information for you as quickly as possible. Would you like me to call you back?”

  “No, I’ll wait.”

  Police lines never came with music when put on hold and after a couple of clicks the line went silent. Colgan took the opportunity to check the time again, just as his office door opened without warning for the second time that day.

  Spotting instantly that Colgan was on the phone, Zeddemore sat himself down without being asked. Now level, their eyes met. Colgan didn’t try too hard to hide his lack of enthusiasm for his superior’s return.

  “Mr. Colgan?”

  “Yes, I’m still here,” he answered, looking down to his desk.

  “I’m afraid there have been no reports of any vehicles matching that description today.” P.C. Brown said.

  Colgan eyes flicked back up to Zeddemore. The District Director watched him attentively. “Ok, thanks anyway.”

  Returning the receiver to its place, Colgan smiled up at his boss, “Two visits in one morning!”

  “Oh, I’ll be floating around all day,” Zeddemore said. It was almost a threat.

  Andrew nodded, “Just showing your face?”

  Zeddemore smiled back but didn’t answer.

  On any other day Colgan might have enjoyed a bout or two of cerebral fencing with his conceited superior, but not today. His mind was already stretched far too thinly and Zeddemore was just one more monkey on his back that he could do without.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me,” Colgan said, standing up. “Call of nature.”

  The District Director remained seated and silent yet his eyes followed Colgan as he quickly picked up the mobile phone from his desk and left the room.

  An Abandoned Warehouse, Cardiff Bay

  Gary led Paul back into the first warehouse, down the metal staircase, and across the loading bay to the secret corridor Paul had already discovered by himself earlier. Two armed men fell in behind them.

  Paul quickly dismissed the idea that they were taking him to be killed. They could have done that when they had thirty AKs trained on him. Yet still he couldn’t shake the feeling that with every step he was heading towards something very bad.

  When then they turned the corner Paul noticed the blood trail had already started to dry. An unhealthily thin man with blood-shot eyes was mopping it up with a bucket of soapy water.

  Paul didn’t bother to act surprised by the sight of blood. They knew now that he was no computer geek and had probably realised that he was no stranger to a fight. It would be out of character to gasp in astonishment now.

  Gary veered to the left, opened the door to the room Paul had heard the gunshot from, and gestured for Paul to precede him inside. Paul walked in with all the bluster of a man who owned the place but what greeted his eyes inside the room did make him gasp, in horror.

  Paul had seen the sickening atrocities that man could commit against his own kind before. It hated to admit it but he himself could be blamed with committing his fair share. They flashed through his mind in still imagery as his mind
cross-referenced all he had seen and done to find something worse that what he witnessed now.

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Gary told him. “It just makes you gag more.”

  Opening his mouth, Paul hadn’t even been aware that he was doing it, but he had been holding his breath. Bile had already risen part way up his chest and as his nose and mouth filled with the stench of rotting flesh, he battled to stop it spewing out.

  Bits of human carcass hung from meat hooks dangling from the ceiling and walls. A torso and head here, a severed arm there. The walls were painted with blood and a single light dangled from the ceiling in the centre of the room. It swayed gently, bringing the torn corpses to twisted life as their shadows danced.

  “This is sick,” Paul hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

  Gary nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

  He moved to the back of the room and disappeared into the shadows for a moment. Paul heard a muffled moan and the sound of scraping metal. Gary melted out of the darkness, pushing an old wheelchair in front of him. A man struggled in the chair, his wrists tied to its arms and his legs bound to the foot rest. His mouth was gagged with a cloth tied behind the back of his head and his clothes were tailored with the same gory splendour as the rest of the room.

  Gary parked the beaten man in the centre of the room under the hanging light bulb. The man was panting heavily and jerked violently to break free from his bonds. Gary clipped him across the head once and told him to shut up. He pulled out a handgun from inside his jacket, a very nice Colt M1911, Paul noted, and walked back. He pulled back the slide, inserting a round into the chamber and ejected the magazine cartridge. He offered the Colt to Paul. “Shoot him.”

  Paul froze. Some part of him had known this was coming, yet he was still completely unprepared.

  “Either you shoot him, or I shoot you, and then I go upstairs and shoot your brother,” Gary said. Something in his voice kept the threat from seeming personal.

  Paul knew this was a test. These guys were cautious enough, but he had given them even more cause for distrust when they caught him hitting shit into that prick Dean. If only he hadn’t got caught. Paul shook the thought from his head. Hindsight was useless to him now.