Exit Wounds

by Aaron Fisher

  Paul stared at Mullet Man’s eyes down the barrel of the silenced colt. He had no qualms about killing an unarmed man under the right circumstances, or when he had hair as bad as this guy.

  “Paul,” Gary started, tilting his head as he tried to make eye contact. “Paul, give him his gun back.”

  Paul could see Mullet Man’s friend, Whitman, getting itchy around the trigger in his peripheral vision. Gary’s left hand was outstretched as he tried to calm the situation, but his right was closing the distance to his holster.

  There was no way he’d be able to take down all three of them without receiving a metal slug to the head. And even if by some miracle he did, it still didn’t get him out of the prison lockdown or get his brother out of Giacometti’s drug factory.

  “Paul, just give him his gun back.”

  Paul lowered the weapon and tossed it at Mullet Man’s chest. He turned towards the surviving prison officer, knelt down beside his dead companion. Paul crouched down to his level, trying to make eye contact.

  “Please, please don’t kill me!” he begged.

  “No one’s going to kill you,” Paul told him, resting a hand on his shoulder. He did his best not to think about the last man he had made such a promise to. He helped the prison officer to his feet. “What’s your name?”

  The Prison officer’s eyes remained on the dead body lying next to them.

  “Hey. Hey, look at me. What’s your name?”

  “Luke,” the man answered finally.

  “Okay, Luke. Here’s the deal. We need a way out of here, and we need one now. Help us find a way out of here and we’ll just leave you be.”

  Luke shook his head. “There’s no way out! We’re in lockdown! Everything’s sealed!”

  “There’s always a way out,” Gary said.

  “No, no, there isn’t! None of the exits will open until the Armed Response Unit has the perimeter secure. They only open them when they’re ready to move in!”

  Mullet Man sighed, “We’re wasting our time. I’m just gonna ice this guy.”

  “Wait!” Paul pushed himself back into Luke’s wandering eye line. “You hold people on remand custody from the local court across the road, right?”

  Mullet Man waved his gun in the air. “What the fuck has that got to do with anything?”

  Gary raised a hand.

  “Right?!” Paul asked again.

  Luke nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, we do. Why?”

  “So there’s probably an underground tunnel from Court Holding to the Court building?”

  Luke’s nodding became faster. “Yeah, yeah, there is!”

  Paul looked over his shoulder at Gary, “That’s our exit.”

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

  Sharon Bonning had set up a computer in the corner of Colgan’s office to monitor for any further messages from Richard. The M.I.T. Director stood behind the technician, watching over his shoulder. His computer skills were minimal and he wouldn’t even be able to recognise that Richard had contacted them without Sharon telling him, but he felt more proactive standing up gazing anxiously at the monitor than he did sat down gazing anxiously at the clock.

  Even if Colgan had wanted to sit down, his chair was already occupied. Zeddemore had taken up behind his desk, and was on the phone to Daniel Watson, Director of Operations at S.O.C.A..

  This was snowballing faster than even Colgan could ever have imagined. So many people were now being brought into a loop that had originally consisted of just two other people and himself.

  Colgan was under no illusions. He knew with absolute certainty that once all this was over, his career would be finished. Hell, he’d be lucky if they didn’t bring criminal charges against him. He couldn’t blame Richard though. Yes, it had been his idea to keep the investigation off the books for as long as possible. Yes, his enthusiasm to solve the case was suspect of sheer obsession. But in the end, Richard had only offered him a path. It was Colgan himself who had chose to walk down it. Whilst he suspected their reasons differed, Colgan was ready to admit that his own drive to catch the killer plaguing his city was no less an obsession than Richard’s.

  A default ringtone made its presence known and Zeddemore put Watson on hold as he reached into his jacket pocket and took out his mobile.

  Colgan did his best to eavesdrop discreetly but Zeddemore’s side of the conversation consisted of mostly one word answers.

  After a couple of minutes Zeddemore ended the call and let out a long sigh, “When it rains it pours.” He looked up at the back of Colgan’s head, aware that he had been listening to his every word. “Well Andrew, I couldn’t let you have the Armed Response Unit now even if I wanted to.”

  Colgan turned round, finally.

  “H.M.P. Cardiff’s just gone into lockdown,” Zeddemore told him. “They’ve yet to identify the cause but as standard procedure they’re securing the perimeter before they go in.”

  Colgan kept his expression passive as he turned back to the computer screen. This was turning out to be one hell of a day.

  HM Prison Cardiff, Adamsdown

  Paul had kept himself between the Mullet and Luke as he led them all to the area of the prison reserved for Court Holding. These cells were for prisoners were still on trial.

  As the small group walked past the bars the men behind them, dressed in their courtroom best, looked up curiously. Mistaking them for actual guards, a handful started shouting abuse over the monotonous ring of the lockdown alarm. Their mistake was quickly realised as they soon noticed the guns in their hands.

  Luke stopped in front of a steel door and swiped his card on the panel next to it. It beeped twice and a red light flashed. Luke tried once more but again the same double beep and red refusal.

  “See? My card won’t work! It’s not my fault! Nobody’s will whilst we’re still in lockdown!”

  The young guard was pleading for his life, all too aware that Mullet Man would put a bullet in his face as soon as look at him. As long as he stayed useful, he stayed alive, and his usefulness had just ended.

  “Fuck!” The Mullet shouted.

  “Wind your neck back in, Baldwin,” Gary told him. “It’ll open as soon as Armed Response get here.”

  “Yeah? Okay, say it does. How do we know they’re not going to be on the other side when it does?! Huh!?” Mullet Man spat. “We thought of this way, why shouldn’t they?”

  Gary didn’t have an answer.

  Paul looked away. His eyes fell on the empty holding cells across from them. He knew how to avoid the Armed Police but he didn’t know if it was still the right thing to do.

  He was unarmed. Armed Response should just arrest him. Once in custody he could ask to speak to Andrew Colgan and tell him where they were keeping Richard. They could send in a strike team, catch Giacometti and Richard would be rescued safe and sound in time to have dinner with Jade and the boys.

  But then the simplest of things could go so horribly wrong. Paul knew nothing about Cardiff’s Armed Response team or their method. For all he knew they could come in guns blazing and shoot everybody on sight. Or one of the others could start shooting and Paul could get hit in the crossfire. Or even if they did arrest him. The prison incident would be all over the news. Giacometti would know about it, and he would know that his men had been captured or shot. He couldn’t risk them telling the police the location of his base of operations. He’d flee. And probably take Richard with him, or shoot him on site.

  Paul looked up from the ground. “As much as I hate to admit, Mullet Man has a point.” He turned round, “I know what to do.”

  . . . .

  Jason Goddard had been with the Cardiff Armed Response Unit for three months and this was the first non-drill scenario he had been called to. Cardiff prison had gone into lockdown almost forty minutes ago and no one knew why. Communication with anyone inside had been unsuccessful. There was no telling what might be on the other side of that steel door.

  Jason was excited, and he
wasn’t ashamed to admit it. This is what he had trained for. Anyone who signs up for Armed Service and tells you they don’t want action is lying. Some people are just born to fight.

  The lockdown had been instigated in the prisoner transport bay, and the majority of the A.R.U.’s forces were focused outside there. That’s where Jason wanted to be. In the thick of it. But every exit had to be covered, and he, along with the three other men in his squad had been assigned the underground entrance to the prison from the Courthouse.

  Finally the call came through the comms that the go ahead had been given. There were going in. Two of his team took up position at the door, one on either side. The last fell in behind Jason as he stood facing the door but slightly to the left in case they were welcomed with an immediate hail of gunfire.

  Three short chips in his ear. Alpha team was ready. Another set and then it was their turn. Jason confirmed that Charlie team was standing by ready. The countdown began. Five seconds and the lockdown would be lifted and that steel door in front of him would swing open. Three, two, one!

  The first two men poured in, their weapons trained. Jason and the fourth member followed through. They were in a long corridor with open barred cells on either side. Slowly they pushed down the hall way, two men at a time, making sure to clear the cells of hostiles before advancing.

  The first set were empty. Then there was a single short man in his sixties with silver hair. Jason couldn’t help but feel surprised to find the next chamber filled with prison officers. Two were holding onto the bars, shouting to be let out. One stood against the left wall whilst another was sat down, holding the last prison officer close to him. He held a strip of fabric doused in blood and torn from his left arm pressed against the side of the unconscious man’s head.

  “Where’d they go?” Jason asked the two standing close to the bars.

  “How the fuck should I know?!” yelled the prison officer with really bad hair. “Fucking let us out of here!”

  The older man spoke up, nodding his head down the corridor, “Down that way. Think they’re looking for another way out.”

  Jason focused in on the guard tending to the wounded man. “Is he okay?”

  The guard looked up and nodded, “He’ll be fine. Go get them.”

  Jason nodded back, “Okay guys. Sit tight. We’ll have you out of here in no time.”

  The A.R.U. squad disappeared down the corridor like a black tide.

  Once they had gone Gary turned to Paul, who moved out from Luke and slowly rested his head down on the bench. “He’s going to have one hell of a headache when he wakes up.”

  “But at least he’ll wake up,” Paul said.

  Mullet Man sneered, “Whatever. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  Paul used Luke’s keys and opened the gate. They quickly collected their prisoner from across the way and left through the steel door the A.R.U. had kindly left open for them.

  An Abandoned Warehouse, Cardiff Bay

  Richard had finished coding his next message for Colgan and was going through the programming backdoors to send it to him when suddenly the life drained from his monitor. He pressed the power button a couple of time but then realised that the computer towers were also without power.

  “Modern technology, ay?”

  Richard spun round instantly at the sound of Dean’s voice. He stood with his back against the door and the power cable hanging limp between his fingers. With his spare hand he held the Beretta he had taken from Paul and raised it to Richard’s chest.

  “I guess you won’t be sending any more messages to your friends, officer.”

  Highmead Road, Ely

  Whilst the rest of his team had been frantically trying to pool their resources on the Blind Lover murders with S.O.C.A.’s ongoing investigation into the designer drug called Plug, Craig Hughes had been running a background check on his suspect, Gary Ashcroft.

  With just a couple of clicks, Craig had quickly found him on the police database. He was forty-three years old and had a criminal record from his teenage years for shoplifting and general assault. There were also a few noted arrests for suspicion of car theft, but no solid charges. He was a former soldier, having signed up at eighteen he spent twenty-two years serving in the Royal Welch Fusiliers. He left the army shortly before his regiment was amalgamated with the Royal Regiment of Wales to become the Royal Welsh.

  After that, all Craig could pick up on him was a last known address, which is what led him to this suburban street on the West side of Cardiff. In front of him was a semi-detached council house with an unkept garden and a waist-height gate with no fence.

  Craig slipped round the metal wire gate and made his way up the cracked, concrete path to the front door. He could hear a couple arguing next door and the sound of kids kicking a ball around down the street but nothing to suggest there was somebody inside Gary’s house.

  The red paint on the door was peeling away in crispy shards and half of it shook off to the ground when Craig knocked twice on its decaying surface. He decided against identifying himself as a police officer straight away and patiently waited for somebody to answer.

  Nothing.

  Craig had gone without a warrant or proper back-up. He had told himself that the team were so focused on trying to find Richard and his brother that Colgan would be too busy to listen to him, but in truth the real reason he had decided to go out on his own was a little more selfish. He had become a joke in the eyes of his colleagues, and he knew it. They were all much younger and more successful than he, but for once he saw it could be him that cracked the case.

  Craig waited a few more moments then reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. They were all strung together on a compact tool key-ring his wife had bought him last year for his birthday. He flipped open the blade and squeezed it in between the door and the frame. With a couple of scrapes, he pushed the catch upward and it sprung back into its lock and the door swung open.

  As he stepped inside a smile grew across Craig’s face that he couldn’t hide. This was exciting. So what if he didn’t have back-up or a warrant, for once it felt like he was doing real police work.

  Craig found himself in a long corridor that ran from the front of the house to the back door. On his left were two doors, one leading to a front living room and the second to a joint kitchen and utility room. The floors were bare, stripped right down to the original concrete surface. No carpet, no lining, not even any rugs. Woodchip plastered every wall and the yellow corners of the ceiling told Craig that his suspect was probably a smoker.

  Each room was just as barren as the last. The living room held a worn sofa and a fold up table but nothing else. The fridge in the kitchen held a few bits and pieces but nothing Craig would deem edible and the wiring from an electric stove that had been torn out ages ago hung from the socket, leaving an old microwave as the only visible means of cooking.

  Making his way upstairs, Craig quickly realised that it wasn’t any cosier on the next floor. The master bedroom was littered with takeaway boxes and torn out coupons, empty drinks bottles and used syringes.

  According to the records Craig had pulled on him, drug use had been the reason Gary had been forced to leave the army. Back then, his poison had been cocaine. What lay beneath Craig’s shoes suggested he had taken up something a bit harder.

  Craig stood still in the centre of the room. The noise of footsteps didn’t stop with him. His head twitched to the sound of crunching plastic and rustling paper in the next room.

  Silently, he moved one foot in front of the other towards the door, watching his step to avoid the debris on the floor. Slowly, his fingers reached to the back of his belt, passing his firearm holster and tightening round the grip of his ASP 21" expandable baton.

  Reaching the other side of the room, Craig held his baton at shoulder height and flattened his back against the wall. The footsteps had stopped.

  Craig strained his ears, listening intently for any sound. Sweat dripped into his eyes from
his forehead. Taking a deep breath he pushed himself out into the hallway, his weapon raised.

  The black, metallic muzzle of a Glock17 automatic pistol stared back at Craig dispassionately.

  His fingers went numb and the ASP slipped from his grip and fell to the floor.

  Craig forced his eyes to look away from the terrible mouth of darkness, and move down the barrel of the gun to the person pointing it at him.

  His throat was dry, and the word croaked from the back of his mouth like a sob as he gasped, “Tony?”

  11.04 BST (British Summer Time)

  Present Day

  Cardiff. Wales. Great Britain.

  An Abandoned Warehouse, Cardiff Bay

  Dean threw Richard down in a room painted in blood. Shards of flesh hung from metal hooks. It was like the abattoir from hell. A single bulb hung from the ceiling on a long cord, swaying sinisterly back and forth.

  Dean still had Paul’s gun trained on him, so Richard remained where he fell, half on his back with his left knee in a puddle of dark blood.

  “Stay,” Dean said with a smile. He walked round Richard and disappeared past a dead man tied to a fallen wheelchair into the shadows at the far end of the room.

  Richard tried not to pay much attention to his surroundings. The man in the wheelchair was missing the best part of his forehead but compared to the scraps of human carcass draped around the room he had gotten off lightly. At least it would have been quick. Richard couldn’t help but wonder which treatment he would get. Would they just shoot him? A quick instantaneous death. Or would they take their time?

  Three hollow, metallic thuds rang out, like someone knocking on a steel door.

  Richard thought about the kids and Jade. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had seen them. It wasn’t that it had been that long ago. He had been home yesterday. But somehow his memory failed him. He couldn’t remember what Jade had been wearing or what they had done and had said to each other. It was like he had never really been there. He was losing his grip on family life and he knew it.