Bone Machine

by Martyn Waites

  So they sat and watched, flattened down in the seat so as not to attract attention, ignoring the rumblings of their stomachs, the ache of their bladders. The car was pulled away from the house slightly, positioned in a small patch of semi-darkness between two streetlights but still with enough of a view of the main gate. It was a private road, and Amar was surprised that no one had called the police, or whatever rent-a-cop outfit patrolled the place, to report an unknown car in their street. It was a good job they didn’t know he was Asian, or Jamal was a light-skinned black boy, he thought. It was the kind of area where things like that still mattered.

  He looked at the house and wondered again what kind of defences Kovacs had installed. He could see the CCTV cameras on the high wall by the front gate, sweeping the street every so often, the sharpened staves above the wall, the huge double gates. He wondered how many people patrolled the grounds, what they were armed with. How many dogs.

  He broke off his calculations, yawned and stretched, careful not to extend his arms too far over his head. He couldn’t play the stereo in case it ran the battery down, couldn’t read in case he missed something happening before him, couldn’t talk to Jamal because boredom had dried up conversation to post-I Spy levels. He could do nothing but wait and watch.

  And then they saw it.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Jamal was sitting up.

  Amar joined him. Watched. A car pulled up to the gates, stopped before the intercom and the driver spoke into it.

  ‘Camera,’ he snapped at Jamal. Jamal handed it over. Amar grabbed it off him, focused through the telephoto.

  ‘It’s him. Decca Ainsley.’

  A thrill of adrenalin ran through Amar’s body. His body no longer ached, his bladder no longer felt full. He felt like he was in his own skin again. He kept watching, caught a movement from the back seat of the car, swung the lens towards it. A figure sitting behind Decca, holding something to his neck. Focus in further. A gun. An automatic with a man’s finger on the trigger. Amar trained the lens on the gunman’s face.

  Dario Tokic.

  ‘Shit.’

  Amar swallowed hard, ran his tongue over his lips, tried to quell the rising excitement within him, let his professionalism take over. He refocused the lens, looked along the back seat. Next to Dario Tokic was his sister Katya. Holding a knife.

  Amar couldn’t believe his luck.

  Jamal grabbed the camera off Amar, looked for himself.

  ‘Fuckrees, man, look at that …’

  The gates swung open. Dario Tokic said something to Decca, Decca gave a solemn nod and drove in. The gates began to swing shut behind them.

  Without pausing to think his course of action through, Amar started scrambling out of the car.

  ‘Where the fuck you goin’, man?’

  ‘Over there. Got to be quick. You stay here. I mean it, stay here.’

  ‘You can’t. You ain’t fit enough today, bro. Your head ain’t together.’

  ‘Yes, I can. Yes, I am. Yes, it is. Now, stay here.’

  And Amar was running across the road.

  He didn’t think about the guards, armed or otherwise; he didn’t think about the dogs or the CCTV cameras or any potential booby traps within. He just knew he had to get into the grounds of that house. He would deal with everything else as and when it happened.

  He reached the gates just as they were swinging shut and squeezed himself between them. He fell to his knees, feeling the sharp gravel through his jeans as the gates clanged behind him. He stayed like that for a few moments, getting his breath, assessing his options. He looked up the driveway. Decca’s BMW had reached the front of the house and Decca was parking it. Amar stood up, looked around, listened. No dogs, no sirens, no sounds of running feet. He was undetected. For the moment.

  Decca was getting out of the car, Katya and her brother following. Walking towards the front door.

  Amar gave one more quick look around, then, using the evergreen foliage for cover, made his way cautiously up the drive.

  Decca was scared. It wasn’t something that happened often, not something he had much experience of or knew how to cope with. So scared it was taking all his willpower not to wet himself.

  He had driven to Ponteland from North Shields as carefully as possible, keeping well within the speed limit. He had seen films when the hero had been in a similar situation and had gunned the car as fast as he could, throwing it around the road, dislodging the villain’s gun, gaining the upper hand and after a struggle throwing him bodily from the vehicle. The cold metal of the gun against his neck, the cold, dead eyes in the mirror and the words by Tokic before they had driven off reminded him just how far his Hollywood fantasies were from real life.

  He had pulled up before Kovacs’ house, stopped before the intercom.

  ‘No tricks,’ said Tokic. ‘No code words, nothing out of the ordinary. Do that, you die.’

  Decca didn’t doubt it. He spoke into the intercom, asked to be admitted, told them he wanted to see Kovacs. The gate swung open. Decca expelling a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding, drove in.

  He parked before the house.

  ‘Feeling brave, Mr Gangster?’ asked Tokic, pressing the gun harder on his skin.

  Decca couldn’t find the words to answer him with. He shook his head instead.

  ‘Good. Let’s keep it that way.’

  Decca fought hard, found his voice. He felt there were words he had to say. ‘Whuh … why d’you … What d’you want with … with Mr Kovacs, anyway? Is it him, or is it me … me as well?’

  ‘Kovacs killed our family.’ Katya’s voice. A voice filled with damage and resolution yet also softness. ‘While we watched. While we hid and watched.’

  ‘Killed. Raped. Our whole family. Our whole village. And we saw him. And we will never forget him. And now we come to make things even.’ Tokic’s voice was laden with conflicting emotions; he was clearly struggling to keep them in check.

  Decca nodded. ‘So … so it’s not with me, then?’

  ‘You traffic girls. You exploit them.’ Katya again. ‘You use them. And when you have no use for them, you kill them.’

  ‘Aw, no, now, not me. I don’t do that.’ Decca was sweating again. The urge to empty his bladder was becoming overwhelming.

  ‘Maybe you don’t kill them. But you give them over to someone who does.’ Katya’s knife glinted in the night light. ‘I know this. For fact. You have someone to dispose of the bodies.’

  Decca said nothing. Kovacs’ ‘efficient disposal scheme’. Decca knew all about it. He could see that anything more he said or did was useless. Their minds were made up. His fate rested entirely with them.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said, getting out of the car.

  They followed him. He walked up the steps, rang the bell. A shadow from the other side of the door was approaching. A slight hope rose within Decca. Kovacs usually had a staff of two or three on duty guarding him. And they were always armed. And this was one of them coming now.

  The door opened. Before them stood one of Kovacs’ inner retinue of bodyguards, a huge, hulking mountain of muscle who was surprisingly quick on his feet. Decca could attest to that; he had seen him in action. Hope rose further within Decca as he opened his mouth to speak. He could see the guard taking in the scene. His eyes spotted the gun and he swiftly went for his own.

  Too late.

  Decca felt the automatic pulled from the back of his neck, heard the deafening crack of a bullet being fired, and again, and felt the heat as they whizzed past his cheek and saw them connect with the bodyguard’s head and chest, sending him sprawling backwards in a spray of blood, bone and brain.

  Decca stood as if rooted to the spot. His heart was pumping fit to burst, his ears ringing from the blasts. He was aware of Tokic’s face next to his.

  ‘We are not playing games here.’

  Decca felt the prod of the gun. He walked into the house like a sleepwalker, stepping over the prone, lifeless body before him.

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nbsp; ‘Where is he?’ Tokic again.

  Decca pointed towards the vivarium. ‘Through there.’

  ‘Will he have heard the shots?’

  Decca shook his head. ‘Soundproofed. He likes to be alone in there. With his snakes.’

  Tokic laughed. ‘Zmija. The Snake.’ He looked at his sister. ‘Fitting.’

  A sudden noise came from the back of the house. The sound of a heavy-footed man running. Another bodyguard. He rounded the corner and stopped in his tracks, trying to process what he saw before him. He looked up and, mind made up, went for his gun.

  Tokic was quicker than him. Three bullets, four, made the bodyguard give a final, grisly dance of death before collapsing on to the floor.

  He waved the gun at Decca. ‘Are there any more—’ he looked down at the dead bodies ‘—like them?’

  Decca was close to fainting. ‘There might be another one. I don’t know. Depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On … on whether there are three or two. Usually two. Usually.’ He swallowed hard.

  ‘Where would he be?’

  ‘I don’t know. Anywhere.’

  Tokic looked around, made a decision. ‘We will deal with him if we find him. Katya, get their guns.’ She did so. He turned to Decca. ‘Lead.’

  Decca could barely walk. With great effort he managed to place one foot in front of the other, leading them to the double doors of the vivarium. He placed two shaking hands on the handles and gripped. The handles were cold and hard. Solid and reassuring. He wanted to keep on gripping them. Never let go. Just stand there for ever.

  ‘Move.’

  The gun was prodded against his back. Decca had no choice. He opened the doors, went in.

  Amar crept up the gravel drive as slowly as possible, trying not to let his feet make too much of an audible impact. He stayed close to the conifers, feeling the rainwater from that afternoon’s downpour against his face and hands, soaking into his clothes. Tried hard not to be seen.

  He reached the side of the house as Decca and his two passengers were closing the car doors. He looked up: a motion-sensor light was mounted on the corner of the house. If he rounded it while they were there the light would go on. He would have to sidestep it or be spotlit by it. He flattened himself against the brickwork, began edging his way along to the corner hoping not to come into the ambit of the sensor.

  Then he heard them: the unmistakable sound of gunfire. Two shots. Amar knew from experience that real guns didn’t sound like they did in the movies, particularly Michael Mann movies, but that the results were more messy and dangerous than could be shown. He heard gasps and stifled screams followed by the sound of people moving quickly into the house.

  Time for a calculated risk. Thinking they were gone inside, he walked swiftly around the corner of the building, becoming spotlit as he did so. There was no one in front of the house and the door was open. He hurried towards it. What he saw there stopped him.

  A dead body blocked his path.

  He heard voices from inside, flattened himself against the wall. Then more gunshots.

  His breathing felt heavier, his heart began doing overtime. They weren’t playing games, this lot, he thought. This was the real deal.

  Voices again from inside, then the sound of feet moving off somewhere else inside the house. He waited until all was still, then slowly made his way up the steps, over the dead body, being careful not to get blood on his shoes and into the house.

  He saw the other body lying on the floor.

  ‘Jesus …’

  He hadn’t meant to speak. He looked around quickly, seeing if he had been heard. No response. He looked around again, listened hard. Heard voices coming from down a corridor on his right. Walked slowly down that way.

  He came to a set of double doors. Closed. He leaned in close, put his ear to them. Tried to make out what was being said.

  Kovacs was at the far end of the room looking through the glass at one of his prize specimens. The snake was curled around a tree, its flat, unblinking eyes staring back at him. It was hard to tell whether the snake was regarding him fondly, with hatred, as a potential meal or not regarding him at all. Kovacs was dressed in his usual business suit, his tie removed, his shirt buttoned up to the neck. He turned when he heard the doors open.

  ‘Derek.’ He frowned. ‘Why are you here?’

  Dario and Katya Tokic stepped into the room, closed the door behind them. Kovacs’ eyes widened.

  ‘What are they doing here? Derek, remove them.’

  Kovacs moved to a central antique table, made as if to press a button.

  ‘Don’t do that.’ Tokic pointed the gun at him. Kovacs stopped moving, looked at him.

  ‘I have men in this house. They will be here in seconds.’

  Tokic couldn’t keep the grin from his face. It was the grin of the powerless suddenly given power. And revelling in all the cruelty that comes with it. ‘They will not. I have dealt with them.’

  Kovacs looked at Decca as if seeking confirmation. Decca nodded. Kovacs tried to keep his face from showing anger, or indeed any emotion. He spoke. ‘What do you want?’ he said flatly.

  ‘Marco Kovacs,’ said Dario Tokic. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Here,’ said Kovacs. He seemed to be having the same trouble as Decca in swallowing.

  Tokic looked around. ‘Where?’

  Decca pointed at Kovacs. ‘There. In front of you.’ Desperation was showing in his voice.

  Tokic and Katya exchanged glances.

  ‘That is not him,’ said Katya. ‘That is not the man who killed our family.’

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Tokic, taking a step towards Kovacs.

  ‘Marco Kovacs. I am Marco Kovacs. A legitimate businessman.’

  ‘Marco Kovacs was a member of Arkan’s Tigers. Marco Kovacs was known as the Snake. A warlord. Marco Kovacs was the person who tortured and killed our family. We know what he looks like. You know him. They show me photo of you and him. So who are you?’

  Kovacs looked as if he was about to expire before them. ‘I have told you. I am … am Marco Kovacs …’

  Tokic stepped in front of him. He pulled his arm back, ready to bring down his fist holding the gun on to Kovacs’ face.

  There was a noise. From behind the double doors.

  Tokic stopped, arm aloft. He turned to Decca. ‘What was that?’

  Decca shrugged. ‘I … I don’t know …’

  Tokic turned again to Kovacs. ‘You have more than two bodyguards in this house tonight? The truth.’

  Kovacs shook his head. ‘No, no. Just two …’

  Tokic looked between Kovacs and Decca, deciding whether they were telling the truth. He turned to Katya. ‘Go and look.’ He gestured with his eyes at the automatic she was holding. ‘Kill whoever is there.’

  Katya nodded and left the room.

  Tokic turned back to Kovacs. ‘Again. Who are you?’

  Fuck, thought Amar. Fuck.

  He had tried to straighten up. The door was heavy, old. Not much sound travelled through it. He had tried to move to the centre, put his ear on the gap. In doing so he had caught his sleeve on the handle. Pulling it away had made the noise.

  He heard footsteps coming towards him, looked around.

  He couldn’t run back to the main door he would be seen. And shot, if the other two bodies were anything to go by. He looked for somewhere else to go, a hiding place. Saw an entrance to what he presumed was a cellar under the staircase. He ran towards it, pulled at the handle.

  Locked.

  He looked around again. The footsteps were getting nearer, the handle being turned.

  An alcove, shadowed, just along from the cellar doorway. That would have to do. That was all there was. He ran to it, pressed himself up against the wall, hoped to melt away into the darkness.

  The door opened. Footsteps on the polished wooden floor. They came nearer.

  Amar pressed himself harder into the wall.

  Nearer.

 
; He tried to stop breathing, willed himself invisible. In desperation he closed his eyes.

  The footsteps stopped.

  Amar opened his eyes. There was nothing else he could do.

  Before him stood Katya. Pointing a gun at him.

  Amar breathed out, accepting his fate. There was nothing he could do now.

  Katya looked at him, shocked to see him there at first. Then she recognized him. The gun wavered.

  Amar waited. Neither spoke.

  Then a voice came from the double doors.

  ‘Katya. Find anything?’ Dario Tokic. Impatient.

  Katya looked between the sound of her brother’s voice and Amar. She opened her mouth to speak. Amar held his breath.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Get back in here, then.’

  She turned, ready to go.

  Amar looked at her, opened his mouth, whispered thanks, ready to come out. She shook her head, crossed to him again. Put her mouth against his ear. Whispered gently. ‘Say nothing. Do nothing. Stay hidden. And you will live.’

  He nodded. She gave a slight nod in return, turned, walked back down the corridor.

  Closed the door behind her.

  Amar, body shaking all over, let out a silent sigh.

  ‘Liar.’

  Tokic picked up where he had left off. He raked the gun across Kovacs’ face. Kovacs twisted backward away from the blow, lost his balance, fell to one knee. Blood was beginning to seep from the ragged wound on his cheek. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I, I told you. Marco Kovacs … You bastard …’

  Tokic looked around as if looking for something to earth him, something that would stop him exploding. He seemed almost incandescent with rage. His eyes fell on the snakes. Rows of them. Behind glass. Behind mesh. Primeval forces of survival barely contained. He smiled.

  ‘You have the key for these cages?’

  Kovacs nodded.

  Tokic looked around, let his eyes alight on a particular pit of snakes. ‘These are cobras, are they not?’

  Kovacs nodded again.