The Double Tap mc-2

by Stephen Leather

  ‘Didn’t the Bureau realise what was happening?’

  Jackman shook his head. ‘I told them I was building up a relationship with him with a view to expanding our profile and they took that at face value. The reports I turned in contained just enough new information to make them think I was making slow progress. They’re not too bright, Mike. Intelligent, yes. But not smart. There’s a difference. Anton taught me that. And stop calling me Bernie, will you. My name’s Bernard.’

  ‘Are you saying that you never thought about killing before you met Madeley?’

  Jackman’s upper lip curled back in a sneer. ‘Don’t try to analyse me, Mike. You don’t have the mental capacity.’ He pointed the gun at Cramer’s face. His finger tightened on the trigger.

  ‘Answer me one thing, though,’ said Cramer. Jackman didn’t say anything, but Cramer saw his trigger finger relax. ‘Why the head-shot? Why did you shoot them in the head and then in the chest? It wasn’t just a signature, was it?’

  Jackman grinned. ‘It was a tribute,’ he said. ‘That was how Anton killed his victims. It locked in their souls, he said.’ He saw the look of disbelief in Cramer’s eyes and his grin vanished. ‘That’s what he said. I’m not saying I believed him. It was just his theory, that’s all.’

  ‘So what was the real reason? You must have wondered.’

  ‘Of course I wondered.’ Jackman paced up and down, but he kept the gun aimed at Cramer.

  ‘So tell me.’

  Jackman stopped pacing. He stared at Cramer. Cramer held the look. Jackman was three paces away. Within range. Cramer put his hands together. It was a non-threatening pose but his right hand was just inches away from the stiletto again. ‘He was abused by his father as a child,’ Jackman continued. ‘Physical abuse of a particularly vicious kind. His mother used to watch. She’d watch and she’d encourage her husband. Sometimes she’d hold Anton down so that her husband could do what he wanted. That’s what he remembered most. Not the buggery, not the pain, but her eyes. Watching him.’

  ‘So when he started killing, he shot them in the face?’

  Jackman nodded. ‘You got it.’

  ‘And you decided to do it the same way. .’

  ‘So that he’d know,’ finished Jackman. ‘He’d know that I was as good as he was. Better even, because he was in prison and I was on the outside.’

  Jackman stopped speaking as if realising that he’d already said too much. He stretched his arm out, the gun levelled at Cramer’s face. ‘Enough talking,’ he said. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  The Colonel screwed up his eyes and peered up at the windows of Vander Mayer’s flat. Whoever had been standing there had moved away. He turned and picked up the phone. He was about to tap out the number to Vander Mayer’s flat but he changed his mind and called the doorman again instead. ‘Do me a favour, will you?’ he said once the man answered. ‘I’m having trouble getting through to Mr Vander Mayer’s apartment. Will you go up and see if there’s a problem with his telephone?’

  ‘Of course,’ said the doorman. ‘Though it was okay when I called up before.’

  ‘Well, try again. If you get through, ask him to call me at this number.’ The Colonel gave the doorman the number of the apartment he was using. ‘If you can’t get an answer, pop up and see if there’s something wrong with the phone.’

  The Colonel replaced the receiver and sat down in front of the desk. He tapped his walking stick on the floor, deep in thought. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

  ‘Let the girl go,’ said Cramer. ‘This is between you and me.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with you and me,’ said Jackman. ‘I’m taking care of business, that’s all.’ He started to squeeze the trigger. ‘You know what I like best of all?’ Jackman asked. Cramer said nothing. ‘The look in their eyes when they realise they’re going to die.’

  Cramer stared back at Jackman. ‘Just do it, Bernie,’ he said quietly. ‘Pull the trigger and get it over with.’

  Jackman frowned. ‘You’re not scared, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘If you beg me for your life, I might not kill you.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jackman, flatly.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Cramer.

  ‘Cramer, do as he says,’ said Su-ming.

  Cramer turned to look at her. He’d almost forgotten that she was still in the room. ‘He’s going to kill me anyway, Su-ming.’

  Jackman looked at Su-ming and smiled cruelly. ‘What about you, little lady? Why don’t you beg for his life?’

  ‘Su-ming, don’t,’ said Cramer. Jackman had switched his attention to Su-ming, though the gun was still pointing at Cramer’s face. Cramer moved his hand a fraction and the fingers of his right hand probed inside his left sleeve and found the hilt of the stiletto.

  Jackman suddenly switched his attention back to Cramer. Cramer let his hands fall to his sides. ‘You think you’re better than me, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Yes, you do. They picked you to go up against me, and you figured you were good enough to take me on. That was the plan, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Are you going to talk me to death, Bernie? Or are you going to pull the trigger?’

  Jackman’s eyes hardened. ‘That would be too easy, wouldn’t it? I’ve got the drop on you, shooting you cold wouldn’t prove anything, would it?’

  ‘Just do it, Bernie.’

  Jackman studied him for several seconds. ‘Why?’ he said eventually. ‘Why are you doing this? No one wants to die.’

  ‘He does,’ said Su-ming quietly.

  Cramer whirled around and glared at her. ‘Shut up!’ he hissed.

  Su-ming wouldn’t look at him. She stood up and faced Jackman. ‘He’s dying. He’s got cancer. He wants to be killed, it’s an easy way out for him.’

  ‘Su-ming, shut the fuck up,’ Cramer shouted.

  ‘If you kill him, you’ll be doing him a favour,’ said Su-ming as if Cramer hadn’t spoken.

  Jackman began to chuckle. His shoulders shook as he laughed, but his eyes remained hard. ‘Well, well, well,’ he said. ‘Who’d have thought it? A death-wish.’

  He backed away from Cramer and took the Walther off the desk. He weighed it in his hand. ‘It’s a small gun, not much stopping power,’ he mused.

  ‘It does the job,’ said Cramer.

  There was a coffee table to Cramer’s right, black marble with white veins running through it. Jackman walked over to the table and put the gun down on it, the butt facing Cramer. Jackman slowly backed away until the gun was midway between them. Cramer looked at the gun. The safety was off. It was two paces away from him, and Jackman was a further two paces away from the table.

  Jackman gestured at the gun. ‘Go for it,’ he said.

  Cramer shook his head. ‘I’m through playing games,’ he said.

  Jackman stared at him menacingly. Then slowly and purposefully he pointed the gun at Su-ming. ‘If you don’t, I’ll shoot her first. In the gut. Then I’ll shoot you.’

  Su-ming wrapped her arms around herself as if giving herself a hug. Cramer glared at Jackman. ‘If I try for the gun, will you let her go?’ he asked.

  Jackman sighed wearily. ‘What do you think?’ he said.

  ‘I think you’ll kill her anyway.’

  Jackman nodded at Cramer’s gun. ‘At least if you go for it, you’ve got a chance of saving her life and yours.’

  Cramer looked at the gun. Two paces. More than enough time for Jackman to aim and fire. He wasn’t being offered any sort of chance. He put his hands on his hips and stared at Jackman.

  ‘Well?’ said Jackman. ‘Shall I count to three or something?’

  ‘You’ve never worried about shooting an unarmed man before, have you?’ said Cramer. ‘You’ve shot women and children and old men so why this sudden urge to give me a break?’

  Jackman pursed his lips as if considering how to reply. ‘The kick,’ he said. ‘The ch
allenge. Everything so far has almost been too easy.’

  ‘You want to prove that you’re better than me, is that it? The shoot-out at the OK Corral?’

  Jackman nodded slowly. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Go to hell,’ said Cramer. He took a step away from the marble coffee table. And another. It put the gun well out of reach but Cramer was now closer to Jackman. But not close enough.

  The doorman tapped in the code for the Vander Mayer floor on the lift keypad and the doors began to close. He heard a shout and he pressed the button to open the doors again. Mrs Carey, a fifty-something divorcee, barrelled into the lift with her Yorkshire terrier clasped to her ample bosom.

  ‘Good evening, Eric,’ she said. She nodded at the security keypad. ‘Can you press my floor, please? You know the code, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course, Mrs Carey,’ said Eric. He punched in the code and the doors closed again. ‘And how’s little Janie today?’ He put out a hand to pat the dog but it snarled and Eric pulled his hand away.

  ‘She’s got a poorly tummy,’ said Mrs Carey, planting a kiss on the dog’s neck.

  ‘Poor thing,’ said Eric, who would quite happily have strangled the bad-tempered dog.

  Mrs Carey lived on the floor below Mr Vander Mayer and was one of the richest residents in the tower. She could always be relied on for a big tip at Christmas, unlike Mr Vander Mayer who was rarely around during the festive season. Eric wondered what all the fuss was about, why it was so important that he go up and check on Vander Mayer. There’d been something strange going on for the past few days, what with the security guys changing, and the new face who’d been staying in the apartment with Vander Mayer’s assistant, and two hefty bodyguards acting as if they owned the place.

  ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’ asked Mrs Carey.

  Eric realised he must have been thinking out loud. ‘Nothing, Mrs Carey,’ he said. The lift stopped at Mrs Carey’s floor.

  Cramer suddenly felt light-headed. He wasn’t sure if it was the painkillers he’d swallowed earlier or the adrenalin rush kicking in. He’d have to make his move soon and his body was gearing up for action. He took a deep breath.

  ‘It’s not much of a choice, Mike, I know, but it’s more than I normally give my targets.’

  ‘Targets? Is that what you call them? That’s so you can distance yourself from what you’re doing, isn’t it? That’s why you shoot them in the face. Because then they stop being people. It dehumanises them, doesn’t it? So that you can deal with it. You know you’re sick, Bernie. You know it but you can’t face it.’

  Jackman ignored him. ‘One,’ he said.

  Cramer flexed his fingers. He looked at the Walther on the table. Then he looked at the gun in Jackman’s hand. ‘This isn’t fair,’ Cramer said.

  Jackman’s lips formed a tight line. ‘Two,’ he said.

  Su-ming stood up. She took a step towards Jackman, her hands pressed together in front of her as if in prayer. ‘Don’t kill him,’ she said. ‘Please don’t kill him.’

  Jackman didn’t look at her. His eyes were locked on Cramer.

  ‘We won’t say anything,’ Su-ming pleaded. ‘You can just go. You’ve done what you’ve been paid for. You’ve fulfilled your contract.’

  ‘Don’t beg, Su-ming,’ said Cramer.

  ‘But. .’ Su-ming began. Before she could finish, the doorbell rang. Cramer tensed. Jackman looked towards the front door. Cramer’s right hand edged towards his left. He steadied his breathing. He felt a sudden elation. This was it. His one chance.

  The doorbell rang again, more insistent this time. ‘Are you expecting anyone?’ Jackman whispered to Su-ming.

  She shook her head. Cramer slipped his fingers inside his sleeve. He touched the hilt of the knife. Now, now, now, his mind screamed, but he held himself back. Jackman’s gun was still pointing at his stomach and all he had to do was tighten his trigger finger and he couldn’t miss. Cramer started breathing tidally so that his chest hardly moved. Jackman’s gun wavered. It was just a few degrees but it was enough. Cramer started to move.

  He went up onto the balls of his feet and took a step forward as his hand grasped the stiletto. It came out of its sheath smoothly, with the barest whisper of plastic against nylon.

  Jackman noticed the movement and began to turn towards Cramer. Su-ming also saw Cramer move. Her mouth opened in surprise. She was closer to Jackman and she threw herself forward, trying to grab hold of the gun.

  Cramer took another step, the stiletto low, ready to drive it upwards into Jackman’s throat. He was conscious of Su-ming launching herself at Jackman but he remained totally focussed on what he was doing. He held out his left hand ready to grab Jackman’s jacket, knowing that he’d get more leverage if he could pull him onto the blade as he thrust it forward.

  Su-ming tried to catch hold of Jackman’s arm, but he was too quick for her. He swung the gun at her face and clipped her under the chin. Her head snapped back. Instantly Jackman brought the gun back to bear on Cramer.

  Cramer was still two steps away from Jackman, but he’d built up a momentum and he couldn’t have stopped even if he’d wanted to. Cramer’s left hand was outstretched and Jackman kept his gun low, unable to go for the head-shot. The gun looked huge in Jackman’s hand but Cramer ignored it. All he cared about was the stiletto.

  His left hand brushed the lapel of Jackman’s jacket. Jackman’s eyes had narrowed so that they were almost slits. Cramer stared into them and he knew that Jackman was about to pull the trigger. He clawed his left hand and grabbed Jackman’s jacket. The gun went off and Cramer felt a sudden kick to the stomach that knocked the breath out of him. The noise was deafening. Cramer pulled Jackman towards him and drove the stiletto up with all his strength. The point of the blade sliced up through Jackman’s chin and then crunched through cartilage and bone. The gun went off again and Cramer screamed, partly in pain but more out of hatred and rage.

  Jackman fell backwards and Cramer kept hold of him, forcing the stiletto higher up into Jackman’s skull. They hit the ground together. Jackman’s gun tumbled from his lifeless fingers and rattled across the wooden floor.

  Cramer heard Su-ming scream but it sounded as if she was miles away, at the end of a long, long tunnel. Cramer pushed himself up off Jackman. He almost passed out with the pain. Jackman’s eyes were wide and staring but there was no life in them. Blood was pouring down the blade and over Cramer’s hands and red froth bubbled up from between Jackman’s lips. Cramer let go of the stiletto. It stayed buried up to the hilt in Jackman’s throat. Cramer was on his knees, fighting to stay conscious. He felt Su-ming’s arms around him. She’d stopped screaming and now she was wracked with sobs.

  Cramer could feel blood draining from his head. It took a long time to die from stomach wounds, he knew. A long time. And even if they managed to put him together again he’d only have to face the cancer that was eating him up. He clasped his hands to his stomach. He bit down on his lower lip to stop himself from screaming, the pain was so bad. He tried to fight it, to push the agony away, but each wave was stronger than the previous one. He tasted blood in his mouth and realised he’d bitten through his lip. He felt something warm and wet trickle through his fingers. He looked down. His thighs were soaked with sticky red blood, his own blood mixing with Jackman’s. Su-ming put her head against his, as if trying to share his suffering.

  ‘Su-ming, you have to help me,’ he said. Another wave of pain washed over him and he grunted. Even with the painkillers he’d taken, the pain was almost more than he could stand, and he knew it was only a taste of what lay ahead of him.

  ‘I will,’ she promised.

  ‘It hurts,’ he moaned. ‘It hurts so bad.’

  ‘I know,’ she said.

  Cramer watched Su-ming in the mirrored wall as she went over to Jackman’s body and picked up his gun. She stood staring at the weapon as if she wasn’t sure what to do with it. She looked up and for a second their eyes locked in the mirror. She was crying. Cramer looked
away. ‘There’s no need to cry,’ he said.

  She nodded. A tear rolled down her left cheek and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. ‘I know,’ she said.

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: fbd-4ebd9f-93d4-7b4f-4fbe-5540-c4ef-a05006

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  Document creation date: 31.01.2013

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  Document authors :

  Stephen Leather

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