by A P Bateman
“No point, boss. She drives a Porsche Boxster.” He pointed towards the empty space where the car had been on his previous visit. “She’s obviously not here.” He gripped his hands tightly around the leather steering wheel, subconsciously venting his frustration. “Most probably spent the night at her toy-boy’s flat, up in Chelsea.”
“She’s shagging someone else?” O’Shea asked, as they walked back to the car.
“She’s married to Holman. Of course she’s shagging someone else!” Neeson smirked. “I gave her one, a while back.”
“Did you?”
“Yeah,” Neeson grinned as he got back into the driver’s seat. “I came round to discuss some matters with Holman, about a month ago. He was out, but I got talking to Eileen. I’d only been in the house twenty-minutes, and I end up doing her over the kitchen table!”
“You randy bastard!” O’Shea’s grin suddenly gave way to a serious pout as his thoughts turned elsewhere. He glanced down at his wristwatch, concentration ploughing deep furrows in his brow. “Supposing Holman left early this morning, he could be in France by now. Do you know where Eileen Holman’s boyfriend lives in Chelsea? We haven’t got the time to waste going all the way over there. Especially with the morning traffic.”
“Not a clue, just a rumour that I heard whilst I was profiling Frank Holman some time ago.” He slipped into first gear then drove towards the open gate at a more moderate pace. “Holman may have even departed last night, for all we know.”
O’Shea nodded somewhat despondently; the morose frown still his most prominent feature. “Where are we going now?”
“Just wait and see boss. I have an idea.”
***
Lisa Grant stood up from her chair and cleared the breakfast dishes away from the table. She scraped the remains of scrambled egg into the waste bin, then stacked the plates into an orderly pile, while she ran a sink full of hot water.
Keith Parker stared up from his newspaper and watched her intently as she quickly buttered two pieces of bread, then smeared them with a thick layer of strawberry jam. “Still hungry?” he asked casually, folding his newspaper neatly in half before placing it down in front of him
Lisa tensed, she had hoped that he would not have noticed. “No, I...”
“What did I say last night?” He slammed his fist down onto the table and stood up, pushing his chair back violently. “Are you so stupid as to purposely disobey me, or are you just plain forgetful?”
“Please, Keith I...” She tried to hold back her tears, but there was no mercy in his tone.
“I said no food until he apologises for his unruly behaviour!” He picked up the newspaper and started to roll it slowly into a tube, methodically creating a tight cylindrical object. “I don’t care if he doesn’t apologise for a week. The little bastard can starve.”
“Please, Keith,” she said. “He’s just a little boy.” She had made up her mind the moment he had pushed David to the floor. She was leaving, and she would hide from him, run from him for the rest of her days if she had to. He would never touch her son again. She wasn’t scared of him anymore. Fearful for her safety and well-being, but not scared. He had crossed that line. However, she needed to be smart. Needed him to contain the beast within. And she needed to extract both David and herself when he wasn’t here. When there would be enough time to pack what little they needed and disappear.
“I have spoken with both the headmaster and with the chief of governors, and they are willing to accept the boy this late in the term. He can spend the Easter holidays there with some of the boys from Asia and Africa, who don’t go home except for the Christmas and summer breaks. They even suggested that he stays for their summer camp, which will give him some time to make friends with the other boys.”
Lisa tensed. There was a foreboding within her. She realised where this was going, realised she had left it too late. She shook her head, tears rolling steadily down her cheeks. “Please, Keith, I’m begging you... I will do anything you want. Anything. I don’t want David to go, I need him here with me.”
He smirked condescendingly at her. “But my dear Lisa, you have me for company.” He stepped forward and tenderly wiped the tears from her cheeks. “You’ll miss the boy at first, but you’ll soon forget him and we will become closer.”
She tensed, her whole body rigid. She needed to ride this out. Needed him to leave the house for a few hours and she would be gone. She had it planned, they could be out of there in thirty-minutes. “Keith, let’s talk about this later.”
The man laughed. “We will leave today. Make a weekend of it. A nice drive up to Scotland, get David settled in on Friday, leave him an Easter egg. We can find a nice hotel, enjoy our time together and we can drive back on Monday. I’ve booked the time off already, I had some holiday due.”
“No, don’t…” she pleaded. “Keith, I’ll do anything…”
“You say that you will do anything for me now, but the one thing that I want - you never give to me. At least, not willingly. Not anymore.” She turned her eyes to the floor, unable to look at him a moment longer. He tapped the roll of newspaper against his thigh and smiled. “I think you like to be forced. You enjoy being taken,” he paused. “Lord knows; you give me little alternative.” She remained silent, choosing to keep her thoughts to herself. She needed to ride this out peacefully. Needed him to go to work. Or to the golf course. And then they’d be gone. “All women enjoy the thrill of saying no. Of being forced into sex. It always gives them pleasure.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, gently at first, then increasingly harder. “I watched one of those American talk shows the other day,” he paused. “They referred to it as submissive rape. You enjoy it, don’t you? The thrill of saying no, the thrill of being taken roughly?”
“Submissive? Enjoy?” she snapped. It was too late. She’d been unable to keep herself in check any longer. She pushed his hand aside and glared at him venomously. “You have absolutely no idea! You’ve never pleasured a woman in your life! Have you ever put yourself out, taken the time?”
Parker glared at her, his eyes ablaze. “I give you pleasure, don’t I?” He watched her expression, then caught hold of her by her blouse with one hand. “Don’t I?”
“Never!”
“Bitch!” He jabbed her in the stomach with the tip of the roll of newspaper, wound tightly it was like a baton. She winced, bent double and he swiped her across the face with it. “You… evil... frigid... little... bitch! How could you lie to me like that?”
Lisa rubbed her stomach, then brought both hands up to his as his grip tightened around her neck. “Please, Keith! I can’t breathe!” Her voice was shallow, retarded by his vice-like grip. She dug her fingernails into the back of his hands, ripping the flesh, but suddenly let go as he released her.
Parker stared at her, breathing heavily from his physical exertion. He shook his head sympathetically then suddenly lashed out at her, catching her in the left eye with his fingertips. She gasped with the sudden shock of pain and held her hands up to her eyes. She did not see the next blow, but felt the impact, followed by another excruciating stab of pain in her lower stomach. She buckled slightly, then fell backwards against the sink unit.
Parker stood over her in a domineering posture, his hands resting firmly on his hips. She made to get to her feet but fell back against the sink unit. Then he slowly raised his right foot, held it against her shoulder, and pushed hard, sending her sprawling onto the kitchen floor. “You’re pathetic, you don’t even try to fight back, you just lie there, so don’t say that you don’t enjoy it! You want me to make love to you right now, that’s why you are still lying there!” He stepped forward and started to unfasten his belt. “Well, if that’s what you want... then that’s exactly what you’re going to get. I’ll show you pleasure!” He turned suddenly, stopped in his tracks by the sound of the doorbell. “Who the bloody hell is that at this time of day?”
***
Frank Holman handed his passport to the cu
stoms officer then waited patiently for her to thumb through the pages. She returned it and smiled pleasantly, then looked expectantly towards the next waiting vehicle. Holman drove the Mercedes steadily forwards and followed the steward’s instructions, manoeuvring into the appropriate lane. Twenty-minutes or so, and he would be aboard Le Shuttle, another thirty-five minutes, and he would be in France. He glanced at his watch; allowing for a couple of pit stops along the way, he should be able to reach Lacanau by evening, hopefully at a reasonable hour. He knew a lovely restaurant on the promenade at Lacanau Ocean, approximately three miles from his property. They did a good steak frites, that he would follow with a choux pastry platter, with crème patisserie and chocolate sauce.
***
Keith Parker slammed the kitchen door shut and stormed through the hallway in a rage. He smoothed his ruffled hair back into place, tested a smile at the mirror in the hallway. A little flushed, but otherwise he looked presentable. The doorbell sounded again, its shrill note agitating him even further. He twisted the key in the lock, caught hold of the brass door handle and hastily pulled the door towards him, re-engaging his business as usual smile.
Neeson moved quickly, placing a well-aimed, and powerful kick at the door as it opened. He lunged forward, advancing on Parker, who was caught entirely by surprise. He slammed his right fist into Parker’s jaw, then followed through with a savage kick to the man’s groin. Neeson winced, the tendons of his foot flexing too much. He managed an elbow into the side of Parker’s ear as the man went down, howling like a beaten dog.
Parker fell backwards, helped by Neeson’s elbow, and landed against the staircase, his head colliding with the wooden banister. He grunted, turned towards Neeson out of instinct, but was far too late for any serious attempt at defending himself. Neeson caught him by the throat with his left hand, gripping him tightly around the windpipe, then punched him in the face, twice in quick succession. Parker fell all the way down to the floor, sprawling on his stomach. He rolled over, which suited Neeson, who took the opportunity to stamp savagely into the man’s groin. Neeson stepped away, limping some safe distance between them.
“You okay?” O’Shea asked.
Neeson was breathless. He turned around and looked at him. “Sure. Just hurt my foot against his nuts…”
O’Shea barged his way through the open doorway, closed the door, then quickly locked it behind him. “Right, get the bastard into that room there!” he shouted at Neeson, pointing to the doorway into the lounge. He glanced up the stairs, then looked down at Parker. “Who else is in the house?”
Parker was groaning loudly and holding his throbbing groin, but still managed to beg. “Don’t hurt me, I’ve done nothing wrong…”
Neeson cut off his words by stamping on the man’s hand, breaking a number of tiny bones, forcing him to scream involuntarily. He caught hold of Parker by his hair, then pulled him up, kicking and screaming, towards the lounge doorway.
O’Shea walked through the hallway and cautiously opened the kitchen door. He looked around, noticed Lisa, who was cowering in the corner of the room. She looked up at him, her left eye terribly swollen from Parker’s vicious attack. There was blood at the corner of her mouth. “Please... please don’t hurt me,” she sobbed, shaking uncontrollably. “I don’t want to be hurt anymore…”
O’Shea shook his head. “It’s not you we want, luv. But you’ll have to come with me for the moment.” He stepped forward and held out his hand. “Come on, just trust me,” he reassured her, a look of both pity and understanding in his eyes. “My old man used to beat up on my mother every Saturday night when he came home drunk. I saw enough to last me a lifetime.”
Lisa reached up and gripped his hand, and was pulled swiftly to her feet. She winced with the pain that shot through her stomach, then wiped the tears from her eyes and walked with him as he guided her towards the lounge. She hesitated at the foot of the stairs.
“Problem?” O’Shea asked. He followed her gaze. “Is there someone else here?” He watched the hesitation in her eyes. “Don’t lie to me. We mean fucking business, luv.”
“My son,” she said quietly, despondently. “He’s in his room.”
“Go and get him. Right up and back down. Call him now,” he said. “I want you both right down here, no messing about calling the police. Go!”
Lisa bolted up the stairs, calling David’s name as she went. The boy was ashen, shaken. He had heard Keith beating her again. She scooped him up in her arms, crying for what he was going through, what he had witnessed lately. She should have run out weeks ago, should have left when she had the chance. She had spoken to Frank Holman, asked for his help. She knew Simon was being released and she had begged Holman to help her and David leave Keith, give them a safe place to stay. But Holman had been adamant that she should stay with Parker, just for a while longer. Just until he could make suitable arrangements.
O’Shea walked them both into the room and pointed to a leather sofa nestled in the far corner next to a large mahogany bookcase. “Sit down over there, luv. Keep quiet and don’t try anything. You might want to turn the little lad around to face you.” He turned to Danny Neeson and smirked. “Seems our friend here is a bit of a hard man; needs to hit his women about to keep them in line.” Neeson pulled Parker to his feet and pushed him down into a hard-backed chair. He gripped him tightly around the throat, then pushed his face close to Parker’s ear. “Well, now you will find out what it’s like to be meet a real hard man…” He pushed Parker’s head back against the chair, then nodded to O’Shea. “Give us a hand boss,” he said. “Just keep him where he is.” Neeson waited for O’Shea to grab hold of him by his shoulders, then walked around the chair and quickly unfastened Parker’s shoelaces. He threaded them through the arms of the chair, then tied his hands down tightly. Next, he unbuckled the man’s leather belt, wrenched it out from the belt loops and threaded it into a loop. He slipped the loop over Parker’s head. The man struggled, but Neeson lashed out and jabbed him on the nose, Parker recoiled, Neeson pulled the belt tight around his neck, before handing the end of the makeshift noose to O’Shea. “Here, keep hold of this. Nice and tight, now.”
Keith Parker gasped for breath as O’Shea pulled back forcefully on the belt, then slowly released it, gradually allowing him some intake of precious air. “Why are you doing this, I thought we had a deal?” he wheezed.
“A deal?” O’Shea mused. “That is exactly what I thought we had. We were to take care of Simon Grant, and cut you in on a job, while you were to supply us with all the information we would need to hold up the security van.”
Lisa gasped, then held a hand over her mouth. David gasped at hearing his father’s name, but Lisa hugged him close, nestled his chin into her neck.
O’Shea glanced across at her and smiled. “That’s right luv, your husband is dead. Or at least, he’s bloody meant to be.” He pulled back on the belt, almost choking the man as he gasped frantically for air.
Neeson took the revolver from out of his waistband. “Holman double-crossed us. He has taken our money, and we want to know where he is. He must have tipped off Grant. And we think that you must be in this as well...” He held up the pistol, his finger resting loosely on the trigger. “Up to your spineless little neck.”
“No!” Parker blurted.
“Yes!” Neeson whipped the barrel of the revolver across Parker’s mouth, shattering his front teeth. He stood back and smiled as Parker spat out mouthfuls of blood, saliva and chips of enamel. “Listen to me Parker, and listen well,” he paused. “Where are Holman and Grant?”
“I don’t know! I’m not involved! I thought that bastard Grant was dead. That was our deal!” Parker lisped, then gasped suddenly as O’Shea pulled back on the belt.
“You sold us information. Three of your employees died, you agreed to that also,” O’Shea said grimly. “I think you are in this up to your bloody snakelike eyeballs!” He turned to Neeson, his teeth clenched in rage. “Cap the spineless bastard!”
>
Neeson had knee-capped men before. He usually used a cordless drill, occasionally a length of two-by-two. A gun was too noisy back in Ulster. Not that people ever reported hearing a shot, it was never worth the risk, but in leafy suburbia the police would be round in minutes. He looked around and settled on a silk cushion from the nearby sofa. He quickly placed it against Parker’s knee then pushed the muzzle of the revolver hard against it, before folding the edges of the cushion over the barrel.
“No!” Parker screamed in terror, struggling against the restraint of the leather belt around his neck. His scream was stifled to a gargle.
Neeson cocked the hammer, then squeezed the hair-trigger of the .357 magnum revolver. It kicked wildly in his hands; but although it was immensely powerful, most of the noise was suppressed by the material of the cushion. Keith Parker screamed in agony, biting his lips in a desperate bid to quell the extreme pain inflicted upon him. Lisa screamed, but held a hand to her mouth, she had turned extremely pale.
“Gag him, quickly!” O’Shea pulled a white handkerchief out from his jacket pocket and hastily threw it towards Neeson. “Hurry, before he shouts the bloody house down!”
Neeson caught the handkerchief and stuffed it forcefully Parker’s mouth, letting the blood-soaked cushion fall to the floor, exposing the jagged pieces of bone and flaps of torn flesh. The .357 round had almost severed the leg. Parker was bleeding severely.
“Where… is… Frank… Holman?” Neeson asked, exaggerating each syllable. He caught hold of Parker’s ear and twisted, but the man was beyond feeling more pain. “Tell us, or I’ll cap yer other fucking knee!” he shouted.
“You know his address in France, don’t you?” O’Shea shouted into his other ear, then pulled back on the leather belt and looked at Neeson. “Do it Danny, take his other fucking leg off and cripple the bastard for good!”