The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers)

by Stephen Leather

  ‘On your knees,’ said an Irish voice.

  Terry struggled to get up. He could feel the dampness of the ground soaking through his trousers. The tape was ripped from his mouth and eyes and he blinked. All around were trees, the wind rustling through them like restless spirits, whispering and taunting.

  A man stood at either side of him, and when he looked up one of them hit him on the top of the head. ‘Eyes on the ground,’ said the man.

  Terry looked down, clenching his fists. There were three of them and they had guns, but if they really were going to kill him Terry was determined to go down fighting.

  The third man, the one who’d spoken in the vehicle, walked to stand in front of Terry. He was wearing brand new Timberland boots and Terry stared at them. ‘Big mistake, using our name in vain,’ he said.

  Terry looked up at him. In the darkness all he could see was a large, dark shape. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ said Terry.

  The man pistol-whipped Terry. ‘Spreading the word you were doing business with us,’ he said in his guttural Belfast accent. ‘Like we’d even piss in your pot.’ He pointed the gun at Terry’s forehead. ‘Any prayers to say?’

  Terry stared up at the masked man. Off in the distance, a fox barked, then there was only the sound of the wind in the trees. Terry slowly smiled. He knew now that the men had no intention of killing him. If they were going to shoot him, there’d be no need for the lecture. ‘Fuck you, Paddy,’ he said, enunciating every syllable. ‘If you were going to do anything heavy, you’d’ve done it back there. So why don’t you do what you were told to do, give me the verbal and piss off back to Ballygobackwards.’

  The gloved hand tensed on the gun, but Terry didn’t flinch. The hammer was already cocked and the man pressed the barrel against Terry’s forehead. Terry glared at the masked face but his insides went cold. One tug of the finger on the trigger and his brains would be splattered over the grass. He swallowed nervously, but resolutely forced himself to keep staring up at the gunman. No matter how this ended, he was determined not to show any weakness. If he was going to die, he’d die like a man.

  Slowly the man took the gun away. Terry grinned in triumph as he realised he’d called it right. ‘How about a lift back, then?’ he asked.

  The man smacked the gun hard against Terry’s temple. Everything went red, then black, but even as he passed out Terry was still grinning, knowing that he’d won.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  McKinley slowed the Lexus and put his headlights on full beam. The tunnels of light picked out Terry at the edge of the forest, waving. McKinley stopped next to Terry, and he climbed into the front passenger seat, holding a handkerchief to his head.

  ‘You took your fucking time,’ growled Terry.

  ‘Got here as soon as I could,’ said McKinley. ‘I was in the bath when you called. Are you okay?’

  ‘Of course I’m not fucking okay. I’ve been pistol-whipped by the IRA and left in the fucking woods. That sound okay to you, McKinley?’

  McKinley grimaced and didn’t say anything.

  ‘Just drive. Take me home.’

  McKinley headed back to London.

  ‘How did the fucking IRA get my name, Andy?’

  McKinley looked pained.

  ‘I figure it was Sam, making waves,’ said Terry. ‘Think I’d be right?’

  ‘Not while she was with me, Terry.’

  ‘I thought I told you to stick with her. Watch her, I said.’

  ‘I did do.’

  ‘Well, she must have spoken to them some time. How else could they have known what I’d told her?’

  ‘She could have phoned.’

  ‘The IRA aren’t in the Yellow Pages,’ said Terry.

  ‘I’m just saying—’ began McKinley.

  ‘Don’t say,’ interrupted Terry. ‘I don’t fucking pay you to say. I pay you to keep an eye on my missus, end of story. And right now I don’t seem to be getting my money’s worth.’ Terry took his handkerchief away from his head and examined the bloodstains on it. ‘Fucking Paddies,’ he said. He turned to look at McKinley. ‘Anything else I should know?’

  McKinley frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ said Terry. ‘Did she talk to anyone else that’s gonna cause me grief?’

  ‘No,’ said McKinley.

  ‘You sure?’

  McKinley nodded but didn’t reply.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Sam was in the kitchen making herself a cup of hot chocolate when she heard Terry let himself in. She poured more milk into the saucepan. He walked into the kitchen, holding a blood-stained handkerchief to his head.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Don’t start,’ said Terry.

  ‘What do you mean, “Don’t start”? You’re bleeding.’

  ‘I’ve had a shitty day, love.’

  ‘Whereas my life’s a bed of roses?’ she said. ‘I’m making hot chocolate. Want some?’

  ‘I want a beer,’ he said. He tossed the handkerchief into the bin and took a bottle of lager out of the fridge. He popped off the cap and sat down at the kitchen table, drinking from the bottle.

  Sam tried to examine the cut on his head but Terry shook her away.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  ‘I knocked my head getting into the car.’

  ‘You need something on it.’ She opened a kitchen cupboard and took out a bottle of TCP and a pack of cotton buds. She dabbed some antiseptic on his wounds.

  Terry winced. ‘For God’s sake, Sam. I’m not a kid.’

  ‘Yeah, and you’re a bit too old to be fighting, aren’t you?’

  ‘I told you,’ said Terry. ‘It was an accident.’

  ‘Yeah, you tell me a lot of things.’

  Terry twisted around to look at her. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he asked.

  Sam pushed him back and carried on dabbing TCP on the cuts. ‘Keep still.’

  ‘My wife, the nurse,’ complained Terry.

  ‘Where were you tonight?’

  ‘The club. Taking care of business.’

  Sam finished treating his cuts and put the antiseptic and cotton buds away. ‘Jonathon’s left Laura,’ she said, pouring hot milk into her mug and stirring in spoonfuls of chocolate powder.

  ‘Good riddance,’ said Terry.

  ‘More than that,’ said Sam. ‘He’s left the country. He called her from Toronto. Canada.’

  ‘Yeah, I know where Toronto is.’

  Sam sat down at the table opposite Terry. ‘Did you do something to him?’

  Terry raised his eyebrows. ‘Like what?’

  ‘You know what like. Did you hurt him?’

  Terry said nothing.

  ‘Answer me, Terry.’

  ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘I want the truth,’ said Sam. ‘Did you do something to Jonathon?’

  Terry held her look and put down his lager. ‘I had a word with him,’ he said. ‘That’s all.’

  Sam looked into Terry’s cold blue eyes, trying to tell if he was lying. He looked back without blinking.

  ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘I told him that if he ever laid a finger on Laura again, he’d have me to answer to. I think he got the message.’ He drank from the bottle of lager and wiped his mouth. ‘He won’t be bothering her any more.’

  Sam sipped her hot chocolate. ‘Laura said he sounded scared. He said that she should divorce him, that she could have the house and everything.’

  ‘Small price to pay for what he did to her.’

  ‘Yeah, but why did he leave the country? Was that your doing, Terry?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. Anyway, she’s better off without him.’

  ‘The truth, Terry. Did you hurt him?’

  Terry shook his head. ‘No, love. I talked to him, that’s all. God’s honest.’

  Sam stood up. ‘I’m going to bed.’ She washed her mug in the sink.

  ‘I’ll be up in a minute,’ sai
d Terry.

  ‘Whatever,’ said Sam.

  Terry watched her go, then he went to the fridge for another lager.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Fletcher and Pike were waiting with the BMW when Terry left the house next morning. They both looked shamefaced as Terry shut the front door behind him. ‘Thanks for your help last night, guys.’

  ‘Sorry, Terry,’ said Fletcher.

  ‘Yeah, they snuck up on us, boss.’

  ‘Yeah, and they were tooled up.’

  ‘Did they get heavy with you?’ asked Pike.

  Terry got into the back of the BMW. ‘I think it best we draw a veil over events, lads. In case I get all emotional.’ His mobile phone rang and he answered it.

  Pike and Fletcher got into the car as Terry grunted into the phone and cut the connection.

  ‘Change of plans, lads,’ said Terry. ‘We’re going to Bristol.’

  Terry sat in silence during the drive west. Pike and Fletcher kept exchanging looks, wondering if they should start up a conversation, but it was clear that Terry didn’t want to talk. At one point Pike reached over to switch on the radio, but Fletcher shook his head.

  When they arrived outside Alicia’s house, Terry told the two men to stay in the car. He went up to the front door and rang the bell.

  Alicia opened the door wearing a tight dress that was cut low at the top and barely covered her backside. ‘Terry!’ she squealed.

  ‘Don’t act so surprised. You called me,’ he said. ‘Are you going to open the door, or what?’

  As soon as Terry was in the hall, she plastered herself against him and kissed him full on the lips. The baby started crying in the sitting room and Terry pulled away from Alicia.

  ‘The baby,’ he said.

  ‘She’s been crying all day,’ said Alicia. ‘She’ll be okay.’ She dropped down on her knees and unbuttoned his trousers.

  ‘Alicia . . .’ said Terry. ‘Come on, stop that.’ He gasped as she took him into her mouth, her eyes on his as she moved her head back and forth. ‘You bitch,’ he whispered as he stroked her hair.

  She took away her mouth and smiled up at him. ‘Your bitch,’ she said. ‘I’m your bitch, remember.’ Terry pulled her up, kissed her, and unzipped her dress. She wasn’t wearing underwear and she smiled when she saw the look of surprise on his face. ‘I was waiting for you,’ she said. She took his hand and pressed against it herself. ‘Feel how wet I am,’ she whispered.

  Terry pushed her against the wall and she drew her legs up around him as he entered her, so hard that she gasped. ‘Yes,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘Yes, Terry, come on, love. Come on.’

  Terry thrust into her, harder and harder as she called out his name.

  ‘Upstairs,’ she moaned. ‘Take me upstairs.’

  Terry picked her up and carried her upstairs and made love to her on her double bed.

  Afterwards, he lay with an arm around her, staring up at the ceiling. The baby was still crying downstairs.

  ‘Why’ve you been staying away, Terry?’

  ‘Alicia . . .’ groaned Terry. The last thing he wanted was an argument.

  ‘Too much pressure?’

  ‘It’s not that. I told you. If the filth see me with you . . .’

  ‘I know, I know. But it’s been months.’

  ‘Leave it out, Alicia.’

  Alicia ran her hand down his chest to his groin, then down to his thighs. Terry smiled and kissed her as she stroked him.

  ‘Your wife was here,’ she said.

  Terry froze. ‘What?’

  ‘Your wife. That’s why I wanted to see you. She came here.’

  Terry sat up abruptly. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘What do you think I’m doing?’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me on the phone?’

  ‘Because if I did, you wouldn’t have come. Would you?’

  Terry got out of bed and started dressing.

  ‘See!’

  ‘What do you mean, “see”?’ said Terry, buttoning his shirt.

  ‘You still love her, don’t you?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. What did she want?’

  ‘Why do you care what she wanted?’ Terry glared at her, and she shook her head in frustration.

  ‘I don’t know what she wanted,’ said Alicia. ‘She wasn’t here more than a minute. She forced her way in, saw Rosie, stared at me like she wanted me dead, then walked out.’

  ‘She saw the kid?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  Terry swore under his breath. ‘Did she drive here?’

  ‘Someone drove her. A guy in a big car.’

  Terry swore again. McKinley. It had to have been McKinley. He finished buttoning his shirt and headed for the stairs.

  Alicia grabbed her robe and hurried after him. ‘Terry . . . she doesn’t matter. You can stay here . . . with us.’

  Terry found his shoes in the living room and slipped them on. Alicia tried to put her arms around him but he pushed her away. ‘You know that’s not going to happen,’ he said.

  She smiled at him seductively. ‘I’ll be good for you . . . you know how good I can make it for you.’

  ‘Leave it out, Alicia.’

  Alicia tried to kiss him, but he turned his back on her and put on his jacket. She slapped him on the back. ‘You bastard!’ She slapped him again and again but Terry barely felt the blows.

  ‘Grow up,’ he sneered as he headed for the front door.

  ‘You killed Preston for me!’ she shouted. ‘You shot him so you could have me.’

  Terry whirled around, his eyes blazing. ‘I killed him because he pulled a fucking gun on me.’ he hissed. ‘Because he would’ve killed me.’

  ‘You say.’

  ‘Yeah, I say. He asked for it.’

  ‘He was my husband,’ said Alicia, her voice trembling.

  ‘Ex-husband,’ said Terry. ‘And your marital status didn’t stop you shaking your tits at me.’

  ‘Neither did yours,’ said Alicia. Terry stood staring at her, breathing heavily. Alicia smiled and rubbed herself against him. ‘You want me, you know you do.’ Terry shook his head, but Alicia reached between his legs and stroked him.

  Terry pushed her away and opened the door.

  ‘It’s me you want! You can’t go back to her!’ Alicia screamed as he slammed the door behind him. ‘You can’t!’ she shouted as she kicked the door.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Sam took Laura’s arm as they walked out of the hospital. ‘Don’t fuss, Mum,’ said Laura. ‘I’m fine.’ She was wearing dark glasses and a scarf around her head to cover the fading bruises and still-healing cuts.

  ‘I know you’re fine, I just want to hold my daughter,’ said Sam. ‘Nothing wrong with that, is there?’

  They walked together towards the Lexus. McKinley stepped forward and took Laura’s bag from Sam. He put it into the boot as the two women got into the back of the car.

  ‘What’s he going to do in Canada, Mum?’ asked Laura.

  ‘I don’t know, love.’

  ‘He’s a merchant banker, there’s nothing for him to do in Canada.’

  ‘Didn’t he say when he phoned?’

  ‘He just said he wanted a divorce and that I could have the house and everything. He was only on for a minute. He sounded scared stiff, like someone had a gun to his head. It’s Dad, isn’t it? Dad’s run him out of town.’

  McKinley got into the driving seat.

  ‘Your dad says no,’ said Sam.

  ‘Well, he would, wouldn’t he?’

  McKinley’s mobile phone rang and he answered it.

  ‘How is Dad?’ Laura asked Sam.

  Sam sighed. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said.

  ‘Is he back for good?’

  Sam pulled a face. ‘I wish I knew, love.’

  McKinley put his mobile phone away. He looked worried.

  ‘Everything okay, Andy?’ asked Sam.

  ‘Mr Greene wants to see me later,’ said McKinley.
He started the car.

  ‘Seatbelt, Andy,’ reminded Sam.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  It was dark when McKinley arrived at the football stadium. As he walked out on to the pitch, the floodlights came on and McKinley shaded his eyes against the searing light. Terry was standing at the penalty spot in front of one of the goals, a bulging sack at his feet.

  ‘What’s this about, Terry?’ called McKinley.

  ‘Just fancied a kickabout,’ said Terry. He nodded at the goalmouth. ‘Get in goal, will you?’

  McKinley walked slowly to the goal. Terry picked up the sack and emptied out a dozen footballs. He was wearing a knee-length leather jacket over his suit, and his Bally shoes gleamed under the floodlights. McKinley wasn’t dressed for football either, in a woollen coat over his jacket and cord trousers.

  Terry took a short run-up and pounded a ball into the back of the net. He stood looking at McKinley with his hands on his hips. ‘You’re not trying, Andy,’ he called.

  McKinley adjusted the fingers of his black leather gloves one by one. ‘What’s going on, Terry?’ he asked.

  Pike and Fletcher appeared from the shadows behind the goal. They stood on the edge of the pitch, their faces stone hard. McKinley looked over his shoulder at them, then back at Terry.

  Terry kicked another ball and it whistled past McKinley into the back of the net. ‘Make an effort, hey!’

  ‘And if I don’t want to play?’ asked McKinley.

  ‘Then it’ll stop being a game,’ said Terry. He trapped a ball and dribbled it around in a circle, flipped it up on to his chest and then dropped it back at his feet. ‘I had a trial for West Ham when I was a kid, did I tell you that?’ He knocked the ball up into the air and juggled it on his knees, then dropped it at his feet again. ‘Nothing came of it, but there was a time when I was in with a chance. That’s what life’s all about, innit? Chances. Chances and opportunities. Some you grab, some you miss.’

  Terry kicked the ball, hard, towards the top right-hand corner of the net. McKinley shuffled to the side and stuck out his hand, deflecting the ball over the crossbar. Terry grinned. ‘Better . . .’ he said.