Brotherhood

by David Beckler

  Byron got out and examined the two JCBs at the roadworks before going to the rear of the car where Adam joined him. Both men wore navy-blue overalls, black heavy-duty boots and work gloves. Black ski masks, now in their pockets, completed the outfits. Adam retrieved a large pair of bolt cutters and approached the biggest and most powerful digger.

  A heavy metal plate protected each window, and he snipped the solid-looking padlocks securing these. Adam climbed aboard and using the universal key he’d borrowed, started the engine. As the digger drew alongside the car, Byron threw a bag of tools into the cab and climbed onto the footplate. Byron expected McLaughlin’s men to be armed but hoped the element of surprise would give them enough of an edge. He welcomed the tingle across his scalp as a sign of his body getting ready for action.

  They set off for the building and Byron checked he couldn’t see the car from the road. Nearer their target, each put on his ski mask. Byron grabbed the bag of tools and jumped off before vanishing into the shadows to make his way to the main entrance.

  The warehouse lay in darkness, and a wire mesh fence enclosed most of the perimeter. Although a black Range Rover sat in front of the goods entrance, the two roller shutters remained closed. As he waited an emptiness invaded Byron’s stomach, but he knew it would pass once the action started.

  Adam revved the digger and with a roar the vehicle lurched forward, crashing into the black SUV. The bucket bit into the side of the car with a screech of metal. An ear-splitting wail of the alarm followed. The bucket lifted, then closed on the roof of the car and Adam dragged it clear of the shutter.

  Muffled shouts came from inside the building and Byron prepared for action, adrenaline surged through his bloodstream and his mind cleared. An electric motor whined and the roller shutter on the front door lifted. The door banged open against it as those inside tried to get out, too impatient for the motor to finish its job. Angry voices grew louder.

  The note of the motor changed as the shutter approached the top of its travel and the door, released from the shutter, sprung open. He glanced at the JCB, now facing the door, and shielded his eyes as Adam switched on the spotlight.

  Two men ran out, yelling. Byron hit the nearest one and the man grunted and fell. The second spun towards him but, dazzled by the light, he couldn’t see. Byron grabbed him, smashing his head into the wall, and the man dropped.

  Byron signalled to Adam and the lights died. The engine quietened and Byron rushed into the building, searching for more guards. Beside the door, he found a bank of light switches and an orange glow filled the space. The warehouse comprised an open space, almost filled by a tractor unit attached to a forty-foot trailer. A small glass-fronted office occupied the back corner next to the toilets. Byron checked these while Adam dragged the first man into the building.

  “Can you manage?” Byron asked him.

  Adam nodded and Byron approached the main roller shutter. He switched the motor on and pressed the up button. With a click and creak, the shutter rose. It stopped and the motor screeched. Two large padlocks, too hefty for the bolt cutters, secured the door to bolts set into the floor. Fuck. He switched the motor off and rushed to the office, returning with the keys for the truck but none for the padlocks.

  “Search their pockets, Adam.”

  Adam finished securing the second man’s legs with cable ties and searched his pockets. “Nothing here.”

  Byron frisked the other man with the same result. With the truck so near the barrier, he didn’t think it would build up enough momentum to break out.

  Adam straightened. “Keep away from the gate.”

  Byron finished securing the two prisoners and waited at the doorway. He checked the time. Having driven the route from the nearest of McLaughlin’s other properties, they’d allowed five minutes for the raid and had already used three. If the guards had raised the alarm before coming out, or they had another base closer, they could be in trouble. He took a deep breath. Sweat ran under his ski mask.

  Adam started the digger and manoeuvred it in front of the roller shutter before raising the bucket until it aimed at its centre. He let out the clutch, the vehicle leapt forward, and the bucket struck. With a shriek of tearing metal, the shutter bowed. The bolts securing it to the ground ripped free, and the shutter lifted. Then it jammed, and the JCB came to a sudden halt. The force of the impact knocked Adam off his off his seat and the engine stalled.

  “Adam, you okay?” Byron’s voice sounded loud in the silence.

  Adam struggled into the seat and shook his head to clear it. He waved to Byron and pressed the starter. After a couple of attempts, the engine fired, filling the night air with thick black smoke. Byron checked the time again. The sensible thing to do would be to abort the raid now and leave.

  Adam reversed the vehicle and regarded Byron with a grin before he charged forward again. This time, the blade ripped the gate free of the side runners. The blade came to a halt less than two feet from the front of the truck and Byron gave Adam the thumbs up.

  Adam slammed the digger into reverse, ripping the shutter away from the entrance. The metal slats hung from the bucket like pieces of torn curtain. Byron ran to the cab: their five minutes were well and truly up.

  Mugisa left the freezing car and made his way towards the small parade of shops round the corner from Philip’s grandmother’s house. Even the convenience store which boasted opening hours ‘’til late’, had now closed and the pavements were empty. He headed for the alleyway behind the shops, searching for the bins. A few minutes’ scrabbling about in the stinking debris enabled him to locate what he needed.

  He returned to the house carrying his find and made his way to the yard behind the old woman’s house. The gate opened with ease and two pairs of luminous eyes observed him. He remembered their owners but doubted if they would recall him.

  He opened the container of out-of-date cream, placed it on the ground and retreated, waiting just out of reach. After checking to see what the intruder wanted, the cats came to investigate and, reassured by his passivity, feasted from the carton. Mugisa reached out a hand to touch them. At first they recoiled, but eventually they allowed the stranger to stroke them.

  The purrs of contentment made their bodies vibrate under his hands. Mugisa gripped each cat by the scruff of its neck. Yowls filled the air as they slashed at him with needle-sharp claws. Held by the scruffs of their necks neither could reach the hand seizing it.

  The orange sack he’d also rescued from the bins lay at his feet and holding a spitting cat in each hand, Mugisa lowered one to the mouth of the sack and attempted to open it with his foot. He’d got the animal half in when the back door opened. Startled, he relaxed his grip on the other cat and it shot out of his hand, disappearing with an indignant wail.

  “Seraphim? Margo?” the old woman called.

  Mugisa grabbed the sack in his left hand and got to his feet. In his other hand he now held the machete which he’d used on Liam. The old lady peered into the darkness then shuffled out into the freezing night. Mugisa stepped towards her and she gasped in alarm.

  “I don’t have any money but you can take the television.”

  He didn’t reply and held the weapon at her throat. The memory of the kind old woman who welcomed him into her home and fed him fish stew and dumplings made his throat close up. Unable to speak, he used the blade to back her into the kitchen. He slammed the door behind him and held the weapon at shoulder height. The smell of fresh baking made him salivate.

  “Where’s Philip?” he demanded.

  Her eyes widened behind thick lenses. “He’s not here.”

  “Where are the girls?”

  She shook her head. “What girls?”

  Mugisa, angered by her lie, lifted the machete. She cringed and opened her mouth, but before she spoke, Cecily walked into the kitchen.

  “Nana, it’s freezing, what’s—” Her mouth fell open and she stared at him.

  “Hello, Cecily. Fetch your sister.”

&n
bsp; The old woman came to life. “No, dear, run. Take your sister.” With surprising speed she moved between him and her granddaughter.

  He hefted the blade at her grandmother.

  “No, Mugisa.” Cecily’s voice rose in horror.

  He halted his blow mid-strike and she left.

  Recognition bloomed in the old lady’s eyes. “You’re Philip’s friend.”

  Guilt made his chest tighten and he watched her until the girls returned. Lucy rushed in. Her expression of contempt made him weaken, but he must be strong.

  “Where’s Philip?” he asked again, stripping his voice of emotion.

  The girls looked at one another. “We don’t know,” they said in unison.

  He brought the blade closer to the old woman’s throat. “Old woman, tell me.”

  She shut her eyes and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen Philip for over a week.”

  He reached into the bag, grabbed the cat and let the sack fall to the floor.

  “Seraphim! You’re hurting him.” She reached out for her beloved cat.

  Mugisa waved the blade at her. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know!”

  She looked at him beseechingly, tears flowing down her cheeks.

  Mugisa threw Seraphim into the air and swung the blade. It caught the cat behind the neck.

  “Girls, look away,” the old lady shouted then let out a wail of grief. The girls screamed.

  The smell of blood gave Mugisa courage and he grabbed a sobbing Cecily and held the blade to her throat.

  “Old woman, tell me now.”

  Adam waited in the car, having returned the digger. He exhaled through pursed lips. What the hell had happened to Byron? He should have been just behind him in the truck. The guards couldn’t have got free and overpowered him. Adam started the engine but headlights approached from the main road. A car raced past, towards the warehouse, and his pulse raced.

  He checked for other cars before pulling out and heading for the warehouse. As he rounded the bend, he saw the car had pulled over. Two men stood in front of it gesturing towards the damaged gates and wrecked SUV. The darkened truck and trailer still sat in the warehouse but he saw no sign of Byron.

  One man took a phone out of his pocket as they walked towards the building. Adam assumed Byron hadn’t left yet. He put the main beam on and drove forward, revving the engine. As he got closer, he realised the car was the twin of the one he’d wrecked. This must be the backup crew. Adrenaline surged through him. He stopped behind their vehicle and got out as the two men focussed on him.

  Adam put on a comedy Chinese accent. “What happen here?”

  “Nothing to do with you. Get back in your car and bugger off.” The man gestured at him to go.

  “Look, accident. Someone hurt.” Adam ignored the man and approached the damaged car he’d left at the side of the yard.

  “I said leave it.” The man’s voice rose.

  “Someone inside.” Adams voice grew excited and he pointed towards the wrecked SUV. He didn’t need to do much acting.

  He’d reached the car. The man came closer and Adam saw the small automatic he’d taken for a phone. The man’s companion said something in a low voice and grabbed at the armed man’s elbow. The armed man shook off the hand and advanced.

  Adam pointed into the crunched vehicle. “Driver in there, bleeding.”

  The second man swore and started towards the car, his more aggressive friend now less than six feet away. Adam hoped Byron was nearby. While he knew he could take the first one out, he wasn’t sure if the other also carried a gun.

  Behind them the lorry roared into life and both men froze. Adam hit the armed man with all his might. His fist smashed into the back of the gunman’s head. The man gave a surprised grunt and fell — unconscious before he hit the ground.

  Lights blazing, the lorry leapt out of the warehouse and headed straight for the newcomers’ car. The second man vacillated, torn between helping his mate and trying to protect his car. He chose the latter and took a shot at the cab.

  By the time the man realised the danger, Adam hit him. He drove his shoulder under the man’s ribs and heard the air leave his body. The impact lifted the man off his feet and he crashed into the concrete of the yard. Adam slammed the man’s head into the ground and something crunched. Footsteps came from behind him and he scrambled to his feet, ready to confront a new threat.

  “Mickey Skinner would have been proud of that.” Despite the smile, Byron’s voice betrayed his anxiety.

  “You okay?” Adam asked.

  “Yeah. Dead man’s handle. Took a while to suss it out.” Byron studied the unconscious newcomers. “We’d better get going.”

  Heart still pounding, Adam jogged to the car.

  CHAPTER 17

  The afternoon dragged by and The Boy’s mood swung between eagerness and despair. The thought of seeing his father and brothers again was tempered by the realisation he would never see his new sister. He kept looking at the horizon, worried the others would return before he could escape. The perils of his forthcoming journey didn’t worry him.

  As evening drew in, he relaxed. The others would be away until tomorrow. At their evening meal, he sat with the girl, intending to persuade her to join him. After they sat down, her officer arrived and summoned her. Without a word to The Boy, she went to him. The Boy’s gaze followed her, emptiness growing inside him.

  Once the other children in the hut quietened down, The Boy lay awake, listening to the sounds of the night. The yap of jackals as they scavenged round the camp contributed the most common noise. Although small, many carried rabies and a bite from an infected animal would lead to a terrible death. The whoop of hyenas on their nocturnal rounds sounded less frequently and came from a greater distance. These dangerous predators would make short work of a small boy.

  The Boy decided he should leave before he lost his courage. He had hidden a short spear after the afternoon’s class and would take it with him. He crept out of the hut and collected the weapon and his concealed provisions without incident. As he approached the perimeter of the camp, he moved more carefully. Guards patrolled every night, both to protect them from intruders and prevent people escaping. He slipped between the bushes as his father once taught him.

  A cough sounded behind him and he froze: animal or human? A voice replied, confirming its identity. The two guards conversed in low voices and one of them laughed. The Boy used their sounds to avoid them and continued outwards.

  Siobhan picked up the phone on her desk and listened for several seconds. “Yeah, I’ll attend. Can you confirm the address?” She wrote it on a notepad. “Thanks. Sure, I’ll liaise with the officers in attendance.” She strode out of her office. “Eddy, get your jacket.”

  She briefed him as she drove and he navigated. They took the main road past one of the city’s major football clubs, heading south west. Eddy directed her into a warren of narrow streets lined with red brick terraced houses. They looked well cared for, unlike the ones where they’d found Liam’s body. Most showed lights in the lower windows and blue screens flickered behind open curtains. She saw the patrol car and parked behind it. The inhabitants of the normally quiet street followed their progress to the house.

  The front door stood ajar and she pushed it open, calling out, “Hello, anyone home?”

  A uniformed constable appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Chief Inspector Quinn?” he said in a strong Geordie accent.

  She showed him her ID.

  Eddy recognised him. “All right, Allan?”

  “Sarge.” He gestured behind him. “It’s a bit of a mess in there, I wouldn’t go in.” He moved aside to let Siobhan have a look.

  The smell of blood and guts mingled with the odour of baking hit her. The small kitchen had walls painted a bright yellow, and old-fashioned cupboards lined two sides. Spots of blood flecked their doors and more, mixed with entrails, covered the floor. Marks showed where feet had slipped in this and a machete
lay by the back door. Siobhan wanted to grab it. What were the chances of it being the murder weapon?

  “Do we know what’s happened here?” she asked.

  The Geordie constable gave her a summary of what he’d gathered from speaking to the witnesses. Siobhan listened with growing concern. There must be a connection between the attacks on this family.

  “Where’s the family?” Eddy asked.

  “Next door with the neighbour, Mr Jessop.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

  “Make sure nobody goes into the kitchen or the back yard until SOCO gets here,” Siobhan said. “Eddy, let’s have a word with Mrs Mason.”

  Mr Jessop let them into a small, neat living room. Rebecca and her daughters sat on the sofa sipping tea. The two girls had been crying but looked unhurt. Rebecca wore a determined expression and held the hand of an old woman sitting in an armchair, staring into space.

  Siobhan said, “Mr Jessop, is there somewhere I can talk to Mrs Mason in private?”

  “Through here.” He opened another door to show a similar sized room containing a large silver television, a sofa covered in brown fabric and a comfortable-looking armchair. He bustled in and folded up a newspaper scattered on the sofa.

  “Mrs Mason, are your daughters okay? Do you want an ambulance?”

  “No, they’re fine, Chief Inspector; physically at least.” She gave Siobhan a fleeting smile. “Thank you.” She patted her mother’s hand and got up.

  In the next room, Siobhan and Eddy took the sofa and Rebecca faced them from the armchair. Under Siobhan’s questioning, Rebecca related her account.

  “When I arrived Lucy screamed. Mr Jessop heard her and came to the door.” Rebecca paused.

  “How did you get into the house?” Siobhan said.

  “I have a key. Lucy was in the doorway to the kitchen and I ran to her, then Mum cried out and I rushed into the kitchen. Mugisa ran out the back door—”