Brotherhood

by David Beckler

  McLaughlin forced his head back, using the handle of the hammer to crush Byron’s windpipe. The force increased and the metal bar bit into his throat. The chair slid backwards until McLaughlin slammed his knee into Byron’s back. He stopped, but the bar continued. Byron pushed his chin down, tensing the tendons in his neck.

  He tried to twist free but his feet couldn’t get purchase on the blood-slicked floor. His trapped fingers screamed in agony and the tendons in his neck felt on fire. As consciousness slipped away, a recently recalled memory returned. The vision of his thirteen-year-old self with the broom handle round McLaughlin’s neck felt so real he could smell the bleach in the janitor’s room.

  The image faded and light flashed in front of Byron. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer and hoped Adam would survive to free Philip. Regret he’d never see Lilly grow up, or even know if she had a brother or sister filled his mind. He heard a rattling gurgle and realised it came from him.

  “Pheeesse,” he whispered.

  “Speak up.” McLaughlin lowered his head and spoke into Byron’s ear.

  Byron pushed forward, into the bar. Surprised, McLaughlin relaxed his hold. Knowing he had just one chance, Byron hurled his head back with as much force as he could muster. It smashed into McLaughlin’s face. He grunted and cried out. The hammer fell into Byron’s lap and, ignoring the dizziness, he struggled to his feet.

  McLaughlin reeled away, blood pouring from his ruined nose. Byron swung his left foot round and caught McLaughlin with a roundhouse kick to his temple. Dizzy and unable to use his arms for balance, he couldn’t help himself when his right foot slipped and he landed on his back.

  Gasping for breath, he struggled to get up but his left arm wouldn’t work. McLaughlin got to his hands and knees, barely conscious, but he crawled towards his pistol, which lay a metre away. Byron gave a desperate lunge and hooked his foot round McLaughlin’s neck. He pulled and McLaughlin fell to the floor. Byron used his other foot to encircle the man’s neck before linking his feet together and applying the power of his thighs.

  McLaughlin hands tugged at Byron’s calves, fingers digging into the unyielding muscle. Byron ignored the pain and pulled harder. McLaughlin’s complexion reddened, but still he glared at Byron. The anger Byron first saw in them when he was eleven, undiminished.

  He steeled himself and kept the pressure on as the light dimmed in McLaughlin’s eyes. At first Byron thought he’d imagined the figure stepping into his field of vision. Then he saw the pistol pointed at his head.

  Siobhan found herself once again in disposable coveralls with Eddy next to her. They finished checking the flat where the gangsters held Philip. The body of a man Eddy identified as Lenny, one of McLaughlin’s heavies, lay by the front door. The armed response team was on their way home, their work done. She examined the room where the stinking mattress lay.

  “What do they use these rooms for?” she asked.

  “Trafficked girls, usually. Most spend about a week here before they get moved on to the brothels.”

  She shuddered and backed out of the room. “Let’s see how they’re getting on downstairs.”

  They came out of the flat and waited for the forensics team to load the rest of their equipment out of the lift. Siobhan felt disconnected from her body; the sight of so much butchery was hard to take in and she thought of what she still had to do; difficult tasks to perform.

  Careful to avoid the many bloodstains on the landing, they got into the lift and, as the doors closed, the wail of an ambulance reached them.

  The safety catch clicked and Byron froze.

  “You can let go now, Byron. He’s dead.” Kieran gestured to his brother.

  Byron relaxed his scissor grip, his leg muscles burnt and his ankles ached. McLaughlin slumped to the floor, unseeing eyes staring out of his mottled face. Byron untangled his legs from the corpse and pushed himself away. Kieran kept his attention on him. Byron couldn’t read his expression but expected a bullet in retribution.

  Kieran raised his eyebrows. “I don’t hold grudges, Byron. The king is dead, long live the king.” He pointed at his chest.

  Byron realised Kieran had been watching for some time. “You set this up.”

  Kieron didn’t deny it. “If you’d failed, these two,” he waved at the two dead men, “would have made sure Ritchie joined you. This way, I don’t have to worry about word getting back to the other lads. Some were touchingly loyal to my brother.”

  Byron sat up and Kieran waved the automatic.

  “Don’t get any ideas.”

  “What now?”

  “I still want our…” He smiled. “My trailer back.”

  “I told you; you agree to leave Philip alone—”

  “And I told you, I’ve no interest in the boy. He was his obsession.” He pointed at his brother. “Or more accurately, you were.”

  “Okay.” The agony from Byron’s left arm made him dizzy and consciousness threatened to slip away. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he sat up, intending to stand and daring to hope this would soon be over. “I’ll get the trailer. Just make sure your men don’t harm Philip.”

  “No.” Kieran lunged forward shoving the barrel towards Byron’s right eye. So close he couldn’t focus on it. “You’re going nowhere until I have the trailer.” The barrel swung until it pointed at Byron’s left knee. “Sorry about this, but I can’t have you wandering off.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Adam arrived at the blue door out of breath and his pulse racing. He rushed in, saw the locked doorway and hurtled up the stairs. The dread he’d be too late filled him with a sense of panic but, gripping the shotgun, he pushed himself onwards.

  At the top, he hesitated. The sliding door across the stairs stood open, the gap wide enough for him to slip through. Sweat ran down his forehead and he wiped it away with his forearm. The musty smell of damp masonry and pigeon droppings filled his nostrils. He held his breath and listened. Indistinct voices carried above the thrum of the pulse in his ears. Although he couldn’t hear the words, the speakers sounded calm. He poked his head into the corridor. It was empty, so he stepped into it.

  The voices came from a room off the corridor. Taking care where he put his feet, he shuffled towards the door. Byron’s bass rumble carried through the timber and relief surged through him. Adam paused outside the closed door, listening, trying to judge the positions of the people talking. Unable to tell, he hesitated, then, levelling the shotgun, he slammed his heel into the door. It crashed open, and he charged in, the barrel of the shotgun held ahead of him. The stench of blood filled the air and behind it the familiar odour of gunshots. Light streamed in through grimy windows, illuminating a large open room. Three bodies lay on the bare boards, two covered in blood and the third clearly dead. Adam focussed on the two still alive and swung the barrel towards them.

  Byron sat on the floor. A man stood behind him, an automatic in his hands levelled at Byron’s legs. If Adam fired, most of the shot would hit Byron. He dropped the shotgun and ran at the gunman. By the time Kieran realised what was happening, Adam had halved the distance between them. Kieran swung the pistol towards Adam and pulled the trigger. Byron slapped the gun arm upwards as Adam launched himself. He screwed his eyes up against the flash but the heat from the expanding gases scorched his cheek. His shoulder hit Kieran’s sternum and, legs pumping, he drove him backwards, towards the window.

  With a crash of glass, Kieran flew out. Adam blinked, shook himself and scanned the room. After establishing he’d eliminated all threats, he regarded Byron. Blood leaked from his shoulder and his left hand, which had swollen to three times its normal size. His friend grimaced, obviously in pain. Adam bent towards him and examined his injuries. Byron kept guard on the door while Adam released him from the cargo sling.

  “Did he shoot you?” Adam asked, puzzled.

  “Knife from matey there.” Byron pointed at the nearest body.

  “What about the hand?” He studied the discoloured fles
h.

  “Hammer. Same guy.”

  Adam helped him to his feet, feeling queasy. “There’s a first aid kit in the car. Where’s your pistol?”

  Byron nodded at McLaughlin. “In his pocket.”

  Adam retrieved it and recovered the shotgun. Byron, now steadier, followed him, getting stronger with each step. Wary of running into more of McLaughlin’s men, but mindful of the need to hurry, they rushed down the staircase.

  When they reached the exit, they ran across the yard to the main gates. At the car, Adam patched the knife wound in Byron’s shoulder. It needed stitches but the dressing would do for now. The hand had stopped bleeding but he could do nothing else for it. Byron struggled into his jacket, forcing the swollen hand through the sleeve and grimacing.

  Adam drove and, as they raced through the streets, he checked the time. They’d wasted two hours, and he hoped nothing had happened to Philip.

  Byron leaned forward and peered through the windscreen as they approached the blocks of flats. Abandoned police and support vehicles surrounded the base of the tower, like a flock of vultures around a carcass. Byron, soaked in sweat, consigned the pain suffusing his whole arm into the background and studied the scene with a growing sense of helplessness. They were too late.

  He recognised the futility of revisiting decisions already made, but couldn’t help himself. Adam, his face etched with concern, drove past. Neither spoke. A few minutes later they returned, having hidden the firearms and ammunition in a storm drain. Adam slowed the car to a stop just outside the unmarked cordon created by the abandoned emergency vehicles. They got out and walked towards the entrance but two constables intercepted them before they reached it.

  “Sorry, gentlemen,” the older of the two said, “the building’s off limits to all but residents.”

  Byron stilled his trepidation and smiled at the officer. “It looks like you’ve had a busy morning.”

  The man studied Byron’s injuries with interest, then his young colleague blurted out, “Too right we have.”

  “What happened?”

  “Some psycho shot a load of people. It’s bloody carnage up there—”

  “Are you reporters?” the older policeman interrupted.

  “No, we’re not, officer,” Byron said, his alarm intensified by the other constable’s account. “Do you know who’s hurt?”

  “Just some scrotes.” The young constable dismissed the victims.

  “I’m looking for my nephew.”

  The older officer gave his colleague a stern look. “Can you describe him, sir?”

  “Seventeen, about six four, athletic build, short black hair.”

  The two constables exchanged a glance.

  His apprehension increasing, Byron demanded, “What’s happened to him?”

  “Which flat was he in?”

  “No idea. We just know he’s in this block.”

  The constable took out his radio. “Do you mind waiting here, sir?” He walked towards the building and spoke into the microphone.

  Byron spoke to his young colleague. “What’s happened to my nephew?”

  The officer started to speak but thought better of it, and his colleague returned before he changed his mind. “Someone will be down shortly.”

  “Can’t you tell me what’s happened?” The certainty something had happened to Philip filled him with panic.

  “I’m sorry, we don’t really know. Someone’s on the way down. You won’t have to wait long now.”

  The three minutes they waited crawled by. Byron ignored the pain from his wounds and imagined a variety of scenarios, all of which involved Philip being maimed, or worse. He paced as he waited and Adam watched him, wearing a stricken expression.

  “Byron!” Adam’s call alerted him.

  Siobhan and Eddy made their way towards them. Adam smiled in greeting but Siobhan ignored him and focussed on Byron, her expression grim.

  Byron started towards them. “Chief Inspector—”

  “Mr Mason.”

  “What’s happened to Philip? These two won’t tell me.”

  “They don’t know who the hell you are.” She looked into his eyes. “I’m sorry to have to tell you, Philip’s been shot.”

  Eddy drove Siobhan to the hospital, Adam and Byron in the back. Seeing Adam, Siobhan’s feelings veered between gratitude for saving her last night and fury that he’d used her.

  Byron interrupted her train of thought. “Will you charge him with involvement in Liam’s death?”

  “That’s not my decision.”

  “He had nothing to do with it.”

  “Like I said, it’s—” Eddy put the siren on as they approached a roundabout.

  “How did Liam die?” Byron said when the sound died.

  “Someone cut him in the neck with a machete, a potentially fatal wound, but he died from internal injuries.” The thought of what the boy had suffered still upset Siobhan. “The killers kicked him to death.”

  Byron expelled a loud breath. “I met Tom and Trev Harris. I presume you know them.”

  She recognised the surname and glanced at Eddy who nodded.

  “They told me they’d given him a good kicking.”

  “And why would they tell you that?”

  Byron hesitated. “It was what you could call an intense moment. I had to convince them I wasn’t a friend of McLaughlin’s, so I told them I’d been responsible for his twin brother’s death.”

  “He died in an RTA,” Eddy said.

  “Yeah, chasing me after I beat up his brother. Anyway, Tom laughed and said they’d given his nephew a hiding and told me what happened until his brother shut him up.”

  “What did they say happened?” Siobhan said.

  “They’d been following him in the car, and when he escaped from the others, they tracked him to an alleyway. Tom said he fell and they laid into him.”

  Anger made her muscles quiver. “Did they say why?”

  “I got the impression they didn’t need much of an excuse.”

  “The families hated each other,” Eddy said, “But there were rumours one of McLaughlin’s men killed old man Harris’s favourite guard dog. They run a scrapyard.”

  “That explains the old motor oil in Liam’s wounds. We assumed it came from the alleyway.” Siobhan’s mind whirred. “Do you know where they live, Eddy?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Get someone to pick them up as soon as we park up.” Their inability to trace the car they’d seen on the CCTV still bothered her. But the owners of a scrapyard wouldn’t have any problem getting hold of old number plates.

  The confirmation Philip’s actions hadn’t led to Liam’s death lifted a huge weight off Byron’s shoulders. Signs for the Infirmary appeared, and the car slowed. They pulled off the road and followed signposts to the main car park. Byron struggled to undo his seatbelt until Adam did it for him. He headed for the entrance, followed by Adam and Siobhan while Eddy made a call.

  Samuel’s car sat in a disabled space. Rebecca strode towards the entrance, leaving the two girls waiting for their father to get into his chair.

  “Rebecca!” His shout stopped her in her tracks.

  Surprise changed to fury, and she advanced towards him. “How dare you come here? You promised me you’d bring him back safely.”

  Feeling a measure of responsibility, Byron didn’t respond.

  Adam stepped forward. “If it wasn’t for Byron, we wouldn’t have found Philip.” He glared at Rebecca. “And he almost got killed...”

  Rebecca studied Byron, taking in his injuries, before turning away and marching up to Samuel and the girls. She stroked his hand before putting her arms across the girls’ shoulders.

  “Shall we see our son?” Samuel said, wheeling his chair towards the entrance. Byron watched them troop in behind his brother.

  Eddy arrived. “They’re picking them up now, Boss.”

  Adam put his hand on Byron’s good shoulder. “Come on, mate. Let’s see Philip, unless you want to
go straight to casualty.”

  “This can wait. Let’s go.”

  He followed them into the bright interior. The smell of disinfectant mingled with a gentler, flowery bouquet. The doors to a large lift facing them slid open and Samuel led his family into it. Byron and his entourage followed, and they rode up to the third floor. Lost in their thoughts, nobody spoke. Rebecca gave Byron a half-hearted glare, before staring at her reflection in the door. The lift stopped, and the doors opened with a soft swish. They paused for a few seconds, unsure of which direction to take, until Samuel led the way.

  At the doors to the ward, a nurse intercepted them. “I’m sorry, you can’t all go in. It’s only two visitors per patient.”

  Eddy smiled at her. “Hello Bridie.” The two of them held a whispered conversation and, after a few moments, she addressed the waiting delegation.

  “Okay, you four can go first.” She gestured at Philip’s parents and sisters. “The rest of you will have to wait.”

  Adam studied Byron, looking stricken and lost, and wishing he could say something to make him feel better. He jumped when Siobhan gripped his elbow.

  “A word please, Adam.” She guided him to one side. “What the hell were you playing at Thursday night?” Her eyes flashed. “I don’t like being used. You’ll regret this.”

  Her vehemence stunned him but he found his voice. “I realise how this looks, but I had no ulterior motives. What happened Thursday night was genuine on my part.” He wasn’t sure if she believed him.

  “You have a lot of explaining to do. How did you find out where McLaughlin was holding Philip? Did you steal one of my documents? And what’s happened to him?” She jerked a thumb at Byron.

  Adam avoided answering. “How did Philip get shot?”

  Her expression softened. “We got to Philip just as Mugisa was about to shoot him, but Philip had a gun and one of our men thought he was attacking Mugisa, so he shot him.”

  “Is he OK?” Adam ran his hands through his hair.