KILL ME GOODBYE

by A K Reynolds

  ‘I might yet take you up on that, Duke, but let’s park it for now.’

  ‘No worries.’

  I finished my tea and he held out his beefy hand.

  ‘Pass me your empty mug. I’ll put it in the dishwasher.’ As I handed it to him, he added, ‘Are you hungry? I’m about to make myself some grub. I could make you some while I’m at it.’

  It was 1 p.m. and several hours since I’d eaten breakfast. Moreover, the coffee bar I’d eaten at in St Peter’s Square had only been able to supply me with croissants. While tasty, they’d hardly been filling enough to keep me going for long. My stomach was begging to have a substantial meal shoved into it.

  ‘That would be fantastic, Duke. Thank you.’

  ‘It won’t be anything fancy, just some steak pie, chips and mushy peas.’

  ‘That’ll be just what I need.’

  ‘Okay, won’t be long.’

  He disappeared into the kitchen with the mugs.

  An hour later we were both sitting at Duke’s dining table, polishing off the last morsels of what had been a very tasty meal indeed.

  ‘That pie was great. I had no idea you were so talented, Duke.’

  ‘I talked about my love of cooking in my book. Had you forgotten?’

  Fighting to stop my face from registering embarrassment, I said, ‘I had forgotten, but it comes back to me now.’

  I helped him clear the table and I even washed a few of the dishes. After I’d put the final plate in the draining rack he grabbed my arm from behind and twisted it up my back and wrapped one of his own beefy arms around my neck.

  I kicked his kitchen cupboard and sent us both staggering backwards. All I accomplished was placing an unsightly dent in the cupboard door but I suppose there was some satisfaction in that.

  ‘You fucking bastard Muldoon,’ I said. I didn’t bother making threats. There was no point. We both knew I had no cards to play.

  In reply he twisted my arm until I cried out in pain, and dragged me into the narrow hall, which, I now noticed ran the length of his house, splitting it in two.

  ‘I’ll show you to your quarters,’ he said, as if he was providing an honoured guest with palatial accommodation. The effect was ruined when he sniggered at his own weak joke.

  We passed by two doors. Duke stopped at a third one, which was ajar. Barging it open, he hurled me inside the room that lay beyond it. Before I came to a halt the door slammed shut behind me and a couple of clicks told me it was both locked and bolted.

  Muldoon had betrayed me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I couldn’t use my mobile to call for help because it was in my jacket. Not that there was anyone I could call. I guessed though that it was no accident I was without my mobile. Muldoon must’ve checked it was in my jacket when he’d hung it up, which probably meant he’d been planning to do this almost from the get go.

  I hammered on the door with my fist.

  ‘Duke,’ I shouted. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Sorry Jo. They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘The people I called while you were in the front room and I was cooking dinner.’

  ‘What about your promise to help me out? Doesn’t that count for anything?’

  I was whistling in the pitch dark and I knew it.

  ‘Not where money’s involved it doesn’t.’

  ‘Be reasonable, Duke.’

  His heavy footsteps thudded down the hall to the front room. As there was no point in wasting any more time trying to appeal to his better nature, I surveyed my surroundings hoping to see a means of escape. I was in a room about the size of the cell I’d occupied when the police had taken me in for questioning. The walls were made of rough-hewn stone and, at a guess, were at least three feet thick. The window, set high in the wall, was far too small for me to even consider wriggling through. The floor was made of stone slabs. The room was unfurnished, unheated, and very cold. So I paced about to keep warm, waiting for the sword of Damocles to fall on my head with painful and probably fatal consequences.

  It wasn’t long in coming. Fifty-five minutes later to be precise, according to my watch, was when Muldoon’s doorbell rang. I heard his visitors speaking to him but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Their voices made me want to wet my pants, but I told myself to be strong, and when the door to my makeshift prison opened, I arranged my face into the best semblance of stoic resignation I could as Muldoon stuck his head around the door.

  ‘You can come out now.’

  I would’ve preferred to remain where I was, but as that was clearly not an option I left the room. Muldoon led me down the hall to the front door. Along the way, he took my jacket and hat from a hook.

  ‘You’ll need these,’ he said almost apologetically. ‘It’s cold outside.’

  ‘Why, Duke?’ I said pointlessly.

  He shrugged.

  ‘It’s nothing personal. I can always do with more money so I rang around to see who wanted you and what they were willing to pay to get you.’

  ‘You are scum. You do know that, don’t you?’

  His reply was a gleefully broad grin which made it all too apparent that he found my middle-class values amusing.

  He opened the front door. Waiting outside, were two men who looked to be in their late thirties. They were both about six feet tall, one of them lean with dark hair and a face like a weasel, the other bulkier with fair hair. Both had the dead eyes of the career criminal. I’d seen those eyes many times. The weaselly one was wearing a parka and the bulky one was wearing a camouflage-effect ski jacket.

  Muldoon pushed me gently outside. The two men smiled as I emerged, shivering, into the wind. While putting on my jacket and hat, I noticed a spade propped against the wall next to the front door. It hadn’t been there when I’d arrived. Muldoon stood on his threshold looking at the men expectantly. When he didn’t get what he was apparently expecting to get, he said, ‘What about my pay?’

  The weaselly one reached to the side of the door, grabbed the spade, and proffered it to Muldoon. A worried look appeared on Muldoon’s face.

  ‘What’s this? I don’t understand.’

  The bulky man reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun equipped with a silencer.

  ‘We have some loose ends to tie up. Now do you understand?’

  Muldoon tried to slam the door but the bulky man had his foot in the way and the door didn’t move more than an inch.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Bulky Man said, pointing the muzzle of his gun at Muldoon’s crotch. ‘Get out now, or I’ll blow your fucking balls off.’

  Muldoon reluctantly emerged from the house. As he was only wearing shorts and a T-shirt he shivered more violently than I had done when I’d felt the outdoor air. Or was it fear?

  ‘On second thoughts,’ Bulky Man said. ‘Get your boots on. You’ll need them.’

  Muldoon disappeared inside with the bulky man right behind him.

  A minute later I heard Muldoon say, ‘What about my coat?’

  ‘Fuck your coat.’

  Then Muldoon came out wearing a pair of hobnailed boots, followed by Bulky Man.

  The weaselly man thrust the spade at Muldoon. ‘Carry this.’

  Muldoon accepted it and looked for a moment as if he might try to use it as a weapon, but the gun levelled at his face forced him to reconsider. When I turned away from him, I found myself looking into the muzzle of a gun that Weasel Man was holding.

  ‘Put your hands together behind your back.’

  When I did, Weasel taped them up with what felt like gaffer tape.

  ‘You walk ahead of us,’ Bulky said to Muldoon.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Muldoon said, his voice taking on a whiny tone I’d never heard him use before.

  ‘Never you mind, just move it.’

  ‘I can’t go far. I’ve got bad knees.’

  Bulky pressed the muzzle of
his gun to the back of Muldoon’s shaven head.

  ‘Too bad. Move it.’

  Muldoon picked up speed, his waddling gait resembling that of a duck desperate to escape a predator. Walking in single file, Bulky behind Muldoon, me in third position, and Weasel at the rear, we passed by the side of Muldoon’s Subaru Forester, then Rustin’s Volkswagen which I’d parked behind it, then a black Porsche Cayenne which hadn’t been there when I’d arrived. It was at that point it began to sink in that me and Muldoon were being taken to a killing ground and would be called upon to dig our own graves before being murdered in cold blood with much malice aforethought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Muldoon’s boots made a clattering noise as we crossed over the cobbled drive in front of his house. To our right was the slope up to the top of the plateau which overlooked Edale. Too our left, the magnificent view across the valley, which at that moment seemed less uplifting than would normally be the case. We got to the dirt track which I now saw was joined by a narrow path ascending the slope.

  The bulky man said, ‘Take the path.’

  Muttering a curse, Muldoon turned right and struggled up the path.

  With my hands tied behind my back I found the path difficult going.

  About twenty yards up it, Muldoon turned to face us, holding out his arms in an imploring manner. ‘My knees can’t take this.’

  Bulky man gave him a look of utter contempt.

  ‘Get fucking moving before I blow the fuckers off.’

  Muldoon looked pissed off and scared, but continued on up the hill, using the spade as best he could as a walking stick. The path levelled out and we crossed the top of the plateau, trudging through wild grass covering a level area of boggy ground. We were heading for a long line of trees rising up from the other side of the plateau. At this exposed height the wind whipped through us and I was glad of my jacket. Ahead of us, Muldoon staggered and fell. A boot to his ample gut was employed to persuade him of the benefits of getting back on his feet. He got up awkwardly, red-faced and sweaty in spite of the cold, and lumbered forwards, once more. Seeing Muldoon in that state almost made me feel sorry for him. But given that his recent act of treachery was going to get me killed and buried in a shallow grave, I managed to not get too broken up about his plight.

  We reached the other side of the plateau, entering an area of dense woodland which had taken on the golden brown colour of autumn. The woodland occupied a long, steep slope leading down to Ladybower reservoir at the bottom of the valley. Following the path, we descended the tree-lined slope for about a hundred yards before the bulky man raised his arm.

  ‘Stop.’ We came to a ragged halt. ‘Now go into the trees to your right.’

  We made our way between them, walking over a carpet of fallen leaves, with dense undergrowth catching our legs, until we’d left the path behind us and there was no possibility of anyone seeing what was going to happen next.

  ‘This is far enough,’ the bulky man said. ‘Turn around.’

  Muldoon turned to face us.

  Bulky indicated a patch of ground with his gun. Bracken was loosely strewn over it. ‘Start digging.’

  Tears erupted from Muldoon’s eyes. Not for the first time, I appreciated how small and piggy they were.

  ‘Not this,’ he said. ‘Please, anything but this.’

  The gun went off with a dull thud and a lump of earth near Muldoon’s right foot exploded into the air.

  ‘Dig or the next one will blow out a knee, and that’ll be the least of the pain I’ll give you.’

  Muldoon wiped his tears away with the back of his beefy hand, plunged the spade into the soft ground, stuck his foot on it to push it further in, and raised a clod of spoil with it, creating the beginnings of a hole. I wondered how I’d fare when it was my turn to dig my own grave.

  ‘Make sure it’s the right shape,’ the weaselly one said. ‘I shouldn’t have to tell you what shape that is.’ He looked at his fellow crim and they both grinned. Then he looked at me. ‘You were wasting your time if you expected him to help you.’

  ‘As if I didn’t know.’

  ‘What I mean is, even if he wanted to help, which he obviously didn’t, he’s a plastic gangster. Our boss ran him out of town. That book of his is a load of old bollocks.’

  Muldoon didn’t rush to deny it. Instead, he put his considerable back into his grim work, which soon had him sweating even more.

  ‘I’m knackered. I need a rest.’

  ‘We haven’t got time for you to take a rest. Get on with it.’

  With an anguished grunt, Muldoon continued, eventually making a hole about six feet long, two foot-odd wide, and two feet deep.

  ‘Drop the spade and kneel at one end.’

  Shaking with fear, Muldoon got to his knees at one end of his trench with his hands in the air. The bulky man stood behind him and placed the muzzle of his gun at the back of Muldoon’s head.

  ‘Any last words?’ he said with a sneer.

  ‘Please don–’

  Muldoon’s sentence was cut short by the gun, which made a dull thud, the second I’d heard that day. Muldoon’s face parted company with his head, spattering the bottom of the trench. His body wobbled, then fell forwards. Both my captors watched with fascinated amusement. While they were preoccupied with admiring their handiwork I set off running down the hill, threading my way between the trees. It was all I could do to keep my footing given that I was going as fast as I could, on a treacherous surface, with my hands tied behind my back. A crashing in the undergrowth behind me told me I was being pursued.

  ‘Stop or you’re dead!’

  A bullet cracked into a tree a few yards to my side. I continued to run, not noticing that the ground in front dropped away to become near vertical. Leaping unwittingly into the void I plummeted, my heart and any number of my other internal organs feeling as if they were in my mouth. A second or two later I landed on a steep slope and rolled painfully through more undergrowth before coming to a halt. During my rapid descent I’d lost my hat and torn my trousers, but that was the least of my problems.

  Getting to my feet I made the pleasing discovery that I was in one piece with no broken bones. Moreover, Weasel hadn’t made a very good job of tying me. The tape had come loose from my wrists. My arms were available for use again. I was a free woman, albeit with a distinctly limited lifespan if I didn’t get moving. I ran the rest of the way down the hill, emerging from the trees at the bottom onto Carr Lane, the narrow road running alongside Ladybower reservoir.

  Crashing sounds among the trees on the slope told me my former captors weren’t far behind. A blue Kia Sorento came towards me, heading in the direction of the A57. I ran in front of it, vaguely aware that I was covered in filth. The car stopped, having little option other than for braking or running me over. The driver was a silver-haired woman with thick spectacles and an expression on her face which made her look as if she’d just stepped into a pile of particularly fragrant dog shit. In a sense she had. I pounded on the side window next to her.

  ‘Help me please!’

  She took advantage of the fact I was no longer obstructing her to step on the pedal. The car pulled smartly away, and with it, I suspected, my prospects of salvation.

  Although my lungs were protesting at the effort I’d already made I found the strength to break into a run.

  To my right the grey waters of Ladybower reservoir rippled gently under an equally grey sky. To my left, the steep tree-lined slope led back up to the top of the plateau, with two armed killers running down it in my direction.

  Another car came my way, a dark-blue Land Rover. As it drew closer I read the words Park Ranger, which were emblazoned on the bonnet in white. The driver was wearing an olive green uniform. I stood in his path waiving my arms around. He pulled up a yard from me and wound down the window.

  ‘You look like you need hospital treatment. Get in.’

  In the same instant, Weasel and h
is bulky companion emerged from the trees about a hundred yards ahead of us, looking as knackered as I felt. They broke into a half-hearted run in our direction. Weasel fired his gun wide enough from me that the bullet ripped into the reservoir with a splash.

  ‘Stop!’ He fired again into the same place.

  ‘Get in quick!’ the ranger said.

  Two seconds later I was sitting next to him fastening my seatbelt while he slammed the vehicle into reverse. Another bullet went wide of us and I realised Bulky and Weasel weren’t out to kill me. They wanted to take me alive and deliver me to someone, probably Hench. Killing me was probably more than their lives were worth, so I was perfectly safe, but the ranger wasn’t. If they got close enough to take a clear shot at him, he’d be dead. The ranger reversed at speed, then expertly turned the Range Rover to face away from our attackers, and accelerated along Carr Lane. Casting a wary backward glance, I was reassured to see we’d left my attackers far behind. When we turned a corner they disappeared altogether.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Thank you so much.’

  The ranger was in his mid-twenties, with short black hair and a lean face which gave him the ruddy look of a man who spent most of his time outdoors. His build was slim and athletic.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

  I considered my response carefully, not wanting to disclose too much. It was still my view that the less anybody knew about me, the better.

  ‘It’s a long story. But in short, those men are gangsters from Manchester. I’m a barrister. I helped put one of their friends behind bars and they’re out for vengeance.’

  We got to the A57 and he turned in the direction of Sheffield.

  ‘You’d better call the police,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t have a mobile.’ I lied, not wanting to use my own as it might attract the wrong sort of attention.

  ‘You can use mine.’ He reached into his pocket and passed it to me. ‘I’ll take you to the Royal Hallamshire Hospital. You can get your injuries looked at there.’