Searching For Hope

by Michael Joseph

  Kenny Swain's first mistake.

  Sam didn't have long. The men in the Jaguar would be on the phone to someone in the club, letting them know Sam was inside. He wandered over to the bar. It was rammed tonight, the customers two deep waiting to be served. It wasn't hard to see why. Too many punters, not enough staff. Those on the other side of the bar were hurrying to keep the customers satisfied. Sam picked up a tray off the bar and placed two empty glasses on it. For effect, he also grabbed a white tea towel, opened it out and folded it over his arm. Then he went around the back of the bar as he had done yesterday.

  Nobody took any notice of him.

  He followed the corridor down to the door at the far end. The one he had heard Barry talking behind. All sounded quiet tonight. He took hold of the handle and pushed the door open. In a windowless room, two men were hunched over a desk, deep in conversation. They looked up at Sam, startled by his appearance.

  'Hey! You can't come in-'

  Sam shut the door behind him.

  'Forget the act,' he told the two men. 'You've probably been watching me on a screen somewhere.'

  Kenny Swain smiled and turned the monitor on his desk around. Sam saw a screen split into segments. Security cameras observing the back section of the club. Behind the bar. Down the corridor. The room the three men were currently in.

  'Sam Carlisle,' grinned Kenny Swain, revealing a set of perfectly formed teeth. 'We finally meet...and you're as smart as everyone keeps telling me.'

  'I hate to blow my own trumpet,' replied Sam, 'but I think your game's finally up.'

  Kenny Swain's doorman, Barry, rose to his feet, clenching his fists.

  'You're not-'

  Swain ushered Barry back into his seat with a casual wave of his hand.

  'Barry, sit down. You're making a scene.'

  Sam couldn't deny Swain had a certain panache. He was well-groomed, without a hair out of place, wearing a sharp suit. He watched Sam with bright, sparkling eyes that danced with good humour. Even from behind his desk, Swain managed to radiate an undeniable air of calm authority. Sam had to remind himself this was a man who had snatched a young girl and ordered the murder of her brother.

  Swain got up and went over to a small drinks cabinet.

  'I hear you like a whisky, Sam. Fancy one?'

  A final request? Sam guessed it wouldn't be a cheap brand.

  'A double.'

  Swain poured drinks for Sam and himself, noticeably ignoring his loyal doorman. He passed Sam one of the glasses, raising his own.

  'To good health.'

  Sam took a sip from his glass.

  'Where's Hope?'

  Swain didn't reply immediately. His smile had slipped a touch. He fiddled with the sleeves of his designer suit. Even his fingernails were neatly manicured.

  'I'm going to humour you, Sam,' he sighed. 'Until I get bored, at least. She's not here.'

  An image entered Sam's head. A young woman in a filthy room. Tied up. Starving.

  'Don't worry,' said Swain reassuringly. 'She's not come to any harm.'

  'Unlike her brother.'

  Sam saw a spark of danger light up in Swain's eyes.

  'Danny Findlay was given plenty of warning. He wouldn't take heed.'

  'So he paid the price.'

  Swain shrugged, swilled some whisky around his mouth and swallowed greedily.

  'That's life, Sam.'

  'Does his sister know?'

  Swain grinned widely. It was wicked, full of pure evil. The mask was slipping.

  'Oh, she knows.'

  'Danny found out you and Roger were old friends. He was pretty angry towards his uncle...ready to go the police about you both. How did you stop him?'

  Barry suddenly laughed. Sam had forgotten he was there.

  'We told him his sister would be killed if he grassed.'

  Barry grinned mysteriously at his boss. Swain gazed back at him with positive annoyance. Sam suspected he was missing something here. Something even more unsavoury. He turned back to Swain.

  'And you bought Roger Carpenter's silence?'

  Swain shrugged, as though he bribed people every day. Perhaps he did.

  'Everyone has their price.'

  Sam heard voices in the corridor, getting louder as they approached the door. He gave Swain an uncertain look. The club owner grinned back at him sadistically.

  'Did you think you were going to take me out of here, Sam? Did you really think I was going to allow that?'

  The door was flung open. Two men were stood in the doorway.

  'We meet again,' smirked Jimmy Edwards.

  Sam ignored him and stared at the other man. A huge giant of man with a thick black beard. A face Sam remembered well from his first visit to the Concrete Jungle.

  'Hello again, Clarence.'

  Chapter 25

  'You should have kept your nose out, Sam. This was none of your business.'

  Sam smiled at Clarence.

  'Your friend here has already made that helpful comment. I think it's a bit late now for hindsight.'

  The room was silent for a few moments as Clarence closed the door gently behind him with one enormous hand. Sam marvelled at the gentle touch applied by such a mountain of a man.

  Kenny Swain stepped forward, looking increasingly smug.

  'I believe you spent a lot of time chasing the wrong man, Sam.'

  Sam chewed on his lip, looking disheartened.

  'So it appears.'

  Sam wasn't going to let on he knew Clarence was involved. True, it had taken time to figure out, but once Jake Dawkins had let slip Clarence wasn't homeless but hired men dossing on the Jungle for odd jobs, everything had fitted. The man preparing to finish Sam off hadn't been wearing the same blue hooded jacket Jake had during their chase through the factory. Sam's fuzzy memory of that incident had cleared with time. The figure wielding a weapon above Sam had been much larger than Jake. Fortunately for Sam, mishearing Richie in that tunnel hadn't proved costly. The name had been Clarence Duvall, not Laurence.

  Clarence had been his nemesis all along.

  'You played me well that night I met you,' Sam said to Clarence, genuinely meaning it. 'And you and your pal here have been following me ever since.'

  The huge man shrugged modestly, his broad shoulders moving up and down like large slabs of granite.

  'You've certainly been clocking up some miles,' he said in that strange accent Sam had found difficult to pinpoint on their first meeting. Sam knew where it had come from now thanks to Richie's delving. Clarence had travelled the world over, leaving a trail of criminal activity everywhere he went, always managing to stay one step ahead of the law.

  Out the corner of his eye, Sam noticed Barry take a threatening step forward.

  Time was running out.

  'Do you know what I don't understand?' said Sam, turning to Swain.

  'What's that?' replied Swain, raising an eyebrow in the first sign of impatience.

  'Why you got your heavies involved. After all, it was only a missing girl Danny was looking for...even if it was his sister. But then he found out about the drugs, didn't he? After that, you had no choice but to silence him.'

  'He really is a clever boy,' remarked Swain, glancing around at his henchman.

  'Not for much longer,' said Barry, taking another step towards Sam.

  Sam shuffled backwards a touch. His knew his time was nearly up.

  'You've got the complete set here, haven't you, Kenny? The brawn...'

  Sam pointed at Barry, who glanced at his boss, looking offended. The smile on Swain's face was hard to miss.

  'Then you've got Jimmy here, the wannabe gangster...trying to make the step up from flogging bent gear.'

  Jimmy Edwards bristled at the comment.

  'Keep talking, sunshine,' he snarled. 'Make the most of it while you can.'

  Sam was doing exactly that, but he was getting increasingly concerned.

  Where were they?

  Barry and Jimmy were both inchin
g towards him now, and Swain wasn't discouraging them. Sam tried to keep his cool. It didn't matter he was antagonising these men. Nothing he said now would alter their plans for him.

  'Now, Clarence is the really interesting one. The brains who really kept a check on me. Jimmy was just your dogsbody, wasn't he, Clarence?'

  Clarence frowned, not sure how to take the comment. However, Jimmy wasn't prepared to take any more. He glanced at Swain, who reciprocated with the slightest of nods.

  Sam braced himself.

  Where the hell was Robins?

  Barry and Jimmy came at him in tandem.

  Sam put a hand behind him and felt his lower back.

  'He's got a gun!' shouted Barry, halting. Jimmy stopped alongside him, looking apprehensive.

  'Well, get it off him!' shouted Swain, losing his composure. However, one man in the room had remained calm.

  'No, he hasn't,' said Clarence evenly. 'He's wired up.'

  Suddenly, shouting erupted within the club. Screaming. The sound of footsteps running. Sam watched Swain's cronies turn to their boss in bewilderment.

  Sam saw his chance.

  He ran past Barry and Jimmy, throwing an elbow into each of their chests. They both doubled over, winded by the blows. Sam didn't have time to enjoy the payback for their assault on him in his flat.

  Swain had turned his back, fidgeting clumsily with the dial of a safe. Sam headed for the door. The police could take over from here now. Swain and his men had nowhere to run.

  However, a sturdy barrier blocked Sam's exit. The intimidating frame of Clarence covered the entire door. The huge man shook his head at Sam and pulled out a knife. The shouting was getting closer, coming from the bar now. Sam wondered if it was all too late for him. Clarence lurched forwards, the knife thrust in Sam's direction.

  Sam looked down and realised he was still holding the glass.

  Would it work again?

  He threw the whisky into Clarence's face. While the giant man didn't stagger backwards, the alcohol did cause him to rub at his eyes frantically. Sam drew his arm back and let go with the hardest punch he had ever unleashed.

  Clarence collapsed to the floor, clutching his stomach.

  'That's for the whack over the head,' said Sam, stepping over the groaning body, pulling open the door.

  'Stop there!'

  Sam threw himself into the corridor just as a bullet struck the swinging door. Swain must have extracted a gun from the safe. Sam ran up the corridor and dived into the bar just as another shot rang out. He heard the bullet ricochet harmlessly off the staircase at the end of the corridor.

  The main room was in chaos. Police were trying to herd everyone out of the club. Armed officers in bulletproof vests were in the bar, primed to surge down the corridor. Robins was amongst them, barking out orders. Sam placed a hand on his shoulder.

  'You took your time.'

  Robins looked flustered.

  'There was a hitch with our recording equipment,' he said bitterly. 'We missed your cue to go in. We had to take a chance in the end.'

  Sam described the scene back in the office, explaining at least one man was armed in there. Robins told him to leave the immediate area. They would talk when it was all over. For once, Sam was glad to do as he was told. He left the police geared up to storm the office and walked over to the nearest available exit, anticipating the fresh air outside.

  He realised it was the same door he had left through that fateful night. An officer was escorting stragglers out of the premises. A man was stood alongside him, shaking his head slowly at all the commotion.

  Charlie, the doorman Sam had rescued from drunken revellers in the club entrance.

  Sam gave him the briefest of nods and stepped out into the gloriously cold night. He looked over at the bins. It all came back to him.

  Suddenly, a shot rang out from within the club. Those still leaving screamed in panic and bolted past Sam up the alleyway. Sam didn't budge. He hadn't even dragged his eyes away from the bins.

  'This is it then.'

  Sam turned to find Charlie at his shoulder. The doorman was looking up at the night sky.

  'What are you still doing here?' asked Sam. 'You don't want to get caught up in all of this.'

  Charlie shrugged.

  'I've only been here a couple of weeks. I don't even know what's really going on. Nobody's told me anything. I only heard Barry and the boss discussing you by accident. I just thought it fair to tip you off after you helped me.'

  It was Charlie who had given Sam the friendly warning over the phone. The man hadn't been involved with Danny Findlay, his sister, or the drugs racket being run from Jaspers, but he had found out Kenny Swain wanted Sam out the way. And while Charlie hadn't known Swain long enough to feel any loyalty towards his boss, he hadn't forgotten Sam had saved him from a potential beating.

  'If I was you, Charlie, I'd still get out of here-'

  Sam clammed up. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

  Kenny Swain had appeared from a small door further up the alleyway. Sam hadn't even noticed there was a door there. Swain was walking briskly, merging with the punters making their way out onto the main road.

  How had he managed to get away?

  Sam ran after him, pushing people out the way in a desperate bid to keep up with Swain. He spotted the man hurrying over to a car across the road. The police officers in the vicinity hadn't noticed Swain amongst the sizeable crowd milling about outside Jaspers.

  Sam watched Swain drive off. He didn't have time to fetch Robins, and it would take too long to explain to any nearby officer.

  Sam sighed and headed for his car.

  Chapter 26

  Swain drove recklessly through Shard End, running through red lights at speed, twice nearly losing control of his vehicle as he rounded tight bends. Thankfully, the roads were practically deserted at this late hour. Sam had no trouble keeping the nightclub owner in sight. He had chased far more competent drivers than Kenny Swain. With Sam purposely hanging back, it was possible Swain didn't even know he was being tailed. However, he would be aware every cop in the area would be on the lookout for him now. Sam winced yet again as he watched Swain weave precariously around another car, almost forcing the other vehicle off the road.

  The chase progressed through the sleepy suburbs of Newgate with Swain showing no sign of slowing down. On it went, out into the more affluent part of town, past huge, detached homes shrouded in darkness. Sam was just beginning to wonder if Swain had a bolt-hole in mind at all when his quarry turned into the grounds of a plush house. Sam drove past just in time to see Swain hurrying up the steps to the property.

  Sam turned around at the next junction and headed back. He approached the house with caution, switching the engine off and cutting his lights out, allowing the Capri to roll silently to a halt on the grass verge yards from the entrance to the grounds. He got out, closed the door quietly and walked up the drive. Swain had left his car running. The driver's door was wide open, the keys still in the ignition. Further on, the front door to the house was also ajar.

  This was only a fleeting visit.

  Swain was here to collect something.

  Sam pushed the front door open slowly and stepped into a grand hallway. From outside, he had noticed a light on in the back corner of the house, so he headed roughly in that direction. As he edged through the house, he heard voices. One raised, sounding desperate. The other quieter, more serene.

  He soon found the source of the light. The kitchen. Through the partially open door, he could see only a large wooden table. Out of view, someone was opening and shutting drawers impatiently, cursing softly under their breath. Sam withdrew his gun and approached the kitchen.

  'Passports! Where are the bloody passports?'

  Sam stepped into the kitchen. It was empty, save for the frustrated figure rifling through a drawer.

  'You won't be needing them now, Kenny. You're not going anywhere.'

  Kenny Swain swung around, alarm
on his face. He, too, had a gun in his hand. He looked at Sam in despair and raised his weapon. Sam was forced to do the same.

  'Don't do it, Kenny. The game's already up.'

  Another voice suddenly rang out.

  'Maybe not.'

  Keeping his gun trained on Kenny, Sam looked out the corner of his eye. A figure had appeared in the doorway of an adjacent room.

  Hope Findlay.

  Holding a gun of her own.

  Pointing it in Sam's direction.

  Chapter 27

  'Sam Carlisle. I've heard all about you.'

  He had expected to find her in a terrible state, being forcibly dragged out the house against her will by Swain. He certainly hadn't envisaged her confidently pointing a gun at any would-be rescuer. She looked calm and collected, a steely gaze in her eyes, steady hands clutching her weapon. Sam shook his head in utter confusion.

  'I don't get-'

  Then he suddenly did. Horrible realisation dawned on him. Now he knew why Danny had been driven to despair.

  His sister wasn't being held against her will.

  She hadn't wanted to be rescued at all.

  Sam's gaze flitted from Kenny to Hope. He still felt something was amiss. Whereas Hope looked assured, Kenny appeared worried, as though something more than Sam's presence was proving an obstacle to their escape. Sam wondered what it was. After all, they outnumbered him by two guns to one.

  'You ran away with Kenny?'

  Hope nodded coldly.

  'We got to know each other when Kenny used to call round to see Roger.'

  Sam heard the clear distaste in Hope's voice when she mentioned her uncle's name.

  'So you moved away with him, but you had to do it secretly because you were under-age.'

  Hope nodded again, totally unperturbed. Sam studied her, taking care at the same time not to ignore Kenny. The schoolgirl in the picture had blossomed into a stunning young woman. She was wearing a short red jacket, faded jeans and black boots. Her hair was dyed black, and her face had matured, but there was no mistaking those eyes, still burning with defiance.