“Err, hello again,” Jack stumbles to say, his nerves getting the better of him.
“Hello. Here is your delivery as we talked about,” the big Russian says and places the sports bag discreetly onto an empty chair.
“Thank you. Can I get you a drink?” Jack says as if a close business associate is standing in front of him and not a Russian mobster delivering a bag full of drugs.
“No, no drink. I see you next Wednesday at the club. Do not be late. Or will be trouble for you,” Andrei warns.
“I will be there,” Jack confirms.
Over at the entrance, two men have entered the bar, unnoticed by Jack or Daryl, whose concentration is on Andrei. One has slicked-back hair and the other short curly hair. Both are dressed in off-the-rail suits that once had price tags hanging in them. They ignore the barman who asks them what they want to drink as they walk past, going straight to the back of the bar, reaching inside their suit jackets as they go.
“I think you have something that belongs to us, Andrei,” the man with the slicked-back hair announces to Andrei’s back.
Jack doesn’t register where the voice has come from immediately, his view blocked by Andrei’s girth. When he realises someone said it from behind Andrei, he still doesn’t understand what is going on. He is still looking at Andrei, whose face has changed.
Andrei’s brow furrows in anger, an anger that Jack is glad isn’t directed at him. Andrei turns to face the two men, who Jack now does see, as he turns. The men are standing a few feet back and both are pointing guns.
Jack’s confusion escalates for a moment as he tries to understand what is going on and then in an instant, his confusion turns to fear when it sinks in that the pistols are pointed in his direction.
Jack glances at Daryl, hoping to see some confidence and understanding from him, but he gets none. Daryl looks just as scared as Jack is feeling, and his hands are raising into the air. Jack is sure they are about to be arrested.
“Put your fucking hands down,” the curly-haired man says to Daryl.
“What you want?” Andrei says.
“What do you think we want? That bag,” the curly-haired man tells him.
“The bag is mine,” Andrei says in a monotone.
“We aren’t here to debate, now move aside.”
Andrei doesn’t move, “You scary man with gun in your hand, put gun down and we see. Two on one, easy for you,” Andrei challenges them.
The two men, who Jack has decided look Italian, look at each other and for a second, Jack thinks they are going to take Andrei up on his challenge. Surely, they wouldn’t be that stupid? Jack wouldn’t bet on them if there were four of them. He’d put his house on Andrei if he had a house to wager.
“Step away from the fucking bag. You take us for idiots?” the curly-haired man orders with a deadly look in his eye whilst re-aiming his gun.
Andrei shrugs as if to imply that he doesn’t know if they are idiots or not, but he does comply and takes a step to the side, away from the chair holding the bag. As big as Andrei’s muscles are, they are no match for a bullet.
The curly-haired man motions to the other with his head, to retrieve the bag, his gun’s aim not wavering from Andrei. As ordered, the other man, with the slicked-back hair moves forward; his gun, however, does waver from its target as he moves.
Jack doesn’t notice the gun’s waver but Andrei does, and as his foe reaches down to grasp the bag’s handles, Andrei’s arms comes up from his side like lightning. A sickening crunching sound reverberates around the bar as Andrei’s fist smashes into the bottom jaw of the man. His head whips up uncontrollably in unison with the sickening sound of crunching bones. In one swift move, Andrei has taken out his first opponent but he isn’t finished. While his fist was flying, his other hand had moved inside his jacket. In an instant, Andrei’s right hand has a gun in it, and it’s flying through the air.
A single shot rings out in the bar, followed by a deathly silence. Anyone in the bar who hadn’t heard and turned to look at the sound of crunching bone is looking now, fear in their eyes.
Time seems to stand still and Jack’s mind flounders as it struggles to process what is happening. A shot was fired, but from which gun? Who got their shot away? Both men are still standing; the shot must have missed its target, Jack thinks relieved. A punch was thrown, but no serious damage was done either and the man who was punched is already trying to get up from the floor.
Surely, they can all sort this out?
Andrei staggers to the side and then his legs buckle beneath him. Andrei’s massive frame falls down hard, hitting the table that the drinks are seated on, sending them flying. The table diverts his fall into a chair, sending it tumbling away before Andrei finally hits the floor. The big Russian ends up on his back next to the table, his gun still in his hand and the spilt drinks pouring off the tabletop and onto his jacket.
Is he dead? Jack’s mind races. No his legs are moving, squirming around in agony. Andrei’s hand moves to hold his stomach, the gun dropping onto the carpet. He doesn’t scream, only dull groans escaping his mouth.
“Dumb fucking Russians,” the curly-haired man says as he moves forward, still pointing his gun in Jack and Daryl’s direction. Jack takes a step back as he closes in, afraid the man is going to shoot again. He doesn’t; all he wants is the bag, Jack decides, relieved, and the man picks it up from the chair.
The bag is slung over his shoulder and then, still pointing the gun, he bends to help his fallen accomplice get to his feet. “Don’t fuckin’ move,” he warns as he pulls the other man up.
Jack has no intention of moving. Let him take the fucking bag; he’ll be glad to see the back of it and this whole goddamn episode.
Eventually, the second man is pulled to his feet and leans on the other as they turn towards the entrance door. The bar’s customers scramble out of their way to hide under the nearest table.
As soon as their backs are turned, out of the corner of his eye, Jack sees Daryl move. What the fuck’s he doing? Jack thinks, panicked as his head turns to see Daryl picking up Andrei’s gun. Put it down, Jack’s mind screams, let them go, good riddance to them!
“Don’t move, motherfucker!”
Jack hears the words and sees Daryl pointing Andrei’s gun at the two men, but it’s as if someone else is in his head, hearing and seeing it. Jack’s head spins in turmoil as the situation goes from bad to worse.
“Put the bag and your guns on the floor, and don’t turn around,”
“Don’t be stupid, kid, you don’t know who you're messing with,” the curly-haired man says, turning his head back slightly.
“Put the bag and guns on the floor,” Daryl repeats calmly. “Do it now.”
“What are you doing?” Jack asks Daryl as his head levels out somewhat.
“If they leave with that bag, we are fucked. The delivery has been made, the Russians are going to want their money,” Daryl replies.
Straight away Jack understands everything Daryl is saying and he is absolutely right. The bag is theirs, and the Russians won’t care what happened here. Stolen or not, they will want paying; Dmitri Ivanov won’t be interested in excuses.
“Put the bag down, greaseball,” Jack says, suddenly onboard, but regretting saying greaseball.
“Take it easy, I’m putting them down,” the curly-haired man says as he releases his partner, who falls to the floor.
“Slowly, gun first!” Daryl orders.
The man crouches, bending his knees, placing his gun down onto the carpet and then the bag slides off his shoulder to join it on the floor.
“Go get them, I’ll cover,” Daryl tells Jack.
Jack forces his legs to move and he goes over slowly, taking a wide berth around the curly-haired man who has his hands up in the air at head height. Jack bends to pick up the gun, not taking his eyes off the curly-haired man’s face, who has a menacing grin on his face, as if he knows something Jack doesn’t. The gun secured, Jack reaches for the bag and then
moves back behind the man.
“You’re fucked now, I’ve se…”
Jack whacks the curly-haired man at the base of his neck, like they do in the films, as hard as he can with the butt of the gun. It works and the man drops to the floor, unconscious next to his partner.
“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Daryl says as the man hits the floor.
“One second,” Jack says and goes over to Andrei. Andrei’s face is full of pain, but his eyes are open. “Can you move?” Jack asks him.
“Yes, get me up, car outside,”
Chapter 5
Hauling Andrei up, out of the bar and into the car is almost impossible. Daryl covers the two men on the bar floor while Jack strains to move him and only then manages to after he orders Andrei to ignore the pain and help.
Fortunately, Andrei’s car is parked right outside the entrance. By the time Jack and Daryl have managed to bundle him onto the back seat and found his car keys, they hear police sirens in the air, closing in on them. Jack can see flashing blue lights in the rear view mirror as he drives Andrei’s car away from the Getaway Bar.
“What now, what we going to do with him, take him to the hospital?” Jack asks Daryl.
“No way, not the hospital, those places are covered in CCTV.”
“What then? We can’t ask him; he is out of it,” Jack says, glancing down at his shirt that has dark patches of blood staining the grey material.
“I’ll make a phone call to Rouben.”
“Hold on a fucking minute, you sure that’s a good idea? He could hold us responsible,” Jack points out.
“What, for saving him? It’s the only call to make,” Daryl says, already scrolling through his phone to find Rouben’s number.
Jack drives back towards the city while Daryl makes the call. Thankfully, Rouben answers his phone and it takes Daryl a strained five minutes to explain to him what has happened.
“Well, what did he say?” Jack asks when Daryl takes the phone away from his ear but says nothing.
“He’s given me an address to go to, just outside the city centre, it’s a doctor’s practice and he said someone would be there to meet us.”
“Okay, that sounds good, put it into your phone for directions.”
“Yes, of course,” Daryl says, bringing his phone back up.
“What else did he say? Was he pissed off, and did he tell you who those men were?”
“He sounded upset, to be honest. I think he is quite close to Andrei, I always see them together. He didn’t mention who the men could have been,” Daryl says, typing into his phone.
“No, I bet he didn’t.”
“Okay, this address is only about ten minutes away.”
“Good, how is he looking?”
Daryl turns in his seat to look at Andrei, who almost fills the back of the car. “He is still breathing,” is all Daryl confirms.
∼∼∼
Jack slows the car down as Daryl’s phone nears the end of its directions. The phone has taken them to another part of the city unfamiliar to Jack; the skyscrapers of the centre are closer and it’s not as run down as where they have just driven from. The area is more industrialised, Jack driving by industrial units intertwined with apartment blocks. He is directed onto a retail park, where big shopping outlets stand next to rows of small shop fronts. All of the outlets are closed at this time of night so whoever is meeting them must be coming out of hours.
“Over there,” Daryl says, pointing to a row of the smaller shop fronts where a car is parked outside one of the small retail fronts, a sign reading ‘Medical Centre’, above it. Jack pulls up next to the parked car.
“Keep the engine running,” Daryl says as he gets out to check it out.
Jack knows it is the right place; the front is the only one that hasn’t got a roller shutter down covering it, and there is a light on somewhere in the back. Daryl tries the door but it is locked, so he knocks on its plate glass and waits. A shadow crosses the light inside and then a figure comes to the door, unlocks it and opens it.
A worried-looking, middle-aged man sticks his head out of the door. Jack assumes it’s the doctor, looks at Daryl and then towards the new car parked up. Jack notices another shadow crossing the light inside the shop as Daryl talks to the man. There must be someone else inside.
The man pulls his head back inside and stands to hold the door open as Daryl comes back to the car and opens the back door.
“We are on; let’s get this Russian bear inside,” he says.
Jack gets out of the driver’s side and goes around the back of the car to help Daryl. The two men struggle to pull Andrei’s legs out of the back door, each one as heavy as a tree trunk. The legs out, they pull with all their might to drag Andrei’s body along the back seat, both huffing and puffing as they do. When Andrei’s body is half out, Daryl goes around to the side and Jack pulls on the Russian’s arms. Eventually, they manage to lift Andrei enough to get under his shoulders, one on each side. Andrei moans as he is pushed and pulled, but at least he is still alive. Jack and Daryl drag Andrei towards the door of the medical centre; his head is down in front of them and his feet dragging behind.
Getting through the door is difficult. They have to go side on and shuffle into the building. Jack’s arms and back protest under the ‘dead’ weight, but he refuses to give in to their protests. The thought of having to pick Andrei up from the floor if they drop him spurs him on.
“Straight through to the back,” the doctor says, as they get through the door and in quick time Jack and Daryl drag him through, wanting to relieve the strain on their backs as soon as possible. The doctor leads the way, through a small reception area and into a consultation room with its fluorescent lights blazing away.
“Onto the bed,” the doctor orders.
Jack and Daryl drag Andrei over to a bed covered in blue medical paper and turn so that they can lift Andrei back and up onto the bed. Their backs are grateful when the bed takes Andrei’s weight and they lie him back onto it. Finally, they lift his legs up and straighten him out.
Only now, when Jack straightens and stretches his aching back out does he notice the second person in the room. A portly woman, with a blue nurses’ type uniform on, is standing in the corner of the consultation room with a look of disbelief on her face.
“We will leave you to it then, doc,” Daryl says.
“Wait a minute,” the doctor protests, “you need to tell me some details.”
“He was shot, that’s all we know doc,” Daryl says.
“What about some personal details then?”
“His name is Andrei, and that’s all the personal details we know,” Jack informs him. “I am sure his, err… work colleagues will be able to give you more information, doc, now we must be going.”
The doctor follows them out into the reception area and locks the door behind them. Jack and Daryl get into the car without delay and drive off, relieved. As they pull out of the retail park, another car turns into it.
“That’ll be Andrei’s work colleagues now,” Daryl says sarcastically.
“Very funny. Thank God that is over, it was intense.”
“You can say that again, remind me never to go for a drink with you next time,” Daryl jokes and they both laugh as their tension eases.
“What we going to do with his car?” Jack asks.
“We’ll take it back to yours for tonight and I’ll phone Rouben in the morning. We had better get the back cleaned up; we can’t leave it on the street tonight with blood all over the seats.”
Jack drives steadily back towards his apartment; they have to use Daryl’s phone again for directions to get them out of the side of the city they are in. On the way back, they manage to find a twenty-four-hour service station that has a power-washing facility. The two men soak up as much of the blood as possible with paper towels, then use the power washer to wash off the back seats before again soaking up what they can. The final result would not pass any forensic examination but it
looks presentable and will do for now.
“I don’t know about you, but I am exhausted,” Jack tells Daryl as they pull out of the service station.
“Me too, it’s been quite a night.”
“What do you think about those men at the bar? Who were they?” Jack asks.
“Rivals to the Russians; could be Italians. I don’t really know.”
“They won’t know who we are, will they?”
“I can’t see how. I think we are in the clear on that score.”
“I hope so, I don’t want them turning up at my apartment. I’m gonna keep hold of this gun tonight, I think,” Jack tell Daryl nervously.
“Yea, well just be careful with it and stash it somewhere safe.”
“Yes, I will,” Jack confirms.
“Drop me at mine and I’ll come over to yours tomorrow to get the stuff ready for Friday, okay?”
“Yes, okay thanks. Make it after four though. I’m taking my daughter out for lunch, okay?”
“Yeah, that’s good for me,” Daryl confirms.
Jack drops Daryl off at his place and finally makes it back to his road at just gone one in the morning. He parks Andrei’s car a street away from his apartment block, just in case it is recognised by any rivals to the Russians. He then takes a cautious walk back to his, carrying the sports bag at his side. He tries to act casually and checks over his shoulder to ensure he isn’t being followed, more times than is casual. There is nobody around or lurking in the dark, however, and he is soon inserting the key into his front door.
He never thought he would be so pleased to get back to his lonely apartment, but tonight he is, and he’s looking forward to unwinding alone in peace and quiet. He puts the sports bag on the coffee table that he passes on the way to his bedroom, where he takes the gun out of his belt and puts it on the bed. He uses the bathroom and gets a beer out of the fridge before returning to the bag sitting innocently on the table, as if it hasn’t caused any trouble at all tonight.
Jack stands over the bag for a moment, looking down at it, almost afraid to touch it again. Eventually, he puts his bottle of beer down on the table next to it and takes hold of the bag to open the zip. He pulls the zip slowly down and the bag spreads open as he goes, revealing cellophaned red blocks of pills. Nervously, Jack reaches in and picks one up. The block is about the same size as a house brick but lighter. He holds the block up and peers through the cellophane to try and get a closer look at the pills inside; they just look like small red tablets. It is hard to fathom that he is placing his future on the small red tablets contained in the bag and he still wonders if he should be doing any of this.
Kill Tone Page 6