by Rob Ashman
Mechanic could hear sobbing coming from inside. She crouched under the window ledge and listened. There was a flash of light and the curtains parted slightly as someone brushed past them. Mechanic held her breath.
Standing up she peered through the slit. The room had the same all-white appearance with Jeb busying himself around the bed moving chairs and tucking in the bedclothes. Jenny-Jay sat facing Mechanic on the opposite side of the room with her face buried in her hands. On the bed Mechanic could see a figure draped in a white sheet. Her heart stopped when she saw the sheet covered the person’s face.
Jeb moved across the room and slipped out of sight. Jenny-Jay looked up and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief shaking her head.
‘Oh Jeb, what are we going to do?’ She burst into floods of tears. ‘I’ve called so many times but she’s not at home.’
‘I don’t know, honey. I honestly don’t know,’ he replied his voice breaking with emotion.
‘We have to let her know.’
Mechanic shifted to get a different view but could see very little. She stared at the body laid out on the bed.
Suddenly Jeb crossed the room pushing a wheelchair and parked it at the foot of the bed. He put his arm around his wife.
‘How are we going to cope?’ she wailed turning and pressing her face into him.
Mechanic looked at the woman in the wheelchair. Her emaciated body sat bolt upright. She wore a blue mask over her mouth and a surgical skullcap.
It was Mary-Jay.
Mechanic’s legs gave way and she crumpled onto the boardwalk. She bit her hand to stifle the sounds from her mouth as her chest heaved. Jo was dead.
Inside the house she heard Jeb shouting, ‘There’s someone out there!’ She saw his head and shoulders silhouetted on the ground as he looked out of the window. ‘Who’s there?’ he called.
Mechanic pressed herself hard against the wooden slats underneath the sill. She couldn’t breathe.
‘Who’s there?’ Jeb called again.
His silhouette disappeared and she heard more agitated chatter.
Mechanic seized her chance and ran from the house into the blackness of the Mojave desert. Remembering Jeb Huxton’s liking for guns, she had to get away fast. She ran thirty yards then threw herself into a shallow indent in the ground facing the house. Jeb was on the porch looking around the property.
‘I got a gun and I’ll blow you away!’ he shouted into the night, waving a twelve gauge in the air.
Mechanic lay flat and allowed the darkness to conceal her. Jeb stomped around the perimeter brandishing his gun and yelling. After a few minutes he ran out of steam, happy that the bad guys were now running for the hills. He went inside.
She pushed her face into the dirt and began to cry. Covering her head with her hands she screamed into the gravel and sand. Waves of convulsions racked her body. Jo was gone. The woman who had protected her for most of her adult life was no more. She slammed her fists into the red soil and kicked her legs like a toddler having a tantrum.
Jeb appeared on the porch again.
‘I’ll fucking come out there and waste your asses.’ Mechanic lay rigid against the scorched earth and buried her face into it.
Jeb went back into the house. Mechanic watched him go and resumed her silent screams. Eventually the consequences of her actions began to slow her down, her knees, elbows and hands were bleeding and her face was red raw. She spat sand and gravel from her mouth.
Her face stung as the tears washed over the broken skin.
Jo was gone.
The very sound of it inside her head made her want to tear the world apart. Car headlights swept into the Huxtons’ driveway, Mechanic leapt from her prone position and ran into the night.
Harper came round and felt as if he was in a dryer. He bounced around in the pitch black, it was roasting hot.
He thrust out his arms and legs to stabilise himself and realised he was in the trunk of a car. They were travelling fast and it was a bumpy ride. Suddenly it stopped, and while he could still feel the sensation of movement, it was smoother with the hypnotic hum of rubber on tarmac.
Harper’s head pounded and he brushed his fingers against the large swelling on his temple. Shit, that hurt. He forced his knees against the trunk lid but it didn’t budge, he tried to lever the catch with his fingers, but nothing doing. The atmosphere was stifling. Harper struggled to breathe. His head was swimming. His clothes clung to him, his body drenched in sweat.
He drifted in and out of consciousness as the hum of the tyres resonated beneath him. Suddenly he felt the heavy clank of metal hitting the front wheels, the car lurched up and down, then shuddered to a stop. Harper heard the doors open and slam shut and the chatter of voices. The trunk popped open and rough hands hauled him over the lip and dumped him on the floor. He felt sick.
Someone grabbed him by his collar and yanked him to his feet.
‘This way.’ Harper was marched across the concrete floor of what looked like a huge warehouse. Rows of empty racking reached up to the roof forming the skeleton of the building, their stark metal outlines silhouetted black against the orange glow of sodium lights. A route map of black skid marks left by forklift tyres criss-crossed the floor. The air tasted of dust and fuel oil. They headed for a roller-shutter door which opened as they approached and the ratcheting clatter of folding metal echoed around the vast space.
Harper tripped, struggling to maintain his footing – he was disorientated and nauseous. The strong hands flung him inside a room and the shutter door clanked shut. He was once again in darkness and sat cross-legged trying to collect himself. His head throbbed. His stomach spasmed and he retched on the floor.
As his eyes became accustomed to the light he could make out whitewashed block walls and a low ceiling with cladding hanging down through the broken tiles. There were no windows. The room was cool and he began to feel better. Harper pressed his ear to the door and listened for any noises or voices on the other side. Nothing, all was quiet. He bent down sliding his fingers under the concertina metal and heaved, it was locked solid. Harper felt his way around looking for anything he could use as a weapon. The room was completely empty.
He sat in the corner with his back against the brickwork and rested his head against his raised knees.
There was nothing he could do but wait.
The taste of bile burned the back of his throat.
56
Mechanic drove around all night dazed from the horror at the Huxtons’. She careered from one emotion to another – one moment filled with the crushing grief of knowing she would never see her sister again and the next consumed with a raging fury, determined to avenge her death.
She arrived back at her new apartment as the early morning sun scattered low shadows across the building. Mechanic slammed the front door and rushed to the bedroom, tearing at the slit cut into the mattress. She felt around and retrieved two guns, ramming them into the rucksack along with a box of shells. Those fuckers are gonna pay.
Swinging the bag across her shoulder she opened the front door and stopped.
Mechanic rested her head against the doorframe and began to sob. Her legs crumpled and she slowly slid down to the floor, crying uncontrollably. She kicked the door closed. Tears streaked down her face and onto the laminate floor. Jo was gone, she felt hollow and cold inside.
Mechanic wiped her eyes on her sleeve and tried to catch her breath. The thought of killing Lucas, Harper and Bassano was all consuming. Blowing their faces apart one by one was what they deserved. But that was not the plan.
‘Those bastards,’ Mechanic said out loud. ‘They took her and now she’s dead.’ She slammed her fist into the floor. They would die for what they did, but now was not the time. Mechanic had to focus on staying clear of Bonelli’s men and delivering the penance.
She got to her feet, went to the kitchen and flicked on the kettle.
Focus on the penance. Jo’s gone, I can’t change that.
Mechanic ha
d to maintain control, however painful that might be.
The phone rang.
She picked it up but said nothing. After several minutes she replaced the receiver and allowed herself half a smile. It was her colleague who worked in military intelligence, the one with a liking for being beaten up during sex. Mechanic had contacted him as soon as she’d placed the penance ad in the paper. She needed a favour in return for the usual brutal service and it looked like he had delivered.
The call was the news she’d been waiting for. The preparations for the penance were complete. Mechanic blocked out her grief and feelings of revenge, she needed to focus. She needed to get out of there.
An hour later she shuffled out of her apartment and along the sidewalk. The hijab helped to mask her face and the long robes covered her feet. The bracelets on her wrists jangled when she walked. Mechanic kept herself hunched over with an uneven gait. Small, round reflective sunglasses and deep brown skin completed the disguise. She was confident in her altered appearance and made her way to the shops nearby – sometimes the best place to hide was out in the open.
As she walked she noticed more than the usual number of cars cruising around with heavy-set men looking out of the windows. They were scanning the sidewalks but didn’t seem to be looking for any action. A blue Ford with dropped suspension turned the corner and Mechanic recognised it as a car she had seen earlier – these guys weren’t looking for hookers, they were looking for her.
Ten minutes later the same car passed again with a big guy in a yellow baseball cap hanging out of the window. They pulled over to the side of the road ten yards ahead. Mechanic immediately stopped and sat on a nearby bench. From her position she could observe what was going on. She sat back and hunched her shoulders, feeling the 9mm press into her spine.
The front doors swung open and two men jumped out. Mechanic moved her hand and gripped the gun. They shouted something to each other over the roof of the car and walked off. Mechanic relaxed as the men disappeared into a Walgreens. This was not about her, it was about buying breakfast and a bathroom stop.
She was about to continue walking when the back window buzzed down and an elbow rested on the ledge. A man’s face poked out scanning up and down the sidewalk. Mechanic saw the bruised features and the molten scar running down his neck and his arm. It was Ramirez.
Mechanic watched over the top of her sunglasses. It was definitely him.
It made sense – if Bonelli’s guys were out looking for her, who better to know what she looked like. Besides, Ramirez was probably still trying to keep his family alive.
Mechanic felt a pit of rage building inside her. She pictured Ramirez grinning as he crushed her finger with the pliers. She was filled with an overwhelming desire to kill him there and then. She dug her fingernails into the back of her hand trying to distract herself with pain. The urge grew and she gritted her teeth as the skin broke.
This is not in the plan, the thoughts bounced around in her head. Get what you need and head back to the apartment. Focus on the penance.
Ramirez stuck his head out of the window again and looked directly at Mechanic. Not a flicker of recognition.
Don’t be stupid, this is not part of the plan.
Mechanic gathered up a pleat in her robe and emptied a handful of change into it. She stood up and walked slowly towards the car muttering in English and Arabic. The coins clinked as she held the material out in front of her. People avoided her and looked away not wanting to make eye contact with a beggar. Mechanic reached the car and peered through the open window, Ramirez was sat in the back, his black-and-blue face still a mess. She jangled the coins, mumbling something incoherent. He leaned forward to wave her away.
The driver and the man in the yellow hat came out of Walgreens with several bags full of goodies. Mechanic ambled past them as she continued towards the parade of shops. They jumped in and she heard the roar of the engine. The car pulled away, then screeched to a halt. The yellow hat bolted from the car and flung open the back door. Ramirez tumbled onto the sidewalk, his throat sliced open.
Onlookers screamed as they saw the almost beheaded man crash to the ground, spilling blood across the paving slabs. The man in the yellow hat flapped around trying to pick Ramirez up and bundle him into the back seat, but he was too heavy, so instead he slammed the door shut and flung himself through the passenger door as the car skidded away.
Mechanic hobbled off leaving a crowd of screaming people clustered around the dead man on the floor. She needed to hurry if she was also going to make one final check on her prey.
57
Harper was woken by the sound of a gearbox cranking up as the roller-shutter door slowly lifted. He had no concept of time but figured it was morning. Shafts of sunlight burst from under the metal door as it opened to reveal three people. One of them was Bonelli.
Harper scrambled to his feet feeling much more stable than the day before. Bonelli stepped inside and immediately wrinkled up his nose. The stench of stale vomit hung in the air.
‘You and I are going to try again,’ he said.
‘You didn’t like my answers yesterday,’ Harper replied rubbing the purple raised bruise on the side of his head. ‘Not sure they’re gonna be any different today.’
‘You’ve had time to think. Let’s hope that has made you more reasonable.’
Bonelli was flanked by two men in signature white shirts.
‘Get him up.’
They stepped forward and grasped Harper under his arms, frog marching him into the open space of the warehouse floor. The bigger man cuffed Harper’s hands behind his back and drove him to his knees. Bonelli produced the three photographs and spread them on the floor.
‘You lied to me yesterday, Harper, and I want to know why.’
‘I didn’t. I don’t know Silverton.’
‘Not that part. You lied about not knowing the people in the other two pictures.’
‘I don’t—’
Bonelli interrupted. ‘It would have been far easier to kill you, but frustratingly that would have left me none the wiser. You are only alive so I can ask you the question again. Who are the men in the photographs?’
Harper looked into Bonelli’s eyes and realised lying was useless.
‘Go to hell,’ he said through clenched teeth.
Bonelli waved his arm and from the other side of the building Harper heard the grunt of a big diesel engine starting up. A massive forklift trundled its way along the floor belching black smoke from a stack above the driver’s cab. The men in white shirts yanked Harper to his feet. He could hear the roar of the truck behind him as it got closer and the feel of cold steel against his wrists. The sound of whirring filled his ears as his arms were lifted up behind his back. Harper stood on tiptoes straining to keep his weight off his shoulders. His wrists were hooked over one of the forks.
‘Are you sure you want to play the hero?’
‘Fuck you!’ Harper shouted.
Bonelli pointed to the sky and the engine roared as the forks raised lifting Harper off his feet. His shoulder joints cracked as they took his full weight. He screamed as pain tore through his body.
Harper swung back and forth as he was lifted into the air.
‘You need to reconsider quickly before this does permanent damage.’ Bonelli shouted.
‘Fu … ck you.’ Harper croaked the words and spat on the floor.
The forklift started to move. The big wheels bounced on the uneven floor causing Harper to dance around high in the air. He kicked his legs and screamed as his shoulder joints cracked again.
‘Who are they?’ Bonelli shouted over the thunder of the diesel engine. ‘We can do this all day.’ The truck trundled around the warehouse with Harper swinging helplessly from the forks.
Harper’s screams echoed off the walls of the building.
‘Who are they?’ Bonelli shouted again.
Harper couldn’t hear him, he was fighting to stop his arms being ripped from their sockets. Pain consum
ed every inch of his body as bones and tendons grated together.
‘You will tell me eventually. Who are they?’
The truck swung in a tight turn and Harper jerked around like a maniac puppet.
Suddenly his screams stopped.
Bonelli motioned to the driver who lowered him to the floor in a heap. He was unconscious.
Moran hated the morning briefings. Under normal circumstances she relished them as an opportunity to flaunt the headway she had made since the previous session, but now she reported on nothing and hoped it sounded like progress. This morning was no exception.
‘And what about Silverton?’ asked Mills dressed in another blue shirt with a button-down collar and cufflinks.
‘I followed two leads.’ Moran cleared her throat. ‘Silverton stayed at the Hacienda while in Vegas. The hotel suite had been ransacked by the time we got there. We dusted for prints but nothing as yet. Silverton has disappeared without trace and no one has seen or heard from him. The hotel is none too happy about the unpaid bills. His bodyguard has recently had some previous with us, which came to nothing. Her apartment hasn’t been occupied for the past few days, so we are assuming she has done a runner as well. I’m waiting on a warrant to enter her apartment.’ She leafed through a wad of notes in a vague attempt to make herself look thorough.
Mills tapped his pen on the desk in impatient thought.
‘Not much to go on.’
Moran nodded her agreement.
‘Okay who’s got the Turks?’
Each officer gave an account of their investigations and talked through any new lines of enquiry. Moran couldn’t concentrate. Her mind was racing with what needed to be done to trap Mechanic. Lucas had placed the advert for today’s Bulletin, a copy of which sat unread in her briefcase. These damn briefings were getting in the way.