The Mechanic Trilogy: the complete boxset

by Rob Ashman

  ‘You don’t have to. You keep me informed and I can keep him informed. My client is a very detail-driven man and he loves to get his rocks off on the small print.’

  Jameson thought for a few moments.

  ‘I can make that happen.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘How do I contact you?’

  ‘You don’t. I’ll be in touch,’ Lucas said.

  They separated and walked in opposite directions.

  Moran turned her key in the lock and almost fell into her hallway. She felt as if she’d been ripped open at the seams and the stuffing torn out. She dumped her bag on the coffee table and headed straight for the fridge.

  The bottle of wine stood no chance as she grabbed it from the shelf and snatched a tumbler from the draining board. She lay on the couch, bit into the cork and yanked it free. She poured herself a measure big enough to lose someone their driving licence in an instant, and sank half of it in one go. The cold liquid felt good against the back of her throat, which was raw from retching. She slugged the rest back and topped up the glass.

  After her unexpected visit to the ladies’ room, she had returned to the office and worked a little longer. Then she told Mills she felt dreadful and went home.

  ‘A few hours’ sleep and I should be good to go in the morning,’ she told him.

  Mills was genuinely concerned and was being overly attentive. Normally when people were sick they were disregarded in a ‘no time for weakness, we have criminals to catch’ type of way, but not this time. He told her if she needed anything to give him a call. He had handed her a Post-it with his phone number scribbled on it. She of course accepted it with a weak smile.

  She was also grateful that throwing up her breakfast meant there was no chance of her having to endure another evening of cold beer, corn chips and mind-numbing conversation. Her charm offensive had paid off and he now looked at her with puppy dog eyes whenever they were together. She needed him to be malleable and distracted, and he was certainly both.

  Moran emptied her glass and filled it again. This bottle was way too small. It was half past two in the afternoon. She no longer felt as if she was going to vomit and no longer felt the need to collapse in a gibbering heap on the floor. On her journey home she told herself over and over that she’d made the right decision. If she told Mills about the account transactions she would have placed herself in the firing line.

  Find Mechanic and they find me. The phrase buzzed around in her head. And besides, who did she have more faith in? Mills and his catastrophic approach to law enforcement or two retired police officers, one who was unable to run for a cab and the other who was unable to pass a bar. There was no competition, the two cops won hands down.

  The inner turmoil she had felt for the last twenty-four hours was gone and she was enjoying the relief. The wine tasted good and Moran was at last feeling relaxed and thinking straight.

  She lifted the phone off its base and dialled. The synthetic warble at the other end went on for ages. Eventually someone picked up.

  ‘Can you put me through to Ed Lucas, he’s staying with you.’

  She could hear soft clicks as she was transferred to his room. The phone rang but no one answered.

  ‘I’m sorry caller. Would you like to leave a message?’

  ‘Yes, can you tell him I did the right thing. And can you pass on my number please.’ She reeled off the digits and thanked the receptionist.

  ‘Who shall I say called?’

  ‘No name, just pass on the message.’

  Moran drank what was left of the wine and settled into the soft cushions.

  The phone burst into life. Moran jumped from the sofa and for a second couldn’t work out where she was. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and looked at the clock, it was 6.25pm.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘It’s Lucas, I got your message.’

  There was a pause, both of them conscious that a coded conversation was in order.

  ‘I wanted to let you know I did what you asked.’

  ‘That’s good, because our fish has taken the bait.’

  Moran didn’t speak.

  ‘You still there?’ Lucas asked.

  ‘Yes, I’m here. I want in on the fishing trip.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I want to be in on what you two are planning. And that does not mean being on the end of the phone when you need something, it means I want to be properly involved. I want to know what’s going down and when.’

  ‘I think that’s fine, we can do that. Why the change of heart?’

  ‘That’s for another time, for now I want to be in the loop.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  Lucas hung up. To the trained ear it was probably the worst coded conversation in history.

  20

  Mechanic parked her car across the street from the 24-hour mini-mart on a derelict piece of waste ground. The rain scythed down, bouncing off the road and hammering on the roof. The red digits on the dash said 9.15pm.

  The store was small, with wraparound windows spilling shimmering cones of white light across the wet road. It was nestled between a pet shop and a carpet warehouse in a parade of shops, all of which boasted super savings and 70% discounts. This was a run-down area of San Francisco, but not so run-down that people didn’t shop in the middle of the night. For groceries that is, rather than hookers and drugs. Mechanic could see the shop worker inside dressed in a red T-shirt and a cap with the company’s logo sprayed on the front of both. He was busying himself with the tills and stocking the shelves.

  Mechanic figured there had to be a gun somewhere on the premises. But with what she had in mind it would stay tucked away under the counter.

  The car was a brand new Ford with less than a thousand miles on the clock. That new car smell filled the interior. It had been rented using cash that afternoon by a man with a fake driving licence. He had left it on top of the multi-storey three miles away, as instructed, with the keys on top of the front wheel. The ticket to get through the exit barrier was hidden in the sun visor.

  In the trunk, buried beneath the spare wheel, was a hard black case containing a Glock 17 handgun, a cartridge with nine 19mm bullets and a silencer. Mechanic had the case next to her on the passenger seat. She snapped open the catches and lifted the weapon from the foam interior. She drew back the slide and checked the chamber. It was empty.

  Mechanic pushed down the slide locks and the top of the gun lifted off to expose the barrel and the recoil spring. She removed them both and inspected them. With three swift movements she reassembled the weapon and examined the cartridge. From the weight she knew it was fully loaded. She checked the tension and alignment of the top bullet and snapped the cartridge into frame. Mechanic wound the suppressor onto the threaded barrel, pulled back the slide and the top shell entered the chamber. She was ready to go.

  She thought about Jameson. How the hell he made things happen so smoothly was beyond her. All she knew was, when he said something would happen, it did, just like he said it would.

  Mechanic hated walk-by hits, there were so many things that could go wrong. She played the scenario like a film in her head: Cooper would pull up outside the store in her Jeep Cherokee and bump the front wheels against the parking kerb. She would get out and enter the mini-mart saying ‘Hi’ to the guy behind the till. Grabbing a shopping cart she would do a mad dash between the aisles, filling the trolley with the same food she bought every week, and head for the checkout. That was the signal for Mechanic to make a move.

  While Cooper was piling food into bags and chatting about the weather, Mechanic would head across the road to the far right of the carpet warehouse. Once there she would double back towards the store, keeping tight against the front wall. The first obstacle to overcome was the rotating CCTV camera set up on the front of the building.

  Mechanic would stop short of the mini-mart to put two slugs into the camera and watch the red LED at the back go dim. Cooper would pay for her g
oods, say goodbye to the man and hurry from the store. She would flick open the tailgate of the truck and throw the bags into the back, spilling groceries over the floor as the rain stuck her hair to her head.

  Mechanic would wait until she was in the driver’s seat, shaking the water droplets from her hands and face. Then she would stroll over to the driver’s window with her gun drawn and put a neat hole through Cooper’s head. One shot, maybe two.

  The side window would shatter, but given the noise of the rain the man in the store would never hear it.

  Mechanic would continue walking across the road back to her car. Ten minutes later she’d retrieve another ticket from the barrier to the multi-storey and slide it into the sun visor. She would park the car in the same slot, put the Glock back in its case, hide it under the front seat and leave the keys under the driver’s mat. She would swap into her rental car and drive out of town to the Holiday Inn next to the airport, get a few hours’ sleep and be on the first flight back to San Diego in the morning.

  With any luck the guy in the red T-shirt would only know something was wrong when he noticed his CCTV had gone blank or that Elaine Cooper had been sitting in her car for longer than usual. By which time Mechanic would be well gone.

  Despite the mental rehearsal, Mechanic hated walk-bys, there were so many things that could go wrong.

  The black and white patrol car pulled up outside the mini-mart. Two officers ran from the car into the store. They greeted red T-shirt guy and went over to the coffee station to get a well-earned caffeine injection.

  ‘Shit,’ Mechanic said to no one and slid down in her seat.

  The clock said 10.17. It was still early and the cops would be long gone by the time Cooper arrived.

  Mechanic was running the scenario in her head like a loop. She could visualise every detail, right down to the look on Elaine Cooper’s face when she realised someone was standing next to her car holding a gun.

  The clock said 11.34. The intel report said Cooper was a regular timekeeper and would arrive ten minutes either side of midnight. The cops had stayed twenty-seven minutes and had drunk enough coffee to make them pee for the rest of their shift. All was quiet and Mechanic was calm and relaxed. She pulled on a pair of black gloves.

  Not long now.

  The rain had eased but was still coming down fast. The sound of fat water droplets striking the roof no longer filled the car.

  Mechanic was distracted by a noise to her left. She flashed a glance through the side window but saw nothing. The noise happened again but this time it came from the right. Mechanic drew the Glock and cracked open the door.

  There it was again. A grating sound.

  She stepped from the car and did a three-sixty. The waste ground was empty, the only noise was the rain hitting the ground. She got back into the car and placed the gun on the passenger seat.

  There it was again. A dragging, grinding noise, as though furniture was being moved across a wooden floor.

  She froze.

  The sound was inside her head. Something heavy being dragged along the floor. It was growing louder.

  Then a door slammed shut and she jumped.

  No, this couldn’t be happening, not now. Mechanic looked at the clock: 11.45.

  The sound of voices echoed around her head. She balled her fists and punched the steering wheel.

  ‘No!’ she yelled.

  Another door slammed and the voice was clearer now. She put her head in her hands and rocked back and forth.

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ she cried slamming her hands either side of her head.

  The Jeep Cherokee pulled into the car park.

  Mechanic fought to collect herself, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. The noises subsided as she watched Cooper bump her tyres into the parking kerb and jump from the truck. Mechanic’s hands were shaking. She saw the guy in the red T-shirt wave hello as Cooper pulled a cart from the line.

  Mechanic slowed her breathing and closed her eyes, focusing on the work in hand. The voices stopped. The minutes ticked by. She could see Cooper heading for the checkout. She stepped from the car, put the Glock in the waistband of her jeans and walked across the road ignoring the rain.

  Mechanic reached the warehouse wall and could see the red glow from the back of the CCTV camera. Two dull mechanical spits and the LED went out.

  Another door slammed shut in her head. Mechanic screwed her eyes shut and focused on Cooper. Should she abort the mission or plough on? She was so close now.

  The plate-glass doors hissed open and Cooper bustled out into the night air with her bags. She scurried to the SUV dancing around the puddles. The Cherokee beeped, the indicators flashed and the tailgate opened. She flung the bags into the back and ran around to the driver’s side.

  Mechanic was rooted to the spot.

  The voices were getting louder and she could hear the sound of heavy footsteps. She saw Cooper duck into the driver’s seat and bang the door shut.

  She had to move now.

  The voices were loud. The footsteps were getting closer.

  Mechanic lurched forward holding the Glock.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ the voice boomed.

  She stopped. Her feet nailed to the asphalt. Unable to move.

  Cooper started the engine and slipped the shift into reverse. Mechanic saw the white reversing lights pierce the night.

  ‘Kill the bitch.’ Daddy’s voice echoed off the walls in her head.

  Mechanic tried to move her legs but she was paralysed.

  Cooper looked in her side mirror and saw a figure silhouetted in black against the light of the store window. The figure was holding a gun.

  She screamed and slammed her foot to the floor.

  The truck wheels spun in the wet, then the tread bit into the road. It lurched backwards and accelerated hard across the car park.

  ‘Kill the bitch!’ Daddy’s voice was deafening.

  The jeep hurtled past Mechanic and smashed through the shop front. The plate glass burst upon impact. Red T-shirt guy dived for cover as shards of glass rained down and the back of the truck crashed its way through the store. The shelves buckled, sending tins, boxes and bags flying into the air. The vehicle juddered to a stop, its big diesel engine roaring, belching out exhaust fumes.

  The collision threw Cooper backward then forward in her seat, cracking her head on the steering wheel. She yelped in pain. Red T-shirt guy scrambled to his feet, bleeding from an ugly gash on his left arm. He ran to the driver’s door and yanked it open.

  ‘Christ, what happened? You okay?’ He reached in and turned off the engine.

  Cooper was groggy but conscious. She slumped from behind the wheel and tumbled out of the cab. The shop guy caught her as she fell and sat her on the floor. He checked her over. Blood ran from a deep cut above her eye.

  ‘I’ll call an ambulance,’ he said making a dash for the phone.

  There was a spit and his head snapped back.

  Mechanic was the other side of the truck with her arms outstretched across the hood. Red T-shirt guy keeled over backward and landed face down on top of Cooper. She screamed as he knocked her sideways. Cooper scrabbled to her knees, rolled him over and cradled him against her. She could see the ragged edges of bone sticking out from the right side of his head. His blood poured into her lap. She was unable to comprehend what was happening.

  ‘Dave, Dave, wake up!’ She was shaking his shoulders.

  Blood ran down her jaw line and dripped onto his face.

  Cooper looked up and saw Mechanic, the gun pointing directly at her.

  ‘Kill her. Blow her face off. Do it. Do it,’ Daddy snarled.

  Mechanic closed her eyes and fought to regain control. The physical effort of standing shook her entire body. The whole room spun as she held onto the truck to stop herself collapsing.

  She fired and missed.

  Cooper screamed and snapped out of her daze. She scurried away on her hands and knees and darted up
one of the aisles trying to get to her feet. Time after time she tripped and fell over the debris.

  ‘No, no, no, no …’ she cried as her feet slipped from under her.

  Mechanic clawed her way around the front of the jeep. She stumbled against the end of the aisle and held on for balance.

  Cooper’s arms and legs pumped wildly as she tried to drag herself away. She tore items off the shelves to gain forward momentum but she slipped again and landed on all fours.

  ‘No, no, no, no—’

  The shell drilled a ridged hole in the nape of her neck, and then exploded out the front of her face. The force threw her forward. She landed with a splat, face down on the tiled floor with her arms at her sides, a halo of blood around her head.

  ‘Taste it.’ Daddy was gurgling with excitement.

  Mechanic shook her head as the world swam in and out of focus. She staggered over to Cooper’s body.

  ‘Go on, taste it, I say.’

  She bent down and trailed her fingers through the blood. It was warm and sticky.

  ‘Taste it and be mine.’

  She watched as scarlet droplets fell from her fingertips.

  ‘Do as I say. Drink the fucking—’

  Then there was silence.

  The world stopped spinning and everything was quiet. Daddy was gone.

  Mechanic took a moment to collect herself. She reached for a bottle of water, twisted off the top and poured it onto her face. The liquid splashed down her front and ran like clear tributaries in the dark red puddle.

  Her head snapped back to the present. She had to work fast. Mechanic replaced the top on the bottle and stuffed it in her jacket, then worked her way around the truck to look behind the counter. Nothing there. She crashed her boot through the plywood door marked Private to find what she was looking for, and ripped the CCTV recorder from its mountings. She walked out of the store to her car waiting across the road.

  Mechanic hated walk-by killings but this one had turned out to be worse than most.

  21

  Moran woke up, but this time with a full three minutes to spare before the local radio station announced the time. She switched off the alarm without it sounding.