One by One: A brutal, gritty revenge thriller that you won't be able to put down.

by Robert Enright

  “I still want him shadowed.”

  “That's already taken care of. I also have a few more watching the shop.”

  “I don't need protection.”

  “Lucas tore through six men last night. He broke Shane's neck. I'm not taking any chances.”

  Curtis sighed, the throbbing vengeance of a night of drinking had emerged and he needed some fresh air. Tommy opened the small fridge that sat under the drinks cabinet and retrieved a bottle of Evian. He handed it to his older brother before picking up the Lucas Cole file and slapping it in front of him once more.

  Curtis sipped the water, the room finally beginning to emerge into clarity. He could feel himself finally awakening, a sickening rage-fuelled grief burning within him.

  Lucas had killed his sister.

  He downed the rest of the water in a few gulps and crushed the plastic bottle in his hand, tossing it hard against the wall. His brother stood idly by like a muscle-bound statue.

  “I want this prick to suffer beyond reason.”

  “Me too.”

  Curtis met his brother’s stare and nodded. He looked down at the manila folder, flicking it open to see A4 pages covered in letters, his brain not yet ready to register them as words.

  “What are you suggesting?”

  Curtis looked at his brother, the cold expression that he returned was oddly sinister.

  “An eye for an eye.”

  Tommy slid a few pages off the table before tapping one of them. Curtis leant forward, straining himself to read it. After a few moments, a sickening smirk etched itself onto his lips.

  “Go and bring the car around.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Stacks of files and folders were piling up on Fletcher's desk, creating mountains of paperwork. He watched as officers came and went, dropping more off faster than he could file it. The station was in a frenzy, the death of Ashley Drayton and the assault on the lowlifes on the fire escape had caused Bailey to return to ruling with an iron fist.

  Complacency had almost cost him his job.

  It had cost Ashley Drayton her life.

  Fletcher picked up a report from Officer Mills, the young officer with an attitude to match. He scanned the first few lines with expert eyes, immediately correcting the spelling mistakes. He shook his head, these young officers seeing the paper trail as a waste of time. They wanted to be out there, hunting Lucas Cole.

  They all wanted the glory of slapping cuffs on his wrists and ending his crusade.

  Fletcher dropped the poorly-written report onto his desk and rested his head on his hand. He gently massaged his wrinkled temple, feeling his thinning grey hair float over his fingers.

  “Hell of a night, eh?”

  The unmistakable thick accent was followed by Officer McCarthy's welcoming smile. It certainly was welcome, as the office had been carrying the vibe of a funeral parlour ever since Fletcher had walked in.

  “Here you go, lad. Black.”

  McCarthy handed Fletcher a plastic cup, the piping hot coffee looking like a watery shadow. Fletcher raised his eyebrows in a way of thank you, sat back and took a sip. McCarthy leaned against his desk casually, almost flooring an Everest of police reports. He flicked his eyes over them, his mop of ginger hair flapping as he shook his head.

  “Jesus, Fletcher. You sure you don't mind doing this for free?”

  “It's what I'm here for.”

  “I know, but come on. Most people spend their retirement gardening or watching daytime TV. I wouldn't even sentence a scummy teenager to do this.”

  Fletcher chuckled, thankful for the much needed release.

  “Well Patrick, somewhere in here there’ll be something of value. It's just a case of rooting through, filing it correctly and ensuring the right stuff goes to the right people.”

  McCarthy shifted uncomfortably, the metal brace around his knee evidently causing some pain.

  “Well, judging by last night, it may take a lot more than a fancy report to stop this bastard. The man is a lunatic.”

  “I'm not too sure about that. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing.”

  Fletcher wondered if he sounded too defensive, but if he did, McCarthy didn't seem to notice.

  “That poor girl. Hanging like a goddamn set of Christmas lights for the world to see. If that ain't gonna piss those damn Draytons off, I don't know what is.”

  Fletcher felt the stinging burn on his forearm, knowing full well that the Draytons were angry. He, like everyone else in the station, was preparing for the backlash. McCarthy shook his head again, a forlorn expression on his chubby face.

  “That poor girl,” he repeated. “All because of her name.”

  “We don't know that.” McCarthy raised an eyebrow in Fletcher's direction. “I mean, let’s not forget what they’ve done.”

  “Ay, but do we have proof?”

  “Lucas seems to be pretty certain.”

  “Lucas?”

  “Lucas Cole.”

  “I know who he is. You just seem to be being a little bit casual with it all.”

  “Look, I knew Lucas a long time ago. I saw what he went through. I know how much Helen meant to him and I know how much this has hit him. I was at Helen's funeral.”

  “Well then, if you know him so well, what the hell was he trying to prove by murdering that poor girl last night?”

  Fletcher shuffled in his seat, struggling to shake off the feeling that he was being interrogated. McCarthy's face was always friendly, but his big eyes stared through him. Fletcher took a sip of his coffee, trying to find the best way to word it.

  “They took away his family and there was nothing he, nor any of us, could do about it.”

  Fletcher took another sip, looking down at the pile of papers scattered across his keyboard.

  “And he is just repaying them in kind.”

  McCarthy huffed to himself, taking a few moments to process it. Fletcher looked at him cautiously, wishing he was wading through the mountains of papers. Eventually, Officer McCarthy pushed himself up, hobbling slightly as he headed to his desk. He looked back at the retired, older volunteer.

  “I still don't think you’ll find anything useful in those papers. Have you seen the level of intellect around here?”

  Fletcher smiled.

  “Well if you want, you could always go out and catch him yourself?”

  “With this knee? I have more chance of winning Ireland's sexiest man than catching him.”

  McCarthy walked around the corner, the sound of Fletcher chuckling growing quieter behind him. He ventured slowly, limping to take the pressure off his leg and yearning for his chair. As he took it, he looked up at the imposing frame of Sgt. Bailey, who was waiting with his arms folded.

  “Well?” Bailey kept his eyes on the corner, ensuring Fletcher didn't sneak round. McCarthy sighed.

  “I don't know, Sarge. I don't know.”

  The Bentley coasted at a steady speed up the M1, Tommy keeping a safe distance behind the car ahead. His broad shoulders encompassed the entire driver’s side of the car, his hands gently resting on the wheel.

  He sat in silence, his eyes straight ahead as he watched the road frantically disappear beneath him.

  Curtis sat in the back, his head down.

  After Tommy had read him the riot act earlier he had taken it upon himself to freshen up. He showered, followed by a shave. His thin, brown hair was combed neatly, a small amount of wax keeping it in place, despite the wind whipping in through the crack in the window.

  He raised a hand to his mouth, taking the cigarette in his lips and inhaling a long, slow drag. The paper sizzled as it reduced, turning to ash. He held it up to the window and tapped it, allowing the ash to dance freely over the motorway behind them.

  He had picked out one of his best suits and an immaculately ironed white shirt. He had chosen a red tie, the colour of pain, which was secured to his shirt by a silver tiepin.

  In his other hand was his Beretta.

  He
took a final drag on his cigarette and then flicked the butt out the window, it taken by the wind instantaneously. There was no rain today, but the black clouds above looked ominous, as if a storm was approaching. Curtis could relate, his anger simmering on the edge of a violent eruption.

  He held the gun out, turning it slightly with admiration. The metal gleamed, the nozzle was well polished. He dropped the ammo clip from the handle, ensuring the expensive, hand crafted bullets were in their rightful place. Once he had done a register, he snapped it back and pulled back the safety.

  “Let's not let that go off in here, eh?”

  Curtis didn't offer a response to his brother. He sat back in the seat and tilted his head to the window. The world whizzed by, fields and trees reduced to green blurs. Everything reduced to nothing more than smudges of colour that didn't register with him.

  They could have been anywhere.

  He closed his eyes, immediately seeing the fear in Ashley's eyes as he held her by the throat. The sheer terror on her face as he threatened her. His own little sister.

  He wondered if the same look had been present when Lucas had wrapped that wire around her neck. If she cried, begged for mercy.

  If she’d prayed for Curtis to save her.

  A life of looking after his family, keeping them away from the people who could hurt them or interrupt the expensive lives he had built for them.

  All of it ruined by one man.

  Curtis gritted his teeth, the very thought of Lucas bringing his fury to the surface.

  “How much further?” He asked, not looking at his driver.

  “A few hours.”

  Curtis nodded and returned his gaze to the dashing fields, thinking about death.

  “See you tomorrow, fella.”

  Matt nodded as Sam waved his goodbye, walking out into the drizzling evening and disappearing into a world of traffic and street lights. The sun had begun its decent just after six, with the moon overlapping and taking control of the sky. It had been a long day at Auto Repair, Matt had been elbow-deep in a car bonnet for the entire afternoon. Sam had been out back, stocktaking.

  Matt looked around the garage as he pottered over to the shutter: everything was in its correct place which made him smile. He was proud of the business he’d forged for himself despite Curtis's constant interference.

  Matt was a damn fine mechanic and word was beginning to spread.

  He stood in the garage’s entrance way, the metal shutter above his head clattering in the wind as rain collided against him. He spotted the car up the street, knowing full well Curtis wouldn't listen to him and would send some of his guys round.

  He noted the police car too.

  He sighed, knowing that if Lucas decided to show up they would be of little use. He was safer on his own and he reached behind his back to the band of his overalls. The handgun sat tightly against the small of his back, fully loaded and ready to eradicate the killer of his sister.

  He turned the lights off on the shop floor and the building went dark.

  A few moments later, the police officer would see Matt emerge from the darkness, insert his key in the shutter control box and lower the grated metal to the ground. He then padlocked the door to the control panel before quickly moving through the dark evening cold to his BMW 5 Series. It roared into life before shooting up the street and taking a right.

  It was followed by both cars that had been watching him.

  As they disappeared out of sight, Matt turned the lights of the garage back on, chuckling to himself.

  He wished he could see the look on the policeman's face when the car went all the way back to his flat only for them to discover that he wasn't driving it.

  His friend Kyle had been more than happy to run diversion, making them think they were doing what they were supposed to. When he got out of the car at the other end, Kyle would drop the keys through Matt's letter box, give the police and Curtis's shadows the middle finger before heading off home again.

  Curtis would be livid, which amused Matt greatly.

  Besides, he still had work to do.

  He walked back through the spacious shop, treading around the Ford Fiesta which had decided to test the durability of an oak tree at full speed. The fact the driver had survived had shocked him, such was the crumpled state of the vehicle. He pushed open the 'Private' door and walked out into another room, the metal shutter open and leading on to the alleyway beyond. Rain clattered down on the pavement outside, echoing loudly inside like someone shaking dice in a cup.

  Pavel was zipping up his leather jacket, his motorbike facing the doorway and the engine purring. Matt nodded a greeting before walking to the large desk to his left. It was pressed against the brick wall, where tightly wrapped blocks of cocaine were stacked neatly across it.

  Curtis had used this room many years ago as a storage facility for his narcotics and Pavel was one of his most trusted delivery men. Matt didn't even know his last name, but he knew from rumour that Pavel's loyalty had led to the deaths of a few people.

  The seat of the motorbike was open and Matt tossed one of the thick, white slabs to the driver. He caught it, patting it gently and then dropped it into the secure space. He slammed the seat down, locking it in place.

  “You know where you’re going?”

  Pavel nodded, his dark green eyes staring straight at Matt. He pulled his black helmet down over his head, the visor open to maintain eye contact.

  “Drop it off, pick up the cash and then bring it back here. Then we can settle up and get the fuck out of here.”

  Pavel nodded again, a muffled agreement that Matt couldn't understand. The large man then straddled the bike, his powerful, leather clad legs swinging over and he got into position. Matt gave a lazy salute and then turned back to the table, organising the next few blocks for tomorrow's delivery.

  The gun stuck out from the back of his overalls.

  The rain continued to pelt the ground outside.

  The motorbike roared into life.

  As the engine echoed from inside, Lucas pushed himself up against the wall. He could see light bursting out from under the shutter and moments ago had heard Matt barking out orders. The rain trickled down the back of his neck, his whole body drenched.

  His arm hung loosely at his side where he clutched a thick, metal pole he’d found in the skip further up the alleyway. It was heavy, and with Lucas's ribs cracked and throbbing with agony, he questioned if he could even swing it.

  Everything felt like it was beginning to slow down. Each rain drop flashed before him like a small, shimmering star before dashing to the ground and shattering gloriously. The wind howled like a lone, pain-induced groan from the earth itself.

  The roar of the motorbike sounded like a lion standing before its pride.

  Lucas's other hand rested in his soaking pocket, wet fingers gently moving the wedding ring around its denim prison. He pictured his wife, her beautiful face as he ran his fingers over it and told her that he loved her.

  That smile.

  The bike roared again and the driver pulled off. The bike shot towards the rainy world surrounding the garage and as he passed the threshold, Lucas slapped his other hand onto the pole and then swung it with all his might, ignoring the searing pain that roared from his ribcage.

  The metal crashed through the visor, shattered glass went flying in the air with a concoction of rain water and blood. The driver shot backwards off the bike, crashing hard to the dry ground inside the garage. Blood poured from the helmet, pooling quickly across the clean floor. The bike carried on for a few feet before toppling to its side and sliding across the wet pavement until it collided with a large crash into the brick wall opposite. Shrapnel exploded into the alleyway as Lucas burst into the garage.

  Matt swung round the moment he heard a sickening crack and watched in awe as Pavel's body hurtled back and stopped motionlessly in front of him. Within a few seconds he then came face to face with Lucas Cole, drenched head to toe from the violent
downpour outside.

  The metal pole, shimmering in the light as it dripped rain drops onto the bloody, glass covered floor swung in his hand.

  Matt reached for his gun, pulling it from the back of his overalls and drawing it up to shoot the man who had been butchering his family. Before he could, Lucas swung the pole, the unforgiving metal connecting forcefully with the side of Matt's knee.

  They both felt it shatter.

  Matt dropped to the floor in agony, the gun sprawling out of his grasp and sliding into the bloody debris. He held back any screams of anguish, instead refocusing, survival instincts taking over. He reached forward, his fingers gently grazing the handle of the gun.

  Lucas crushed his hand against the concrete floor with another violent swing of the pole.

  This time Matt screamed in agony and he retracted his hand now hanging loosely from his wrist. The bones slithered inside his skin, loose and free. Glass hung out the back of his hand, gleaming in the light like jewels.

  He fell back, colliding with the desk and the illegal bricks atop shook.

  He took a few deep breaths, ordering himself to manage the pain and to face the inevitable like a man. Incredible pain shot around his brain but he calmed himself, safe in the knowledge that it would all be over soon.

  He opened his eyes and Lucas stood a few feet away, pointing his own gun at him. He chuckled.

  “Well, fuck me.”

  He shook his head weakly, before searching his pocket with his functioning hand. The other laid motionless on his thigh, misshapen and bleeding.

  Lucas stared at him, his brown eyes radiating pure hatred. Matt could feel it without even looking up.

  He fished his cigarettes from his pocket, sliding one out with one hand and popping it in his mouth. He then found his lighter. He clicked it a few times, engulfing the end of it in flame.

  Lucas stood watching, the gun dead still in his hand. The rain danced on the wind behind him.

  Smoke filtered up from Matt as he leaned back against the desk. He looked at Lucas, a forlorn expression on his face.