Cuts Both Ways

by Solomon Carter

  CUTS

  BOTH

  WAYS

  Between Two Thieves Roberts and Bradley Private Investigator Crime Thriller series book 2

  Solomon Carter

  Great Leap

  Prologue

  Shortly before it all hit the fan…

  The tall man arrived at his latest destination. He should have known a place like this wouldn’t have been too hard to find. The pub itself was vast. The entrance was decorated with brass trim, a fancy name board hoisted above it, the pub’s name displayed in floral gilt print. There were window boxes on either side of the entrance, bursting with seasonal colour, yet it still wasn’t enough to make the place look classy. A place like this, it never was. The pub looked as big as an aircraft hangar. Big enough to warrant two sets of entrance doors, two doors apiece. The bouncers outside those doors looked him over, their eyes scanning him head to foot. Men like these knew potential trouble when they saw it. And seasoned security guards, as they were, believed there were only ever two types of trouble. Those who required just a little effort to deal with and those who were truly dangerous. The tall man with the gold watch standing on the street before them was definitely one of the latter. They examined him and he let them look, without any show of concern. The stranger was used to it. He was serious and silent with large threatening eyes. It was early evening, barely even teatime, and the pub already had security posted on the door. Black bomber jackets, ear pieces, the whole thing. It told him everything he needed to know about the place. The security men tensed as he approached. They could see the man wasn’t a drinker. He was too clear eyed, too sharp looking for that. No, this one wanted something else. Out of habit, the tall stranger stepped up to the biggest of the two security men and looked him in the eye before finally offering him a curt nod. But by then, the battle had already been more than half won.

  “Can I help you?” said the security guard, taking one step back as he spoke.

  “Maybe,” said the man. He had an accent. Hard to place, probably foreign, but his English was good.

  “Have you seen this girl?” said the stranger.

  He showed them a photograph taken from his pocket. The security guard noticed his jeans were expensive, his hands were neat. The image was a little creased from all the use, but it was still clear enough.

  Both the security men looked at the photograph, crowding in like school kids trying to appear interested in what teacher had to show them. The bigger, older guard looked up at the man’s eyes, and ventured a question.

  “So, then. Is there going to be any trouble?”

  “No,” replied the stranger. “No trouble at all. I need a word with her, that’s all.”

  The big man sniffed and thought it over. “A word, eh? I’ve seen her about, I remember the hair. But not lately. And she doesn’t come in here. Never did.”

  The tall man with big eyes looked at the endless crowd of drinkers behind the glass. His flat mouth twitched.

  “Can’t say I blame her,” said the stranger, a faint smile curling his lip.

  The security guard repeated. “No, she doesn’t come in here.”

  The tall man flicked his eyes onto the security man’s face. Something about his tone had him wondering… “But?” he said.

  The security guard sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Halfway down the pub, out in the conservatory on the left, there’s a really mouthy tart. She’s all dolled up and out of her brain on shots.”

  “And she’s queen of the big spenders lately, that one,” said the other man. “Even offered to buy me one.”

  The tall man watched, waited and listened. He made the men feel uncomfortable enough that the older man felt the need to get the man away as quickly as possible.

  “I used to see your friend with the drunk girl. Both of ‘em wore the same matching wristbands, like peas in a pod they were, like they’d both been to the same festival or something. But then that was a while back,” the security guard nodded at the photograph. “And I haven’t seen that one since.”

  “Wristbands…?” said the tall stranger, his eyes narrowing at the notion. “This drunk woman. What’s her name?”

  The security guard shook his head. “Don’t know, and I don’t care to know. But I know she’s a bloody trappy cow when she’s had a skinful. Don’t worry. You can’t really miss her.”

  The tall man nodded, which was the only thanks the security guard was going to get. The tall stranger pulled at the brass door handle and a wave of noise from the drunken crowd inside poured out.

  As the tall man walked in, the older security guard’s words followed, “But no trouble, eh?”

  “No, no trouble,” said the tall man. “Not in here at any rate.”

  As the door slowly closed the security guards looked at one another, checking to see if any face had been lost. A little maybe. They were both relieved, and yet they were anxious. They could only hope the stranger stayed true to his word. But in a pub like theirs, full of drunken chancers, there was never any guarantee.

  One

  Too much wine had left Lauren with a thick head and a tidal wave of anxiety at the worst possible time. The night was always bad, because at night she had to lay beside the man she hated as if they were still lovers. Technically, she supposed they were. Every night, after every blazing row, he cajoled her until she eventually relented simply for the purpose of an uneasy peace. Love had turned to hate long ago and yet he still badgered her for intimacy. But now Lauren saw it for what it was. Nothing more than a bad dog pining for a treat. A dog marking territory which he feared he would lose, even though he had given up wanting it. He was a sick, deluded man. And because of another night’s suffering, Lauren had given into the wine. Wine – which kept her compliant and fearful and the cycle went on. But the time of reckoning was coming. When she went through the motions of sex, there was no love in it, only theatre and malice. And she saw the artifice in his eyes as surely as he saw the pretence in hers. The gasps, the sighs, the fleeting kisses, all fake. Both ways, fake. And a fakery like this could only last so long.

  She still had the feel of him on her body. The acidic taste of his kisses in her mouth. She wanted to get out of bed and shower, but if not a shower, the very least she needed was water to take the taste away and slake her thirst. Lauren took a risk and peeled back the sheet. She paused with the corner of the duvet raised and waited for his hand to reach for her shoulder, his voice to demand her attention. But neither happened.

  Lauren turned to look down upon the dark form beneath the sheets. The near blackness made his shape seem patchy and uncertain. He seemed silent, so she took a breath, stood up and made her way to the door. Her eyes passed over the heavy crystal business award he had been given the year before. She paused, briefly considering smashing it over his skull. It wasn’t the first time she’d considered it. She’d even got as far as hefting the award in her hand once but gave up at the last second. Lauren moved on but before she reached the door handle, the myriad lights of the new town beyond their penthouse called her to the window. The lights always broke though the gap between the curtains. They used to enchant her once, now they were no more than a comfort. She went to the gap and stole a look in silence. Far below and beyond were the bright lights and hardness of Basildon’s concrete roadmap and the dark fields and industrial buildings scattered on the outskirts. The traffic still flitted silently along the main roads in the middle distance. It never stopped. She watched the lights of the town and wished she was outside with them, standing close by any one of them. But the fear always stopped her, like it did right now. She heard the movement on the bed behind her and she snapped her head back across her shoulder in a reflex. But Jamie Blane snorted, rolled over, and fell still again. Lauren scowled in
the darkness. At Jamie. At herself. At what he’d made her become.

  She walked to the bedroom door and stepped into the hallway. Keeping her breath light and even, she clicked the bedroom door shut and paced down the hallway in the darkness. She flicked on the light when she reached their kitchen diner. The light flickered before it buzzed on She saw only a ghost of herself. A naked ghost in the glass. Lauren took a glass from the cupboard and turned on the tap. She drank deep, poured another and wiped her mouth on the back of her wrist.

  What if Eva Roberts wouldn’t help? Wouldn’t follow her plan? The thought caused her heart to race and made her want to retch. Eva was entitled to do whatever she wanted, but Lauren had only crawled back to the woman for one reason. Her moral compass. Eva had always been a loyal girl. And from what she had read about her exploits, she was now much more than that. She would deliver.

  But… if Eva didn’t come through, Lauren knew she needed another way out.

  Her eyes were snared by the call of the lights beyond the glass. The lure of the lights rushing towards London.

  A new start. Anyone of those lights promised a new start, with less regret, less anger, less war… but then what about her family?

  Damn it. Lauren stared at the ghost in the mirror, the desperation on her face, her sullen eyes no more than shadows, her body owned by someone she couldn’t stand.

  “You still have to know how to leave him…” she whispered to the glass. “You have to know how to try. You’re going to win, Lauren.” She added the final words, but they sounded false. She knew she needed to prove them.

  Decision made, she set down the glass. She went to the sofa where they had undressed after another raging row and picked up yesterday’s discarded clothes. She slid them on quietly. Lauren grabbed one of Jamie’s overcoats from the hooks in the hallway and draped it over herself to keep out the cold. Quietly as she could, she opened the door into the external hallway, and closed the door behind her with a click.

  Her heart hammered. Was this it? Was she seriously leaving him? She jangled Jamie’s coat pocket and found it full of change and keys. The spare keys to the car, just where he had always left them. A sudden explosion of nerves pricked at her eyes and made her head hurt. She wasn’t clean, still smelt of him, wasn’t properly dressed, and it was the middle of the night… But she kept walking.

  She took the elevator down, and her heart pounded faster as the lift dropped lower and lower.

  She walked out past the blue-uniformed concierge – the bald one with glasses – who was all but asleep at the reception desk. He coughed and straightened up in his seat and nodded at her, but Lauren looked away, in no mood for any kind of conversation. She peered into the dark night through the big glass doors of the atrium and walked right on. The concierge blinked and blinked again when he noticed the woman was wearing slippers instead of shoes, but he didn’t say a word. Lauren walked into the chill night air. Lights and traffic noise buzzed in the air. The darkness always whispered a threat to every woman, but after so many struggles, there was only one threat she was concerned with. Death was coming, and she was determined not to be the one to get struck down. There was his damned flash executive car, the silver Mercedes he loved, parked in the distant corner. The prospect of freedom was almost too thrilling. She felt like she was going to pass out or throw up. But on she went. She pressed the key fob and unlocked the car. It beeped and the indicators flashed. Lauren opened the door and sat behind the steering wheel running her fingers over the wheel’s cold leather surface. She smiled at herself in the mirror, but bitterly. She had made it this far. And it wasn’t far at all. The car was his domain. She thought of driving off, thought of slashing the seats, thought of crashing the damn thing into the rail tracks. But she did nothing at all but imagine it. She fantasised about running him over, and her dark little dreams continued as her eyes roamed around the car. And then she saw a glimmer of shining metal buried in the driver’s-side door pocket. There, sticking out of a white paper bubble bag, was the edge of something like a sharp pair of scissors. Lauren frowned and came back to the moment. She stared at it and then she slowly reached for it. She picked up the whole parcel and hefted the curious thing in her hand. The parcel was bulky and heavy. She laid it on her lap and turned the parcel over until she could see inside. She teased the opening wider until she finally saw what it was. Mostly taped up, there was still enough of a gap to see the shape inside and know fully what it was. Slowly, she lifted the package, and with bated breath, she opened it and peered inside. Inside, she found a knife. A knife unlike any knife she’d seen before, aside from in horror movies or modern war films. A knife that had a solid grip with grooves designed for a soldierly hand. It had a monstrous point, sharp enough to sink in deep and easy, and one edge was serrated with teeth as sharp and vicious as those of a shark. It was a knife which would have made killing all too easy.

  And at once, Lauren knew what it was for. A war like theirs could only rage for so long before the casualties became fatalities.

  So the reckoning really was coming… but Lauren had never guessed it would come so soon.

  Lauren stared at the sharp point of the blade and closed her eyes.

  A moment later she slid the parcel back into the door pocket and took a deep breath.

  And then, decision made – the only decision she could make – Lauren stepped back out into the cold. She closed the car door and hit the lock button and the orange car lights flashed behind her.

  She took a glance up to the top of the building, to the penthouse high above. The windows were reassuringly dark.

  But only because she hadn’t seen the lights blink out the moment before.

  If she had seen those lights, Lauren might have driven away. But then again, maybe not. This was war.

  And the war was going to play out the way it had to.

  Her body shook as she walked inside to face the staring concierge. When she spoke Lauren spoke only to herself.

  “It’s far too late,” she said.

  The concierge nodded as she passed. “Don’t worry, madam. Things always seem better in the morning,” he said.

  Lauren blinked at him and pressed the lift button. “For some people, maybe,” she said. The lift enveloped her and took her back to the top floor.

  Once inside, she replaced the coat on the hook, discarded her clothes and slid into bed beside Jamie Blane. She lay there, her eyes wide open, willing Eva Roberts not to let her down. To fulfil the plan. And all the while Jamie Blane lay with his back towards her… and his eyes were wide open.

  Two

  “Thank you. That’s amazing,” said Joanne. “I’ll tell them right away.” She smiled into her mobile phone. “And thank you so much. I mean it.”

  “No problem at all,” said the male voice at the other end of the line. “I’m just glad that someone can follow it up.” Joanne stared down at her mobile as the call ended. She bit her lip in excitement. For the first time since Joanne had worked with Eva and Dan she finally had something to give them. Yes, she had already given them her time. She had volunteered and taken the risks that went with the job, but that was only because she loved being a part of their world. But now she had something they needed. A new job – and Joanne knew they needed a new job like nothing else. But now it all came down to how to introduce the subject. If she played it wrong Joanne knew they would be suspicious of her sources, and she really didn’t want that to happen. There was no need for that. So here it was. Maybe she would just tell them and see what they said… She flicked her blonde fringe out of her eyes, slid her mobile into her pocket and started her approach towards the office door but she abruptly stopped as she caught a glimpse of movement just around the corner. Eva Roberts and Dan Bradley’s private investigations office occupied a street corner on one of Southend’s busier, grimier thoroughfares. Hamstel Road was at the Southchurch end of town. It wasn’t a glam location, but it was busy. There were few shops, and the council tower blocks loomed just a few street
s away. In fact, Eva and Dan’s office was one of the few points of interest around. It was neat, smart, and understated. And Joanne guessed all of those elements must have come from the Eva Roberts side of the partnership, the intellectual muscle behind their PI business. It wasn’t as if Dan Bradley wasn’t smart, of course he was. But from what Joanne had seen – from what she had come up against – Joanne knew that Dan Bradley operated from a raw and impulsive place. An emotional place. So she guessed he was the one best placed to hear what she had without over-analysis. Eva would ask questions, but Dan would just be happy for the lead. Or at least, she hoped he would. Joanne walked around the corner into the side street beside the office. She saw a pair of shiny black boots sticking out from beneath Dan’s pale blue Chrysler Convertible. It was an unusual sight, to say the least. A clanking, groaning and muttering was coming from underneath the car, but the swearing proved beyond a reasonable doubt that it was Dan. Yeah. It looked like Dan needed some good news. She glanced once into the side office window to see Eva talking with Joanne’s boyfriend, Mark, at the back of the office. They looked almost as distracted as Dan. Good. Joanne left the window behind and made her move.

  “Hey, Dan,” said Joanne. “Someone’s busy.”

  An immediate thud and grunt of pain sounded from beneath the car. “Who’s that?” said the voice. The body beneath the car started to scramble and wriggle forward, finally working free of the front bumper to blink up at Joanne from the floor. There was smear of black dirt on his face, and dark grime over his hands and under his fingernails. Dan’s dark brown eyes betrayed more than a hint of irritation.

  “Oh, Joanne. It’s you.”

  “Hmmm. Have you got a problem with the car?” said Joanne. “Funny. I never had you down as a grease monkey before.”

  “That’s because I’m not,” said Dan. He scratched his nose and left a fresh trail of grime behind. “I don’t even own my own set of Allen keys. I’ve always been the kind better at smashing things down rather than building them up, if you know what I mean. I don’t know many boys from the boxing club who turned into mechanics.”