Double Cross

by Malorie Blackman

  And I was about to get crushed underfoot. I left the lockup and headed for McAuley's warehouse.

  sixty-nine

  As I walked, I tried not to think and I certainly didn't want to feel. It wasn't far, only thirty minutes from Dan's lockup, and at least the rain had eased off. I looked up at the sky, knowing I'd never enjoy rain again. I just wished I could've spoken to Callie one more time before seeing McAuley. Just one last time. I wasn't happy about the way things had been left between us, but then whose fault was that but my own? If I didn't know who or what I was any more, then what chance did she have of figuring it out.

  At last I arrived at the warehouse. The industrial estate contained seven or eight units, most of which were empty and boarded up. At this time of night the place was deserted. The railway bridge beyond the estate was the only sign of irregular life in the whole place. Four or five street lamps had to illuminate the entire estate and were failing miserably. Two Nought security guards dressed in dark blue or black stood outside McAuley's warehouse, chatting. One wore a wool hat pulled tight down over his head, the other was smoking a cigarette. The guard wearing the hat was showing the smoker something on a mobile phone. I inhaled deeply, allowing the smell of tar and rubbish and traffic fumes to fill my lungs, then walked straight up to them.

  'I need to see Mr McAuley. Could you tell him that Tobey Durbridge is here?'

  The two guards exchanged a look. The smoker stubbed out his cigarette, grinding it under the toe of his thicksoled shoes. He looked me up, down and sideways as he broke out his walkie-talkie. Turning away from me, he spoke into it, his voice a low monotone. Thirty seconds later, he signed off and turned back to me.

  'Turn left inside and head for the far end of the warehouse. The office is on your right. Mr McAuley is expecting you,' he told me ominously.

  'Thanks,' I replied, though I had no idea why I was thanking him.

  He opened one of the warehouse doors and left me to it. I followed his instructions, passing vast crates and boxes stacked on top of each other. The warehouse was dimly lit and eerily silent, a silence so deep it echoed back at me. The rest of McAuley's men had to be in his office already. I took out my phone, pressing the speed-dial icon to get through to DI Boothe. I was wasting my time. From within this warehouse, it was impossible to get a signal. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to turn back. There was no way I could take on the likes of McAuley. It was foolish to even try.

  Don't think about that, Tobey. Just keep going.

  Whatever it takes.

  I knocked on the office door before I could change my mind. 'Mr McAuley, it's me – Tobey,' I called out. 'I have some news you need to hear.'

  The door opened slowly. Byron stood in the doorway, gun in hand. He took a quick look around to make sure I was alone, then stepped aside to let me into the room. McAuley sat in the chair at his desk. My gaze zipped around his office like a pinball. Byron stood next to me at the door. Trevor, the guy from McAuley's house, and two other muscle-heads I'd never seen before were dotted around the room.

  'So you came?' said McAuley. He turned to Byron. 'I told you he'd come. Search him.'

  He stood up and sauntered towards me whilst Byron patted me down from head to toe, not missing a centimetre in between.

  'Mr McAuley, I've got something to—'

  McAuley threw his whole weight behind a punch to my stomach. It felt like a wrecking ball had hit my innards. I dropped to my knees, clutching my belly and coughing my guts out. Another punch to my head and I was down on the floor, seeing stars and the whole solar system whizzing round my head. My cheek was on fire. I could taste blood in my mouth. McAuley ambled back to his original position behind his desk.

  'Byron, get rid of him.' McAuley's voice reached me through the ringing in my ears.

  'No. W-wait. P-please. Wait.' My breathing came shallow and fast and sharp. Sweat coated every centimetre of my skin.

  This is it, I thought. I tried to swallow, but nothing could move past the jagged rocks in my throat.

  It's all over. I'm done.

  Byron grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. I struggled to stay upright, holding my stomach, which still roared with pain. It felt like my stomach muscles or maybe my spleen had been split wide open. And my cheek was on fire.

  'Mr McAuley, I f-found out s-something from Gideon Dowd.' I could hardly catch my breath to speak. But silence would kill me for sure, or maybe just sooner. 'Something you n-need to know.' I had to get the words out whilst I still had the chance.

  'If it's the identity of the bent cop, I already know. It's been all over the late-night news,' said McAuley. 'You should've been the one to provide that information, Tobey, not a newsreader. You let me down on that score as well. And ignoring my instructions about Rebecca Dowd? Not smart, Tobey. Not smart.'

  'I'm s-sorry about Rebecca, sir. I shouldn't have disobeyed you. It won't happen again.'

  'That's right,' said McAuley softly. 'It won't.'

  'But the information I have is something far more interesting than a bent cop, sir,' I rushed to assure him. I managed to stand upright to face him. Something was trickling down my cheek. I touched my fingers to my face. Blood. His punch had cut my cheek, inside and out. My hands dropped back to my side.

  Silence.

  'I'm listening,' McAuley said brusquely.

  'It's private,' I said, deliberately looking at each of his squad in turn.

  'I have no secrets from my men. I'd trust them with my life.'

  'Would you really?' I asked carefully.

  McAuley might've been a lot of things, but slow wasn't one of them. He glanced at Byron, who shook his head. I wasn't carrying any hardware, so I was no threat. It wasn't luck that had made me leave Dan's gun behind – it was a sense of self-preservation.

  'Maybe you should get three of your men to guard the warehouse entrance, just in case?' I suggested. 'One of Dowds' men saw you – what you did to Rebecca. They'll come calling.'

  McAuley stood up, his ice-blue, ice-cold eyes burning into me. 'Trevor, take Dave and Scott and go do as he says. And when you're outside, you'd better phone for some reinforcements.'

  The three men left the room, albeit reluctantly. That was perfect. I hadn't had to engineer it so Byron was left behind.

  'So what is it?' said McAuley.

  This was it. The moment of truth, half-truths and downright lies.

  'One of your men is working for the Dowds.'

  'Bollocks!' McAuley didn't believe it for a second.

  I remembered what he'd said about demanding the loyalty of the people who worked for him. He was like Rebecca that way. Loyalty was everything.

  'I have proof,' I said.

  'It'd better be watertight,' McAuley said silkily, the threat evident in his voice.

  'Can you go online with that computer?' I asked, pointing to the one on his desk.

  McAuley's eyes narrowed. 'Of course.'

  'Ask Byron to log on and show you how much money he's got in his bank account.'

  'What the . . . ?' Byron piped up. 'What is this?'

  'Byron is working for the Dowds,' I explained. 'The proof is in his bank account. After today he was going to turn tail and run out on you.'

  'I don't believe a word of it,' said McAuley.

  'Then check his account. If I'm wrong, then you can hand me over to Byron.'

  Byron marched over to me. 'I'm going to enjoy breaking your scrawny neck,' he hissed, spraying spit in my face.

  I stepped back, wiping my face with the back of my hand.

  'Just check, Mr McAuley. Unless of course you want Byron to get away with it.'

  'Alex, you don't believe this bullshit, do you?' Byron turned to his boss.

  'Of course not,' said McAuley.

  My heart nose-dived. I was screwed.

  'But it wouldn't hurt to check, would it?' McAuley continued. 'Log onto your bank account, Byron.'

  Byron stared at his boss, unable to believe his ears.

  'And o
nce you've proved that Durbridge is lying, he's all yours,' McAuley added.

  Byron gave me a look I'd never seen before, and if I lived to be two hundred I never want to see again. If Owen had been lying about putting the money into Byron's account, I was deader than a Sunday roast. Byron marched round the desk and started slamming his fingers down on the keys. I moved round the desk to see the computer screen along with him and McAuley.

  Byron input the requested three digits from his fourdigit pin code and the requested first, fifth and ninth characters from his password. They all came up as asterisks on the screen so I couldn't hope to learn or guess what his pin code and password might be. Not that it made much difference now. A new screen appeared, showing details of Byron Sweet's current account. It contained six figures, a very healthy six figures. Owen hadn't lied – thank goodness.

  Behind Byron, McAuley straightened up.

  'T-that can't be right,' Byron spluttered. He clicked on the refresh icon to redisplay the page. The amount of money in his bank account didn't change. He sprang to his feet. 'Alex, I don't know what's going on, but I have no idea how all that money got in my account. I really don't.'

  I moved out from behind the desk. If things were about to kick off, I didn't want to get caught up in it.

  'That's a lot of money, Byron,' said McAuley quietly.

  'It's not mine. You've got to believe me, Alex,' Byron protested. He looked around as if searching for someone to back him up, but there was just him and McAuley – and me. He pointed at me. 'Tobey did it. He must've put it in my account.'

  'Where would I get that kind of money from?' I scoffed.

  'Boss, I—'

  The gun blast made me jump. Byron's hands flew to his throat, but blood squirted out from between his fingers like a fountain. It splashed over McAuley's suit and sprayed his hair. Byron fell backwards like a felled tree. He was dead before he hit the floor. McAuley stared down at him, eyes wild. My mind was screaming. I didn't expect . . . I clamped my lips together so that no sound could spill out of my mouth.

  Omigod . . .

  McAuley was going to kill me next. I saw it in his eyes as he slowly turned to look at me, his gun still in his hand.

  'I'm sorry, Mr McAuley, but I thought you should know,' I said quickly. 'I heard Gideon Dowd talking to one of your men on the phone when I worked at TFTM. Gideon called him by his surname, Sweet. But I only found out earlier today that Byron's surname is Sweet. I'm really sorry, Mr McAuley.'

  Trevor, Scott and Dave burst into the room. McAuley was covered in blood, but Byron's body was behind his desk so they couldn't see it from the door. The three men looked me up and down, wondering how I was still standing, wondering where all the blood on their boss had come from. McAuley put his gun down on the desk so he could button up his bloodstained jacket, like he thought that would tidy him up.

  'Get rid of the body,' he told them, still buttoning up his jacket.

  The three men went round the desk. They stared down at Byron's body, shocked. Two of them bent down to pick him up. I saw it on the desk, my one and only chance. I snatched up McAuley's Glock 23 before any of them could make a move. I hadn't planned on this, but the gun was lying there just asking to be claimed. And I'd rather be at the stock end of it than the barrel end.

  'All of you, just stay right there. And keep your hands where I can see them.' The gun was trained on McAuley and his men, who were standing together for the first time since I'd entered the warehouse. From what I could figure out, apart from McAuley and these three, there were just the two security guards at the warehouse entrance. But for how long? McAuley had sent for reinforcements. How long would it take them to get here? I didn't have much time.

  We all stood like figures in an oil painting.

  Now what?

  'One at a time, I want all of you to take out your guns and place them on the table. Dave, you start.'

  I watched as Dave withdrew a gun from beneath his jacket.

  'You, the one with the red hair. What was your name again? Scott? Your turn.'

  He reached round to pull the gun from the waistband at the back of his trousers. I would've thought keeping a gun there was a good way to blow your buttocks off, but what did I know?

  'Now you, Trevor.'

  Trevor took a gun out of his jacket and put it on the desk.

  'Trevor, you'd better get lost,' I said. 'Unless you want to stay here and wait for McAuley to realize that you're the one who works for the Dowds, not Byron.'

  'What the hell . . . ?' McAuley gasped.

  'Oh, didn't I say?' I said. 'Byron didn't work for the Dowds. That money was put in his bank account by Owen Dowd to make you think otherwise. But when I worked at TFTM, I saw Trevor coming out of Gideon Dowd's office. And Gideon's brother Owen told me that one of your men was passing on information. So it has to be him.'

  Trevor looked from me to McAuley like he didn't know what to do.

  'Are you staying or going?' I asked impatiently.

  Trevor took off like his shoes were on fire. Honour amongst thieves.

  Three against one. Plus the two outside. Much better. I could breathe easy now!

  I glanced down at Byron. There was a small pool of blood around his neck and head. One bullet and Byron's life was over. One thrust of a knife and Rebecca was gone. Life was too precious to be so fragile. Or maybe life was precious because it was so fragile.

  'All of you.' I waved them out from around the table. 'Walk over to the door, please.'

  McAuley stayed his men with one gesture of his hand. 'Suppose we stay where we are?' he said. 'Suppose I don't think you've got the balls to shoot anyone?'

  He reached for one of the guns on the table. I aimed and squeezed the trigger in the space of less than a second. The gun McAuley had been reaching for shot off the table, propelled by the bullet from my gun. Splinters of wood flew off in all directions. McAuley and his mob flinched away from the ricocheting debris.

  'Suppose the next bullet goes straight through your heart?' I told McAuley. I might not have shot a gun at living targets before, but that didn't mean I didn't know how to shoot. My dad had seen to that. 'Now all of you – move.'

  I swept the rest of the gun hardware onto the floor with my arm. I certainly didn't need one of McAuley's men getting any bright ideas. If we all headed out of the warehouse, then I could get a signal, phone the police and we'd wait for them to arrive. And maybe, just maybe I might make it out of this in one piece. Scott and Dave led the way, followed by McAuley, with me following behind all three of them. The moment Scott and Dave were through the office door, they sprinted off in opposite directions. There was no way I could stop them. I ran in front of McAuley and slammed the door shut before he could pull the same stunt. Never taking my eyes off McAuley, I locked the door behind me.

  McAuley's men were somewhere in the warehouse, just waiting to pounce once I left the office. They couldn't get in. We couldn't get out.

  Now what?

  'Half a million pounds to the one who kills Tobey Durbridge!' McAuley shouted out.

  Bastard! What a time to raise his voice.

  The slamming against the office door started almost at once.

  'Sit down on the ground,' I ordered McAuley, my gun in his face.

  He did as I said, a look of intense satisfaction on his face. 'You're dead, Durbridge. Deal with it. And when I get out of here, I'm going to take care of your girlfriend too.'

  'You already took care of Rebecca,' I said bitterly.

  'The Dowds needed to be taught a lesson.'

  'Rebecca had nothing to do with her family's business,' I told him. 'She was innocent—'

  'She was a Dowd,' McAuley dismissed. 'I had hoped to swap her for my merchandise, but you refused to play ball, so I had to opt for plan B – which was fine with me. And you made it so easy to get to Rebecca. Thank you, Tobey. I couldn't have done it without you.'

  My index finger stroked over the gun trigger. Shooting McAuley would be a public service.<
br />
  'But we both know Rebecca wasn't your girlfriend,' McAuley continued.

  At my puzzled look, his smile broadened. 'No, I'm talking about Callie Rose Hadley. I was aiming at you that day at the Wasteland when she got in the way instead. But next time . . .'

  I raised my fist and brought it down against McAuley's face. I forgot I was still holding his gun. Blood started gushing from his nose almost immediately. McAuley cried out in pain. The pounding on the office door grew more frantic. It didn't matter whether McAuley's minions were trying to save him or earn the reward money he'd promised, I'd be just as dead. I looked down at the gun I was holding. The Glock 23 felt heavy and seductively comfortable in my hand. The pearl stock, warmed by my body heat, fitted snugly against my palm. I now held McAuley's custom-made semiautomatic.

  A real, honest-to-God gun in my hand.

  A proper killing machine.

  Or was that me?

  'You're dead, Durbridge – and there's nothing you can do about it.'

  seventy

  I pulled Eisner's bag of white powder out of my trouser pocket and dangled it in front of McAuley's face.

  'You know what this is?' It was a question that didn't need answering. Of course McAuley knew what I was holding. This stuff paid for his white suit and the blood all over it. It paid for the drug houses he had all over Meadowview, and for Ross Resnick's life and my sister's pain. McAuley revelled in the stuff I held in my hands. The harder life got in Meadowview, the more profit there was to be made. Simple economics.

  McAuley's eyes narrowed. He spat blood out of his mouth and wiped the sleeve of his jacket across his nose before speaking.

  'You want your cut?' he asked. 'Is that what this is all about? You want to go into business for yourself ?'

  I said nothing. McAuley took my silence to mean that I was listening to him.

  'You're a smart guy, Tobey. I could use someone like you working for me. I could show you what it's all about. In five years you'd be rich beyond your wildest dreams.' McAuley's voice flowed like warm honey. 'And whether you like it or not, you need me. Rebecca died after a meeting with you. What d'you think the Dowds are going to make of that? I'm the only one who can protect you.'