Thanos stood in front of him. His face and voice completely void of any emotion as he spoke. “Not a nice experience is it! You ready to tell me what I want to know!” he waited as Andy greedily gulped in the air filling his starved lungs. He looked back at Morton who replaced the towel around his head as though a silent order had been given.
This time the towel was left on for longer making Andy’s lungs work harder as they pumped furiously to breath in what tiny amounts of air they were able to suck in. His struggling made the situation worse as his body burnt up what precious oxygen there was.
Morton waited for the struggling to stop before removing the towel. Andy slowly regained consciousness as another bucket load of water was thrown forcibly into his face.
“The files? Where are they?” he could hear the voice but it sounded distant. The air was slowly clearing his fuzzy head. Logic told him that they needed him alive.
The three men waited impatiently for an answer but gave him a bit more time, for time was on their side. When no answer was coming the towel was drenched once again.
This time Andy was more aware of what was coming. He heard the water as it run off the sodden towel and splashed back into the bucket. Just as the towel touched his face he breathed in a far as his lungs would permit and summoned all his remaining strength.
He was totally oblivious to the pain as the cold metal bracelets cut into his wrist as he struggled valiantly against them. A thin trickle of blood snaked down his clenched fists. With one last gigantic effort he forced himself to stand.
Disorientated and unbalanced by the chair he swung round. The legs caught a surprised Morton in the knees sending them both crashing to the floor; Morton fell sideways, his head making a sickening thud as it came into contact with the dirty, concrete floor. Andy was considerably luckier. As he fell backwards his body weight came down on just one chair leg. Even though there was not much of him it was enough to snap the leg under him and the rest of the old, wooden chair fell apart on impact with the floor. He moved with surprising speed and was already jumping back to his feet as soon as he hit the floor sliding his hands free off the wooden legs as he did so. His hands now free he swung his right fist wildly the first punch connecting with Thanos as he rushed forward to restrain him. The blow – more by luck than judgment - caught him squarely on the nose breaking it stopping him in his tracks as blood erupted everywhere covering the front of his immaculately ironed expensive white shirt.
While Morton groggily tried to get up from the floor the young thug charged at Andy. Violence was something Andy had always shied away from but these circumstances were different. He was fighting for his life. As the young man grabbed him from behind natural reaction took over and Andy brought his left elbow sharply down into the man's ribs. The unexpected force of the blow winded him forcing him to relinquish his hold. Again reaction played its part as Andy swung his left arm backwards, turning towards his assailant as he did so. His fist missed but the swinging bracelet of the handcuff caught him just below the eye ripping open a nasty gash along the bone.
Morton was back on his feet. Experience told him to breathe hard to clear his head. For a large man he could move fast and half a second after regaining his balance he stepped forward and drove his knee hard into Andy’s left kidney followed almost instantly by a vicious punch into the right one.
The excruciating pain from the two blows stopped Andy immediately and, as he fell to his knees, the last thing he was ever to see was Thanos, his face red from a mixture of blood and anger.
Thanos was not sure if he was more furious that Richards had hit him or that he had ruined a perfectly good shirt but whatever it was he was going to make him pay for it. As Andy collapsed on his knees Thanos saw his chance and kicked out catching him in the ribs. He did not stop there and as the helpless man fell to the floor he cowardly dealt the defenceless man two more vicious kicks both landing in the same area of the rib cage. He stopped to adjust his balance and took aim at his head when Morton stepped over the prostrate body getting between them pushed Thanos backwards.
Thanos stumbled backwards, quickly regained his footing and then, for the second time in a matter of minutes, focused his fury on Morton.
“I fucking told you never to fucking touch me. You bastard!” he screamed maniacally and then, his blind rage clouding his judgment, made the mistake of swinging a punch in his direction.
Morton caught the flying fist easily in his large hand, his cool eyes burning into Thanos` face as he slowly squeezed the fat fist in his grasp.
The pain brought Thanos back to reality very quickly there was no way he wanted to get on the wrong side of this man. “Okay! Okay! I’m cool. I’m cool!” stammered Thanos quickly realising full well the stupidity of what he had just done. He was also concerned about how many bones Morton would crush in his hand. “It’s okay!”
Morton looked at him carefully for several seconds before releasing his grip. He was a man of few words. His presence normally spoke more than words could anyway. He never showed any sign of emotion and it was rare that he would be seen to smile - behind his back most of those who knew him referred to him as Stone Face, even the girls he used said sex was cold and emotionless.
He looked down at Richards. Something was wrong. He had a sense for death. He had spent all of his adult life dishing out pain and, occasionally, death too – sometimes by accident, sometimes as part of his job.
He bent down and rolled him over and looked into the lifeless eyes. “He’s dead,” he said coldly.
Thanos stood there struck dumb. He had given the order a number of times to have someone killed but had never actually been there to see his orders carried out let alone be the executioner.
“Don’t fuck with me,” his voice was not as strong and confident as usual. He hoped that Morton was wrong. A cold feeling spread over him. “All I did was kick the wimpy bastard,” he mumbled defensively as though it was something everyone endured daily.
Andy lay dead. The last kick had broken a rib and forced the jagged edge of bone into his heart. Death was, mercifully, instantaneous.
There was an intense silence in the room as they as they looked at the lifeless body. Morton’s subordinate, Grimshawe stared stupidly at the body. The consequences of being involved in a murder had not yet crossed his dulled mind. He was no newcomer to violence. He gained a perverse pleasure from inflicting pain. It gave him the type of high he only ever achieved after having sex, which was normally a violent act in itself. But this was something different - even as he stared at the still warm corpse he felt the familiar feeling run through him, as every nerve end in his body seemed to tingle.
The death left Thanos with a more profound problem. What was in those files and where were they?
Finally Morton broke the silence, “Now we `ave a problem!” his deep voice spoke slowly as he stated the obvious, “I’m not going down `cos of you!” he looked at Thanos.
“No-one’s going down! No-one knows he’s here,” his Greek accent more pronounced as he spoke quicker. He breathed out heavily as he bit on his lower lip. His mind should have been racing trying to sort out a solution but it was not. Instead he could do nothing but look at the crumpled body. For once his normally quick mind was a complete blank.
It was Morton who brought him out of his reverie; “I’ll take him down to the crematorium. They have burnings everyday. No-one will find him.”
“Yeah! Good thinking. But what about…” he trailed of as his mind went back to his actions in the previous couple of minutes as he replayed the scene over and over again.
“Someone must know where they are.”
“Who? He’s a fucking loner. He has no friends. Apart from that fucking whore.” The shock was beginning to wear off Thanos and his mind was focusing once again. “You get rid of him, I'll talk to her. Then go and search his flat,” he said as an after thought.
Chapter 5
Ernie Davenport quickly flicked through the mountain of paperwork t
hat piled itself every morning on his desk and sorted it out into neat piles. He had subconsciously developed a system over time: information received from outside agencies went on the top left; request from departments from inside Scotland Yard information required went next to them and then the files pertaining to ongoing investigations from every one else went on the right. But each of these was further sub-divided according to importance, time scale and department.
The day dragged on not helped by the fact that he knew Thanos was up to something and he needed to find out what. He had a hundred questions he wanted to find answers to. What was Thanos up to now? Who lived at that address that made Morton spent all night there? He was sure that it must be really important to Thanos otherwise why have your right-hand man sit there all night when he could have sent some inferior minnow and had Morton do what he does best! But the burning question was how was he going to find out who it was that Richards was visiting and why was Thanos so interested?
Finally, making time to pursue his own enquiries not least because he was finding it difficult to concentrate on his official job, he investigated the occupiers of the plush apartment block he had uncomfortably and fruitlessly spent the night sitting outside.
He searched for a connection cross checking the names of the residents, both owners and tenants, with any known associates with Thanos and drew a blank. He checked the few company owned apartments and struck lucky. An offshore registered company E5 Holdings, owned one of the apartments.
He smiled as he remembered the name. It was most unimaginative as E5 was a part of the postal code for East London – Thanos territory.
Registered in the British Virgin Islands it just happened to have an office in the UK in Hackney, East London! Although he was unable to prove that there was a connection between the offshore company and Thanos again his gut instinct told him there was.
He dug out what little information he had on E5 Holdings. It was just a few lines on an A4 sheet of paper.
******
The blue car, driven by Morton, led the way to the crematorium followed closely behind by Grimshawe in a dirty white escort van carrying the crumpled body which had been unceremoniously wrapped in an old, discoloured sheet. It was an unbecoming and undignified vehicle for a funeral - if it could be called that –. Morton felt strangely sorry for Richards. He did not deserve this.
They left the body with its destroyer; a fat, scruffy attendant at the crematorium who had helped Morton out over the years if the price was right and went on to Richards flat.
******
Richards lived in a typical run down council estate. The inadequate parking was made worse by the abandoned and derelict cars dumped on precious parking bays. The seven dark brick, nineteen-fifties buildings that made up the estate were identical. Three storeys high, twelve flats on each level, all the outside balconies on each storey faced in towards the centre where the cars were parked around a small and once upon a time grassy playing area that now contained the skeletal remains of a dead tree.
They climbed the dank concrete stairwell, the dark patches on the wall showed where someone had urinated, to the third floor arriving at the brick red door with the smell of stale urine in their noses and let themselves in. The two bed-roomed flat was all on one level. The kitchen was immediately on the left of the front door with the small but adequate bathroom opposite. A small bedroom was next to the bathroom with the rest of the space divided between the main bedroom and a cramped living room.
They searched the whole flat silently and methodically both men aware that nosey neighbours were a policeman’s friend. Their search turned up nothing except to reveal to them just how sad and lonely an existence the late accountant’s life must have been. Everything in the flat was orderly and everything seemed to have its own place. There were no family photographs or photos of any sort on the walls, no personal items left lying around. Even the magazines on the small, glass-topped coffee table were perfectly lined up so that they were square with the table’s corners.
As Grimshawe searched through the drawers of a reproduction bureau in the spare room he came across an envelope containing a bank debit card and the pin number. Careless, he thought grinning as he pocketed the envelope and its contents.
Morton searched the bedroom, which was much like the rest of the flat. Everything had its place. He opened the drawer of the small bedside table and staring up at him was a photograph of an exceptionally beautiful, dark haired woman. He flipped it over and on the back was a name – Francesca and an address. He had never seen her before, he would have remembered.
******
The apartment looked as though a tornado had ripped through it. Drawers had been tipped haphazardly over the floor. In the bedroom clothes lie on the floor. Dresses that had cost him a small fortune were intertwined with her casual clothes as they were thrown down like cheap rags. Every draw in the kitchen had been emptied; cutlery lay amongst broken crockery along side seldom used pots and pans. After searching everywhere possible he returned his attention to Anja.
“Listen, bitch, he left a package here. Where the fuck is it?” he shouted at her.
Anja, nursing a reddened cheek from a violently swung backhand, cowered away from Thanos as he approached her. Tears streaming down her face the terrified girl answered truthfully, “I don’t know, Mr. Thanos,” she stammered softly. Thanos, though, was still convinced that what he was searching for was here.
He grabbed her by the throat forcing her backwards until the back of head slammed painfully into the wall, her toes only just touching the floor. Her eyes opened wide with fear as she saw the clenched right fist being pulled back, “Please don’t hit me! Please! Not my face!” her pleas struck home. Money meant more to him than almost anything and this weekend she was due to earn him a lot of it.
He stayed in that position for a moment contemplating his next move. Every muscle in his body wanted to beat the truth out of her but the businessman in his brain told him there was another way. His eyes glaring like a demented madman, his lip curled back over a row of discoloured teeth he finally let her go.
She fell to the floor choking. Her throat burned as she tried to breath. She was not being vain when she tried to protect her looks. Her face and her body were the tools of her trade. And no one would pay his asking price for damaged goods. It was smart thinking on her part. Smart and fast. She knew how much her next appointment was worth to him and played on his greed.
“I want answers, bitch!” he looked at the cowering girl, “and you better have them, or else!” he snarled as he left.
Anja remained on the floor. Her body shook violently as she cried. But she was not crying for herself. She wept uncontrollably for her lover. Thanos` visit had confirmed her worst nightmare.
Chapter 6
The silver BMW Z3 sports car pulled up at the electronically controlled security gates of the exclusive riverside development. It was one of many to spring up along the banks of the Thames in recent years replacing the docks and quaysides which were, at one time, the lifeblood of this part of London. It was, by any standard, a very luxurious complex containing its own swimming pool, sauna and steam rooms, indoor and outdoor tennis courts as well as a small but very well equipped gym. The apartments here were among the most expensive properties in the UK and probably in Europe!
The female driver waited patiently for them to open and the big engine purred gently as the car slowly eased through the iron gates as the large, black security man stepped out from his office carrying a parcel.
“Good evening, Miss Bianchi,” beamed George, a perfect row of white teeth contrasting against his dark lips, “I have a package for you. It came this morning,” he drawled in his thick West Indian accent. Even after thirty years in England he had still not lost it.
The electric window lowered silently and Francesca Bianchi smiled sweetly at him. “Thank you, George. What would I do without you?” she had a beautiful smile that got her noticed by most people. She did not rem
ember ordering anything or expecting any deliveries, “you’re a saint.”
“That’s not what my wife calls me,” he grinned. She was, without a doubt, his favourite resident. She always had a smile for the security team no matter what the time of day or the weather – unlike some of the other residents.
“Well, if your wife ever gets bored with you, let me know!” she teased him.
“Oh, Miss, I’m too old for you,” he said ruefully, silently cursing his advancing years. “Have a nice night, Miss.”
Francesca put the brown, paper-wrapped parcel on the kitchen table and lightly stroked her chin with the tips of her fingers – a habit she had developed when she was worried. She did not recognise the barely legible, scrawny handwriting on the address label. She hesitated before cautiously cutting the sellotape and slowly peeling back the perfectly folded paper.
As an investigative journalist and author it paid to be careful especially when unexpected packages turned up in the post. Her specialty was criminal gang activity in inner cities and, over the years, her investigations had been responsible for several gang members serving lengthy gaol sentences.
The package was a large, green box file. She stepped back quickly from the table and stared suspiciously at it unconsciously rubbing her right hand. She had received two letter bombs in the past the second of which had burned her very badly.
She waited expecting it to do something out of the ordinary. Slowly, her blank mind ground back into action as a hundred names passed quickly through her head as she thought of anyone who would want to get their revenge on her. She ticked the names off her mental list almost as fast as she thought of them. No one came immediately to mind. She had written some scathing articles recently on certain politicians and their tenuous links with a corrupt third world dictator but that was just par for the job. For those shamed it was no more than a public rebuke from their party chiefs who probably told them privately to be more careful next time. No, in a few weeks it would blow away as another public figure hit the headlines. This was not it.
The Qadesh Club Page 4
