Book Read Free

Within Each Other's Shadow

Page 26

by Jan Turk Petrie


  When they let go, he falls heavily onto bare floorboards. As he lies groaning, they form a grinning ring around him. Between their legs he scans the room; it seems unfurnished apart from rows of chairs stacked around the edges.

  The guards take a step back when the door opens and Viktor walks in. His awkwardly elongated legs approach, each footstep echoing. The man’s in no hurry. He’s still wearing the same pair of brogues but this time doesn’t lash out. ‘Tie him to a chair,’ he says.

  Nero holds his breath as the cords dig in. They make short work of it. Once they’re done, he slowly and painfully exhales. ‘This all seems rather crude,’ he says. Looking up, he makes eye contact with Viktor. ‘What comes next? You starting with thumbscrews or going straight to the red-hot poker?’

  Viktor bends down to his level. ‘It’s tempting to start by cutting out that smart-arsed tongue of yours.’ He yanks Nero’s hair back until his head hits the chair. ‘You need to learn to keep quiet, Inspector. To wait until you’re spoken to.’

  He finally lets go. Walking around the chair, Viktor tests the restraints to make sure they’re tight enough. For a second the man’s fingers make contact with Nero’s bare wrist. Then he turns to his goons. ‘Leave us.’

  Broken Nose hesitates. ‘Maybe we– ’

  Viktor holds up an index finger. ‘Think I can’t defend myself against some washed-up cop tied to a chair?’ He walks over to Broken Nose and the man hangs his head.

  ‘No, sir. I didn’t– ’

  ‘Then do as you’re told – all of you.’ They’re quick to comply.

  ‘Alone at last.’ Viktor pulls up a chair and sits down opposite him. His sigh is theatrical as he pulls Nero’s DSD ID from his pocket. He holds it up in front of Nero’s face and looks from one to the other. ‘Nice picture but I’m afraid you don’t do it justice now.’

  He leans his head to one side. ‘Still it would be a shame to have to carve up that handsome face of yours – I’m guessing you wouldn’t enjoy looking like a third-rate Picasso.’

  ‘You had me at handsome,’ Nero says. ‘What is it you want to know?’

  Viktor rubs his hand across his mouth. ‘Well then, handsome, let’s start with the obvious. You see, unlike my mate Arthur, I don’t buy the crap about these so-called telepathic powers of yours. I’m quite certain a nonentity like you couldn’t have found out about me without help.’

  Hesitating, he pulls at his lower lip. ‘Want to know what I think, Cavallo, I think someone else is behind the little stunt you played tonight. Tell me, Inspector, who’s been shooting their mouth off to you?’

  ‘You’ve seen the movies,’ Nero says. ‘A good cop never squeals.’ His jaw hurts when he grins. ‘I’m Italian – we go in for all that code of honour stuff where I come from.’

  ‘Believe me, I can make you squeal easy enough,’ Viktor snorts. ‘Besides, there wasn’t much honour involved when your compatriots sold out you telepaticos to the highest bidders.’

  ‘I guess there are traitors everywhere.’ Nero looks him in the eye. ‘But unlike you, I don’t plan on becoming one.’

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Viktor looks pained. ‘You see, there you go again with all that sanctimonious crap; have to say, it’s getting a tad irritating now.’

  ‘Oh dear, I hope we haven’t got off to a bad start,’ Nero says. ‘If we’re going to be friends, is it okay if I call you Kristjan? I mean that is your first name – right? Then again it wasn’t always Persson either, was it? Though I think we’d all agree Persson’s is so more socially acceptable these days.’

  Viktor keeps touching the ring on his little finger like it’s a talisman. He’s struggling to stay calm, struggling to control what his hands naturally want to do. ‘What’s a name between friends?’ Nero says. ‘On the other hand, Pearson – now that is a bit of a giveaway I have to admit. Guess it’s like Pablo Escobar or Manuel Noreiga – everybody in Eldísvík knows the name Theodor Pearson – the late, unlamented cartel boss.’

  ‘So I changed my name – it’s not a crime. The sins of the father and all that.’

  ‘True. But imagine the fuss people would make if they discovered old Theodor is still very much alive and providing the funding behind your supposedly legitimate business ventures.’

  ‘Ludicrous accusations you can’t possibly prove.’ With admirable self-control, Viktor leans back in his chair. ‘This all you’ve got, Cavallo?’ He scoffs. ‘You think we’re stupid enough to leave a breadcrumb trail?’

  ‘It’s more or less common knowledge you’re bankrolling governor Hagalín’s reelection campaign.’

  ‘So what?’ Viktor holds up his hands. ‘I consider him the best man for the job. Again, there’s nothing illegal about supporting a candidate I believe in. Putting my money where my mouth is.’

  ‘I’m guessing the electorate wouldn’t be impressed to learn that Hagalín has a drug lord’s money behind him.’ Nero can still taste the blood in his mouth. He spits. ‘It’s not hard to imagine what might be expected of the governor in return.’

  ‘There’s a bit of a flaw in your logic, my friend. I hate to break it to you, Cavallo, but you’re already well and truly out of the picture.’ He draws a finger across his own throat. ‘Finito.’

  Viktor rubs the smooth skin on his chin. ‘Which just leaves us with the problem of your accomplice. I must say it’s hard to think of anyone foolish enough to make those outrageous accusations public; our lawyers would be all over it in seconds. So I guess that makes you the fall guy – what you Italians call a patsy.’

  ‘Actually, that’s American slang,’ Nero says. ‘I guess you’ve watched too many of those old gangster movies. We do have a similar word – pazzo – reserved for mad bastards like yourself.’

  Scraping his chair, Viktor gets to his feet and starts to pace. ‘Face it, Cavallo – you’re already a dead man.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘I’m not a barbarian; I prefer to conduct myself in a civilized fashion.’

  ‘Oh, like when you so civilly kicked me in the ribs?’

  ‘I was sorely provoked. No one crashes my parties – no one.’ More pacing, then he bends to Nero’s eyeline. ‘I’m prepared to offer you a deal – you tell me who’s behind all this and I’ll make things easier on you.’ He shrugs. ‘It’s a sad fact that most people don’t get to choose how they leave this life – but you can. Would you prefer a massive overdose where you simply drift away or maybe you’d prefer a long drop before you hit the rocks and it’s all over in a flash? It’s entirely your choice – I can’t say fairer than that, can I?’

  ‘That’s very magnanimous of you,’ Nero says. ‘I’m welling up.’

  He hears an altercation going on outside. The handle turns and a short, white-haired man comes in alone. Dressed in sweatshirt and pants, he hobbles like he’s in pain from one hip. It takes a moment for him to recognise the eyes – they’re the only giveaway.

  ‘Well, well, would you look who it is,’ Nero says. ‘If it isn’t the old corpse himself risen from the dead. Never thought I’d live to see the legendary Theodor Pearson in person. I guess I can die happy now.’

  Ignoring his son, the old man walks up to peer down at Nero. His breath reeks of decay. ‘Some fokking telepatico, eh?’

  ‘Excuse me not getting up,’ Nero says. ‘Believe me I’d love to shake your hand but I’m a bit tied up right now.’

  Theodor laughs too long and too hard. ‘I do apologise for the interruption, Kris.’ He reaches to grasps his son’s shoulder, squeezing it hard. ‘Been watching the feed.’ Tears still water his eyes. ‘Had to come and see this for myself; this guy’s been killing me.’

  Fifty-Two

  Theodor says, ‘Go get your father a chair.’ Viktor does as he’s told.

  The old man’s not totally satisfied with the placement of it; instead he drags the thing much closer to Nero before he sits down heavily on it.

  ‘You know, I’m disappointed in you,’ he says, his breathing altered by the effort, ‘When I wa
s a little kid, I guess like all kids do, I dreamt about having these special powers and all the things I would do if I had them.’

  He waves his hands in the air and it brings on a bout of coughing; takes him a minute to recover. ‘Years ago, I read about you people – how you’re supposed to be able to do all the things we ordinary mortals can only dream of.’

  He nudges his son. ‘Just think how much money we could make on our investments if our friend here really could predict the future.’

  He grabs Nero’s chin, twisting it to the left and then the right as he peers at him. The leather touch from those fingers tells him the complete life story of the old crook. Looking into the face of the frail, elderly man in front of him, it’s hard to reconcile his apparent harmlessness with the horrendous acts he’s perpetrated during his long lifetime.

  With a sigh, Theodor lets go. ‘Such a shame we can’t put your talents to use,’ he says. ‘If you didn’t see this coming, you must be a phony.’

  Nero snorts. ‘Funny, you know I used to dream about being fabulously wealthy when I was a kid. And here you two are with all your billions of credits and who would believe how fokking boring your lives really are. Viktor here can only get his rocks off betting crazy amounts on some hand of poker only to find the thrill melts away as soon as he’s won. And you, Theodor, you’ve been dying of boredom out here on this godforsaken island for years. Truth is, you’ve become some decrepit Billy-no-mates with no challenges left except to stay alive beyond your natural time.’

  The old man’s eyes narrow to almost nothing. ‘Know what we do with excrement on this island?’ He spits out the words. ‘We flush it out on the next tide.’ Leaning on the chair, he gets awkwardly to his feet. ‘It disappears.’ He tries to click his fingers but no sound comes with it. ‘Without so much as a trace.’ He peers down at Nero. ‘Capisce?’

  ‘Oh, I understand alright,’ Nero says. ‘But I don’t believe the two of you fully appreciate the danger you’re in.’

  ‘This one’s quite the fokking comedian.’ Theodor grins at his son. ‘Should be on the stage.’

  ‘What, this sad act?’ Viktor shakes his head. ‘He’d die on his feet.’

  Their chuckling stops abruptly; both heads jerk towards the distinctive low hum of a photon gun warming up. The weapon appears, hovering in the air like it’s held there by magic.

  Supporting each other, father and son step back from its line of fire.

  ‘If you call your men in,’ Nero says, ‘you’ll get caught in the crossfire.’ He’s the one smiling now. ‘As you see, my colleague here is modelling quite a special outfit for you today. That’s right, you guessed correctly – it does indeed come from the shipment you ordered; the one destined for the Red Zone that mysteriously went missing at the docks. Oh yes, I can tell that’s ringing lots of bells now.’

  Though Theodor steps in front of his son, he’s too short to block a shot to Viktor’s head. ‘What do you want?’ The old man’s not looking at Nero but at the gun. ’Name your price whoever you are. We can do a deal.’

  The ropes are still cutting into his chest; Quentin appears to be in no hurry to untie him. ‘It may sound sanctimonious,’ Nero says, ‘but the simple answer is justice – justice for the all innocent victims who stood in the path of your greed and ambition.’

  Stepping out from behind his father, Viktor tries to act like he’s on a surer footing. ‘I’m guessing our silent friend here is no cold-bloodied assassin. Like I told you before, Cavallo, there’s no way you can prove any of the accusations you’ve made against us. We have people who can make more or less anything go away.’

  ‘Except we have ample evidence from tonight to charge you with actively obstructing a police officer in the line of duty,’ Nero says. ‘Furthermore, I made sure there’s surveillance evidence of you kidnapping me against my will. Add to that my injuries and the rope marks around my chest and we’re talking grievous bodily harm and illegal imprisonment. By the time we’ve added more charges related to drugs, illegal gaming activities, and not to mention the sexual abuse of women, I’m guessing you’ll be lucky to see daylight in the next twenty years.

  ‘As for you, old man,’ he shifts his attention to Theodor, ‘we still hold samples of your DNA and fingerprints lifted from various murder weapons. Shouldn’t be too tricky for the court to join those particular dots.’

  When the photon gun moves closer to the two men, they lift their hands up in surrender. The hood he’s wearing distorts Quentin’s laughter – he could almost be crying. ‘I’ve got to hand it to you – these suits may make you sweat a bit, but I think we’d all agree they’re real game-changers,’ the decoy says. ‘And you two went and ordered enough to start a small war. I mean that has to be crossing a line, man.’

  No one moves an inch. ‘Nero here wants to let the law take its course but, me, well I’m not so sure that’s good enough. For a start, I don’t think he’s factored in how you arranged for his good friend Rashid to be murdered.’

  ‘Whatever you want,’ Viktor says. ‘Name your price, buddy.’

  ‘Mmm. You see, my problem is I spent half a lifetime trying to stop the spread of your influence. How do you quantify a price that compensates for the way the cold would eat into your bones out there in the Orange Zone. Or the time spent in hospital after some punk stuck a knife in your back, or your arm or whatever? I may have survived but many others didn’t. Tell me – what price would you put on all that suffering, Theodor?’

  ‘Like Viktor said, you get to name it.’ The old man opens his arms. ‘We’re in the mood to be generous. I can’t say fairer.’

  The gun swings through 45 degrees until it’s pointing straight at Nero. ‘Thing is, then I’d have to shoot Cavallo here – a simple policeman only doing his job. Any man would need to be amply compensated for the attack of conscience that’s likely to hit him after such a traumatic event. He might need to get some expensive therapy.’

  ‘Understood,’ Viktor says, openly smiling now.

  ‘And like they always say, all’s fair in love and war,’ Theodor adds. Father and son have lowered their hands.

  ‘Glad we’re agreed on that,’ Quentin says.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to go along with them.’ Nero’s words are aimed at thin air. ‘To the Viktor the fokking spoils, eh? I’m not going to beg.’ He shakes his head. ‘I thought you were a decent man, Quentin, but I guess I was wrong about that.’

  Nero ducks against the blast. Through smoke and dust he glimpses the bodies of Theodor Pearson and his son toppled against each other. When one of them coughs, the decoy shoots again. The stench of burnt flesh fills the room.

  ‘Oops!’ Quentin says. ‘I guess that was my price.’

  Men pour in through the doorway firing; the decoy’s suit sends every shot fired straight back at its source. Men fall to the floor like cattle cut down; a creeping pool of blood spreads out from their stricken bodies.

  Pain shoots through Nero. Glancing sideways, he can see a stray shot has gouged a hole in his shoulder, singeing some of the rope that holds him. ‘Enough!’ It comes out as a croak. ‘Stop now, Quentin. It’s all over.’

  Blood soaks through the smouldering material of his jacket – a strange, dense colour. The warm liquid is dripping from the tips of his fingers. Hands still half tied, there’s nothing to do except stare down at that dark growing circle on the floor. Head swimming, ears ringing, his vision begins to fade to grey and then black.

  Fifty-Three

  There’s more shouting out there now– distant but getting ever closer. How long before they lead Elspeth and Silla out to one of the waiting amoured vehicles? Bruno can’t be certain of anything; tonight hasn’t exactly unfolded like he’d pictured it; Nero would tell him he’s losing his fokking touch.

  The noise overhead is getting louder. Rota blades pulsing the air; a spectral light shines in through the windows and flashes through the room before it moves on again.

  Freyja looks up at the skylig
ht and then back at Bruno. Her face shows a dawning realisation that the odds she’s facing are changing fast. The situation is no longer under her control.

  Time to improvise. Bruno lunges towards the table with the scalpels and grabs the nearest one by its thin handle.

  She grips his wrist; he can’t even see the hand that’s manipulating his; he can’t shake its hold. They’re locked together, faces almost touching now. Bruno looks down at her mouth, watches it mutate into the weirdest of smiles. ‘You planning to kiss me or aim for the jugular?’ There’s no sign of their struggle in her voice. ‘I generally aim for one of the carotid arteries – at the pulse points,’ she says. ‘You even get a choice of two sides. What’s it to be?’

  The fine edge of the blade glints at him. Her breath is warming the skin on his neck. No, it’s no use, he can’t.

  ‘I already know your weak point,’ he says, letting his arm go limp. ‘You may be invincible dressed in that suit but your vixens aren’t. Stay here much longer and they’ll stand no chance against the firepower being assembled out there.’

  ‘Good thing is,’ she says, ‘there’s still time for me to even this particular score.’ One hand is still locked around his wrist. ‘You lied to me, Bruno – you promised to lead me to Avraham if I let his family go.’

  ‘And I’ve kept my end of the bargain.’ He drops the scalpel; it rings out as it bounces twice against the hard floor.

  ‘He’s hiding almost directly beneath our feet,’ he says. ‘Right now, he’s cowering down there in his luxuriously appointed bunker. I might be a telepatico but I’m no locksmith and the hatch won’t open for anyone but Avraham.’ He shakes his head slowly. ‘Maybe you could blast your way in there, but I doubt you have enough time.’

  ‘Have I ever told you how much I hate leaving loose ends?’ she says, still holding his wrist. The weapon in the other hand finds his ribcage. Looking down, he sees the barrel is sharply angled between two bones.

 

‹ Prev