Joe Coffin [Season 4]

by Preston, Ken

  Ten stories high above the city, if she fell off the edge she knew she would die.

  But Chitrita had no fear of death.

  She had already died twice and returned to life. The first time when Guttman had taken her in his arms and pierced her flesh with his teeth. Chitrita had let him take her, had abandoned herself into his embrace. The second time she had died had been her one hundred year sleep.

  But now she was awakened, and this city could be hers.

  After the escape from the police station the other vampires had scattered. They were like scared sheep, with no purpose other than to run away from their captors. But they were her children now, they owed Chitrita their lives and once they had overcome their fear they would find her and return to her.

  Dark shapes hurtled through the night sky, gathering and swirling around Chitrita. They came quickly, darting this way and that before settling onto Chitrita’s arms and shoulders and on her head, nestling in her hair.

  More bats gathered, hovering above her where they could not find space to settle on her. Hundreds of them, thousands.

  Chitrita closed her eyes and let the night take her.

  * * *

  Steffanie had noticed them before the sounds of retching reached her. Two young women in a bus shelter, one of them spewing up the contents of her stomach. The steam from her vomit frosted the bus shelter window in a small, opaque circle.

  Why were they outside? Had they no fear? Or were they simply too stupid, or drunk, to realise the danger they were in? Steffanie would teach them a lesson, but one they would not live long enough to benefit from.

  She strode down Broad Street towards the bus shelter. The one girl was leaning over, her hands on her knees whilst her stomach ejected yet more alcohol and half-digested food. Her friend rubbed her back with one hand, murmuring comforting words. But her head was turned away, her face twisted out of shape with disgust.

  Steffanie would take her first. Rip open her jugular whilst her friend was too preoccupied with vomiting still. Once Steffanie was satisfied that the young woman was going nowhere she could leave her to bleed out on the pavement whilst she took care of her companion. It was too easy. There would be no thrill in the kills. But the hot, steaming blood spilling onto the cold ground would be satisfaction enough for tonight.

  The vomiting woman’s friend stepped out of the bus shelter and looked up.

  ‘Oh my God, Chelsea, you’ve gotta look at this, it’s like something out of a horror film!’

  Chelsea retched again, splattering chunks of vomit on the ground and against the bus shelter window.

  Steffanie halted. Looked up to the skyline where Chelsea’s friend was looking.

  ‘Oh my God, it’s amazing, you got to look Chelsea, quick. Stop puking and look.’

  ‘I can’t stop puking, can I Madison?’ Chelsea wailed, and vomited again.

  Madison was right.

  It was amazing.

  The full moon, brighter and more intense than Steffanie had seen it before, hovered above the Library of Birmingham. And on the top of the library, silhouetted against the moon’s light, stood the figure of a woman, her arms outstretched as though embracing the night. But even that startling sight wasn’t what caught the attention.

  A massive cloud of bats hovered and flitted across the roof, alighting upon the woman and then darting away again. And there were more of them converging upon the roof, so many of them they began to blot out the light of the moon.

  ‘Bloody hell, where’s my phone, I’ve got to get a picture of this!’

  Steffanie’s attention was caught by Chelsea’s friend once more. The young woman had found her mobile and was swaying as she held it up and tried to focus on the spectacle high above. Even Chelsea had managed to stop spewing and craned her head back as she wiped at her lips with the back of her hand.

  Madison squinted at her phone, the glow from the screen illuminating her face.

  ‘I’ve got to put this on Facebook,’ she said.

  Steffanie flew at the young woman, who looked up from her screen at the last moment and screamed. She was holding the phone up and the flash went off, momentarily blinding Steffanie. The vampire raked her fingernails across the woman’s face, splattering droplets of blood over the bus shelter window. Madison howled as Steffanie sliced open her throat, and the howl turned into an anguished gurgle.

  Chelsea stood up straight, her eyes round and wide and brimming with tears. She stared at Steffanie through the blood and vomit splattered glass, her puke flecked lips trembling.

  Steffanie let go of Madison who collapsed on the cold pavement. Blood pooled on the ground, in between the gaps in the paving stones and then ran over the side of the kerb and into the gutter. Chelsea backed up, never once taking her eyes off Steffanie. Her back hit the opposite plexiglass wall of the bus shelter.

  Steffanie stepped over Madison’s corpse. Licked the blood off her fingers and smiled at Chelsea.

  Chelsea made a run for it, dashing out of the bus shelter.

  Steffanie scrambled up the side of the bus shelter and squatted for a moment on the roof, watching as Chelsea staggered drunkenly away. Broad Street was deserted still, apart from a car approaching from the city centre. Steffanie leaped from the bus shelter. The cold night air swept over her face and her hair. For a moment she was flying, before she landed on top of Chelsea, knocking her to the ground.

  Chelsea screamed as her face scraped against the pavement, ripping the flesh away.

  Steffanie turned Chelsea over onto her back and pulled at her top. The buttons pinged as they scattered across the ground and Steffanie ripped the fabric apart, exposing Chelsea’s chest and stomach.

  Steffanie raked her fingernails across the young woman’s torso, drawing scarlet lines of blood. The sight of the blood, the young woman’s exposed flesh, overwhelmed Steffanie’s senses. She sank her teeth into Chelsea’s left breast and began sucking greedily.

  She lost herself in the warm, sticky blood flooding her mouth, running over her lips and down her chin. The blood smeared over Chelsea’s breasts and abdomen and she screamed, thrashing and kicking and pulling at Steffanie’s hair.

  Steffanie grew bored with the noise. Yanking Chelsea’s head back and fully exposing her throat, Steffanie fastened her teeth around the soft flesh and clamped her jaws together. She dragged her head back and tore a glistening chunk of flesh from Chelsea’s neck. Blood pumped on to the cold ground.

  Steffanie spat the chunk of flesh out and began lapping at the pool of blood like a dog. She was feverish, desperate for the hot, fresh blood.

  Her surroundings faded from view, from her senses. She could have been anywhere, nowhere.

  There was nothing but the blood.

  A gossamer thin caress across her face and her back. Reminded her of her days stripping when her clothing fell from her.

  Another.

  More brief touches, like fingers made of wedding gowns.

  Steffanie’s senses slowly returned as the caresses increased in frequency. She lifted her head from the puddles of blood on the ground. Her hair was sticky with it.

  She looked up.

  The moon was no longer visible. Neither were the street lights.

  The darkness moved, shifted this way and that.

  Undulated like a black sea.

  The bats.

  They had come down from the library rooftop and were gathered around Steffanie, darting to and fro in crazed, angular paths.

  Steffanie watched them, totally entranced by their dark beauty.

  And then they parted, and revealed a woman in a pale, blood spattered dress. The woman gazed at Steffanie, and no words were needed.

  Come, she was saying.

  Come with me.

  a woman and a duck walk into a bar

  ‘Bloody nice place you’ve got here, Joe,’ Gosling said. ‘If you ever need a comic on the act, talk to Stilts, funny as all hell he is.’

  Coffin glanced down at Stilts. The dwarf star
ed back at him, silent as always. Stilts was dressed in a tailor-made suit and tie, shiny black shoes, hair combed in a neat side parting. Looked almost comical he was so well turned out today.

  But one look at his eyes was enough to get the message across that Stilts was no comic.

  ‘Can’t see it myself,’ Coffin said.

  Gosling laughed. ‘Don’t let his tough guy attitude faze you. I’ve seen him reduce grown men to tears of laughter. And the ladies, well you just wouldn’t believe it if I told you. Casanova had nothing on this little fella.’

  ‘What do you want to drink?’ Coffin said to Gosling.

  ‘Whatever you’re having is fine by me, Joe.’

  ‘What about him?’ Coffin said, gesturing at Stilts.

  ‘Stilts doesn’t drink, not a drop. Interferes with his digestion.’

  Coffin held up two fingers to Stut behind the bar. Pulled out a chair and sat down. Indicated that Gosling should do the same. Gosling joined Coffin at the table. Stilts stood beside him.

  Even sitting down, Gosling was still taller than Stilts.

  ‘Thought we might be doing business in your office, Joe,’ Gosling said.

  ‘No, we can talk here,’ Coffin said. ‘We won’t be disturbed.’

  ‘This where you always do business is it?’ Gosling said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re a man of few words, Joe, I like that.’

  Stut arrived holding a glass of whisky in each hand. He placed them on the table.

  Gosling said, ‘A man walks into a bar and sees a dog in the corner licking its balls. He says to the bartender, ‘I wish I could do that.’’

  Stut looked at Gosling and then at Coffin.

  Gosling said, ‘The bartender replied, ‘You can, but you’ll have to pet him first.’’

  Stut started laughing. Stilts didn’t react at all, looked like his face had been carved out of stone.

  Stut left, shaking his head, and still chuckling.

  ‘Don’t you appreciate a good joke?’ Gosling said to Coffin. ‘A big man like you, all the stress you must be under, you should laugh more.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me more about this robbery?’ Coffin said.

  Gosling pulled a white handkerchief out of a pocket and dabbed at his forehead, shiny with sweat. He had been wearing a jacket when he came into the club but had taken it off. There were dark stains under his armpits, and his shirt bulged against his belly, straining at the buttons.

  ‘Straight to the point, that’s what I like,’ Gosling said, stuffing the handkerchief back in his pocket. ‘But tell me Joe, are you in? I need a good man like you on the job.’

  ‘Tell me more first,’ Coffin said.

  ‘Shaw said you were interested, said you were in.’

  ‘Shaw should keep his mouth shut,’ Coffin said. ‘He might have talked me into letting you tell me a bit more about this gig last night, but that doesn’t mean I’m in.’

  Gosling sighed. ‘Bloody hell, Joe, you’re making me work for this, aren’t you? All right then, have it your way. You remember Stuart Ullman, don’t you? Managed that band in the 1970s, bloody rip-off of the Beatles, can’t remember their name now. Well, they had a couple of hits before they sank without a trace, but earned Ullman enough that he could set himself up as a nightclub owner. Owned a string of them all over the West Midlands. Most notorious one was Mr T’s in Stourbridge.’ Gosling paused, took a swallow of his whisky. ‘He was a mean fucker by all accounts. But he made himself an absolute fucking mountain of money before he died.’

  ‘I remember Ullman,’ Coffin said.

  ‘Took a bullet in the belly,’ Gosling said. ‘Long, painful way to die, that is.’

  Coffin picked up his whisky glass, studied the dark amber liquid. ‘He deserved it.’

  Gosling pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his forehead again. ‘Know him, did you?’

  ‘Know him?’ Coffin tossed the whisky back and slammed the glass down on the table. ‘I was the one put that bullet in his gut.’

  Gosling paused, his hand holding the folded handkerchief against his forehead. ‘Bloody hell, Joe. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?’

  ‘Keep talking,’ Coffin said.

  Gosling resumed dabbing the handkerchief at his forehead, then his cheeks and his top lip. ‘Well then you’ll know his old lady survived him and ran the clubs for a few more years before the clubbing scene changed and she lost touch. But by then she’d earned enough money that she was sitting on a mountain of cash and ready to retire.’

  Gosling looked at his empty glass.

  Coffin looked over at the bar and caught Stut’s eye, held up his hand, indicated two more drinks.

  ‘The old biddy’s living in a huge pile on the Staffordshire border, just her and her security firm.’

  ‘Security firm?’

  ‘That’s right, but they only have one job and that’s looking after Mrs Ullman and her big stash of money.’

  Stut arrived with two more drinks. Placed them on the table.

  ‘A woman and a duck walk into a bar,’ Gosling said, eyes flitting from Coffin to Stut. ‘The bartender says, ‘Where did you get that pig?’ The woman says, ‘That’s a duck, not a pig.’’

  A half smile hovered on Stut’s lips as he waited for the punchline.

  ‘The bartender says, ‘I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to the duck.’’

  Stut laughed and shook his head as though it was the funniest joke he had ever heard.

  Stilts stared at Stut, the expression on his face unreadable.

  Stut noticed and his laughter died. ‘Wh-wh-what’s his f-f-ffffucking problem?’

  ‘You’ve got a stutter,’ Gosling said. ‘I knew a man once who had a stutter. He went to the doctor’s about it, and the doctor says, ‘Your problem is your penis is four inches too long and the strain is pulling on your vocal chords.’ So the man says, ‘What can I do about it?’ And the doctor tells him he needs an operation to remove the extra four inches. Six months later he comes back and says, ‘Doctor, the operation was a success. I don’t stutter anymore, my confidence has grown, I’ve got a new job and I feel great. Thing is, my wife misses the great sex and I was wondering if I could have the extra four inches put back on.’ And the doctor says, ‘N-n-no, I d-d-don’t think th-th-th-that’s p-p-p-possible.’’

  Stut was laughing again, ignoring Stilts.

  ‘All right, cut the comedy routine,’ Coffin said. ‘Stut, go back to the bar.’

  Gosling leaned forward, his belly squashed up against the table. ‘The widow, I was telling you she’s sitting on a big pile of cash in her country house. When I say sitting on a pile of cash that’s exactly what she’s doing. The old biddy’s got this fear that the banks are robbing her, so a couple of years back she cashed in all her investments and savings plans and took all her money out of the banks.’

  ‘And she keeps it in her house?’ Coffin said.

  Gosling nodded. ‘Had a safe room built specifically for the purpose of keeping her cash safe. Has thirty million in twenty-pound notes stacked in briefcases in there.’

  ‘And you’re planning on taking it from her?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Gosling leaned back in his chair and it creaked beneath his weight. ‘Be like taking candy from a baby.’

  ‘How will you get into the safe room?’

  ‘That’s where Stilts comes in. He might not look it, but this little fella is a master safe breaker. Isn’t that right, Stilts?’

  Stilts said nothing, showed no sign that he had even heard Gosling mention his name.

  ‘Is he deaf as well as mute?’ Coffin said.

  ‘No, I told you, he can talk, he just chooses not to,’ Gosling said.

  Coffin took a swallow of his whisky. Turned the glass around and around in his hand, watching the light play on the cut edges. ‘I don’t know. The Slaughterhouse Mob isn’t really a breaking and entering type of firm. Not something we’ve ever done before.’

&
nbsp; ‘Always a first time,’ Gosling said.

  Coffin kept turning the glass around. ‘I don’t get it. Why do you need me? Sounds like you got it all sorted.’

  ‘We need your manpower, Joe. The old bird’s got security patrolling the house twenty-four hours a day. Thing is, at the moment she’s down a man. One of her crew left last week, disappeared without a word. It’s going to take her another week or two to replace him, so now’s the time to strike to while she’s short-handed.’

  ‘You have anything to do with that?’

  ‘Nope. She loses a man every once in a while.’

  Coffin stopped turning the glass around in his hand. ‘It’s happened before?’

  ‘Two or three times now, yeah.’

  ‘And no one knows why?’

  Gosling dabbed at his forehead. ‘You know what these people are like, they’re always moving on to other jobs.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Coffin said. ‘Not sure I like it.’

  ‘What’s not to like?’ Gosling said.

  ‘A safe room? A security firm? Disappearing security guards? Sounds wrong to me.’

  ‘Come on, Joe, where’s your sense of adventure? I’ve heard the stories, and not just the one where you carved that old guy up with a chainsaw and char-grilled the body parts. I heard you pulled yourself off a meat hook just a few months back, now that takes some balls, that does. And I heard the story about your father too, about how you caved his head in when you were just a kid.’

  ‘Where’d you hear that from?’ Coffin said.

  ‘Let’s just say I’ve got my ear to the ground and I get to know about lots of things. Why’d you put a bullet in Ullman’s stomach though? That I don’t know.’

  ‘We had a disagreement.’

  ‘Really? For fuck’s sake, I’m staying on your good side then. What do you say? Are you in?’

  ‘No.’ Coffin stood up. ‘I’m going to have to refuse your offer.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ Gosling said, looking up at Coffin. ‘It’ll be the biggest payday you’ve ever had. You’re not going to make that kind of cash squeezing Pakis for protection money.’

  ‘Like I said, I’m refusing your offer.’