Joe Coffin [Season 4]

by Preston, Ken

  With all these trees, Emma wondered if she might have a chance of escaping. If she ran off the path and into the densest part of the wood, Gilligan might have a hard time chasing her, and shooting her. But there was also a real risk that she might break an ankle running downhill through the thick undergrowth.

  ‘Take a right here,’ Gilligan said as they came to a fork in the path. His voice was startlingly loud in the silence of the wood.

  Emma realised it was earlier in the morning than she had hoped. That they were probably the only ones here.

  She continued walking, pausing once when a rabbit startled her, dashing from the undergrowth and across the path where it disappeared again.

  Gilligan prodded her in the back with his gun. ‘Keep moving. It’s not far now.’

  A thin, white mist still clung to the leaves in some parts of the woodland. The air felt crisp and clean.

  The path had grown a little wider and Emma was aware of a rocky outcrop of sandstone running along the left side.

  ‘Stop here,’ Gilligan said.

  There was a narrow path to their right. Almost wasn’t a path at all.

  ‘Down there,’ Gilligan said, gesturing with the gun.

  Emma had to push through thin, soft branches and leaves. The woodland was dense with trees here and the path snaked between roots and tree trunks. They continued walking, their movement and the call of birds above them the only sounds to be heard.

  ‘Stop here, this’ll do,’ Gilligan said.

  They had reached a small clearing. Emma turned to face Gilligan.

  He simply stood there and looked at her for a while.

  ‘Take off your clothes,’ he said, eventually.

  Emma shook her head, jerked it left and right. ‘No, no.’

  ‘Take off your clothes or I will shoot you in the foot,’ Gilligan said. ‘And then if you refuse me again I will shoot you in the other foot, and so on until you do as I say.’

  Emma stared at Gilligan, struggling to control her breathing. Her chest seemed to be filling with a heavy weight while her stomach tied itself into a knot of tension.

  ‘Am I making myself clear?’ he said.

  Emma nodded, another jerk of her head.

  She understood.

  Still she couldn’t move.

  Gilligan pointed the gun at her left foot. ‘Start undressing.’

  ‘Why . . .’ Her mouth twisted as she struggled to form the words. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’

  ‘Because I hate you, that’s why. Because I hate you and I hate your boyfriend too, and when I’m finished here with you I might just go and pay Mitch a visit, maybe whisper in his ear how you sucked my cock and how much you enjoyed it, and then I’ll put a bullet in his head. What do you think?’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ Emma said. ‘You’d never get away with it.’

  ‘Like I said, I’m a dead man walking. I might as well go out with some style. Now get undressed. That’s the last time I’m asking you before I put a bullet in your foot.’

  Her hands trembling, Emma took hold of her top and pulled it over her head. She dropped it on the ground.

  ‘Now the T-shirt,’ Gilligan said.

  Emma pulled her T-shirt over her head. It got caught around her neck, under her ears, and she paused for a moment and she wanted to weep. She pulled it free and she dropped that on the ground too. Her skin goose pimpled in the cool morning air.

  She stood there, staring at him. Silently begging him to not do this, to not make her submit to this.

  ‘Take your shoes off, and your trousers.’

  Emma kicked her trainers off and then pulled her jeans down and stepped out of them.

  The undergrowth was sharp beneath the soles of her feet.

  Gilligan’s breathing had gone deep and heavy. His eyes hooded, almost like he was about to fall asleep.

  ‘Now your bra,’ he said.

  Emma reached up her back for the strap.

  There was the sound of a twig snapping. Gilligan turned his back on Emma, the gun swinging around with him.

  Before she could even think about what she was doing, Emma charged at Gilligan, screaming at the top of her voice. She slammed into his back and he tumbled forward. His head smacked against a tree trunk, bounced off it, and he crashed to the ground. His arms had cartwheeled wildly as he fell, and the gun had flown from his hand, arcing into the air and then disappearing as it dropped into the undergrowth.

  Gilligan lay still, his body twisted.

  Emma snapped her head around from side to side, but she couldn’t see what had made the noise. An animal, maybe. But not a person. Not somebody come to rescue her.

  Keeping her attention on Gilligan all the time, Emma backed up to where her clothes lay in a pile on the damp ground. She began picking them up and pulling them on as quickly as she could. Her hands shook and her fingers couldn’t seem to work properly.

  Gilligan lay still, twisted to one side. There was a purple bruise on his forehead.

  Was he dead? Emma couldn’t tell.

  She had to get out of here, find someone, get help. She had to run.

  But if she ran and Gilligan wasn’t dead, if he woke up, how far would she get?

  What about his car? She could use his car, drive back into the city.

  Or his mobile, what about that? If she could find his mobile, she could call Nick.

  Emma took a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly.

  Both of those options were good, but both options meant searching Gilligan for a car key or his mobile phone. Or both.

  Which meant getting up close to him and going through his pockets.

  Emma hoped he was dead.

  She got down on her hands and knees beside his body. She reached out to pat his left-hand pocket. There was something in there, felt like maybe a bunch of keys.

  Gilligan moaned slightly, his eyelids fluttering.

  Emma took her hand away from his pocket. Held her breath.

  Gilligan twisted his head, but his eyes were still closed.

  She had to do this, do it now before he came round properly. She shoved her hand in his pocket. Her fingers touched the metal of the keys.

  Gilligan’s eyes fluttered open and grew wide as he saw her. His hand closed his hand around her wrist. Emma yelped and tried to pull away.

  Gilligan dragged her closer. He was fully conscious now.

  He rolled over and pulled her right down on to the ground and then, before she could make any move to pull herself away, he crawled on top of her and clamped a hand over her mouth.

  ‘You silly little bitch,’ he hissed. ‘I told you, we have unfinished business.’

  tsung ti lee

  Coffin pulled over before he got to the Punchline. Shaw was a fucking idiot, but he had a point. Either Gosling and his crew were long gone, or they were waiting for Coffin to turn up and then they could waste him.

  Riding up and announcing his presence wasn’t going to work.

  Coffin parked down a side street in the city centre. It was still early enough that there weren’t many people around, but he had to work fast. He took the holdall of guns off his back and laid it on the ground. There was a covered bin against the wall. Coffin lifted the outer shell and placed it to one side. He placed the holdall of guns in the bin. He unzipped the holdall and scattered some rubbish over the top. Then he replaced the outer shell.

  He got out his mobile phone and made a call. Explained the situation. Explained what he wanted.

  When he’d finished his call, Coffin left the side street and walked around the corner and into the Arcadian centre. The Punchline was one level up, on the circular balcony.

  Coffin remained in the shelter of a corner, out of sight of the doorway. He called Gosling on his mobile.

  The phone rang five times before he picked up.

  ‘Joe, I’ve been expecting you,’ Gosling said.

  ‘I’ll bet you have,’ Coffin said. ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘That we d
o,’ Gosling replied.

  ‘Meet me in five minutes at the bottom of Needless Alley,’ Coffin said. ‘Leave the freak show at home.’

  ‘Now Joe, is that any way to tal—’

  Coffin disconnected the call.

  He returned to Needless Alley and checked on the rubbish bin. After reassuring himself the guns were there still there he positioned himself on the opposite side of the road, somewhere he could get a good view of Needless Alley without being seen. It wasn’t easy when he was that big, but it wasn’t impossible either.

  Duchess arrived first, wearing men’s clothes for once and a hat pulled down over his face. He sauntered past Needless Alley, surreptitiously checking it out. A few minutes later a car pulled up and Gosling climbed out.

  The car dove away.

  Didn’t the fat bastard walk anywhere?

  Coffin wondered who was driving the car. Couldn’t be the dwarf, not unless they’d tied blocks to his feet. Had to be the Bananarama wannabe.

  Coffin felt the hard end of a gun being poked into his back.

  He held out his hands in a show of surrender and turned around.

  There was no one behind him.

  Then he looked down and saw Stilts.

  Stilts nodded towards Gosling.

  Coffin got the message.

  They walked over to Needless Alley. Gosling broke into a big grin when he saw Coffin.

  ‘Joe, it’s great to see you, I would have hated for us to part on bad terms.’

  ‘What the fuck?’ Coffin said. ‘You killed one of my men.’

  Gosling spread his hands. ‘Joe, I was defending myself. The Stig turned his gun on me, I had to do something to defend myself. And then with all the shooting downstairs I thought I should get the money somewhere safe.’

  ‘That’s bullshit, and you know it.’

  ‘Joe, how about we go back to the Punchline and talk about this?’ Gosling said. ‘And then we can split the money.’

  ‘No,’ Coffin said.

  Stilts poked Coffin in the back with the gun.

  Gosling grinned. ‘Looks like Stilts wants your company at the Punchline, Joe. And Stilts can be very persuasive when he wants to be.’

  ‘We could ’ove a porty!’

  Duchess walked around in front of Coffin. He might not have been wearing a dress but his lips were a bright, glossy red and he had on long, purple eyelashes. He fluttered his lashes at Coffin and then blew him a kiss.

  ‘Right, let’s get back inside before we’re noticed out here,’ Gosling said.

  They walked back in to the Punchline, Gosling in front whilst Coffin was urged on by Stilts. Bananarama girl was at the bar fixing herself a cocktail. There were stacks of suitcases by the stage.

  ‘Going on holiday?’ Coffin said.

  ‘You know how it is, Joe,’ Gosling said. ‘Sometimes you just have to get out of town and soak up some sun. Sit down.’

  Stilts jabbed Coffin in the back with his gun.

  Coffin sat down at the nearest table, placed his hands palm down on the tabletop. He didn’t want anyone getting itchy trigger fingers.

  ‘Let’s have a drink, Joe,’ Gosling said. ‘We should be celebrating. Duchess, drinks all round!’

  ‘What now then, Gosling?’ Coffin said. ‘We all have a drink and make up? Or are you planning on putting a bullet in my head?’

  Gosling sat down opposite Coffin. ‘I thought we could have a chat. You know how it is, there’s always that scene where the villain feels the need to explain everything before he kills the hero. Not that I’m a villain, you understand.’

  Coffin leaned forward. ‘Yeah, and I’m no hero. What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘I thought you might have questions, Joe,’ Gosling said, softly. ‘If that’s not the case we can just go straight to the main event.’

  Coffin leaned back again. ‘No, I’ll humour you.’

  ‘I know you’ve been wondering about me, Joe,’ Gosling said. ‘Thinking to yourself, where the fuck did this fat bastard come from? And how come I’ve never heard of him before?’

  Gosling lit up a cigarette and offered the packet to Coffin.

  Coffin shook his head.

  Bananarama arrived with the drinks. A pint of bitter for Gosling and a whisky for Coffin. Stilts stood by the next table, still holding a gun on Coffin.

  ‘Do you think Shorty could put his gun away?’ Coffin said. ‘He’s making me nervous.’

  Stilts glanced at Gosling, who nodded.

  Stilts put the gun away.

  Duchess had clambered up on the stage. He was back in full drag queen dress up mode, sparkly, long flowing dress, sequins, a tiara and a pair of shoes with the tallest heels on them Coffin had seen.

  ‘Ooh, I thort I’d sing us a lickle sung, loighten t’atmosphere a bit,’ he said into the mic, his voice echoing around the empty club.

  Gosling started clapping.

  I’m heading home it’s been too long,

  I’ve served my time ‘cos I done wrong,

  Duchess’ voice echoed around the club. He sang the song slowly, mournfully. And, Coffin realised, without any trace of his Black Country dialect.

  ‘Isn’t he beautiful?’ Gosling said, watching Duchess sing his song. ‘Should have been a star, he should. Name up in lights and everything.’ He turned back to Coffin and grinned. ‘It’s a damn shame about that torture and murder conviction of his, because now we’ll never know will we?’

  Let’s forget the past and look to tomorrow,

  I can’t stand my heart overflowing with so much sorrow,

  ‘You see, Joe, I’m a man that gets easily bored. I can’t stand still. Put me in an office job, I’d top myself before the week was out. So I took to teaching myself a number of skills. Make myself useful, like. This place, it were just a means to an end really. Get me into Birmingham. The comedy bit was an afterthought. Something new I could do. Thought it might be fun.’

  ‘For you, maybe,’ Coffin said. ‘Where’d you get your audience?’

  ‘Pay people enough money, call in enough favours, you can get pretty much whatever you want at the end of the day,’ Gosling said, and leaned forward. ‘Thing is, Joe, I made some enemies along the way. You know how it is in this game, don’t you?’

  Coffin grunted, picked up his glass and threw his whisky back.

  ‘I owe some money, I’ve got some silly bastards after me, want it back,’ Gosling continued. ‘Always the way, isn’t it? You and me, turns out we’re in the same boat, and that boat’s got a dirty great hole in it and we’re busy bailing out the water. It’s right, isn’t it?’

  Coffin said nothing. He was sick of talking.

  ‘Like I said before, Joe, you’re a man of few words, I like that. Me, I can talk until the cows come home, I can. That’s what my mother used to tell me, talk the hind legs off a donkey, she used to say. Anyway, like I were saying, I owe money. And you owe money. And so I thought we’d be a perfect fit for this robbery.’ Gosling leaned back in his chair again. It creaked under his weight. ‘And I were right! Bloody hell, Joe, but we couldn’t have done it without you, that we couldn’t.’

  ‘Especially when those bastards turned up on their bikes and strafed us with bullets,’ Coffin said.

  Gosling nodded, took a swig of his pint, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Aye, that were a bit unfortunate, weren’t it?’

  ‘You knew they were coming, didn’t you?’ Coffin said.

  ‘Truthfully? No, I didn’t.’

  ‘You didn’t seem that surprised to see them.’

  ‘Well, there’s that, I suppose,’ Gosling said. ‘It were a bit of a fuck up really, mix up in communications you might say. The left hand not knowing what the right hand were doing, that sort of thing.’

  Out of the corner of his eye, Coffin noticed that Stilts had produced his gun again.

  Duchess was still on the stage, singing.

  Let’s get on that plane,

  It ain’t gonna be no shame,<
br />
  ‘They were there to kill you, Joe, nobody else,’ Gosling said. ‘Thing is, that were the mistake. They shouldn’t have been there, not at all. Killing you is my job.’ Gosling took a deep pull on his pint of bitter. Wiped his hand over his lips. ‘Not that I’m part of the Triads or anything. I’m a killer for hire, that sort of thing.’

  Coffin looked at his empty whisky glass. Placed it on the table.

  ‘Why the big charade with the robbery, the comedy act? Why not just shoot me?’

  ‘That would have been boring,’ Gosling said. ‘Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said, Joe? Boring’s not my way.’

  ‘What now, then?’ Coffin said.

  ‘Now I think it’s time we got out of town, took the cash, started a new life,’ Gosling said, and chuckled. ‘When I say we, that doesn’t mean you, of course.’

  Coffin picked up the empty whisky glass again.

  ‘You want another drink, Joe?’ Gosling said. ‘I can get you another drink.’

  Coffin hurled the whisky glass at Stilts. It smacked him on the forehead, knocking his aim off. The gun fired, the bullet slamming into the floor.

  Coffin stood up, lifting the table with him until it was on its side and he had smashed it into Gosling.

  Duchess continued singing as though nothing was happening.

  Gone five years or more,

  I’ll soon be back and walking through your door,

  Stilts lifted his arm, aiming the gun at Coffin once more. Coffin picked up a chair and smacked the gun out of Stilts’ hand. Coffin swung the chair again, lifting it high over his head to bring it down on the dwarf.

  Stilts ducked and ran between Coffin’s legs. While Coffin was turning to see where Stilts had gone, the little man grabbed his ankle and pulled sharply.

  Already off balance, Coffin tumbled to the floor, letting go of the chair as he fell.

  Before he could get back up, Stilts was on top of him, throwing punches at his face. Coffin pushed him off. As Coffin climbed to his feet, a shadow loomed over him. Gosling jabbed Coffin in the face, snapping Coffin’s head back with the heel of his hand.

  For a second or two Coffin saw stars. Before he could fully regain his balance, Stilts smacked a broken table leg across his shins.