by James Hilton
Ortega reached out with his left hand. Adam tried to move away but the guard held him fast. “The men that sent you, the Brit and the American?”
“Please, let me go. I won’t say anything.”
“The names of the two men?” Ortega’s fingers closed around Adam’s throat. He squeezed gently at first. “Their names?”
Adam coughed and spluttered as the choke took effect. Ortega released the pressure.
“The big American is called Clay? Yes?” Ortega knew this to be so from their encounter at the club. “What about the other, the Brit? Are there any more men I need to know about?” Ortega snapped his hand forward again, slamming Adam’s face with a backhand. “You answer me when I ask you a fucking question!”
A crimson tear rolled down Adam’s face. His words came out in a high-pitched tumble. “Clay! Yes. And his brother Danny!”
“Brothers? Are you sure?”
Adam nodded, clearly ashamed. “Yes.”
“Who hired them, the Dukes from the Woo Hoo?”
Adam nodded. Another backhander slapped into his face.
“Say it!” Ortega’s voice carried as much threat as his fist.
“Yes,” answered Adam between panicked sobs. “The Dukes. Larry and Pamela.”
“Now, who knows you are here? The brothers sent you?” Ortega scrutinised his captive’s face as he waited for an answer. He watched with curious interest as Adam’s eyes drifted apart. “You came here of your own accord? No one knows?”
Adam’s look of horror confirmed Ortega’s suspicion. As Ortega’s hand again closed around his throat, Adam’s phone rang. It was a rock version of the Spider-Man theme tune. Ortega looked at the second guard. He held up the phone so he could read the display. “Answer it.”
Immediately a voice began speaking in English. “Adam, it’s Danny. Where are you? Your Aunt Sally’s still here. She’s waiting for you—”
“I have him!” Ortega’s voice cut the air like a cleaver.
46
Danny paused mid action, pouring a glass of sparkling water. “Who is this? Barcelo?”
The man on the phone laughed. “No, not Barcelo. Ortega. Your brother and I know one another. Now listen. I have your fat little errand boy. If you want him back in one piece you better do as I say. I want you and that big brother of yours to come back to the villa. The one you nearly ruined with the sewage truck. You come alone. No weapons or the boy dies. Any tricky shit and I’ll mail him back to you in bite-sized pieces.”
“How do I know he’s still alive? Put him on the line.”
The line remained silent for a few seconds before Adam’s voice cried, “Danny please help me.”
“Hang in there, Adam. You’ll be okay.”
“I want you at the front gates of the villa in an hour. No guns. No cops. If I see anything that even makes my eye twitch, I will gut fat boy.”
“He’s just a kid. It’s us that you want,” said Danny. “We’ll be there. I want your word that you won’t kill him.”
“I give you my word that I will if you’re not at the gates in an hour. No guns, no cops.”
“I said we’ll be there. Put Adam back on.”
Ortega laughed. “You want a final word with the boy. Here.”
A piercing scream rang out from the phone.
Then the line went dead.
Seconds later a double chime indicated an incoming picture message. Adam’s face was frozen mid scream, his hand pinioned to a kitchen table by a hunting knife. The other men in the picture were laughing.
Clay walked into the kitchen. “Hey, I spotted some Serrano ham earlier and got to thinking about an Italian club sandwich and potato chips. Hey, can you get Cheetos over here?” He saw the expression on Danny’s face. “What is it?”
“They’ve got Adam.”
“Crap.” Clay didn’t have to ask who they were. “He still breathin’?”
“Aye, for now.” Danny explained Ortega’s simple demands.
Clay looked sullen when he viewed the picture. “You know they’ll still kill him right after they’ve slotted us.”
Danny nodded in agreement.
“So what we gonna do?”
“Kill every last one of them.”
Two streams of laughter cut from the bar. Both were distinctive. Pamela and Sally.
“Shit. I’ll have to go and sort Sally out,” said Danny. “That won’t be easy.” He stuck his head out of the kitchen door and beckoned her inside, motioning her to sit down. For long moments she looked at the brothers in expectation. Then she began to wail as Danny explained the Locos had Adam captive. She jumped to her feet, pushing Danny back, and pulled her cell phone from her handbag. “I’m calling the police!”
Danny quickly snatched the phone from her hands. “Sally, we can’t do that. We can’t risk it. I don’t think they were bluffing.”
Black mascara-stained tears streaked her face. “Oh-my-god, oh-my-god, oh-my-god.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll bring him back,” said Danny.
Sally’s voice took on a sharper edge. “You were supposed to keep him away from trouble. He’s just a big harmless kid. You’re supposed to be the hard men. Why the fuck have they got my Adam?” Danny held out his hands to calm her but she slapped them away. “How the hell did they get hold of him?”
“I don’t know. I told him to stay well away from them. I even gave him run-around jobs to keep him occupied.” Danny explained the errands to find the cars and the information on any boats. Sally slumped back onto the chair. She began to cry even louder than before. Danny looked at Clay. Both felt ill-equipped to comfort her.
The sound of Sally’s upset drew in the others and before long they were surrounded by Larry, Pamela, Dez and Julie. Danny explained the turn of events as quickly as he could.
Pamela wrapped an arm around Sally’s juddering shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Sally. I feel this is all my fault; I asked Clay and Danny here. I didn’t mean for Adam to get hurt.”
Sally threw off her arm and slapped her in the face. “But he did get hurt! Maybe it is your fault; you brought them here. We were managing fine without them.”
Pamela recoiled from the shock. She held a hand to her stinging cheek. “Sally…” Then she leant forward and embraced Sally a second time. This time the woman let her. “Don’t worry,” she soothed. “If Clay and Danny said they’ll bring him back, then they’ll bring him back.”
“Or die trying,” offered Clay.
Danny left the women in the kitchen. He had seen this too many times before: stricken families shedding tears because of the actions of violent men. Men like the Locos. Men like the Gunn brothers.
Clay and Larry followed him out of the kitchen. “So what are we going to do?” Larry asked.
Clay shook his head. “You can’t come, Larry. We’ve been through this before.”
Larry scowled at his old friend. “Fuck you, Clay. I know that already.”
“Hey, easy, old buddy.” Clay rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve more than given your pound of flesh. This is our turn.”
Larry fell silent and turned to see Dez standing in the doorway. “I can help,” the cook offered.
Danny was about to send him back downstairs when he kicked the door shut behind him. “I did my national service. Back at the end of the nineties, just before they stopped it. I was a lance corporal with the 11th Field Artillery. I know my way around a rifle. I’m sick to death of these fuckers getting away with it and I want to help.”
Danny looked up at Dez. “Look, man, I appreciate the offer but I don’t want to get anybody else involved in this.”
The cook stepped forward. “We are already involved. The Locos are bad news. You think we like having to look the other way? Keeping our heads down? This is Larry’s club and my livelihood. I know I’m just a fucking cook to you but this is how I feed my family. If the Locos take the club, then what? You think I could just trundle on as part of the fixtures and fittings. I can help! One of m
y best friends, Papa Torres, is lying in hospital with tubes in his nose. I’m sick to death of these gangs.”
Danny sat back on the bed and really looked at Dez for the first time. “Actually you’re right. You’re about the same size and build as me, right?”
Dez cocked his head to one side. “I guess so. Why?”
Danny grinned a shark-like grin. “I’ve got an idea.”
“Uh oh,” said Clay. “I hear those rusty wheels a’turning.”
47
Ortega pulled his knife free from Adam’s hand. Blood immediately welled up from the wound. Adam’s face was frozen in a silent scream. He slumped to the ground. One of the guards planted a kick to the side of his head. Adam’s face went slack in the way only full unconsciousness can deliver.
Ortega looked down at the prostrate body. He considered slipping his knife between the fat boy’s ribs and being done with him. With a cluck of resignation, he sheathed his blade, knowing he might need him to ensure the two brothers played by the rules. Also, Barcelo might want to speak to the boy. The boss liked to get his hands dirty on occasion.
Ortega turned to his men. “We’ve got an hour. Here is what I want you to do…” Ortega knew there was only a half-dozen or so pistol rounds left in the house. They had searched every cupboard and drawer following the encounter with the bikers. The search had turned up only a few cartridges left for the shotguns. But this was going to be up-close and personal. The men scoured the house and grounds for the other items he had requested.
Ortega kept an eye on Adam who lay motionless on the floor. As an added precaution he had one of the guards tape the boy’s injured hands behind his back.
Ortega speed-dialled Barcelo. The call was answered after a single ring.
“Boss, we caught one of the Brits sneaking around the villa. We’ve got him.”
“Is he one of the ones we’re looking for?”
“No. It’s a fat delivery guy. He was here yesterday with a parcel. He was spying on the house. I caught him and now the two men we want are coming to the villa for the boy. Turns out they’re brothers.”
“Now? They’re coming now?” Barcelo’s voice carried an air of rising irritation.
“In an hour, boss. I will have them for you.”
“I’m on my way to the waterpark. I need to do this. The Bosnians will deal only with me. I can’t put this off, there’s too much money at stake.”
“Don’t worry. You take care of business. I can handle this.” Ortega bristled as he heard Garcia’s annoying laugh in the background.
Barcelo was silent for a few seconds. “I want them both. Alive if possible, but dead is better than letting them run wild again. And, Ortega…”
“Yes, boss?”
“Don’t fuck this up.” The call ended.
Ortega pictured Garcia laughing again at his expense. He tucked the cell back in his pocket with slow deliberation. When this was over and done with he would find a way to end it for Babi as well.
The men began to congregate back in the plush kitchen. Makeshift weapons were laid out on the table. Knives, a meat cleaver, two baseball bats and an axe lay beside a single pistol and a pump-action shotgun. One of the older men entered the room carrying four bottles with rags for stoppers. “Barcelona bangers, just in case…”
A couple of the men laughed at his quip.
“Just make damned sure you’re outside if you use those,” Ortega said. “Now, who is the best shot with a pistol?” The men debated the issue for a few seconds then several hands pointed to a familiar face. Aspanu stepped forward. He had been the first man down at the hands of the big American at the Woo Hoo Club.
“Okay. Aspanu, you take the pistol. You shoot them in the guts if they as much as blink.”
“With pleasure. That big American owes me big time.” Aspanu picked up the pistol. “Maybe I’ll shoot him before he blinks.”
One of the guards from the gate who had caught Adam stepped up and grabbed the shotgun. “I’ll take this.”
“The rest of you…” Ortega pointed at the blades and clubs and the remaining men chose their weapons. A couple of the younger Locos slashed the air with their blades, the promise of impending violence thick in the room.
Adam began to stir on the floor. Ortega checked the time. The fat slug of a boy had been out for way too long. Fifteen minutes to go. He tapped at Adam with the toe of his shoe. “Get him up.”
Adam woke as rough hands hoisted him from the floor by his hair and collar. He yelled in pain as he was thrust back against the kitchen cupboards.
Ortega picked up Adam’s phone. He called the last number in the phone’s memory. A deep voice with an unmistakeable American accent answered. “Yeah?”
“You must be Clay. You have five minutes to get here or doughnut boy is dead.”
Clay’s voice rumbled in response. “You said an hour. We’re still a good fifteen minutes out.”
“Five!” Ortega killed the call.
One of the younger Locos frowned at his captain, his face slack with confusion.
“If we make them hurry they are more likely to be off balance when they arrive,” Ortega explained. “If you let the fish tire themselves out, then they are easier to reel in.” Ortega closed his eyes and exhaled wearily as the younger man began winding an imaginary reel and grinning.
Thankfully not all of the men were complete idiots. He looked at Aspanu as an idea sprang to mind. “I’ve got a new job for you.”
48
The Locos stood in a wide semicircle near the front door of the villa. Ortega stood in the centre, holding Adam by the boy’s broken wrist. The man holding the shotgun stood to his right. A car crept through the gates. The man with the shotgun lifted the weapon to his shoulder, then held up his palm to stop them and with two extended fingers motioned for them to get out of the vehicle.
Ortega hissed air between his teeth as the big American climbed from the driver’s seat. A smaller man followed. They looked nothing like brothers. The American looked like a professional wrestler. Ortega knew from experience that he moved faster than most of them too. The smaller guy looked like nothing much to speak of. Both brothers wore baseball caps pulled low and aviator sunglasses. Ortega smiled. They were about to die and they’d arrived dressed for an afternoon at the sports stadium. Real Madrid would have to wait.
Shotgun shouted out commands in English, following Ortega’s earlier instructions. “Walk forward. Hands in the air. Good. Stop!”
The shotgun dropped to hip level. “Now with your left hands lift up your shirts and turn around, slowly.”
The Locos watched the brothers do as they were told.
“Now, hands on your head.”
Ortega twisted Adam’s wrist, which caused him to yell out again. “I’m sorry, Clay. I thought they were going to kill me.”
“Don’t worry, kid. Just do exactly as they say and you’ll be home soon.” Clay nodded at Adam but fixed his gaze on Ortega. “We’re here now.”
“I see that. Part of me didn’t think you would come, but I’m so glad you did. We have a score to settle, you and I,” said Ortega.
“Speak up, dude. I can’t hear you.” Clay cupped his hand to his ear. Then he tapped the side of his jaw. “You been drinking too much coffee? You sound a little wired.”
Ortega bent Adam’s discoloured wrist to a right angle sending him instantly to his knees. The man with the shotgun effected his version of an American accent. “Squeal like a pig, fat boy!”
Adam did squeal as Ortega stepped on his lacerated hand, pinning him to the ground.
“Enough!” warned Clay.
Ortega didn’t lift his foot. “Now, what about you two. Brothers, eh? Clay and Danny Gunn. You don’t look like brothers. Mama like to put it around, eh? Two little bastards I think.”
Ortega locked gazes with Clay. The big guy’s face was deeply weathered, a series of scars showing as white lines on his tanned skin.
Ortega let Adam slump fully to the ground
and moved towards the brothers. “Big tough cowboy. But what about this one?” he said pointing at Danny. “The runt of the litter I think. Hey, Brit-pig, I think the best part of you ran down your mama’s thighs.”
“Fuck you!” Clay’s voice rumbled like a thundercloud.
Ortega continued undaunted. “Ah, brothers, how sweet. You love each other, yes? Brotherly love? Big brother, little brother.”
Ortega clicked his fingers and pointed away from Clay. The shotgun roared once and Adam screamed as the smaller man’s stomach erupted in a crimson explosion. His body folded in two and he pitched sideways into the ground.
Clay roared and pivoted towards the gunman. Even as he moved Ortega knew he would not make it. The shotgun was now aligned with Clay’s chest.
The gunman began to rack the slide of the shotgun. Then he contorted into a strange sideways curve, his hip jutting out to one side. He looked down as the sides of his shirt began to turn a deep red. A second impact caught him square between the shoulder blades. Even as he began to fall in a tangle of loose limbs, Clay snatched the shotgun from his fingers.
The six Locos scattered in every direction as Clay worked the pump-action. Chak-chak! Boom! The closest of the Locos pitched head first into the ground, arms flung out behind him as he caught the full load of lead in the small of his back.
Ortega was first through the front door of the villa. He was mid turn as the remaining five Locos scrambled through behind him in terror. The first collided with Ortega and they both went down hard. Ortega stifled a scream as his face slammed into the unforgiving tiles of the portico. He tasted metallic blood as the wirework in his jaw bit deep into his flesh.
The front door slammed shut as the shotgun roared again.
49
The stock of the rifle nestled snugly against Larry’s right cheek. His body lay stretched out on the crest of the hill overlooking the villa grounds. He took several deep breaths as he watched the doors of Clay’s car open and the two men climb out.
