Becoming...

by Jacob Rayne

  He woke up, sweating and panicked, and looked over to see her lying on the bed. His panic subsided after he cut off her head and put it on his bedside table. He smiled. It looked good there, watching over him while he slept.

  He stared at her head, at her beautiful eyes, which lifelessly stared back at him, then moved her body across the bed and got in next to her.

  Chapter 107

  A few hours after the brick had come through the window, Otis told his three friends the story of his house burning down.

  His face was pale and his hands and voice shook as he spoke. ‘Then whoever it was followed me to Paulo’s and put a brick through the window. This was taped to the brick,’ he finished.

  He showed them the newspaper article, which showed the four dead gang members, crossed out with a thick black marker pen.

  ‘It’s the cop, the guy’s dad,’ said Tommy.

  ‘Yeah, I think so too,’ said Dave. ‘He’s got the most reason to want us dead.’

  ‘I don’t know, man,’ Otis said. ‘I only caught a glimpse of the guy but he looked like a fucking zombie. I saw him throw the brick, then he was gone.’

  ‘Like a zombie?’ Dave scoffed. ‘I’m telling you, it’s the cop.’

  ‘It did look like a zombie,’ Otis insisted. ‘Or some fucking weird mask. Sure as hell weren’t no cop.’

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Tommy. ‘What are we going to do about it?’

  ‘We take the cop out,’ said Johnny T. ‘This will all stop.’

  ‘Are you fucking stupid?’ said Tommy. ‘Kill a cop? You have any idea how long we’d get for doing that?’

  ‘We wouldn’t get any time for it,’ said Johnny T, ‘Cos we wouldn’t be the ones who killed him.’

  ‘Louie,’ said Dave.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Johnny T. ‘He’s always wanted to be in our gang. This is his opportunity to show us that he’s serious. If he takes the cop out, he’s in. If he gets caught, so fuck, at least it ain’t one of us.’

  ‘Think he’d do it?’ asked Otis.

  ‘Yeah, he really wants in. And plus, he grew up with Olly, knew him pretty well. I think he’d appreciate the chance to avenge his death,’ Dave said.

  ‘Louie it is then,’ said Tommy, smiling.

  Johnny T called Louie and told him about what had happened, neglecting to tell him that the intended target was a cop.

  Chapter 108

  An hour after Johnny T had called him, Louie had his shit together. This was his big break, the opportunity of a lifetime. If he pulled this off, he was a big deal, an official badass, one of the infamous Marshton Eight.

  ‘I’m in, baby,’ he said, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

  His car was flying along the bypass on the outskirts of Marshton, headed towards the address he had written down on a grubby piece of paper.

  The handgun his late father had left him sat on the seat next to him. His eyes darted to it now and then.

  Louie had been in the year above Olly at school and had helped him out when the school bully was shaking him down for lunch money. Since then the two of them had become firm friends and had watched each other’s backs.

  Now Olly was dead, and Louie felt honoured to be the one who was to avenge him. It did not occur to him that he was being used.

  Louie congratulated himself; the phone call from Johnny T had been a pleasant surprise. He had left his mistress and had been going straight for the last few weeks, trying to re-build the bond between him and his wife and kid.

  But this was, as they said in the movies, ‘an offer he couldn’t refuse.’ This thought made him smile.

  Turning left off the bypass, he pulled into a quiet alley a few streets from his intended destination.

  Smoking a cigarette to calm his nerves, he killed the engine. His foot tapped nervously on the floor. Staring into the rear view mirror, he took a deep breath in and shoved the gun into his jacket pocket.

  ‘This is it, Louie,’ he said. ‘What you’ve been waiting for.’

  He got out of the car and walked along the street, the grubby piece of paper in his hand.

  After checking the address for the last time, he dropped the paper between the bars of a drain and walked into the next street, looking around to make sure he wasn’t being observed.

  He whistled to himself, trying to take his mind off the panic he was starting to feel. The nerves disappeared when he told himself that he was doing this for Olly.

  He reached the correct street and followed the house numbers which led him into a small cul-de-sac, finally reaching number 63, a detached house in the corner.

  Taking a deep breath in, he looked around and walked up the drive. He climbed the fence into the back garden and saw that one of the rear windows had been left open.

  The open window was a few feet above a flat roof. If he could get onto the roof, he could get in through the window. He dragged a plastic wheelie bin over to the wall. The bin gave him the extra height he needed to climb up onto the flat roof.

  He crossed the roof to the open window and climbed in, finding himself on the upstairs landing.

  The house was in darkness, but he could see pretty well. Crossing the landing, he noted a photo of Sergeant Hirst, in full uniform, on the wall.

  ‘Shit, he’s a fucking cop,’ Louie hissed under his breath.

  He froze for a minute, weighing up the odds.

  Killing a cop was serious shit. But if he did it, everyone would look up to him. He may even go straight into the gang at the top, right under Johnny T.

  The idea made him grin and he knew he had to go through with it.

  He walked past the photo and towards the bedrooms.

  Two of the doors were ajar, faint snoring coming from behind one of them. His target was unconscious on the bed. Louie’s heart began to race as he moved towards the sleeping cop.

  He was roughly halfway across the room when Hirst sat up and pulled a gun from beneath his pillow.

  ‘Stop right there,’ Hirst said, pointing the gun at Louie.

  Louie’s hand had been halfway to the gun in his pocket, but now he raised it above his head.

  ‘Johnny T sent you, didn’t he?’ Hirst said.

  Louie nodded, feeling panic twist knots in his stomach.

  ‘On the floor, face down,’ said Hirst.

  Louie obeyed.

  Hirst flicked on a lamp and got out of the bed. He gave Louie a stiff kick before frisking him. When he found the gun, he pulled it out and put it down on the bed.

  ‘Mmm, breaking and entering, an unlicensed firearm, conspiracy to kill,’ Hirst said. ‘You’ll not see the light of day for a long time, son.’

  Louie grunted, disappointed with himself; if he had just fired the fucking gun that would have been it.

  ‘Unless, that is, you tell me exactly what Johnny T told you.’

  Louie was torn between saving his own skin and saving his reputation. In the end, he went for the first option. ‘What will you do if I tell you?’ he asked Hirst.

  ‘I’ll frame some other poor bastard for it.’

  ‘Ok. Johnny T told me you were responsible for the murders of four of the Marshton Eight.’

  ‘Really? I didn’t even know they were dead. Which ones?’

  ‘Scotty, Billy, Olly and Pete,’ Louie told him.

  ‘That is an interesting development,’ Hirst said, smiling. ‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Louie. You call Johnny T now, tell him I’m dead.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because if he thinks I’m dead, he can relax, let his guard down. So can the rest of your friends.’

  ‘But then the real killer will find it easier to get to them,’ said Louie.

  ‘Precisely, Louie, precisely.’

  ‘Some cop you are. You’re supposed to serve justice.’

  Hirst’s face went a beetroot colour. Grabbing Louie by the lapels, he pushed his own head forward so they were eye to eye. ‘Because of those pricks my only child is forced to live the
rest of his life in a wheelchair. He doesn’t dare leave the house. When he does sleep he has nightmares. My happy, sociable son is gone. He can’t even feed himself. So don’t you fucking speak to me about justice. They deserve everything they get.’

  He shoved Louie’s head away and threw a mobile phone at him. ‘Make the fucking call,’ he said. ‘Or God help you I’ll kill you myself.’

  Louie hurriedly typed the numbers into the phone. Johnny T answered.

  ‘He’s dead,’ Louie said. ‘I’m just leaving the house now.’

  ‘Did he say anything?’

  ‘Yeah, he confessed to the killings, then begged for his life.’

  Johnny T laughed. ‘Thanks, Louie, you did us a big favour. You’re in the gang.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Louie said.

  ‘We’re gonna have a party at mine to celebrate, if you fancy it?’

  ‘I think I’d better lay low until this all blows over,’ Louie said.

  Hirst nodded his approval.

  ‘Good idea,’ Johnny T said. ‘I’ll see you when the shit storm’s all over.’

  ‘Yeah. Bye, Johnny.’ Louie hung up and passed the phone back to Hirst.

  ‘Good, Louie, you’re a first rate bull-shitter,’ said Hirst.

  ‘You’ll not get away with this.’

  ‘I’m not the one killing them.’

  ‘But you’re helping.’

  ‘No, I’m just choosing not to waste police resources by investigating. Trust me; the world will be a much better place without them.’

  ‘You’ll be found out. I’ll tell everyone what you’ve done.’

  ‘Tell away, there is no blood on my hands. True, I have a good motive, but you have an even better one. Picture this, the wannabe gangster who killed the gang that had rejected him time after time. I can almost see the headlines.’

  ‘No-one will ever believe that.’

  ‘It happens all the time, rival gangs, and takeovers from the inside. All we have to do is wait. I have to say, I’m looking forward to seeing what he does to the rest of your friends.’

  Louie opened his mouth to protest, but, before he could say anything, Hirst clubbed him over the head with the gun, knocking him to the floor.

  Hirst cuffed his arms and legs and dragged him to the garage where he gagged and tied him, before dumping him in the boot of his car.

  He pierced a few small holes in the liner of the boot, then slammed the hatch shut and went back upstairs to bed.

  Chapter 109

  Hirst’s attempts to get to sleep were disturbed by the sound of screaming from down the corridor.

  At first he thought it was Louie calling out from the boot of the car, but he knew he’d done a good job of gagging and binding him.

  Besides, Louie was downstairs, locked away in the garage. The screaming was coming from upstairs.

  Tom, having another nightmare, no doubt. The dreams were merciless and, in his decreased mental capacity, Tom couldn’t tell that they were just dreams.

  Hirst’s face contorted as he sobbed, remembering all the good times he and his son had shared.

  The shell of a man he had become was a mockery of those happy times.

  He wanted his son to suffer no longer.

  Taking Louie’s gun, he crept into Tom’s room. Tom was asleep again, his face stained with tears and snot.

  Tears rolled down Hirst’s face as he stood in the doorway and watched his sleeping son. After loading the gun, he moved across the room, wincing at the creaking floorboards. His son slept on.

  Hirst held his son’s hand for a few seconds, trying to decide whether he should do what he had in mind. One look at his son’s vacant expression convinced him he was doing the humane thing.

  He kissed his son’s forehead and pushed a pillow over his face. His body shook with sobs as he lifted the gun to the pillow and pressed it into his son’s temple.

  ‘Please forgive me, son. I just can’t bear to see you like this,’ he said.

  He stiffened and pulled the trigger. The gunshot was not silent, but the pillow did a decent job of muffling the report.

  Blood covered the pillow and started soaking through the bed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, wiping his eyes. He left the room, closing the door behind him, and cried himself to sleep.

  Chapter 110

  Despite the insistences of his three friends and fellow gang members, Otis wasn’t convinced that Sergeant Hirst was responsible for the deaths of his four friends.

  He knew that what he had seen sounded impossible, crazy even, but the thing that had put the brick through his window was not a cop. Of that he was certain.

  He suspected it was the weird kid they had beaten up and tattooed. The guy whose house they had trashed. He had as much motive as the cop.

  Apparently he’d been killed in the riot at the asylum, but mistakes could be made in such chaotic circumstances. Otis reckoned the fucker was still alive and causing trouble.

  He took Paulo, one of his buddies, with him. Paulo was a real scrapper, but Otis intended him as cannon fodder more than anything.

  If this guy had already killed four of their gang (all tough lads) he didn’t want to risk tackling him alone. He didn’t care if it was yellow, it was common sense. Safety in numbers, or something like that.

  Or a human shield, if he was honest about it.

  He and Paulo kerb-crawled to the street behind Luke’s.

  ‘It’s somewhere round here,’ Otis said, scanning the houses. He chewed his lip as he tried to think.

  ‘Maybe we should call Johnny T, see if he remembers.’

  ‘Na, he’ll just get pissed that I went behind his back. I want to get this guy myself, wipe the smug looks off their faces. No-one fucking laughs at me.’

  ‘Any idea which house then, brainbox?’

  ‘Fuck you. Let’s get out and walk. More time to look, that way.’

  Paulo groaned. He had no desire to be out in the cold, rainy darkness any longer than necessary. Hell, he was only here because he’d been caught boning Otis’s sister. She’d been a crap shag too, which was salt in the wound.

  ‘Yo, lardass,’ Otis said, smacking Paulo across the head. ‘Outta the fucking car.’

  ‘Hit me one more time and I swear I’ll—’

  ‘What? You swear what? I’ll pull your eyes out and fuck the empty sockets, Dolmio boy.’ Otis stared at him, holding the gaze long enough to make Paulo back down, then burst into laughter. ‘Man, are you soft as shite!’

  Paulo said nothing, just got out of the car.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Otis said. ‘Quicker we nail this freak, quicker you can go back to wanking over Johnny T.’

  ‘Your sister, more like.’ Paulo knew he was pushing his luck, but he was too pissed off to care.

  ‘That is not cool. I’ve told you what I’m gonna do to you if you keep running that mouth of yours. Don’t make me stare your ass down again.’

  Paulo again backed down.

  They reached Luke’s street, their faces hidden beneath their hoods.

  ‘Ah, there’s the fucker,’ Otis said, his tone triumphant. ‘See, new windows. Cos we smashed the fuckers to bits.’

  Paulo nodded, grinning. He was feeling up for a ruck now. ‘Yeah, let’s show this kid who’s boss.’

  ‘Now you’re talking my language, man.’

  They laughed for a second then crept up to Luke’s home. Paulo watched while Otis jimmied open one of the downstairs windows.

  They froze as next door’s kitchen light came on. The light remained on for an impossibly long time, before finally flicking off.

  ‘Wait,’ Otis said. ‘Dozy bat’ll probably come back for her glasses or something.’

  The light remained off.

  ‘Maybe this ain’t such a good idea,’ Paulo said.

  ‘Ah, don’t go all Boy George on me, man. The cops are scared of us. They won’t even come out. Trust me.’

  Paulo took a look at the utter confidence on Otis’s face, and nod
ded.

  ‘Now, let’s go,’ Otis said, climbing in through the open kitchen window.

  Chapter 111

  Otis stood in the kitchen, his heart already starting to race. It was always this way when he was in someone else’s house. All part of the thrill, he had come to learn.

  His eyes adjusted to the gloom now, he pulled open the drawer next to the sink and searched for a suitable knife. Always best to use their own knives on them, he found.

  While he searched, Paulo climbed in. He wobbled on the worktop for a few seconds, his arms wheeling like those of a cartoon character on the edge of a cliff. He caught his balance and crouched to step down to the floor.

  The sound of breaking glass shattered the silence in the house. Otis cursed under his breath and glared at Paulo.

  Paulo froze atop the workbench, feeling Otis’s eyes bore into him. He whispered an apology.

  They waited for a tense few minutes, certain that the masked psychopath who had taken out four of Otis’s best friends was going to make his appearance.

  But nothing happened.

  Otis finally decided that the moment had passed and beckoned Paulo down from the bench. He found a suitable knife for each of them, keeping the better of the two for himself.

  ‘For that, you can kill him,’ Otis whispered.

  ‘I think we should go. It’s not our night.’

  ‘I’m fucked if I’m not going through with this after this shit. Now get your fat arse up them stairs before I make good on my earlier threat.’

  Paulo shrugged and climbed down from the bench. He had the feeling that they were in for a bad night.

  Otis went up the stairs first, cursing every creak of the shifting boards. At the top, he took in a lungful of air. Christ, the air up here was rank. It smelt like something had died.

  ‘Something’s about to die up here,’ he muttered to himself, grinning.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shh. Get in there and stab that murdering son of a bitch before he wakes up.’

  ‘I really think you should—’