Joe Coffin Season One

by Ken Preston

  Coffin walked around the tables they counted the money on and stopped dead.

  The safe door was open.

  “You really think I’m that stupid?”

  Coffin turned around. Tom was standing in the doorway, the shotgun pointed at his chest.

  “Yeah, I do,” Coffin said.

  “Well, I showed you, didn’t I?” Tom said, grinning. “You going to change your mind now, Joe, looking down the barrel of a fucking shotgun?”

  “Nope. I still think you’re stupid.”

  The grin slipped from Tom’s face. “Why?”

  “Because if you had any sense at all, you’d have got out of here as fast as you could, and run away as far as possible. The fact that you stayed just shows how stupid you are. I want you to think about that when I am breaking every bone in your body, one by one.”

  “You think you’re a funny bastard, Coffin, don’t you?” Tom said. “Always got something to say, always ready to take the piss out of me.”

  “Here’s your chance now, Tom. Go on, shoot me. Even you couldn’t miss with that thing in your hands.”

  “No, not yet. I’ve got something I want to show you, first.” Tom stepped to the side, out of the doorway. “Go on, into the club. You’re going to love this, Joe.”

  Coffin walked around the desk, watching Tom all the time. The barrel of the shotgun followed him, tracking him like a CCTV camera. There was no point trying anything right now, Tom would have blown a bloody hole in Coffin’s chest before he was on top of him. But Tom was sloppy, always had been. Coffin had to stay alert, look for that one moment when he could take control.

  “You been in a fight, Tom?” Coffin said. “Your face, it doesn’t look so good, although some people might say it’s an improvement.”

  “Just keep your mouth shut, Joe, you won’t be laughing soon.”

  Tom followed Coffin out of the office and through the lobby. Coffin paused at the double doors leading into the club, hoping that Tom would get up close behind him, perhaps try to nudge him on with the end of the shotgun. He stank of whisky and had a crazy, wired look in his eyes. But he kept his distance.

  “Go on, Joe,” he said. “Go on through, I’ve got a surprise waiting for you.”

  Coffin turned his head, speaking over his shoulder. “If you’ve hurt Mort in any way...“

  “That old bastard?” Tom said. “He’s alive still. I’m a big, old fucking softy at heart, Joe. Once I realised you were on your way over, I thought wouldn’t it be nice, Joe and Craggs, together at the end. All I’ve got to decide now is, do I leave you alive to watch, while I kill Craggs, or the other way around? What do you think, Joe? You want to go first, or second?”

  “You haven’t got what it takes, Tom. You never did. Ten minutes from now, you’ll be staring down the barrel of that gun you’re holding, begging me not to blow your head off.”

  “Ooh, such big talk, Joe. Go on, go into the club. Like I said, I’ve got a nice surprise waiting for you.”

  Coffin placed his hands against the double doors, pushed them open, the rock music swallowing him in its pulsating beat.

  He stepped inside.

  more like a corpse than corpse

  Emma looked at the Angels nightclub through the stream of rainwater pouring down her windscreen. The place looked closed, which was unusual. The streets were empty of pedestrians, everyone seeking shelter in the shops and cafes, their windows blazing yellow light in the gloom of the thunderstorm. Wouldn’t this have been an opportunity to get some extra custom? On your way home after a hard day in the office, heading through the downpour for the train station, and facing a packed ride home on the train, wouldn’t it seem like a good idea to maybe stop off for a drink or two? Let the rain ease off, and the commuter crush thin out a little?

  But no. Angels looked like it had been closed down for the rest of the day.

  Emma drummed her fingers on the steering wheel of her hire car, debating whether or not to go and try the doors. She was still damp from running to her car from the hospital entrance, and she would be drenched again within seconds of climbing out of the car. Hell, Coffin might not even be there.

  But then she thought of Jacob again, lying in the hospital bed, looking wide eyed at his mother.

  It was Steffanie. Steffanie kept me prisoner in the cellar.

  Emma shivered.

  There was no question at all, really. She had to find Coffin.

  Emma didn’t move. Just kept staring at the club, through the rain pouring down the windscreen. Finally, she looked down at the passenger seat, at the white paper bag, the top crumpled closed, lying there. Like an unexploded bomb.

  Except that wasn’t right, was it? The contents of that paper bag had already blown her life apart. One little blue line in a plastic window. And it had changed everything.

  Emma tore her gaze from the pharmacy bag.

  There would be time to think about that later.

  Getting out of the car was like stepping into a cold shower. Emma tucked her head down and ran for the doorway. Under the canopy over the entrance, she took a moment to shake some of the rainwater off. There wasn’t much point, as she was drenched to the skin.

  She shoved at the doors, but they refused to budge. Locked.

  She pounded on the door and waited.

  Pounded some more.

  Nothing.

  Fuck!

  Emma wiped her arm across her face, at the water streaming from her hair.

  Now what? Head on over to Coffin’s house, see if he was there? And what if he wasn’t, what then? Even worse, what if those two weirdoes were still there, and that disgusting fat woman with the false hand opened the door? Maybe they would invite her inside, and they could have tea and biscuits, and discuss the awful weather.

  Emma noticed the Harley parked outside the club. Joe Coffin’s Harley. She had driven right past it when she got here.

  That settled it. Coffin was inside Angels somewhere.

  Maybe there was another way in. Emma braced herself for another plunge into the solid sheet of water falling from the dark sky. She ran around the back, through the car park. Craggs’ BMW was there, and a couple of other cars. One of them, a battered old Ford Mondeo, had been abandoned in the middle of the car park, its rear doors open, puddles forming in the seats.

  And there, at the back of the club, was a rectangular glow of light. An open fire escape door.

  Emma ran across the car park, her feet sloshing through large pools of water gathering on the uneven surface of the old tarmac. Once inside she paused to wipe water out of her eyes.

  Over the sound of the rain falling, Emma could hear the faint, dull pound of music throbbing through the walls. Didn’t sound like the music Emma imagined them playing in places like this, but what did that matter?

  There was somebody here, after all.

  She walked slowly down the hall, past the storerooms.

  Despite the sound of the music pulsing through the walls, the place had a deserted feel to it. Something was wrong.

  Emma noticed a smudged hand print on the wall. Was that blood?

  “Oh, shit,” Emma whispered. Something was most certainly wrong here, all right. Maybe now was the time to phone Nick, after all. Get the police down here. It might blow her story wide open, ruin any chances of her getting the big publishing deal on her book she was after, but she couldn’t ignore the fact any longer that she was in too deep.

  She was reaching for her phone when a storeroom door opened, and a skeletal creature in a dirty, wrinkled suit reached out and grabbed her with its filth encrusted hands. One hand snaked its way into her hair and yanked her head back. The other pulled at her jacket, dragging her towards it.

  Emma dropped her phone, and it smashed on the hard floor. Instinctively, she twisted her body into the thing’s grip, and slammed her shoulder into its chest. It folded like a sheet of cardboard, and they both fell to the floor, Emma landing on top of the dirty, stinking monster.

  “F
uck! Fuck!” Emma screamed, scrambling to disentangle herself from the thing clawing and scratching at her.

  She managed to free herself and jumped up and backed away.

  The ancient thing on the floor reminded her of Corpse, although it looked even more like a corpse than he did. Its mouth snapped open and shut as it struggled to get back on its feet, and Emma saw its teeth, blackened with age, but still wickedly long and sharp. It stood up, blocking her way to the exit.

  The only escape left was into the club.

  Emma opened the door and stepped through.

  EPISODE FOUR

  uncle frank gets in trouble

  Julie Carter gazed out of the window at the heavy rain. Large puddles had formed in the road, and rivers gushed down the gutters, and around the overflowing drains. The young woman had never known rain like this before, and she was fascinated by the spectacle of all the water dropping from the dark sky.

  “It’s like standing in a waterfall,” she said.

  Frank Carter, standing behind the till, paused the cashing up, and looked out of the window too. “It’s a downpour, all right. Are you going to hang around here until I’ve finished cashing up? I can give you a lift home then, save you getting wet.”

  Julie turned away from the window and gave her uncle a smile. “It’s a tempting offer, but I need to get back. I’m going out later, and I need to get ready.”

  Frank raised his eyebrows. “You’re going out in this? Don’t bother dolling yourself up, you might as well just wear a swimming costume.”

  “Oh, I can see that happening. I’d be the talk of the town, out clubbing in a bikini.”

  Frank walked over to the window and stood beside Julie. He was a tall, fat man, and dwarfed his petite niece. “Besides which, do you really think it’s wise to go out while that maniac is still on the loose?”

  “That’s all happening in the city centre,” Julie said. “We’re just going to spend the evening in the Waggon and Horses.”

  “A bit tame for you in there, isn’t it?”

  Julie pulled a face. “It’s full of old men, and hairy bikers.”

  “It’s a good idea though, not going into the city. Even so, I’d still be happier if you stayed at home. Tell your mum she can come over to ours tonight, and you and your friends can have a girly night in at your house.”

  “No way!” Julie said. “You know what Mum’s like, she’ll be home and wanting to go to bed by nine o’clock, and kicking my friends out.”

  “Did you know they found another dead body earlier today? A cleaning lady, at a service station on the M6, in Stafford.”

  “So, I’ll be fine! He’s obviously moving away from Birmingham, then, isn’t he?”

  “Hmm,” Frank said, the look on his face saying he wasn’t convinced. “All right, have it your way.”

  Julie walked through the shop, past the shelves of drill bits, and screws and nails, and other fixings she’d never even heard of before she started working in her Uncle Frank’s hardware shop. She went into the back and picked up her coat and her rucksack. When she walked back out again, pulling her coat on, her Uncle Frank was still standing by the window, watching the rain.

  He turned and looked at her, that familiar expression of concern on his face.

  “Let me take you home, the till can wait until I get back,” he said.

  “Don’t be daft. It only takes me a couple of minutes to walk home.”

  “But you’re going to get soaked!”

  Julie stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “No. I’ll be fine.”

  Frank sighed. “It’s your mother’s fault.”

  “What is?”

  “That stubborn streak of yours.”

  Julie laughed, and pulled her hood over her head, tucking her long, blond hair inside. “I’ll tell her you said that!”

  “Make sure you do!” Frank said, as she opened the door, and, head down, ran outside.

  Frank stood at the window, watching Julie’s small, slender figure running through the rain. She quickly disappeared in the gloom. He had a sudden urge to run after her, to persuade her to accept a lift home off him after all, or at least let him walk her back. But then he turned around, and saw the day’s takings piled on the shop counter in full view, and even if he left it there, by the time he’d got his coat on and locked up, Julie would be practically home, anyway.

  Frank looked out of the window at the rain again.

  She’ll be fine, he told himself. The Birmingham Vampire’s gone. Now he’s somebody else’s problem, and he’ll be known as the Stoke-on-Trent Vampire, or the Manchester Vampire.

  But still, Frank couldn’t rid himself of the queasy knot of worry in his insides. There were some odd people around these days. Like that chap the other day, who’d bought himself a saw and a roll of black bin liners. Very quiet he was. Didn’t say a word. Which isn’t a crime, people don’t have to say please and thank you, but still...

  Frank hadn’t liked the look of him at all.

  Not one bit.

  * * *

  Standing hidden in the shadows, Abel watched the young woman leave the hardware store and run down the street, her head down, her hands holding the collar of her coat together. He was wearing Alf’s parka again, the hood zipped up, obscuring his features. But this afternoon he didn’t need any protection from the sun. The cloud cover was so thick and heavy, he could easily have exposed himself to the day and not suffered any effects.

  The Birmingham Vampire stepped out of the doorway he had been sheltering in and strode after the young woman. Apart from the occasional car driving slowly past, cascading sheets of water out from beneath their tyres, the town’s streets were deserted. House windows glowed with orange light, everyone huddled indoors, apart from this one girl, hurrying home.

  The conditions were perfect, and Abel couldn’t have asked for better. He had known he would be taking a huge risk, hunting once again, while the police were still after him. But then how long would he have had to lie low, waiting for the panic to die down? Too long.

  That was why he had wanted to stay hidden in the house at Number 99. The Father needed time, and warm blood, to rebuild his strength, and his youth. He would have known what to do. With the Father in command once more, and returned to his full strength, they would have been unstoppable. No number of police, or Joe Coffins, could have stopped them, then.

  Abel picked up his pace, closing the gap between the girl and himself.

  Joe Coffin.

  Abel would deal with him, once and for all, at some point soon. If not for him interfering in their plans, and that stupid bitch who had come to the house, they would still be hidden, the Father slowly growing stronger. Instead of that, Abel was risking being found, and the Father and Steffanie, who knew where they were?

  But Abel had the child, Coffin’s boy. And he needed fresh, warm blood. That was why he was out hunting tonight, in the pouring rain. Alf and Marge’s cold, clotted blood was no longer sufficient for him. He was growing agitated, and soon he would be uncontrollable, and go mad in a feeding frenzy.

  That kind of attention they didn’t need.

  Abel had to keep the child quiet until he had worked out how to find the Father and Steffanie. Once they were reunited, everything would change, everything would be better.

  And Joe Coffin would die.

  * * *

  The young woman hurried through the torrential rain and began to regret her decision to refuse Uncle Frank’s offer of a lift home. Just lately she had taken to refusing lots of offers of help from her mother and her uncle. Ever since her father, Frank’s brother, had died, two years ago, they had taken to mothering Julie. It was as though they were trying to protect her from the harsh realities of life, when really, after losing her father to a massive heart attack, it seemed to her that she had already confronted the worst that life could throw at her.

  But they couldn’t see it like that, and they were overcompensating, smothering her with their love. Ju
lie had recently started reacting against this, trying to make a stand for her own independence. But tonight? Maybe she had stuck to her guns too much. A lift home through this atrocious weather would have been much more pleasant than this.

  As she passed the park on her right, she briefly considered taking the shortcut through the wooded area. It would only take less than a minute off her journey, and she dismissed the idea. It would be dark in there, and the likelihood was that she would trip and hurt herself.

  Julie’s phone started vibrating in her pocket. It would be her mum. Uncle Frank had probably called ahead, still worried about her. He would only have asked her mum to keep a lookout for Julie, but she was a worrier, and so now she was phoning her, checking she was all right, asking where she was, why was she taking so long?

  Julie kept walking as she reached in her pocket for her mobile. A car drove past, water spraying out from beneath its wheels. Her cold hand closed around the vibrating mobile, and she was grateful for its warmth. She pulled it out and slowed her pace a little as she checked the screen, glowing bright in the dark.

  Yes, as she thought, it was their home number, her mother anxiously checking up on her. Julie smiled as she thought of the trouble that Uncle Frank would most likely be in now, for letting Julie walk home on a night like this.

  She tapped ‘Answer’ and was bringing the mobile up to her ear, when a hand closed around her wrist.

  Julie gasped with shock and pain, the cold hand squeezing her wrist, and she dropped the phone. Before she could scream another hand covered her mouth. She squirmed and kicked out, her heel connecting with a shin. Her attacker pulled her close, letting go of her wrist but then wrapping his arm around her. Julie tried biting at the clammy hand gripped her mouth, and the stink of rotting flesh filled her nose, making her gag.

  White hot panic filled Julie’s chest. She was being attacked, and there was nobody out here to see what was happening. How could this be happening? Who was going to wait outside in the pouring rain for a victim to pass by? Julie squirmed and kicked and screamed, but her attacker was far too strong, and her screams were muffled behind his hand. She grabbed at the cold hand and tried prying it from her face, but it was like a clamp over her lips, and she couldn’t move it.