CROSS FIRE: A gripping detective thriller (Hard Boiled Thrillers, Noir and Hard-Boiled Mysteries) (Thomas Blume Book 4)

by PT Reade

  I stood and looked out of Remay’s window, onto the city as morning sunlight seemed to cleanse the skyline. Regent. It sounded familiar, but nothing was clicking. Time was running out. If Aisha wasn’t dead already, I figured pretty soon she’d wish she was. The thugs from the power station would be pissed at what had happened. Would they take it out on Amir’s daughter?

  Remay’s apartment had impressive views across London. Although not in a traditionally up-market neighborhood, it was an attractive building in an area regenerated after the Olympics. My exhausted brain scanned the skyline, wondering if I could somehow spot this “Regent” from the view as if sheer force of will would find Aisha.

  I almost laughed when I caught myself. The odds of spotting anything in a sprawling city of eight million people was minute, like trying to find the girls in that estate earlier.

  The estate.

  I then thought about the overpass from earlier in the morning, looking down onto Northdown slums.

  Could it be?

  “Can I use your computer?” I asked Remay.

  “Sure. It’s in the bedroom.” She pointed down a small hall to our left, showing me where to go.

  The laptop was on her nightstand, along with a book that I assumed she read before bed. I grinned when I saw that it was the fifth in the Harry Potter series. I found it hard to imagine Remay reading something so light-hearted. Perhaps dealing with death, working in a morgue, gave her all the somber reality she needed. Or perhaps that was just dealing with me. Either way, a book like this would probably have been a necessary and welcome break.

  I pushed the book to one side, sat on the edge of her bed, and powered up her laptop. I ran a brief internet search, typing Regent, Regency, and anything similar I could think of into the search bar.

  London had hundreds of Regent Streets, none of which seemed relevant. But then I tried a specific search, and one result piqued my curiosity.

  Could that be it?

  It was a tenuous lead but a lead nonetheless. This, of course, was assuming I could rely on a traumatized teenager’s memory. I had to take it, though. I had to start somewhere, or Aisha could be gone forever.

  I returned to the living room to find Chelsea and Remay talking. I joined them and looked to both of them with as much tenderness as I could muster.

  “Here’s the deal,” I said. “I’m running out of time, and I have to go. I have a place I can check, based on what I just found online. Chelsea…you’re certain about this Regent thing?”

  “Yes,” she said, not sounding sure. “I think so anyway. They said it at least three times; it was the only word I understood.”

  “Okay,” I said and turned my attention to Remay. “How long before she absolutely has to seek medical help?”

  “I wouldn’t wait more than two or three hours, and that’s pushing it. The bleeding has stopped, but she needs to get patched up properly, and there is the risk of infection. I’ve done my best, but my patients are usually a lot less, well, living.”

  Chelsea looked slightly alarmed at this, so I cut in before the questions started flying.

  “Okay,” I said. “If you haven’t heard from me in an hour and a half, can you please take her to the hospital?”

  “Will do.”

  “Just tell them that you were on your way to the market or something and saw this poor girl on the street with a patched-up gunshot wound. Chelsea, if they ask how it happened, don’t say anything. Just act traumatized—you’ve been through a lot, it shouldn’t be hard. We have to keep your dad’s name out of this as long as we can.”

  Both women nodded. As I started to get up and walk away, Remay reached out and took my hand. She gave it a little squeeze, and then her fingers were rubbing at mine.

  “Be careful,” she said, looking at me with a concern I had never seen from her before.

  “I will,” I said, locking eyes for a moment.

  As I exited the apartment, I felt terrible for not telling Chelsea about her father, as well as for leaving a wounded teen with Remay. But this was an emergency, and sometimes it is easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to get permission.

  The image of Andrew Hyde’s office kept coming back to me, and my mind overlaid that with the mental image I had of the photos I’d seen of my family.

  I was being pushed by a hatred that I hadn’t felt for months, and I was glad it was there. I’d take the hatred and anger and turn it into something positive. Grit, determination, whatever worked.

  With that sense of fire in my blood, I left Remay’s building, climbed into the car and plugged in a location I had found online into the navigation.

  As the Range Rover pulled away I gripped the wheel tightly, my knuckles white with tension and my blood beginning to boil.

  I found myself driving too fast, and as I clipped a speed bump, something in the glove box of Andrew’s vehicle rattled, snapping my attention back to the moment. I slowed the car and opened the compartment. Inside I spotted something surprising. Something metallic and dark.

  Andrew clearly didn’t trust many people, and he was right not to. Sadly it had done him no good. Still, there was a chance that I could make someone pay for what had happened.

  I reached across for the pistol, checked the safety and carefully placed it into my jacket pocket.

  This will work just fine.

  THIRTEEN

  I was back on the path to vengeance, and I knew where it led.

  The Regent Movie Theatre was a closed-down hulk of a place situated on the shoulders of the Northdown Estate. From a distance, it looked beautiful, its 1940s architecture decayed in a way that looked antique. Up close, however, I could see timeworn cracks in the veneer—the windows were all boarded up, and the building held the unoriginal scribbling of graffiti artists. When I drove by the place, two bored-looking thugs were sitting around outside, doing a crappy job of being inconspicuous. It was apparent that they were lookouts.

  Maybe this was the place after all.

  With only a single word from Chelsea and all other leads going cold, I’d had to take a leap of faith in tracking down Aisha. The only match for “Regent” with anything resembling a clue was this old cinema.

  I’d been half-sure it was a dead-end, another waste of time—until I saw the goons outside.

  I circled the block a couple of times and parked behind another condemned building. The Regent was about two hundred yards away. From the driver’s seat, I could see the theater’s back lot. Exiting the car, the cool morning air chilled my skin. I carefully made my way along the street toward the back of the building. One more thug came into view, idling near a back entrance, whistling out of tune.

  The weight of the gift from Andrew’s car was reassuring against my hip. It was a Browning Pistol, 9mm. At least with a real gun, I’d raised my chances of survival from none to slim. With a confidence born of anger-fuelled retribution, I made my way directly to The Regent’s back entrance and the single, bored-looking man at the door.

  “Excuse me,” I said, walking at a slow and uncertain pace towards the guy. “I’m lost as hell, and you seem to be the only person out and about this morning. I was wondering if you could tell me where—”

  “Do I look like a tour guide, yank?” the man asked. “Get the fuck out of here, and go back to your hotel.”

  I wanted to say that he looked more like a strung-out meth-head, but I decided to keep the comment to myself for now.

  We were about ten feet apart now, and he was reaching for something beneath his coat.

  “No, I suppose you don’t,” I said. “Just looking for directions, that’s all. I could give you a few pounds for your help.”

  The man rolled his eyes and took a step forward, relaxing. “Twenty pounds.”

  “Fine,” I said.

  “Where are you trying to go?” he asked, stepping even closer. The idiot was about two feet from me now.

  “I’m trying to get to—”

  I threw a hard right jab that struck the
thug squarely in the nose. He stumbled back and reached inside his coat again. I kicked out his knee, drove him to the ground, and finished him off with a sharp kick to the back of the head. He lay motionless, and I wondered if I had killed the poor bastard. A slight twitch of his head told me otherwise.

  I picked up his gun, tossed it out of sight and stepped over his body, walking towards the door he had been guarding.

  When I leaned on the rusted bar, I found myself stepping into the 1940s. The hues of red and gold, plush faded carpet and the art deco design would once have been spectacular. The place was now dimly lit by wall sconces that only made the once grand building seem more sad and oppressive. As I moved deeper, the walkway opened into a wide hallway where each theater had been located. There were only two viewing rooms that I could see, not like modern multiplexes, and the doors had been pulled off both. Inside, all was dark and silent.

  Along the other side of the hall, the concession stands were only ghosts, the glass shattered and the display signs faded.

  The place was deathly quiet, but fresh scuff marks on the floor and scattered litter told me that people had been moving through here. Lots of people. Further along the hall, I reached the only doorway with an actual door in it. I quietly opened it and found a flight of stairs leading up. I figured these were probably the stairs to the projection booth. I listened carefully, heard nothing, but started up the stairs anyway, praying for a break.

  The top of the stairs opened into another hallway, this one much narrower than the one below. A dark room sat directly in front of me with no sign of life and only the scuffed carpet and smell of stale cigarettes giving away the fact that it had been used recently. I crept inside, and not wanting to risk the ancient electrics, I avoided the light switch. Instead, I tapped the light on my cell phone. When the light popped on, I gasped at the scene around me.

  I’d stumbled across what I could only describe as a mini-arsenal. Dozens of assault rifles and handguns all packed neatly into wooden crates. These guys had enough heat to take over a small country. There was even a stack of grenades to the side, and I caught the corner of what looked like an RPG7.

  A goddam rocket launcher. Who the hell are these guys?

  An assortment of ammunition lay scattered around on tables too. As I looked all of this over, one weapon, in particular, caught my eye. This one had its own case and it had been disassembled. Even so, I recognized it.

  It was a sniper rifle, a model I had seen once before—at a gun show back in the States. It was sleek, beautiful, and deadly. I couldn’t recall the manufacturer’s name, but I knew that it only took modified 7.62 rounds.

  I reached for the casing still in my pocket, but then I froze.

  Footsteps echoed through the hallway below. I stopped, held my breath. The sounds bounced around the near-empty building. I struggled to pinpoint its exact location, but they grew louder, drew closer. Flicking off the cell phone light, I scrambled to a darkened corner and waited … The ancient building creaked and groaned around me, but the footfalls stopped.

  I peeked out of the room, looking back into the hall. I saw nothing, so I stepped back out to investigate. There were two other rooms along the opposite side of the hall. I looked into one. A few plastic ties and a dingy old mattress set alarm bells ringing in my head

  Someone’s been kept here. And recently.

  I stepped back out into the hallway and headed quietly for the last doorway. The entrance to this room was barred by a modern wooden door that had been hastily attached to the decades-old frame. That was a clue alone, but even without opening the door, I could hear subtle movement inside. I debated trying to pick the lock and sneak in, but another idea presented itself unexpectedly. As I moved to examine the lock, the floorboard under my foot creaked loudly enough for anyone inside to hear me. I took a breath and pressed myself tightly against the wall next to the door.

  I waited a moment and was rewarded. The door creaked open and a huge man leaned into the hallway, gun in one hand, cup in the other. His scowling, flat face turned toward me. I jumped up and rammed my full weight into the door, smashing the goon between the door and frame.

  Yanking the door fully open, I punched him in the throat before he could cry out. As he stumbled back, I grabbed the man by the collar of his jacket and drew him back towards my arching right arm. My fist caught him square on the jaw, and I watched his eyes roll upwards as he lost consciousness. I dropped him carefully to the carpeted floor and stepped into the large storage room.

  I only made it one more step into the dark room before my entire body stalled. For a moment, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was gloomy inside, dimly lit by a failing bulb and filled with boxes of what looked like old film reels and movie posters. But that wasn’t my focus.

  I’d been looking for one girl.

  There must have been twenty. Between the boxes and in every corner, the room was filled with young girls. I took a moment and looked around. They looked and smelled as though they hadn’t bathed in a while, and their clothes were dingy. The room reeked of body odor and urine. In seeing me, some of their eyes grew wide with hope, others cowered away. I raised a finger to my lips. I glanced around the room again, and my stomach knotted. Some of these girls were barely into their teens.

  “I’m going to get you out of here,” I whispered. “I’m going to—”

  The last girl in the room caught my attention. She was curled into a ball and lashed against an old radiator with plastic ties that had rubbed her wrists raw. Slowly, she raised her head. We locked eyes, she recognized me—just as I recognized her.

  Aisha!

  FOURTEEN

  In their hollow faces, I saw myself, the ghost of my mistakes.

  All of the girls had their wrists bound in front of them with plastic ties. First, I rushed over to Aisha. She was bruised and shaking with fear, but otherwise all in one piece.

  I cut Aisha free and had her cut the others loose with my penknife, while I maintained a vigil near the door. A few of the girls shied away from me as if they expected me to hurt them. I thought of the men that had hurt them, and the anger I had felt on the way here came back tenfold.

  “Are all of you okay?” I asked.

  I got a few head nods and some murmured responses of yes. As she finished releasing them, I tried to think of a way that this could all end well. This whole trail could lead back to Andrew and the set-up that had me looking guilty, but I’d have to deal with that later.

  “Okay, we’re heading downstairs,” I whispered. “Can all of you walk? Aisha, can you make it down the stairs?”

  Again, nods and quiet whimpers.

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  I started to turn and as I did, one of the girls cried out and pointed behind me.

  She probably saved my life.

  I ducked and wheeled around, alarmed, and saw a fist with a gun held in it. Whoever was there had meant to knock me out rather than shoot me, using the butt of the handgun as a club. I barely avoided the full impact. The pistol clipped my collarbone rather than connecting with my face. It sent a jolt of pain into my neck. I staggered back.

  One girl panicked and started running for the door. The man with the gun kicked her in the stomach. She doubled over and hit the deck. With a cigarette clamped between his teeth, he leered at his victim on the floor and mumbled something venomous that I couldn’t understand.

  He then turned his attention to me. When he did, I finally caught sight of his face. The breath caught in my throat.

  The portly frame, the goatee beard.

  Paul. The gate guard from the party.

  “Alright, Mr. Blume?” he said smirking, a gun pointed at my chest. “Any luck finding those girls?”

  “You?” I spat. “You bastard.”

  “Yeah, me,” Paul spoke, confidently. “It’s nothing personal though. These guys, these Polacks, they pay well, and they asked me to help out. Ten grand for two days work. It’s only business.” He shrugged at this a
s if it would make it all okay.

  “Well, this is my business, and I’m taking these girls out of here.”

  “Oh? How do you work that one out, mate? See, I’m the one with a gun pointed at you and—”

  He was interrupted when the girl at his feet recovered and sank her teeth into his leg. Paul cried out and brought his gun down to pistol-whip the girl, but I had the weight of my own handgun waiting. I used the distraction to rush him. I wanted to shoot the son of a bitch right there, but the noise would bring his friends running. Instead, as the rest of the girls panicked and shuffled around the room, I hit him with the butt of the Browning, snapping my pistol into his nose. It landed with a sickening crunch. The bastard screamed and stumbled backward. His cigarette fell to the floor by a stack of old boxes.

  I kneed him in his gut. At the same time, he brought a hard elbow across that connected with my ribs. I crumpled to the floor, colliding with one of the girls.

  “Get out!” I yelled at all of them. “Out the back exit! Go!” The girls screamed now and broke into a run, dashing through the opening.

  This was a mess. I only hoped they made it out before any other goons spotted them.

  Paul struggled to his feet. I brought him down with a football tackle, taking out his legs. We hit the floor in a tumble of flying fists and kicking feet. As we jockeyed for position, I caught two punches to the face, the second one striking the side of my nose. Blood filled my mouth.

  Smoke was in the air. I turned towards the smell, fending off another punch. The bastard’s fallen cigarette had set one of the old boxes on fire. Whether it was age or the materials inside, the boxes were going up in flames incredibly fast.

  Paul noticed my look and glanced in that direction too. I took advantage of his diverted attention and drove my forehead into his face, connecting squarely with his nose. I felt a crack as his nose broke for the second time and warm blood gushed out.