Bringing Hell

by Larry Igbon

  While sipping coffee, he eyed the Bryant building opposite. A steady trickle of employees sauntered in for the daily grind.

  According to Wallace, Grant came down from his penthouse lair around 10:00 am. He then remained in his office for the rest of the morning. A creature of habit, he would do the same today. You won’t do it tomorrow, maggot.

  It promised to be a fine day, warm for May 24th. Ramsay knew what he would do today, and the freedom of movement he needed to do it. He dressed accordingly. With a grin, he threaded an old leather belt through the loops on his slacks. In his hands, that belt could morph into a most effective weapon.

  After finishing his coffee, he put Grant’s Rolex on his right wrist and his own quartz timepiece on his left. He glanced from one to the other, a smile played on his lips. Wonder if he’ll let me keep it?

  * * *

  The ruins of Elite Automobiles—in the main, concrete and steel—hove into view. They appeared to be in a group, like gleaming black, smoking skeletons. From a distance one could detect stooped figures picking over the debris. They moved it about, searching, examining. It was a dystopian scene that enveloped the onlooker in a feeling of melancholy. That was the impression he got driving towards it. In his imagination, the scene appeared to be moving towards him. A dark, smoking ruin looming larger by the second. Damp and bleak, it was eclipsing the pleasant springtime ambience.

  His window was down, and a miasmic stench assailed his nostrils. It was impossible to categorise it. But one did not have to be a connoisseur to identify ingredients: rubber, plastic, paint, wood, noxious smoke and damp. He wound the window back up, keeping his finger pressed on the button in the vain hope it might zoom up at express speed. It did not.

  He spotted Julia as he stepped from his car. She smiled and waved at him to join her. As he approached, he noticed the Fire Investigation Unit van. Firefighters were also on the scene, clearing away water. The protein foam, which they had used to starve the flames of oxygen and cool hot metals, added to the foul smell.

  “Good morning, Julia, what’s the situation today?”

  “Good morning. Well the loss assessor is looking over the place now. There’s a lot of damage, but parts of the building are still standing. He believes we can repair the structure rather than demolish and rebuild. He’s spoken to the fire safety officer, and he’s of the same opinion.”

  “That’s good news,” Ramsay said, squeezing her hand. “Not much left of the showroom though. That’s tough.”

  “It is. Still it could’ve been a total disaster. We keep most of our cars on the forecourt, which is behind the building.” She giggled at the irony. “They suffered damage from heat, ash and cinders, but I’ve spoken to our main supplier.”

  “Don’t tell me. They’ll replace them for free?”

  “Yes.” She shook with delight as Ramsay’s eyes bulged from their sockets. Then she punched his arm, “Don’t be a smart-arse, Tom. No, they’ve agreed to provide discounted estimates. For submission to the insurance company, for the repairs. Body-work, glass, re-sprays. Isn’t it great?”

  He nodded, “It’s great alright. Good for you. So what next?”

  “Mr Reid, the loss assessor, is waiting for the loss adjuster from the insurance company. We’re meeting in my father’s office this morning to set the wheels in motion.”

  He looked beyond her at three burnt-out cars with half-melted tyres. Charred black inside, backs blown out where the fuel tanks exploded. Droplets of water falling everywhere like a spring shower. While looking from this spectacle to her optimistic face, he smiled. He realised that her determination to recover from this setback was overwhelming.

  “Sounds like you’ll have the wheels rolling again in no time. I’d like to see anyone stop you.”

  “Aw thanks, Tom. I may get knocked down, but I don’t have to stay down. I always fight back.”

  * * *

  Two cars pulled up in front of the building as Reid, the loss assessor, emerged from the rear of the showroom.

  The loss adjuster stepped out of the first car and approached Julia. “Good morning, Miss Parry. I’m Ian Russell.” He extended his right hand in her direction.

  She shook his hand. “Good morning, Ian, call me Julia.”

  Reid offered his hand. “Morning, Ian, nice to see you again.”

  “Hello, Eric, same here.”

  DCI Sykes got out of the second car and walked towards the group. “Good morning, Miss Parry. May I have a quick word?”

  She turned to the others. “Excuse me,” she said and, grabbing Ramsay’s hand, stepped towards Sykes.

  Sykes gave Ramsay a neutral, upward nod. “So, Miss Parry, it seems things are moving already. That’s good.”

  “Yes, Inspector. The Fire Investigation Unit are here now, but they’re hampered by water and sludge. They’ll come back later and carry on.”

  “I sympathise, but don’t get discouraged. These guys are very thorough, and they use first-class technology. If someone planned the fire, they’ll find out. I’m rather hoping you could let us have your statement today.”

  Ramsay intervened. “That’s comforting, Sykes. Did you question the guys that Grant sent round to pick up his cars?”

  “Well,” said Sykes, addressing Julia, “we’ve taken statements from both men. Everything seems straightforward. I’m here to note whether your statement agrees with their version of events.”

  “So, you’ll want Julia to come to the police station and give a formal statement?”

  “Thank you, Ramsay, I know the procedure. Miss Parry, would you mind coming in sometime today?”

  “Not at all, Inspector. I have a business meeting this morning, I’ll call after that. There is one thing though.”

  “Oh, what’s that?”

  “Well, you said ‘both men’, Inspector. Three men came to the showroom. The third one drove, but he also came inside.”

  “He did? Any idea who he was?” Sykes asked. Ramsay tutted and rolled his eyes.

  “No idea at all, he stood around while we filled in the paperwork. He did ask where the customer toilets were though.”

  “OK. I’ll follow that up right away. Talk to you later.”

  Ramsay looked at Julia. “It’s the first I’ve heard about a third man. He used the customer toilets? Are they anywhere near the stock room?”

  “Yes. To the rear to be exact.”

  “There’s an obvious probability here. Do you see it?”

  She swung round to face him, her eyes narrowed, fists clenched. “I do—the third man set the fire—yes?”

  “More than likely. Don’t worry yourself about it, they would never admit there was a third man. If they said they came by taxi, could you prove otherwise?”

  “Without CCTV, not a chance.”

  “Who signed the paperwork and collected the keys for the cars?”

  “Er, Entwistle that’s it—Albert Entwistle.”

  “Ah, ‘Big Enty’ no less.”

  “You know him?”

  “We’ve never met, but a friend of mine has told me a lot about him. He’s one of Grant’s top enforcers.”

  “He appeared to be a well-groomed thug. I couldn’t wait to give him the keys.”

  “There you go. Talking of keys, do you still have the keys for Craig’s place?”

  “Yes I do, why? Do you need them? Is that where you’ll be staying?”

  “No, I’m staying somewhere else. You hold onto the keys but stay away from the place.”

  “Why?”

  “Certain people will assume I’m there, Grant or Sykes for instance. The thing is, I’ll be where only one other person knows I’ll be. I don’t want you there ending up in peril.”

  “What peril? And what other person?”

  “Please, Julia, trust me. The less you know, the less you can talk about.”

  “What the hell does that mean? Are you telling me you don’t think I’m trustworthy?” Her lip quivered as her eyes blazed.

  He gr
abbed her by the shoulders. “Look, it’s nothing like that. I want you safe, that’s all.”

  “Now you’re scaring me, Tom,” a tear rolled onto her cheek. “Safe from what?”

  Not knowing what else to do, he pulled her to him and kissed her. She put her hands on his chest and pushed away. “The safest place for me would be where you are.”

  He kissed her again and she returned the embrace. “I’ll call you as soon as I can, but you can’t reach me. I have to leave you now, I’ve got things I need to do.”

  “Fine, call me when you get time.”

  He looked at her for a moment. “Hey, promise me you’ll stay positive.”

  Her face lit up at his concern. “I promise. Take care, Tom.” She turned and started off towards the insurance guys.

  Chapter 4

  Ramsay drove back to his New Temple Street apartment. He would have preferred to stay at Craig’s old place, which he now owned as his brother’s next of kin. Wallace had ruled that out as a possibility. It would be too easy for the police or the gangsters to find him.

  He agreed with Wallace’s choice. Here, he was unknown and untraceable. Even Julia had no way of contacting him.

  He eased his car around the back to the garage and opened the door. Getting back into the driver’s seat, he took out the throwaway phone. There was only one stored number, which rang twice.

  “Hey, Tom, things are getting a little hot right?”

  “Roger that, Phil. Looks like Grant is desperate to get that venue.”

  “Yeah, even if he has to rebuild it. I checked the place out earlier. The front’s destroyed, but there’s plenty of rear structure still usable. My theory is a remote timer. Tuned to an incendiary or accelerant, front of house or thereabouts. Easy to set up and dangerous as hell.”

  “We agree on that then, and we’ve seen enough of these things to know they’re easy to hide.”

  “Damned easy, but you want to find it to help the girl, right?”

  “Right. The Fire Investigation Unit will get there, but there’s no urgency as far as they’re concerned. Sykes is still investigating Craig’s murder, so I need him to be all over this fire as an arson case. We know it was Grant, but I need to convince Sykes. That way the case will go to the Specialist Crime Directorate.”

  “And, since Sykes already has Grant in his sights, who better to sort the casework?”

  “The inspector himself. Did you get any good stuff from the bugs? Either Grant’s place or the Bryant?”

  “There was a little conference last night about the fire. Grant told Enty and Bunny to get the firestarter back or make sure it’s gone forever. That pair of muscle-bound goons couldn’t find their own arses with a map and compass. This should be first come, first served.”

  “Agreed. I’ll get on that right away. Anything else?”

  “Grant’s pissed off because Sykes knows there was a third man at the showroom. It seems Enty and their lawyer have to meet at the police station later for further questioning. Also, he hates you with a passion, mate. Says you’ve robbed him and you’re going the way of your brother. He’s sending you to Southeast Asia.”

  “No kidding? Wow.”

  “It’s not a bloody holiday, it’s a delivery.”

  “I’ll be a delivery?”

  “That’s right. One of their businesses is exporting scrap metal abroad. It seems you’ll be on the next container. Instead of throwing you in the Thames, you’re going to his car-breakers yard. He’ll have you squashed into a cube. How d’you feel about that?”

  “My, my, what a ferocious-sounding man.” They both chuckled. “As per the plan, his contract runs out at 10:49 pm. I trust you’ll have full control of his accountant’s phone in plenty of time?”

  “Check. I’ll own the bank account numbers. Grant’s stress hormones’ll be off the scale. That should induce a flood of adrenaline, so be careful, he’ll have the strength of ten men.”

  “Yeah, nine dead and one dying.”

  “Did you give Julia the phone?”

  “Not yet, I’m not sure I want to. She needs no more trouble right now.”

  “Your call, man. I’ll keep eyes on her for a while, see she stays safe.”

  “Cheers, pal, you’re a diamond. Watch your six.”

  “Enough said. I’ll have everything in place under the bridge. Stay frosty.”

  * * *

  He manoeuvred the car into a parking slot at the rear of the showroom. As he entered the mechanics’ bay he gasped, wrinkling his nose. The pervasive aroma reminded him of a bucketful of rotting sardines.

  He noted the conflagration had damaged much of the bay. The inspection pits now contained mangled metal, burnt timber, sludge and water. Fluids of dubious origin glistened on surfaces and seeped and drooled towards the floor.

  He walked down the small corridor leading to the storeroom, noticing that the lavatory cisterns had escaped destruction. Smashed and covered in debris, but not crushed. No one had disturbed them in the search for clues. Ramsay decided it was worthwhile checking. He took care not to cause an avalanche of rubble. By shifting the wreckage, he gained access to the cistern. Lifting the lid, he saw the rewarding sight of a digital radio transmitter. A familiar gadget to him, he noted the timer reading set at 19:00. Well Sykes’ll have to see this.

  By applying logic, he concluded that the receiver would have been in the stockroom. Meanwhile, his ingrained experience told him it was unlikely to have survived the inferno. He heard sounds and decided he did not wish to share his find yet.

  He turned and retraced his footsteps to the mechanics’ bay.

  * * *

  Shafts of ragged, orange sunlight speared through gaping holes in the roof before culminating in glossy, silver splodges on the floor.

  From the gloom, three dark figures loomed forward into the ruins. Grant led the way, followed by two men Ramsay recognised from Wallace’s flash drive. One of them slung a half-eaten baguette over his shoulder. A flock of pigeons descended and pecked at it. Grant produced a gun. “Hello, Ramsay. Bet you didn’t expect to see me here, did you?”

  “Why the hell wouldn’t I? In a city like London, I’m never more than ten feet away from rats.”

  “I’ll enjoy shutting that smart mouth of yours for good,” said Grant, pointing the gun at Ramsay’s chest. “You’re coming with us.”

  “Says who?”

  Grant waved his gun. “Says this.”

  “We see the big gun in your hand, and I imagine you’re feeling empowered. But how big a moron are you? There are too many bystanders, officials and observers out front. Even you can’t be stupid enough to blast away like a Wild West drunk.”

  His henchmen looked at Grant for a reaction. This guy was making their boss look tame. But Grant well knew his own impetuosity. He retorted with “I can hurt you enough with this without firing a bullet, you smug bastard.”

  The minions looked at Ramsay, nodding and sniggering like a pair of loons. The boss had redeemed himself in their eyes.

  “Think this through, Grant. You’ll realise the best thing would be to let me go.”

  “How so, wise-arse?”

  “Well if you don’t, you’ll be forcing me to defend myself and you’ll lose some of your friends. I’ll still kill you—that’s a given—but don’t you care about the welfare of your pet gorillas?”

  The largest ‘gorilla’ stepped towards him, sneering while tapping a cosh against the palm of his hand.

  “Easy, Bunny, not yet,” Grant said, holding up his hand.

  “Ah, Vincent Burroughs, we meet at last. Lord, you are a butt-ugly git aren’t you? It’s clear that ten-year stretch didn’t teach you anything about morality and tolerance. Are you even familiar with those words?”

  Burroughs roared and rushed at him, aiming the cosh at the top of his head. Ramsay side-stepped out of range and kicked him on the side of his knee. The impact sent him lurching into the other gorilla.

  “Blimey, Bunny, you’ve got a lot to le
arn about taking care of yourself mate.”

  Grant was fuming. “Get up, you dozy pillocks. Get that bloody timer off him.”

  Burroughs groaned as he tried to get up.

  “Don’t stand there minding your own business, Todd, help him up.” Grant’s face was purple with rage.

  Todd helped Burroughs to his feet, then approached Ramsay.

  Grant’s voice was soft, his words icy. “Try another stunt like that, Ramsay, and I’ll shoot you in self-defence.”

  Ramsay nodded. Regardless of how many people were on the premises, he knew he had pushed this psychopath’s buttons to the limit.

  Todd snatched the timer from him. Burroughs was still nursing his injured knee and cursing under his breath.

  Ramsay grinned. “Grant, tell me the truth, do you rely on this pair of primates for protection? Oh, this is yours.” He unclasped the gold watch from his right wrist and tossed it to Grant, who missed the catch. The expensive timepiece hit the deck and lay there. “Butterfingers.”

  “You’re a funny man, Ramsay, like your clown of a brother was. I’ll take care of you like I took care of him.”

  “Good of you to admit to murder in front of witnesses. Thanks, that could be useful.”

  “The witnesses in here will not do any talking believe me.”

  “You charmless moron. Sykes has a cop following you around, he heard everything you said.”

  The sound of a car screeching away lent credence to that untrue ‘revelation’. The watcher appeared to be hurrying to report to Sykes.

  “Not your problem, Ramsay, your troubles are about to begin. OK. Soften our guest up a little, lads, and throw him in the van.”