Dead Man Walking

by David Carter

  After a deafening silence, Elizabeth replied, “What do you mean, off the hook?”

  “What if I said we could bring Blaze home and get the charges reduced, dropped even?”

  “That’s impossible. You said the commissioner was most unlikely to change his mind.”

  “Yes, but that was before–” He stopped himself.

  “Before what?” she asked curiously.

  “Before the commissioner got himself into a bit of a pickle; he needs my help—enough so that I might have some leverage with him.”

  “How so? You mean he might reconsider?”

  “If I play my cards right, maybe...”

  The door slowly opened. “Come in, Steve. I’ll make some tea.”

  Ten minutes later, while sipping from a fine china cup, Hampton had explained the commissioner’s situation to Elizabeth.

  “You mean to tell me there’s a terrorist out there blackmailing the commissioner!” she exclaimed.

  “Yes. And it’s my job to find him. If I can do that the commissioner will owe me one, and I’ll propose he acquit Blaze and the MC of all their crimes. But this is the last time I go into bat for them. Ryan and I have been through enough because of your son’s recklessness.”

  “But you don’t have any guarantees, do you?”

  “It’s a start isn’t it? I could blow the whistle on the commissioner any time I like. So I doubt he’ll have much of a choice. But I don’t particularly want to go down that road. It’s not who I am.”

  Elizabeth finally smiled.

  “Does this mean you forgive me?” Hampton asked.

  She reached out and touched his wrinkled hand. “I’m sorry for being so unreasonable. I know you’re only doing your sworn duty. But you must understand that after grieving for Bobby, only to learn that he’s still out there, well, it would crush me to lose him again.”

  “Then I’ll try to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “Thank you, Steve; you’re truly a fine man.”

  Hampton’s smile disappeared. “I’m only doing this for you. I don’t necessarily agree with what I’m proposing. But if I have to choose between a life of solitude or a life with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, well...” His smile returned as Elizabeth’s ever-youthful appearance glowed in front of him.

  Her heart almost burst at his romantic gesture. She got up from her seat and asked him to stand, before kissing him and holding him tight.

  After a long embrace, Elizabeth said, “So where will you start on the case?”

  “That’s an excellent question, as I’ve got very little to go on since the commissioner swept everything under the rug,” he replied.

  “Oh, you poor thing. I don’t know how you keep doing this to yourself—constantly digging through scraps of evidence in search of that one vital connection.”

  Hampton jolted.

  “What is it, Steven?”

  “The word you just used.”

  “Connection?”

  “Yes.” He suddenly ran out to his car and retrieved a box full of files. He hurriedly searched for the two he had in mind.

  “What on earth are you looking for?” Elizabeth asked.

  “A connection,” he said. “Something I neglected.” He flipped through the two files in front of him. “I knew it!” he said at last.

  “Knew what?”

  “Look,” he pointed to a specific paragraph on both reports. “These are the findings from two independent forensic squads that scoured the wreckage of the former commissioner’s home, and Sheffield Primary School. And if you notice here, both bombs were made from an identical explosive.”

  “And this means what, exactly?”

  “Do you remember on the news some eight or nine weeks back, there was a breaking story regarding a heist carried out on an army truck carrying munitions between depots?”

  “Of course I do! Oh the uproar that caused. It was quite the story. And the culprits are still at large. Why? What’s the relevance?”

  “Well, for some time now, there have been reports of military weapons showing up on the streets throughout Brighton, obviously being sold on the black market.”

  “And your point?”

  “Well, these forensic reports clearly show that military-grade C4 was used in both bombings. What if I could find the supplier and trace it back to whoever bombed the school?”

  “That’s a clever idea, Steve. How on earth are you going to pull that off?”

  A wrinkled, sly grin spread across his face. “Let’s just say it’s lucky Cameron didn’t pick Ciggy to accompany him to New York.”

  “I beg your pardon? Ciggy?”

  “He’s a member of the Sinners and Scarecrows. From what Ryan told me, not only is he the world’s most prolific chain-smoker, he’s also quite the pyrotechnic.”

  “So he’s the one who actually bombed the commissioner’s house?”

  “It makes sense.”

  “Where’s the little weasel now?”

  Hampton almost choked at her outburst. “He’s currently occupying a small, dark cell in Brighton Penitentiary. If I leave now I can make it before visiting hours are over.”

  “I’m coming with you,” she said tersely.

  “And do you want to play the good cop or the bad cop?” he asked.

  She ran a devilish finger down his nasal bone and stopped at his lips, pressing down firmly, then seductively whispered into his ear, “Oh, you know I love playing the bad cop, don’t you, lover boy.”

  Chapter 39

  “You all set?” Blaze asked Sharkie.

  He replied with a curt nod. Blaze noticed the steel in his eyes: the look on a soldier’s face before heading into battle, aware of the reality that he might not return unscathed, or breathing, even.

  Everyone took their respective seats in the mess hall. Everything seemed business as usual. Until Blaze gave the nod.

  Showtime.

  One of the brotherhood’s members started choking. An anxious commotion stirred around his table. The guards on the mezzanine floor looked down with concern. “Medical emergency in the prisoners mess. Assistance required, over,” one of the guards relayed into this radio.

  The on-duty doctor was dispatched immediately. One of the guards came down from his perch to assist and escort the doctor inside.

  As the crowd gathered around the choking prisoner, Blaze slunk back towards the entry door where the doctor and guard would arrive any moment. As suspected, the remaining guard up top didn’t notice his movements. Blaze stood with his back to the wall and waited.

  The door handle turned, followed by the armed guard. Blaze sprang from his position and sucker-punched him to the floor. The startled guard’s weapon clattered from his grasp. Blaze picked it up and used it to motion the doctor and guard to seal the door and stand in the corner.

  Complacency at its finest. Blaze smirked.

  The guard on the mezzanine floor noticed something curious in his peripheral vision. What the...? He raised his rifle.

  It was too late. Blaze had his hostages. He looked directly up to the guard and motioned with his head to stand down.

  Instead the guard reached for his radio.

  Blaze stormed up to the doctor and held the barrel of the rifle to his head. He cried out in fear.

  The guard’s hand retracted to his rifle. He was unsure how to proceed.

  Blaze motioned for him to walk away, knowing the second he was gone he would radio for backup. But with two hostages at his disposal he knew he held all the cards. That’s when Sharkie gave the command.

  Shivs, knives, and every crudely-made prison weapon came out of the woodwork. The brotherhood’s members dived over the tables towards the unsuspecting black inmates. Blood, screams, and death filled the room within seconds. Sharkie slashed the throat of a man trying to fend him off. The sound of gurgling blood in his airways fuelled his fire. The brotherhood were relentless. Pools of blood and limp bodies lay strewn through the mess hall. It was a
one-sided victory. Blaze watched on as a Negro’s head was continually beaten against the wall till his skull caved in. Sharkie pinned a man’s hand to one of the tables with a steak knife, belting his jaw over and over while thick sprays of blood and teeth spewed from his mouth. The doctor looked away in terror as one man bled from over forty stab wounds to his torso.

  The onslaught was over almost as fast as it started. Shouts of “Please! No! I Surrender!” were ignored as the remaining few gangstas were mercilessly preyed upon and put to death; this would be a dark day in the history of The Tombs; its inmates living up to the reputation they had earned over the past three decades.

  Blaze said to the hostage-guard, “You and the good doctor may go now.”

  “I’ll make sure you’re locked away in The Box for eternity!” the guard shouted.

  “I’ll be waiting right here when you return with the warden. Run along, now.” He grinned.

  The rousing chorus of victory rang throughout the brotherhood. They had control of The Tombs once more. This was their home. The brotherhood was their life. It didn’t matter where or how they served. Violence was their way. Cyrus and his path of meditation would be next to go. He had held up the brotherhood’s progress as a race and organisation for long enough. Blaze was instantly touted for greatness. He had the nerve to do what needed to be done. Consequences were no matter. Business inside The Tombs would resume once the dust had settled.

  The warden returned minutes later as predicted. Everyone surrendered without incident. They victory was already won.

  “This is the one who planned the attack,” the guard said to the warden as he weeded Blaze out from the crowd.

  The warden’s wary features bored holes through Blaze as he asked, “Is what he says true? You orchestrated the attack?”

  “Sure did, old man,” he replied with a smirk.

  The warden gave a nod of approval to three of his guards.

  ZAP! ZAP! ZAP!

  Blaze convulsed on the floor as they fried him with their TASERS.

  Chapter 40

  “I can’t stand the sight of prison walls,” Elizabeth said as she and Hampton pulled into Brighton Penitentiary’s visitor car park.

  “Then why did you come?” Hampton probed carefully.

  “I don’t know; thought it would be nice to keep you company, I suppose.”

  “Well, if you’d like to stay in the car while I go inside–”

  “No, no,” she cut him off. “I can muddle through if it means helping Bobby.”

  “All right, if you insist.” He smiled. “Are you ready?”

  She nodded and got out of the car.

  After they got security clearance and waited patiently at a table in the visitor lounge, a guard escorted a thin, scruffy inmate in their direction. He reeked of freshly smoked tobacco.

  “You must be Ciggy?” Hampton asked pleasantly.

  “And you are...?” Ciggy replied in a less-than-friendly tone.

  “Detective Steve Hampton. And this is Elizabeth Blaise.”

  “You’re Blaze’s mum?” Ciggy eyed her up and down. “Heard you and Blaze have quite the history.”

  “Yes, well, we’ve had a somewhat estranged relationship. But in more recent times things had improved, well, at least that’s what I thought until–” She couldn’t finish her sentence.

  “Until what?” Ciggy asked.

  “Until he broke my heart: making his own mother believe he was dead.”

  Ciggy scoffed. “He had good reason to do what he did.”

  “Oh, you have children of your own, do you?” Her smouldering eyes burned through his arrogance.

  “Er—no, ma’am.” He backed down.

  “Why don’t we just focus on why we’re here,” Hampton intervened. He eyeballed Ciggy, and bluntly asked him, “Did you, or did you not design the bomb that murdered the former commissioner and his daughter?”

  “No comment.”

  “Where did you obtain the C-4?”

  “What C-4?” he replied innocently.

  The look on his face irked Elizabeth to her core. She stood up and slapped him across the face.

  “Whoa! What the fuck was that for?” He cradled his cheek with his bony, tobacco-stained hand.

  “Tell the bloody truth!” she cursed.

  “All right, calm down, Liz.” Hampton sat her down gently. “There’s no need to make a scene.” He eyeballed Ciggy, then said, “You have my word that I’m not here to bust your balls. I’m here to help you and the MC. But in order for that to happen I need your cooperation. You understand me?”

  “Why would you want to help the MC? Everyone hates us.”

  “Be that as it may, I care about this passionate woman sitting next to me, who just happens to be the mother of your so-called leader. Now this can go down one of two ways: tell me who supplied you with the C-4, and in return I’ll make a deal with the commissioner to have your scrawny rear-end hauled outta here. Or, alternatively, you can tell me nothing, and I’ll leave you rotting in this hell hole for the rest of your worthless life after I prove that you were indeed the one who murdered the commissioner.”

  Ciggy gulped a mouthful of saliva as the thought of being locked up for the remainder of his life became a harsh reality. He was struggling as it was, being a slight man in stature, he was easy prey for any inmates who might think about meddling with him. “How do I know you won’t rat me out if I come clean?” he asked.

  “You don’t. But the way I see it, you’ve got nothing to lose.”

  Ciggy leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily through his nose. “All right. There’s a guy who runs an underground market for military weapons in Brighton. I bought a stockpile last time he put the word out he was selling.”

  “I need a name.”

  “I don’t know it; no one does. He has a network of contacts who get word out on the streets when he’s open for business.”

  Hampton rapidly scribbled in his notebook. “Where does he procure his munitions?”

  “How would I know?”

  “Surely an artist like yourself, and I use that term loosely, would want to know where his munitions are sourced?”

  “I’m just the buyer, all right? I couldn’t care less where it comes from.”

  Hampton slowly placed his pen down on the table and looked him in the eye. After a minute’s silence, his years of experience during cross-examinations told him Ciggy was hiding something. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

  “I’ve told you everything I know.”

  “All right, if that’s the way you want to play it.” Hampton closed his notebook and pocketed his pen. “Come on, Liz, we’re wasting our time with this one.” They got up to leave.

  “Wait,” Ciggy said anxiously, waving them to sit back down.

  “Something on your mind?” Hampton raised an eyebrow.

  “They call him Snatch,” he said quietly.

  “Snatch?”

  “Yeah, the black-market dealer.” He looked around and whispered, “Word has it he’s the one behind the munitions trucks being hijacked over the past few years.”

  “I see. Can you tell me when and where his next market might be?”

  “Look, these things don’t have regular schedules. But I guarantee you that next time you hear about a truck being hijacked, there will be a sale within twenty-four hours. He likes to offload the goods quickly; less dirt on his hands, if you catch my drift...”

  Hampton nodded. “Where will the market take place?”

  Ciggy lowered his voice. “There’s an old, abandoned warehouse in West Brighton.” He wrote down the address in Hampton’s notebook. “Anyone who’s anyone in arms dealing will be there.”

  “Thank you, Ciggy, you’ve been most useful. You have my word that if I catch the culprit behind the school bombing, things will be looking up for you.”

  “What did you just say? Someone bombed a school?”

  “Yes—with the same military grade C-4 you purchased from t
he black-market. You mean you didn’t know?”

  Ciggy shook his head. “Been locked up on my own since I got here.”

  “I see. Well, to cut a long story short, I noticed a match in the forensic reports from both the school and the commissioner’s residence, hence my decision to come all this way and pump you for information.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “No, I’m not shitting you. It was lucky no children were in the classroom at the time. Which is why it’s imperative we find the party responsible.”

  Ciggy went to say something, but hesitated.

  “What is it?” Hampton asked,

  “Nah, you’ll just say no...”

  “Try me.”

  “How about I come with you to the next market? You’ll need my help to get inside.”

  “Look, I may be getting on in life, but I’m no fool–”

  “I swear on my mother’s grave I won’t do a runner.” He looked Elizabeth in the eye as he said it.

  “I believe him, Steve,” she said.

  “All right, I’ll have a word with the commissioner and see what we can do,” he replied. “But if you even think about making a break for it–”

  “I won’t,” Ciggy cut in.

  “Good. Because if you do, I’ll be forced to take matters into my own hands.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Let’s just say that for you to make a clean getaway, you’d have to outrun a bullet.”

  Chapter 41

  Ryan and Doyle found Spider and Trigger passed out on the floor of their hotel room. Ace was up and about, boiling water to make coffee. “I see you all kept yourselves busy while we were gone?” Ryan said.

  Ace brushed a stray strand of long hair out of his face as he replied, “Beats being locked up back home, that’s for fucking sure.”

  “I’m just relieved you didn’t try anything stupid, like running.”

  “It’s not like we had a choice with these pretty bracelets you so kindly gave us.” Ace scowled.

  Ryan and Doyle struggled to contain their amusement.