by Adam Carter
“What do you want?” she repeated in a clipped tone.
His smile was tight; he knew he had her. “I want Malcolm.”
“Yeah? So does my department. We been after him for six months, but you already know that.”
“Derek Malcolm.”
“I do know his name, thanks.”
“I want you to phone him.”
“And you think I have his number because?”
He had taken a step towards her without her even realising. He was close to her now, close enough that she could feel his cold breath upon her face as he replied, “Because it’s the way he stays one step ahead of your department.”
There was silence in the flat. They both stood motionless, staring into one another’s eyes, neither willing to be the one to make the first move. Her heart was racing, this couldn’t be going more wrong, and Baronaire seemed to inhale slightly, as though her fear was his nectar.
Her arm swung around quickly, stabbing the knife through his arm, but Baronaire was the wind, her wrist slapping into his upraised palm without her having even seen him move. The knife hung impotently in the air, and Greel’s face fell, her panic rising as Baronaire did not even look to the weapon, but stared deep into her eyes.
“If I wasn’t absolutely certain before that you were bent,” he said slowly, “I think you just confirmed it. Now make the call.”
“No.”
“You think I’m asking?”
“Malcolm’d kill me.”
“Believe me, girl, there are things far worse in this life than death.”
He jerked his hand, the one holding her wrist, and through the flat echoed a sickening crunch. Pain flew up her arm and she shrieked as she fell back, clutching her broken wrist. She collapsed to the floor, her fear and panic raising bile in her throat. She couldn’t feel her hand, and fire burned up her arm. She fought back tears but had no other weapon with which to attack, her knife having fallen when he had broken her ...
The pain was gone and she flexed her fingers experimentally, holding them before her face in the darkness. “What the ...?”
“You could make the call,” Baronaire said stonily, “or I could torture you all night and not leave a single mark. And I might enjoy it.”
Greel did not know how he had done it, but knew it was related to his ability to flit past her unseen. Staring into those deep grey eyes she thought it might be some intense form of hypnotism, but whatever it was she could not suffer this all night. And she didn’t owe Malcolm this much.
“What do you want me to say?” she asked, trying to keep the tremor from her voice.
“I want you to arrange a meeting.”
“Then?”
“Then you go meet him.”
“And?”
“And I step in and ... arrest him.”
It sounded simple, but it didn’t matter how good a magician this Baronaire was; if the two men met, Malcolm would kill him. Still, it wasn’t her problem and maybe there was something she could salvage from this mess after all. But she didn’t want Baronaire killed. No matter how creepy, how intrusive he was, he was still a police officer. And Greel would do nothing to harm a fellow officer. Other than try to stab him in her terror.
“You’ll need backup,” she said. “And a lot of it. Let me call my station, get a few bodies on the ground.”
“I have backup. She’s waiting in the car.”
“One person? Do you have any idea what Malcolm’s people are going to do to her, Charles?”
He glowered. “Baronaire.”
“Jeez, all right.” His intensity unnerved her, but it was his strange sense of priority which sent shivers down her spine. “But if you care anything about your partner out there, you’ll call in some proper reinforcements.”
“I don’t need a bent copper telling me how to do my job.” He had the receiver in his hand now; she had not even noticed him pick it up. “Now make the call.”
And so she did.
CHAPTER SIX
A chill wind was blowing across the docks, but Detective Greel hardly noticed as she hugged her coat closer. She had always wanted to be a detective, had grown up on Gaston Leroux and Conan Doyle, Colombo and Kojak. She had played stupid games with her brother, making him lie down, very still, while she solved his murder. The TV detectives were always quirky, smart and canny, while the novel detectives were calm, collected, cool. Fictional detectives always had the answers and coupled it with dramatic tension as they released the facts slowly, often urging others to reveal the truth under prompts. The most difficult cases would be solved in so little time, and the detective was always the hero.
In the real world there was no respect for the law and the only detecting Greel had ever really done was in straightforward cases. A woman’s body lay in the morgue with multiple stab wounds; talking to the neighbours revealed her ex was a psychotic drunk. Case snapped closed so quickly it almost had her fingers off.
So Greel had become complacent. She had no money, no stable man in her life, no real friends outside of the police force. She had put her entire life into becoming a detective and it had all been a waste of time. People would have been better off had she gone into office work like everyone else.
She glanced across to the woman she was with. Detective Lin, Baronaire had called her. Lin had said very little since the two women had been introduced and Baronaire’s plan explained. Greel knew virtually nothing of her, but as she looked at her she could not help but wonder what she thought she was doing. Derek Malcolm was not a man to mess with. As soon as he realised this was a trap he would shoot them both, and Baronaire hiding back there in the shadows would be next.
Lin seemed to sense something and Greel followed her gaze. It was dark, a full day following Baronaire’s little visit, but Baronaire had insisted on a nocturnal meeting. A shape formed in the darkness of the poorly lit docks, moonlight reflected casually off the water. He was a tall, broadly built man, and Greel recognised him, had spoken to him several times in the past. He wore a long brown coat which concealed any number of weapons, and a wide-brimmed fedora which covered the scarred face in the dim light. The man had a permanent scowl, and as ever did Greel’s eyes focus upon the three long and jagged scars tearing across one of his eyes. She did not know how he had received them, but she knew fingernail marks when she saw them.
“Who’s she?”
The voice was as gruff as the rest of the man, but Greel was prepared for it. Her heart still lurched at the sound of his voice, but she took a deep breath and said, “She’s cool, Eric. I need to talk to Malcolm.”
“Didn’t ask if she was cool, Greel, I asked who she was.”
“Sue,” Lin offered.
The scarred man, Eric, looked directly at her, and Greel could see even Lin flinching under that glower. “You in the force too, Sue?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I was at the docks before. Your boss would recognise me.”
He seemed to nod slightly. “You’re the one who ruined it all.” It wasn’t a question. “Mr Malcom’s not too happy with you. Brought a lot of heat down on him.”
Greel knew this situation was complicated, which was what Baronaire was banking on. It might get them a meeting with Malcolm himself. Thanks to Greel, Malcolm was well aware of the police investigation, but whatever he showed the police was always a dummy show. That Lin and Baronaire had turned up in the wrong place at the wrong time did not affect Malcolm’s interests any, but it showed the police that Malcolm would now be well aware of their investigation. Of course, he already was, but now the police knew he was.
In all honesty Greel would have been overjoyed to be able to get away from all of this if she could, especially with a dead body turning up only a five-minute walk from where she was currently standing. She was in this for the money, of which she had seen precious little, and Malcolm still held enough against her to get her sent down.
With any luck Baronaire’s solution would release Greel from this downward spiral and she
could perhaps start to piece her life back together.
She did not hold out much hope that such was even possible.
“I need to talk to Malcolm,” Greel said. “I need to sort this mess out.”
“Mr Malcolm,” Eric said, “is distancing himself from the law, Detective. You can understand that.”
“We still need to see him,” Lin said.
The big man turned lazy eyes upon her. “I don’t know you. No one I don’t know gets to see Mr Malcolm.”
“She’s clean,” Greel assured him.
“That’s what I’m assumin’.”
“I mean you can trust her. Eric, I’ve always been good to you, I’ve always kept Mr Malcolm informed. Haven’t I? When have I ever let you down before now?” She could see her words were getting through. She had known Eric for a couple of years now, and had never given him reason to doubt her sincerity, or her loyalty. Derek Malcolm was a careful man, and when it came to choosing allies he only went with those he knew he could trust. And he could trust Greel simply because of what he held over her. She could see all of this work its way quickly through Eric’s eyes and she added, “And it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know Lin and her partner were going down to the docks. They’re not in my department, don’t even work at my station.”
“No,” Eric said, in a tone which told Greel he had looked into the matter himself already. “Mr Malcolm’s willing to meet with you,” he said slowly, “but I’m not happy with this one being here. Why should I let her come along?”
Lin answered for her. “I used to keep an eye out for Thomas O’Leary. If that name doesn’t mean anything to you, check it out with your boss.”
This was the clincher and Greel held her breath. She had never herself heard of O’Leary, but Baronaire and Lin had informed her that O’Leary had run a drug racket down in the south-east. He had worked independently of Malcolm, but gave Malcolm a hefty cut. O’Leary’s operation had not quite the muscle or the gravitas of Malcolm’s and O’Leary had been all too happy to give away a portion of his profits if it meant he could continue his own operation. O’Leary met a bad end in a shoot-out, Greel had been told, which meant he wouldn’t be able to clarify what Lin was telling him now.
“I knew O’Leary,” Eric said cautiously. “Jumped up little jerk, thought he was a big man, but he was just a kid in a suit waving around a gun he didn’t know how to use.”
“Probably how he got himself killed,” Lin suggested.
“If you kept him informed, you didn’t do a very good job of it.”
“I kept the cops away from him,” Lin protested. “He didn’t want me knowing too much about his rivals, said it was none of my business. Maybe if I wasn’t keeping the cops away he wouldn’t’ve been gunned down.” She shrugged. “I just did what I was told.”
Eric’s eyes narrowed further as he sized her up, thinking. “O’Leary never mentioned he had a copper in his pocket.”
“Maybe there were other things he didn’t want your boss knowing as well.”
A smile broke Eric’s face then as he said, “Sounds like O’Leary all right. Fine, we’ll go see Mr Malcolm. But he’s not a happy man right now.”
Greel felt a weight lifted from her shoulders. But then she realised what this meant. They were going to see Malcolm, which was itself a whole heap of trouble. She tried not to look around for Baronaire, but Lin had said she wouldn’t have been able to see him anyway. Lin was confident Baronaire was there, watching them even now, and that had to be good enough for Greel. What they would do once they reached Malcolm, however, she had no idea at all.
*
Eric did not say a word as he led the two women through the winding structures surrounding the docks. Lin knew they were building down here, but she had not realised there was so much being done to the area. That Eric knew his way around was worrying, and she became more and more conscious of the fact he likely had more allies in the surrounding area than she. Greel was silent beside her, although the fists clenched by her sides were testimony to her anxiety. Lin had no idea what hold this man Malcolm had over Detective Greel, but it had to be something great indeed for her to allow his drugs to flood the streets; judging from how Baronaire had described her flat, Greel certainly wasn’t being paid handsomely for her assistance. There was one thing of which Lin was certain, however: this man Eric had been the driver who had killed the homeless guy which had set all this into motion.
They came to the mouth of a tunnel and Lin believed it was some kind of water sluice. It was likely a temporary construction while the buildings were being erected, and transferred water away from the areas they were building on. Lin did not know much about water or construction, however, and all she could see was a hole standing around five feet in diameter, with shallow water trickling through it.
Eric moved to the hole without hesitation, and only stopped when he noticed the detectives’ trepidation.
“You want to see the boss,” Eric said, “you have to come in this way.”
“Why’s he hiding in a hole?” Lin asked.
“Because the filth wouldn’t look for him there. He doesn’t ordinarily hide in the sewers, missy, but since you and that other guy found the body of that suit the boss has been keeping low. This is one of his bolt holes, and he’s going to have to stay here until the heat dies down.” He paused. “Don’t worry too much, it’s nicer inside. Even has electricity and carpet.”
Lin had to admit it was the most unattractive hideout she had ever seen, which made it entirely viable that Malcolm was indeed hiding out there. She cast a sidelong glance at Greel, who seemed resigned to go wherever she had to, and Lin figured if Greel could handle this then so could she.
Eric seemed to sense Lin’s approval at last and headed in, having to duck considerably in order to even enter the tunnel. Taking a deep breath, Lin followed, with Greel bringing up the rear.
The stench of the tunnel was terrible, and she realised Eric had not been joking when he said this was a sewer. The foulness was almost solid in its attack upon her, and her senses were finding it impossible to determine the individual smells arising. She thought of Baronaire following them, and could only imagine what this would be doing to his powerful senses. There was no question, however, that he would still be following them in.
The light faded the farther they walked, for Eric had produced no torch. Lin could feel the steady slosh of her feet in the carpet of mire through which they were trudging, and occasionally her toes would brush against something that was not liquid and she was glad she could not see a thing. She could hear a scratching as they moved, could feel the scampering of small bodies through the tunnel walls. Steeling her nerve, Lin pressed on, eager to get this over with so she could get home to a nice hot bath.
Eventually the tunnel petered out and Lin could see light ahead. The tunnel dropped into a circular chamber, about ten metres high and six or seven in diameter. She dropped gently into it and looked about, noting that the water in this chamber was past her ankles and blanketed by rows of light. She looked above to see a grille in the ceiling, leading to the surface high above. Even in the night sky, there was light filtering through to this chamber below. Looking around, Lin saw no other exits, although there were several pipes near the summit of the chamber, breaking through the wall as though they were themselves miniature tunnels.
The other thing she realised immediately was that Eric had vanished.
“Where’d he go?” Greel asked as she too dropped into the new chamber. “There aren’t any other exits.”
“There must have been one along the tunnel, and we walked straight past him.” Lin’s gaze was focused skyward, at the dark night outside. She had a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach and did not like this situation one bit. Her eyes met Greel’s once more and she said, “I think we should head back down that tunnel and get out of here.”
Just then a terrible clanging resounded through the chamber and they looked at their only exit to find a metal
door had been swung into place. They had failed to notice it in the darkness, and Lin knew this was bad. Hastening over to it, she found it locked, and running her fingers about its edges found it sealed tight. There wasn’t even any leverage for her to try to break the thing down.
“Lin!”
Greel’s cry was frantic and Lin heard the roar from above, the swift rush of fire. But as she was struck upon her head and shoulders she realised the roar had not been fire, but water, and she could see it pouring freely from those pipes up above, churning so many gallons of dirty water into the compact chamber in which the two detectives were trapped. Lin pounded recklessly upon the door, but it was taunting her in its stoic resistance. Water was slamming into the back of her head, soaking her and plastering her shirt and jacket to her skin. She rubbed her eyes, and as she tried to speak she spluttered as the filthy water attacked her incessantly.
“We have to get that door open!” Greel was shouting and Lin realised she was panicking. It was perhaps the last thing they needed right at that moment, although as the water rose to Lin’s knees she realised perhaps Greel was right in her fear.
“Help me with the door,” Lin said and slammed her shoulder into the offending doorway. Pain shot through her arm, and once more the door did not budge. Seconds later the water was up to her chest and she knew the resistance the water was providing would only make her efforts weaker. If the pressure of the water was not sufficient to break down the door however she knew nothing she could do would make any difference at all.
The water level rose swiftly and within a further ten seconds Lin felt her feet leave the ground. Treading water would not be a problem, although as she looked up at the grille in the ceiling it was with the understanding that Eric would not have trapped them in here if they could just break through it to freedom. She caught Greel’s eyes and spat water as it continued to pour from above, churning the liquid grave about them and creating annoying rapids which also didn’t help the situation any. Greel was floundering and Lin realised she could not swim, or at least was not strong enough to keep her head above the surface in these currents.
