Stone Cold

by J. D. Weston

  "Morning, Harvey," said John cheerily from behind his desk. He had a coffee in front of him and was reading the paper.

  "It's done," said Harvey dryly.

  "I can see, Harvey. It says so right here. The papers don't mess about, do they? Probably couldn't wait to tell the world that Terry Thomson has been killed," John looked away out of the window. "All these years we've been enemies, Harvey. You know, I think I’ll miss him."

  Harvey didn’t reply.

  “He burnt down my first bar you know.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, he reckoned I was on his patch. I weren’t. On his patch, you know?”

  Harvey didn’t respond.

  “Funny isn’t it?”

  “What’s funny?”

  “Life, Harvey. Life.”

  “It depends on your sense of humour, John.”

  “I can’t remember the last time I saw you laugh, Harvey.”

  “I don't remember complaining about it.”

  “No, of course not. You never complained about anything really. When you were a little boy, you laughed at everything, always smiling you were.”

  John looked up at Harvey, “Did I do okay?”

  “When?”

  “You know, as a dad. Was I a good dad?”

  “Like I said, I don't remember complaining.”

  “You had everything you needed right?”

  “For a while.”

  John sensed the reference to Hannah.

  “I’m going to miss you, Harvey. Honestly, Son. I love Donny of course, I love you both. But you have something inside you that any dad would be proud of. You’re a special guy, Son.”

  Harvey didn’t respond.

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Depends.”

  “What are you going to do when I give you the name?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “No. No, probably best I don't know eh?”

  Another silence fell.

  “The guns?” John asked, his eyebrow raised questioningly.

  “In a van in the garage. You’ll need to get rid of it.”

  John nodded, “All of them?”

  Harvey didn't reply.

  “Good. Good work. You sure I can’t convince you to stay, Harvey?”

  “No. It’s time.”

  “Okay, okay. So you want the name then I imagine?” John stood and walked to his liquor cupboard. It was early, but the day was already full of loss. John poured himself a brandy, three ice cubes. He set it down on the desk and walked to Harvey.

  “Give your old man a hug, Son. Before you go eh?”

  Harvey gave the older man a hug. He smelled the coffee and brandy, he’d never forget that smell.

  John walked back to his chair, sipped his brandy and leaned forward, linking his fingers as he did.

  “You know who it is, don't you?”

  “I have an idea.”

  “Who do you think it is?”

  “Sergio.”

  “How come you never acted on it then?”

  “Nobody ever confirmed it. You always protected him.”

  John nodded, “I’m sorry, Son.”

  “Why are you telling me, now of all times?”

  “Why am I telling you? He’s no longer an asset, Harvey, black and white.”

  “Did he set Julios up?”

  “Not directly, but…yes,” John paused. “Sergio knows too much, Harvey. He’s become a liability.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I don't know, at the office probably.”

  “Message him, tell him to come here then leave.”

  John picked up his phone and sent Sergio a message saying he was working from home and that he should join him.

  “When are you leaving, Son?” asked John.

  “I’ll be gone when you get back.”

  John’s eyes moistened a little.

  “You know where the cash will be right?”

  Harvey nodded.

  An SMS alert sounded on John’s phone. John looked down at it, nodded, then looked up at Harvey.

  “Bye, Son.”

  “Bye, Dad.”

  John walked to the door, looked back at Harvey, then left the office. Harvey remained standing. He walked to the window and watched John load a small suitcase into his car and drive out of the gates. Harvey set to work.

  Sergio arrived at John's house. He parked in the large driveway and walked to the front door. As always, he opened it and walked in. Within minutes he had his laptop open and was sitting on the guest side of John's large desk, with his back to the door. Harvey watched him arrive from behind the double staircase. He watched his movements, his face and his actions. Sergio was unaware, clueless. John hadn't warned him.

  Harvey crept across the large rug that covered the hallway floor and stood in the doorway. Sergio continued to work on a spreadsheet.

  "Today's a special day, Sergio," said Harvey.

  Sergio jumped at the words and stood. Harvey had the exit covered, and Sergio looked around, knowing full well that the room had no other doors.

  "Morning, Harvey. Where's John?" he said nervously.

  “Out, I guess.”

  “When will he be back? He asked me to come?”

  Harvey took a step into the room. Sergio took a step back.

  “What’s the matter, Sergio? You seem a little jumpy.”

  “I asked you a question, Harvey, when will John be back?”

  “I don't think it matters, does it?”

  Sergio stepped behind John’s desk, putting the large wooden obstacle in Harvey’s way.

  “Why don’t we go for a little walk, Sergio. Just you and me, eh?”

  “I need to stay, in case John comes back,” he offered, weakly.

  “Sergio, you and I are going for a little walk. You can do it the easy way or the hard way.”

  “Why, what do you want?”

  “You know what I want, Sergio.”

  “You want money? I can give you money, I have access to it all; everything.”

  “Money doesn’t really interest me, Sergio. I live a simple life.” Harvey took another step closer to him. Sergio backed away, keeping the desk between them.

  “I’m not chasing you, Sergio, either you come for a walk with me, or I shoot you and drag you behind me. Trust me, it’ll hurt a lot less if you walked. But I don't mind either way. You know me by now.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “For a walk. We’re going to have a chat.”

  “We’ve never chatted before, why now?”

  Harvey didn’t reply. He just stared.

  Sergio walked from behind the desk to his bag by the guest chair.

  “I just need my bag.”

  “You won’t need that where you’re going, Sergio.”

  Sergio’s hands shook as he found the handles to the tan leather laptop bag, and picked it up. “I’ll take it anyway.”

  "So be it, come on, after you." Harvey waved him past harmlessly, and Sergio walked to the door. Harvey saw his hand reach into his bag slyly. By the time Sergio had pulled the gun and turned around, Harvey had his Sig out. He aimed and took Sergio's kneecap off his right leg.

  Sergio went down, screaming in pain. He dropped the gun and held his ruined leg with both hands.

  Harvey picked Sergio’s left leg up in both hands and dragged him behind the double staircase toward the kitchen. He kicked open the door to the basement and dropped his leg onto the hard concrete steps.

  “Stop, stop, no.”

  Harvey stepped behind Sergio, placed his foot on his back and shoved him with his foot. Sergio bounced from stair to stair, his damaged leg bending awkwardly off the walls, he landed in a crumpled heap at the foot of the steep steps on the cold hard concrete floor.

  Harvey went back to collect the gun that had been dropped then returned to the basement, closed the door behind him and slowly walked down the stairs.

  He dragged Sergio to one of the two wood
en uprights in the centre of the basement that supported the floor above and tied his hands around the thick wooden beam. Sergio lay slumped on the floor. He was out cold, and a large bump was forming on his head.

  Tied to the other beam was Tyson. He was tied in a similar manner but stripped to his underwear, which was soiled and stained. He stank. He was also out cold. Harvey had used chloroform to silence him, which allowed Harvey to prepare without the pointless struggles of a man who sees exactly how he is going to die. There would plenty of time for that later.

  Opposite the two beams, at the foot of the stairs, stood an old copper bathtub with claw feet. It was two feet deep with rolled edges. A real antique. The tub was two-thirds full of lukewarm water. Beneath the tub, Harvey had placed two small gas burners. They would take a while to heat the water to boiling temperature, but would do the trick; the longer it took the better. Harvey was in no hurry.

  He pulled up a chair and waited for the two men to wake up.

  It was Sergio who woke first to Harvey’s surprise. The instant he woke, the man with the ruined leg gasped at the pain and tried in vain to clutch his knee. His bound hands wouldn’t allow it; he sucked in air through gritted teeth to calm his breathing.

  "Harvey," he shouted between gasps, "Harvey, untie me now." His efforts at authority fell on deaf ears. Harvey remained silent and motionless, and continued to sit, watching and enjoying. He took the time to imagine what the little man had done to his sister in that very room. Harvey remembered the screams he'd heard while hiding amongst the shadows in the kitchen at the top of the stairs. The cold tiled floor had hurt his young bare feet, but he had dared not move. He’d been trapped by the man who had come for a smoke after he'd finished. Jack.

  He imagined Sergio back then. Harvey could barely remember him; he only remembered the eyes. He never forgot eyes. Shame, guilt, hate, pleasure, Harvey could see it all in peoples eyes.

  “I saw them, Sergio. Your eyes.”

  “What? What are you talking about? Let me go, damn it.”

  “I saw them at her funeral. You were shamed, not sad.”

  “Whose funeral, Harvey? Just tell me what you want.”

  “You remember her, don’t you? Hannah?”

  Sergio didn’t reply.

  “Ah, I thought so. You remember her well.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Harvey. Of course I remember her, she was your sister.”

  "But you remember her better than the others don't you? Not Jack of course. He remembered her as you do, but, sadly he doesn't remember her anymore, he doesn't remember anything does he. You do remember Jack, don't you, Sergio?"

  “Harvey, I don’t know what you want from me, but tell me, you can have it, please Harvey,” Sergio broke down into sobs; his body convulsed as he cried. “Please, Harvey. All these years I’ve taken care of you.”

  “All these years, Sergio, you’ve lied to me.”

  “What? Tell me what you want, you can have anything.”

  “There’s nothing you can volunteer, Sergio. The only thing I want is to see you suffer.”

  “I am suffering, Harvey, look at me, I’ll never walk again.”

  “You’ll never do many things again, Sergio.” Harvey’s east London accent became thick as he worked himself up. He was allowing himself to disregard Julios’ rule of maintaining a check on emotions. It was his emotion that was running the show.

  "You're going to die a very painful death, Sergio." Harvey strolled casually over to the tub. The water was warming, not hot, not cold, nearly warm, but it was a slow process. Vengeance usually was.

  Shaun came to in a panic to find himself restrained and semi-naked. “What the? Where am I? Who are you? What’s going on?”

  Harvey shot him a glance, and Shaun silenced. “You woke in time for the show, Shaun. Do you know Sergio?” Harvey presented Sergio with his open palm.

  “No, I, I don’t think I do. I know you though. You’re the man-”

  “Shhh, keep the noise down Shaun. This is a civilised show. We don’t want the cast spoiling it for the audience do we?”

  Shaun looked around him, “Who else is here? Where the bloody hell am I?”

  "You are both about to die an excruciating and horrible death for your sins." Harvey used his left hand to present the bathtub to the men.

  Harvey stared at them both for a long time, then at the bath.

  “Who’s first?”

  As expected, neither man spoke. “Should I choose?”

  "Harvey you sick son of a bitch, you can't do this. John won't allow it, your father won't allow it."

  “Oh, Sergio, you know me better than that don’t you? Do you honestly think I’d do anything to upset the family business?”

  Sergio quietened, "See, so you can't kill me, I know too much, the business won't run without me."

  “I can assure you John has everything he needs to continue without you. And, he’ll probably make more profit, I know you’ve been skimming off the top, Sergio.”

  “I have not.”

  "Sergio, what’s the matter with you? Do I have to remind you that you are sitting on the floor with a kneecap missing? I am boiling a bath of water, in which you are going to sit, and boil," he paused, "To death, Sergio. So, why don't you make it easier on yourself and just stop lying? The more upset I am with you, the more painful I'll make it won't I? It's not rocket science, Sergio."

  “Okay, okay, so I took some, occasionally.”

  “Sergio?”

  “Okay, I took a lot, often.”

  “Of course you did, Sergio. I would have done the same.” Harvey stood and pulled the chair closer to them both.

  Sergio began to sob again. Shaun joined in.

  “You have got to be kidding? Shut up!” Harvey shouted, “Right, seeing as neither of you wants to go first, we’ll have a competition.”

  Sergio and Shaun looked at each other confused.

  “Okay, let’s start with Shaun. I feel we ought to get to know you a little better, Shaun. Confess.”

  “Eh?”

  “Confess. Do I need to explain the definition of the word, confess?”

  “No.”

  “What does it mean then?”

  “To own up.”

  “Good, now confess.”

  “To what?”

  Harvey smiled, he stood, turned the chair around and straddled it, so he could lean forward on the back of the chair with his chin on his arms.

  “The more you confess, the easier I will make it. Whoever confesses the least, is the loser, and losers bath first. Sound fair?”

  Shaun and Sergio looked at each other again.

  “Okay, I’ll tell you,” began Sergio.

  “No, no, no, Sergio. You had your chance, but don’t worry, that was just a warm-up round. You’ll get another go soon enough.”

  Harvey turned to Shaun. Shaun looked up at Harvey miserably, he felt like he was gambling for his life with the devil.

  Harvey felt like the devil.

  “I was young,” he began, “I was raped.”

  “That’s not really a confession, Shaun.”

  “I know, but that’s when it all started. Ever since then, I’ve had these urges.”

  “Tell me about the first one, Shaun.”

  Frank was driving to work on the M4 when his phone dinged, alerting him of an incoming message. He checked his distance to the car in front, checked his mirror and picked the phone up from the up from the centre console.

  He immediately dialled a number from memory. The phone rang over the car’s audio system, and he placed the phone back in the console.

  “Mills.”

  “Mills, Frank.”

  “Sir, good morning.”

  “I need you and the boys.”

  “Where, sir?”

  "I just got a message, I'll forward it to you, look up the address, call the boys in, then tell me how to get there." He hung up, found the message in his inbox and forwarded it to Melody. He kept th
e phone in his hand and joined the lorries in the slow lane.

  Moments later the phone rang through the car’s audio system.

  “Mills?”

  “Theydon Bois, sir. It’s-”

  “I know it. How long until you’re there?”

  “An hour, sir. Denver is on his way with the van and Reg. How far out are you?”

  “An hour, maybe less, it depends on the M25.”

  “Okay, sir, we’ll call when we’re close.”

  “Melody?”

  “Sir?”

  "No locals, this is it. If we do this right, we'll tip the balance, and the board won't be able to say no."

  Melody was silent.

  “Mills?”

  “Sir, yes, of course, sir. No locals.”

  Frank hit the 'disconnect' button and took the exit to the M25. He followed the slip road around, maintaining his speed, then hit the grill lights once he was on the M25 and stayed in the fast lane. Occasionally he came up behind a sleeper, a morning driver who just plain refuses to look in their mirrors, but a long hard sound of the horn moved them out of the way. He made good time and came off the M25 into Waltham Abbey.

  He slowed his average speed and found the last called numbers on his phone, then dialled Melody.

  “Sir?”

  “Situation report?”

  “Epping, sir. ETA fifteen to twenty minutes. The van doesn’t have blues and twos, but we’re getting there,” she called over the loud noise of the van.

  “I’m coming in from Waltham Abbey, I’ll be in the village before you.”

  “Hi, sir,” said Reg, “I’ve got you on screen. Hope you don’t me tapping into your call? Shout when you’re approaching Theydon, and I’ll guide you in.”

  “Good stuff, Reg. Ten minutes.”

  “Copy that.”

  Frank disconnected again, proud of his team. He felt it. It was time. This was the one.

  22

  Retribution

  “Do you feel better for that, Shaun?”

  Shaun sat cross-legged, with his legs curled around the beam and his head resting on the smooth oak. Shame fell from his face in little drops; he started to say more.

  “Now, now, Shaun. It’s Sergio’s turn.”

  Sergio looked up, horrified at the story he’d just heard. Shaun remained with his head against the beam.