The Family Man

by T. J. Lebbon

  ‘You know more than me?’ Andy asked.

  ‘Of course I do. I know more than anyone.’ Rose disconnected and accessed Strava. It took two minutes to follow Andy, find his new trip details, and download the map. Then she unfollowed and deleted her false account.

  Dialling another number, she looked along the quiet street. A light had come on in one of the houses, and from somewhere farther away she heard a motorbike engine sputter to life. She much preferred work like this to be done in the dark, but she could not hold back time. The world was waking up.

  ‘Good morning, darling,’ Holt said.

  ‘Hello, sweetie. Monk’s going under the name Philip Beck now. People call him Lip.’

  ‘Right.’ His voice was cool, flat, tempered by bad memories.

  ‘Maybe we should have stayed together. They’re on the Heads of the Valleys road, heading west. Lip’s probably after them.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Holt said.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means the lead I’m following has just got much warmer.’

  ‘What lead?’

  ‘I’ve been snooping police channels. A police car was run off the road less than half an hour ago. I’m heading that way.’

  ‘Where?’

  He told her the road number.

  ‘I’ll meet you there.’

  ‘Drive safe. Pick up some doughnuts and muffins.’ He hung up.

  Rose was worried. Holt sounded too hurried, too impulsive. He was chasing ghosts, and with the past on his mind he might become careless.

  Now that the police were involved things would become far more dangerous. But as Holt liked to quip on occasion, a little danger was good for the soul.

  Sonja was staying on Andy’s and the family’s tail. Still miles behind their quarry by Lip’s reckoning, she was keen to continue, and he suspected she had some inkling of where Andy was going. He hadn’t asked, and she had not yet volunteered the information. He was fine with that for now. The time would come.

  She asked him and Mary to see if Roman was still alive, and he was fine with that, too.

  Roman had been relaying road numbers, and before the Skype audio connection was lost, they had heard his scream. There was always the chance that he was still alive.

  Lip drove quickly. Mary had packed away her gadgets, and she stretched in her seat, searching the road for signs of Roman. As they headed uphill they both saw several sets of skid marks, and a couple of hundred metres further on the grassy verge was churned up. Lip pulled over, craning to see down the slope.

  ‘There’s a car.’

  ‘Could be it,’ Mary said. ‘Let’s—’

  ‘Wait,’ Lip said. He stared into the rear-view mirror. The road behind was deserted, but he was sure he’d seen an unwelcome flash of light. He was about to reach for the door handle when it came again.

  Blue light, flashing through the trees far back down the hillside.

  ‘Got your gun?’ he asked.

  Mary lifted her rump from the seat and took the pistol from her belt. Then she froze as she looked into her side mirror.

  ‘Cops? Really?’

  Lip said nothing. Mary knew the score. They could not be caught.

  ‘Put your window down ready,’ Lip said. ‘Pretend you’re on the phone.’

  Mary did as he said. The police vehicle powered up the road behind them, lights flashing, sirens silent. It did not appear to be slowing down. It passed them so quickly that Lip had no chance to see who was inside, or whether they even spared his Jeep a glance.

  ‘Maybe we should follow, Andy might have crashed.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Lip said. He thought it through. ‘We’re here now. Wherever they’re going to isn’t that close. If Andy had crashed, it would have been here.’

  ‘And Roman might still be alive,’ Mary said.

  ‘He might,’ Lip said. He jumped from the car, slammed the door behind him, and stared down the slope.

  The battered Focus was visible in the trees below, lying on its side with its underside showing. It had flattened a few bushes, scraped past a rocky outcropping, and come to rest thirty metres down the slope. There was no sign of movement, but it would only take a few minutes to check.

  Lip closed his eyes and breathed slowly. Fucking amateur, he thought. He’d never liked the idea of Sonja bringing in help. Maybe Mary knew what he was thinking, maybe not. Whatever the case, she would see things his way in the end. She always did.

  They worked their way down the slope. Lip went first, moving cautiously but quickly, holding onto rocks and small trees when he could. He smelled petrol and the heat of hot brakes, the tang of burned rubber. Dawn smeared the horizon, and already the sky was lightening. The road above would soon start to grow busier. He had to be quick.

  A few metres up the slope from the car he paused. Mary was just behind him, edging towards the car’s rear. Lip held up his hand and signalled her to stop. The car’s underside faced them. Petrol dripped.

  Someone was breathing. It was fast and light, punctuated with an intermittent groan.

  ‘Alive,’ Mary said.

  ‘Hello?’ Roman said. ‘Someone there?’ His voice was muffled and weak.

  Lip nodded at Mary, then worked around the front of the battered vehicle. It had come to rest against a rocky outcropping, and he had to ease himself over the rock to drop down beyond the mangled bonnet.

  ‘Oh, thank God!’ Roman said. ‘I’m trapped, something’s on my legs. I tried to release the seatbelt but my arm—’

  ‘Quiet,’ Lip said. Mary appeared from behind the tilted car, and they knelt together and looked inside.

  Roman was lying on his side against the smashed driver’s door, ferns half-obscuring his face. They were spattered with blood. His right arm appeared to be trapped, and his left arm flailed like a landed fish. Lip wasn’t sure how badly he was hurt, but it didn’t really matter.

  ‘You messed up,’ he said. ‘You and that prick Cal.’

  ‘Hey, he fucked up. I tried to put things right.’

  ‘And yet here you are,’ Lip said. He sat on the ground and examined the vehicle. It had come to rest on its side with the bonnet leaning on a rock, a thin tree bending beneath the weight of its rear end. Some of the tree’s branches were bent, others had snapped off and fallen beside the car.

  ‘You have to get me out,’ Roman said. ‘I smell petrol.’

  ‘Me too,’ Lip said. ‘You’re lucky I don’t smoke. Lucky it’s not Sonja come to rescue you.’

  Roman smiled, but his expression quickly dropped again. He could sense something. Lip liked that, when they knew.

  ‘Hey, you need to get me out,’ he said.

  ‘Lip?’ Mary asked.

  He looked at her. She already knew, he was sure, but that single glance told her everything. She smiled. I’ve been with her too long, Lip thought. She’s starting to enjoy it. That’s not right. It’s my thing, not hers.

  ‘Hand me that branch,’ he said. Mary did as he asked. He checked the snapped end. It was the thickness of his thumb, frayed where the living wood had been ripped from the tree’s narrow trunk. It was still moist.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Roman said. ‘My legs. My arm’s trapped, too. You’ll need something stronger than that.’

  ‘No,’ Lip said, plucking away some of the frayed splinters. ‘No, this’ll do fine.’

  He leaned towards the smashed windscreen, branch held out before him. He could hear Mary’s breath increasing. Her phone chimed as she started recording, light illuminating the scene. He didn’t care. Maybe they’d watch it together later, or maybe he’d wipe her whole phone when the time soon came to leave. Perhaps he’d wipe her, too. On that matter, he’d made no decision one way or the other.

  ‘Wait,’ Roman said. ‘Wait, what do you—’

  Lip jabbed. It was a clumsy first shot, catching the corner of Roman’s mouth and flexing his cheek, scraping his gums and tongue.

  The trapped man cried out in shock, surprise.<
br />
  Lip changed position slightly so that he could grip the branch with both hands. He waited, breathing slowly, watching Roman try to jerk his head aside. But he was pressed to the ground on his right side, and there was little scope for movement.

  The next jab was aimed better. Roman screamed as the branch’s ragged end pierced his left eye. He shuddered in his seat, head shaking from left to right.

  ‘Keep still,’ Lip said. His voice had barely changed.

  As if compelled by some idea that Lip really was trying to help, Roman became suddenly motionless.

  Lip placed one hand flat against the branch’s other end and pushed.

  ‘I got it all,’ Mary said. ‘All of it.’ She showed him the phone, eyes wide and excited, pupils dilated. It looked like she’d just had sex, not watched a man die.

  Lip nodded but said nothing. These were private moments for him, and he craved peace and solitude to process them. So he climbed up towards the Jeep, leaving Mary to follow behind. She knew him well enough by now to remain silent and give him space. He was glad.

  He moved quickly. They had to be away from here as soon as possible. Roman had been an unexpected distraction, but the main fun was still to be had. All they had to do was catch them.

  As usual following a killing, the world opened up around him, his senses sharpened, everything fresher and louder, more colourful and fragrant. It was as if murder gave him a new lease of life, temporarily seeing away age and ills and resetting him to a stronger, younger self. His painful left knee was comfortable once again, the failing sight in his left eye no longer a problem. He climbed that hill as a younger man, but still retaining the knowledge and experience of someone older.

  It was like a drug, and it coursed through his veins and sparked his synapses. If he could bottle it he would be rich. But Lip did not care about money or perceived wealth. This was what he lived for. It was very much his own special narcotic, and it was not for sharing with anyone.

  He heard the car before he saw it. The engine sound did not seem to match the battered old vehicle that pulled up thirty metres behind the Jeep. He froze and crouched, glancing back at Mary. She was down the slope from him and slightly to the left. He gestured for her to move further away, and she scampered through ferns until she was hidden within a clump of trees.

  He’d heard no doors opening or closing. The engine still turned over, headlights illuminating the Jeep. Dawn was close.

  He headed up the slope at a crouch, eyes still on the banged up old car. The engine sounded too powerful and well-tuned for the vehicle. What sort of person took care of an engine and not the chassis?

  A car enthusiast. Or someone trying to hide.

  Lip paused. He was ten metres from the Jeep. The slope was still too steep for him to see inside the other car, but he was sure the driver had not exited. At times like this, forward motion was often the best course of action. Holding back, staying down, meant losing control of the situation. Lip was someone very much used to control.

  He scrambled up the slope towards the front of the Jeep, and as he reached for the door he strained to see past the glare of the other car’s headlights.

  ‘Right there’s fine,’ a voice said from behind him. ‘One hand on the handle. You can raise the other one.’

  Lip froze.

  ‘I said raise it. Higher.’

  A hard voice, with a subtle French accent. That tweaked his memories, but he could not sort through them. The present was still drowning the past with its wash of recent sensations. When he blinked, he saw Roman’s punctured eye oozing around the splintered end of the stick. The Frenchman’s voice was only a vague echo against that. A whisper from the past.

  The fact that he knew the voice meant trouble. Soon he would place it, and the trouble would find form.

  Lip kept his right hand on the door and raised his left.

  ‘And a little higher.’

  He stretched.

  ‘Where’s the other one?’ the man asked.

  ‘What other one?’ Lip replied. There was a good chance the man had not seen Mary and was simply fishing. The pause confirmed this.

  ‘Okay. Right hand up too, then turn around slowly.’

  ‘I know you,’ Lip said before he turned.

  ‘You’ll know me a lot better when I can see your face,’ the man said. His voice had dropped and grown quieter, and Lip felt a rush of something he was unused to. Fear.

  The man was waiting for him to turn around before he shot him.

  Lip raised his right hand. He risked a glance down the slope towards where Mary had fallen into the shadowy embrace of the trees. He could not see her. She was quick and silent when she wanted to be. Mentally damaged, but effective at what she did. Maybe she’d already had long enough. Maybe she needed a little longer.

  ‘We can work this out,’ Lip said.

  ‘There’s nothing to work out,’ the man said. He sounded surprised. ‘Turn around or I’ll shoot out your left knee.’

  Lip turned slowly.

  ‘Monk,’ the man said.

  Lip blinked in surprise. He hadn’t heard that name spoken in some years. But coming from this man, it instantly placed him in Lip’s past, illuminating a history he had mostly forgotten. Of course. The man was from a past life. It was not often that Lip, né Monk, né many other identities, allowed his new and old lives to cross over, not even in memory. It was why he had survived so long.

  This was not the first time he had stared into the barrel of a gun. But it must have been the closest he had ever been to dying.

  ‘I killed your sister,’ Lip said.

  ‘You tortured her, then you killed her.’

  ‘And you’re going to do the same to me.’

  The man did not reply.

  ‘Holt. That’s your name. I remember it now. You were sent to kill me, and …’ Lip’s right shoulder twitched half an inch higher. His version of a shrug.

  ‘I’ve been torturing you in my imagination for a decade,’ Holt said. ‘Now I have you, killing you will be enough.’

  ‘Then you’d better—’

  The gunshot shattered the morning silence. Lip dropped to the side, breath knocked from him, and rolled across the verge and down the slope. He came to rest on his front, flattened against the sheep-shit-covered incline and looking up, expecting a bullet in his face.

  Holt was leaning against the front of the Jeep, sliding slowly down. He still held his gun, but it looked as if he’d forgotten what he had come here for. His face was slack with confusion. He looked down at his front, and at the bloom of blood appearing across his left hip.

  Mary skipped around the front of the Jeep and pressed her gun against Holt’s neck. She snatched his weapon away from him, looking up and down the road, then down at Lip.

  ‘Who the hell’s this?’ she asked, eyes wide. ‘Shall I do it? Let me do it.’

  ‘No,’ Lip said. He stood and walked back up the slope, pausing in front of Holt and looking him up and down. His dark, wrinkled skin was greying, and his eyes swam. It must be hurting a lot.

  ‘Fuck you,’ Holt said.

  ‘Your sister knew you were the reason I was killing her, because I told her.’

  Holt came for him, pushing himself from the Jeep, left hand clawing for Lip’s throat.

  Lip simply stepped aside. One hard nudge sent Holt to the road’s gravelly edge. One solid kick against the gunshot wound in his side made him scream, and then pass out. He moaned groggily. His hands scratched at the road, and perhaps he was torturing Lip in his mind’s eye once more.

  ‘Help me,’ Lip said, reaching for Holt’s legs.

  ‘Thanks would be nice,’ Mary said.

  ‘Thank you.’

  They bundled Holt into the Jeep’s spacious boot. He wasn’t very heavy. ‘There’s rope under the back seat,’ Lip said.

  ‘Can’t you get it?’ Mary was pissed that he hadn’t let her kill the older guy, but Lip didn’t care. Why Holt was here, how, and who might have come wit
h him were problems for later. This was another unexpected bonus, and one he could have never imagined landing in his lap. It looked like today was going to be a good day.

  ‘No,’ Lip said. ‘I’m getting the glue.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Hottest Day

  Andy had scratches on his eye. Emma fished out a shard of glass from the shattered window, and plucked several more gravelly glass bits from his eyelid and surrounding skin. She could do no more than that. Andy could see only watery images, so he kept his eye closed against the slicing pain. Perhaps the damage was permanent, but he seemed unconcerned. Though injured and in pain, he was the only one who could steal another car.

  Dawn was breaking and the roads were coming to life. They chose a small valley town with a main car park already half full. Dom parked against the side wall of a derelict building at one edge of the car park, shielding the battered wings and smashed window of the Leon from casual view. He tucked the pistol into his waistband and made sure his shirt covered it before leaving the car. He took the bag of cash with him.

  Andy rooted around in the boot and took out a small tool roll. He plucked a couple of items from it, slammed the boot shut, and threw the roll at Daisy. She caught it easily.

  Andy took just over two minutes to break into an old-style Mazda 6 estate and get it started. He shuffled over, Dom jumped into the driver’s seat, and five minutes after entering the car park they were away again.

  ‘So where exactly are we going?’ Dom asked.

  ‘Back to the Heads of the Valleys road and head west,’ Andy said. ‘I have a place near the coast close to Aberaeron, a getaway. I go there sometimes, haven’t even told you about it. I train for some of my trips there, relax, spend time alone. It’s somewhere safe.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Dom asked.

  ‘Sure what?’

  ‘That it’s safe. Because everything we’ve done up to now has ended up far from safe.’

  ‘Dom, I’m in this with you.’

  ‘No. You’re really not. You’re in this with you. I’m in this with my family.’ He looked in the mirror and saw Emma and Daisy huddled together, Daisy’s head on her mother’s shoulder. Emma stared back. She looked grim, but she spared him a smile.