The FACEBOOK KILLER: Part 2

by M. L. Stewart

  *

  The sea had become increasingly rougher since leaving Mexico. It didn’t seem to affect Bruce from Scotland, the pianist, as he banged out Don McLean’s American Pie. Meena returned from the bar with a tray full of drinks.

  “I just want to tell you two how appreciative I am of your service. My friends were right, you two are the best,” said Albert through gritted teeth.

  “Thank you Mr. Albert, Sir,” Ahmed replied, “we are very grateful for the watches and anything else which you have in mind.”

  That greedy fucking bastard. Calm down Albert! Not long now. “That brings me to my next point. Tonight I want us all to relax and have a few drinks. To tell you the truth I haven’t felt at all at ease having all that cash lying around the cabin, so I have decided to give you your tips tonight.”

  The apples looked excitedly at each other. Meena had already told Ahmed about the $25,000 the casino dealer had received, and for doing what?

  And so we drank. Bruce from Scotland played. The drunks sitting around the piano sang louder. The ship rolled heavier in the seas and we drank some more. The apples hadn’t even bothered to ask why Albert was still wearing that ridiculous tux. Given half a second they would launch into Urdu whispers, no doubt discussing how much cash they were about to receive. The whispers started to piss us off after a while. The sniggers. It showed a total lack of fucking respect. They could at least give us some of that.

  It was 11:30pm Albert sent Meena to get another tray of drinks. They had to be drunk for this to work. He had promised them that he wouldn’t be partaking of breakfast in the morning, so they had no reason to be up early. With no one to whisper to, Ahmed turned to Albert.

  “You didn’t tell us sir, what is the special occasion?”

  My mind flashed back to that last photograph we had taken. The ship’s course was displayed on the plasma screen behind the photographer. It was the ship’s speed I had been looking for. 20 knots. That’s when I had seen it. The date. It was Laura’s birthday.

  “Oh it’s nothing really. Just a sort of personal celebration,” replied Albert, his hands starting to shake, “a milestone if you like.”

  “It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

  “Not mine, no, but it’s an important day. Let’s leave at that, eh?”

  Meena returned from the bar for the last time. Bruce was attempting a rendition of Sinatra’s “My Way”. We discussed the weather and other topics, which went in one ear and out the other. Albert finished his last glass of vodka before attempting to get to his feet. The roll of the ship and the alcohol were taking their toll on his balance.

  “Please come with me,” Albert asked his apples.

  They drunkenly followed him out onto deck, giggling as they held onto each other. The wind was howling, a stark contrast to the air-conditioned interior, hot and humid. As the ship lurched forwards Albert could feel the spray stinging his eyes. Fuck, was this a good idea?

  Albert and his apples were standing outside of the, now deserted, restaurant. We had noticed, the day before, that there were no cabins near and the solitary security camera still had the chocolate fudge cake stuck to its lens.

  “Now kids,” Albert had to shout over the wind, “Before I make this presentation, I want a photograph. So stand next to the rails there and smile.”

  The apples followed the roll of the ship and ended up leaning against the rails. The crash of the waves beneath unnerved Albert. He reached into his pocket. Then another. Then an inside pocket.

  “Sorry,” he yelled, “I’ve left my camera in the bar. Don’t move. Stay exactly where you are or you won’t get your tips.” Albert disappeared back inside. Ahmed tried in vain to light up a cigarette.

  We had timed the sprint to the deck below at exactly twenty-one seconds. That was when other guests were around. That was when it hadn’t been Laura’s birthday. That was without the rage. It took Albert twelve seconds. When he got outside, he pulled the cable ties as hard as possible around his ankles, the blasting wind made his trousers look like those a clown would wear. He pulled his belt two notches tighter. Taking another belt from his jacket pocket, he fastened it tightly around his chest, securing the pieces of dissected life jacket, which had gone unnoticed. The ship lurched to the portside. He thought twice. He saw Laura’s birthday cake. He didn’t think again that night. The rage took over. He made the phone call. “Man overboard Starboard side.” He grabbed the life belt and tied it around his waist. He climbed over the railing and clambered onto lifeboat number fourteen. The ship crashed forward again, covering him in salt spray. It didn’t matter. He didn’t notice. The rage was in control. Ten seconds later and the rage had climbed onto the roof of the lifeboat, crawled along it’s gantry and was holding onto the railings of the deck above. The rage could see its apples. They hadn’t moved. Still waiting for their photograph and cash. The rage inched along the outside of the railings, it’s latex hands gripping onto the bottom rung, a tiny ledge below giving its feet something to balance on, a few centimetres between it and the raging sea below. It quickly moved into position below the apples. Still waiting. Photograph. Cash. No respect. It knew it had to wait for the horn. Ahmed had told us that. The rage was making Albert shake. I could see the candles on Laura’s birthday cake. I could hear her laughter again. I watched her take a deep breath. The ship’s horn sounded. One long blast. “Bravo, Bravo. Starboard side.” The rage started to climb the railings like an invisible spider. It’s hands were either side of the apples now. Then it happened, just as Ahmed said it would. The ship started to list. It was turning around. The rage felt itself falling backwards. It made its move. It had them both by the neck. The ship listed further. Deckchairs crashed against the railings. People screamed from somewhere above. The lifeboats swung out, straining on their chains. We hit the water like a fucking atomic bomb.

  Albert had reported the man overboard to be from the other side of the ship and now the propellers were sucking us in as she turned. It was pitch black. The apples were silent. Nowhere to be seen. No photograph, no cash, just a huge vortex of water pulling at us. Trying to drag us under the ship. Albert’s clown trousers were keeping us afloat but the suction of the propellers was overpowering. Albert through the life ring in the opposite direction to where he had last seen the apples. I have to admit at this point I could see the end coming. I had failed. I closed my eyes and thought about Anna and Laura. “Happy birthday little one. Don’t blow the candles out yet. Wait for me. I’m coming.” My tears were soon washed away by another crashing wave.

  I didn’t even know that Albert had taken them, but thank god he had. I hadn’t noticed them in the jacket pockets. He had never been my favourite, Albert that is, but as we were tossed around in the darkness, as each wave battered us against that ship, I felt amazingly proud of him. The clunk of metal on metal, the feeling of security as the magnets held firmly to the hull and the relief that we hadn’t managed to book a better cabin, after all they would probably have modern slimline speakers. I thanked god for the world’s biggest stereo speakers.

  The Florida Post (Online Edition)

  Two Crew Members Feared Lost At Sea: British Pensioner Hailed A Hero By Authorities.

  The search for two crewmembers missing from the Carnival Glory cruise ship has been abandoned, the Mexican Coastguard announced today. The rescue mission involved both US and Mexican coastguard helicopters 70 nautical miles off the island of Cozumel in the Gulf of Mexico. A nearby cruise liner, Royal Caribbean’s “Oasis Of The Seas”, diverted its course to assist in the search. The unnamed crewmembers are believed to have fallen overboard shortly before midnight yesterday.

  A spokesman for the Mexican Authorities praised the valiant efforts of a 71-year-old passenger from England who witnessed the event.

  “An elderly passenger upon the Carnival Glory jumped overboard with a life ring in an attempt to save the lives of the two crewmembers. He was, however, unsuccessful. The gentleman was taken by helicopter to Mexico City Munic
ipal Hospital, from where he was later discharged and has now returned to the United Kingdom.

  The Police Authority say that there are no suspicious circumstances. A spokesperson for Carnival told The Post that they are trying to trace the next of kin and working closely with fellow crewmembers who have been traumatised by the incident.

  And so the tree was bare. The harvest complete. Only one thing remained. The lumberjack named Death.

  Chapter 19.

  The Chief Purser had accompanied Albert in the helicopter. He brought our laptop and the few clothes that had remained in the cabin. He had also cashed out the ship’s card and gave him the remaining cash. Albert was upset to hear that I Made, his cabin steward, was about to be fired for failing to ensure that there was a life jacket in the cabin. So he handed back $200,000 for I Made and his family.

  I hated London. I despised everything it had become; yet it felt good to be back. We had escaped the death penalty. Heathrow airport seemed like the light at the end of the tunnel.

  As we left the aircraft, Abdul Hamid awoke to the knocking on his hotel room door. As the customs officer handed us back the laptop, Hamid received a package of his own. By the time Serge arrived to collect us, Hamid had thrown up three times. His fiancée’s severed hand had arrived. Their entwined initials slightly obscured by the decaying flesh.

  *

  “How is his mother?” Albert asked Serge.

  “Whose mother?” He replied.

  “How many mothers do you have kidnapped each week?”

  “Oh, that journalist. She is good.”

  “You haven’t harmed her have you?”

  Serge laughed from the depth of his belly. “My friend. We are not all animals. She is probably having...how do you call it...the times of her life.”

  Albert glanced suspiciously at the still-chuckling Serge. “How do you mean?”

  “My friend, you pay us thirty thousand pounds for to make this kidnap. We see the woman. She is old. We have a meeting. We decide that we can tie her up like in the movies and make ten years in prison if we are caught or we can take her for a holiday.”

  “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “The old woman is in Greece. One of my cousins owns a villa there on a little island with no phones. He tell her that she won some competition or something. One month holiday. No expenses,” Serge turned to look at Albert, “My friend. We are not so stupid.”

  We stopped by the lock up to check on Devoy. The doctor had done an excellent job; fed and watered as per instructions. Albert told him that it would only be another day or so. The UV lamps were all working perfectly and the freezers were at a constant minus five. Fuck it felt good to be home.

  Albert drove the camper van back to the Epping Forest campsite. After several drinks in the bar we headed back through the woods to Laputa. We slept like babies that night.

  *

  “ Matthew Gerradine speaking.”

  “ Is that with one R or two?”

  “ Mr. Madison?”

  “Are your police friends still hanging around?”

  “No, I have relinquished all affiliation.”

  “Good boy. Now listen carefully. Your mother has not been hurt...yet, but it will only take one phone call, do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “So tell me Mr. Gerradine, WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU PLAYING AT?”

  “It was Pearson, the Assistant Chief Constable. He knows it’s you. He wanted me to get some evidence. He’s hell bent on discrediting the investigation.”

  “How close is he?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Does he have any evidence?”

  “Nothing. He even lost track of Abdul Hamid. We know he was in Scotland but something seems to have spooked him and he fled.”

  “Don’t worry about that little bastard. I know exactly where he is. Tell me Matthew, you don’t mind if I call you Matthew, do you?”

  “Go right ahead Mr. Madison, Sir.”

  “So Matthew tell me. Do you think what we have been doing is wrong?”

  Silence.

  “Hello? I asked you a question Matthew.”

  “How many?”

  “How many what?”

  “How many have you killed?”

  “Oh fuck knows? Maybe fourteen or fifteen.”

  Silence.

  “And how many more?”

  “Tell me more about this character Pearson. Why has he got it in for me.”

  “No, no, it’s nothing personal Mr. Madison, he wants to make his boss out to be incompetent so he can step into his shoes.”

  “Nothing personal. Nothing fucking personal? Matthew. I am going to ask you a question and I want you to picture your mother when I ask it. Picture her bound and gagged in a rat-infested cellar somewhere, crying, begging for her life. Can you see her?”

  “Yes. Yes I can see her.”

  “Now tell me truthfully Matthew, is Pearson planning to offer a reward for me?”

  A long pause, then “Yes.”

  Meddling pig bastard. No one was going to stop us now. We were too close.

  “Is he corruptible?”

  “What? You mean money?”

  “Of course I mean money.”

  “I suppose you could try, but I think it’s more about power.”

  “I’ll need an address.”

  “No, no, I can’t.”

  “Who is more important to you Matthew? Your mother or your police friend.”

  Silence.

  “54 Dennison Park Road, Hampstead.”

  “Good boy.”

  Click.

  *

  Albert let himself in with the Sputnik lock-pick. The house was obviously a reflection of its owner’s mind. Everything was spick and span, verging on the compulsive. It was a shrine to William J. Pearson’s police career. The mantelpiece and walls were adorned with certificates, awards and photographs. This was obviously the sort of man who couldn’t wash off the uniform.

  Albert had fastened the CS canisters to the back of the lounge door. He had attached the string to a handle on the sideboard, which would ensure they went off as soon as Pearson opened the door. Albert sat on an old rocking chair in the corner, wearing his gas mask, his bag of tricks resting at his feet.

  It was the hiss of the gas that woke him up. Pearson was staggering around in the mist, choking, trying to wipe his eyes. Then he fell.

  We were shocked at how quickly the armed response units turned up. They had the street sealed off within seconds of their arrival. There were four police cars at first, soon joined by an unmarked van, the six police marksmen fanned out behind the cars. Then a deathly silence ensued. The standoff had begun. The six red pinpricks of laser light reflected off Albert’s gas mask. The only thing that stood between those rounds of ammunition and that gas mask was the double-glazing in Pearson’s lounge window.

  Albert could see the officer in charge; he was sitting in the driver’s seat of the van, his voice echoed down the street courtesy of the P.A. system.

  “Armed police. Lower your weapon and raise your hands in the air.”

  Silence. The echo fizzled out.

  “I repeat. You are surrounded by armed police officers. We need you to put the gun down and raise your hands above your head.”

  Silence.

  The marksmen took cover as the shotgun broke through the glass.

  “Hold you fire,” the officer shouted to his men.

  Another police car arrived. Two more lasers joined the dance on Albert’s gas mask.

  He smashed another pane of glass with the shotgun. More sirens could be heard in the distance. Two officers were pushing the small crowd further back into the park across the street.

  “My name is Sergeant Jim Morris. I am unarmed. I want to approach the building.”

  Another pane of glass shattered.

  “We know who you are and I am sure we can settle this peacefu
lly.”

  Not that peacefully, thought Albert, as he fired the first shotgun round towards the van. The windscreen exploded. There wasn’t any point in prolonged negotiations. The time had come. Death by cop. An ironic ending that made Albert chuckle. He could hear the marksmen shouting to each other. “Clear head shot.” “Roger.” “Clear chest.” “Hold.”

  “Sir,” the voice boomed again, “this is your last chance. Throw the weapon outside and raise your arms above your head.”

  The gas mask defiantly shook from left to right. Albert raised the shotgun and aimed it at the nearest police car. As the trigger slowly pulled back, the red dots of light became holes. Five bullets to the head, one to the neck and two to the heart. He had no chance.

  As the police smashed in the front door, they didn’t notice Albert saunter off across the park, the remote control would later be found in the lake. Forensic studies of the shotgun super glued to Pearson’s hands wouldn’t reveal anything, neither the duct tape over his mouth and strapping his legs to the stool, nor the nails holding his feet to the floorboards. The electronic body brace could probably be traced but it would take months. No, William J. Pearson’s career had just ended.

  Chapter 20.

  The time was fast approaching. I was finding it hard to sleep in Laputa. Maybe there were too many spirits. Maybe, somewhere deep down, I had feelings of guilt. Who knows? I knew one thing though; I needed closure. This had to be finished, and soon. Everything was in place. I just needed to say the word. Yet something was holding me back. I can’t describe it. It’s like when you are watching a great film and you don’t want it to end. The characters have become your friends. I had lost Norman and Kalif but Albert and I had become best mates. We didn’t want this film to end. But the rage would have the casting vote on that.