by Dan Fletcher
Max was trying to regain his composure. Not an easy thing to do, given the circumstances, but he was not used to taking things lying down. Tunge came into the room, still pushing Steve in front of him and propelled him onto the sofa. Max glared at Steve silently. If below zero percent existed when measuring life expectancy, he had just achieved it.
Tunge addressed Max, ‘I think you must know what I am here for,’ he pointed a finger at Steve, ‘your associate tells me that you have something belonging to me.’
Obviously dealing with professionals, Max replied, ‘It’s gone. It was split up and sold on yesterday. It’ll have been divided up into hundreds of smaller bags by now, almost impossible to trace where all of its gone.’
‘What do you mean impossible to trace?’ said Tunge, moving a few steps closer to the desk.
‘I don’t know half the dealers it will have been sold too! Most of it will have been snorted anyway,’ Max replied, keeping a straight face and trying not to tremble.
‘Where’s the money then?’ Tunge took another step closer, his eyes widening in anger.
‘I haven’t been paid by most of them yet. It’s all on tick! Be weeks before I get it all back in dribs and drabs. Anyway Shorey’s got your money, go and see him, I didn’t nick your fucking gear did I,’ Max replied, trying desperately to get rid of them.
‘No your right you didn’t, but you’ve seen us.’ Tunge looked over at Patience, ‘You can kill him now.’ Not one for hesitating Patience pulled the trigger, his gun coughing twice in rapid succession.
Max, finally relieved of a pained and troubled life, seemed to flop gratefully to his side, and was left slumped over the arm of the chair, blood seeping from his temple.
Tunge walked to the front of the desk and looked down at Max. He didn’t really feel any emotion, but still regretted the necessary killing.
About to turn away, he noticed Max’s blood splattered diary open on the desk. The name ‘Alan Shorey’ jumped out at him. Turning it around Tunge smiled as he saw the second address underneath. It looked like they wouldn’t have to wait for Alan at the Arches after all. Ripping the page out of the book he turned to walk out of the room. In passing, he said to Happy, ‘We won’t be needing him anymore either.’
Happy obligingly lent over the back of the sofa, and shot Steve just once in the back of the head. The bullet and his brains exploded through the front of his skull, spattering like mincemeat. Deeming a kill shot unnecessary, Happy put away his gun. Turning, he followed Tunge out the door, with Patience closely in his wake.
As Tunge walked out the shop he said, ‘Burn it.’ and proceeded to the car. Going to the shelves Happy discovered that a lot of the items had the familiar yellow warning triangle bearing ‘FLAMMABLE’. Scooping up an armful of bottles and boxed powders, he took them to the middle of the room. Picking up one of the larger bottles, Happy unscrewed the lid and poured the contents over the small pile. Taking a matchbox from his pocket, he struck one and hesitated as it sparked, the flickering flame reflecting in his fearsome eyes. As soon as he was sure that it was properly lit, he flicked it onto the assortment of combustible objects.
It ignited instantly, and flames leapt up, growing quickly in heat and intensity.
Sitting in the car with the engine on, Tunge looked at the clock on the dashboard, only 10:42am. It was running so the heater would work and keep him warm, not for a quick getaway. Nobody reacted to the earlier siren, the general rule in the area being not to get involved.
It had been a fruitful few hours, and it was only ten minutes drive to Woodside Gardens, but Tunge was hungry.
Happy and Patience had joined him in the car, and he pulled away deciding to find somewhere to eat before going to find Alan’s home in Woodside Gardens.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Alan rolled in at about six o’clock on Saturday morning, having caught a cab from Soho. Paralytic he searched all of his pockets at least twice, before finding the keys in the first one he looked in. It then took him almost five minutes to actually get the key in the front door lock. He dropped them to the ground several times in the process, fumbling about in the dark, singing and talking to himself.
Victorious at last, and in very high spirits, he started to turn the key quietly, or so he thought. Before he could push the door forward it was pulled sharply in, taking the key, his hand, and Alan with it. Caitlyn was listening for the cab to pull up, and was stood there with one hand holding the door and the other on her hip, her arm bent at the elbow. She did not have a very forgiving expression on her face.
‘Where the hell do you think you’ve been? Just a few drinks, was it? I knew there was something up the minute he showed his face around here,’ she said, of course referring to John.
‘I told you he’s not that bad. Just gets carried away a bit and needs looking after. Where do you think I’ve been darling?’ Alan replied, trying to look like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, and confirming John’s suspicions if he only knew.
‘All this time he needed ‘looking after’ did he? How old do you two think you are? Couldn’t you have at least phoned me to let me know? Couldn’t ya?’ said Caitlyn. When she got angry her Irish accent had a tendency to surface.
Alan had forgotten one of his ‘golden rules’ again, by not calling her, ‘I’m really sorry love the blower was out of battery, and John left his at home so I couldn’t call you. Now could I?’
Caitlyn kicked herself as she found herself unable to stay angry at Alan for long. His pathetic puppy dog eyes, and sorrowful tones, worked their magic on her as always. ‘Well I suppose you better come in,’ she said, only acting stern now.
Alan gave her what he thought was his winning smile, and moved to give her a cuddle. Not wanting to appear a total pushover, Caitlyn stepped away from him and experienced great difficulty stifling her laughter as he almost toppled over.
‘I think you better lie down on the sofa don’t you, I’ll go and fetch you a blanket,’ she was worried about him and the stairs. He had fallen down them drunk before. Admittedly only once and a long time ago, but it made her fearful ever since. By the time she brought the blanket from upstairs he was already asleep and snoring loudly on the sofa.
Alan slept most of the day, the girls prodding him and waking him occasionally just to ask a stupid question. Like, ‘Dad, do you want to go to the park?’ quite clearly he was in no fit state. ‘Dad, have you got the remote control?’ of course he didn’t, he was bloody sleeping wasn’t he? He would mumble, ‘Leave me alone...,’ and then drift off back to sleep. It had taken him until Sunday morning for his stomach to feel completely normal again. He really was out of practice.
Alan recovered just in time for John to arrive with Vanessa for Sunday roast, just before noon. ‘Hello mate! How’s it going? And who’s this lovely lady?’ She was better looking than John had made out.
‘This is Vanessa, the friend I told you about who lives in my building,’ John said, introducing them.
‘Hi! Nice to meet you, John’s told me a lot about you!’ Vanessa said, smiling mischievously.
‘Not too much I hope?’ said Alan, looking at his friend accusingly. ‘Anyway come in, Come in. Let me take your coats. It’s bloody freezing out there,’ he said, beckoning them in from the door.
Alan hung up their jackets and looked over at his friend. He was presenting Vanessa to the rest of the family.
‘Vanessa, this is Caitlyn and the gorgeous girls Lucy and Rachel,’ John said, bending down to squeeze Lucy’s cheek.
‘Get off,’ she snapped, embarrassed not to be treated like an adult. ‘Hi I’m Lucy. Can I get you a drink?’
Vanessa smiled back at her kindly. ‘That would be lovely, how nice of you to ask,’ she said, imitating Lucy’s politeness. This caused Lucy to instantly like her. She took Vanessa by the hand and led her into the kitchen. Caitlyn looked at John, tutted, and shook her head. As if to say, ‘what’s a nice girl like that doing with an idiot like you?’
Al
an watched John’s eyes never leave Vanessa as she chatted happily with Lucy by the sink. They really were becoming an item, weren’t they?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Tunge and his two armed companions pulled up in Woodside Gardens a little after 12 o’clock, having found a cafe in the High Road to eat. Before they went in Tunge wanted to repeat the instructions he relayed to them at breakfast. ‘Now remember just tie the woman and children up, at worst wound them if you have to. I only want the man and the money.’ He looked at Happy who seemed miles away.
He was, on his favourite golden sandy beach, in Tarqua Bay, just outside Lagos. Not listening to Tunge at all, and away from this constant bloody rain.
Tunge stopped talking, waiting for Happy to notice. Registering the silence after a minute, Happy snapped back to London and the car. He made an involuntary sniff, feeling the beginnings of a cold, but made no apology to Tunge.
‘Pass the masks around,’ Tunge said, to Patience. They put the balaclavas rolled up on the tops of their heads, ready to be pulled down when they got to the house. Tunge lead and got out the car, heading up the short path to the front door. Knocking twice he stepped to the side to allow Patience in first.
They heard someone coming to open the door, and pulled their balaclavas down to cover their faces. Well they covered all of Happy’s and Tunge’s. There probably wasn’t a size to fit Patience, and his chin protruded from underneath it.
Patience, gun in his hand, hit the door like a battering ram as it began to open, taking the startled Caitlyn with it and sending her flying against the wall. She didn’t even have time to scream. The impact, as her head hit the skirting board, split the skin and a small trickle of blood formed in the hairline above her forehead. Patience grabbed Caitlyn by the hair and dragged her in with him. She found her voice and was screaming against the violent pulling, the hair trying to leave her scalp.
The girls were mortified, sitting either side of Vanessa on the sofa, who was reading them a book. Vanessa was equally shocked, but instinctively drew Rachel and Lucy to her protectively.
Alan and John were setting the table for lunch, in the dining area adjoining the lounge. John dropped the plates he was holding, which smashed to the floor. Alan threw the cutlery in the direction of the table, and charged towards Patience.
Not sure whether he was the one Tunge wanted keeping alive or not, Patience decided it was best not to shoot the man running at him. Instead he released Caitlyn’s hair, sidestepped Alan’s rush at the last moment, and delivered him a powerful punch to the kidneys. Alan wasn’t expecting him to let go and move so quickly, the blow, combined with his own forward charge, caused him to go sprawling on the floor next to Caitlyn.
Happy stepped in from the doorway, and put his GLOCK against the back of Alan’s neck. Pressing so hard it pinned him to the floor. ‘Don’t move and I won’t have to shoot you,’ said Happy, showing no emotion. Tunge was now inside and closed the door.
‘Mum!’ cried Rachel, breaking from her petrified position and trying to get up to go to her mother’s aid.
‘Stay here darling! Stay here with me,’ Vanessa said, holding her back. Lucy was sobbing uncontrollably, tears streaming down her pretty little face. She looked to her parents for help but they were lying on the floor hurt, who were these horrible men?
John started to walk slowly into the lounge as if in a daze, still not able to comprehend what was going on in front of him. ‘That’s far enough! Lie down on the floor with your hands on your head,’ shouted Patience, levelling his gun at John’s chest. He still wasn’t sure who he was allowed to shoot.
The cry didn’t register with John, not fully, and he kept moving. ‘I said on the floor. Now,’ screamed Patience, stepping towards him.
‘OK! OK,’ this time it did, and John slowly got to the floor. From his new position he could see the horror in Caitlyn’s eyes, lying near to him.
Tunge was not expecting so many of them, and hesitated at the door. Regaining his composure, he moved to a more central position. ‘Tie them up. Those two first,’ he instructed, indicating John and Alan.
Patience grabbed Alan’s collar and lifted him upright. No mean feat, but Patience did it effortlessly, hauling Allan over to one of the dining chairs like a rag doll.
‘Get the fuck off me!’ Alan shouted, struggling to no avail. When Patience tried to push him in the chair, Alan let his weight go forward, instead of resisting, causing Patience to lose his grip and balance momentarily. Using the split second, Alan recoiled backwards, smashing the back of his head onto Patience’s face. Most men would have fallen instantly, or at least hesitated. Patience took a slight step back, ignoring his broken nose, he grabbed Alan around the neck, squeezing and lifting him from the ground in a tremendous bear hug.
Alan tried to pull the arms away from his neck, but they were like solid rock. Unable to breathe, his struggles became weaker as he nearly passed out. Patience dropped him in the seat, holstered his gun, and yanked Alan’s arms behind the chair.
‘Get off me,’ Alan yelled, still trying feebly to break free.
Patience didn’t seem to notice his efforts, and taking the gaffa tape from his pocket, he wound it around Alan’s wrists tying them together. He then wound the tape around Alan and the chair, so he was tied to it. Making sure that his ankles were bound as well, Patience repeated the process with John.
‘Why are you doing this? There must be some kind of mistake,’ shouted Vanessa, who couldn’t understand why three masked men had gate crashed their lunch.
‘There’s no mistake, so shut up and stop that girl crying,’ Tunge said. Lucy was in fits whilst Rachel was trying to keep her dignity, tears welling up in her eyes. This must be a bad dream, it looked real but it didn’t feel real. Why would anyone want to hurt them? They hadn’t done anything to anyone? Like Vanessa said it must be a mistake.
‘Daddy, Daddy why are they hurting us?’ she cried desperately to her father, her protector, for an answer.
‘I don’t know babe. Everything’s going to be alright. Just hold on to Vanessa for a bit and let us adults sort this out. There’s nothing to worry about,’ Alan replied, looking pleadingly at Tunge. He looked and talked like he was in charge, but the thinner man with the beady, penetrating, eyes was the one that really got his attention. The other one was much bigger, but this guy looked like he was really enjoying it, and likely to blow at any moment.
Happy had bundled Caitlyn to a chair, and Patience was busy tying her up. ‘Leave her alone or I’ll fucking kill you,’ shouted Alan, struggling against his bonds. Oblivious Patience put a piece of tape over Caitlyn’s mouth. They didn’t need to talk to her after all. She was staring across the table at Alan accusingly.
‘Them too,’ Tunge said, bringing Caitlyn’s attention back to the girls.
She shook her head violently, as Happy and Patience moved towards the sofa. Not my babies leave them alone! Look at them, how could you possibly want to hurt them? Caitlyn thrashed around desperately, trying to go to their side. She nearly toppled over in the chair but couldn’t stand up.
‘They’re only kids, leave them alone,’ cried John, finally regaining his voice.
‘If everyone doesn’t keep quiet then I will be forced to hurt one of you,’ Tunge said, looking at Lucy, who shrank visibly. She tried to hold on to Vanessa, as Patience pulled her from the sofa and picked her up.
‘Mummy! Mummy!’ she shrieked, as she was carried to a chair. A tear trickled down from Caitlyn’s eye and travelled over the gaffa tape. Her hair was stuck to her scalp with blood, and her skin ash white.
Alan struggled again in his chair, ‘Get your bloody hands off my girl!’ But it was no use.
‘Mummy, help me!’ cried Lucy, just before her mouth was covered as well. Caitlyn felt utterly useless, she shut her eyes in the mad hope that it would all go away. It didn’t.
Happy had Rachel by the armpit, and took her to join the others at the table. Five minutes later, they were all bound at th
e table in a macabre dinner setting. Only Alan and John had their mouths un-taped.
Happy kept vigil at the window, while Patience, wiping blood from his nose, waited for instructions. Tunge stood leaning forward, holding the corners of the table, ‘Right. Which one of you gentlemen is Alan?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
‘I am. Now what the bloody hell do you want?’ replied Alan.
Tunge shook his head, ‘Are you telling me you have stolen more than one kilo of cocaine this week?’ Alan kept silent. ‘I spoke to Max so you can cut the pretence. Before he died he told me that you sold it to him.’
Alan looked at Happy and Patience. Apart from the fresh blood seeping from under Patience’s balaclava, they showed no visible sign of injury. He couldn’t imagine Max or Frank going without a serious fight, and yet?
‘You know I haven’t got it then,’ Alan said, ‘so what do you want?’ He was avoiding looking at Caitlyn and the girls, it was just too painful. The memory of it would haunt him for years. He dreaded to think what mental scars it might leave his daughters with. What sort of animals were these people?
‘I want the damn money of course! Now where is it?’ Tunge was also worried about the girls. He had seen what Happy got like in situations like these. Pushing these thoughts aside, he continued his interrogation, ‘I won’t ask you a third time, where is it?’
What money? Alan hasn’t got any money, I’d know about it. Caitlyn couldn’t believe he’d done it. He’d promised her. He’d been on the straight and narrow for so long now, or had he? What else was he lying to her about,’ she looked at Alan in a new, and much poorer, light. Forget Happy, she would have torn him to pieces there and then, if she could have got up from the damn chair!
