Wicked Leaks

by Matt Bendoris

  Jim could see the loathing etched across his patient’s face. He had seen that same look several times before. He smiled, showing off the blackened stumps that remained of his teeth then made a crude gesture: flicking his tongue – which was coated in thick, white oral thrush – through two of his chubby fingers held up in a V-shape.

  The driver spotted the nurse’s vulgarity in the mirror and sharply reprimanded him: ‘Cut it out.’

  ‘Uch, I’m only having a bit aw fun wae the wee lassie,’ Jim protested meekly.

  ‘Not on my watch,’ the driver replied, looking daggers at the nurse in his mirror.

  At least Kelly knew she’d be safe with these soldier types. The driver had an English accent. There seemed to be a kindness behind his intense stare, and she liked the fact he had put the disgusting nurse in his place. It felt strangely satisfying. Kelly closed her eyes and imagined revenge fantasies.

  ‘What the...?’ the driver shouted.

  Kelly opened her eyes to see flames engulfing the entire windscreen.

  ‘Pull over, pull over,’ his colleague in the passenger seat demanded.

  Kelly looked at Jim, who was now white as a sheet. The car veered violently over to the hard shoulder, causing other road users to swerve to avoid the blazing vehicle. It had only just come to rest when both the driver’s and Kelly’s windows were shattered. An arm appeared from outside and a blade flashed before Kelly’s eyes. She shut them tight waiting for the feel of the cold steel. Instead the knife tugged briefly at her seatbelt before freeing her. Moments later she was hauled by the armpits through the missing window, banging her head in the process. She wriggled to help free herself from the blazing vehicle, grimacing from the intense heat that seemed to smack her in the face.

  She was flung unceremoniously into the back of a Land Rover, which looked familiar. It was Monahan’s – with the man himself sat in the driver’s seat.

  Kelly sat up to look at the carnage outside. Duggie was pointing his huge gun and barking instructions to the blazing car’s passengers to get out and lie down on the ground, face first. He then leapt into the Land Rover, and Monahan accelerated away. The whole rescue operation had taken less than thirty seconds.

  Kelly looked back out of the rear window to see the limp body of the driver being dragged to safety by his colleague, while the fat nurse tumbled comically down the embankment, gathering momentum as he disappeared out of sight. Kelly saw the tops of some small trees shake as they stopped Jim Drury’s immense bulk.

  ‘Here we are again, Nurse Carter. Just like old times, huh?’ Monahan said.

  ‘Aye, old times were the best of times, sir,’ Duggie said, smiling.

  ‘The fire, how did you do it?’ Kelly asked, amazed she was able to speak again. She figured the surge of adrenaline from being rescued had finally purged the drugs from her system.

  Both men laughed before Monahan explained. ‘That’s a crude but rather effective technique. You fill the entire headlamp full of lighter fuel. When the bulbs heat up, POOF. Well, you saw the effect. Quite dramatic, isn’t it?’

  ‘But how did you know which car?’ Kelly said, her heart still pounding in her chest.

  ‘Uch, that wiz easy,’ Duggie said, beaming from ear to ear – he clearly was at his happiest in a combat situation. ‘When we found out where the bastards were keeping you, I kept an eye oot for the moment they tried to move you. When I saw Green Slime in a black Lexus, then I knew you were going somewhere.’

  ‘Green Slime?’ Kelly asked.

  ‘Intelligence Corps. We call them “Green Slime”. Can spot them a mile away. So one wee hole in each headlight and glug, glug, glug with the lighter fuel. Then we only needed to keep on your tail and let the chemicals do the rest. The great thing about these modern motors is they have their lights on whether you want them or no’. So it was always going to kick off. Just had to make sure we were there for the fireworks.’

  ‘I can’t thank you enough. They drugged me. And I was molested too by that fat bastard.’ Kelly began to cry.

  ‘Is that so?’ Duggie said, anger burning in his eyes. ‘I had ways and means of dealing with his type, didn’t I, boss?’

  ‘You certainly did, Duggie. I’m still trying to forget them,’ Monahan smirked.

  Kelly looked at her two saviours. Her malice towards Monahan had gone. She’d never felt more grateful. But she could also see the toll all this action was taking on her patient. He looked wiped out.

  57: Big Fergie

  ‘It was more than a damp council house story,’ April told Connor as she hung up her jacket on the back of the door in their broom cupboard office. ‘It was Kelly Carter.’

  ‘What?’ Connor said as he ceased typing.

  ‘My lawyer. She had a client called Kirsty Adams,’ April said, consulting her notes. ‘She’d been sectioned, drugged up so much she could barely speak. Then she goes missing. Her lawyer sees a photo of her client with one of your articles about the shoot-out at the farm and Kelly being kidnapped, and puts two and two together.’

  ‘Why didn’t she contact me? My email’s at the bottom of those stories.’

  ‘Because she didn’t know you.’

  ‘She didn’t know you either.’

  ‘No, but her aunt knows me. We used to be neighbours. She vouched for me.’

  ‘So what do we have?’

  ‘She appears to have been sectioned less than a week ago. So a couple of days after the farm shoot-out. Then she disappeared again yesterday afternoon. Her lawyer claims even the health board don’t know where she is and she’s pushed real hard. Having met her, I believe her. She has nowhere left to turn. So she wants us to put out an appeal – “Did you see this girl?” That sort of thing. She believes Kelly’s life’s at risk.’

  ‘I think she’s right. Let’s go speak to Big Fergie,’ Connor said, heading in the direction of their news editor, named so because he bore an uncanny resemblance to a chubby version of Manchester United’s legendary manager, Alex Ferguson. The pair explained to Big Fergie what new information they had. April wrote it up in her usual quick and succinct manner, while Connor put the official calls into Police Scotland, who reluctantly issued him with a terse statement about enquiries being ‘ongoing’.

  The splash would have their joint by-line. Newspaper etiquette meant April’s name came first, as she had brought the story to the table and all Connor had done was put in the calls to the cops. That wasn’t always the case in the cut-throat industry. In previous years Connor had seen his own by-line bumped from a front-page story for a reporter who had got no more than a ‘no comment’ from official sources. But April and Connor were different, they worked as a team.

  58: Red jacket

  Monahan took the turn-off for Briandale services, but instead of hanging a left at the roundabout he took a right, driving under the M74 before reaching a forest track about quarter of a mile later, where a fast-looking sports car was parked up, alongside a far more ordinary-looking Ford Mondeo.

  ‘This is where I bail on you, honey,’ Duggie said with a smile that belied his gruff manner.

  ‘Will I see you again?’ Kelly didn’t know why she’d said that. But she just felt the need for them all to stick together.

  ‘Uch, I’m like a bad penny – I always turn up.’

  Duggie transferred his weapons and a heavy hold-all to the sports car. Second later he tore off down the dirt track and was soon obscured by dust.

  Monahan unzipped his bag and took out an electric razor. ‘We need to change our appearance,’ he said above the hum of the spinning blades. ‘They’ll be looking for some guy with stubble and driving a Land Rover. Not someone who’s clean-shaven in a wheelchair.’

  ‘And it’s easy as that?’ Kelly asked sceptically.

  ‘You’d be surprised. You know how store detectives radio each other on the same network? Say they see some guy
stealing stuff who is 5ft 11in, with blond hair and wearing a bright red jacket. They use their radio so all the other store detectives will be on the look-out for someone wearing a bright red jacket. But if in-between stores the guy wearing the bright red jacket switches to a green one, then the store detectives in the next shop don’t give him a second look. He almost perfectly fits the description of the thief, but no one looks at him.’

  ‘It can’t be that simple, surely,’ Kelly said, screwing up her face.

  ‘That’s what my new recruits all think, too. It’s actually part of their training to go into a store in a bright red jacket and nick stuff. Then they change to green. Not one of them is ever caught. So it’s time to set about changing your appearance, Miss Carter. Fancy a trim?’ Monahan smiled, producing a pair of scissors. ‘I’m quite nifty with the blades. I’ve had to cut my fair share of hair in the field.’

  • • •

  Kelly couldn’t help but admire her new bob. The last time she’d had this hairstyle it had been in her wedding photos. She was surprised how she still suited the look even after the passage of time. She admired herself in the car mirror, pulling her hair down on either side of her face. Both sides were the same length.

  ‘You weren’t kidding when you said you were nifty with a pair of scissors. My own hairdresser would charge me over £60 for that. Just think of the career you could have had.’

  ‘It would have certainly been different. Although scissors can still be extremely lethal.’

  ‘Yeah, but I think you’d find custom would start to fall off if you started stabbing your clients to death.’

  ‘I’d only do the annoying ones,’ Monahan joked.

  Kelly no longer looked at Monahan just as her patient. She also looked at him as her lover. Her gratitude for being saved made her forgive him for using her. ‘If only we were twenty years younger,’ she sighed.

  ‘You wouldn’t have cared for me much back then. I wasn’t a particularly nice person.’

  ‘Who said you were particularly nice now?’ she jested.

  Silence fell between them as they thought of the possibilities. For a brief moment she had even forgotten she was running for her life. The moment was broken by Monahan.

  ‘We don’t have the time to dwell. We have work to do.’

  Kelly knew she’d had a glimpse of the man Monahan could be before his shutters went up. Now he was all business again. ‘How do you keep going like that when you’re so sick?’ she asked softly. ‘Your motivation is incredible.’

  ‘How do you do it? To keep going like you do?’ Monahan asked in return.

  ‘Because I have to. I have to get out of this for my kids’ sake,’ Kelly shrugged. ‘And you?’

  ‘I need to get the contents of this hard drive into safe hands. Someone who won’t hand it straight over to the authorities. Do you think your reporter friend would help?’

  ‘He’s not my friend. But he is a reporter. Would do anything for a story, I guess.’

  ‘Well, there are enough stories on that drive to last a lifetime. We’ll think of a way of contacting him in the morning. Right now I need some sleep,’ Monahan said as he wound the driver’s seat back and closed his eyes. Kelly lay her head on his chest, listening to her lover’s breathing and the strong beat of his heart. In actual fact, it was too strong. Kelly would expect faster, weaker or irregular beats in her terminal patients. She could only imagine his heart’s enduring strength was as a result of Monahan’s extreme fitness.

  59: Chandelier

  April had been in from 7am to man the hotline number that had been printed at the bottom of her front-page splash about Kelly Carter. The article asserted that the nurse had been held in a mental health institution, before going missing yet again. The quotes all came from Fiona McDade, who made the bold claims that her client had been kept against her will and over-medicated to sedate her. The lawyer was gravely concerned for Kelly’s safety. She appealed directly to the Daily Chronicle’s readers to get in touch if they saw her.

  But the early start had completely thrown April’s routine, meaning she had missed her hearty breakfast at Peccadillos. Connor’s arrival at 10am had been a welcome distraction from the hunger pangs, especially as he came armed with two bacon rolls for her, along with a paper cup full of sugary tea.

  ‘You’re a life-saver,’ April said ripping into the grease-soaked bag.

  ‘And you’re a greedy pig,’ Connor said as he watched her set about the breakfast as if she hadn’t eaten in days. ‘Anything from the hotline?’

  ‘Nothing much,’ April said, through mouthfuls of food. ‘Although one reader asked if I could help with their damp council house.’

  ‘You’re kidding? Do councils only build damp houses?’

  ‘Seems that way. The only other thing was a car fire on the M74 yesterday. It’s a bit odd as neither the police nor the fire service mentioned it in their routine press briefings. But a reader saw it – and a fat man rolling down an embankment.’

  ‘Interesting. Maybe Bing knows something about it. I’ll ask him.’

  April was now feeling more like her old self, having satisfied the chasm that was her tummy. ‘How’d you like that?’ she said while looming over Connor’s desk, her half-moon reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, and one cheek of a fleshy buttock sliding onto the corner of his desk, causing it to creak in protest. She pushed the screen of her new smartphone in his direction.

  ‘Who took these for you? Your daughter?’ he said, failing to hide his displeasure at her intrusion into his personal workspace.

  ‘No, I did. It’s my front room. I’ve been getting it done up.’

  Connor flipped through a series of blurry snaps, several of which had one of April’s chubby fingers partially covering the lens. Only every fourth or fifth was in focus. The ones that he could make out showed a room with cream decor and matching couch, along with a lot of gold fittings. There was also a chandelier that was clearly too big for the size of the lounge. ‘Don’t you bang your head on that?’

  ‘Not with my heels off,’ April quipped. ‘It’s a bit bigger than I thought. I got it from a charity shop and I could hardly return it, could I?’

  ‘You don’t half like your bling. It’s like a rapper’s mansion.’

  ‘Most of my neighbours are Jewish. I love their style. I wish I had been born a Jew. I love Yiddish: Oy vey, Shalom, Mazel Tov.’ April threw her spare arm up in the air and began to shuffle half her backside about Connor’s desk as she tapped her foot. His whole workstation swayed to her rhythm, forcing him to grab his monitor, which wobbled precariously.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

  ‘The Horah. It’s a Jewish dance.’

  ‘Don’t do that again. You almost wrecked my desk.’

  ‘I feel like I’m a Jew in a Christian’s body.’

  ‘Well, there’s plenty of room for both faiths in there. So who did you get to decorate? Not that wee alkie you sent round to my place, was it?’

  ‘No,’ April said, suddenly looking shamefaced as she lifted her frame from Connor’s desk, causing his screen to wobble yet again. He swore under his breath.

  ‘I haven’t used him since you sent him packing,’ she said.

  ‘I only sent him packing after I found him sleeping on my couch while my walls remained decidedly unpainted. I then discovered the bastard had helped himself to the beer in my fridge then filled the bottles up with water and put the caps back on. I mean, where did you even get a decorator like that? Was he sleeping rough on the streets?’

  ‘He was cheap,’ she protested lamely.

  ‘He was homeless.’

  ‘I got someone my daughter knows. He’s started his own business. Lovely chap. Much nicer than you. He doesn’t shout at me for starters. You should use him next time.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Connor replied, having alrea
dy lost interest. He messaged DCI Crosbie: Any calls yesterday about a car fire on the M74? Apparently someone saw a fat bloke rolling down the embankment.

  Connor stared at his screen. There were no three dots, which meant Bing wasn’t typing a reply. He would have to wait for his response.

  60: Disabled space

  Two police cars were illegally parked in the disabled spaces at the Gretna Green Outlet Park right on the Scotland/England border.

  Gretna was famed for its anvil priests, who would wed couples eloping from England so that they could marry under Scots law, without their parents’ consent – a sort of 18th-century Las Vegas. Over 5,000 couples a year still wed in this rather charmless and tacky town, with their vows concluded on the strike of an anvil. But Kelly liked it as she could remember having lunch with her folks in Gretna as a kid on one of their long journeys south to catch the overnight ferries from Hull to mainland Europe.

  Monahan instructed Kelly to pull the Ford Mondeo up beside the patrol cars in the last remaining disabled space. He produced a blue badge from the glove compartment to show he had permission to use the parking bay, unlike the cops.

  ‘My VIP parking pass. A forgery, of course, but I don’t think we’ll have too many people arguing with a man in a wheelchair.’

  They studied the officers, who were stopping and asking people questions. The cops were clearly on the look-out for them. But Monahan was confident they had changed their appearance enough for his store detective theory to work. It always helped that the police were looking for two dangerous men and a woman. Not a cripple in a wheelchair.