by GB Williams
He staggered in pain along the edge of the building then walked, slowly and carefully to the nearest bus stop. He had just enough cash to pay for the two buses home, though he had to get off two stops earlier than he would have liked, because that was where his money ran out. Every bump in the road was a jolt of pain, every breath was torture, but he made it home, using the key he’d hidden in the nearby graveyard to get in.
Getting the key had been the trickiest part. He’d slipped it under the flower holder on one of the graves. He’d picked one where the flowers were wilting rather than dead, in hope that whoever cared enough to leave flowers wouldn’t be back too soon. The movement of kneeling and picking the key up forced air from his lungs. He’d had to stay there for a few minutes to get his breath back and control his racing heart before he could get to his feet again.
Back in the flat, the temptation was simply to crash on the bed, but he couldn’t. Sweat from his exertions had warred against the glue used to stick the latex to his forehead. In places, the prosthesis was beginning to separate from his skin. In the bathroom mirror, he saw the top edge had largely peeled away. Given the dark make-up, he looked like Frankenstein’s Asian Monster.
He used scissors to remove his jumper and cried out in blessed relief when he released the weight of Kevlar from his shoulders and chest. He looked at the deformation of the breast plate and shuddered.
What he saw in the mirror was no more reassuring. A purple bloom of bruising flowering on his upper and mid-chest. There was an area of dense trauma on the inside edge of his left pectoral—directly above his heart. Either Lincoln had got extremely lucky or was a better shot than he’d given the man credit for. He knew that area would muscle-scar—when the swelling disappeared, he would have a permanent dent in that spot.
Breathing carefully, he reached up to pull at the latex mask. He wasn’t sure what hurt most, the reluctant glue or the effort of holding his arms up. He needed a solvent. The only thing he had was a superglue remover that had come with the glue.
It irritated his skin a little and he had to be very careful not to let it drip in his eyes, but it slowly helped part the latex from his face.
He stripped. As he threw the jeans over the back of the chair, something clattered to the floor. He hadn’t taken his own wallet out of the flat that morning, and he’d ditched the brown one on the way home. There shouldn’t have been anything else. He went over and picked the thing up, looked at it. Oh yeah, the watch Lincoln had given him. That seemed like a million years ago, now. It was old-fashioned, the face was simple and clean. The strap was good leather, the stitching even and precise. This was quality without flash. This was the ‘something extra’ Lincoln had promised him.
It was a good watch, but that was all it was. Charlie turned it over in his hand. Engraving.
R Best Brother P.
Why was that something special? He put it to the side, and was about to go wash when he realised it wasn’t the only thing he’d picked up during the raid. Reaching into the back pocket, he retrieved Ari’s picture. A smiling baby, a girl in pink.
Sasha.
He recalled the catch in Ari’s voice when she’d spoken of her daughter. He’d have to keep this safe, so he slipped it into his own wallet then he headed to the shower room.
Standing under the spray, he washed off any remnants of mask and make-up, horrified by the colour of the water from the dye used on his hair. Afterward, Charlie looked in the small mirror, studied himself. Covered the bruises, and the only obvious sign of trouble was the redness across his forehead and darker-than-normal hair. Hopefully the redness would fade soon, and no one would comment on the hair.
He looked in the bin and figured that he’d need to burn the latex to hide it properly. He really needed to speak to Piper, but after making the call to advise the target bank this morning, he’d taken the SIM card from the phone and pitched it into the river. The phone had been supplied by CHIS for contact purposes. He hadn’t yet got around to getting a personal mobile.
Glancing down, he saw the watch again.
R and P. Brothers. Rhys and Phillip Mansel-Jones. He frowned. Couldn’t be, could it? He picked the thing up. It was possible. But not urgent. Right now he had more pressing matters to consider. He shoved the watch in his pocket. He gingerly pulled on a thick plaid shirt, buttoned up and headed out.
With his hand still on the door, he stopped dead in his tracks to see Piper, hand raised ready to knock on the other side. He stepped back. ‘Come in.’
Leaving Piper to close up, Charlie moved across the room, carefully lowering himself to sit on the only chair. Normally he’d have taken the bed, but he wasn’t sure he could move so low and get back up again any more.
Piper, for the first time ever, seemed to tower over him. ‘Where would they have gone?’
Cold washed through Charlie. For Piper to ask that question meant that the tail had lost the van after the change. They didn’t know where the gang had gone, so there was no one rushing to Ariadne’s aid. Charlie gave him the address where they’d met that morning.
‘You’re sure?’
‘No, but it’s all I have. We did the walk-throughs in the same warehouse where they swapped the vans.’
Waiting as patiently as he could, he listened to Piper call the information in. Whatever he was told didn’t improve Piper’s mood.
‘Any news?’
Piper’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he shook his head. ‘All we know is that neither hostage has turned up, alive or dead. So, the driver was the sixth man? The missing Reservoir Dog.’
‘No.’ Charlie frowned up at Piper. ‘That was Carlos De Silva. There’s only one hostage—Ari.’
Piper wasn’t as surprised as Charlie expected. ‘The blonde?’
‘Part of the gang.’ Charlie nodded.
‘Yeah, we were wondering. When the names were released, we struggled to find her. I did wonder if I got it wrong. That little girl was so nervous she wasn’t exactly speaking clearly. The only Beth Arden we found was in a cancer care hospice.’
A rough huff of a laugh escaped Charlie, which was a mistake. The movement hurt his chest. ‘She said something this morning about the make-up job she was doing on us being better than dealing with God’s waiting room. Maybe she works at the hospice sometimes. Hair and make-up as palliative care.’
All he got for his reasoning was a small brow movement. Piper never was big on congratulations.
‘It’s a possibility I’ll get checked out. So, who is she? What’s her connection?’
‘Carol Freeman. She’s Beamish’s girlfriend,’ Charlie supplied. ‘Had a job in the make-up department at the local TV studio until they moved production to South Wales.’
‘Shit.’ Piper dragged his hands back through his hair. ‘Why didn’t you answer your phone?’
‘Ditched the SIM after the last call to you.’
‘Why are you separated from them now?’
‘They shot me.’ He displayed his bruised chest. ‘Well, Lincoln did.’
‘So Teddington’s really out there on her own right now?’
‘Yeah, and she probably thinks I’m dead.’ Which didn’t make either of them feel any better.
‘I’ve got to go.’ Piper turned towards the door, the chair creaking caught his attention. ‘You stay put.’
‘No way.’ Grimacing and grunting in pain, Charlie pushed himself up from the chair.
‘What do you think you’re up to?’
‘Going with you,’ Charlie declared. ‘To get Ari.’
‘Like fuck.’
‘Now you sound like Broughton.’
34
‘An-dy….’
Teddington found the other woman’s little-girl-lost tone grating on every taut nerve. When not simpering, the other woman was giving one sexual pout after another. She glowered over to see the woman leaning towards Mr Blue. Andy. She filed that for later. The ex-Miss Arden had removed her red coat and was leaning on her forearms, purposely squashin
g her breasts together and giving Andy the best view possible.
‘Can’t you just kill her now and be done with it? Please?’ She gave Andy what was supposedly a sexy come-hither body shake. ‘For me?’
‘Car-ooool,’ he returned in a fair imitation as he leaned towards her, their noses less than an inch apart. ‘Don’t,’ he snapped, making her jump, ‘use my name.’
Names, she should try to remember the names, just in case. Mr White—still unknown. Mr Orange—Martin. Mr Blue—Andy. Pandy. Teddington shouldn’t have laughed, it was a silly giggle and completely uncontrollable. And it drew too much attention to her.
‘Shut up,’ Mr White told her.
She met his gaze and didn’t care. ‘Like it matters what you say. I just realised, you had it all worked out,’ Teddington said looking across, keeping her head still to stop her vision swimming. ‘Five bags, five of you. You didn’t shoot Grimshaw because I recognised him, you killed him because you always intended to. Mr Brown, too. You didn’t need them any more.’
Neither had stood a chance. Any guilt she felt for getting Grimshaw killed disappeared. Nothing was going to change how she felt about seeing Charlie die. Nothing was ever going to blank that from her memory.
‘What was the plan? You get the money and freedom while the others get the blame?’
‘Just remember how limited your usefulness is, too.’ Mr White’s voice was calm, chilling her to the core. ‘And now we know exactly who you are. Finding and hurting your family won’t take too long either.’
The heat of her headache washed clean with icy fear. She hadn’t thought about that, about her family. There was only her mother left now. She had never considered that her involvement might lead her mother to harm.
A different sickness churned in her stomach and dizzied her brain as she turned her head to push the gang into the periphery of her vision. She had to think. Think her way out of this. Dissension in the ranks was good. Andy Blue’s willingness to kill, less so. She cursed her luck that she’d asked to go to the loo earlier. She couldn’t now use that excuse to get out of here.
I’m going to die here.
The thought was surprisingly peaceful as it echoed around Teddington’s head. She was through with fear, there was only blank acceptance.
She was going to die here, where no one knew where she was. She could be dead here for days or weeks or even years before anyone found her. If they ever did. And there would be no one to protect her mother.
Stop it!
The unbidden thought was a wake-up call, just as she was ready to sink into oblivion. She was not going to give up. Survivors never gave up and she wasn’t ready to die. She wanted to be with Charlie, but she wasn’t prepared to cross the veil to join him.
Okay, concussion, check. Bruised ribs, check. Fighting spirit, not so much but could be drummed up. One against five wasn’t such great odds. You’ve had worse.
Which was true, but only when she’d also had backup.
If she could get her hands on a gun, she might have a chance. And Mr White might just have left his within easy reach. All she had to do was rattle them enough to break them apart before they were ready.
‘Hey, Mr White,’ she called his attention, noticed that when he turned his head to look at her, he didn’t reach for the gun. ‘How long did it take you to realise you weren’t top dog?’
His lips thinned and paled.
‘Took me ages. You know. Back in the bank I thought you were calling the shots, probably because you were firing them. But Mr Blue, Andy over there, he kept on whispering in your ear, didn’t he? A snippet here, and sentence there. He’s the one that’s really in control, isn’t he? He’s the master, you’re nothing more than a puppet.’
The last sneered word had the desired effect. Mr White reached for his gun. But Andy slapped his own hand down, stopped Mr White.
Teddington watched the two men. She was right, she was sure of it. Just like they’d never planned for Grimshaw or Charlie to live, she was sure that Andy was really the one pulling all the strings. Even Miss Arden—real name Carol apparently—didn’t have the hold over him that she thought she did. They were cracking apart and Teddington would have to take advantage of those cracks. She also had to be careful. Push too much, and they could just close ranks on her. For the moment the best she could do was stay shtum.
Sitting still, she stared ahead and kept quiet. Looking away was one thing, but she couldn’t stop tuning into what was being said around her. Their exchanges told her that these men weren’t a gang any more. It was nothing overt, just a new tension in the air, the shortness with which they spoke to one another. Everyone seemed to be backing off from Mr White.
Teddington looked across, discreetly. Mr White, Mr Orange and the driver were distinctly separate from Andy and Carol, who was fiddling with what appeared to be a diamond necklace.
‘I want this.’
Teddington was surprised to hear a tone of awe rather than greed. She focused on the necklace Carol was holding up. It was beautiful, but with the sparkles along the whole length and three large drops at the centre, it was way too flashy for Teddington’s tastes.
‘Then take it,’ Andy said before picking up some books and turning to the driver. ‘Make sure she doesn’t get greedy with any of the rest of it.’
‘Hey!’
Only Andy wasn’t listening to Carol, or Mr White’s objection to him taking the books. Mr White’s demand to know what happened to their plan fell on deaf ears. As Mr White made to follow Andy, Mr Orange stepped into his path. No words were spoken. None were needed. The menace was obvious enough.
Andy simply walked out of the room.
Carol grumbled but the driver told her to be quiet, reinforcing the instruction with a raised gun. Not quite a Mexican standoff, but not quite right either.
‘So who’s in charge now?’ So much for staying shtum. Teddington berated herself once the words were out of her mouth.
‘We’re a team.’
Teddington focused her attention on Mr Orange, blinked. She wanted to blow a raspberry. ‘Really?’
‘I’m in charge,’ Mr White declared
‘You might want to check that with Andy.’
Mr White stormed over. She saw it coming, but didn’t care. The slap of hand on cheek cracked loud across the nearly empty room. Her head snapped to the side, her lip split. Knowing the stupidity of goading him, Teddington simply looked back. It didn’t matter that Mr White was just a blur, he wasn’t to know that. Her calm was making him boil with rage.
‘Andy said to leave her alone,’ Martin said.
‘See?’ Teddington taunted, Mr White’s face flowing in and out of focus. ‘Andy left orders. He stopped you coming at me before. He’s the big man here. Not you.’
Mr White snarled. ‘I don’t take orders from him.’
Teddington had no idea what demon was driving her on, but she wanted to hurt this man for hurting Charlie. ‘Yeah, you do.’
This time the crack reverberated through her face as well as the room. The punch broke her nose. The force pushed her to the side and she didn’t have the will to push herself back up, so she half laid on the sofa and let her blood soak into the fabric. It smelt old and dusty beneath the copper flow.
Charlie was dead. She’d soon join him. She wished she hadn’t wasted the last six months, but wishing couldn’t change the past.
Mr White stalked away, back to the table, then he was standing over her again. Teddington looked up at Charlie’s killer, the gun being levelled at her head. The others were shouting at him. Warning him. Mr White wasn’t listening.
A gunshot cracked.
Everything was silent.
Mr White gurgled, blood bubbled from his slackened jaw, his arms dropped, the gun slipped from his fingers, his knees buckled. He landed on his knees and fell forward for a suspended moment, then his chin caught on the edge of the sofa and the two of them were face-to-face. One dead, one soon to be. He slid to the floor. Mr Whit
e turned grey as the bare floorboards dyed red.
35
‘What the hell?’
Piper faced Broughton and noted the use of ‘hell’. That meant Broughton was in a better mood. He noticed how Broughton’s eyes slid to Charlie, or more precisely to the bracelets he wore. Early on a Tuesday evening, the station was still buzzing from the events in Glenister Street. With Charlie following, Piper was aware of more than one harsh look and muttered comment when he didn’t dump Bell in either a cell or an interview room.
‘I said he’s not under arrest.’ The handcuffs were to reduce the aggravation that Bell’s appearance in the station was bound to, indeed had, caused.
Broughton was rather red-faced. ‘Would you care to explain why?’
Piper recognised the dangerously low, deceptively calm tone. So he didn’t explain that to arrest Charlie so was to violate the terms of Charlie’s parole, thus ensuring he went back inside when he was more useful where he was. Piper was similarly aware that the thin ice had been cracking under his feet for a long time now. Time for him to break through, or break out.
‘Because we got good visuals and descriptions of the bank robbers, and none of them match Bell. The only man even near tall enough was the one who stepped out with Mrs Teddington, and that wasn’t Charlie. You saw that with your own eyes.’ If his lies weren’t just destroying his tenuous chances of career continuity, they were definitely paving his road to an ulcer. But it was the right thing to do. Besides, he owed Charlie.
‘We also now know expert prosthetics make eyewitness reports unreli—’
