by Jo Black
‘You maybe don’t want to know. If I tell you then you would not sleep so good thinking about it.’ Marko smiled. Nish walked calmly over and stood in front of Marko’s associate.
‘Do you know what the secret to a good night’s sleep is?’
‘What?’
‘No I’m asking you. Do you know what the secret to a good night’s sleep is.’
‘No, I don’t sleep good.’
‘Well maybe you should stop putting babies in ovens then you sick deranged fuck.’ Without pause Nish spun the drill up to full speed and aligned it with Marko’s accomplice just in front of his left lower torso. One of Nish’s men appeared from behind and gagged the man and held his head to face the drill. Nish carefully inserted it, the man tensed, eyes bulging as Nish drilled a straight hole right through him, dark black blood spurting out of his kidney as the drill bit pierced through his back. Nish reversed the drill motor and extracted it.
‘You think this will make us talk?’ Marko asked.
Nish shrugged. ‘I don’t care.’ He lined up the drill again and put a neat hole straight through his victim’s stomach. He withdrew the drill and stood back staring at his handiwork as his victim writhed in agony.
‘So what is the purpose of it?’
‘What’s the purpose of anything really? I suppose we’re all just wasting time idly fucking other people’s lives up. There’s no real purpose for anything when you think about it. Of course people make up all sorts of excuses and reasons for things. We’re going to war because blah blah blah, but in my experience it’s just to masquerade the truth of utter chaos.’
‘You think you are a philosopher?’
‘No. I’m more of a...modern realist.’
‘And what is that?’
‘It’s the acceptance that all the constructs humans have that are designed to make us feel superior to animals, are, somewhat ironically, just a different version of the same constructs that the animal kingdom uses to establish hierarchy. In that respect while our reasoning may seem more elaborate, there is no difference between what we do, and what animals do.’
‘And what is that?’
‘Dominate and procreate.’
‘Fighting and fucking.’
‘You get it. You put that infant in the oven for the same reason a lion kills another lion’s offspring. It threatens your own genetic survival, you raped her didn’t you?’
‘Who?’
‘The mother. I bet you fucking did. You cooked her kid and you fucking raped her. Because you are an animal.’
‘She was a Bosnian whore.’
‘She’s just a woman. No different than a Serb woman. You created that construct of her being from a different tribe to justify your actions to overcome the social norm imposed on you that it’s not acceptable to murder infants and rape their mothers, set all that aside and you are just acting on base instinct because you are an animal. An ill-educated animal.’
‘Fuck you! You think you are so smart with all your crazy shit talk, but you are no different from me drilling holes in people for no fucking reason. If I am animal what are you?’
‘I’m the Angel of Death’s little helper.’ Nish walked over and adjusted the drill to a slow speed. ‘I’m here to bring some order to this cosmic mess of Darwinian selection, removing the dysfunctional and backwards genetic mutations from the pool to ensure a more enlightened future for humanity.’ Nish slowly drilled a hole straight through Marko’s thigh deep into his femur. Marko gritted his teeth, reluctant to give Nish the satisfaction, but eventually his self-control gave way as the pain became unbearable and he screamed out.
‘Fuck you, I not tell you anything,’ Marko sobbed.
‘That’s fine. I don’t want you to. I don’t care what you have to say. This is not about information. This is something much more important.’
‘What the fuck...’
Nish put the drill back on the table and sat down on the chair, he took out a cigarette and lit it slowly, took a drag and stared at Marko. ‘You know what the basis of reincarnation is? It’s fascinating. All matter. Everything this entire planet is composed of is basically atomic particles constructed in various ways, and every living thing on the planet is recycled constantly into other things. All this blood skin and bones will organically break down and become something else. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. All that biblical shit. So what’s really important is that in this iteration, all this bad shit you did to other people, is visited back on you, and is imprinted so hard on your sentient being that when you eventually reform into something else, be it a fucking rabbit or god forbid another human being, you have this ingrained memory of pain and suffering so that you give pause to understand what you do to others, will be done unto you. Then perchance you’ll evolve into a more intelligent and more useful product rather than some bawbag scrote cooking infants, raping women, and committing sundry war atrocities.’ Nish stubbed out his cigarette and returned to his tools collection. ‘I’m merely the conduit by which you take the journey from this present to that future.’
‘I thought this was about catching Radic?’ Vincent asked as Nish walked into the small foreman’s office and sat down.
‘It is.’
‘Then what is this about? You haven’t asked him any questions.’
‘I don’t need to.’
‘So why?’
Nish stared out through the glass partition window at the two captives now slumped in their chairs. ‘They have to be made to answer for what they did. You think they give a fuck about being dragged into an air-conditioned court room full of lawyers in The Hague?’ Nish shook his head. ‘Women, kids, old people. They have no respect for life. When I send them down into Dante’s Inferno I want them to know there is far worse for them here if they ever come back...’
‘So what about Radic?’
Nish took out a mobile phone from his pocket. ‘Haven Twenty-Six, Rotterdam docks. He’ll be there between nine and eleven p.m. tonight to load a consignment of cars for export to the Ivory Coast.’
‘And what about them?’
‘They’ll bleed out in two or three days. Maybe five or seven with a saline drip.’ Nish stared at Vincent. ‘Don’t feel any compassion for them Vincent. These were normal men before the war, they chose that path, and they chose to do those things. Everything they did put them on this path to end up here in my hands.’
‘I neither condone nor condemn, it is merely a little Old Testament — even for my Catholic tastes.’
‘Stick to riding a desk Vincent.’
‘So what do you want to do about Radic?’
‘I want him alive.’ Nish wrote down a location and number on a piece of paper. ‘Meet us here at eight p.m. sharp. I need you to take him in for me.’
‘Can’t you do it?’
‘Let’s just say I’m persona-non-grata with certain jurisdiction agencies due to a disagreement over sundry human rights violations they feel I may have been responsible for. You take Radic in; I’ll get your message to Aleksei. We have a deal.’ Vincent and his assistant got up to leave. ‘And Vincent...’
‘Oui?’
‘This never happened. They were a victim of a disagreement with some Albanians.’
‘Of course.’
Vincent and his assistant headed out to the car. ‘That guy is a sociopath. And you say this Green guy is worse?’
‘Do you know what makes men such as this so dangerous?’ Vincent replied.
‘They’re psychotic?’
‘No, far from it. It’s that they have such moral certainty in what they are doing is right. They are like artists of death — the Monet’s and Cézanne’s of destruction. Grand Masters of violence where every operation is some masterpiece that would be something to marvel if it was not so chillingly brutal.’
‘You admire them?’
‘Not admire, but I do understand. When you are fighting as close to pure evil as it is possible to find it requires a certain type of mind to combat it. Sadly lib
eral ideas of redemption and forgiveness are lost on souls who have contempt for anything, in this respect Nish and his ilk are the only solution. They are the last resort when all other justice has failed.’ They got in the car and headed back towards the hotel. Vincent looked across at his colleague. ‘Something is troubling you?’
‘Do you think he enjoys it. All that torture? He said it himself; he had the intelligence. He didn’t need to do it. So why do it?’
‘Guilt perhaps.’
‘For what?’
‘Nish led the team in the Balkans hunting down Radic and his men. He was responsible for collating the evidence of the crimes they committed. Crimes against humanity the likes of which you would probably not want to know. I imagine he feels some guilt that what happened could have been prevented, and we collectively failed their victims.’
‘I do not see how torturing the perpetrators helps the dead.’
‘It doesn’t. But maybe it helps Nish feel better that they did not escape the fate they inflicted on others. I do not know. I have not seen through his eyes so cannot contemplate how bearing witness to such things would affect a man of such capabilities.’
‘I think he needs locking up for his own good.’
‘It would seem his employers agree with you...’ Vincent took a folded Europol arrest warrant with Nish’s photo on it out and handed it to his colleague. His colleague frowned.
‘So why aren’t we taking him in?’
‘Because friendship is more important, putting Nish in a padded cell with no sharp implements will not help Zara. And Zara needs people like Nish — and Alex Green.’
‘If those are her friends then god help her enemies...’
Vincent stared out the window. ‘They are far beyond god’s help now...’
9
Vincent drove into the service station on the outskirts of the Europoort where Nish was already waiting with a pair of vans, a small eight-man tactical team, and an articulated car transporter loaded with a variety of S.U.V’s and luxury German cars. Vincent and his colleague got out of their car and walked over. ‘You’re late,’ Nish said gruffly looking at his watch sharply to make a point. ‘Bloody Gallic timekeeping.’
‘So what is the plan?’ Vincent asked, nodding at the transporter.
‘Radic knows me so I need you to ride with my driver. We’ve set up a meet. You’re posing as a Marseille car ringer. Radic’s boat is scheduled out at one a.m. You need to keep him talking and distracted for ten minutes so the boys can get into position. If he knows he’s cornered then he’ll try and make a break for it. Have your man wait here.’ Nish wrote down an address on a piece of paper and handed it to Vincent. ‘When we’ve got Radic we’ll drop you off and then you get him back to France sharpish.’
‘What about his men?’
‘We’ll deal with them. Any other questions? No. Good. Let’s go. We need to make up time.’ Nish whistled his men to mount up. They grabbed carbines from the back of one of their vans and climbed onto the trailer, got into the cars loaded on the back, and hid out of view.
‘I have a bad feeling about this,’ Vincent’s colleague said.
‘We’re setting up a known Serbian war criminal with a heavily armed gang, what could possibly go wrong...’ Vincent said with a trace of veiled sarcasm. ‘They seem to know what they are doing.’
‘I hope so, for your sake. Bon chance.’
Vincent got into the cab of the H.G.V with Nish’s driver. The H.G.V pulled out of the services and headed towards the entrance to the Europoort.
It was obvious to Vincent as soon as they pulled up short in front of the black BMW’s blocking the long access road to the docks that the plan was about to go out of the window. The driver brought the H.G.V car transporter to a halt and waited. One of several from the waiting gang of men, a stocky middle-aged man with a shaven head and a tattoo of a cobra wrapped round his neck, walked over to the driver’s side. The driver lowered his window. ‘You have a problem?’
‘Get out of the truck,’ the cobra-tattoo man said sternly in broken English. The driver looked at Vincent.
Vincent nodded reluctantly. ‘Do as he says.’ The driver nodded, opened his door, got out of the truck and was gestured by another man to walk over to the cars.
The cobra tattoo man climbed up into the cab before settling into the driver’s seat. He stared at Vincent. ‘Are you going to make problem?’
‘What are you doing with my driver?’ Vincent asked.
‘You don’t need him. I am driver.’
Vincent watched as they bundled his driver into the back of a waiting BMW before it sped off in the direction they just arrived from. ‘You don’t make problem, maybe you see him again.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe not. Radic decide everything for you now.’
The BMW’s cleared the road block and the truck continued, escorted by a BMW in front and at the rear. Shortly after they pulled into the haven and towards the loading dock in front of a large container ship. Milling around the ship, a couple of dozen of Radic’s men, all dressed in black leather jackets with barely concealed Kalashnikovs, watched on as the dock crew loaded containers onto the ship. The driver stopped the car transporter in line behind two other trucks. ‘Get out,’ he barked at Vincent.
‘What about our deal?’ Vincent asked.
‘Cars belong to Radic now. Get out.’
Reluctantly, Vincent climbed out of the cab. The driver gestured him to follow him as he walked towards a portable container office unit being guarded by several men. They walked up a set of stairs and Vincent stopped as Radic’s guards frisked him and relieved him of his pistol. Cobra tattoo man pushed him inside and closed the door behind him then shoved Vincent roughly over to the desk where a bearded man sat smoking a cigarette, barely illuminated by a small desk lamp. The bearded man gestured for Vincent to sit down in the chair, before Vincent had a chance to act cobra tattoo man shoved him roughly into the seat. Vincent stared at the bearded man. The bearded man stared back. A few moments later another man entered and handed the bearded man behind the desk a manifest. He read through it lazily and sucked air through his teeth. ‘It is a lot of shit. Do you not have any good cars in Marseille?’
‘If you don’t want them I find another buyer.’
The bearded man smiled and let out a small laugh. ‘They are no longer yours to sell.’
‘We don’t have a deal yet.’
‘And if I take them, who are you going to call, the police? I’m sure they will be very helpful in recovering your stolen cars. No, you are going to do nothing. You are going to fuck off back to your fish-stinking French shithole, that is what you are going to do.’
‘This is not good business.’
‘Pfft. You bring me shit. Why I need people who bring me shit? Even crack-heads in Berlin steal me better cars than this. Go on...’
‘What?’
‘Threaten me. Tell me how there will be consequences; I won’t get away with it. Get all angry and shit.’
‘Is there any point?’
‘You know who I am?’
‘I know something about you.’
‘Then you know there is no point, but if it make you feel better I indulge you in a brief tantrum so you feel less of a spineless coward.’
‘I brought the cars your contact requested. If there is a problem with the consignment I suggest you take it up with him, if you had asked for other cars, I would have brought other cars.’
‘You have no good cars in Marseilles.’
‘You think we steal cars only in Marseilles?’
‘Okay. You can indulge me.’ The bearded man took a pad of paper and a pencil; he pushed it across to Vincent. ‘You give me a list of what you can get and maybe if something is interesting...’
Vincent took the pencil and wrote down a list of cars, then pushed it back to him. He glanced at it briefly and pulled a disdainful face. ‘It is a fantasy. You could not get such things.’ Vincent took the pad back and wrote down a selection of registration
plate numbers, and addresses in St. Tropez and Cannes. ‘You can check. I will wait.’
The bearded man’s interest seemed piqued, he tore off the list, handed it to one of his men, and clicked his fingers. The man took the list and went over to a phone on the other side of the office. A few minutes later he returned and whispered in the bearded man’s ear. He nodded as if impressed.
‘They check out. But what about security? How do I know you can get such things?’
‘I have men inside the company who does the security. But I’m going to want to be paid half up front. It seems you are not a man to honour a deal, so if you want these things you will have to show some good faith.’
‘Good faith...fuck. I can just take these things myself. Why pay you?’
‘If you could get them you would already have them, and you wouldn’t be wasting your time selling these German shit boxes to Africans.’
‘And if you could take them you wouldn’t be here selling me these shit boxes. So what the fuck eh?’
‘Then if we have no deal, we’re wasting each other’s time.’ Vincent got up to leave. The cobra tattoo man shoved Vincent back down into his seat.
‘Don’t be so hasty. We just started talking about it, we have a bit of foreplay before we start fucking the ass.’ He stared at Vincent, trying to get his measure of him. ‘I don’t know you. You want do business on this kind of money we need talk more. You know me. I’m Radic. You know what I am, but you, who the fuck are you? Frenchman from Marseilles. Nobody knows you.’
‘Come to Marseilles. See if you and your squad of gorillas can get out alive. Then you know who I am.’
There was an uncomfortable silence. ‘I don’t know if I want to slit your throat or do a deal with you. I don’t like you Frenchman from Marseilles. You give me bad feeling,’ Radic said and drew a deep breath. ‘But we have to make bread. We maybe try something, if it goes good we make money, if it goes bad a lot of people get fucked up, this is how things will be. You will come.’ Radic got up and headed for the door, the cobra tattoo man pushed at Vincent to get up and follow him. They headed downstairs and walked over to the waiting transporter full of cars. Radic walked up and down looking at them. ‘Shit. Shit. Meh. Shit. Okay. What the fuck. I tell you what Radic will do. I take this shit from you, Radic don’t want this shit but Radic take this shit as your goodwill, then you bring me your list. If you don’t bring me this list you and me gonna have a problem. I take this shit as favour so you owe me. Da?’ Radic clicked his fingers. One of his men handed him a black sports holdall, Radic unzipped the bag and showed the contents to Vincent. It was full of bundles of Euros. ‘Okay? Good price for shit. There is your goodwill.’ Radic zipped the bag up and tossed it to Vincent. ‘Now when you will bring Radic the good shit.’
