Metropolitan Dreams (Cityscape Book 1)

by Mark A. King

  I had a feeling that the girl I had met in the station was fine. She had Merla’s looks and strength.

  Iona

  Coleridge let Cal go.

  Iona watched the man walk into the night, backlit by the city lights of sodium and halogen. If there was uncertainty in his movements, Iona didn’t detect it.

  Raf smiled reassuringly at her.

  Screw Coleridge and Ryan.

  Raf went for his mobile.

  “Oh no you don’t, you’re being brought in for questioning,” Coleridge said. “Give me your phone.”

  Raf shook his head.

  “On what grounds?” Iona asked. “Are you charging us with something, Coleridge? If so, tell us what it is or piss right off.”

  Ryan stepped forwards and placed his hefty shoe over Raf’s. Raf tried to move back, but Ryan already had him under the weight of his leg. “You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you?” He pressed down.

  Iona rushed forward, but Coleridge blocked her. “You see, Iona. You used to sneer at me and the rest of the team. You used to think we were prim and proper, by-the-book cops, defending law and order, while you were the one at the edge.”

  Raf’s face contorted with pain.

  Iona silently urged him not to call out or scream.

  “You see. We work in the cutting edge of IT, but you’re the one who is old-fashioned and narrow-minded. You might as well wear a pocket-watch, a police-whistle, and a chin-strap hat. I’ve seen the future, Stone, and I’m ahead of the curve. When you have the sort of power my real employers have, it’s just a waste—a real waste, to work inside the system. The people I work for, they’re making a difference. Making real changes. How do you think the city has become so rich and powerful? It used to be a wasteland, a major city with minor influence. It used to be a cesspit of poverty.” Coleridge threw her arms open. “Now look at it. Glorious, isn’t it?”

  Ryan crushed further down on Raf.

  Then Raf head-butted him. Blood gushed from Ryan’s nose. He tried to talk, but just gurgled blood.

  Iona’s eyes widened. Raf was not a violent person, but with Ryan Thistle attacking him what other option did he have? Maybe Thistle had coming. Retribution. It sounded like Ryan was heavily involved in the violent attack that had sent Raf to the hospital.

  Thistle’s mouth opened, making a tunnel shape. Then his eyes twitched before closing, and his head went slack against his neck before he slumped the floor in a heap.

  “Two against one. Your move, Coleridge,” Iona challenged.

  Raf and Iona closed the gap on Coleridge.

  Coleridge looked at Thistle as though willing him to get up.

  Thistle was unconscious, his ribcage moving in slow, shallow breaths. Raf sighed, possibly relieved that Thistle was still breathing.

  “You’re in a whole heap of crap, Stone,” Coleridge growled. “Reckon Thistle is going to wake and not do everything in his power to annihilate you? Think my employers are going to be happy? I was supposed to be the pleasant option. You have much worse things coming your way now.”

  Coleridge edged to the platform railing, glancing down to the shoreline. “I wondered what the hell you were doing here. Now I know. A dead body. I suppose you’re going to say that this is just a freaky coincidence. Natural death. That sort of thing. It’s not been a good day for you, has it?”

  Iona wanted to retaliate but knew Coleridge was goading her, buying as much time as she could. “You think I’m in trouble? That I’m having a bad day? You should have a look at yourself. Lost me once already. Your top criminal bodyguard knocked out. Evidence stacking up against you and Armitage both.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? What evidence? Keep Armitage out of this, Stone.”

  “Why keep chasing me? I know for an absolute fact that you have bigger and better things to be doing. You’re in this just as deep as Armitage, aren’t you?”

  Coleridge flashed a look at Ryan as she passed him. Iona looked, too. Out cold, for a few minutes more, even at his build and height.

  “That’s not evidence, that’s just the rambling of a suspended detective and who listens to too many conspiracy theories from her dodgy criminal mates.” Coleridge glanced at Raf, before eyeballing Iona again. “Even if there were some truth to it, which there isn’t, do you really think it wise to mess with such people, Stone? If, for some crazy moment you were right, then what? It would be way bigger than me and you, or our department, or even Armitage. Listen to yourself. A high-ranking police officer, a unit director, controlling organised crime in the city from behind a desk? Don’t make me laugh. You have nothing.”

  Iona and Raf were only feet away from her now.

  “Is that so?” Iona said. “We have more than you know. We’ve been working with the reporter, Danielle Greene.”

  Coleridge snorted. “You think anyone listens to her? She’s the most deluded conspiracy theorist there is and she’s passing herself off as a serious news reporter? Step out of my way.”

  “You’re not going anywhere, Coleridge. Ever hear the name Westbourne?”

  Coleridge’s face whitened and her lips turned a pale shade of blue. “N—No.” She backed up, pressed against the wall right above the body on the silts below. She glared at Raf. “You’ve seen what’s happened to you, Rafel. That was just a warning, just foreplay. Nothing.” She faced Iona again. “The people behind this are not frightened by anyone. They’re untouchable. They run the city and probably half of Europe.”

  “This explains everything,” Iona said. “Why every time I get anywhere with the case, the evidence leads me down dead-ends. It has be someone at the unit, or close to the unit. It can only be Armitage.”

  Coleridge darted her head in every direction. When Iona caught a glimpse of her eyes, the irises were small and shrunken, the black pupils engulfing the colour like night chasing day. Iona wasn’t sure if Coleridge was looking for help or scanning for witnesses and cameras. Coleridge looked like she’d do anything to be somewhere else. “It’s not Armitage. It’s me. It was always me. I threatened her. Threatened to kill Gerry, but the coward took his own life.” Coleridge pressed her palms on the top of the wall, just beneath the railings, shifting her weight into her toes. “Congratulations on finally cracking Operation Scythe. I’m Westbourne. It was always me. I ordered Rafel to be beaten within an inch of his life when he got too close. Now you have what you always wanted.”

  Coleridge, you lowlife scumbag bitch. Iona rushed forwards and swung. Raf jumped between them at the last moment. Iona’s fist weakly glanced off Coleridge’s chin.

  Raf grabbed Iona and shuffled her back a few feet, out of striking range. “She doesn’t deserve your protection, Raf,” Iona sputtered.

  “I’m not protecting her, I’m protecting you. No point in giving her reason to question you in court. Prison will be the worst punishment for her. Every sound at night could be guard or a prisoner coming for her. Deaths can be made to look like accidents and suicides in prison. Her life will be fear, the fear of a person treated worse than a piece of meat. The sort of fear that Coleridge ... Westbourne ... has been inflicting on the desperate and vulnerable for years.”

  Behind Raf, Iona watched as Coleridge pushed her hands down onto the ledge and clambered to the railing that separated the platform from the Thames. Coleridge twisted sharply and prepared to jump. Iona pushed Raf aside and rushed at Coleridge. No. No, you can’t do that. You mustn’t do that. Don’t take the easy way out.

  Coleridge flung herself from the platform.

  Iona desperately grasped for her, hoping to grab an arm, a collar, any piece of clothing that would mean she could prevent Coleridge from plunging into the Thames.

  Iona waited for the sound of the splash, but all she heard was a thud.

  Coleridge had not jumped off the ledge leaning over the deep section of the Thames, but over the dock. A jagged pole protruded from the shallow waters and Coleridge lay on top of it. Her spine hinged at impossible angles. She
hung like a floppy effigy pinned by a voodoo needle.

  They needed to get away.

  A member of the public dead. A police officer dead. Her name was Coleridge, but she was Westbourne. Or so she claimed.

  For those finding the bodies and those investigating the deaths, there would be more questions than answers.

  There was no time for smiles or congratulations.

  Maria Mathan was still missing.

  They needed to find Cal and talk to Danielle Greene, but escape was the priority, and what would they do with Ryan Thistle?

  Thistle’s legs and arms jolted in a violent sleep-twitch. His eyes flew open and he stood, groggily at first, but then he stretched and shook himself down, looked around, and saw the dangling rag-doll that was Coleridge. He wiped the blood from his nose and spat red globs from his mouth. He glowered at Iona and Raf and then growled

  Iona expected him to run at them. To swear, threaten, intimidate. But all Ryan did was pick up is phone.

  “You nearby, Pigeon? Yeah, I need you to do me a favour. I have two people that need to go to the top of the list. Yeah. It’s important. We’re at Queenhithe ... fucking look it up, bird-boy. Get here. Now!”

  Robbie

  Who did Ryan Thistle think he was? The fancy-suit-wearing lanky tosser. Robbie hung up on Ryan and shoved his phone into his pocket.

  When Robbie thought about Ryan, he thought about his father.

  Ryan wasn’t a drunk or a substance abuser or a child-beater—like Robbie’s dad—but who could tell in reality? People tended to hide the parts of themselves they didn’t want others to see.

  Robbie’s father hadn’t worn expensive suits, but Robbie saw the same towering physique and heard his dad’s condescending tone in Ryan’s tight, controlled voice.

  When he was a teenager, Robbie had dealt with his dad. He’d almost forgotten what had happened, despite the incident driving almost every action since he had cleaned his bloodied knuckles drenched in his father’s blood. Robbie had finished school, found himself a low-paying job, somehow stayed away from the criminal activities of his friends, hooked up with Charlie—tried to repent and keep at bay the viciousness that welled within him like it did his father.

  But Robbie was better than that.

  Even with the recent events, Robbie knew he was not his father.

  The people Robbie had been hunting deserved what was coming to them.

  Charlie, however, he was unsure about. He once had feelings for her.

  And the missing girl didn’t deserve what was coming her way. She’d suffered enough.

  What can I do about it?

  The organisation that Ryan worked for wanted her gone. They wanted that phone back, and Robbie was in no position to argue.

  To argue would be to weaken his position. To show his game plan.

  Obeying Ryan Thistle was just a temporary position. A means to an end.

  Let the tosser believe he’s got the better of me. Allow him to see me sink, lower myself, cower under his every command, and tremble in his presence. Then I’ll strike when he’ll never expect it. Just as I did with Dad.

  This was Robbie’s time.

  Robbie would show that he was a hawk—not a pigeon. The world would see it. Ryan Thistle would see it. But first there were games to be played. Ryan had called; there were jobs to be done before seeing to the girl.

  Robbie pulled out his phone again and fired up Google Maps, eventually finding Queenhithe.

  When Robbie arrived, Ryan was pacing, shunting his hands in and out of his pockets, angrily checking his phone. “What the fuck took you so long, Pigeon?”

  Robbie shrugged.

  “We need to move from here,” Ryan growled.

  Robbie smirked. “Seriously? Then why ask me to come here?”

  “Do you have to be so fucking awkward all the time, Pigeon? I thought you’d get here more quickly. I had a situation, two people I needed to deal with. I thought you could help me with it, but they ran before I could do anything about it. Sensible choice, if you ask me, but they still need to be sorted. Let’s move.”

  Robbie did as he was told. They scrambled through the narrow alleyways, dipping between the sickly tangerine puddles thrown by the street lights.

  “What was that about?” Robbie asked nervously between breaths.

  “The police will be here soon enough and there really is no way of telling if they will be sympathetic to our cause. We left bodies back there. One is someone important to my employers. The other is a nobody. I thought, for a strange moment, that you, bird-boy, might have been able to help me sort the mess out. But not a chance, you’re thicker than an Eighties mobile phone.”

  Robbie clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to lash out at Ryan. The time would come.

  “So if I can’t help with that, what can I help with, boss?” Robbie said cheerily, without a hint of sarcasm.

  “A hacker who poses as a cop needs to be sorted. And her mate, who thinks he can attack me and get away with it. They really have no idea who they’ve fucked with do they, Pigeon?”

  Robbie nodded and made an affirmative noise. His stomach tightened with the effort of withholding his distaste for Ryan.

  Now, I’m supposed to be attacking a cop? This is going too far. I can’t be part of this.

  “We need to sort them. They’ve stepped over the line. There are consequences for what they’ve done. My employers won’t be happy.”

  Robbie tried to divert attention. “A bit like the missing twelve-year-old girl? I get it. The people you—we—work for don’t care for labels. Nobody is untouchable. Anyone who screws with us gets what’s coming to them. Don’t they, guv’?” Robbie hated words like guv’, gaffer, and boss—they were straight out of a cockney gangster film, but Ryan Thistle seemed to lap it up.

  Ryan stopped, put his hand on Robbie’s shoulders and said, “That’s pretty smart for you, Pigeon. Don’t make a habit of it. You need to remember your place, Robbie.”

  Keen to keep up the pretence, Robbie replied immediately, “Yes, boss. I know my place. If you don’t mind me asking, what shall we do with the girl?”

  “That’s why I was visiting the dock, Queenhithe. It’s like a miracle, Pigeon. Do you believe in that crap?”

  Robbie thought about his mum. She was religious, which made him religious. She used to tell him to pray for a better life, a more peaceful world—that if he prayed hard enough it would happen. When their lives became worse, and the world seemed intent on sinking into the sewers, he prayed harder, blaming himself for not doing it properly. She would look for signs, ignoring the pitiful lives they endured, pinning her hopes on the sight of two magpies, on the heavenly sunrays bursting through storm clouds, on the curve of a fresh rainbow. His mother used to point to the sky when single white feathers would fall. “Angels”, she would tell him. “That’s your grandparents watching over you, Robbie.” He used to believe it until his mum once cried at the sight of a flurry of white feathers in the sky. “So many Angels, my boy.” Robbie knew better by then. He realised they were nothing more than the windswept remains of a dove striking a car.

  “No, boss. I don’t believe in miracles.”

  “What do you believe in, Robbie?”

  “I believe that we need to take what we can. If we don’t, someone else will. It’s better to have that choice. Bollocks to everyone else.”

  Ryan smirked. “You’re learning, Robbie. Now, this miracle that’s not a miracle—we know exactly where the missing girl is. Stupid fucking idiot only turned on the phone she nicked. She accessed her account and got in contact with her dad. We can track it.”

  “What, like a bugging device or something?”

  “Just when I thought you were getting smart, bird-boy. No. It’s like any smartphone. If the location services are switched on, then all you have to do is log into the account and you can track the location of your phone. It helps find lost phones. But for us, we know where she used it. We also know where she is. So there’s
no rush. We’ll just hunt her down. She won’t even know we’re coming.”

  “How did you have the account details?”

  “I didn’t. Let’s just say that someone I know can access them.”

  Robbie scratched the back of his neck. He wanted to ask more, but didn’t want to hear the answers. “How far away is she?”

  Ryan took his smartphone out and zoomed into the map. “Not far away. It’ll take no more than five minutes.”

  “And these new targets?”

  “The hacker cop and her dodgy mate? I don’t know. They ran while I was still getting my bearings.”

  Robbie didn’t want to ask what had happened. “I fully appreciate that you are the boss, and I’m happy to try to track these people down, but it makes sense, to me anyway, to sort this problem out while we’re here.”

  Ryan scowled. Robbie was sure he was looking at another verbal assault, if he was lucky. “How certain are you that you can get the cop and her hacker friend?”

  Robbie was relieved that he’d escaped a barrage of contempt from his temporary boss. “You can trust me, sir. I’ve done everything you’ve asked so far.” Robbie looked around for anyone who might be within earshot. “I sorted out the loose ends. The shopkeeper is gone. Leo is gone. You don’t need to worry about them anymore, sir. It’s important to me that I do a good job. I realise that it’s not something I chose to do, but having worked with you for a while and reaped the benefits, I can see what a great opportunity this is for me and my future. I am one hundred percent confident I can find them and deal with them. You can trust me, boss.”

  Ryan reached into the pocket of his suit, withdrew a brown envelope, and handed it to Ryan. “It grudges me to say it, Pigeon, but you’ve done okay. So far.” Ryan brushed the lapels of his suit and ran a finger along the gap between his collar and neck. “But this is big, Robbie. We still have two more loose ends from the robbery to sort out. The girl, then your ex. Don’t fuck it up. It’s my arse on the line as well. I need to know I can trust you.”