Not allowing himself a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed one of Grimes’s wrists, slipped a handcuff on, then locked the other one around one of the metal rods at the head of the bed. Grimes woke with a start. As he thrashed about like an animal caught in a snare and let go a string of imprecations, Alex stepped back. Content that this man was exactly as he wanted him, he switched on the bedside light.
Grimes looked up, his eyes mere slits as they adjusted. Sweat beads were forming on his bald head. One rivulet of perspiration ran down his temple, under his eye and on to his cheek. His corpulent frame was on its side, the restrained arm above his head, the other flapping in frustration at the bedclothes like a beached walrus in a temper.
Alex spoke first, kept his voice clear and level. ‘There’s an easy way to get out of your current predicament. You just have to tell me right now where I can find Charles Bridge. That will do it.’
Behind Grimes’s eyes, Alex could see wheels turning, calculations being made.
‘How should I know where he is?’
‘You should. You work for him. Pity for you if you don’t know.’
Grimes frowned. ‘What do you mean?’ he grunted, lip curling.
Wordlessly, Alex reached inside his pocket and brought out a phial filled with red liquid. He placed it on the bed cabinet out of Grimes’s reach. Next, he took a syringe from the same pocket. With slow deliberation, he filled the syringe. Grimes watched him with wide eyes.
‘It’s blood,’ Alex said, putting the bottle back in his pocket and then holding the syringe under the bedside light. ‘We can’t do without it, can we? Only it has to be uncorrupted. But therein lies the rub, eh Jack!’
Grimes fixed his gaze on the syringe. Alex watched him working it out, could see Grimes didn’t want to go to the conclusion where his mind was leading him.
‘What are you talking about?’ he said, voice desiccated.
Alex brandished the syringe. ‘Like you, Jack, this blood is corrupted. It contains the aids virus. Now, that is something you’ll be familiar with.’
Grimes shrank away from the syringe, shifted his position on the bed so he was as far from it as he could be, given the restraint imposed by the handcuffs. Pure hatred emanated from his eyes as he stared at Alex.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he snapped, a tremor in his voice.
Alex sighed. ‘If I add this to your own blood, it won’t do you much good, will it? Could be a lethal cocktail, seeing as you’re already infected.’
Grimes’s eyes bulged. His fear was unbridled. Alex had thrust a spear into a secret and vulnerable place. In frustration, he yanked at the handcuffs but to no avail.
Spent, he turned his attention back to his tormentor, snarled. ‘How do you know?’
‘That doesn’t matter. All you need focus on is that I’m going to stick you with this needle if I don’t get what I want. Now do yourself a favour, man, and tell me where Bridge is.’
‘No way! He’ll kill me!’
‘I won’t be telling him it came from you, so don’t concern yourself about that.’
A silence developed, Grimes considering his dilemma. Alex decided he needed another push and raised the syringe.
‘Pity about this. It’s a nasty way to go, don’t you think?’
Grimes made up his mind, held up his free hand as though he was stopping traffic coming at him too fast for comfort.
‘He’s in Saltburn, Runswick Street, number twelve.’
‘You’d better not be lying. I’ve got too much on you, matey, enough to turn your world black.’
‘It’s the truth,’ Grimes protested. ‘Just you keep your mouth shut about where it came from.’
Alex didn’t answer him. He raised the syringe, moved it in Grimes’s direction. The criminal shrank away, mouth opening in horror. His hand rose in an effort to protect himself. Alex squirted the syringe under his guard. The red liquid hit his face, diffused and ran down his cheeks. In a panic, Grimes wiped it away and stared at the residue on his hand.
‘A waste of good red wine, wasn’t it?’ Alex said, without the least compassion.
Grimes wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand, tasted the liquid. Relief that it was indeed wine gave way to anger. He stared at Alex, eyes narrowed down to slits.
‘If I find out who you are and who told you I’ll—’
‘You won’t be doing anything,’ Alex interrupted. ‘If anything violent happens to me there’s a letter with my solicitor. It’ll be sent to the medical authorities informing them how you’ve been spreading the virus, how one of your victims died. It even names her. They’ll call it murder, won’t they?’
Grimes was crestfallen, didn’t know what to say. Alex had him trapped with no room to manoeuvre and he knew it. His lips started to work but he couldn’t find words and he floundered.
‘Dumbstruck suits you,’ Alex told him. ‘Pity there isn’t a little more shame involved, though.’
‘Bridge will kill you,’ Grimes said, ‘and I’ll spit on your grave.’
‘Will you, now,’ Alex retorted, ‘because if it happens that way the letter will wing its way to the authorities. Ask me, Grimes, you should be praying that I outlive you.’
Grimes shut his mouth. With a sigh of exasperation, he sank back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. Usually, by false charm or bullying, he could find his way around a problem, but there was no solution to this one.
Alex felt a certain satisfaction because he’d struck a blow at those who’d used and abused him and it made him feel better. Satisfied with his night’s work so far, he placed the key to the handcuffs on the cabinet just out of reach of Grimes’s free hand.
‘By the time your pea brain is inventive enough to find a way of reaching that key, I’ll be long gone,’ he informed Grimes. ‘Don’t forget, if I find out that you let Bridge know I’m coming, there’s still that letter. Besides, I don’t think Bridge will be too happy you talked, do you?’
With that final warning he walked out of the room. He left the same way he’d entered, removing his balaclava before he was on the street. A quick call on his mobile told Eddie, who had dropped him and was cruising the area in his taxi, where to pick him up.
‘Mission accomplished?’ Eddie queried as Alex climbed into the cab.
‘He squealed like the pig he is.’
‘So you know where the boss man is hiding out?’
‘I know,’ Alex said. ‘Tomorrow night I’ll pay him a visit and relieve him of some of his money.’
‘You sure you know what you’re doing?’
‘The money is for the injured prison officer and his family.’
‘I know that. How do you feel now?’
‘Better than I’ve been. At least I’m hitting back.’
Eddie gave him a worried look. ‘The best plans can go wrong, you know?’
‘Don’t worry, he won’t know who I am when I go in with that balaclava on. Grimes didn’t have a clue. Will you take me there, Eddie?’
‘You don’t have to ask. You’ve backed me up enough times.’
Alex smiled. He was grateful he had a friend like Eddie and couldn’t put a price on the friendship they’d forged in mutual hardship and danger. He was sure he wouldn’t need him to do anything more than drive and didn’t want to put him in danger but, on the off chance that something went wrong, he couldn’t wish for a better man behind him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alex spent the next day alone in Eddie’s flat. It dragged by like the times he’d been on guard duty in the army. He felt he could have happily excised it from the number of his days, except that subconsciously he was psyching himself up for a confrontation with Charles Bridge. Eddie came back late in the afternoon with the shotgun he’d procured from one of the disreputable characters with whom he came into contact on the streets during his driving jobs. The guy apparently owed him a favour.
That night Eddie took his car instead of his taxi. They parked fifty yards do
wn the road from number 12 Runswick Street, Saltburn, the temporary domicile of one Charles Bridge. It was a typical suburban, semi-detached house, a place you’d hardly expect to serve as a sanctuary for a criminal on the run, though maybe its very ordinariness meant nobody would suspect. They watched the house for ten minutes, saw nothing out of the ordinary and were conscious that the locals might suspect they were the ones up to no good if they sat there too long.
‘Pass it over,’ Alex said. ‘Might as well get it done.’
Eddie reached under the driver’s seat, passed the shotgun over. Alex could tell from the look on his face he was worried.
‘You’re going in blind,’ Eddie muttered. ‘You don’t know how many are in there. Maybe I should come with you.’
‘You’re doing enough,’ Alex told him. ‘Right now, I’m confident I can do it alone.’
Eddie shook his head. ‘Don’t be too confident. You’re not a soldier any more. Are you doing the right thing? Think about it, Alex. Too much has happened to you. Maybe you’re not thinking straight. You could always call the police, let them deal with Bridge.’
‘Afterwards,’ Alex grunted. ‘First I get money out of him for the injured officer, then we’ll call the police.’
‘Something could go wrong,’ Eddie said, staring straight ahead as though the future would reveal itself on the windscreen if he stared hard enough. ‘You might have to pull the trigger and then your life is finished. Think about Ann. What would that do to her?’
Alex didn’t answer. Eddie gave a long sigh, swivelled his eyes to face him straight on. Alex opened the barrel of the shotgun and ejected the cartridges. Holding them in his palm, he handed them to his pal.
‘Now I won’t be able to shoot anybody.’
Eddie shook his head ruefully. ‘Catch 22. Now if he calls your bluff, you’ll be the one dead.’
‘I’ll take him by surprise, like I did Grimes. He won’t get the chance to shoot me.’
‘Rambo hasn’t got anything on you, has he?’ Eddie groaned. But he knew there was no use arguing. Alex’s mind was made up and he wasn’t going to alter it. Reluctantly, Eddie accepted that all he could do was back him up.
‘I’ll wait here,’ he continued. ‘Soon as it’s done we’re out of here. Then we’ll call the police. That bastard needs to be back behind bars.’
‘Of course,’ Alex said. He opened the long black coat Eddie had lent him, hid the shotgun in the folds and reached for the door. Before he had a foot on the pavement, Eddie put a hand on his shoulder and hauled him back in.
‘I’m not changing my mind,’ Alex said, a trace of annoyance in his voice.
Eddie pointed up the street. ‘Look! The door’s opened. Someone’s leaving the house.’
They watched a blond-haired woman step out of the front door. In the semi-darkness it was difficult to see her features clearly as she hesitated at the gate and looked up and down the street. Seemingly satisfied, she closed the door behind her, walked briskly down the path and climbed into the Ford Fiesta parked at the kerb.
Alex said, ‘I read his record. His only relative is a sister. That could be her or a girlfriend. Likely he’ll be alone now.’
‘You mean, hopefully, he will,’ Eddie rejoined. ‘You don’t know for sure.’
The Fiesta’s lights came on and it started moving towards them. Both men sank right down in their seats and waited until the headlights had swept over them before they sat back up.
‘If anything kicks off just get out of here,’ Alex warned. ‘I don’t want you held responsible for anything. You dropped me off and that was all. Right?’
Eddie didn’t answer, just watched Alex climb out of the car. Alex put a flat cap on his head and with the weapon under his coat again, set off in the direction of the house.
He didn’t break his stride, just kept his head down against the blustery wind as he walked past the house to the other end of the street where he made a right turn, then a sharp right. That brought him into the narrow lane they’d reconnoitred earlier which ran behind the houses. Apart from a solitary dog heading straight for him which at the last minute decided to walk around him in a wide arc, he didn’t meet another soul. Lights shone from bedroom windows and he figured that at this time of night folk would be preparing for bed.
It was easy work to step over the low fence and make his way down the narrow passage between two garages. They’d spotted its potential earlier and it meant he could approach the target house without being visible. He could see there were no lights at the back of the house. Better still, his position was only a few yards from the back door.
Wedged in the passageway, he leaned back and gathered his nerve. For him this was not an unfamiliar scenario. He’d been in similar positions countless times during his army service. The main difference on this occasion was that he was entirely alone, no one to think about but himself and his enemy. He could feel his breathing accelerate. As his mind sent out its messages, the adrenalin surged through his veins in response. Sucking in lungfuls of air to calm himself, he counted to three, then burst from his cover, the shotgun against his chest.
He spun at the last second to let his back take the impact as he crashed against the wall. For a minute, he held his position, watching and listening for any sign that he might have been seen by a neighbour or maybe someone inside. The only sounds were those made by the wind as it groaned between the garages and rattled a loose fence.
He rested the shotgun on the ground, pulled on his balaclava, stripped off his coat and picked the weapon up again. He held the coat against the back door, covering the glass panelling. Then he drove the shotgun hard into the glass, which gave on the first impact, the sound muffled by the material. Hoping the key would be in the lock, he reached a hand through the hole, was relieved when he felt the cold metal protuberance on the other side. One turn and the lock opened.
He slipped on his coat, went down on his haunches. Gripping the shotgun tightly in one hand, he turned the door handle with the other, pushed the door open, rolled inside the kitchen, ended up on his back with the shotgun on his chest.
He lay there, listening, while his eyes adjusted to the surroundings. Satisfied that nobody had heard him enter, he stood up and crossed to the kitchen door. It led into the hallway. A shaft of light from a door at the other end of the hall created a rectangular pattern on the carpet.
Shotgun held out in front of him, he tiptoed down the hall. Readying himself, he poked his head through the door and saw Bridge sitting in front of a gas fire, a newspaper on his lap.
Alex stepped inside the room. Something, perhaps a sixth sense, caused the criminal to lift his head. He stared straight at Alex. Shock registered on his face. He let go of the newspaper and it fell on to the floor. Alex saw that his beard was longer now but the hint of arrogance was still there in the eyes, even as they bulged with fear.
With swift strides Alex crossed the room. His gaze never leaving Bridge for a moment, he turned the television off. The gangster was sitting upright, his body rigid, mesmerized by the shotgun, not sure whether at any second it would blast him into eternity. Alex allowed the silence to stimulate Bridge’s doubt and trepidation even further, enjoying the fact that the tables were turned on the man who’d had no qualms about ruining him.
It was Bridge who broke the silence, a slight quiver in his voice. ‘What is it you want?’
Alex put on the guttural Glaswegian accent assimilated at his grandmother’s knee, refined in later life when his battalion had been posted to the same town as the local Glaswegian regiment. He hoped it would be good enough to deceive the gangster.
‘I’m wanting your money, pal.’ he grunted. ‘Money or your life, like the highwaymen used to say.’
Bridge’s eyes narrowed. ‘You know who I am, do you?’
‘I ken all right.’
‘Who sent you?’
‘I’m ma own man. Nobody sent me. Where’d you keep it?’
The gangster’s lower lip protruded. Al
ex could see his duplicitous mind was at work, trying to find a way through this situation, wondering if there was a way to turn it around.
‘You were badly advised. I haven’t much money.’
Alex stepped towards him, lifted the shotgun. Bridge stared down the barrels, hypnotized as they stopped inches away from his face.
‘Charlie Bridge is’nae a poor man and I’m no a patient one. You’re going to give me money or I’m going to blast you. You’ll no be missed, either. There’s people will thank me for it.’
Bridge managed to haul his eyes away from the barrels up to the masked face. Hatred and malice emanated from him. Alex felt the full force of the man’s evil, an evil thwarted, struggling to accept the loss of power on which it thrived.
‘How do you know me? How did you know I was here?’
Alex answer was to push the barrels right against the centre of his forehead. He was sweating under the balaclava, aware that the shotgun was an empty threat, that if Bridge decided to be brave, he’d be in trouble.
‘You were seen, the first day you came here,’ Alex lied. ‘One of the cons who knew you in prison recognized your ugly puss. He was too scared to turn you in but to a desperate man with a habit, you’re heaven sent.’
‘You’re desperate because you’ve got a habit?’
‘Who has’nae a habit? A man like you has money to fix it, so cough it up.’
A frown creased Bridge’s forehead. Alex liked the way the conversation had developed because the gangster obviously understood a man in need of drugs would sometimes do anything for cash. Worse, if such a man didn’t get what he wanted, his behaviour could be unpredictable.
‘OK! OK!’ Bridge exclaimed, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘The money’s in the cupboard under the stairs. Now get that shotgun out of my face.’
Alex took two steps backwards. He gestured towards the door with his weapon.
Stitched Page 13
