Torn Apart

by M A Comley

  He slumped onto the nearest desk and quickly scanned Dave Wheeler’s article. Damn! The bloody man had done an excellent job of putting down the police for their shoddy work on the case thus far. Give us a break, mate. These things take time to sort out. Towards the end of the article, Wheeler had stated the name of the gang who had carried out the murders and the estate that they ruled. Shit!

  Hero jumped up and stormed through the unusually subdued incident room and into his office. He flung off his jacket and threw it on his desk. Then he picked up the phone and aggressively punched in a number.

  “Dave Wheeler, it’s an emergency.”

  “Just one moment, sir,” the girl on the other end of the phone told him. She came back on the line. “You’re through.”

  “Wheeler?”

  “Yes, who’s calling?” The journalist sounded uncertain, and Hero couldn’t help but feel triumphant at that. He had no idea the trouble he’d just created for himself by running such a foolish article.

  “It’s DI Nelson. We met at the Hartleys’ funeral last week.”

  Wheeler let out a breath he’d been holding in. “Ah, that’s right. How are you this fine day, Inspector?”

  “Pissed off, if you must know, Wheeler,” Hero hissed at him.

  When the journalist laughed, Hero’s hand clenched the phone tighter.

  “I had a feeling you wouldn’t be too happy about the piece.”

  “Forgive my language here, Wheeler, but you’re a, class-A dickhead for running that story the way you have. I’m not against you running it as such, but you named the gang for fuck’s sake. I hope you have twenty-four-hour security at your house, ’cause you’re going to need it once the Krull Gang hear about this.”

  The man’s silence spoke volumes. The thought that the gang might come after him apparently hadn’t occurred to him.

  “Are you there, Wheeler?” Hero pressed angrily.

  The buoyancy had disappeared from Wheeler’s tone when he responded. “Yeah, I’m here. Hey, the article was supposed to be getting at you lot. I guess I was blinded by that and forgot the other side of the coin.”

  “Like I said, you’re a fucking dickhead. Oh, and by the way, when the Krull Gang come and hunt you down don’t—I repeat don’t—expect us to come to your aid.” Hero cringed when he shouted the words and hung up. Maybe that was a tad too harsh.

  The phone rang immediately after he dropped it back into the docking station. He snatched it back up and said abruptly, “Yes?”

  “Bad day at the office, DI Nelson?” Cranwell, the Detective Chief Inspector, snapped back.

  “Sorry, Chief. You could say that.” His mouth twisted, and he shook his head in annoyance.

  “My office. Now. Your day is about to get even worse.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

  “If not sooner,” the chief’s voice boomed down the line before it went dead.

  “The chief’s not wrong about this day getting worse,” he mumbled as he stormed through the incident room and up the two flights of stairs to his boss’s office. Cranwell’s PA, a pretty petite brunette, almost had a heart attack when he burst through the door.

  “Oh my giddy aunt, Inspector. I’ll tell the chief you’re here, if you’d care to take a seat.”

  Hero gave her a false smile and started to pace around the room until she returned. She held the door open and invited Hero through. “The chief will see you now, Inspector.”

  Hero squeezed past the PA and walked into the tired, dreary-coloured room that was twice, maybe three times, the size of his own crappy office. He walked up to the desk and waited for the chief to acknowledge his presence before he sat down.

  With an expectant look, the chief looked up from the paperwork he was studying. The evening paper was folded up near his elbow. Hero dropped into the chair, his gaze glued to his boss’s angry face. He knew exactly what was coming.

  “Well?”

  Hero put on his best poker face and hitched up a shoulder slightly. “Sir?”

  The chief snatched up the newspaper and threw it across the table at Hero.

  He gulped noisily. “Ah, you’re talking about the article, sir.”

  “Cut the crap, Inspector. This station has been under investigation for too many failed cases as it is lately. Now this. What in God’s name is going on?”

  Hero picked up the paper and turned to the article in question. “The thing is, sir, the reporter is a friend of Rupert Hartley. There was little I could do about it, not that I knew he was going ahead with the article. Had I known that, I would have at least dissuaded him against naming the gang.”

  “I’m confused. How did he obtain the name of the gang, and more to the point, why has this gang not been arrested yet?”

  Hero inhaled deeply and placed the paper back down on the polished desk in front of him. “These things take time, sir. The CPS keeps going on at us about arresting people when we don’t have enough evidence against them. I just thought I would make sure we dotted all the i’s on this one.”

  He sniffed the air and said, “That’s bullshit, and you know it. What’s the real story, Inspector? And make it quick. I have a meeting with the commissioner about this case in half an hour.”

  “Damn! Really, sir? Okay, here’s where we’re at, my partner and I went out to the estate where the suspects—and that’s all they are at this point, sir—where the suspects hang out. We were just about to get out of the car when the gang attacked the vehicle. We drove away from there ASAP. This morning, we got a call about a suspected suicide on another estate, which is controlled by another gang on the other side of Manchester. It turns out that one of the gang members was set alight. I’m thinking it’s gang related and the Krull Gang are to blame. Again, I’m trying to find some evidence to back up my theory.”

  “And in the meantime, this gang is creating havoc in and around Manchester.”

  “With respect, sir, the gang’s territory has been earmarked as a police no-go area. That’s hardly my fault, is it?” Hero puffed out his chest as he spoke.

  “Maybe not, but what do you plan on doing about it, Inspector?”

  “Er…call in the reinforcements if I have to, sir.”

  “I’m not with you.”

  Hero raised an eyebrow. “With your permission, sir, I was thinking about going in there heavy handed with an armed response team.”

  The chief leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers together, and placed them against his chin. He bounced a few times before he let out a tortured laugh. “Is that really necessary, Inspector? We’re talking about a few youths here.”

  Hero couldn’t help wondering what kind of rosy-coloured world the chief lived in. “Youths with ASBOs to their name, sir, and sitting tight in a police no-go area. If we can get around that, we’ll be laughing. Hence my thinking behind calling in the armed police. This gang don’t give a damn, sir. They just set a guy alight and mowed down a mother and son for Christ’s sake,” Hero stated frustratedly, much to the chief’s horror.

  “I’m not liking your tone, Inspector. If you’re struggling with your role, now’s the time to speak up.”

  “Sorry, sir. I’m frustrated, that’s all. We’re getting more and more of these no-go areas popping up. If you can give me a solution as to how we can combat these gangs, then I’ll willingly listen. At the moment, if we go within twenty feet of these estates, as unarmed police, we’re liable to be petrol bombed or something similar.”

  “Another point to raise with the commissioner when I see him. Well, do your best until we come up with an adequate solution. Keep searching for ways we can pick up the gang separately, maybe?” the chief said as Hero rose from his seat.

  “I’ll do my best, as always, sir. I’ll keep you informed. Good luck with your meeting.”

  Hero left the office and sauntered back to the incident room, shaking his head as he walked. Why don’t I have a regular nine-to-five job with less responsibility? Boy, did I miss that tr
aining exercise at the weekend. The TA somehow managed to balance out his life and put things back into perspective when it had a habit of going off at a tangent and gathering speed as it precariously ran out of control. Still, a couple of pints after work should wipe out the day’s frustrations.

  He opened the door to the incident room and called out, “Who’s up for a session after work?”

  The usual candidates shouted back that they were up for it, and one of the voices surprised him. Julie Shaw usually steered clear of the after-work bevvies. I guess her frustrations match mine.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The woman stood on the street corner, just out of sight of the girls who generally worked there. The streetlight flickered its final breath then plunged the area into virtual darkness. The woman shuddered as the evening chill seeped through her flimsy clothes. This was all new to her—her first night out “on the game”. She turned her head and listened. In the distance, a group of girls laughed, and their voices were loud as they shouted a conversation. The woman pulled the strap of her handbag over her shoulder and moved towards the voices. Poking her head around the next corner, she saw two girls on one side of the road and three girls on the other. The shouting ceased when two cars pulled up between them.

  Two men got out of the first vehicle. One of the girls took flight and tried to run from them, but she turned an ankle in her stiletto heels and fell in a heap on the pavement. With one man on either side of her, they roughly pulled her to her feet and slung her back against the brick wall. The girl cried out in pain and shouted, “Don’t hurt me, please. I’ve got your money…Here, look.”

  One of the men ripped her small glittery evening bag from her shaking hands and tore it open. With a satisfied grin, he withdrew a handful of notes and stuffed them in the pocket of his jeans. Then he punched the girl in the stomach, and she fell to the ground again. The men strolled nonchalantly back to their vehicle, laughing as they went. They got back in their car, but not before one of them shouted a warning to the other girls in the vicinity.

  “That’s what happens when you try to double-cross the Krull Gang. No more, right?” He glared at the girls until he received the answer he was looking for. A resounding yes came from all the girls’ lips as they rubbed their hands together against the chill of the night, which had increased over the last few minutes because of what had happened to one of their own.

  The men got in the car, and both cars sped away, screeching their wheels as they disappeared around the first corner.

  The girls ran to help their companion to her feet. The woman who’d been watching the events unfold with interest and subsequent horror stepped out of the shadows and went towards the group.

  Her voice strained, like any newcomer’s would be, she peered over the shoulder of a short dumpy girl and asked, “Is she all right? Should we call the police?”

  The group of heavily made-up prostitutes eyed her with a mixture of caution and incredulity. A blonde Amazon-sized woman leaned back and laughed loudly. “Are you crazy? Who the fuck are you?”

  The woman cringed. She hadn’t meant to bring attention to herself. She’d intended only to observe the women, to learn a few tricks of the trade, and that was all. But her caring nature had come to the fore. She regretted her decision to step out of the shadows. She tried to turn and retreat to where she had come from, but two of the girls blocked her path.

  The amazon tottered on her stilettos and stood in front, towering over her. “I said, who the fuck are you?”

  She gulped noisily, and the girls must have heard it, because they all sniggered. Even the girl who had been beaten up by the thugs giggled a little.

  “I’m new around here.”

  “No fucking shit, Sherlock. Why don’t you run along and mind your own fucking business. This patch is spoken for. If the Krull Gang find you here, your life won’t be worth living, anyway.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean. The Krull Gang? Is that who beat your friend up?”

  The amazon prodded the woman painfully in the sternum. “You ask too many questions, lady. Now fuck off outta here.”

  The woman didn’t need to be told again that she wasn’t wanted. She shrugged, turned away from the group, and disappeared into the shadows again, where she waited for another opportunity to arise.

  The girls didn’t give her a second glance as they turned their attention back to helping the girl who had been attacked back on to her feet. The amazon took a tissue from her handbag, licked the edge of it, and dabbed at the mascara trail the girl’s tears had formed. Then, as if nothing untoward had happened, the girls returned to work. The flow of traffic in this otherwise-quiet street was non-stop, and within twenty minutes, all but one of the girls—the girl who’d been attacked—had gone off with a punter.

  Seizing the opportunity to talk to one of the girls, the woman left the cover of the shadows for a second time that evening and walked over to have a conversation with the girl. She needed answers, and she couldn’t get those without talking to someone in the know.

  The girl snarled at her when she saw the woman approaching. “You! What the fuck do you want?”

  The girl was leaning against the wall, one of her feet tucked up behind her, pressing in to the wall’s surface. The woman smiled, not letting the girl’s offhand comments deter her in the least. “Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

  “About what? Being on the game?”

  “Yes. I’m new. The last thing I want to do is step on anybody’s toes. I take it you girls have certain patches where you work. Is it the same patch all the time?”

  “If you want my advice, I wouldn’t get into this game in the first place. If you’re determined to get on the game and decide not to listen to me, you’d be wise to pick another area. The Krull Gang have got this area pretty sown up.”

  “Thanks. How far does their area stretch?”

  “Miles.”

  The woman pressed the girl further. “Mind if I ask why those clowns beat you up?”

  She shrugged one of her bare shoulders and said, “I had a doctor’s appointment and missed the pick-up time.”

  “Pick-up time?”

  The girl tutted. “The time we hand over our money.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would you give your money to them?”

  The girl let out a loud laugh. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were new to all this. They’re our pimps! They take ninety percent of what we earn.”

  “Shit! Really? How are you supposed to live? Where do you live?”

  “We live in a squat. The gang set us up there. Sometimes, we hold parties there for the punters, but most of the time, we’re expected to stick around here, on the streets and in the cold.”

  The woman shook her head. “And why do you stick around here?”

  The girl sniffed loudly and then spat on the pavement beside her. “They’ve got me by the short and curlies. I’ve got a drug habit that needs feeding.”

  “But they treated you no better than a dog. You can’t put up with that, surely?”

  “You’ve got a lot to learn, lady. Which is why I told you to get out of it before you get into it. Go find a nice office job somewhere.”

  The woman shook her head. “I can’t. I need big money and fast.” She put her hand in her handbag and left it there. The girl didn’t appear to notice the movement. “When are the other girls due back?”

  The girl studied her up and down as if she were crazy. “Girl, there ain’t no time limit on punters screwing you. It’s over when they say it’s over. Why?”

  The woman leaned in to whisper in the girl’s ear, “Because I’d hate to have a witness.” With that, she withdrew a knife and thrust it in the girl’s stomach. The girl looked at her in horror as her hands automatically covered the wound that was already bleeding heavily.

  “Why?” she asked, blood trickling from the side of her mouth as she slid down the brick wall.

  The woman watched the girl slip into uncon
sciousness, then die before she replied, “Because I want to see the shit hit the fan!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Hero groaned and rolled over. The bed was empty beside him. He swiftly looked at the bedside clock and regretted it. The previous night had been a heavy session after work, too heavy. One of the other members of the team had dropped him home at just past midnight. He remembered crawling into bed and trying to snuggle up with Fay, but she was having none of it. She had shifted her warm body to the edge of the bed, and taking the hint, he’d turned his back on her and dozed off within minutes. Gingerly, he sat up and took a sip from the glass of water Fay always took to bed with her. He winced when she shouted from downstairs for Louie to get up. Damn, I’m going to be late for work.

  He showered as fast as his aching head would allow him to and dressed in the clothes Fay had laid out for him, like she did every morning. Where would I be without her? He picked up his mobile and car keys off the dressing table and put them in his jacket pocket. He left the bedroom and started down the stairs. Louie sped past him, almost knocking him off balance. “Hey, slow down, you rascal.”

  “Mum’s mad this morning. Can’t you tell?”

  “Yeah, and she’ll be even madder at you if you fall down the stairs in your haste.”

  His words went unheeded as the boy finished running down the stairs two at a time and disappeared into the kitchen. Hero stopped at the bottom of the stairs to look in the hall mirror. The instant he saw his reflection, one word popped into his mind—rough. You look rougher than a tramp living the highlife of whiskey, tucked up in Cardboard City, mate.

  He made his way into the kitchen and walked up to his wife, who was putting slices of bread in the toaster. Kissing her on the cheek, he whispered, “Morning, love.”

  Fay pulled away, turned her back on him, and sat down at the table with her son. Hurt, Hero made himself a coffee laden with cold milk so that he could drink it quickly. Then he left the house without attempting to speak to either Fay or her son again. Outside, rain was falling.