Killing Time

by John Kerr

  ‘Yes, sure, you too,’ he replied. Jake merely pointed at Peter and watched him nod his head. Jake squeezed Vicky’s arm as gently as he could on his way past and it made him feel good. A few moments later he was out into the daylight and on his way home. He tried not to look towards the bank as he went past but it drew his gaze like a giant magnet. Back in the bed-sit Jake showered, changed into his gear and put on his light green army jacket. It had all but fallen to pieces but he just couldn’t bring himself to throw it out. He felt comfortable in this jacket and it had kept him warm when he didn’t deserve to be; he wasn’t going to bin it. Not now… not ever.

  It was after 5 p.m. when Jake set out. He was now fully recovered and his feet were back to normal. There was only two hours of fading daylight left and he wanted to get completely out of the area. As this would only be a recce, he had only basic survival gear and some night vision goggles, as well as the new night-sight. The scope could be used either fitted to a weapon or by hand, and because tonight Jake was unarmed he would use it hand-held. He wasn’t carrying any kind of weight so he could move very quickly.

  The night closed in around him and he was soon close to his first target area of Abaline Moor. It was west of Kiltsmire farm, a place Jake knew well from when he was a boy. He had been in this area a long time ago with his father who showed him how to live off the land. The area around the first location, which turned out to be a rather rundown estate manager’s house, was rough grazing and hilly.

  The estate had closed some years earlier and most of the buildings were now in a state of disrepair. Jake came along the top of the ridge. He knew the house sat at the far end of the gully beside a large lake. It gave protection to almost three-quarters of the house, and at this time of year the water level would be high from the many small streams feeding it from the surrounding hills. As he moved off the high ground, the wind dropped considerably and he felt the adrenaline pump round his body. Checking through his night-sight he still couldn’t make out any real detail of the building. There was almost no light. His pace dropped automatically as he scoured the land to his left and right. All appeared calm and still. Jake moved forward; it took him the best part of an hour to get into position near to the old house. He studied it closely; it was single storey and was missing a number of slates from the roof. There were three windows at the front of the house, which was facing him, with the rear facing the lake. The water appeared to be only ten to fifteen metres behind the house and Jake could see no road or track. The front door was in the centre of the house frontage and the small vestibule had both its side windows boarded up, similar to the windows on the building itself. Jake slowly boxed round the house, taking in every ounce of information he could.

  Once round the far side past the lake, he ventured up close. There was no sound as he pressed his head hard against the ground only a couple of metres from the wall. He held his breath. Jake could barely make it out but there was definitely a very low rumble and he knew that it came from the power pack deep underground. God, these guys were bloody good. It must have been hard getting all the gear up here, even on the back of a bike.

  Jake found the motorbike lying propped up against the wall at the back door. The engine was cold, so the runner must be inside, hopefully tucked up in bed. He pressed his head up against the door… silence. Slowly he moved back round to the front of the house and spotted the bike track disappear deep inside the wooded area at the side of the building. It ran parallel to the lake for 300 metres or so before turning right and zig-zagging up the side of the hill.

  Jake moved into the trees and travelled along for ten minutes till he reached the small bend. He checked out the area then returned to a dip in the ground slightly above the height of the roofline and waited. For the next two hours all remained silent. There was not a sound or a movement anywhere. Times like these were never wasted. He studied everything around the house, and the house itself. After a few hours he began to get a sense of knowing the place; it became familiar.

  Just before 4 a.m. he moved off. He had seen all he needed and he was now making for Denholme Ridge, which was approximately eight kilometres away. Jake wanted to see it before first light, so he would have to move quickly. Although he was feeling the cold from his hours of inactivity he soon warmed to the task, gladly accepting the warmth generated as his legs propelled him ever quicker over the ground and even deeper into the night.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  The ridgeline was straight ahead, but all was not well. Jake could feel the dampness on his face and that could only mean one thing… a heavy mist was forming, and up here visibility could be almost zero. Shit. Sod it, let’s just get as close as we can and take it from there.

  He came down from the ridge and walked right on to the small dirt track used by the runner on his bike. It was 500 metres above the house, but was not on his map. Jake knew that it would most probably twist and turn its way down the side of the hill until it reached its destination. Somewhere down there in the mist was Jake’s new target and he immediately pushed off to his right. He didn’t want to approach the house from the front with the chance of being detected or run over by the bike.

  Jake moved down the hill closer and closer; it was almost 6 a.m. and he could feel the daylight as it slowly approached. The mist hung heavily in the air and visibility was only a matter of metres. Jake knew that it wasn’t going to be easy if the mist was going to linger. It would mean he would have to get closer than he would have liked, and it would most definitely make it trickier. The grass underfoot was crisp and the noise he was making made him nervous. If anyone was on guard and switched on, he would have to be deaf not to hear Jake. He slowed down automatically and gradually, out of the mist, came a ghostly shape. Christ, he had walked almost straight up to the house. He fell onto his belly and checked the area all around. From the left-hand side he could hear the wind rustle through a large clump of dense undergrowth. It was growing wild and had reached the edge of the house - it would give him good cover. The house had now become much clearer he could see it was a single storey house with an extension built at right angles, extending towards him. There was no roof on this part of the building, and opposite this was an old barn, which looked like it had been partially demolished. Together, the buildings made up a ‘u’ shape. The small forecourt lay directly ahead of him.

  Jake slowly got up and started to make his way round the right-hand edge of the old farmhouse. A look through the barn window confirmed that the back and sidewalls had collapsed inwards, whether on purpose or not he would never know. The debris looked as though it had been there for years. Moving round the front, Jake found no road and the windows were all intact but blacked out. The lights inside were off and there was no sound whatsoever coming from within. He then went back round to the other side of the house, crawled into the undergrowth, kept the house in view and waited…

  At 9.30 a.m. the door opened and two men came outside. Jake instinctively dropped lower, held his breath and listened. The smaller of the two was Brooks who quickly walked over to the old barn. He had a bright silver bucket in his hand and leaned inside the window and tipped the contents out.

  Now that’s rather old fashioned, Jake thought. Slopping out… so they have no running water inside. The larger of the two had a weapon in his hand. Jake couldn’t make out what it was but it looked very similar to an Uzi. Jake quickly recognised it to be a BXP. A 9mm sub machine gun of South African origin. An excellent short nosed weapon with a magazine that held 32 rounds. Formidable. It sat in the hands of Demarco Salis. He unzipped his trousers and relieved himself against the wall of the house. Suddenly Jake could hear the unmistakable sound of a motorbike as it came roaring down the hill out of the mist. The driver almost lost control and screeched to a halt, narrowly missing Brooks.

  ‘Fuck off!’ he screamed, as he swung his right arm out but managed to miss his target. Spencer Riley sat on the bike. He had on a black crash helmet with a large red stripe running from the front to the
back. Jake knew very little about motorbikes, he had only ever been on one when he was a young boy and his Uncle Peter had a Vespa. Jake had ridden standing up on the front but he didn’t think that counted. This was a trail bike and made for rough terrain like this. It was perfect.

  Riley jumped off and opened the storage boxes at either side of the seat. He removed a package from each one and playfully threw them at his Brooks, who scowled at him as he tried in vain to catch both of them at once. ‘Dry your eyes, arsehole,’ he said, as Brooks bent over to pick them up and began to clean the dirt off them like a cat cleaning her kittens.

  Demarco standing at the door lifted his weapon onto his shoulder and shouted to Riley.

  ‘Okay, wise guy, stick your hand in the air and I’ll try to shoot your index finger off.’ Riley laughed loudly and threw his arm up. Immediately the shots rang out. Rat, tat, tat, tat, tat, as the short-nosed weapon growled into life. The ground twenty-five metres behind Riley jumped skyward as the rounds dug deep into the hillside.

  ‘Aghh!’ he screamed as he fell to the ground and held his hand.

  ‘You’re a fucking idiot! You could have taken my hand off there.’ He got to his feet and snarled at Brooks who was laughing at him.

  ‘And you can fuck off as well, you little midget bastard.’ Jake could tell that this scenario was not unusual. These people felt safe enough up here to fire their weapons at any time without fear. The hills would stop the noise carrying. These people were indeed dangerous and Jake knew he would have to take great care in dealing with them.

  ‘Is this all there is?’ asked Brooks, holding the two packages out in front of him.

  ‘Yes, that’s all there is. You not got enough yet?’ replied Riley.

  ‘Well, I would like enough to make our bloody journey to Alpine Street worthwhile, and I hope arrangements have been made for the boat to be there on time.’

  ‘Hey! Arsehole!’ shouted Demarco. Don’t you worry your little head about the boat; it’ll be there when there’s enough gear to fill it. Now, let’s get some breakfast. Willoughby has it ready,’ he said, as he stepped back inside the door. He stopped abruptly as Riley called out.

  ‘I’m going back; your grub is fucking horrendous. I’ll see you on Friday morning. Make sure the gear is ready to move.’

  He squeezed his head back inside his helmet and kick-started the bike which burst into life. Brooks followed Demarco through the door and kicked it shut. The bike’s back wheel spun wildly in the gravel and Riley sped off up the hillside and into the morning mist. In the daylight he didn’t bother with the track, he just took the direct route and disappeared from view.

  A few moments later all was silent and Jake soon extracted himself from the area. The mist stayed until mid-afternoon and then lifted. It gave way to a most beautiful day and for the next few hours Jake could almost forget about everything that had gone on and everything that was about to happen. He enjoyed the views, and the freshness in the air that filled his lungs. It was at times like this that Jake had always regretted having to go home in the past. Sometimes he would just wander about aimlessly, going nowhere in particular. If he didn’t go back, would anyone notice? Would it make any difference? Would they not just get someone else to take care of these guys? It was a stupid thought, and he knew it. With the weight Jake was carrying he was soon back home. After a quick shower and some food, he went to the pub, where he waited impatiently for Peter. They had decided that it was better to always meet in the pub. They were just a couple of friends, meeting in a public place, having a few beers and a quiet chat. He watched the door as it swung open and in stepped Peter with Bob.

  ‘I think you know this man,’ said Peter.

  ‘I certainly do. How are you getting on, old-timer?’ Jake asked.

  ‘Surviving enough to keep an eye on things and watch what certain people are up to…Listen, I’m sorry to hear about you and Victoria,’ replied Bob.

  ‘Thanks mate.’

  ‘Got something for you.’ Bob said handing Jake a package.

  ‘Holiday snaps.’

  ‘Ugly snaps. The boss thought it better I get these to you quick.’ Bob went to the bar to get drinks and soon returned with three whiskies.

  ‘We got these through from the French. They’re fairly old but complete.’ Jake slowly thumbed them. They were small portrait pictures, very Military like. Could all be ex forces he thought. He studied everyone closely and the names which sat along the bottom. After only a few minutes he handed them back to Bob.

  ‘Listen, I need you to check something else out for me Bob. They’re going to move the packages next week. Somewhere called Alpine Street; it’s next to the river and there’s a boat involved. If you can, find out about it and let me know as soon as possible. Right, I think that’s everything I’m going to fuck off out of here and get my head down. I’m leaving tomorrow night and I want to be in the best nick I can,’ Jake said, as he threw the last of his drink down his throat.

  ‘Oh, are you not staying for another?’ asked Peter.

  ‘No, I’ve a little task to perform before I leave tonight and I don’t want to be in here any longer than I have to. If I don’t see you before tomorrow, it’ll probably be some time over the weekend. Okay?’ Jake emptied his glass before bidding farewell to his comrades.

  ‘Hey, you take it easy out there, young man. I might be an old yin, but I’ve done more than you think and I know just how sticky it can get when the shit starts to fly,’ said Bob, as he patted Jake on the back.

  FORTY-NINE

  Later that night Jake was standing at the mirror, ready. There was now only one more thing he had to do. He threw his old jacket over his shoulders and looked at the reflection that stared back at him. Involuntary outbursts of speech seemed to be occurring more often to him, and he murmured the words ever so quietly… ‘This is for you, babe.’ Jake had found and followed the four guys; he had watched them enter Chandler’s pub on the other side of town. Jake glanced at his watch - it was now ‘chucking-out’ time. He was directly across the street from the pub and from his location he could quickly determine which way they would turn; then he would intercept them at a suitable location.

  Bodies had started drifting out into the street and the noise grew steadily louder. Suddenly Jake saw them, as they half-fell and half-staggered into the street. They were louder than most and looked as though they were trouble just waiting to happen. Jake saw Bryant first. He was finishing his last bottle of beer and tossed it high into the air; it smashed against the bus shelter to loud cheers from his friends. Jake shook his head. Bryant was the leader and nothing but a bully. Jake was gripped by an urge to go straight over and end the man’s life right there and then…Bastard!

  ‘No, let’s do this right, Jake son, let’s just stick to the original plan,’ he said to himself. The men turned right and headed off towards the housing estate at the opposite end of town. Jake paralleled them, picked up his pace and quickly got in front of them. He could see the alley ahead and the irony was not lost on him. He knew they would cross the street and pass it within the next few minutes. As he came to the opening he quickly jumped inside. The alley was well-lit, so he quickly ran to the far end, jumped onto one of the large refuse bins and removed the last two security lights, plunging the last seven metres of the alley into darkness. Perfect. He pushed between the last two bins, crouched down in the dark, and waited. After only a few minutes Jake heard the voices grow louder as his targets moved closer and closer. Jake was as calm as he had ever been and his breathing was easy. Suddenly the men appeared at the entrance to the alley, fifty metres to his left. Jake could see them but they couldn’t see him. He was hidden in the blackness.

  ‘Bryant,’ Jake heard himself say, as he peered over the top of his hiding place. The four stopped abruptly and tried to focus into the darkness at the far end of the alley where they knew the voice had come from.

  ‘Who’s there? Come out and show yourself,’ said Bryant. Jake said nothing.
<
br />   ‘Come out before I come in and burst your face for you,’ Jake could hear the anger build in Bryant’s voice. He gestured with his arms to someone who wasn’t there.

  The four guys looked at each other and, after a few moments mumbling and cursing, they took their first tentative steps down the alley. Slowly they came towards Jake, spread out like four wild west gun-fighters. Bryant reached inside his jacket and pulled the knife. Jake shook his head quietly and very slowly crouched down out of sight. The grumbling noises told him their exact location and he held his breath for only a few seconds as they passed. Jake slowly reached up and pulled the balaclava over his face leaving only his eyes exposed. For the next few moments he was going to have to convince these people that he was not Jake Silverman but someone else entirely. Although Justin was slightly taller than Jake, Jake was hoping tonight’s intake of alcohol would help in some way to cloud their pickled memories. Jake stepped out of his hiding place and followed them deeper into the alley. They could now go no further and stopped just before the wall. Jake was three paces behind them but said nothing.

  ‘There’s no-one here,’ said a voice.

  ‘Let’s go down the club,’ said another, as they turned.

  ‘Oh, so there you are,’ said Bryant in a slightly startled voice.

  ‘What’s with the mask? Are you an ugly bastard or what?’ he added, and the sound of the laughter drifted through the alley. Jake said nothing as he glanced left and right and took in all available information from the four targets directly ahead of him. The two on the left were of stocky build, scruffy looking, and obviously the worse for a night on the booze - as they all were. The knife in Bryant’s hand twinkled in the gloom. The fourth guy was tall, skinny and completely bald.

  ‘Okay, lads, here’s what’s going to happen,’ Jake said, finally.

  ‘I’m going to speak very slowly in order to give your small pickled brains the chance to understand what this is all about. You four clowns have been in my face far too much recently and the final straw was when you came into my bank and were out of order with Vicky. And now, enough is enough. I’m going to teach you some good old-fashioned manners, so the next time any of you guys happen to meet her you will be courteous and polite,’ Jake said, watching all four at once.