by Timlin, Mark
‘Get him,’ ordered Antony. Algy hit the power brakes and the Range Rover fish-tailed to a halt. Freddy baled out of the back door, his Uzi in his fist. ‘Go, Algy go,’ shouted Antony and the truck took off again, the back door slamming to with the force of the acceleration.
I heard a burst of automatic fire from behind us, but before I could turn and look we crested the brow of a hill and powered down towards the house below.
The farmhouse loomed like a dark block in the lighter darkness of a plantation of woodland. There wasn’t a light to be seen and as we dipped down the hill the head-and spotlights of the truck caught the white wooden sides of the house and threw long shadows across the lawns. Human shadows, armed human shadows.
‘We’ve been blown, guys,’ said Antony through gritted teeth. ‘Want to call it off?’
‘Bollocks,’ said Algy.
‘Fuck it,’ I said. ‘Let’s give them some grief.’
‘Amen,’ said Benny from the back seat. ‘It’s everyone for themselves then,’ said Antony. ‘All bets are off.’
On his last word a bank of floodlights mounted on high poles dotted across the property sprang to life and threw the scene into sharp relief. I saw the house facing us at the end of the drive. To its right was the darker shape of the garage, and to the left I saw the empty swimming-pool full to the brim with black shadows that reminded me of a toothless mouth. Algy fired the Range Rover down the hill like a bullet and gunfire broke out from both sides. He jumped the truck onto an expanse of smooth lawn and threw it into a six-wheeled skid across the damp grass. From directly in front of us I heard the deeper bark of a light machine-gun. The bullets smashed into the glass in front of us. The windscreen starred in a couple of places but held and I blessed the sheikh who’d gone for the bulletproof option when he’d picked his shade of tinted glass. The Range Rover rocked to a standstill in the centre of a flower bed that would have kept me busy for a year when I was into horticulture.
‘Split,’ I shouted and all four doors opened and we hit the dirt. I swallowed a mouthful of mud as I lay on the soil and heard the machine-gun open up again and the bullets thud into the bodywork of the truck only inches above my head. Glass tinkled as some of the bullets smashed into the lights of the vehicle. I fired the Winchester in the general direction of the muzzle flashes I could see and caught the kick from the gun squarely on my collar-bone. I pumped the second cartridge into the chamber and rolled under the high body of the Range Rover I felt my foot catch flesh and Algy roared, ‘Keep your bloody feet to yourself.’
‘Hello, Alge,’ I said ‘How’s tricks?’
‘Too confined,’ he said. ‘We’ve got to get that bastard with the machine-gun.’
‘Where’s Ben?’ I asked.
‘Who?’
‘The old guy with the Uzi.’
‘Dunno.’
‘Less of the old,’ said Benjamin from where he was crouched, wedged between the twin back nearside wheels of the six-wheeler and ruining his nice overcoat.
‘Give us some cover Ben,’ I begged. ‘Me and Algy’ll take the machine-gun out.’
‘OK,’ said Benjamin. ‘But be quick, the magazine in this junk only lasts a few seconds.’
‘I know,’ I said drily. ‘I’ve used similar.’
‘Stop reminiscing and let’s go,’ screamed Algy.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ said Antony from somewhere off to the left. ‘If you don’t go, I will.’
‘You cover us too. On the count of three,’ I said. ‘Three.’ And we went.
Benny stood up by the side of the Range Rover and sprayed off a clip of 9mm shells. Antony stayed in the mud and added the blatt of his Magnum to the crackle from the tiny machine-pistol.
At our first retaliation, the lights on the poles went out and left us in pitch-darkness except for the single beam from the front of our vehicle.
Algy and I rolled from under the truck and headed neck and neck for a depression in the lawn about fifty yards from where I guessed the machine-gunner was situated. We hit it in unison and I scuttled up the side and stuck my head over the top. Nothing. Then the lights came back on and lit up the car, Benny and my head. I pulled back as bullets from the house kicked up clods of earth in front of me. The firing from the truck had stopped.
‘Change the clip, Benny,’ I prayed. In answer to the prayer I heard the pneumatic buzz of the Uzi from behind us. I stood up and hurled myself over the lip of the depression and rolled down the hill. When I slid to a halt the machine-gun was directly in front of me, just about fifteen yards away. The gunner was struggling with the mount to get a shot at me when I fired the Winchester and the back of his nylon jacket exploded into a smoking, smouldering mess of blood and fabric. He kept turning and I frantically pumped the action of my weapon. The machine-gun was almost all the way round when Algy shot off the machine-gunner’s face with the Ithaca.
The firing coming from the direction of the house opened up again, ripping at the ground, and whistling past us like angry insects. Algy and I threw ourselves down, using the dead body of the machine-gunner as cover. The grass was slick with blood and I wiped my hands on the front of my jeans to dry them. I looked over my shoulder and saw sparks flying from the metalwork of the Range Rover as the heavy calibre shells found a target. With almost elegant inevitability the bullets punched across Benjamin’s chest ripping bloody holes in his body. He bounced back against the truck and fell forward to lay still. I scrambled up and zigzagged towards the car. Bullets kicked up earth around my feet and I dove the last few yards to land in a heap by Benny’s corpse. He was already losing body temperature in the night air. I laid the Winchester down beside him, picked up the empty Uzi, patted down his pockets with a grimace of distaste, found the spare clips, reloaded and fired off a burst towards the farm. From behind me I heard a glottal belch and Antony rolled into my view coughing blood from his nose and mouth. I fired again, hoisted the Uzi by its strap across my shoulder and knelt down beside Antony, keeping the bulk of the car between me and the line of fire. He’d been hit in the neck and was losing blood as fast as his heart could pump it. I put my hand across the wound to try and close it, but could only feel the thick wetness being forced between my fingers.
‘Too late,’ he managed to say before he died.
I laid him gently back onto the ground and peered around the side of the truck. Bullets were still clanging and ricocheting off the steel by my head. In the illumination from the lights I saw Algy stand up, hugging the machine-gun and start to blast off at the floodlights. Bulbs popped and the power lines hissed as his bullets found their mark. I stood and added my automatic fire to his. I saw him turn and grin through his beard. A heavy cable split and snaked down to the ground trailing a tongue of flame and all the lights went out once more. I ejected the empty clip and reloaded the Uzi with the last full magazine and charged towards Algy’s position. He heard me coming and called my name.
‘Here,’ I replied.
I found him in the darkness. All shooting from the house had stopped. He dropped the machine-gun and we ran towards the black shape of the house and took cover behind some evergreen shrubs about fifty yards from the building.
‘What happened?’ he asked in a whisper.
‘Those two are dead,’ I said bluntly. ‘And so will we be if we don’t get the fuck out of here. I’ve got one full mag for the Uzi and my pistol.’
‘I’ve got six shots in this -’ he was referring to the Ithaca – ‘and the Smith is full, but it’s not much. They’ve got a fucking arsenal in there by the sound of it.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘I think we’re running in the wrong direction. Let’s get back to the truck.’
‘It must be fucked by now,’ he said. ‘Let’s head for the road before they manage to get the lights working again.’
‘Don’t hold your breath on that one, but you’re right.’ I popped my head up and glommed the farm. ‘Why are they so fucking quiet in there?’
‘Maybe we scored some h
its.’
‘Not many. They were ready and we walked straight into them. I bet our only score was the geezer with the machine-gun.’
I felt, rather than saw, him shrug. ‘Where’s the other guy?’ he asked. ‘Whatsisface we dropped at the gate?’
‘Fuck knows,’ I replied. ‘Probably dead too. This whole thing’s been a fucking shambles from first to last. Somebody talked too much.’
‘Who knew?’
‘Don’t ask me. I trusted the pros. I should have known better. American knowhow, fuck it. They probably gave an interview to People magazine before they came out this afternoon.’
‘Let’s give him a call on the radio,’ suggested Algy.
Don’t bother,’ said a voice behind us, and what was left of the lights came on again.
Algy and I lay under the white glare like two butterflies pinned on cardboard. Freddy covered us with his Uzi which was rock-steady in his grip. He was smiling a smile straight from hell and even though his breath was visible as the night got colder, perspiration glistened on his face and darkened the collar of his shirt.
‘Drop your weapons and stand up,’ he ordered. Algy and I looked at each other. ‘Now.’ He ground the word through the rictus in his face.
We obeyed, laying the Uzi and the Ithaca carefully on the ground and standing slowly to face him. ‘And the handguns,’ he said. ‘Slowly, left-handed, fingertips only.’
Once again we obeyed, gently working the pistols out of our belts and dropping them onto the grass.
‘So it was you,’ I said.
The grin got wider and he nodded. ‘I told you I’d take you out.’
‘You haven’t taken me out yet, brother,’ I replied. His smile turned to a snarl and I saw his finger tighten on the trigger of the machine-pistol. Algy stiffened, then Freddy relaxed and the smile returned.
‘It’s just a matter of time. The Divas want to see you first.’
‘You’re not fussy who you work for, are you?’ I said. ‘They killed Jo.’
‘She was already dead to me,’ said Freddy. ‘She was dead the first day she let you screw her.’
‘And they killed your friend and your boss. I thought in your line of business loyalty was important.’
‘Loyalty.’ He spat. ‘You talk to me about loyalty. How loyal were they? If they’d been loyal they’d have killed you the first day we came over. We would have executed you in the old way, with stilettos, taking turns to cut you until you died, slowly, painfully, and we would all have taken equal responsibility. But they were soft, stupid, and now they’ve paid.’
‘And the Divas paid you.’
‘No,’ he cried. ‘No payment. It was honour, and honour must be satisfied.’
‘Fucking bollocks,’ said Algy.
Freddy turned the gun towards him. ‘What?’
‘Fucking bollocks,’ said Algy again and walked towards Freddy. Freddy fired point-blank. I actually saw the bullets pass through Algy’s chest and shoulders, chopping great chunks of flesh away from his massive body, but he hardly faltered, just walked towards the American and smashed the Uzi out of his hands, then picked him up in a bear-hug and squeezed him until I heard his spine snap with a sound like the branch of a tree cracking under the pressure of a gale force wind. Algy dropped the body and fell to his knees, blood pouring from the multiple wounds he had sustained. ‘Get the fuck out,’ he said. ‘Never waste a futile gesture.’
I started towards the big man when the light went out behind his eyes and he fell forward with a crash that shook the ground. He lay still and I knew he was beyond help.
I felt my lips curl back over my teeth and I kicked at Freddy’s body but he was as still as Algy.
I had to get away. I picked up the Smith and Wesson and started plinking out the floodlights. I fired four times and four bulbs blew. Before I could fire again the floods were doused and I took off. There was only one place to go. In the darkness I ran towards the single gleaming yellow eye of the Range Rover. I stayed low and tried not to pass between the house and the light from the car to avoid presenting a running target. The driver’s door was open, I tossed the S&W onto the passenger seat and snaked behind the wheel.
Miraculously, the engine was still running, although the car was well sick. The inside of the cab stunk of engine oil and a thin, dark smoke was creeping through the heater vents. One of the front tyres was flat and I could hardly see through the crazed windscreen. But the glass was still holding and I prayed that my luck would do the same.
I shifted the gear stick into drive and the Range Rover lurched across the grass. The power steering was out and the flat tyre at the front flapped like the loose sole on a pair of cheap shoes.
I pushed the accelerator hard down and the truck wheezed back onto the drive and towards the main gate. The Range Rover was gathering speed when I saw that the gate was blocked by a flat-bed Transit. Someone was lying on the bed of the lorry and opened up with yet another automatic weapon. I started to zigzag the heavy machine, hardly noticing the pain in my right hand as the burn scabs opened under the bandage. I swung the Rover off the drive again, through an ornamental hedge and across a flower bed. The big car protested as it bounced over a rockery and onto the lawn at the side of the house. I heard more gunfire and finally the abused windshield gave up the fight and I was showered with broken glass. I ducked down behind the steering-wheel and lost control of the car. The Range Rover skidded, I spun the wheel into the skid, but I couldn’t recover traction. The vehicle slid off the wet grass and onto the tiled edge of the swimming-pool. I hit the brakes, but it was all over. The truck’s engine roared as it lurched on the lip of the pool and it flipped neatly over the side. I expected a splash but none came. The pool had been emptied for the winter. The truck dropped ten or fifteen feet and hit the bottom of the pool with a resounding crash. I was smacked against the inside of the car door and blacked out for a second.
When I came to, the Range Rover was lying on its side in a foot or so of rain water. Someone jumped down and stuck a shooter through the gap left by the windscreen, and gestured for me to get out of the vehicle.
I gave in.
I was dazed and I’d lost the S&W. I squeezed through the broken glass and sat in the cold, brackish water. I looked up and the pool was ringed with armed men.
‘Come in boys,’ I said. ‘The water’s fine.’
37
Someone switched on the poolside lights and made the night as bright as day. They cast long shadows from the gunmen standing round the edge of the pool. I counted five figures in silhouette, but I couldn’t make out individual features. With the one who was covering me, plus the other by the gate, and the machine-gunner, and God knows how many more, it seemed that the Divas had rounded up a small army to greet us. So much for two heavies, a bimbo and a housekeeper. Freddy had done a good job of setting us up.
The character with the shooter motioned for me to stand. He never said a word.
‘Keep your hands where we can see them,’ said someone from the poolside.
I got to my feet with the aid of the grille of the Range Rover. I was hurting all over and felt about one hundred and four. I put my hands in the air. The ooze in which I was standing was freezing cold and stank of rotting vegetables.
One of the figures went to the shallow end and jumped down onto the floor of the pool. He walked down to where I was standing. He looked at the puddle at the deep end and pulled a face. I recognised him as one of Diva’s heavies I’d made to look foolish at Mogul Towers and I pulled a face too. If the geezer I’d kicked in the head was about it could turn out to be an interesting evening.
‘Hello again,’ I said.
‘Shut your fucking trap, cunt face,’ he said in reply. ‘Or you’ll end up like the rest of them.’
‘Do you think you’re going to get away with this?’
‘You won’t be around to see.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ I said.
‘Why not?’ he asked and gestured vic
iously with the automatic pistol in his hand.
‘Don’t you think the police might be interested in all the noise?’ I asked. ‘Do you usually field an LMG as security? It’s a bit strong isn’t it?’
‘Who’s to hear?’ he asked. ‘There’s no other property for miles. Anyway, with some of the parties we’ve had here that noise tonight was nothing. So just shut it and walk over to the wall.’
The gunman waved me out of the slimy water. His buddy followed me. The rest of the chaps stood silently above us and looked down.
‘Now get your hands against the wall,’ said the talkative one. ‘I know you know the drill.’
I stood, legs apart, with my hands leaning against the cold, smooth tiles. The gunman kicked my ankles further apart to put me even more off-balance, just as I’d done to him a few weeks previously.
He searched me thoroughly.
‘I’m unarmed,’ I said.
‘Fucking tough on you then.’
When he was convinced I was clean he grabbed me by the right arm which sent a stab of pain through my hand. On top of everything else, it almost made me pass out. I stumbled and he pushed me forward brutally.
‘Get up the end and climb out.’
I did as I was told and stood at the edge of the pool as the other four men came down to join us. The two gunmen who were in the pool with me were very careful. One covered me as the other scrambled onto the pool’s edge. They both watched me as I hauled myself up over the slippery tiles. They kept their guns pointing in my direction as I did so. Neither one offered me a hand. What did I expect?
When I was up and standing the silent gunman hopped up and the talkative one kept his automatic trained on my belt buckle. Now that the angle of my vision had changed I saw that my worst fears had come up three cherries again. I saw Stevie Diva and the other two goons I’d met at the Divas’ offices.
Stevie reintroduced us. ‘You remember Terry, don’t you?’ he asked.
