Bloodstorm

by Sam Millar

  “Not the boss; not the one who gave the orders. So far, he believes he has escaped justice, but I now know his identity. It is only a matter of time before justice comes knocking at his door.”

  “I don’t suppose you want to tell me who he is? That perhaps I can help you bring him to justice without further bloodshed?”

  “For all your cynicism, Mister Kane, you are quite naïve. This gentleman would never see the inside of a prison. He believes he is above the law. In fact, you could say he makes the law.”

  “What?” Karl suddenly felt very cold. Wilson’s face flashed in the darkness of his mind. “What do you mean by ‘makes the law’?”

  “Do not concern yourself, Mister Kane. Things are coming to their inevitable conclusion.”

  “Won’t you let me help you, Jenny? Please. Don’t push your luck. There are people that can be contacted, good people I know who can expose this.”

  “No. It’s almost over. Once he is taken care of, I intend to leave here for warmer climates, with my ailing mother. Unless of course, you plan to try and stop me?”

  “Are you telling me this is what your father would have wanted? Or your mother? More killing?”

  “No, not my father. He was against this from the beginning, but he knew that if he didn’t help me with certain aspects of my quest, then I would either be killed or left to spend the rest of my life in prison. You were right. He acted as a decoy, helping me to trap McCully, posing as an eccentric artist wishing to buy the apartment. My mother? From the moment of my birth, she knew I was to become her avenging angel. Not only were they to die, but they had to die horribly, tortured, just like they tortured her. The attackers robbed her of many things, but their worst offence was the single presumption that they had the right to rob her of anything. Their biggest mistake was allowing her to live. I’m the consequence of their mistake. That’s the irony of it all.”

  Karl looked into her eyes, wanting to say something assuring to her, something profound, but the essence of Jenny Lewis was already gone. The pretence was over.

  “I don’t have the right words, Jenny, and I doubt I ever will. I can only say that you and I are more alike than you will ever know. That is why I am pleading with you not to …”

  Karl suspected something was wrong even before the words slowed in his mouth. He could tell by the set of her face, the way her eyes glanced towards the kitchen door, wide with alarm. Without warning, Jenny’s head jerked back violently, as if pulled by an invisible hook.

  The bullet entered the side of her head, shattering her eardrum and equilibrium. Cartilage and muscle exploded, then arrowed outwards onto the floor, seconds before her crumbling body hit it.

  Karl tried to move, hoping to help, but was frozen to the spot by the words sounding from behind him.

  “Don’t move! Don’t you move a fucking inch …”

  Only the wisp of smoke clinging to the muzzle exposed its menacing presence. The silencer on the masked gunman’s weapon pointing directly at Jenny’s body did exactly what it said on the tin: guaranteed not to make a sound. Another gunman held his gun, almost leisurely, pointing it at Karl’s petrified face.

  The room suddenly became very cold. Invisible coils of pain began to tighten Karl’s already tense body. Sucking in his breath, he waited for his face to be blown off.

  One of the gunmen approached …

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Sunday, 11 March (Early hours)

  ‘All concerns of men go wrong when they wish to cure evil with evil.’

  Sophocles, The Sons of Aleus

  There was nothing but silence in the room, except for the large wall clock ticking woodenly.

  Karl’s mind kept repeating the bloody moment, over and over.

  “Just sit tight,” instructed the gunman, slowly removing his mask, all the while pointing the gun at Karl’s head. The gunman was heaving, as if with exhaustion.

  “Remember I told you if ever you saw my face naked, then it would be the last face you would ever see?” said Bulldog, placing the mask on the table, his face greasy with sweat.

  Karl attempted to kick his brain into gear, but everything was in monochrome slow motion, like some horrible swampy nightmare. No words came from his mouth.

  “What’s wrong? I don’t hear any smart remarks from that smart mouth of yours, Mister Smart Mouth,” continued Bulldog, smirking, sitting down where Jenny had sat, less than a minute ago. “Nice and warm, this wee seat. Always said Miss Perfect had a great arse on her.”

  The other gunman removed his mask, also. “I hate these fucking things. I always break out in a rash, afterwards,” said Peter Cairns, throwing the mask at Karl, hitting him up the face. “You said it was me and Bulldog having sex that caused the rash, Kane. Remember? Actually, you weren’t too far from the truth. Only this is better than sex, what we do.”

  Karl tried desperately to force saliva down his parched throat, lubricating it. His heart kept banging loudly in his head. Wake up! Wake up! Don’t die like this. Not here; not under these circumstances with these scumbags.

  “Well? What have you to say for yourself, Smart Mouth?” persisted Bulldog, smirking. “I’ve never known you to be lost for words.”

  Cairns leered.

  Struggling, Karl finally found his voice. “Wilson sent his mongrel and pup to do his dirty work? How pathetically fitting.” That’s more like it. Keep the words coming. You can do this.

  Bulldog’s smirk became lopsided, like a bad Elvis impersonation. “Wilson …? You think Wilson …” Bulldog shook his head. “Surely you know by now that Wilson avoids brass-knuckle decisions? Doesn’t like to get his hands too dirty. Your brother-in-law and you are cut from the same pair of knickers: all-talk and no balls. Wilson? Shit! You really did believe that hard man image he manufactured for himself. Just how thick are you, Mister Smart Mouth?”

  “He’s as thick as shite,” carped Cairns.

  Keep focused. Calm the breathing. Easy. Easy …

  “I’ll have to confess to being pretty thick, looking at my present situation,” agreed Karl.

  “You didn’t even see us tailing you on the Antrim Road,” accused Bulldog, bringing the gun level with Karl’s nose. “How did you ever earn a living as a so-called private investigator, when you can’t even cover your own arse? No wonder we fucking rejected you as a cop.”

  Karl’s shoulders shrugged. “I guess that’s why I never have any money. Looking at you, Bulldog, if I had made it as a cop, all I’d have had to worry about was my waistline.”

  “That’s more like the old Smart Mouth,” said Bulldog, smiling. “But think about this before I send you on your merry way to private-eye heaven. Had it not been for you, we’d never have found Miss Perfect. Tailing her was different. She always knew when someone was on her arse. Sent us in circles, numerous times. Could never figure out exactly where she lived. So thanks for all your help. Now we get two birds with one stone.”

  A queasiness began fermenting in Karl’s stomach. Stay focused. Keep the guilt for later. If there is a later …

  “What had Jenny to do with all this? Why did you have to kill her?”

  “Now you’re being smart when you oughtn’t be. Both of us listened to her sob story, just a few minutes ago. Her own words implicated and convicted her. My only regret is I wish I had brought some Kleenex. She accidentally found a can of worms, opened it, and discovered beans. She has been spilling them ever since.” Bulldog smirked. “We suspected Miss Perfect was passing on info to someone, probably a journalist or internal affairs. Never in a million years would I have guessed she would be so stupid as to trust a thick bastard like you with anything. Not with your track record.”

  “You were involved with all those dead prison officers?” Keep him talking. “You were one once. Right? It was you Jenny was referring to when she said being above the law. Wasn’t it?”

  “You’ve got it all wrong again – dead wrong. Let’s just say we’re covering a friend’s arse; a friend wit
h the power to make me Wilson’s boss in the next couple of months. I wish you could be there to see the look on your brother-in-law’s pathetic face when he sees me on that day.”

  “There’s no reason why I can’t. I’d love to see Wilson’s pathetic face, also.”

  Bulldog chuckled before removing a packet of cigarettes with his free hand, followed by matches. He struck one of the matches along the tabletop, leaving a thin ice-skate mark embedded into the wax. The match’s strike was as crisp and bright as the flame.

  “Take one,” encouraged Bulldog. “Help you relax for a bit.”

  Karl shook his head. “Trying to give them up. Bad for the health.”

  Bulldog grinned. “That’s more like the old Smart Mouth I know.” He sucked on the cig and then blew smoke into the air.

  An eerie moan filled the room.

  “Fuck. Half her head gone and she’s still alive,” said Cairns, bending over Jenny’s body. “That’s what I call ballsy.”

  Karl made a slight movement.

  “Don’t,” hissed Bulldog, his fingers tightening on the gun.

  “She’s still alive, for god’s sake,” said Karl, his voice frantic.

  “Not for long. Just try and be patient.” Bulldog sucked on the cig once again, before flicking it towards the sink.

  “Wouldn’t mind fucking her,” said Cairns, sniggering. “At least she still has a bit of heat in her.”

  Don’t respond; don’t rise to the sick fucker’s bait, thought Karl, quickly glancing at the shotgun.

  “Why don’t you go for the shotgun?” encouraged Bulldog, looking directly into Karl’s eyes. “I’ll not even try to stop you.”

  Karl held the stare, but said nothing.

  “Hey, tell you what!” exclaimed Bulldog, slamming his gun loudly on the table, making a big production. The sound made Karl jump, much to his infuriation. “I heard you’re real good at waving guns about. But do you actually have the balls to pull the trigger, kill someone, face-to-face, eyeball-to-eyeball? I doubt it very much. So, let’s play a game. An updated version of spin the bottle. I call this spin the gun. Instead of getting kissed, you get killed. Ready?”

  Karl remained silent.

  “You’re not getting all huffy? Being a spoilsport?” grinned Bulldog. “Have it your own way, but here are the rules, anyway. I spin the gun. The gun stops spinning. The person with the balls gets first chance to grab it. What do you say, Mister Smart Mouth? Simple enough, even for someone as thick as you?”

  “You’re a sick bastard,” replied Karl, eventually.

  “I know – go!” Bulldog immediately twirled the gun, spinning it into a blur of silver circles. “Round and round and round it goes, and where it stops, nobody knows …”

  Karl watched it spinning, morbidly mesmerising and hypnotising, before it slowly spent itself to a standstill, the pistol grip resting directly beside him.

  Neither man moved, each watching the other for intent.

  “Looks like your luck is in, Mister Smart Mouth,” said Bulldog. “What are you waiting for? Go for it. Pick it up. Shoot me, right between the eyes. That’s where I taught Chris Brown to do it.”

  Karl stared at the gun. Made what looked like a movement to grab it. Bulldog got to it first, cocking it, before pushing it tight against Karl’s forehead.

  “How’re you going to cover this up, Bulldog? Jenny Lewis, a cop, one of your own, murdered. Not going to be easy.” Karl couldn’t hear his own words, only the thumping of his heart.

  The skin-peeling smirk re-appeared on Bulldog’s face. “Easier than you think, Mister Smart Mouth. You murdered her. We have all those nasty blackmail emails you sent her. Something about a dirty secret her father and mother tried to cover up. Everyone knows you’re always hungry for money. They’ll believe it. Trust me.”

  Trust me … trust me … the last time I heard those words, I was shot six times in the back.

  “Chris. You shot him in the back, the first time, leaving him for dead. Didn’t you? That’s why you were so anxious to get the manuscript back. In case he mentioned you as his corrupt handler, skimming money from pimps and drug dealers.”

  “Chris got too greedy for his own good. He was being stupid, threatening to write a book about it all. He was lucky to survive the first time.”

  “But not the second time, eh? Real tough guy, shooting a paralysed man in bed. But you got a bit more than you expected. I hear Chris shot you right in the dick. How I fucking laughed when I heard that.”

  “I’m glad you saw the funny side of it. But it wasn’t my dick he shot. Close. Real close, but no cigar. Now, here’s something even funnier to think about for the next two seconds before I shoot you. Remember I told you that if you ever make me get out of bed on a shitty night like this again, I would kill you and your little whore? Well, when we’re done here, we’re going over to your place, show her what real men are capable of by fucking her until she bleeds. She’ll soon discover that I wasn’t shot in the dick. Trust me on that. Then I’m going to shoot her in the spine, watch her squirm.”

  Behind Bulldog, Cairns was bending over Jenny’s body, this time pulling at her clothing, trying to loosen her jeans. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this, Miss Perfect?” whispered Cairns, into her ear, while unbuckling his belt, pushing his pants down to his ankles.

  “Goodbye, Mister Smart Mouth,” said Bulldog. “If you see Brown wherever you end up, give him my regards.”

  The shot was deafening. The smell of cordite and singed wood filled the air as parts of the tabletop splintered outwards, leaving a newly formed deadeye in the centre of the table.

  Bulldog’s chin immediately developed a tiny black cavity, not unlike Kirk Douglas’s famous dimple. A track-line of smooth blood inked from the cavity, causing a miniature bib of red to form on his chest. He didn’t move. He didn’t utter a single word. His eyes resembled glass.

  Karl brought his gun from beneath the table, his hands trembling terribly. He pointed the gun at Cairns, whose sexual frenzy was in full swing, his cock fully erect, as he attempted to mount Jenny’s body.

  “Cairns …?”

  No answer. No reaction. Cairns was long gone into his dark paradise.

  “Cairns! Turn around, you bastard!” shouted Karl, standing, his knees feeling like rubber bands.

  “Huh? Oh … fuck.” Cairns’ worm-like squiggling stopped, dead. His mouth gaped open. “Please … please … Kane … I …”

  Karl fired twice, the second bullet hitting Cairns in the back of the head, almost simultaneously as the first one entered his forehead. He quickly aimed the gun at Bulldog, as if half expecting him to pounce, and then back at Cairns, waiting for the same.

  Not one of the two shot men moved.

  Thump thump thump, went Karl’s heart. He couldn’t breathe anymore. Air was of little benefit. He could feel his heart swelling. It was going to burst. His brain was on fire. He waited for it to melt; he waited to die …

  How long he stood there, waiting for death, Karl couldn’t remember, only that he had never experienced silence like it in all his life.

  With the gun, he poked the floppy face of Bulldog, and only then saw the coconut-size exit wound at the back of the skull. Unnerved, he thought about shooting Bulldog again, as if he had just fought some nightmarish creature incapable of being felled by a single blow to the head.

  Quickly, he moved towards the body of Jenny, pulling Cairns’s body away from hers.

  “Jenny?” he knelt, his fingers searching frantically for a pulse. He detected it. Faint. “Jenny. It’s okay. I’m going to call –”

  “My … mother … you’ve got to … see … mother …” Jenny’s voice trailed off.

  Frantically, Karl ran towards the stairs, taking them two at a time. Which room? Where? Fuck! My heart’s going to collapse.

  It was on the third landing where he eventually located the open room, a netting of light escaping from it. He dreaded entering.

  Seriously out of breath
, he stepped in, and immediately was drawn to the shadowy figure in the bed, a pale slim arm resting at the side.

  His breathing came quicker, more violently. Suddenly, all his thoughts began coalescing into one vivid and intense analepsis: a television screen flickering on the unmoving eyes of his murdered mother; the stench of death pooling sour in his mouth; the madman chasing and capturing, stabbing him continuously, leaving him for dead.

  Dead. Dead. Dead.

  He knew Jenny’s mother was dead, long before he gently lifted the flaccid arm, feeling for a pulse. A mass of bloody feathers clung to her face. A pillow rested on the ground, stained white and red with death. His mind’s eye saw Bulldog and Cairns placing the pillow on the old woman’s pitiful face, discharging the silent bullets calmly into her head. He pictured them laughing silently in the dark.

  Karl shuddered. While this slaughter was taking place, he was downstairs with this woman’s daughter, having his so-called wound attended to. Surely he should have heard something – anything? He should never have come here, bringing with him death and evil. You didn’t even see us tailing you, on the Antrim Road. How did you ever earn a living as a so-called private investigator, when you can’t even cover your own arse? Had it not been for you, we’d never have found Miss Perfect.

  Never have found. Never have found …

  Stumbling out of the room, Karl went awkwardly forward, blindly grasping for something solid to hold onto. He felt sick as he made his way back down the stairs and into the kitchen, half expecting to see the indestructible Bulldog and sneaky Cairns waiting for him, a grin on their fucking snide faces. But they weren’t waiting. Bulldog’s body seemed to have shrunk into insignificance; Cairns’s body had curved into nothingness.

  Kneeling quickly beside Jenny, Karl whispered into her ear, “Jenny? Jenny …” Only as he arched over her, did he notice the bloody scrawl imprinted onto the wooden floor by her bloody finger: IF

  She squeezed his hand, her fingernails piercing his skin.

  “What is it Jenny? What are you trying to tell me? The beginning of a question? If? If what? If I can find the big boss?” His tired brain tried to think. “Tell me his name, Jenny. Jenny …?”