Mike smiled as he hurried down the stairs, ten flights but damn good exercise. He was thinking of the night six weeks ago when he’d kicked what he’d first thought was a bunch of rags on his doorstep.
A few days later, Smiler had turned up at the station. Since then Mike had seen quite a lot of Smiler, enough to know he was going to miss him when he went home.
Mike walked out of the office, and Smiler was standing in his usual place, talking to an old woman who regularly fed the birds on that spot. Even in this heat she wore the red belted coat she was never without, prompting most of the officers to nickname her Little Red Riding Hood. A few half-hearted attempts to chase her over the years had come to nothing and she was now a regular feature. She knew all of the detectives by name, and, despite Mike telling her over and over that he was not a Geordie, but had been born in Durham, she still called him Geordie, insisting that them strange folk up north all sounded the same.
'Hello, Nancy,' Mike said as he approached them.
'Hello yourself, Geordie… Nice day.' She threw a handful of seeds at the birds around her feet.
'It sure is, Nancy. Be seeing you.' He smiled when she nodded at him then, as if dismissing him, turned and went on feeding the birds.
Winking at Smiler, Mike moved closer to Nancy. Shoving a ten pound note into her pocket, which he had to bend to do, he said quietly, 'For the birds, love.'
'Thank you, Durham lad,' she whispered back.
Mike laughed loudly as he and Smiler went on their way.
Half an hour later they were sat at a table in MacDonald’s, tucking into cheeseburgers and fries. After spending most of the day in the library, Smiler was sounding off about wars going back as far as the thirtieth century BC. Mike was only half-listening, thinking about tonight. He’d had enough anyhow with the daft idiot who was part of the Laurel and Hardy duo in the office. He’d been spouting off all day about reports due, reports overdue, reports not finished. God, the tit thinks I’m a bloody secretary.
Then, half a dozen fries on their way to his mouth, Smiler suddenly froze.
'Choking?' Mike asked, picking up Smiler’s drink to hand to him. 'Sip it.'
Slowly Smiler shook his head before saying in a hushed voice, 'Don’t go.'
Puzzled, Mike frowned. 'What?'
'Don’t go… The meeting tonight… The car park… The high rise one… Don’t go… Please… It’s a set up.'
'What the hell?'
Smiler put his head down.
Mike frowned again. No one outside of the office knows about tonight’s meeting, so how on earth…? 'What are you talking about, Smiler?'
'There’s a woman, a big woman with red hair, wearing a red dress and red shoes.'
'And?'
'She’s there… It’s dangerous.'
Mike sighed. 'So where the hell is all of this coming from?'
Smiler lifted his head, looked Mike in the eye. 'You know I see things,' he answered in a quiet voice. 'I know you don’t believe in what you call mumbo jumbo, Mike, but you should keep an open mind. Actually…' Smiler suddenly stopped talking and began counting his fingers as he looked furtively around.
Mike’s heart sank, remembering what the doctor had said when he’d had a few words with him about Smiler. Quietly Mike asked, 'Smiler, have you been taking your medication?'
Smiler stopped counting for a moment, stared at Mike as if he was a stranger, then said, 'What?'
Mike felt a chill run down his spine. In total contrast to the warmth of the day, he shivered. The sun streaming in through the windows only made it more surreal as he repeated, 'I said, have you been taking your medication?'
'You know I have.'
'Look Smiler, I haven’t got time for mumbo jumbo.' Mike held his hands up. 'OK… But you know as well as I do where it’s coming from, don’t you?'
'You think it's drugs.' Smiler said slowly, and barely above a whisper.
Exasperated, Mike’s voice rose as he snapped, 'What the hell else could it be?'
'I’ve told you, I haven’t done them since we met. I promised and I’ve kept it.'
Mike sighed and, as if he hadn’t heard what Smiler had just said, went on, 'You promised you would keep away from that shit. You know it fucks you up.' Mike slapped his palm on the table. 'For God’s sake, Smiler, don’t you ever want to get better? Do something with your life instead of wasting it? Smiler, I still don’t think you realise what you’re capable of. You have the intelligence to do just about anything you want. You know this for a fact, you’re the smartest kid I ever met… You’re certainly intelligent enough to know that much more of that shit will leave you with no way back… at all… ever.'
'I’ve said I haven’t touched it.' Smiler’s voice was growing louder with every word until finally he was shouting. 'But you don’t believe me, do you?'
Mike didn’t have to say anything. His face held the absolute disbelief and disappointment he felt. Smiler had shown a marked improvement lately, but now it looked like they were heading back to square one.
'Where did you get it?' Mike demanded, vowing silently to personally rip the throat out of whichever dirty fucking creep of a pathetic arsehole dealer had coaxed Smiler back onto drugs.
Smiler glared back at him, the silence between them lengthening. Then suddenly, as if an explosion had gone off in his head, he jumped up, shouting. 'Should have known you were no better than the rest! Why would you be, eh?' There were tears in his eyes as he went on. 'Here, keep your fucking food.' He threw the half-eaten cheeseburger at Mike, and swiped everything else onto the floor before turning and running out of the restaurant. At the door he looked back and, glaring at Mike, yelled, 'You’ll be sorry… I hate you… Bastard, that’s all you are, just like the rest of them… I should have known… I should have known. I hate you… I fucking hate you. Tosser. Just like the rest.'
'Shit.' Ignoring the curious glances from the people around, Mike wiped the tomato sauce off his shirt, dropped the napkin on the table, kicked the remains of their meal to one side in case anyone slipped on the mess, then quickly headed after Smiler.
Outside, he looked first up then quickly down the street. Not a sign of him. The pavements were crowded, people hurrying past each other in a frantic effort to catch the tube, grab a taxi or find their car and get out of the city. He hurried along to the corner, pushing past the tide of people. Still no sign of him.
'Where the hell...?' He sighed. He hadn’t really expected to see him. Smiler was small enough to totally disappear in any crowd.
Tutting, he turned back. The last thing he’d meant was to hurt the kid’s feelings. Christ, people have been doing that more or less since the poor sod was born.
'And now I’ve gone and put me big fat foot right in it. Shit!' he muttered, receiving an odd look from an old lady who picked up her pace and hurried past him.
Feeling lousy, Mike headed towards the car park. I should have listened.
Should have trusted Smiler instead of condemning him right off, damn it.
Trust me, and my fucking big mouth! Sounding off without any real proof.
I hope he doesn’t do something stupid. It’ll be my fault if he does, The poor kid trusted me. Must have been a flashback. It’s not like I haven’t seen him have them before.
He ran his hand across his thick dark hair. Tired, that’s what it is I’m too damn tired.
Damaged, the sister’s words echoed in his head. Smiler is the most damaged person I have ever seen.
Of course he’s gonna have flashbacks.
Not paying his usual attention to what was going on around him, Mike hadn’t noticed the man who had followed him out onto the street. Just another bloke hurrying home, mobile phone glued to his ear, he stepped behind Mike to cross the road.
CHAPTER THREE
What Smiler had said chewed at Mike’s conscience later as he lifted his weights. Unable to concentrate, and after doing way below his usual count, he put them away and took a quick shower. His eye on the clo
ck, he dressed – black jeans, black v-necked jumper, black leather jacket, fake gold chain, his usual drug dealer front.
Satisfied and giving his reflection a nod, he decided to get there earlier than usual, protect his back by having a good look round.
Just in case.
He laughed at himself as he went down to the car. 'In case of what?' he muttered. 'A psychic vision? Get real.' He pressed the fob that would open the car door.
Inside the car, an unmarked maroon Ford Focus, on loan to him while he was in London, he rummaged in the glove compartment, his fingers finally closing around a hard metal object. Pulling his hand out, he looked at the knuckledusters. The metal had a slight reddish colour that was more than likely dried blood. It was the first pair he’d seen in years, taken a few weeks ago off a stupid third-rate low-life dealer who’d fancied his chances. Well, the punk’s learned a hard lesson.
Another junkie peddler waiting for trial. He’d turned out to be a good squealer though, and now the daft idiot expects a deal.
Fat chance!
He’d put the knuckledusters in the glove compartment to hand in. He was pleased he’d forgotten now. No harm taking precautions, especially not with this evil scum. Tonight should see them all in the bag. But there was a niggle still in Mike’s mind, a niggle that said things were much deeper than they looked on the surface. A niggle that wouldn’t go away, a niggle that connected this business to the other one he was working on.
He looked at the knuckledusters, shrugged and slipped them in his pocket. Not wanting to admit just how much Smiler had spooked him, he muttered, 'Won’t need them.'
A whole load of nonsense, of course. Just Smiler’s brain trying to rewire itself. He paused a moment before starting the car, his mind on Smiler. God, I’ve become so used to having him around, I’m certainly going to miss the kid.
Hope he keeps safe.
Sighing, and putting Smiler at the back of his mind, he set off and reached the high-rise parking lot nearly fifty minutes before he should have. Parking on the ground floor, he took the eight flights of stairs to the roof, the last two flights slowly and in dead silence. Keeping to the shadows he crept around the perimeter, his rubber-soled shoes making no noise, telling himself that he would have done this anyhow.
Of course I would.
Don’t I always cover my back? Shrugging, he smiled to himself. Of course I do, only just not this early.
A third of the way round he heard a sound he swore was that of metal being dropped on concrete, followed by a series of profanities in a man’s deep voice that, although muffled, rang a bell in his head. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite place the voice. Quickly he slipped behind a thick square concrete pillar, risked a few quick looks, saw nothing and decided it was time to move. Slowly, silently, using the cars to shield him, he wound his way to the spot the sound had came from.
Lifting his head above the nearest car bonnet he saw a man wearing a black balaclava. The man was crouching down and assembling what looked suspiciously like a submachine gun.
Christ almighty! Mike could barely believe his eyes. He ducked back down, his heartbeat up and his blood feeling like ice as it coursed through his veins. He pictured his body lying on the cold concrete floor riddled with bullets, his blood draining into the gutters. The bastard, he sure wasn’t gonna miss!
Mike looked around. The place was devoid of people, and only half full with cars, probably just arrived for a night on the town, not cars whose drivers would come from work to claim them at any minute, the rush hour being long gone.
Unless there were any unpleasant surprises, he figured that he should make it over to the gunman in twenty seconds. Not long enough for him to finish assembling the machine gun, nor long enough for the bastard to get up and run.
His body poised and ready, still scanning the space around him, he suddenly froze.
Bloody hell! he mouthed silently, his dark brown eyes wide open in amazement.
The car park had wide window spaces. Through the space opposite him he could see a huge billboard. On the billboard, posing seductively on a couch, was a woman promoting perfume. She had long red hair and was wearing a red dress and red shoes.
He felt spiders crawl down his back, but only for a moment. Turning from the woman in red, he rid his mind of her, of Smiler, and everything else. Concentrating on the job in hand, he slipped the knuckledusters on, pleased that they were a good fit. His eyes locked on the gunman who was quite calmly preparing to blow him away. He counted down from five.
Twenty seconds had been a generous estimate. He reached the man, who must have become aware of Mike by a disturbance in the air and certainly not by any noise, in half the predicted time. The man turned. Bringing his fist down hard, Mike caught him behind the ear in the exact spot he intended. The man’s eyes had less than a moment to register fear before they closed.
Quickly, and constantly looking around, Mike shoved all the parts of the gun into the shabby black sports holdall they had been brought in, threw it over his left shoulder, then picked the man up and none to gently tossed him over his other shoulder, before heading for the stairs at a run, thanking God as he reached the first step that they were going down and not up.
Pushing him into the front seat of his car, Mike quickly yanked the man’s trouser belt off and tied the would-be assassin’s wrists behind his back. Without wasting another moment he ran round to his side of the car, jumped in and, with the engine screaming, got out of there as fast as he could. The man was more than likely working alone as assassins usually did, but Mike did not intend to hang around long enough to find out. Hitting the street, the first thing he saw towering above him was the poster of the woman in red.
'No way!'
He made it to the police station car park in thirty minutes. It should have taken half that time, but he needed to assure himself that he wasn’t being followed. He was tempted to go back and see if the contact turned up, though he strongly doubted he would, and he had to get this murdering bastard sorted first.
The main thought he couldn’t shake was, why would some one want me dead?
What – who? -- am I getting close to?
Parking as near to the door as he could, he cut the engine, then turned to the man who had been moaning and wriggling about for the last ten minutes. A hard thump in his stomach from Mike quickly shut him up.
Then Mike whipped the balaclava off.
'You! Bastard… Lying fucking toe-rag.' Mike gritted his teeth, tried to control himself, but it wasn’t happening. 'Bastard,' he said again as he punched him, splitting the would-be assassin’s bottom lip wide open.
The man spluttered, spitting out a chunk of flesh and half a tooth.
CHAPTER FOUR
Smiler shuffled towards Westminster, his hands in his pockets and the hood of his blue top hiding most of his face. The night was warm but he felt cold inside as well as out.
I should have known Mike was no better than the others.
Why would he be?
What was the first rule?
Trust no one.
Why have I broken it?
Why have I let Mike in?
Fool. Stupid fucking fool, that’s what I am, a first class idiot for leaving myself wide open. Fool for thinking that I could have, or even deserve, a friend.
Got what I deserved all right!
They’re all the same, every fucking bastard one of them, out for what they can get. The only difference between fucking Mike Yorke and the rest of them is that I just haven’t found out what Mike wants yet, and now I don't want to. I couldn’t care less, Mike Yorke can go to hell as far as I’m concerned, I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire.
He knuckled water out of his eyes and hated himself for even thinking that Mike was different, for letting himself be fooled. He jumped in shock a moment later as a guy wearing a black hoodie over a white baseball cap stepped in front of him.
'Haven’t seen you around for a while, Smiler… Need so
mething to chill with? I’ve got the lot, just ask.'
Looking closer at the hoodie, Smiler recognised him as Snakes, a kid whose eyes were nearly transparent, but turned to a shimmering green in certain lights. He was also a thief and a liar and just about the nastiest piece of scum around. Not one person that Smiler knew on the streets liked Snakes or had anything good to say about him. Mostly he was avoided like the plague.
Smiler judged nobody – on the streets you did what you could to survive – but Snakes was way past mean. He would do you a bad turn just for the sake of it and laugh in your face. He’d dealt horse shit to kids who had never come back up, never made it back to the living hell, but who were locked forever in the burning hell that Smiler dipped in and out of, and Snakes had never batted an eyelid. Even cracked sick jokes about it. As far as Smiler and a lot of the homeless clan were concerned, if evil had a face and was walking the streets, it was Snakes.
'No, I’m cool… Thanks.' He tried to keep the wobble out of his voice, but it would have been easier to stop his heart from fluttering with fear. Feeling anything but cool, he tried to step past him, but Snakes stopped him.
'Whoa, Smiler, hang on a mo. Got some new stuff here, blow your head off, guaranteed, just down from the north. Man, is it special. Strong enough to wipe every thing else off the market.' He giggled, an insane sound that belonged behind a locked door.
'No.' Fear trickling down his spine, backing away, Smiler shook his head.
Snakes stepped closer. 'Come on… Try it… You know you want to… Need to.' He grinned at Smiler. 'Come on, touch your new friend for the readies… Good to you, is he?'
'What do you mean?'
Snakes laughed. This time it was a bitter hollow sound totally devoid of humour. 'You know what I mean. Got your self a cushy number there all right, ain’t you, boy?'
'It’s not like that.'
'Isn’t it… Pull the other one.'
'He’s a friend.'
'Yeah.' Snakes nodded knowingly.
'Fuck off and think what you want.' Surprising himself and amusing Snakes, Smiler stuck his chin out as he went on, 'Mike’s a good bloke.'
Thorn In My Side Page 2
