Serious People

by Shea, James A.

  “Look Guv, I was trying to identify the best thing to do. I didn’t do anything for the money; it was for you and the department!” Early said, his voice desperate.

  “DS Early, you do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence, if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later—” Hawkins said, pointing his firearm at Early.

  “You’re mental, I’ll bring you down with me!”

  “—Rely on in court. Anything you do say can be given in evidence,” Hawkins finished.

  It took Hawkins all his strength to not squeeze the trigger. Only his belief in his warrant badge stopped him; but perhaps it was more to do with Kahn’s belief in justice.

  Chapter Fifty Six - Charlie O’Neil

  Charlie only answered the phone because it was Jackie; a matter of seconds ago his whole focus was on the office door. He'd deliberately left it open because it gave him a good view of the stairs behind it. This would ensure he'd have the drop on anyone who might be coming up.

  O’Neil & Payne Logistics’ offices were basic and functional; it was a sixties built three storey building that stood out like a control tower in the middle of their truck yard. The main front door led into a small foyer, with a reception desk as the only furnishing. The existence of the desk had always been a standing joke, with him and Robert, as they didn’t have a receptionist. If anyone viewed the company accounts though they’d believe that Dawn Dunne was employed in the role, earning eighteen grand a year. Today, though, O’Neil knew that the desk was occupied; Pete was sat there with strict instructions to keep a gun on the office entrance and phone Charlie if anyone entered.

  Charlie was not sure exactly who he was expecting but he knew there would be someone. It didn’t matter to Charlie who it was anymore. All that mattered was that this challenge to his authority would be ended today; he would end it.

  Charlie looked out of the panoramic window behind his desk; he loved the view he had from his office. It took in the Chiswick flyover, and a variety of buildings that Charlie liked to look over. No two buildings looked the same. All had been built up over the last two hundred years with different designs and styles, from boat shapes to rockets; they captured his imagination and reminded him of his father.

  Part of him knew it wasn’t a good idea to turn away from the door when his phone rang; but he couldn’t remember the last time Jackie had called him. It was one of those things that couples take for granted—how many phone call had Charlie received from Jackie over the years, thousands? All of them taken for granted, but not this one.

  He wanted to enjoy his wife’s call, enjoy it with his favourite view, with his back turned to his current difficulties. He had confidence now. Yesterday he wouldn’t have turned his back on the door—but today—today he was thankful for what he had and wanted to enjoy it and keep it. Anyway, Pete was downstairs. If nothing else, he would hear a commotion if something kicked off.

  “You wanted them; of course, I got them for you,” Charlie smiled.

  It had been too long since he had heard the same sort of life in Jackie’s voice. Her excited tones were invigorating to him. He felt younger and stronger.

  “I know, but I can’t believe you got them to stage a reunion,” Jackie replied, from the other end of the phone. “I’ve managed to get all their autographs—even Ronny Wild's!”

  “Ok calm down,” Charlie said. “You don’t want me to get jealous; I might end up shooting him.”

  “He’s nothing on you,” Jackie replied. He could tell by her voice, she was smiling. “When are you getting here?”

  “I’ve got a couple of things to tie up, I need to get finished. And then I’ll be with you, I promise. I couldn’t possible miss that dreadful band,” Charlie said.

  Jackie laughed. “You know you’ll be dancing to that dreadful band later.”

  “You better believe it; I’m wearing my dancing shoes and everything,” Charlie said, hoping it would make her laugh again.

  She laughed. He felt butterflies in his stomach; he had forgotten how glorious her laugh was.

  As he ended the call, something made O’Neil look at the window again, and there was a reflection that shouldn’t have been there. No noise but ever so slight a movement.

  Charlie remained motionless. He watched the faint reflection in the window and saw two men creep into his office. He stayed still, not sure of the best move to make. His gun was in his inside pocket; but any move he made could give away his advantage of surprise. At this moment, his attackers must think him oblivious to their presence.

  The two male figures got closer; O’Neil was running out of time. It was clear that one of the men had a knife, some kind of large hunting knife, and Charlie didn’t like the odds as to whether or not it could be sunk into the back of his chair, before he had shot the intruder. If he was laying a bet he’d have said that the blade would reach his spine for sure. He had to make his move.

  In one motion, Charlie O’Neil dropped to the floor from his seat, turned, and took a blind shot in the direction of his attackers. Almost in the same moment he fired, there was a thud of a body hitting the floor. He looked up at the reflection in the window again and now only saw one person, who appeared to have his head in his hands. He must have taken one of them down already—time to take a risk now and deal with the other.

  Charlie quickly stood up, pointing the gun in front of him, hoping it would be in the direction of the man left standing. He got lucky; there was only one man remaining and he had his hands up. He glanced at the floor and saw another man with a bullet hole in his forehead. At last he’d got lucky, seriously lucky.

  “Don’t shoot, please… Don’t—” the man said.

  The man looked nothing like an assassin here to kill him; he looked weak and afraid. And there was something familiar about him.

  “You’re a Blake?” Charlie said. “Robert was giving you a bit of office work for a while, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes, yes. I just want to go home!” The man pleaded.

  Charlie should kill him; now wasn’t a time for sympathy. But there was something about this guy. Shooting him would be like shooting Bambi, and he had no time for shooting civilians.

  “Who else is here to kill me?”

  “Only my brother Billy, no one else. I swear,” the man said, almost in whisper.

  Charlie believed him; maybe he shouldn’t have, but he did.

  “Come here,” Charlie beckoned to the man.

  The man fearfully stepped forward and Charlie swiftly whipped his gun handle around the man’s head. The man crumpled to the floor.

  Charlie looked down at his weak assailant and it was clear the man was unconscious. Indeed potentially, due to the nasty wound his gun handle had inflicted, he could well be dead. But that was the best he could offer this Blake; potentially dead was a lot better than definitely dead. He couldn’t help but wonder if hearing his wife’s laugh had lessened his murderous mood.

  He quickly made his way to the ground floor, via the fire exit route at the back of the building. It was the only way to covertly get down to the groundfloor without being seen. He'd checked the first floor and then looked down the stairs. He had not been disappointed, he could only see one other man, just as he had been told.

  That must be Billy Blake, he thought, as he watched the man who stood near the entrance. The man called Billy had a gun by his side, and there was something about his eyes that told Charlie he was waiting to use it.

  “Boys,” Billy hissed and pointed the gun up the stairs. “Where the fuck are you? Come on.”

  Charlie thanked his luck, once again, as he saw his chance. He stepped out from behind the reception desk and pointed his gun towards Billy Blake.

  “I take it, you're Billy Blake.”

  The man turned, looked at O’Neil and gradually lowered his gun. It was clear that Charlie could shoot him before he had the chance to move his weapon.

  “I’m Billy Blake,” he replied with a smile. “And I surrender!”<
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  Billy threw his gun to the ground, towards the stairs.

  Experience told Charlie, that there was only two types of person who could smile in this type of a situation, a man who was either not afraid of dying, or a psychopath. And he knew then the Billy Blake must have been the man who had been behind Robert’s killing. The brother upstairs with the knife had been a dangerous man; but this man Billy Blake had a confidence—the confidence of a man who had killed before.

  Who was behind this though? There must be someone higher up the food chain who was responsible, who was using this killer as some kind of puppet. Could this guy really have killed Robert on his own?

  “Who are you working for Billy Blake?” Charlie asked, with no hint of any reaction to Billy’s smile. “Who’s behind this?”

  “Working for?” Billy grinned—there was something about Billy’s eyes that Charlie didn’t like. “I’m a boss, a boss who has taken all your connections, taken your firm.”

  Cheeky little bastard, Charlie thought. But a part of him was impressed by the balls of this guy. All of this had been the work of three brothers?

  Charlie smiled. “Are you ready to die, Billy Blake? You’ve caused me a lot of stress, and you killed my best friend. Now I’m going to kill you.”

  For the first time, a shot of fear entered the face of Billy Blake. You are afraid of dying, Charlie thought. “Did you make Robert suffer…?”

  “Use your head Charlie!” Billy said quickly. “It makes no business sense to get blood on your hands. You’re a boss; that’s not what bosses do. We should talk about this. There are things I could offer you.”

  “You think?” Charlie asked.

  “Our parents were on the same boat together from Ireland. We're from the same neighbourhood, the same background,” Billy said. “You know what it’s like to need more than you’ve got.”

  Charlie looked at the man in front of him. He could identify with his words, but there was something about him that was unfamiliar. He was like a warped version of the kids he’d grown up with.

  “Were you part of Father Declan’s parish?” Charlie asked, his gun still firmly pointed at the intruder.

  “Who?” Billy shrugged. “Fuck religion!”

  Charlie felt himself shudder at the words. His eyes began to harden and his trigger finger tensed. This guy wasn’t from where he was from.

  “Why shouldn’t I kill you?”

  “Cause you’re a boss, Mr. O’Neil and that’s what you have people like Mickey the Bag for,” Billy smiled; confidence was starting to return. “Bosses don’t kill people like me. You’re too smart to pull that trigger yourself.”

  Charlie smiled; he was going to enjoy this.

  “Shit, there’s a bit of a problem with that, Billy.”

  “What?” Billy asked, not showing any concern from the question.

  “I've got some blood on my hands already,” Charlie smiled and looked Billy straight in the eyes. “Not Metaphorically, I mean really.”

  Billy stared back silently, now unsure about himself.

  “When I killed a couple of your brothers upstairs,” Charlie smiled. “I think I may have got a couple of bits of them on me. It’s the real drag part of shooting someone; you don’t really notice until you do it a lot. A bit of brain there, a piece of tooth. It plays havoc with your wardrobe after a while.”

  Billy just stared back at Charlie for a moment, making no response to this. And then looked to the ceiling suddenly and screamed, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

  Tears started to stream down Blake’s face. Charlie started to feel good as he watched Billy Blake scream at the ceiling; breaking people was a lost love of his and this man deserved to be broken.

  Billy wiped his face with his hand, careful to keep the hand closest his gun at his side. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Wait, wait,” Billy said looking back at Charlie.

  Even Charlie was surprised by how cool he now looked again. Symptoms of a psychopath.

  “I got shit you’d want to know…”

  “Don’t move! I’ve got him covered Billy,” his other brother shouted. “Run, get out of here!”

  Charlie looked up at the stairs and saw the pistol whipped brother standing there. Shit! He should have shot him; Charlie cursed the sympathy he’d shown the weaker brother.

  “John, I thought you were dead,” Billy said, like an accusation.

  John gestured to a wound on his head with his free hand, whilst keeping the gun trained on Charlie. “Took a hit, but it was nothing. Us Blakes are made of tougher things than that.”

  John eyed Charlie again. “Drop your gun!”

  Charlie cursed his stupidity again and lowered his gun.

  “Shit, what a funny world it is,” Billy laughed. “Me saved by John. Fucking hell!”

  “I text Emma; told her to get some medical help here,” John replied.

  Eleven and half minutes and counting, Charlie thought to himself. He knew the emergency response times for every quarter of London by heart. It was information that kept him alive and free from prison.

  “What?” Billy spat.

  “Nick’s up there; he needs some help,” John said. He looked visibly shaken.

  “He’s dead mate,” Charlie said.

  “No, no, he just needs help…” John replied.

  Billy seemed to ignore his brother and walked towards John. O’Neil was surprised that neither of them had told him to drop his gun and were oblivious that he’d just lowered it. Perhaps his good luck hadn’t expired just yet.

  “Give me the gun, John,” Billy asked.

  John appeared to question, for a moment, whether he should before handing his brother the gun. It seemed that even the brother was worried about Billy’s stability. Charlie considered trying to raise his gun, shoot one of the boys while John’s weapon was being passed over, but decided it was too risky.

  “Sorry Mr. O’Neil,” Billy said, after taking the gun from his brother. “Every family has their black sheep.”

  Billy made a smile at Charlie and then promptly raised his gun towards his brother’s face and fired.

  “Jesus Christ!” Charlie screamed, taking a step back.

  The crazy little bastard blew his brothers face off, what the hell was he doing?

  “There you go,” Billy grinned at Charlie. “He’s dead this time.”

  Charlie looked at the dead body of John, lying at Billy’s feet. He had to use all his experience to keep grip of his gun; in all his time he’d never seen anything like that.

  “See!” Billy grinned viciously “This is what it is to be serious people; people like you and me can make the tough calls. If there’s someone weak in your firm, then he has to be extinguished. Simple as that.”

  “Family don’t mean much to you then,” Charlie asked.

  “Family’s everything,” Billy snapped.

  Charlie registered Billy’s words, desperately looking for any opportunity to make a move.

  “But the weak, they drag you down. They have to go before they drag you down. You know that’s what this is all about. I was set on a course for you; all this has happened through design. A design to cut the weakness out of London’s drugs money. You being cut out,” Billy grinned.

  “Really? There’s just one thing about that…” Charlie suddenly stopped and looked to the stairs. “Shit! Is that your other brother!”

  Billy turned to follow Charlie’s gaze; in the corner of Charlie’s eye he saw the hope in Billy’s expression that the other brother may also be alive. In one fast motion Charlie lifted his gun and fired.

  This rapid shot was not as lucky as his previous one; it only hit Billy’s arm. But the impact was enough to knock Billy off his feet. His gun flew away from his hand.

  Charlie was taking no more chances. He hurried across and stood over Billy Blake, with his gun pointed firmly at his face.

  “Shit, looks like you fucking got me,” Billy said, still with a grin.

  “Yep.”

 
; “I still got info you’ll want to know; we could do a deal. There’s people you’d want to know about. Let’s negotiate!” Billy said, with a psychopathic attempt at a winning smile.

  Charlie fired two rounds into Billy Blake’s skull. He’d heard enough of the man’s bollocks and he had party to get to.

  He looked at the two bodies, and thought of the other body upstairs. As much as he wanted to get to the party he needed to sort this this situation—get some cleaners in. And was there still medical help on the way or was that bullshit?

  He checked John Blake’s body and quickly located his mobile phone; the phone was still unlocked! Charlie had been cursing his luck for months but suddenly now it was all returning.

  He quickly went through the phone. There were no recent calls; a moment later he saw the last text that John Blake had sent—to Emma Fuller— Get an ambulance to this postcode… But it had never delivered!

  On the downside there was no way of stopping the message, but he had friends, friends who could sort out this type of thing.

  Chapter Fifty Seven – Emma Fuller

  What on earth are all these people doing here? Emma thought, as she tried to push her way through the crowd of people filling Saint James Road. It was the road the Blake’s Bar sat on the corner of.

  She hated coming here; it seemed such a dark depressing area to her. All the shop fronts were empty or run down and the worst was the Blake’s Bar. It wasn’t so much the exterior of the bar which looked shabby, or even the inside, which was actually worse with its old stools and moth bitten cushioned seats. It was because of the people it housed.

  John had not said a word to her before he left the house the previous morning and had not been answering any of her texts. She wanted to put this down to her recent change of mobile phone, ever since, she had barely held a signal for any length of time. This would have been annoying before, but now that he knew she was pregnant, it was entirely unacceptable to be without a phone. She was worried about John. She was scared.

  Emma hoped she knew where to find John though. He must be inside this poor excuse for a bar, trying to summon the courage to tell his awful family that he was leaving them. He would be starting a new job, next week, and would no longer be available as an unpaid hand at the bar.