Running Scared (The Eddie Malloy series Book 4)

by Richard Pitman

‘You’ll be okay.’

  She nodded. I smiled. She said, ‘I’ve got to go to the loo.’

  I stood up with her and went to buy drinks as she hurried through the multi-paned doors.

  After an hour, two large gins and lots of encouragement she was still sober and scared. We sat in my car in the darkness. The meeting place was forty yards away, a big busy pub.

  Cathy’s children were staying with her mother so we were under no time restrictions. She kept going silent on me. I watched her face in the sweep of passing headlights. She looked worse than at Bill’s funeral. I decided it wasn’t worth the risk.

  I reached for her hand. She clasped mine in hers. They were cold and clammy. I said, ‘Cathy, I’m going in myself. You stay here.’

  She turned to me. ‘I’m sorry, Eddie.’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘Give me five minutes to pull myself together then I can . . . I’ll probably be able to do it.’

  ‘You won’t. The longer you wait the harder it gets.’

  ‘Maybe we can rearrange it?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’ll go in,’ I smiled to reassure her. ‘I know who to look for. It won’t take long to get into conversation with him.’

  I pulled my hand free. Cathy slumped in the seat. ‘Jesus, I used to be a lot tougher than this.’

  ‘You’re still tough when it matters,’ I said. ‘Horses for courses. Will you be okay here till I get back?’

  She nodded slowly.

  ‘If I come out with him and we get in a car follow us.’

  She looked at me.

  ‘Okay? You all right to drive?’

  ‘Yes. What if you’re just walking?’

  ‘Wait for me.’

  Three bow-tied doormen guarded the entrance and if the proprietor paid them by the inch then they came considerably cheaper than your average bouncer. Both were shorter than me but plenty tall enough for most of the Newmarket lads. They glanced at me and parted.

  The place was dark, crowded, warm, smoky and loud. Music from fat speakers pounded a floor-shaking bass beat. Excuse-mes were lost in the racket and I had to shoulder my way through tightly packed groups laughing, drinking, smoking, and trying to hold conversations.

  The bar was long, brightly lit, and well-staffed. I got a drink and started looking for a guy in a red waistcoat.

  It was much too crowded. I envisaged myself opening jackets one by one.

  After checking those at the bar as best I could, I moved around. Nobody seemed to notice me. I criss-crossed the floor and on my third foray, as I broke through the edges of the throng the toilet door opened and he stood framed in the light.

  Tall, dark well-trimmed beard and gelled hair, black suit and a red waistcoat showing as he stood, hands on lapels, talking to someone on his way in. He was coming out.

  I followed him to the bar. He moved along it speaking to everyone, well liked, it seemed. A barman pushed a drink toward him on a paper coaster. As he reached for it, someone stretched for the ice bucket and knocked his drink over.

  I watched his face. He laughed and looked at the woman who’d spilled it. She was being very apologetic and trying to mop it up. It was Cathy.

  An hour later on our pre-arranged signal I left the pub. Five minutes after that Cathy joined me in the car. She was flushed, smiling, much more relaxed, pleased with her ‘success’ which turned out to be another meeting arranged with Paul, as he’d called himself, for next Tuesday.

  ‘I can’t wait that long, Cathy.’

  ‘It’s only a few days.’

  ‘This is Friday. I was hoping to tie something up over the weekend.’

  ‘That soon?’

  ‘I start riding again on Monday. I won’t have much time after that.’

  Her enthusiasm cooled. The smile faded. ‘Maybe you should just bale out now.’

  I looked sharply at her, expecting her to take it back. She didn’t. I said, ‘It’s not a matter of baling out. I said I’d help. I’m in it now probably deeper than you are. Somebody tried to kill me two days ago and I’d like to find out who it was before next Tuesday.’

  Her petulant look was gone. She put a hand on my shoulder, ‘I’m sorry, Eddie, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s the nerves . . . and the booze.’

  ‘Forget it.’

  While we waited for him to come out, we discussed what Cathy had learned. Though he’d called himself Paul, she’d heard a few people address him as Vince. ‘A nickname,’ he explained.

  She’d told him she needed cocaine and cannabis and he played dumb till she hinted that she was talking large amounts, left him believing she wanted to deal in it to help shore up her business. She said her name was Trish. Didn’t tell him where she lived.

  ‘Nobody followed you out?’ I asked.

  She shook her head. ‘You’d have seen them.’

  ‘Maybe they just stood at the door, watched you get into the car.’

  ‘Maybe. I didn’t see anyone.’

  Doubts crept in. I wondered if I should have thought it through more, took another approach.

  The night wore on. A lot of people came and went. Vince stayed inside. Cathy fell quiet. I switched on the radio, low volume. It got chilly. I started the engine and turned on the heater. Cathy dozed off. She snored gently.

  Just after midnight I called it quits, couldn’t keep my eyes open. I clipped my seat belt in and slipped the gearstick forward. As I steered out from the kerb, a taxi drew up. Vince stepped from the doorway and got in.

  I glanced at Cathy; she was still asleep. The taxi pulled away. I followed it.

  13

  As we left town the glowing tail lights in front of me shone brighter in the rural darkness. I was wary of him becoming suspicious and dropped back to around three hundred yards behind.

  A couple of minutes later the taxi stopped. I turned down a narrow track, stopped and killed the engine and lights.

  Cathy woke up and instinctively whispered, ‘What is it?’

  ‘He’s stopped. Wait here.’

  I got out leaving the door open and walked to the junction. The taxi showed no signs of moving off again. I squinted through the bushes looking for the outline of a building or another vehicle, some clue as to why they’d pulled in there. Nothing.

  I sensed Cathy at my shoulder. ‘Is he in that car?’

  ‘It’s a taxi.’

  ‘Why have they stopped?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Did Vince get out?’

  ‘Don’t think so.’

  She heard the irritation in my voice. ‘Should I shut up?’

  ‘Just for a few minutes.’

  We stood craning necks, listening, willing the interior light to go on so we could check that Vince was still there.

  We waited ten minutes. Cathy said, ‘It’s cold.’

  ‘Why don’t you sit in the car? I’ll signal you if anything happens.’

  ‘You sure?’

  I nodded. Then the taxi revved. I put a hand on Cathy’s arm. A minute passed then Vince got out, talking to the driver, ‘He’ll be here soon!’

  I couldn’t hear the driver’s response. Vince said, ‘I’ll pay for the other hire!’

  The driver must have declined the offer. Vince shouted, ‘Fuck you!’ and slammed the door. The taxi pulled away.

  The moon appeared briefly and lit Cathy’s wide-eyed face. She looked scared. I ran to the car and started the engine while the noise of the taxi was loud enough to mask the sound. Cathy got in and I told her what I wanted her to do.

  She began by removing her tights.

  I knew Vince was waiting for someone who could appear any time and I wanted to pick him up, but we had to sit and suffer. To roll straight along just as the taxi disappeared would have looked too coincidental. I held out as long as I could. Cathy’s nerve would be fraying by the second too.

  There was the option of waiting to find out who his contact was but that might mean missing the chance to pick up Vince himself who I was sure c
ould tell me all I wanted to know.

  After maybe three minutes I touched Cathy’s shoulder and said, ‘Go.’ Then I crouched out of sight in the back.

  As we approached, Vince did what I thought he might. Assuming it was his contact he stepped out into the road. Cathy steered away from him but slowed sufficiently for each to see the other’s face.

  She stopped and rolled the window down. I heard his footsteps as he walked round. ‘Long time no see,’ he said.

  Cathy said, ‘You gave me a hell of a fright. I thought it was some madman.’

  Vince sniggered. ‘Mad, bad and dangerous to know.’

  ‘What are you doing out here?’ Cathy asked.

  ‘What are you doing? You left the pub ages ago.’

  ‘I had to see someone before heading back.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Home.’

  ‘Who did you have to see?’

  Cathy bristled. ‘None of your business! When you buy me a drink my life story doesn’t go with it!’

  I saw his hand come in and rest on Cathy’s shoulder. ‘Cool your jets! I was only asking.’

  Cathy sulked. ‘Sound like a cop.’

  ‘Last fucking thing I’d be.’

  Cathy began rolling the window up. ‘I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Hang on. I’m meeting somebody. He’ll be here in a minute.’

  ‘Do I know him?’

  ‘Doubt it.’

  ‘Then I ain’t waiting.’

  He pulled his hand out as the gap narrowed and bent toward her. ‘He’s a very interesting man. He could help you.’

  ‘Thought you were going to help me on Tuesday?’

  ‘Why wait?’

  ‘I don’t have the time.’ She revved the engine.

  ‘Look, okay! Okay! I’m bloody cold, just let me sit in the car till he comes, you don’t have to meet him!’

  Cathy weighed it up.

  He said, ‘As soon as he drives up I’ll get out.’

  She hesitated then leant across to open the passenger door.

  Vince got in saying, ‘Good girl! Good girl!’

  Cathy said, ‘Don’t call me that.’

  ‘No offence. No offence meant . . . Any taken?’

  ‘Forget it.’

  I grew increasingly uncomfortable and cramped. We’d agreed that Cathy would keep him talking for a while to try to get something out of him. If the conversation died, she was to switch the radio on loud to kill the sound of my breathing.

  Cathy probed. Vince gave nothing. He probed too. She didn’t expand much on the story she’d given him in the pub. After five minutes, she switched the music on. Two minutes later Vince suggested something more romantic and changed the station. A few seconds after that he started asking Cathy about her sex life and within a minute made a move on her.

  That was when I nearly closed his windpipe off with Cathy’s tights whipping his skull back to bounce on the headrest.

  He grunted like an animal. It startled Cathy. I nodded at her and she crunched into gear and pulled away. Vince’s fingers tried to get inside the nylon. I watched his terrified eyes in the mirror and said, ‘Take it easy, Vince. What is it you say, eh? Cool your jets, that was it, wasn’t it? Thought a pervert like you would appreciate a pair of ladies tights around your neck. Or are you a stockings and suspenders man?’

  He began choking. Phlegm spluttered from his gagging mouth sticking to the windscreen. Spittle ran down his chin. Cathy winced. I eased the pressure, let him have enough breath to cry, ‘Jesus Christ!’, and then tightened it again.

  Cathy cast a worried look at me. I smiled to reassure her and she drove on. By the time we pulled into a deserted layby, I had tied the tights to Vince’s headrest.

  Cathy switched off the engine. Vince sucked oxygen. I stayed behind him making sure he couldn’t see me. I leaned toward his ear. ‘Got a pen?’ I asked.

  He reached for his top pocket and pulled one out. I took it. ‘Hey, nice one Vince! Gold Waterman! Business must be good.’

  He didn’t respond. I said, ‘Take pen. Insert into tourniquet. Question patient. If no response twist pen one full turn. Simple instructions, Vince, huh? Bet you’re glad I remember my first aid.’

  He tried to see me in the mirror. I leaned forward and angled it away. Removing all the lightness from my voice I said, ‘Were you supplying Bill Keating with heroin?’

  No reply. He just kept gasping. I twisted the pen. He gasped louder. I said, ‘Was Bill Keating a customer of yours?’

  He nodded weakly.

  ‘Is that a yes?’

  He nodded. I loosened the tights two turns.

  ‘How long for?’

  ‘I . . . he . . .’

  I let him catch some breath.

  ‘ ... a few weeks.’

  ‘Who supplied him before that?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  I tightened again. He cried out. I said, ‘Vince, don’t fuck me around, I haven’t the time for it. Who was selling him the stuff before you?’ I eased off enough to let him answer. ‘Nobody . . . not with smack.’

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘Mo . . . Morphine.’

  ‘Morphine?’ I only knew of it as a painkiller.

  Vince nodded.

  ‘Were you supplying it?’

  He hesitated. I jerked it tighter forcing an involuntary whistle from his tubes. He nodded desperately.

  Leaning close to his ear I said, ‘Listen, I’ll let you have enough air and comfort to ask you a minute’s worth of questions. Give me the right answers and give them fast. If you don’t I’m going to cut off the oxygen supply to your brain for long enough to turn you into a cabbage. Do you understand me?’

  He nodded quickly throwing sweat drops into the darkness. I loosened the nylon and said, ‘Why did he want morphine?’

  ‘Help his headaches.’ His voice was badly broken. I wondered if I’d damaged his vocal cords. His story chimed with the letters Bill had left but I wanted to test him further.

  ‘You taking the piss?’

  ‘No! No! True!’

  I glanced across. Cathy was staring at me as though I were mad. I continued grilling Vince, ‘How bad were the headaches?’

  ‘Real bad. Very bad.’

  ‘Why didn’t he go to his doctor?’

  ‘Couldn’t. Was scared he’d stop him riding.’

  That’s when I knew he was telling the truth. I asked, ‘Why didn’t he stay on morphine, increase the dose?’

  Vince hesitated. I grasped the nylon. His hands reached up and he shouted, ‘No! He, he came for some one time and I didn’t have any . . .’

  ‘But you happened to have some heroin lying around which you knew would get him hooked a lot quicker than morphine?’

  He tried to glance round maybe hoping that when I saw the pathetic look in his eyes I wouldn’t hit him. I grabbed a handful of his hair and felt the crackling stiffness of lacquer. Forcing his head forward I said, ‘Eyes front!’

  I let go and his head drooped feigning shame. I took a few breaths to calm myself. I had to analyze things coolly, ask the important questions while I had him. Eventually he told me he had been Bill’s first and only supplier. Bill had been ‘referred’ to him, as he put it. I forced the name of the referee out of him.

  ‘Where can I find him?’ I asked.

  ‘Just a phone number . . .’

  ‘What is it?’

  He gave me a London number and I slipped his pen from the tourniquet and wrote it on the back of my hand. ‘This better be right, Vince.’ I jerked hard on the ligature. ‘If I’ve got to call Directory Enquiries you’re in deep shit.’

  He gurgled. I tried to think if there was anything more I could get from him without revealing who I was. I needed him to believe I was some sort of rival, another supplier maybe trying to muscle in. That’s why I’d been playing the tough guy. There had to be a chance Vince was connected with the guy who’d threatened me. I didn’t need Vince running straight to him for protection. />
  On reflection I realized I’d been concentrating far too much on Bill Keating for Vince to be fooled but there wasn’t a hell of a lot I could do now except protect my identity.

  I tried to find out who it was he’d been waiting for when we came along. He said it was one of his suppliers.

  Vince’s breathing was still heavy, laboured. Cathy looked tense and, wondering how much more she could take I decided to call it quits.

  I eased the neck tourniquet up till it encircled Vince’s head at eye level. I tightened and knotted it so he couldn’t see. I got out, opened his door, dragged him by the hair and kicked him into a ditch.

  I resisted the strong temptation to lecture him on the lives he was screwing up with his filthy trade. I needed to have him think I was as bad as he was. I got in the car and Cathy drove.

  She was still only in third gear when she burst into tears.

  14

  We sat in her kitchen till dawn broke. A few cups of hot sweet tea thawed her voice box sufficiently to spend half an hour regretting we’d ever got into this.

  ‘I thought you were going to kill him.’

  ‘It had to be convincing.’

  She looked tortured. ‘Eddie, I honestly thought you’d taken leave of your senses. You were so cold and callous.’

  I sipped tea and tried not to be angry at this woman who’d been more than happy to enlist my help when her impressions of villains were from books and movies.

  ‘What did you want me to do? This is the real world, you can’t go in half-cocked; they’d eat you alive.’

  She was gripping her cup again in that intense way, with both hands, trying to crush it. I leaned across and eased her fingers away. She lowered it to the table. ‘It just seems . . . well ... I don’t know.’

  I said, ‘It’s not as if I did him any real damage.’

  ‘But what about the next time?’

  I stared at her. ‘Cathy, listen. I didn’t take this on without knowing the dangers and I came in fully committed to handling them with whatever level of . . . of resources I have to.’

  ‘Resources meaning violence!’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Just forget it. Let’s forget it.’

  ‘You forget it. I can’t. I’m in deep, remember?’