Alan shook his head; his eyes pinned on the gore in his soggy lap. “You’re…you’re fuckin’ crazy.”
“I know this because I have nothing to lose. You will tell me everything, even if I have to yank your fingernails off with a pair of pliers, twist your scrotum around the blade of a kitchen knife or, my favourite, if I have to dismantle your body piece by bloody piece with a meat cleaver and mail it back to your friends. Then, I will find your wife and do the same to her. And her family. You take mine, I’ll take yours. I won’t stop until they break your fucking code and let me know where Ross Rhodes is.”
Alan smiled as his sanity slipped, his teeth shining bright pink with blood. “I knew there was a woman like you somewhere. And you know what? I’ve had enough. You’re gonna kill me anyway, so why should I tell you shit? You ain’t getting a fucking thing out of me. Do your worst.”
Dani smiled. She felt the grin tugging on her scars and this time, she didn’t care. It highlighted her expression, created a macabre image of horror on her mutilated face. She walked over to the table and tossed her coffee cup aside, scooping up a heavy black bag. She turned and walked back to Alan slowly, the bag clinking as she did. She dropped it to the floor with a metallic thud.
“Last chance?”
“Fuck you, whore. Good luck in finding Rhodes.”
Dani nodded. “Just remember, this is happening because of Bradley. This is his fault. Remember that. Unlike me, though, you’re not going to survive this.”
FIFTEEN
“Where are those fucking clowns?”
Bradley ran his fingertips along his eyebrows, his brow furrowing at the sound of his companion’s voice. He sighed deeply, the deserted road beyond the rain-spattered windshield beginning to bore him. The rain had let up, reduced to the occasional dull thud as a stray drop from the overhead power cables hit the soaked bonnet of the vehicle.
“They’re two hours late.”
He fumbled in his pocket and retrieved his Zippo. Bradley stared at it, admired the craftsmanship, enamored as the moonlight danced off the stainless steel and its precise engravings. He flicked the lighter lid open, ignited it, stared at the dancing yellow flame and closed it.
He repeated the process.
Once, twice, three times.
“Do you mind?” Philip Andrews uttered, his eyes staring at a particular street, one he expected his companions to emerge from at any second. The more he stared, the more frustrated he became. He concentrated, blurring everything around the dark street until it was his primary, and only, focus. He felt his anger rise – every second with no result made him seethe more, his patience fraying. “Fuck!” His left hand opened in the air, signaling his frustration.
Bradley smiled. “They’re not coming,” he said, his voice gravelly and low. “These guys are clowns, but they’re never late.”
“Well, I hate to disappoint you, but they are late…see?” Andrews tapped his Rolex with a sturdy fingertip.
Bradley felt his jaw knotting. Andrews was a mouthy shit and always had to have the last word, much like his ‘companions,’ Corey and Alan. When the three of them were together, they resembled a living, walking frat house; the rich kids that make university a living hell for the normal, self-funded students. Money went into everything, and there was no expense spared. They had to drink the best champagne, dine in the most luxurious restaurants, normally to impress or attract a pretty female in the same room – which was Rhodes’ fault really for paying them too much, but they did a good job. Idiots, yes, but useful and loyal.
Still, when the company prides itself on keeping a low profile, one of the key reasons for their success, having those jokers on the payroll always threatened to come back and bite them in the arse.
It hadn’t…yet.
Still, it didn’t make him like them any more than his job required. He shot a sideways glance at Andrews and chuckled.
Andrews noticed. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh nothing. Just find it amusing how stress doesn’t agree with you.”
“Stressed? Why shouldn’t I be? These guys are late, fucking late! In this business, that usually means one of two things.”
“What you think they jumped ship? Went to the competition? I think you overestimate their mental capacity somewhat.”
Andrews shook his head. “I didn’t say that. I was thinking the other thing.”
Bradley didn’t reply to that, and turned back to the windscreen. He didn’t like Corey or Alan, but the thought of them dead in an alley somewhere did unnerve him slightly. Recruitment was a bitch.
“You tried calling them?” Bradley said, tucking his lighter away.
“Several times. No answer.”
“Where were they last?”
“They said they were hitting a bar in town…Sin or something…I don’t know, some cheap, sticky club that attracts a horrible crowd.”
“Cheap? You guys don’t do cheap.”
“Yeah well, it’s pay day on Friday. So sue me.”
“Really? You guys are that haphazard with your cash?”
“Fuck you.”
Bradley laughed. “Well, luckily I know the club you mean. It’s 2am. Would they still be there?”
“Only one way to find out,” Andrews spat.
Bradley nodded, turning the key in the ignition. “Lucky me.”
*****
The water sluiced down the drain, a dark crimson vortex of violence and pain and suffering. Dani sighed deeply, her arms burning, the muscles tense from an evening’s workout. She pressed her palms against the slippery wall and gazed down, flexing and groaning, breathing out slowly, exhaling the hurt from her system. She lifted her left leg high, bending it at the knee, rising it towards her chest slowly. She placed it down and repeated the process with her right leg. Once done, she faced down again, the stream of water drenching the back of her taut neck.
Her balance didn’t waver once.
She glanced up and screamed into the spray, spurting the water off to the left.
Then, for the first time in a year, she cried.
The spray from the showerhead cleansed the salty tears away, caressing her hot cheeks, the torrents exploded off her blood-soaked body in a cacophony of splashing. Her cheeks stung, the reformed tissue felt sore and puffy, but she didn’t care.
She stood like that until the water ran cold.
She didn’t keep track of the time.
*****
“The place is closed.”
Bradley drummed his fingers on the greasy roof, the car humming slothfully below his crossed arms. The chaos of a Friday night unravelled around him like a macabre, badly written play. He saw one thing: A society disrupted by alcohol, drugs and merriment, who went about their business without a care or shred of self-respect in the world.
He searched the rain-spattered pavement, amused and disgusted in equal measure. The streetlights glared off the slick concrete, providing a distorted, illuminated runway to the proceedings.
A group of women, clearly inebriated, were staggering and fighting with their balance, leaning on one another for support. The prettiest of the bunch, carrying an empty champagne bottle, and whose mascara streaked across her attractive face, collapsed in the gutter. Her legs splayed as she hit the deck, her crumpled white panties – and her modesty – on display to the world. Her friends howled in laughter, pointing at their fallen comrade, sniggering and slapping one another playfully. One of them noticed Bradley’s disgusted gaze, sneered and flipped him the bird.
“Take a fuckin’ picture, you filthy pervert, it’ll last longer!”
Bradley laughed and ignored them. On the other side of the street, between an abandoned estate agents and a bustling kebab shop, a group of teenage boys were hassling a homeless man, pulling at his withered blanket and throwing litter into his grubby domain. The man had his gloved hands over his head, cowering away, cold and frightened. One boy stepped out of the kebab shop and poured a portion of chips over his head, mockin
g him. His friend, who proceeded to urinate on the wall beside the defenseless man, gave his friend a swerving high five that missed.
Andrews stepped into Bradley’s line of view. “Did you hear me? Place is closed!”
“I heard you,” Bradley said under his breath. Behind his vehicle, a taxi driver was tossing a man out onto the curb, his pink designer shirt smeared in lumpy vomit. The stench reached Bradley, who crinkled his nose. “People make me fucking sick.”
“Oi, wanker!”
Bradley turned around. A girl with tussled black hair and a sweaty complexion stood before him. Her mascara was still intact but her lipstick shade left a lot to be desired. Her cheeks sparkled with glitter, the shine dulled by excessive orange foundation. She was shorter and plumper then her friends, and reeked of cigarettes and alcohol, but in a normal setting, without a bucket of makeup, Bradley could imagine her as an attractive young woman. Lack of self-confidence, probably spurred by the presence of her glamorous, idiotic friends, drove her to improve herself, something that would never naturally occur. Makeup and mindless nights on the lash were her solution, probably finished with a rotting kebab and a cry into her pillow. An endless circle.
He wondered if she would ever find herself.
“Oi, wanker!” She laughed and turned to the other women, who weren’t paying any attention to their friend’s bravado. “You see this, girls? He’s ogling my tits!”
Bradley smiled. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, I saw you eyeing up Mercedes over there, you fuckin’ pervert. Keep yo fuckin’ eyes off, yeah?”
Bradley laughed. “You think I was eyeing up…that,” he said, pointing to her friend, who still lay drunk on the pavement. “If you think that, darling, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“Whoa, I ain’t your fuckin’ darlin,’ you got that? Not even in your….dreams, yeah? Just keep your prying eyes off her snatch, okay?”
Bradley shook his head, pinching his nose as he did so.
An attractive woman, but a dumb one. Uneducated.
“You listening to me, bruv?”
Bradley sighed. “Loser says what?”
“Wha!”
Bradley punched the woman in the side of the head. She dropped like a rock, cascading into the side of his car with an enormous crash. Her lifeless body hit the wet concrete with a splat. Her purse opened and spilled its contents into the road. Bradley watched as several condoms, lipsticks, drink coupons and tampons fell into the gutter, slowly floating away on the stream of trickling drain water. Much like her friend, her legs spread wide and exposed her naked sex to the entire street. Andrews simply grunted from his side of the car. “Taking out the white trash, I see.”
Bradley laughed, genuinely surprised at the humour. He pushed the woman aside with the pointed end of a sleek, leather loafer. “This one neglected to wear panties. Tempted?”
“Fuck that…I mean no, not at all.”
Laughing, both men climbed back into the car. Bradley watched the group of women as he turned on the ignition. None of them had noticed their fallen friend.
Big shock, he thought. The runt of the litter…or the clique as it may be.
“Where to now?”
Bradley grunted. “Rhodes. He needs to know.”
At 2:13 am, the evening was just getting started.
*****
The bourbon scorched Dani’s throat and she retched, gagging, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. She dribbled the remaining liquid back into the glass and placed it on the kitchen counter. She paused, took her cup of coffee, nodded, and moved through the apartment. She closed the bedroom door and sat on the edge of the soft mattress, sipping the hot beverage slowly. The bitterness didn’t expel the burning amber in her throat, but it started to replace the horrible taste in her mouth.
Dani placed her coffee on the bedside cabinet and breathed out deeply. She stared down at her hands, fresh and pink and wrinkled from the shower. She saw nothing but blood; oozing, seeping, dripping blood, running up and down her arms in trickling rivulets at triple speed, like a sped up video or a horrific horror movie montage. The droplets spread and flayed, covering every inch of her clean skin, splattering and sluicing to the floor below.
She blinked and the blood was gone, replaced by clean flesh and a sweet confectionary smell. And the bitter essence of coffee, one that soothed and relaxed her. Her mind began to calm, to rationalise her actions from that evening.
It had taken four minutes to get the information she required from Alan.
Alan hadn’t cracked, no, he’d remained loyal to his boss. In fairness, Dani hadn’t gone very far when his mobile phone rang, shrill and distinct, buzzing in his pocket. She’d applied some lye to his trembling fingertips when one of his work colleagues called, no doubt seeking his presence. He was screaming in pain as the chemical corroded the outer layer of flesh, eating at the second layer within moments.
That’s when she realised she didn’t need to torture him. She could take his details, his mobile phone, a mass of data, and use it to her advantage. Much easier.
Ah, the digital age.
She took the phone, swiped into the phonebook and found personal and mobile numbers for Rhode’s entire organisation. She had addresses, emails and bank details.
Including Bradley. Including Ross.
Jackpot.
She’d poured a bottle of distilled vinegar on the chemical, neutralizing the burns somewhat. Alan groaned, thanking her, happy to keep what was left of his fingertips. He thanked her repeatedly, pleading with her for his freedom.
Then, she’d shot him in the face.
The gunshot was loud, alarming, and it made Dani jump. She’d practiced at a gun range with the weapon – in a small corner of London with a fake license and lack security – but the gun was much louder without ear protection. She jumped; with the gun steady in her hand, she squeezed the trigger and fired a second shot, one that blew off the top of Alan’s head, spraying gloopy brain and skull across the concrete. Alarmed and surprised, Dani had recovered, wrapped the corpse in a tarpaulin and ditched it in a rusted bathtub at the back of the warehouse. She didn’t clean up, knowing nothing could be traced back to her.
In hindsight, that might have been a stupid thing to do. However, she’d selected the neighbourhood for its heavy criminal activity. Arson, burglary, car theft, muggings, ASBOs. And when the warehouse rental guys had asked for a name, she’d given Mrs Cahill.
A lie. A lie for the sake of murder.
Murder.
What have I done?
The cool, damp hair on her shoulder reminded her of the shower, her first shower since ending two lives, one used to wash away the blood and horror and memories already embossed on her brain. She twisted her hair between her nervous fingers, water seeping from the locks and pattering the bed below. The tears had stopped, but the remorse didn’t.
Revenge was the plan.
You’re one of them now.
The words sent a shiver trembling down her spine. Yes, she wanted justice for her family, but resorting to murder to achieve it?
You should call the police and inform Detective Inspector Scott. They ended the investigation because they were in the dark. You know where Rhodes is, you can ship him to the police.
Take him down legally.
Dani glanced at the bedside cabinet and looked at Scott’s crinkled yellow card. She’d put it in the box with her personal belongings. She’d kept it, a reminder that some humanity existed in the world. After all, he’d stayed by her bedside, day and night, the only person who did. True, he had an agenda, he was doing this job, but he still cared for her wellbeing.
She owed it to him.
She also owed it to Teddy. And Mum.
And, in some way, despite it being his fault, her Dad too.
Her eyes closed and reopened, this time focusing on Alan’s phone, which sat next to the card. It stunk of vomit; the bile had seeped into his pockets and smeared the phone during their little talk. De
spite cleaning it, the device emitted a lingering, bitter stench into the air.
She thought back to that night. To her dead mother, to Teddy’s head as it exploded in her face, destroying her innocence and her life in one gory second of violence.
She swallowed a hot mouthful of coffee and nodded firmly, her decision made.
She picked up the phone and started scrolling through it. Different folders, email accounts and multiple text messages whizzed by. She found naked pictures and swiftly skipped them, hitting the red trash icon as she did, providing some kind of useless humility service to the foolish women in the images. Besides, Alan wouldn’t need them anymore.
She backed out and found the phonebook. She scanned the numbers. Her eyes widened when she settled on one specific entry.
Boss.
She remembered it from earlier. It was all too easy.
She drank another mouthful of coffee and shook her head, breathing deep. Then, she dialled.
*****
“So you’re telling me that you can’t find these pricks anywhere in London?”
Bradley nodded silently, not making eye contact. Andrews shifted nervously beside him, sweating. Rhodes, sat behind his desk with an empty tumbler in his left hand, was bobbing in his leather chair, thinking.
“London’s a big place. I doubt you searched very hard. This is not the type of incompetence I expect from you, Bradley.”
Bradley nodded. “With all due respect, sir, I’m not their babysitter. That’s Andrews’ job.” Bradley hiked his thumb towards his associate.
“Hey, fuck you. I don’t babysit anyone,” Andrews spat, his fear dispersing for a second. Rhodes glared at him, which soon reignited his nervousness.
“They’re your responsibility, Andrews. You should know where they are at all times.”
Bradley smirked. Andrews fell silent, wiping his slick forehead.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter. For all we know the dumb cunts are pissed up in a gutter somewhere sniffing coke from a whore’s shitty arse crack. If they don’t make their presence known by morning, send Sanchez. He’ll find them. He always does.”
Grin Page 11
