You are something…
“Grin,” she uttered. “I am Grin.”
EIGHTEEN
Detective Chief Inspector Scott dropped the greasy bag of breakfast on his desk and walked to the window. He breathed out slowly, his coffee-tinted breath steaming the glass before him. He smiled and wiped the pane with his sleeve.
Another day in paradise.
His view wasn’t spectacular; it gazed straight onto the back of a red brick building, such was the lack of space in a modern metropolis like London. Occasionally, he would see the cleaners vacuuming the carpets or bear witness to a meaningless, silent meeting between entitled speakers and bored, cash-strapped employees. Yes, the theatre that was car insurance really provided a break away from the debauchery and darkness of crime.
Could be worse, he thought. I could sell car insurance for a living.
Much worse if you were one of the managers who feel their spiel and corporate agenda actually matters for shit. Everyone can see a manager for their true form – a corporate patsy with brains that are more washable than a teenager’s crusty bedsheets.
Scott chuckled and turned away, returning to his chair. “I’ll settle for this type of criminal, thank you very much.”
He tore the brown bag down the side, not wanting to smear the grease on his fingers. The smell of crispy bacon and grilled sausage tantalised his senses. He pressed the button on his laptop and watched it power up. As the technology hummed awake, he lifted his breakfast bap from the bag and took a large bite. Brown sauce enveloped his tongue, igniting the flavour in the crunchy bacon and tender sausage meat.
“Amazing, as always.”
Scott tapped a key on his laptop and watched the blank, blue screen illuminate. It prompted him for a password. Before he could enter it, a rap on his door alerted him.
“Yeah, come in.”
A rotund woman with greasy brunette hair and a waddle in her step – the downfall of a sedentary lifestyle – entered the room. She adjusted her brown skirt and stood, arms crossed, a little cautious. “Sir, sorry to bother you –”
“– it’s quite alright, Megan, I just got in. Can I help?”
“Just got in? I can come back?”
“No, its fine. I’m catching up on my breakfast,” he chuckled. “How can I help?”
“Well, this is weird…but we got a call for you.”
“That’s fine, send it to my phone,” he uttered, lifting his receiver in preparation.
Megan pushed her glasses up her nose. “No, the person is gone. They left a message, about ten minutes ago.”
Scott turned to the woman, his attention averted. “A message?”
“Yes.”
“I can call them back, got a number?”
“That’s just it, sir.” Megan took a step forward, as it to emphasise the point. “The call didn’t come through to your phone and they didn’t leave a number.”
“That’s not unusual, not everyone has my direct line,” Scott said, replacing the receiver.
“Well…this…um…it came through on your old number. Your DI number.”
Scott frowned. “Okay, I thought it was linked to my new number.”
“It is, but the call came through Duggan’s desk. I think you’d better listen to it, sir.”
“Sure thing. Is it on the database?”
“Yep, I lined it up for you.”
“Did Duggan listen to it?”
“No, Duggan is on leave.”
“Probably in rehab…” Scott sighed, his head lowering, remembering his own alcoholic demons. He pushed the memory away.
“Everything okay, sir?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for letting me know, Megan.”
“No problem,” the woman responded, smiling. She turned and left the office. Scott took a huge sip of coffee, entered his password and clicked a folder icon on his desktop.
Several calls, in the form of files with a C on them, appeared on the screen. Scott found the one he needed and double clicked it. The file opened into a black box with a timer at the bottom and a blue quaver note on the screen. Scott fumbled with his headphones and put them in his ears.
After a muted hissing, the call began.
After a moment, Scott’s eyes widened and he felt the heat flush from his face. A mild panic startled to bubble in his stomach as he scrambled for his car keys, knocking his coffee to the floor. The cup spiraled and spattered the carpet with frothy brown spots. As the call ended, he dropped his headphones to the desk with a clink.
“Shit.”
He stood up, rubbing his face, his thought process in overdrive. As he ran out of the office, his mobile phone tucked beneath his chin, he beckoned to several officers to follow him. Thirty seconds later, he was requesting more back up from his vehicle, the words from the call reverberating through his skull.
*****
This is a message for Detective Inspector Scott. You may remember me – my name is Dani.
Dani stepped out of the hotel lobby and onto the wet pavement. The rain had let up slightly, but the chilled dampness of the air still irritated her scarred skin. Brushing her cheek, she pulled the hoodie across her face and looked both ways at the hurried pedestrians, most of whom were making their way to work. After a moment she walked forward, her boots clonking on the hollow concrete, and stepped into the road, ignoring the BMW that screeched to a halt on her left. The driver’s frantic screaming went unheard, her brain totally in the zone.
You questioned me over the death of my family over a year ago.
She patted the top of a black bollard as she walked towards Rhodes Enterprises, the weight of her dual Berettas a comfort as they tapped her spine, her tight jeans pushing them into the small of her back. The hoodie that concealed them started to dampen, the returning rain thudding on her shoulders. Her feet paused as she reached the steps, realising that, once she started her ascent, there was no going back.
“This is it, the plan coming to fruition,” she whispered to herself.
She tightened the hood around her face and started forward.
I never thanked you for remaining vigilant by my side during my rehabilitation. I blame the drugs, but there is no excuse for forgetting your kindness, something that wasn’t your responsibility at all, but that was still provided to me in my time of need.
Leaving the steps behind, Dani pushed the revolving door and slowly entered the monolith of a tower block. The door span silently as the sounds of the street – footsteps, vehicles chugging by, a distant police siren – vanished, the walls merging behind her.
Your kindness was a beacon of hope, one that has led me to this very moment, spurred me into action, and enabled me to take revenge against those that took everything from me.
The lobby carried a fragrant smell of coffee. Dani scanned the minimalist room, searching for a Costa or Starbucks, or one of the chain stores that normally leeched off addicted employees with a convenient fixture in the foyer. Four leather sofas, two on each side, flanked the entrance, accompanied by glass coffee tables with time-passing magazines on their flawless surfaces. Before her stood two escalators, one going up and one coming down, both secured behind a metal detector fixed between two sturdy wooden counters. She took a step forward and, in that moment, the picture before her changed.
Anyway, you said the lead ran cold on the perpetrators…I can reveal that if you go to Rhodes Enterprises in Tottenham Court Road, you will find your answers.
Three men stood up behind the right counter, their coats bulging with the unmistakable indentation of a weapon. Three sets of eyes watched the new arrival intently. After a moment, two men stepped around the desk and made their way towards Dani slowly, who placed her hands on her hips, her eyes staring at the marble tiles beneath her feet.
“Sorry, miss, Rhodes Enterprises is closed for maintenance today.” The man on the left bit into a green apple, the crunch echoed around the lobby.
Dani nodded, still looking down. “I have a meeting with
Ross Rhodes.”
The man on the right chuckled. “He’s unavailable today. May we reschedule your meeting?”
Dani glanced up, her smile stretching her scars into an absurd grimace, a grin bearing horrific memories and sadistic violence.
“Gross,” the man said grimacing, his mouth still chewing the fruit.
“Fuck, what happened to your –”
“– it’s her!” The man behind the counter screamed, his finger aimed in their direction. The sudden shout caused both of his comrades to turn away from Dani.
Perfect, she thought, her hands sliding behind her.
FYI, I’m already headed there so I apologise for any mess I cause.
Dani drew both silenced Berettas and kneeled, placing one barrel beneath the chin of each distracted man. Without hesitation, she pulled the triggers.
Yours, Dani.
Whup.
The back of the left man’s head exploded outward, the top of his skull splintering into the air, bone fragments and greyish pink brain matter spurted across the lobby like wet confetti. Chunks of soggy apple dribbled from between his lips; followed by blood and shattered teeth as the bullet discharged through solid muscle, brittle bone and soft tissue, ripping through his mouth, killing him instantly.
Whup.
The right man fared slightly differently. Still turning as the gun fired, the bullet shattered his larynx; muscle and cartilage obliterated beneath the bullet, a heavy red mist sprayed into the copper-infused air. His jaw, devastated by the close-quarters blast, flopped to one side, hanging from his mutilated face by ripped tendons and blood-soaked sinew. Crimson dripped and sluiced in heavy patters, filling the lobby with a cacophony of splashes.
Both men flopped to the floor heavily, landing beside one another. Dani pumped another bullet into the remainder of each man’s dying brain, for good measure. She stood up, wiping a smear of blood from her cheek, which only daubed it across her already menacing visage. The woman walked swiftly towards the counter with both guns by her side.
The third man, gagging from the stench of sulphur and coppery blood, tumbled to the floor, the counter no longer protecting him. He pointed his weapon at Dani haphazardly, the aim all over the place. Dani smiled. “Nice to meet you, Philip Andrews.”
Andrews stared up, leaning on his elbows, surprised that she knew his name. He fumbled his gun, the handle slipping from his trembling hand.
“My father noted that you were nothing but a glorified babysitter. Seems he was right.”
Andrews sneered. “Fuck you.”
Dani chuckled. “Never been in a gunfight, huh? Too bad. That’s the problem with being a babysitter, or nothing but a lackey, giving orders for orders sake.” She leaned forward, snatching the gun from him. She looked it over and grinned. “You forgot to take the fucking safety off.”
Clicking the safety, Dani fired three times, each bullet smacking Andrews in the chest with a muted thud, a spray of dark blood spat from each wound. The man’s body rocked, as if fried by an electrical current, and he dropped to the floor. Dani shot him in the head, finishing the job. She tossed his weapon to the ground. It skittered across the floor and thudded against the counter.
She glanced around, listening, awaiting the arrival of more men. It didn’t happen. She ambled behind the counter, stepping over the dead body, and starting looking at the files there. Ears alert, she continued to listen. Only a subtle gurgling from the three corpses sounded in her ears. Nothing stood out as she rifled through the files, so she looked up.
The security monitors showed forty floors of long hallways and mostly empty boardrooms. Some rooms housed several men, all equipped with firearms, some alert, some distracted with their mobile phones or magazines. Towards the bottom of the screen sat a derelict basketball court adorned with several cabins. Three half-naked women milled around, hugging one another, drinking coffee and smoking. Dani tapped a button on the screen and the image disappeared, filtering in six more small squares against a backdrop of black.
She saw an office, extravagant in its size.
A man sat behind a vast desk, drinking from a tumbler. Dani had never set eyes on Rhodes before but she knew it was the gangland boss - he exuded wealth and power. Another shot showed an entrance lobby, where three soldiers, two men and a woman, stood silently.
Waiting.
She felt a smile tugging at her scars.
She stood up and walked to the lifts.
*****
“Excuse me for asking, sir, but why the urgent rush?”
DCI Scott veered his Astra around a crawling Audi and rejoined the traffic on Weymouth Street. The magnetised blue siren on the roof howled, beckoning for a right of way, but some lapse drivers were determined to make his journey harder, such was the way in the capital.
DI Howes pushed back and braced herself against the passenger seat to avoid falling forward. “Are you trying to get us fucking killed?”
Scott said nothing as he spun the steering wheel and turned into Harley Street, in an attempt to avoid some of the traffic that was bringing Weymouth to a grinding halt. The road was much clearer as he hurtled towards his destination. He noticed a few muted screams of people transfixed by the speeding vehicle and the blaring siren. The curious gaze of the general public saw him hurtle by.
“I have a lead on Ross Rhodes,” Scott finally confessed.
A flicker of recognition appeared on the young DI’s face, one that reduced the peppered red hue on her cheeks. She brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. “The Ross Rhodes?”
“Yep,” Scott retorted, clenching the steering wheel.
“Nice one.” A smile of trepidation spread across Howes’ face.
“You ready to become fucking famous, Howes?” Scott asked, smiling.
“Fuck no, sir. Who would be suicidal enough to tip the police about Rhodes…surely the person knows he has coppers in his pocket, right? Well, if the rumours are true.”
“They’re true, Howes, but I don’t think this woman gives a shit, with all due respect. This girl lost everything because of Rhodes; she saw her family brutally slaughtered at the hands of his employee. I met her once, poor girl. Seventeen and she saw her brothers head…well, it wasn’t pretty.”
“How comes I never heard of her?”
“This was some time ago, before your transfer. A year ago, she vanished, just disappeared. Until this morning, I hadn’t heard from her since our last interview. It was in the newspapers of course, back then, it must’ve made her a social outcast, but those things die down very quick nowadays. The first call I get from her, in a year, thanks me for being by her side and confesses to walking into the fucking lion’s den. Talk about mixed emotion in a phone call. Rhodes left this girl humiliated and mutilated…it’s not going to be pretty.”
“You stood by her side?” Howes queried.
“Throughout the whole ordeal. She had no one, no interested family members. Rehab took about two months.”
“That’s mighty kind of you, sir.”
“Just doing my duty, Howes. Questioning her afterwards was awkward; it felt like I was only supporting her to get information about her tragedy.”
“She obviously didn’t see it like that.”
“I know,” Scott uttered. “Now, she’s walking into a certain deathtrap to avenge her family.”
“I understand that, but surely she isn’t psychopathic enough to just walk up to Rhodes and blow his head off?”
Scott looked across at his companion and said nothing.
Howes gulped, the silence speaking volumes, and looked out of the window at the passing scenery. The DCI turned onto New Cavendish Street, the screeching tyres the only sound that filled the cab.
NINETEEN
Dani stood to the side of the lift, her shoulders brushing against the steel interior. As she moved closer to the metal entrance, to scope for potential noise, her coat brushed several numbered buttons, turning them orange.
As the car came to a gradual
halt, gravity squeezing on her shoulders as the speed decreased, she breathed in and stood back, the Beretta in her left hand poised. The doors slid open silently.
Nothing happened.
No bullets clattered into the lift. No one attacked.
Keeping her finger on the open button, she nudged sideways, peering into the quiet entrance hallway of the fortieth floor. No one stood watching, no armed gunman were awaiting her certain execution. She tapped the button once more and slid from cover, her feet padded by the lush black carpet. The doors closed shut behind her.
The hallway before Dani stretched forward, the rosy red walls etched with symmetrical doorways and tasteful, expensive art. Dani recognised magnificent pieces from Monet, Picasso, Klimt and Dalí. The end of the hallway finished with an expansive floor-to-ceiling window. Dani could see the grey clouds and dull sky beyond, the rain pattering silently against the pane. Much like the foyer on the ground floor, dual leather sofas decorated each side of the reception area surrounding the lifts, a large square of space intended to feel welcoming and comfortable en route to an interview or a meeting or certain death.
Dani walked forward, listening intently, placing her bag of weapons on one of the sofas. Muted murmurs came from a room to the right. She tried to remember the layout from the blueprints and cursed herself for not checking them before leaving the hotel. She did remember the layout of the floor was like a staggered figure of eight, and the lifts were in the centre of it. The hallway looped around gradually behind the lifts. That’s where Rhodes’ office sat, protected by several walls built around it. No direct lift access meant anyone meeting him would have to run the gauntlet of his army.
Including her.
Dani breathed out and started forward.
The second lift dinged behind her, catching her off guard.
As she turned, she saw a man emerge in a hurry, his arms cradling several greasy brown bags. The stench of fast food permeated the air as he stepped onto the plush carpet. It took a second for his eyes to latch onto the intruder.
In seconds, he dropped the bags, and reached for a hidden weapon. Dani ran towards him quickly, darting left then right, confusing the man as she sprang, her foot catching the side of his knee, cracking the collateral ligaments, snapping the leg sideways. The man, his face bleaching white from immense agony at the explosion on his patella, howled seconds before Dani rammed her firearm into his face, silencing him. His nose crunched beneath the weapon, spilling warm blood across his cheeks. The man collapsed backwards into the lift with a tremendous clang, his body crashing heavily into the car, bouncing it a few feet down. Dani landed on top of him, ready to silence him again.
Grin Page 14
