The Tale of the Wolf (The Kenino Wolf Series)

by Cyrus Chainey

  He took pleasure in pain, mainly in the inflicting of it. You could always tell who worked for Clarence; they had cigarette burns on their forearms, shaped into a diamond

  Clarence had been brewing for a reckoning with somebody for years. But no one would touch him. He was guarded night and day by two sadistic thugs named Pit and Bull. Their single brain cell had conceived the name to be intimidating. He was also well-connected, knew the right kind of people to keep him out of reach of the constabulary. Plus, Clarence would move his base of operations every few weeks; make sure no one knew where he was … although I did. When you play in the dirt you get dirty.

  Clarence was operating out of the backroom of one of those seedy peep show places in Soho, the kind that charge twenty quid for a drink; where sitting with a woman with her tits out costs you a month’s salary.

  I got changed at my place. There was no way I was going to Clarence’s dressed like that. I loaded the tranq gun and placed it in the outside pocket of my jacket. I needed to be able to reach it quick. I was wishing I had something more deadly. I’d gone a long way down, real fast. Clarence required real hardware.

  I’d wanted Tabatha to wait outside but, gung ho as she was, she said she’d go where I went. We walked in through the main door and went down the stairs into the basement.

  ‘Where’s Clarence?’ I asked the barman.

  He pointed to a beaded curtain.

  ‘Cheers,’ I replied as he eyed up Tabatha.

  The barman didn’t see anything out of the ordinary in me asking for Clarence. Since Clarence moved so often the only people who’d ask, in his mind, would have to have been invited.

  Behind the beaded curtain was a door. I opened it and we went in. Clarence was behind his desk; a fat slug-like creature with grey-black hair and a large wart on his right cheek. He wore a crisp white suit that stretched unevenly across his frame.

  He had a dirty complexion, not from muck or grime, but naturally so. The squalor of his life had stained his very flesh. His two goons, who were larger and more muscular then I remembered, were sitting on the sofa to our right watching TV.

  ‘Mr Wolf. What an intriguing surprise.’ The goons looked across and scanned Tabatha and me. Perceiving no danger to their boss they returned to their TV.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ He was eyeing us, amused, like an alligator that’s just seen a sparrow cross its path. Not worth eating, but still foolish to come so close.

  The tombstone smile that rose on his face made me feel ill; there were bits of food between his teeth and a nasty piece of brown gunk clustered round his right canine.

  ‘I’m looking for Michael.’

  ‘Why?’ He looked at Tabatha, scanning her from her shoes to her head. I knew what he was thinking. He licked his lips. I wished the tranq gun had been a real gun. I so badly wanted to blow his brains out. I couldn’t believe what I was thinking. I’d never thought about killing anybody before. Silly. angry thoughts yeah. But cold calculated murder … never!

  I hated Clarence for making me think like that. I hated the fact that I wanted to kill him. It was probably for the best it wasn’t a real gun. I might have got Clarence, but the goons were always packing. Tabatha and I would’ve been dead in a minute. It wasn’t just how he looked at Tabatha that made me boil inside, it was the fact that vermin like him could exist, could prosper.

  ‘Because I need to speak to him,’ I said, drawing his eyes back to me.

  ‘What about?’ Clarence was starting to lose patience with me.

  ‘About his brother. His brother was buried yesterday and when he didn’t show his sister got worried. Do you know where I can find him?’

  ‘Haven’t seen him in ages.’

  ‘So you don’t know then?’

  ‘I have an address.’ He pulled a piece of paper out from one of the drawers and waved it at me.

  ‘Are you gonna tell me it.’

  ‘Why should I? What’s in it for me?’ He looked at Tabatha again.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘This little cutey’d be good for a start.’

  ‘Lay one hand on me and you’ll end up with your dick in your ear.’

  Clarence laughed, a hollow malicious cackle. The kind that read correctly would signal a warning.

  ‘Feisty isn’t she, I like that.’ He stuck his long tongue out in a beckoning motion.

  ‘I was thinking something a little more porcelain,’ I said, drawing him back.

  Clarence was never going to help easily. Even if he wanted to he was still going to be an arse. I was hoping to bribe him by pandering to his obsession. A Chinese general once said ‘know your enemy’. Well, I knew mine. Clarence, as well as being a sadist, was also a collector of dolls. He loved them. Someone I knew supplied them to him. Clarence treated those dolls better than people. They were everything in his world.

  ‘Were you indeed?’

  ‘You know me, Clarence. I’m always good for a deal, and I know how you like your collectibles.’

  ‘I do like my little dollies.’

  ‘And I want that address.’

  He twirled the paper in his hands. He was thinking, staring at me and considering something. He looked like a cat playing with a ball of string. He stared at Tabatha then back at me.

  ‘The reality of this situation Mr Wolf, is that you have nothing I want … that I cannot take.’ There was a viciousness in his glare. We were in serious trouble.

  The phone on his desk started ringing. He looked down at the number and I saw a brief flicker of fear in his eyes.

  ‘It would appear today is your lucky day Mr Wolf.’ He snarled glancing back at the still ringing phone. ‘Playtime’s over. Get out!’

  He threw the paper across the desk. He looked almost annoyed. Whatever he’d been thinking, he’d have to abandon. That phone call may have saved our lives.

  Sensing the danger I reached for the paper, as I did he put his fat clammy hand on top of mine. My skin crawled at the touch.

  ‘Send Michael my love,’ he rasped, dribble rolling down his fat lips.

  ‘Will do.’ I took the paper and pulled my hand from under his grasp. ‘See you, Clarence. Come on, Tabs, we’re going.’ I grabbed her arm and pulled her out, moving as fast as I could.

  We jumped in Betsy and drove straight back to my place, Tabatha slept in my bed and I spent three hours trying to wash Clarence’s touch off of me.

  Tuesday 8:00 a.m.

  I left the house at just after eight in the morning. Tabatha was still sleeping. I’d spent the whole night awake just watching her dream, thinking about what had happened the previous evening. I’d let her enter Clarence’s world. Let her gung-ho nonsense bypass my usual steely caution.

  He now knew she existed, knew she was connected to me. I’d endangered her needlessly. Clarence was a viper, a poisonous serpent, and I’d let her come along. Got all carried away with the couple madness and had let her enter places she should never have been. It was a mistake, a dangerous blunder to have brought her, to have involved her. I should have gone alone, should have never let her anywhere near that place, that creature.

  It was an error I had no intention of repeating. Michael was no saint, far from it. He was only moderately less dangerous than Clarence and that was only because I knew him. Not that I could count on that. I couldn’t count on anything. I had no idea what I was walking into, no idea where the end of this path led. All I knew was that Clarence was the only person who seemed to know anything about Michael, which meant he was moving in less than savoury circles; circles that Tabatha didn’t need to visit.

  I packed the tranq gun and some spare darts and jumped on the Tube, heading to Totteridge. I’d never been to Totteridge before, it was well outside of my usual stomping ground. The journey was easy enough though, a couple of changes on the Tube and a free paper to pass the time.

  I reached the address Clarence had given me, for an old, out of the way industrial estate it was just up from the Tube station. Four larg
e warehouse buildings like aircraft hangars greeted me as I crossed into the compound. The years of neglect and abandonment had started to show. The windows were smashed and the huge metal shutters were riddled with little holes of corrosion.

  It was a forgotten place, devoid of life except for nature, which was slowly reclaiming the land. Weeds had started to appear and various shrubs entwined themselves through the rusted external fence. I pushed open the main gate and entered the forecourt.

  The address was for the warehouse at the far left of the compound. The air was chill and the silence deafening. I walked slowly across to the building Clarence had indicated. My hackles were up and I was definitely on a ‘discretion being the better part of valour’ story. The place smelt wrong, definitely not in keeping with Michael's standard agenda. For a man that revelled in glamour and glitz, this place was as far removed as was possible to be. I crept up to the main door and listened. Silence. Not even a whisper. The door whined miserably as I heaved it open, the hinges creaking with rare exertion.

  I stepped through into the warehouse. Immediately a stale smell crashed into my nose. The air was rank with rotten refuse and mildew. The place was abandoned; old packing crates and other discarded remnants of what once was a working warehouse littered the floor. The light broke in through the grimy windows, shards of distorted rays mingling with the dust that hung in the air.

  ‘Michael!’ I called out, as I stepped deeper into the dank warehouse. Boxes and old booze bottles lined the walls. It looked like the homeless had made the disused warehouse a haven. Old newspapers and discarded food packaging were scattered everywhere.

  ‘Michael? Michael? It's Wolfy.’ My voice echoed aimlessly around the empty space. It was deserted, nothing there but memories. What once was, was no more. I walked deeper into the centre my footsteps reverberating in the vast emptiness. I kept walking and calling.

  ‘Michael. Michael. It's Wolfy. You in here?’

  ‘No!’ came an unexpected reply. I swung round to hear the owner of the gravelly voice. They were standing in the doorway, the sunlight bursting round them. I squinted but I couldn't tell who it was.

  ‘Michael? Is that you?’

  ‘No!’ the figure repeated, as he stepped in and out from the light.

  A man slowly entered the warehouse, his heavy footsteps bouncing angrily off the empty walls.

  My eyes could now see him properly, see who he was. I could see the shape of a man; a man I recognised. A man I'd met only once but would never forget.

  ‘Shit!’ I stumbled back.

  I saw the smile rise across his face; a malicious, wicked face, malevolent.

  It was him. Longy's killer. The Beggar.

  I could see the gun in his hand. He let loose a volley to my left. The bullets ricocheted off the floor.

  ‘Shit!’ I panicked. He was walking towards me.

  He sprayed a volley to my right. Again they ricocheted off the floor. He was playing with me, enjoying his moment. I could see his face clearly, he was less than fifteen feet away, revelling in my fear. Again he fired off some shots, this time in front of me. The joy he was getting from my terror was plastered across his face.

  I stood stock still, like a rabbit in the headlights, frozen to the spot. I was going to die. He raised the gun and pointed it directly at me. I could feel his glare sizing me up. I was finished. My life was done.

  The noise came first, an explosive crash and then a split second later the loading bay doors blasted apart. The Beggar swung round just in time to see Betsy plough into him. I watched, still motionless, as the force of Betsy flung him into the air. The gun sprayed bullets wildly as he flipped upwards and over the roof.

  Betsy screeched to a halt a few foot from me. Tabatha was behind the wheel smiling. I smiled back. I smiled so hard I almost cut my cheeks. My chest heaved. Tabatha had saved me.

  ‘Oh shit!’ The Beggar was moving on the floor. Damn he was tough. I dashed towards him, lining up a kick at his head, but before I could connect, he somehow managed to grab my leg and flip me over. I crashed on to the floor at the side of him. He reached for the gun. I lunged across him, reaching desperately for the weapon. We were struggling for ownership, wrestling for control of the gun. His strength was greater than mine, far greater. He was slowly bringing it to bear on me.

  I strained to turn it back at him, gritting my teeth and summoning all my strength. But he was too strong. The gun was rising, getting closer and closer to having me in its line of fire. It was inches away from my head. I strained my neck to keep my head away, still trying to keep pressure on the gun, force it away from me.

  Crack! I heard the bone in his jaw snap as Tabatha’s boot collided with the side of his face.

  He lost his grip and the gun flipped round, letting loose a stream of bullets. I felt his body spasm beneath me as they pummelled into him.

  I let go of the gun and it dropped on to his chest. I rolled off him and lay on the floor.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Tabatha screamed, running up to me to check for wounds.

  ‘Yeah. You?’ I smiled up at her.

  ‘Yeah.’ She smiled back. I staggered up and checked The Beggar. He wasn’t moving.

  ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘Oh shit!’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘We’ve just killed a man.’

  ‘I know.’ I wasn’t at my most witty.

  ‘What the fuck are we gonna do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Shall we call the police?’

  ‘No chance. You and I know it’s self-defence, but I can guarantee we’ll go down for this.’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I was shaking. If it wasn't me almost dying one moment, it was killing someone the next.

  ‘We need to get rid of the body,’ she pronounced with authority.

  ‘Yeah, you’re right. Cover our tracks. Get those plastic bags.’ I indicated some of the rubbish that was lying about the warehouse. I ran to the boot of Betsy and got out the cleaning stuff that I always kept in there.

  ‘Now what?’

  ‘We put his body in the bags, throw him in the boot and then clean the floor.’

  Bagging The Beggar up, we heaved and squished him into Betsy’s boot then slammed the lid. We scrubbed away at the floor on our knees.

  ‘Now what?’ Tabatha repeated. Somehow I’d become the expert at covering up a murder.

  ‘We dirty the floor.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Everywhere’s dirty. You can’t leave one bit spotless. It’ll look dodgy.’

  We dragged boxes and bits of packing paper over the freshly cleaned spot.

  ‘Let’s go.’ Tabatha had now taken the lead

  We jumped into Betsy and she reversed us out of there.

  ‘Go slow, Tabs. We damn well don’t want to get nicked with him in the back.’

  ‘Okay. Where are we going?’

  ‘Um … um ... Leon’s. Head for Leon’s.’

  I was in a daze. I’d killed a man. A life had ended because of me. Someone who could think, talk, walk, who’d had dreams and wishes. I’d snuffed them out. I’d ended their life. In the films, death was so simple, so easy, almost an afterthought. But it wasn't, even when you could justify it. I felt my mortality more at that moment than I ever had.

  ‘I love you,’ I said staring straight at Tabatha.

  ‘I love you too, but this really isn’t the time.’

  ‘I know, but I just wanted to say it before anything else prevented me. I don’t know whether I’ll be able to later. I just wanted to make sure you knew.’

  ‘Well I do. Now shut up! I’ve gotta concentrate on going slow.’

  We passed through the traffic easily. I was watching the pedestrians move up and down. Thinking about how their lives could end in an instant, a blink of an eye. My emotional barometer was going haywire. I’d ended a life. I’d destroyed something that could never be replaced. I felt terrible, hollow … yet relieved. I w
as relieved that he was dead instead of us, relieved that we’d survived. I felt good about killing someone.

  We pulled up in front of Leon’s back yard. I jumped out and yanked open the gates. She followed me in and I quickly closed the black metal gates behind us, securing us in, shielding us from prying eyes.

  ‘What happened to you?’ Boom-Boom asked, noticing blood on my shirt.

  ‘Shit!’ I looked down at my bloodstained apparel.

  ‘Wolfy?’ Leon said worriedly as him Marisol, Kelly and little Jacob crossed the yard towards us. ‘Tabatha, Wolfy, are you okay?’ He was worried.

  ‘Yeah, we’re fine, but we need a really big favour.’

  ‘What?’ Leon, Kelly and Boom-Boom asked simultaneously

  ‘Best just show you.’ Tabatha interjected.

  We all walked round to the boot and Tabatha popped it open

  I pulled back the plastic bag to reveal The Beggar's face

  ‘Is he …?’ Kelly said, shocked.

  ‘Yep!’ I cut across.

  ‘Wolfy, you’ve got a dead body in your car.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘It’s worse than that.’ Tabatha said, taking over ‘We kinda killed him.’

  ‘What?’ They all said.

  ‘He was trying to kill us … well me.’ I responded.

  ‘Why?’ Boom-Boom flustered, too confused to be mad.

  ‘Not sure.’

  ‘You’re not sure? A man tries to kill you and you don’t know why?’ Kelly uttered with bewilderment.

  ‘Yeah, that sounds about right.’

  ‘Who is he?’ Marisol said.

  ‘His name’s The Beggar. He’s a hitman; the one that killed Longy.’

  Marisol spat in his face and cursed something in Greek. Boom-Boom grabbed hold of her.

  ‘Thank you, Wolfy. You have done me a great service.’ Marisol said clutching my hand. ‘And you, Tabatha. Thank you.’