Pete’s path was barely six inches wide, but he ran with the all the assuredness of a circus tightrope walker. At the far end, he leapt onto the platform, his right foot landing squarely in the chest of one attacker. Allowing his left knee to buckle and absorb the impact of his landing, Pete spun, lashing out his free foot again, rapping the second assailant across the shins. As he fell, Pete kicked again, this time at the man’s head.
At ground level, Anders rushed back into the yard screaming obscenities and orders. The jaws of the crusher finally closed and Pete said a silent goodbye to Kevin’s van. He heard the crane engine rev, and the magnetic grab arced his way.
The supports of the safety platform were made of angle iron struts, their edges roughened with age. Pete crouched into a corner of the platform and began to work his bindings against it. The grab, which he guessed would weigh at least half a ton, swung above his head. He ducked. It missed him by inches. He rubbed his wrists frantically against the angle iron. Was the rope fraying?
The magnet came back, missing him once more. The crane driver let it down a fraction and it swung again. Eyes wide, Pete watched it hurtling towards him. He was dead. He knew it.
With a horrendous BANG, the grab smashed into the far end of the crusher. The entire framework shook. Pete had no time for feelings of relief. He worked harder at the bonds, frantically rubbing his wrists up and down, straining at the meagre ropes. Why the hell didn’t they snap?
“Get him,” he heard Anders scream.
Two men appeared at the top of the steps. Still struggling with the ropes, Pete stood up to meet them. They came, he kicked. His foot caught a kneecap, the man sank, screaming in agony, clutching his injured joint. The other was more wary. A third man appeared behind him. Somewhere below, someone pressed a button and the crusher began to reset.
Pete tugged at the ropes. They were beginning to give. He moved to meet the second attacker, lashing out his foot again. The assailant sidestepped, Pete kicked at thin air and his arms were suddenly pinned again. The third man came, hammered Pete in the gut. They grabbed him by the upper arms, dragged his struggling body to the edge of the platform.
Anders looked up in satisfaction. “Knock him out this time,” he shouted. “Then throw him in the crusher. I don’t want him getting out again.”
They turned him sideways to the crusher well. His arms pinned, still straining at his bonds, Pete looked his attacker in the eye. “This isn’t over, pal. Do it right, or you’re mincemeat.” It was bravado. He was done for and he knew it.
The other spat on his knuckles and drew back his fist.
*****
With Vali and Loki locked in combat, still grappling amongst the stacks of rusty vehicles, Fishwick figured it was up to him. Fortunately, two of the thugs had Pete’s arms pinned.
“Just hold him steady for one second,” Fishwick said and using all his spirit strength, heaved at the ropes.
*****
Pete dodged his head left. The fist missed him and took the other attacker square on the jaw. The grip on Pete’s arms relaxed. Pete gave a final tug at the ropes. They snapped! The fist came again. It stopped, caught in Pete’s palm.
“I warned you, didn’t I?”
Pete threw his head forward, connecting with the other’s forehead. The thug staggered back and Pete came after him.
Now the prey had become the predator. The two men on the platform flew off on the end of Pete’s fists, dropping to the ground, only their moans indicating that they were still alive. Giving full rein to his fury, Pete jumped from the platform to the ground and flattened two more of Anders’s men.
Anders’ crew scattered and ran for it. The crane driver climbed from his cab and ran briefly towards Pete. Then he stopped, turned and scurried into the heaps of scrap cars.
Pete turned to see Anders running towards the office, but the scrap dealer did not go for the building. He was making for his 4x4 parked alongside the building.
Confronted with another of Anders’s thugs, Pete made short work of him. One block, a quick left and right and the attacker was on the ground.
Pete legged it after Anders who was fumbling with his keys. Frantic, now in terror of his life, Anders finally found the correct key and unlocked the car door. He yanked it open and almost immediately, Pete slammed it shut on Anders’s hand. The scrap dealer screamed.
Pete grabbed him in by the shoulders. “Now for some lessons in manners, Frankie.” He gripped the scruff of Anders’ neck and smacked his head into the doorframe. Anders howled. “When I ask questions,” Pete hissed, “you answer. You do not try to ice me. Geddit?” He hammered Anders’s head against the door again. “Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, yes,” cried Anders.
“Good boy.” He spun the hapless scrap dealer round to face him and pressed him back against the car. From the corner of his eye, he could make out two or three of the hired hands making their way groggily towards them. “Call the dogs off, Frank, or I’ll kill you right here and now.”
“Leave it,” Anders gasped. “Clear off, the lot of you.”
Pete watched as the men skulked to their cars and began to drive away.
“Now you’re beginning to understand,” Pete said. His temper was calming and logic began to take over. There were no witnesses to what had happened here, other than Anders’s own men, and his chances of bringing a successful complaint were slim. But would Anders know that?
“Right, Frankie boy,” he said, “we can handle this two ways. Number one, I throw you in your truck and haul your arse up to the police station, where I use my influence with Detective Constable Keynes and press charges of attempted murder against you.”
“You’ve no witnesses.”
“No, but I have charm, and Keynes is a sucker for it,” Pete replied. “She’s also due for promotion, so she’s keen to jack up her arrest record. Either way, it means nine months inside for you before they finally drop the charges, by which time they’ll have enough evidence to wall you up for something, even if it’s only fiddling your income tax. There is another way we can handle it. You give me two grand, right now, to replace Kev’s van …”
“It was a piece of crap,” Anders protested. “It wasn’t worth more than two hundred quid.”
“Two grand,” Pete insisted. “On top of that, you tell me who brought the dark Ford in here earlier today. What’s it to be?”
“Up yours.”
Pete looked past Anders into the car window where he saw the reflection of the crane driver sneaking up behind him.
“The trouble with you, Frank, is you think you’re smart and tough, but you’re not. You’re an idiot and you employ bigger idiots.” Pete lashed out a straight fist, taking the crane driver squarely on the jaw.
The crane driver stood for a moment as if debating what to do next.
“See,” Pete said. “He’s so dumb, he can’t make up his mind whether to fall or not.”
The driver crumpled to the ground.
“Right, Frank, that’s him. Now it’s just you and me. Two grand and a name.”
“Go to hell.”
Pete roughed him around the vehicle, opened the passenger door and bundled Anders in. There was a brief struggle, but eventually Pete pulled both wrists together, played out enough of the seatbelt and bound Anders in place, before locking the seatbelt into its housing.
“You’re looking at an awful long time inside, Frank.”
“You can’t do this,” Anders wailed.
“Says who? You tried to kill me.”
“No witnesses, no proof.”
Pete stroked his chin. “Maybe you’re right. Yeah. Maybe I should just torch the car with you in it. How does that sound?” He looked around. “On the other hand, there’s only me and you left here. Maybe I could just let you loose.”
Anders smiled. “That’s more like it. I mean we can cut a deal on Keeley’s wreck and …”
“Cut you loose and then it’s just me, you, my knuckles versus yo
urs, and a yard full of scrap car bodies that I can bury you in so deeply that they’d never find you in years.”
Anders’ face paled. “All right. You win. Get me outta here and I’ll give you the money.”
“The name first.”
“Ginger Green.”
“Good boy.” Pete opened the door, reached in and released Anders. Dragging him out, he bundled him to the office. Sulkily, Anders dug into his pockets, came out with a bunch of keys and opened the safe.
Ever cautious, Pete looked over Anders’s shoulder to make sure there was no gun in there. But all he could see were stacks of tens and twenties, and something else; something small, round and shiny.
“What’s this, Frank?” He shouldered Anders out of the way, reached in and took the object. “Now what are you doing with this?” He held up the shiny badge bearing the face of Loki.
“I dunno. It came out of a car.”
“And you kept it in the safe? Pull the other one.”
I thought it might be valuable,” Anders maintained.
“Stealing by finding, eh?” Pete pointed out. “Which car, Frank?”
“I dunno. You know how many cars I crush in a week? It just came out of a car.” Anders rubbed a hand against his forehead. “Anyway, I can’t think straight after you roughhousing me like that.”
“This,” Pete said, “is evidence in a murder, and as a good, honest, ex-cop, I’ll take it to my friend Keynes. She may want a word.” Pete snatched a bundle of notes from Anders. “I’ll see you around sometime, huh?”
Anders scowled. “You haven’t heard the last of this, Brennan.”
Pete rounded on him and Anders cringed. “I’d better have had,” Pete warned, “or next time, I’ll drop your car in the crusher with you inside, and I won’t hang about for tea before starting it up.” Pete reached across Anders’ desk for the phone and dialled Sceptre’s mobile. “Hello, Sceptre? It’s Pete. Can you come and pick me up? There’s been a bit of a mishap with Kevin’s van.”
“Where are you?” she asked.
Pete gave her directions, put the phone down and smiled one last time on Anders. “Nice doing business with you, Frank.”
*****
“Vali.”
Fishwick watched Loki disappear across the Spirit Plane. He waved as Vali’s form followed. “Brennan won’t thank you for helping, mate,” Fishwick called out. “He doesn’t believe in us.”
“Vali.”
*****
Accelerating away from a set of traffic lights, Sceptre had listened to Pete’s account of events, and she scolded him. “It was attempted murder. You should report it to the police.”
“He has half a dozen men there to swear it never happened,” Pete explained. “I have no evidence other than me.”
“And suppose he decides to call the law?” Sceptre demanded.
Pete shook his head. “He won’t. Things get too complicated if he bells the filth. He knows I will tell them about his antics, and the law won’t know who to believe. Me or him and his goons. Plod will eventually wash their hands of it through lack of evidence on both sides and he knows I’ll come after him. Trust me on this one.” Changing the subject, he asked, “How’s the casualty?”
“He was still waiting in X-ray when I came out,” Sceptre reported. “Getting a lot of attention from pretty nurses. He’ll be all right.”
Pete laughed. “Attention is about all he’ll get from the nurses. Oh. I almost forgot. I have something for you.” Pete fished into his pocket.
Sceptre tutted. “I’ve told you before, Pete, I’m not interested in you. If that ever changes, I’ll let you know.”
“You’re getting as suspicious as everyone else,” Pete grumbled. “Why does everyone always think the worst of me?” He held the badge forward so she could see it without taking her eyes off the road.
Compelled to concentrate on her driving, Sceptre held back her excitement. “Where did you get that?”
“Anders’ safe,” Pete reported. “He reckons he found it but I’m not so sure. That’s the third time this thing has shown up. You found one, Danny Corcoran was wearing one and Frank Anders had one. But what does it mean?”
“I told you,” said Sceptre, turning into the hospital car park. “It’s the badge of the Venerable Disciples of Loki. They’re real, Pete. There is a chapter at work, here in Ashdale.”
“All right.” Pete unfastened his seatbelt as she reversed into a parking spot. “What are they up to and why are they turning up dead everywhere? Or alternatively, why are they trying to kill me and Kev?”
Sceptre stopped the engine, took the key from the ignition and removed her seatbelt. “I don’t think it’s just you. This man, Ginger Green, didn’t you say he was a known associate of Corcoran’s.”
Pete nodded. “Yes, but you must trust me, Sceptre, Ginger Green is not the type to join religious societies. He’s a grade A moron … no, I take that back. It’s an insult to your average moron.”
They climbed out of the car. Sceptre locked it up and tossed the keys to Pete.
“What you’re saying is, he’s easily led?” she said.
“Usually by a collar and chain,” Pete agreed. “He’s a violent little sod. He’s served two stretches for assault to my knowledge.”
“Precisely the kind of man a religious cult would be able to use,” Sceptre pointed out as Pete fell in alongside her. “If he really was driving the car that hit Kevin’s van, then it’s a good bet that they were trying to kill him. Anders has just made the attempt on your life. What next?”
“You mean who next,” Pete corrected. “You?”
“I have Fishwick to protect me,” she reminded him.
“Wouldn’t you rather have me?”
She smiled. “Fishwick is enough, thank you.”
As they entered the hospital, Pete called at the shop and bought two bars of chocolate.
“For Kevin?” asked Sceptre.
“You watch what happens when I tell him about his van.”
Pete was right. They found Kevin in the A & E waiting room. Pete handed over the chocolate and told him about his van. Kevin unwrapped one bar and wolfed it down.
“I’ve had some good times in that van,” he moaned.
“Kev,” said Pete, “it was a piece of old junk.”
“It was taxed and insured,” Kevin argued, “and it had a ticket.”
“A ticket?” asked Sceptre.
“MOT certificate,” Pete translated. To Kevin, he said, “You only got those because Sceptre made you. Anyway, you now have two grand to go out and get a new one.”
Kevin, his right ankle strapped up, got to his feet, and leaned heavily on a hospital supplied walking stick. “Take me home,” he moaned.
*****
“Brennan has your insignia?”
Anders trembled. “We tried to get rid of him, Master. But he got out. I don’t know how the hell he did it, but he did. He was all for handing me over to the law.”
“And you thought that giving way, conceding defeat was preferable?” In contrast to his usual equanimity, The High Master’s voice was cold, reproving. His anger buried the sound of the Wicked Witches booming out across the school grounds.
“Master I …”
With a speed and venom that took Minton, Green and Trent by surprise, the High Master’s arm swept out and slashed from right to left. Polished steel glinted in the cold sunlight. A jet of blood shot from Anders’s severed artery. He clutched at his torn neck, sank to his knees, the rich flow of blood smothering his gnarled hands. He gurgled slightly and then fell forwards, his dying body quivering on Trent’s living room carpet.
The High Master bent, wiped the blood on Anders’ jacket. Standing upright, he narrowed angry eyes on Minton and Green. “Wrap him up, take him out the back way and put him in the boot of your car. When you have dealt with the woman, Ginger, leave Frank’s body in the trunk of her car, then have yours crushed. Brennan should be behind bars by tomorrow morning.”
Neither man argued. Green grunted and shouldered Anders’s body. Minton, his face pale, backed off and followed the gorilla.
“Have arrangements been made to deal with Rand?” the High Master asked.
Trent nodded. “She rang. She’s coming here to see me again. Tonight. Ginger Green will pick her up as she leaves home.”
*****
Anders gazed around, bewildered.
Fishwick grimaced. “Another come to join us too early.”
Anders’s spirit saw the red glare coming in. His own energy form beamed a welcome. “Father.”
“VALI!”
Fishwick sensed Anders’s fear. The red light smashed into him and the late scrap dealer fell through The Light with a cry.
“Now why did he think you were his dad?” asked Fishwick.
“Vali.”
*****
Pete waited inside by the trailer until the Wicked Witches finished their routine in front of the school entrance. When Nag Lane came down, making her way to the caravan, he stopped her. “We need to talk.”
“Go to hell.”
Nag pushed on to the caravan, but Pete stood in her way. “You will talk to me, Nag. Now or when the law hauls your arse into the nick for questioning. It’s up to you.”
Hands on hips, eyes burning into him, she demanded, “what the hell do you want?”
Pete glanced over his shoulders. Media attention was already honed on them. “Not here,” he said. “Inside. Move it.”
Inside the trailer, Haz Lane was busy on the phone, the TV set volume turned up full, Briscoe, who had turned up ahead of Pete, sat off to one side, also talking on his phone. Pete switched off the TV, took the phone from Haz and shut it down. A single gesture to Briscoe was enough to make the manager cut short his conversation too.
A Spookies Compendium Page 55
