One Last Hit

by Linda Coles

  “A bag?”

  “Yes, a fuckin’ bag. A bag o’ sand. A grand! You thick or somethin’?”

  Luke winced at his mistake. Cockney rhyming slang and dodgy blokes weren’t particularly his forte, though he was learning fast.

  “That’s more than I was expecting.”

  “Well, take it or leave it. I’m a busy man.” Another glug filled his ears and Luke imagined the ‘busy man’ lying on a tatty sofa in a scruffy high-rise flat on the other side on Manchester, empty beer cans buckled and scattered around the floor. Luke had no choice and Caramel Teeth Man knew it.

  “I’ll take it, then. What time?”

  “Make it ten. Like I say, I’m a busy man. And don’t ring again ’cos I won’t answer.”

  “I’ll be there.” Before he could say anything else, the line went dead and Luke was left staring at the screen of his burner phone. To himself, “Ten it is, then.”

  That gave him all day to do not much else but sit and worry that there’d be no trouble later on and he’d be home and safely in his bed by midnight, free of cuts and bruises. It wasn’t ideal to be so late, but with limited options, that was what it was. Still, he wouldn’t need to go through this again – or would he? He groaned as the realization hit him: of course he probably would. He’d not likely store a stolen gun that had been used in at least one murder, would he? A professional hit man would use their own weapons yes, but they’d be brand new, well looked after and safely stored someplace secret. Luke, on the other hand, was a wannabe entrepreneur trying to get a business off the ground and raising funds via a side hustle. Still, it would work.

  He hoped.

  Figuring he’d better fill Clinton in on where he was at so far, he dialled his number from his regular phone.

  “Fancy a coffee? I’ve things to tell you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Tell you when I see you.” Luke glanced out the window to check the weather. It wasn’t raining. “Meet you in the park by the swings. I’ll bring coffee. Will an hour suit you?”

  “Sounds secret squirrel, but yes, see you there in an hour.”

  Now all Luke had to do was hope Clinton saw sense and didn’t go flying off his rocker. Last time he’d broached the subject, he’d started to come round to the idea and Luke hoped he hadn’t changed his mind. It wasn’t as though he had to do anything, really: Clinton was to be more of a back-up guy just in case, a bit of moral support and someone to find any holes in the plan that Luke hadn’t foreseen. Clinton would be his wingman and share the driving. Easy.

  Nearly an hour later, Luke was on his way to their rendezvous, two takeaway coffee cups in his hand. Heading for the swings, he could see Clinton up ahead of him not far from their chosen spot and he watched him settle into the seat to wait. Two young boys squealed with glee as a woman pushed them both on the swings. Happy days.

  “Here you go,” he said handing over a cup and settling himself into an adjoining swing. They both watched the youngsters for a moment before Clinton spoke.

  “So what’s up?” Clinton took the top off his cup and sipped.

  “I wanted to tell you where I am up to, where we are up to.”

  “Ah, I see. I should have known it was about that. Go on, then. Enlighten me.”

  There was exasperation in Clinton’s voice, but Luke tried to ignore it. Luke himself was the one driving this and Clinton needed to buckle in. He told him everything – and Clinton listened. When he’d finished, the two men sat in silence, Luke willing Clinton to say something positive. Eventually he spoke.

  “Right, then. So it looks like we’re all set.” Matter-of-fact. “This better work or we’re both in the shit.”

  That was good enough for Luke.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  The pickup had gone without a hitch and Luke now had a Colt and silencer wrapped up in an old T-shirt safely inside his backpack as he walked. He’d borrowed his dad’s car, not wanting to risk the walk in such a rough neighbourhood again or risk travelling on public transport carrying his purchase back home. And of course, he might have needed a quick getaway if Mr. Caramel Teeth had decided he wanted to keep the cash and the gun.

  He trotted along the pavement at pace and hoped the car was still where he’d left it – and that it still had all four wheels attached. Turning the corner, he spotted it up ahead. All looked in order. It was lucky his dad didn’t own a Jag – it would have stood out like Pinocchio’s nose. An Alsatian barked angrily nearby and a woman’s voice screamed after it. She sounded harassed, and her skilful expletives would have been funny on any other night.

  But not tonight. Luke made his way to the car past boarded-up windows and curtainless dark glass; the only light came from the few remaining streetlamps that hadn’t been smashed.

  He kept checking behind him to be sure he wasn’t followed, but no one was interested, it seemed. He hoped Mr. Caramel Teeth was too busy counting his loot to bother with anything further. The man could buy more than a few cans of beer with what Luke had given him, enough to cover his sofa and the floor with empty cans.

  Luke picked up the pace and jogged over to the driver’s side of his car, unlocked it and slipped inside, then immediately locked the door. While he’d liked to have rested and caught his breath a while, he needed to get out of Dodge – and right now. The ignition caught, and the tyres struggled for grip as he accelerated rapidly out of the estate towards the main road and home. Next, he needed a quiet place to inspect his purchase, a purchase he was still unsure of how to use properly. While he’d hoped to get a client or two, he hadn’t expected to get one so soon, but he had, and he’d have to do the best job he could under the circumstances. Tomorrow was D-Day, which left him only a few hours to get some practice in. His plan on the day was to get in nice and close as the man lay asleep; if all went to plan, it would be a doddle. What could go wrong? A child could shoot a sleeping man at close range and not miss.

  He went back through his plan as he drove.

  “First, he’s at the hotel on Purley Way. Second, he’ll be asleep because we’re going in after midnight. Third, I can get right up close, and fourth, no one else will hear a thing – I’ve got a silencer. Fifth, exit out the window then back to the car and home. That’s it, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve left anything out.”

  Satisfied he had thought of everything – because after all, he’d been thinking of not much else since this started – he slowed to a more reasonable speed and relaxed his shoulders. Getting caught speeding could be tricky if they asked to look in the bag – after all he was dressed in his ‘thug’ gear.

  The bag. It seemed to glare at him from the passenger seat and Luke glanced at it from time to time on the journey back, hoping everything he needed was inside. And what if it wasn’t?

  Then he was in the shit.

  Luke slunk in through the back door and headed straight upstairs, avoiding the lounge where his parents were probably engrossed in a movie. His mother called out anyway.

  “That you, Luke?”

  “Yes, Mum, only me. Be down later.”

  When he was inside his room, he rammed a chair under the doorhandle to stop either parent from entering unannounced. He used the same trick when he was getting changed. A small bolt would have been just as effective, but neither he nor his parents had got around to doing it. The chair worked well for now. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he opened the bag and removed the T-shirt with the gun and its accessories wrapped in it. It was surprisingly heavy. The silencer rolled loose and thumped to the floor. A small box of about a dozen bullets finished the inventory.

  Picking the silencer up and examining it, Luke sat thoughtful for a moment. Suddenly everything felt very real. Pressing a button on a laptop had felt final, but that was nothing compared to holding an actual gun, bullets and a silencer in his hand. He was about to use this weapon and take someone’s life – for a measly £12,000. How many other lives had this particular piece snuffed out like candle flames? he wondered. How many
people’s lives had been ruined because of it? He attached the silencer and examined the piece in its entirety, feeling the weight and size of the whole thing in his hand.

  A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts and he fought to keep himself from jumping.

  “Yeah?” His voice sounded wobbly to even him.

  “I’m making hot chocolate. Do you want some?” It was his mother.

  Luke let out the breath he’d been holding and couldn’t help smiling. If she could see what he had in his hand on the other side of the door, she’d have a flying fit.

  “Please. I’ll be out in a minute,” he called back. He wrapped the gun up and stuffed it along with the bullets under his pillow for the time being. Where he’d store it permanently he’d no idea, but there was time to figure that out.

  Or was there?

  Tomorrow morning he’d head off somewhere quiet and practice, though with only twelve bullets to his name and no way of getting any more at the eleventh hour, he couldn’t afford many practice rounds. It was far from ideal, but he’d have to make it work. Satisfied of the temporary hiding place, he left his room to join his parents downstairs for hot chocolate.

  As he sipped his drink and chatted cosily with his parents, he was struck by the contrast between the two worlds he currently inhabited. And tomorrow night, things would get about as far from cosy as they could ever be.

  Tomorrow night, he was a hit man for hire.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  “Thank the Lord for that,” Amanda said, putting her brush down on the paint can lid. “I thought it’d never end.”

  Ruth came up behind her and put her arm around Amanda’s waist, snuggling in close.

  “Looks great, though, doesn’t it? A nice shade of blue, if I say so myself.”

  “Well, you did pick it, so I hope you do like it. But yes, it’s a nice shade all right. The room looks much fresher now it’s all done. It was worth the effort.”

  Amanda stood with her hands on her hips admiring their handiwork. “Room one down, another five to go.”

  “Yes, the thought is exhausting, isn’t it?”

  Amanda nodded, frowning.

  “We should consider getting a pro in to finish the rest. I hate the turmoil everything is in. We can’t do it any faster and I’m not taking valuable holiday to damn well decorate.”

  Ruth looked thoughtful. “I agree with the turmoil and not taking holiday time to do it. I wonder how much it would be to hire a professional. This really isn’t a good use of our precious down time together. I’d much rather be enjoying a movie with you than you painting the walls. Perhaps I’ll look into it and see.”

  “You’ve just reminded me of something I wanted to ask you. And since you’re a techy, you might know the answer.”

  “How may I be of service, Detective McGregor-Lacey?” Ruth bowed deeply, hiding her cheeky grin.

  “Do you know of any apps out there that allow someone to preload them with money, then place an order for a product and use that money, but do it all anonymously, so that it’s untraceable? So, for instance, you could buy drugs from a food truck by placing an order for a bacon sandwich with ‘special sauce’” – she made air quotes – “then pay a hugely inflated price for said sandwich and receive a little packet of oxy with your bacon butty.”

  “A baggy and a butty, eh?” Ruth couldn’t help but laugh. “It rolls off your tongue, doesn’t it? Butty and a baggy, baggy and a butty,” she repeated, trying the two combinations out for fun. “Baggy and a butty, I think. Perhaps I should have been in marketing, not building websites and apps. I’m obviously wasted.”

  “Are you going to tell me the answer, then?” Amanda picked up the paintbrush and held it threateningly in her hand. Ruth ducked, feigning horror. “Or have I got to find someone else in the know?”

  “I dare you.” Ruth smirked, egging Amada on.

  “If you don’t tell me the answer by the time I’ve counted to three, I absolutely will.” A beat passed, “One. Two…”

  Ruth stood her ground, grinning. Amanda moving a step closer, brandishing the brush.

  “Three.” Amanda struck, the brush leaving a trail of pale blue down the front of Ruth’s shirt, but not before catching her on the chin first. Ruth spluttered with laughter. Her hand went to her chin and she wiped the blue away with the back of it, but that left her with the problem of where to wipe that.

  “I warned you,” Amanda stated, “and you dared me.”

  With paint on the back of her hand and Amanda still with the brush, Ruth lunged in an attempt to wipe her hand on Amanda. But Amanda was too quick for her: she thrust the brush out in front of her as the two connected, pasting more pale blue onto Ruth’s arm. Both women shrieked, and Ruth turned, quick as lightning, and wiped the back of her hand into Amanda’s blonde hair.

  “Oh, not nice.”

  “You started it, Missus,” Ruth said still smiling. “Probably time to get it cleaned up, though, before that dries,” she said pointing. “You have blue on blonde. I’ll go and turn the shower on.”

  “So do I get the answer now?” Amanda asked, following her down the hall.

  “The short answer is yes, it can be done. The long answer is it’s tricky. Obviously, the vendor needs to see the product has been paid for, and the purchaser needs to prove he’s paid in order to pick up, but for someone looking in, like the police for instance,” she nodded to Amanda, “that’s the tricky part. How do they keep the transaction away from law enforcement? They’ll not want to get caught. In that sense, it’s riskier than cash.”

  “I’m thinking Bitcoin or similar?”

  “I’m thinking I’ll double check with Valance tomorrow and let you know, eh? He’s a couple of steps ahead of me on that stuff, particularly the slightly illegal as you know.”

  Amanda had first met Valance Douglas a few months back. He was an acquaintance of a vigilante victim she’d found herself working with as part of a sting that had gone so far off track she could have lost her job. Luckily, Plan B had come along and saved the day – in the form of tech whiz Valance Douglas. He and Ruth had stayed in touch afterwards; he’d proven to be a talented techy and private investigator. You never knew when you might need such a person. Like now.

  “Right now, though,” Ruth said sternly, “that paint is drying, so get in the shower and get scrubbing.”

  “Yes, Miss,” Amanda said chastely, and did as she was told.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Amanda’s head had gone into overdrive after her chat with Ruth the previous night. She’d thought about up, getting out of bed and making a mug of warm milk to try and ease her overactive brain but didn’t want to disturb Ruth in the process. She’d finally dropped off sometime around 2 a.m., and it had felt like she’d been asleep for five whole minutes when the alarm had pierced the quiet of their bedroom. In a deep sleep, Amanda had ignored it, but Ruth had leapt bolt upright. Worse, the clock was on Amanda’s side of the bed.

  Six a.m. She would normally be out running by now, but since the decorating had cut into their relaxation time together, she’d not run for nearly a week. Maybe that was why she was feeling a little tetchy.

  “Amanda,” she called from under her pillow. “Amanda!” She tried again more urgently, but it seemed nothing was getting through. Brute force was next. Lifting the pillow off her head, Ruth sat up and shook her wife by the arm in an effort to awaken her from a near comatose sleep.

  Finally, a grunt from the blonde head.

  Then movement as the noise became clearer and, as Amanda finally realized what it was, she reached out to turn the noise off. Silence fell on the room once again. Ruth tossed the covers back and headed to the bathroom, muttering to herself.

  “I may as well be up running now. So much for a bit of extra sleep,” she grumbled. After splashing water on her face, she made her way downstairs to make a mug of tea for each of them, hoping Amanda would have surfaced and shown herself by the time it was ready. She yawned. And yawned agai
n. Maybe they would have to get someone in to finish the rest of the house after all; the extra workload was half killing them.

  There was a shuffle at the doorway as Amanda entered, wearing her pink robe. Her blonde wavy hair stuck out at all angles.

  “The tea will stir you into action,” she said. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Hardly at all, actually,” said Ruth. “Though I must have towards the end. I think the last time I looked at the time it was nearly two a.m. and I still hadn’t gone off by that stage. I nearly got up but I knew I’d start bloody Googling stuff for work and then there’d be no chance of sleep. So instead, I lay there with my brain whirling round like a Catherine Wheel. I may as well have got up for all the use it was. Might have cracked the case, even.”

  Amanda yawned loudly, her face contorting. The kettle came to the boil and Ruth smiled at Amanda’s optimism. Cracking a case via Google was rarely that easy. She poured boiling water onto tea bags and grabbed milk from the fridge as Amanda slumped into a chair at the kitchen table.

  It was still pitch-black outside. There were a few upstairs lights on in other houses nearby, probably commuters getting ready for another day in the city. Ruth was no different; her office was in Green Park, not far from the tube station, though as the boss, she wasn’t on someone else’s time clock, only her own. And that’s the way she liked it. Adding milk to the tea, she passed Amanda a mug and sat with her.

  “You’re as tired as I am, so let’s get the decorating finished by a pro, eh? I couldn’t care less about the cost at the moment. Neither of us likes doing it, and both of us are sick of the mess so I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  Amanda nodded her agreement. “Great idea. But anyone worth their salt will be booked up, so we’ll have to wait a bit to get it started. I guess there’s no real rush, though.”

  “I agree. Well, that’s settled, then. I’ll get someone round to look at the job. You’re busy, and I’m busy, so it’s the best way.” Ruth sipped on her tea, gazing over the mug’s rim towards Amanda. “You’re out tonight, aren’t you?”