Just Another Day

by Steven Clark

  ‘Can I take this jacket off? I need to check my shoulder. Its bleeding and I need to strap it or patch it up or something before I start driving.’

  ‘Do it very slowly and remember. The back of your head is only six inches away.’

  He took his jacket off and put it on the passenger seat. He could see that the fabric of the right shoulder was all bloody and torn. The epaulette which had his identity number on a few minutes before was completely missing and probably went through the window in the blast. Suddenly, he began to shake. Just a little at first until his whole body began to move uncontrollably. He couldn’t stop his legs from twitching and he went into a violent spasm as his right foot hit the accelerator hard causing the engine to rev loudly.

  ‘Don’t fuck me about plod. You said you could drive this fucking thing.’

  ‘It’s OK. I’ll be OK. It’s just shock, give me a minute.’

  Johnson began to laugh. He hadn’t had much to smile about since becoming aware of Dave’s transmission. He thought this was a nice little bit of payback and couldn’t resist the temptation to humiliate his captive further. Another little twist of the knife to weaken him more and show that he was stronger than his victim and in complete control.

  ‘Not such a fucking hero now eh, shit your pants ave yeh. I thought you fuckin coppers were supposed to be ard. Are yeh sure that’s blood down there on yeh leg and yeh aven’t pissed yehself?’

  The weariness began to wash over Dave as the taunting from his captor hit him hard. His mind began to wander, thoughts of his family crept into his subconscious. Try as he might, he could not push them away. He knew he needed to focus on his immediate situation. Sort the now out; everything else could wait. He couldn’t keep them away, the faces of his two innocent, beautiful daughters suddenly flashed into his mind.

  He was supposed to be dropping the twins off at school this morning. He hoped to God that they weren’t aware of his ordeal and prayed that his family were only told the very basics of his captivity.

  Oh, how they all loved the mornings together when he came home off nights. Breakfast for the four of them was a pleasant ritual and, now that the twins were getting older, they liked to make the toast for Mum and Dad. ‘Burnt is good,’ he would hear himself say with a quick glance to his other half. ‘These black bits are really good for you, honest.’

  ‘It was your fault Sophie; while I was making the tea, you should’ve been watching the toaster instead of brushing your hair.’

  ‘Well, if you’d have been quicker in the bathroom, Susan, I wouldn’t have needed to brush my hair now. I could have done it before and if I’d done it before, I could have been watching the toaster now, so it’s not my fault, it’s yours!’

  They liked to do some bacon under the grill as well but both Mandy and Dave had decided to wait until they were a little bit older as they had nearly set the kitchen on fire at the last attempt, still, they meant well.

  Hugs and kisses at the school gate and then Dad off to bed and Mandy would arrange to pick them up later if there were no after school clubs or other events planned, while Dad had a lay in. Make the most of it thought Dave as it wouldn’t be long before hugs and kisses was a definite no. Then it would be, ‘No Dad, you can’t have a kiss, what will Milly and Sarah think. Dad, you’re just so not cool. Please, just drop us off at the end of the road, we’re too old now. We don’t need you to drop us off right outside. Dad, you’re so embarrassing.’

  What would his bosses have told them? Mandy would have been on the ‘phone within half an hour of him not turning up at home wondering if he had been stuck at a job or having to do overtime or something at short notice. What would they all be doing now?

  Shit, Dave. Sort yourself out. Don’t let this wanker get the upper hand. His mind began to race. Think, come on, think. The lads are aware of what’s going on. Joe will be able to tell them some of what’s happened when they speak to him, if he hasn’t been taken out by a car further down the road.

  Dave’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted.

  ‘Right, Dixon of fucking dock green, get yourself patched up and let’s get moving.’

  Dave pulled the skin on his forehead together and used the insulation tape wrapped around his head like a bandanna to keep a small pad of the rag in place. A further thick pad on the top of his skull where the second blow had opened up a deep gash was stuck with some more tape. It wouldn’t stay in position for very long but at least it would help to stop the wound from oozing too much. He turned his attention to his ear. Nothing much he could do there as the lobe had been blown away completely. The soft tissue was gone leaving an ugly looking piece of gristle. Fortunately, the blood was beginning to congeal and the dripping had almost stopped.

  Another wad and plenty of tape pulled as tight as he could bear it and crisscrossed over his chest should take care of his shoulder. He knew he would have to keep it as tight as possible for when he began steering the wagon. Even though the power steering would help, it would still be very painful. The blood might start to seep through with the extra exertion if he didn’t bind it tight.

  Still very weak and shocked, the fact that he had stemmed some of his blood loss helped and he was now beginning to think more clearly. His hands and legs had stopped shaking. He needed to look in the mirror to put the makeshift bandages in place. He instantly wished he hadn’t. He was shocked by the pale and weary face with the sunken eyes staring back at him. A few sips of water, another splash on his face, and he began to feel more awake.

  ‘OK’ said Dave. ‘What now?’

  ‘Just start driving and I’ll tell you where to go.’

  Dave put the wagon into first gear and slowly let the clutch out.

  ‘All patrols, all patrols, be advised, target vehicle moving forward and joining main carriageway. No further details at this time regarding condition of PC Watkins.’ The ‘chopper’ began to follow once more as the lorry picked up speed.

  Back in the Incident Room, Chief Superintendent Mackay had assumed control as the Gold Commander.

  ‘Larry, we need to find out what’s happening inside that wagon. We need to know who’s driving. If it’s Johnson, we’ll try and end this at the first opportunity. The longer it goes on, the more chance there is of other people becoming casualties. If Dave Watkins has survived those gunshots, he may well be seriously hurt. I just hope he doesn’t realise who his passenger is. You and I both know Larry, this madman Johnson will take great pleasure in killing him when he’s finished.

  Hotel Charlie One from control, can you eyeball the driver of the target vehicle?’

  ‘That’s a negative control, repeat negative. He may become aware of our presence if we try and I.D. him from the side.’

  ‘Larry,’ said Chief Superintendent Mackay, ‘we need to get that lorry off the Motorway and to an area that we can control without him realising. Any suggestions?’

  Three high powered Motorway Patrol traffic cars, two volvo’s and a Jaguar, joined the M62 at junction 11 heading Eastbound towards Manchester. Each took up a different lane and effectively prevented any vehicles from overtaking them. This was a standard manoeuvre when instigating a rolling road closure and as they reduced speed, the heavy traffic began slowing and it didn’t take long for the three lanes to start tailing back and after about ten minutes, as a result of the normal morning rush hour, vehicles were slowing down, some drivers using their hazard warning lights to warn others of the problems ahead. Slowly but surely, the traffic came to a standstill. One mile further back, Dave slowed his wagon also before grinding to a halt.

  ‘Bollocks,’ said Johnson from the bunk bed. ‘What the fuck’s happening now?’

  Dave activated the window wipers and screen wash once more and wiped some of the condensation from inside the windscreen. ‘Looks like it could be an accident or a breakdown’ said Dave, ‘Nothing much moving for a fair distance. Lots of brake lights and hazards on but it looks pretty static.’

  Chapter 7

  ‘W
hat’s that man doing daddy?’

  Fred Jones was really pissed off. Like everyone else crawling along on the motorway. The M62 was always busy at this time of the morning because of the rush hour. ‘Rush hour’, he thought to himself, it might have lasted an hour a few years ago, now though, it seemed to go on for at least two hours. He needed to be in Manchester in half an hour and as he had to drop his daughter off at school first, he knew he would be late. He still had to travel two more junctions, half a mile more to Sedgley Junior School, drop Chloe off, rejoin the Motorway again for another three miles. Not a cat in hells chance, he thought.

  If only his lovely daughter hadn’t forgotten her ballet shoes, they would have been fifteen minutes earlier and in all probability ahead of whatever was causing this latest motorway snarl up. He gave a very quick glance at Chloe. Oh, I do love you sweetheart but you can be a real pain in the arse when you’ve got your head in the clouds, he silently mused.

  Another bollocking from the boss. Oh, wouldn’t she love that. She’d be there, pacing up and down at the front door when he went in, high heels and fishnets; mutton dressed as lamb thinking she was still twenty five years of age, making an exaggerated point of looking at her watch with her sarcastic voice, ‘Good morning Frederick, or, should that be good afternoon,’ she would say, ‘so nice of you to join us.’

  He hated his full title of Frederick and she well knew it which was precisely why she said it in the first place. She liked to rub it in that she had been promoted above him even though he was much more efficient, knew the system better and had been at the company longer than her.

  ‘Maybe if I was shagging the MD, I’d have got the promotion.’

  ‘What did you say daddy?’ said Chloe and Fred suddenly realised that he’d been thinking out loud.

  ‘Oh nothing really love, I was just thinking that Buster was looking a bit shaggy maybe when I took him for his walk this morning. I think we need to make an appointment to get his coat trimmed a bit, don’t you think?’

  ‘OK Dad, we’ll take him at the weekend. Maybe we can take him to the park afterwards and I can play on the swings eh?’

  ‘Yes love, the weekend; the swings, ok, no problem sweetheart.’ He silently congratulated himself on not having to explain, shagging the MD any further!

  ‘So, what do you think he’s doing then?’

  Fred turned to look at his daughter in the passenger seat.

  ‘What’s that my little love,’ he said

  ‘Him, that man over there; the one with the black clothes on.’

  Fred looked up and to his left. ‘Shit.’ he said and instinctively put his foot on the brake even though they were hardly moving at all. A quick glance in the rear view mirror and a feeble wave of acknowledgement to the driver behind who had no idea why Fred had suddenly stamped on the brake.

  ‘Daddy,’ said Chloe in her most precocious voice, she could do precociousness extremely well when it suited her purpose. ‘Did you say the ‘S’ word. Did you say ‘shit’? Wait till I tell mummy you said the ‘S’ word.’

  Fred was looking around animatedly for the cameras as he was sure someone must be making a film. It’s got to be candid camera or some reality or daredevil show he thought as he looked in all his mirrors expecting to see a camera vehicle nearby.

  A man dressed all in black. Black boots, black overalls and balaclava was running behind a container lorry as it edged forward. He wasn’t running fast, just enough to be steadily gaining on the wagon as it slowly moved forward. He leapt from the roadway onto the rear fender area of the trailer and grabbed hold of the handles of the door of the container. He steadied himself and looked around as if gauging the best way to carry out his next objective. Within seconds, PC Mark Swift, had clambered up the back of the lorry using the various metal projections of the container like steps up a metal wall. He was now on the roof of the container and running forward towards the cab of the wagon.

  ‘Swift by name and swift by nature’. What a fucking cliché’ he said to himself while steadying himself as he ran. He loved the excitement and the training exercises when the adrenaline was pumping hard. He took great pride in his physical agility and worked hard to maintain his fitness levels. When he wasn’t training with his colleagues, he would be down at the gym working out.

  The adrenaline was pumping a bit more than usual today as he had been listening to the drama unfolding earlier. One of his colleagues was either dead or injured just a few yards away from him and this bastard up front was going nowhere except the nick. He wasn’t being complacent in any way; he knew how dangerous Johnson was.

  ‘Swifty’ was the joker in the Unit and always wanted to be first through the door or the window; the first to abseil over the side of the building. He wasn’t reckless in any way; he just had a tremendous belief in his own ability. Sometimes, such self belief was taken as arrogance by those who didn’t know him but his infectious smile and boundless energy soon won them over.

  When Lee Evans, the skipper of Romeo Victor One had first outlined the plan and briefed the two teams, he had to be the one.

  ‘Six foot two, blonde hair, blue eyes and superb physique; it’s got to be me boss, do you really have any other choice when you look at this lot?’ Pumped his biceps in his best ‘popeye’ pose. Mark was grinning hugely as he waved his hands around indicating the various figures in the briefing room. With a knowing smile, Lee agreed; he was the natural choice. He might have pissed them all off from time to time, but they all acknowledged his confidence was well earned.

  Nearly at the front of the container, OK, quietly slide down between the back of the cab and the container. No problem, wedge yourself between the air brakes and the trailer locking mechanism, balance yourself, OK, sorted. Mark was comfortable now and could think ahead to the next task.

  He reached into the chest pocket of his standard issue flame retardant overalls and pulled out the small silver coloured disc. Not much bigger than a ten pence piece and about twice as thick, with a small antennae on the side, it never ceased to amaze him at how something so small and insignificant to look at could be such a powerful listening and tracking device.

  OK, press the button to activate. Stick it to the back of the cab and Bob’s your Unc!!! The wagon lurched forward as the driver let the clutch out a bit too fiercely. Traffic started to move and Swifty silently cursed.

  ‘Oh shite,’ said Mark to himself, ‘Where the fuck has it gone?’

  He could hear the impatient voice in his earpiece from his skipper in the ARV.

  ‘Mark, what are you playing at. The traffic’s starting to move up ahead and you and the wagon will be diverted off the motorway soon.’

  ‘Bollocks, the Skipper will fuck me sideways if I make a cock up of this. Where is it?’ He looked down, eyes frantically scanning the steel structure of the wagon. Maybe it’s dropped through onto the road below, he thought. He crouched down further, a silver glint caught his eye, ‘thank fuck it’s magnetic’ he said to himself as he plucked it from the side of the fuel tank and ensured it was fixed securely to the back of the cab and pressed the button.

  He heard the voice in his ear once more.

  ‘Good job Mark, device transmitting correctly, now get your arse off that wagon.’

  As Mark stood on the fuel tank he looked across. Several feet away from him and waving animatedly was Chloe. Chloe’s dad was staring open mouthed at the road ahead and at the black clad figure in equal measures. He still hadn’t managed to locate the film crew.

  The speed of the lorry was picking up now and Mark saw Chloe lower the window of the car.

  ‘Hello mister,’ said Chloe. ‘What are you doing up there, Aren’t you frightened you’ll fall off and hurt yourself?’

  Mark could see her mouth moving but he couldn’t understand what she was saying as the engine of the lorry accelerated. The overhead motorway gantry signs illuminated, ‘Accident ahead, leave motorway at next junction.’

  Speed was increasing now to twenty mil
es an hour as Mark swore quietly to himself. ‘Shit, too late to get off now, I’ll break my fucking neck!’

  Chloe was not one to be ignored. She decided that talking was not enough and she cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted across the gap. ‘Hello mister, are you playing a game. Can I play too?’ Chloe’s dad was still catching flies driving with his mouth open.

  Dave relayed the gantry information to Johnson in the bunk behind him.

  ‘I’m not fucking blind bollocks, I can see the signs. Just keep driving for the time being.’ The gunman lay back in the bunk pondering his next move after they left the motorway.

  ‘Romeo Victor One to Incident room and all patrols, thought you would like to know, Dave Watkins alive and driving the target vehicle. Have no details as to his injuries or otherwise at this time. Re-tune to channel twenty two for audio from the tracking device.’

  The two controls rooms had been silent for some time wondering about the fate of their colleague and awaiting information from the chopper or the ground teams; there was an air of relief that Dave appeared to be OK. He might be injured, they still didn’t know, but if he was able to drive, he must be ok. Bob Chambers breathed a little more easily as he said to himself, ‘Davey, I don’t care how much you’ve got on your plate lad; I’m taking you for an FBI when you get back.’

  Most people associated the term FBI with the American law enforcement agency; Federal Bureau of Investigation but, to the lads of Sergeant Chambers Section, it had an altogether different meaning. One of the officers, at the end of a hot late turn and a few beers at the local hostelry had proclaimed, ‘right you tossers, I’m off for a Fucking Big Indian, who’s coming,’ as he trooped off round the corner to the nearby curry house. Bob was brought back to the present with the voice from the wagon.

  ‘You drive like a tart. What’s the matter with yeh?’

  ‘Like I said, I learned to drive in the Army so it’s been a while since I’ve driven a HGV. I’ve moved a few wagons around the docks occasionally, but it must be about five years since I’ve driven one properly.’ Dave was feeling a bit groggy as a consequence of the blood loss after the blows to his head.