by Steven Clark
‘Bit of a fucking mess you’re in there Terry.’
He recognised the voice instantly as that of Luke Johnson and the sudden chill down his spine had more to do with hearing his voice than the crushing pressure on his chest.
‘Good job me and our Tony were here to put a wedge under the back wheel of the wagon eh? Otherwise you’d be flattened by now.’
Terry knew it wasn’t the time to speak. He also knew that he had in fact put the handbrake on and that the pain he was in was not of his own doing. He couldn’t see Johnson as he was stood on the other side of the wagon and he couldn’t turn his head towards him. A few seconds later, Luke Johnson was stood alongside Terry looking into his eyes. It just seemed so unreal, he was stood no more than two feet away from him, hands in pockets, leaning with his shoulder on the same gate that was crushing him to death, yet he was smiling in that evil way of his and breathing easily.
‘What are we going to do with you now eh, Terry. Shall I get Tony to drive the wagon forward a few inches and let you get your breath back?’
‘Please help me Luke, I can’t breath. My legs have already gone, it’s only the wagon crushing me chest against the gate that’s keeping me up.’ His words were said in short bursts, one or two at a time, as the effort of speaking caused him further pain.
‘Course we’ll help you Terry. But, before we do, just a little bit of information that you might be able to help me and me little brother with eh? When’s the next box due to go? And don’t fuck me about because you will die if you do. You know what box I’m talking about.’
‘Friday morning Luke. I’m due out of the yard at 6 o’clock Friday. Please help me, I can’t breathe.’
‘Just one more question Terry, then we’ll help you. One more little bit of info and this will all be over. No more pain. How will we know which box it is?’
‘It will be an ACL box, they only ever use their boxes and the last four numbers will be 6538. They always use the same containers and that’s the next one on the list. Pleas Luke, for the love of God, help me, I can’t breathe properly any more, my eyes are starting to blur.’
‘Thank you Terry, you’ve been most helpful. I told our Tony. I said to him before that you were a good bloke. I told him you’d tell us without any messing about.’
Terry’s breathing was becoming shallower, his lungs compressing as he pleaded with his eyes.
‘Come here our Tony’ said Luke without taking his eyes off Terry.
Tony had always done what his older brother ‘requested’ him to do. He had learned many years ago that brother or not, it was not a wise thing to ignore Luke. He had the memories and the scars to testify to his older siblings’ willingness to inflict pain. Terry saw the face of Tony appear over the shoulder of his brother.
‘Ever seen a man dying before your eyes before?’
Tony had been in many fights and was not averse to inflicting pain when he wanted. His glassing of the punter in the Bramley pub previously was evidence of his violent nature but even he did not share his brothers enthusiasm and pleasure for what could only be described as torture.
‘No Luke, he looks in a bad way. D’ya think I should move the wagon forward a bit and get him out?’
‘Well, that would cause us a bit of a problem Tony, how will Terry here be able to explain to anyone in the morning how he got out from behind the wagon when it was crushing him eh? The only way that could be explained was if someone was here to help him. Now, thickhead, if someone was here, why didn’t they call an ambulance? No young Tony, I’m afraid if we help the old man here, that would look very suspicious indeed. The other, and from our point of view, the much more pressing issue is that Terry might well still be alive when they find him, that being the case, how would anybody be able to explain the wedge here behind the wheel? Couldn’t exactly put it there himself now, could he?’
Tony didn’t have the brains or cunning of his older brother, but even so, the evil in Luke’s words began to dawn on him.
‘Luke we can’t’ began Tony, only to be grabbed forcibly round the throat by Luke’s powerful right hand as the back of his head was pushed hard up to the palings of the gate.
‘We don’t have much choice in the fucking matter you arsehole. It’s got to look like a tragic fucking accident. If it looks like something different, we’ve got no chance of improving our fucking lifestyle have we eh?’
Deep down, Tony knew that his brother was right.
‘Please don’t do this Luke.’ The words were almost too quiet to hear but Tony heard them as though they were being relayed through a loudspeaker. He could see Terry’s lips moving, about to say something else. Luke banged Tony’s head against the metal.
‘Listen, it won’t take more than a few minutes, he’s almost gone now, just kick the fucking wedge out.’
Tony knew that he was aggressive and vicious; he couldn’t really be anything else having grown up alongside Luke. But, there was one very important difference between them. His anger was always heat of the moment stuff where he would react to an incident or sudden confrontation. Luke’s, for the most part, was quite the opposite. He revelled in the violence. Sure, he reacted violently a lot of the time but, more often, his anger and viciousness was controlled and intended from the outset. He was at his most cruel when he had time to think about his actions and intentions. This was one of those times.
He loosened his grip on his young brother and pulled him roughly to the back wheel of the lorry. The wooden wedge was no more than a foot or so from Tony’s steel toe capped boot. Luke twisted his young brothers face toward his own and their eyes were just a few inches from each other.
‘Don’t think about it. Just fucking do it. One little kick and the wedge will be in the fucking dock and no one will be any the wiser. When they find him in the morning with the engine running and the door open it will just be the result of a tragic accident. He was a bit late getting away and in his hurry to close the gates behind him, forgot to put the brake on and the wagon rolled back and crushed him, end of story. Simple.’
‘I can’t do it Luke. I’ll fight anyone with you, you know that, but he’s just an old man. An old man with a fucking family. This isn’t right Luke, this is cold. I can’t do it.’
‘If you don’t, I’ll fucking do you. We’re in this together and it’s survival for both of us. If he lives, it’s all fucking over for us. When he’s questioned, he won’t be able to stop himself. You know that what I’m telling you makes sense. Just close your eyes, bring your foot back and swing. Easy. Don’t think about it just do it.’
Tony, as he knew he would, like countless times in the past, did what his brother ordered. The wedge bounced and skittered across the granite cobbles, slid over the edge of the quay and bobbed in the waters of the dock a few yards away from the trailer.
Tony turned away towards the front of the wagon. He knew what he’d done but the sickness in the pit of his stomach was rising. Suddenly, he was grabbed roughly by the back of his collar and pulled violently backwards and he began to stumble.
‘You’re going nowhere just yet little brother. We’ve got to make sure.’
Luke pulled him back towards the rear of the trailer. It wasn’t enough that Terry would die within the next few minutes as the weight of the wagon very slowly continued moving back towards the gate. He wanted to experience the elation. For him, it wasn’t sickening, it was exciting. This was pure undiluted pleasure.
‘This is what it’s like to see a man die before your eyes Tony.’
Luke, being much stronger than his brother, forced him to the back edge of the container. He was just two feet away from Terry’s bulging eyes. He couldn’t speak any more; his spine being compressed ever more towards his chest.
Tony couldn’t look at Terry anymore and closed his eyes. He jumped involuntarily as he heard two of terry’s ribs break and he pulled himself away from his brothers’ grip. He knew what he had done and that was enough for him. He didn’t want to revel in it. Lu
ke didn’t bother to stop him. He could have held him if he wanted and forced him to watch as Terry breathed his last, but Luke was more fascinated by the spectacle and wanted to be closer. He leaned in and his face was no more than twelve inches or so from Terry. He could see his eyes bulging and all the veins on his forehead and neck standing out against the skin. The breathing was very shallow and almost none existent. He saw the eyes begin to glass over and the pulse on his neck became very faint. As his heart was pressed ever closer to the front of his chest and his lungs slowly but surely compressed, all that could be heard in the still night air was the breath expelling from the dead mans throat in a hoarse, rasping manner and the occasional rib cracking with the relentless crushing. He watched for the next few minutes until he was sure that he was dead. He saw his younger brother stumbling away and quickly moved toward him.
‘Listen, Tony. That had to be done. When they find him in the morning it won’t be suspicious. They’ll all say what a great fella he was and that’ll be the end of it, no comeback on any one, just a simple but tragic accident can’t you see that?’
Tony was bent forward with his hands on his knees trying desperately not to throw up. He knew he had to keep the contents of his stomach intact. It would be a dead giveaway if there was a load of vomit just a few yards from the scene of the ‘accident’. Questions would be asked. Why, if someone had come across the scene and been so horrified by what they’d seen that they had vomited on the road, why hadn’t they contacted the police or the ambulance. He took a few deep breaths and straightened. A sample of the puke, a DNA profile and it wouldn’t take them long to come looking for him.
He turned to face his brother and in a rare show of aggression towards him, he launched himself forward and punched him in the chest. Luke was momentarily stunned but quickly recovered and wrestled his young brother to the ground. Tony thrashed with his legs and tried to struggle free but he was no match for Luke. He’d never been much of a match for him. Luke for his part would normally have delighted in the opportunity to kick the shite out of his brother. How dare the little shit bag have a go at him. He didn’t retaliate. He just held him tight to make sure he couldn’t do any damage to either of them. Luke also realised that although they were brothers and shared many traits and similarities; in some things, they were very different. He never felt compassion for anything but, in that moment, he felt a definite tinge of remorse for his little brother.
The moment passed instantly and Luke pushed his brother away and they both sprang to their feet and faced each other with clenched fists. Tony was the first to ease up a little and he relaxed his hands.
‘I know that it was the only way Luke; you’re right, he would have told someone what had happened. Just because it needed to be done, doesn’t mean I should enjoy it. I’m not like you Luke.’
He turned and started to walk towards the dock wall. Luke ran up behind him and attempted to lighten the mood by playfully grabbing his little brothers’ head and ruffling his hair. Tony pulled away and ran towards the wall. He took a leap and scrambled to the top in the same way that they had done when getting into the docks earlier. They couldn’t risk being seen by the policeman on the gate and they had gone in and out of the docks in this way many times in the past, particularly as kids when they would come and go after nicking stuff. As they both sat astride the wall facing each other, Tony said again,
‘I’m not like you Luke, I’m not a cold blooded killer. I’ll never do that again. I’ll kill you before I ever do that again. You will never put me in that situation ever again.’
Luke shrugged his shoulders and swung his other leg over the wall and dropped down to the street below. He had bullied his little brother since before he could walk. If he wanted, he could sort him out no bother, but, at the back of his mind, something had changed in Tony and he would have to keep his wits about him.
Maybe, just maybe, Tony had had enough of being bullied by his big brother. He might need watching a bit more than usual.
Chapter 17
The siren of the ambulance going past at speed suddenly brought Luke Johnson back to the present. He must have dozed off and he felt a rise of panic in his guts. How long had he been asleep, where were they?
He had taken his finger off the trigger of the shotgun and had it resting on the trigger guard, just as well really as the sudden realisation of his own vulnerability automatically tightened his trigger finger. The safety catch was off and if he he’d had his finger on the trigger itself, it would definitely have gone off without him intending it to and the back of the car would have been one horrible bloody mess. Was that siren for him, was he compromised in any way?
His captive alongside was still in a state of semi consciousness and would not cause him any bother. He tried to make out that he had been awake all the time. His position directly behind John gave him good cover and it was unlikely that he would have been able to see him dozing.
‘Where are we? What fuckin time is it?’ he growled to John.
‘We’re on the M6 going towards Birmingham, we’re not far from the services at Keele.’ John glanced at his watch; they had been in the car for about an hour since leaving the lorry behind at the Industrial Estate. ‘Just coming up to half past four.’
‘Take a drink out of that bottle of water and then pass it back to me.’
John did as he was ordered. He hoped that some bright spark hadn’t decided to tamper with the bottle. The last thing he wanted while driving was to suddenly feel drowsy because someone had decided to spike the water in the hope that Johnson might fall asleep. He was getting to the point of being past caring in many ways. He was emotionally fatigued and tired because of their ordeal and he just wanted to get away from Johnson. He glanced in the mirror and although it was starting to get dark, he could still see the face of Dave in the semi darkness of the cars interior. He didn’t look good at all and John was becoming increasingly concerned for his colleague.
If they didn’t get out of this soon, Johnson wouldn’t need to top him; he would die anyway through blood loss. The thought had crossed his mind more than once about intentionally crashing the car into one of the motorway bridges. Dave was nearly comatose and probably wouldn’t feel it too much. The thought of the shotgun going off was what dissuaded him from carrying it out for real; that and the realisation that he might just cause a motorway pile up and be responsible for more than their own deaths made him concentrate hard on staying awake.
Johnson took a swig of water and splashed some more on his face. He looked across at the battered copper alongside him and, in a rare moment of compassion, or maybe he just wanted to make sure that he had the pleasure of killing him rather than watching him die, also splashed some water on his face and gave him the bottle to drink from.
‘He’re, wake yourself up a bit and drink some of this. What else have we got.’ he said to John, gesturing to the box on the seat alongside the driver.
The powers that be knew it was important to try and keep them all hydrated and nourished to some extent and had given john a box of goodies when they gave him the car earlier.
‘There’s a few ‘mars’ bars, some energy bars and some packets of biscuits. There’s also another half a dozen bottles of water and a few packets of crisps.’
‘Give us a couple of ‘mars’ bars and a packet of biscuits.’
John handed them back and saw Johnson toss a chocolate bar to Dave. It hit him on the face and fell onto his lap. He didn’t react at all; he didn’t even flinch when the bar hit him on the nose. After a few seconds he picked it up and, holding it in his right hand, tore the wrapper with his teeth. His left hand was no use to him whatsoever. The sweetness and sugar of the bar revived him slightly and the water eased the dryness of his mouth. He lifted himself slightly and looked out of the window at the encroaching darkness, watching the almost rhythmic monotony of the motorway marker posts flashing past.
Johnson, revived once more with the chocolate and a couple of speed amphetam
ines, began to take a closer interest in the whereabouts. He had to ditch the car and get another motor. He saw the services sign, Keele, one mile ahead.
‘Right, take the next exit.’
This directive took John a little by surprise.
‘Keele Services? You want me to pull in?’
‘Don’t act so fucking stupid.’ The hilt of the kitchen knife struck him hard on the top of the head. ‘I’m pretty certain our fuckin audience are well aware that we’re coming up to the services. Just get the car off the road before I decide to twat you again.’
Johnson was right; he had only spoken of their intended stopping place for the benefit of his colleagues. He didn’t know why really, the tracker device would tell them exactly where they were and he cursed under his breath as he agreed with his captor. It was a stupid thing to do. He needed to keep Johnson as calm as possible, not wind him up with banal comments. He knew that his judgement was starting to be called into question. He was starting to get desperate himself. He saw the countdown markers rapidly approaching and slowed for the exit.
‘Pull into the car park area over there,’ gestured Johnson pointing to an area where there were not so many cars. The larger car parking area was almost full to bursting.
‘Okay, that will do. Now leave the engine on and we’ll just sit here for a little while. Let’s just have a little look at who’s coming and going.’
It was getting close to the evening rush hour and the services area was a mass of wagons, motorbikes, vans and cars. It suited him well as the more vehicles there were, the more choice he would have when he came to pick his next victim. He also knew it would be much more difficult for his pursuers to know where he was and what vehicle he had. The biggest problem he had at the moment was to try and dodge the chopper. He knew it would be hovering somewhere close.
It would be more difficult for the camera to pick them up now as it was getting quite dark. The infra red was good for identifying a lone suspect or an individual car but now, with hundreds of people and cars around, it would be almost impossible to identify the right vehicle. The pilot of the helicopter had taken the opportunity earlier when Johnson was busy munching his way through the pizzas at the Industrial estate to return to base to refuel. They had at least another couple of hours of flying time left before it was necessary to land and fuel up again.
