Face Book: A disturbing novel full of shocking twists

by Paul Johnson-Jovanovic

  ‘You did what any decent person would have done,’ Weathers said.

  ‘I was dragged outside. I saw a blade coming towards my face … and then … I must have blanked out. The next thing I recall after that is the landlord kneeling over me, rain dripping down his face, asking me if I was okay.’

  ‘There you go,’ Garfield said. ‘Looks like you can remember plenty.’

  Weathers fixed his partner with a reproving glare.

  ‘If someone’s badly injured,’ Jack said, ‘why do people ask them if they’re all right when they quite obviously aren’t?’

  ‘Maybe it’s because they can’t think of anything else to say,’ Garfield said.

  ‘These men,’ Weathers said, ‘you say they were demanding protection money, yeah? You’re sure of that, Mr. Williams?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Can you tell us what they looked like?’ Weathers asked. ‘Have you seen them before?’

  ‘I don’t know who they are. One was ginger, freckly. Another was huge and bald and muscular, covered in tattoos. And the third was wearing lots of gold rings. I got a really good look at them as they were coming towards my face. I’m pretty sure he was in charge. The brains of the outfit, if you like.’

  Garfield stopped scribbling for a second. Exchanged a brief glance with his partner.

  ‘Do you know who they are?’ Jack asked.

  The officers didn’t reply.

  ‘The only other witness was the landlord,’ Garfield said, tucking his notepad and pen back into his lapel, ‘and he gave us very little to go on.’

  Jack’s brow furrowed in confusion. ‘That bloke saw everything. How can he have given you little to go on? Did he give the same descriptions as me?’

  ‘He just said that three men attacked you,’ Garfield said. ‘He only gave vague descriptions, I’m afraid. He’s getting on a bit, so I guess his memory’s not what it used to be.’

  ‘Bullshit!’ Jack blurted. Bet he was too scared to talk, he thought.

  Michael had been to the vending machine to get a coffee. When he returned and saw the officers, he said, ‘Hope you’re close to catching the cowards who did this.’ He sat on his bed, blowing his drink to cool it. ‘Look at him! Look at what they’ve done to his face! Cutting him up like th – ’

  ‘Shut up, Michael,’ Jack said. ‘Please … just shut up.’

  ‘We’re doing everything we can to apprehend them,’ Garfield stated.

  ‘You say there was only one witness,’ Jack said.

  ‘That’s right,’ Weathers replied. ‘At least, only one we know of.’

  ‘What about the woman?’ Jack asked. ‘There was a woman who came through from the lounge. Must have heard the commotion and come to see what all the noise was about. She’d have only glimpsed them because they told her to fuck off, but …’

  ‘The landlord didn’t mention a woman,’ Weathers said, looking at his watch.

  ‘Maybe he forgot,’ Jack said. ‘She might know who those guys are. You’ll go back and ask him, yeah?’

  ‘Of course,’ Weathers said, looking at his watch again. ‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to go, Mr. Williams. ‘We’ll keep you posted on any developments, I can assure you.’

  And with that, Weathers and his partner made for the exit.

  ‘You know,’ Michael said, ‘If I was a betting man, I wouldn’t put money on them finding the men that did you over. They’re useless, the fuzz. Couldn’t catch a cold, never mind anything else.’

  Jack smelt something iffy (and it wasn’t anything to do with the annoying git in the next bed). Why had the officers lost interest as soon as he’d described the culprits? Why had the landlord been so vague? Why hadn’t he mentioned the girl? And how come she hadn’t come forward and reported what she’d seen? Because they were too scared, Jack concluded.

  He went to get up, to chase after the officers, but thought better of it; he wanted to ask them if the landlord had said anything about protection money. He couldn’t see the point, however. Weathers and Garfield weren’t going to help. That was obvious now. Jack doubted they would bother quizzing the old man again. Besides, Jack wanted to talk to him face-to-face. He wanted to look into his eyes. See if he was indeed lying.

  Michael said, ‘This coffee tastes like motor oil. You know, I can’t wait to get home, get out of this place. At least then I can have a decent cup of coffee, instead of this rubbish. I’m bored. Are you bored?’

  Yes, Jack thought, I’m bored of listening to you.

  ####

  When the officers were back in their squad car, Weathers placed a call on his mobile. Someone answered after the third ring.

  ‘This is not a good time! I’m busy, as you well know, so make it quick!’

  ‘I think Mr. Williams might talk,’ Weathers said. ‘He’s going to need a visit, some persuasion not to blabber.’

  ‘Yes, yes! I’ll arrange it.’

  The line went dead.

  ####

  The convoy passed out of Edgemont and headed along a country road towards Darkness Woods, a densely forested area populated with age-old oaks. The guard driving the truck was beginning to get a headache because the bloke next to him hadn’t shut up since they departed.

  ‘Can’t believe Man U drew at the weekend,’ Officer Eastwood said, laying his rifle across his lap. ‘Against Burnley, of all teams. Crikey! Mind you, I’m sure the ref was bent. Did you see that penalty he awarded? Well iffy if you ask me. Did you see the save? Did you watch the match?’

  ‘No,’ York responded through gritted teeth. His grip on the steering wheel tightened. ‘No, I did not see the match.’

  ‘Well, I blame the manager, myself. He’s made some bad signings this season. That new striker couldn’t hit a barn door from five yards. Thirty million, they paid for him. Can you believe that? Thirty bloody million! My four-year-old could do better than that mug. And what about the rioting? All those that were protesting outside the ground about ticket prices. Two dead, I heard. A steward and a Burnley supporter.’

  ‘It’s a rough world, these days.’

  York tried to let Eastwood’s constant jabbering wash over him. York needed to concentrate. Needed to be ready.

  The convoy entered the woods. Trees on either side towered above them, blocking out daylight. The squad cars ahead turned their lights on, so York did too. Checking his side mirror, he saw the two behind follow suit.

  Eastwood was still going on about Man U. ‘Oh, the glory days when we used to win everything; I remember them well. Back when we had the likes of Keane and Ronaldo and Giggs. Back when Ferguson was in charge, instead of that Muppet they’ve got now … What the heck!’

  Up ahead, a red van darted out from a dirt track side road. It t-boned the lead car, ramming it into a ditch. Four masked men got out, armed with machine guns. They opened fire.

  Other men emerged from the trees, spraying lead everywhere.

  York brought the truck to a grinding halt, inches from the bumper of the car in front.

  ‘Call for back-up!’ Eastwood said, scrambling to get out. ‘Call for back-up!’

  ‘You know what, mate,’ York said, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a pistol, ‘you talk too much.’

  Eastwood turned, just as York pulled the trigger.

  ####

  At his mansion, in the living room, Byron was relaxing on the settee whilst enjoying attention from Debbie.

  The door burst open. Quinn entered, out of breath. ‘There’s niggers at the gate,’ he said. ‘Five of them.’

  Byron nearly threw his drink at him. ‘And why have I got five blacks at my gate, pray tell?’

  ‘They want to talk to you,’ Quinn explained. ‘I recognise two of them; they run the snooker club, the 147. They’re the ones that refused to pay, so we dropped, err, persuader through their letterbox.’ He grinned.

  ‘Just tell them to go away,’ Debbie said.

  ‘Yes,’ Byron said, ‘tell them to piss off. Honestly, Quinn, why both
er me with this? Especially now! Isn’t this why I pay you? To deal with things like this?’

  ‘I’ll get rid,’ Quinn said, and disappeared.

  ‘He’s useless, that one,’ Byron said. ‘Got the brains of an insect.’

  There was a portrait on the wall of Byron’s father, Garrick. Framed in gold, it took pride of place above the ornately decorated fireplace. The painting had been done when Garrick was in his later years. Not too old to be past it, but old enough for there to be flecks of grey in his dark, swept back hair. His eyes had been green, just like his son’s.

  Byron got up. Went to the portrait. Looked at it.

  Appearing at his shoulder, Debbie said, ‘He’d be proud of you, the way you’ve taken what he started and turned it into an empire. It’s such a shame he’s not around to see what you’ve become: the most powerful man in the city. And the most feared.’

  Garrick had come from a poor background. His father had run a small debt collection agency. His mother had kept house, looking after Garrick and his brother. They’d always struggled but got by. This was something Garrick hadn’t been able to get his head around: his father’s lack of ambition. His father had brought in enough clientele for the business to tick over. No more. This had frustrated Garrick, who’d helped out from the moment he was old enough, aged eighteen. Baseball bats, knuckle dusters and crow bars: he became adept at using these. His reputation grew fast. So did people's fear of him.

  ‘When the old man passed away,’ Byron said, ‘that’s when the business took off. Garrick chased new clients and worked every hour he could; I wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for him.’

  ‘Ahh, but you took what he was doing and expanded into other areas. Drugs, importing cars, protection rackets: you’ve surpassed even what he achieved, my love.’

  ‘Only because of the rough times we live in now.’

  ‘Nonsense. You’re too modest.’

  ‘I know; I just can’t help it.’

  ####

  ‘I don’t know why we’re wasting our time here,’ Nelson said. He looked through the big gate, up at the ivy-covered mansion at the end of the driveway. ‘There’s no way they’re gonna let us in. And we’ve prob’ly pissed this guy off even more by turning up on his doorstep.’

  ‘I doubt he’ll let us in,’ Willis admitted. ‘But since we couldn’t think of anything else to do – and neither could you – I figured it was worth a shot.’

  Chris sized up the gate and the wall surrounding the property. ‘We could get in here easily,’ he said. ‘Who gives a toss if ginger-nut Three Stooge's Moe says no. We should just go in anyway. Show these bastards we mean business.’

  A Doberman padded across the drive, sniffing at the ground. Jevon pointed towards it. ‘You wanna vault the wall, go ahead,’ he said. ‘Good luck trying to outrun that thing. It looks hungry.’

  ‘Maybe Nelson’s right,’ Derek said. ‘Turning up here unarmed; this could be a real mistake.’

  ‘Who said anything about being unarmed,’ Willis said. He lifted his jumper to reveal a pistol he had tucked into his jeans.

  ‘Where’d you get that?’ Derek asked.

  Tapping the side of his nose with his index finger, Willis said, ‘I know a man who knows a man, if you get my drift?’

  ‘There’s a camera up there,’ Nelson said, nodding towards the one above the gate. ‘Put it away before someone sees it.’

  Willis yanked his jumper back down. ‘Cameras everywhere these days,’ he moaned. ‘Can’t get no privacy anywhere.’

  Moe appeared. On his way down the drive he gave the Doberman a kick. The dog yelped. Bared its teeth. It arched its back, the hair along its spine standing erect.

  ‘We’re gonna report you to the RSPCA for animal cruelty,’ Jevon said. ‘God I hate people that abuse animals. You’re a gutless shithead, do you know that?’

  ‘Aw, sorry,’ Moe said. ‘I didn’t mean to do it. I tripped … accidentally booted him. What can I say? It won’t happen again. Scouts’ honour.’ He gave them a salute. ‘Dib, dib!’

  ‘What did your boss say?’ Derek said. ‘Can we talk to him, or what?’

  ‘He’s busy at the moment,’ Moe replied. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Well when can we speak with him?’ Chris asked.

  ‘Erm …’ Moe said. ‘Now I don’t know this for sure, but I’m guessing that Mr. B won’t want your type darkening his doorstep again. So,’ he waved them away with quick flicks of his hand, ‘why don’t you all just fack off back to the slum where you came from.’

  ‘Our type!’ Willis said, pretending to feel insulted. ‘Our type!’

  Chris reached through the gate’s bars. Tried to grab Moe. ‘You dropped a Molotov through our letterbox, you pasty-faced shit! You and your cronies!’

  ‘That’s a scandalous accusation,’ Moe said, also pretending to be insulted. ‘As if I’d do such a thing.’

  ‘You’re not getting a penny out of us,’ Derek said. ‘And we will talk to your boss. Trust me, we will.’

  ‘Just get out of here,’ Moe said.

  Turning, he went to walk back up the drive.

  ‘When you and your friends come back to the snooker hall,’ Derek said, ‘we’ll be ready.’

  Moe stopped. Glanced back. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’

  After he was out of sight, Nelson said, ‘That went well, didn’t it?’

  ‘Mr. big bad gangsta won’t speak to the likes of us,’ Jevon said. ‘So what do we do now?’

  Derek looked towards the mansion. Exhaled deeply. Threw his hands up.

  Picking a large stone up from the gutter, Chris threw it at the camera. It missed. Went sailing over the wall, out of sight.

  Nelson kicked and rattled the gate.

  ‘Come on,’ Derek said, ‘let’s go back to 147 and sink some ale.’

  ‘Thought we couldn’t afford to drink the profits away before we’ve made any,’ Chris said.

  ‘Right now,’ Derek said, ‘I couldn’t give a toss about profits – I need a drink.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ Jevon said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Back to your place it is.’

  Chris said, ‘This guy must have some serious dosh to own a pad like this. It makes me feel sick to think of how much money he’s made off the back of other people’s hard toil.’

  ‘He isn’t having our money,’ Derek said. ‘Let’s go.’

  The camera tracked their movements as they made their way back to Willis’s gleaming red BMW 1.8i. Nelson gave the camera a two-finger salute.

  Willis opened the driver’s door. Beckoned Derek, Chris and Nelson to climb in the back. As Derek was getting in, he caught a glimpse of the gun beneath Willis’s jumper.

  ‘Would you really use that thing?’ Derek asked.

  ‘Yep,’ Willis replied. ‘If I had to.’

  ####

  ‘Sounds like a war’s going on out there,’ Ward said.

  A bullet slammed into the side of the truck, so he ducked.

  The guards looked at each other, not sure what to do.

  Armstrong made a suggestion: ‘Maybe you pair should go out there, see what’s going on.’

  ‘Best thing we can do is sit tight,’ the guard on Ward’s side said, blinking nervously.

  ‘Yeah,’ the other one agreed, looking petrified. ‘Sit tight.’

  They heard rapid-burst gunfire and a high-pitched scream, followed by someone yelling they had been shot.

  ‘Your comrades need you, by the sound of things,’ Armstrong said. ‘Are you just going to stay in here, let them die? Or are you going to help?’

  More gunfire. Shouting.

  ‘Perhaps he’s right,’ the guard on Ward’s side said. ‘Perhaps we should get out there, Ray. Get out there and help.’ He had checked three times that his rifle’s safety was in the off position. He did so again.

  ‘Christ, no!’ Ray said, glaring at his counterpart as if he’d lost his mind. ‘You know the protocol, Jerry. We stay in here until w
e know it’s safe. Have you got a death wish? Christ!’

  Another bullet hit the truck and whined like an angry insect as it ricocheted off thick metal.

  Something exploded, making them all jump.

  And then there was silence. The silence was soon broken, however, when one last shot echoed into the woods.

  Someone banged on the rear door and yelled, ‘OPEN UP!’

  ‘Who are you?’ Ray asked. ‘Identify yourself!’

  ‘It’s York,’ came the reply. ‘Now open up. We’ve got wounded out here and we need help.’

  Jerry got up. Went to open the door.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Ray said, grabbing his wrist.

  ‘It’s York, the driver,’ Jerry said.

  ‘So!’ Ray said. ‘It could be a trap! Who’s to say there isn’t a gun pointed at his head!’

  ‘OPEN UP!’ York bellowed, banging on the door. ‘OPEN UPPPP!’

  ‘We sit tight,’ Ray said. ‘We wait.’

  Jerry put his ear to the door. ‘I can hear people talking in the background,’ he said, ‘but I can’t make out what they’re saying.' Ten seconds later, he added, 'It seems to have gone quiet now.’

  ‘They’re most likely tending to the injured,’ Ray pointed out.

  Ward noticed Armstrong shuffling along, distancing himself from the door, so Ward did the same.

  The explosion was deafening. It ripped one of the doors off its hinges. Sent Jerry flying. The truck lurched forwards, rocking from side-to-side. Blinding white light filled the confined space. Ward felt the heat wash over his body, singeing him through his clothes.

  He heard someone screaming.

  Then, through a cloud of thick, black smoke, masked men entered the truck. One of them was carrying bolt croppers. He used the croppers to cut Armstrong free, then tossed them aside. Within seconds, Armstrong was lifted up off the floor and helped down out of the rear. He coughed and spluttered as the men escorted him towards an ambulance, which was waiting with its back doors open, engine idling.