‘We’re in,’ he said.
####
The camera room was on the ground floor. It was equipped with twenty-eight LCD screens. One for every camera. They lined the walls, arranged around a central observation desk. Returning to the room, Deville noticed a haze of black and grey static showing on screen 17. Probably just a malfunction, he thought. He needed to make sure, though. So he radioed through to McCall. Asked him to check it out. Thirty seconds later, McCall got back to him.
‘We’ve got a problem,’ he said. ‘There’s a bullet hole in the camera.’
‘You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re pulling my leg?’
‘I wish I was. Hang on a minute, I’m just moving a bit closer so I can see better … Yup, that’s definitely a bullet hole. I should know; I’ve seen enough of them in my time - Ah, shit! I’m just looking around to make sure whoever trashed the camera isn’t about to put a hole in me … Hey, McCarthy’s back. His ride’s here. He doesn’t normally park down the side, does he? He usually sticks it at the front.’
‘Who cares! I’m waking The Boss. If you come across McCarthy, make him aware.’
Rogers joined the conversation, turning the two-way into a three-way.
‘I’ll do a sweep outside,’ he said, sighing. ‘Crap, this is all we need.’
‘I’ll start on the ground floor and work my way up,’ McCall said.
‘Check every nook and cranny,’ Deville said. ‘Check everywhere! Search for signs of forced entry. No mistakes. Keep me informed, both of you.’
‘I will,’ Rogers said.
‘Me, too,’ McCall said.
All the cameras were external. Byron had considered having internal ones installed, but decided against it (he liked his privacy). Deville checked the screens to make sure nothing else was amiss. Satisfied all was in order, he went to leave. But stopped dead when he saw a black man in the doorway, pointing a silencer-fitted gun at him.
‘Utter one word and I’ll blow you away,’ the man warned.
Deville raised the walkie-talkie to his lips. But before he could speak, the man shot him through the neck. Collapsing to his knees, Deville clutched at his throat. The walkie-talkie slipped through his fingers. Blood gushed from the wound as he gurgled like a percolator. Then he slumped forwards, face first on the floor.
####
‘I had to do it!’ Derek said. ‘Them or us! That’s what they wanted, so that’s what they got! I had no choice.’
Squeezing past him, through the door, Chris put a hand on his shoulder and said, ‘You can lower your weapon now; he’s dead.’
‘No choice,’ Derek whispered, visibly shaking. ‘No choice.’
Jack entered the room. Perused the screens. ‘If McCarthy told us right, we should only have to worry about two more,’ he said. ‘And there’s one of them, look.’ He nodded towards camera 14. ‘He’s going towards the gate. I wonder where the other one is. I can’t see him.’
The walkie-talkie crackled to life and someone said, ‘I’ve checked the ground floor, Deville. All clear so far. I’ll radio through again when I’ve done the rest of the place, yeah?' A short silence, then: ‘Can you hear me, Deville? Is everything all right?’
When no response came, another voice chimed in, ‘You better go see if he’s okay. His radio might be playing up again.’
‘That’s saved us the job of hunting him down,’ Jack said.
‘We’re gonna have company in a second,’ Chris said, ‘so let’s be ready.’
####
Hiding behind the door, Jack waited, listening for the sound of someone approaching. Jack had found a Maglite on the desk. A six cell: good bludger. Derek and Chris were by the other side of the door, their backs flattened against the wall, also listening. They heard footsteps. Getting closer. Louder.
Derek nodded to Jack, who nodded back: I’m ready.
The man called McCall entered. As soon as Jack saw the back of his head, he bought the Maglite down with a sickening thud. McCall yelped like a scalded child. Then he collapsed into a heap as if his bones had disappeared. Jack thought he’d killed him. Thought he’d at least knocked the guy out. But McCall began to moan. Tried to raise his head, which was lolling back and forth.
Pushing McCall onto his back, Jack loomed over him and said, ‘What floor is Byron’s bedroom on? Which room?’
‘Eh!’ McCall said groggily, looking around, taking in his surroundings, then focusing on Jack. ‘Who … the fuck are you?’
Jack put his knife to McCall’s throat. Pressed down hard. ‘It doesn’t matter who I am. Tell me where Byron is.’
‘It’s more than my life’s worth to tell you that.’
Jack pushed down harder with the blade, drawing blood. ‘You won’t have a life if you don’t tell us. You’ve got ‘till the count of three …’
‘Get lost!’ McCall said, still groggy. ‘I ain’t … talking!’
‘One.’
‘D’you think he’ll spill, bro?’ Derek asked Chris, giving him a wink.
He was in the doorway, keeping an eye out. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Seems like a real tough nut, this fella.’
‘Two!’
‘I ain’t talking!’
‘He ain’t talking, bro,’ Derek said. ‘Adamant, isn’t he?’
Chris said, ‘Got some balls, this fella.’
‘Three!’
Jack pushed down hard with the blade …
‘All right, all right,’ McCall said, glaring at him. ‘He’s on the second floor. Take a right at the top of the stairs. His room’s the one at the end of the hall. You tossers are so dead, do you know that? If only you knew whose house this is.’
‘We know,’ Derek said. ‘If you’re lying, we’ll kill you. Just so you’re aware.’
‘Good job I’m not lying, then,’ McCall said.
Derek smiled, then booted him in the head, putting him to sleep. Jack made sure he never woke.
After that, he began searching around. Opening and closing cupboards.
‘What are you looking for?’ Chris asked him.
‘Recording equipment,’ Jack said, checking another cupboard. ‘Gotcha!’ He pressed the recorder’s eject button. A DVD popped out. Jack slipped it inside his jacket. ‘I’ll get rid of it when I get a chance.’
####
Upon hearing the noise outside, Byron and Debbie were up and discussing what could be happening.
‘The dogs are going mental,’ he said, pacing the bedroom in his pyjamas, ‘so something must be going on. They’re well-trained, those animals. They wouldn’t be losing it like this unless there was good reason. Maybe I should call for back-up. I can have some boys here in less than ten minutes.’
He went to the window. Looked out. Noticed nothing suspicious. No armed men creeping across the lawn, or through the well-tended flower beds. No shadowy figures moving amongst the bushes. No one coming to get him, that he could see.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Debbie tried radioing through to the men. Got nothing but silence.
‘This thing’s most likely playing up,’ she said, throwing the walkie-talkie aside. ‘Relax, I’ll check downstairs. Those idiots are probably at the back again, having a crafty fag. If they are …’ she reached inside her dressing gown and pulled out her pistol from her garter strap, ‘… you’ll be needing some new staff, my love.’
‘Be careful.’
‘Careful is my middle name.’
‘Ruthless, more like.’
Debbie smiled. Licked her lips.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘When needs be.’
####
Focused as he was, Jack couldn’t help being in awe of the Grand Staircase that dominated the mansion’s central area. He, Derek and Chris climbed the steps, admiring the renaissance paintings on the wall, which were housed in gold-rimmed casings. Jack didn’t know his Michelangelo’s from his Raphael’s, but he did know wealth when he saw it. Imitations? No chance. The place oozed money, from the plush carpets to the silk c
urtains and the copious number of antiques displayed. The coup de grace, however, was the fresco on the ceiling. A copy of the one in the Sistine Chapel. Jack craned his neck, looking up.
‘That took two years to finish,’ a woman said, appearing at the top of the stairs, gun in hand. ‘Amazing, isn’t it?’
Derek and Chris went to raise their own.
‘Uh-uh!’ she said, pointing her gun at Derek. ‘I’ll put a bullet between your eyes, big boy. Your friend will pop me, but I’ll make sure I pop you first. Don’t test me; I’m more than capable.’
Slowly, Derek and Chris lowered their weapons.
‘Put them on the floor,’ the woman commanded. Then she gestured towards Jack. ‘You can drop the blade, too. And the piece that's tucked into your jeans. ’ Her eyes lingered on him for a second and he guessed what she was thinking.
Reluctantly, he did as instructed. So did Derek and Chris.
‘Renowned Italian artist, Giuseppe Guillermo, painted the fresco,’ the woman explained. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard of him, have you? No, of course not. How daft of me to ask. I mean, you three don’t seem educated enough to know of Donattelo, never mind anything else.’
‘Isn’t he a Mutant Ninja Turtle?’ Chris said, looking puzzled.
‘Ha-ha!’ the woman said. ‘What you lack in intelligence, you make up for in wit. Now where was I? … Ah, yes, it took Guillermo two years to finish his masterpiece, but finish it he did. Quite often, I’d sit here for hours, watching him from beneath the scaffolding. You have no idea of the satisfaction it gave me to see such beauty slowly, stroke by stroke, be created …’
‘I’m sorry,’ Jack said, ‘but what has this got to do with anything?’ He wondered who the eye candy could be. Byron’s main squeeze? He had a feeling she was. She did, after all, look the part. Leggy, blonde, not afraid to pull a firearm on someone.
‘My point,’ the woman said, ‘is that sometimes you have to be patient to get what you want. I’ve been waiting for a chance to show how devoted I am to my beloved and now it’s finally arrived. I know what people think of me; they believe I’m a gold digger, that I’m only with him because of his power. But they’re wrong; I do love him. What better way to prove it than by blowing away three burgling scumbags who’ve had the audacity – no, the stupidity – to break into his house. The nerve of you. Coming in here, all dripping wet, traipsing mud everywhere. Soiling carpets that are worth more than your miserable lives.’
‘We’re not burglars,’ Jack said. He glanced towards Derek and Chris: any ideas?
‘So what are you doing here?’ the woman asked. ‘You’ve come to hurt him, haven’t you? You want to kill my beloved.’
‘Key-rect!’ Chris said. ‘What you lack in wit, you make up for in intelligence.’
The woman’s face hardened. Jack didn’t think she was attractive any more. The confident smile was gone. Now there was only hatred in her blue eyes. Clear, focused hatred.
She pointed her gun at Chris. Pulled the trigger. The side of his head exploded, showering paintings with blood and brains. He fell backwards, down the stairs, head over heels. Rolling … rolling … rolling … thud! He hit the bottom.
Without a moment's hesitation, Jack picked up his knife and threw it at the woman. A crimson flower bloomed as the blade hit home, burying deep into her chest. Her mouth opened in shock. She gasped for breath. Teetering forwards, she looked as if she would fall face-first down the stairs. But then she wilted sideways, her legs giving way beneath her.
Derek bounded down the stairs towards his brother. Collapsed to his knees beside him. Taking Chris’s hand, Derek began to cry.
‘Not you!’ he sobbed. ‘I can lose everything, but not you!’
Jack wasn’t sure what to do about Derek. There was no time for grieving, not when they were in the hornets' nest. After what’d happened, he was sure Derek wouldn’t be able to continue. Moving briskly down the stairs, Jack took to one knee beside him.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ Jack said,’ but I need to finish this. Stay here and I’ll get you when it’s done, yeah?’
Derek did not respond. With his knees in a pool of blood, he hugged Chris hard. He pressed his cheek against the side of his brother’s face, the side that hadn’t been blown off. Cried and cried and cried.
Chris’s ruined face was too much for Jack. He had to look away.
‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ he said, touching Derek’s arm.
Jack’s knees popped as he stood up.
The hood had told him Byron was on the second floor, so Jack decided to check the third. On the way up the stairs, Jack retrieved his knife. Wiped the blood off using his top. Then he picked up his gun. Slipped it back into his jeans.
####
Back-up was indeed on the way. When Byron had heard the guns go off, he’d placed a call. The guy on the other end had assured him that he and his cohorts would be there as soon as possible. Five to ten minutes, max. Now all Byron had to do was stay alive. Easier said than done.
One shot had rang out. Had Debbie fired at someone and killed them - or visa versa? Perhaps it was one of my men nailing an intruder, Byron speculated. Or visa versa? But, of course, he had no way of knowing. Unless he went to investigate.
He picked the walkie-talkie up off the bed. Looked it over. He’d never used one, so he wasn’t sure which button to press. Opting for the one on the side, he put the walkie-talkie to his ear and said, ‘McCall, are you there?’ When no response came, he tried again, pressing a button on the other side. ‘Rogers? Deville? Are any of you hearing this?’
‘Ye … yeah,’ came a reply. ‘I’m hearing you.’
‘Who is this? Is that you, Rogers?'
'Yes, it's me, boss. I'm patrolling outside, down by the gate. Where are you?’
‘I’m in my bedroom,’ Byron said in a low voice. ‘I can hear footsteps. Someone's coming. I can hear doors opening and shutting, too. Oh God, I need to hide.’
'I'll be with you as quick as I can!'
Fearful that whoever was in the hall might hear the radio, Byron switched it off.
He retrieved the pistol from under his pillow, then went into his walk-in wardrobe, shutting the door behind him. Rogers was coming. Others were en-route, too. Everything was going to be fine. They’d get here in time. Wouldn’t they?
####
Jack had tried every door, searched all the rooms. Apart from the one at the end. Upon entering, the first thing he noticed was the blood stain on the carpet. Wonder what happened there? he thought. Then he remembered the body bag and who’d been in it.
Jack looked around, taking things in. The bedroom was plush. Very plush. Easily the grandest he’d been in. None of the others had a four-poster, for starters. But if this was Byron’s bedroom, where was he? As if in response to this, Jack heard shuffling behind the door on the far side.
Knife at the ready, he moved towards the noise.
He pushed the handle down.
Flung the door open …
A bullet whizzed past Jack's shoulder as he stepped to the side, taking cover. He had no time to think. Just act. Swivelling himself into the doorway, Jack threw his knife and it disappeared through the darkness. Someone yelped in pain as they hit floor. Wary it might be a trap, Jack took cover again. Hiding behind the wall, he listened. Heard nothing but the raspy inhalations and exhalations of a person struggling to breathe. Best get a move on, then. Best act.
Reaching inside the doorway, Jack felt along the wall for a light switch. When he didn’t find one, he tried the other side. He located the switch. Flipped it.
On his back, Byron clutched his stomach while blood oozed through his fingers. He was covered in clothes, which he had pulled from hangers as he’d gone down. His gun was on the floor, beside him. He pushed a jacket off him with what little strength he had. He reached around, fingers searching for his gun. Jack made sure he didn’t find it. Standing over Byron, he kicked it aside.
‘Who … th … the he-
hell are … y-you?’ Byron asked, through bloodied teeth.
His normally immaculate black hair was sticking up on top, like he’d just got out of bed.
'Someone who wants answers,' Jack said.
Mustering his last residues of strength, Byron spat at Jack's feet. And then recognition spread across Byron's face, briefly eclipsing his pained expression.
'I … know wh … who ye … you are,' he managed to say.
'Your boys cut me up. All because I tried to help an old man they were bullying.'
Jack heard footsteps coming along the corridor. Approaching fast.
Damn! he thought, I just needed a little longer!
'Reinforcements … here!' Byron said with a weak smile.
'Too late for you,' Jack said, removing his knife from Byron's chest, then plunging it through his heart.
Moving out of the walk-in wardrobe and towards the door, Jack listened as the footsteps got closer. He hoped it was only one person. It sounded like one. Waiting behind the door, Jack pounced on the man as he entered, sinking his knife into the man's neck. Jack wiped the blade clean using his t-shirt.
On the way out, he tried to get Derek to leave with him, but he didn’t want to know. Leaning down next to him, Jack said, ‘Time to skedaddle, matey; the cavalry’s probably on the way.’
‘Go without me,’ Derek replied, still holding his brother. His eyes were dry now. He’d cried all the tears he could.
Jack said, ‘I'm not going without you.’ He took Derek by the arm. Tried to lift him.
Derek pushed him away. ‘Don’t waste your time on me,’ he said. ‘I’m staying with my bro, so you better skedaddle yourself. What are you waiting for? Huh! Get gone!’
‘I can’t just leave you!’ Jack argued.
He tried to lift Derek by the arm again. This time Derek snapped. He shoved Jack away. Yelled at him: ‘What part of I’m staying don’t you understand? Get your arse out of here! While you still can! Vamoose! Dis-appear! Make … TRACKS!’ He calmed a little. ‘I want to be with my bro. Don’t bother me again.’ Dropping down by Chris, he resumed hugging him.
Face Book: A disturbing novel full of shocking twists Page 22
