by Adam Hamdy
Wallace looked at the scrawny kid and then at the giant standing next to him.
Salamander must have sensed his disappointment at not getting Red Skull. ‘Danny’s useful, mate,’ he advised. ‘He’ll look after ya.’ He started walking towards a black Mercedes that was parked further down Southwick Street. Clearly the subject was not up for discussion.
A muscled black man with a shaved head leaned against the bonnet, but he bustled into action and opened the rear passenger door as Salamander approached. Red Skull smiled at Wallace before leaving to join his boss in the back of the Merc.
‘So, Danny, is it?’ Wallace asked, turning towards the rat-faced kid.
Danny eyed him sternly. ‘Everyone reckons that gorilla is hard, but I could have him,’ he spat. ‘Come on then, show me where the trouble is.’
The cab ride lasted about twenty minutes. Nobody spoke, but, as they travelled through the city, Wallace watched the thin young villain opposite him. Danny sat with the exaggerated confidence of an aspiring alpha male. Legs spread wide, perhaps an evolutionary throwback to maximise the possibility of a female catching the scent of his musk. His left arm stretched along the top of the back seat, his hand just behind Connie’s head. Wallace felt foolish and inadequate; not only because he’d allowed this young kid to force him on to one of the rear-facing, fold-down jump seats, but because he’d insisted on asking for protection in the first place. The experiences of the past few weeks had stimulated his paranoia to such an extent that he felt safer in the company of a fresh-faced thug who looked as though he was hardly old enough to shave. Danny would never have asked strangers for protection. His confidence might be exaggerated, but it was real. Wallace could see the promise of violence in the kid’s eyes. He offered none of the outward threat of Red Skull, but Wallace could sense an unhinged danger that probably was more vicious than anything the giant had to offer. Wallace felt even more foolish when he contemplated that they were going to see a computer hacker who used to work for an insurance company. At best, Danny’s skills would be redundant, at worst, volatile.
Wallace was surprised when they arrived at number 68 Victoria Street. He’d expected a house or apartment block, not a large steel and glass office building. He paid the cab driver and turned to see Connie knocking on the side doors. Inside, a security guard looked up at her with a flash of recognition and buzzed them in.
‘Hello again,’ the guard called across the lobby as they entered. ‘Just go straight up. He’s expecting you.’
The doors of the nearest lift opened and Danny, Connie and Wallace stepped inside. Connie pressed the button marked ‘18’ and the doors closed.
‘Seems pretty sleepy. What kinda trouble you expectin’?’ Danny asked with a smile.
Wallace felt more foolish than ever.
‘Zombie accountants,’ Danny smirked, rubbing salt in the wound.
‘How many armed policemen did he kill?’ Connie asked Wallace pointedly.
‘Two,’ Wallace replied.
‘Cops don’t have these,’ Danny noted with more than a hint of satisfaction as he unzipped his hooded top to reveal a pair of machine-pistols concealed in snugly fitted holsters.
Wallace and Connie stared at the guns, aghast.
‘You said you needed protection,’ Danny remarked defensively.
The lift slowed and then stopped. The doors opened and they stepped out on to the polished marble floor of the deserted lobby. Wallace and Danny followed Connie towards a set of double doors. She knocked on one and they waited.
When there was no response, Danny rapped harder. The lack of progress didn’t sit well with him, and he reached for the door handle.
‘It’ll be locked,’ Connie advised, but the moment she said the words, the handle yielded at Danny’s touch.
The three of them exchanged glances, and Danny produced one of his guns; a small pistol with an elongated ammunition clip. Wallace could see the letters VBR stamped on the barrel. Danny pushed the door open and led Wallace and Connie into the room.
Wallace was surprised to see that the vast open-plan space beyond had been converted into someone’s home. A living area, kitchen, bedroom – all the things that might be found in any normal dwelling, all spread out over thousands of square feet of commercial office space. Beyond the incongruous domestic furnishings, the lights of London glittered beneath them.
‘Someone lives here?’ Danny asked in disbelief. ‘Must cost a fucking fortune.’
‘Where is he?’ Wallace asked Connie, who shrugged.
‘He’s probably in the server room,’ she replied.
Danny started towards the bedroom area, which was separated from the rest of the room by a partition, while Wallace followed Connie towards a large glass-walled room full of computers that was located in the far corner of the building.
‘This doesn’t feel right,’ Wallace said. ‘We should leave.’
Connie was undeterred. ‘Riley Cotton is an arsehole,’ she told him. ‘He used to take great pleasure playing practical jokes when he worked at Suncert. He once replaced the milk in every fridge in the building with wallpaper paste.’
They neared the glass walls, and Connie peered through them.
‘There he is,’ she said, pointing to a figure seated in the centre of the room.
Wallace could only see segments of the man, his view obscured by thin computers mounted on floor-to-ceiling racks. Shins, a forearm, part of the back of the man’s head. He was working at a computer.
Wallace jumped when Connie banged on the glass.
‘Riley, you idiot,’ she said. ‘Open up.’ She pulled at the door handle, which gave way, releasing a gentle hiss of escaping air.
‘Nobody’s ’ome,’ Danny noted from the other side of the large space.
‘He’s over here,’ Wallace informed the young villain, before following Connie into the server room.
Machines hummed and tiny lights blinked all around them as Connie led Wallace through the short maze of racks. When they rounded the corner that led to the heart of the server room, Connie stopped in her tracks. The colour drained from her face and when he followed her eyeline, Wallace realised why. Riley Cotton was dead. He was seated in an operator’s chair, his head sagging back over the headrest. His hands lay in a wide pool of viscous blood that had coagulated over the mesh of his desk. Riley’s arms had been slit vertically, from the wrists down to near the elbow. His skin was pale, bled of colour, and his glassy eyes stared up at the ceiling as though searching for heavenly help that would never arrive.
‘Oh God!’ Connie cried.
Movement. Something dark on the other side of the furthest server rack. Wallace recognised the armour and was stricken by terror. Unable to speak, he grabbed Connie’s arm and pulled at it. Connie looked up at him, and seeing the panic on his face, followed his gaze to the black armour-clad figure rounding the corner. Terror gripped her, too, as she realised they were trapped with no way to escape.
22
Wallace saw a pistol in the man’s gloved hand and his flesh froze. Their only way out was past this terrible figure – this murderer – who loomed like an ominous shadow no more than fifteen feet away. If he could just rush the man—
The gunshot shocked Wallace. There was no preamble. No sporting chance. No explanation. The loud crack unleashed a pain that would never end. Wallace knew the moment he looked round and saw Connie clutching her chest that the image would haunt him for ever. Thick dark blood spread across her top. Another crack and Wallace saw Connie jerk backwards as the bullet tore into her breast. She fell, her eyes wide with shock. She hit her head on the casters of Riley’s chair, but did not pass out – the pain and anguish she felt were too powerful to be overcome by unconsciousness. Wallace dropped to his knees beside her. He was vaguely aware of movement behind him, but it didn’t matter, none of it mattered; he would welcome death.
The world around him was leached of colour and became faded and vague, and silence sucked away every sound, creati
ng a terrible, startled stillness. Wallace’s desperate mind scrabbled to cling to the agony of every hopeless moment, and the seconds turned to hours. As each instant became an unbearable eternity, he was unable to focus on anything other than Connie. He lifted her right hand and pushed it over her first wound, and then took her left hand and placed it gently over the second. Even as he went through the motions, Wallace knew there was nothing that could be done. Blood was soaking Connie’s top in steady waves – the first bullet had torn an artery. Her grey hands grew cold and weak as the life drained from her. Wallace couldn’t see properly for tears. He wiped his eyes and looked down at Connie’s beautiful face. Her soulful eyes brimmed with shock, and her lips shuddered with each gasping breath. He touched her cheek and, as his fingers left an ugly smear across her face, he realised that his hands were covered in blood.
Wallace tried to talk, but grief throttled him, choking his throat with such force that every breath became a shuddering effort. Connie’s loving eyes looked up, pleading, searching for hope, but there was none. Wallace felt movement and realised that it was his hands, patting ineffectually at Connie’s wounds. His head was light, his body disconnected, as his mind raged against a world that destroyed such innocent beauty. Anger turned to grief as he saw Connie weaken further, her eyes becoming distant as the spark of her soul drifted towards darkness. He thought of all the lost moments they would never share, the little tendernesses she would never give him, and the love that swelled in his chest that she would never feel. He fought against the overwhelming grief, determined that Connie should know love as she breathed her last.
Try as he might, Wallace simply could not speak, but he regained control of his fussing hands and willed them to be still. His right hand trembled as he brought it up to Connie’s face and stroked her cheek. The gentle sensation surprised her and she looked at Wallace in bewilderment. He felt tears streaming down his cheeks as he watched Connie struggle with her fate. He recognised the storm of emotions that flashed through her dying mind, and it was precisely because he had already experienced the moment of death that Wallace knew the anguish and torment Connie was suffering. Above grief, fear, anger and sorrow, rose impotence, and, try as she might to cling to life, Connie’s efforts were futile.
Wallace longed to save her, but he knew the only thing he could do was let her know how much she was loved. He leaned forward to kiss her, but before his mouth reached hers, he saw that she was gone. One moment Connie’s eyes were alive with dismay, the next they were blank and empty. Despair consumed Wallace. Connie’s death had come so quickly, they hadn’t even exchanged a single word. He was stricken by the realisation that he hadn’t even said goodbye. Betrayed by a voice that had failed him, he had been robbed of the chance to tell Connie how much he loved her. Fury snapped him back to reality and, as the world came rushing in, Wallace remembered that the vile man who had extinguished his beautiful love stood no more than fifteen feet away.
23
Enraged, Wallace turned, but stopped suddenly when he felt hot metal pressed against his temple. The masked figure that had filled his life with so much misery stood above him, pushing the pistol that had killed Connie against the side of his head.
The gunshots robbed Wallace of any chance of peace, and he felt Connie’s killer shudder and fall. Looking beyond the prone man, he saw Danny standing at the end of the rack of computers, smoke drifting up from the barrel of his machine pistol. Wallace wanted to grab the gun and give furious vent to his rage, but his body wouldn’t comply. His limbs were leaden, unable to do his bidding. It wasn’t until Danny hauled him off the floor that Wallace was able to move, and even then it was only because the skinny kid was dragging, pinching and kicking him out of the room. Each physical assault was like a charge from a cattle prod, stimulating Wallace’s unwilling limbs into unwanted action. He looked down at Connie’s receding body. He couldn’t leave her like this. She deserved better.
‘We’ve gotta go!’ Danny shouted, pulling at Wallace, continuing his assault, dragging him back inch by reluctant inch.
Wallace looked down and saw his assailant lying flat on his back. His left arm had been torn by a number of Danny’s bullets, but Wallace’s murderous desires were left unrealised by the bulletproof body armour that encased the man’s torso. Even now, as Danny hauled him from the room, Wallace could see the dark figure moving as he caught his breath and recovered from the shock and momentum of the bullets that had hit him.
‘For fuck’s sake! Come on!’ Danny yelled.
Wallace saw the murderer reaching for the pistol, which had fallen inches from Connie’s lifeless feet, and, as fear jolted his body back to life, he stopped burdening Danny. As their assailant raised his pistol, Wallace and Danny rounded the maze of servers and fled through the exit. Glass panels exploded as the wounded killer opened fire. Danny wheeled round and sprayed a short burst of shots in the general direction, and the remaining panels shattered. Danny pulled out his second pistol and unleashed another volley of bullets, which had the desired effect and stemmed the murderer’s gunfire.
Wallace sprinted towards the double doors, drawing level with Danny. They were no more than fifty feet away when cracks of gunfire came from behind them. Wallace felt searing pain and his leg gave out from under him. As he fell, Wallace saw the vile figure rising behind the server racks, firing between the columns of computers.
Danny returned fire as he heaved Wallace to his feet. ‘Fuck the pain!’ he commanded. ‘Come on!’
Wallace ignored the sound of rapid gunfire and hauled himself to his feet. Each step sent a jolt of stabbing agony up from his ankle to his neck, and his body screamed at him to lie down and accept his fate, but he refused. Anguish and anger fought the pain and fuelled him with sufficient willpower to propel him towards the door.
When Danny changed clips, the masked man’s gunfire began afresh. As the bullets whipped past them, Wallace turned to see Connie’s killer silhouetted in the doorway of the server room, his masked face lit up by intermittent muzzle flashes.
Danny slammed the clip in and started shooting, filling the air with acrid gun smoke. Rather than dive for cover, the figure ran towards them, but his determined audacity worked against him and he caught a bullet in his chest that sent him flying backwards. The momentary respite was all Wallace and Danny needed, and, as their attacker scrabbled to his feet, they swept out through the double doors. Danny ran for the bank of elevators and pressed the call button, but Wallace grabbed him and pushed him towards the fire door on the other side of the lobby. As they bundled against the bar-latch, bullets peppered the wall around them. Danny and Wallace burst through the door, and slammed it shut behind them. They sprinted down the stairs, jumping, falling, and colliding in a frenzied mess of movement. They’d cleared one storey when Wallace heard the fire door slam open above them. Gunfire echoed throughout the stairwell and Wallace felt the sting of debris as bullets pocked the brickwork around them.
Wallace’s leg screamed at him as he and Danny tumbled down the stairs. They were riding their luck with every step, and needed to get out of the stairwell – fast. Wallace stopped at the door marked ‘14’ and pulled it open. Danny followed him through, and they raced across the lobby of a deserted accountancy firm.
‘Shoot it!’ Wallace yelled, as they barrelled towards the glass doors that offered entry to the accountants’ offices. Danny sprayed the doors and the glass shattered. They bundled through as their attacker burst out of the fire door behind them and started shooting.
Ignoring the bullets that sliced the air around them, Wallace and Danny ran into the accountants’ offices, which, unlike the floor they had just come from, were divided into individual spaces.
‘We’re trapped,’ Danny noted.
Wallace shook his head.
‘This way,’ he said, running right, towards the south side of the building.
They weaved their way through a maze of cubicles, past tiny spaces where lucky people got to spend their mundane
days. Bullets shattered glass partitions all around them, but their speed and the darkness served to make them difficult targets. The surrounding space changed; the office opened up into some sort of canteen. Ahead of them loomed huge floor-to-ceiling windows.
‘Shoot it!’ Wallace instructed.
‘What?’
‘I think the next building is only a couple of floors below us,’ Wallace explained.
‘You think!’ Danny exclaimed.
The air crackled with gunfire. Danny whirled and sprayed the space behind them. Wallace saw his assailant among the cubicles, about thirty paces away.
‘Shoot it!’ Wallace bawled.
Danny turned and shot the window, which shattered, but didn’t break. Wallace sprinted towards it, praying that his memory was correct. The glass gave way as his body hurtled into it. The noise was staggeringly loud as each tiny fragment snapped away from its neighbour to create a sharp cloud of glass that fell with Wallace into the night sky. As he tumbled, Wallace realised that his memory had failed him; the adjacent roof was more like three storeys below. Thirty feet. Survivable. Wallace turned as he plummeted, and saw Danny falling above him, his eyes wide with terror.
Wallace landed heavily on his feet and the pain almost pummelled him into unconsciousness. His wounded leg screamed at him, the agony invading every cell in his body. Danny, who had fallen and rolled to his feet nearby, was already running towards him. Oblivion would have to wait, as Danny’s determined hand grabbed Wallace and yanked him towards a small structure that protruded from the otherwise flat roof. Bullets snapping at their heels, Danny shot at the door that blocked their escape. Sparks flew as Danny’s bullets chewed at the lock. He grabbed the door handle and pulled. Wallace turned to see their assailant standing in the shot-out window above them. The man had a bead on Wallace and was taking his time to ensure the accuracy of the shot. As Danny pulled the door open, Wallace saw his killer squeeze the trigger, but nothing happened. From the irritated way the man lowered his weapon, Wallace could tell that he was out of ammunition. Sirens blared in the distance, and Wallace stared up at the figure that had robbed him of so much.
