Cog in the Machine

by Nigel Shinner

  The body of the dead gangster was still attached to his getaway vehicle, its limbs dancing like some macabre marionette.

  Dom didn’t care.

  Dom was free.

  Chapter 61

  It was a surprise that a vehicle with a top speed of 15 mph could make an effective getaway, but it did. He was able to force the gate open with the power of the forks and out into the wider area beyond. Dom pulled over in an artificial copse on the industrial estate. Parking the forklift behind a tree and heaving Callum’s body from the fork where it still dangled.

  Dom looked at the blood on his hands. It was there, physically, and also metaphorically. He had never killed anyone before. In fact, he had never seen a dead body before. Pushing a young gangster off the prongs of a forklift was a hell of a way to start. He shuddered, seeing the tiny lines in his hands picked out white among the red. In his head, he justified the act of the killing as a ‘him or me’ situation. Dom wasn’t about to sacrifice himself, and subsequently Georgia and Bob, for a chancer with a gun. At that moment, when everything was a blur, he could shrug it off but in a day or two, if he lived that long, he’d reassess.

  Although he was hidden from the road, the open engine diesel forklift could be heard idling in the calm of the pre-dawn. It had not escaped Dom’s notice that there was a dull orange glow casting light across the horizon to the east and the new day wasn’t far away. He jumped back on the vehicle, driving it toward where he knew the Boss was waiting. He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea or not, but he had to try. The gun tucked into his jacket gave him some confidence but no energy or pain relief, and he was only one man and the Boss had his henchmen handy.

  He chuckled, each laugh hurting his lungs and threatening to tip into agonising coughs. What the hell did he look like? A battered, broken white knight riding slowly, loudly, stupidly in to save the day on a four-tonne frigging forklift.

  The coughing started, and Dom stopped finding it funny in a hurry. He was probably riding in just to get killed.

  Still, there was no alternative. He had to try.

  On the far side of the estate, there were a few empty lots. Some had purpose-built buildings ready for any incoming businesses. Others were just waste ground with overgrown hedges waiting for development. Dom was aiming for one of those.

  As he neared his destination, he flicked on the headlights and raised the forks to chest height. Standing on the accelerator, the response was not like that of any vehicle he had been driving recently. It wasn’t going to provide the surprise entrance he was hoping for.

  Smashing through the overgrown row of shrubs to the side of the pitch, he quickly picked out the Transit van tucked into the far corner.

  Dom aimed the forks directly at the cab, willing the vehicle to suddenly develop rapid acceleration. It didn’t. And that made him vulnerable.

  He could see the surprise on the faces of the three men behind the windscreen. But that surprise wasn’t going to last for long.

  The Boss jumped out brandishing his handgun.

  Dom pulled the gun from his jacket.

  Wade and Gibbo scrambled out and followed their employer’s lead.

  One gun aimed at the kidnappers.

  Three guns aimed at Dom.

  The forklift ground to a halt just short of the group. It was a hopeless and foolhardy endeavour on Dom’s part. He raised his hands. Why was he here? What was he trying to prove? What would happen next? That was answered, immediately.

  A gunshot ran out. A body hit the ground. Death filled the air.

  Chapter 62

  In the movies, the sound of gunfire is often deep, booming and at a level of decibels to leave all within earshot deafened. The reality was something very different. A gunshot, especially from a handgun, was more like a crack or a pop than a boom or a bang.

  A crack echoed through the still of a new dawn, no louder than the slam of a car door.

  He also felt the bullet in the air. A low whistling noise accompanied it, giving it presence as it passed him by.

  The worst sound associated with gunplay was the sound of impact.

  This particular bullet found a path directly through the target’s skull, entering just above the right eye, exiting just below the left ear. The noise made by a 9mm parabellum round passing through skull sounded similar to someone snapping a dinner plate in half; quick, irreversible and final.

  Dom’s mind was a mush of the last few seconds mixed with the events of the last few hours. It was too much for him to process. He had seen his father figure tortured. The woman he was growing to love kidnapped. And he had killed a young man in self-defence. Now his fragile mind had just been focused on the three handguns pointing in his direction, only to hear a gunshot, anticipate the impact on himself, and then see one of the three men fall like a ragdoll with the back of its head blown out.

  He didn’t know which henchman it was but he knew it wasn’t the Boss who took the bullet. Dom had heard the names Wade and Gibbo mentioned in his presence but had no clue which was which. All he did know was that one looked like a gorilla and the other like an undernourished lightweight cage fighter. It was the gorilla who had the hole in his head, front to back.

  In the eternity from the crack to the drop, half a dozen armed men had appeared on the waste ground; Richards, McQuillan, Gary and three other Mach Tech heavies. They had come to claim back one of their own. It wasn’t Dom.

  Dom wasn’t surprised at quickly he had been found. The forklift was noisy in the silence of the dawn and it was possible to hear it from a couple of hundred yards away. Discovery was inevitable.

  “Where’s my daughter?” McQuillan’s voice trembled nearly as much as the silver pistol held at arm’s length, pointing directly at the Boss.

  “Where’s the money?” The Boss seemed to have had the snap taken from his confidence but one dead henchman was not enough to tame his defiance.

  “You are in no position to bargain.” Richards took control of the situation again.

  The Boss sneered at the Tall Man’s right-hand man, “That’s what you think.”

  “She’s in the back of the van.” Dom felt able to speak for the first time in forever.

  McQuillan rushed toward the rear of the vehicle, halting under the weight of the Boss’s words.

  “Do you think I’d be that stupid?”

  “You are that stupid.” Richards butted in, “You seem to think that you can bend an arm or two and get what you want but you’re not dealing with the local weed dealers now.”

  “Is that so?”

  Richards marched right up to the Boss, aiming a pistol into the centre of his face. “I’ve never wanted to kill somebody so bad before. I double dare you to fuck me off once more so I can end you.”

  The Boss smiled widely with his crooked, well-punched teeth and pressed his forehead against the muzzle of the gun before him. “Shoot me and you’ll never see the girl again.”

  Richards glanced toward McQuillan, nodding for the distraught father to open the rear doors.

  One door was opened, then the other. McQuillan climbed in. He jumped out immediately.

  “Where is she?”

  Eyes looked in all directions. Only one pair of eyes remained focused - the Boss’.

  Georgia was gone.

  Chapter 63

  Amid the confusion upon faces and raging expletives hurled like rocks, Dom was struck by an unseen hand while his focus was elsewhere. He hit the rough terrain face first. Jagged stones encased in gritty soil stung his skin, awakening him from the daze of the dawn.

  “Which side are you standing on?” said Richards, swiping out and knocking Dom to the ground, “Do you stand with these pricks?”

  Dom tried to get to his feet to answer but a closed fist halted his attempt.

  “Do you stand with these pricks?” Richards gestured toward the Boss and his remaining henchman. “Or do you stand with us?”

  From his subservient position, Dom glanced in all directions before g
iving his answer.

  “With you, you prick! I came here to free Georgia and Bob. I’m not with…that!”

  A rough hand gripped the back of his collar and Dom was swiftly pulled to his feet.

  “Well, don’t be too surprised if I don’t quite believe you just yet.” Richards commanded the situation yet again.

  “I’ve done nothing against you, or Tommy, or anyone else. I’ve been on your side all along.”

  Tommy McQuillan seemed to come alive at the mention of his name.

  “Then how is my Georgia missing? You’ve been in the Dunstan’s pocket the whole time – admit it.”

  The odds were stacked against him. Dom was outnumbered, out-gunned, and he felt too insignificant in the grand scheme of the masterplan. He needed to stand up and explain his position.

  “Georgia only fell into their hands because she was trying to protect me. She knew there was some type of double-cross and I was the decoy. If you guys had come clean from the start I might have driven as a decoy for you-” Dom was cut off.

  “We couldn’t trust you. You used to work for this bastard.” Richards spat the words while using his gun as a pointer toward Dunstan.

  “No. I worked with him – one time. And it saw me lose twelve years of my life. Why would I still be involved with him? He’s a fucking amateur! I’m a professional.”

  “You’re nobody, that’s what you are. You’re a chancer who won the lottery and reaped the benefits of someone else’s work. If you want to look like a professional, you better start acting like one,” Richards yelled.

  The words stung Dom’s already battered pride but it was nothing compared to the aches and pains that ravaged his body, or the sledgehammer that had worked over his emotions. In a game where winner takes all, Dom was playing with a losing hand.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  McQuillan walked right up to the driver, stooping to meet his eyes.

  “You’re going to bring my girl back safely.”

  Dom broke his gaze, looking toward ‘Boss’ Dunstan.

  The Boss had stood silently, watching the circus perform around him. His eyes were filled with bemusement at the scenario.

  He grinned.

  Bastard, thought Dom. You can afford to grin. You’re holding all the cards.

  Chapter 64

  There was no urgency in the Boss’s intentions. He stood casually, gun hanging from one hand, a cigarette in the other. His surviving henchman, Wade, stood to his left and the corpse of Gibbo slumped to his right. Warming swirls of cigarette smoke enveloped his smug face as he waited for the bargaining to begin.

  “What do you want, Dunstan?” Richards asked. His handgun was still firmly gripped and pointing toward the Boss.

  “A million pound-” There was more to say but he didn’t get a chance to say it.

  “You’ve no chance,” Richards cut in. “Pick another number – a realistic number.”

  His eyes darted between all those looking on. The Boss thrived on this much attention. It was a game. One he often played and often won. This time he was holding the best card.

  “Make me an offer.” The Boss dragged long and deep on his smoke, the amber glow of the tip illuminating his brutal features.

  “A hund-” McQuillan started to blurt out but was interrupted.

  “Fifty grand - in used notes, provided you can get Georgia back to us right now,” Richards demanded.

  “The old man was closer to figure I was hoping for.”

  “Fifty and be grateful.”

  “I could sell her to the Romanians for that, or I could pimp her out and make a shitload more. No, I was thinking half a mil.”

  Richards laughed, shaking his head. “You really do live in a dream world.”

  “The world I’m from is more like a nightmare and you’re in it. That girl is in my world right now and the last thing she’ll ever experience is my men climbing off her raped body if you don’t start making some real offers.”

  The statement ran like a shiver through the watching crowd. Glances were exchanged. Murmurs escaped.

  “What if I offer to shoot you in the face?” Richards chancing the threat for reaction.

  “Then your main man here-” The Boss nodded toward the trembling McQuillan, “- will be digging her grave. If anything happens to me or I don’t make a phone call every thirty minutes, my contact is going to start chopping pieces off her and posting them home.”

  “Make a deal, Dick, make a deal and bring my girl home.” McQuillan was close to tears as the plea fell from his lips.

  Richards snorted and lowered his weapon, “The best I can do you is two hundred thousand.”

  “Two fifty and we’ve got a deal.”

  Richards glanced at McQuillan.

  McQuillan didn’t refuse.

  “Deal. Come back to the warehouse and I’ll get your money.”

  “What, and have your guys torture the shit out of me? No thanks.”

  “What do you suggest?” Richards gave a bemused frown.

  “Send your man here.” The Boss nodded toward the very silent, very out of his depth, Dom. “Give him the money and when he brings it to me, I’ll give him an address.”

  “No chance,” Richards spat. “He’ll fuck off with the money and we’ll both be out of pocket.”

  “No, he won’t.”

  The Boss carefully walked to the rear of the van, beckoning to Richards and McQuillan.

  They joined him.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t see him, Tommy.”

  The Boss flicked on the payload light.

  “Who is this?” Richards asked.

  “Bob Deakin,” said McQuillan.

  “Carver will do anything for this man. I’ll let you have him in good faith.”

  The Boss played another card. Using the leverage he had over Dom and handing off the problem to his rivals. Ruthless violence was his usual tactic, but occasionally, he could play it smart. Risky, but smart.

  Chapter 65

  The short trip back to Mach Tech had been frosty to say the least. Dom had been thrown into a minibus at gunpoint. There had been no need for throwing, or the gun, Dom would have got in willingly. Not just to help execute the plan to get Georgia back but also because Bob had been placed on the backseat as part of the deal.

  The old man was deathly pale with a shivering sweat. He had had no medical treatment while in the Boss’s company and blood loss from the bullet hole in his knee was taking its toll.

  Dom hoped that there would be some sort of treatment offered back at the warehouse. Even if it were just a bandage and some painkillers. Anything was better than nothing.

  Instead of going in through the main entrance, the minibus drove straight into the building via one of the delivery bays. Five ceiling to floor roller doors were staggered across the front wall, each capable of accommodating an articulated lorry. Only one was open and it was the door that had been used for the late night/early morning delivery. The container wagon was long gone but the delivery of back-up generators was lined up neatly waiting for attention. Over in the workshop, several of the regular technicians were dismantling the new items.

  As Dom was being marched across the payload bay, he saw the fuel tanks being removed and swapped out with what looked like identical fuel tanks. On a separate bench, one technician was opening up the removed tanks and taking out the contents.

  Dom was no expert but the contents were bags of white powder.

  “Each fuel tank contains twenty kilos of pure cocaine. There are one hundred and twenty machines here,” Richards said. He explained it as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

  “That’s just short of two and a half tonnes.” Dom was swift with his mental arithmetic.

  “And once cut with other agents and some lower grade gear it will more than double in weight.”

  “What’s the current street value?”

  “Forty to fifty quid per gram.”

  It wasn’t something D
om was going to say out loud. His quick math brain screamed that the conservative price would return over two hundred million pounds without breaking a sweat.

  Richards could see the look on the driver’s face.

  “And you could have been part of that success, but you’ve fucked it up for yourself.”

  “It wasn’t my fault.” Dom was indignant. He didn’t believe he had done anything wrong at all.

  “Are you telling me that you were not part of that kidnapping?”

  “I am.”

  “I still don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what you believe.” Dom had been pushed around all day. He had already reached his limit. “I’m not working both sides here, or even one for that matter. I thought I could make some easy money with a little risk and go about my day. But you and your gang of fucking maniacs thrust me into a car because you knew I’d drive it, and this is the result. Georgia is the only one to think of me first and it landed her up to her neck in shit with a psycho like Dunstan. I don’t know what your angle is here, or how genuine you’re trying to be, but when I’ve done this job and got Georgia back, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Is that what you think?” Richards said, clearly holding onto his temper. “You don’t just leave. You’re part of the plan. You’ve been inside the organisation and seen how it works. There is only one way you are going to leave and that’s in a shallow grave. You got that?”

  Dom nodded and said no more. He would have to work his own plan.

  Chapter 66

  A packet of salt & vinegar crisps, two Mars Bars and a can of Coke. If it was a last meal, it was a poor choice. It was all that had been available from the vending machine in the warehouse canteen. Dom had been feeling weak from a lack of sustenance. Now he was feeling nauseous from the amount of sugar lining his already delicate stomach, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  Left in the canteen and guarded by another unnamed minion, Dom paced back and forth, the laminate flooring creaking gently under each footfall. The pacing was about to be interrupted.