Inferno

by Jay Gill

  Trent held his breath. He closed his eyes. He waited for the bullet to the head or knife to the throat.

  None came.

  Instead, to his surprise, when he opened his eyes Fischer had turned and walked away. Trent took a deep breath. He opened the door of the Volvo and reached inside to pop open the back. I’ve got you now, you bastard, thought Trent. Think you’re a big man, do you? He went round to the boot, lifted the mat and opened a metal security box. Inside was a Glock 19 pistol, the weapon of choice for many British plainclothes police officers. He took it out, checked it and pointed it at Fischer. “Stay where you are. Don’t move.”

  Fischer stopped, turned and looked at Trent. He pointed at the petrol pumps as he spoke. “Are you crazy? You fire that around here, you’ll blow us all to smithereens.”

  “Get down on the ground and put your hands behind your head.”

  Fischer scoffed and walked towards Trent. “You’re not going to shoot. If you miss, we both die.”

  Trent was suddenly unsure of his intentions. “Don’t get any closer.”

  “Or what?” Fischer started dodging from side to side like he was playing a game. Trent had to focus on steadying his shaking hand as he moved the gun from left to right. Fischer kept coming. Ducking and weaving and getting closer.

  Hands shaking, Trent fired the pistol.

  The bullet passed over Fischer’s shoulder and in through the window of the petrol station shop. Parv fell off his chair and disappeared below the window frame. Trent fired again. CRACK! This time the bullet went low and wide.

  Fischer lurched right and dropped to his stomach. He rolled across the oily forecourt and scuttled to the safety of a steel pillar. “Stop shooting, you idiot!”

  Stepping forward, Trent fired again. CRACK! The bullet grazed a petrol pump. The two men looked at each other, both relieved there was no mighty explosion.

  Fischer took cover behind the pumps. He reached up, grabbed the nearest nozzle and pointed it towards Trent. He squeezed the handle until fuel started flowing.

  “Get up!” ordered Trent.

  Fischer stood up. “Don’t shoot. You’ll kill us both.” He raised one hand in the air. In the other hand, he held the petrol pump and continued to point it in Trent’s direction. Fuel splashed and flowed over the forecourt; the stream gathered momentum and surrounded Trent’s feet. “Just back off and I’ll leave.” Fischer took out his cigarette lighter. “Or I light us both up. I’m not going back to prison.”

  Trent looked down at the fuel flowing around him and panicked. Turning on his heels, he stumbled towards the Volvo and ran around the side of it. Putting the vehicle between himself and Fischer, Trent tried to gather his thoughts. He looked down and could see the fuel running under his car.

  Peering over the bonnet of the Volvo, Trent looked around for Fischer. You’re not going anywhere, Fischer, he thought. He looked around for Fischer but couldn’t locate him. Where the hell had he gone? Then he spotted the nozzle, which was on the ground with its trigger locked on, still gushing fuel. He looked towards the petrol station shop and was relieved to see Parv through the glass front door, peeking out from the bread and pastries aisle.

  “I’m leaving, Trent. Don’t shoot,” yelled Fischer.

  Trent looked wildly around, desperately trying to locate the sound. There. Behind the pumps, he saw Fischer scuttling on hands and knees towards a row of bins. Trent raised the pistol and aimed carefully. He told himself that if he managed to hit Fischer, there was no reason to believe the fuel would ignite. He rested the muzzle of the pistol against the car to steady his aim.

  Fischer looked out from behind a bin and his eyes widened. “Don’t be an idiot, Trent. I’m leaving.” He leaned forward, ready to dive in the direction of his own car, which was in the small car park behind the shop.

  CRACK! Trent fired and Fischer fell back out of sight.

  “Are you crazy? What’s wrong with you?” yelled Fischer.

  “You’re not leaving. You’re coming back with me. Dead or alive – I don’t care which.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Trent peered around the Volvo, searching for Fischer. He dropped to a kneeling position then just as quickly changed to crouching. He looked down at his trousers, which were now soaked with fuel. He decided he wouldn’t fire the pistol again unless he had a clean shot; it was too dangerous. Where was Fischer? He looked over at the shop.

  Trent moved along the side of the Volvo and peered through the windows. Where had he gone?

  Fischer sprang out from behind the Volvo and landed a foot firmly on the side of Trent’s head. Trent went down heavy and hard, sprawling out in front of the car. He could taste blood in his mouth. An intense throbbing gripped his face and the back of his neck. He was cold and wet and he stank of petrol. Suffocating fumes filled his nostrils. Trent pushed himself up to a sitting position and pointed the gun at Fischer. Leaning against the Volvo, he kept Fischer in his sights. “Stay where you are.”

  Fischer backed away, his tattooed arms high in the air. “You just tried to kill me. That really pisses me off. Put the gun down.”

  Trent staggered to his feet and leaned against the front of the Volvo. “Stay still. Don’t you dare move,” he said, panting.

  “I came here with good intentions. A civilised conversation. That’s all I wanted,” said Fischer. “And you’ve turned this into something it didn’t need to be.” Fischer kept backing away. He watched, half mesmerised, as the fuel continued to pool all around Trent and the Volvo.

  Then Fischer and Trent turned, almost as one, as Parv came running out of the shop towards them. Staying a safe distance away, he hollered, “You can’t do this, Mr Trent. You must desist immediately. It is very dangerous. Very, very dangerous. Mr Trent, are you okay? You must put the gun down, please. I have called the police. They will be here very shortly. No more shooting, Mr Trent. You’ll kill us all.”

  Fischer could see that the fuel had stopped gushing now; Parv must have shut off the supply.

  “Go back inside, Parv,” shouted Trent. “This man is an escaped prisoner. A murderer. I’m taking him in, dead or alive.”

  Fischer waved Parv away. “Get inside,” he said, almost conversationally. “Go on. I’ll talk some sense into him.”

  Parv looked at the pistol, then at Fischer, and then at Trent. After a moment’s pause to process the situation, he turned and raced back inside to wait for the police.

  Trent blinked; his eyes were watering and stinging from the petrol fumes. He decided to call Prison Officer Farley for backup; he knew he lived close by. He felt around in his pocket for his mobile phone. Then, realising he must have left it in the car, he tried the door handle. The car had automatically locked. Shit!

  Trent rubbed his eyes. Immediately, they started stinging and watering uncontrollably. Petrol on my fingers, he cursed. Unable to see, he started waving the gun around wildly. “Don’t you move, Fischer.” Tears streamed down his face. The more he rubbed his eyes, the worse they got. Coughing, he put a hand on the car bonnet to steady himself.

  Fischer watched him uncertainly for a moment then turned and began to walk away. As he did, he stumbled and kicked over a half-full plastic bucket of water used for cleaning windshields. The bucket overturned and rattled as it rolled on its side.

  Trent’s body stiffened and his head snapped towards the sound of the rolling bucket. Instinctively, he raised the gun and fired. The bullet narrowly missed Fischer and hit the side of the building. Trent frantically scrubbed at his eyes with his shirt. Everything was blurry, but he could make out shapes.

  Fischer got his feet back under him and ran back to the car park behind the petrol station, where he ducked down behind the building’s wall.

  Seeing movement, Trent fired again. The bullet ricocheted off a steel post between the two petrol pumps and hit the overhead lighting. Glass shattered and sparks streamed down onto the fume-filled forecourt.

  With a whoosh, the fuel burst into flame, and a ri
ver of fire sped across the forecourt. Trent froze. He watched helplessly as the flames chased across the ground, encircled him and engulfed his feet with a hungry roar. He beat at his legs, which only served to spread the flames to his arms and body. His pitiful screams filled the night air.

  Fischer took a tentative step towards Trent but thought better of it. There was petrol on his hands, clothes and shoes; it would be suicide. He whirled towards the door of the office, where Parv stood wide-eyed, hypnotised by the horror.

  Flames caressed Trent’s body, licking him like the tongues of a thousand greedy demons, melting and consuming his flesh as he staggered and flailed. Arms flapping and hands beating at his body, he screamed as his flesh bubbled and blistered and his skin tightened, cracked and split. He collapsed to his knees, then toppled forward onto his withered, shrunken face. Thrashing from side to side, he clawed and tore at his body. Demonic, guttural, animal-like gasping sounds surfaced from his scorched throat and shrivelled lungs. Eventually, with elbows bent and charred hands clenched like a boxer’s, mercifully, Trent’s breathing ceased.

  Fischer ran to his car on shaking legs. Before getting in, he turned again to look at Parv. Open-mouthed, the man had exited through the back of the shop for safety. He stood now on the grassy embankment beyond the small car park. Hands on his head, he rocked from side to side, moaning.

  Fischer shut the car door again and ran to him. “Your clothes,” he ordered, snapping his fingers impatiently.

  Parv stared at him, bemused.

  “Strip down and give me your clothes,” repeated Fischer.

  Parv nodded mutely. Reluctantly, he kicked off his shoes before removing his uniform shirt and trousers and handing them over. Shivering in his black socks and tight white underpants, Parv made a futile attempt to cover his fleshy body with his hands and arms as Fischer exchanged his own fuel-soaked clothes for Parv’s.

  “Good man,” said Fischer when he was dressed again. He removed the contents of Parv’s pockets from his jeans and tossed them aside. “Sorry about all this. And your job.” The two men looked at the devasted petrol station. Fischer added, “You’ll be okay. You know, sometimes shit happens. It does, but it turns out to be a blessing.”

  “I don’t think my friend Mr Trent would be in agreement with you,” said Parv despondently.

  Fischer sighed. “You’re right. Sometimes shit just happens.”

  He walked back down the slope to his car and climbed in. Reversing out of the space, he looked in the rear-view mirror. As he did, the pump closest to Trent’s Volvo exploded, sending fragments of metal, plastic and glass and a huge ball of flames high into the night sky. Fischer’s car shook, and the windows of the petrol station shattered.

  As he drove away, he saw a string of blue lights flashing in the distance as the fire brigade sped towards the inferno.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Moon’s eyes wandered over the colourful stained-glass window in the centre of the front door. She rang the doorbell and knocked twice, then waited for the rattle of the security chain. It never came. Instead, a smiling Aunt Patti opened the door. “Come in, sweetheart.”

  “Is everything okay?” asked Moon. She’s way too happy, thought Moon. Perhaps she’s been on the brandy.

  “Yes, yes. Come in, child. We’ve been waiting for you. While you’ve been off galivanting around as usual, up to goodness knows what, your friend has been keeping me company. He and I have been chatting, drinking tea and eating cake. He’s such a charming man. I’ve haven’t laughed so much in years. Such a wicked sense of humour.” She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. “He was just showing me his tattoos. I will admit I blushed a little – he has them all over.” She resumed her normal volume. “Don’t just stand there gawping, Faye. Come in.”

  Moon could feel her breathing become rapid and her throat narrow. Over Aunt Patti’s shoulder, she could see Fischer. He’d found her already. His eyes were like wildfires bearing down on her. For a split second she was tempted to turn tail and run, but where would she go? She wouldn’t get far. He’d tracked her here and he’d wouldn’t stop. She knew he had no choice; he needed his money back and wouldn’t stop until he had it. Perhaps I could do a deal, she thought wildly. Yes, I’ll strike a deal.

  Aunty Patti took Moon’s arm and helped her inside. She took Moon’s coat and hung it up. “For goodness’ sake, Faye, come in. I sometimes wonder about you. In fact, Mr Fischer – Edward. Such a lovely name. I’ve always liked that name. It’s so masculine, don’t you agree, dear?” Moon smiled weakly. “As I was saying, Edward and I were discussing how absent-minded you can be. I told him the story of the time we went out for the day to London, and it wasn’t until we were on the train that you realised you were still in your house slippers. The first thing we did when we arrived was catch a black cab to Oxford Street to buy you a pair of shoes. Do you remember? It was so busy.” Aunt Patti laughed excitedly.

  “Not really,” said Moon.

  “Yes, you do. We were going to the Natural History Museum.”

  “I guess I do remember.” Moon eyed Fischer.

  “Edward here was saying you’ve done it again, gone off with something precious to him, and he’s had to drive nearly one hundred and fifty miles to get it back.”

  “That’s right,” said Fischer. “Moon here would forget her head if it wasn’t screwed on. Makes me wonder how she’s managed to keep her head at all. She can be very silly at times.”

  Aunt Patti giggled like a schoolgirl.

  Moon stared at her. She had never before seen Aunt Patti this way. Maybe there’s life in the old girl yet, she thought.

  Aunt Patti patted Fischer’s arm. “I’ll leave you two alone for a minute. I’ll put the kettle on.”

  “I’ll make the tea,” insisted Moon.

  “Nonsense. You two sit down. Edward didn’t come all this way to see me, more’s the pity.”

  Fischer and Moon each took a seat.

  “Now, Edward, can I interest you in more lemon drizzle cake?”

  “I shouldn’t,” he said, putting his hands up in a gesture of mock protest. “You’re such a devil. Really you are. Go on, then – just a small slice. How can I resist? I still can’t believe you made the cake. No kidding, Patricia; it’s the best cake I’ve ever had. You won’t forget the recipe. You did promise.”

  “I won’t forget – how could I? You said you’d murder for it. I can’t have that on my conscience.” Aunt Patti was beaming from ear to ear. Moon was sure she had more spring in her step than usual. She watched as she practically bounced into the kitchen.

  Fischer waited until the kitchen door closed then leaned over and gripped Moon’s wrist. Moon winced. “What the hell were you thinking?” asked Fischer. “I ought to break every bone in your body.”

  “I’m sorry. I got scared. It was stupid.”

  “Where’s the money?”

  “It’s safe. It’s here, in the house. In my room. Are you going to kill me?”

  “What? No.” Fischer looked at Moon sympathetically. He hated seeing her scared. She looked vulnerable in the way she had the first time he met her. “I just want the money. If you want to go your own way, that’s fine. Half the money is yours. You can take it.” He let go of her wrist and cupped the side of her face with his hand. “Or, we can stick to our original plan. Go somewhere no one will ever find us, and we can live out the rest of our lives together.”

  Moon’s face lit up. “You mean it? You’d take me back?”

  “In a heartbeat, Moonbeam.”

  Moon knelt in front of Fischer and kissed him. “What have I done to deserve you?” Then her happy face vanished as a thought entered her head. “What about Lyle? That crazy bitch wants you dead. She said she’d kill Sandra and the boys if I told you she was coming for you.”

  “She’ll never know you warned me. Once we’ve vanished, Lyle will never find us, and eventually she’ll forget about me.”

  “Okay,” said Moon. “If you’re
sure. Let’s do it.”

  “That’s my girl.” Fischer held Moon and kissed the top of her head. “You’ve got to promise you’ll never do anything like this again.”

  “I promise, Eddie.”

  Aunt Patti pushed open the door to the kitchen. Moon jumped back into her chair. The pair of them returned to acting like nothing more than friends.

  “Can I help you with that, Patricia?” Fischer got to his feet.

  The cups and saucers rattled on the tea tray as Aunt Patti moved unsteadily towards the coffee table. “No, no. I’m fine. Here I come. It takes me a little while these days, that’s all. There we go.” She placed the tray down. “Would you mind pouring for our guest, Faye?” She pointed at the bowl full of sugar cubes. “Two lumps. That’s right, isn’t it, Edward?”

  “It certainly is. I have a very sweet tooth. Made sweeter in the presence of you two fine ladies.”

  “Oh, well, I don’t know about that,” said Aunt Patti. “He’s such a tease, isn’t he, Faye?”

  Moon gave Fischer a friendly kick. “He certainly is. He’s a good man. He’s had a few tough breaks in life, but he has a heart of pure gold.”