by Nick James
The myriad of burner phones were kept busy with my sources trying to pinpoint the Council members and their plans. Most were going to have a simple bullet, but Cheng Su was going to get my full repertoire of torturing skills that I had picked up over the years, which would even make some mass murderers pale and say, ‘Easy there.’
The Council of Five were scattered all over China. They had the whole country divided up, but it was the bastard Cheng Su who held the capital and surrounding lands. Also, Liu Zheng who worked over in Macau and Hong Kong. Those two alone had most of the wealth and security. So, they would have to be hit first. Otherwise they would just go to ground in their compounds, and that would be it.
I scratched my head, which was in time with Alexi’s scratching routine. How do I get two bosses who live two thousand kilometres apart (1200 miles) before they know what is happening? It took a couple of shots of vodka before something clicked. Cheng’s cousin was married to Zheng’s daughter. I broke into a smile as I texted a few of my sources. As I waited for the replies, I watched the local birds dive-bombing and catching bugs that loitered over the water.
The phone beeped. ‘ALEXI!’ I called out, waking the dozing pilot. I saw his lecherous eyes upon me. ‘We need to go to Beijing for a few days.’ I saw him give a brief nod and then roll over to finish his sleep. There was no point hurrying the drunken bum.
Over the next few days, I managed to get a lot of information on the happy couple: Mr and Mrs Su lived in a very high-security block of flats. The wife, Cin Su worked as an administrator for a local hospital; her husband and my target Han Su and is the first cousin to Cheng Su was a loans manager for the People’s Bank of China.
‘Hmmm, money laundering, has to be,’ I mused, a smile creeping across my face as a plan came together.
It wasn’t until the next night when Alexi landed me at Chenode Airport, just outside Beijing. A contact of Alexi’s had arranged a car and papers for me, along with a small flat to stay in.
‘Hey, sexy, how long you going to be?’ the pilot shouted as he watched me walk away. I should really wear looser clothing.
‘Give me till Friday. I’ll meet you here at midnight on Friday, Alexi. If I’m not here, then I’m dead,’ I said as I sat in the little Skoda before driving away. Thankfully, my taxi’s friend was good. This car may look like a pile of shit, but it had had some major work done on the engine, and it was quiet too.
By morning, I found myself parked outside the bank on Cheng Fang Street, Xi Cheng district. The dossier I had received, detailed everything I would need: times of his comings and goings on his workdays. Normally, his pretty wife would drop him off on the way to hospital, and on the way home he caught a lift with a colleague, except Fridays. On Fridays he walked across the road to the Jintongtai Restaurant to wait for his wife to turn up twenty minutes later for a meal. He was a man of habit; I like those types of people.
Day after day I watched the tall, thin man walk from his wife’s car to work, and then to the employee’s car park. I did kind of feel bad for the man. But he was the cousin of my family’s murderer, so tough shit.
I practised the run from the target’s bank to the airport, which was at least three hours. That was okay if I could get out of the city unseen, but there were too many cameras, plus I couldn’t plan on the reliability of the car after killing the target. So I bought a crappy Lada and parked it a few miles away from the bank, in a car park of a block of flats that had seen better days. Bonus points were off-road parking which could not be viewed by any road and there was no CCTV.
Friday arrived. I checked the bank; he was there on time as usual. So, I could go back and rest for a few hours, then clean the flat ready for departure. I wore worker overalls, a typical heavy coat and hat which the poorer workers generally wore. An old Beretta 9mm was the choice for this job; it needed to be loud and lots of bullets to scare off the public, just in case.
I squirrelled away three magazines – better safe than sorry, just in case the police became involved. I looked at myself in the mirror. Alexi the Pervy Pilot would not be happy with this look. I chuckled, which was out of place in this part of town.
It was time as I sat in the car park of Parkson Manor, just down the road from the bank and restaurant. The time was ticking by slowly and the traffic was building up. Not good. I needed it to look like an accident, otherwise I would have hit him at home.
Once 6 p.m. came, I drifted into traffic. It was shit. I managed to get some speed up, and there he was.
‘Shittttt!’ I cursed; he was already on the pavement. I floored it, making other cars beep their horns in irritation. With a bit of luck the tall man would turn to see what was up. He did.
The last thing he saw was the Skoda badge adorned car hit the kerb and launch itself into his soft, breakable body. He didn’t stand a chance as the car landed on him.
I peeled away, feeling his body rolling underneath the chassis and then a tyre. I didn’t stop or even look. I knew the man was dead, and I was still on the pathway scattering the poor workers as the souped-up engine did its work. So far, no police.
I made it to the flats and swapped cars. I left the keys in the ignition of the old car and the door open knowing that within minutes some kids would be flying down the road in it. Bless the little darlings.
Mile by mile the roads were busy, but no police. So far so good, but would my luck last? And the answer to that was no. Two hours into the journey it was now night-time, and suddenly flashing lights appeared behind me. I searched the roadside and managed to pull off into some trees. I turned off the lights and waited. But no, they must have seen me. I exited the car and moved into the woods.
The small car was turned off with its lights flashing.
I crouched down and pulled out my gun; I didn’t want to do this.
They stepped out of their car with pistols drawn. ‘GET OUT OF THE CAR…NOW!’ an officer shouted as the other talked into his radio. ‘GET OUT NOW OR WE OPEN FIRE!’
I took aim on the furthest one – the hardest one to hit. Then they opened up and, in the noise, I took three shots firing downrange. Only two found their mark: one in the throat and the other in his jaw. The movement of his fellow officer falling made him turn, which allowed my next three rounds to enter his back, shredding his spinal cord into nothingness.
With the police lights still flashing, I checked out the poor buggers to make sure both had now shuffled off this mortal coil. ‘I’m sorry, wrong place and time,’ I muttered, leaning in and turning off their lights. I then grabbed the fallen man’s radio and got the hell out of there.
Luckily for me, although unfortunate for the cops, they hadn’t given their position to their base. As the Policeman died, Alexi had landed, fuelled up, smoked and had a piss, while he waited for me to arrive, monitoring the police radio as I fled the scene.
According to the radio the police were still trying to find their now dead colleagues.
‘C’est la vie,’ I muttered as the jet took us away from trouble, low and fast.
Chapter 14
Scotland Yard
The lead detectives of the Shimmering Dreams shooting were under pressure, and at a loss.
They had never met such a load of piss-taking, unhelpful bastards in their lives. Most criminals bring lawyers and just say ‘no comment’, that was what they were used to. They spoke to the receptionists, two pretty women, but all they wanted to discuss was if they could claim back some money for their clothes being ruined by blood and plaster dust. McAllister looked like he was drunk; he said all he did was try to take his work colleague to the pub for an early pint, then he offered to buy them a pint if they could continue the interview at The Slop Bucket.
Then you had the Blades woman. She was just openly hostile and threatened to bring in her firm’s lawyers to rip them a new one. And her boyfriend – well, he just wouldn’t shut up and kept taking the piss while either humming away or saying movie quotes. It did make you want to quit and run to a pub.
The Chinese mafia lead with Kettering was a no go. The Chinese refused to acknowledge anything, although there was a domino from the Limping Dragon. And they had photos of the deceased man with a supposed schoolgirl. If it was a girl, she must have had a hard life.
But today was the final interview. After that they were told to either charge someone or shut it down. So here were Detective Sergeant Ian Stimpson, who after the Blades interview – which had spread around the station – was called Boycie, and his partner Detective Constable John (Marlene) Matthews. They really hated Sam Blades. They were waiting for the man they thought was the target: the multimillionaire Mr Peter Sanderson.
The two police officers were stood by the main doors of the Scotland Yard building. The Flying Squad men watched as three brand-new Range Rovers with tinted windows pulled up to the front steps. ‘Jesus, he’s a bit serious isn’t he?’ said DC Matthews.
‘Well, in his defence, he was shot at,’ DS Stimpson added, and then watched as three from each car bailed out and surrounded the man who had got out from the first car.
As they stepped up, you couldn’t even see the man in question. Then, just behind the Range Rovers, a top-of-the-line Mercedes drove up. And out stepped a tall, grey-haired man with a briefcase who then walked in behind the group.
‘And here’s the lawyer.’
The doors opened and the security team spread out allowing the important man in a very expensive suit to step forward and smile faintly, although it never reached his eyes. ‘Good afternoon, I’m Peter Sanderson, and this is my lawyer, Matthew Golden from Golden & Golden.’
Stimpson walked forward and shook the men’s hands, but they didn’t seem too happy about it. They introduced each other and invited the two suited men to an interview room, forcing the security detail to wait with help from a couple of big blokes from the police traffic division.
As they settled down, the lawyer took out a pad and pen and made notes on the police officers’ names and ranks. ‘Mr Sanderson has come in of his own free will and is willing to try to help – to a point,’ Mr Golden advised them.
‘Thank you, to you both,’ the DS said and then looked at his notes. ‘May I ask what position you hold at the company known as Shimmering Dreams?’
Peter smiled again, and it felt like a shark smiling back at you. ‘I am, as you say, a silent partner and financial backer,’ he said before looking at his brand-new Rolex as if he was bored already.
DC Matthews was enjoying the sight of these posh blokes in the stained, and supposed to be white – interview room. ‘Do you have an office in the building?’
Sanderson looked at him. ‘No,’ he said flatly.
‘Oh, then what were you doing in the building on that day?’ the DS added to his partner’s question.
‘Meetings again,’ he said flatly.
The two policeman looked at each other. John Matthews picked up his pen. ‘With whom, if you don’t mind me asking?’ He was poised, ready to write.
Sanderson rolled his eyes and huffed. ‘You can ask whatever you like, officers, but—’ he leaned in closer to the men ‘—I will only answer questions that I think are pertinent to this investigation – of which, this is not one of them.’ He then leaned back into his chair with a smug grin on his face.
Boycie smiled back. ‘That’s okay, sir, we can ask about that later, it’s not a problem,’ he said, making a note. ‘Now, do you know why anyone would try to have you killed?’
The businessman leaned across and whispered to his lawyer, who then replied, ‘What makes you think it was my client who was the target? I believe there were several others who were in the vicinity,’ Mr Golden stated. Then he was whispered to again before adding, ‘Including Sam Blades, who we believe somebody has tried to kill in the past, if I’m not mistaken?’
The detective sergeant nodded. ‘Indeed, a fellow employee who was trying to carry out security checks on Mr Blades’ girlfriend, whom I believe was represented by your brother,’ he retorted. Take that, you prick.
The lawyer raised his eyebrow, but Sanderson beat him to answering. ‘Yes, it was a tragedy, but as I understand it the perpetrator was told by his boss to leave it be and let it go,’ he explained, staring at the DS. ‘Yet he defied all the managers and, as they say, went rogue!’
The two policemen both nodded. ‘Well, that’s the story anyway,’ Stimpson said mockingly. ‘Did you know Albert Kettering at all, Mr Sanderson?’
The businessman seemed to be getting agitated now. ‘No. I may have met him at a function, but I don’t have any dealings with anyone apart from the CEO Charles Madison,’ he answered angrily.
‘So, was that who you were meeting on that day,’ the detective sergeant asked, knowing the man had slipped up and giving the smug git an invisible wanker sign.
The room went silent. ‘I understand you’re involved in many other companies…sir?’ John Matthews asked, filling in the brief pause and ticking it off his list of things to ask.
‘So do many people in this city. What is your point?’ Sanderson replied, letting a sneer slide across his face and balling his fists.
The policeman shrugged. ‘Do you have any links to Chinese business here or abroad?’ the DC asked politely, trying to create an angelic face, although deep down he wanted nothing more than to go back to the good old days of policing, where he could slam the arrogant tosser’s nuts in an office drawer.
‘Why do you ask, Officer?’ It was the lawyer this time as he had put his hand on his client’s arm to stop him from retorting and possibly saying something incriminating.
DC Stimpson looked through his notes. ‘Well, the rumour is that the hit on you was ordered by an organised crime gang from China.’
‘So, maybe you should speak to them. But, as you say, it’s just a rumour!’ snapped Sanderson, ignoring his lawyer’s advice.
The DS nodded. ‘Oh, we shall,’ he said, giving him a faint smile. ‘It seems Kettering was being blackmailed by them, too,’ he said and flicked some more pages. ‘So, do you?’
‘Do I what?’ Sanderson shot back, but he had a smirk on his face this time.
‘Have you got any links to Chinese businesses?’ John Matthews fixed the man a look that had crumbled the defences of many a criminal or supposed criminal.
The businessman stifled a yawn. ‘I’m growing tired of this, but to answer your question, I don’t have any links to China,’ he said and then stood up. ‘I think we are done here, gentlemen,’ and turned to leave.
‘Please be available in case we need to discuss anything further with you, sir,’ the DS said forcefully but with a smile. ‘And if you think of anything else, please contact us.’ He held out a card.
Peter Sanderson looked down coldly at the man. ‘If you want anything else, you can go through my lawyer.’ He then walked off with his solicitor in tow, totally ignoring the proffered card.
Once the door closed, the two policemen looked at each other and shared a look that screamed what a lying dick!
Chapter 15
Sam Blades
It had been a good few weeks now since my return to work. Who’d have thought I would admit to missing daytime TV. Jerry! Jerry! Jerry! But in my typical professional attitude, I crushed the phased return. Beam me up, Scotty. I had my return to work interview with the HR Manager John Dufresne. Now, that was a very awkward thirty-minute meeting. For some reason he was holding on to a lot of emotional baggage. And the way he stared at me – either he hated me with such fury it could outpower the sun or he fancied me. I was still on the fence about that. He did flinch when I asked how his netball team was doing; I never did get the answer. He just declared the meeting over and I was good to resume full-time hours. He’s a weird one.
Summer was finally coming to an end as things went back to normal…ish. They replaced the twat Kettering, may he rest in peace, or not, I don’t really give a shit. But that’s what people always say in reference to a dead person. I swear if Jack the Ripper was killed nowaday
s there would be someone who said how quiet he was and how he was good to his mother.
Anyway, I digress, the new man’s name was Danny Doo, a tall, wafer-thin bloke who used to work for the British Embassy in Thailand. It helped having an English mother and a father from Thailand. But I did have to restrain my tongue somewhat when I heard his name.
I was advised to pull back any fun and games in the workplace; after all, it’s a place of work, Sam (blah, blah, blah). Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to sign up my boss Simon Edwards, who looked like Richard Dreyfuss from Jaws, for the Round the World Yacht Race. All he wanted was a bigger boat.
It was quite nice getting back into the swing of things. Finally, my files were back to the normal levels. Same kind of sickos, though. Who dreams about wearing a koala suit running around Hyde Park willing to perform sex acts for eucalyptus leaves? And people think my mind is a minefield.
I heard a cough from my metrosexual workmate Mark Wayward; he seemed to be sporting a guilty and worried look. ‘What’s up, Mark?’ Please don’t confess your undying love for me. I turned to the man, who shouldn’t have been sweating in an air-conditioned office. I raised my eyebrow in my best Spock impression.
‘Well, as you haven’t been about…mate…’ he said and raised up his hands. ‘You had good reason, I know… Well, Karen and Bunny have been talking about getting together.’
My look hardened. ‘What have you done?’ I spat at the now panicking man.
‘It wasn’t me; it was the girls… Honestly!’ Mark begged, looking pathetic. But whenever the girls got together and drank, there was always blood spilt.
