The Badge & the Pen Thrillers

by Roger A Price

  Then Quintel heard a dull crack coming from in front of the motor. Not the sound of a suppressed round, but the noise a reinforced windscreen makes when submitting to one. He saw the back of Reedly’s head slump forward, and Quintel let go of his breath. He could now see the shattered windscreen, and then he saw Charlie approach from side-on, from beyond the trees on the other side of the road, rifle slung over his shoulder. He watched as the man dressed in black leaned into the BMW and started to manhandle Reedly’s body from the driver’s seat. He watched Charlie as he dragged the cadaver out onto the path, and then beyond the tree-line and out of sight. Quintel knew what would happen next and didn’t need to wait around. He’d leave Charlie to finish off and clean the scene, he’d see him later. It looked as if he’d been wrong about Charlie; it had been a clean, no-nonsense job, nicely done. No, he’d seen what he’d come to watch; the slaying of Jim Reedly. Time to make himself scarce while Charlie busied himself in the opposite wood.

  Chapter Two

  It was almost dark as Quintel arrived at his industrial unit; its brickwork looked even more orange than normal in the mixture of illumination cast from the last seepage of the sun’s glow, together with the strengthening glare of the street lamps. A contact had taken out a short-term lease on the two-storey building on his behalf. It had a workshop on the ground floor with three offices above. Quintel had only used it for a couple of days and now Reedly was dead, he didn’t plan to hang around. It was situated at the rear of the small modern industrial estate and was far enough away from its nearest neighbour so as to ensure privacy. Quintel had parked his hire car in front of another unit 100 metres away. There was no CCTV at this point according to his man, Jason, and in any event he wouldn’t be returning to the motor. It had been hired a few days earlier by his contact on a nicked driving licence, and he’d always worn gloves when using it. His contact would return it to the hirer tomorrow as arranged.

  Jason was the one person he trusted, a brutish man who had worked with Quintel for years. His name didn’t fit his character. As he approached the front doors Jason was there to greet him.

  ‘Any problems, Boss?’

  ‘Sweet, all done.’

  ‘Charlie?’

  ‘Sound, though I was hoping for a head shot – more dramatic.’

  ‘He do him in the chest?’

  ‘I guess so; he never got the chance to get out of his motor, just slumped forward.’

  ‘Sounds like a pro, central body mass – bigger target. Heads are easy to miss.’

  Quintel just nodded as he entered the building and passed Jason, he knew what he’d said was right; he’d have just loved more of a show.

  Thirty minutes later, Quintel was behind a desk in the largest of the three offices with Jason stood next to him. On the desk was a briefcase with 10,000 pounds in it in used notes. The door opened and Charlie walked in, holding a plastic carrier bag.

  Jason spoke first. ‘You park where I told you?’

  ‘Yes, where there is no CCTV, I’m not an idiot.’

  ‘Just doing my job.’

  Charlie stopped in front of the desk, and looked at the briefcase as he spoke. ‘Is that what I think it is, Mr Quintel?’

  Quintel nodded, and then dipped his brow towards the carrier bag. ‘Is that what I think that is?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Now, let me see yours first,’ Quintel said, and then watched as Charlie reached into the carrier bag and pulled out a small translucent plastic bag. He briefly held it up in front of him as he faced Quintel, before quickly putting it back inside the carrier bag. ‘Not so fast, Charlie, I want to savour the moment.’

  ‘Look, Mr Quintel, you’ve seen it and I’ve got to get going to make sure I’m where my alibi says I am, and in any event, it’s grossing me out.’

  Quintel produced a white cardboard plate from the desk drawer and placed it on the empty desk top.

  ‘Planning a picnic?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘I want you to empty that bag onto the plate, before you take the briefcase. No offence Charlie, but we’ve not worked together before and the last man who tried to pass me off with a leg of lamb is now keeping the bottom-feeders in the Irish Sea happy.’

  ‘None taken,’ Charlie said as he pulled the dull plastic bag out again and emptied its contents onto the plate. ‘Voila,’ he said as a bloodied heart plopped onto the platter.

  Quintel stared at the grisly item, and after a few seconds Charlie reached forward towards the plate.

  ‘Not so fast, Charlie,’ Quintel said, adding, ‘Jason, grab him.’

  Jason jumped behind Charlie and before he’d any time to react, had bear-hugged him and kicked his legs from under him. Charlie went down with a thud. Quintel was always impressed with the big man’s agility.

  Jason quickly searched Charlie, who was now face down on the floor and starting to remonstrate.

  ‘Clean,’ Jason said, as he stood up with his right boot on the back of Charlie’s neck.

  ‘Cuff him, and stand him up.’

  Seconds later Charlie was back on his feet with his hands plasti-cuffed behind his back, with Jason stood slightly behind him.

  ‘What the hell do you think you are doing, Quintel?’

  ‘I could ask you the same, Charlie.’

  ‘Look man, I don’t know what your problem is, but I killed the man, as directed, and there’s his bleeding heart – no pun intended.’

  ‘I have to agree Charlie, the kill looked sweet,’ Quintel said, enjoying the confused look on Charlie’s face, ‘you see; I was in the woods watching.’

  ‘Well, you know the job’s been done then.’

  ‘The trouble is Charlie, what you’ve brought me here is a pig’s heart.’

  Charlie hesitated before he answered, and Quintel saw uncertainty in his eyes.

  ‘Look man—’

  ‘No bull,’ Quintel interrupted, before Charlie could continue.

  ‘Ok, it’s a pig’s heart,’ Charlie said, continuing, ‘but you saw the kill. I just didn’t fancy cutting his heart out, it would take ages and cause a lot of mess, so I thought I’d bring you this instead, just to make it easier, not to rip you off or anything.’

  ‘I’d like to believe you, Charlie.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I got the nickname “Butcher” not because of my sunny outlook, but because as a youth I worked in an abattoir for a while. Though it does no harm for people to think otherwise.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Quintel, it was unprofessional of me, but I just wanted to get out of there as soon as I could, you can understand that, surely?’

  ‘If that was true, then why did you move the body into the woods, if not to remove the bastard’s heart?’

  Charlie didn’t answer.

  ‘Unfortunately, I left as you were dragging the body from the car; I wished I’d stayed a bit longer now.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because I’ve got a funny feeling, if I had, I’d have seen Reedly walk out of that bloody wood.’

  ‘Wait, no way, you saw the hit. You said so.’

  ‘I saw his windscreen shatter, that’s all. If I ask Jason to go have a look now, what will he see?’

  Charlie suddenly threw himself backwards into Jason, knocking him off balance. He turned and started to run for the door, but his head looked too far in front of him and without free arms to counterbalance he went down hard. Before he could get up Jason was on him, again impressing Quintel with his sprightliness.

  ‘Bring the bastard back here.’

  ‘Yes, Boss.’

  ‘And hold him down, this time.’

  Quintel watched as Jason dragged Charlie by his collar and slammed him face down on the end of the desk.

  ‘Please, Mr Quintel, I’ll make it right, if you let me,’ Charlie said, as he turned his face onto one side towards Quintel.

  ‘Hold his head still.’

  Quintel waited until Jason had finished. He stood astride Charlie, one hand on his
neck, forcing it against the table, and the other on his head, keeping his face flat.

  ‘And how the hell do you propose to do that? Not only is the bastard still alive, but he now knows he’s at risk, so will be almost impossible to get at. What did you do, blow us out for a double pay day?”

  ‘No, no nothing like that, they were on to me, made me go through a mock-up, said I’d get some sort of immunity.’

  ‘I learned many years ago to trust my premonitions, which is why I brought this with me,’ Quintel said, as he produced a short-handled machete from behind his desk. He moved around to the end of the table.

  ‘No, for God’s sake, I’ve got a family, I’ll do—’ Charlie started to say.

  Quintel’s axe cut off his sentence and nearly severed his head. One fast downward hack was all it took to achieve both. Quintel and Jason sprang backwards, away from the resultant jet of blood, like demonic acrobats. Quintel smiled, he’d not lost all his butchering skills.

  Chapter Three

  Vinnie Palmer changed cheeks as he made himself comfortable in the driver’s seat of his small white van. He’d been parked up near the large Asda superstore for a couple of hours now. He was in a layby far enough past the store so as not to attract any attention from their security, but not so far into the estate as to draw notice from the main industrial estate’s staff. Though recces done over the last couple of days showed the main site only had one security man, and he seemed to spend most of his time sat in his office doing the crossword or whatever. And in any event, he had his cover story ready if approached – a travelling rep, he’d pulled off the M6 motorway and parked up for a while as he was far too early for his next appointment, a bogus company in Preston.

  He could of course just pull out his detective inspector’s warrant card and badge, but this was an undercover operation and he didn’t want to trust anyone he didn’t have to, safer that way. Though having seen the security bloke from the main site earlier, he wasn’t expecting to be disturbed.

  He was quite enjoying himself, apart from his aching backside. Normally, he was only brought in when bodies started turning up, but this job was different; a threat to kill and a chance to intervene before the murder was committed. That didn’t happen too often.

  He kept his gaze on the building he had seen Charlie enter a while ago, but two things were starting to bother him; the failing light; as he would start to stand out more once the daylight was gone; a man sat in a van in the dark would raise a question in anyone’s mind, even with the site security bloke. Especially after he’d been here too long for his cover story to hold up.

  Secondly, he’d seen the main target – Jack Quintel, drive into the site some time ago, followed thirty minutes later by Charlie Parker - who should have done what he had to and have been out by now. Normally, on a job like this the Special Ops department would have run the job on the ground, but due to the high profile nature of the intended victim – Jim Reedly – Vinnie’s boss Harry Delany had asked him to cover it.

  But it was passing dusk now; something must be wrong, time to ease his backside and go and take a closer look. Then his phone went off which made him jump. Vinnie grabbed it, hoping it was Charlie, but the screen said “Harry”. He took the call. ‘Hi Boss, there’s no change here, Charlie is still in there.’

  ‘How long?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Too long. He said he would show Quintel the pig’s heart, grab the dosh and that would be that. I’m going to take a closer look.’

  ‘Ok, but be careful, and keep me informed,’ Harry said before ending the call.

  Once out of the van, Vinnie stretched his six foot frame as he made his way to the rear of the vehicle. He was still fairly fit, which he should be for a man in his thirties, but he’d never been any good sat idle in surveillance vehicles, it just adds up to back and bum grief. This was just one reason why he preferred working homicides.

  He was already wearing his Glock 17 handgun in a shoulder holster under his suit jacket; he just needed to change the coat. Once he was sure he couldn’t be seen he opened one of the back doors to the van and changed. He locked the vehicle before walking away with his yellow reflective jacket and white hard hat on. He’d chosen to wear a black business suit as the trousers wouldn’t look out of place under the high-viz coat. One could always dress down, when you needed to; but you couldn’t dress up. An idiom he’d always respected.

  With a torch in hand Vinnie made his way straight to the rearmost building. He was hoping he could help extract Charlie from whatever drama he was in, covertly, by bundling in as a night security patrol starting his round. That way, Charlie could get out without the whole job being blown. If it was too late for that, then he’d just go noisy. His sudden change of character would buy him a few seconds to call for back up. He was no expert when it came to these sorts of jobs but he’d met a few police undercover operatives in the past, and Charlie looked the real deal to Vinnie, so he was still hopeful the delay wasn’t a problem.

  As he neared, he could see that the main entrance to the building was open; one of the two main doors was slightly proud of the other. He also noticed a light on upstairs in the middle office. Previously gathered intelligence told him that there should only be Quintel and his minder in there with Charlie. Vinnie was about fifty metres away now and felt his own pulse starting to rise, though he tried to keep a calm visage in case he bumped into anyone. Years of experience had taught him how to foul himself while appearing to enjoy it. He also knew that a calming demeanour had a mirrored effect on others, too. The misreading of a potential threat to an adversary could save your life in the moments of advantage it could give. He unzipped his jacket halfway to speed up his access to the Glock. He glanced up at the lit window, the blinds were drawn, but then he saw something which made him stop to re-evaluate. The blinds were horizontal and they had just moved. He watched as they rolled up, disappearing as black smoke belched through the space against the glass.

  Vinnie started to run; he was twenty metres from the double doors when an explosion ripped through the upper floor. The shockwave hit him and propelled him backwards across the grass frontage. A weird sensation of being stopped, picked up, and then thrust backwards against his will. He felt a hot air-blast race over his face as he landed hard on his back. A moment later he put his hands over his face as broken glass peppered him. Seconds passed and he realised the glass shower had stopped. He pulled his hands away from his face; they had protected it but at a small cost as blood ran down his arms from what seemed like a hundred tiny stab wounds across their backs.

  He gathered his senses as he rose to his feet. Then a second explosion hit. Not as violent as the first, but as Vinnie instinctively tried to turn his back to the building the effects hit him side on, and decked him where he stood. He was straight back to his feet this time and could see that the ground floor was ablaze. Entry via the front was impossible, as flames roared through the entrance in their hungry pursuit of oxygen.

  He dialled three nines on his phone as he ran down the side of the building, alerting the emergency services. At the back he could see an open rear fire-door and instinctively looked across the grass away from the building. After 150 metres or so the flat turf disappeared downhill, towards the embankment of the northbound carriageway of the M6, and out of sight. Vinnie thought he glanced two figures vanishing into the darkness beyond the building’s security light’s reach. He went cold at the thought. Maybe there were three but he’d only seen two? Momentarily unsure what to do, he turned back to go to the rear of the building, but could see thick black smoke rolling out of the open fire-door. The building was becoming engulfed, and he knew he wouldn’t last seconds inside without breathing equipment; he’d been in similar situations before, years earlier when he’d been in uniform. It always shocked him how quickly the thick acrid smoke would cause your windpipe to constrict as if some invisible hand had your throat in a vice-like grip. Most fatalities in building fires were caused by the smoke, long before the flam
es got to work. But he also knew he would have to try. He ran through the doorway but immediately faced a furnace. The whole building was alight now and the flames darted and danced at him, forcing him back outside with spear-like jabs. It was like looking into the gates of hell, but not being allowed in.

  Back outside he gasped for air as the invisible hand let go and he turned back towards the darkness but saw no one. He prayed Quintel and his thug had taken Charlie with them, albeit under duress, because if they hadn’t and he’d been left inside, Vinnie realised he would already be dead.

  What the hell had happened in there?

  Chapter Four

  The shockwave from the first explosion hit the back of Quintel about the same time as the heat. Perversely, it propelled him forwards, helping him cover the ground more quickly, while still keeping his footing. He didn’t look around. Jason was ahead and he saw him disappear down the embankment. Quintel made it over the edge as he heard the second set of charges detonate. He was over the verge before the blast reached him. Slipping and sliding down the grass he came to an abrupt halt as he reached the hard shoulder as Jason stopped him falling into the main carriageway. He instinctively looked around but could see no attention from the passing traffic, which was light.

  It was fully dark now, and this section of motorway had had its lighting turned off, some pathetic attempt to save money by the local council no doubt. But the benefit was his; he doubted if anyone had seen either of them coming down the bank. He jumped into the front seat of the waiting Ford Mondeo. He knew Jason had arranged for its delivery only ten minutes earlier to limit the chances of any passing filth picking up on it; he’d even had a made-up sign put on the front windscreen with the words, “Awaiting Tow Truck” written on it. Jason took the cardboard sign and threw it onto the back seat before retrieving the electronic key from above the driver’s side sunshade.

  ‘You were right, Boss, to be worried about Charlie after all,’ Jason said.