Waging War To Shake The Cold

by Wild Wolf Publishing

  He surprised himself at how reasonable and calm he sounded as he eyeballed them all, then he gave DJ a brief nod and turned to walk away.

  A hand on his shoulder spun him round to find, predictably, that he was facing the heavy team. Having learned through combat that it pays to make your move at a time of your choosing, Kats held his immediate reaction to the physical contact in check.

  “Where d’ye think you’re goin’ then?” said DJ giving him a firm shove into the side of the trailer, his backup closing the gap between him and Kats. “We’re no’ done here yet Kats. One way or another we’ll be havin’ that load off ye.”

  Looking them over, his mouth dried as he weighed his options. The damp chill from the rain soaked lorry seeped through his jacket, and he reckoned it would take a good ten strides to get to the cab if he could break free.

  A lot can happen in ten strides.

  Squeak was at the rear of the bunch, just where he expected him to be, DJ was standing dead ahead of him, flanked on his right by a big ugly gorilla and on his left by two wee nyaffs with home made tattoos on their knuckles, their fingers garnished with sovvy rings.

  The gorilla leaned further forward, pushing his face close to Kats’ to increase his menace and reinforce DJ’s position. Kats reckoned he was 6ft 4 and about 18 stone, but there was a gut bulge over his tracky bottoms, and from the reek of stale fat on his breath Kats reckoned he was no stranger to the full Scottish breakfast.

  “Okay, okay DJ, there’s nae need to get heavy,” he said carefully. “We can sort this out between us surely? If yer dad says you’re the man tae do the deal, then you’re the man. I didnae mean anything okay? All as I want is a fair shake like I said. I’m only interested in a wee step up in the money, that’s all I asked yer dad for, I don’t want in on your business, I don’t have any contacts and I can sort all of that out with yer dad when I see him.”

  DJ began to wind his neck in a bit and his impromptu reconciliation speech seemed to be hitting the mark. The lie of the land was now clear: DJ obviously didn’t want him on the inside where he would be a threat to his pre-eminent position, but he’d been told by his dad to open negotiations so that was why he was making the attractive offer on the one hand but on the other was making it impossible for Kats to accept.

  This way he’d be able to go back to Papa and tell him it wasn’t his fault; he’d tried his best but there was no deal to be done; that Kats was an unreasonable prick and had to be taught a lesson. DJ would save face and the Big Man would be on the back foot because Kats now knew bigger plans were being made for him. He parked the thought; he would have to work out his next move with Big Davie later, the immediate issue was what to do about DJ.

  “Look DJ, as far as I’m concerned your family business is your family’s business. I’m only doin’ this tae get by the now, I don’t plan on making a career of it. There’s at least ten grand in the wagon for you, why don’t you make me an offer and we can do the deal right now? You know my cut was twenty percent before, and all I want is a wee bit more, let’s call it twenty-five hundred and the job’s done?”

  “Well, that’s more like it Kats,” sneered DJ as though victory was both assured and imminent. “Yer startin’ tae see sense, but two and a half is more than it’s worth tae me. If yer no’ interested in ma dad’s offer I’m no’ so sure we should even be doing business the way we used tae. I reckon we should just call it fifteen hundred for the load on the neb, you go your way from now on and there’s nae hard feelin’s.”

  He turned with a wink and a cheesy grin to his posse, all of whom had relaxed visibly now that their gaffer was back in the driving seat.

  And that’s when Kats had made his move and flattened the big ugly gorilla with a lightning punch to the unshaven and plookie jaw which had been so helpfully stuck out for him.

  He was only two steps from the cab door and freedom when he was pulled sideways into the wheel arch. Spidery arms fastened on his shoulders and a lightweight body slammed into him from behind. Bony fingers tightened on his throat and he took a feeble punch to the back of his head.

  “Got ye ya bastard. Intae him boys.”

  He couldn’t see his attacker but recognised, with some surprise, the voice as Squeak’s. Keeping his cool he reached out and grabbed the tyre iron from its holster behind the cab and swung it viciously over his shoulders, feeling the solid thump and hearing the yelp of pain as it connected somewhere on Squeak’s body.

  The grip on his throat loosed as Squeak fell to the ground, moaning with pain. Now that he was armed he spun round to wait for the next wave, it was pointless trying to get into the cab until he’d made sure they couldn’t just drag him back out of it before he could get the engine started.

  DJ was first to him and Kats aimed a backhanded swipe to his head which he tried to duck, but the tyre iron clipped his cheek, opening it up and knocking him back into the other two neds bunched behind. They fell in a heap and that allowed Kats enough time to yank open the cab door and leap in.

  The two remaining neds regained their feet and jumped over DJ to get up on the doorstep, but Kats had locked it as soon as he was inside. He grinned at them as they made slashing signs down their cheeks with their fingers, mouthing muffled obscenities which were drowned out by the roar of the diesel engine starting up. They jumped off as he selected first gear, and the truck was rolling towards the car park exit before they could collect DJ and run for their car.

  Laughing out loud, Kats watched in his mirrors as they tried to sort themselves out. Squeak and the downed gorilla were still on their arses where he’d knocked them over, and they were being left behind as the other three piled into the Beemer. There was a significant pause before the headlights came on, indicating they’d got it started, and Kats assumed that someone had dropped or lost the keys.

  Fucking amateurs.

  Squeak ran in front of them waving his arms frantically just as the car lurched forward, and was knocked flying as they fish-tailed out of the parking bay. The car skidded to the left and pranged a stationery vehicle, setting alarms wailing, and then they tried to reverse it, almost driving over Squeak who had managed to get to his hands and knees.

  With surprising agility the gorilla got into one of the rear doors and then Kats lost sight of the farce in his mirror as he joined the slip road onto the motorway.

  The adrenaline from the unplanned violence was still crackling in his veins as he hit the CD “Play” button, filling the cab with AC/DC’s “Back In Black” at a deafening volume.

  Up through the gears the big truck roared as the track changed to “You Shook Me All Night Long”; Kats tapping away on the steering wheel in time to the music. He’d learned to drive HGVs in the Army and all the lads played loud rock or rap music whilst driving, unless on a combat patrol. There was nothing quite like tearing down Nasiriyah Road in an Armoured Personnel Carrier whilst playing heavy metal at crushing volume to get your blood pumping.

  He punched the air as the bass kicked in just before the first chorus in “You Shook Me…” He wasn’t exactly an AC/DC fan but clearly the former driver of the truck was, and at least it wasn’t fucking James Blunt.

  The rain was now torrential and the wipers were swooshing at full blast as he hauled the heavy vehicle up to 70mph and onto the M8, all the while checking the mirrors for the inevitable pursuit.

  He’d no clear plan, it had all happened so fast. It would be best just to make a run for it and get as far away as he could, hopefully without getting pulled over by traffic cops.

  Once he’d shaken off DJ he’d find a quiet place to pull over, then call Big Davie and try to sort it all out. He knew that wouldn’t be an easy conversation, after all he had lamped the Big Man’s Golden Boy with a tyre iron, but he hadn’t stoved his head in so maybe it would be possible to work something out.

  If it got too sticky he’d just look up one of his old forces buddies, lie low, and try to figure out where to sell the stuff on his own. Almost all of his mates wou
ld hide him, no questions asked, same as he’d hide them under similar circumstances.

  It’s what mates did.

  Chapter 2

  It would not budge. Try as she might it was simply immovable, the nut apparently welded to the bolt.

  “Damn thing,” she sighed in exasperation.

  Why is it that the last wheel nut is always seized solid? It doesn’t seem to matter what order you take them off, the last one never moves. What was that old advert on TV? ‘You can’t get better than a Kwik Fit Fitter?’ Well, if the bloody Kwik Fit Fitter hadn’t put the damn thing on so tight I’d able to get it off myself. Typical.

  She kicked the wheel in frustration and eased herself erect, hand on her lower back where it was sore from bending over.

  There was nothing else for it; she’d have to get the recovery people out. Sighing loudly, she fished in her handbag for the membership card and mobile phone. She couldn’t read the number on the card without her glasses, which naturally she couldn’t locate in her handbag, so she got back in the car to get the number from the reverse side of the tax disc holder.

  The print’s larger on that, thank God. I bet it’s a sodding call centre in India too.

  She punched the number into the phone in a silent tantrum and impatiently waited. After the inevitable run-through of her details, Gita or Jeeta or whoever she was speaking with told her that someone would be out to her within the hour.

  Terrific.

  Cars were zooming past on the motorway at a ferocious speed and she knew she should get out and wait behind the barrier of the hard shoulder, she’d read somewhere it was more dangerous to be in the car than out of it, but the July rain was bucketing down and she didn’t care to get any wetter than she already was. Water was still trickling down her neck from her attempt at changing the wheel, making her shiver.

  She sighed a third time, started the engine, flicked on the windscreen wipers and settled down to wait.

  Wonder if I should I put the seatbelt on again? She gnawed her lip. Probably not, it’s not as though I’m going to be driving anywhere.

  Eventually she settled on a compromise and scooched over into the passenger seat, as far away from the carriageway as it was possible to be without actually getting out of the car and standing behind the safety barrier.

  That’ll have to do; I’m not wasting this hairdo for anything.

  Time dragged. She rubbed her left thumb over her fingernails, one by one; flicking the ends audibly in an involuntary tick she had picked up as a teenager and never lost.

  It used to drive Norman nuts, and looking back she wished she’d done it more just to annoy him.

  But when he’d looked at her, raising an eyebrow in that meaningful way of his, she always stopped doing it and found something else to busy her hands with.

  Norman had a wide repertoire of significant gestures. There was the aforementioned raising of the eyebrow indicating she was to stop what she was doing because it was annoying him; there was the rolling of the eyes skywards and the tapping of the tip of his tongue on his upper lip telling her emphatically that he thought she had been stupid; there was the drumming of his fingers to say she was not being quick enough about whatever it was he asked her to do; and let’s not forget the hearty punch in the ribs just whenever he felt she needed it. Norman had been more than a little handy with his fists.

  She’d read somewhere, she was an avid reader, that the Romans used to punch their women in the face on Valentine’s day, an ancient feast based on Romulus and Remus before the Christians hi-jacked it and sanctified it.

  They punched them, unbelievably, to see if the women were fertile. If that was what Norman was trying he was certainly keen to be a father, and maybe she could have accommodated him if it had only been one date a year. But it was a regular feature of her life: a slap, a punch, a kick, and then a hand-wringing apology followed by an attempt at justification, ending ultimately in her having to accept the blame for provoking him in the first place. It became a pattern. Then a life.

  Still, she’d been young, and looking back on it all now, a wee bit daft and so she had put up with it, aye, put up with that and more, until one day he’d come to her all dressed up in his good suit, carrying a small duffel bag.

  It was early in the morning and she was still in bed. He’d actually been nervous, she remembered it well.

  He couldn’t even look me in the eye, the great big galoott, just stood there shuffling his feet and mumbling about things he was doing at his work.

  She’d known something was coming but she’d let him stew on it until he eventually blurted out he was leaving her. She had wanted to shout with joy inside and cry aloud in terror all at the same time. She found out later, of course, that he’d been seeing another woman.

  She hadn’t cared about that, she’d pretty much guessed it anyway since he’d barely even spoken to her for months, and when he did he’d openly sneered. Now she knew for certain why – she was being compared. Good luck to her, she’d thought at the time, she’ll damn well need it.

  Such friends as she still had, the few Norman allowed her to keep in touch with, had been glad obviously. Initially she was as pleased as they were. She thought her life could perhaps restart, like she was given the gift of a second chance. But as the months went by she began to realise she’d wasted her best years on her worst nightmare, and had a growing fear what she was left with wasn’t really enough to start again.

  At least, none of the men she’d met since Norman had seemed to think it was worth starting again with her. Some shred of her pride stubbornly remained throughout everything she’d gone through, but all was lost after a date with a stranger she’d met through an internet dating site.

  It was awful. He was nothing like his profile and had clearly lied about everything, including having his own hair. When she’d tried to make an excuse and leave early he’d become abusive and pushy, quite frightening her, and then he’d said;

  “What’s your problem hen? It’s not as if you’re a catch at your age or anything. You’ll never get a man with your attitude. Wimmin like you need to grab it when they can you know and I’m as good as your likely to get. I’ve had plenty wimmin younger than you, you know, so how about it?”

  It was as if the last of the fight had left her there and then, and she had all but resigned herself to a lonely old age. Then she’d met Brenda.

  Chapter 3

  He could see the BMW coming up fast, lights flashing enthusiastically as though that would be enough to make him pull over. He grinned, a grin that his mates back in Iraq had seen many times, a grin without humour, and a grin that was a sure indicator of impending action if you knew Kats. He wasn’t about to be pushed about by this snotty wee shite, even if his dad was a big-time gangster. It wouldn’t be long before they were alongside, and that was when the fun could start.

  “Here ye come… here ye come... come on…”

  The BMW was about half-way along the trailer’s length in the inside lane when Kats moved the truck positively towards it. It was meant as a warning – back off, or else.

  The car swerved onto the hard shoulder but the driver didn’t lose control. Kats saw the rear window slide down and - Shit! – a gun was waved out.

  A flash told him the first shot was fired as he hauled the truck further over onto the hard shoulder, trying to deliberately force them off the road this time.

  Whoever was driving the BMW stood on the brakes and tucked the speeding car in behind the lorry neatly and professionally. Kats could see it weaving about in his mirrors, looking for a way past.

  The shooter was now leaning completely out of the back window, waving the gun about wildly and sparking off the odd shot.

  “Right – let’s give you a real brake test then,” Kats said, as he stamped on the middle pedal.

  The beemer swerved round to the outside, narrowly missing the rear fender of the truck. Kats let out a whoop that a rodeo rider would be proud of.

  “Did ye like
that then ya knob?” he yelled at the wing mirror.

  Immediately, as if losing patience with the chase, the pursuers made a high speed lunge up the fast lane with the gunman leaning well out of the window so he could aim over the roof of the car.

  “You’re asking for it this time pal!” shouted Kats at the mirror, and took his opportunity to squeeze them up against the central rail.

  “There’s nowhere to go now Mister. Let’s see how ye like that!”

  With some satisfaction he felt the truck connect with the side of the car, watching it hit the barrier. It spun half round and the back end hit his rear wheels, flipping the trailer out sideways.

  “Shit!”

  He struggled with the steering wheel, the entire vehicle shuddering and bucking from the impact, smoke pouring from its locked wheels.

  He pumped the brakes in desperation and hit the horn, but the truck now had a life of its own and was sliding about wildly on the rain-soaked road. Cars were trying to dodge out the way, and just as he thought he was getting things back under control he clipped a small vehicle, causing the trailer to jack-knife completely.

  The HGV was now on its own trajectory and Kats was merely a passenger waiting for the inevitable accident. He braced himself and hoped he wouldn’t be too badly hurt.

  Out the corner of his eye he saw a stationary vehicle ahead, parked on the hard shoulder. He slammed the horn in urgent warning. It was all he could do apart from wait.

  Chapter 4

  “Bloody car! Bloody wheel! Bloody Breakdown People! Bloody rain!”

  She hit the dashboard with her journal out of frustration.

  Bloody life…

  She switched on the car’s blower to clear the heavily misted windows, folding her arms under her bosom for warmth. Her hands, dirty and oily from the tyre wrench, were now marking her new sweater.