by Mark Timlin
67
‘Stop where you are,’ I heard Sanjay call to Meena and Rajah as I reached the open front door, and saw him pull the knife tighter against Paul’s Adam’s apple. It was a flat-bladed weapon that caught the sun as it came out from behind a cloud. It had stopped raining by then, but water dripped from the trees and sparkled on the paintwork of Rajah’s Mercedes as it sat on its four flat tyres in front of us. ‘Rajah, you traitor, you’re a dead man. Throw down your gun,’ said Sanjay.
From my vantage point I saw the big man open his hands to show they were empty.
‘You fired out the back, I know you’re armed. Now give it up or I’ll shoot.’ This time Deepak spoke.
Definitely time for me to make an appearance. I stepped through the door, the Browning pointing skywards and said, ‘He’s telling the truth.’
‘Sharman,’ said Deepak. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Just came along for the ride.’
‘That’s something you’re going to regret. Throw down the gun.’
‘No,’ I replied, bringing the Browning down to point in their direction. ‘You lot throw down your guns.’ I supposed there’d be no shooting from their side when Meena was in the firing line and I just hoped that my supposition was correct.
Deepak looked at Sanjay and laughed. ‘You’re joking.’
‘I’ve never been more serious in my life,’ I said.
‘We’ll kill you.’
‘Will you? Killed a lot of people, have you?’ Our only chance was wrong-footing them and trusting that the cops had been called and weren’t far away.
The look on Sanjay’s face told me he hadn’t.
‘I thought not,’ I said. There’s a lot more to shooting at live targets than posing around in front of a mirror with your dick in your hand.’
‘That remains to be seen.’
‘Take my word for it.’
I moved closer to where Meena was standing. ‘Keep still,’ said Deepak.
I shook my head and he raised his gun.
‘Listen,’ I said. ‘Let Meena go. She could get hurt.’
‘If providence means it to be.’
Jesus, another fucking philosopher. What was with these geezers?
‘Kill him,’ he said to Sanjay.
At first, whether he meant me, Paul or Rajah wasn’t clear. But whoever, it was too much for Meena. ‘No!’ she screamed and made to run towards the group, but I caught her arm and pulled her to me. ‘Let me go,’ she cried.
‘Stay here,’ I said. ‘And be quiet.’
‘She never listens,’ said Deepak. ‘Surely you must know that by now.’
‘Sanjay,’ I said calmly. ‘Let Meena go. Let Paul go. There’s no need for this. They’re not up to this.’
‘No,’ he replied. ‘Our sister maybe. But not him. He betrayed our friendship like the snake he is. He violated our sister. He deserves to die.’
‘No he doesn’t,’ I said.
‘Please Sanjay,’ Meena wept. ‘Please.’
Paul shouted. ‘I made the call.’
‘Then it’s all over, Sanjay,’ I said. ‘The police are on their way. Can’t we just talk about it?’
‘There’s been enough talk. We’re out in the wilds,’ he replied. ‘They’ve got a long way to come.’
‘But they’ll get here eventually. Why don’t you just admit that Paul and Meena are together. They’re married now.’
‘Not in our religion they’re not,’ he sneered. ‘And they never will be.’
‘Let him go,’ Meena shouted as she struggled in my grasp. ‘He’s my husband. I love him.’
‘What do you know of love?’ said Deepak.
‘I’m having his baby,’ she said. ‘I know that much.’
‘His baby, you whore,’ said Sanjay, his face visibly paling to a nasty shade of grey. ‘How could you do such a thing? I’ll kill him first then cut the bastard out of your belly.’ And with a flick of his wrist he cut Paul’s throat and a huge gout of blood poured down his chest.
It happened so suddenly as the sun vanished behind a cloud again, that for a second I didn’t believe I’d seen it.
‘Noooo,’ Meena howled like an animal in pain and went limp in my grasp.
Sanjay dropped Paul to the drive and stood back proudly, a stain of gore shining on his sleeve.
‘Bastard,’ said Rajah and started towards him.
All four guns came up and I knew that it was within a hair of going off. Meena was slumped back against me in a faint and I couldn’t get into a firefight with her acting like a human shield, so I grabbed her round the waist and threw her to the ground, rolling under the lowered body of the Merc, dragging her with me through the mud and feeling the rough edges of the undercarriage cut into my shoulders.
Macintosh fired the AK47 in our direction, chopping up the surface of the driveway then slamming into the bodywork of the car as I wrestled my gun round.
Then the others started firing together, so that it was only ballistics that could later work out who shot whom. Macintosh kept the machine-gun pointed in my and Meena’s direction until the thirty-shot clip ran out. That took just one pull on the trigger. Bomber Jacket tried for us too, but thankfully the Mercedes had been made of high-grade steel and kept most of the bullets within itself: the interior got sliced to ribbons as I saw later when I examined the remains of the car. Sanjay and Deepak fired at Rajah, both compulsively pulling the trigger time after time. The pathologist found seventeen entrance holes in his body. Such was the range and the power of the brothers’ guns that all but three shots passed through his body, massive though he was. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the slugs chop the great man down to the ground sending ribbons of blood flying out from his back as the bullets chewed their way through him.
I fired the Browning once, hit Deepak in the side, changed aim slightly and hit Sanjay somewhere in his chest. The Browning felt good in my hand. Warm and comfortable like an old friend. Meanwhile Macintosh had thrown the Kalashnikov to the ground and was reaching for something under his coat when I let him have a couple of bullets in the midsection that knocked him to the ground, so that left only Bomber Jacket, who was keeping up fire from the apparently endless supply of .44 shells in his Uzi. Bullets were smacking into the ground all around us as I double-tapped again and saw his head explode like a watermelon as both bullets hit him in the face.
All this had taken less than ten seconds.
I slid out from under the car, pulling Meena behind me. She opened her eyes and I wished she hadn’t. It was the perfect time for her to remain unconscious. I stood up and looked at the six bodies scattered around the drive. Three of them seemed to be still breathing. Three were definitely beyond saving. Unfortunately it was obvious Paul and Rajah were two of the latter. Meena joined me. ‘Is Paul all right?’ she asked in a small voice. I checked his vital signs but I knew it was hopeless just by the amount of blood he’d shed. I stood up again and shook my head at Meena, and somewhere far off I heard the whoop of police sirens.
And then to make a perfect day complete Rajesh Khan walked into view. ‘My God,’ he gasped. ‘What happened?’
‘Are you satisfied now?’ I demanded. ‘The man that Meena loved and one of your best friends are dead. And this man too.’ I pointed down at Bomber Jacket. ‘And your sons and the other one may be soon if we don’t get help. Is that enough for you?’
‘I didn’t mean for this to happen.’
‘What did you expect? You told me they were beyond your control at the start of all this.’
‘That’s why I sent Mohammed and Benjamin to help them.’
‘Whilst you stayed nice and safe and warm in the car. Whichever of you survive will be in the dock if I have any say in the matter. This doesn’t end here.’ I indicated him, his sons and the other two gangsters with a sweep of my arm.
‘You’re all guilty.’
‘We have good lawyers,’ he said. ‘The best that money can buy.’
‘MONEY!’ I heard Meena screech from behind me and I saw her rise, the knife that had killed Paul in her hand. She must have picked it up from where her brother dropped it, and with more speed than I gave her credit for she ran towards her father and plunged the blade into his chest over and over again until I managed to pull her off, blood staining her clothes.
The sirens were getting louder by then so I wiped the Browning down with the tail of my shirt and pressed it into Rajah’s hand putting his finger on the trigger. ‘Thanks, my friend,’ I whispered. ‘You know I’d do the same for you.’
I stood, threw the spare clips into the undergrowth and I was just tucking my shirt in again when the first police cars entered the road outside.
I did nothing to prevent Meena’s attack or help to save Khan.
It seemed like justice of a kind that his daughter killed him.
68
Sanjay, Deepak and the other gangster survived to go to court. Sanjay was charged with the murder of Paul Jeffries and Rajah. Deepak was a co-defender. The other gangster was charged with being an accessory. There was some confusion about who had shot the pair of them and killed the other one. The three Asians claimed it was me and I denied it, citing the fact that Rajah had been found with a smoking pistol in his hand and I was unarmed. The cops tried some tests on me to find out if I’d recently fired a gun, but they were inconclusive. I stuck with the story that I’d hidden under Rajah’s Mercedes protecting Meena and her unborn child. The car was full of enough bullets to confirm that. I had a good brief and between us we brazened it out. Meena was in no condition to confirm or deny my story and eventually it all went away.
I put on a suit and tie to appear for the prosecution at the Old Bailey. The verdict was guilty. Sanjay and Deepak got life, the other one got twelve years. It was a decent result.
Mrs Jeffries and Peter Jeffries were there. She followed me into the big hall and thanked me for doing what I’d done for her son and his wife.
I was ashamed that I hadn’t done better and I told her so.
She put her hand on my sleeve and thanked me again. ‘At least you were there,’ she said. ‘You tried.’
I covered her hand with mine, then I looked back as I walked away and saw that she was crying. Peter Jeffries ignored me and I never saw or spoke to him again.
And as for Meena. She never got over seeing Paul and Rajah being killed in that short, desperate battle, and then killing her own father. She was found unfit to plead and sent to a secure medical facility in Cheshire to have her baby. I visited her once after the birth. I caught a minicab from the railway station in the nearest town. It was spring by then, and as we drove through the countryside there were lambs in the fields and daffodils were bending in the cold breeze coming off the Irish Sea. At one point a track from the Bay City Rollers came on the radio that the cab driver was playing softly in the front and it reminded me of Rajah. I’d grown fond of him in those few short days we’d been together in that chilly cottage, and I missed him.
I told the cabbie to wait on the turnaround outside the imposing gates of the hospital. After I’d shown the bloke in the gatehouse the visitor’s order that the doctor who was treating Meena had sent me, I walked up the long drive to the building and was shown to the visitors’ room where the lino was scuffed, and the rugs scattered over it were all crumby and covered with cigarette burns and dried, shiny pieces of chewing gum. Meena came in with a nurse in attendance but I don’t think she recognised me, and her once bright eyes were dull and lustreless.
We sat in front of a picture window that looked over the grounds, her baby, a boy named after his father, in a carrycot beside us.
Meena never spoke, just hummed a nameless tune the whole time and after an hour of listening I left.
I haven’t seen her since and don’t go to Suri’s restaurant any more. Melanie wouldn’t see me after all the media attention and eventually found someone else who can give her the kind of life she wants.
So that was that. Meena’s husband, father and protector dead. Her child in care. She herself under medical supervision. Her brothers in jail, and me all alone again.
There’s nothing like a fucking happy ending.
Copyright
This ebook edition first published in 2016
by No Exit Press
an imprint of Oldcastle Books
PO Box 394,
Harpenden, AL5 1XJ
noexit.co.uk
@NoExitPress
All rights reserved
© Mark Timlin 1998
The right of Mark Timlin to be identified as author of this work
has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
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rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are
the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies,
events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN
978-1-84344-803-7 (print)
978-1-84344-804-4 (epub)
978-1-84344-805-1 (kindle)
978-1-84344-806-8 (pdf)
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