The Child Taker Is Criminally Insane Box Set

by Conrad Jones

  “Tell me to get lost if you like, but are you police?” he whispered with a cheeky smile on his face.

  “Get lost.” Nate didn’t look at him.

  “Don’t be like that. I’m being nosey, I know, but why are you watching Benjamin’s gaff?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nate looked at him this time. The fact that the man knew the dealer’s name worried him. He needed to know if the guy was curious or a friend of the drug dealer. He was annoyed that he had made it so obvious he was watching the house. His hatred of the man who owned it was dulling his senses. He needed to keep sharp if he was to revenge his family’s death.

  “Are you drugs squad? I hope you are, that bastard needs stringing up by the bollocks, mate.” Lloyd spoke with a thick scouse accent, but there was something false about it. “If I had my way, I would put a bullet in the back of his skull.”

  “Do you know him, then?”

  “Nah, I know of him. He’s a drug dealing scumbag. It pisses me off that everyone knows what he does, yet the police do nothing about it. The kids on the estate are knocking on the door from dawn until dusk. Are you drugs squad, then?”

  “No.”

  “Rival dealer?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Customer?”

  Nate laughed. This man was persistent; he had to say that. He was a strange looking character, but there was something amusing about him. “Let’s say I have a similar opinion to you.”

  Lloyd held out his skinny hand. “Patrick Lloyd.”

  Nate ignored the gesture and continued to look out of the window. He didn’t want to shake the man’s hand. He was too pushy and there was something strange about him. There was something about his eyes. They were bright and darted everywhere. Gecko had seen that look in people who were being hunted. “What do you do, Patrick?” he asked without looking at him.

  Patrick was skinny and lean. He wore his hair cropped short. He looked like he could have been a squaddie once. He took a mouthful of dark bitter and smiled. His teeth looked false. “You know, a bit of this and a bit of that. I’m ex-army, Cheshire Regiment.”

  “I thought so,” Nate nodded. “Me too, intelligence.”

  “Desk jockey, eh?”

  “No. I didn’t have a desk.” Nate looked him straight in the eyes for the first time. It was then that the dealer’s front door opened. Nate looked inside the house while the entourage filed out.

  “Benjamin is the lad in the Parka. The others are his lowlife mates. The things you see when you haven’t got your gun, eh?” Patrick winked.

  “That is very true,” Nate laughed. “I wouldn’t advise shooting a drug dealer in broad daylight anyway.”

  “Do you think anybody from around here would give a shit?” Patrick shook his head as he spoke. “No one would remember seeing anything that happened on this estate. Do you want a pint, mate?”

  Nate looked at his glass. It was empty. It was a long time since he met someone who made him laugh. “Why not, I’ll have a lager, please.”

  “Nice one, I’ll be two minutes,” Patrick smiled and walked to the bar. Nate looked around the pub, taking it in for the first time. He had been so focused on the Benjamin property that he hadn’t noticed his surroundings. The pub was clean and modern in design. The floors were polished pinewood and the brass rails on the bar sparkled. There were four bandits spaced out, one on each wall. All four machines were being pumped full of dole money; the players were all similarly dressed in tracksuits with the trousers tucked into their socks and training shoes. Patrick chatted with a fat barmaid as she poured two new pints. He eyed her up and down with a little too much interest. She flicked her hair and laughed, flirting with him. The drug dealer and his cronies had disappeared into the maze of alleyways that dissected the estate. “So, are you police or what?” Patrick returned with a big grin on his face.

  “No. I’m an advisor nowadays, a consultant of sorts.”

  “I can get you into that house.” Patrick stopped smiling and winked again.

  “Why would I want to go inside the house?” Nate frowned and looked away. He suddenly felt uncomfortable. It was as if Patrick could read what he was thinking.

  “I don’t know. That is your business. But if you did want to, I can get you into that house.” He took a long sip of his beer and licked the froth from his top lip.

  “He has cameras all over the place.” Nate looked out of the window again.

  “Let’s just say I’m an advisor like you, a consultant expert on breaking and entering peoples’ houses,” Patrick laughed. “The cameras are no problem. He has an old system that uses wires. Wires can be cut.”

  “What about the dogs?” Nate knew all the answers already, but he wanted to test Patrick.

  “Poison.”

  “Here, you two,” one of the tracksuits had approached the table that they were sitting at. “Do you want any weed?” The youth wore his hair shaved and he had stars tattooed beneath his left ear. His accent was local and he looked over his shoulder nervously as he spoke.

  “Fuck off,” Patrick Lloyd said politely.

  “What did you say, you blurt?” the youth snarled. He was trying to sound tough, but he couldn’t carry it off.

  “You heard me,” Patrick stood up. “Fuck off.”

  The youth looked him in the eye, trying to decide what to do next. Patrick smiled, but there was no humour in it. It looked more like a grimace. The dealer muttered under his breath and walked away. As he did, he raised his middle finger and waved it in Patrick’s face. Patrick was fast. He grabbed the extended digit and twisted it hard against the knuckle. The dealer went down onto his knees in seconds.

  “Ah!” he cried. The pub went silent, everyone looking toward the scuffle. Patrick twisted the finger harder and the youth went over onto his back. “Fuck off! Get off me!”

  “I told you to fuck off, now do it!” Patrick was still smiling as he helped the dealer up onto his feet. The other tracksuits in the pub were looking on with interest. Some were laughing at the youth and enjoying his embarrassment while others were snarling. Gecko thought it was time to leave.

  “Finish your pint. We’ll talk at my place.” Nate swallowed his beer and stood up. He met the glares with his own stern eyes. They were outnumbered, but the youngsters were wary. Patrick followed suit and emptied his glass. As they left, a beer glass shattered above the door and their legitimate birth rights were questioned, but no one followed them.

  “I could have done without that,” Nate said.

  “What’s the problem?” Patrick laughed.

  “I was trying to be discreet.”

  “Well, you weren’t,” Patrick laughed again. “It could not have been more obvious that you were watching Benjamin’s gaff. You were behind a desk too long, soldier.”

  Nate laughed too. He was right. Patrick Lloyd was sharp and he could be useful. They climbed into his car and made the short journey in silence. Both men knew they were about to plan a serious crime. A burglary at best, but murder was more probable. Nate lived in a large detached house in a secluded cul-de-sac. Most of the driveways were empty, their owners at work. There were a few obligatory four by four vehicles parked up waiting for the school run, but the road was quiet. As the Gecko parked up, a dark Audi pulled in behind him.

  “Rozzers,” Patrick said, looking in the wing mirror. “They’ve been behind us since we turned into your road. I can spot them a mile away.”

  “Shit!” Nate whispered. He had left the drugs and money he had taken took from Grebby under the back seat.

  “What do they want?” Patrick raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m not sure. I lost my son not long ago. It’s probably something to do with that.” Nate opened the door and climbed out. He closed the door before Patrick could say anything. Two overweight detectives approached him, wearing crumpled trousers and scruffy overcoats. The pride of the police force they were not. “How can I help you?” He asked as they came closer.
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  “Do you know Carl Lewis?” The detective asked without making any small talk.

  “He was a friend of my son.”

  “Have you seen him at all?” The police officer eyed him suspiciously. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. His shoes were scuffed and dirty.

  “No, not since Nate’s funeral.”

  “One of his friends told us you were asking questions about him,” the second officer added.

  “I did ask questions about him, because you didn’t.” Nate answered icily. “I wanted to know who gave my son the ecstasy tablet that killed him.”

  “Did you see Carl Lewis?”

  “No. I asked who brought the tablets to the wake. That’s it.”

  “So you found out who gave the tablet to your son, and then you did nothing about it?” the detective pushed.

  “I did do something about it.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I reported it to you!” Nate jabbed his finger towards the detectives accusingly. His face contorted into an angry snarl. “I reported it to you and you did nothing!”

  The detectives looked at one another and blushed. They shuffled uncomfortably on the pavement. “There was no offence committed. Your son took the tablet. Nobody forced him.”

  “Fuck you!” Nate snarled. “He had just buried his mother.”

  “Where were you last Wednesday?” the detective pushed on regardless.

  “Why?” Nate shrugged. He needed to buy some time.

  “Answer the question.”

  “We were fishing on the Wirral,” Patrick Lloyd spoke. He appeared from behind Nate. “We went to New Brighton last Wednesday.”

  The detectives looked deflated. “Were you there all day?”

  “We got there about seven and didn’t leave until midnight. We landed shitloads of mackerel, didn’t we?” Patrick turned to Nate. “What’s this all about, anyway?” he grinned.

  “Carl Lewis is missing.” The detective answered.

  “I’d be looking at his friends and his dealer,” Nate said. “He was selling ecstasy to teenagers at college. It’s a dangerous game to play.”

  “Thanks for your time.” The detective mumbled and walked back to their car. Nate and Patrick Lloyd watched them drive away. It was the beginning of a murderous partnership.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Gecko: The Past

  Nate Bradley wanted to get into Jacky Benjamin’s home and interrogate him. He needed to know who supplied him with drugs. His investigations so far had told him that not only had he supplied the tablet, which had killed his son, he had also supplied his wife with a cocktail of drugs. Patrick Lloyd had a score to settle with Jacky Benjamin, too. He had ordered a plaything from him and then pulled out at the last minute. Jacky Benjamin had wanted a Chinese woman for a night. Simple enough to arrange, but he had called it off and made Patrick look foolish with his contacts. To make matters worse, Benjamin had spread rumours that it had been Patrick who had reneged on the deal. He lived or died by his reputation, and he couldn’t allow that to happen. When Patrick had contacted Benjamin about the rumours, the dealer had threatened to have him killed and thrown in the Mersey. Patrick wasn’t having that from a man half his age. He wanted payback, and luckily for him, so did Nate Bradley. Patrick had an affinity with him. They were both killers. Bad people magnetise with one another. What he didn’t understand was the fact that Nate killed for a purpose, whereas Patrick killed for pleasure. They were planning to break into Benjamin’s house, take his money and drugs and execute him. Patrick wanted to redistribute the drugs for profit, but Nate would not hear of it. He had lost his wife and son because of drugs, and he wanted them taken out of circulation. There was quite a stash building up in his lockup again. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with them, but he didn’t want Patrick to sell them. As they planned the hit, Patrick had other ideas.

  They sat a distance away from the dealer’s house and watched. After a week of reconnaissance, they knew his movements and decided to hit him the following night. They drove to the Bluebell estate and waited for the shellsuits to leave. It was two o’clock in the morning when the bedroom light went off, and then they climbed out of Patrick’s van. Benjamin must have gone to bed for the night. They pulled balaclavas on and grabbed their tools. Patrick was fascinated by Nate. There was coolness about him that he admired. It was obvious that he was a professional. He didn’t know how far he would go or what he was trying to achieve exactly, but he would find out tonight.

  “Did you kill him?” Patrick asked unexpectedly.

  “Who?” Nate answered.

  “Carl Lewis, the kid that disappeared.” Patrick smiled beneath the balaclava. He knew the answer but he wanted to know how deep their trust went.

  “Yes, he killed my son,” was the simple answer.

  “What about Benjamin?” Patrick pushed.

  “He killed him too. Let’s get on with it.” Nate closed the door and walked toward the back of the house.

  “What about whoever supplied Benjamin? When does it end?” Patrick beamed as he spoke.

  “We’ll find out who supplied him tonight.” Nate mumbled. He wasn’t sure when it would be over. He didn’t care.

  As they approached the house, Nate kept low and moved fast. It was basic training in the forces. Keep low, move fast and watch your corners. Soldiers never forgot it, because it was what kept them alive in urban warfare. The dogs were already dead. Patrick had poisoned them three days earlier. Benjamin was devastated, thinking it had been retaliation by someone with a grudge. Patrick used pliers to cut through the camera wires and disable the alarm box. He drilled through the window frame and threaded a wire around the window latch. They were inside the house in seconds.

  The living room was a mess, beer cans and fast food cartons littered the floor. There was a teenage boy asleep on the settee, snoring peacefully. Nate moved quickly and pulled him off the settee by his feet. Patrick was on him, gagging him with a strip of towel. They fastened zip ties around his wrists and ankles and then dragged him into the corner.

  “Make a sound and you are dead,” Patrick hissed. The teenager nodded. As Nate moved out of earshot, Patrick whispered in the boy’s ear. “You’re dead anyway, but we”ll have some fun first, kiddo.” The teenager`s eyes widened in fear and tears formed. Patrick liked it when they cried.

  “Where does he keep the drugs and the money?” Patrick asked. It was a long shot, but worth a try. The juvenile shook his head. He was scared, but he didn’t want to grass. Patrick slapped him hard across the face, splitting his lip. They moved upstairs as one unit, listening for any sign that their presence was known. It was silent. Patrick opened the front bedroom door and they moved toward the slumbering lump in the double bed. There was a baseball bat leaning against the wall next to a bedside table. The table was packed with dirty coffee mugs in various stages of deterioration. There was a smell of mould mixed with sweaty feet pervading the room. Patrick picked up the baseball bat and before Nate could protest, he smashed it into the drug dealer’s knees.

  “What the fuck!” Benjamin bellowed. He sat up and tried to scramble for the drawer of the bedside cabinet. There was a gun there, but he couldn’t reach it. They were too quick. He was bound and gagged in minutes. They carried him down the stairs between them and fastened him to a wooden chair with bungee cords. His teenage friend looked on with fear in his eyes, especially when Patrick plugged in the Morphy-Richards steam iron he had found in the kitchen. Nate was sharpening a carving knife in front of Jacky’s face. His eyes widened in terror as he started to cut his bedclothes off with the blade. He looked at the iron steaming and realised what was going to happen. As Nate cut the elastic in his boxer shorts and ripped them off, Jacky Benjamin panicked and started choking on the gag. He was trying to say something.

  “Take the gag off,” Nate said.

  “I think he’s nervous, do you?” Patrick laughed.

  “Most people hate ironing.” Nate bent down and
looked into the dealer’s eyes. “Especially naked it can be dangerous. You wouldn’t want to burn the crown jewels, would you?”

  “What do you want?” Benjamin gasped as the gag was removed. “Who are you?”

  “We want your money and your drugs, Jacky.” Patrick picked up the iron and held it close to his face. He pressed the steam button and the iron hissed as it released boiling vapour from the ports in the heat plate. It was close enough to act as a warning.

  “I don’t keep anything here,” Benjamin lied.

  Nate was about to speak when Patrick pressed the iron against the dealer’s face. He held it there and pressed the steam button again. Jacky Benjamin screamed. Nate rammed the gag back into his mouth, worried the screaming could be heard from outside. He glared at Patrick, but didn’t say anything. There had been no need to burn Jacky yet. The psychological threat was enough. It was becoming clear that Patrick was impulsive, and impulse lead to mistakes. Nate Bradley didn’t like mistakes.

  “I’ll ask you again. Where are your drugs and your money?” Patrick asked. He sniffed the burnt skin that was stuck to the iron and laughed. There was a perfect imprint of the heat plate burnt into Benjamin’s cheek. He was trembling with shock and tears streamed from his eyes. Patrick pulled the gag out of his mouth.

  The drug dealer gritted his teeth and swallowed hard before answering. “Fuck off!”

  Patrick was about to burn him a second time, when Nate stopped him. “Wait.” He held up his hand. “Do you want this crazy bastard to burn your face off for the sake of your money? He will carry on all night, can you?”

  “There’s a couple of grand in the drawer next to the bed,” Benjamin said. “Take it and piss off.”

  “Oh, I think you are insulting our intelligence, Jacky boy,” Nate laughed. “A clever boy like you keeps more than a few grand around. One last time, then I’ll leave him to it. Where are the money and the drugs?”