The doorbell rang startling Moira who cast a worried glance in Horan’s direction. He gestured for her to open the door whist removing a nine millimetre Browning from his waistband. In
the doorway stood a short figure that appeared vaguely familiar. ‘Yes can I help ye?’ she asked.
‘Hello Seamus,’ said the man ignoring her question. He had difficulty, seeing Horan over her shoulder. ‘Oh it’s yerself, said Seamus. ‘It’s alright girlie, this is Walter Dane, the intrepid reporter from the Telly,’ he added sarcastically, lowering his weapon. It was all over in a blur. An unseen hand shoved Dane painfully against her sending both sprawling into the centre of the room. Black was through the door and attacking the old man in the blink of an eye. Moira looked on in shocked horror as a huge blade sliced into Horan’s cheek.
‘Quiet now slut,’ he spat, ‘that is if you want this murdering piece of shit to last a few minutes longer.’ She nodded, mesmerised by the speed of the assault. ‘Very good, Walter the bag I dropped whist making my entrance, inside you will find some short lengths of rope. Take a few pieces and tie the slut up. Be sure to tie her securely, we don’t want her breaking free. As he barked his orders he held the knife menacingly at the old IRA. man’s throat. ‘This is your daughter Seamus? I can’t believe an ugly bastard like you could produce such attractive offspring. No impossible, the milkman must have delivered an extra helping of cream while you were out murdering for the cause,’ he chuckled mirthlessly. Black released his grip on the IRA. man having relieved him of his weapon. ‘Lie face down on the floor Seamus.’
‘Fuck you,’ shouted the old man. The Browning flashed across his face opening another gash in his cheek and sent him crashing to the floor. ‘Bind this old turkey well Walter, he’s quite frisky for his age.’ Dane, red faced with guilt, again complied. ‘Let’s see how good a boy scout you were Walter,’ said Black, tugging on the girls bindings. His manic cackling filled her with terror. He was viciously hauling at the knots, enjoying her discomfort. ‘You have done a professional job on those knots Walter, I do believe that you are entering into the spirit of the thing at last. The girl glared at the little journalist. ‘Judas,’ she spat, forcing him to avert his eyes from her vindictive stare. ‘Now now, don’t be too hard on poor old Walter. He has been rather caught up in circumstances beyond his control. Right Walter, time to begin, I trust that you are not the squeamish type. In the bag you should find a camcorder and some wring materials. Be sure to catch every detail especially the bitch’s screams.’
His head pounded against the wall as Clements pounced on him from halfway up the stairs. Black kept a firm grip on the weapon managing to discharge a shot but Clements grasped his arm painfully levering the gun downward. The weapon barked again as both men grappled for superiority. Black had no answer to the punch, which Tullen blasted, into his left temple. The Preacher fell; stunned by the blow he lay in a heap at Clements’ feet. ‘Big fucker isn’t he,’ commented Clements. Together they quickly trussed him before he regained consciousness. They were still deciding what to do with him when a groan came from the floor. Having lent all their attention to the assailant, they had forgotten Horan. Dane was first to react, in a flash he was over at the old man’s prostrate form. All watched in alarm as the journalist tore at the knots. A pool of blood was forming below the old man’s body. Oh my God he’s been hit,’ cried Dane. Tullen quickly knelt by his side, ‘How bad is it?’ he enquired worried by the large pool of scarlet liquid. ‘It’s bad enough son,’ the old man croaked.
‘It looks like I got me wish. I managed te die in battle after all,’ he coughed. His breathing was becoming rapid and spasmodic. ‘You know what is required of ye now Con. Ye have te make the bogeyman disappear. Perhaps the two of us will share a shovel in hell.’ The old warrior coughed once before his eyes lost their sparkle.’
‘Seamus no,’ screamed Moira, ‘I didn’t understand. Please forgive me.’ Tears were streaming as she watched the old man’s body tremble in it’s final throws before entering oblivion. Tullen took her in his arms holding tightly as if afraid that she would vanish from his life once more. ‘Oh Con,’ she sobbed, ‘I am so very sorry. ‘Black had regained consciousness. With a satisfied sneer, he surveyed the scene. ‘Perhaps there is a God after all,’ he purred. For a terrible moment I thought that the pathetic bastard was going to escape justice.’ He began to laugh. An evil spasm gripped him as he was submerged in the raptures of madness. In time he composed himself, glancing from one face to another. ‘Come on now, even a thick Paddy must be able to see the irony here. In your efforts to help him, you only quickened his demise.’ Again he broke into a fit of hysterical laughter. ‘It’s f—f–fucking priceless,’ he stammered, between shuddering guffaws.
‘Shut yer fuckin mouth,’ shouted Tullen but his anger only fuelled the madman’s mirth. ‘Mr. Dane, how did he get ye te betray us?’ said Clements sadly.
‘He has my wife and daughter trussed up in the back of his van. I had confidence that you would be able to overpower him. If I had not complied with his demands, he threatened to murder them both. He said he would gut them like fish. Oh God Elizabeth and Melanie, I have to release them,’ he shrieked, suddenly remembering his family’s predicament.
‘Figures Walter, tell ye what, go and set them free. Put them in your car and drive them home te the warmth and safety of yer wee house. We’ll clean up the mess here,’ said Billy.
‘What do you intend doing with Black? What do you mean by clean up the mess?’ he asked suspiciously. ‘Never mind askin questions Mr. Dane, just do as yer bid,’ ordered Tullen forcefully. The journalist realised that it was futile to argue, he could tell by the set of Tullen’s jaw. His thoughts turned to the women in his life, lying in dread, wondering if he was coming to rescue them.
‘What the hell, it’s time to close the final chapter on the Preacher,’ he said resignedly, with shoulders hunched, he trudged from the house. Nathan Black was out of his life forever. As he closed the door behind him, he felt no remorse or pity for the Englishman. Better that he just disappears were Dane’s thoughts as he lengthened his stride, heading for the van. Dane had aged a good twenty years since the first metallic message from the Preacher had started him on his fateful journey.
‘What do you intend to do now boys?’ enquired Black, showing as little concern as one would when asking the time.
‘Oh don’t worry Mr. Black, we have a special resting place chosen especially for ye,’ replied Connor. Together they manhandled Nathan into the rear of the van that Clements had brought to the front of the house. The Danes had long since departed. ‘In another few minutes it will all be over,’ smiled Billy, as they headed toward a secluded spot in the woods, less than a mile from the house. Moira had been requested to tidy the place as best as she could but it was merely a ploy to keep her mind of what was about to transpire. Black’s death was necessary she knew and God knows he deserved what he had coming to him but a small voice deep in her soul was telling her that the taking of a human life was the Lord’s prerogative. She hated him for the inhuman acts that he had committed but he was not fully responsible for his actions. The man was insane and should be hospitalised, not put down like some rabid dog.
The night was as black as pitch. The woods, which guarded centuries of secret legend waited to receive another. The wind had ceased to howl and the trees stood silently watching as the van came to rest at the designated spot. ‘Here we are Nathan. It’s taken a while and ye gave us a run for our money but this is the end of the line pal,’ uttered Tullen quietly.
‘Yes I suppose it is. I do have one regret though. My final resting-place is in this God forsaken dump. I loathe the place. There is one consolation; it’s stopped raining. I should have hated to expire in a downpour. Do you mind if I take a few moments to reflect?’
‘Not at all, I’m sure my colleague won’t mind sparing ye a few more minutes of torment,’ spat Connor.
‘I know that it’s an imposition but do think I could smoke a final cigarette. A dying man’s final request and all that like in the movies. For the life of me I cannot think of some famous last words. My brain works much better when I smoke. There’s a packet in my breast pocket, if you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Aw fuck it, why not? It’s more than ye gave yer victims but we are Irish and a great deal more charitable than ye Brits. Clements placed a hand on Black’s shoulder as he fished for the cigarettes in the killer’s pocket. In a flash Nathan’s hand arced upward. There was a glint in the darkness and Billy screamed. On the journey from the house Black had managed to free himself from his bonds. He had recovered a long stiletto blade that he had secreted in the rear of the van. The blade penetrated one of Billy’s kidneys and the searing pain was unbearable. As he fell to his knees Tullen reacted quickly, shooting Black in the chest. The maniac was knocked off his feet by the impact of the bullet. Tullen rushed to him gripping him by the collar. ‘Ha ha,’ cackled Nathan, ‘I exterminated the louse that murdered my beloved Jason and still managed to take another of you scum with me.’
‘That’s where yer wrong ye mad fuckin bastard,’ whispered Connor triumphantly. ‘It was a set up. Auld Seamus never killed the boy Jason, I did.’ An expression of amazement, then horror clouded the Preacher’s face.
‘You,’ he spluttered.
‘Yeah me,’ smiled Tullen, as he pulled the trigger. The bullet took Black high on the temple sending him backward into the bog. Quickly Connor rushed to his friend’s side. ‘How badly are ye hurt Billy?’
‘It hurts like hell Con. I think it’s pretty serious.’ Tullen gently helped Clements regain his feet. He loved this man and he was not about to let him die. Taking great care he helped Billy into the rear of the van. ‘Lie there for a wee while, I’ll try te get us back te the house as quick as possible,’ Driving with great care whilst retaining as much speed as possible, Connor transported his injured colleague back to the house.
‘Moira, Moira,’ he cried but received no answer. In frustration he aided Billy to exit the van. Gingerly the two comrades made painfully slow progress toward the house. ‘Moira,’ he shouted loudly, as he eased Clements unto the settee. ‘Moira where the fuck are ye for Christ’s sake?’
‘Oh she’s quite comfy Mr. Tullen,’ came an unfamiliar voice. ‘Quite an eye catcher your Moira. She is up in the master bedroom awaiting action. If you know what I mean,’ leered Fairchilds.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ shouted Connor, reaching for his gun.
‘Ah ah, that’s a no, no Con,’ said Carter Fairchilds, raising his own weapon. ‘And what has happened to Billy? Your wee mate looks the worse for wear. We should be tending to him not squabbling amongst ourselves. Be a good scout and take out the gun with the finger and thumb of your left hand please.’ Tullen complied. ‘That’s good, now drop it to the floor and kick it away.’ Again Connor did as he was bade. ‘What is this?’
‘He’s the second fuckin loony ye’ve met today,’ Clements informed him.
‘Shut yer fuckin gob,’ yelled Fairchilds, lapsing into a broad Belfast accent. ‘You’re gonna get yours shortly ye wee bastard but I know how ye love te watch a bit of S and M, so I won’t disappoint you. Yes Billy, if yer very good ye can watch Moira give the performance of her life. Or should I say death.’
‘Why ye-’ Tullen’s protests were cut off mid sentence as the giant’s gun spoke.
‘No heroics Mr. Tullen, we don’t want you dying before your time, do we,’ said Fairch-ilds, having regained his composure. ‘Now turn around,’ he ordered. Tullen reluctantly did as he was ordered. He lost consciousness as the huge man brought the butt of his gun crashing down on the Irish man’s unprotected head. In an instant Carter was on top of him roughly dragging Tullen’s arms behind his back. Taking great care he began to bind Connor’s hands together. So engrossed was Fairchilds that he did not notice Clements struggle to his feet. Ignoring the excruciating pain he edged toward his friend’s attacker. At the last moment the big man sensed the danger and spun around to face Clements but he was a second too late. His eyes watched in horror as the shining blade came thrusting down to meet him. The knife severed his jugular sending blood cascading into the air. Clements summoned all his remaining strength and withdrew the blade. He changed it’s position and plunged it upward between his enemy’s ribcage and into his heart. The man tumbled to the floor dragging Billy with him. He fell heavily across Clements causing his injury to worsen. In the act of dying, Fairchilds had managed to take Billy with him. The big man had not managed to bind Connor properly and with an effort the IRA. man managed to free himself. He dragged Carter’s huge cadaver from his dying fried.
‘Billy, oh please God no Billy,’ he cried.
‘Go up and see if Moira’s Okay Con. Yer man’s bad news. I have to know that she is alright.’ Con rose and hurtled to the stairs taking them two at a time. Moira lay on the bed where Fairchilds said she would be. Apart from an ugly bruise to her cheek she seemed to be fine. Quickly untying her he said,’ Come on hurry, it’s Billy,’ and without waiting for a reply was gone. She heard his heavy footsteps as he bounded down the stairs and was up following him in an instant. Tullen was kneeling by his friend’s side. Moira joined him taking the dying man’s hand in her own. Con was in tears as he watched his partner’s life ebb away. He knew that he was powerless to help him.
‘It seems that I spend my life savin yours Tullen,’ he said managing a feeble smile.
‘Hold on Billy, I’ll get help. Moira will stay-’
‘No Con it’s over. Ye have te finish up here and get away. That bastard Starrett went back on his word. He won’t rest until yer dead. Moira.’
‘Yes what is it Billy?’ replied Moira, her heart breaking.
‘Ye were right girl. The whole thing is just one fuckin mess.’ She squeezed his hand gently.
‘Please God don’t let him die,’ she pleaded.
‘It’s too late talkin to the big man now love. Look after me friend. Get him to hell out of this cesspool before it’s too late.’ His grip tightened and he was gone.
The END
Seeds of Evil Page 39
