Dead Watch

by Steve Liszka

  Mac approached Wesley’s window, looking up at the man in charge. ‘You know what you’re doing now?’

  Wesley nodded.

  ‘And just remember, all you’ve got to do is get him inside. Once he’s in, your job is done.’

  ‘I know, I remember,’ Wesley said with the merest hint of frustration in his voice.

  Mac leaned a little closer to the appliance. ‘I meant what I said yesterday. Once this is done, you’re out, for good. A promise is a promise.’

  He looked to the back of the vehicle where Jimmy was staring daggers at him. If the window was open any further, he probably would have stuck his arm out and grabbed the man by the throat.

  ‘Just make sure you get him in,’ he said to Jimmy. ‘I can trust you to do that, right?’

  Jimmy turned his head forwards. ‘We’re firefighters. We can get in anywhere.’

  Mac smiled. ‘See, I knew you were the right people for the job.’ He glanced at his watch before returning his gaze to Wesley. ‘You ready?’

  Wesley nodded again. ‘Do it quick before we get another call.’

  Mac took out his phone, pressed a few buttons, and held it to his ear. He waited a few seconds before speaking again. ‘Fire brigade, please. I think there may be a fire in my neighbour’s house.’

  Wesley rolled up his window and turned to Bodhi. ‘Let’s go.’

  The man who had just joined them, sat in the middle, rear-facing seat. He was opposite Jo, but it was Dylan his attention was focused on. He was seemingly oblivious to her and Jimmy’s stares.

  ‘How you doing, cliff-hanger?’ the new passenger asked.

  Dylan looked, but was unable to make eye contact with their passenger.

  ‘You should see this guy on the climbing wall,’ the man said, now looking to the other two. ‘He’d give Spiderman a run for his money.’

  Jimmy nodded at the fire-kit on the floor of the vehicle. ‘Get that lot on quick. We’ll get the call in a sec.’

  As he finished talking, the speaker on the computer activated, letting them know they were being called to action. Needlessly, Wesley looked at the screen where the nature of the call and address were displayed. He turned to the rear of the cab. ‘Guess where we’re going.’

  The journey was carried out on blue lights and at a fast pace. Bodhi was known for not hanging about on his way to calls. To give credit to their new recruit, he did a good job of getting his leggings and tunic on as the vehicle accelerated along the coast road.

  When it came to the roundabout at St Dunstan’s, the hospital for blind war veterans, the vehicle rocked from one side to the other as Bodhi skilfully negotiated it. The partly dressed man had to reach forward to steady himself and, in doing so, ended up only inches away from Jo’s face.

  ‘Hi there.’

  Jo’s response was stony. ‘Put on your seatbelt. Be a shame if you had an accident.’

  The man sat down, zipped up his tunic, then did as instructed. He looked down at himself then held out his arms, displaying his new look like a proud peacock. ‘So, what do you think? I’ve always fancied the idea of being a fireman.’

  ‘Firefighter,’ Jo corrected him. ‘We haven’t all got dicks.’

  The man laughed, then looked to Dylan. ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right.’

  A couple of minutes later, they were at their destination. The house they had arrived at was in Rottingdean, a pretty little village along the coast, filled with very old houses and very wealthy residents. They had come off the seafront and travelled through the village’s narrow winding streets until they ascended the base of the South Downs. Suddenly, it felt like they were in the countryside, with the houses being far more spaced apart. Each had their own land and, in some cases, fields and stables. Some of these premises were nestled in their own little valleys, far back from the main road with their own private lanes leading to them. It was one of these tracks they were travelling down as Wesley turned to the back.

  ‘So, this is what’s going to happen, um…’ Wesley said as he looked to the man struggling to clip up the strap on his fire helmet.

  ‘Call me Al,’ he said, ‘like the song. It’s not my name, but if you feel it makes us closer, then go for it.’

  ‘Okay…Al,’ Wesley said. ‘When we go in–’

  ‘When we go in,’ Call-Me-Al said, pointing at Jimmy. ‘My boss said he wants him to come with me.’

  ‘But I’m in charge.’ Wesley tried not to sound like the little boy who didn’t win pass the parcel on his birthday.

  ‘No offence,’ Al shrugged in a way that suggested he didn’t give a shit if he was offended or not, ‘but that’s what my boss wants. And what he wants he tends to get, but you guys already know that.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Wes,’ Jimmy said. ‘We’ll be fine.’

  He could hardly say he was happy about the situation, but he’d rather it was him than Wesley.

  ‘I do all the talking,’ he said to Al. ‘You just stand there and keep your mouth shut, got it?’

  Al nodded. ‘And once we’re inside, I do all the talking. You just stand there and keep your mouth shut. I’m just going to get what I came for, and then, we’re gone.’

  That was the brief that Mac had given them. They were there to get something that belonged to him, something he considered to be of great value. All Al had to do was scare the owner into revealing the item’s location, get hold of it and get the hell out. The whole thing should take less than five minutes.

  The appliance came to the end of the track where a twenty-foot-high security gate stopped them from going any further. Metal railings as high as the gate wrapped themselves around the grounds of the property. Beyond the gates, they could see an old farmhouse that had been expensively renovated and extended, and judging from its size, home to at least six bedrooms.

  ‘Right,’ Jimmy said, opening the door. ‘Let’s do it.’

  Al threw up a Dad’s Army-style salute and followed him off the lorry.

  Jimmy punched the buzzer on the wall, and as he waited, glanced up at the CCTV camera on top of the gate staring straight at them.

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ Al said. ‘This guy won’t go telling tales.’

  Jimmy shook his head and was about to come back with something when the intercom kicked in.

  ‘Yes,’ a crackly voice said.

  ‘Hello, sir,’ Jimmy answered. ‘This is the fire brigade.’

  ‘What?’ the voice said. Its owner didn’t sound particularly impressed by the disturbance.

  ‘Yes, hello, sir. This is the fire brigade. We’ve been called to reports of a possible fire at your premises that we need to investigate.’

  ‘No fire here,’ the voice said abruptly. It sounded of Eastern European descent, Jimmy thought, similar to Adam, the Polish cleaner at the fire station.

  ‘I understand that, sir, but we need to be sure of that for ourselves before we can leave.’

  ‘I said there’s no fucking fire,’ the voice said. ‘Now piss off.’

  Jimmy looked at Al who nodded encouragement at him. ‘Like I say, I appreciate that, sir, but I am legally obliged to investigate any reports of fire, and if you do not let me in, I will have to call the police to assist us, as you will be breaking the law.’

  The intercom grew quiet for a moment then crackled back into action. ‘Okay, wait.’

  As they stood there, watching the lights at the front of the property turning on, Al looked to Jimmy. ‘Is that true?’ he whispered.

  Jimmy shrugged. ‘More or less.’

  Thirty seconds later, two large men in what could have been matching tracksuits came out of the house and walked towards them.

  Jimmy glared at Al. ‘You said there was going to be one person, maximum.’

  Al gave a shrug of his own. ‘I didn’t say anything. That’s what Mac said, and he does have a habit of telling porkies. Anyway, don’t sweat it. One person, five people; it don’t make any odds to me.’

  ‘It does to me. The more peopl
e who are here, the more people see me with you.’

  ‘Seriously,’ Al said, ‘just keep this up. You’re doing great.’

  The guards approached, standing less than five feet from them on the other side of the gate. They both looked like they could have worked alongside Lenny in the bouncing profession. One was taller with short cropped hair and a goatee beard, the other was wider with a razor-shaven bald head that was decorated with tattoos.

  ‘Look,’ the taller one said in his guttural accent, ‘everything is okay. There must have been some kind of mistake.’

  Jimmy gave the man a friendly smile. ‘Listen, mate, I’m sure you’re right. But if I don’t come in and investigate, and then something does happen, it’s my job that’s on the line.’

  ‘But I say to you, there is no fire. Someone must be taking the piss, you know?’ He attempted to smile back, but Jimmy could see this was a man to whom smiling did not come naturally.

  ‘I know what you’re saying,’ he said holding his hands up, ‘but like I say, it’s more than my job’s worth, and if you don’t let me in and have a quick look around, then I’ve got to get the bloody police down here and the next thing you know, three hours have gone by, and we’ll still be here, taking up space on your driveway.’

  The taller man looked to his bald friend.

  ‘Seriously, fellas, it will take two minutes. I just need to confirm there’s no fire, then I can piss off and leave you to it.’

  ‘Okay,’ the man nodded, ‘but just you.’

  Jimmy wore the same “I’d like to, but…” smile again.

  ‘Sorry, guys, but I’ve got to take someone in with me. It’s a legal thing, just in case anything was to happen. It takes away the whole “he said, she said” situation should we end up in court.’

  The mention of the courtroom was enough for the man to back down.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘but quickly.’

  He reached forward and pressed the button on the wall. After a short pause, the gates opened inwards making the man and his partner step back out of their path. Jimmy quickly walked through the gap with Al following behind. The guards made them stand there and wait until the gates had closed before leading them into the house.

  When they got inside, it was clear that the property had retained none of its farmhouse charm. Everything was either white or wooden and minimal in its nature. Jimmy hated it.

  ‘So, where do you want to start?’ the bearded man asked after shutting the door. It didn’t look like he was going to change his mind, lighten up and offer them a cocktail before they left. His partner had still not uttered a word.

  ‘Kitchen’s probably the best place,’ Jimmy said. ‘That’s where most fires happen.’

  ‘Follow me,’ goatee said, and the four men fell into single file as they walked down the hall.

  After a dozen or so steps, Jimmy heard a dull thud behind him. He turned around to see the big bald guy lying face down on the floor with a hole in the back of his head. Al was standing behind the prone finger with a gun now pointing in Jimmy’s direction.

  ‘No!’ Jimmy shouted as he braced himself for the impact, but when Al took his next shot, it was the bearded guard behind Jimmy who grunted like he’d just been kicked in the bollocks. As the man staggered backwards clutching at his chest, Al closed the space between them, letting off another three shots. When the guard finally hit the floor, Al stood over him delivering one last shot to his head. There was virtually no sound; the pistol he was using had a silencer attached to it. Jimmy had never heard one before, they didn’t bother with such things in the marines, but it sounded just like they did in the movies. Sometimes, Hollywood did get things right.

  Jimmy’s eyes were ready to pop out of his head when he looked back at Al. ‘Cool, huh?’ the man said.

  ‘What’s going on down there?’ a voice from upstairs yelled. Like that of the guards, it sounded distinctly Eastern European.

  ‘That’s our man,’ Al said, wiping at a spot of blood on his tunic.

  Apart from everything else going around his head at that moment, Jimmy now had to factor in getting Jonesy’s fire-kit clean before he returned to work in two days’ time.

  ‘Who’s there?’ the voice asked again. ‘I’ve got a gun, and I will fucking use it.’

  Al laughed. ‘Course you will, sunshine,’ he said to himself as he walked towards the stairs. ‘Come on, Jim, this should be good.’

  Not wanting to be left with the two bodies, and not knowing what the fuck else to do, Jimmy did as he was told and fell in half a dozen paces behind the assassin. Just as Al mounted the stairs, the door to Jimmy’s immediate left opened, and another equally big guard walked out. When he saw Jimmy, the man reached for the pistol in his belt, but as he brought the gun up to aim, Jimmy used both his hands to grab hold of his pistol arm and wrench it up towards the ceiling. Before the guard could implement his superior strength, Jimmy drove his knee up into his guts, and as the guard buckled, he flipped him over his hip, judo-style. When he was lying on his back, Jimmy locked up the man’s wrists and pushed his elbow back the wrong way until the pain made him drop the pistol. It was a move he had been taught when he was in the marines that the men had dismissed at the time. They carried assault rifles, they’d said to each other, when the fuck were they going to be wrestling guns out of people’s hands?

  Jimmy looked down and shared a look with the man he had just bested. He felt the need to say something to him, and maybe he would have, if Al hadn’t appeared in front of him with his pistol aimed at the man’s head.

  ‘Thanks, Jim. I’ll take it from here.’

  Before Jimmy could protest, Al shot him twice in the head; the good ol’ double tap, the preferred execution method of any decent hitman. Jimmy staggered backwards like he had been shot himself. He went to throw up, but nothing came out, gagged again unsuccessfully, then spat on the floor. He went to say something to Al, then stopped, realising there was nothing he could say.

  Al nodded towards the upstairs landing. ‘Come on, we’re not finished yet.’

  ‘Yes, we are,’ Jimmy said. ‘I’m going back to the lorry.’

  Al raised the pistol and pointed it at Jimmy’s head, ‘Look, pal, I’m grateful and all for what you just did, but you try and leave now, and I’ll put a bullet in you too. Then, when I’m done here, I’ll go outside and shoot your friends. Now, is that what you want?’

  Jimmy shook his head. ‘You wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘Wouldn’t I? What, you think I haven’t got it in me? Look in my eyes and tell me you think I haven’t got the balls. Please, I double dare you.’ He glanced up the stairs again. ‘Now, you coming or what?’

  Without waiting for a response, Al turned and started up the stairs. When he was halfway up, Jimmy began his ascent.

  They found the short fat man sitting on his bed, shaking like a shitting dog. The lime blue silk dressing gown he was wearing had fallen open at the waist, allowing his visitors a full-on view of his shrivelled cock and balls.

  ‘Jesus, Freddie,’ Al said. ‘Put it away. I’ve got enough shit in my brain without having that memory floating around in there.’

  Freddie looked down at himself then feebly tried to cover his privates which although small, stubbornly refused to go back into captivity.

  ‘Please,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you whatever you want. Just don’t kill me. I beg you.’

  Al give him a sympathetic smile, ‘Honestly, man, if I had a pound for everyone who’d said that to me…’

  ‘Please,’ Freddie said, as the sobs started to rise up through his chest. ‘Drugs, money, whatever you want. I’ll leave the country… Just let me go.’

  When Al shook his head, Freddie turned his attention to Jimmy. ‘Please, you won’t hear from me again, I promise.’

  Al also turned to Jimmy. ‘What do you think, Jim? Should we let him go?’

  ‘I thought we were just here to collect a package,’ Jimmy said. ‘Why kill him?’

  ‘He is
the package. Now, do we kill him, or take him back alive? It’s your choice.’

  Jimmy thought about the difficulty of getting yet another passenger on his fire engine, and the risk they were running if they got caught, but when compared to the other option of watching the man be killed in cold blood, there really was no choice. ‘I say we take him back alive.’

  Freddie burst out crying, shaking his head both in relief and disbelief that he was going to walk out of this situation in one piece. He put his hands together like he was praying and directed them to Jimmy.

  ‘Thank you, my friend. You won’t forget this. I promise–’

  He was cut short by Al putting a bullet in the centre of his forehead.

  ‘Don’t be sad, Jim,’ he said as he looked down at his pistol and unscrewed the silencer. ‘He died with hope in his heart and a smile on his face. What more can any of us ask for?’

  They drove back to the rendezvous point in silence. The others recognized the look on Jimmy’s face as he opened the door. It was the same mixture of shock and despair that most firefighters had following a particularly nasty job, the kind where you saw kids die in front of their parents and you were helpless to do anything about it.

  When they got back to the car park, Al got out of the appliance and gently patted Jimmy on the shoulder as he squeezed past him. He looked the same as he had when they’d first picked him up after stripping out of the fire-kit. Mac was standing next to his car, holding the rear door open like it was him being employed as the driver and not the big guy who sat in front of the steering wheel.

  When he got in the car, Al gave him a curt nod, letting him know that his work was done. After closing the door, a smiling Mac turned back to face the fire engine when Jimmy’s fist crashed into his face. He bounced off his car before landed on his arse on the tarmac.

  The door of the car opened again, and Al leaned out, letting Jimmy see the pistol he had pointing at him.