He paused. Tallis had realised that in revealing his true identity, Kennedy could easily find out that he had once been a firearms officer. On the other hand, he was an officer who’d left the service crushed and disillusioned. As every professional crook knew, disillusioned ex-coppers could be bought. Disillusioned ex-coppers could prove invaluable. He was going with the truth.
‘Tallis.’
‘Unusual name.’
‘Paul Tallis,’ he explained. ‘Where should I take you?’
‘My office,’ she said, giving him an address on the other side of Birmingham.
It turned out to be a storage unit in Walsall. Tallis triangulated the position in his head. With Solihull and Lye, it completed Kennedy’s geographical power base, he thought, pulling into a car-parking space. Perhaps this was the real seat of power, but, then, why would Mrs Kennedy risk taking him there?
Samantha Kennedy took her daughter’s hand and led the way up two stone steps and into a narrow entrance with a closed door, punching in a code on the wall to allow access. Unlike most offices, it didn’t appear customer friendly. Tallis wondered what type of business was carried out there. Perhaps this was where the incinerators were made or supplied. When he asked, he was told import and export. Tallis nodded and looked down and smiled. The little girl looked up, staring at him with big solemn eyes.
The entrance opened out into a large reception area with no receptionist. Tallis scoped the room. Two CCTV cameras positioned from different angles. Alarm winking high up in the right-hand corner. Large desk. One chair. Glass screen that he guessed was one-way. Cheap carpet the texture of Brillo. Samantha smiled sweetly and asked him to wait while she fetched her husband. Tallis watched as she punched in another code, clicked the door open and, taking the child, walked through into what looked like a hall. Five minutes later, Tallis began to sense things slipping through his fingers, a feeling confirmed by the appearance of Pisshead. The expression in his eyes was not one of welcome.
He should have seen it coming, Tallis thought, feeling a devastating left hook connect with his jaw. Teeth rattling, he made several deductions—his assailant was no novice, it took skill to throw a punch like that off the front leg, and he was a left-hander. Tallis absorbed the blow, staggered a bit—he was supposed to be some innocent do-gooder, after all.
‘Hey, what are you doing?’ he pleaded, putting both his hands up defensively.
Pisshead didn’t seem in the mood for listening. In fact, he was putting on quite a show. ‘We know so don’t play games, you fucker. Who sent you?’
What did they know? Tallis thought. Was this bluff or intelligence? He fell into the role of simp. ‘Look, let’s talk. Ouch, can you stop doing that, please? Please.’
Adrenalin was coursing through his body, screaming at him to fight or take flight. By doing nothing, the receptors in his brain, instead of flicking off the pain facility, switched it on. This was really hurting. When the next two blows landed, nasty left jabs, he changed his mind. Everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours erupted and boiled over, exacerbating Tallis’s already dystopian view of the world.
He went in hard and fast. Pushing his right hip forward and, bending slightly at the knees, bringing him level with Pisshead’s jaw, he threw his left fist upwards, twisting and powering through with a devastating uppercut. Pisshead rocked, just about managed to stay on his feet, but Tallis, in no mood for taking prisoners, followed up with a right cross, employing all of his considerable body weight, hammering his assailant on the jaw. Swiftly realising the change of game plan, Pisshead tried to come back with some defensive moves, but he was no match for Tallis’s rage and recklessness.
‘Want some?’ Tallis yelled, lurching his body forward, whiplashing the front of his head into Pisshead’s nose. Blood sprayed across the room. As Pisshead put his hand to his face, Tallis launched himself at his opponent, cannoning into him, and pinned him across the desk. In a split second he was sitting astride him, his hands around the man’s throat. Eyeball to eyeball, the man’s breath and spittle and blood on his face and hands, close quarters, close combat. He pressed hard. The man was trying to jab him away, twisting and wriggling, but Tallis’s grip was strong and unforgiving. A dreadful rattling sound rasped from the guy’s throat, eyes beginning to strain and bulge, heels kicking and drumming on the floor. Then the rear door flew open.
Tallis glanced up, saw Kennedy standing there but was too enveloped in his own personal mist of madness to stop. Still Pisshead writhed and squirmed, each movement weaker than the one before. He was like a fish breathing its last. Still Tallis pressed down, expecting the crack and break, then felt something solid on his arm. He looked down. It was Kennedy’s hand, wasn’t clamped in restraint, but rested there, light as a feather, as if Kennedy were holding him in reverence. Tallis’s gaze travelled up, locked onto Kennedy’s dark eyes, seeing something in them that made him want to give up the fight and stop. Kennedy as peacemaker, he thought wildly as he let the man go and, breathing heavily, staggered back.
Kennedy approached Pisshead, extended a hand and helped him to stand. ‘Get cleaned up then get this man a drink,’ he said, indicating Tallis. Pisshead nodded, swaying slightly, his hand still locked round his throat from where Tallis had tried to squeeze the life out of him. When he’d gone, Kennedy turned to Tallis, regarding him with something approaching awe.
‘I always think that violence is the last resort of an ill-educated man.’ He spoke softly, his accent less broad than Tallis had imagined it would be. Perhaps he’d tried to lose that, too. ‘John Kennedy,’ he said, extending a hand.
Tallis didn’t take it. ‘Disgusting way to treat a good Samaritan,’ he said, taking out a handkerchief and wiping his mouth.
‘For which I apologise.’
‘That goon work for you?’
‘Gabriel is one of my more enthusiastic employees.’ Kennedy smiled.
Certainly no archangel, Tallis thought.
‘Are you hurt?’ Kennedy enquired. ‘I can arrange for a doctor.’
‘Not necessary.’
‘You sure?’
‘Nothing that won’t heal.’
Kennedy perched his rear on the desk, crossed his arms, placing one foot in front of the other in a relaxed gesture. ‘You put up quite a fight.’
So you were watching, Tallis thought. Close up, he noticed Kennedy’s eyes, which were the colour of wet slate, were even more arresting. It wasn’t easy to tell what was going on behind them. ‘Used to be in the army.’
‘Special Forces?’
‘Royal Staffordshires.’
‘Just merged to become the Mercian regiment, I believe.’
‘That’s right,’ Tallis said.
‘Joined with Worcestershire, Sherwood Forest and Cheshire to form a multi-battalion unit. Part of the Defence Secretary’s shake-up of the army,’ Kennedy added, sounding none too impressed.
Well informed, Tallis thought. ‘With a predictable cut in jobs.’ He smiled thinly.
‘And what do you do now?’ Kennedy said.
‘Unemployed and looking for work.’
The door swung open. Gabriel appeared with a brandy balloon two fingers full. Face swollen and red, a wodge of tape and cotton wool over the bridge of his nose, he handed the glass to Tallis.
‘I think you owe our knight in armour an apology,’ Kennedy said in a voice guaranteed to brook no dissent.
‘Yeah, ’course,’ Gabriel said, obedient. ‘Sorry about that. Misunderstanding.’ He stuck out his hand. Tallis took it, noting the belligerent light in the man’s eyes. Didn’t blame him. Not only had a stranger tried to kill him but his boss was rubbing his face in the dirt.
Kennedy dismissed Gabriel and turned back to Tallis. ‘My wife said you were called Paul.’
‘Tallis, that’s what I prefer to be called.’ By people like you, he thought.
Kennedy gave a small smile of acknowledgement. ‘Tell me what happened out there.’
‘Your w
ife didn’t say?’ Tallis took a gulp of brandy. It tasted as smooth as toffee until it hit the back of his throat and turned into a fireball, a metaphor for Kennedy maybe.
‘She’s upset and when women are upset…’ Kennedy flicked a knowing smile ‘…they’re good on detail but not the big picture.’
Tallis didn’t agree. His motto was never to underestimate a woman. Not that he told Kennedy this. Instead, he talked of how he’d been driving along, minding his own business, until he noticed the Lexus. ‘Moving like the wind.’ Tallis smiled appreciatively.
Kennedy shook his head, let out a sigh. ‘If I told Desmond once, I told him a thousand times to cut his speed.’
‘Certainly brought out the boy racer in me,’ Tallis said. ‘Not that it did much good. An old Rover’s no match for a machine like that.’
‘This other bloke, the one with the gun.’ Kennedy leant forward slightly. ‘Describe him.’
Tallis did, although his description was a far cry from the man he knew. He was especially careful to leave out the unique colour of Sean’s eyes. Not only would it indicate they’d already met, it seemed too private, too personal.
‘And what was this man driving?’
‘A Land Rover, black. That’s all I noticed. It was only a fleeting impression. I didn’t spot the registration or anything.’
Kennedy nodded thoughtfully, flicked a smile that suggested Tallis was doing well. ‘Any sign of police?’
‘No. Naturally, I suggested to your wife we call them, but she seemed reluctant. Perhaps we could call them from here,’ he said, looking around as if searching for a landline.
‘We’ll discuss that later,’ Kennedy said briskly. ‘I’d like to get a clearer view of what we’re dealing with first.’ He asked Tallis to continue.
‘Like I said, me and the Rover were hammering along. Next I knew there were a couple of double bends. I began to come out of the second bend and the pile-up was right in front of me. Lucky I didn’t drive into the back of it. There were bits of bike all over the road. At first I thought it was a straightforward accident, bike hits car, car goes into oncoming vehicle, but then I heard the shouts, saw the guns, heard your wife and child being threatened. That’s when I acted.’
‘You didn’t think first?’
‘What was there to think about?’
‘You were taking one hell of a risk.’
‘Two blokes want to have a shoot-out, it’s up to them, but there was a woman and kid involved. I couldn’t run away from that.’
Kennedy blinked his eyes. ‘Did you see what happened to Desmond?’
‘Last I saw, he was on the ground with the other bloke. Didn’t look good. I think he’d been shot.’
Kennedy studied him some more, then broke into a smile. ‘Courage like that deserves a reward.’
Tallis raised his glass. ‘This will do me.’
‘A shot of second-rate brandy in return for saving my family?’ Kennedy scoffed. ‘I have a much better idea. Come,’ he said, moving forward, clapping his arm round Tallis’s shoulder.
Tallis followed as Kennedy punched in a code and walked him through to a hallway in which there was a lift and control box. Taking out a key, Kennedy inserted it into the box and twisted it once clockwise, twice anti, presumably deactivating some kind of alarm. Satisfied, he indicated they move towards the lift. As the doors drew apart, a man was standing inside. He was about five feet ten, muscular, head and upper body top heavy for the rest of him. His eyes looked like someone had put two slits in his face. Kennedy invited Tallis to step in, which he did. Kennedy followed. Glancing at the panel, Tallis established there were four floors. The heavy pushed the button marked ‘B’ for the basement. Nobody said a word.
Tallis felt the sudden weight of double-cross heavy on his shoulders. A cold image of torture, of vomit and pissing blood, of execution swam before his eyes. When the doors slid open, he had a hard time persuading his legs to move. Kennedy stepped out first, Tallis next, the heavy bringing up the rear.
It looked as if they were in a small underground car park, apart from the fact the lighting was exceptionally bright and the cars were all new. Tallis looked around him, waiting for some other thug to appear, wondering how many he could lay out before the final curtain. So convinced that Kennedy was going to slot him, Tallis didn’t hear what he was saying. ‘Of course, if you’d like to come to some other arrangement, I’m open to offers.’
‘What?’ They were standing stock-still.
‘The car.’ Kennedy smiled.
‘Yes?’
‘The Aston Martin Vanquish is mine, but I guarantee any one of these will bring out the boy racer in you.’
Tallis followed Kennedy’s wolfish gaze, eyes travelling to the bonnet of a black Italian stud motor, a Maserati, then skimming to the bright yellow TVR next to it and, next to that, the latest Audi TT in gunmetal grey. The earlier model, the I’ve got balls, shaved head and an earring through my ear lobe version had never appealed. This was poetry.
‘Go on, what do you think?’
Tallis stared at him. The man was offering him a car. He couldn’t believe it. Nobody had offered to buy him a car in his life. He looked back at the TT, wondering what Kennedy would expect him to say, for he was in no doubt that this was some kind of test.
‘You like it?’ Kennedy beamed.
‘Yes, but…’
‘It’s yours.’ Kennedy pulled the keys out of his pocket and pushed them into Tallis’s hand.
‘No, I can’t. Wouldn’t be right.’
Kennedy reached up, put his arm around Tallis’s shoulder and squeezed it. ‘Nothing more than you deserve.’
Weighed up against the indescribable thrill of having a car actually given to him, he had to balance the realisation that he, too, was being bought, or at least his silence was.
‘It’s all taxed and insured, if that’s what you’re bothered about.’
‘No, it’s—’
‘I can dispose of the Rover for you.’ Get rid of the evidence, Tallis realised. He clearly wanted the whole matter hushed up. Kennedy was speaking again. ‘The less said about what happened today, the better. In fact, I’d rather you kept the whole incident to yourself. Seems to me that whoever tried to kidnap my family failed royally.’
Kennedy’s eyes lasered into Tallis’s. They really were extraordinary, Tallis thought, in this light like the colour of mercury. What was it Samantha Kennedy has said? My husband is a powerful man. ‘I understand,’ he murmured.
‘I’m sure you do. Now,’ Kennedy said, businesslike. ‘You’ll be wanting to get on your way. I’ll arrange for one of my employees to drive the car round the front for you. You can pick it up outside.’
And with those final words, Tallis was escorted back to the reception area and out of the building.
The car was a dream to drive. Bigger than the original, lower slung, and with a lightweight aluminium frame, not only did it move with the speed of a cheetah but looked terrific inside and out. He felt as if he’d gone from the ridiculous to the sublime. In a less tangible sense, he knew he’d crossed the line, been bought and paid for.
Back in the familiar confines of his bungalow, Tallis wondered how things would pan out. Would Kennedy contact him sooner or later? If later, would Asim close the entire operation down? The initial plan had been clumsily executed, the human cost too great. Although he’d barely known Sean and Roz, he felt bad for them, and guilty. It had been his idea, his plan. He bore a certain amount of responsibility for it having turned out the way it had. As for himself, he’d come within a whisker of losing it in Kennedy’s office. If it hadn’t been for Kennedy stepping in, he’d have killed Gabriel. Rage was an emotion with which, up until now, he had been unfamiliar. As a former firearms officer, maintaining control at all times had been a given. But that had been then. Since Belle’s violent death, he was a changed man. Yet to come that close to recklessness was so alien, it made him wonder if he was the right man for the job. Or, perhaps, it made
him exactly the right man for the job. In a dark moment, he wondered whether he’d fallen into a role preordained for him by his violent father.
He followed every news report on the radio, scoured the TV channels for coverage, checked the headlines on broadband. One minor mention on BRMB at noon, and ranked fourth in the great scheme of things, there was an isolated report of a shooting in Solihull, believed to be a product of gangland overspill. That was it.
For the rest of the day, Tallis spent a considerable amount of time trying not to think too deeply about Sean and Roz, instead sitting in the TT, studying the manual, plinking every button, playing in it like a small boy with a new MP3 player.
Asim called at nine that evening. Tallis braced himself. As feared, Roz was dead, Sean in Intensive Care but stable. Thank God, Tallis thought. ‘What happened to Dread?’ Tallis he asked.
‘Gone to the great crack house in the sky.’
Asim asked how he’d progressed. Tallis told him.
‘So no plans to take you on, or further ensure your loyalty?’
Tallis preferred not to think of the various and painful ways his allegiance might be further secured. The car was a carrot, the stick he could do without. ‘He didn’t ask for a date, if that’s what you mean.’
Asim let out a low chuckle, but Tallis could tell he was disappointed. He wondered whether Asim was having second thoughts. There wasn’t a shred of evidence, as far as he was aware, tying Kennedy to terrorism, either by being actively involved or having dealings with others who were. Would Asim waste any more money or Tallis’s time on what was essentially a shot in the dark? And what was to prevent Kennedy from going to his handler and reporting everything? Except instinctively Tallis didn’t think he would. And that’s what kept him interested. ‘This place you went to,’ Asim said, ‘anything in particular jar?’
‘If Kennedy’s seen the light, he’s doing a bloody good impression of retaining his old image.’
‘He has to be careful,’ Asim said. ‘With gang culture, image is all. To be any other way is to expose himself to the accusation of weakness, or colluding with the enemy.’
The Mephisto Threat Page 15
