by Graham Smith
Retrieving a small funnel from the medical bag Kenny removed Howarth’s gag, jammed the funnel into his mouth then sealed it in place with gaffer tape.
‘Pass a bottle of vodka.’
Simon handed over a bottle. Unscrewing the cap Kenny took a tentative sip which almost stripped the skin from his mouth and caused him to cough and splutter.
Kenny poured the whole bottle into the funnel an eggcup full at a time. Howarth wasn’t going to be allowed to beg for his life. He’d been a rapist for too many years to be given that opportunity. The list of charges against him numbered into the dozens. Howarth was left with no choice but to swallow the harsh vodka so he could breathe.
Kenny gave Howarth a five minute break to allow the alcohol to seep into his bloodstream and then reached down for another bottle.
‘Here Simon. See if he wants another drink?’ Kenny gave the bottle to the excited young man who sloshed so much vodka into the funnel that Howarth almost drowned.
‘Easy lad. He’s got to drown on his own vomit, not the voddy.’
‘Sorry.’ Simon looked contrite for a moment, before asking. ‘How much d’ya reckon he’ll take before he pukes then?’
Noting the veins mapped across Howarth’s face like tree roots, Kenny made his estimate. ‘We’ll be on the third bottle before he pukes enough to drown.’ Howarth’s now glassy eyes widened at my words.
As Simon drained the last of the second bottle into the funnel Howarth’s pot belly gave its first twitch. This was soon followed by a series of minor convulsions before a final heave had him forcing bile back down to his stomach with wilful swallows.
The process continued throughout the next five minute break they gave him.
Opening the third bottle Kenny waited until after each swallow before topping him up again. Each subsequent swallow was weaker and less determined than the last one as his body succumbed to the effects of the cheap hooch.
When he had been treated to a quarter of the third bottle a massive convulsion wracked his body and thin streams of vomit escaped from the funnel and his nostrils.
Using gloved hands, Kenny pinched Howarth’s nostrils together and blocked the funnel as Howarth’s body gave a series of gargling heaves before going still.
They checked the pulse in his wrist, but there wasn’t even the faintest throb. Giving him a few minutes while they cleared up any mess they’d made, they rechecked Howarth’s pulse in case they’d been mistaken. They weren’t.
Dropping Simon back at Big Ste’s HQ, Kenny took the A34 towards his home on the outskirts of Cheadle. Five minutes from the sanctuary of his semi-detached, his mobile trilled.
Looking down he saw James Metcalfe’s name on the screen. Sighing he pressed a button to accept the call.
‘How can I help you Mr Metcalfe?’
‘I’ve a job for you. Come and see me tomorrow morning at nine.’ Metcalfe rung off before Kenny could reply.
Saturday
The next morning Kenny pulled up outside Metcalfe’s hotel in the centre of Birmingham. The hotel was his centre of operations through the day and when he needed to conduct business in the evening he used one of the many nightclubs or pubs he owned.
Using the hotel’s underground car park as a safe haven for his Mercedes, Kenny climbed the stairs to the ground floor and told the receptionist he had a meeting with Metcalfe.
‘Mr Metcalfe says he’ll see you now. Do you know where you are going?’
‘Yes thanks.’ The girl was new although with her pretty face and friendly manner it was clear she didn’t know the half of where Metcalfe’s money came from.
When Kenny got to Metcalfe’s office the door was open and a waitress was unloading a large plate of bacon and sausage sandwiches from a wheeled trolley.
‘Take a seat Kenny. Shut the door behind you love.’ Metcalfe didn’t look up from the papers he was studying until the latch clicked into the keeper.
Waving at Kenny to help himself to a sandwich, Metcalfe appraised him with his usual dead eyed stare. He’d probably killed more men than Kenny on his way to the top of the Birmingham crime scene. Now however, he kept his hands clean and used Kenny instead.
‘What’s the job Mr Metcalfe?’
Metcalfe pulled a file from a drawer and handed it across the desk. ‘There’s a DCI who has been getting a little too close for comfort lately. All the details are in there.’ The words were spoken around a mouthful of sandwich, yet the soft drawl of the Birmingham accent was still evident.
‘I’ve never gone after coppers Mr Metcalfe. You know that.’
‘I do Kenny. But you’ll be handsomely rewarded for this one.’
‘How handsomely? Are we talking Keanu Reeves handsome or are we talking Brad Pitt handsome?’
‘I’ll pay treble your usual rate.’
Thirty thousand pounds was a lot of money for one job, so Kenny wasted no time agreeing and started studying the file.
‘Is it to be an accident or a statement?’
‘An accident. Suicide if you want, but I’d prefer an accident so there can be no doubt.’
Kenny felt relief and consternation in equal measure. An accident took a lot more organising than a statement. However a statement would draw much more attention to the copper’s death.
‘How soon do you want it done?’
‘As soon as. That bastard is getting far too close for comfort. It’s only a matter of time before he finds someone who’ll grass me up.’
‘Give me three days.’
‘Not a second longer then. I want him off my back. Come back when he’s dead and I’ll give you your cash.’
* * * *
Climbing back into his car, Kenny exited the hotel car park and set off towards the lockup garage which doubled as his arsenal and supply store.
As ever Kenny had memorised the details in Metcalfe’s file. The DCI was in his late thirties and was married with three kids – two teenage girls and a four year old boy. He lived in cul-de-sac in an area of the city called Balsall Heath.
Kenny wasn’t familiar with the area but could picture a thousand like it. It would be typical suburbia with twitching curtains, barbecues and arguments over encroaching hedges. In other words a place he could only enter with a full disguise.
Driving North, the irony of his situation hit him harder than a runaway juggernaut. He was a killer for hire whose usual clients were the drug dealing, protection racketeering scum who forced young girls to be sex workers. While taking the shilling of these self proclaimed Kings he moonlighted as a vigilante and took scum off the streets.
With a sudden clarity of mind Kenny knew what he had to do.
To hell with the consequences. He was going to die soon anyway. His family were provided for, so instead of chasing money he would use his skills to rid the world of as many scumbags as possible.
His mind was racing as he planned the final few hours of his life. Being familiar with the strongholds he would have to assault gave him an advantage he intended to maximise. The other big thing going for him was that his attacks would be totally unexpected.
* * * *
Over the years Kenny had built up a store of various munitions in his garage. He loaded two canvas bags with some of the tools of his trade.
In went a pair of silenced Glocks, five fragmentation grenades, four flashbangs, half a kilo of semtex, ten timed fuses and his trusty pump action shotgun. Ten boxes of cartridges and twenty spare magazines also went in but the Parker-Hale sniping rifle was left in its box. This would be close-in wet work, where a rifle would become an encumbrance. The last additions were a Kevlar vest, four throwing knives and his Marines dagger.
Once the car was loaded Kenny returned home and whisked his family off to Alton Towers where they rode the coasters until they closed. Returning home via a country pub where they had a meal, Kenny saw the kids off to bed and then sat down with his wife.
Her words were filled with love and anticipation. ‘I can see you’re knackered, say wha
t you’ve got to say and then get yourself off to bed.’
‘I’ve a tough job on tomorrow. I honestly don’t think it’s one I’ll be coming back from.’ June was aware her husband was an assassin. She just wasn’t aware of who his paymasters were. He’d led her to believe that he worked for a black op Government organisation and she’d bought the lie.
‘Then don’t do it. You have precious little time left. Don’t throw your life away now.’
‘I have to do it.’ To emphasise his point, Kenny told her some of the worst stories he knew about each of the three men he worked for.
June’s face was filled with shock and desperation as she pleaded with him to cancel the job or let someone else do it.
‘I’m sorry darling, but I have to do this. If I survive it, then great. But if not then I’ll die knowing that I made a difference.’
June knew him well enough to know that when he’d decided on a course of action that he wouldn’t change my mind.
Kenny eased himself from his chair and she rose to meet him. They just stood there in the middle of the lounge hugging each other tight, with June weeping onto her husband’s shoulder.
‘You better come back in one piece Kenny Holland. So help me God, I’ll have your guts for garters if you don’t come back to see your children again.’
He spent five minutes making promises they both knew he might not be able to keep and then went to the kitchen to get his medication.
Sunday
‘Sergios. It’s Kenny. I’m on my way down to see you with a proposition. Get your boys together and I’ll meet you at your place at ten.’ Kenny put the receiver down before he could reply and walked back out of the service station, climbed into his car and drove back onto the M25.
After parking his car near the warehouse Sergios used as his base, Kenny snuck into a disused building and prepared himself for the forthcoming fight. First on was the Kevlar vest and then he fitted all the various holsters and sheaths until he was a walking armoury.
Next Kenny pulled on a massive raincoat which concealed the weapons yet allowed him to move freely. A silenced Glock was deposited in each of the two pockets.
Rounding the corner towards Sergios’ warehouse Kenny saw the first of Sergios’ henchmen standing by the door. He stood well over six feet tall and had the wedding cake neck found on any nightclub bouncer.
‘Morning Tiny. Your boss in yet?’
‘Yeah he’s here. In you go.’
Kenny walked into the doorway after Tiny and was led up the familiar metal staircase to Sergios’ office which overlooked the former distribution centre. Two more goons flanked the door. They could have been Tiny’s brothers had their skin colour not been so white.
‘Morning boys.’
‘Arms up. We gotta frisk you.’
Kenny pulled both hands from his pockets and shot each of the guards through the head before spinning around and putting two bullets into Tiny’s chest.
Stepping into the office unannounced he was faced with Sergios sitting at his desk and the back of four heads. The trusted henchmen all turned to see who had entered.
Kenny’s twin Glock’s each spat fire twice before he focussed his aim on Sergios, who was already reaching down for the shotgun strapped to the underside of his mahogany desk. Sergios was quick but Kenny was quicker and the Greek died at his desk.
A quick search of the office yielded an electronic combination safe. Knowing Sergios’ love of football, Kenny used the computer on the desk to Google the date Greece won the European Championship. The safe light turned green when he entered the numbers. 04-07-04.
Kenny helped himself to the dozen or so bundles of cash in then closed the safe back up.
On the off chance he would get an answer, Kenny dialled the DCI’s home number from the phone on Sergio’s desk.
‘Hello.’ A cheerful female voice.
‘Is DCI Chambers there please?’
‘I’ll just get him. Who shall I say is calling?
‘Bernie Black.’ Bernie Black was the name of James Metcalfe accountant. Chambers would certainly want to take his call,
‘Chambers here. How did you get this number?’
‘Listen up Chambers. I’m gonna hand you Metcalfe on a plate. He’s hired me to kill you. What I want you to do is have the media announce your death in a car accident. Then I’ll meet with you so you can put a wire on me. When I go to collect my money, I’ll trick Metcalfe into incriminating himself enough to let you nick him.’
‘You’re not Black. Who are you? Why are you doing this?’
‘Just make sure your death is announced on the BBC West Midlands news update at twelve o’clock. I’ll be in touch at two.’ Kenny cradled the phone and left knowing from experience that Metcalfe always listened to the news on BBC West Midlands. It was the gangster’s idea of monitoring current affairs.
* * * *
As Kenny was driving up the M1 Metcalfe called him. ‘After what I’ve just heard on the radio, I guess you’re coming to see me?’
‘I’ll be there about one.’
Arriving in Birmingham, Kenny parked on the street beside the hotel this time as he didn’t want to be cornered in an underground car park if he had to make a fast getaway. Carrying one of the canvas bags with him, Kenny armed himself in the deserted staircase between the ground floor and the car park.
He presented himself to the receptionist and was told to go right up to Metcalfe’s office. The door opened as he raised his hand to knock and Bernie Black ushered him inside.
‘Kenny my man. Here have a cigar. What do you want to drink?’ Metcalfe was in ebullient good humour.
‘I’ll just have a beer thanks. I’ve gotta drive home.’
‘Nonsense man. This is a hotel. You can stay here. Bernie go down and sort a room for Kenny. Fuck it. Get all the boys round and rustle up a dozen or so girls. I wanna have a party.’
Kenny accepted the glass of malt whisky Metcalfe thrust into his hand and the cigar he stuck in his mouth.
‘Mr Metcalfe, you promised me something handsome. Shall we deal with this before anyone else comes?’
‘Good idea. Let’s get business outta the way and then we can party.’ Metcalfe opened the cupboard which housed his safe and opened it with a key from his pocket.
Seizing the opportunity Kenny crossed the room with three quick paces and stuck a knife in Metcalfe’s back making sure that it pierced his heart. Death came to Metcalfe quickly and Kenny’s biggest regret was that he didn’t have time to make him suffer first.
Kenny dragged the body behind the door just as Bernie arrived with Metcalfe’s other two main lieutenants.
The shock of seeing their boss lying on the floor out with blood trailing from his mouth gave Kenny all the time he needed to shoot the three men dead.
Kenny’s luck then deserted him as a passing hotel worker saw the gun in his hand and ran screaming down the hallway. Having never waged war on innocents Kenny let her go and headed in the opposite direction. Just as he thought he’d got away with it Kenny heard a shout behind him.
Five of the young bucks Metcalfe used for intimidation were running towards him. With the cancer eating away at his lungs there was no way Kenny could outrun them.
These weren’t the people he’d set out to kill today so he ducked round a corner, pulled out the throwing knives and awaited their arrival. They came round the corner en masse and formed a semi circle as they advanced towards him.
A quick flick of each wrist left a knife embedded in the thighs of two advancing thugs. Seeing the fate of their colleagues caused the others to halt their advance long enough for Kenny to dispatch the second pair of throwing knives. Another two successful hits saw him left facing a sole opponent. The man’s courage faltered until a bloody knife sailed past him and thudded into Kenny’s arm.
Kenny pulled the knife out of his arm and went to throw it at the last aggressor but he was too close. Knocking Kenny’s arm high the man swung a be-ringed piledriver onto K
enny’s jaw.
Kenny reeled backwards fighting unconsciousness but had just enough composure left to adjust his grip on the knife and slash at his attacker. Overconfidence in his punching power had brought the man within range of Kenny’s slashes, and one caught him across the neck. Judging from the amount of blood pumping from between his clutching fingers Kenny was confident he’d caught the thug’s jugular.
Kenny ducked into a nearby storeroom and used strips of sheet to fashion a quick bandage for the stinging wound in his arm. Once this was done he marched out of the reception and back to his car with an urgency which left him gasping for breath.
Kenny was navigating his way past the Bullring before he managed to get his breathing back under control.
* * * *
‘Ste? It’s Kenny. I’m on my way to see you. Metcalfe’s dead and Birmingham’s available. Assemble your best team and I’ll give you the ess pee when I get there.’
‘How? And how long will you be?’
‘I’ll be there in an hour. Tell you then.’
With two down and one to go, Kenny was confident that he may just manage to remove three crime gangs in one day.
He would meet Big Ste and his team at the Howard Arms – the backstreet boozer he ran his empire from. Big Ste’s whole team would probably be there along with the casual muscle he used to intimidate people.
A text message beeped through that the Howard Arms was closed for the day and that Kenny was to enter via the back door.
Kenny parked round the corner and ducked into an alley where he prepared himself for his third battle of the day. Picking up a large stone from the alley, Kenny approached the Howard Arms from the opposite side of the road.
He had quick look around to check there was no one about and then pulled the pins from two grenades. After counting to five, Kenny launched the stone through a window of the Howard Arms and followed it with the two grenades.
