He took a sip of tea before continuing.
“No CCTV, no witnesses, no forensics, no financial activity, no emails, or social media action. There is nothing to go on. She’s grabbed the nation’s heart and now mine. I want to find out where she is. It’s only right to give a little special help to the good-uns down there, don’t you think?”
“Who asked us to get involved?”
“Her mother has been praying night and day for a month. We are definitely invited.”
“Has Alice asked us for our help?”
“No, but she could be drugged or something… not conscious.”
Maggie eyed the beautiful young woman’s picture and took another sip of tea.
“I’m not sure I like the pink hair or the nose piercing, but each to their own. At least she’s memorable, from a witness’s point of view. Where’s she from?”
“Wales, on the coast, a tiny village.”
“Where’s the charity based?”
“Durban.”
“Link up with African Units. They may have some Intel. Check out the Charity. Some are not what they seem.” Maggie took another sip of tea. “I guess you’ve gone through her phone history, checked her love life, ex-boyfriends, family, and Doctor’s files. There may be something there. Small villages can’t keep secrets.”
Pyke nodded. “Yep, her phone went missing with her, but I’m dissecting her phone records. She made a call to Brighton in West Sussex just before she went off the grid. I’m digging around down there.”
“It’s lucky I’m authorising it then, isn’t it?” Maggie nudged him.
“I love you, Maggie,” he beamed. “Thank you.”
“But you know the rules. No solo jobs. Keep me updated. I can’t protect you if you go off grid, and I can’t abide lies, understand?”
“Understood. Would I ever?” he teased.
He rose from the comfortable sofa and skipped over to the screen. He liked the sound of Alice. She was a decent human being, who liked helping people. It didn’t hurt that her image screamed with cuteness. If he’d been brave enough, and they’d met before his death, she would have been right up his strassa—perfect girlfriend material.
“I’m gonna find you, Miss Chambers,” he sighed, staring up at her photograph. “You’ve got yourself an Angel.”
Maggie shook her head with a concerned smile.
“Be careful, young man,” she chided, knowing full well how dangerous it was to let the heart loose at work.
Chapter Eleven
Greek Street,
Soho, London, UK
Jack and Amy strode through the bustling traffic of Greek Street, a narrow road in the hub of London’s colourful Soho where award-winning creatives and downtrodden sex peddlers managed to live comfortably side by side.
Opulent offices featuring film, fashion, music and advertising houses stood exquisitely lit with the glamorous and well-heeled Erthfolk running in and out of their chic entranceways.
Interspersed with dark alleyways and grubby doorways, the area housed all manner of services for the sins of the flesh, a Caligula melting pot. The creatives crafted beauty while the sex peddlers grubbed it up.
It was lunch time. Runners, secretaries, couriers, suited workers, and cool Fashionistas scurried about their business. Tourists, street walkers, and tramps politely danced around each other on narrow, uneven, chewing-gum-ridden pavements.
Jack watched a black Range Rover creep slowly past them, pull in a few yards ahead, and double park alongside a large white butcher’s delivery truck; selfishly leaving only a narrow lane for two-way traffic to pass. Angry drivers waved fists and tooted horns as they skulked through the gap.
The delivery truck driver pried the heavy doors open, displaying bloodied slabs of meat hanging and swaying inside.
Three men, dressed in sunglasses, jumped out of the Range Rover wearing black hoodies, black jeans, and black trainers. A fourth man stayed in the driver’s seat, playing with his phone, checking his reflection in the mirror.
The three men swaggered onto the pavement, pushed innocent pedestrians aside, and slid into a black, graffiti-covered doorway. The last one checked over his shoulder and closed the door behind him. A picture of a stripper with the numbers 727 had been scratched into the door’s fading paintwork.
Jack strode up the middle of the street with Amy trotting along behind him.
The delivery van’s driver slowly unloaded a tall, meat-laden trolley off the back of his truck, graduating it onto the road, carefully manoeuvring its four swivel castors to roll in the same direction. Jack stepped over to the van.
“Where is this place?” Amy asked, trying to keep up.
“Next corner on the right,” Jack mumbled as he kicked one of the trolley’s four brakes with his foot, slamming it shut against the wheel. With one castor locked, the trolley twisted sluggishly out of control. The delivery man stumbled, unable to take its weight.
Jack jaunted up to the driver’s side of the Range Rover to find the driver busy adjusting his sunglasses in the mirror, preparing to take a selfie with his mobile. Jack reached through the window, pulled the car keys out of the ignition, and dropped them between the seat and car door.
He stepped away from the car, nonchalantly placed his hands in his pockets, and walked on with Amy trotting behind.
“What was all that about?” she asked, looking back over her shoulder.
“Just helping out Mr Plod.”
“But…”
“But what? I tripped over that castor, it was an accident, it can happen to anyone… and the keys, they just fell out of the lock, so what? No big deal,” he shrugged, striding on down the street, with Amy trying to keep up with him.
The meat trolley spun slow-motion in a semi-circle, rolled in front of the Range Rover, and toppled into oncoming traffic. Slabs of bloodied meat spewed across the tarmac, blocking the road and forcing drivers to screech their brakes. Angry Erthfolk laid on their horns, shouting and throwing their fists.
The black doorway burst open. Three men charged out with six bulging holdalls. They jumped into the Range Rover and barked at the driver to move.
“Move…move!”
The driver reached down to turn on the ignition – no key. Frantically, he scrambled to search around his seat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
The owner of the strip joint and his two bouncers staggered out of the same black doorway with blood dripping from head wounds. They lunged towards the car, yelling obscenities.
On a nearby corner, two Policemen turned to see what the noise was about.
With traffic blocked, impatient car owners kept pressing their horns. The three powerless thugs stared out of the car window, their faces turning red and tense, watching the bouncers and police coming for them.
Amy laughed, shaking her head.
“How did you see that coming?”
“Oh, puhlease! If you’re gonna be a thief, don’t dress like one, drive a flash car, and walk about like the big-I-am. Jeez,” he said. “Criminals of today…way too much ego…ego gets you caught.”
Suddenly, a tone buzzed in Amy’s head, she tapped her ear to answer the call. Pyke’s voice resonated in her head.
“If you’re on Greek Street, there could be something kicking off at a strip club.”
“Number 727? Three wannabe thugs robbing the place of something that fits into six holdall bags?”
“Yep. Drugs…how’d you know?”
“Jack’s just sorted it. We came across it as an incident in progress. He’s on it like a bonnet.” She smiled, looking back at two running Policemen, shouting breathlessly into their radios. “Men in blue are at the scene, calling it in as we speak.”
“Nice one, how…?”
“Don’t ask. Slabs of meat were involved. Have a peek.” A small green light clicked on to the right of her periphery. Pyke had tuned into the scene through her eyes to see what she saw. She stared at the chaos Jack left behind and heard Pyke chuckle.
; “Next time, make him call it in for authorisation before he gets involved. I can’t be watching over you guys all the time. But, hey, good job. Will chalk it up…the bosses are loving our stats.”
“Yes, boss,” she said, pleased. Pyke had a sensible, practical view of life; he didn’t get too hung up on rules. “We’re on route to Soho Sid. Will keep you updated. Do you know what the boss wants to talk to me about? I’ve got a review.”
“She hasn’t said anything. Maybe it’s good news.”
“Yeah. That’s what Jack said, but I don’t know.” Ahead, Jack marched through the crowded street, and she didn’t want to lose sight of him. “Gotta go. Trying to keep up with action man her. Speak later.”
Pyke cut the call, severing the green light. Amy had to make a dash to catch up with quick-footed Jack.
They strolled in silence, side by side. Jack’s eyes constantly darted this way and that; watching for signs, for body behaviour, for something out of the ordinary, for excessive, out-of-place energy.
Amy observed him, admiring his profile, his constant devotion to his job, wondering if he ever stopped working and what he was like on a day off. Were they allowed days off?
Catching her questioning look, he glanced across at her and turned away, avoiding her eyes. She’s staring at my scars again.
Amy looked away.
“You never stop, do you? You’re always working,” she muttered.
“No.” He subconsciously ran a hand across his face, feeling the grooves of skin reminding him why he was there.
“What drives you so hard? Do you ever take time out? Surely, we’re entitled.”
“No, we aren’t here for long. There are too many bastards out there. I want to get as many as I can before my time is up.”
He looked at her, questioning. “Besides, what else would I do?”
“Well, err…we could go to a movie…or something.”
“What something?” he pushed.
Amy blushed; fearing he could read her mind. Sitting in the back row of a cinema would be nice.
She blurted. “Oh, I don’t know, go to a shooting range…”
“What?” he laughed.
“You like shooting, don’t you?” immediately wishing she’d said something else. For fuck’s sake…a shooting range? Why? I just wanna shag the guy. Urgh… duh!
Just then, a young couple crossed their path. Jack stretched his hand out and gently brushed the female’s wrist, causing a link in her bracelet to snap and fall to the ground. She heard it tinkle as it dropped and turned back to find it.
Jack and Amy walked on.
“Err…yeah. I like shooting, but not on my days off.” He glanced at her.
Amy felt his scorching gaze. Why do I always seem to make him angry?
“We are here to do a job, Amy. We have a short window of time to work in. I’m just gonna get on with it and nail the baddies, OK?”
“Is that what you called them when you are a little boy, goodies and baddies?” she asked, wishing to lighten the mood.
“Yep, nothing much changed when I got older. I joined the army and was trained to kill the baddies, or they’d kill the goodies. Simple. They just wound me up and pointed me in the right direction. It’s all I knew.”
“Did you enjoy the army?”
“Yeah, it kept me out of trouble. The aftercare needs a bit of tweaking though. They don’t know what to do with us when we we’ve burned out and it’s time to leave.”
“Is that how you died? On duty?”
He didn’t answer.
“Is that how you got your scars?” she pressed.
“I don’t discuss how I got here, Amy.” He fidgeted about with her questions. “I just want to get on with it, OK?”
“Yeah, but you can’t save everyone. There’ll be others after us who’ll eventually catch up with the shits that we don’t get. Take some time out, Jack. Why are you so driven?” Amy said, tilting her head towards him, trying to understand this charming, funny, sexy, angry, achingly troubled man she just wanted to jump on. If all these bloody criminals could just get out of the way for five minutes.
She gave him a playful dig in the ribs.
“What have you done that you’re paying penance for, Jack?”
He looked sheepish; his hand lifted to his face, hiding the scars on his jaw.
“Nothing. Shut up, Amy. Let’s just get on with it, for god’s sake.” He marched on ahead of her. “You can talk about being driven, but you want to hang, draw, and quarter every paedophile in the country. You don’t relax either.”
She’d pissed him off. Amy scrunched her face. Fuck, shit, bollocks. I’ve done it again.
Behind them, a motorbike raced out of a side street at a high speed. The reckless rider noticed the couple, but too late. As the girl bent down to retrieve her bracelet, the male stepped ahead, straight into the bike’s path. The bike smacked him, ricocheting his body high into the air. Where it flailed in slow motion before dropping and smashing down onto a parked car’s bonnet, snapping his neck.
Amy heard the commotion and glanced over her shoulder. She turned and challenged Jack with a questioning what-the-fuck look on her face.
“He beat her,” he said matter-of-factly. “He didn’t deserve any help.”
Additional Policemen, arriving at the robbery scene, changed course and scurried up the road to the crash site. The girl sat shocked on the pavement as onlookers fussed around her. She focused her gaze on the sky, then closed her eyes. Amy saw bruises, a black eye, and cuts to her lip. A small white feather floated to the ground beside her.
“How do you know he was responsible for the injuries?” she asked.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on him, gave him a few warnings, which he ignored. She just wasn’t strong enough to leave. Fear kept her with him. His coercive behaviour has been building for a year. Sooner or later, he would take it too far and kill her, like he did with his previous girlfriend, it won’t have been the first time, so…” he shrugged.
“You’re playing God again, Jack?”
“You can talk. I didn’t kill him. I just saved her.”
Amy wasn’t listening. As often happened when she accompanied him, her concentration would zone out as he spoke. Dreamily, she gazed at his lips, watching his mouth move, longing to reach out and kiss him.
Oblivious, lacking any ego or vanity, he couldn’t imagine someone wanting him, least of all a woman as beautiful as Amy. He continued. “We’re here to sort out the shits and protect the innocent.”
She couldn’t keep from staring at him. She found his scars attractive, especially the way they framed his face, underlined his cheek bones, gave him character and strength.
“I protected her,” he added, as if he had to convince her.
“How did you get your scars?”
“I’ve told you. It’s none of your business.” He stroked the torn skin of his jaw as if rubbing them would make them disappear.
“Not telling me makes me want to know more.”
“Well, tough.”
“I think they’re attractive. That’s all. It’s normal to wonder how you got them.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“But—”
“Drop it. For fuck’s sake,” he barked. “What part of no don’t you understand?”
She’d upset him again. She always pushed it too far. He hiked on, leaving her skipping behind.
Amy tried to appease him.
“Well, I’m pleased you saved her. You did good.”
“I don’t pretend to be God. I just help out. We all help out.”
“Soooo pleased I’m not in the God business,” she mused. “They have to make decisions like this all day long…who lives, who dies…pressure or what? No thanks.”
“What do you mean they? Don’t you believe in one God?”
“Not sure. There’s something up there, but I don’t know what, and I don’t know how we, the Units, fit in.”
They changed direct
ion, taking a right on Thurloe Street and passing the oncoming ambulance. As the screeching siren subsided, Amy continued.
“When my dad died, a few nights after the funeral, his spirit visited my mum to say goodbye. She was sleeping. He sat on the edge of her bed and said, ‘Honey, you’re not gonna like this.’ Mum, a staunch Irish Catholic, sat up, rubbed her eyes, and said ‘What?’ He said, ‘There’s three of them.’ He blew her a kiss and left. My mum went back to sleep, muttering, ‘There he goes again, still making trouble.’”
“Three of them? Father, Son, and Holy Ghost?” offered Jack.
“I don’t know if it’s three different religions or Tom, Dick, and Harry. All I know is there’s good and bad. If there are a few Gods up there, as long as they get on, then great…and if there are no Gods up there, there’s been a hell of a lot of waste over the centuries; wasted time, prayers, wars, and lives.”
“Three Gods. I like that idea. But if there are three, working together, they’ll be looking down on us, scratching their heads and wondering how the fuck their followers all ended up killing each other, asking where it all went wrong. But if there are no Gods, then who’s running us?” asked Jack, looking up at the sky.
“Well, whoever, whatever it is, it’d better be good, or I want my money back.” Amy let her lips turn up a bit.
They marched into the side of a building, the red brick wall giving them no resistance. In a nearby alleyway a smouldering cigar ash fell to the floor. A black patent shoe scrunched it into the ground and a black-gloved hand reached up and tapped an ear.
A gravelly voice whispered in the darkness.
“They’re going vigilante and asking too many questions. It needs reporting.”
Chapter Twelve
The Deal (The Fallen Angel Series Book 1) Page 8
