by A K Reynolds
‘I’m ready to hand it over.’
‘Are you sure you’ve got what I’m looking for?’
‘My sister gave it to me.’
‘I see. Well, I’m delighted you’ve decided to see sense at last.’
‘But you’ll need to pay me for it.’
‘How much?’
‘The open market value for this kind of information is rather high. Can you match it?’
‘That’s immaterial, Jo. It’s not an open market. As far as you’re concerned, I’m the only buyer, because if you sell to anyone else, you’re a dead woman.’
‘You’re in no position to make threats. If I went to the police with this you’d be banged up in no time.’
‘Ha-ha-ha!’
‘What’s so funny?’
‘You’ve been misinformed, Jo. You have no idea what or who you’re dealing with, have you?’
He had me bang to rights. I didn’t know what I was dealing with. All I knew was that Tara’s mobile phone was valuable. But it was now clear it wouldn’t give me the sort of leverage I’d hoped it would. That said, at least I’d achieved something. I’d established there was a link between Jake Devlin and what I was going through.
‘How do I know you won’t kill me whether I sell it to you or not?’
‘You don’t. You’ll just have to trust me.’
‘My trust is in very short supply, especially where you’re concerned. Does Hench work for you?’
‘He does and he’s rather upset with you. You’ve seen what he’s like. He’s not a man to be trifled with. I’ll call him off, however, once you agree to the deal.’
I hung up. Deal or no deal, Devlin would have me killed. It would be naïve to think otherwise, so there was no point in continuing the conversation. All that mattered now was resuming my search for Sarina, the woman who’d betrayed me and seemed to be the key to whatever I’d become involved in. I tried to put myself in her shoes and work out where she might’ve gone after Tara had been killed. Or after she killed Tara, having mortgaged my house and duped me out of a small fortune.
I switched off my mobile phone. Or thought I did. But events were later to prove I’d been in such a tizz I hadn’t done it properly. Then I left the hotel to go to the local Kentucky for lunch. I knew that all this takeaway food wasn’t healthy for me but my diet was the least of my concerns.
The sun was shining for once but it was a cold day and I shivered as I made my way over the red-paved area leading to the car park. A couple of sales rep types were heading my way. Black overcoats over charcoal grey suits, black briefcases, and highly polished black shoes. They were both six foot something with dark hair, and the sort of faces that might have been good-looking when they were young but were now flabby and dissolute. They were deep in conversation and didn’t pay me any attention until they were passing me by. At that point they dropped their briefcases and grabbed me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I opened my mouth to shout for help but was prevented from doing so by a wad of material clamped over my nose and mouth, and held in place by a large hand. Either of those men individually would have been too much for me to deal with. Both working together ensured I couldn’t put up any sort of resistance at all. Try as I might to hold my breath and get free, I couldn’t manage either. I was in far too much of a panic to hold my breath even though I knew I ought to. Instead I panted like a dog in the back of a car on a hot day, while my heart danced a crazy jig in my chest. Then a strange calm descended on me and I felt myself float away. And the next thing I knew I was in the back of a BMW 5 series with one of the sales rep types next to me.
‘She’s coming round,’ he said.
‘About time.’
My head was pounding and my senses were dulled but I forced myself to focus, knowing my life depended on it.
Glancing out the side window, I saw a red-brick urban sprawl. It seemed familiar, but then it would. Much of Manchester looked exactly like it. I surreptitiously tried the door handle, thinking I might bail out at the next set of traffic lights. The door didn’t budge.
‘What do you think we are, fucking amateurs?’ The man next to me said with an unpleasant leer.
I patted myself down.
‘Looking for this?’ He held my gun between his finger and thumb, waving it in front of my face.
‘What’s going to happen to me?’ I said.
The man next to me shrugged. ‘None of my concern.’
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Wait and see.’
‘If you’re taking me to Hench, he’ll kill me. Do you really want blood on your hands?’
‘Ha-ha-ha! Did you hear that Alan? Jo here is worried we might suffer with bad consciences if we get blood on our hands.’
Alan turned his head, a malicious grin splitting his face in two. ‘That’s hilarious, Pete.’
Then he turned to me and said, ‘By the way, what about your conscience, Jo? You’ve got blood on your own hands. You sliced two of Hench’s men to shreds. He’s cut up even rougher than they did about that. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when he gets hold of you.’
Having defended his type in the past, I could make an educated guess about the kind of apparatus Hench used in his line of work. My bowels started to feel distinctly loose, and I hoped I wouldn’t disgrace myself. It was an odd concern, because in the scheme of things it hardly mattered.
‘Is that where I’m going? To Hench?’
‘What do you think?’
The car rolled on through the suburbs of Manchester, eventually entering a run-down industrial estate. We turned onto a winding lane at either side of which were rusting sheds housing obscure engineering concerns such as valve repairers and cold wire drawing. The man next to me called a number on his mobile.
‘We’re here with the package.’
The BMW drove up to one of the rusting sheds. The shutters at the front opened up and the BMW drove in smartly, the door closing behind us. We were in a vast space which was evidently used as a bodywork shop. It smelled of machinery and grease. Cars of various makes and models in various states of disrepair covered most of the floorspace. A couple of vehicles were raised on hydraulic platforms. Two men, both wearing blue overalls, approached our car. They were gym-types who might’ve been in a branch of the armed forces before embarking on their criminal careers. One of them was about six foot two, thirty years old, and lean, with blond hair in a buzz-cut. The other was slightly shorter, and broader. He was also thirty years old-ish, with dark hair with short back and sides.
Alan got out and came to my side of the car. ‘Job done,’ he said, opening the door next to me.
When I didn’t immediately move he grabbed me and pulled me from the vehicle. I stumbled and fell to the dirty concrete floor.
Alan gave me a prod with the toe of his shoe. ‘Get up.’
My head was still swimming from whatever they’d used to drug me. I got to my feet and staggered a little. Then it occurred to me that if I larded it on a bit, maybe they’d let their guard down and I’d get an opportunity to escape, so I fell to the floor again.
‘What did you drug me with? It’s totally done me in.’
‘Don’t worry, it’ll wear off soon. Now get up.’
His voice echoed in the vast space. I got to my feet swaying uncertainly. Alan twisted my right arm up behind my back. As he did, Pete climbed from the car.
‘Here, she was carrying these, Chad. Hench’ll want to know about it,’ Pete said, reaching into the pockets of his overcoat. Then he pulled out my gun and ammunition, Doyle’s wallet, and my mobile phones, one of which appeared to be switched on – it was too late to worry about that now – and handed them to the darker-haired of the two men in overalls. With them in possession of the mobile phone Tara had given me, it seemed my only hope of knowing what was going on and saving myself was gone.
‘Where do you want her?’
‘This way.�
�
The blond-haired man in overalls went into a side room and Alan propelled me along behind him. The side room turned out to be a small untidy office with soiled paperwork scattered over every available surface. There was a door at the back leading to a larger room. We went through it, and I saw to my dismay that it contained some familiar appurtenances: a straight-backed chair which was bolted to the floor; around it on the floor a dense pattern of brown spots in the shape of a doughnut; workshop tools stained in a manner which suggested they’d been used on flesh and blood rather than steel.
The thought of having those tools used on my own flesh and bones galvanised me into action. I kicked and struggled as hard as I could, even though one arm was up behind my back, and shouted for help. Alan forced my arm further up until he was almost putting my shoulder out. The man in front of us wearing overalls turned around and calmly punched me in the face, saying, ‘Shut. The. Fuck. Up.’
When I didn’t, he punched me again, this time in the stomach. It made me gasp, and if not for Alan holding me upright, it would’ve bent me double.
‘Thanks Jurgen,’ Alan said. ‘Much appreciated.’
Jurgen looked pleased with himself. ‘Think nothing of it. I’m happy to help.’
After that, Alan had no trouble putting me in the chair. My legs were incapable of kicking out due to the pain that I was in. Alan held me down while Jurgen fastened me in, using plastic ties to secure my wrists and ankles to the arms and legs of the chair.
‘Neat job that, well done,’ Alan said approvingly, when Jurgen had finished.
‘Thanks.’
‘Right, we’ll leave you to it.’
Alan and Jurgen left. I heard the shutters opening, the BMW making its exit, the roller door closing again, and was left wondering what would happen next, knowing that whatever it was, it wouldn’t be pretty or pleasant. Sweat erupted from pores I never knew I had and streams of it ran down my body beneath my clothes. Jurgen and his colleague Chad came in, Chad talking into a mobile phone. He had my gun in his other hand.
‘Yeah, Hench, everything’s ready for you.’
He put the phone in his pocket.
‘What do you think, Chad? Should we wait for Hench or soften her up a bit ourselves?’ Jurgen said.
‘Don’t do it!’ I said. ‘You’ll regret it if you do.’
Jurgen and Chad looked at each other, Chad’s brow furrowing. Chad turned to look at me.
‘Regret it? Why would we regret it?’
‘Because Devlin and Hench would be pissed off with you and you wouldn’t want to piss off either of your bosses, would you?’
Chad came closer, thrusting his face up close to mine. ‘All right, I’m intrigued. How would softening you up piss them off?’
‘Because the information you’re after is on a memory stick which I’ve put in the hands of a solicitor. If he doesn’t hear from me by tonight, he’ll take it to the police. Then you’ll all be in the shit.’
Chad smiled, putting the gun in his pocket.
‘That gives us till tonight to find out who the solicitor is then, doesn’t it?’ He took a pair of pliers from the wall. ‘I wouldn’t fancy his chances when we do.’
He came up close to me, wielding the pliers menacingly, his mouth open in a sadistic grin. At this proximity I was able to see a strand of spittle dangling from between his uneven teeth.
‘I’ll start with this,’ he said, gripping my right hand in one of his to stop it from moving, he applied the pliers to my little finger and gave it a bit of a squeeze, enough to make me cry out in pain. Brimming with contempt, he let go.
‘You big fucking baby. Relax, I was just having you on.’ He hung the pliers back on the wall. ‘Hench wants you all to himself. And besides, he’s much better than I am at this sort of thing. I can guarantee he’ll have the name of that solicitor out of you in a matter of seconds.’
That was it then. My bluff had failed. Nothing stood between me and a long and painful death at Hench’s hands. I knew that even if I told him about Tara’s mobile phone it’d make no difference, he’d kill me anyway. If he was merciful, he might permit me a quick death but I had a feeling he wasn’t the merciful type, and even if he was, the fact I’d killed Doyle and Longford would incline him away from any act of clemency.
On impulse I called for help as loud as I could.
‘Shout all you like,’ Chad said. ‘This place is soundproof.’
‘For pity’s sake, can you give a dying woman her last wish? Can you please give me a drink of water?’
Chad nodded at Jurgen, who left the room. Half a minute later, the door burst open and Jurgen charged in with a crowbar held overhead in his right hand. Chad had his back to Jurgen. He turned when he heard Jurgen’s feet clattering on the concrete floor. By this time Jurgen was on him, bringing the crowbar down on Chad’s head. Chad dropped like a sack of spanners to the floor. Jurgen let go of the crowbar and went through Chad’s pockets. He got the gun and ammo and put them in the pockets of his own overalls. Then he pulled out a Stanley knife which he used to slice through the plastic ties on my wrists and ankles.
‘We have to move fast,’ he said. ‘Hench will be here any minute.’
I didn’t question what’d just gone on. For now, what counted was survival and I reckoned I’d rather take my chances with Jurgen than with Hench.
I got to my feet. ‘All right. Tell me what to do.’
By the time I’d finished speaking Jurgen was at the door making his exit. ‘Follow me.’
I stooped low and searched Chad, quickly finding my (or rather Doyle’s) wallet, my mobile phone, and Tara’s mobile phone with my back to Jurgen, so he couldn’t see exactly what I was doing. A glowing light on my mobile told me I hadn’t switched it off properly. As it was hardly a priority I ignored it.
‘What the fuck are you up to?’
Looking over my shoulder I saw him standing at the door, holding it open.
‘Getting my purse.’
‘Come on!’
‘Sorry,’ I said, charging after him.
‘This way!’
We ran through the untidy office into the garage, weaving our way between assorted vehicles to a dark blue Ford Focus parked next to the wall at the far side.
‘Get in!’
I sat on the passenger seat. Jurgen sat behind the steering wheel, flipped down the sun visor, took a key from behind it, and shoved it in the ignition. Just as he was turning the key to start the car, his mobile phone rang. He looked at the number on the screen. ‘Shit, they’re here.’
He didn’t need to tell me who ‘they’ were. My heart fluttered madly.
Swiping the screen he put the phone to his ear.
‘Opening now.’
He wound down the side window of the car and leaned out. A panel with a red button and a blue button on it was set into the wall next to him, just within reach. He pressed the red button. With a grinding of gears the steel shutters slowly opened, revealing a black Range Rover right in our path, blocking our exit. The driver had a huge head with a bony, almost neanderthal brow. His lips were curved down like those of a shark. He was so big the crown of his head looked to be scraping the ceiling of his vehicle. Next to him was a much smaller man with dark greasy hair scraped back from a flabby face, with the pallid complexion of an undertaker who spent the majority of his time indoors.
I immediately recognised them both.
It was Hench and Devlin.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
With a squeal of tyres and a smell of burning our car shot forwards, while at the same time, Jurgen turned the steering wheel causing it to veer left, just enough to avoid colliding with the Range Rover. Or it would have been enough, if Hench hadn’t anticipated the manoeuvre and put his foot down. Because of his action, the front of the Range Rover smacked into the tail-end of the Ford Focus, sending our car into a spin. But it didn’t stop us. And within seconds, Jurgen had the car back under control
and we were heading towards the main drag of the industrial estate. I chanced a backwards glance to see that Hench had turned the Range Rover round and was in hot pursuit of us.
We turned off the side road and headed at speed towards the exit with Hench and Devlin on our tail. Another turn took us onto a busy main road, and put a car between us and them. We screeched into a housing estate and made several rapid turns through a rabbit warren of streets, emerging out the other side of the estate onto a dual carriageway, having shaken off our pursuers. An overhead sign told me we were on the A6010.
Now that the heat was off, if only for a while, I took the opportunity to look more closely at the man who had so recently given me a hard punch in the face and an equally hard punch in the stomach. He had a smooth face with strong features and a square jaw, giving him the appearance of the blond-haired Action Man I’d played with as a child. At just over six foot he had several inches in height on me and a few stone in weight, most of which appeared to be muscle, judging by what I could see of his physical shape beneath the overalls. It was odds on that if we got into a fight, he’d beat me to a pulp without even breaking a sweat.
He’d saved me from Hench, but what was his motive? Could I trust him? Or had I jumped from a searingly hot pan into a hellishly hot fire?
‘What’s going on?’ I said.
He kept his eyes on the road as he replied. ‘I’ll tell you later. I need to know where your place is.’
‘What?’
‘The place that you and your wife refer to as “our place”.’
‘Why?’
‘I’ll explain later.’
‘You’ll explain now.’
‘We don’t have time to fuck about, Jo.’
‘Who are you?’
He shook his head.
‘I don’t care how pissed-off you are. I’m not telling you anything unless you tell me what’s going on,’ I said.
We drove on in silence to the A57 heading east. Before long Jurgen pulled onto a deserted street in West Gorton and slowed the car to a stop. To one side of us was a patch of waste ground, fenced off with a wire mesh fence; to the other was a smaller piece of waste ground. It was the perfect spot for a discreet killing.
