Stormfront

by R. S. Sutton

  ‘Okay, Modesty Blaze, what’s next?’

  ‘Good ruddy question.’

  Below the small coppice, a narrow drive wound down to where a cottage sat in a shallow dell. Pale yellow light leaked from a couple of windows, and a little smoke lifted slowly from the chimney in the still air.

  ‘Think we’d better go and have a look.’ Before making their way down, Valerie made an excuse to go back to the Jag. ‘Give me a sec. Just want something from the boot.’

  Preston scowled as they walked towards the grassed area behind the cottage.

  ‘Cheeky bloody sods.’ Behind a couple of locked posts, his S-Class and Lamborghini were neatly parked side by side. Avoiding the pathway, Valerie walked quietly over the lawn to the back door.

  ‘Think we’re looking at something a little more serious than twocking.’

  The kitchen was in darkness, except for a thin shaft of light coming from a half-open door leading off to another room. Valerie drew the Glock and told Preston to try the door.

  ‘Christ almighty.’ He swallowed hard at the sight of the pistol. ‘What the bloody hell?’

  ‘Now don’t go all goody-goody on me. You’re the one that wanted to come to the party.’ With both hands she held the gun high to the side of her face. ‘We’re dealing with bastards that make the Krays look like the fucking Chuckle Brothers.’

  ‘Don’t like you swearing either.’ Looking a little embarrassed, Preston scratched at the back of his head. ‘Unless… You know, when…’

  ‘Get your mind back on what we’re doing and open the bloody door,’ she hissed between clenched teeth. ‘There’s plenty of time for that later.’

  The door swung easily but groaned from little-used hinges. Valerie swore under her breath as a querying remark came from the adjacent room. At the sound of movement, Valerie motioned Preston to one side.

  The young man that had seemed a little more hesitant than the others when around the card table, came in.

  Before he could say a word, Valerie grabbed him by his collar and shoved the Glock under his nose. ‘Quiet,’ she whispered, pushing him away from the door. ‘You know me?’ The young man nodded. ‘So you know I’ll use it.’ The nodding became enthusiastic as his eyes bulged. ‘Good boy.’ She patted his cheek before twisting his collar again. ‘How many of you?’

  Valerie pushed him against a cabinet as a shout funnelled through from the other room. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Tell him you’re getting something to eat.’ The young man relayed Valerie’s instructions, adding that the wind had blown the door open. ‘Clever boy,’ she whispered as her strengthening grip made him choke. ‘How many?’

  ‘Four.’ Unable to shrink back anymore, he raised himself on tiptoe. ‘Three and me.’

  ‘Where are they?’ He hesitated and looked appealingly at Preston, but all he received in reply were shrugged shoulders. Valerie pulled the slide back on top of the pistol. ‘Where?’

  ‘Two through there, one upstairs, front bedroom.’ He pointed a finger above his head.

  Keeping the gun in his face, Valerie swung him around towards the door. ‘Right, son. You tell whoever is in there that you’re going out for some fresh air. Then you go, and you keep going until you’re holding on to Mummy’s apron. Don’t look round and don’t come back. If you do…’

  ‘Sure, sure,’ he said, before shouting back into the next room. Valerie pointed the gun towards the back door. ‘You’ll not see me again,’ he said. Then, stumbling out into the night, he disappeared.

  Exasperated, Preston glared.

  ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be a mile over the hill in ten minutes.’

  She edged towards the light and walked in.

  ‘Say nothing,’ she said, holding a finger to her lips. Along with Lawson, who sat stunned, with a scotch halfway to her lips, was Preston’s chauffer. ‘Please, finish your drink,’ said Valerie quietly, ‘you’ll probably need it.’

  Lawson calmly put the glass back on the table, then raised her eyebrows as Preston appeared.

  ‘Kenny!’ Betrayal and anger surged into clenched fists as he saw the chauffer.

  ‘Sorry, David,’ said Valerie, ‘but it was you or him, and I had my money on our Kenny here.’ Valerie leant back on a sideboard opposite the stairway and looked back to Lawson. ‘Whoever’s up there, call them down.’

  ‘Of course. You seem to be holding aces this time.’ The smile on Lawson’s face had Valerie wondering if she knew of any other expression. ‘Oh, Alan,’ she said in a silly, singsong voice, ‘come and look who’s dropped in for a visit.’

  The cottage was old and the footsteps from above were easily tracked through creaking boards towards the stair head.

  ‘Visit? What the hell you talking about? No one’s coming around for a visit.’

  David Preston’s face drained colour as first feet, then legs, then body and finally face of the recognised voice were revealed through the rustic railings.

  ‘Bet this was the last person you thought you’d see,’ said Lawson. ‘Or wanted to,’ she added dryly.

  ‘Alan?’ In disbelief, David Preston choked on his brother’s name. The incredulous look on David Preston’s face brought an instant retort from his brother.

  ‘I’m afraid so, bro. Looks like you’ve found me out.’

  ‘Stay over here.’ Valerie pushed David back as he made to approach his brother.

  ‘Good advice,’ said Lawson coolly. ‘I’m sure your new friend doesn’t want you coming over to the dark side.’ Valerie motioned her to sit back in the chair as she started to rise. ‘No problem.’ With the smile still firmly in place, she slid back down.

  ‘All this time?’ said David. ‘Christ’s sake, we didn’t need this, Alan. We were great on our own.’

  ‘You don’t get the big money without bending things a little. Always were too honest, weren’t you, David? Do you know…’ He perched himself on a chair back and turned to Lawson. ‘When we were kids, we found a five-pound note in a puddle. My honest brother here wanted to take it to the police station. I ask you, ain’t going to get anywhere with scruples like that.’

  ‘Well, what now?’ said Lawson, trying to distract Valerie. ‘How about a big wad dumping into an offshore account? You and David could go and live on your own private island. Somewhere warmer, West Indies, the Pacific even. Anything extra you want, just send an email, be in your account next day. You could raise little Valeries and Davids, swim in your own lagoon every morning.’

  ‘All in all,’ said Valerie, ‘I think I’d rather see you dead.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Alan, ‘not sure my upstanding brother would side with that. What about it, David, going to let Wonder Woman here blow us away?’

  Unsure, David looked at his brother. ‘She wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘Ha, there’s a side to her you know nothing about, bro. That woman’s one hard bitch.’

  ‘Enough of this.’ Valerie reached into an inside pocket. ‘Time to call in the help.’

  At the same time as Valerie took out her mobile, Lawson bent forward to pick up her glass. It was just a second, but for Kenny, sitting to the side, the small distraction was enough to bring a revolver up from beside his chair.

  As before, the shot in a confined space was ear-piercing. Valerie gasped as the bullet tore through her sleeve, taking a small piece of flesh away and burying itself in the wall. She shouted at David to get down as she swung round and sent a reply into Kenny’s chest just as he got a second shot off. In the confusion, Lawson sprang to her feet and ran, escaping through the front door.

  Valerie raised her gun again, this time towards Alan Preston. ‘Stay where you are.’ Then, realising David was still on the floor, she tapped him with her shoe and was relieved when he groaned. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Bloody hell, Valerie.’

  ‘You okay?’ she repe
ated.

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ He staggered to his feet. ‘Jesus, no I’m not.’ Looking at the gash in his wrist, he fell into a chair. ‘Need something to stop the bleeding.’

  Keeping the gun trained on Alan, Valerie feverishly pulled drawers from the sideboard and grabbed some linen napkins.

  ‘Here, unfasten your cuff and pile that on.’

  The blood kept seeping out. Handing the gun to David, she took more fresh linen and replaced the sodden heap, then tearing lengths, wound them around. Whilst his brother held the gun, Alan suddenly jumped from the chair back and ran to the door.

  ‘Sorry, I couldn’t,’ said David as his brother ran out. ‘Jesus…’ He pulled his jacket open. ‘Must have gone through into my side.’

  Valerie pulled his torn shirt away. ‘It’s okay, just a flesh wound.’

  Taking the gun, she went to the door. Lawson was fiddling with the parking post when a bullet sank into the adjacent wall, sending brick dust into Valerie’s eyes.

  ‘They’re after the Lambo,’ said David, getting to his feet.

  ‘Stay there!’ Valerie ducked back, drawing a cuff across stinging eyes and shaking her head. ‘You’ll start bleeding again.’ She took out her phone and dialled Claude. ‘Here,’ she said, passing it to David, ‘when he answers, tell him what happened and get an ambulance. Postcode of this place is in the phone’s diary somewhere.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked as she kissed his cheek.

  ‘What the bloody hell do you think?’

  Trying to move, he winced again, as Claude answered the phone. ‘Hold,’ Preston told the inspector. ‘Please hold.’

  ‘See you later,’ said Valerie. ‘I’ll be okay.’ Preston spat out a combination of pain and anger then, reaching into his pocket, threw the Golf key across.

  ‘Take the R, you’ll never catch them in the Jag. And,’ he added as she left, ‘you’ll have to catch them before they leave these side lanes. Let them get onto decent roads and you’ll never see them again. One last thing,’ he shouted as she sprinted across the grass, ‘trust the car’s computer.’

  The Lamborghini was already setting off along the narrow lane when Valerie turned the Golf around in pursuit. One hand on the wheel, she put the little Volkswagen into “race”. ‘Which way? Which way?’ she said, approaching the turnoff. ‘Where the boat is.’ She turned left and floored the throttle.

  The narrow, twisting road gave her the only chance of catching them. After a few minutes, the lights of the Lamborghini illuminated the way ahead. Trusting the car’s computer, she pushed hard to the end of the pedal’s reach. ‘More, more,’ she said quietly.

  At the sign of a double bend she had to brake, but it was not enough. With the ABS and computer losing control, the car started to slide on loose gravel, sending the offside wing mirror clattering into the wall, smashing a headlight and putting a gash down the side, but with the VW regaining its line, she again floored the throttle.

  More bends and she was running down the lights ahead. Frantic turning, braking and accelerating were all sent down to the computer where, calmly shuffling power around in thousandths of a second, the electronics serenely sent commands to the wheels, keeping the car on the road. With the ever-narrowing lane down to single track, the driver of the Lamborghini was unable to unleash its full power.

  ‘Hell’s teeth,’ shouted Valerie as the fuel warning light came on. ‘Running on empty. You and me both, little Golf. Fifty miles left at most.’

  Still the road remained her friend, twisting and climbing even as the trees gave way to open ground on one side and a stone wall on the other. Through the next bend and the Lambo was just one hundred yards in front, but as it reached a short, straight piece of tarmac, the powerful supercar leapt forward. Then, ahead, all went dark as the road disappeared and dropped around the bend.

  No sign. Gone. Valerie was just about to gun the Golf again when a glint to the right caught her eye. Turning the Golf slightly, the remaining headlight picked up the big Lamborghini jammed in a ditch. Jumping out, Valerie tripped and slid the six or seven feet below road level towards the crippled car. In the passenger seat, Preston was dead.

  The corner had been cut too close; a large protruding stone in the wall had come through the windscreen and crushed his skull. Lawson, dazed but relatively unhurt in the driver’s seat, saw Valerie.

  ‘Get me out of here!’ she screamed in a mixture of panic and contorted pain. The ever-present smile was gone. Valerie moved back from the petrol pouring from the ruptured tank.

  ‘In a bit of a mess, aren’t we?’

  ‘Anything Valerie, anything. You name it. Get me out of here! I’ll give you anything.’

  ‘Unto half my kingdom, is it?’

  ‘You can have the whole fucking kingdom. Just get me out of here.’ She leant forward and released the front boot. ‘In there. Look. Go on. In the briefcases.’

  Valerie pulled at the bent panel, took the large leather cases from the Lambo and flicked the locks, first on one then the other. The cases were full with bound bundles of fifty-pound notes.

  ‘Half a million in there, Valerie, probably more. All yours. And much more, I’ll get you more. Just get me out of this fucking car!’ Valerie closed the cases, threw them up the bank and took a couple more steps away from the heavy fumes. ‘I’m sorry about what happened, Alan forced me. Honest to God. He was behind the lights, you know, in the cellar? He had a bloody temper on him. Shit, did he have a temper. I’m sorry. Get me out.’ She started banging at the door that was hard up against the small embankment. ‘I’ll do time, tell everything. The whole story. Bring down the lot.’

  ‘And what about Ben?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have done it, you know that, all a big mistake. It was my fault you shot him, I know. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘And Hardy?’

  Lawson slumped back for a moment before starting to thump on the roof and door. Then, crawling over Preston, she started screaming, ‘You fucking bitch! When I get out of here, you’re dead. Do you hear?! There’s nowhere you can hide. You’re fucking dead!’

  Valerie moved back a few more paces before taking a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. ‘Sod it,’ she said, throwing the empty wrapper into the pool of petrol.

  Hate was overwhelming as she looked at the Zippo and growing pool of fuel. The temptation was pulling and grabbing, tempting and teasing as she rolled the lighter around with her fingers. An evil darkness hooked into her flesh, pulling her down into the sewer inhabited by the scum she had been chasing.

  Now a decision as to which side to fall had to be made: climb out, or stay there forever with the rest of the filth. She pushed the lighter back into her pocket and reached for the mobile that wasn’t there.

  The ticking of cooling metal was silenced by a sudden ignition, then violent screams.

  As Valerie scrambled away from the leaping flames, a lumbering milk tanker came around the bend. The driver, grabbing a small fire extinguisher, jumped from the cab.

  ‘Bloody hell! What happened?!’

  Holding a case in each hand, Valerie looked down at the small extinguisher. ‘Not sure that will be of much use.’ The screams diminished as the flames and thick smoke curled into the night. ‘Besides, she needs to get acclimatised.’

  Twenty-Five

  Looking at her watch, Valerie assumed the colonel would be an early bird and called into the department on her way back.

  ‘Up with the lark?’ she said, sitting down. ‘Need something from the store, and as you’re the only one here…’ As the ashtray was empty and the colonel had a cup on the desk, she presumed the smell of cigar smoke lingering in the air was from the previous night.

  ‘New coffee machine in the corner,’ he said, leaving the room.

  Going over to the dispenser, Valerie ran her finger through the capsules, stopping at an Americano. The aroma of
a fresh brew momentarily overpowered the stale tobacco. Cup in hand, Valerie was falling in love with a painting of a ballet dancer when the colonel returned.

  ‘Lovely, isn’t it? Degas. It came in for cleaning, and I have the pleasure of its company for the next three days. Trouble is, if I want to keep on having the pleasure of these works of art, I can’t smoke in here anymore. Some little oik, that should still be in short trousers, laid down the law. The nicotine clings to the paint, apparently.’

  ‘Bet that went down well,’ said Valerie under her breath. ‘So, what are you going to do?’

  ‘I slept on it, and decided I can’t live without the paintings, so—’

  ‘The cigars go.’

  ‘During the day, yes. Probably better for me, at least it’s better on the wallet.’ He put a small attaché case on his desk. ‘Anything else?’ he asked, pushing it towards Valerie.

  She shook her head.

  Thompson did ask, when she was halfway out of the door, but only received a smile.

  ‘Think you’ll have to trust me.’

  ***

  After getting cleaned up and having three stitches put in her arm, Valerie was on the houseboat catching up on a little sleep. With the combination of two of the leftover painkillers and miscalculating how tired she had become, she awoke around six in the evening.

  ‘Johnny,’ she said to the sergeant, ‘sorry to call you at home. I need to see Dennis.’ Valerie wedged the phone with her shoulder and lit a cigarette. ‘It’s urgent. You know his address?’

  ‘Got contact details for all of you, Valerie.’ Seconds later he brought up the detail. ‘Anything I can help you with?’

  ‘No, no. Just need to see him before tomorrow. He might need to put a few things together quickly.’

  ***

  It was no more than a feeling. Valerie had seen no one but could not rid herself of a sense that she was being followed. Leaving the lift that served the flats where Dennis lived, she spent five minutes looking from one of the windows along the corridor. Nothing caught her eye; the small, pebbled forecourt was deserted, and the only movement came from vehicle lights on the by-pass.