Never Back Down

by Solomon Carter

  The home of Gillespie McAnnion was a nineties construction, red brick with dirt smeared beige plastic façades between each one. Like Fenbrook Manor, there were cheap classical pretensions, but here these were done so perfunctorily they were mocked by cheap bricks and plastic that embarrassed the name of the firm above the wide front doors. The building was on one side of the perpetually busy A127 near Upminster, convenient for the firm’s reach into the London market and all the way through Essex. Lots of similar buildings dotted along the main road here, printing firms in metal sheds, low budget architects and light industrial units, businesses all frequented by the passing traffic. This was the kind of non-entity building hidden behind constant traffic where someone could get away with anything. Eva, Jess and Parker sat in the car on the other side of the fence, in the roadside car park of a busy printing firm. Six lanes of traffic made a noise like constant thunder a few feet away.

  Gillespie McAnnion had seven cars out front. One was Gillespie’s gleaming black Porsche Cayenne, along with some Fords and Volkswagens probably owned by the staff and a navy blue Jaguar XK, a smart executive get up with a personalised plate which read RIM 57. Roger Maher, middle name unknown, year of birth nineteen fifty seven. Clearly, Councillor Maher was not yet familiar with the concept of hubris; either that or he just didn’t give a rat’s arse about much at all. Politicians. Even after the cash for questions, and the expenses scandals – politicians still did whatever they liked. And to think, when she was younger, she told her mother she was going to be Prime Minister - and her mother applauded. Eva had believed in justice too much for that to ever happen, and politics was where truth and justice were sacrificed daily for the sake of greed. No, politics was for people like Maher.

  Eva noted a gap in the fences between the printing firm and the car park of Gillespie McAnnion. The cheap wire fence had been broken away, folded back and not repaired. It looked like others had used this thoroughfare between the buildings, possibly postmen or hobos looking for a stop-over. Parker sat in the front with the camera he had borrowed from Eva, using the zoom lens to snatch a gawping view of the faces behind the dirty grey glass. “I’d like a camera like this, Eva. It’s wonderful. Of course, I couldn’t afford anything like it since my beloved plundered all the bank accounts and launched my credit card balance into the stratosphere.”

  “Wait a minute. I’ll just get my violin,” said Jess. Eva held back a smile.

  “Quite. You must be doing well, Eva. I’d love to be able to match half of your income. Even a quarter of it.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving, Parker. I work with smoke and mirrors.”

  “Hmmm. I know wealth when I see it.”

  “You think you do.”

  At the best of times, it was unpleasant even to hear such talk, especially when it wasn’t true, and spoken with envy. Eva closed her mind to his words. The new Devon Parker was pathetic compared to the swashbuckling PI who Dan had once admired.

  “It must be good to do your easy well-paid jobs. To feel so safe.”

  The man was speaking from the very top of his empty head. He held the camera with jealousy, fondling the damn thing between putting it up to his eyes and looking towards the Gillespie building. The tiredness, the caffeine, the frustration was pushing the hidden anger up inside her. She felt it rise. She bit her lip. Then she gave into temptation - it all surged out of her mouth.

  “Safe? You patronising windbag. You really have lost touch, haven’t you? Do you realise each case I work I am subject to threats, anger, violence and at the very least the potential for it? On every single case. And for over a week now, while you have played me, Dan and Jess all over the park, wasting our time with your hidden agenda, you have cost my business time and real money. You had better not cost Dan his life, Parker.”

  The old man received the bitter honesty in her words. The confrontation was real, the veil torn, their eyes met in silent battle.

  “What do you mean hidden agenda?”

  She had spoken too freely in anger and would have to pull back.

  “You didn’t tell us about your financial pressures till now. I was wondering if there was anything else you haven’t said, that’s all. This is important.”

  Parker chewed his lip and looked at Eva and Jess in turn. His eyes had become watery, though no tears fell.

  “You used to look up to me, Eva. We used to confer on cases over a drink. Times have changed, alas. But money changes people.”

  “Yes, Parker, it certainly does.”

  Jess enjoyed watching Eva lose her temper. She had been willing it all along, forcing back a grin.

  “I still like your theory about Gillespie, Parker.”

  “You always used to call me Devon.”

  “But I think it needs a thorough testing, don’t you?”

  “Calm down, Eva. You’re tired and emotional.”

  “I will. Just as soon as Dan is home and you are back tending to your bank accounts in London.” She opened the door, slid out of the backseat and slammed the door. Even now as she walked towards Gillespie McAnnion, chewing the evidence over and over, thinking of the angles. Rob Mitkin didn’t like Gillespie, that was clear. But none of that linked him to Dan. As she made for the gap in the fence, she heard the electric windows on Parker’s Calibra and a hoarse whisper, “What do you think you are doing?”

  She looked back and called, “Jess –call the police if I am not back in ten minutes.” Jess gave her a thumbs up. Yes, all she had was Rob Mitkin. She thought about Remy and the list. They had to be discounted. But for one thing. It happened in London, in the city, on Victor Marka’s patch. Gillespie’s men worked up there, it was true, but according to Rowntree only on occasional missions, trying to crack the shell of the bigger enemy’s golden egg. Then there was the kidnap of Dan - if it was a kidnap. The snatch happened just a few miles east of Roe Park, Jess’s car abandoned at a garage. But the road led ultimately to London and the East End, a stone’s throw from the city and Leathermarket. There were a hundred other scumbags who inhabited that patch and every piece of land in between, but very few people in the world would have known or cared about a loser called Dan Bradley– apart from Gillespie with his local interests, and Marka with his fetish for overkill revenge. Could it still be Marka? It didn’t seem the right fit. Perhaps she could ensure this wouldn’t be a wasted journey. Maybe she would get enough on Gillespie to find out where he was keeping Dan, but that theory didn’t feel right either. She remembered Laura’s tale about the man with the accent. As she reached the concrete steps and cheap glass doors of Gillespie McAnnion, her brain whizzed through the permutations of a new story to help Dan and live another day. She offered up a silent prayer with a quick roll of her eyes towards the sky and pressed the buzzer. Parker watched the shapes in the meeting room become suddenly immobile as they heard the buzzer, then they went into overdrive, leaving the room one by one. “She’s mad, absolutely insane,” said Parker, his eyes glued to the camera lens. Eva waited, and then the intercom sounded.

  “This office is closed until Monday morning,” came the terse welcome from the small metal speaker by the door. It was a female voice.

  “I want to speak to Brian Gillespie about Robert Mitkin.”

  “This office is closed and Mr Gillespie isn’t here.”

  “Yes he is. I can see his car parked outside. Tell Mr Gillespie that his good friend Rob Mitkin is hiding something from him. Something which threatens his interests. I can either tell him all about it or tell someone else.”

  There was silence. A whole minute passed as the traffic rumbled by. And then there was a long buzz and the door opened. Eva pushed the door open and walked into an unmanned reception space, which looked at least fifteen years out of date with its pine desk and faded blue upholstery. A door beside the reception opened after a moment. The man with the Celtic tattoo opened the door and gave her a nod, and helped himself to a quick once-over gawp, scanning her from head to toe. “Hello again, lady. We can’t keep
you away, can we? Not that I mind that much. I have to say.”

  “Can I see Mr Gillespie?”

  He nodded once. “Wait up. The gaffer has guests.”

  She knew all about his guests and their purpose here, but this corruption wasn’t her battle. Not today. She kept silent and waited, looking away from the tattooed man while he made a point of staring at her. It was about intimidation, wasn’t it? The cretin couldn’t think this was how to woo a woman… unless he did. She ignored him. Kept her breath even and waited. It took two minutes, and then the pine door by the reception opened again, and as he entered, a businessman’s smile was dropped from his face like a stone, replaced by his bejowled, dead eyed distance from the world.

  “You seem to like danger a bit much for my liking. Ain’t you heard what happens to little cats that get too curious?”

  The tattoo man’s mobile buzzed. Gillespie waited for him to answer. “Uh. Yeah. Right. Bring ‘em in.”

  “What was that about?” said Gillespie.

  “Terry saw two more of them sitting in a car, in the printer’s car park. They’ve been snooping.”

  Gillespie shook his head, his sagging eyes becoming even more seriously dead looking.

  “You are asking for a lesson here. I warned you, didn’t I?”

  “Mr Gillespie – this visit is about your interests as well as mine. I’m not here to cause you problems today. I’m here to offer you information and ask for help.”

  The old man stuck a hand into the scruffy mess of hair sticking over his craggy face while he thought about it. Then a crooked smile creased his old brown face in two. “You are a tricky one. What you got, then, sweetheart? You mentioned the Mitkin boys.”

  “I need to find out one thing first.”

  “I don’t negotiate with terrorists, darling.’”

  “I’m not proposing a negotiation. It’s just a question.”

  “Ask then.”

  “I asked you about a list of names....”

  “I told you, that bloody thing has nothing to do with me.”

  “And I think I believe you.”

  The old man nodded. “Then what’s your question?”

  The front door opened, and in spilled Parker and Jess, followed by another of Gillespie’s wide boys whom she recognised from the casino. “What is the reason someone would take a man like Dan Bradley off the street and hold him hostage… I mean, you know Dan Bradley yourself, don’t you?”

  “I know the smallest of details. Most I know because of you. He’s not my concern, not in the least.”

  “But why would anyone do it?”

  “You mean who would do it… That’s your question. Well it ain’t about money, because he doesn’t have a penny. You know that. So to me it’s about stopping a problem from getting any bigger – or it’s revenge, got to be. Surely you figured that out yourself, a clever girl like you?”

  Eva nodded. He had given her the only answer she would get from him. His answer was a question in itself, echoing all her own thoughts. Dan’s disappearance wasn’t down to Gillespie, no matter what Parker had said about the Gypsy King’s motivations. It wasn’t beyond doubt, but her gut said Gillespie was clear of any guilt. He seemed to recognise the change in her demeanour – she believed him – and Gillespie relaxed.

  “Do you know what we were doing here today?” asked Gillespie, perching himself on a stool by the reception.

  “I don’t know. I came here to talk with you.”

  “Good. Because if you were being nosey, I would then be in a position of having to stop you becoming a bigger problem. Which puts your current situation in real perspective. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Eva nodded. Gillespie nodded back and waited.

  “The Mitkins have been dealing with a foreigner,” said Eva.

  “That’s not a greatly helpful hint, sweetheart. Half this country is foreign now.”

  “It’s a foreigner they know well. Phone calls and face to face meetings.”

  Gillespie looked at the tattooed man, then took a cigar from his pocket and looked at it.

  “Right. That’s something. But it isn’t much.”

  “Rob Mitkin is hiding something from you. I think it’s connected.”

  He pointed the cigar at Eva and laughed. “This girl should be working for me. But that’s still pretty vague.”

  “I saw these two at the Casino,” he said, pointing to Jess and Parker. Two heavies lingered so close behind them they might have been able to feel breath on their necks. Eva looked at them. Jess was quiet and passive, and Eva was even more impressed with her. But Parker’s eyes were alight with anger and animation. He shook his head once when Eva caught his eyes. It was an emphatic little gesture, full of rage.

  “Why did you bring them here, spying?”

  “Because if something happened to me, they could do something about it.”

  “Hmmm. Not a great insurance policy there. By the time it pays out, you’ll be dead. That doesn’t stack up for me. Doesn’t ring true.”

  “Some of us aren’t sure who really took Dan Bradley. But I think you didn’t do it.”

  “Bully for you. You finally got something right. Give yourself a raise. You’ve been following me. I don’t like that. And now you turn up outside my offices when I am conducting a private business meeting because you a) want to give me some information or b) don’t believe a word I am saying. So which is it? Because it sounds like you’ve got it in for me more than you want to help me. Do you know my man Terry here? He isn’t a very friendly person. I’ve kept trying to train him in etiquette and good manners, but he really doesn’t give a shit. He’d kill one of my horses and stick it in a baguette if I asked him to work through lunch without eating. But people like Terry are worth their weight in gold sometimes.”

  Gillespie walked close to Eva. He smelt of bad aftershave, leather, and stale breath.

  “You really are wasting time. The man who has Bradley will ruin him and then top him when the time comes. That’s how this works.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know the bastard inside out.”

  “You know who has Dan?”

  “All I know is that when payback time comes, this person is almost as bad as me. Almost. But he has no sense of perspective, takes himself far too seriously. Elevates everything to an epic scale, hence the nightmare ending for his enemies. It isn’t going to be pretty. You’ve wasted days pursuing me.”

  “Who is it?”

  “You didn’t bring me any bargaining chips. And the ones you brought me – they really aren’t enough.”

  “Please. Dan Bradley hasn’t harmed you.”

  “No. But he’s a born trouble maker. He will, one day. You want more, tell me something new.”

  Parker coughed and spoke up. “He’s bluffing, Eva. He’s bluffing.” Big Terry pulled Parker back and threw him to the floor in a heap.

  Eva looked at Parker, thinking. She couldn’t trust a word he said. Who could she trust more? Gillespie won, which was bad for Parker.

  “Your time’s up. If Fats over there speaks out of turn again, we’ll pay homage to your Dan with a live re-enactment of what he’s going through as we speak.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Bad attitude, sweetheart. What else you got?” His dead eyes flared. “Now!”

  “I’ll tell you when you tell me. Where is he?”

  “London. It’s a big town, but that’s where he’ll be.”

  “I need more than that.

  “I know you do, darling. It’s negotiation time now.”

  “The man Mitkin is dealing with is foreign.”

  “You said.”

  “I don’t think his brother Lee knows about it.”

  “His brother doesn’t know about much at all. While Rob thinks he knows it all. I think he must have gone to college to get some kind of “ology”. He’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of Gibraltar and thinks he’s Southend-on-Sea’s answer to Sonny Corl
eone and Stephen Hawking all in one.”

  Eva racked her brains.

  “Are you investing in property in Southend?”

  The man hesitated. “Speculate to accumulate. We like property, amongst other things.”

  “The Mitkins are building up a property empire. They have a Turkish man working for them as a manager who installs and removes tenants.”

  “They have a couple of dives near the seafront.”

  “No. This is bigger than that. They’ve been buying property like it’s going out of fashion.”

  Gillespie stroked his chin, seizing some of the flab between his fingers. He looked away thoughtfully.

  “I should have known about that. Someone should have told me.”

  “What does that tell you, Mr Gillespie?”

  He stepped closer. Close up, the skin of his face looked like puckered old leather, dotted and stretched out of shape.

  “It tells me all I need. Thanks.”

  He walked towards the front door of the office, and tattooed Terry opened it for him. The dry heat of the summer day blustered into the reception and bathed them all – Parker on the floor, Jess passive but serious, Eva spinning around to follow the old man.

  “You said you’d tell me.”

  “You followed me one too many times, sweetheart. You should have listened to me the first time. Thanks for the information.”