The Mechanic Trilogy: the complete boxset

by Rob Ashman

  Lucas was eager to leave. He saw the tail-lights of a beaten-up Ford on the hard-core. The front wheels bumped onto the road and sped away.

  Marge showed up with a Styrofoam box and the check.

  ‘I put some plastic cutlery in there as well, sweetie. Enjoy the rest of your night.’

  Lucas picked up the box and left notes and a handful of change on the table. He waved a silent goodbye and walked down the steps to where he’d parked his car.

  He crouched down at the driver’s side and ran his hand under the front wheel arch. He felt along the top of the tyre and retrieved his keys. He unlocked the car, moved around to the back and popped open the trunk. The small courtesy light cut through the interior gloom. He banged the lid shut, got in the car and drove away.

  The roads were clear and in a little over two hours Lucas was back in San Diego sitting in his apartment. The speedometer had hugged a number much bigger than fifty-five on the way back.

  ‘How did it go?’ Harper asked.

  ‘Like clockwork.’

  ‘Any problems?’

  ‘A trucker wanted to rip my head off for ordering waffles, French toast and bacon. But other than that it went fine.’

  ‘That was an unusual way to identify yourself. Whatever happened to wearing a red rose and carrying a newspaper.’

  ‘That’s what they said to do, so that’s what I did. I figured they must think no one orders breakfast at that time of day.’ He tossed Harper the takeout box. He opened it and set about the congealed mess with the plastic fork.

  ‘What was the guy like?’

  ‘Real scruffy. He’d have made a convincing hobo if it wasn’t for his one-hundred-dollar manicure.’

  Harper stifled a laugh.

  ‘Is that it?’ Harper asked casting his eyes down to the floor. Sitting in the middle of the room was the black Puma sports bag.

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘You checked it?’

  ‘Didn’t see the point. What am I going to do at ten o’clock at night on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere if it’s wrong?’

  Harper put away the box of food and sat down next to the bag. He drew back the zip and opened it up.

  The first thing that struck them was the smell of newly issued bank notes. Harper reached inside and pulled out a brick of money. He upended the bag and bundles of tightly wrapped cash spilled onto the carpet.

  ‘Jesus,’ he whistled under his breath. He stacked them into piles of five and began to count.

  He looked like a kid playing with a set of very expensive building blocks.

  ‘Forty thousand dollars,’ he said once he’d finished stacking.

  There was a rapid knock at the door.

  ‘Shit, who’s that?’ Lucas said.

  ‘Room service,’ said a voice on the other side.

  Harper looked at Lucas and mouthed the words, ‘I didn’t order room service.’ He jumped up, ran to the bedroom and returned with his gun.

  Lucas scrabbled around on the floor throwing the money into the bag.

  Another knock.

  ‘Room service.’

  Lucas zipped the bag shut and shoved it behind the couch. Harper was by the door, his gun pointing to the ceiling.

  ‘Who is it?’ Lucas asked.

  ‘Room service.’

  Lucas pulled back the lock. He twisted the handle and cracked open the door. He peered through the gap.

  It was Rebecca Moran.

  27

  ‘What the—’ Lucas stepped back.

  Moran shoved the door open and forced herself inside.

  Harper levelled his weapon, unsure what the hell was going on.

  Moran walked to the centre of the room and dumped her bags. She saw the gun.

  ‘Really, Harper? Put it away, cowboy.’

  Harper slid the gun in his waistband and skulked off to the bathroom.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Lucas asked.

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Are you on your own?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m very much on my own.’ She slumped into an armchair.

  ‘How did you find us?’

  ‘I faxed you the information on Jameson, remember, and I am a detective after all. Or was until thirty-six hours ago.’

  ‘How did you get past the man on reception? Are you booked in?’

  ‘No, the hotel was full. Getting in was easy, I think he thought I was a hooker.’

  ‘Fucking unlikely.’ Harper returned and sat opposite Moran.

  Moran wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult. She plumped for insult.

  ‘Come on, Moran,’ said Harper. ‘Put us out of our misery, why are you here?’

  ‘I’ve been suspended from duty.’

  Harper let out a belly laugh.

  ‘How come?’ asked Lucas.

  ‘I did what you asked. I said there were no unusual transactions on the Shamon account and it came back to bite me. The guy running the investigation discovered the truth and I was out.’

  ‘What exactly do the cops know?’ asked Harper.

  ‘They know about the monies transferred to Helix Holdings and they know they came from Nassra Shamon.’

  ‘And you figure this Shamon woman is Mechanic,’ said Lucas.

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘So we’re screwed,’ said Harper, getting out of his chair and waving his arms around.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Moran.

  ‘Of course we are. When I told you to bury the account details, I didn’t just mean lie about them. I meant delete them. Get rid of the evidence. Bury them. You stupid woman!’

  ‘Wow,’ said Lucas. ‘Let’s all calm down.’

  ‘Calm down, my ass. We are now facing the prospect of the cops pulling Jameson when we are closing in on a deal that will lead to us to Mechanic.’

  ‘Deal, what deal?’ asked Moran.

  ‘This fucking deal.’ Harper went behind the sofa and pulled out the sports bag. He opened it and shook the contents onto the floor.

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ Moran’s eyes were the size of saucers.

  ‘But it doesn’t matter now because we’re fucked. You fucked us over.’

  ‘No I haven’t.’

  ‘That’s enough, Harper,’ Lucas said.

  ‘I can’t fucking believe it. All that work, all that planning, and you’ve screwed it up by being sloppy. You get suspended and think you can walk in here to lend a hand. That’s it, isn’t it?’

  Harper lunged across the room and put both hands on the arms of Moran’s chair his face inches from hers.

  ‘You stupid little schoolgirl!’

  Moran reached around and pulled the gun from his waistband. She jammed the muzzle under his chin.

  ‘You touch me and I swear I’ll fucking kill you.’

  Everybody froze.

  ‘Moran, don’t be ridiculous, put the gun down,’ Lucas said.

  Harper inched back as he felt the cold metal boring into his flesh. He lifted his hands off the chair in a sign of surrender.

  Moran got up, the gun digging hard into his throat.

  ‘Do you hear me?’ she asked, forcing him to retreat.

  She drove Harper all the way across the room and back into his chair.

  ‘Moran, put the gun down,’ Lucas said.

  ‘I said, do you hear me?’ Moran hissed the words in Harper’s face.

  Harper nodded.

  ‘I want to hear you say it. Do you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, I hear you.’

  ‘Good.’ She strode over to her bags and opened one up. She rooted inside and produced a fistful of papers. She walked back to Harper and threw them in his lap.

  ‘We are not fucked, because these are the documents relating to Sheldon Chemicals and Gerry Vickers. I took them from the Helix file and hid the rest in the records office. I doubt if they will find it for some time.’

  ‘You went to the records office in Tallahassee?’ asked Lucas.

  ‘Yes, powered flight is a w
onderful thing.’ She put the gun on a side table. ‘So you see the cops won’t be looking for Jameson, because they don’t know he exists. They will unravel it eventually, but until then we proceed as planned.’

  Harper looked sheepish, and a little shaken at by being taken out by a schoolgirl.

  28

  Mechanic booked herself into The Kings Motel just off the main drag, about two miles east of town. It was low-end accommodation that bordered on being a dump. The rooms were small and the plumbing banged in protest every time someone flushed the toilet. She slept on top of the quilt with a blanket thrown over her to avoid the wildlife living between the sheets.

  The Kings did however have a few redeeming features. The man behind reception didn’t ask for ID, so Amy Cheshire was now the new guest staying in a double room, for single occupancy, for two nights. He accepted cash for the booking and most important of all, the car park had no CCTV.

  Mechanic had a bad night tossing and turning thinking about her father and their conversation in the bar. Eventually, as the digits on the radio alarm flicked over to 3am, she got up and switched on the TV. There were only four channels and each one was showing a crap programme. But the numbing effect worked well and she drifted off to sleep with the TV on in the background.

  When the morning light burst through the thin drapes, Mechanic felt better. In the shower she had managed to convince herself that it was the booze talking and she should give her father another chance. She handed her key into reception and headed into town.

  She parked up opposite Pavilion Park Homes and walked to her father’s place. She rapped on the door. There was the sound of frantic scrabbling coming from inside and the door sprung open. In the pale glow of the early morning sun Stewart Sells looked even more yellow than usual, especially when dressed in pyjama bottoms with no top. Mechanic looked at his body: skin and bones with not much else.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ he said.

  ‘Hi, how are you this morning?’

  ‘Pretty good, how about yourself?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m okay, but I’m hungry. Have you had breakfast?’

  ‘Er, no, and I could eat right now. Come in while I get ready.’

  She entered the small bungalow and closed the door. The place was brightly decorated and carpeted throughout. Mechanic could see a bedroom and bathroom and a small kitchen through an arch in the wall. There was a faint smell of fresh paint. It was pleasant enough.

  Unfortunately, the lounge was littered with unwashed plates and the two-seater sofa and armchair looked like they’d been sat on by an elephant. The kitchen was no better, with not an inch of worktop visible due to the food wrappers and takeout boxes strewn across it. A mound of dirty laundry was piled into one corner of the bedroom. Red emergency cords hung from the ceiling in every room. Mechanic figured the maintenance of the building was the responsibility of the home, while the rest was the responsibility of her father.

  He busied himself in the bathroom and emerged fully clothed. Mechanic wondered if there was another pile of dirty clothes in the bathroom and he had dressed himself from that. It looked as though he had.

  ‘Ready,’ he said.

  They walked out of the complex and across the street to the rib shack. They were greeted by the same waitress as the previous day who ushered them to the same table. Mechanic seized her chance and grabbed a menu.

  ‘I’ll be back to take your order in a minute,’ said the waitress.

  They both sat in silence deciding what to eat.

  ‘How was your evening?’ Stewart Sells had a gift for saying the unexpected.

  ‘Not good, now you ask. We had a fight, don’t you remember? I called to take you to dinner and I found you in a bar.’

  Mechanic tried to make light of the situation and present it as a hilarious mix-up.

  ‘Oh yeah, right. It’s my meds, they make me a little crazy. No harm meant, no harm done.’

  Mechanic thought about the cocktail of drugs he must be taking: sorafenib, morphine, alprazolam, diuretics. None of them had the side effect of making a person bat-shit crazy. And anyway, drugs or no drugs, what was said last night was meant to cause maximum harm. She tore herself away from her train of thought.

  It was the whisky talking, that’s all. Mechanic kept trying to convince herself.

  ‘Let’s put it behind us,’ she said. ‘What would you like?’

  ‘You picking up the check?’

  Mechanic paused. ‘As always.’

  ‘Then it’s gotta be steak and eggs,’ he said triumphantly.

  The waitress arrived and Mechanic ordered an omelette and coffee. As the waitress was about to leave, Stewart beckoned for her to lean forward. He whispered in her ear. She nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

  ‘What you got planned today?’ Mechanic asked.

  ‘Not a lot, I thought we might hang out together.’

  ‘That would be great. What do you want to do?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. How about if we take things on the fly. Do what we please.’

  ‘Yes, okay, that sounds good.’ This was much better.

  The waitress appeared carrying a tray with two glasses on it. She placed them on the table. Mechanic stared at the drinks, picked one up and sniffed it. It was whisky. Two double shots.

  ‘Excuse me.’ Mechanic held up her hand, but the waitress was gone.

  ‘I thought a little livener would set us up for the day.’

  ‘I’m not drinking at nine thirty in the morning.’

  ‘They’re not for you.’ He picked up a glass and drained it down in one. The second one quickly followed.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit early for that?’

  ‘Nonsense, I take my meds first thing in the morning and no one tells me it’s too early to do that.’

  The waitress returned to their table with fresh cutlery, coffee and two more glasses of whisky. She arranged the knives and forks in front of them and straightened out the napkins.

  ‘Dad,’ Mechanic said. ‘Steady on.’

  ‘It’s gonna be a good day, I can tell.’ The four shots of liquor met the same swift ending as the others.

  Mechanic watched her father sink the whisky and rearranged the cutlery and napkins. Unnecessarily.

  The waitress showed up again, cleared away the glasses and replaced them with two more. Mechanic said nothing.

  ‘Do you hear anything from Jo?’ He put the glass to his lips.

  Mechanic said nothing.

  ‘Do you hear from Jo?’ He banged the empty glass down on the table and grabbed the other one.

  ‘No, Dad, I keep telling you. We’ve lost touch.’

  ‘That’s a shame. Me too. I miss Jo.’ He tipped the liquid into his mouth and knocked his head back. It ran down his throat with all the after effects of drinking cola. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  ‘Oh good, here comes our food,’ was all Mechanic could think to say.

  The waitress served up the plates and left two more glasses on the table.

  He went to pick one up and Mechanic put her hand on his.

  ‘How about we eat?’

  He stared at her for a second and removed his hand.

  ‘Yes, okay, they’re not going anywhere, are they?’ He snatched the knife and fork and tore into his steak.

  Mechanic observed her father as though it was feeding time at the zoo. He sawed away at the meat and slashed at the eggs. She watched his right hand shake under the pressure of cutting through the steak with a heavy serrated knife.

  A knife like that could take a man’s head off, she thought.

  He folded a forkful of meat into his mouth.

  ‘I was thinking,’ he said treating Mechanic to a full view of the meat as he chewed it around in his mouth. ‘How do you fancy spending more time here?’

  Mechanic tried to avoid looking at the macerated food.

  ‘You mean stay longer?’

  ‘Yes, it would be good for us to get to know each other better
, don’t you think?’

  These were the words Mechanic had been waiting to hear.

  ‘Yes, of course. I have some time owing to me at work and could book more nights at the motel if that’s what you want.’

  He downed a whisky and shovelled in more egg.

  ‘I was thinking we could, you know, do things together.’

  ‘I want to spend time with you, Dad. There are issues that need sorting out and they could take time. We have to talk them through.’ Mechanic was so overcome she ignored the next drink as it disappeared down his neck.

  ‘That’s settled then. We’ll start today.’

  ‘Yes, that would be great.’ Waves of emotion swept over her.

  They both ate in silence. Mechanic was bursting with the excitement of a new start. A new chapter. Finally a chance to lay to rest the demons of the past.

  Two more whiskies arrived. Mechanic motioned for the waitress to take them away but her father raised his hand.

  ‘I’ll make these the last.’ His speech was slurred.

  Mechanic finished her breakfast and nursed her coffee. Her father was still hacking away at the rare meat swimming in runny egg yolk.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ he said through another mouthful of food.

  ‘At a place called The Kings Motel. It’s not great but it was cheap.’

  ‘I know it. We could take a ride down there after. You can show me around.’

  ‘There’s a park and a lake, we could take a walk.’

  ‘How about you take me to the hotel and we chill out there for a while.’

  ‘Er, yes, okay.’

  He slurped another whisky down.

  ‘I’m done,’ he said throwing his cutlery onto his plate. He was swaying in his chair and suddenly lurched forward putting both hands out towards her on the table. ‘So what do you say? How about we spend some time together at the motel?’

  ‘Yes, that would be nice.’

  Mechanic felt something brush against her leg. Like a cat was walking under the table. It touched her again. She looked down to see her father rubbing his foot up and down her leg.

  She was paralysed.

  He leaned back in his chair and drank the last glass dry. He was smiling at her.