Too Far Gone (Sam Pope Series Book 4)

by Robert Enright

  Her addiction to OxyContin started when Alex was only seven years old. She had fuzzy memories of her dad being around back then, her parents cooing over Nattie in between the marijuana smoke and the rattling of pill bottles. Two years later, when Joel arrived, her dad took off, leaving Rhonda with three kids and an itch she would never be able to scratch,

  At ten years old, Alex was changing nappies, picking up supplies from the store, and working her weekends cleaning up hair in the local barber shop. The African American community in the Bronx was close knit, and she was watched over by the locals.

  Regi ran the barber shop, and she fondly remembered his pearly white grin peeking through his bushy beard.

  As her mother spiralled further down a drug addled rabbit hole, Alex missed more and more of her lessons, skipping out on school to put more money in her pockets and more food in her siblings’ stomachs.

  It was tough.

  By the age of fifteen, Nattie’s age now, she’d been expelled for slamming a girl’s head against a desk after the girl had uttered a snide remark about her mother.

  Alex wasn’t defending her mother’s honour.

  She was defending her own.

  Without school, she swept up more hair and soon found herself hanging around with some of Regi’s customers. The talks of cars, chop shops, and street races were as common as discussions about the weather.

  Her ears pricked up.

  Soon, she was behind the wheel of the car weaving in and out of streets, shooting past finishing lines and stacking up enough cash to keep the lights on. Nattie excelled at school. Joel excelled at sports.

  By Alex’s nineteenth birthday, Rhonda had decided to clean herself up, seeking help from a local support group. They assigned her a sponsor and life took a turn for the better. Alex switched the steering wheel for books, studying to get enough extra credits at a local community college to forge a career as a police officer. She supplemented the money with evening shifts at a diner, hoping to build the life she’d put on hold for the sake of her siblings.

  But it didn’t last.

  It never did.

  When she came home on the evening of her twentieth birthday, she found her younger brother in floods of tears. Their mother lay motionless on the sofa, an empty bottle of pills in her hand. It was a minor miracle when they’d been able to revive her, her heart having stopped for over two minutes.

  But that was when the social services began digging.

  As the evidence stacked up, Alex had to prove she could look after Joel and Nattie, otherwise the state would assume control of their welfare. They couldn’t guarantee they would stay together. They would both be lost in the system, their bright futures vanquished by their mother’s addiction.

  Alex went back to the streets. To the wheel of the car.

  That was when she was nabbed by Trevor Sims and blackmailed into joining Blackridge, putting her out in the field as his squadron’s driver.

  If she didn’t go, her siblings would.

  Nattie’s voice broke, tears flooding down her face.

  ‘You can’t go, Ally,’ she wailed, wrapping her thin arms around Alex’s waist. ‘You can’t.’

  ‘Hey, I’m just going for a few weeks.’ Alex squeezed her younger sister, running her hand through her braided hair. ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’

  ‘What about her?’

  Joel, stood in the doorway, nodded towards the living room of the apartment. Rhonda lay on the sofa, catatonic, her eyes barely open as she stared at the TV. Alex sighed.

  ‘Well, you’re just going to have to be the man of the house, ain’t ya?’ She smiled. ‘You reckon you can handle that?’

  Joel proudly puffed up his broad chest. As the star quarter back for the high school football team, he’d certainly blossomed into a hulking specimen. Like Nattie, colleges were taking notice.

  Their futures were so bright.

  Alex, gritting her teeth, knew she had no choice. Nattie squeezed her tightly.

  ‘We can’t do this without you.’

  A tear gently slid down Alex’s face and she slowly leant down, meeting her younger sister with a smile.

  ‘You can do anything. Be anything,’ she said sternly, then looked to Joel. ‘Both of you. Now while I’m gone, you need to make sure you eat well and study. You hear me?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Joel saluted, smirking. Nattie solemnly nodded her head.

  ‘Good.’ Alex smiled at them both, masking her heart break. ‘I don’t want to have to whoop some ass when I get back.’

  All three of them chuckled and Nattie once again latched onto her like a koala bear. They were soon joined by Joel, who wrapped his muscular arms around the two of them.

  It was just the three of them.

  Together.

  As they huddled together, Alex knew that if she had to swim the Atlantic Ocean itself, she would return to them.

  Whatever it took.

  Taking a deep breath, Alex focussed her line of sight on the entrance to the industrial estate. The large, square car park was near empty, just a few lorries ferried away in the far corner, in front of a warehouse. A large sign displaying the names of the businesses and their locations stood proudly by the front gate and she knew it was only a matter of moments before it bathed in the lights of their pursuer’s car.

  As the rain clattered against her windscreen, she peered through the fuzzy glass, the wipers smearing it across the glass.

  It was like looking through a clouded filter.

  Sure enough, the headlights of Matt’s car bounced off the plastic sign, momentarily blinding her.

  She blinked it away as quick as she could.

  The Mercedes roared around the final bend and then screeched to a halt.

  Behind the tinted glass, Matt and his last remaining henchman peered menacingly around the dimly lit car park.

  As Sam had instructed, she flicked the lever on the steering wheel, causing the full beam to explode through the darkness like a firework.

  She revved the engine.

  The standoff lasted only a matter of seconds before both sets of wheels spun on the spot, smoke rising from the concrete before both cars leapt forward, thundering towards each other in a terrifying game of chicken.

  Someone would have to give.

  Sam lined up his shot.

  As soon as Alex had pulled into the empty estate, Sam had told her to pull over. They didn’t have long, and their element of surprise was dissipating rapidly. The plan was simple.

  Alex would lure them in, skew their vision while Sam stood in the shadows. He didn’t like it but putting her in harm’s way was the only way out of it.

  It relied on Matt’s recklessness.

  And his own aim.

  Only one of those things was within Sam’s control.

  As the rain engulfed him, Sam lifted the handgun with both hands, his eyes locked on Matt’s windscreen as they hurtled towards Alex.

  His shoulder ached.

  His back moaned.

  Sam’s entire body had been through hell, but here he stood, ready to fight once more.

  Thirty feet.

  Twenty-five feet.

  Sam closed his left eye.

  He adjusted the grip.

  He pulled the trigger.

  The bullet sliced through the raindrops and pierced a perfect hole in the windscreen. The sudden jerk of the car confirmed it had lodged itself between the driver’s eyes, blowing out the back of his skull and killing him instantly. The dead weight would have pushed down on the accelerator and as the car spun wildly to the left, Sam envisaged Matt’s fear as he scrambled to steady the wheel.

  Alex had already spun the wheel in the opposite direction and Sam took his shot.

  With pinpoint aim, he blew out the back tire of the Mercedes. Combined with the speed and sharp trajectory the car flipped, spinning through the night sky and crashing on its side, the momentum causing it to roll a few times, shaking its contents like a baby’s rattl
e.

  The windows shattered.

  The body crumpled.

  Eventually it came to a stop, its tyres facing the sky and resembling a turtle lying prone on its shell.

  Alex brought her own car to a stop and took a few deep breaths, her heart trying its best to pound its way clean through her rib cage.

  Sam slowly stepped out from the shadows, the gun held down by his side and his finger still caressing the trigger.

  He had one bullet left.

  As he marched towards the wreckage, Sam shot a glance to Alex, who held up a shaking hand.

  She was fine. Shaken, but fit.

  Sam marched on and as he did, he could hear the scraping crunching of glass under his foot. Before him, the wrecked car shook slightly, and he watched without pity as Matt tried to slide himself from the wreckage. Blood pumped from a gash across his head and his arm hung loose in its socket. Shards of glass had punctured his stomach, his entire torso stained with his own blood. With the last of his energy, Matt pulled his legs clear of the wreckage, his left leg completely shattered from the knee down, his jeans holding the fragments of his shin in place.

  Sam walked on; his expression cold. He stopped a few feet from the dying man and looked upon the pain he’d caused.

  Three others were dead.

  A fourth would soon follow.

  With a deep sigh, he thought back to the broken promise he’d made to his late son.

  That he wouldn’t kill anymore.

  It had been a promise built on the promise of a better future. A future that had been taken from him by the cruel, twisted hands of fate.

  The same hands that had pushed him back into the war zone, only this time, the fight was on the streets.

  Sam felt his grip tighten around the gun.

  Matt, wheezing as the last of the air escaped through his punctured lungs, began to laugh.

  ‘Well… this didn’t go…how I thought.’ He spat blood to the side and blinked his way through the pain. ‘This isn’t the end, Sam. It never ends.’

  Sam raised his hand slightly, raindrops sliding down his fingers as he aimed the barrel at Matt’s head. The dying mercenary closed his eyes, accepting his fate. Alex’s hand gently rested on top of Sam’s, lowering the weapon.

  ‘Don’t, Sam.’ Her words were tinged with sadness. ‘It’s not worth it.’

  Alex shivered in the rain, the now freezing downpour masking the adrenaline that was still pumping through her veins. Somewhere in the distance, the wailing of sirens could be heard, screeching into the night like a demonic howl. Sam kept his eyes locked on Matt and after a final, blood-curdling gasp for life, his chest stopped moving.

  Alex looked away in disgust. Despite Matt’s intentions, watching a human die in cold blood was hard to witness. Sam, unmoved, looked out towards the darkness that surrounded the buildings before them. After a few moments, Alex turned to leave, her hand gently pulling Sam in her direction.

  ‘We need to go,’ she said, her voice shaking.

  ‘He’s right.’ Sam turned to her, his face a picture of concern. ‘This will never be over.’

  ‘It is for now.’

  ‘There will be others.’ Sam shook his head. ‘He’ll never stop. Not until he has me.’

  ‘Sam?’ Alex’s brow furrowed, her voice cracking with anger as the realisation hit her.

  ‘I have to go back.’

  ‘No, you promised me you would come with me. That you would help me get my family back.’

  ‘And I will. I promise you I will, but I have to end this.’

  The rain pelted both of them, disguising the tears that were beginning to run down Alex’s cheeks. Sam reached up to wipe one away but Alex slapped it away.

  ‘If you go back, you will die.’ She shook her head, trying to keep strong. Sam turned her to face him and he looked her in the eye.

  ‘If I don’t, then you might.’ The sirens grew in volume as the police hurried towards their location, following the breadcrumbs of their rampage through the city of Naples. Sam pulled Alex in and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her as tightly as he could. ‘I’ll come back for you, I promise.’

  Alex pushed him away, shaking her head. She was right and Sam knew it. Returning to the UK was tantamount to him putting the gun to his head and pulling the trigger himself.

  But he cared for Alex.

  She’d saved his life, nursed him back to health and worked to get them to safety. All based on a promise he’d made. One he intended to keep.

  Just not yet.

  Alex took a few steps towards the car and then stopped, turning back to Sam one last time, who stood, rain soaked and full of remorse.

  ‘The war never ends,’ she said, almost to herself. ‘I don’t think you want it to.’

  Before Sam could respond, Alex stomped back towards the car, dropped into the driver’s seat, and slammed the door. The engine roared to life, the headlights illuminated the falling rain, and then she sped towards the exit, determined to evade the police one more time and do her hardest to get home.

  Sam watched the car race towards the exit, before taking the corner and disappearing into the darkness. As the sadness of their departure echoed through his body, he leant down and rifled through Matt’s jacket. With a slight remorse for robbing the dead, Sam pocketed the man’s wallet. Sliding it into his back pocket alongside his passport, Sam flicked the safety on his handgun and tucked it into the back of his jeans. The motorway behind him was awash with flashing blue lights, giving him his cue to leave. With his new mission taking a stranglehold of his mind, he raced towards the chain-link fence that framed the industrial state, ready to tackle the treacherous path back towards town.

  It was time to go home.

  It was time to end this once and for all.

  Chapter Seven

  Never underestimate the power of a police badge.

  DS Adrian Pearce remembered when he first heard that saying. It was nearly twenty-six years ago, two weeks after he’d passed out of the Hendon Training Centre as a fully-fledged member of the Metropolitan Police. Fresh faced and full of enthusiasm, he was soon brought down to earth with a crushing thud.

  Although his storied career within the system had hardened Pearce to a number of things, that phrase had stuck with him. Spurred him on.

  Throughout his time within the Met, Pearce had dealt with everything the job had to throw at him. Racism, gunfire, dead bodies. All of it had resonated with him, helped mould him into the unflappable detective he became.

  But it was that one saying, spoken by the veteran police officer on one of his first beats that would eventually be his calling.

  Officer Lawrence Dudley.

  A large man with thinning hair who enjoyed the power the position wielded as much as the satisfaction of nabbing a criminal. While not an inherently bad man, he would be a career officer, due to his propensity to cut corners, a trait that Pearce could never fathom.

  They had just entered a small sandwich shop amid a busy lunch hour and Dudley had pushed himself to the front of the queue. As uncomfortable as Pearce was, he said little and then watched in dismay as Dudley flashed his badge in lieu of payment.

  ‘Never underestimate the power of a police badge,’ Dudley had said, stuffing the sandwich into his mouth.

  Pearce sometimes wondered if that was the seed that planted itself in the back of his mind and eventually led him to becoming part of the Department of Professional Standards. The DPS investigated the inner workings of the Metropolitan Police, analysing the work of its officers and took them to task when they flouted the rules.

  Initially set up to ensure that standards were being met, Pearce soon built up a reputation of hunting his own men. Despite making more enemies than friends, Pearce thrived, and it eventually sent him on a road he could never return from. Just over a year ago, Sam Pope was a quiet recluse, working within the archive department of the Met. With known criminals finding themselves in the hospital, all the breadcrumbs had led him
to Sam’s door.

  Then everything changed.

  With the life of an innocent psychiatrist, Amy Devereux at stake, Sam Pope uncovered a horrifying link between the police and a suspected terrorist attack.

  People died.

  Senior officers disappeared, along with any remnants of Pearce’s career. Now resigned to a cupboard for life and busy work, Pearce wondered if helping Sam was one of the most hypocritical mistakes of his life.

  They may have stood on opposite sides of the thin blue line, but they believed in the same thing.

  Justice.

  Pearce couldn’t help but smile as he looked at his police badge and the power it had wielded as he’d flashed it to the dismissive receptionist behind the desk as he’d walked into the head office of The Pulse. Pearce was old school, sticking to the traditional newspapers as they’d made their transition into the digital age but he was aware of some of the more ‘hip’ news outlets. The Pulse was one of them, a collection of new-age journalists, pumping out a relentless stream of click bait articles, all of them chasing the increasing monetisation of internet addicts. Strewn between their top ten lists and sensationalist headlines, The Pulse were widely respected for writing hard hitting and at times, provocative articles, especially on the current events within the country.

  Pearce himself had been mentioned in some of the articles, with the character assassination of Mark Harris which underlined his unknowing links to the Kovalenkos.

  Now, he was here for a different reason and he looked around at the open-plan office where a number of enthusiastic writers were glued to their laptops. The large floor-to-ceiling windows gave a stunning view over The Strand, their residence almost mocking the historic location where the paper press used to live.

  The receptionist, a young blonde lady in a tight shirt, scurried back to the desk, her head set glued to her head like a fighter pilot.

  ‘I’m sorry about that, detective,’ she said with a smile as she lowered herself into her leather chair. ‘Nigel will see you now. His office is just at the end of the room.’

  She pointed lazily and Pearce nodded with a smile, refusing to pull her up on her manners. Her disinterest when he’d first arrived had quickly dissolved when he’d shown her his badge.