Cuts Both Ways

by Solomon Carter

  “Nice metaphor, Bradley. Where’d you get it? Shakespeare?”

  “No. Just from the deep dark depths of my imagination, Palmer. And there’s plenty more where that came from, but let’s stick to the point. Right now there are two guys in town pursuing someone I happened to meet earlier today. Turns out she might have been in deep with the original Uber gang – the European ring at the heart of it all, manufacture and distribution. But the girl says she didn’t know what they were doing and soon as she did, she bailed on them. Now she’s here and she has two guys after her as a result. It’s a double manhunt, Palmer, two scumbags chasing her down.”

  “A double manhunt? What did she do? Steal from these people?”

  “I don’t think so. But this is happening, Palmer.”

  “Happening here? Or in London?”

  “Right here, in Southend. Right under our noses.”

  “Again? Why here?”

  “Location, location, location, Palmer? You don’t need me to tell you. We’re a stone’s throw from the city, a stone’s throw from the continent. Tommy Pink proved we’ve got the perfect coast for covert access, then there’s the airport… everything a disreputable business would ever need. And then we’re talking drugs? How many junkies have we got in this town? Supply and demand makes Southend a no-brainer.”

  “You’ve proved your point. So who is this woman? Who is their target?”

  “That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is I have an ID on one of the hitmen – his name’s Blunt. Tyrone Blunt. And if you don’t know about him already, you’ll be hearing a lot more about him very soon. But the other guy, he’s a total unknown. He’s the one I need help with. Think you could help me ID him?”

  Palmer sighed. “Bradley, you’d better share what else you know if you want our help on this. Hogarth won’t like it if this thing blows up and you’ve been holding back on us. He’ll go for you as well as the villains.”

  “Then I won’t keep anything back,” said Dan, though he had already decided to drip feed what he knew until the problem was solved.

  “Okay. Fire away,” said Palmer. “Hitman number two. Tell me about him.”

  “All I have is a fake name. He called himself Robert Poulter, but I already know that’s a lie. He hired me under false pretences.

  “Hired you? To do what?”

  “Long story, but it was a fake case. Here’s a description. He’s fortyish, maybe forty to forty-five. His hair is the classic schoolboy haircut right down to the side parting. His hair is grey and brown. He’s got little eyes and a soft, stubbly face. The guy always looks tired and stressed whenever I’ve seen him.”

  “Just stick to the appearance, Bradley. I’ve got ‘small tired eyes, schoolboy haircut. Forty-something…’ He has a gun? And he’s chasing someone involved with the European Uber gang. Interesting.”

  “Someone formerly involved with the Uber gang…”

  “Okay,” said Palmer. “How does this guy dress? What’s his usual attire?”

  “He wears a suit jacket, shirt open at the collar with cheap slacks over scuffed boots or shoes. It’s all cheap and cheerful. He’s not exactly working the high-end hitman look. Which makes me think he’s a value range kind of gun. Oh, height, maybe five nine, five ten. Not quite six foot anyway. The thing that gets me about him is his nerves. He’s the nerviest gunman I’ve ever met.”

  Palmer went quiet.

  “Palmer? What is it?” said Dan.

  “Just a thought. We did have word that one of the local scumbags was trying to make a move in the town. One of the old family names who used to wreak havoc before I transferred to Southend. Matthews and some of the older faces knew the name soon as they heard it.”

  “Go on…” said Dan.

  “Alex Galvan. I hear he was a spent force, got virtually wiped out in some big gangland thing when he tried to take on a gang from Eastern Europe about four or five years back. Didn’t go well for him, as I hear. Since then the guy has been living on scraps, but the word is he doesn’t like it that way. It’s on the radar that Galvan has recently brought in some new blood to help to rebuild. His business got decimated. Hitmen on a shoestring is about all this Galvan can afford at present…”

  “Galvan’s back?”

  “You know him then? He never went away, Bradley. He’s been skulking and licking his wounds. But we heard he’d got some new blood to back up his rebuild. Your description kind of fits something I heard about one of them. Have you got anything else on this guy?”

  “Hmmmm,” said Dan. “I’ve told you all I know.”

  “Does this guy stammer?”

  “Sometimes,” said Dan. “But mostly he shakes like a leaf in the wind. Has a kind of freaked out look in his eyes.”

  “Bradley, it could well be the same man.”

  Galvan. The name reverberated around Dan’s head.

  “You got a name for this guy?”

  “Robert Golding. He’s had aliases, but that’s the name on his driving licence. He got pulled up for speeding in Leigh last week. We had eyes on Galvan’s home, watching his comings and goings. I think he could be your man.”

  “But what would Galvan want here…?”

  “I can’t tell you that,” said Palmer. “But you’d better steer well clear. Last time Galvan bit off more than he could chew, there was a bloodbath. If he’s decided to take on the Uber gang on our turf, the past could well be repeated.”

  “Galvan always had small dog syndrome,” said Dan. “He likes to bark loud, but in the end he was always found to have a tiny bite.”

  “You heard what I said. Keep out of it. Because even if you don’t end up hurt, Hogarth will be on your case for sure.”

  “Nothing new there, I assure you. Thanks for the help, Palmer.”

  “Who is this woman, Bradley? What would these hitmen want from her?”

  “I don’t know for sure. But don’t worry. I’ll tell you when I’ve figured it out. I’ll be in touch.”

  Dan ended the call before there was time for any kind of complaint from the DS. Palmer was a tough cookie, and they’d ended up working on the same cases more than once. By now Palmer must have known he would never be able to watch from the sidelines. Dan stood up, mobile phone in hand. He saw a missed call. He dabbed the missed call icon and saw Alice Perry’s name. Either she was fishing for a story or another risqué meeting… and Dan wasn’t in the mood to play those games. He didn’t bother to return the call. Instead his ears picked up the faint sound of conversation downstairs. He heard Alma Poulter, her spiky tones were easy to recognise then recognised Joanne’s lighter voice and Mark’s too. Another full house. Great. His head already felt full to capacity as it was.

  Blunt and the Uber gang.

  Alma Poulter, and the beloved Cripps.

  Now Alex Galvan and his chosen one, Robert Golding.

  And these were only one part of the equation, because somewhere out there he knew Eva would be battling through a list of problems of her own. If not, she would have been right by his side. Dan tried to clear his head so he could put on a smile for the troops downstairs. He turned towards the staircase but before he had even left the living room, the noise from below changed. The conversation became loud and shrill. Talking turned to shouting. And somewhere from the back of the building came the sound of smashed glass and the crunch of a door giving way. The reverberations shook the walls. Dan’s eyes snapped wide open and he turned for the hallway. He opened the door for the stairs to the office and thundered down the steps as fast as he could.

  “You say you don’t know anything about this Robert Poulter guy?” said Joanne, her eyes on Alma the whole time she spoke, studying her face. Joanne sat down in the seat directly in front of Dan’s desk, shifting into position until she was dead opposite the woman with the bouffant. Mark watched, interested in the unfolding confrontation. Grudgingly, he admired Joanne, and yet felt he could see through the affectations. She was trying too hard to play the detective. Trying too hard
to be Eva. Half the grand inquisitor, and half the blusterer. The result: she was coming off somewhere between a bad Poirot and Nancy Drew. And deep, deep down, Mark knew it was only jealousy. Knew it in his bones. Joanne was far better at this than he was. She was fully committed.

  “I told your boss about it already,” said Alma. “There’s no need to talk it over again. His name isn’t Robert Poulter. Poulter’s my name. He could be anybody and I don’t care who he is, so long as I get Cripps back, safe and sound.”

  Joanne nodded. “Then how do you think he knows you, this man?”

  “Haven’t got a clue,” she replied. “Someone’s been blabbing, haven’t they?”

  “And it could be your source, Joanne,” said Mark. Joanne turned her head and shot Mark a look. Not a friendly one.

  “No. It won’t be them.”

  “Why not?” said Alma.

  “This isn’t about me – or my source – this is about the man pretending to be your brother. We need to know where he’s come from. Who sent him?”

  “Now I want a cigarette,” said Alma. “Ask me something else. This is getting dull.”

  Alma’s eyes roved out of the window to the street. Somewhere nearby a car door clunked shut. Alma tensed and Joanne watched her swallow, then saw her relax again as the sense of danger passed. Alma looked back into Joanne’s eyes and fought her gaze.

  “I don’t like people staring at me,” she said.

  “I’m trying to help,” replied Joanne.

  “Then you’re looking in the wrong direction, honey. You want to find out who this man is, then you need to find out who put him onto me. He came through this office. In fact, he came through you, right?”

  “My source isn’t responsible. It must have happened another way.”

  “That’s right,” said Alma. “Tell yourself what you like. But the most obvious answer is usually the right one. Don’t you think?”

  Joanne’s brow fell low over her eyes. She looked back at Mark. The calm look in his eyes seemed to say, ‘I told you so’. Joanne’s eyes skirted over the window. A man walked by, bathed in shadow, and seemed to glance inside. By the time Joanne’s eyes caught up with him, he had already stopped looking. Had already passed by the edge of the big window and disappeared from sight.

  “Well,” said Joanne, “Maybe my colleague was duped.”

  “Maybe,” said Mark. “Otherwise, maybe your colleague – whoever he is – maybe he duped you.

  There was a scuffling sound from somewhere nearby. A noise which edged between the words of their conversation. The three looked at one another before they heard a creak from the floorboards above.

  “It’s just Dan. Upstairs, pacing around,” said Joanne.

  “When’s he going to do something, eh? When’s he going to come down here and help me find Cripps?”

  Joanne frowned and leaned back in her chair.

  “Why are you so bitter? All any of us have done is try to help you.”

  “And what’s your help been worth, eh? Look what you’ve done for me, all of you. Look where I am.”

  Joanne fell silent. Another scuffling sound from somewhere out back, but it was different to before. A bit louder, a bit nearer. They all heard it but tried to ignore it. They had nominated Dan as the source. And they left it at that. Which was fine, until a loud thud sounded at the back of the office. One thud, followed by another, followed by a crack of splitting wood. Alma jumped to her feet and spun around to face the back door.

  “Bloody hell,” said Mark. “Get back over here, both of you. Someone’s coming in through the back.”

  “Who?” called Joanne, her eyes wide with shock.

  “I don’t know. Just get over here now,” said Mark, stepping back towards the reception desk.

  The door to the backyard burst in, slamming against the counter in the kitchen. For a split second the world turned silent. Even the traffic noise seemed to stop. But in the next instant, pandemonium. Alma ran around Dan’s desk, and Joanne flung her chair aside. They ran in Mark’s direction and backed away to the very front of the office. The electric light in the kitchenette was dimmed by the presence of a shadow which filled the door into the office. The tall man ducked his head under the doorframe and walked inside, his face appearing under the office lights, offering a cold smile. His big eyes scanned their faces, taking in every detail.

  “You left in a hurry, Alma. Bad girl. You walked out on me, again. Not very nice, is it?”

  “Leave me alone!” she shrieked.

  “Like I said, not very nice. You’ve changed.”

  Blunt stepped forward and slid a hand into his jacket. Instinctively, Alma, Joanne and Mark pressed together. Mark pushed his way to the front, facing the tall man from behind the barrier of the front reception desk.

  “Here’s how this works,” said Blunt in his deep, rough voice. “I’m only here for you, Alma. Only for you. Now, I’m going to walk over there, then you and me are going to walk out of that front door together. Friendly. Easy. No fuss. Just like the good old days. But if anyone here gives me any problem – any problem at all – I swear they’ll be hurt. Or worse. Are we clear?”

  The man let his meaning sink in for a second before he started to advance.

  “I’m not going to let you hurt me, Blunt,” said Alma, her voice quivering under the strain. “I can’t let you do that.”

  Footsteps clattered down the staircase at the back of the office. Blunt’s eyes flicked towards the wall behind him, then he dismissed the noise and walked on.

  Mark set his face tight and forced himself to look into the tall man’s eyes. But he couldn’t stop the shaking of his hands or the tremor of his jaw.

  “She’s not going with you,” said Mark.

  “Mark!” said Joanne.

  “It’s okay,” he replied.

  Blunt nodded and stepped close. He advanced, his eyes locked on Mark’s face. Behind them the door burst open and Dan came running out. He stopped and took in what he saw. Blunt pulled his gun from his pocket and turned to face him.

  “Stay back or someone dies, right here, right now.”

  Dan looked at each of them in turn. All of them seemed frozen, including him. For the first time, he saw the gun in the man’s hand. He saw it clearly now, every detail and groove picked out by the office ceiling light. The gun was a Walther PPK. A vintage weapon by now, but deadly as ever in a skilled marksman’s hand.

  “Alma. Step away from them. You know we have to do this.”

  “No,” said Mark. “Stay there.”

  The tall man looked at Mark, smirked and shook his head. His eyes flashed with something unreadable. All Dan could do was watch. He was too far back to intervene. He was marooned. All he could do was watch and read between the lines. But any intervention would come too late. No one could win a race against a bullet. Dan willed Mark to be quiet. There was no way he could have the kid on his conscience.

  Dan’s body tensed as the gunman took another step forward. The PPK was still loose in his hand. Like Blunt was making a point of it. I could kill you, any of you, but not yet. He shuffled the gun in his fingers as he reached the edge of Mark’s desk. Mark was sweating, his forehead glistening with droplets.

  “Don’t do this,” he said, the words strangled in his mouth.

  “Why not?” said Blunt. “When it’s so easy?” Blunt swiped the gun up through Mark’s jaw.

  “No!” yelled Dan. He watched as Mark’s head was slammed sideways, a streak of blood spilling from his mouth.

  “Mark!” screamed Joanne catching him as he fell back and gently lowering him to the floor.

  Dan started to advance and Blunt turned, swung the pistol and pointed it at his chest.

  “Last chance. Alma. You’re coming with me or you can die with them. Your call.”

  Dan watched as Blunt’s fingers moved over the gun. His hand tightened around the grip, his finger tensed over the trigger. Blunt grinned at him, baring teeth a dentist would be proud of. Dan stayed c
ompletely still, hands raised. A bullet in the gut had taught him a few lessons. He wasn’t in the mood to catch another one tonight.

  “Okay,” said Alma. “Let’s go.”

  Blunt’s smile turned grim. He kept the gun on Dan for a moment and then lowered it, slowly, letting Dan see who was in charge. The man turned side on, one shoulder towards Dan, the other towards Alma and the front door.

  “How did you find us?” said Dan, his voice low.

  “A lifetime of practice. Finding people is what I do,” said Blunt, with a grim chuckle. “Alma?”

  Alma sniffed and nodded.

  “Open the door,” ordered Blunt. Alma grabbed hold of the door, flicked the snib free, and started to slowly pull the door open.

  The old bell on the wall sounded one more time, and Blunt made a face. Alma cast an eye back at Dan, and then glanced at Blunt. It was a loaded look, and it meant something. Dan just didn’t know what. She seemed to realise it.

  “Find him, won’t you. Just find Cripps. Keep him alive for me.”

  Dan nodded once and Blunt moved towards her back. He forced her out into the recess between the front windows. Blunt stepped after her. As soon as he was close enough Alma turned to face him. And with the one turn she swung her whole body into the very hardest punch she could muster. Her bony fist clattered on Blunt’s jaw. Dan tensed, ready to run in and support, but Blunt was unmoved. As Alma tried to swing the door against him Blunt lashed out with his free hand and caught hold of the door before it reached him. His eyes flashed with anger and bored into Alma.

  “Alma,” said Blunt, rubbing his jaw. “That’s gonna cost you, darling.”

  “It’s the least I owe you.”

  Blunt shoved a big hand between her shoulder blades, spun her around and pushed her out into the darkening street. He slid his gun back into his jacket pocket and rearranged his jacket before he started walking. There was nothing Dan could do but watch. He rushed over to Mark and Joanne and knelt down.

  “Is he…?”

  “He’s hurt, Joanne, bleeding, but he’s okay.”

  Mark looked up, his mouth a mess of gore, his eyes filled with tears of pain.