A Time For Justice (17 page)

Karen couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘Get out - now!’
She screamed.

‘
But I want you.’ He moved towards her and grabbed her arm.
She caught the look in his eyes - wild, unpredictable - and started
to struggle.

‘
No, Dave,’ she begged, trying to free herself from his grip.
‘Just leave. Don’t make things any worse.’

‘
You bitch. You use sex as a weapon over men and you don’t
like it when it’s used against you!’ He slapped her hard,
open-handed, across the face.

She reeled back, stunned by the ferocity of the blow and its
unexpectedness.

He lurched forward and took hold of one end of the belt around
her robe. He wrenched. It unfastened. Her robe fell
open.

‘
You’ve always thought you had power over me, but you were
wrong,’ he said. ‘I’m the one in charge. I’m the boss. I decide
what happens to you.’

He slapped her again. She lost her balance and fell back
across the sofa. Her head swam in a sea of unreality. This could
not be happening.

‘
You owe me ... for what I’ve done for you, you owe me,’ he
grunted. He threw himself at her, straddling her, pinning her arms
down, his whole weight on her. She struggled uselessly,
pointlessly.

He forced his mouth down onto hers.

Chapter Eleven

Henry cautiously poked his head out of the pub door and looked
both ways down the poorly lit street. Other than for parked cars it
was deserted and quiet, though he could hear the Illuminations
traffic passing the front of the pub.

To his left a narrow alleyway ran down the side of the pub,
separating it from the next building along, which was a
guest-house. It was a dead end, a place that smelled of dustbins
and dogshit. They could be doing some sort of a deal down there, he
thought. It was difficult to see into the gloom.

As he let his eyes adjust themselves to the darkness, a big
man emerged from the dark shadows just inside the alley.

One of the gorillas.

Before Henry had time to react, a clenched fist shot out hard,
catching him on the jaw. As Henry reeled away, head hissing and
humming, he became dimly aware that another man was also rushing
towards him: gorilla number two.

The men grabbed him with big, strong, no-nonsense hands, and
heaved him into the alley, out of the street, so that this business
could be transacted privately. They threw him down between two
metal bins like a rag doll. Henry’s right shoulder connected hard
with the top edge of one of the bins as he fell. It toppled over
and its smelly contents covered him.

‘
Right, you bastard,’ he heard one of them say, ‘Stick
this.’

Henry tried to roll himself into a protective ball as the two
men rained kicks into him without mercy. When they kicked him in
the face, everything went black; his brain seemed to implode. Then
his senses returned as quickly as they’d disappeared, and the
situation became very clear.

He was going to die or get maimed unless he did something
very quickly.
Self-preservation is a
wonderful motivator.

He scrambled wildly to his feet and ran blindly between the
dustbins to the dead end of the alley where he turned at the wall,
facing his attackers.

They walked slowly down towards him.

He tried to get his breath. This was a hard thing to do, for
each time he inhaled, a searing pain stabbed through his chest. He
could feel blood flowing down his nose - taste it in his mouth,
salty, sickly. And there was an unnatural wetness on the left side
of his face. His stitches had burst open. Blood was pumping out of
the newly opened wound. They came closer. Gorilla number one
laughed and sneered in one. Then there were two unmistakable
clicks. Henry saw the shimmer of two blades. Flick-knives. Christ.
His spirits sank again. Henry was no fighter. He’d done the
occasional self-defence class, was quite fit - as he had to be, to
carry a firearm. He’d had his struggles and tumbles with burglars,
drunks and yobs like any cop, and he’d been assaulted a few times -
but he’d never faced a situation like this before, alone, terrified
and without hope of assistance. Fuckin’ Greta Garbo, he thought
bitterly.

But he had one ace up his sleeve, or under his armpit to be
exact.

He reached under his soiled jacket for his gun.

Which wasn’t there.

It must have fallen out when he’d been thrown into the
dustbins yet he was certain his holster had been fastened properly.
Shite!

With this option gone his eyes searched quickly through the
darkness for a weapon of some sort. The apes were fifteen feet
away. He knew he had to make the running now. He had to take the
initiative from them, otherwise he was beaten.

He flung himself to the left, snatched up a black plastic
dustbin and heaved it down the alley at them. Its innards spilled
everywhere as it went. They sidestepped it easily. Henry saw the
knives glint in their hands. His mouth went very dry as fear swept
though him like fire though a building. He wanted to beg for mercy,
but knew these two wouldn’t show it. So he fought on.

This time, instead of a whole dustbin, he picked up a lid and
held it like a shield in his left hand.

‘
Right you bastards, come on,’ he growled, sounding more
confident than he really was.

He waved them forwards with the fingers of his right hand,
like football supporters do when enticing the opposing fans to a
fight. They came, as he knew they would. He made like he was going
to step back but at the last possible moment he lurched at them.
The nearest one to him copped the heavy metal lid right across the
side of his head. It made a very satisfying
clunk
on connection. He went down
like a jelly, a surprised scream frothing from his
mouth.

Henry faced the next one smiling.

The gorilla looked worried now as Henry’s eyes fixed on his
face. Henry was determined to give none of his own fear
away.

The knife lunged at him, but the move was telegraphed and
slow. Henry jumped sideways, twisted round and smashed the dustbin
lid down on the exposed, extended arm. The knife fell harmlessly
away. The man cowered, holding his arm, his back to the
wall.

Henry reversed down the alley, fully aware that all the man
had to do now was draw his weapon and slot him. Suddenly, there was
a blinding flash at the back of his right ear. His legs went
wobbly. He turned around, stunned - and
whack!
- another blow hit the side
of his head. At this double whammy Henry’s legs gave up the ghost
and crumpled beneath him.

Someone had sneaked up on him from the shadows.

He hit the ground, his fall slightly cushioned by a mattress
of debris from the overturned bins, and passed out. Seconds later
he woke up, face down in the mess.

As he tried to push himself up, somebody placed a foot on the
back of his neck and pressed hard. He nearly blacked out again,
then the foot came off, the pressure was released and blood flowed
back into his brain.

The same foot hooked itself under his shoulder and rolled him
over so he was face up, looking heavenwards. He blinked and tried
to regain his senses.

He heard a man say, ‘Well, you’re a couple of wankers. Fuck
knows what 1 pay you for... no, don’t say a fuckin’ word, I’m not
interested. Wankers!’ he spat. ‘I’ll sort you out
later.’

Several seconds passed before Henry’s eyes focused properly.
When they did he saw three faces glaring down at him: the target,
the man with the Ralph Lauren polo shirt and the black
girl.

‘
Back with us then?’ asked the target.

‘
What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’ Henry demanded. He
started to get up again. The target shoved the sole of his shoe
into Henry’s chest and rammed him back down. The pain in his ribs
gripped him in its razor-encrusted vice.

He decided to stay where he was, without complaint, get his
breath completely back, compose himself, measure the situation and
if at all possible, run away.

The man in the Ralph Lauren top, who Henry christened Ralphie,
said, ‘He’s all yours,’ to the target.

The target squatted down on his haunches. ‘I want to know who
you are and why you’re following me.’

‘
Me? I don’t know what you mean.’

The target looked up at one of the gorillas - the one Henry
had clattered on the head. ‘Kick him once,’ he ordered.

‘
Pleasure.’

Despite bracing himself, tensing his muscles as best he could,
it wasn’t much use: it still hurt.

‘
Now,’ said the target softly, after the kick had been well
and truly delivered, ‘why are you following me?’

The stubborn side to Henry’s character refused to give in so
easily.

‘
I’m not, honest.’

‘
See if he’s got any I.D.,’ the target said to one of the
gorillas, who gleefully reached down and rifled through Henry’s
pockets. His hand emerged with a leather wallet. He said, ‘He’s
wearing a holster, but there’s no shooter in it.’

‘
See if you can find it
,’
said Ralphie.

Henry eyed the people standing over him, ending up on the
girl’s face. If he’d expected any vestige of sympathy or concern
from her regarding his plight, he was mistaken. Her mouth wasn’t
quite so lovely when it was folded into a snarl of contempt. She
looked like she could have happily spat on him.

The target pulled everything out of the wallet. Three
five-pound notes went sailing down the alley, one or two receipts
went with them. His Barclaycard was tossed to one side after being
twisted beyond use. A driving licence was extracted along with his
warrant card. The target read them in the available light before
showing them to Ralphie. One of the gorillas arrived back bearing
Henry’s gun between thumb and forefinger.

‘
Found this in all that shite,’ he said.

‘
Give it to me,’ snapped the target, clicking his
fingers.

He handed the gun over. The target looked at it, smiled,
leaned over Henry and forced the muzzle into the soft flesh
underneath his chin.

‘
So you’re a cop, eh?’

‘
Yeah.’

‘
Do you think that makes a difference to me? Do you think
that’ll stop me from pulling this trigger? Eh?’ He was becoming
more and more angry and wound up as he spoke. ‘Do you think that’ll
stop me from splattering your brains into the chop
suey?’

‘
Don’t know,’ said Henry, his eyes wide, nostrils flaring. He
could smell the target’s aftershave. It was overpowering. ‘Probably
not,’ he conceded.

The target pushed the gun harder into the flesh. Henry heard
the hammer being cocked. Oh God, I’m going to die in an alley full
of shit, he thought.

‘
Now why the fuck are you following me?’

‘
Part of an operation ... we suspect you of being a drug
dealer.’

‘
Is that all?’ He sounded disappointed.

‘
Yes.’

‘
Why the gun?
Why the fuckin’
gun?’
he was screaming at
Henry.

‘
I carry all the time ... part of my job ... Crime Squad,’
Henry bleated. There didn’t seem much point in beating about the
bush now. It was no great earth-shattering secret.

The target rocked back on his haunches. Henry heard the man’s
knees crack. He looked up at Ralphie who was lounging by the wall
with the girl.

‘
Shall I pop him?’

‘
Your problem, not mine,’ said Ralphie unhelpfully.

Why couldn’t you say no, Henry thought.

‘
I think I will.’

The target looked back down at Henry and opened his mouth to
speak.

Before any words could come, however, there was the sound of a
gun shot, and the target’s head disintegrated. His mouth, still
opened wide, vomited blood and brain out onto Henry’s
chest.

The girl screamed. Ralphie shouted some sort of warning. There
were running feet, confusion.

For a few moments the target stayed where he was in a
squatting position before keeling forwards across Henry’s thighs
and lower abdomen, twitching like mad in his death throes. Henry
saw that the back of his head was missing.

The man who’d fired the shot stood at the open end of the
alley. Even in the poor light Henry knew he’d seen him before; just
a short time ago in the pub.

He held a gun in his right hand.

‘
Get him! Get him!’ Ralphie screamed in panic at his men. He
dived for cover behind a wheelie-bin, dragging the girl down with
him. Henry, trapped under the weight of the dead man, could not
move. The two gorillas reacted with predictable slowness. As they
fumbled for their weapons, the figure at the end of the alley took
his time, aimed slowly, and picked off each of the bodyguards with
a shot to the chest. They were out of the game even before their
weapons were in their hands.