Last Out From Roaring Water Bay (18 page)

“He has something the ‘Housekeeper’ wants.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t rightly know what.”

“Okay, McClusky. I’m going to give you the chance to sort out the mess you’ve created. The money or the merchandise by tomorrow night, and then I might forget you tried to double-cross me. And as a bonus, I’ll hand over, Mister Special here afterwards.”

“I’ve already explained, I can’t move the merchandise; not without ‘the Housekeeper’ discovering my side line.”

Veins popped from Big-nose’s forehead. “You’re not listening, McClusky.”

McClusky pointed at me. “I can’t do anything because of
him!
”

Big-nose gazed at me, a cunning smirk on his face. “What makes you so special?”

I shrugged. “I guess I’m just a popular guy with the criminal fraternity.”

Big nose smiled. To McClusky, he said, “The money or the weapons you fucking imbecile or I’ll be making arrangements to meet your boss. I can use our captive here as a bargaining chip, and just maybe your employer might satisfy my demands in a more professional manner rather than the amateurish spectacle of your feeble attempt.”

“Give me a chance,” McClusky was back to his pleading and self pity, which told me he was more scared of the Housekeeper than he was of Big-Nose.

“You had your chance, McClusky. You fucked it. You should have honoured the delivery date instead of forcing me to risk more exposure by coming to London. The blame is entirely with you, McClusky, no one else.”

Whatever was going to happen next, it would have no bearing on whether Big nose or McClusky sorted out their differences. Something above us had caught my eye. There were a number of dark figures advancing from the office we’d vacated. Somehow I knew this get together wasn’t going to be resolved in an orderly manner because two of the figures circling our position I recognized in an instance. Damien Love and Theodore Hate and three or four others were packing machine-pistols themselves. Some smart commander Big-nose proved to be. General bodge-up had failed to cover his arse. Made it easy for Love and Hate to sneak up on us by not securing the very fire escape we’d used.

I had perhaps only seconds to think of what I should do before all hell let loose because that was the inevitable outcome as the menacing assailants positioned themselves behind wooden crates in readiness to open fire. I should have made a dash for it and fucked the rest of them, but where would I have run to? I did the only sensible thing I could think of at the time. I yelled out a warning.

“Watch out!”

And all hell did break loose. Deafening gunfire exploded as bullets zinged in all direction as the automatic pistols kicked into action. I crouched so I wouldn’t become an instant target, my hands protecting my face from splintered fragments flying through the air. I’d no idea where to run; I just ran. I couldn’t fathom a safe enough passage. Bodies dived for cover including mine. I found temporary sanctuary behind a pile of dusty sacking before scrambling for the metallic security of a bag-stitching machine. I spat wheat dust from my mouth, deciding there and then that the first chance I got to save myself I wouldn’t hesitate to take the opportunity: women and children first and me leading from the front. The only problem with my plan was finding the right moment to move and in what direction I should take.

I was getting worried at this stage. The bullets continued to zip past me forcing me to huddle tighter against my metallic protector. With the noise of gunfire increasing I put a finger in each ear. I tried to focus on the mayhem. See where everybody was. I witnessed a couple of bodies fall to the far side of me, riddled with red spots. Which group they belonged to I couldn’t identify the victims. I shouldn’t really have been bothered. I needed to concentrate on my own welfare. I searched for a safe way out, scanning the interior of the building before I became the victim of a stray bullet.

I sneaked a risky glance from around my protective shield to assess the situation; a stupid move. I’d been seen. The screaming attacker suddenly charging towards me shooting at everything that protected me indicated that. Splintered wood struck me in the face like pins, and I was shitting myself. Bullets ricocheted off the metal stitching machine and all I could do was cower behind the sacking pile in hope that someone would hit him before he reached me. Instead a handgun slithered across the floor hitting my legs and before I’d the chance to understand the consequences of what I was doing I had the gun in my hand and I was frantically shooting at the oncoming assailant with my eyes half shut and without knowing if I was shooting with accuracy. It became apparent I was a better shot than I thought.

I knew the bullets had hit my assailant directly in his chest because his upper body jerked back a couple of times and he dropped to his knees before keeling over, twisting into a slow spin and onto his back spread-eagled. I was in shock. The body just laid there in front of a sack bale, the eyes wide and motionless. I was certain he was dead because he looked dead. I’d killed him. All I could do was to stare at the body, my gun hand shaking uncontrollably. I sank back behind the sacking for protection and sucked in deep breaths to steady myself; to clear my mind of what had just happened. I was brought back to reality when a deafening explosion shook the building. I found myself covered in larger wood fragments and concrete dust floating down from the huge plume of thick smoke that had engulfed the building. I assumed that whatever was inside one of the wooden crates it must have exploded after being hit with a stray bullet? Through the cloud of dust and choking smoke I became aware of street lighting beaming into the building from where the explosion occurred. I saw the gaping hole in the wall where a door had once been. I didn’t hesitate. I was up in a crouching position and scampering for my life. I’m not sure how fast I was travelling when the line of bullets peppered after me but I was moving faster than I thought as I made the mad dash for freedom. I’d survived with no apparent injuries. I was out in the night air and up and running even harder.

I kept on running, anticipating that gunmen would be in hot pursuit of me. The thought of the chase made me sprint. I soon became breathless and my mouth was dry from the wheat dust still in my lungs. I kept moving towards the main gate, stretching my stride. In the distance I could see the two security men from the gatehouse trotting hesitantly towards me in no particular rush. I’ll always remember their shocked expressions as I shot pass them. I suppose I must have appeared to them as if I’d taken the brunt of the explosion judging by my tattered clothing flapping in the breeze. But I was desperate, in a hurry and with no time to explain the danger behind me. They would inevitably stumble across the problem themselves, and if they’d any sense they’d be running in the direction I was running, like a frightened rabbit. While I ran I thought of something accusingly against my name. It occurred to me the possibility that I could stand trial for murdering a man, even though he had tried to kill me. To make matters worse, I still had the gun gripped tight in the palm of my hand. I panicked. I wondered if the security guards had seen the gun I held. Point the accusing finger at me in a criminal court case. The thought only increased my anxiety and the palpitations. Whatever damage I was doing to myself, I didn’t stop running until I’d reached the Roadster I’d parked down the road earlier that evening.

I considered what I should do with the gun. I had to dispose of the weapon quickly. But where would it be safe? I couldn’t just throw it in a river or even bury it because it had my fingerprints all over the frigging thing, and in the all the right places for a successful prosecution. I’d no time to wipe the prints off so I slipped the weapon into the only pocket that hadn’t been savagely ripped. I searched my rags frantically for the car keys before remembering the terrorists had pillaged all my possessions. I flexed my foot, felt the metallic movement of a spare key at the bottom of my sock. I removed my boot and sock and retrieved the key, not bothering to put the sock back on just the footwear. No one had tampered with the car and I was glad of the growling power of the Roadster as it pulled away from the kerb. By a miracle I’d escaped and I wasn’t going to return to the warehouse in a hurry even if I had reinforcements.

The beginning of dawn crept over the roof tops as I approached home. I was tired beyond being tired and my bones ached in places I didn’t think could ache. But I soon forgot my personal health problems and quickly switched off the car headlights as I entered my driveway. I’m usually very thorough when it comes to routine and I definitely recall switching off all my houselights before leaving that evening carrying my bag of burglar’s tools with me. Two of my ground floor rooms were ablaze with illumination behind drawn curtains. I’d uninvited visitors who it seemed, weren’t afraid to show their presence. Either that or they weren’t expecting me to return at all.

I dug out a set of spare house keys I kept in the glove compartment, got out of the car and closed the car door gently. I cautiously scanned the driveway with extreme caution. I couldn’t take the chance of being attacked again when I least expected it. Satisfied there was nothing that smelled of danger lurking, I moved quietly up to the house and listened at the door.

There was one valued bit of knowledge that I knew about my own front door; the hinges were well oiled and were very unlikely to squeak when opened. I eased the key into the Yale-lock, twisted, pushed the door ajar, just wide enough for me to creep inside, closed the door behind me and listened before I made my move. There was a strange noise coming from my lounge that I couldn’t relate to.

I crept down the hallway on tip-toe, stopping at every doorway to check for any nasty surprises ready to strike out at me when I passed. There wasn’t any. Four strides further on I stopped outside the lounge door and listened. I startled slightly. Someone was there. I definitely heard a noise; a distinctive noise which sounded like crispy paper being rustled. And then there was the sound of crunching biscuits that was familiar to me. I relaxed. Winston began to bark. The mutt had sussed me out. I palmed the lounge door open and went into the room headlong into unexpected company.

“Come and sit down, Speed and take the weight off your feet,” my visitor beckoned with a cocky attitude.

I found myself gawping at my uninvited guest who I didn’t appreciate in the slightest. And neither did I appreciate that he was sprawled majestically across my expensive leather sofa, drinking my beer and feeding Winston with crunchy dog biscuits straight from the cardboard box the biscuits were packaged in. My first inclination was to throw Hamer out on his arse and I probably should have; only I was too knackered to raise the effort of even bawling at him.

I threw my thumb over my shoulder, and added, “The front door’s that way and be sharp about it.”

His reaction was to burst out laughing.

I didn’t think what I’d said was funny. I allowed him a moment to suppress his outburst, regain his composure, and then I told him straight. “If you’ve been evicted from your own home and you’re expecting, out of the kindness of my heart, to doss here for the night, forget it!”

In between the odd splutter or two, he said, “Which hawthorn hedge was you dragged through? You’ve got to tell me what happened to you.”

I’d almost forgotten how bad I looked, but I wasn’t to be distracted.

“Never mind what happened to me,” I said snappily. “I would have thought you being some sort of policeman, you should know better than to enter a suspects home unannounced and uninvited. It could construe as breaking and entering, which, in police legislation, is classed as a criminal offence. Not unless, naturally, you have in your possession a piece of legitimate court paper allowing you the privilege to break into my home and pinch my goodies?”

“Go and examine your doors and windows, you’ll duly observe there’s no sign of a forced entry.”

“That’s strange since I don’t recall giving you a key. Maybe you’ve a sideline as a pickpocket and acquired one for yourself?” I should have searched the smug bastards clothing in which, no doubt, I’d have probably uncovered his special bunch of keys that would open any kind of lock, but I wasn’t in the mood for a scuffle. I added, “I neither left the door unlocked and the dog certainly didn’t let you in. Yet amazingly you managed to get in somehow. I find that rather baffling.”

“Gaining access to properties is a speciality of mine.”

I didn’t like his conceited attitude either. I said, “They teach you that at the school of ministry misdemeanours?”

“Self taught I’ll have you know. I’ll wager that I could break into Buckingham Palace, sneak into the Queens bedroom and land a kiss on the cheeks of her arse, and get out of there unnoticed in ten minutes flat.”

“I’m impressed Inspector. But don’t get any ideas of wanting to kiss my arse cheeks because I’ve no homosexual tendencies. I’m a straight man myself; have been ever since I was squeezed out from a vagina, and I’ve been trying my hardest to get back into as many as I can since.”

“That’s it, Speed; misread what I’m trying to explain.”

“Well then, stop practicing your breaking in skills on my home. Oh and I see you’ve got Winston eating out your hand too. Is that another specialist job of yours, stealing guard dogs?”

Hamer patted Winston on the head. “He remembered me from the other night and he certainly has a fondness of these doggie biscuits. They say that a dog won’t bite the hand that feeds it?”

I glared at Winston. “Traitor,” I said. Strangely the dog seemed to understand exactly what I meant. He whined and hung his head in shame.

“Look, Speed, the truth is I did knock on the door first. The dog started barking hysterically. You never answered. There are two killers still on the loose. Hell! I panicked thinking they’d returned. You may have even been hurt; lying on the floor terribly injured. Could I take the chance and just walk away? Hell, Speed! I was only doing my job. I swear.”

“It’s still trespassing regardless.”

Hamer pulled a face. “You’re such an ungrateful fucker, Speed!”