Numb: A Dark Thriller (15 page)

20

Saturday mornings were the same as every other morning for Riley.

Up by eight (no matter how late the previous night was), followed by a quick change into his track suit and then out for his three mile jog along the river. It was a good way to start the day, and he enjoyed pushing his body to stay in shape. Plus exercise was also the closest thing to physically pain he could experience. He’d given up weight training several years ago as he wasn’t bothered about adding more mass to his physique and now just wanted to keep trim and remain fit. Plus, big muscles meant nothing. A lot of people think that if they hit the gym or inject steroids and become freakishly huge then they’ll suddenly become tough guys and great fighters. But it doesn’t happen that way. Just because you can bench press three-fifty doesn’t mean you can’t get knocked out by a bloke weighing ten-stone soaking wet. Just ask Howden. He was one of the biggest bastards you could meet and looked meaner than a Rottweiler with toothache, but he had a notoriously soft jaw. One punch in the right place and he would go to sleep sounder than a baby after a couple of doses of Calpol. Riley, on the other hand, didn’t look like the majority of other bouncers. He wasn’t as intimidating, and that often gave the troublemakers a false sense of security – and usually a trip to the hospital or dentist the next day and renewed respect for any man smaller than themselves.

After his jog he would head back home to shower and change and eat a healthy breakfast of toast, cereal and fruit juice. After that, if there were no immediate problems for him to deal with, he had the day to himself before work that evening.

But this morning wasn’t a normal morning.

As Riley lay somewhere slightly north of sleep and contemplated throwing the covers off him, there was a knock at the front door.

He opened one eye and glanced at the alarm clock on the chest of drawers.

07:48a.m.

Before he could even wonder who was disturbing him this early, there were three more raps on the front door.

He quickly pulled on his tracksuit (careful not to disturb the dressing on his lower stomach) and headed out to the hall. The knock on the door was a dead give away; firm and formal - a policeman’s knock.

Through the frosted glass, he could make out two figures standing in the lobby. A man and a woman, by the looks of it.

Riley rubbed his eyes to clean them of sleep and opened the front door.

“Riley Day?” the woman enquired. She looked in her mid-thirties, was small and slim and was wearing a grey suit. Her hair was dark brown – almost black - and worn at shoulder length. As police officers went, she was quite attractive. Actually, she was
very
attractive.

“That’s me,” Riley said. He looked at the man standing next to her. He was dressed in a suit also and looked a couple of years younger than the woman. He was tall and thin with short ginger hair and a pale complexion. Riley turned back to the woman.

She’s the boss. Watch her!

“I’m detective sergeant Davison.” She held up her ID before turning to the man next to her, who also held up his badge. “This is detective constable Burns.”

“Morning, sir,” Burns said, politely. “I hope we didn’t wake you.”

You fuckers know you did!
Riley thought, but said, “I take it you’re here about last night?”

“May we come in, sir?” DS Davison asked and Riley had no option but to invite both officers inside and point the way to the living room.

He was used to dealing with the Old Bill and knew not to give much away. In his world, you took care of problems yourself and kept the police out of it. Still, he had to entertain them.

“Can I get either of you a drink?”

“We’re fine, thank you,” Davison said, answering for Burns as well.

Definitely the boss. Pushy too. Focussed. No bullshit.

“Then you’ll not mind if I make myself one,” Riley said. “You
have
just woken me, after all.”

He headed into the kitchen, poured himself a large fresh orange juice and added a few ice cubes. Then, enjoying making the two officers wait a little, he drank half of it slowly before heading back into the living room. He didn’t hate the police as much as most of the people he knew, but he certainly didn’t trust them. He knew that even though they were here to interview him as a witness they’d somehow make it seem as though he was guilty of something himself. He saw it at work most nights whenever they arrived after some trouble. Most police officers saw doormen as nothing more than thugs who liked to give people a hiding and caused more trouble than they prevented. No doubt Davison and Burns would know Riley’s occupation and who he worked for and would assume he couldn’t be trusted.

“So, what can I do for you?” Riley asked as he sat down opposite the detectives. They had both taken a seat without being offered and were looking around the smartly furnished living room, taking in the wide screen HD television, the plush leather sofa and expensive hardwood floor under their feet, and he knew they were both thinking,
How can a doorman afford a place like this?

DS Davison pulled out a notepad and flicked to a certain page.

“I believe you were a witness to the shootings at Twilight Nightclub last night but you left the scene before the police arrived,” she said.

Riley nodded as he sipped his drink.

“According to other witnesses – A Mr Dylan Purvis in particular - you actually chased the suspects in...” Davison looked up and smiled,”...an Aston Martin DB 9. Is that correct?”

“Yes, I didn’t have time to get to my Lamborghini,” Riley joked.

Davison’s smile never faltered. “We retrieved the Aston Martin early this morning. It was found by the river in a bit of a mess. I take it you had a little accident.”

Riley knew that during police interviews it was best to let
them
tell
you
what they knew before you opened your mouth and so he remained evasive.

“I think the car was close to a write-off before I got behind the wheel,” he said. “What with the bullet holes and everything.”

“Forensics matched black paint found on the Aston’s bonnet to the paintwork of a Peugeot found abandoned near the ferry landing,” Burns said. “So we can assume that you came quite close to apprehending the culprits.”

“Not close enough.”

“Did you manage to get the registration?” Davison asked. “Just so we can confirm that the vehicle we found was the one driven by the shooters?”

KY08 PDY
, Riley thought, but said, “No, sorry.”
They
knew they’d found the right car. They were just playing silly buggers.

“How many men were in the car?” Burn’s asked.

“Who said they were men?”

Davison smiled again. Damn, she was good looking.

“How many
people
were in the car, Mr Day?” she asked.

“Two – that’s all I can tell you. I didn’t see their faces or anything. It was dark.”

“Did you notice anything about them – skin colour, hair colour?”

“No, I barely saw anything of their faces. Both of them had gloves as well, so I can’t be sure about skin tone. They both had black coats on... and jeans - I think.”

His description was vague but at least it looked like he was co-operating.

Burns jotted everything down as Davison went on with the questions.

“The Peugeot we found was bought three days ago,” she said. “A private sale to a Mr Mark Waters. The DVLA received the paperwork yesterday from the previous owner and can’t find any record of a Mr Waters or his address or the licence number supplied. Obviously the car was bought for the sole purpose of the shooting.”

That made sense to Riley. If you were going to use a car for something illegal the best way was to purchase the vehicle shortly before the job for a small sum, use a fake name on the documents and before they could be checked over you do the job, ditch the car and leave no paper trail.

“Could you tell us what happened by the river, Mr Day,” asked Burns.

“I rammed them with the Aston Martin but it hurt itself more than the Peugeot and they got away. That’s it.”

“And then what did you do?” Davison looked at her notes. “Mr Purvis told us that he collected you and that you went to hospital because you had injured yourself. But all local hospitals don’t have any details to say that you attended last night.”

So now
I’m
guilty of something, am I?

“Mr Purvis dropped me back at the club,” Riley said. “On the ride back there I thought I might’ve got whiplash or something. My neck and shoulders were hurting. So I got in my car intending to go to hospital but-”

“Why didn’t you let the paramedics treat you?” Burns interrupted.

“I thought they had their hands full with four people getting shot,” Riley said, shooting Burns down himself. “Anyway, like I was saying, I intended to go to hospital but I guess I knew there was no serious damage and so I headed back here.” Riley rotated his neck and winced dramatically. “It’s still a little stiff, though.”

The two detectives looked at each other. Riley knew they were planning their next move. So he casually sipped his drink and prepared more excuses for their questions.

“Do you know of anyone who may have a grudge against Mr Nash?” Davison asked.

“Have you got a couple of hours?” Riley said and chuckled.

“If that’s how long you need to tell us,” replied Davison, smiling.

“Look, you two both know who my boss is and the reputation that he has. He’s been investigated by the police on numerous occasions in the past and is a local celebrity because of his reputed role as Thirnbridge’s head gangster. If
you
,
the police
don’t know anyone who might want him dead, I’ll be surprised.”

“What I meant, Mr Day,” Davison said, “is are you aware of any recent threats or any recent...
business
deals that might have caused someone to exact revenge?”

“No,” Riley said. That was the truth. Now time for the lie. “My best guess is that it was just a couple of young punks trying to make a name for themselves. Nash probably had them barred from one of his places or had his doorman throw them out for dealing in the toilets or something and they came back for revenge. Simple as that.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Riley smiled and sat forward in his seat, leaning towards detective Davison. He caught her perfume. It was sweet, but not too sweet.

“Because, if someone big enough wanted to take out Nash, then things would’ve happened differently,” he said. “For one thing, the shooters would’ve acted in a more professional way than a clumsy drive-by. And two, if someone important
was
behind this, then Nash would’ve found out about it long before that Peugeot came around that corner and someone killed his son.”

Riley finished his drink and waited as Burns and Davison scribbled notes. Then, obviously sensing that this interview was going nowhere, the DS stood up and said, “Thank you, Mr Day. If you think of anything else then you call me. Here’s my card.”

Riley took it and followed them to the door. He’d file it in the bin when they left.

When Davison stepped out into the lobby, she politely asked Riley, “Day off today?”

“Until tonight,” he said.

“Oh, yes. You provide security for Nash’s premises. Night time work.” Davison pulled a face. “Don’t think I’d like that. Waiting around all day, starting your shift when others are out having fun. It can’t be nice.”

“You get used to it,” he said.

“Well, at least you can rest until then.” She turned to walk away. Then, as Riley half closed the door, she stopped and looked back. A classic Columbo moment. “Oh, saying that, I forgot to tell you something. Nash discharged himself from hospital at seven this morning, so maybe he’ll have some overtime for you - if you get what I mean. Goodbye Mr Day.”

Riley remained at the door as both officers walked along the lobby towards the lift. When they were out of sight he hurried back into his bedroom and grabbed his mobile from the cabinet.

There was one new message. It had come through ten minutes earlier, around the time he was pouring himself an orange juice and making the detectives wait. It was from Purvis.

NASH HOME

MEETING AT 12

Riley texted back
OK
and then threw the phone on the bed.

Detective sergeant Davison had been right. Overtime was certainly on the cards.

21

The usual meeting place to discuss private matters was a converted flat above a vacant butcher’s shop just off the main high street. Nash owned the flat
and
the butcher’s shop, plus each building either side which were also vacant. This way meetings were more personal and having the police eavesdrop on any conversation were minimal as the chances of planting a bug was close to zero. Listening in on the conversations of a suspected gang boss wasn’t reserved for the FBI, and although any overheard information could be disregarded in a court of law, the authorities could still use the tapes to plan raids and spoil potential business deals, and even though Nash was almost untouchable thanks to a mixture of bribery and threats, he obviously didn’t want to take any chances, not with DI Thornton being dead and not being able to warn him anymore.

As Riley pulled up he saw Purvis waiting outside, and although his friend had changed his clothes, his heavy eyes and unshaven appearance gave the impression he’d been up all night. The other lads must be inside already. Riley could see McCabe’s Toyota and Howden’s Honda parked up along the road but couldn’t see any of Nash’s cars. He obviously wasn’t here yet. When Nash arrived, things started. Late-comers weren’t waited on.

Riley climbed out the Merc and met up with Purvis under a sky that looked heavy with potential rain.

“You okay, Riley?” Purvis asked as they shook hands. “Good night’s sleep?”

“Good three hours or so,” he replied.

“I didn’t even get that.”

“It looks like it. How are the girls?”

Purvis sighed.

“They were asleep when I left this morning. I just sat on the couch all night, drinking and thinking.”

“That’s a dangerous combination,” Riley replied. “So you were you there when Nash got home this morning?”

“Yeah, discharged himself as soon as he woke up and called a taxi. He came in with his arm in a sling and before I could say anything he just said ‘Get the boys together. I want a meeting at twelve’. Didn’t ask how Sandra or Wendy were or anything.  He just went into the bedroom and slammed the door behind him. He seemed more mad than upset. So I left and sent a text to the all the boys.”

Riley looked up at the window to the flat. The blinds were pulled down, blocking out the outside world.

“I take it he’s not here yet.”

“No,” Purvis replied. “Turner’s picking him up. Should be here any minute. McCabe and Howden are inside hitting the whisky and playing pool. My head’s throbbing enough without listening to their shit so I came down here for a bit fresh air.” Purvis looked over his shoulder. Checked the door to the flat was closed. “Speaking of McCabe, are we still...?”

“Keeping things to ourselves?” Riley said, keeping his voice low. “Yeah. Has he said anything about last night?”

“He reckons he’s got some information but he’s keeping it to himself until Nash arrives. Probably gonna tell some lies to cover his own arse.”

“Yeah, maybe,” said Riley, still unsure what to think until more evidence came his way. “But if he’s got some info that points the finger at someone else then Nash will want them taken care of. We can’t stop that.”

“We can if we show him the footage from last night.”

“No,” Riley said flatly.

“I can’t understand why you don’t want Nash to know,” said Purvis. “A whole load of shit is about to go down that could be nipped in the bud if McCabe was cornered with the evidence and made to confess.”

“And what would that do?” Riley asked. “McCabe would be taken care of, Nash would go after the shooters and then he’d continue on as normal. We’re back to square one.”

Purvis frowned. Looked behind him, checking the door to the flat was still closed before going on.

“What are you up to, Riley?”

“Nothing - yet.”

Purvis looked even more confused, so Riley expanded on his comment, keeping his voice low so that neither any passers-by could hear nor could his words be heard if they drifted up to the upstairs window.

“Look, you know I don’t like what I do. For the first couple of years I thought I’d landed on my feet, a nice little job that paid well. Nash seemed a decent bloke and Turner and McCabe and Howden made me feel welcome. I felt part of something. Like a family. We looked out for each other and I assumed the rest were just like me - that they didn’t like some of the things they had to do but they did them because they were necessary for the firm to be successful. The people we hurt were as bad as us and that was fine by me. But when certain things happen you begin to see people in a different light.”

“Certain things?” asked Purvis. “You mean that shit with Thornton and-”

Riley held up a hand to silence his friend.

“Yes, that was the turning point.”

“None of it was your fault, Riley.”

“Maybe not,” he said, “but I was part of it. Anyway, I’d been having second thoughts about working for Nash for a while before all of that happened. I saw how much he craved the power and the money. I saw how much Howden enjoyed dishing out beatings and how much McCabe enjoyed hurting people in even more violent ways. I saw how all of them didn’t give a shit about anyone else as long as they got paid, and I suddenly realised that I wasn’t the same as them. I don’t get a buzz from knocking on doors and seeing the terrified look in people’s faces because they owe money or because they’ve pissed Nash off for some reason and I’m there to give them a kicking. I don’t like covering for some of the doormen who are in control of what drugs get sold in the bars and clubs and beat the shit out of customers for nothing at all. And I certainly don’t get a thrill out of being shot at in the presence of women and children. I stay with the firm because after the things I’ve done I don’t have a choice. I don’t deserve to walk away and forget about everything and live happily ever after and I can’t turn grass because that’s just not my way. Besides, even if I did go to the police there’s no real evidence of Nash’s involvement in most of what we’ve done and he’s probably either blackmailed or bribed half of the high-up coppers and judges in Thirnbridge so that they wouldn’t want to nick him even if he walked into the nearest station and confessed to his crimes himself. I have no loyalty to him or any of the others – not anymore. But you’re a friend, and that’s why I want you to stay out of this. If McCabe
is
behind this then the firm is about to implode. If he isn’t, then someone powerful like Dainton has marked Nash as a dead man. Things are about to get bloody. And even if we get through this, the day will finally come when the firm goes tits up and we’re all arrested or worse, and I want to be here, ready and waiting to accept any punishment that comes my way as long as Nash and the others go down with me.” Riley smirked, feeling a little better after his speech. “And, after last night, I don’t think that day is very far off.”

“It sounds like you
want
things to end,” Purvis said, grimly.

“Maybe I do,” Riley said. “That’s why you and Sandra need to run soon. Stick to your plan.” He then used his key to unlock the door to the flat. “Anyway, you want to come up?”

Purvis shook his head and said, “No, but I guess I have to.”

Riley led the way up the narrow staircase and into the flat. In what should’ve been a sitting room, there was a bar, a pool table and several chairs. The walls were painted white and a series of sporting photographs adorned them.

“Look, it’s Bond, Riley Bond,” Howden said, clutching a cue as McCabe leant over the pool table and took a shot. “License to get himself fucking killed.”

Riley smirked and sat down on a bar stool. Purvis went behind the bar and fixed him and Riley a drink – a whisky (with coke this time) and a plain old water.

“I hear you totalled the Aston Martin.” McCabe laughed as he potted a stripe. “You crazy fucker. We could’ve been burying you along with Michael junior.”

At the mention of Nash’s son, the atmosphere in the room suddenly became heavier. More oppressive. It felt like they had gathered for a funeral. McCabe stopped laughing and lined up another shot.

“Did you tell the police you chased them?” Howden asked.

“Yeah,” Riley said. “But that was about it?”

“So did you see who they were?” McCabe asked.

Riley thought carefully before answering. If McCabe was involved then he’d know exactly what went down; the car chase; smashing through the window; trying to drag the black guy out. If he lied McCabe would wonder why.

“No,” Riley said. “I nearly had them but they got away.”

“I’m surprised the filth didn’t do you for dangerous driving,” McCabe then said and when Howden laughed the room felt lighter again.

“Anyway,” Riley said, “didn’t either of you two find anything out? I heard you went out asking questions.”

“Oh, I got some answers, alright,” replied McCabe.

“Like what?”

McCabe lined up the black. “You’ll hear when Nash arrives. See what he makes of it and what he wants done.”

As McCabe struck the white ball, a voice from the doorway said, “You want to know what I want done?” 

The white hit the black and it missed the corner pocket and rolled into the centre of the table.

Everyone turned to the doorway where Mike Nash was standing.

“I want revenge.”