Numb: A Dark Thriller (9 page)

              “Always,” Riley replied. He rarely touched alcohol. Never liked the feeling of not being in total control.

              “But it’s a party,” Howden said. “And it’s free.”

              “Yeah, but it’s also Friday night. I bet you that before the clubs shut in the morning I’ll be called to sort out some trouble somewhere. I can hardly turn up and deal with the police when I stink of drink, can I?”

              “He’s right,” Turner said, agreeing with Riley. Business came first in his book. “Have you checked that the doormen aren’t having any trouble downstairs?”

              “Everything’s okay,” Riley replied. “No gatecrashers.”

              “Anyone gatecrashes this party and they’ll be in for a shock,” McCabe added.

              “Yeah,” Howden said. “If they did they’d...”

              And that was when Riley allowed the conversation to morph into white noise. He had no interest in listening to their nonsense. He’d just nod and smile and fake-laugh in the right places. After a while, you learned when to do it. Certain words just jumped out.
“Blah, blah, blah... took care of that fucker... Blah, blah... that cunt didn’t expect that... blah, blah, blah... and he didn’t have a clue I was humping his wife, ha, ha...”

Only when the music suddenly scratched to a halt and the overhead lights came on did Riley’s hearing come back.

“What’s this about?” Howden asked, stemming the flow of shit from his mouth.

“Speech time,” Purvis said.

Riley looked over to the stage where Nash, a drink in one hand, the other one settling around the stand of the microphone in front of him, had taken position.

              “Excuse me gents,” Purvis said and stood up.

              “Where’re you going?” Riley asked.

              “To get a drink. I’m empty. Plus I know what’s coming.”

              “Eh?” Howden grunted, like a pig trying to talk. “What’re you talking about?”

              “If you like soppy moments then you’ll love this.” With that, Purvis left the table and made his way to the bar.

              “Soppy moments?” Howden asked, looking at the others. “What the fuck’s he on about?”

              “Don’t know,” McCabe said and finished his beer. “But if it’s speech time, then it’s also my cue to leave.”

              “Cue for what?” Riley asked. Whatever had been planned was new to him also.

              “The surprise.” McCabe winked at Turner as he left the table and headed for the main door.

              “What surprise?” asked Riley but before Turner could answer, Nash tapped the microphone and everyone in the room suddenly stopped what they were doing and looked up at him, the king of the castle. The dance-floor cleared as people returned to their seats and Sandra and the others by the buffet stood almost to attention as he began his speech amidst a hiss of feedback from the microphone.

              “Family and friends,” Nash said, his voice booming out the speakers dotted around the room, his words a little slurred thanks to the expensive champagne he’d been quaffing all night. “Thanks for coming, all of you. It’s so nice to see so many dear people all in the same room at the same time.”

              That set the crowd off. People cheered. People clapped. A drunken man shouted something that could barely pass for a language but people laughed anyway.

“Now,” Nash went on, “I’d like a round of applause for my son, Michael, on his special day.”

              Riley clapped along with everyone else as Nash beckoned Michael junior up on the stage. In looks and build, Michael junior was simply a younger version of his father (except he had short dark hair instead of a shiny, sweating bald head) and his suit and jewellery were exact replicas of his old man’s. He was a decent lad, though, not part of the firm as such yet, but he’d been given the role of manager of another of his father’s clubs as a starter in the family empire. Soon, no doubt, he’d be blooded in some of the other activities his father dabbled in like drugs and extortion and loan sharking and having his fingers in as many pies as possible. Maybe then the famous Nash temper and ruthlessness would come out in him so that one day he’d be feared as much as his father was now. Judging by the twenty or so lads he’d been sitting with most of the night, his little gang had already started to form.

              “Again, thank you all for coming,” Nash went on, beaming as he put his arm around his pride and joy. “I hope everyone’s having a good time.”

All of the guests either clapped or cheered. Riley sipped his water.

“Excellent,” Nash said. “Now, Michael’s too shy to give a speech but I know he’s chuffed to bits to see how many people have turned up. But, as his father, I feel I should say a few words...”

A few joke boos rang out and Nash held up his hands in surrender. If the boos had been real, those people would be in casualty having their jaws wired shut in an hour or so.

“Don’t worry, I don’t want to bore you all with a long speech as I know most of you are itching to get to the buffet – although I saw one or two of you picking at it before it was open. Jimmy Howden I’m looking at you.”

People laughed as Nash pointed Howden out and Howden held up his hands to admit his guilt. He winked at the blonde with the big tits who smiled and sipped her drink. Maybe he
would
get lucky tonight. Some women go for arseholes, don’t they?

“But I would just like to take a moment to pay tribute to my son.” Nash kissed Michael on the cheek in a very manly father-to-son way. Then he flicked a thumbs-up to the DJ and the lights dimmed again before the giant plasma screen flickered to life behind them.

Riley watched as images began to fill the screen, forming a montage of old photos and home movies of Michael from his birth onwards, all to a sickly soundtrack  - John Lennon’s
Beautiful Boy
. Riley assumed the edited footage was Purvis’s work, the little favour he’d been finishing off for Nash earlier today and for that reason alone he sat silently and took in every cringe-worthy second of the four minute show, from Michael junior as a baby, then a toddler, then his role playing the first King in the nativity play in infant school and many other memories right through to pictures of him on a stag holiday with his friends in Greece last year.

When it finished, Nash said into the microphone for all to hear, “I love you son. Happy twenty-first.”

Everyone clapped again as the father and son hugged it out.

“I’d like you all to raise your glasses to Michael.” Nash raised his own glass. “To Michael!”

“To Michael!” the room echoed.

Riley tipped his glass and took a swig of water.

“Now, one more thing before the food,” Nash said. “If any of you wish to brave the cold and follow me outside, I have one more little surprise...”

His words hung in the air as he led his son towards the door and excitement soon spread throughout the room like an electric charge. Within seconds most of the guests hurried towards the doors and headed downstairs behind the father and son.

Even Riley felt intrigued enough to follow.

11

The main entrance of the club was made up of large double doors crafted from thick tinted glass. Embedded within were small glittering stones to resemble twinkling stars. They were flanked on both sides by two concrete pillars which connected to the overhanging first floor to create an alcove where the guests had now gathered, semi-protected from the biting wind and drizzling rain.

Riley positioned himself at the back of the crowd next to the doormen as Nash led Michael junior to the side of the road. The closest family and friends were up at the front and Riley didn’t feel he belonged with them. He noticed Howden was up there, next to the woman he thought he had a chance with later. Turner had stopped off at the bar for a fresh drink and would probably push his way up front when he came down also. Sandra was up there, playing her part and feigning interest as she wrapped her arms around Wendy who seemed both confused and excited by what was going on. Riley then saw Purvis appear, casually fighting his way through the crowd to take his place beside them. Sandra flashed him a smile, obviously delighted to have his company for a few minutes and Purvis smiled back as he placed a hand on Wendy’s shoulder.

The little girl didn’t budge, as if the touch on her shoulder felt right, natural, as if deep down she knew it was the protective hand of her true father.

“What’s going on, dad?” Michael junior asked, looking around. The road was quiet, hardly any traffic, and only a few people were walking the streets. Most had stopped to see why everyone was vacating the club in a hurry.

“You like the watch I gave you for your birthday?” Nash asked, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Yeah, it’s great.” Michael rotated his wrist to show off the flashy silver Rolex.

“Well, how about this?” Nash looked up the road. Waved both hands in the air, as if beckoning some unseen person closer.

Riley, along with the crowd, looked up the street. Saw a parked up lorry, its rear door lowered down to the road like a ramp. From the black pit inside, headlights suddenly blazed into life like demon eyes. Soon after, a sleek and shiny vehicle gracefully descended onto the road and headed towards the club. The horn sounded, the driver obviously a budding musician trying his hand at the first line of
Happy Birthday
.

Be-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep!

A universal gasp came from the crowd as the silver Aston Martin DB 9 pulled up next to the father and son, its metallic bodywork and alloy wheels sparkling in the gloom.

“Happy twenty-first,” Nash said and slapped Michael firmly on the back.

Michael’s mouth fell open, as if his father’s slap had loosened his jaw, and he watched in stunned silence as McCabe climbed out of the Aston, leaving the engine running and the door open for Michael to jump in to try out his new toy.

No wonder you didn’t want Moore’s Nissan
, Riley thought as the other guests clapped and cheered and Michael’s friends
whooped
and hollered like excited frat boys. He knew enough about cars to assume that the model must have cost a hundred grand at least, even at a knocked down price. But that was peanuts to Nash, and giving Michael – who was a huge James Bond fan – this sort of gift was worth every penny. He would now officially be the best father ever in the eyes of his son and this moment would be a conversation piece for every guest here for many future parties to come.

A few seconds later, however, everything changed forever.              As the crowd applauded and Michael hugged his father and everything seemed alright with the world, something caught Riley’s eye, something so brief that he would’ve missed it had he not been looking. Something out of place. Something that didn’t register in his mind but made him automatically spin around and face the side street behind him.

Over the claps and cheers, he heard the squeal of tyres.

Then he saw the black Peugeot speed round the corner.

Watched it draw level with the front of the club and brake quickly, skidding to a halt.

He could now see the black object protruding through the open passenger window.

Nobody else seemed to see it. They were too busy watching the father and son celebrate. But
he
sure as hell saw it.

And he knew what was about to happen.

“Everybody get down!”

Riley’s words were cut short by the sudden staccato sound of gun fire, the muzzle flash lighting up the dark in brief bursts of intensity as it discharged round after round, spraying the scene with deadly projectiles that could rip through flesh, organs and bone as easily as a chainsaw through ancient rotted wood.

The Aston’s side windows exploded first. Its expensive paintwork soon dented and chipped as the flurry of bullets tore into it on their way to the helpless crowd behind it.

The terrified guests quickly dropped to their knees in unison, as if the act was choreographed. Riley ducked behind one of the pillars as he saw Nash and Michael fall to the floor amidst flecks of blood. Nearby, Purvis dragged Sandra and Wendy to the ground and covered them with his body as bullets shattered the club doors and ricocheted off brickwork behind them. Women screamed. Men yelled. Children wailed. The people on the street fled for safety.

Then, barely five seconds after the attack started, it was all over and the Peugeot sped off leaving behind a silence only punctuated by the terrified sobs of several women and the high pitched wail of a young girl.

Riley ran out to the road, staring after the Peugeot as it disappeared into the night. Then he looked back at the club, at Purvis and Sandra, huddled together on the floor, both of them cuddling the inconsolable Wendy. Thankfully they all looked unharmed - unlike Nash and Michael who were both slumped on the concrete, neither man moving, blood covering Nash’s face and pooling out beneath him. Another man lay next to them, clutching his lower stomach with a hand that was covered dark red. The blonde with the big tits was sitting on wet ground, staring in horror at the bullet hole in her thigh as one of Michael junior’s friends cradled her head, trying to keep her from passing out. It didn’t look like Howden was going to get lucky tonight after all. In fact, by the shocked look on his face, the realisation that the bullet had just missed him dawning inside his dense skull, he probably wouldn’t be able to get it up. Harry Knight was now on his feet, his phone gripped to his ear as some of the guests began to scramble back indoors to safety, blocking the way for Turner who was trying desperately to get outside to see what had happened. Others just stood there, unable to comprehend
what
had just happened.

Riley, however, didn’t work that way.

Despite whatever danger faced him, his instinct was to attack and not retreat, and when innocent people were put in harms way that instinct became even stronger to ignore. Sandra and Wendy could’ve been killed. Several other women and children could have been maimed.

Right now, he didn’t care to find out why this had happened. He just wanted to get who was responsible.

He looked at the Aston Martin. Two of its windows were shattered and it was in need of a new paint job, but the engine was still purring and the tyres seemed to be alright. The driver’s door was open, still waiting for Michael junior to hop inside and take it for its maiden run.

The open door was too inviting for Riley to ignore.

Leaving the others to deal with the injured, he jumped in, slammed the automatic gear stick into ‘Drive’ and floored the accelerator.