Stray Bullet
Authors: Simon Duringer
Contents
Chapter 3 – Kidnap and Killing
Chapter 6 – Descent into Darkness
Chapter 8 – Entrance to the Underworld
Chapter 12 – Love of an Assassin
He lay on the top step. Ironically the last step, he thought, as he lay slumped against the large concrete pillar. A pillar of no consequence, at the entrance to a building that did not matter. He could be anywhere in the world for the difference it would make. The light breeze on his face seemed like a paradox, feeling the nature of it on his clean shaven face yet seemingly being unable to inhale the pure air it carried. His Armani suit appeared immaculate but for the creases from his fall and the blood on his chest. His back was buckled and involuntary convulsions tore through his body. Before now he had always been in control. This was a new experience that would not be relived. Fear, shock and adrenaline pumped through his body, and disorientation slowly took over his mind as he drifted into unconsciousness.
He hadn’t seen it coming. They say, ‘
you never hear the sound of the weapon that launches the lead that gets you’
. He could now bear testament to this fact. Harvey Walters lay slumped, his body searching for breath as he lay unaware of all around him. The screams from onlookers could be heard all around, screams of disbelief and fear; fear that they might share the same fate. That today could be the last day they would share a breakfast with their families or ride a bus to town. Sirens could be heard in the distance rushing towards the scene, responding to the call of some four minutes ago, whisking through the streets at alarming speed.
The city was full of young European students there to learn a new language, shoppers on their day off from work, all wandering aimlessly in shock at what they had seen, covering their mouths like young children who have just blasphemed. Disorientation had set in on the streets of this normally sleepy city.
Amongst the confusion, one man exited a side door which led to the flats above The Half a Nickel Tea Rooms. He turned to his right, away from the commotion and walked swiftly, yet calmly from the event. The occasional tug of his collar was the only hint that something could be wrong. He passed the Halifax Bank and onto the high street almost as if a prior engagement had his mind preoccupied and making him completely unaware of the commotion that surrounded him.
Briefcase in hand, he appeared to be a man not dissimilar to any other, and within two hundred yards had blended back into his surroundings, and the throngs of businessmen appearing for their long awaited lunch breaks.
Jack Shaw did not need to look back; he knew already what was happening on the Cathedral Green. But he was angry. His teeth gritted as he thought about the events of the last couple of hours. He marched down Fore Street towards the river where he would lose the briefcase containing his dismantled rifle. He only ever used it once so few links to his personal expertise would be left behind. He was beating himself up. It should never have happened. Joe Collier was a shift worker and should not have been home for hours, but at the crucial moment, he entered his flat. A muted shot was heard in the room but no further as Jack swung around to deal with his uninvited visitor. He was quick and merciless, an outstanding marksman, but unable to take aim, he shot from the hip.
“
What the fuck?” was all that Joe could muster before he hit the ground.
Jack swung back around to the window and then felt the pit of his stomach tighten as he saw the target being shuffled into his limousine. There would be no second shot. Joe had unwittingly saved the life of the target to his own detriment. On his way towards the door Jack gave an angry kick to the ribs of the deceased Joe Collier.
“Asshole!” he muttered under his breath and left the room.
He didn’t like unforeseen events but had become accustomed to dealing with them. They never seemed to faze him, a trait which over the years had lulled him into almost believing he was invincible. He was teeming with self-confidence, whilst airing professional caution.
Jack was a very calculating man. He had to be in order to remain undetected for so many years. He would spend hour upon hour going over his plans and contingencies, and when finally reaching the ultimate plan, the sly grin that could overwhelm almost any woman he desired, would appear on his face and self-satisfaction would set in.
But today was different. The target
had
got away. He had not earned his bounty. Half now‒ half on completion was the deal. For £50,000 above his retainer someone wanted this guy dead pretty bad. He wondered to what extent security would be raised around this individual and, for how long, and whether it was worth pursuing for the extra hassle it would cause him. But, at the end of the day, he was a well-respected professional hit man, who on more than a couple of occasions, had even been hired by the FBI wishing to silence the odd individual. Though he had never been in
direct
contact with the Bureau, he would always leave a miry trail behind him to avoid
them
identifying him.
He saw dealing with the FBI as the ultimate game, working for them one minute and being pursued by them the next, until his services were once again required, when an eerie peace would be installed. He thought they were a joke. On the one side, involved in a huge drug bust and on the other, the apparently incinerated narcotics finding their way back onto the market, lining the pockets of corrupt officials.
Pah! Everyone’s doing it,
he thought.
Some of us are just better at it than others.
Unlike most gangsters, Jack had had a good upbringing. His father had been a respected accountant and senior partner in a top London firm, his mother a devoted housewife who decorated and furnished their home in this foreign land. She had secretly missed America and hoped one day to return.
Educated in England, he was a keen athlete and competed as a youth in many sports, but school was also where he discovered his liking for soft drugs.
Jack paid a short visit to prison after being caught selling marijuana; done largely to fund his habit and because his devotion to his parents wouldn’t allow him to steal from them. He often recalled the devastation his behaviour had caused the family and, after jail largely avoided drugs, apart from the odd joint at a party, keen to demonstrate to his parents that he was a rehabilitated man.
But whilst in jail, he had made several contacts, among them Lucio Lucianni; the head of a UK crime syndicate. Lucio had taken it upon himself to protect Jack from some of the more distasteful members of the prison population. He was of questionable heritage, wealthy but could only aspire to the apparent respectability of Jack’s family.
More often than not, Lucio was invited to parties through fear rather than affection. It sickened him that he wasn’t readily accepted into the more sought after circles. Jack had initially suspected Lucio of using him as a means to an end to get into those
right
circles, but while serving time, their friendship seemed to blossom and although Jack always waited for the hidden agenda to appear, it never seemed to… until 1982.
Two years after getting out of prison, Jack’s parents suffered a horrendous car accident when returning home from a Rotarians charity night, at which his father had been the guest of honour. They had been on the receiving end of a head on collision with a jack-knifed arctic in foggy weather on the M1. His father was killed instantly and his mother, amongst other things, broke her neck. She suffered for days before eventually passing away without ever realising her dream to see her homeland again. Jack went into deep shock. He was 23 years old with no family left to speak of. He cried regularly for months.
His self-prescribed remedy was to immediately embark upon a journey of self-destructive behaviour, smoking marijuana and regularly snorting cocaine to relieve his anxiety. Emotionally he was on fire, and then it happened… his anxiety turned to anger.
Lucio reached for the phone that morning,
dialled his friend’s number and waited for an answer.
Jack had slept in having consumed a cocktail of drink and drugs the night before. He opened his eyes and reached for the telephone.
He had taken to sleeping in his parents four poster bed in their respectably large country home, which he could not bear to sell once they had passed away. Financially, he had not been left wanting. Trusts had been set up years in advance of his parents’ death to avoid death duties and the stripping of his father’s wealth. He had always thought how morbid his father had been in thinking of such contingencies. Perhaps this was the seed for Jack’s own skills in later life.
“Yeah who is it?” he growled, angry at having his sleep interrupted.
“Chill, Jack. It's Lucio…” came the response in a deep Italian accent.
Jack broke into a smile for the first time in weeks. “Jesus, you sound more like the godfather every time I speak to you!”
A comment anyone other than a close friend of Lucio might have sorely regretted.
“Respeeeect…” Lucio purred. “Jack it’s time to clean up, mourning is ov…”
“Why, you disrespectful bastard!” Jack snapped furiously, but Lucio continued as though there had been no interruption.
“
…over. Jack, I’m your friend. You’re snapping at the wrong guy.” He paused, “I’ve got a job for you. It’s payback time my friend. I’ll be over in one hour.”
Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Jack, don’t take a hit today!” and calmly hung up.
Jack was slightly fazed and still disorientated from his potions the night before, but he realised that although he had got away with speaking to Lucio in that manner, he would need to tread carefully around him for a while. He climbed out of bed and staggered towards the en suite bathroom running his hands through his hair and scratching his over polluted nostrils. He looked in the mirror, only to see someone with tired eyes and almost ten years his senior staring back. Drugs had taken their toll on his twenty three year old body
. Lucio was right,
he thought regretfully,
it’s time to move on.
Lucio always turned up ten minutes early to meetings, perhaps through some paranoia of allowing his colleagues to be too ready for him. It was exactly fifty minutes later when the entourage arrived. A BMW 3.25i followed by a Bentley Turbo and then another BMW 3.25i, all black in colour, appeared like a lost funeral procession. Jack could see them from his kitchen window where he’d been preparing coffee. A nervous shudder tore through his body and the hair on the back of his neck stood to attention. Walking to the door, he wondered why Lucio had chosen not to visit alone.
As the entourage ground to a halt outside the house, four heavy set men, each wearing dark glasses and clothed in well pressed dark suits, ventured out from each of the BMW escort vehicles. Four men went straight to the Bentley, two stormed past Jack without saying a word and entered the house. One stood as a gate guard and another drifted around the outside of the house to the back garden, apparently searching for something.
The Bentley door remained closed until each of the men returned to the front of the house and gave a silent nod to the men waiting at the Bentley. One of the men then proceeded to open the rear door of the vehicle and Lucio stepped out. With two men at each shoulder, he was ushered as far as the front door.
“What’s going on? You didn’t need to bring these guys…” said Jack nervously.
Lucio said nothing. He entered the house leaving the goons behind and made his way to the spacious living room which he had visited many times before. Jack followed.
“…Look, I’m sorry about this morning…” Jack implored.
“Forget this morning, Jack. They’re not here
for your benefit,”
he snapped looking out of the window at his entourage.
“I have a disease Jack and you’re my cure. I think we both knew this day would come…” His eyes never left the window.
“Go on,”
responded Jack as his heart began to race.
“There is something… Someone I need you to remove for me.”
His eyes now leaving the window, he glanced across at Jack.
“I err wh… why me
…?
Why not get one of those guys to do it?” Jack stuttered startled at the suggestion, pointing out towards the emotionless goons outside.
“The person in question knows my organisation intimately and would suspect any of my employees. Besides Jack, you’re angry and you need to focus. I want to help exorcise the Devil inside of you.” Lucio walked across the room looked Jack in the eye and reached for his shoulder. Jack stood spellbound for what seemed like hours but was in fact, merely seconds, his gaze never leaving Lucio’s. He thought of the pent up anger he felt for the lorry driver who had taken his family away from him so quickly and unexpectedly. He knew he would never have a regular job. He wouldn’t care for the mundane life that would entail. He didn’t need a job. He was financially secure. But Lucio was right, he was still very angry and there was a debt that required repayment, a debt of honour owed to Lucio.
Whether it was the cocktail of drugs still oozing through his veins or the fear of refusing, he didn’t know, but he drew a deep breath, started slowly nodding his head forward as his vocal chords created the single word that finally fought its way from his mouth…
“Okay…”
“Good.” Lucio purred, never doubting the response he would get but raising his eyebrows slightly, as if surprised, at the ease of gaining his friend's agreement. “Sit down and let’s talk.”
Lucio and Jack started discussing how this debt was to be repaid. After a couple of hours Lucio hailed
Big Benny
, the leader of the entourage, explained that he was no longer required to wait and sent him on his way. Few people knew of the friendship between Jack and Lucio and he would feel safe in these surroundings. However, every now and then a black BMW could be seen passing on the road at the end of Jack’s countryside drive, a sign that Lucio’s employees were not as comfortable as he was with this arrangement. They would discreetly keep a watchful eye.
Lucio’s short visit turned into a two day stay while Jack questioned Lucio thoroughly as to the facts of this task and they took time to catch up. Jack was keen to keep Lucio at his side until he completely understood what and how he would conduct the job at hand. If he was going to do this, he sure as hell wasn’t going to get caught. They pored over the best methodology to be used and, as all the information came together, the first of Jack’s many contingency plans was created to deal with all manner of unforeseen circumstances.
The target was a common thief known in the trade as Swifty due to the speed at which he could pick locks. He had worked for Lucio's organisation for most of his adult life but, unsatisfied with the returns, he took to stealing from his own. It was only a matter of time before it would have been noticed, but Swifty, however good with his hands, was cerebrally challenged and once it finally dawned on him that he’d gone too far and would be rumbled, he fled into hiding. Whether testament to Lucio’s organisation, or perhaps the lack of Swifty’s imagination, it took only a week to find him staying with his sister in Holden Hurst Road in Bournemouth.
Jack considered the former and thought wryly, perhaps if Scotland Yard had more detectives as apt as Lucio’s mob, there would be far fewer unsolved crimes…
Lucio's biggest fear was that Swifty’s naivety in worldly matters would lead him to the police, looking for a deal to shop the organisation bosses, rather than face the grim alternative of living his life on the run.
Surveillance was put on Swifty’s sister’s house and reports suggested that Swifty hadn’t ventured out. It would be Jack's job to quietly gain entry acting as a delivery person and then do the merciless deed, in whatever way necessary, killing the expendable sister too if she saw him or happened to be there. Lucio emphasised that it was essential to leave no witnesses. He further concluded that as the family had bad blood in it anyway, Jack would probably be doing someone else a favour by knocking her off too. Jack had only seen this side of Lucio in jail and was surprised how composed and at ease he was. He made it sound like a trip to the grocer's.
The day of the hit was planned and came around quickly. Three of Lucio’s mob came to the house to collect Jack as arranged. He recalled the lack of conversation on the first leg of the journey and had put it down to pre job nerves.
The anonymous men were to take Jack to a rendezvous with a second car at one a.m. outside Reading train station. As per the plan, within minutes of their arrival, they were met by a slightly less conspicuous motor car, a beaten up old Volvo, certainly stolen but built like a tank.
This car could probably hit a truck and come out less badly off,
thought Jack, as he swapped over from one vehicle and climbed into the rear of the other.
Jack cleared his throat before asking one of the familiar faces, “You got the stuff?”
He recognised the first man, Big Benny, aptly named due to his imposing size, sitting in the passenger seat. Benny shifted the weight of his body around to shoot a look at Jack…
“Is the pope catholic?”
he replied hoarsely and sarcastically.
The driver Leo roared with laughter and Marco, Lucio’s cousin, caved in to giving Jack a playful yet hard jab to the ribs… “Ho! Is the pope catholic, Jack?”
Jack winced with pain but tried to force a smile, realising he was hugely out of his depth with these neurotic goons, yet feeling intellectually superior with the thought that these individuals probably had the joint IQ of a pencil lead.
He decided to play the journey out with as little small talk as possible.
Jack was in unfamiliar territory having not been to Bournemouth before. The extent of his knowledge was that there was a large pier on the beachfront. Not much use for the task in hand and he hoped these guys were more acquainted with the area.
Leo, silent since they left Reading, had navigated them successfully onto the A33 via Basingstoke, taken the A303 to Andover through Salisbury and onto the A338 towards Ringwood. From Ringwood they would be on the final approach to their Bournemouth destination… and the beginning of a new life for Jack Shaw.
Out of the blue and for the first time since leaving Reading the silence was broken,
“Stop the car, I gotta pee!” Big Benny stated…
Leo retorted, “Benny, your bladder is the size of a pea. Can’t ya wait?”
Marco sniggered at the thought of this overweight, hardened brute giving away any form of discomfort or emotion. It was three forty-five a.m. and there was no traffic on the roads.
“Okay, big guy…” said Leo “…though at this time of night you are likely to freeze your wiener off.” And he pulled the car off the road.
Jack decided to take the opportunity to stretch his legs. He was unsure whether the wave of unusual body cramps he was experiencing was from sitting still for too long, or from the thought that in just under two hours, he would be a killer or the other chilling possibility that
he
himself would be a dead man.
